Temporary Partner (Valor and Doyle)

chapter 5

HAD TO STOP twice to flash my credentials at the officers handling the roadblocks. It tasted vile announcing I was

working with MPU. Summerfield knew the taint it would carry and the razzing I’d get from my fellow officers when they found out, but she didn’t care. The upper echelon had grown sick and tired of the interdepartmental hostility, but every attempt to smooth out the rough edges had failed.

The house on Maple Avenue stood out like an unwanted pimple, surrounded by officers and nosy neighbors alike. Shockingly, the media presence was low. That would change when word spread about the missing baby. My guess was the two local news vans that were already present had ins with the department and were privy to early leaks. A couple of officers had them contained for the time being, but they

were vermin. The infestation would spread. It always did. Then it would be much harder to control.

Parked at the side of the road, I let the bike rumble beneath me as I cased the street. It was a ritzy area, a little too posh for my tastes. Not a high-crime district.

I pulled off my helmet and found my shades as the legendary Quaid Valor sauntered from inside the house. His expression was cast from stone, a solid level-ten wall of contempt aimed in my direction. f**k, he looked good, even snarly and scowling. Based on the slightly rumpled appearance of his usually meticulously styled sandy blond hair and the rough stubble on his chin and jaw, I bet he’d been called in unexpectedly as well.

I cut the engine, silencing the purring vibrations between my thighs. I gave her tank a stroke, shooting my temporary partner a devious smirk. “Mmm… Feels good having a lady between my legs. What do you think, Valor? Oh, wait. Never mind. You don’t know the pleasures of a woman. You’re missing out.”

“Did your well of whores dry up? They all discovered what a purebred asshole you are, didn’t they? Gotta take pleasure from a gasoline-powered hunk of steel now, don’t you? A word of advice. Batteries are cheaper. That’s what happens after forty. You lose your appeal—or so I’m told. I have a few years to go yet.”

“Wow. That was a whole string of smartass comebacks. I’m impressed. Excuse me while I mark this day on my

calendar.” I took out my cell and feigned typing. “Quaid Valor tries to be funny.” I said each word slowly as I fake tapped on the screen. “Unknown entity up his ass must have perished.” I gave him a once-over, c*****g a brow. “I didn’t think you came with a sense of humor. It’s kinda hot.”

“You can put your d**k away now. I’m not impressed.” “Hey, you took yours out first.”

“Can we get serious? We have a time-sensitive case, and I’ll be honest, you’re the last person I want help from, but I wasn’t given a choice.”

Chuckling, I lifted a leg over the bike and locked my helmet on a bar before approaching Quaid on the sidewalk. “Ah, good times. I missed this prickly attitude of yours. Why is it we don’t hang out more?”

Quaid didn’t take the bait. He scanned me, noting my tattered jeans and fitted black band T-shirt. “Is there no dress code in homicide? Do you just wear whatever you want? I was sure we had the same rules.”

“Would you like me to go home and change? I was out and about. Summerfield told me to get my ass here immediately, but I can head home if we have time to kill. Shower. Shave. Maybe jerk off. I didn’t know we’d be working together today. I’m unprepared.” I grabbed myself for emphasis.

Quaid huffed through his nose, dismissing the argument with a muttered, “You’re such a pig.”

“How about you put your cranky attitude away and get me caught up?”

Quaid’s attention caught on something over my shoulder, and he cursed under his breath.

I followed his gaze. Two reporters from one of the news vans were fast approaching, aiming in our direction. The constable who’d been keeping them back was dealing with an elderly gentleman who’d come to see what was going on and had gotten the wheel of his walker caught on the uneven asphalt.

Leave it to the press to take advantage of misfortune.

“Inside,” Quaid snapped, snagging my arm and dragging me after him.

We landed in the front foyer of the house. Quaid slammed the door, then turned and blocked me in against it. He stood close. I caught a mild hint of fabric softener wafting off his clothes and the rich scent of his sun-heated skin. Even on a sweaty August day, he managed to smell good.

In a hushed voice, Quaid ran through everything he’d learned since arriving at the house, and I did my best to pay attention and not admire how a little scruff on his chin made the man ten times sexier than the clean-shaven way he usually presented himself. I almost made a comment but managed to stop myself in time.

