BAD Beginnings Read online

  “On me or the entire investigation?”

  “Both, I gathered. He thinks it’s a waste of time. Your case is cold—frozen and you’re wasting money and time. If you don’t come up with something soon, you’re toast.”

  “As in fired?” The warmth of the morning sun did nothing to heat the chill that encompassed her. She had to get this guy. Not just because it would be impossible to find another precinct willing to take her on after a two-year dead end, but she owed it to them.

  In a naïve burst of ego, she had visited every family with missing members who seemed a possible victim. Most of them she had ruled out after the visit, but a few still bugged her. So much so that she had let them know the cases might be linked. No names were shared and no details, but just showing up gave them hope. God knows they needed it.

  After two years of following him, bugging his office and car, and wheedling her way into his trust—she was the one that had lost hope. Had she made a mistake? Until today she hadn’t thought so.

  “Earth to Gemma. Hello?”

  “Oh, sorry. I’m here.”

  “There’s not a whole lot I can get for you on Cozumel. Since no one followed him, we have nothing but data available. Hotel receipts, flight plans, rental cars, credit card reports, phone data—that’s all I can get.”

  She had known as much and rubbed her temple. Her boss had denied sending someone—too costly. Still, data was better than what she had now—nada. “That’s fine. Send it when you can.”

  “You got it. Hey, listen, since he’s being nice now why don’t you try using your charm?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, that’s right—you don’t have any.” Another loud cackle burned Gemma’s ear. “Put on a fancy dress and show up at his house with a bottle of wine laced with a good kick-in-the-ass. Seduce him, get him drunk, or both. Once he’s passed out, call me and I’ll help you do the search.”

  “He prefers to get his thrills up the nose.”

  “Even better. Whatever you do, get to it. You don’t have much time.”

  Gemma ended the call and tugged at the tight skirt. She hated dresses. Heels were even lower on her list. She missed the uniform and was embarrassed to admit such. Other girls loved designer clothes and had double digit numbers of shoes. She wasn’t one of those—until two years ago when she was offered this case. She should have question the assignment at the time or been frustrated by the blatant use of her gender, but she wasn’t. It was her shot and regardless of motive, she’d take it and ace it. Or at least that’s what she thought when it started. Her confidence had waned the last few months and she’d worked hard to gain Logan’s trust, something that wasn’t easy to achieve.

  What she’d give to put on a hip holster instead of taping a tiny revolver to the inside of her leg. She had a permanent bruise. God forbid she came upon an incident that required her to chase down a suspect.

  The door of the Starbucks flew open as she passed, a busy woman in a suit rushed past her with hands full. The aroma of coffee grabbed her attention. She glanced down the street in the direction Logan had gone then yanked the door open. She’d get a cup and perhaps wait to see what he did next. The line of three people moved lazily as each one purveyed the menu and struggled with their order.

  Gemma shook her head. Why do people get such a kick out of these ridiculously worded and intentionally grandiose words for the obvious? A large latté somehow became a Vente Skinny Latté with a double shot and cinnamon. Seriously? She wished she had thought of that. This chain of basic coffee stores with minimal crappy food made a killing off the idea.

  She refused to hop on the express train to yuppiedom though. When the woman at the counter asked for her order, she smiled. “Large coffee please.” Gemma noted the huff of aggravation as the woman rang up the order, took her money, and sent her to wait for her boring drink. Sorry to disappoint.

  “So, the cat’s away and the mice took no time at all to play, huh?” Gemma whirled to see the crinkle at the corner of Logan’s eyes. Up close. Too close. And once more, she felt the overwhelming urge to touch him. She’d run a finger over the tattoo earlier, surprising herself. It had been totally out of character. Before he’d gone to Cozumel, she never wanted within five feet. Now, as much as she knew he had something to do with her case—the desire to stroke fingers against those creases was strong. It was crazy, because she’d never even noticed them before.

