Trial by Fire (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 6) Read online

  Surely Parker didn’t know about those texts. Becker would never rat her out. And besides, her overprotective husband would blow a gasket. He would have confronted her by now and they would have had it out big time. World War III big time. They’d have made Hiroshima look like a popgun. Parker would have stormed around the house pitching the masculine version of a hissy fit, making demands, telling her she’d been careless.

  He would have…said…something. Wouldn’t he?

  Parker reached over and took her hand. “Are you sure you’re all right with this? Going back to Chicago?”

  She startled out of her thoughts and realized he was talking about the trip. A little late to mention that now. “You mean the place where so many bad things happened to me?”

  She could see her words had made him uncomfortable. And that was another thing that didn’t fit. If he was concerned about the town upsetting her, why take a case there?

  “I’ll be okay. I’m past all that now.” At least she thought she was. She’d found Mackenzie and Leon was dead, after all. “Besides, something good happened there, too.”

  “Oh?”

  “It was where I decided to marry you.”

  “And I’m so glad you did.” He took her hand and pressed it to his lips.

  This time his smile was genuine.

  ###

  After they landed, as promised he took her to an ultra chic place off the lake for dinner and plied her with fine wine and food. Creamed kale, vegetable ragout, a butternut squash salad, dungeness crab and lobster spaghetti.

  She’d eaten a lot of supremely terrific—and ultra expensive—meals since she’d met Parker but she’d have to say this was one of the best. So good, in fact, it made her wonder again what he was up to.

  But she decided to shake off the thought for the evening. She stuffed herself and felt a little tipsy when she strolled into their suite on the eighteenth floor of a ritzy downtown hotel.

  She squinted at the sitting area with its chocolate colored chairs, elegant landscapes, and marble fireplace. “This is the same place we stayed the last time.” The time they came here to talk to a judge about her lost daughter.

  “It’s the finest hotel in the city, in my opinion. Would you prefer we stay somewhere else?” There was genuine concern in Parker’s tone.

  She crossed to the tall window and looked down at the night traffic along Michigan Avenue.

  Long way down.

  She went the other way and peered into the bathroom. Pale blue marble, sunken tub. Oh, yeah. She remembered that, all right.

  The water had been recently drawn and the tub was filled with bubble bath. The room smelled of honeysuckle.

  At the edge of the tub next to a pile of thick towels sat two flutes, a decanter with a bottle, and a crystal bowl filled with strawberries.

  Had to be Dom Pérignon in that bottle. Parker’s signature drink of seduction. He’d used it on her their first night in the Parker mansion—one she’d never forget.

  “What’s all this?” she laughed.

  And then she felt a gentle nibbling along the base of her neck. “It is our anniversary this coming weekend.”

  Yeah, it was.

  And even though she was a little upset with him about the cold case, she couldn’t let a perfectly good bottle of champagne go to waste. Okay, maybe he wasn’t hiding anything from her. Maybe he just wanted to show her he cared. Besides, Parker might be sneaky about some things but there were other things he didn’t hide from her.

  She could feel one in particular pressing up against her backside right now. The sensation worked in tandem with the one at her neck, tearing at her resistance, melting her insides. Then his fingers moved to the clasp at the back of her evening dress and slowly drew down the zipper.

  As the soft material fell around her knees and to the floor, her skin tingled.

  She twisted around, met his lips in a fiery kiss, and began to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt.

  Without breaking the kiss, he slipped out of his dinner jacket, let it slide to the floor next to her dress. Soon it was joined by his shirt, her bra, his dress slacks and shorts, her panties.

  Buck naked she decided to give him a run for his money.

  Laughing she turned around and headed for the tub. “Last one in’s a rotten egg.”

  Chapter Six

  The next morning Miranda awoke to room service and a delicious order of Eggs Benedict with steaming hot coffee.

  “Did you sleep well?” Parker asked pouring her a cup from the sterling pot.

