Page 20 of The Perfect Poise

As she studied her image in the elevator mirror, loosening her silk top so that her curves weren’t so prominent when she got out to walk to her car, she acknowledged to herself that she had choices. She had an offer on the table from One Nite Only, the lingerie company that had exploded after she started modeling for them five years ago, when she turned twenty-one.

But as lucrative as that deal was for her, she wanted the imprimatur of one of the big names for this line. She hadn’t graduated from Parsons while modeling to end up being called a joke or a nepo baby. She’d worked hard to establish her credibility outside of her looks or Daddy’s influence. Though she loved him dearly, she wanted something that she could call her own. She deserved this moment. But she had to play it just right.

The elevator dinged and the door opened. She was just stepping forward to get out when someone leapt in from out of nowhere and slammed her back into the corner. They were dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask.

Isabella’s right hip slammed into the metal railing of the elevator. Despite the pain and the fear, Isabella tried to remain calm. This wasn’t the first time she’d been mugged. It had happened twice in New York.

“I don’t have any cash,” she said, keeping her voice even, aware that panic would only escalate the situation.

“I’m not interested in money,” the person said, their voice muffled somewhat by the mask, which covered their mouth.

Then, before Isabella could fully process it, the mugger pulled out a long, serrated hunting knife. It was only then that she realized the person was wearing gloves too. Everything became clear at once. This wasn’t a mugging or even a rape attempt. Her attacker was prepared. Their face was hidden, and their hands were covered. This was planned.

Isabella tried to reposition herself in the pose that she’d learned from the self-defense expert her father had hired for her back when he worried regularly that she might be kidnapped for ransom. But before her fists were even up in front of her, the knife flashed before her eyes.

She knew it must have gotten her neck, because she saw her own blood spurting wildly against the elevator door and ceiling. She watched a second knife swing come at her, but it missed, mostly because she had lost strength in her legs and collapsed to the ground. She felt terror start to take hold and tried to scream, but it only came out as a gurgle.

She lifted her hands to cover the spot where the blood was shooting out, but as she did, she caught a glimpse of the knife coming down in the direction of her chest. The last fully formed thought she had before they would stop forever was a surprise to her.

I want my daddy.

CHAPTER TEN

“Remember not to let her get to you,” Jessie warned as she and Ryan made their way to Captain Gaylene Parker’s Central Station office.

“I won’t,” Ryan promised unconvincingly.

"You know she has to be as frustrated as we are," Jessie continued, "and will probably make unreasonable demands because of the pressure she's under. Just let her say her piece, and then we'll get back to work."

"I know, Jessie," he said, sounding irritated already, which wasn’t a great sign. “I’ve been through this before.”

She dropped it, not mentioning that the reason she was prepping him was because it hadn’t gone so well the last time they were in this situation. She didn’t anticipate that this would go much better.

Garrett Leach, their only suspect in the Chloe Baptiste murder, had turned out to be a dead end. His young friend, Tiffany, had enthusiastically and descriptively vouched for his whereabouts the night before. And with GPS data to back it up, he was off the hook.

That meant they were back to being suspect-less over twelve hours into the investigation. It was 11:45 a.m., they had been up much of the night, and even after stopping in to see Jamil and Beth in Research, they still only had a bunch of disconnected names to follow up on, none of whom had a clear motive to harm Chloe.

There were disgruntled employees at her mansion, but even the ones who were vocal about it had been well-compensated for their mistreatment at Chloe’s hands. And none of those employees had worked for her for over two years. This crime felt more immediate. They found several artists and gallery owners who felt undercut by Baptiste. But all of her “victims” were wealthy in their own right. No one’s career had been derailed.

In the worst case that Jamil could locate, one gallery owner who’d been blackballed by Chloe Baptiste had lost $3 million in sales, dropping his income for that year to $27.2 million. Apparently that kept him just below the unofficial $30 million threshold for UHNW individuals, but at that level of wealth who was counting? Besides, the guy lived in Chicago.

They stopped in front of Captain Parker’s office, where her administrative aide, Officer Shaniqua George sat at a small desk.

“I’ll let the Captain know you’re here,” Officer George said. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

She nodded at the two folding chairs against the wall of Parker's office. Jessie felt Ryan stiffen next to her, and she knew why. As they sat down, she took his hand in hers and squeezed.

Ryan was clearly thinking back his own time as captain of Central Station and how differently he operated as its leader. He didn’t have any administrative aides and most of the time, his office had an open door policy.

But he wasn’t in a position to complain about the change. After all, as Jessie made sure not to remind him in moments like this, he’d resigned as captain three months ago. His reasons were myriad, including despising the administrative part of the gig. He hated the paperwork and the constant meetings. But that wasn’t all of it.

He also missed being in the field, leading Homicide Special Section, the unit he’d created and led for years. Finally, he’d found—they’d both found—that being Jessie’s boss and her husband, was untenable. Yes, he was still the lead detective for HSS, of which she was a member, but that wasn’t the same as running an entire station, often having to keep the person he was closest to in the dark about goings-on. Neither of them were great at maintaining the personal and professional boundaries required to make the whole thing work.

He’d only ever taken the captain job in the first place to help out Roy Decker, who had himself been promoted from captain of Central Station to the chief of LAPD in the wake of a scandal. Chief Decker had beseeched Ryan to take over at Central, saying that he needed people he could trust until was more entrenched as chief.

Ryan, to his credit in Jessie’s opinion, had waited until his distaste for being captain was finally matched by his confidence that Decker was on solid footing. Only then did he step down, even recommending Parker for the job. She had run Vice at Central, and Ryan had always admired her no-nonsense approach.

Parker’s impressive resume was well-known. A forty-four-year old mother of two, she had worked her way up from street officer to an undercover detective with the Vice unit, where she often posed as a prostitute. Eventually she was promoted to head up the unit, which she led for four years before becoming captain at Central. But what neither Jessie nor Ryan knew until they were under her command was that her blunt style also had a component of micro-management that was, to put it mildly, grating.

---