Page 18 of Nothing More

Toly broke his rule about accepting Raven’s hospitality and shoveled food into his mouth at an efficient pace, more focused on calorie consumption than taste. Technically, since Ian had brought it in, this didn’t count as taking food from Raven. (A weak excuse, he knew, but whatever.)

A knock sounded at the door, sooner than he’d expected, truly. Melanie peeked in, and a hand appeared above her head to shove the door wide. A hoodie-clad arm appeared, and then a stupid, freckled face.

“Thanks, doll,” Pongo said, “we can find our way from here.”

“Oh, um,” Melanie said, withdrawing.

Behind Pongo, a voice hissed his name. “Act like you’ve been inside before.”

Pongo swaggered in like he owned the place. Toly wanted to hit him. But he’d brought his old lady along, and Detective Melissa Dixon, Sex Crimes division, scraped her hair back in a ponytail and snapped on a pair of nitrile gloves, all business before the door was even fully shut.

Pongo spread his arms wide. “Never fear, citizens of New York. I’ve come to save the day,” he declared, grinning.

“You’ve come to annoy the shit out of everybody,” Melissa quipped, putting him in his place better than any of the rest of them could. When he sagged with a dramatic pout, Melissa stepped around him.

“Hi.” She addressed Raven and Raven alone. “You okay?”

Raven blinked. Surprised, he thought. To his knowledge, the last time the two women had been in the same room, it had been at the clubhouse, and Melissa had been pale and faintly trembling, a woman who’d walked into a lion’s den with steaks in her pockets. Raven had been composed and sure of herself, then, the way that Melissa was now. The role-reversal was startling.

“I’m fine,” Raven said, recovering.

The fast, downward curve of Melissa’s lips managed to convey that she didn’t believe Raven, but was pleased and maybe even proud to see her holding it together. “Where’s the box?”

Toly stood. “Over here.” He walked her to it, where a printout of the stolen ring waited beside it on the blotter.

“This is the ring?” Melissa asked, touching the edge of the paper.

“Yes. It might be a reproduction, but it’s an exact match, to look at.”

She nodded. “Who touched the box?”

“The secretary, and then me. I wore gloves.”

“Okay, good.” She adjusted her own gloves, pressing on the gaps between her fingers, and then picked up the box and flipped the lid open in one go, no hesitation. It was a good show, for sure, but he could hear the click of her throat as she swallowed.

There sat the finger on its bed of black velvet, sapphire gleaming above its stump.

Melissa held very still a moment, gathering her thoughts, and probably her composure, too. She said, “This didn’t come off a fresh body.”

“No,” he agreed.

“We can still run DNA, though.” She snapped the lid shut, and fished a clear plastic evidence sleeve from inside her jacket. “Okay, I’ll need the envelope it came in, a print sample from the secretary – I doubt the velvet will give us much, but the inner edges have some plastic, so maybe that’ll work.”

Toly turned and caught Miles’s gaze. “Go get the envelope from Melanie.”

He set his food down. “On it.”

When Toly turned back, Melissa was frowning up at him, arms folded, evidence bag dangling from one hand. “I can’t make any guarantees. One of the lab techs owes me a favor since I covered for her mistake, but she might get caught trying to run this and have to explain. Hell, I could lose my badge for this. I’m really sticking my neck out here.” The last was said in an undertone, not meant for the others to hear.

“Just like the club’s sticking its neck out for you?” he countered.

She made a face. “Yeah.”

Miles joined them, envelope in-hand. She bagged it, too, and then dropped it and the jewelry box into her oversized leather satchel. Toly hoped she’d listened to what he’d told her before about keeping her gun in there, where it could get snatched and turned against her.

“I’ll let you know as soon as I have answers,” she said. “Or Pongo will. Until then…” She skated a glance toward Raven, who was listening with obvious boredom to whatever outlandish story Pongo was relaying. It involved a lot of hand gestures. “I think it’s safe to say she’s in danger.”

His pulse gave a lurch. Anticipation, adrenaline…the urge to put a knife in someone. “Yeah. I’ll handle it.”