  “Like a baby. Especially since you rocked me to sleep half the night.” She picked up the coffee and waggled her brows at him.

  The distinguished lines around his mouth turned up in another sexy grin. Phony or not, she couldn’t get enough of them. She couldn’t get enough of Parker. It seemed so long ago that she had been afraid to love. Now it came second nature. More of the magic he’d worked in her life.

  She put down her cup and rose to dress. “So what’s our plan?”

  Parker got to his feet as well. “We have a nine-thirty appointment with Demarco. He’ll brief us at the station.”

  “Sounds good.” She pulled a pair of jeans from the dresser. “Causal?”

  He scowled. “It would be better to look more professional.”

  Parker had a thing about appearances, especially when it came to business.

  “Aren’t we going to be in the back somewhere going through dusty archives?”

  “I’m not sure what approach we’ll be taking. Won’t you decide that when we get there?”

  Because she was in charge. He was being nice again. Suspiciously so.

  She stuffed the jeans back in the drawer and headed for the closet. She selected a charcoal jacket with matching slacks, a white V-neck top and black pumps. “Okay, but if I ruin my outfit, I’m charging it to the Agency.”

  Pulling on the jacket of a very classy smoke gray pinstripe, once more Parker gave her that sexy grin. “I’ll be happy to buy you a new one.”

  ###

  The rental car Parker chose this time was a light tan Audi A8 with a supercharged V6 engine, leather interior, and a powerful A/C.

  Nice, Miranda thought as she sat back and enjoyed the drive through the tall skyscrapers—which were much taller than the ones in Atlanta. Parker drove a few blocks down Division under the rusty L tracks and into a section where the height of the buildings began to descend like stair steps.

  Finally he made a turn and they reached the police department on Larrabee. The unadorned beige brick building still had all the charm of a funeral parlor but then most neighborhood police stations weren’t made for show.

  They parked in a visitor slot, got out and headed for the entrance. This time they both carried briefcases. Hers was a slim black leather one that held notepads, pens, and a new laptop the Agency—aka Parker—had sprung for.

  Parker pulled out his phone and thumbed a text to announce their arrival to their host as he ushered her down the sidewalk and through the front doors.

  The linoleum had been replaced, Miranda noted as they headed down a narrow green hall lined with wanted posters and official-looking police notices. They turned a corner and she recognized the waiting area where they’d spent half a night over a year ago. It had gotten a facelift, too. There was even a new potted plant.

  “There you two are.” Sergeant Demarco emerged from a door down the hall, a smile on his lean face.

  His dark graying hair was longer and thinner than when she'd seen him last, the ends of it curling over his ears and collar. He seemed to have gotten skinnier as well. He was dressed in the same ill-fitting shirt-and-slacks attire she recalled him wearing before, only this time the shirt was lime green and short-sleeved.

  And he had his perpetual toothpick between his lips. He shifted the pick to one side as he stuck out a hand. “Good to see you again, Mr. Parker. Ms. Steele.”

  “Same here.” Miranda shook his hand.

  Dem
arco had been none too pleased when she and Parker had butted into his murder case a year ago, but he’d come to respect them after they got results.

  “Parker tells me you found a daughter you’d been looking for since your last visit here.”

  Miranda held back a start. She didn’t know Parker had shared her personal information. “Yes,” she said simply.

  “I’m happy for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “How old is she now?”

  “Mackenzie is fourteen.”

  “Going through some growing pains?” How much had Parker told him?

  Keeping her professional demeanor, Miranda nodded. “I guess you could say that.”

  Demarco ran a hand over his receding hairline. “I remember when my Annie was that age. Nearly killed her mother and me.” He chuckled. “Oh, and I caught you on the tube when you were in Vegas. The Ambrosia Dawn case. Very impressive.”

  “Thanks,” Miranda said. That case seemed a lifetime ago. She didn’t want to talk about it. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “Parker tells me you need help with a cold case here. Arson?”

