Chapter One
Tall, dark, and handsome. Those words fell terribly short of describing the US Marshal standing next to Rochelle Paddock’s service vehicle. The man had been patiently waiting.
“Sorry,” she offered, still distracted as she sat in her SUV, reading the new missing-person report. “Be with you in one second, sir.”
“Everything alright?” the marshal asked as he quirked an eyebrow.
She’d been asked to assist him in serving a federal warrant since the perp had been turned in by a relative who’d been pressured to take him in.
Austin was the PD’s jurisdiction. They were always willing to cooperate with other government agencies.
Rochelle shook her head. “This is the third missing person in a couple of weeks. I’m afraid we have a serial criminal on the loose, and I need to have a conversation with a guy we have a picture of, but not a positive ID.”
The marshal frowned. “My name is Camden Remington, and I’d like to offer my services since we’ll be working together anyway to serve a warrant once we finalize the felon’s location.”
“Rochelle Paddock,” she said, skipping the labels like detective and Austin PD since the marshal—Camden—already knew that about her. “Never hurts to have a fresh set of eyes on a case.” She glanced at him. “Take a look at this.”
The missing-person report wasn’t the reason they were joining forces today, but a fresh perspective from someone else in a different branch of law enforcement never hurt.
Camden leaned in. His spicy scent filled her as she replayed the footage from the bar where the victim had last been seen.
“Wait a minute,” he said. “Do you mind playing that again?”
Rochelle zipped to the part where a ball-cap-wearing male walked out of the nightclub, holding hands with the victim. He’d been smart enough to keep his head down so the camera above the exit couldn’t get a good read.
“I know that guy,” Camden said.
“How?” she asked.
“I’m the one who arrested him two years ago,” Camden explained. “He just got out for good behavior, and I was planning to swing by his apartment while I’m in Austin to check up on him. I don’t have to remind him how fast he can end up back in jail if he breaks the rules of his parole.”
This might be Thanksgiving week, but it was beginning to feel like Christmas morning. “What charges did you arrest him on?”
“Mail fraud and identity theft,” he said. “If you want to talk to my guy before we serve my warrant, I’m coming with you. I know where he lives.”
“Which is?” she asked.
“East Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and Springdale area,” he said. “Sentinel Apartments. Number three.”
Rochelle looked into the most mesmerizing pair of clear, Caribbean-blue eyes framed by a set of the thickest, blackest lashes that would make most women envious. It would be impossible to turn down those baby blues.
Camden Remington was seriously hot—so much so that he made everyday things like coming up with a well-thought-out response to the simplest question feel next to impossible.
He caused her throat to dry up and her cheeks to flush the second their gazes touched.
What the hell? Was she suddenly fifteen and talking to the high-school quarterback again?
The marshal was around six-three with a frame filled out with just the right amount of long, lean muscle. Camo pants hung on hips attached to a torso that formed an improbable V. Feeling an attraction wouldn’t be unprofessional. Acting on one, on the other hand, would.
Rochelle gave a mental headshake and refocused. “Let’s go for a ride then since you know where we’re going.”
Camden circled the vehicle and then climbed into the passenger seat of her SUV.
“Does this perp have a name?” she asked.
“Kage Durham,” he supplied.
Camden might not believe in luck, but he believed in good timing.
Approaching the detective’s service vehicle as she’d waited for him in the parking lot of the Austin PD substation had been just the right moment.
He’d been meaning to check up on Kage while in town.
This gave him a good reason to show up unexpectedly and question the man Camden was certain had been involved in more serious crimes.
Still, mail fraud and identity theft were a far cry from kidnapping charges.
The man in the grainy video resembled Kage, and the man lived nearby.
That didn’t make the ex-con guilty, but the surveillance footage painted a picture.
Kage was most likely the last person who’d seen Justina before her abduction.
“How do you know the suspect?” Rochelle, a stunning redhead if ever there was one, asked.
The detective had all the features he loved—doe eyes, pink, heart-shaped and extremely kissable mouth, and long red hair tied back in a ponytail.
There was an intensity about her that made him want to get to know her and dive into what brought out that serious line that was etched into her forehead—a line that shouldn’t be sexy but was.
Camden guessed the detective was in her early thirties, very early. Which meant she was also very focused on her career to have made detective so soon.
“Durham swore he was innocent.”
“Don’t they all?” she quipped.
“That’s the truth,” he muttered with a nod.
“You have a perp who was recently released and now we have three missing persons in a matter of weeks,” she said with a sharp sigh. “Which means he got busy immediately after his release—if this is our guy.”
“Maybe he was making up for lost time,” Camden reflected.
“Maybe,” she echoed.
“Let me see if I understand the current situation correctly,” he began after reviewing the report a second time. This round, he looked for any additional clues Kage could be the perp.
Rochelle nodded as she turned onto East Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard.
“The victim was last seen walking out of a nightclub with a man who resembles my felon, but all we have to prove it so far is grainy surveillance video.” It wasn’t much to go on and wasn’t nearly enough to even think about getting a warrant to search Kage’s apartment.
Plus, Kage was smart and cunning enough not to bring a kidnapping victim to his apartment.
The man had struck Camden as maybe a little too smart for his own good.
Smart criminals got away with murder. Smart criminals repeated their behavior.
Smart criminals were the serial killers who evaded suspicion for too many years.
