Deacon unmuted the microphone. ‘I didn’t think Drake would break. He didn’t care about his sister. He was more worried that they were coming after him.’
‘True,’ the Detroit detective said through the speaker. ‘He’s a piece of work.’
‘He’s right about one thing, though,’ Scarlett said. ‘We don’t have any proof directly tying him to Tala’s murder. He can argue that yeah, he screwed her, but he didn’t kill her or shoot at Marcus.’
‘We need an eyewitness,’ Isenberg said. ‘Your report mentioned two homeless people who directed you to the body?’
Scarlett nodded. ‘Tommy and Edna. I’ll find them.’
‘We’re getting ready to sign off,’ the agent said. ‘Let us know if you need anything.’
‘Popcorn,’ Scarlett said grimly, and the two Detroit men laughed, also grimly.
Deacon closed his laptop. ‘You okay?’ he asked Marcus.
Marcus nodded. ‘I feel like writing a story all about Drake,’ he said, his voice so harsh that it hurt his throat. ‘I’d tell what he did and where he can be found and hope that the traffickers have a subscription to the paper. Little prick.’
‘Write it and send it to me,’ Isenberg said crisply. ‘I may have a thing or two to add.’
He met the woman’s normally cold eyes and saw raw fury. ‘You’ll have it in an hour.’
‘What about the suspected employees of the ankle tracker company?’ Scarlett asked. ‘When will they be in Cincinnati?’
‘They should be delivered to CPD any minute.’ Deacon looked at Isenberg. ‘I assume Marcus can come with us and watch the interview from the observation area?’
‘Yeah. I guess he’s earned that much,’ Isenberg said, stunning them all. She stood up. ‘I will still see you back in my office, Detective Bishop. Plan time after the interview with the tracker maker.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Marcus turned in his seat, watching as the lieutenant walked out the door that led directly into the hallway, bypassing the Bautista family. ‘I do not understand that woman.’
‘She likes you,’ Scarlett said. ‘She doesn’t like me liking you when I’m working your case. She wants her chance to tell me so, but she’s unlikely to suspend me. It’s okay, Marcus. She’s actually protecting my career for me because she does care.’
Marcus looked at Deacon, who nodded. ‘What Scarlett said,’ Deacon said. ‘Isenberg is complicated, but down deep she’s a good boss. Let’s pack up, get some lunch. Then we can head over to CPD to talk to the tracker makers.’
There was a knock on the door from the Bautistas’ suite, and Lana D’Amico stuck her head in. ‘Okay to come in? I have a sketch for you to see. We got a face for the man, but not the woman yet. They . . . Well, they needed a break after describing the man.’
They waved her in, Marcus feeling a tingle of dread on the back of his neck. If he didn’t recognize the people who’d hurt Tala and her family, he’d still be in the dark, looking for a connection to explain why someone kept shooting at him.
He held his breath as the sketch artist put her pad on the table in front of him.
‘These are based on memories that are three years old,’ she said. ‘But they all agreed that this was the best likeness of the two people who brought them to Cincinnati.’
‘There are some faces you don’t forget,’ Marcus said quietly. ‘That man raped Erica and her sister. The parents had to watch. I think having to see it burns it into your memory.’ He didn’t realize that he’d clenched his fists until Scarlett’s hand covered one of them.
Lana lifted the cover of her sketchbook and Marcus felt all the air seep from his lungs. He stared at the man with the hard, dead eyes.
‘I’ve seen them both. But . . . I don’t remember where.’ He looked at Scarlett, stunned to feel panic creeping up his chest. That he didn’t understand why he was reacting the way he was made the panic worse.
‘Yet,’ she murmured, cupping the back of his neck, massaging muscles that had grown so stiff that a sharp pain shot up into his skull. ‘Relax. It’ll come to you.’
Marcus drew a breath, closed his eyes. Tried to relax, but it wasn’t coming, and time was not something they had to waste. He met Deacon’s steady gaze. ‘I hear you can help people remember things.’
Deacon shrugged. ‘I help people relax so that they can access the things they’ve tucked out of reach. You want me do that for you? It’s just breathing exercises.’
‘I can leave if you want me to,’ Scarlett murmured, but Marcus maneuvered his hand so that he held hers instead of the other way around.
‘No.’ He let go of her hand and slid his arms around her shoulders. Buried his face in her hair. Dragged in a breath so deep it hurt, but he’d filled his head with the scent of honeysuckle and it calmed him. ‘Stay,’ he whispered, his breath hot on her ear. ‘Please. I need you.’
‘Well, when you put it like that,’ she said with a smile. She turned her head so that his forehead rested on hers. ‘It’ll be all right. Whatever it is.’
She’d understood. There was something terrifying about that man’s face, on a primal level that he couldn’t articulate. He had to know what it was, for Edgar and Phillip, for Agent Spangler, for the Bautistas, and for himself.
Thirty-one
Cincinnati, Ohio
Wednesday 5 August, 2.05 P.M.
Deacon Novak was nervous. He’d done this procedure dozens of times and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d been nervous. Because sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t. It meant more for it to work when he had a connection with the person he was trying to calm. Like he’d had with Faith, of course. And his old boss’s wife back in Baltimore.
And now, with Scarlett watching him with such trust, he knew he’d add this to the number of times it meant a lot more. He’d liked Scarlett from the first time he’d met her, had known some of the prickliness was self-protection on her part. He’d seen the real Scarlett Bishop a few times over the almost-year that they’d worked together, but he’d never seen her expression so open.
She was so open because of Marcus O’Bannion. Because this mattered. Marcus wasn’t just scared of hypnosis, he was scared about what he was going to remember. That he was one of the bravest men Deacon knew made his fear far more concerning.
Lana D’Amico had taken her sketchbook, leaving the sketch and giving Scarlett a brief hug as she left. Now it was just the three of them in the quiet room.
‘It’s simple breathing,’ Deacon said quietly. ‘Nothing more.’ He took Marcus through the breathing exercises once, then twice, but the man was too tense.
Scarlett hesitated. ‘I’m going to try something, and it’s just a little odd.’ She took down her braid, working her hair loose so that it lay around her shoulders and halfway down her back. Scarlett was rarely seen with her hair down, and it . . . softened her. She gathered it into a sheaf and lifted it cupped in both hands to Marcus, like an offering.
With a slightly embarrassed glance at Deacon from the corner of his eye, Marcus cradled Scarlett’s hands in his and once again buried his face in her hair and drew a deep breath.
Immediately some of the tension left his shoulders.
Deacon met Scarlett’s eyes with an indulgent smile. ‘It’s not the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen,’ he murmured, making her laugh. She covered her mouth, but it was too late. The happy sound wouldn’t be contained.
Deacon realized he’d never heard his partner laugh. Not like this, so free and . . . young.
A few seconds later, Marcus’s shoulders began to shake and he looked up at her with a grin. ‘This is supposed to be serious.’
She cupped his cheek, stroking his skin with her thumb, the caress very . . . intimate. ‘Who says?’ she murmured. ‘It’s supposed to be whatever it needs to be for you to be relaxed.’
‘I don’t think Deacon is that understanding,’ he murmured back, and Scarlett choked on another laugh, her cheeks growing pink.