  “Geez, Logan, don’t sneak up on me like that. You might end up with scalding coffee on that neat white shirt of yours. I thought you were going for a walk.” She tried to put distance between them but her back was wedged against the counter. She couldn’t shake the feeling something was different about him. He looked the same, albeit more scruffy. Before the vacation, he did nothing but bark orders. Standing this close would never have occurred. In fact, the moment she’d moved toward him—he normally turned away.

  She stood looking into dark eyes with tiny golden flecks of color and the testosterone-laden smell of his cologne put all sorts of stupid ideas in her head. Ideas that involved unbuttoning the starched cotton and squeezing her fingers over the tattoo again while reading words she’d briefly glimpsed. She blinked and bit into her lip to stop from salivating. For crying out loud, he was her boss—and her suspect.

  “Um, I was getting a cup of coffee before going back to the office. Want some?” As if to punctuate her words, a steaming cup was plopped on the counter behind her.

  He shook his bushy hair and the bangs fell softly into the gold flecks. Another urge to reach up and brush them aside hit her. “I just needed a short breath of air. The walk is over, want to go back? You can show me what I missed while I was out—and maybe tell me what the schedule for the week is. I’ve completely lost all concept of time and work.”

  She gnawed on her lip again and the slight taste of the coconut lip-gloss mixed with blood startled her. Not only had she lost complete focus and lacked progress on her case, now she was getting hormonal over the main suspect. It was stupid.

  “Sure, let’s go.” Still, she might as well take advantage of the time while he allowed it. She didn’t know when he planned to crawl back into that shell and cut off communication. Maybe she’d find something worthwhile to move the case forward. Or see him out of that shirt again. She frowned—get a grip and stop thinking like that.

  Logan whipped out a hand, reached toward the counter and snagged a napkin. “You’re bleeding.” For a second he leaned closer and looked at her mouth. She thought he was going to wipe the blood and dammit, she feared she’d lean her face into that hand if he tried.

  Instead he put the napkin in her hand and backed away. The air between them had been suffocating and she was glad to breathe again. Was it possible to be disappointed and relieved at the same time? She sipped the hot coffee, not even noticing it burned on the way down. “I think we should get you to Chaco’s before we return. I know. I know. Don’t get mad, the hair looks good—but with your mom coming and the meetings later this week, you won’t have time later. Okay?”

  She half-expected him to blow up—or just say no. He didn’t, he shrugged. “Whatever you say. You’re the boss.”

  She snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  “You’re a caffeine addict, you know. You should taper off, it’s not healthy. Judging by your muscle tone, I gather you care about that.”

  She raised a brow. He was telling her about health? The man with addictions that made hers look like a kid’s fetish with candy? She kept silent, mainly because he wasn’t aware she knew. As much as he’d been careful to lock everything up and keep her at a distance, there had been one time he’d slipped. He was in a hurry or maybe too hyped up, she wasn’t sure. She said nothing—no need to start an argument that might get her fired. She had put too many hours in this case and needed progress. That tiny bit of information into his character was a start.

  She’
d been able to dig enough to find his source and from there had started looking for more information. Her mind jolted back to the present when he took her arm and pressed her toward the door. “Lead on. You obviously think I need cleaning up so let’s get to cleaning.” His voice was gruff, but his face glinted with—something she’d never seen before. She swore if she didn’t know better, she’d think he had been brainwashed while away.

  “Was that another joke?”

  “Uh-oh. Two in one day. Will the joke police come swooping in now? Are you going to have a heart attack?” His fingers burned against her arm—something that really pissed her off. She was an officer of the law and he was the lead suspect in a series of missing person cases. This was ridiculous and so completely unprofessional to want—those hands. But she did.

  She swallowed, her adam’s apple surged painfully. “Okay, wisenheimer—I think the aliens kidnapped you in Cozumel. I don’t know who you are but you’re not my boss. He has no sense of humor at all, and couldn’t tell a joke to save his life. What happened to you?”

