The English Detective and the Rookie Agent Read online

  “Thank-you.” Jeremy and Mercedes left and headed back to the Command Center.

  “So, you still think they received a ransom demand?” Mercedes said.

  Jeremy considered Doug Weddle’s expression of relief. “Hard to tell. We gave him the perfect opportunity to come clean.”

  “And he didn’t take it. I don’t think he’s hiding anything.”

  “You can never be too sure. People are often not what they appear to be.”

  “Aren’t you the cynical one?”

  “I’m also wondering about the scribblings on the order pad.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “If it has anything to do with this case, or if it was just scribblings.”

  He ignored her expression of disbelief.

  “Of course it’s related to this case. What else could it be?”

  Abandoned. Lost. Betrayed. Was it a message from Jeremy’s stalker or the person responsible for Lucas’s disappearance?

  “I’ve been thinking about those words,” he said. “The boy is lost, but how could he be abandoned and betrayed?”

  “We find that out and it might lead us to Lucas,” she said. “I’m thinking personal enemies. Someone who thought Doug Weddle shafted him in business. Let’s drop that note off at the Command Center. Maybe they can find fingerprints besides yours and the waitress’s.”

  They left the note with Spinelli, who was going to take it to a forensics lab. Max and Cassie hadn’t returned from the beach. Just as well, Barnes couldn’t risk Max figuring out something was bothering his second in command. Max had a keen sense about people, especially Jeremy.

  Luckily, Agent Ramos didn’t have that same talent, at least not where Jeremy was concerned.

  She insisted on driving, saying he needed to focus on eating his lunch. When they picked up sandwiches, he felt like a twit for only having two dollars left in his wallet. Last night he could have sworn he’d had close to fifty dollars.

  “I’ll get this one,” she said with a smile, as if she enjoyed the thought of him owing her.

  She unwrapped his sandwich, handed it to him like an overprotective mother and headed out of town. He eyed her as she sipped her cola.

  “You come from a large family?” He took a bite of his sandwich.

  “Four kids—two boys, two girls. You?”

  He swallowed. “Just me.”

  “Ah, that explains it,” she said, pulling onto the highway.

  “What?”

  “The way you are. You seem uncomfortable around people.”

  “Maybe I’m just uncomfortable around you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Why?”

  “Drop the female-racist thing, will you?”

  “Who says I was thinking that?”

  “You’ve been thinking that ever since you joined the team. But if it works for you…”

  “Yeah, you think you know me, British?”

  “Now who’s racist?”

  That shut her up. But he didn’t want her quiet, he wanted her talking, scolding, arguing; anything to keep his mind off this strange turn of events.

  How r u feeling, Inspector?

  “Why police work?” he asked her to distract himself.

  “Why not?” she countered.

  He shook his head.

  “What?” She glanced at him, then back at the road.

  “Everything I say, you interpret as an insult.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Why a career in law enforcement then?” He took another bite of his sandwich.

  “Because I like catching bad guys.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Everyone wants to catch criminals. There’s usually something else involved, something personal.”

  “Yeah? You first. What personal thing made you want to be a cop?”

  “I wanted to catch bad guys.” He smiled.

  “And?” she challenged.

  “Being a police officer royally upset my parents.”

  “I know that feeling. Mami says I should be home with four children by now.” She brushed crumbs off her black pants.

  “How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Thirty-one.”

  “Four kids?”

  “She’d had hers by the time she turned thirty.”

  “But the mommy thing isn’t for you?”

  “Maybe, someday, after I have a successful career. I’m trying to set an example for my little sister. Show her she has options. Why didn’t your parents want you to be a cop?”

  “They wanted me to be a lawyer.”

  She grimaced.

  “I agree,” he said. “They expected me to follow in my father’s footsteps, study law, join his firm and bill wealthy clients for thousands of pounds.”

  “Your family is wealthy?”

  “Relatively.” Not that he would see any of the family fortune.

