Page 12 of Hard Game

“Doesn’t it?” Tassa says with a grin. “And she’s great in bed.”

I choke on my coffee, and she laughs, a dirty laugh that makes me thank God I saved her.

The world needs more laughter like Tassa’s.

6

LAUREN

“We’ve not been able to identify the vic.” Carmen studies me from above her computer, shaking her head as I continue.

“She’s a Jane Doe.”

“She’s someone,” Carmen says with a huff. “It’s your job to figure that out.”

I bristle as Elijah winces beside me.

Does Carmen think we haven’t tried?

I take a deep breath and speak before I lose my nerve. “And Taron’s,” I correct her as she meets my gaze. Taron, who has done nothing since the crime scene. I haven’t heard a dickie-bird from him; all I’ve seen is him waltzing around the precinct with that stupid grin of his. You wouldn’t think he was balls-deep in a murder case.

Carmen interrupts my thinking with a beautiful nugget of information. “No. Detective Karpe is off the case; this is now yours and Detective Jonewood’s.”

I still, excitement coursing through my veins. If Taron is off the case, we’ve got access to everything without his say. “Oh?” I clear my throat as she frowns at me. “Why?” I want her to say he’s quit, that he’s a house-husband or something more mundane. That Anna is now the breadwinner, and he has to cook and clean to please her.

Ha.

I draw myself out of my daydream and back to my boss.

Carmen widens her eyes at my question and I press my lips together.

Did I just question my boss?

“Sorry?” Carmen stares at me, and my cheeks flush.

“No, I’m sorry,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.

Fuck, Diess, learn to shut up.

Carmen watches me before leaning back in her chair. “I’ve had more intel about their movements.”

I straighten up and glance at Elijah, staring dead ahead at Carmen.

More intel?

“They’re using vans to transport the victims,” Carmen says with a sigh. “Plain white vans, you know, the sort we see every day?”

I nod, wishing she’d get on with it. I need more information; I need to nail these bastards.

“We need to know where they’re picking these girls up. Some of them may be hookers, sure.” She waves her hand in the air and stares into space, her eyes narrowing. “But some of them must be runaways. They seek out the vulnerable.”

This boils my piss, but I wait for her to continue.

“According to my intel, they hung around shopping malls and parks the last time they were here.”

Last time? The intel knows about last time?

My heart skids to a stop when she turns her attention to us.

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