Every Kind of Wicked (A Gardiner and Renner Novel Book 6)
Every Kind of Wicked: Chapter 16

Saturday, 7:45 a. m.

Okay, so Jack became her second call, and she let him sleep most of the night before she made it. Denny hadn’t even tried to convince her to go home and get at least a little rest; instead he came in and verified the print for her. They quadruple-checked the paperwork before he disturbed the head of the homicide unit at breakfast to tell him that one of his detectives had, inexplicably, become a suspect in the murder of a woman he’d known less than a day.

“What?” Jack said. “What?”

She repeated herself.

“I’ll be right there.”

And he was, behind the chief of detectives and ahead of his partner, Riley. The chief of detectives asked Maggie and Denny seven times if they were sure, and, having received the same answer each time, went off shaking his head in bewilderment.

Riley now asked the question and got the same answer.

“Did you try calling him?” Jack asked.

She hadn’t even thought of it. The implication struck her immediately and with the shock of an ice bath. Had it been Jack, she would have called instantly, demanded an explanation, warned him that trouble brewed, thereby committing a crime by interfering in an investigation. She hadn’t even considered doing so in Rick’s case, but she would have protected Jack.

Her very bones seemed to tremble.

Had she fallen that far?

Take a breath. Maybe she wouldn’t have—if she thought Jack had murdered an innocent woman, stabbed her to death on her own apartment floor, that would violate their unholy agreement. So after some thought, perhaps she wouldn’t warn him. Even though to expose Jack would expose herself, in the end.

“Maggie?” he asked. “You okay? Do you want to sit down?”

He touched the fist she had pressed to her mouth while thinking. She unwrapped her arms from her torso, where they’d been getting a physical and mental grip and told herself this, firmly: what is different in Rick’s case is that Rick, she could be certain, had not murdered anybody.

“The homicide chief did,” she said in answer to Jack’s question. “No answer. They tried Will but he doesn’t answer either; probably has his phone turned off for family time. Since it’s only a weekend trip, he didn’t mention where they were going. They’ll try all the resorts within driving distance; there aren’t that many.”

“Maggie,” Riley said, “let me get some background. As crazy as this all seems, it’s still our case and we have to investigate it like we would any other.”

“I know that.” Why would he think she didn’t know that?

“Let me take a load off. That was a pretty short night, and I guess it wasn’t a night at all for you.” He pulled over one of the task chairs and made a show of planting his decently broad girth into its seat. She knew he hoped this would prompt her to sit down rather than having to sound condescending by suggesting that she might need to sit down in order to deal with the trauma of answering questions about her possibly murderous ex-husband.

Purely because this was Riley, she cut him some slack by sitting without an invitation. “He didn’t do it, you know.”

Riley glanced up from his notepad. “What?”

“I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t for a minute believe that Rick killed that woman. Come on, Riley, you’ve known him for years. Can you see Rick killing anyone?”

He said, carefully noncommittal, “He’s got a pretty short fuse.”

She almost laughed. “Verbally, yes. But physically? Rick was all bark, no bite. He was never, ever, ever violent with me, not even during our worst fights. And why would he kill some woman he barely knew? You had been there earlier—-was there any indication that they had met before?”

Riley glanced at his phone, almost certainly to avoid having to tell her that he was supposed to be asking the questions. “No. Nothing about her or her apartment seemed familiar to you?”

“Me? No. Not in the slightest.”

Riley asked his questions without relish, and without expecting Jack to help—which he didn’t. Jack sat like an uncertain lump, his gaze never leaving her face.

“She was a pretty girl. Is there any chance he—”

“Went there to make a pass at her and went crazy when she refused? No. Rick may have been a teenage boy where women were concerned, but he wasn’t a complete Neanderthal. Besides, he was basically, well, a racist.”

“Sometimes that’s why they think they can get away with it,” Riley said, painstakingly gentle.

“Seriously?” Maggie demanded—with astonishment. She didn’t even bother with anger.

He spread his hands. “No, I don’t seriously think that. I’m throwing out possibilities because I don’t know what else to do. Let’s hope Rick can clear it up when we find him. I just got a text—they made entry to his apartment but he isn’t there.”

Maggie goggled. “You broke into his apartment? He’s going to be mad.”

“That’s the least of his worries right now,” Jack said quietly, and with that, more than anything, the shock settled in completely. The worry that had been churning at the bottom of her stomach rose and blossomed into a panicky flower that unfurled in her chest.

“Maybe they got the building manager to let them in,” Riley soothed. “We need his contact information—he doesn’t have any kids, right, or any other exes? Do you know his current girlfriend? No? What about parents?”

“They live near Dayton. He’s got two sisters and a brother, but they’re scattered in different states, last I heard.”

Riley persisted. “Do you think, if he were in trouble, he’d go to his parents?” S~ᴇaʀᴄh the FindNʘᴠᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

Absolutely, she thought. Running home to Mama is exactly what Rick would do. “Yes, but please don’t bother them . . . I hate to see you . . . they’re not bad people. And I don’t believe Rick is in trouble, I mean that way. Obviously he’s in some kind of trouble because no one can find him, but—”

Jack reached out and took her hand. She looked at him in surprise—she must sound more discombobulated than she realized. After a brief squeeze he let go and she forced her words into logical sentences. “I don’t believe, at all, that Rick is guilty of murder. He must have gone there to follow up on something and walked in on Jennifer’s killer, tried to help her, and then gave chase.”

For once, Jack and Riley had the same look on both their faces.

Pity.

The poor little sweet wife, believing in her (ex) man despite all evidence to the contrary.

But she could be angry about that later. Right now she reasoned through the scenario. “The guy must have still been there, or Rick thought he was there . . . that’s the only reason he wouldn’t have at least called an ambulance before pursuing. Rick could be—in real trouble. He could be hurt somewhere.”

“We have a BOLO out on him and his car,” Riley said. “Look—try calling him.”

“The chief said—”

“Yeah, I know, but . . . maybe if he’s screening calls, he’ll pick up for you.”

Because if he is a murderer on the run, he might get sentimental enough to talk to the woman he still carries a torch for. She didn’t hide the eye-roll but cut it short. They were only following the evidence. She pulled out her cell and found him in her contacts. If it might help, she’d try anything.

The ringing tone sounded and sounded again. Eventually Rick’s digital answering app came on.

She didn’t leave a message. He’d see the number—if he could.

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