When Quaid got to the part about the pram and the gift, he pulled up images on his phone and handed it over.

“A pendant?”

“Yes.”

I frowned at the swirling, spiral symbol, turning the phone one way then the other as I puzzled it out. “What does it mean?”

“No idea. I don’t recognize it. Our CSIs are on their way. They should be here momentarily. Honestly, everything else makes me want to believe the father nabbed his son, but this doesn’t fit.” He stabbed a finger at his phone.

“With homicides, a calling card is usually used to taunt authorities. It can be used as a signature if dealing with a serial murderer. Is it common in kidnappings?”

“Not typical, no. I’ve never seen it in a parental nabbing, which is the most common. The motive is usually different. This tells me we’re dealing with an unknown perp with a specific agenda, and I don’t like it.”

I flipped through the various pictures Quaid had taken. I went too far and landed on a picture of Quaid sharing beers out on a deck with a tall, slender, auburn-haired man. The pose was intimate. It wasn’t often I saw Quaid smile, but the grin he wore in the photograph lit up his face and cut deep laugh lines beside his mouth.

“Hey,” Quaid snapped when he saw I’d swiped too far. “Relax. It was an accident.” I went back to the backyard

and pendant pictures. “Got a new boyfriend?”

At our team day back in May, he’d been dealing with an annoying ex who’d cheated and somehow thought Quaid

should get over it and take him back. I was glad he’d finally shed the guy.

“None of your business.”

“He’s hot. Is he good in the sack?”

“Can we focus?” Quaid pressed a knuckle against his eye. “Send the pendant picture to Ruiz,” I said, referring to our

computer guy back at headquarters. “He can run an image search and maybe figure out what the symbol means.” Quaid wore his trademark sneer. “Unless you’ve already thought of that… boss.”

After an extended glare, Quaid took his phone back and sent a message to our IT guy.

I chuckled. “You look constipated when you make that face.”

“You have that effect on people.”

“I haven’t even turned it on yet. This is me on a casual Saturday evening. I’m chill. Relaxed. How about you?”

“We need to work this case. Properly. Maturely. I’m not going to risk a baby’s life because our departments have bad blood, and you don’t know how to be a grown-up.”

“We made it work back in May, didn’t we? We can do it again.”

“Good. Try not to annoy me.”

“My breathing tends to annoy you.”

Quaid pocketed his phone, and his glacial blue eyes pinned me with contempt for a long minute before their sharp edges softened. “I’m sorry. It caught me off guard

when Edwards told me you were coming. You’re right. I’m not being fair. We made it work in May. We can make it work now. Come on.”

As he turned to head deeper into the house, I couldn’t help poking the bear. “If we solve this case, do I get another kiss?”

Quaid kept walking, his spine an iron spike. Not for the first time, I wondered what it would take to get rid of that deeply lodged stick up his derriere. The new boyfriend clearly wasn’t doing his job. Maybe he’d been called out midfuck. That would make anyone cranky.

Quaid moved down a long hallway, but before I could follow, my feet stalled as I took in the elegant front room on my right for the first time. The sheer blinding quality of the white paint and furniture made me want to shield my eyes.

“A baby lives here?” I said, catching up with Quaid. I’d been to my sister’s enough times to know that even an infant’s presence left a mark on a family’s living space. Nothing was this pristine. Ever.

“Oddly enough.” Quaid paused and turned back before entering the kitchen. “I left Clara outside on the back deck with her brother.” He shifted, a note of discomfort bleeding through. “Please… try to be professional.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means your reputation precedes you, Doyle, and I don’t want a problem.”

“I still don’t know what that means.”

Quaid sighed. “You will.”

We entered a massive, open-layout kitchen that displayed the same stark qualities as the front room. I performed a cursory scan before my attention caught on the woman standing on the upper deck beyond the patio door. A gorgeous woman clad in nothing more than an itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny crimson bikini. “Well, hello, hot mama.”

Quaid shot me a dirty look over his shoulder. I understood the previous comment now.

“Can we proceed?” he snapped.

