have information about a homicide that occurred ten years ago. Thank God it wasn’t one of Sam’s cases, Grant thought as he idly watched the redhead sweep her hand through the air to make some point. If it had been, he’d be the one sitting there with his eyes crossed, instead of Ford.
Grant caught movement at the door, turned his head in time to see Julia Remington breeze in. She was slim, beautiful and had an enviable homicide clearance rate. The printout draped over her arm was thick enough for Grant to know he’d be working some heavy duty overtime. “You owe me big bucks for this, Pierce,” she said, then plopped the printout onto the clutter in the center of his desk. “Pay up.”
“Pay up? You’re married to the CEO of Remington Aerospace, and you’re trying to extort money from me?”
She smirked. “This coming from the guy who lives on his family’s estate, wears Armani suits and Gucci.”
Grant raised a shoulder. He was independently wealthy, having inherited a nice little enterprise called Pierce Oil, the company left to him and his older brother years ago when their parents died in a plane crash. The only thing Grant had ever wanted to be was a cop, so he gladly left the running of the company to his brother. But he didn’t try to hide the fact that he lived beyond his city salary.
“Give me a break, Julia. I live in the guest house. I haven’t bought a new suit in months, and the Gucci shoes are two years old.” He gave her a caustic grin. “How come you’re so prickly? You chip a nail when you went to Communications to pick up the printout for me?”
“Stuff it, Pierce.” She slid a hip onto the edge of the desk and swept her hand toward the pages. “The names are in alphabetical order. The only Whitebear that NCIC lists is your buddy Ellis.”
“Great.”
There had to be a missing twin, Grant thought. He’d hoped the ghost search he’d run through the National Crime Information Center for all Native American males with the same date of birth as Ellis Whitebear would bring up the man’s brother. Maybe it had, Grant mused as he thumbed through the printout’s pages. If a different family had adopted Ellis’s twin, then he’d probably be using that family’s surname. And maybe a different date of birth, if that date had been unclear when their mother handed her two-month-old sons over to the state of Texas. Or, maybe the twin hadn’t ever been arrested, never did military service, had no mental health commitments or contracts with law enforcement. If so, he wouldn’t show up in NCIC’s database.
“Dammit, Sam and I closed this case. It’s not supposed to jump up two years down the road and bite me on the rear.”
Julia skimmed her gaze to the desk that butted up to the front of Grant’s. “Any idea how long it will be until they bring in someone new?”
“No.”
“Whoever it is will be your partner. The lieutenant will ask for your input.”
Grant kept his eyes off Sam’s desk. The day before, he’d finally boxed up the photo of his partner’s wife and kids and the Mickey Mantel-autographed baseball Sam had displayed on one corner of the desk. After adding the cache of cigars and personal papers he’d dug out of the drawers, Grant had taken the box to Sam’s widow. He wondered how long just looking at the now-bare desk would put a knot in his gut. He couldn’t even think about anyone else taking up residence there. “If Ryan asks, I’ll tell him to take his time.”
Julia nodded as she thumbed through a stack of messages she’d picked up from the secretary’s desk on her way in. “Meanwhile, let me know if you need any help. Halliday and I just cleared our last open case.”
“Lucky you.”
She hesitated. “I almost forgot. Lonnie asked me to tell you Sky phoned while you were on your last call.”
“Thanks.” Grant set his jaw against the instant zing that shot through his blood. For six months, he and Sky had avoided each other. He knew she was probably calling to tell him she’d gotten the results from the blood samples she’d sent to the OSBI. Nothing between them had changed, he reminded himself. If it wasn’t for work, they still wouldn’t have anything to say to each other.
“Don’t bother calling the lab,” Julia said when he reached for his phone. “Lonnie said Sky is at the Training Center teaching recruit school this afternoon. She’ll call you back when the session’s over.”
“Yo, Remington,” one detective bellowed from across the room, the cord on his phone dangling from his fingers. “Your old man’s on line three.”
Sighing, Julia slid off the desk. “Sloan would love hearing himself called that.”
After Julia moved off, Grant retrieved the printout she’d left, intending to start scanning the names. Ten minutes later, his forehead creased when he found himself still staring at the first page. His mind ought to be centered on the computer-generated names, not on Sky Milano’s take-you-to-heaven blue eyes.
“Get a grip, Pierce.” It annoyed him that he hadn’t been able to completely forget her over the past six months—more, that he’d been unable to lock her out of his head since she’d walked into the FOP club five nights ago. One of his cases had turned to hell, and that was what he should be focused on. Only that. Instead, he felt himself being pulled by a woman who had made it clear she didn’t trust him, and had forced him out of her life.
He was achingly aware that he wanted to see her, not talk to her on the phone.
Cursing himself for a fool, he rose, jerked his suit coat off the back of his chair and stalked toward the door.
The white-haired, bespectacled secretary glanced up from behind a desk piled high with files. “Where’re you headed, Pierce?”
“Recruit school,” he muttered.
Thirty minutes later, an OCPD academy instructor pointed Grant toward the gym. He went through the high double doors and froze. He blinked as if to clear his vision, but there was nothing wrong with his eyes. It was his heart that had stopped at the sight of Sky lying flat on her back, her dark hair tumbling over her shoulders as her hand rose silkily upward and slid around the neck of the man straddling her.
“What the hell?” A mix of anger and fang-infested jealousy consumed Grant. Then he saw red.
Fists clenched, he’d made it halfway across the gym’s waxed floor when the man’s head jerked up. A second later, the triumph in the bastard’s eyes shot to wariness, then his body jerked and flew sideways. Air escaped his lungs with a muffled “Oof” when he landed hard on the padded mat that covered a section of the wood floor.
Grant skidded to a halt just as Sky bounded to her feet, clearly unaware of his presence. “Okay, recruit, you wanted to know how to get up when somebody has you down. That’s how.”
Face flushed, lungs heaving, the man looked up and shook his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stop saying Yes, ma’am, and get up!” Sky commanded. “If you stay down, Johansen, you’re a target.”
He got up…slowly.
“Fast. Get up fast. You’re vulnerable when you’re down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Through hooded eyes, Grant watched