  A flash of something crossed his eyes. Fear perhaps? Disappointment? A taxi whirred past and his gaze followed it before answering in the soft husky tone that was also a new addition from the vacation. “Let’s just say I don’t want to be that guy anymore. If that’s who you think I should be, just say so. If everyone else wants me to be that guy, well, it’s going to be tough but I’ll try. Me? I just thought change might be good. Interesting even.”

  Next he was going to tell her he’d joined a convent and found religion. Or maybe he’d spent the entire time on the beach meditating and cleansing, which gave him a new perspective. His eyes were clear and bright void of spiny blood veins, which, if she was honest never happened. While his hair was shaggy, it smelled clean. It wasn’t oiled back as he normally did. The other look was more cosmopolitan but this one—definitely sexy. Sexi-er. Had he gone to rehab maybe? Was that why he’d disappeared?

  She focused on his face for a second and frowned. Rehab. Well, that was a shocker. Would it last? What triggered it? Would it help solve the cases? She prayed that maybe he also had a desire to confess and give himself up.

  She repeated his word, “Interesting,” then called Foster to bring the car around for them.

  Chapter Four

  Had she bought the story? I sure as hell wouldn’t. Who changed their colors that quickly or sporadically? None of the people he knew, that was for sure.

  Like she said, he wasn’t her boss. Thank God for that. Logan Indiris was one person he was glad not to behave like. Ironic since that’s exactly what he was doing. Pretending to be the asshole. Admittedly, even he probably came out smelling like a rose next to that dude.

  A thought popped into his head and Baden stilled. Had the man ever laid a hand on her? He shot a glance at her profile—not likely. She wasn’t the type to hang around for abuse, and very likely could kick his ass if he’d tried. Logan’s ass, not Baden’s. Nobody kicks my ass anymore. Regardless, the only certainty was that this woman would definitely not work for a man who hurt her physically. Mentally, she seemed to be okay with Logan’s Type-A shit, but that’s where it stopped. For some reason Gemma seemed one most likely to put a man in cuffs if he got physical.

  Besides Logan took his grievances out on people who either never saw it coming or were too weak to defend themselves—like the mystery date from the other night. Whoever that chick was, she had surprised him and given as good as she got in the end. Don’t forget you finished the job. His face was mashed potatoes when you left. Baden reminded himself that he should check the local hospitals.

  And not get overly comfortable with this life of luxury. He cast another glance at Gemma. Better not get too attached to the company either.

  He managed to grab a few minutes alone with a phone but it wasn’t until he made it back to the office several hours later. He checked the internet on Logan’s computer and found numbers for the hospitals, then dialed all of them. Not one had admitted a thirty-ish male with Logan’s description the night before. Where the hell was he? Had he just walked away? Was the man concussed and wandering around the streets all bloodied and incoherent?

  Or worse, was he sprawled in a ditch somewhere? To be safe, he dialed the coroner’s office and asked if there was some sort of death report for the past week. The person on the line hesitated at the question, which probably was an odd request. He made up a story. “I have a college friend who died in the hospital recently and I was hoping to find out where the funeral might be.”

  She advised that they’re not allowed to give out information to non-relatives. He should contact the family. That proved a dead end. It wasn’t likely that he’d ask Logan’s mom if her son showed up in a morgue at dinner tonight. Where else could he check?

  The thought was interrupted when one of the office staff advised him that his car was waiting to take him home. Home. Thankfully, Gemma wasn’t around when he departed.

  That evening he stared at his reflection in the gilded mirror above Logan’s bathroom sink. Logan’s pants and undershirt fit him like a glove. How weird was that? He had no idea how long he focused on the image in front of him. A complete stranger stared back. Was he really going to follow through on the parent meeting thing? He shook his head. No way.

  “Not your parents, you idiot. You don’t even know them.” Actually, it hadn’t sounded as if Logan knew them either.

  The bigger concern was, did they know Logan well enough to see through his charade? He smiled at the reflection, trying to fake the overconfidence he’d seen only briefly while driving the man.