Something about Kage had gnawed away at the back of Camden’s mind for years.
“That’s correct, sir,” Rochelle said.
“Camden,” he reminded her.
“Then call me Rochelle,” she offered. “Please.”
“Will do, Rochelle,” he said before refocusing on the grainy image that could be Kage.
The guy in the photo was a decent size, roughly six feet tall and built.
He appeared more muscular than Camden remembered Kage being, but jail time in a federal prison could do that to a person.
With nothing else to do, inmates worked out in the yard, bulking up.
Plus, pictures could be deceiving, distorting a person, object, or thing based on perspective.
Camden wanted to get eyes on Kage.
Rochelle pulled into a parking spot in the one-story, run-down apartment complex. Apartment home, Camden corrected. He’d been schooled on the new terminology while talking to a leasing agent a couple of weeks ago. The new term didn’t quite fit with what looked like a roach-infested dwelling.
Whatever. He would try to remember the next time he spoke to a leasing agent, whose job was to “sell” a tenant on a lease with fluffy language.
There wasn’t anything homey about the long brick building that resembled a pay-by-the-hour motel.
“Do you want to take the lead since you have a relationship with this person?” Rochelle asked.
“He won’t be happy to see me, considering the last time we came in contact was when I arrested him,” Camden pointed out. “And I don’t want to overstep my bounds since this is your department’s case.”
“Alright then,” Rochelle said.
In truth, Camden hoped the beautiful female detective might catch Kage off guard and maybe trip him up.
They exited the SUV and walked side by side to apartment number three.
Out of the vehicle, Camden noted the detective wore a pair of black slacks that did little to hide long, slender legs.
She was tall, maybe five-eight, with legs for days.
It wouldn’t surprise him to learn she’d played volleyball at some point in her past, though she had more of a runner’s build.
Even a buttoned-up blouse couldn’t hide her figure.
A hint of pink silk could be seen over full breasts—breasts that he forced his gaze away from before his physical assessment crossed a line.
Whether folks wanted to admit it or not, they were always sizing others up, males and females.
The brain took inventory as part of an age-old survival mechanism.
It noted if someone was thin or thick, muscled or scraggly, tall or short, along with many other details in the event a fight broke out.
In his line of work, he noticed temperament too.
Working with a hothead or an officer with a huge ego generally meant tensions soared faster in tenuous circumstances.
It could mean the difference between needing to draw his weapon and/or defend himself against a perp.
Camden fell on the calm side of temperament. He was a better negotiator, a peacekeeper. He always looked for nonviolent solutions and ways to bring calm to a situation.
Rochelle’s stunning looks most likely caused perps to confuse her for being softer. It could mean she had to defend herself more often than other cops if she was viewed as being weaker.
In his case, all he had to deal with was an inconvenient temptation.
Being attracted to the leggy redhead didn’t mean he had to act on his physical reaction to her.
His brain was also taking notes with regard to her ability to back him up should a deadly situation arise.
Survival at its most basic, given Camden’s chosen profession.
Noticing she was the most intensely beautiful woman he’d ever encountered was a byproduct and not his original intent.
Whoa, there, Camden. You just came up with a whole defense about why you noticed the woman was beautiful.
You’re in deep.
Camden would never let his relationship with Rochelle enter unprofessional territory. He couldn’t go there. In fact, this was a good time to file away the description beautiful detective and actively ignore the strong pull toward the person he’d just met.
Three rapid knocks on the door were followed by Rochelle identifying herself as law enforcement.
A figure passed behind the peephole, and then the door immediately swung open.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Kage immediately said, blocking their entry with his frame. He leaned against the doorjamb and folded his arms across a broad chest.
Rochelle introduced herself as Kage studied Camden.
“No need to say your name, Marshal,” Kage said, his gaze steady on Camden. The chip on Kage’s shoulder had grown into a boulder.
“Mind if we come inside?” Camden asked, figuring there was no need to tap dance around their desire to check his apartment.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Kage countered, not budging. A quick appraisal said he’d been working out while in prison. He hooked his chin toward Camden before shifting his gaze to Rochelle. “What’s he doing here?”
“Marshal Remington is accompanying me on an investigation,” Rochelle explained.
Kage rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe this was happening. “Am I a suspect or a witness?”
“That’s what we’re here to determine,” Rochelle said, palming her cell phone. She’d removed her hand from resting on the butt of her Glock to retrieve the phone. After validating her facial ID, she pulled up the picture from the department’s missing-persons report. “Do you know this woman?”
Realization as to why they were at Kage’s doorstep dawned.
He started shaking his head almost immediately.
“No, I don’t,” he said without hesitation, which was generally a sign of someone telling the truth.
Or a practiced liar. Psychopaths and narcissists had their own set of rules.
But Kage was neither, as far as Camden could determine.
The man was, however, a criminal. That fact couldn’t be denied. The extent of which was in question. Camden intended to find the answer.
“Why would I do anything to jeopardize my parole when I’ve barely been out more than a month?
” Kage said with a burning fire behind his eyes.
Daggers were being shot at Camden too. Hot, burning daggers from eyes that would probably like nothing more than for Camden to toss aside his weapons and go toe-to-toe with the former inmate.
“No one said you did,” Rochelle said, drawing attention back to her and away from Camden.
Normally, Camden was the one to defuse tense situations. Kage had a serious bone to pick with him for doing his job.
Or was there more to it?