Chapter 4
4
VICTOR
D oes it surprise me that Chelsea's gone when I get out of the shower?
Not at all.
Shit, I'm more shocked that she didn't take my gun and phone. I can tell she's not that same person anymore, but I have no doubt that her father being in a coma tempts her to go back to her old ways.
There's no sense dwelling in the past or trying to figure out what she's going to do about it. Burying myself in work will have us crossing paths soon enough. Hopefully, it will be before she does anything that will land her in handcuffs, which I won't have the authority to remove.
Once I'm back at the precinct, my sergeant snarls and rolls his eyes at me when I walk by. Aggravation coats every word as he speaks from behind his desk. "I thought I told you to go home, Bennett."
"I did go home, but I got a call about this robbery. You might as well let me work it, Sarge. People in that neighborhood know me and are willing to cooperate with me. I already got a tip. One of the business owners sent me footage from their security camera. It shows the suspects leaving the scene of the crime. I might get an ID off it, too."
He rubs the bridge of his nose and relents. "Fine, but you close this case fast. Who was the girl?"
"Victim. She got knocked out while the robbery took place but managed to do some damage to one of the perps. I saw some blood on the floor at the scene that didn't come from her or the shop owner. Forensics has it, but I think I can bring these guys in before the trace comes back."
"Fine," he says and dismisses me back to my duties.
After I get a still image of the robber's face with a busted nose, I know he'll be easy to find if he's still in town. I'll have to get on the street to get to my sources. Someone's going to point me in the right direction, but that has to wait until the sun comes up.
Spending the rest of my night at my desk doesn’t bother me, but my mind drifts to Chelsea. She told me I'd always put the job first because this was my chance to make up for the chaos we caused.
We justified wreaking havoc on this town after our mothers were gunned down in a botched robbery. We were barely fifteen when it happened, but the older we got, the angrier we became. Our mutual grief sparked rage and sent us down a path of revenge.
For at least five years of our lives, we targeted every business that was linked to the assholes who murdered a bunch of innocent people in a store on a random afternoon. We were calculating, sloppy at first, but smartened to the streets quickly.
We were twenty-two years old when the police finally caught up to us. My father pulled some strings to make it go away, to make us go away. I made him a promise to never be a part of the problem terrorizing our town, and I've been a man of my word ever since.
Chelsea, on the other hand, couldn't stand the idea of upholding the law that failed us. Her anger never subsides. It's always there, just under the surface. The last time I saw it unleashed, it was a bloody mess. We caught up to the men who murdered our mothers. Sure, it took us six years, but we found them. They never made it to trial.
I barely feel my eyes close as my mind reminisces on the past. Dreams find me at my desk and stay with me until someone nudges me awake hours later. The sun is up, and it's time to work my case. My first stop is to the hospital to check on Chelsea's father.
Fortunately, Nigel Emerson is awake, but it's uncertain for how long.
"Good morning, Mr. Emerson. How are you feeling?" I ask him while slowly approaching his bedside.
Nigel stirs in discomfort, a bandage around his head and a cast on his arm. "What kind of ridiculous question is that, Victor? My head was kicked in, still throbbing to the point I can barely see out of my left eye. What kind of jeweler will I be with one eye?"
"Still the best in the tri-state area, Mr. Emerson. There's a reason you're still in business after all this time. Which brings me to last night's events."
He grunts and turns away from me. "I can't believe that you were assigned this case. Or did you have your father call in more favors?"
"Jealousy over what other men can do for your daughter is pointless. Especially when everything done was for her own good."
Anger has him clutching the rails of his bed until they vibrate with his fury. "Her own good? You take her on a fucking killing spree and then?—"
"I didn't take her anywhere she didn't want to go. But I'm not here to rehash our history, old man. Is there anything you can tell me about the robbers or why they targeted your store?"
He shrugs. "How am I supposed to know? I got hit in the back of the head while I was closing up, waiting for Chelsea. Oh shit, where is she?"
"Chelsea's okay, Mr. Emerson. She walked in on it, but the robbers managed to knock her out before she could do too much damage to them. She left the hospital last night. Why don't you tell me about changing the name of the shop?" I ask him.
"I've been fighting off debt collectors and finally settled a few. I wanted a fresh start." He sighs and avoids my gaze as if he's afraid someone is listening to our conversation. "Francine is a family name."
