Gibbs, a known pedophile, who’d confessed to the killing. The D.A.’s office was set to prosecute Gibbs for murder. Preliminary hearings in Gibbs’s trial made news reports almost every night.
The story made good press, Eli supposed. But until Gibbs was in prison and the girl’s story was laid to rest, there wouldn’t be any real closure for Kansas City or KCPD.
Now there was one cool lady, Eli mused, mesmerized by the TV screen.
Without batting an eye, Shauna looked into the camera and diverted attention away from that hot-button topic by talking about the bank’s two wounded security guards. “All of KCPD is keeping them in our prayers.”
“Do you have the officers’ names?” shouted another reporter.
“Not at this time. We’re waiting, of course, until their families can be notified. The men are in good hands at St. Luke’s Hospital, and I know their families will want to join them there.”
“What about the two men who were killed? And the man you took into custody?”
The first detectable glitch in her control came when she rolled her shoulders as if she’d suddenly discovered a stiff muscle, no doubt a result of Eli’s flying tackle. But she still made no mention of him.
Michael Garner had noticed the change, too, as he dragged his gaze from the audience down to the woman at his side. He whispered something to her, out of ear-shot from the camera. Shauna shook her head and crossed her arms in front of her, rubbing her palms along the sleeves of her white blouse as though nothing more ominous than a chill had shivered through her.
“We’ll be sharing more information as it becomes available,” she continued, ignoring Garner and her own discomfort. “In the meantime, we appreciate you honoring the guards’ privacy and giving the doctors time to do their work. Thank you.”
Before the news clip faded and the picture returned to the studio anchors, Eli zeroed in on the blood staining the commissioner’s cuffs. The tension in his neck shifted and throbbed at his temple. He reached up and touched the two butterfly bandages that cinched the wound in his hairline.
Was that his blood? For all her cool, calm and collected facade, Shauna’s hands had been surprisingly warm and urgent as she’d tended him. And her shapely body had shaken with fear, or perhaps simply an over-abundance of adrenaline, when she’d been sandwiched between Eli and the floor.
“What the hell?”
Before Eli could quell his hormones’ masculine response to the vivid memory of his boss’s subtle feminine attributes, her grown son shot to his feet, swearing at the television.
“What?” Baldy asked, scrambling to catch up with his partner’s mood swing.
“Did you see her clothes?” Cartwright tugged his cell phone from his pocket. “She didn’t tell me she got hurt.”
Eli drained the last of his coffee and observed the interchange, a very curious fly on the wall.
Mr. Comedy sobered up with a remark to calm his partner. “If it was serious, she would have told you. I heard she gave first aid to one of the downed guards. It’s probably his blood, not hers.”
Cartwright punched in the number. “Damn it, Coop, I’m calling her.”
Baldy stood and tapped his fingers against his partner’s fist. “Seth, your mom’s a grown woman. And she didn’t get the job she has just because she’s pretty. She can take care of herself.” He crushed his paper cup and made a neat, three-point shot into the trash can. “Besides, Captain Taylor will be waiting for us. Maybe he’s going to finally brief us on that gambling case he wants us to work on.”
“I guess you’re right.” Seth Cartwright paused to consider his partner’s words, though his posture remained stiff and unyielding. “But after the meeting—”
“—I’ll dial the number myself. C’mon.”
Cartwright nodded. He flipped his phone shut and turned to follow his partner from the room. That’s when he realized the six-four fly on the wall had never left the room. Cartwright’s chest expanded with a deep breath as he glared at Eli. “What?”
Eli shrugged off the taunt. “Nothing. Just got caught up in the news report. The commissioner’s your mother?” No response. Why didn’t that surprise him?
Thick arms crossed in front of his wrestler’s chest. “You’re Masterson. That I.A. guy who’s going after Detective Banning, aren’t you?”
Going after? Hell. Would it kill anybody to say good morning around here? “How about, I’m the I.A. guy who’s doing his job? Just like you. Banning has nothing to fear from me unless he did something wrong. Personally, I don’t think he did.”
“Uh-huh.”
The visual standoff lasted a split second longer before Seth’s partner, Coop, called him to get his butt in gear and get to the meeting. With a dismissive nod, effectively telling Eli to mind his own business and keep any comments about Seth’s mother to himself, the young officer strode from the room.
So Seth Cartwright was defensive about his mom. His partner’s teasing was probably a mild example of the heat he took from his coworkers for being the head honcho’s son. Probably had to prove himself a dozen times over to show he’d earned his spot on the force.
Of course, the young man had almost blown a gasket when he saw that blood. Maybe he wasn’t defensive about his mom so much as he was defensive of the woman who’d raised him. Eli could have confirmed that none of the blood on the commissioner’s clothes was her own. But it wasn’t his place to say, nor was it his habit to make friendly reassurances.
Time to seek out Merle Banning and finish up the paperwork. Eli was anxious to clear his desk before he had to sit down and answer to a hearing about his involvement at yesterday’s bank shooting. At least his name and face had been kept out of the media. Publicity generally meant even closer scrutiny. And while Eli had developed a knack for flying under the radar, he knew it was only a matter of time before one of his colleagues at I.A. called him into his or her office.
Eli hadn’t even cleared the doorway when his cell phone rang. If he was a superstitious man…
Shaking his head, he pulled the phone from his belt and glanced at the number. Though he recognized the KCPD prefix, the number was unfamiliar. Hell. Why not? He wasn’t superstitious.
He pressed the Talk button. “Masterson.”
“Detective.” The woman at the other end of the line breathed a sigh of relief before slipping into a more familiar clipped and confident mode. “It’s Shauna Cartwright.”
“Ma’am.” His initial surprise at hearing her voice gave way to a misplaced pleasure, and more quickly to irritation. Shauna Cartwright had no reason to call him, except for business. And the only business they had in common was the damned paperwork for yesterday’s robbery/homicide. He’d barely had a chance to scribble his notes, much less get them typed up. “If you’re looking for my report, tomorrow’s the earliest I’ll be able to get it to you. And that’s working on my own time.”
Working off the clock certainly wasn’t unheard of in his profession, but it would be damned annoying if he had to
