Heaven is Weeping (A Croft & Croft Romance Adventure Book 5) Read online

  Emma shrugged. “Time will tell. I’ve only had these cases for a few hours. Once I know the answer to that, you’ll know it too,” she stated.

  Chris Ford liked working with Emma Croft. When he first met her, he was skeptical. She came across as this fragile creature with a really big heart.

  Okay, maybe his exact words were ‘a prissy princess masquerading as a cop’. In actuality, he’d been very wrong. Emma was a tough, hardened cop who knew her shit, and now she didn't sound right.

  “Protocol says that the mob case gets shared with the FBI,” he said, waiting for her reaction. That’s when he saw the slight tell.

  There was something going on in the happy Croft kingdom, and it wasn’t good. He’d been married once, and he could see the telltale signs of something falling apart.

  This worried him.

  After being at their home, he saw them in action. They were meant to be together, and Ford didn't doubt that there was one thing coming between them.

  Vegas.

  The pressure was on, and they were under everyone’s microscope. He hurt for his detective and friend.

  “I do believe that the bones are already en route to the FBI lab and Max’s capable hands.”

  “So, is Greyson running this?”

  “No,” she stated, staring him in the eyes. “This is my case, and I don’t need his help.”

  So much for subtle clues that there were problems in paradise.

  Oh yeah, this was going to be a big issue.

  “Not happening,” he stated. “First off, we don’t need the FBI pissed off at us for interloping in their area of expertise. If that was a mob hit, there are probably more cases like it, and we’re out of our element here. Secondly, you have personal issues that would tie you to that case.”

  She stared at him.

  Resting his hands on the desk, he leaned forward. “Detective, you have Randall Mason and Dominic Marianna on your ass. If you want to tell me you don’t think that one of them is connected, keep in mind I can smell a lie a mile away. I’ll call bullshit here, and now.”

  She didn't respond. Emma was well aware. She was also pretty sure that this was going to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. Once Greyson got wind, the shit was going to hit the fan.

  Emma would bet money on it.

  “You call the FBI in to co-run this, or I do. Decide.”

  “Until we have the findings back from Max, I’ll run this, Captain, unless you think I’m incapable of doing my damn job too!”

  He lifted a brow at her tone.

  Okay, his detective was stirred up. Even when the deceased Detective Sawyer Laden rode her ass, Emma never raised her voice. Now, she was a woman on the edge.

  “I believe that you’re very capable, but as your captain, I’m giving you a direct order. Now, do we have a pissing match over this?”

  “No, sir,” she said, backing down. In her heart, Emma knew he was right. The LVPD wasn’t going to have the resources to run this. She needed the FBI.

  No.

  Emma desperately needed her husband.

  Getting up from her desk, she grabbed her purse and gun. “I’m going to check on Steele, and then I’m heading home. Tomorrow begins the race to catch these killers, and I need a good night sleep.”

  What she really needed was to fix this mess between herself and Greyson. She was off her game, and in the next few days, Emma suspected that focus was going to be key.

  Already, her gut was screaming.

  Bad shit was coming.

  Ford grabbed her arm before she could walk away. “Emma, as your friend, I have to ask--are you up for this?” He knew the Crofts were under a lot of pressure.

  “I hope so,” she said, patting his hand. “I’ll work it out, Chris. I just need to get my bearings.”

  “If you need my help, or just to talk, you can call me,” he offered. “I’m available.”

  She appreciated it. What Emma really valued was that he didn't doubt she could do this. Unlike her husband, who was always trying to protect her, this man trusted her.

  That was important.

  Emma needed to feel like she could still do the job. After all, she was a cop risking her life every day. One misstep, and she wasn’t going home at night.

  “Thank you, Chris. I’ll let you know,” she replied, as she began walking away.

  He watched her exit the bullpen, and he wasn’t buying it at all. Chris Ford knew that his detective was going to be in over her head on this one. While he wished he could give her leeway, letting her run this on her own, there were rules, and he had to protect his people.

  “Man, this sucks,” he muttered, heading back to his office to make the call. “I forgot why I left this job. Now, I remember. It’s a giant pain in my ass.”

  Emma headed downstairs in the elevator. When she hit the basement of the building, she enjoyed the cool air and absolute silence. One of the best things about the morgue was the quiet. When she needed a few minutes to compose herself, she’d find her way down here to have a cup of coffee and take a breather.

  Maybe it should be creepy, but Emma wasn’t going to question it. Once she caught her breath, she headed into the autopsy suite. Inside, she was going to be faced with more personal stress.

  Today, it appeared the hits were going to keep on coming.

  “Hey, Doc. How’s it going?” she asked, getting the man’s attention.

  “It’s about as good as four dead bodies found in the sweltering desert can be. I’m going to do one autopsy tonight, cut out, and then finish them up by ten tomorrow.”

  That was fine with her. Maybe a good night’s sleep would do everyone on the team some good.

  Yeah, fat chance of that happening.

  “Can you give me anything?” she asked.

  “I can offer you my preliminary findings. While decomp was extensive, I can give you a baseline to their deaths, and report that there was sexual activity before death.”

