Trap 'N' Trace (Federal K-9) Read online

  Turning abruptly, he snapped his fingers. “Remy. Angus.” The dogs leaped to their feet and followed him. He went outside, nodding to the guard who’d stepped from his vehicle.

  Dayne started down the driveway as the dogs scampered onto the grass, sniffing and doing their stuff. The night air was cool and felt good on his face. If there was any chance at all that he could get some sleep, he needed to walk off all the caffeine shooting through his system faster than a speeding bullet.

  Caffeine wasn’t why he was so twisted up inside. It was because she did deserve better. Better than those sycophantic women masquerading as her friends. Better than Colin or that faceless asshole, Chad.

  Better than me.

  He stopped in his tracks. That was the realization eating him alive.

  He’d never be good enough for her, either.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kat woke to the French mantel clock ticking away on her nightstand. Green onyx surrounded the gilded metal face that told her she needed to get her lazy ass out of bed.

  Turning her face into the pillow, she swore she could smell Dayne’s aftershave. She drew him into her lungs, reliving every lust-filled moment.

  She snapped her eyes open. What am I doing? Daydreaming about what happened was self-destructive and would only get them both into trouble again. Damn him for comforting her and holding her while she cried her eyes out. Damn me for reaching for him.

  “I’m an idiot,” she whispered.

  Last night, when she’d gone downstairs, she’d lit into him. Now she felt horrible. The blame was more hers than it was his. She’d wanted something and taken it. Tried to, anyway. Acting recklessly was so outside the box for her. Everything about Dayne was outside her neat, always-tidy box. He’d done something to her that could never be undone.

  He’d made her want him.

  Despite their extreme differences, she’d genuinely begun to like him, and that only made it worse. Not only was she ridiculously attracted to him, now she had feelings for him. Strong feelings.

  Last night, he’d been a perfect gentleman to people who didn’t deserve it. He’d done it for her. Because they were her friends. In the span of five days, he’d done more for her and exhibited more kindness to her than most people had. Then again, maybe it was only out of a sense of duty.

  She flung back the covers and threw on a pair of black nylon sweatpants and racerback bra. After tying her hair in a high, tight ponytail, she tiptoed down the stairs, hoping to miss Dayne. Despite their nice little chat in the library last night, the awkwardness between them was still thick enough to cut with a knife.

  Neither of the dogs or Dayne was in sight as she slunk through the kitchen and down the basement stairs. A quick stretch later and she was kicking and punching the living daylights out of the heavy bag hanging by a chain from the ceiling.

  Jab-squat. Squat-kick. Of all the equipment in her gym, this was by far the most used piece. The bag’s leather cover was worn down in places from all the workouts she and Emily had given it over the years. Not having worked out for the past week made a difference. Sweat trickled down her temples. Her muscles ached, and her breaths came hard and fast.

  Jab-cross-jab. Again, again, again. Her hair was soaked. Her bra stuck to her body. Keep moving. Don’t stop.

  Forty minutes later, her chest heaved and she leaned over, resting her forearms on her thighs. Even her knuckle guards dripped with sweat.

  “No wonder you broke his nose.”

  Kat jerked her head up. If she hadn’t already been sucking in air, she would have gasped at the shock of finding Dayne watching her. With all her heavy breathing, she hadn’t heard him come down the stairs. Knowing he could have been there for several minutes made her self-conscious. The man was in such amazing shape.

  His jeans weren’t tight, but they showcased every muscle in his butt, thighs, and calves. The black Henley tucked into his belt molded itself to his pecs, shoulders, and biceps. Shirts like that should be outlawed.

  “How long have you been standing there?” she managed when her heart rate slowed.

  “Long enough.”

  She could swear his lips twitched. “Long enough for what?”

  “Long enough to admire your incredible…equipment.” For a moment he stared at her, and she couldn’t be sure if he was referring to the gym equipment or her. He turned to look first at the free weights, then the barbells, dumbbells, treadmill, cross-trainer, and bevy of other workout machinery. “Would you mind if I used your gym while I’m staying here?”

  “Of course not.” She ripped off her knuckle guards and grabbed a bottle of water from the mini-fridge, twisting the cap off and sucking down a long draught.

  “Thanks.”

  When he didn’t go back upstairs, she narrowed her eyes. He’d come down here for a reason, and it hadn’t been to check out her equipment.

  “I need to go somewhere this afternoon.” Something in his tone set off alarm bells in her head.

  “Okay.” She wiped her brow. “I’ll be fine here without you.”

  “You’re coming with me.”

  Today was Sunday so… “Are you going to church?”

  He scratched his freshly shaven and extremely sculpted jaw. “It’s my parents’ fortieth wedding anniversary. I have to go and I’m not leaving you here.”

  “Oh no.” She shook her head gently at first then with more emphasis. “I’m not going.” After last night, what she needed was more personal space from him. Not less. Attending his parents’ party was straying way too far into the personal zone.

  “Yes. You are.” That sculpted jaw hardened, and he crossed his arms in a way that tightened the black Henley snugger across those incredible biceps. “It’s not open to negotiation.”

