Оценить:
 Рейтинг: 0

Double-Edged Detective

Автор
Год написания книги
2018
<< 1 ... 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 >>
На страницу:
9 из 12
Настройки чтения
Размер шрифта
Высота строк
Поля

“That’s fine.” She picked up a fork and tasted the dish. The eggs were fluffy and creamy, with a hint of something savory. “They’re amazing,” she remarked.

“You don’t have to sound so surprised,” he said with a laugh. “Although I have to admit, this is pretty much the extent of my cooking skills. Well, this and sausage gumbo.”

“You can make gumbo? That’s quite a talent.”

“My mother taught me how to make a perfect roux, and as anyone in Louisiana knows—”

“You can’t have a good gumbo without a good roux,” Nicole finished, smiling. “What’s in here that makes them so creamy? I know there’s no cream in the refrigerator.”

Ryker shook his head as he shoveled forkfuls of eggs down and chased them with coffee. “Mayonnaise.”

“Mayonnaise.” She’d never thought about mixing mayonnaise and eggs, although they obviously complemented each other perfectly. “And the savory flavor?”

“Onions. I had to use dried minced onions. You really don’t keep much food around, for a chef.”

Nicole’s mouth was full, so she had to swallow and drink some coffee before she could answer. “I told you. It’s a lot of trouble to cook for one person,” she said, wiping her mouth on a sheet of paper towel Ryker had folded for a napkin.

“Tell me about it.”

“But I am totally stealing your scrambled egg recipe,” she teased.

“No, you’re not. That’s my copyrighted recipe. Not unless you call it Eggs Delancey.”

“How about Ryker’s Amazing Morning-After Breakfast?” she teased.

“That’s a mouthful.”

She picked up her plate and stood at the very instant he did the same thing. They nearly collided.

Ryker slid his plate under hers and took them both. “I’ve got the dishes.” He leaned over and kissed her again. As before, it started as a tease, a little peck on the lips, but she leaned forward, too, and the simple little kiss turned into much more.

Ryker put his hand holding the mug around her and pulled her closer, until the plates in his other hand were pressing into her breastbone. Coffee and salt mingled with bits of egg as their kiss deepened.

Nicole felt the fire starting deep inside her. She made a little involuntary sound in her throat.

Ryker pulled back and looked into her eyes. “Think the dishes could wait?” he whispered.

“I definitely think they could—” A harsh jangle interrupted her.

“Damn,” he said. “That’s my phone.” He retrieved his jacket from the floor beside the front door.

It was William Crenshaw, a friend and fellow detective. “What’s up, Bill?”

“We got another one.”

“Another what?” Ryker glanced at Nicole. She was rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. He turned his back to her.

Bill sucked in a deep breath. “Another girl. Dead in her apartment.”

Ryker’s whole body went on alert. Everybody on the force knew about his certainty that St. Tammany Parish had a serial killer. Three young women had been killed in three years, all inside their homes, and all with weapons of convenience.

“When?” he barked.

“The Courtyard Apartments on Main Street in Chef Voleur. Neighbors saw her lying on her patio this morning. Looks like she collapsed while trying to escape.”

“Damn it. Today’s the—” he held the phone away from his ear and glanced at the date “—twenty-second. Okay. I’ll be right there.” Ryker hung up and turned to find Nicole looking at him. The running water was off. How much had she heard? He didn’t want her to know that another woman had been killed.

“You have to go?” she asked.

He nodded. “Got a situation.” He ran a hand across his damp hair.

“Is it bad?”

“It might be.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t know how you do what you do. Chasing the bad guys. Putting yourself in danger, day after day.”

He shrugged, suddenly wanting to be out of there, and not just because he had a new murder to investigate.

Nicole was going to keep on asking questions, and eventually, she’d get around to questions he didn’t want to answer. Questions she really didn’t want to know the answers to.

He tucked in his shirt, donned his shoulder holster and fastened it, and shook out his jacket. “I’ll see you later,” he said, glancing around to make sure he hadn’t left anything.

Nicole started toward him, but he grabbed the front doorknob.

“I’ll call you,” he tossed back over his shoulder as he headed out, closing the door behind him. As he vaulted down the stairs, he winced at his words. He’d meant them, but the offhand phrase had become a cliché for one-night stands. All he could do was hope that Nicole had sense enough to know that when he was called, he had to go.

He got in his car and took off, his mind already turning to the crime scene he was speeding toward.

October 22. The killer was right on time.

NICOLE TWISTED THE KITCHEN TOWEL in her hands as she stared at her front door. The best night of her life had suddenly turned sour.

Of course she understood that Ryker was a detective. Emergency phone calls and life-or-death situations were part of his job description. The fact that he’d rushed out so quickly wasn’t the problem.

His hastily thrown out I’ll call you wasn’t the problem, either. Although it did occur to her that he hadn’t asked for her phone number. A small pang of regret stabbed her in the chest. I would be a shame if he didn’t call.

But the bigger problem was, he’d lied to her about the call. Or at least he hadn’t told her the whole truth. She’d heard him say the date. Seen the look on his face as he listened to the caller. It didn’t take a genius, or even a detective, to figure out what that phone call was really about.

Nicole shivered. Ryker thought that the man who’d broken into her home, who’d taken one of her chef knives, who had already killed three women, had struck again.

RYKER SAT ON HIS HAUNCHES and studied the victim’s position. She was sprawled across the concrete floor of the patio, the back of her nightgown and the concrete floor around her drenched in blood. Ryker followed the trail of blood with his eyes, back to the patio door. He’d check with CSI about the blood patterns later, but from what he could tell, she’d been stabbed in the back just about the time she’d reached the patio door. She’d made it outside before she collapsed.

Drip patterns down her sides and the blood around her body told him she hadn’t died right away. She’d bled out right here where she’d fallen.

He took a quick look around the patio. It was the neighbors on the west side who’d called 911. The apartment to the east had a privacy fence. Bill had already questioned the couple that lived there. Apparently, neither one had heard anything.

He bent down, trying to get a good look at the victim’s face. She was older than his previous victims. He wasn’t a good judge of age, but he figured she was in her late thirties at best. A frisson of doubt slithered through him. If this was the work of his serial killer, the man had stepped outside the normal actions expected of serial murderers—again. This victim’s age was an anomaly. Ryker rubbed the spot in the middle of his chest where the frisson of doubt had lodged.
<< 1 ... 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 >>
На страницу:
9 из 12