Jacob entered through the alleyway door. He snagged a raisin square, made a detour to Records, then headed upstairs to the homicide division. Night would give way to day in less than an hour, but OKeefe, being an early riser, invariably arrived long before his shift began.
Morning, Detective Knight. A pretty female dispatcher offered the cheerful greeting. Captain Harris wants to see you.
On my way.
As he passed, she picked up a shortbread cookie and let it dangle from her fingertips. Are you coming to the Christmas party?
Jacob couldnt remember her name. Her badge said Officer Dyson. Im not big on Christmas.
Its Clare, she stage-whispered across the desk. And you dont have to celebrate Christmas. Use it as an excuse to eat, drink and be merry.
He glanced at the captains office. Ill think about it, he said, and moved on before she could push for more.
Youre such a social animal, Knight. OKeefe gave him a hearty slap between the shoulder blades. Did you even notice that she was coming on to you?
I noticed. But he was absorbed again in the report hed copped downstairs and by one name in particular. Do you know James Barret?
I swear youd be better off dead. OKeefe gave his head a sorrowful shake. Yes, I know him. Youve heard of the Barret Brown Furniture Concept, right? Well, J.B. is half of that rapidly expanding business.
It says here that his partner, Ben Brown, died under questionable circumstances six years ago.
Really? OKeefe peered over his shoulder. What file are you-ah, I should have known. Belinda Critch. They werent my cases, Knight, and they sure as hell werent yours. He caught the back of Jacobs jacket. Hold on. I need caffeine, and the coffee insides complete crap.
Jacob skimmed the file. His instinct told him it should be fatter. Dylan Hoag, he read while his ex-partner dropped quarters into a vending machine.
Belinda Critchs brother. OKeefe fished in his pockets. He deposited quarters until a cup plopped down. I think he works for a security company. Maybe he owns it. You still take yours black?
Yeah. A steaming cup appeared in Jacobs hand. Patrick Norths name is here. I dont know much about him.
Doctor Death. OKeefe set a palm over the printout. Why are you doing this?
Jacob raised his head, absorbed the thrust of his ex-partners stare. Because Critch is after us.
Damn, I knew it. What happened?
He missed his bed check twice. Romana and I went to the transition house last night. When we left, Critch followed us in a truck. No visible license plates. He knocked a mailbox onto a civilian, apparently yelled a threat out the window and took off.
Well, hell. OKeefe ran a hand through his unruly brown curls. Thats not good.
According to the witness who heard what Romana and I didnt, Critch plans to string us along with threats before he kills us.
Wheres Romana now?
I dropped her off at her place around midnight. The buildings secure, he added before OKeefe could object. I checked it out myself. Even if Critch could get past the front entrance, hed need a code to access her floor, and her doors state-of-the-art. Her father made sure of it.
Be glad he did.
He was, but the mild derision couldnt be helped. Or if it could, he wasnt interested in making the effort. For a moment, he saw his own fathers face, twisted into an unrecognizable mask. Blocking the image, Jacob drank his coffee. Why does the captain want me?
Probably to tell you Critch has disappeared. Another round of quarters clinked into the machine. You gonna fill him in on the details of your shift?
Only as far as the Parker case is concerned.
Figured as much. Jacob. OKeefe stopped him when he would have walked away. Do us all a favor, and let someone else handle this.
Jacob smiled past his shoulder. While I do what?
Take a well-deserved vacation. Go to Tahiti, or Fiji or Hawaii. Swim. Drink. Get laid. Hell, connect with your mothers family.
Yeah, right. Ill rehash my mothers life in New Zealand and follow it up with her death here in Cincinnati. Thanks, but Id rather stay and do battle with Critch.
Hes obsessed, Jacob.
Im not a rookie, Mick. He countered OKeefes frustrated stare with a steady one of his own. I wont let him hurt her.
Or you.
A faint smile crept in. Or me.
OKeefe rumpled his hair again. He reminded most people of a tall, well-built teddy bear, with his perpetually kind face, his soulful eyes and a mop of brown curls that were only now, in his mid-forties, beginning to creep back from his forehead. But Jacob knew the man behind the facade. Hed worked with him for eight years-and had seen firsthand just how deceptive teddy bears could be.
The eyes before him grew troubled. You know shes not your type, dont you?
Hed been waiting for this, Jacob reflected, and made himself look away. I never thought she was.
But youre interested.
No. Jacob met his eyes. Im not.
Hmm, you lie so well, I cant tell the difference anymore. You dont want her, she doesnt want you-or probably me, either, for that matter, but Im a hopeful schmuck who needs to be rebuffed to his face before hell give up. My kid likes her.
