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He doubted she believed him. Not her. Heather kept a wall around herself, kept everyone in the post at a distance. Except her kid sister that worked in the forensics lab as of about a month earlier.
Heather had major Keep Away signs all over her. The Finley Creek boys were still trying to get past them. If she was going to be Major Crimes for long, she needed to open up a little.
Jarrod wasn’t a fool—with the TSP being as corrupt as the rumors said, some self-preservation was probably needed. For one’s own safety anyway. But Heather took that to the extreme.
Jarrod was still trying to figure Lieutenant Heather Holly Coleson out.
Just like he was still trying to figure out the elusive connection between all the mud that now coated Finley Creek.
“So what is the story with this woman here?” Heather pointed to the photo of Jennifer Henedy. “I recognize the other faces, but hers?—”
He told her. Talked to her about his theories. Until the blue light above the conference room door flashed. He paused. Tensed. That was the emergency signal. Used only in life-or-death situations featuring members of the TSP.
Everyone dropped everything when that light went off. Instantly.
Something had happened. Something big. That particular alarm was only used in the direst of situations. It hadn’t even been used once in the five weeks Heather had been his partner. “Let’s roll. That’s the all-hands call for Major Crimes.”
His gun and his badge were on the table. Jarrod scooped them up and pulled the private conference door closed behind them. Locked it. It would stay that way until he had his answers.
Daniel McKellen, his boss, was there in the bullpen. Prowling. Looking like a wild, caged animal at the moment. Almost panicked. There were others from major crimes there, now. All who was available.
Something bad. It was something bad.
Daniel didn’t look like that when it wasn’t.
Someone was in serious trouble now. Jarrod did a mental roll call of their people.
There was Dom Acardi, Murdoch Lake, and Lila Dodson. Sean Callum and Mike Evers were on their phones on opposite sides of the bullpen. Miguel Rodriguez, the head of the Major Crimes: Homicide department stood, large and menacing, behind Daniel’s shoulder. He was texting on his own phone.
There was real fury on that man’s face. Whoever had pissed off Miguel was on borrowed time. That man could terrify the devil when he looked like that.
Heather headed toward Miguel. They knew each other, had worked together before. She was comfortable with Miguel. Jarrod had his theories about those two whenever he saw them together. He just hadn’t confirmed them yet. Heather was different with Miguel. More open. A little more trusting. She laughed more. A lot more, when she was with Miguel, or he was around.
He kept counting their people.
Gunnar Erickson was missing. And some of the bozos from the other Major Crimes departments.
“What’s going on?” Heather asked.
“Abduction,” Daniel bit out.
“Who?” Jarrod asked. The look in Daniel’s eyes was one Jarrod would never forget. Wild pain, rage, fear. It was all there.
“Haldyn. They took Hallie.”
Haldyn. Shit.
“They almost took Powell Barratt,” Dom added.
Daniel almost snarled. “Gunnar was there, across the road when it happened. He interrupted before the attackers got both women. He has Powell with him now.”
Haldyn.
The real bane of Jarrod’s existence. Heather didn’t hold a candle to Haldyn Harris when it came to getting under Jarrod’s skin. That woman drove him insane. And not in a good way. The head of the forensics department, the keeper of the evidence.
Sacred goddess guardian queen of the vault, Murdoch had nicknamed her before. It was an accurate description. She definitely looked like a Greek goddess—pale, cold, and snotty, even while being damned beautiful. Untouchable.
Dr. Haldyn Devyn Harris. Abducted.
