Skin Deep (Station Seventeen #1)(65)
Still, she strong-armed her voice into smoothness. “Who is this?”
“You might want to think less about who this is and more about who I have here with me. Or more specifically, who isn’t with you at the Fork in the Road right now.”
Adrenaline punched through her lungs in a panicked substitute for breath. “Where’s Angel?”
The man laughed. “It wouldn’t be very fun if I gave you all the pieces to the puzzle, now would it? Can’t lead you to any conclusions beyond the shadow of a doubt.”
“Okay.” Isabella’s mind raced. The longer she kept this guy on the phone, the more information he might give up, and even the smallest detail might help her find Angel. “What is it that you want?”
“Aw, your police tactics to keep me talking are so cute. But you’re not going to catch me now that I know you’re a cop. I know all your little tricks.”
Her chin snapped up. “And how’s that? Are you a cop, too?”
The man’s laughter curled over the line as he thoroughly ignored her question, and damn it, she should’ve known he wouldn’t take such easy bait. “I just called on the boss man’s behalf. He wanted me to tell you he’ll see you real soon. Oh, and sorry you’ve got to work this weekend. Dead-end cases are so tough. Bye, now.”
The line clicked once and went dead.
No. No, no, no, no.
Fear cemented Isabella’s boots to the black and white floor tiles for only a second before her adrenaline surged, propelling her back to the table she’d abandoned. With her thoughts moving at warp speed, she yanked the paper placemat from beneath her cup and saucer, whipping a pen from the pocket of her leather jacket and writing down the entire conversation in all the exact words she could remember.
All the pieces to the puzzle…beyond the shadow of a doubt…now that I know you’re a cop…dead-end cases…dead…
No.
Panic grabbed her chest, sinking its nails in and gripping without mercy, but she crammed a breath into her fear-choked lungs. She couldn’t get emotional. She couldn’t break down, not now. She’d already gotten this far, and on her own at that. She had to think. To work.
She had to find a way to save Angel before it was too late.
* * *
Kellan worked up his very best poker face before walking through the side door leading to Station Seventeen’s engine bay. True, he hadn’t taken so much as a nanosecond off in the pair of years he’d been on the RFD’s payroll, and true again, he’d only missed the first two hours of his twenty-four-hour tour, plus he’d covered said hours in advance with one of the guys from C-shift so his engine-mates wouldn’t have to run light. But if anyone Kellan worked with caught so much as the tiniest glimmer of post-coital satisfaction on his face, he’d have to field a never-ending ration of shit from every last person in the house.
Although considering how hot the sex had been, not once but twice, the ribbing might be worth it.
“Hey, you guys.” Blanking the idiot grin threatening the corners of his mouth, Kellan lowered his duffel to the scuffed concrete of the engine bay floor, turning toward the equipment room to grab his gear and get it prepped in case they got a call on the fly.
Shae’s laughter stopped him a few steps shy of the door. “Heyyyy! Look what the cat dragged in.” She looked up from the inventory clipboard in her grasp, arching one light brown brow. “You all caught up on your beauty sleep, Walker?”
“He does look nice and refreshed, doesn’t he?” asked their head paramedic, Parker Drake, from the spot where he was restocking his first-in bag at the back of the ambo. He ran a hand over his short black hair, striking an exaggerated pose like a cover model. “Practically GQ.”
Kellan swallowed the urge to dish up the good-natured fuck you the guy deserved. He needed to dodge the topic, not shine a spotlight on his tardiness—or worse, the reason for it. “Thanks, Ace. Unfortunately, I wasn’t sleeping in. But clearly McCullough here was kind enough to get enough beauty sleep for the both of us.”
The smartass deflection struck a bulls-eye, prompting Shae to give him the finger and Parker to laugh, and Kellan exhaled in silent relief. Ducking into the equipment room, he grabbed his bunker gear from the oversized cubby where he’d stored it just before he’d clocked out after last shift. The sharp scent of smoke and soot invaded his nose despite the fact that both the gear and the equipment room where it was always stored off-shift got very regular, very thorough cleanings. But some things simply couldn’t be blotted out or washed away.
Stifling heat, scorching his lungs with every inhale. Rectangular patterns of merciless sunlight burning in through the glassless windows. A shift of unexpected motion, the pinch of dread that arrived in his gut just a second too late.
“If you move, I will kill your friend…”
Kellan’s chin snapped up, his heart going Mach 2 against his navy blue RFD T-shirt. Dammit, all the intensity of last night’s recon mission was really cooking his composure. Thank fuck Isabella was going to get what she needed from Angel in order to put DuPree’s bastard ass in a federal prison.
Isabella, with her iron will and her gorgeous face and her deliciously wicked smile. Isabella, who’d opened up to him this morning, giving him a taste and making him want more. Isabella, whose tight, sweet body had trembled beneath his as the sun rose, and yeah, he needed to get all these emotions locked up right now.