Dev had brought her here to his center, but that was the last thing she remembered. Or was it? She frowned, looking down at herself. She was dressed in pale blue cotton pajamas. She ran her hand down the front of the top. These weren’t hers, either. Where were her clothes?
Looking around the strange room, she finally spotted the pants, shirt and windbreaker she’d worn the night before, draped over a chair at the end of the bed. She had a vague memory of a strikingly beautiful woman with a long blond braid and a serene smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes handing her pajamas and slippers.
She threw back the covers and got up, reaching for her purse and checking her watch. Seven-thirty. She groaned. No wonder she could barely hold her eyes open. She’d had a grand total of three hours sleep.
She opened the bedroom door a crack and listened, but she didn’t hear anyone stirring. Glancing to the right, down the hall, she saw a door. Bathroom. Was that another memory from the night before or merely logic? How tired had she been not to recall getting here and changing clothes?
Padding to the bathroom on bare feet, she looked around it in dismay. She was dying for a shower, but there wasn’t one—just an old-fashioned claw-foot tub, and no lock on the door. She’d have to ask Dev for a more private alternative. In the meantime, there was a stack of clean washcloths on the back of the toilet and a few brand-new toothbrushes behind the mirror. She washed her face and hands and brushed her teeth, then ran her wet fingers through her hair, trying to tame it. Back in the bedroom, she donned her wrinkled clothes and tiptoed downstairs into the dimly lit front room.
She stopped. The room wasn’t empty. In fact, it appeared full of people. Not just people—kids. Teenagers. Probably six or eight of them. They were sprawled in chairs or stretched out on couches or on the floor, sleeping. A young man sitting on the floor with his back against the wall was engrossed in his phone, its light casting eerie shadows on his face. She vaguely remembered walking through this room last night and seeing the kids. In one corner was a computer on a small table, its monitor casting a pale blue light over the smooth, innocent faces of the teenagers.
She glanced back toward the stairs, considering going back to the bedroom and waiting until she heard someone else get up.
“I thought you were going to sleep in,” said a low, gravelly voice behind her.
Chapter Six
Dev’s voice rumbled over her senses like thunder in the next county. She turned. He was leaning against the kitchen doorway, his long fingers wrapped around a mug of coffee. Gray sweatpants hung on his lean hips, and a white, stretched-out T-shirt clung to his broad chest.
Powerful
. The word whispered through her mind before she could put up her defenses. What was wrong with her that, despite all his lies, despite his continued resentment of her and her opinions, just looking at those wide shoulders and athletic legs could turn her brain to mush and her insides to jelly? How big a disconnect was there between her brain and her libido, that she could be this intensely attracted to a man who, just weeks ago, she’d been sure embodied all the careless, casual charm that had characterized her father and her ex-fiancé? Just before they left her.
Suppressing a shiver of longing, and realizing that she was staring at the low-slung waistband of his sweatpants, she dragged her gaze up to his face. Even in the dim light she could see that his straight, mobile mouth was turned down in a moue. The planes of his strong jaw and high cheekbones were made harsher by the early morning shadows. He hadn’t shaved, and dark stubble deepened the hollows in his cheeks.
“You look terrible,” she said, the words slipping out before she thought to stop them. She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
He yawned, arched his neck and said, “Yeah, well, I guess we’re a pair, then. Because you look like a drowned cat.” He cocked one dark brow and lazily drained his coffee cup. “Is wet hair some kind of fashion statement these days?”
She sniffed. “You really should work on that legendary charm of yours. People might get the idea it’s overrated.”
A glint of amusement lit his eyes, making her realize just how dull and sunken they had been. “Charm is inversely proportional to sleep,” he drawled, then took a swallow of coffee.
“And you haven’t slept at all.” She knew because of the purple shadows under his eyes and the slump to his shoulders. Something elemental inside her, something she couldn’t control or put a name to, sent conflicting signals to her brain. She wanted to cradle his head between her hands, pull it down to rest on her shoulder. She wanted to bury her nose in that thick black hair and promise him that everything would be all right, and then kiss him until he believed it.
She must be more tired than she’d thought to be thinking like that about him.
“You got some sleep, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice sounding concerned.
“Not enough.” She squinted up at him. “Do I remember a woman giving me some pajamas?”
“Penn. Penelope Sims.”
