Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2, Carol Ericson [good book recommendations TXT] 📗

“Get used to it, McAllister. I’m part of this task force—whether you like it or not.”

CHAPTER TWO

He didn’t like it—not at all.

His hazel eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, as if he’d just gotten juiced up with adrenaline and was debating between fight and flight. As if Jake McAllister would ever flee from conflict. Quite the contrary. He had a reputation for courting it.

Castillo sliced his hand in the air to cut the tension vibrating between her and Jake. “McAllister, you know Kyra Chase, right? She did a great job on Verona’s case a few months ago. Put the department in a good light by assisting with the victims in those gang retaliation shootings, got some cooperation from family members we never expected.”

“I know of her.” Jake thrust out his hand in an aggressive gesture. “Detective Jake McAllister, Ms. Chase.”

She clasped his hand, and its warmth and strength rattled her even more than the gesture itself...and the fire in those eyes that had just turned green. “You can call me Kyra. Captain Castillo has assigned me to your task force as a liaison between the victims’ families and the investigation.”

“You won’t be doing any profiling of the killer or coddling any suspects we bring in?” He released her hand abruptly.

She tilted her chin in a challenge. She knew her meeting with McAllister would be adversarial—she just didn’t realize how much she would enjoy it. “That’s not my job and never has been.”

“It shouldn’t have been your colleague’s job, either.”

Castillo cleared his throat. “The Lindquists are going to the morgue tomorrow to identify their daughter. I want both of you there...and civil.”

Jake rolled his shoulders. “I’m always civil.”

Lieutenant Fields, who’d been quiet through the exchange, snorted and patted Kyra’s back. “If you want any tips on how to deal with the ogre, let me know.”

Kyra let her eyes wander the length of Jake’s fit frame. She’d dealt with worse. “I know you’re a top-notch detective, and I look forward to working with you.”

She could lie with the best of them, but those two statements were nothing but the truth. Of course, she’d be looking forward to working with Jack the Ripper for a chance to get on this task force.

Jake nodded once. “I’ll get your number from the captain, so we can organize for tomorrow.”

“I’ll be ready.” She took her leave of Captain Castillo and Lieutenant Fields and strode from the conference room, which had mostly cleared. Although she could feel McAllister’s gaze following her, it would be foolish to turn and acknowledge it, acknowledge him.

She didn’t like him any more than he liked her, but she’d face a blazing inferno to stay on this case—and that’s exactly what Jake McAllister might prove to be. She’d just have to avoid getting burned.

AFTER SITTING IN traffic for two hours, Kyra poured herself a glass of chilled chardonnay and curled up on her couch with a file folder in her lap. Some people settled in with a good book. She preferred files on murder cases.

She took a sip of wine, the crisp, fruity flavor sliding down the back of her throat and creating a warm spot in her belly. Sometimes she needed something stronger to get through this stuff, but a glass of wine on an empty stomach would suffice for tonight.

She flipped open the folder and shuffled through her notes. She didn’t have anything official from the LAPD yet, but she’d get her hands on everything despite Jake McAllister. She understood his distaste for her wasn’t personal. She didn’t even blame him, but he should do a better job of reining in his emotions. If he wanted lessons, she could oblige.

She ran a finger down a page of notes, pausing at each bullet point where her pen had dug a small hole next to a fact she knew about the two murders. The police hadn’t yet released certain details about the homicides, but at the task force presentation Castillo and McAllister had confirmed what she’d already heard—the killer had stuck a playing card between the lips of each of his victims and had removed her left pinky finger.

Kyra flicked her thumb against her own pinky finger and clamped down on a shiver that threatened to rampage through her body. She took another sip of wine, savoring it before swallowing.

The task force would probably reveal one of the killer’s proclivities and keep the other one close to the vest to weed out the fakes, frauds and wannabes. Twenty years ago, Roger Quinn had disclosed the card, which was how The Player had gotten his name, but the public never knew about the severed fingers.

That didn’t mean the information never got out. People talked.

Had this killer heard the stories? Was he anxious to pick up where The Player had left off? There were cold cases in the annals of the LAPD, but not many serial killer cold cases. Usually, murderers got sloppy or arrogant or desperate for the recognition they felt was their due. But not The Player. She had no doubt he was arrogant, though he’d never been sloppy and he’d never contacted the press or the police to crow about his achievements.

She slid the folder from her lap and rose from the couch, holding her wine in front of her. She placed the glass on the kitchen table and ducked into her bedroom. She swung open the door to her walk-in closet, a rarity in these older, rent-controlled apartment buildings in Santa Monica, and shoved aside some blouses hanging on a lower rod, not doing a great job of hiding her safe. She tapped in the code, her mother’s birth date, and waited for the green light to flash its welcome.

She pushed aside her passport, birth certificate and the release papers from LA’s foster care system and curled her fingers around the soft, worn edges of a manila envelope. The sharp stub of the clasp, long since broken off, scratched her finger as she slid the envelope from the safe.

Leaving