The Last Execution (3 page)

****

Thursday, April 22, 8:30 a.m.

Leigh joined the taskforce at the conference room table with a lot more confidence today. Olivia with her short wavy brown hair, caramel-colored skin, and dark chocolate eyes was the last member to arrive. Casey with his brown hair, warm blue eyes, and serious square jaw got down to business.

Olivia reported she hadn’t found anything new in any of the victims’ backgrounds. Hearing a federal agent reaffirm the research Leigh had provided was rewarding.

Romeo’s timeline for Officer Slocum and his wife’s activities before his death gave them no additional insight. Slocum had reported for duty on time, and the call log reflected nothing out of the ordinary up until he and his partner stopped for breakfast.

J.T.’s chair pulled up next to Leigh’s, moving closer when Casey asked them to update the group and put their knees too close together. She found herself wedged between the table leg and J.T.’s rock hard thigh. The warmth from his body made concentrating difficult.
After all this time, why him?
W
hy now?
She wasn’t jeopardizing the opportunity to work on this case because of runaway hormones.

“Hard to believe Mrs. Slocum said her husband had no enemies.” Casey shook his head. “There’s not a cop on the force who hasn’t pissed off a few people.”

“She lied,” J.T. stated in his usual clipped speech. “She wouldn’t look at us.”

“J.T.’s right. There was a lot she didn’t say,” Leigh agreed. “Her husband’s dead, yet she was completely unaffected.”

“Maybe she’s in shock,” Olivia commented.

Leigh’s stomach twisted while she composed her next statement. “I think she might’ve been glad. Or relieved.”

J.T. leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Leigh noticed the bruises on the widow’s face before I did.”

“She’d tried to hide them with makeup. The discoloration on her cheek was obvious, along with a leftover black eye. We’re betting she’d been abused.” Sympathy for the widow blurred her thoughts, forcing Leigh to struggle to keep her tone professional. Bruises faded. Memories of a beating never went away. The helplessness and desperation lingered long after.
Don’t go there.
Stay in the present.

Olivia spoke up. “What else, Leigh?”

She detected a hint of respect in Olivia’s tone. Maybe having a beer with her and Romeo last night had been worth the time away from Ethan.

“Mrs. Slocum’s body language was closed off. She kept shifting toward the door. Perched on the edge of her chair, she gave me the impression she wanted to bolt. Her eyes weren’t swollen from crying. They weren’t even red. That was no teary-eyed widow talking to us about her husband.”

“Romeo, dig deeper into Officer Slocum.” Casey stood and paced for a minute. “Look into their finances. If she’s made a lot of trips to the doctor, find those records. Get a warrant if necessary.”

Romeo nodded his understanding. “If she’s innocent, she’ll give us access to any and all records.”

J.T. raised an eyebrow at Romeo. “If? You think she’s guilty?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a wife had her husband killed,” Romeo said.

Casey gathered the morning notes and glanced at J.T. “You and Leigh take a closer look at Mr. and Mrs. Slocum. Somebody will talk about them. Tread lightly. Don’t make unfounded accusations.”

“We’ll be discreet.” Leigh closed her file and stood. When she’d protested surrendering the case to the FBI, Chief Hampton had waved her off with a flick of his fingers as if she was lint on his collar. Today, she stood taller, held her shoulders straighter. In less than twenty-four hours, she felt more accepted here than in her own division.

She hung back, needing to speak to Casey alone. She’d come in with an attitude, and he hadn’t held her chilly behavior against her. Even when appropriate, humbling herself didn’t come easy.

“Thanks for including me. I’m sure you didn’t ask for or need CID’s help.”

“Nonsense. This is your city, too. Your workspace is set up, and Romeo is taking care of your computer access. If you need anything else, let me know.”

“Appreciate it.” Leigh left his office and went to her desk, wondering if she’d made him uncomfortable. She’d nestled into her new chair when her cell buzzed. Warning bells rang in her head. The ID screen read unknown caller. Was this another hang up? Reluctantly, she answered.

“McBride.”