“Penn.” She nodded in remembrance. She wanted to ask who the woman was, but she couldn’t think of a way to word it that wouldn’t sound catty.
Dev raised an eyebrow. He might as well have read her mind. “Penn and her daughter, Katie, live here. In every way but by blood, Penn’s my sister. She helps me chaperone the kids, and she’s studying to be a psychiatric social worker.” He glanced at his watch. “You’d better get ready. As soon as you’re done with Lieutenant Flanagan, you’ll be the guest of the Eighth District station. We’re going to watch that disk.”
“We?” Her heart leapt in her chest—in anticipation or apprehension, she wasn’t sure. “You want me to be there?”
“Givens asked for you. He figures he might have some questions.” Dev headed into the kitchen. “Coffee?” he asked over his shoulder. “It’s from last night, but—”
She followed him. The room was dim, the only light coming from a low-wattage bulb over the kitchen sink. “I could make fresh, if you’ll tell me—”
The kitchen light flashed on. Reghan jumped and squinted against the sudden glare. A young woman with shaggy, dishwater blond hair stood at the door, her hand on the switch.
“Oh, I didn’t see anyone here.” The girl was tall and very thin, dressed in a tie-dyed shirt, which left her flat belly bare over hip-hugger jeans. She had on a beat-up pair of Nikes.
Reghan looked back at the young woman’s face, which was almost half-hidden by her hair. Her bangs were uneven, allowing no more than a peek at surprisingly shapely brows. Her dark brown eyes were unreadable until she smiled. Then Reghan was struck by how pretty she was. When the girl turned her attention to Dev, her pretty smile became positively adoring. Her hand came up to touch her hair. The gesture seemed conscious and graceful, at odds with her lackluster appearance.
“I’d have been here earlier if I’d known you were back, Dev. I’ll fix breakfast for you—and your guest.” She smiled at Reghan. “I’ll make fresh coffee, too.” She leaned past him to pick up his cup from the table, her small breasts brushing against his bare arm.
Well, well. Devereux’s got himself a devotee.
Reghan’s brows rose as his gaze slid to hers.
He obviously read her thoughts because his scowl deepened. Reghan did her best not to chuckle. It was obvious the girl had a major crush on him.
“Hi,” she said to the teenager. “I’m Reghan Connor.”
“Oh, yeah,” Dev said, swiping a hand down his face. “This is Tracy. She’s been helping out around the center for—how long now?”
Tracy turned with the coffee scoop in her hand. “Maybe six weeks since—since my mom kicked me out. I’ve seen your show. I try to watch every day.”
“Really?” Reghan said, surprised. She bit her tongue to keep from asking why. The girl didn’t look like a news junkie.
“We’re honored to have you visit our center,” Tracy continued.
We?
“Thank you, Tracy. I appreciate that.” She opened her mouth to ask Tracy about herself, but the girl turned back to the coffeemaker. Soon she set two steaming mugs on the table.
“Dev,” she said, sad-eyed. “I heard that Jimmy was killed.”
Dev wrapped his hand around the mug, ignoring the handle. “Where’d you hear that?”
Her brows drew down. “Elliott, maybe? Yeah, Elliott. He said he was there.”
“There where?”
Tracy flung her head, sending her ragged bangs floating into the air, only to settle back down exactly where they had been. “I don’t know. I guess he meant where they found Jimmy—you know—his body.”
“What about Nicky? Have you seen him today?” Dev asked.
Tracy shook her head. “Penn told me you want him to stay at the center. I’ll tell him the next time I see him.”
“Good. I want him here for the next week or so.”
Tracy’s dark eyes grew wide. “You think he’s in danger, too?”
“Not really,” Dev hedged. “Just tell him, okay?” He downed his coffee in two gulps and pushed back his chair. “Let me change clothes, Connor, and we can get to the station.”
Reghan looked down at herself. “Can we go by my house? I need something fresh to wear.”
“Nope,” Dev said, drawing out the word with exaggerated patience. “When we left last night, the crime scene tape was still up. Lieutenant Flanagan should release it today, but until we hear differently, your house is a crime scene.”
Tracy looked over her shoulder. “A crime scene?” she repeated. “What happened? Are you okay?” she asked Reghan.
“I’m fine. Someone just—”
Dev interrupted her. “Just a break-in at her house. Ms. Connor wasn’t home.”
