They nodded at Zach; he nodded back and glanced out the window as the police cruiser pulled up with Ron Epps in the backseat.
LOVE ME ’TIL DEATH
Lorie O’Clare
CHAPTER 1
CHASE REED SQUATTED over the victim. There was a thin roped bracelet around her left hand. Interesting.
“Sir, you can’t be here right now.”
Chase straightened, ready to pull out his badge. At least they’d finally turned off the strobe lights on the dance floor.
“I’m a special agent.” He paused, staring into dark green eyes. The woman pursing her lips didn’t blink as she focused on him. If he weren’t face-to-face with her he’d have missed the quick once-over she gave him. Too bad none of the ladies here in the club tonight came close to looking as good as this one did.
“I don’t care who you are,” she began, pointing to the other side of the yellow tape they’d just set up. “Wait. What did you say? Special agent, as in what?”
“FBI. I’m off duty but happened to be here.”
“Uh-huh.” She marched away from him, pulling her phone off her hip.
Chase watched her shift her weight, but looked down when she glanced over her shoulder, more than likely asking her supervisor if FBI were assigned to this case. He knew what the answer would be before she did. Taking advantage of the moment, he squatted again, getting another good look at the thin, twisted rope bracelet around the young girl’s wrist. He would swear it was the twin to the bracelet found on the dead girl last week.
“Look here,” the woman announced, standing on the other side of the dead body, glaring down at him with her hands on her hips. “FBI isn’t on this case, which I’m sure you know. Please leave.”
“Don’t want to see my credentials?” He reached into his back pocket.
The officer instinctively backed up, putting her hand over her gun and unhooking the clasp that held it to her belt. He’d be amused but knew she was serious. She didn’t know him from Jack.
“It’s okay,” he told her, holding one hand out to her, palm up, while easing his wallet out of his jeans and then flipping it up as he brought it around slowly for her to see. “Don’t get nervous on me.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking horse,” she snapped, eyeballing his identification. Then she took it from him, again walking away, this time with his entire wallet. Damned good reason to follow her in his opinion.
There were two other officers on the scene. The bartenders remained on their side of the bar, all of them appearing to be in shock. They’d finally cleaned out all the customers, who less than an hour before had filled this popular nightclub to where he wouldn’t be surprised if they exceeded the fire marshal’s code for capacity. Another man, ten years or so older than Chase, stood to the side of the scene and glanced at Chase’s wallet when the lady cop brought it to him.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, stepping around the hot investigator and meeting the older guy’s pensive stare. “That has all of my money in it.”
She held her grip on the leather wallet, scowling at him when he tried retrieving it.
“Chase Reed, Special Agent, huh?” She sounded disbelieving. “How come I don’t know you?”
“Did you get a good look at the body brought in last week from the club down the street?” he asked, ignoring her condescending tone. “And I live here. I decided to go out tonight.”
“I know every field agent working in Wichita. You aren’t one of them.”
“I said I live here. I didn’t say I worked here,” he corrected her. “Last I heard, enjoying downtime wasn’t a crime, although I know some supervisors who might argue that fact.”
Her badge was hooked to her front belt loop, making it impossible for him to see her name. Light red streaks ran through her blond hair, a shade he would bet was natural and explained her fiery redhead’s temper. Her cheeks flushed as she studied his face and then dropped her gaze to scrutinize his identification.
“An FBI agent, on or off the clock, would know enough not to interfere with a crime scene,” she said blandly.
Maybe one who followed the rules. “You’re right. I know that. I couldn’t get a good look at her bracelet from the other side of the yellow tape, though.” He wouldn’t point out that a good law enforcement team wouldn’t have allowed him to cross the tape. She didn’t look as if she were in the mood for insults.
“I’m sure you don’t mind if I run this in.” When she looked back up at him, she’d pressed her lips into a crooked, rather triumphant smile.
“I’m going wherever you take that wallet,” he told her, nodding at it.
“Why do you care about the bracelet?” the older guy asked, speaking for the first time. His badge was also attached to his belt, a convenient trick every detective used to keep anyone from knowing their name unless the officer wished to offer it.