Chapter Twenty-Six #2
“I ran out of clothes.” She rubbed at her forehead. “When I was preparing to come here I just threw a couple of things in a bag.” She hugged herself tighter. “These are Shelley’s.”
He’d thought as much.
“There’s something you should know,” he said to preface the news. Though he was certain she had no warm, fuzzy feelings for Banks, she had known him for years. And he was her number one suspect in her sister’s murder.
Big blue eyes peered up at him. “Did you hear from the ME on Shelley’s case?”
Braddock shook his head. “There was another murder last night.”
Her face paled.
“Ricky Banks.”
She stared at him for a long moment before she reacted. Her expression blanked of emotion, and she seemed to have trouble gathering her thoughts. “How?” She shook her head. “I mean . . . yes. How was he . . . murdered?”
“He was secured to the floor in his home and his dog tore out a couple of essential arteries.”
Her face pinched in horror. “Satan killed him?”
“We have reason to believe the animal was provoked into a frenzy.” Between his owner’s starvation tactics and the killer’s bait, that was a damned solid conclusion. “Then let loose on Banks.”
CJ dropped her head back on the sofa. “What does this do to Shelley’s case?” She lifted her gaze to Braddock’s once more. “I don’t mean to be unsympathetic, but does this mean he didn’t kill Shelley, or is this even relevant to her case?”
“I can’t answer that question yet. There are elements that are similar, indicating we could be dealing with the same perp. But it’s too early to say for sure.”
“It has to be Tyrone.” Fury compressed her lips into a thin line. “He’s insane like this.” Her eyes widened with concern. “Do you think the blood was . . . ?”
“That the blood on your bed came from Banks?” He shrugged. “That’s a possibility. We can’t be sure yet.”
Her breath caught. “Oh God.” Her hand went over her mouth.
“What?” He moved from the sofa to the coffee table, directly in front of her.
“That girl.” She searched his eyes, hers filled with remorse. “Celeste. She said more than any of the others. What if Tyrone—”
“Don’t even think about it.” He took her hands in his. “Listen to me, CJ. I know you grew up here, but you’ve never been a part of this life. Not really. You escaped—”
“That’s what Ricky said.” She looked away, bit down on her bottom lip.
He tightened his grip on her hands. “These girls, like Celeste, Nash feeds off them. Uses them until he’s finished and there’s nothing left but a burned-out shell. Maybe your questions prompted his taking action against Celeste—”
Her face fell; pain glittered in her eyes.
“But the reality of it is, this kind of thing is inevitable when you’re a part of Nash’s world.” That wouldn’t make her feel better, any more than it did him.
“If he hurt her, it’s my fault.” She shook her head. “You didn’t see her. Beaten and bruised. Too thin. All Tyrone’s foot soldiers are like that. It’s sick. Just sick.”
“Nash’s standard operating procedure. Until he’s stopped, that and more will continue.”
“He has to be stopped.”
“He does.” He stared at their hands. Had forgotten he was holding hers. Evidently she’d only just noticed as well. She pulled her hands free of his. “But not by you. This”—he jerked his head toward her stairs—“was a second warning. You can’t keep digging around in Nash’s business.”
She folded her arms over her chest, tucking her hands beneath her arms as if she needed to protect them. “I told you, I’m not going to stop until I’m done.”
“No matter the cost?”
Fury lit in those blue eyes. “You’re a fine one to ask that question.”
He was the one looking away this time. She had him there. “Trust me.” He leveled his gaze on hers. “You don’t want to carry that burden.”
The silence dragged on a full minute.
Okay, he had a homicide scene to get back to. “Let’s have a look at your locks.” He pushed to his feet, stepped from between the sofa and coffee table.
She stood. A couple of inches of flat belly were revealed by the short tee. His throat tightened. Flashes from the other night, when he’d been so deep inside her, slammed into his gut. God, he wanted to touch her.
“It wasn’t locked when I got up,” she told him, “but I’m certain I locked it before I went to bed.”
Braddock shook off the forbidden thoughts. The techs had already dusted the door for prints. He squatted down to get a closer look. There were signs of forced entry but those marks appeared older. He twisted the knob.
“You need a new lock with a dead bolt today if you plan to continue staying here.” He pushed upright. “Anyone could unlock that door with nothing more than a credit card.”
“God. I should have thought of that. My apartment in Baltimore has three locks; two are dead bolts.”
“You can’t bully your way around in this neighborhood and then leave yourself open to attack.” He hated to harp on what she surely recognized at this point, but he needed to be certain the message got through. “You’re operating on emotion, and that can be hazardous to your health.”
“I can see that.” Her arms went around her torso again. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Consider yourself lucky that you’re getting another chance. Not all of Nash’s targets get that.”
A sedan pulled to the curb in front of her house. Braddock recognized the driver emerging.
Edward Abbott.
Abbott glanced at the official vehicles, then at the house. A uniform delayed him at the gate.
CJ was out the door and down the steps before Braddock could utter one of his usual negative comments about the guy.
Edward Abbott embraced CJ as if he hadn’t seen her in years. When he drew back he surveyed her from head to toe, then hugged her again.
Braddock moved across the porch and down the steps so he could hear the exchange.
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
She nodded. “Just a little shaken.”
Abbott’s head wagged. “I was afraid something like this would happen. You really shouldn’t be staying here. It’s not safe.”
CJ sensed his presence and turned to Braddock. “Edward, I believe you know Detective Braddock. He’s investigating Shelley’s murder.”
Abbott stepped forward, extended his hand. “We’ve met once before, I believe.”
Braddock shook the man’s hand. Firm, confident grip. “You would be correct.” Abbott had come over to check on Shelley when Braddock investigated the break-in nearly a year ago.
“Is there anything new on Shelley’s case?”
“We’re waiting on the autopsy results.” Sounded better than no.
“Ricky Banks is dead,” CJ told her friend. “Someone murdered him last night. In his aunt’s house.”
Edward frowned. “Isn’t he the man you suspected of . . . hurting Shelley?”
Hurting . . . yeah. Braddock resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. This guy was such a suck-up.
“Yes. But now I don’t know.” She glanced at Braddock. When he didn’t stop her, she added, “He may have been murdered by the same person who killed Shelley.”
“CJ, I must insist that for your own protection you stay at my home for the rest of your visit.”
Braddock’s cell phone vibrated. For once he was glad. This guy was about to make him gag. “Braddock.”
“I found it.”
Cooper.
“It?” Braddock’s attention was still on Abbott, who was countering each of CJ’s protests oh so eloquently and kindly.
“E. Noon. Get over here, Braddock. You’re not going to believe this.”