Chapter 25
When Nico strolled into the station a little after seven-thirty, the first thing he noticed was George Riley fast asleep in the holding cell, snoring like a band saw and using his jacket as a makeshift pillow. West’s office door was closed, and Cora hadn’t come in yet. Nobody was in the bullpen either, but there were voices coming from one of the interview rooms.
“George?” he addressed the sleeping figure. “Hey, George.”
Nothing, not even a twitch. The man was out cold.
Just then the interview room door opened and the redheaded bartender from Rusty’s stepped out, her left wrist wrapped in a bandage. She was dressed in her work uniform and looked like hell. Frank and Zoe came out behind her, seeming equally as tired.
“Vikki?” Nico walked over, took her in. “Are you alright? What happened?”
“Uh . . .” She looked lost, her face a mixture of fatigue and the unspoken words; where should I begin?
“Drunk and disorderly last night,” Zoe supplied. “Got a bit ugly.” She touched Vikki’s shoulder, saying, “I’ll get you that coffee before you drive home.”
“Thanks,” Vikki replied, clutching her injured arm. “I just had to have some glass removed at the hospital. I’m fine,” she told Nico.
“You sure?”
“Well, it hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live.”
Nico flicked his eyes to Frank. “Who did this?”
When Frank inclined his head toward the holding cell, Nico almost did a double take to ensure no one else was in there. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Frank said. “According to Vikki here, old George spent a good couple of hours at the bar nursing a bottle of whiskey until Wade saw fit to cut him off. That’s when he turned violent.”
“He was acting crazy,” Vikki said, shooting an agitated glance in George’s direction. “Just started smashing things, shouting at the top of his lungs.”
“And that’s . . . unusual for him?” Nico asked.
Vikki shrugged. “I just moved here, so I wouldn’t know.”
“He’s never acted like this to my knowledge,” Frank answered. “The man barely shows his face around town anymore, let alone cause any trouble.”
Nico felt a twinge of misgiving. Perhaps his last visit had been one too many for George. “Did he say anything while he was going off?”
Vikki frowned. “Not really. He did shout ‘stupidbitch’ at me right before he threw the bottle that did this—” She lifted her bandaged wrist. “I stopped listening after that.”
“Fair enough,” Nico said “What about Wade? Where’s he now?”
“He gave his statement earlier,” Frank replied. “Went back to the bar to clean up.”
“And you’re sure you’re okay to drive?” Nico eyed Vikki with concern. Her eyes were bloodshot, both from lack of sleep and—judging by her smudged makeup—some crying. She also seemed far too jittery, the aftereffects of adrenaline no doubt still working their way through her system. He didn’t like to assume anything about a woman’s constitution, but the idea of letting her get behind the wheel did not sit well with his conscience.
Before she could answer, the back door swung open and Seth sauntered in, work bag slung over one shoulder. When he spotted Vikki, he stopped short. Then his face morphed from shock to anger as he realized she’d been hurt.
“Good, you’re here,” Nico said, halting whatever barrage of questions Seth had loaded up ready to fire. Probably the same ones he’d just finished asking. “Vikki could use a ride home.”
“I’m fine, really—”
“No problem.” Seth had quickly regained control of his face and was back to his almost expressionless self.
Vikki looked spooked. “But, my car . . .”
“We can drive it over to your place later,” Frank said.
“Oh, okay.”
Zoe returned, holding a fresh coffee in a lidded Styrofoam cup, which she handed to Vikki with a smile. “Here you go.”
“You okay with this?” Nico asked.
“Um, sure. Yes.” When she’d made up her mind, Vikki followed Seth out to one of the cruisers, and they were gone.
Nico wasn’t sure what was going on between those two, but he hoped the brief time alone together might help Seth’s cause, or at least nudge things along some. After backing him up with the whole Kyle Garrett thing, he owed the kid a lot—including an apology that was becoming overdue.
“Christ,” Nico said, collapsing into his chair a minute later. “Was it a full moon last night?”
“Must have been.” As expected, Frank had followed him into his office for the daily morning chit-chat. Right now, he slumped in the chair on the other side of Nico’s desk. “Between Wade’s place, yours, and a tourist who tried to drive back to his hotel drunk and wrapped himself around a lamppost instead, it was bedlam. I had to call Zoe in for backup.”
“What time was that?”
“Around two a.m. That’s when Rusty’s closed.”
“The tourist okay?”
“A few stitches. He’ll be fine.”
