Afterburn Read online

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  Explain it?

  Vallon sat too stunned to speak. She had a pretty good idea where the phone was, but there was no way the good detective was going to believe it. She felt beads of sweat form on her forehead. Not a good thing, but she held it together.

  “I have no idea where it is—was. I heard it. That’s all I know. I dialed his number and heard it—or something. I followed the sound into the garage. Simple as that. Maybe you should go search the garage again.” At least her voice was steady. His face said they both registered it.

  “We have.”

  The circulating air on her scalp went arctic. He must know he was getting to her. Coupled with the afterburn’s flare at his masculine presence, the fear and arousal sent weird flashes of hot and cold running through her.

  “Well, I heard it.”

  “Aah.” Another doodle and she leaned over to look at what he ostensibly wrote. He pulled his papers away and it pissed her off.

  “You say that as if you don’t believe me. How about we just put our cards on the table, Detective. I’m due at work and I don’t have time for mind games. I’ve told you what I know.” She stood again, hoping he wouldn’t call her bluff about work. It was only a little lie. “If you’ve got enough evidence to make a case against me tell me now, or else I’m out of here.”

  The thought crossed her mind to just walk out the door, but chances were he’d move fast enough to block her way. He looked athletic enough—like a well-ripped basketball player.

  “How long had you been Simon Lamrey’s lover, Agent Drake?”

  The quiet way he said it stole all the energy out of her anger.

  “Oh fuck. Is that what this is all about?” She sank down on her chair. “We dated for a month—six weeks—something like that. A casual thing, nothing serious. It ended two weeks ago.”

  “And one week ago you were seen at his apartment building in a major argument.”

  Vallon stiffened. “I won’t deny it. I did go to his place and we argued. I went to see him about the idiot things he was doing at work—like not responding to my calls. I was trying to get him to act like an adult. Which is why I didn’t send another Agent to check on him. I needed to deal with him myself.”

  “And because office romances are not exactly encouraged at the AGS?”

  “How did you—you interviewed Gleason.” Damn him. Damn them both.

  “Over the phone. He wouldn’t come in. Seemed a mite disappointed in you, though, Agent Drake.”

  She managed to shrug off her bitterness. Gleason was only the latest in a long line of men she’d disappointed. But that didn’t matter. They all went away anyway.

  “So you should know I’m telling the truth. I was trying to cover up a stupid office ‘romance’ as you put it. It ended up blowing up in my face.” She shook her head. “I suppose I should have just sent someone else and let the chips fall where they may.”

  “So tell me again what happened at the garage.”

  “I told you.”

  But his espresso gaze had gone hard, brittle, and black. She sighed.

  “What specifically is it you want to know?”

  “What you were doing when Officers Smith and Cain arrived at the scene.”

  “Again, I told you, Detective. Chest compressions.” But it had been so much more. The power flooding through her. Simon’s flailing body. Bryson’s gaze said they’d seen it, even though they didn’t know what it was. All the certainty she’d felt when she walked into the police station had changed to the emptiness she hadn’t felt since her father’s death. Why had Gleason left her to face this alone? Could they pin Simon’s death on her?

  Bryson shook his head so slightly it must have been involuntary. It almost looked like regret.

  “Perhaps it would interest you if I told you the preliminary results of the coroner’s examination.”

  He flipped open a file in front of him. Gruesome photos of Simon’s dead body filled the open file, but a scratchy hand-written report filled the other side. He flipped the file towards her, and she tried to focus on the words, but her gaze kept sliding to the photos. Simon like a slab of meat on a metal table. Photos of his hands, nails ripped as if he’d tried to claw at something. Deep bruises over his bare torso, his limbs. Had she done that?

  Suddenly she was choking back emotion, because this man had been her lover. And he was dead. He didn’t deserve it and it was her fault. She should have called for backup as soon as he didn’t respond. There might have been an agent closer. Might have been.

  And there might have been two agents caught by whoever worked the change.

  She looked at Bryson. “Did the CPR cause the bruising? I didn’t intend it to. I was trying to save his life.”

  “His ribcage was crushed, Agent Drake. So were his legs and arms. I wonder what could do that?”

  She shook her head.

  “Come now, you weren’t doing CPR, now were you? You were angry at Agent Lamrey. He made you risk your job, come out on a cold, rainy night to confront him. You were furious and your temper got the better of you. You beat him to death. And then—and this is the part I really don’t like—you took your time. Maybe he was still alive, maybe not, but you took the time to do this.”

  He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a familiar slim, black leather wallet. Her pen holder. He slammed it down on the table so hard she winced. Then he flipped open the other folder on his desk. In it was a plastic document holder that held the hurried drawing she’d made to free Simon. An archway in the wall. Simon sketched on the floor.

  The emptiness in her belly swelled as she met his gaze.

  “Maybe you’d like to explain: why’d you take the time to fucking sketch his picture.”

  Chapter 6 - Fractalization