Tracy started to say something to him, but changed her mind and turned to Reghan. “You can wear something of mine.”
Reghan laughed. “Maybe ten years ago,” she said. “But thanks.”
Tracy glanced down at Reghan’s wrinkled clothes and waggled her head. “Whatever,” she said.
“I’ll be right back.” Dev left her alone in the kitchen with Tracy, who, now that Dev was gone, seemed unaware Reghan was even in the room. She hummed tonelessly as she set a stack of plates into the dishwater, which billowed with steam.
Reghan wandered out into the large front room, where people were beginning to stir. She stood quietly and watched. The teens who had been sleeping a little while ago were up—at least most of them were. There was a chilled, subdued air about the place, probably because they’d heard about the latest murders. A couple of girls with dyed black hair hovered around the computer, whispering. Two boys who looked to be in their late teens or early twenties came in the front door and headed straight for the kitchen, pathetically starry-eyed with adoration for Tracy. A young man with spiked black hair was curled up on a couch asleep, the spikes poking into the cushions. On a bench against the far wall sat a boy with a shaved head.
Reghan looked closer at him. He seemed familiar. She strolled casually toward the front door, trying to get a good look at his face.
When Dev appeared dressed in khakis and a white shirt, with a tie slung around his neck and holding his jacket draped nonchalantly over one shoulder, Reghan’s jaw nearly dropped. No wonder Tracy had a crush on him. No wonder Annie had said “what a man.” Reghan had seen him all cleaned up before, but back then she’d been concentrating on catching him in lies and deception, not on how he looked. Now that she was beginning to see him from a different perspective, he was stunning in an unconscious, unassuming way. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and reminded herself that he may be gorgeous, but she was
not
interested in him.
As he crossed the room, the eyes of all the kids followed him. He spoke to each one by name. As he passed the kid with the shaved head, the boy looked up at him.
Reghan suppressed a gasp. Of course. The nick out of his right ear and all the piercings cinched it. She
did
recognize him. He’d been at both crime scenes.
“Hey, Elliott,” Dev said. “When are you supposed to talk to the police again?”
Elliott cowered as if he thought Dev were going to kick him. He lifted a shoulder and sunk lower on the bench. “Sometime today,” he mumbled. “But I didn’ see nothin’.”
Dev shrugged. “Detective Cowen told me he’d be here early to talk to you. Don’t leave before then, okay?”
The boy hunched down as Dev beckoned to Reghan and ushered her out the door. “I mean it, Elliott,” he sent back over his shoulder as the door closed behind them.
“That’s Elliott?” she asked. “The kid Tracy was talking about? I saw him,” she said as the door closed.
“Where?” Dev started the car and pulled out into traffic.
“He was there last night at Chef Menteur Highway. At both scenes, actually.”
Dev nodded. “I know. Detective Cowen from the Sixth District questioned him along with several others who showed up at both places. Like I told Elliott, Cowen’s coming to the center today to talk to all the kids. He wants to check their whereabouts during the last few days.”
“Do you think Elliott could have killed them? Could that be why he was there both times?”
“Not a chance. Look at him, he’s not strong enough to take down Jiminy Cricket, let alone Darnell or Jimmy. According to Cowan, all he was doing was standing off to the side watching. Same as several other kids. “
“And it’s not suspicious that he knew about the murders so quickly? In time to get to both scenes?” she asked.
“Those scenes were where the bodies washed up from the river, not where the boys were killed,” he reminded her. “So him being there doesn’t necessarily mean anything.” He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. “Besides, he has a car.”
“A car? How—”
“Not all the kids who hang out here are homeless. Some of them have plenty of money.”
“Money? How? Dealing drugs?” she asked incredulously.
“Why would you think that?” He shook his head. “No. Not Elliott. He wouldn’t last a minute in that business.”
“So, what? Rich parents?”
“I’ve never asked. I try to stay out of the kids’ home lives. They’re at the center because they want to escape.”
For a cop, he had very little curiosity. It was maddening. She thought about it. She’d heard about people who enjoyed dabbling in dangerous subcultures, just for the thrill. She supposed the center qualified, sort of. And if Elliott had a car, that explained how he got from the Port of New Orleans out to Chef Menteur. But it didn’t answer the question of how he knew about the discovery of the bodies so quickly.