He looks me up and down, sensing my vulnerability. Then he asks a simple question. “Do you really think I would let anything happen to you?”
I swallow, not sure how to answer. Deep down inside, I can’t imagine that David would want to see me hurt. Then again, it’s the people I trusted most who have hurt me the most.
“I don’t know,” I say.
David leans in close, his voice barely a whisper. “I was protecting you.”
I’m acutely aware of how close his chest is to mine. I can feel the heat of his body. “Why?” I ask in little more than a whisper.
“Because you needed it.”
I take a deep breath. “Even if I did, why?”
His demeanor softens as I stare into his eyes. He struggles with what to say next—I can see him running through various responses in his head. I think about what he could say and what I want him to say.
Just say you care.
He steps back, creating some distance. “It’s my job.”
I try to hide my disappointment, but it’s not a good effort. Detective David Resnick reads me like a guilty suspect. “I didn’t tell anyone where you were. You have to believe I’m trying to keep you safe. That’s all.”
He didn’t have to add that last part, but I nod, accepting his answer. “Someone knew how to find us,” I say, trying to steer us back to business. “Only the four of us knew.” I meet his eye again. “Right?”
David’s eyes widen in realization, and he snaps his fingers. “Come with me.” He opens the door to the bullpen. I compose myself before following, making sure my eyes are dry.
Paige intercepts me the minute I step out. “What’s wrong?” I wonder whether it’s that obvious or if she’s that good a friend. I hope it’s the latter.
“Nothing,” I say, grabbing Paige and pulling her as I follow David. “But I think he has a hunch.”
David approaches an empty cubicle then moves to a second and third cubicle. “Where is everyone today?” he calls to no one in particular. Another officer walks by, and David turns to him. “Simmons! Did anyone hear from Snyder yet?”
Simmons shakes his head. “Nothing yet, Detective.”
David turns to me.
“You told your partner?” I ask.
“I had to. He was threatening to file a complaint with the captain that I was knowingly releasing a suspect in a murder case back onto the streets.”
“Then where is he?” I ask, looking around. “You thought he would be here. Why isn’t he?”
David looks around then pulls out his cell phone. He dials, and I can hear the phone ringing on the other end while he waits. A woman’s automated voice picks up on the other end—voicemail.
“Damn it.” He hangs up and starts marching out of the bullpen. “Let’s go,” he calls back without looking at us.
Paige and I hurry to keep up. “Where are we going?” she asks.
“Ed’s house,” David says.
Chapter 33
____◊____
ONCE AGAIN, I FIND myself in the back seat of David’s Charger while Paige sits shotgun. The car rumbles along Sunset Boulevard—the crappy part in the east, not the nice part in the west.
“How long has Ed been your partner?” I ask, now curious about their history.
“A few months. Since right when I started Homicide.”
“So you don’t know him that well?”
“He’s a veteran on the force. Been with LAPD for twenty years. He worked Gangs and Narcotics, Vice, and Robbery-Homicide. The man’s a legend.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
David shoots me a look through his rearview mirror. “I know him well enough.”
He steers his car into the affluent suburbs of Franklin Hills. The streets are narrow and winding, so he drives slowly up the hillside to avoid hitting parked cars and retaining walls that prevent the entire mountain from sliding down.
We arrive at a large home near the top. From the outside, it looks like a typical Spanish-style Los Angeles home. A long path of terra-cotta tiles leads up the stucco-walled fortress. Red-clay tiles top every inch of the home, including the posts and overhangs.
“This is a nice house,” Paige remarks. It’s easily a multimillion-dollar home and pairs nicely with the brand-new Jaguar parked in the driveway.
“Really nice. You cops must make a lot more than I thought,” I say.
“Take it easy,” David scolds.
“Tell me again that he’s clean.”
David turns to me when we arrive at the doorstep. “Just… don’t say anything.”
I zip my mouth shut.
“Too soon,” Paige mutters to me.
He rings the doorbell. We wait. Nothing.
He rings again then tries the door handle. It’s unlocked, and the door swings right open.
Without hesitating, David pulls out his gun. “I want you two to stay right—” He looks at Paige. I turn and see that she’s holding her gun, too. “What are you doing?”
“Backup?”
“Put that away.”
Paige holsters the gun.
David looks at me. “Are you armed?”
“Nothing you need to worry about,” I answer. Paige and I exchange a look. Hopefully.
He shakes his head. “Wait in the car. No, wait.” He looks like he’s mulling the options. “Shit.”
David pulls out his cell and dials three numbers. “Hi, this is Detective David Resnick with the LAPD. Yes. I’m at 254 Ronda Vista Drive, requesting a black-and-white for a possible B and E. I’m going inside. Please advise. Thanks.” He hangs up and turns to us. “Stay close. And don’t touch anything.”
Just before he goes in, he hesitates. “If you do have to use that thing,” he says, glancing at Paige’s gun, “you know how to use it, right?”
Paige scowls. “I’ve used a gun before.” That is technically true. She tried to shoot a death saint, almost shot my foot in an abandoned house, and tried to murder a witch.
David’s not entirely sold. “Just keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.” He goes in first, gun drawn and pointed. I follow with Paige behind me. She keeps her hand on her gun but leaves it holstered. We move carefully throughout the house, clearing every room.
Judging by the decor and the view of downtown