No one spoke.

“McBride,” she repeated through gritted teeth. Her heart pounded. Fire raced across her skin. “Aren’t you a little old too be playing games?”

“Games? What makes you think I’m playing?”

A hard edge vibrated through the voice. Jason. Cutting and cruel.

“Okay. Let’s play,” he said.

The blood drained from her head. Old memories of pain and fear slammed into her. She took a breath to compose herself. Her words would at least sound calm.

“Don’t threaten me. Don’t call me. Don’t come near me. And don’t doubt you’ll pay the price if you do.” She hit the disconnect button, tossed the phone in her top drawer, and then slammed it shut. If he called back, she didn’t want to hear the buzz. Leaning her forehead into her hand, she closed her eyes, and tried to control her runaway anger.
Think.
She had to find a way to prove he was harassing her. Then she’d send his ass back to prison. Hate rolled through her. Sweat broke out and trickled down her chest. Remembering where she was, she commanded her mind to still.

She sucked in a quick breath. Her skin tingled as if she stood in an electrical storm. She sensed J.T. standing directly behind her. She dare not face him. He’d spot her urge-to-kill expression for sure.

“Any way I can help?” His tone of voice, deep yet soft, comforted her.

Stop. Remember where you are. Who you are.

“It’s nothing. Thanks for offering.” She lifted her head, meeting his gaze.

Heat from telling such a blatant lie crept up her cheeks. Leigh forced her attention to the computer on her desk. He didn’t move or speak, and she prayed he’d drop the subject.

“Let’s make that run back to the Slocums’.” If her abuse theory proved out, she’d earn a little more of the team’s respect and trust. “Bet there’s a neighbor who’ll gossip about them.”

“Okay.” He stared into her eyes, his jaw stiff as carved granite. “Afterward, we can stop by the Sixth Precinct. Talk to Slocum’s coworkers.”

“You won’t be welcomed with open arms,” she warned. Relief he’d accepted the change of subject calmed her jumbled nerves.

He folded his hands and ripped biceps bulged under his pristine shirt. A lopsided grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “Not a new experience for me.”

Leigh slung her handbag over her shoulder. “Really? I’ll bet your mama welcomes you with open arms.”

“Don’t. You’d lose,” he mumbled.

****

Thursday, April 22
nd
, 10:00 a.m.

J.T. pulled out of the Federal parking garage and took the same route as yesterday to Smyrna. Leigh leaned back and turned her face to the window. A faint citrus scent stirred his imagination. He tried and failed to remember the last woman he’d taken to his bed.
Hell, to any bed.
Don’t try counting the months.

Her hand went to her head as if to smooth back any unruly curls. He’d noticed her subconscious habit yesterday. His fingers itched to loosen the knot at the nape of her neck, a sensation he had to ignore.

Today was about murder.

Originally, the idea of working with her hadn’t bothered him, but the lady had secrets. And secrets could get you killed.

She sat forward, opened her mouth then closed it.

“What?”

“Just a thought.”

“Let’s have it.”

“The sniper has killed on Monday or Tuesday. Might be a pattern.”

“It’s something to track, because he will strike again.”

“He’s not finished, but I don’t buy Romeo’s copycat, gun-for-hire theory. Mrs. Slocum didn’t pay to have him killed.”

“Romeo talks through his ass sometimes.” J.T. drove into the Slocums’ housing subdivision and parked on a side street. “Let’s talk to the neighbors first.”

She easily kept up with his long stride. She’d worn black slacks, still hadn’t succumbed to wearing the white shirt. Not yet. Today her blue blouse was tucked in at her narrow waist. Her loose jacket did nothing for her figure. He’d bet she purposely dressed in nondescript fashion. Probably to keep men like him from speculating about what lay under her clothes. He gave himself a mental head slap for not figuring it out sooner.

“We’ll play it by ear. If a woman answers, you take point. You did okay yesterday.”

Leigh shot him a cool look over her shoulder. “I wasn’t aware I was being judged. Good to know I passed,” she snapped.

