Page 88 of The Morning After (Savannah 2)

Still fuming, she wended her way through the historic district. She took a corner a little too fast to avoid stopping for a yellow light, then told herself to calm down. A fight with Lily wasn’t exactly a news-breaking event. She and her sister had never gotten along. She glanced in her side-view mirror. Reed was still behind her, never letting her get too far ahead, never gunning the El Dorado past her. His being near was comforting in an odd way. She liked knowing he was so close. He’d been more approachable and she’d thought she’d heard a new tone in his voice, something softer, as if he cared about her—if only because she was a person he was sworn to serve and protect.

At that thought, she nearly ran the next light. “Get over yourself,” she admonished. “This is Pierce Reed you’re mooning over.” Disgusted with the turn of her thoughts, she pulled into her spot in the tiny parking lot. A police car was already parked in the alley that housed the Dumpsters for the apartment building. Red and blue lights strobed the old bricks, tall windows and gleaming shutters of the once-grand house that she now called home. Yellow tape was being strung to keep the onlookers at bay while more than one of her neighbors’ lights were blazing. A few braver souls, clad in raincoats hastily thrown over pajamas craned their necks to stare up at her apartment and some of the bystanders had begun peppering a stoic-faced officer with questions.

“What’s going on?” one woman asked. She was huddled under an umbrella with a big hulking man dressed in wrinkled sweat clothes.

“Don’t really know,” the police officer said. “If you’ll please stand back and let us do our work, we’d appreciate it.”

The big man didn’t take the hint. “Whatever it is, it’s the top apartment, the one in the turret.” The umbrella shifted as the curious neighbors turned their noses skyward to stare at Nikki’s apartment. Nikki moved back a couple of steps, behind the umbrella, where the nosy neighbors couldn’t see her, and was grateful when, from the corner of her eye, she noticed Reed approaching.

“Isn’t that where Nikki Gillette lives?” the woman under the umbrella said. Nikki shrank back even farther. “She’s that reporter, you know. The one who’s writing all the stories about the Grave Robber…”

Nikki backed away from the conversation before they turned, saw, and realized who she was. She nearly bumped into Reed, who grabbed her arm and shepherded her away from the conversation. For once she was grateful to rely on someone else, to feel his strong fingers around her forearm. For the moment she felt protected, though she knew it was only a matter of time before she was spotted and recognized. More neighbors had begun collecting. Fortunately most of the onlookers stood away from the police, preferring the safety of the shadows or their own porches. Only a few vehicles passed by, rolling slowly, drivers rubbernecking, passengers pointing at the elegant old house while sirens, coming ever closer, wailed in the night.

“This is going to be a three-ring circus,” Nikki muttered under her breath.

“Or four,” he agreed.

“Thanks. That makes me feel so much better.”

One of the uniformed officers took up traffic duty, waving the onlookers through while a damp, icy wind scraped Nikki’s cheeks and tugged at the hem of her coat as vehicles crept down the street.

“We’ll need a key,” Reed said.

She wanted to refuse, hated the invasion of her privacy, but she dug through her purse, found her key ring and slipped the house key off.

“We’ll go inside as soon as we get the okay.”

“From?”

“Diane Moses. And believe me, she’s aptly named. In this department, she does hand down the word of God.”

Nikki chuckled despite her case of nerves. She glanced up at Reed and noticed he wasn’t smiling, but his eyes seemed warmer than before, his perpetually harsh expression less severe, the hint of tenderness perceptible beneath his gruff facade.

“Hang in there,” he said, dropping her arm as the crime scene van arrived along with two more police cars and the news van from WKAM. Nikki watched a reporter and cameraman emerge, while Reed spoke to a petite black woman whose face seemed set in a perpetual frown. The woman slid a curious glance in Nikki’s direction, but her scowl only deepened, another fan of the press, as Reed introduced Diane Moses, then handed her Nikki’s key.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Fred Cooper, the apartment manager, had finally awakened and wasn’t too happy about it. Dressed in a striped bathrobe, he came charging around the corner of the apartment house like a bulldog. His thin white hair was standing on end, the bags under his eyes indicating he needed a lot more sleep. “What the hell is this?” Turning his gaze on Nikki, he stopped dead and the corners of his mouth pursed. “Why am I not surprised this has something to do with you?”

It was Nikki’s turn to make hasty introductions. “Fred Cooper, the manager, Detectives Reed and Moses. They want to see my apartment. I said it was okay.”

“Of course it’s okay…but…” Fred, standing in the midst, was obviously confused and not happy about the situation. He stared at the ever-growing crowd of police and onlookers. “Jesus…”

Reed took over. The ensuing conversation was short. Reed explained what they were doing as Diane Moses climbed the stairs to Nikki’s apartment.

Cooper backed off and stepped back to stand guard under the overhang of his porch. One shoulder propped against the doorjamb, he glared at the disruption of his usually predictable, neat life.

Members of the team roped off areas surrounding the walkway and gate, then carefully started examining the exterior of the house before climbing the stairs to Nikki’s apartment. It was weird to see the police swarming around her home, searching for evidence of a crime against her. She hated to think how many crime scenes she’d visited, always hungry for knowledge, with fleeting thoughts of the victims, while her concentration had been on finding out who, what, when and why.

“We’ll give them time to look around first,” Reed said, grabbing hold of Nikki’s arm again when she tried to follow an officer through the gate. “Even though it’s been over twenty-four hours since the break-in, they could find something important.”

“Okay, but my cat will freak.”

The hand around her sleeve didn’t let go. “He’ll get over it.”

“You don’t know Jennings. He holds a grudge for weeks!” she insisted, staring up at her apartment. “This’ll cost me a fortune in catnip.”

He snorted a laugh and looked at her. For the first time, she was certain, he really looked at her. Past her I’m-a-serious-reporter skin to probe beneath the surface, to search for the woman she usually kept locked away. “I think you can afford it,” he observed as another police car, lights blazing, roared down the street.

With a squeal of tires, the cruiser ground to a stop.

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