  “Rape or sex?” Emma asked, making notes.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Steele stated. “I can tell you that your last victim wasn’t dead long. In fact, you may be happy to know that your killer didn't bag up. He left us his swimmers.”

  “How convenient of him to be careless. I love when a killer is arrogant and thinks that he’s committed the perfect crime.”

  “Well, we couldn’t pull anything from victims one and two, but I can tell you that one has been dead at least four weeks, the second is at the two week mark, and last one is at less than a week.”

  Emma did the math.

  “You have a few days before he should strike again,” Steele offered. “Then again, you may need a profiler for this one. If he’s escalating, like it appears, this could get ugly.”

  “When isn't it?” Emma asked. “If I had a dollar for every time a criminal escalated, I could pay off our condo. Well, maybe half of it.”

  “I hear you,” he offered.

  “It could be a simple case of sex gone wrong,” Steele offered. “Maybe he got a little too enthusiastic and that’s our only issue.”

  Emma laughed. “Oh, we have lots of issues on this one. I get the impression that this is merely the tip of the iceberg.”

  The ME wasn’t going to disagree. He was simply trying to be optimistic. In their lines of work, one had to be, or you’d burn out fast.

  “I can give you the specs, and you can run that information against the missing person reports,” he offered.

  “Sure thing, Doc.”

  “They were all around five foot seven. The women had brown hair,” he offered. “They were in good shape. We’re not talking druggies or street girls. I didn't find a single needle mark or tattoo.”

  “So in theory, someone should be missing these women. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Yep. Run that against your reports. It’ll help narrow it down,” he offered. “They were healthy at the time of death, and not the typical street runaways that the seedy element preys
on.”

  “Thanks, Doc. I’ll take that information and try to find a direction to take it,” Emma said, turning to head toward the door.

  “Wait, Emma! Can I talk to you alone?” he asked, motioning to his few techs to give them some space.

  Emma wanted to give up. Here, she actually believed that she’d get out of there without any personal discussions. It appeared that she’d been dead wrong.

  “What’s up, Steele?” she asked, already knowing what it was that he felt the need to discuss.

  “I know we’re all in the middle of one big mess lately,” he began.

  “Yeah, you can say that,” she answered, leaning against the wall. Nervously, she pulled her red hair back into a ponytail to keep her hands busy.

  “Are you going to Randall Mason’s Midsummer Night’s party at his home?”

  Emma wasn’t sure. At one point, she’d planned on it, but with the tension in her life and her husband being icy, it wasn’t looking good. Frankly, that sucked, because Emma loved parties with Greyson. As the ‘King and Queen’ of Vegas, they were expected to attend.

  “Not likely. I’m not on Greyson’s good side right now. Getting him to that party would have to be at gun point, and then he’d likely rather take the bullet than be anywhere near me.”

  Why she said that out loud, she didn't have a clue. This was just more proof that Emma was cracking apart at the seams.

  He stared at her sympathetically. Steele felt bad that he and Dante were putting her in the middle of this.

  Emma struggled to recover. “Why?”

  “I get an invite every year, since my father, Marianna, and Mason were all associates. I don’t hit many social events, but this one I do go to.”

  “Are you bringing Dante?”

  “I asked, but he wouldn’t go if your husband was going to be there. It’s probably for the best, since we don’t need a spectacle and the two of them having a brawl.”

  Emma, despite being angry, took her husband’s side. “While he’s pissed off and not happy, he’d never hurt Dante or you. Greyson is a good man to the core. He’s just buried under everything right now.”

  Steele nodded, not wanting to hurt Emma more. He could see that she was struggling just as much as Dante was.

  “There’s more a chance we won’t be there, than there is we will,” she offered. “That’s all I can give you.”

  “Okay, I appreciate this, and for the record, Emma, I hate that you’re getting the blow back from this. I never should have let Dante talk me into going to your place. It was stupid on my behalf. I try to keep my personal and professional life separate as much as possible. I know this has made us working together harder.”

  “We’re good, Steele, but it’s not professional. You’re in a relationship with my brother-in-law. This is completely personal.”

  “Emma,” he said, his eyes filling with emotion. “I’m so sorry.”

  She couldn’t take it anymore. They were both trapped in the Croft craziness. Instinctually, Emma hugged him, trying to soothe the pain he was feeling.

  It obviously caught him off guard.

  “It’s okay, Steele. I’m not upset with you or Dante over the situation. I just wish I could fix this.”

  “This sucks,” he said, grateful for her simple act of affection. Lately, he’d felt horrible, and it was effecting his and Dante’s relationship too.

  “I hear you. I wouldn’t worry too much. I’m working on fixing this mess. It’s just going to take some time. I just want you to know that despite the issues between Dante and Greyson, I’m happy for you both. I know what it feels like to be in love,” she offered, her eyes filling with tears. “I hope that it lasts forever for you.”

  Because she doubted she’d get that lucky, since her love affair with Greyson Croft apparently had a very short shelf life. Turning, Emma felt the need to escape before she made a bigger fool of herself.

  He watched her walk away.

  At the door, she stopped, but didn't turn around to look at the man. “Tell Dante that I miss and love him. I wish he’d come back home. Deep down, his brother does too. I know it in my heart.”