  “Right. We think it was murder but we can’t prove it.” Switching easily into investigator mode Demarco took the toothpick out of his mouth, tossed into a nearby trashcan. “C’mon back. I’ll fill you in.”

  Chapter Seven

  The cubes that made up the Homicide area at Larrabee were like most other police stations.

  Desks and chairs, folders and filing cabinets, computers and keyboards, all divided by colorless partitions marking the spot where the atmosphere could go from deadly dull to twelve thousand volts with the ring of a cell phone.

  Here officers investigated the dead and the living who had killed them in hope of allowing the rest of the population in their little section of the city to go on living in peace.

  It was a job that came with heavy responsibility.

  “Is that who I think it is?” cried a voice with a thick Chicago accent when they reached Demarco’s desk.

  A head popped over the divider.

  Miranda recognized the narrow black eyes and fifties-style hairdo of Detective Robert Kadera. He’d been little more than a rookie in the department when they were here last and still had a baby face.

  Dressed in a white shirt and a loud berry red tie he came around the partition with hand extended. “How the hell are you? Both of you?”

  A lot different from the way he’d treated them before. What a difference a year made.

  “We’re both fine, Detective Kadera,” Parker replied with a version of his smooth smile reserved for police.

  Miranda shook the officer’s hand with a nod.

  Kadera shifted from foot to foot. “You were on TV a couple months ago, Ms. Steele. Las Vegas. All of us watched it.”

  Miranda held back a wince. She hated publicity. Vegas? She’d been on TV a couple times since then. She hoped Kadera had been too busy to catch the other broadcasts. One was too many.

  She tried to imitate Parker’s smile and failed. “Thanks.”

  Kadera did a better job, flashing a set of straight white teeth. “So glad you could come and help us out.”

  “We’re glad to be of service,” Parker told him.

  Already tired of the sucking up, Miranda let her gaze wander to Demarco’s desk and saw a stack of folders piled next to the keyboard. Guess Parker wasn’t kidding about that case load.

  From a small silver dispenser on the desk the sergeant reached for a toothpick to replace the one he’d tossed and picked up the folder on top. “I pulled this from the cold case I talked to you about on the phone.”

  “Yes,” Parker said, “the Sutherland case.”

  Guess he hadn’t been bluffing about that, either. The case seemed to be real.

  Before Miranda could ask for details, a gruff voice she barely identified as female rang out from somewhere in the cubes. “The Sutherland case?”

  There was the slam of a drawer, the pounding of heavy feet and a short woman with a squarish chunky face appeared in the aisle and marched straight up to Demarco’s desk.

  “What the hell’s going on, Sergeant?”

  She wasn’t a pretty woman. Rough skin, straight brows, dull brown hair curled in an old lady style. She had on an ill-fitting purple pantsuit over her boxy frame that gave her complexion a bluish tinge. Except for her crimson cheeks, which were glowing with obvious rage.

  Kadera wagged a finger in her face. “Hey now, Short Fuse. These folks are celebrities.”

  The woman knocked his hand aside. “What the hell you talking about, Kadera?”

  Pet phrase, Miranda thought.

  Kadera waved a hand in the PIs’ direction. “Celebrities, Templeton. We’ve got freaking celebrities in our midst. Show some respect.”

  The woman eyed Miranda like she was mold she’d found growing in her fridge.

  Parker extended a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Wade Parker and this is my partner, Miranda Steele.”

  The woman didn’t shake it.

  Demarco’s toothpick went back and forth in his mouth as he cleared his throat. “This is Detective Templeton. She came on after you were here. Shirley’s spent most of her time on the street and she’s a valuable addition to our department.”

  Kadera didn’t seem to think so. Wait a minute. Miranda resisted a glance in Parker’s direction. Did he say Shirley Templeton? You’ve got to be kidding.

  Parker’s magnetic charm didn’t have its usual effect on this lady. And neither had the sergeant’s words.

  She turned to him, teeth nearly bared. “You’re giving them my case?”

