Derek glanced at the giant whiteboard containing mug shots and surveillance photos of the major players and victims of Chicago’s latest gang war. His gut told him they’d be adding more photos to the victim side if his department failed to bring in Modesto soon.
He clapped his hands together once. “Get to work.”
Immediately, chairs scraped back and the men began speaking, strategizing. He pushed through the glass door and entered his office. Barker, a rookie, followed him in. Cocky and outspoken, Barker had yet to learn anything about boundaries.
“Lieutenant Tyler.”
“Help you, Barker?”
“You going to the charity event Saturday night?”
Fuck. He’d completely forgotten, and rightly so. Being in the middle of a turf war between two powerful gangs had kept him working brutal hours for weeks. Politicians, however, organized parties and charity events at their convenience, and as head of the department, his attendance was usually expected. This particular event, raising money for an after-school program in Chicago’s worst neighborhood, would be completely different, thanks to Barker. His uncle sat on the city council, which had bought the entire homicide division invitations. They’d all get to dress up in monkey suits and eat shrimp cocktail when they should be working.
“Don’t have much of a choice. Why?”
“Just checking. My uncle wants to bend your ear a little.”
“Great. Is that all?”
“Yeah.” But for once the young officer looked uncomfortable. “I hate to bother you with this trivial bullshit, but no one in my uncle’s office has been able to get you on the phone.”
Barker had fallen silent. “I’m waiting.”
“You RSVP’d for two.” Derek turned his eyes to the ceiling and Barker rushed on. “My uncle had no problem paying for the extra plate since a lot of the guys are bringing dates…but the men say you usually fly solo…”
True. Mixing work and his personal life wasn’t something he typically allowed. Introducing a woman to his closest colleagues tended to give her false hope that the relationship would move forward, when it rarely did. Women wanted him to play the hero after hours, but once he clocked out for the evening, he had little interest in being nice. In the end, the women he dated usually found his tastes too intense for their liking.
Derek vaguely recalled handing the invitation to Patty, the department’s soon-to-be-retired dispatch operator and unofficial personal assistant, asking her to respond on his behalf. She’d either put him down to bring a date on accident, or she was playing one of her notorious pranks on him. Derek supposed he could show up on his own, blaming Patty for the mistake. Then again, these charity dinners charged upward of one thousand dollars per plate. He couldn’t very well let a councilman foot the bill for nothing. Keeping politicians happy, annoying as it happened to be, remained in his best interest.
“Tell them I’m bringing someone.”
“What’s her name?”
“Why do they need to know that?”
Barker gulped. “The place card for the table.”
“Jesus.” Derek ran an impatient hand over his hair. “I’ll let you know.”
As Barker beat a quick path to the exit, Derek leaned back in his chair, allowing the heated meeting with Ginger in the hallway to play through his mind again, as it had done frequently since that morning, three days prior. Each time, he remembered something different about their encounter. Her floral scent, the smooth line of her throat, that damn sexy accent.
She claimed to be raising her seventeen-year-old sister. He couldn’t think of many women in their early twenties capable of shouldering that type of responsibility. It was a distinct possibility that she hadn’t been given a choice. The need to know more about Ginger ate at him…and he didn’t understand why. Despite his obvious attraction to her, this insatiable curiosity over a woman was damned unusual for him.
After a brief hesitation, Derek typed “Peet, Ginger” into the search bar of the national database. He’d learned her last name this morning after seeing it on the building mailbox assigned to her apartment. Based on her accent, Derek narrowed down his search to the Southeast section of the country.
He stilled in his chair when a two-week-old missing person’s report popped up out of Nashville, filed by a Valerie Peet, also listing Willa Peet, a minor, as missing.
It gave little information about the circumstances surrounding their disappearance, but color photographs had been provided by the mother, one being Ginger as a teenager. Willa’s appeared to be a recent school yearbook photograph. Neither one of the girls had police records.