“Detective Thomas?”
A tiny woman appeared through a massive, white marble archway to his left, her petite, grey-suited frame positively dwarfed by the excess around her.She crossed the floor between the arch and Peter in long, confident strides, the sound of her sensible heels a drum tattoo in the silent house.She drew closer, and Peter made out a smattering of freckles across a pixie-like nose under light brown eyes completely free of make-up.Beside him, Yolanda gave a most inaudible snort.“Dressed by Wal-Mart,” he heard his partner snarl under her breath, German accent thicker than normal.
Peter glared at her and she curled her lip at him.
“Detective Thomas?”
He turned back to the tiny woman and for the first time noticed the Glock in its holster beside her left breast.
You’re slipping.Vischka’s more under your skin that you realise.
“Yeah, I’m Thomas.”He held out his hand.“You’re Huddart?”
Detective Huddart nodded, shaking his hand.“Please, call me Jackie.”
Behind him, he heard Yolanda growl.Low and soft.
Jackie Huddart raised her eyebrows, studying his partner with obvious indifference before seemingly dismissing her altogether.“Did you know your sister was missing, Detective?”
Peter’s chest grew tight.Yes he did.And what had he’d been doing?Fantasizing about a femme fatale like a bad Hollywood gumshoe.
Huddart nodded her head again, obviously not needing an answer.“She’s left you a message upstairs.”Without pausing to see if he followed, she turned and climbed the large staircase dominating the foyer, tiny frame moving up each step with fluid, compact grace.
A hand fell on Peter’s shoulder, followed by Yolanda’s warm breath on his ear.Unreadable blue eyes held his.“Well?”
The contact got his feet moving.In what seemed like three giant steps he stood beside Huddart in a luxurious bathroom twice the size of his own bedroom, towering over her and staring at a message written in some sort of black marker on the wall-to-wall mirror over the sunken bathtub.He swallowed, throat tight and mouth dry.
Det.45217
Heading Nth
Not hurt
Rex?
Peter read the message again.
“Do you know who Rex is?”
Peter traced the hastily written words on the mirror, recognizing Reggie’s relaxed penmanship.“My sister’s pet lizard,” he answered Huddart.“If anyone called my Area Command and mentioned Rex, Command would know immediately Reggie was somehow involved.”
“Ahh, that explains how Sydney City Dispatch knew the message was from your sister then.”Huddart nodded.“The question mark threw us.We thought it may have been code for something.”
He gave her a quick glance.“Do you know when it was written?”
The petite detective shook her head.“The neighbors across the road contacted us fifty minutes ago.They saw the owner’s XKR Jaguar exit the garage, driven by a male, between the ages of 35 and 40, black hair, Caucasian.They were a little bit suspicious because the owner is bald, in his sixties and apparently in New York.”
The click of six-inch heels on tile announced Yolanda’s arrival.As did the musky scent of her perfume invading Peter’s breath.He turned to her, body wanting to respond to her enigmatic presence.He controlled it.But with far greater effort than it should have required.
A cool, blue unreadable gaze flicked over him before she focused her attention on the mirror.“Kohl?”she asked, although it sounded more like a statement.
Huddart nodded.“Looks that way.”
Peter read the message again.Not hurt.
What didNot hurtmean?Reggie was okay?A willing part of the whole thing?Was he missing something?And what did the mention of her lizard mean?Was she trying to tell him something, or just thinking about everyone else—including the bloody reptile—before herself again?“Do we have a track on the Jag yet?”
“Not yet.Area Command is still trying to contact the owner.He’s proving a little tricky to track down.The car has a GPS based security system but we need the access PIN.”A shadow of sorrow crossed Huddart’s otherwise detached expression.“It shouldn’t be long.”She paused.“Do you know who has your sister?”
