‘I know.’
‘She said the man owned her . . .’ He looked away without voicing the question they were both asking themselves – was Tala’s pregnancy the result of a rape? ‘How do you know the baby’s name was Malaya?’ he asked instead.
‘CSU found a pacifier in her pocket that had been labeled at some point. The ink is worn and smudged, but I think it said “Malaya”.’
His teeth clenched, a muscle ticking in his jaw. ‘Then she’s still out there. Unprotected.’ Abruptly he turned on his heel and went to his desk, unlocked a drawer and pulled out an older-model Glock and a double shoulder holster.
Scarlett considered asking if that was the gun he’d been carrying that morning while looking for the shooter, but decided the question would keep for a time when he was less . . . volatile.
He met her eyes as he shrugged into the well-worn leather holster, daring her to say a word. When she stared back silently, he broke eye contact to check the Glock’s chamber, set the safety and shoved the weapon into the left-hand side of the holster, then loaded the ammo carrier on the right. ‘I have a concealed carry permit,’ he said through gritted teeth.
‘I know,’ she said calmly. ‘But I would like to know where you think you’re going.’
He looked up, his smile a mere baring of his teeth. ‘To find the child. Are you coming with me?’
Cincinnati, Ohio
Tuesday 4 August, 11.10 A.M.
Marcus stared at Scarlett across his desk, waiting for the recrimination that would undoubtedly come. Which he undoubtedly deserved. She’d trusted him with details about Tala and her baby that she could have – and probably should have – kept to herself, and he’d reacted by arming himself and acting like a deranged idiot. But . . . God. A baby. As soon as Scarlett had told him that Tala had been wearing a tracker, he’d wondered why the girl had taken such a huge risk coming to him. Now he understood.
From across his office, Scarlett studied him with those dark, dark blue eyes. He wondered what she saw. Probably a headstrong, reckless man who tended to get himself shot too often. Not anyone she’d take seriously.
But he wouldn’t back down. He couldn’t. Tala had come to him for help and he’d failed her. He was not going to fail that innocent child too. Not while he still had breath in his lungs.
‘Where will you go?’ Scarlett asked him in the same calm voice she’d used when she’d told him about the baby. He wanted to scream when he heard it, but then he remembered the stark pain that had ravaged her eyes when she’d told him how badly Tala had been beaten.
She could only have known that information if she had witnessed it. Which meant she’d viewed Tala’s body lying on a slab in the morgue. And it had torn her up inside. Marcus had seen that so very clearly. He’d also seen her wipe that pain from her eyes, hiding it away so that she could function. The calm voice she used now was as much a facade as her expressionless eyes had been.
‘Back to the neighborhoods around the park,’ he said. ‘Someone had to have seen her or that dog.’
‘I’ve had uniforms canvassing the neighborhoods since daybreak. They haven’t found anyone who had seen her before – or will admit to it anyway.’
‘Because you sent uniforms. They might be more inclined to confide in someone who’s not a goddamn cop.’
He thought she’d wince at that, but she didn’t. She kept her calm and he wondered how much it cost her to do so. ‘Like a reporter?’ she asked mildly.
‘Yeah. People may not like us and they may not trust us, but there’s always one narcissist in the crowd who wants to be on the TV news, even in the nicest of neighborhoods.’
‘You’re not with the TV news,’ she pointed out, her tone logical and emotionless. But he could see her pulse fluttering in the hollow of her throat and knew that while she seemed plasticized on the outside, she was very much alive on the inside.
He pulled a camcorder from the same drawer that had held his gun. ‘Fifteen minutes of fame is irresistible to people who crave it, regardless of the medium.’
She lifted one dark eyebrow. ‘Are you trying to make me angry with you, Marcus?’
‘Maybe. Maybe I just want to see you. The real you. I know you’re in there somewhere.’
She was quiet for a few pounding beats of his heart. Then she nodded once. ‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m in here somewhere, but I don’t have the luxury of letting the real me out to kick ass and take names just to entertain you. I can’t stop you from questioning the neighbors. But understand, if you cross the line, I will arrest you.’
Marcus had to swallow, the mental image of Scarlett kicking ass making his mouth water and his cock grow instantly hard. Which was ridiculous and inappropriate given the gravity of the situation, but completely undeniable. He casually shifted his weight to one foot, trying to relieve the pressure behind the zipper of his jeans.
‘Message received, loud and clear,’ he managed in a level voice. Then he lifted his brows, unable to resist one last jab at that shell of hers. ‘Does this mean that you’re not coming with me, Detective?’ he asked silkily.
She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh for the love of . . .’ She huffed an impatient sigh. ‘Just try not to get shot again, okay?’
He gave her a sincere nod. ‘I’ll do my very best.’
Shaking her head, she almost marched to the door to his office, then hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. ‘Thank you for the list of names. And for the videos.’
‘You’re welcome,’ he said seriously, all posturing shoved aside. ‘Thank you for telling me about Tala and her baby. I know you didn’t have to.’
She made a face at that. ‘And I probably shouldn’t have. Do me a favor and keep that out of your paper, even though you make your living digging for news. I’d like to keep my job a little longer.’
‘I won’t print it or post it. Or blog about it. I promise.’
She nodded once. ‘If you do find that one narcissist who craves his fifteen minutes of fame . . .’
‘I’ll be sure to give you any information I’m able to pick up. Where will you be? Just,’ he added when she lifted her eyebrows again, ‘so that I know where to find you to tell you.’
She gave him a pitying look. ‘Really, Marcus? That’s the best you can do? If you want to know where I’m going next with this investigation, just ask.’
He snorted before he thought better of it. ‘I did ask earlier. You got that pissy look and said “To do my job.”’
Her lips twitched, so slightly that he might have missed it had he not been staring so intently. ‘Fair enough,’ she murmured. ‘Ask again. I’ll endeavor to be less pissy.’
He walked around the desk, stopping inches from where she still held the doorknob in an iron grip. He leaned down until their foreheads almost touched, allowing the scent of wildflowers to fill his head. ‘Detective Bishop, where are you going next with this investigation?’
That she had to draw a steadying breath before she answered did wonders for his ego.
‘I’m meeting Deacon in the park. We figured that if she knew her captors could hear anything she said through the tracker, she might have written something down. He’s looking for any message or note she might have hidden under a bush or in the knothole of a tree.’
‘He won’t find anything.’
She pulled back a few inches, eyes narrowed. ‘What makes you so sure?’
‘Because I’ve already looked. I spent hours going over that patch of woods. I didn’t need to know about the ankle tracker to know she was desperately afraid of someone or something. I figured she was afraid of being followed, or maybe that she didn’t speak English, or maybe even that she was mute. I thought I might find she’d dropped a note on the ground, or hidden one, so I looked . . . and looked. But I found nothing.’
‘Did you search at night or in the day?’
‘Both.’
She frowned. ‘You might have trampled any evidence by searching.’
‘Yeah, well I didn’t realize she was about to be shot.’