  She placed the remainder of her sandwich back in the wrapper. “If my family was wealthy, I wouldn’t be working so hard.”

  He smiled. “Yes, you would.”

  “You think you know me?”

  “Ah, on the defensive again,” he joked. Maybe if he kept this mindless banter going he’d calm the panic filling his chest.

  “The defensive is natural for me,” she said. “I’ve had to fight for everything.”

  Unlike you, he heard. Just like the rest, she assumed Jeremy the spoiled type.

  “For instance?” he prompted.

  “My jobs. I have to prove myself over and over again.”

  “Prove yourself?”

  “Yes. Prove that it’s not my sex or my race that gets me promotions.”

  “Reverse discrimination, you mean?”

  “Sure. I’m a female Latina. It looks good to have a double minority on the payroll.”

  “You really believe that? That your race opens doors for you?”

  “It’s what the rest of the world thinks.”

  Interesting. The girl was trying to prove something to the faceless mass of humanity. That was a tall order.

  They drove a few minutes in silence, Jeremy welcoming the peace of a quiet country road. It was a gorgeous coastal drive.

  “So, where will we go first?” she said, eyeing a sign that read, Mountain View—Ten Miles.

  Did the silence bother her? He’d grown used to it over the years, welcomed it over the alternative—his mother’s rantings.

  “I’d like to speak with Lucas’s friend, Shayne, then head over to the Weddles’ house and interview the sister and pick up Lucas’s computer. Eddie’s a talented bloke with those things.”

  “I’ll have to check out this Eddie a little more closely,” she joked.

  It felt odd, her joking, Jeremy talking. This was the most he’d spoken to a coworker in years. He’d given orders and discussed theories, but rarely did he converse about anything other than the case at hand.

  It was even more odd that he’d strike up a conversation with Mercedes, a passionate woman who seemed unafraid of exposing her thoughts and feelings.

  Dangerous indeed.

  She glanced in the rearview. “What’s this guy’s problem?”

  He looked out the back window. A truck was following so close he couldn’t see the headlights.

  “The bloke’s obviously in a rush.”

  She muttered a curse in Spanish.

  “Don’t take it personally,” he said. “If he’s in a hurry, he’d be on anybody’s tail. We just happened to be ahead of him.”

  “How can you be so calm?”

  “What good will it do to get angry? Why don’t you pull over and let him pass.”

  “No, the jerk can pull around us.”

  “It’s a competition then?”

  “Very funny,” she said.

  A bump jerked them forward. “Bastard!” she cried. “He hit us.”

  “Pull over.”

  “We need to get his plate number.”

&n
bsp; “Just pull over and let him pass.”

  He dug his fingers into the dash realizing this could be more than a motorist in a hurry. Was it his stalker?

  “Pull over now!”

  She ignored him and studied the rearview mirror. “I’m gonna nail that jerk. Can you get a good look at him?”

  “Forget about that lunatic. Let him pass. That’s an order, Agent Ramos.”

  She glared at him. Then turned on her blinker.

  The truck edged closer. Blast, who was this bastard?

  “Back off!” she said.

  The truck jerked forward and hit their back bumper, shoving them toward the cliff overlooking the ocean.

  Jeremy’s head whipped back and Mercedes spun the wheel.

  He gripped the dash, adrenaline pumping through his body as the car jerked to a stop a few feet from the overlook.

  “The jerk doesn’t even have a back license plate!” she cried.

  He took a calming breath. Of course he didn’t have a back plate—driving like that, he wouldn’t want to be identified.

  Jeremy got out of the car and took a deep breath. The truck was nothing but two spots of red taillights in the distance. He went to the back of the car and noticed a dent in the bumper.

  It could have been much worse. They could have landed in the ocean.

  Mercedes got out and waved a fist in the truck’s direction. “Can you believe that guy? What was he trying to do, kill us?”

