Free Ruthless Game (A Captivating Suspense Novel) by Danielle Girard Page A

on the wall. It was only seven-twenty.
    "I like to start by seven."
    "Right." Before her mouth had a chance to debate the issue, she bit her tongue.
    "We're heading back to the house." He turned and looked at her for the first time. "So, if you've got everything together..."
    She motioned to herself and nodded. "This is it."
    Leaning back, he cocked an eyebrow. "Normally the detective division wears street clothes. It's hard to be undercover when you're dressed as a cop."
    She stared down at her uniform and winced. "It's—"
    "Yeah, yeah. Habit, I know," he interrupted, lumbering out of the chair and turning away from her.
    "I'll remember tomorrow."
    "I would hope so," he mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear. Pulling his lucky coat off a tall standalone coat rack that looked as though it belonged in an old Dick Tracy movie, he slung it over his shoulders. "One more thing," he added as they stepped into the hall.
    "Sure."
    "No more fainting. I can't take that shit."
    Refusing to allow her mouth to open, she nodded and followed him out of the station. "We can take my car if you want," she suggested when they reached the police lot.
    His eyebrows nearly firing off his forehead, he halted in the street. "And you drive?"
    "Yes."
    Without breaking a smile, he emitted a long, loud chortle. "No way. I don't ever go anywhere with a broad driving. I enjoy my life, thanks."
    Suddenly, she couldn't hold herself back. "Speaking of bad drivers, did you hear what happened to the side of the station over there?" She motioned to the back of the lot, knowing it was Lombardi who had done the damage. "Someone reversed right into the wall."
    "Shut up, smart ass," he growled.
    She fastened her seat belt, though Lombardi made no move to do the same. "So what's the status with the case so far?" she asked to redirect the conversation.
    Lombardi seemed to relax against the seat. "We finished the printing last night—while you were out cold, I figure."
    Allowing him a return jab, she nodded. She deserved it.
    "It's all at the lab now. Won't know for a couple days at least. The DNA takes a month, if they're quick. Fibers, more like two weeks."
    "Who was he?"
    One eyebrow lifted, he glanced over at her. "Here's where things get interesting." He said the word in three syllables—in-trest-ing. "He was a criminal prosecutor in the city. Did mostly kid stuff—abuse, the kid that was killed and found on the coast last year..."
    She nodded.
    "Well, it was that kind of shit."
    "Sounds like the type to gather enemies."
    "And fast. He's also recently separated."
    Remembering Ramona Quay's slip, she asked, "Where's the wife?"
    "Kensington." Kensington was the next town past Berkeley, a small, mostly residential area. "I sent Kostopolis to talk to her this morning. Guess the wife's living with a new boyfriend, and his kids weren't crazy about Mr. Loeffler."
    Alex looked over at him. "What do you mean they weren't crazy about him?"
    Lombardi shrugged. "You need a map? Older kid says he hates Loeffler's guts. Still not sure why. Maybe because he blames him for his dad's new live-in girlfriend." He shook his head and then spit out the window. "Jesus, I'm glad I never let Martha convince me to have kids—crazy Menendez brothers and shit. Who needs that? I got people out here that want to kill me. I don't need to go home to it."
    "How about your wife?"
    For a moment, Alex saw the flicker of a smile, but he didn't let it through. "Really fucking funny, Kincaid. Jesus Christ, I got Jerry fucking Seinfeld now."
    She smiled. "You think the kid could've killed Loeffler?"
    "Possible."
    She thought for a moment, unable to make sense of the theory. "Why would the new boyfriend's kid kill Loeffler? If he didn't like his dad's girlfriend, he'd kill her, not her soon-to-be ex-husband."
    He shrugged. "Maybe. Got to look at it every way. I mean, why does any of this crap happen? I only got to solve it. I don't pretend to get it."
    "Any idea why they cut off his hand?"
    He