  “Fine,” she flung back, realizing he had more control over her life at the moment than she did. She could practically read his mind: suck it up, princess. “What time?”

  “Three o’clock.” He turned to leave when his cell phone rang, and he unclipped it from his belt. “Andrews.” He straightened from where he’d been leaning casually against the wall. “What’s the address?” He ended the call. “We need to leave an hour earlier.”

  “Why? What’s happened?” His stiff body posture told her something was up.

  “The tech guys just pulled something critical from Becca’s phone.”

  …

  Dayne alternated between the rear and sideview mirrors, keeping tabs on the gray sedan that had stuck with them for the last few minutes. He tested his theory by pressing his foot down on the accelerator and…shit. When he sped up, so did the sedan. Sure enough, when he eased off the gas, the other driver slowed. Could be nothing. Then again, maybe they really were being followed.

  He kept watching the vehicle, trying not to let Kat see. He’d finally gotten around to telling her he thought someone had been on the property yesterday. She was edgy enough as it was. The last thing she needed was his paranoia making it worse.

  “Where are we going?” Kat plucked another raspberry candy dot from the roll of paper. She’d been popping them like a drug addict craving a fix, cleaning off more than four inches of paper.

  “Englewood. The Sylvus Corporate Center. It was the last location Becca entered into her GPS phone app the day she was killed.” He shot another look in the rearview mirror and tightened his grip on the wheel. Still there.

  Delicately, she put the candy in her mouth and crunched. Remy stuck her head through the opening, her nostrils flaring as the scent of raspberry filled the SUV’s interior. Yep, his dog had a sweet tooth. Angus whimpered, and his little paws hooked over the ledge as he tried unsuccessfully to peer into the passenger compartment.

  Kat twisted to pet Remy and give Angus’s little paws a quick squeeze. She wore gray slacks and a lavender sweater. The only jewelry she had on was a pair of amethyst studs that matched the color of her eyes. She really did have the prettiest eyes and—

  Don’t think about how pretty the rest of her is, either.

  “Who exactly will be at this party?” She plucked off another dot.

  “Just my parents.” He made a left turn and checked the mirror. The sedan hung back, creating more distance. “And Lily.”

  Kat tore off two more inches from the roll and plucked off several dots at once, shoving them into her mouth. “Why do you keep looking in the rearview mirror?”

  “Because,” he said, flicking on the wipers as raindrops dotted the windshield, “somebody might be following us.”

  “What? Who?”

  “Don’t know.” He could easily flip on the lights, hang a uey, then pull over the sedan to find out, but that went against every rule of protection in the book. If the killer were actually following them, pulling the asshole over would only put less distance between the guy and Kat, which would be monumentally stupid.

  Plus, he still couldn’t be certain about the sedan. And Lily would macerate his balls if they were late for the party. He cued up the universal police department frequency then grabbed the mic to make an official request for a marked unit to pull over the sedan.

  “Is he still back there?” Kat twisted in her seat to look behind them.

  “Don’t.” He shot out a hand to clasp her upper arm and, in the process, unintentionally copped a feel of her warm, perfect breast. “The rear window is pretty well tinted, but I don’t want the driver to know we’re checking him out.”

  Kat settled into the seat but he glimpsed the pink stain creeping up her neck. She was as much affected by his clumsy faux pas as he was.

  Her nipple puckered against the lavender sweate
r, jutting out like a plump little berry. If only his peripheral wasn’t so good, because he really, really didn’t need to see that. All the more reason to keep things from getting physical between them again.

  Refocusing, he glanced in the mirror again. “Shit.”

  “Now what?” Kat made an exaggerated gesture with her hand.

  “He’s gone.” The road behind them was empty.

  “Isn’t that a good thing?”

  “Yeah.” Except that he’d been totally, inexcusably distracted and missed which road the vehicle turned onto. His feelings for her were affecting his job. He could still ask for reassignment, at least for inside-duty at the castle, but he didn’t want that, either. Didn’t trust anyone else to keep her safe. Problem was, after last night, his awareness of her was exponentially over the top. Now she was 200 percent off-limits.

  What he needed was distance. As soon as the killer was caught, he’d be outta there. Meantime, he needed to keep a lid on his libido. They both did.

  He noted the time and their location. If a marked unit didn’t catch up to the sedan which, at this point, would probably be the case, another agent could run the same route they’d taken and check for video cameras. If they were lucky, the car would be on one of them.

  “We’re here.” He turned into the parking lot of a four-story building then rolled down his window to snap a photo. Nothing’s ever easy. According to the sign, half a dozen companies maintained offices here. Three law firms, one marketing company, and two accounting firms. He forwarded the image to Paulson’s email then drove slowly through the lot.

  “What are you looking for?” Kat asked.

  “A needle in a haystack.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There must be hundreds of employees working in this building. During business hours, there’ll be nearly as many vehicles in the lot. Even if there is a connection between the gray sedan that may have been following us, or the car you saw outside Becca’s office the day you found her, half these cars will fit that description.”

  “Do you know why she came here?”