Jacob glanced down at the file. Why dont you send Romana to Hawaii for the holidays?
OKeefe opened his mouth, but it was a more velvety voice that replied, Wont work, Knight. Romanas not a run-and-hide kind of person.
She strode up to them from the side, smiled at OKeefe, then went toe-to-toe with Jacob. If shed been a hothead like Micks ex-wife, shed probably have punched him. Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea. If nothing else, a punch would ease the gridlock of tension and mounting desire in his stomach.
What are you doing here, Romana? Jacob kept his tone calm and his expression neutral.
A sideways glance drew OKeefe into her answer. I got a phone call forty minutes ago. The guy claimed to be an elf, said he wanted to go over my Christmas wish list with me. Since Id just stepped out of the shower, I told him my only wish was for him to hang up. To which he replied, Wrong answer, cop saver. What you should wish is to be a cat. But even nine lives wont help you now. Santa Critch is going to hunt you down and poison your holidays. Sad to say, Romana Grey. Youve seen your last merry Christmas Day.
SOMETIMES, ROMANA REFLECTED with a shudder, a photographic memory was just plain creepy. The verse at the end of Critchs early morning phone call sang in her head all day.
In the same elfin voice hed used-which only made the effect that much freakier.
Naturally, the call was untraceable. Critch had stolen a cell phone from a Cincinnati resident whod been standing, half-asleep, at a bus stop. Hed used the device for his own purposes, then ditched the phone. Mission accomplished, from his perspective.
From Romanas, life carried on. She wasnt prepared to let Critch affect it, even on the smallest level.
After leaving the police station, she spent Saturday morning and most of the afternoon Christmas shopping with two of her sisters-in-law and six nephews under the age of five. As a rule, she enjoyed taking them to toy stores, loved watching them bounce on Santas knee; however, by five oclock, even her abundant energy was sapped. In fact, she was so wiped out that the path lab at the hospital was starting to look good.
Or not, she amended as she pushed through the side door and began her solitary descent.
Organ music wafted out of invisible speakers. Critchs rhyming threat jangled in her brain. Sad to say, Romana Grey, youve seen your last merry Christmas Day.
Jerk, she muttered, and, twitching a shoulder, pushed through another door.
An attendant she didnt recognize passed her in the antiseptic green corridor. The woman wore headphones and a blank expression as she hummed along to a hip-hop song. But even her off-key humming was better than the churchlike version of Sleigh Ride currently playing on the path labs sound system.
Although weekends tended to be quiet on the lower levels, Romana knew Fitz was here somewhere. The trick would be to locate her cousin before she bumped into someone who remembered her as Connor Hansons wife.
Romana?
Too late. The mans voice came from her right. Steeling herself, Romana turned-and exhaled with relief when she saw who it was.
Dylan, hi. She rubbed her left temple where a headache had been brewing since lunchtime. What brings you to Death Central?
Belinda Critchs brother, Dylan Hoag, closed the electrical box hed been examining. Im checking out the security system. They had a wiring problem down here yesterday.
Heard about it. Fitz, she explained at his elevated eyebrow. Have you seen her?
We had a chat, but Patrick whisked her away, said he needed help. Must be hard to trim a corpses fingernails all by your lonesome.
Romana strolled closer, ran a teasing finger over his shoulder. I sense a chip here, Mr. Hoag. Toward Patrick, I wonder, or the forensics team in general?
The team could be better. Standards have slipped since Doctor Gorman retired.
Now she patted his shoulder. Hate to tell you this, Dylan, but they were slipping while Gorman was here. He was well past his prime when the hospital board decided to force the retirement issue.
Then there were Connors indiscretions. Dylans tone soured. And Belindas death.
A tick in his jaw accompanied the bitter statement. Romana wanted to respond, but couldnt think of anything comforting to say. She settled for another pat and left him to finish his inspection of the breaker box.
Dylan hadnt changed much in the eight-plus years shed known him. His hair was light brown, short and spiky. He kept his tall frame trim and his somewhat angular features a deliberate blank. It was his idea of a cop look. Sadly, although theyd entered the Academy at the same time, Dylan had washed out halfway through the program.
Romana didnt know why the memory should strike her right then, but she recalled Dylans reaction quite clearly as hed been given the news. Resentment had flared for about five seconds before hed doused it. Hed aimed a long, steely glare at the sergeant, then turned on his heel and stalked away.
Six months later, hed formed his own company-with a handful of employees and the endorsement of one extremely influential businessman.