It took a second to tear my focus off the miles of tanned skin outside the door. “Um… Hang on… Okay, yes. My d**k is in check.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mostly.” Lowering my voice, I added, “Those t**s are fake, by the way, which is a total turnoff. I prefer the real thing, you know?”

“I’m already hating every second of working with you.” “Relax. If it helps, I was half-hard before I saw her. Your ass

is stunning in those pants. Whatever glute exercises you do, don’t stop. Solid ten.” I gave him a chef’s kiss. “Perfection.”

I couldn’t help it. It was too easy to get under Quaid’s skin. When in his presence, I was out of control. I recognized my behavior was inappropriate and could land me in hot water with Summerfield, but I didn’t know how to stop.

The memory of his hot mouth and velvet tongue didn’t hurt either. I didn’t usually catalog kisses into my spank

bank, but after the one devastating moment we’d shared behind the restaurant back in May, I’d gotten off to it many, many times.

Based on Quaid’s attitude and reaction toward me, I didn’t think he felt the same. A shame. I wouldn’t have been opposed to a quick roll in the hay, but he’d turned me down.

Ignoring my comment about his ass, Quaid reached for the door. Again, he paused. He was back in professional mode. “Since the father is MIA, I think we should get consent to do a more thorough search of the house. If he has an office or computer, maybe we can find an itinerary and figure out where he is.”

“Of course. A calendar notation might solve everything. Saturday, August twenty-seventh. Kidnap my son and escape to the Cayman Islands. Pick up dry cleaning.”

Quaid’s jaw ticked as he tore open the patio door.

“I’d like to make a quick scan of the backyard,” I said as I joined him outside.

Quaid held up a finger as a large Black man caught sight of us and jogged up the tiered deck to the top level.

I held out a hand as he approached. “Detective Aslan Doyle. Homicide.”

The man’s eyes widened. “H-homicide? I thought…”

Quaid sighed. “Detective Doyle has been lent out from homicide and will be giving me a hand with the case,” he clarified. “This is Sergeant Denver Ikeyo from Peel Regional.”

Ikeyo gave a clipped nod, his face etched in a frown, sweat trickling down from his bald head. “Glad to have you,” he said to me. To Quaid, “Our newcomer is Eyan Bissett, Clara’s brother like you suspected. They’re making a list of friends and family as we speak. Once they’re done, we’ll get on the ball and start contacting people.”

“Nothing from the father yet?” I asked.

Ikeyo shook his head and mopped at his face with a handkerchief. “He drives a black 2019 BMW 330i. I’ve already got the APB out.”

“Good. Can we move the mother and brother inside?” Quaid asked. “I expect a team to show up at any moment to process the backyard. It would be best if they weren’t in the way.”

“Sure thing.”

“I’m going to show Doyle what we’ve got in the interim, and I’ll be inside in a few to talk with them again. When the nanny shows up, let me know. I’d like to interview her.”

Ikeyo nodded and moved off. With the help of a female officer who Quaid identified as Melbourne, he encouraged the mother and brother inside the house.

We stepped aside as they passed.

When Quaid smacked my arm, I jolted my attention away from the retreating pair and grinned. “What?”

“Your eyes were wandering.”

“Good looking pair. It can’t be helped.” “Try harder.”

“Jealous?”

“Hardly.” Quaid clomped down the stairs to the deck’s lower level, then lifted a leg over the barrier tape to get to the grass.

Without trampling over the scene, he showed me the carriage, the neatly folded blanket, and the gift our kidnapper had left behind. He was right. The missing father and the pendant were conflicting. I didn’t know what to believe.

“Without going through the house, there seem to be only two points of ingress and egress.” Quaid gestured to the two gates. “Neither is locked.”

I glanced between them. “What are your thoughts?”

“Someone was familiar with the layout. Someone knew Clara’s routine.”

“The bogus caller knew personal information about Giles. A SIN card number. Tax information. That tells me it’s someone close to the family.”

“Or the father himself,” Quaid said. “Does your close family know your tax information?”

“Nope.”