“Good.” Something else occurred to him. “Where the hell is West?”
“Haven’t seen him.” Frank glanced over his shoulder like the mere mention of their boss might conjure him out of thin air. “More domestic troubles would be my guess.”
In the ensuing silence, Nico let his mind grasp hold of a thought that had been dancing around the outskirts of his awareness, patiently waiting for its turn to be seen. Now that he had, he wished he’d left it where it was. Egged on by everything he and Lexie had talked about, plus George’s temporary residence in their holding cell, he couldn’t help but raise the issue with someone he trusted to be honest about it.
“Frank, I need to ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think it was a mistake for me to come here?”
By now, Frank knew all about Nico’s history; his part in Sara Riley’s discovery in Boston, his role in her death, his accident and why he chose this place to transfer to. The only thing he wasn’t privy to was how involved he and Lexie were becoming, though Nico was sure the local grapevine would be singing that song before too long. Not that it bothered him; he’d be pleased as punch to call her his, and wouldn’t care at all who knew about it. In fact, he welcomed the opportunity.
“Where’s this coming from?” Frank asked.
“Just answer the question.”
He blew out a gust of air and gave Nico a look that told of his reluctance to talk about such a thing when he had so little energy to spare. “Well, I’ll admit, it was a rocky start. Some people were apprehensive, to say the least. A newcomer from the mainland reigning over the place with so much authority when nobody had even heard of you—” He shook his head, like he was validating those reservations. “You’re young, which didn’t help things. And you’re impulsive, which isn’t necessarily a bad quality, but it does reflect poorly on you as lieutenant when you don’t keep yourself in check.”
“I sure hope there’s a ‘but’ coming,” Nico said.
“But, since you came here, morale within the ranks is higher than it’s been in months. You’re listening to complaints, taking citizen concerns seriously, no matter how small, which has assuaged a lot of those initial doubts. You work hard, and you pay close attention to your team, which I know they appreciate. Your youth might make you sloppy, but it also makes you driven. Tenacious. We need that, especially now. To be honest,” he said, leaning forward and lowering his voice so his next words were kept private. “I think everyone is taking a lot more comfort in your investigative experience than you realize.”
Nico, taken aback, couldn’t think of anything to say in return.
“Whatever your original motives were in coming here don’t matter,” Frank continued, carefully sidestepping the sensitive topic of Nico’s presence potentially being insensitive to the Rileys, even if it was coming from a desperate need to do the right thing. “This place is warming to you, whether you succeed in doing what you set out to do, or not. We’ve all made mistakes, Nico. Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to be happy.” He stood and regarded Nico with a serious expression. “Mercy Cove is a special place, one worth protecting. Your being here is giving people faith that we can do that. So, no. I don’t think it was a mistake. I think we’re lucky to have you.”
His praise meant more to Nico than he could say, and he got the sense that Frank knew that, because he walked out of his office without another word.
They didn’t speak again for the rest of the day. Frank went home for a few hours of much-needed rest—as did Zoe—while Nico, Seth, and Cora spent the morning processing paperwork from the night before. One thing nobody tells you about being a cop—the absurd amount of time spent behind a desk, even without an active serial killer investigation. Young cadets walked into the job thinking it’s all shooting and car chases and lapping up glory, when in reality, a good portion of the time your gun gathered dust on your hip while you fought the urge to yawn every five minutes, typing reports and following up leads that ninety percent of the time went nowhere. West popped in occasionally, in between a tediously repetitive series of trips home to discourage his wife from packing her bags. Apparently, she’d been threatening to leave for months if he didn’t become a better husband fast, so it was no surprise that he missed the phone call from the lab when it came in at exactly five p.m. Given the gravity of their situation, the powers that be had rushed their blood sample through the queue. When Nico hung up, he dialed Frank’s cell number without delay.
“Still sleeping.” Frank’s voice was gruff.
“Blood results are in,” Nico said.
A moment of silence. “And?”
“It’s human. Female.”
“Shit.” Frank sounded much more alert now. “We got him.”
Nico was already grabbing his jacket. “It’s not a match to either of our victims, but it’s more than enough for a judge to sign off on an arrest warrant. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
“I’ll only need five.”
“Cora!” Nico called, making his way down the hallway in a hurry. The cantankerous-yet-kindhearted administrator frowned at him over the top of her glasses. “Call West and Zoe. I want everyone here, now. Seth—” He gestured for him to get up. “Come with me. We gotta talk.”