yet. Three cruisers in the motor pool have been vandalized in the last week, and this department is stretched as thin as my momma’s gray hair.”
“She’s one of our own, Chief.” If his statement registered with Danbury, it was in the way his eyes narrowed for an instant and his shoulders sagged. “Spill it.”
Royce sat forward, feeling tension crank the muscles between his shoulder blades. “I know this guy is coming back for her. I don’t know when, I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I just know he is.”
“Cut the drama, Beckett. How much time?”
“Three days, more if necessary.”
Chief Danbury let out a puff of air and eyeballed him with skepticism from across the desk. “The report says the word behold was carved in the wood under a window. Any idea what it means?”
“No.”
“Did you ask Miss Charboneau?”
“I didn’t get the chance—”
“Then you better get cracking. You’ve got three days.”
Had he heard correctly? Three days to prove a theory that had churned up from somewhere in his gut?
“Thanks, Chief.” He stood up and hustled for the door.
“Don’t thank me yet. If anything comes in, I’m pulling you off this.”
He nodded and didn’t turn around. He couldn’t risk giving Danbury a chance to renege. It was going to be tough enough to hope another case didn’t come in and push hers down on the priority list.
Hanging a left at the end of the hall, Royce headed for Gina’s office, almost running into her as she stepped through the doorway.
“Hey, Ice Man, you better pull your head out of the clouds before you get hurt.”
Royce stopped short and glanced up, irritated with himself for not paying attention. “The Charboneau case.”
“Hmm. I don’t suppose you’d be this mushy-brained if she were, let’s just say, less than attractive.”
He gave her a serious stare. “Yes, she’s beautiful, but I’m only interested in doing my job, and catching the creep who kicked her door down and tried to abduct her.” He pulled in a breath, watching a slow smile bow Gina’s lips.
“Just checking to see if you’ve caught the bug, too, because in case you haven’t noticed, the single men in this department have lost touch with any measure of decorum they may have possessed. It’s Miss Charboneau this, and Adelaide that—”
“You’re jealous?” Royce followed her into her lab and leaned against the counter.
“No. But my date-night calendar for this weekend is empty. Care to disprove my observation? I’ll pencil you in.”
“Busy.”
“I was counting on you to be immune.”
He wasn’t immune, but he opened his mouth to quantify a denial.
Gina held up her hand, and the rebuttal stuck in his throat.
“Yes. I have some results on the Charboneau scene.”
He clamped his teeth together and smiled.
“Men,” she grumbled as she snagged a file from her desk and returned to the counter. “I’ll have you know she has turned every one of them down for a date in the past six months. I have no idea why they keep banging their heads against that wall.”
A measure of admiration circulated in his brain as he watched her open the file and spread out its contents.
“There were no prints on the duct tape, but I did find some fibers, possibly from a pair of gloves, which would explain why we didn’t find any foreign prints on the tape, or anywhere in the house.”
She slid the photo of Adelaide’s bound hands in his direction, exposing the one underneath. It showed the towel used to blindfold her, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the close-up of her lips that had made it into the top of the frame.
Full and supple, slightly parted. Sexy as hell.
The desire to connect them with his own, and part them even farther with his tongue, streaked through his mind before he could pull it back.
“The footprints from the kitchen floor, and the one from under the studio window, do they match?” he asked, more than ready to refocus his thoughts on the crime scene, rather than the crime’s beautiful victim.
Gina flipped the tantalizing photo over with a decisive slap. “No. We’re looking at two different sets of footprints. Two different subjects.”
“There’s no way to tell if they were made on the same night?” Concern laced through him.
“Not unless you’re some sort of human surveillance camera. It’s just the toe of a shoe, and the only reason I was able to cast it at all is because the overhang protected it from the downpour. Otherwise, it would have dissolved.”
Royce straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. “So we’ve got nothing from forensics except the revelation that there are two subjects out there who are focused on Miss Charboneau. One a brutal assailant willing to kick her door down and take her, and the other a Peeping Tom?”
“I’m sorry, Beckett. I wish I had more to give you.”
He tried to calm the frustration that frayed his nerves, and ground worry into his head, but every case was only as good as the evidence left behind by the perpetrator, and the memory of the victim, if they survived the ordeal.
Thank God Adelaide Charboneau had.
“You gave it your best shot. Thanks.” He flashed her a smile and left the lab.
The clock was ticking. One of the subjects would be back, and when he showed up again, Royce planned to be there.
ROYCE RAISED A CUP OF HOT coffee to his lips and pulled in a sip, watching Adelaide from over the brim as she worked her way along the front veranda watering her flower beds.
If she knew he was keeping watch over her, she didn’t respond any differently than she had for the last couple of evenings.
At dusk, she watered, her lights went out at ten and came on at six a.m.
Transfixed, he watched her drop the hose and deadhead a patch of bright pink petunias.
Tucking his finger in the crux of his tie, he pulled the knot down and fingered the top button of his shirt.
Why did observing her always make his temp rise, and his muscles tense?
She bent over, snagged the running garden hose, straightened and flipped back a mass of wavy brunette hair that fell well past her shoulders. Once again she aimed the stream of water and continued to move along the edge of the flower bed.
Royce’s