  That touched him. “Emma, you can always come to my place to see him. You’re always welcome there,” he offered.

  She simply nodded.

  If she didn't get out of there, she’d break down. On her way out of the morgue, Emma wished in her heart that she could give Steele those same words back. Unfortunately, it didn't look like it would happen.

  Not in this lifetime.

  Her home was one giant icebox, destined to be void of love from here on out.

  * * *

  FBI Las Vegas

  Croft was miserable as hell.

  Through the day, all he wanted was to call his wife and hear her voice. Normally, they’d break away and have lunch together, or just take the time to grab a coffee.

  That wasn’t happening, and it was all his fault.

  He knew that he had to let some of this go, since it was eating away at him. His brother, Paris’s injury, Dominic Marianna, Randall Mason, the FBI, and his fears were destroying his heart.

  They were breaking Emma.

  Croft had no doubt that he was a bastard for making his wife suffer needlessly. Yet, he couldn’t wrap his brain around how to stop it. While he was supposed to be the most powerful person in Vegas, he was feeling nothing of the sort.

  In fact, he was more weak than strong. Without his Emma at his side, the days were hell.

  Just as he was going to pick up his phone and text her, it began ringing. When he stared down at the caller ID, his heart started pounding in his chest. It was Chris Ford, calling on his personal line.

  A million scary things flooded his mind.

  “Is she hurt?” he blurted, answering the call before the man could even say hello.

  “No, why? Did you hear something I didn’t?”

  “You never call on my personal line,” he stated.

  Chris started laughing. “Oh, I was just on my way out, and I wanted to get in touch with you about the body,” he said, leaning back in his desk chair. He hated going behind his detective’s back, but he understood that the path she was taking was far too dangerous to traverse alone.

  It was time to be sneaky.

  “What body?” Croft asked.

  “The one we sent over. Is there anything on it yet?” Hopefully, this would set the man on a hunt, piquing his curiosity.

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Croft said. He quickly rattled off an email to his lab team while waiting for the captain to explain.

  “Oh, your wife pulled a case today. I assumed the remains were sent over. Maybe I’m wrong and the bones are still in our morgue.” Yeah, he trusted his detective. There was no doubt they were safely in the FBI’s hands.

  ‘Come on! Dig, Croft!’, he silently urged.

  “She pulled a case?” Greyson asked, wondering why he wasn’t told. After all, he had Curtis playing babysitter. Someone should have notified him.

  While he’d been lost in the mire, he’d believed that the safety net he’d left to protect Emma would do its job.

  Apparently not.

  “Hell yeah, she did. It’s going to be all over the news tomorrow. It’s a big one. Emma and Brynn pulled a serial killing and a little extra. That’s the one that’s heading your way. It’s a little out of our element.”

  Croft was curious. As he read his email from Max, his blood pressure went up. A set of bones had arrived two hours ago, and yet his wife didn't contact him.

  She was the liaison.

  “Why are you sending only one of the victims here?” he asked, getting worried.

  “Oh, the other three are fleshy. The one you got is a mob hit, or at least that’s what we’re thinking.”

  His heart began pounding in his chest at the word ‘mob’. “What? Did you just say…?”

  Chris Ford knew he had him thinking, and now it was time to get the man stirred up
enough that he’d focus on his wife. It was apparent that the man still cared. Maybe they weren’t headed toward a divorce.

  “Yeah, he’s been in the ground a while, plus he’s missing his kneecaps, has some broken fingers, and his skull was kicked in. I’m sure you have some other files on similar cases. I can’t believe you didn't hear about this. I’m sorry to dump this on you. I’m sure you’re buried in work. I shouldn’t have jumped the gun and called you. I just wanted to tell you to keep me in the loop so I can notify the new commissioner.”

  Greyson Croft could barely breathe. In Vegas, there was only one mob, and it was Marianna.

  Ford knew it was time to end the call. His job was done. Part of him was sick over what he’d just done, since he’d just betrayed his detective in hopes that her husband would keep her safe.

  Great.

  He was a total asshole.

  “Is my wife there?” Croft asked, his blood pressure rising. If this was a mob case, he now had to worry. Dominic Marianna was the king of burying bodies all over the desert. The FBI had been trying to tag him for it for years, but he’d always been too slippery. If his wife was investigating, she was now in the path of something potentially deadly.

  “No, she cut out a while ago.”

  Well, shit!

  “The FBI is officially taking over this case,” Croft stated. “I need you to pull Emma off it. I don’t care how you do it, but I need this, Chris. I’ll owe you one.”

  Ford grinned. He wasn’t surprised by the man’s reaction. “I think you’ll have to talk that over with my detective, Director. You know the procedure. It’s a joint venture until you can prove it’s indeed mob related.”

  “I have to go, Chris. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he muttered, hanging up the phone. Right now, he needed to find his redhead and shake some sense into her.

  A sane person didn't screw with the mob, or fire up her husband with something like this.

  What the hell was Emma thinking?

  Then it occurred to him. This was his biggest fear. What if his wife was moving on and didn't need him anymore? First, she was pulling back when it came to work, the next step would be their personal life.