  Her long black ponytail swung to the front as she carried on, waving her hands and cursing in Spanish. She wore her emotions on her sleeve, whereas Jeremy hid them deep in his heart. She was a wild one and sexy as hell when angry.

  What are you thinking, Barnes? You could have been killed just now. Mercedes could have been killed. She didn’t deserve to be in danger because of Jeremy. Was the truck related to the threat he’d received? Or was it a coincidence?

  No, Jeremy didn’t believe that. He had to convince Templeton to assign Mercedes a new partner as soon as they returned from Mountain View. Which meant he had to tell Templeton about the newspaper clipping.

  Jeremy eyed the highway where the truck had disappeared. “He was in a hurry, for sure.”

  “A hurry? That’s all you have to say? He was in a hurry? He’s dangerous. Probably drunk. We’ll report that jerk when we hit the next town.”

  “We don’t have time to stop. Let’s keep moving. I’ll drive.”

  Mercedes watched him get back in the car, calm and collected. He wasn’t rattled in the least about nearly being killed by psycho driver.

  Did the man feel anything?

  She got in the car and they pulled away.

  “I can do the interviews if you’re too shaken,” he said.

  “You should be shaken, too. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “All this control. A man just tried to kill us and you, you’re nothing.”

  “You know it was a man because a woman wouldn’t drive like that?”

  “Jokes? How can you joke about this?”

  He opened and closed his fingers around the steering wheel. Okay, so he was feeling something.

  Maybe he was being a gentleman, acting calm for her benefit. She’d heard about men doing that but had never experienced it firsthand.

  Or maybe he was—a passionless detective who didn’t let anything get to him.

  What a sad way to live your life.

  “I’m fine.” She stared out the window, cursing herself for losing it. She couldn’t help it. She hated stupidity and that driver was number one stupid.

  Which made her partner what? She’d given him that title up to now, considered him a drunken fool. After all, one minute he thought the words written on the check were a lead, the next he dismissed them. He was completely inconsistent.

  Plus the man was more than a bit secretive. He was keeping something from her. That piece of paper he’d shoved into his pocket at the lodge had turned his face white. Maybe they’d revoked his VISA. She smiled at that one. The supposedly brilliant, but bumbling Brit being shipped back to England.

  Yet before, when they were chatting, he’d seemed natural and honest. She eyed him. Yes, she could see him as an attorney, not a cop. With that reserved control he could prosecute and convict criminals, using facts and evidence as his road map. She imagined that same control could drive him mad if he kept the ugliness of his job bottled up inside.

  He seemed too sophisticated to be a cop, not the type to get his hands dirty. That’s why he had Mercedes around, to take notes, ask questions and buy him lunch.

  “Hey, I want to be reimbursed for your tuna sandwich.”

  He cracked a smile. Odd, how that subtle expression changed his face completely. He went from cold, disinterested detective to intriguing man; a man with intense blue eyes that fascinated her.

  Forget it, chica.

  She hadn’t seen it coming with her last partner; but she’d be walking straight into the fire if she found herself the least bit interested in Jeremy Barnes as anything other than a way to solidify her position with Blackwell.

  She glanced at the trees that whizzed by as they headed to Mountain View. Mercedes pushed all thoughts of this puzzling man out of her mind and focused on her interviews—a four-year-old sister, a ten-year-old friend; so young to be dealing with this kind of tragedy.

  Then again, she shouldn’t assume the boy had drowned. What had that girl Cassie said? We’ve got to be positive.

  A foreign concept for Mercedes.

  “What’s this about?” Barnes said, as they approached town.

  Her stomach clenched at the sight of flashing blue lights. Three squad cars were in place, officers stopping and speaking to motorists. Barnes lowered his window.

  “Officer?” he said. “We’re with the Lucas Weddle investigation. What’s happened?”

  “Lucas’s sister is missing.”