He stepped directly in front of her.

“Easy, Hotshot.” She was still pissed about the phone call she’d received earlier, so J.T. tried to be understanding. “My every word’s not an accusation.”

Her eyes widened and darkened with recognition. The firm set to her jaw said she’d never admit she’d snapped at him. The smile playing at the corners of her mouth gave her away.

“I’ll try to remember.”

****

Thursday, April 22, 10:30 a.m.

Nurse Ellen Rosen pulled the curtain back and motioned him to come to her. Don limped to her, dragging his cleaning cart with him. His favorite ER nurse lifted her lips into a slight smile. Her eyes radiated compassion.

“We had an accident. Will you lend me a hand?” The nurse leaned closer and spoke in a soft voice. “Her husband came in to check on her. Right after he whispered something, she threw up. I sent him to the waiting room. If you’ll get the floor, I’ll take care of her.”

“No problem.” He grabbed the mop from the cart, hurrying to clean up the mess.

“I’m sorry.” The woman’s words were barely audible.

“There’s nothing to apologize for. We don’t mind. Do we, Don?”

“No, ma’am. Don’t mind at all.”

The patient’s voice had a certain quality, a broken tone he’d come to recognize. He turned in her direction while he rinsed his mop. Her swollen, purple eyes, and busted lip kept two interns busy assessing the damage. His heart ached, and tears blurred his vision for a moment.

“You all right? You look like you saw a ghost.” Nurse Rosen’s concerned face eased the fire raging in his veins. “I said your name three times.”

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I’m fine.” He made one last swipe across the floor. He prided himself on keeping the place clean.

Dammit. He had to stay on his toes. Pay closer attention.
Remember. Your name is Don.
Don Porter.
The corners of his mouth twitched under the fake mustache. He pulled the curtain closed and pushed his cart down to the janitor’s area.

He usually dusted the waiting room later in the day. Luckily, he controlled his schedule. Carrying his furniture-cleaning tote, he limped through the door to the visitor’s area, where he moved around the room wiping tabletops. Names and addresses were surprisingly easy to acquire. First, he wanted a look at the wife beater. Only then could he decide if he should help the woman. It was a quiet day at the hospital, and the abuser was easy to spot. He sat playing a game on his cell phone, his raw knuckles not slowing his thumbs. Don cleaned, stacked magazines, and covertly studied the man. The bastard looked up and straight through him without giving him a second glance. After all, he was a lowly orderly. A nobody.

****

Thursday, April 22, 1:00 p.m.

“Riding with you long-term might be hard on my waistline.” Leigh dipped her spoon into her dessert. The down-home café that J.T. had stopped at for lunch struck her as odd. Small and cozy, the old house converted to a diner was charming. She’d pegged him for a squat-and-gobble Big Mac kind of guy.

“Never happen. We’d hit the gym. Regularly.” He scooped up a spoonful of dessert. “I’ve been to a lot of different cities and countries. Atlanta and my grandmother’s house are the only two places in the world I’ve found truly good peach cobbler.”

She leaned back in the booth and stared in amusement. “I’ll be damned. You do talk in sentences of more than four words.”

Leigh’s spirit lifted when he chuckled. The warm, throaty sound made her smile.

“Of course I do. Why’d you think I didn’t?”

His right cheek twisted and curled at the tip of the scar when he laughed. She understood why he’d perfected the lopsided smile. Should she ask how he got the scar? Would it remind him of a time best left forgotten?

“The man I spent yesterday with spoke in four-word sentences.”

“People talk too much. Words are overrated.” He dropped his gaze to the bowl in front of him and ate without looking up again.

“You want to go back to Carol Slocum and question her again? Her neighbor overheard more than one fight between the couple.”

“No, ma’am.”

Great, now he was down to speaking in even shorter sentences. Her cell vibrated on her hip. The screen read unknown caller. She pressed the silent button and turned back to find green eyes focused on her, seeing everything, missing nothing. Expecting what? A tingle spread across her chest. Her breasts tightened, and the muscles in her lower stomach clenched.