Page 43 of Wicked and Claimed

This morning, Nash was apparently eager. When she stepped off the elevator and around the reception desk, he was already leaning against her desk with steaming coffee and a smile. At least she’d arrived before Angela, Curtis, and Blake. Now she prayed Nash would respect the boundaries she’d set yesterday so she wouldn’t have to haul him back to the coffee cubby for another chat.

“What are you doing here so early?” She set down her java and bag, then gave her totally professional attention to Nash. She didn’t at all notice his well-muscled body as he oozed masculinity in a hunter-green T-shirt, distressed jeans, and steel-toed boots.

“Morning. I wanted to tell you about progress I made in the case yesterday and see if you’d discovered anything new I should be aware of. I only need a few minutes of your time.”

His response took her aback. No flirting? No innuendo?

“Sure. What did you learn?”

“About an hour ago, I tracked down the detective assigned to investigate these disappearances. Haskins is very experienced, over twenty-five years with the force.”

“That’s good.” But his face said otherwise. “No?”

“My read? He’s a few months from retirement, and he’d rather slide by and hand this case off to someone else. So he’s doing the bare minimum to avoid negative scrutiny. Last year, he went through a divorce. His kids barely speak to him.” Nash shrugged. “I think he’s burned out and we’re not going to get much help from him.”

That was a blow she hadn’t seen coming. “Damn it. I’d ask if he just doesn’t give a crap about all the women who have been taken and what they’re suffering, but I’m guessing after a quarter century of crimes, he’s numb to that.”

Nash nodded. “His attitude seemed to be that none of these women would survive long, and after what they’ve probably endured, they’ll wish they were dead anyway.”

“That’s a horrible outlook.”

“Yep. I was able to get some information out of him that we can run with…” Then Nash proceeded to tell her pretty much everything Jasper had imparted last night.

“So I heard.”

He scowled. “How?”

“An online source. Someone I know who happens to know people. He did some digging, too. But corroboration is good. What else?”

“I swung by the mall and checked out the area near the food court. I don’t like anything about the way that alcove was constructed. The lighting is almost nonexistent, and unless you happen to be standing directly in the hallway, you can’t see what’s happening near the women’s room.”

“You’re right. And I’m confused. If Mr. Benedict can pay for extra cameras and security guards, why didn’t he pay for better lighting. At least maybe victims could see their assailants coming and have a fighting chance.”

“Oh, there are light fixtures. Someone removed the bulbs. I checked—before I got caught by one of the maintenance staff, who threatened to call the mall cops on me.” He grinned. “I shut his ass up by threatening to have the police drag him to the station for questioning as a suspect in the abductions.”

Haisley gaped. “For real? What did he do?”

“Sputter. He claimed he removed the light bulbs after they went out, and he swears he hasn’t replaced them yet because they’re on backorder due to the holidays and supply-chain issues. I asked to see the purchase order for the replacement bulbs. Shockingly, he couldn’t put his finger on it.”

“In other words, he either didn’t bother replacing the bulbs or didn’t bother ordering them in the first place.”

“That’s what I think. He promised to follow up today. Of course that was after he threatened to call Mr. Benedict. I encouraged him to do just that. He was less ballsy after I pointed out the man had hired me to investigate.”

“Naturally.” But that got her thinking. Did Mr. Benedict have any idea how the Oakfield Mall actually functioned day-to-day? That people over there weren’t doing their jobs? That the area by that restroom was almost pitch black? “I’ll speak to my boss, get his take.”

“Yeah. I’d love to know his thoughts. I suspect that if I ask him, he’ll see it as some sort of interrogation or threat, and I’ll get nothing but bluster.”

“I don’t know Mr. Benedict well, but I agree.” She dropped her voice so the accounting folks a few rows over couldn’t hear. “Obviously, I just started working here, but I don’t think my boss takes ‘helpful’ suggestions from others well.”

“He’s the sort of man who wants to be right all the time, and when he’s not, he finds a way to pretend that he was right all along and every good idea was his.”

“Which means he’ll take credit for anything good I do while I’m here.” Haisley sighed. “My boss in LA was a lot like that. It’s exhausting.”

Nash looked like he had something to say, but he merely sipped his coffee and swallowed it down.

Yesterday, she would have sworn he wanted anything she would give him—time, information, attention—and most of all, sex. Today he seemed purely professional…and not at all interested in her personally. That was what she asked for. What she’d said she wanted. What she’d demanded, even.

So why was it bothering her? Why did she feel an irrational pang of disappointment at his sudden aloofness?

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