  Chapter Five

  “We’re pulling over cars to ask if anyone’s seen her and to make sure she hasn’t been abducted,” the officer said.

  Mercedes’s chest ached. First the son disappears, now the daughter? What had the Weddles done to deserve this horror?

  She thought about the note—abandoned, lost, betrayed.

  “We’re expected at the Weddle house,” Barnes said to the officer.

  “Take a right at the second stop sign and follow it about a mile. The girl’s been missing less than an hour.”

  “Who reported her missing?”

  “The grandmother. She’s pretty shook up.”

  “Thanks. Oh, I don’t suppose anyone reported a red truck racing through town in the last half hour?”

  “No, sir, why? Does it have something to do with the missing girl?”

  “It ran us off the road and it didn’t have a back plate.”

  “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  “Thanks. My contact information.” He handed him a Blackwell business card.

  Barnes pulled ahead and Mercedes stared out the window, watching a motorist get out of her car with a questioning look on her face.

  Everyone was suspect. Even the innocent.

  “What do you make of it?” he asked.

  She was shocked that he wanted her opinion. “Rules out accidental drowning.”

  “You think so?” he eyed her.

  She realized his rimless glasses acted as a shield, a barrier to keep anyone from seeing too deep into his thoughts.

  “What do you think?” she shot back.

  “It’s quite a coincidence that two children from the same family have gone missing.”

  She squared off at him. “Why would a kidnapper hold Lucas for three days without a ransom demand? And why pick the same week to abduct the sister when you know that the family will be surrounded by cops?”

  “Arrogance? You have to accept it.”

  “Maybe,” she whispered. The very word she’d used to describe Jeremy. Yet she was starting to reconsider.

&nb
sp; She’d enjoyed their interaction and brainstorming about the case. It was as if they’re opposite natures created a new kind of energy, a balanced energy.

  They pulled up to the Weddles’ driveway. The house sitting on the other side of the iron gates was big enough for five families.

  “Yes?” a voice said through the intercom.

  “Agents Barnes and Ramos from the Blackwell Group.”

  The gate squeaked open. A few unmarked and Mountain View police cars lined up to the house. Two uniforms stood on the front landing, smoking cigarettes. Jeremy pulled behind a dark sedan and they got out.

  “Follow my lead,” he said to her.

  She didn’t take offense this time.

  They approached the two men. “Good afternoon. I’m Jeremy Barnes, this is Mercedes Ramos. The Weddles have hired us to investigate their son’s disappearance,” Barnes said. “I understand the daughter’s gone missing?”

  “The call came in a half hour ago,” the taller of the two men said. “The chief is inside trying to calm down the grandmother. She’s the one who called it in.”

  “What’s the status of the search?” Barnes asked.

  “They’re combing the property and have started a neighborhood search. We’re trying to figure out how the perp got into the house. I mean look at the security.” He motioned toward the gates.

  “Who was on the premises besides the grandmother?” Mercedes asked.

  “The gardener, he’s in the dining room being questioned. Housekeeper, she’s already been questioned. She’s helping keep the grandmother calm.”

  “Thanks,” Barnes said and went into the mansion.

  The foyer was as large as Mercedes’s house growing up. What did one family need with so much space? She struggled to get her objectivity back.

  Voices drifted into the entryway from where she guessed was the living room.

  “Grandmother first?”

  “I’d like to look around. Can you interview her?” He paused and looked at her. “But be gentle.”

  “Aren’t I always?” she shot back, half teasing. She knew her style wasn’t warm and fuzzy. That was Mercedes. She had to act tough in a man’s world.

  They parted and Jeremy headed upstairs. It was a large home, a little larger than his family house. He always wondered why they needed such a big house since he was an only child. Later, as a teenager, he figured out it had been a status symbol, a way to show the rest of the world how important the Barnes family was. Which made matters worse when they’d sold it during the divorce. He and Mum ended up in a modest flat and his father moved into a handsome home in Primrose Hill.