Now was not the time.
And Nash was right. There was a line to be crossed here. Braddock wanted to lunge across it; he wanted it so bad he could taste it even as he walked away. But he had no choice but to wait. And when he had the evidence he needed, then he would cross that line so damned hard this piece of shit wouldn’t know what hit him.
Cooper followed Braddock out the door and to his SUV. She didn’t say anything, though he knew she wanted to, until they eased away from the curb.
“You can’t let him get to you like that.”
“Easy for you to say.” His fingers clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel. The rage pulsed beneath his sternum, ballooned in his chest.
“If the chief gets wind that you’re letting Nash get to you, he’ll take you off this case.” She stared at his profile. “I know you don’t want that to happen.”
That was the thing his partner didn’t understand: The only way Braddock would be off this case was if he stopped breathing.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Mill Village Clinic, 7:18 p.m.
CJ paced the pavement between her rental car and the clinic’s rear entrance. Where the hell was Cost?
She’d called him half an hour ago. How long did it take to get from the Ledges to here? Ten, fifteen minutes, tops.
The entire day had passed with her combing the city for Celeste Martin. CJ had started with a door-to-door search in the village. No one admitted to knowing the woman, much less having any idea where she might be.
Jenkins or one of his colleagues had followed her every step of the way. She’d gotten worried that no one would talk to her with him around, so she’d given him the slip.
It hadn’t been easy. She’d had to park down a narrow little road that only longtime residents of the village knew about. It paralleled the train tracks off the west side of Holmes. She’d waited a good twenty minutes and then she’d taken a back way through Huntsville Park to get back to the village.
It infuriated CJ that no one would open up to her. Every damned one she asked pretended not to know Celeste. That was bull. The girl had been working the streets around here for months. Sex workerswere like actors or secretaries or any other group of professionals: They chatted among themselves about the job.
She’d questioned folks at the supermarket parking lot. Then she’d moved to the store lot across the street. She hadn’t bothered with the mall across the Parkway—too much security for any of Celeste’s friends to mark that territory.
How could the girl have simply disappeared?
It wasn’t possible.
Unless . . .
Guilt congealed in CJ’s gut.
That girl was missing or in trouble because of CJ’s meddling.
Ricky Banks was dead. CJ had pushed him for answers about Shelley’s murder. Celeste Martin was missing and CJ had questioned her extensively. The girl had been too trusting or naive or maybe just desperate for someone to care not to realize her mistake until well after she’d made it.
Dammit.
CJ folded her arms over her middle and fought to contain her emotions. Her sister was dead. The police had no idea who had killed her. CJ’s efforts to solve the mystery were only causing more trouble.
Braddock had begged off the briefing he’d promised her. He and his partner were busy with this latest homicide. CJ understood. She’d decided to try to locate Celeste.
Celeste wouldn’t be missing if it weren’t for her ... would Ricky be dead?
CJ had no idea what she was doing.
Edward’s words echoed amid the whirling thoughts.
This is clearly further indication that you should go back to Baltimore. There’s nothing more that would prove constructive you can do here.
He was right about one thing. This morning had been a warning. She hadn’t told him about the cat blood message left on the wall her first day back here. It was bad enough she’d had to explain about the rabid addict at the clinic. He’d noticed the bandage on her throat.