  Her case? Uh oh.

  It wasn’t until then that Miranda noticed the woman had some age on her. Had to be pushing forty. A bit overweight, barely the height limit, spent most of her career on patrol. She was trying to move up in what was still a man’s world, at least in this department.

  She suddenly felt a kinship with her. But she was sure the feeling wasn’t being returned.

  Detective Templeton glared at Demarco as if willing the floor would open and swallow him up.

  Demarco took the toothpick out of his mouth and gestured over the partition. “We’ve got plenty of work to do around here, Templeton. Kadera’s got three cases he’s juggling right now. You can help him.”

  The woman opened her mouth as if she were about to cuss him out, then thinking better of it, said, “Sir, arson is my interest. I’d really like to get some experience in that area.”

  “Then you can brief Mr. Parker and Ms. Steele in the Evidence Room.” And with that Demarco handed her the file, stuck the toothpick back in his mouth and sat down at his desk.

  As Kadera slinked away, Miranda turned to Parker and gave her head a slight shake. His expression betrayed no emotion but she could tell he wasn’t pleased. Neither was she.

  To use Shirley’s phrase, Parker, what the hell have you gotten us into?

  Chapter Eight

  The Evidence Room was down a long hall and two flights of concrete steps.

  The cinder block walls were painted yellow and the combination of harsh fluorescent bulbs and lack of windows gave the space a closed in, cave like feel.

  Around a corner stood an enclosed area where an officer sat at a desk, typing away. He wore the classic dark blue uniform and what hair he had was stringy and plastered to his scalp with gel. Detective Shirley Templeton marched up to the glass partition that separated the man from the hall and gave it a sharp rap.

  The man startled, then scowled at the woman as he slid the glass open.

  “Good morning, Detective,” he said as if he meant the opposite.

  Templeton ignored the tone. “Ellis, this is—” she turned around. “What are your names again?”

  Parker seemed unperturbed. “Wade Parker and my partner Miranda Steele of the Parker Investigative Agency in Atlanta.”

  “Yeah,” Templeton said with a snort. “They’re taking over the Sutherland case.
They need access.”

  Officer Ellis’s rosy cheeks rounded into a big grin. “Right. The Sergeant mentioned you were coming. Glad to have you.”

  He stuck a hand up to the window and Parker and Miranda were obliged to do another handshake.

  “Welcome to the Dungeon.” He gestured toward the blocked area on his left. “I’ll get you a set of access cards while Shirley gets you started. Just sign in.”

  Ellis handed them a clipboard with lined paper and a pen.

  “Just like at the doctor’s office,” Miranda quipped as she scrawled her name, pretending she’d never been to an evidence room before.

  Templeton didn’t seem to buy it. Or maybe she just didn’t give a rip.

  Miranda glanced at the names on it before handing it to Parker and noticed Detective Templeton had been a frequent visitor. She was serious about this case.

  The detective handed the clipboard back to Ellis and led them to a plain door where she swiped her keycard. Inside a barrier of thick bright orange chicken wire divided them from a large space filled with shelving units.

  The temperature was low to keep things “fresh.”

  Detective Templeton took a key from her waist and unlocked the wire door. She pulled it open and Miranda expected it to creak. It didn’t.

  She and Parker stepped inside and followed the detective past a multitude of shelves, all filled with neatly stacked boxes, manila envelopes, and large blue plastic bags, each one carefully sealed and marked for identification. Years and years of stuff confiscated from criminals and collected at countless crime scenes.

  Templeton led them down a long, endless aisle with bags of syringes on one side, boxes of shotguns and pistols on the other. The overly cool air smelled faintly of chemicals, dust, gunpowder, and weed. At last they reached a corner with a small metal desk, a gooseneck lamp atop it, and an uncomfortable looking chair.

  A large white evidence box sat on the floor next to the desk. The desk itself held a stack of notes, pens, pencils, a sharpener and more folders.