  “Damn.” He sure as hell looked the part. Chaco, the surliest barber in the city, had done a good job. In fact, it was so good he fell into a deep slumber during the scalp massage. Somewhere during the process he had dreamed of women stroking his hair, caressing his shoulders, and—clipping his toenails? He frowned at the foreign face in the glass and looked down at his shoes. Was it a dream?

  Baden kicked off a loafer and slipped from the left sock. He’d never seen his feet without the callous on his outer toe…and buffed nails. Well, fuck me. Then that would mean—he lifted his hands and turned them over. Yep. That mani-pedi had really happened and he’d snored and drooled clean through the entire experience. God, he hoped he hadn’t actually said anything that went through his mind at the time. He vaguely remembered stumbling out.

  “Chaco’s pretty good for a transplanted mountain man, isn’t he?”

  Baden turned to the voice that was getting way too familiar and stopped in his sockless track. He stared at the low-cut gold dress that was painted on her health-club instructor body.

  “Holy shit, Gemma.” It just popped out. Probably like his eyes did. He didn’t like that her name had also. As if they were—old friends.

  She ran a nervous hand over the shiny cloth. “It’s a little too much, isn’t it?”

  Baden cleared his throat and hitched a brow. “Too much of what? You or the material?” Dammit. Why’d she have to show up looking like that? He had just about talked himself out of going to the parent dinner shindig and escaping from Logan’s life as well. In fact, he had been two minutes away from putting Baden’s shoe on and hot-footing it back to his rinky-dink apartment. Sure, he’d have to seriously kiss some ass to try to get his job back. Nothing he hadn’t already done just to get the piece of shit paycheck. He could handle groveling.

  Gemma crossed her arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Very funny. Are you going like that? I thought it was a formal thing. Did I get it wrong?”

  Baden doubted she got anything wrong. Ever. “Sorry. I’m behind. Had to do a little work first but I’ll change now. So what do you think I should wear to impress the new daddy?”

  “Like you really care about impressing. I half-expected you to wear shorts out of spite. Here, put this on.” She pulled a dark suit from the rack that was the exact duplicate
of the other four next to it. “You might as well wear your favorite.”

  His favorite of what, five suits with exactly the same shade of black? Without turning, he rasped the zipper down on his current slacks before an awareness of his audience kicked in. He darted a look over his shoulder and collided with her brilliant browns. “You planning to help? Or just gawk?”

  “You wish.” Gemma rolled her eyes, stepped away from the door, and removed herself from his presence. He chuckled at her flushed cheeks. So much for leaving.

  The suit was nice—and tight across his chest. Was it supposed to fit like that? The last time he’d worn a monkey suit, he’d been in court eight years ago. That suit was his father’s and hung off him like a rag. The overall feeling of wrongness returned. He had been a young man in another man’s clothes and another man’s crime then. Ironic if he thought about it. He had gone full circle. Now he was again in the wrong man’s clothes and the wrong man’s life. Yet it certainly tasted a lot sweeter. He remembered standing in front of the judge that doled out “justice”—when he still had hope.

  Hope that whoever really had done the damage would be found or ’fess up. Hope that they’d realize he wasn’t their guy. Hope that his old girlfriend, Natalie, would come out of the coma and prove his innocence.

  Hope disappeared with the years that he spent paying a debt to society that wasn’t his to pay. It was buried deeper when, after five years, Natalie woke—with permanent brain damage. She had been beaten within an inch of her life, and that inch was all that was needed to survive. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough to make her whole. Her memory was gone, along with a great deal of motor skills. According to her parents, she was in a home now, playing board games and singing karaoke. Of course they hadn’t told him; he’d learned from an old classmate.

  He had only gone out with Natalie four times, and to one high school dance before it happened so it was hard for him to grieve as much as the public expected. He had anger more than anything and that had been his downfall. His life had been ripped from his grasp when she disappeared—just as hers had ended. He hardly knew her yet he was supposed to be sad for her, not mad for his own situation. Everyone but his parents thought him responsible. In the end, they gave up as well.