Whose family name? I wonder.
A nurse interrupts us. "I need to take Mr. Emerson down for a CT scan. Can we finish this later, Detective?"
I nod and move out of the way for the doctor and nurse to work on Chelsea's father. He glares at me as if I'm still the teenage boy desperate for his daughter's attention. I'm not desperate, and I don't have to beg for her attention. Chelsea is mine, and I am hers whenever we choose because we've done things together that not even my brothers on the force will understand.
It's because of this I'm going to look the other way for what's coming. But, I can't do that if Chelsea blatantly breaks the law. I'll have to put down my badge for her if it comes to that. Hopefully, she's more careful than we were in our younger days.
The hospital is quieter than the ideas racing through my mind. The quiet doesn't last long as I head outside, where an ambulance screeches to a halt at the curb.
A squad car pulls up behind it, with two homicide detectives scrambling out of it. The body coming out of the ambulance has EMS workers doing everything they can to revive the patient. It's a bloody mess.
I grab one of the detectives as the EMS workers rush the patient inside. "What's going on there? Who is that?"
The detective stares at the victim, disappearing deeper into the hospital as he speaks. "That would be Craig Kushner, local smash and grab, and a rap sheet longer than a giraffe’s cock."
"Jesus. What the hell happened?" I ask with a laugh.
He pulls out a cigarette. "The call came in about an hour ago. Someone found him with a diamond carved into his chest. He was clutching a velvet satchel with one diamond inside it by the time we got to him."
"I had a robbery and assault last night at a jewelry store. It happened at Francine's on Main Street. Did you see anything that might link this guy to that robbery?"
He nods. "It's all going back with forensics, but the satchel had the letters F and J on it."
"Was there anything else at the scene?"
"Besides flaps of this guy's skin?" The detective scoffs. "Someone took their time with him. They left him alive long enough to be found. I doubt he'll make it. There was some cash, but it's not like your jewelry store owner marks their bills, right?"
"I doubt it. If you give me your case number, I'll give you mine. We can look at the forensics and see if the cases are linked. Whoever he did the job with probably stabbed him in the back while splitting the bounty."
The detective chuckles to himself. "Stabbed in the back, the front, and down the sides. Whoever did this was pissed at him, but that list is long. He typically runs with a few guys out of Newark. The last guy we know of is Derek Hammond. He also goes by Hammer. I'll send his sheet to you. You can run down their other known acquaintances. But if you get a hit on someone who did this?—"
I understand what he's saying perfectly as I tell him, "Homicide trumps robbery. Run me the guy's prints so I can check it against my case. Anyone who comes back that looks good for this, I'll send him your way."
"Will do." The detective blows out a puff of smoke before flicking the cigarette away. He heads inside, where his partner looks dismal, shaking his head. It tells me everything I need to know. One of my suspects is dead, and I'm sure the other is on the chopping block. I have to get to their suspect before they do.
Cars move aside with a whir of my siren as I speed down the street. There's only one destination I have in mind. I don't want to think the worst of her, but Chelsea is ruthless with a knife. She uses a blade like it's a piece of her hand.
When I pull up to the Emerson house, it still looks the same as the last time I was here. Its lawn is always cut to precision. The slate stone path leads to a dark blue home with white trim. I don't bother knocking on the front door. Instead, I walk around the back of the house to see what I already know is true.
The shed in the back of the house holds a workshop her father likes to use. An assortment of tools for metalwork and carving rare gemstones are inside. There's a padlock across the doors that I lift and let fall. An echo of the metal lock clanging against the latch rings out louder than I anticipated. It's like an alarm to anyone inside the house.
"You need a warrant to get inside there, Detective," Chelsea says as she walks up behind me.
"Where have you been, Chelsea?" I ask her.
My eyes move over her entire body for a different reason than etching every sensuous curve into my memory.
"I've been gathering information to help you solve your case." The wicked grin on her face confirms what I know she's capable of.
"Does that include skinning someone alive? Carving them up like a Thanksgiving turkey?"
"That sounds like a messy job, Victor. Look at me." Her voice commands me to stare her in the eyes to see the truth. She holds her hands out, turning them one way and then another. "Do you want to dust me for prints?"
"Open the shed, Chelsea."