  “Not yet. First thing tomorrow, we’ll send an agent to every company in the building to find out if anyone working there knew Becca. We’ll also cross-check her case files with this address, along with the names of all the employees. That is, if these companies cooperate. Not all of them will. Before they fork over the names of their people, it’s a guarantee that, at a minimum, the legal firms will demand a subpoena.”

  “How long does that take?”

  “Depends.” He guided the Interceptor around the building then exited back onto Route 9W, heading south. “The official compliance date for a subpoena is usually two weeks from the date of issuance, but I’ve seen companies weasel out of responding for months. Especially, law firms that come up with every excuse in the book. Sometimes just to be difficult.”

  “Great.” The resignation in Kat’s voice echoed his thoughts exactly.

  There’d be no wrapping up these homicides overnight.

  More rain hit the windshield. Seconds later, mini-hurricane force wind and rain pounded the SUV. Just as he flipped on the wipers, his cell rang. He clamped it into a dashboard cradle and put the caller—Paulson—on speaker.

  “Did you get the photo?” he asked without preamble.

  “Got it. I’m drafting subpoenas as we speak. The second the DA’s office opens in the morning, I’ll be standing on their doorstep.”

  “Outstanding.” This guy was turning out to be more of a kick-ass detective than he’d first thought. “The FBI can assign more agents to help you canvass the company employees.”

  “Thanks, but that’s not why I’m calling.” Dayne tensed. Either good news was coming, or something really bad. He hoped to hell it was the former. They needed a break in the case, and they needed it yesterday. “We got into the trap ’n’ trace app log.”

  Hoo-yah. “And?”

  “We pulled the last number to call Rebecca before she died. It’s an unlisted cell phone.”

  “What’s the number?” Dayne pulled a pad and pen from the console and jotted down the 201 New Jersey number. “Did you call it?”

  “Yeah. No answer and no voicemail.”

  “What number did you use to call?” Paulson wouldn’t be the first detective to make a rookie mistake by using his own police cell. Worse, a department hard line. If they gave the killer a heads-up they were on to him, he’d disappear in the wind.

  “A UC line,” Paulson replied. “Comes back to a fictitious online sporting goods company we set up a few years back. If he calls it, it should pass muster.”

  Paulson just jumped a couple more ratings on Dayne’s CC—cop competency—scale.

  “And before you ask,” Paulson added, “the carrier is Verizon and we’re getting a subpoena for the phone’s subscriber information, along with a search warrant for Google so we can view all Rebecca’s emails.”

  Dayne couldn’t have done it better if he were the lead investigator. Go Paulson. “Did you look at her Facebook page? She doesn’t have a personal account, but she started one for her business about six months ago.”

  “I’ll check it out as soon as I get this affidavit and subpoenas done.”

  “We’ll check in with you tomorrow.” Dayne ended the call and took the I-95 south ramp toward Newark. The rain had eased somewhat, and he gunned the SUV onto the highway.

  “What did all that mean?” Kat asked.

  “It means we’re covering all the bases. Case files. Email. Phone. Social media. Forensic and ME reports.”

  “Then why do you look so annoyed?”

  Do I? He was, though. Not just with the snail’s pace of the investigation. Apparently, he’d been telegraphing his thoughts and mood. Something he never did. In just under a week, Kat could read him as well—if not better—than his closest friends and family.

  “Well?” she prodded. “Why do you look so irritated?”

  “Because”—he changed lanes, doing his best to focus on the road, rather than what was really bugging him—“we’re staring at the ass-end of nowhere, struggling to catch up.”

  That was half of it, anyway. The other half he couldn’t tell her.

  They were doing everything in their investigative repertoire, but going by the book was taking too long.

  Time was on the killer’s side, and the killer would strike again. He was certain of it.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kat resisted inspecting her tongue in the mirror. It had to be fluorescent red by now. Meeting Lily at the wake was one thing. Meeting Dayne’s parents was fixing to be awkward at best. What would they think? That I’m his girlfriend? That we’re sleeping together?

  It didn’t matter that they almost had, because they definitely weren’t now.

  Her body began heating from the inside out, starting low in her belly before flooding her torso. The mere thought of making love with Dayne did that. Think about something else. Colin’s face popped into her head. Her core temperature instantly dropped into the frigid zone.

  When Dayne exited the Turnpike she clasped her hands to keep from stripping the entire roll of candy bare. “You never got around to telling me about your parents,” she said.

  His face lit up. “They’re the best.” He headed west on Route 280 toward the Oranges. “They own a hardware store in Newark, one of the few holdouts competing with the big warehouses. In the forty years they’ve had the store, they’ve built up a loyal customer base that keeps them in business. I used to work there after school and summers when I was in college. I loved working there.”

  “Were they disappointed you didn’t stay with the family business?”

  “Just the opposite. They were proud as hell when I became an FBI agent. Dad still laughs at the irony.”

  “Irony?”

  “Well, yeah. Considering I was a pretty good thief when I was a kid.”

  “A thief?” Now that was hard to believe.

  “Yep.” He drove into a semi-rural neighborhood. “I told you I grew up on the street after my mother died. That’s when I figured out I have a knack for breaking into places. I got pretty good at shoplifting. Nothing of much value and only when I couldn’t get my dinner from a dumpster.”