Quaid glanced between the gates again. “The back gate seems more secluded. Not sure where it leads, but it looks like a path or something beyond. The other gate leads to the front of the house and street. It’s a little more open.”

“Was that camera checked?” I pointed to the one mounted over the back deck.

“I made the request. I’ll go follow up with Ikeyo. The angle doesn’t look like it will give us much, but I want to be sure.”

A commotion at the patio door announced the arrival of a two-man CSI team. I recognized Bobby Windsor and Yuri Kuznetsov. Ikeyo followed them out, directing them toward us. To Quaid, he yelled, “The nanny is here. Do you want one of my people to interview her? She’s not fluent in English. I have a few bilingual officers.”

“I’ll take it,” Quaid called back. “Just give me someone to help translate.”

Ikeyo nodded.

“Anything on the camera?” I indicated again.

Ikeyo held his hands wide in defeat. “Nothing. It wasn’t working.”

He headed back inside.

“Wasn’t working? That’s convenient. Another tick against the father.”

“Can you get these guys up to date and check out where that back gate leads?” Quaid asked, a furrow in his brow.

“On it.”

“I’ll talk to the nanny. Come find me when you’re done.” He turned to the house but pivoted back. “How’s your French?”

I wiggled my brows. “Voulez-vous couche avec moi, Quaid?”

Quaid blinked a handful of times, his jaw tight. I wasn’t sure if he understood or didn’t. With a mumbled, “Never

mind,” he turned and walked away. His ass really did look good in those pants.

The CSI duo listened as I showed them the scene. They weren’t pleased we’d been marching all over the grass. Their plan was to do a full scan of the yard, try to pull prints off the pendant and carriage, and look for any hints of DNA.

I shadowed them for a while, much to their irritation. Bobby Windsor worked on the yard and both gates while Yuri Kuznetsov stuck to the carriage.

I knew the two CSIs well. They’d processed many scenes for me in the past. Old farts, but competent old farts. They’d been at it a number of years and had a system.

“You switch to MPU?” Windsor asked as he went over the backyard with a fine-tooth comb

“Hell no. Temporary assignment. They were short-staffed.” “Got stuck with the stiff, huh? I’ve seen dead bodies with more personality than Valor. Nothing like his father. Abraham was a great guy, but Quaid?” Windsor hitched his chin toward the house. “I don’t know. It’s like he thinks he

has something to prove. Sucks to be you.”

I chuckled. “He has his moments. At least he’s easy on the eyes.”

Windsor looked up from his examination of the mulch path with a pinched expression of disgust. “Sure. If you like that sort of thing I guess.”

There was so much hetero machoism in the department it made me gag. Even in 2022, there were still officers who

acted like accepting gay relationships might make them gay too. I was glad the attitude was mostly contained to the handful of veteran employees with one foot out the door. Overall, attitudes were tamer these days compared to what gay officers had gone through a couple of decades ago.

“So what do you think?” I asked, drawing Windsor’s attention back to the crime scene and away from my flippant comment about Quaid.

“The back gate shows evidence of recent use.” Windsor had a full gray mustache that bounced on his upper lip when he talked. The extra tire around his middle made the buttons on his shirt pull tight when he stood upright. Pit stains darkened his cream-colored shirt. He was short and stout.

“See that?” Windsor pointed at the ground by the back gate. “Fresh drag marks.” He snapped a few pictures with his camera. “The gate was swung open to a distance of less than two feet by the look of it. Taking into account our perpetrator would be carrying a baby at the time of departure, I would say our suspect is of slim build. An overweight fella like myself would not have fit.” Windsor patted his generous gut in demonstration.

“There are further depressions in the grass over here and more on the mulch path, but unfortunately, they aren’t clear enough to determine shoe size, get an imprint, or measure gait. Our weather has been extraordinarily dry, which makes

impressions harder to identify. The mulch itself isn’t a favorable surface to begin with. That’s about it.”

“Thanks.”

Kuznetsov didn’t have any better luck. There were no prints on the necklace, and the carriage didn’t look promising, but he informed me he was still working on it.

I left the two men alone. After Windsor gave me the go- ahead, I slipped through the back gate to see where it led. I found myself standing on a worn dirt trail that ran in both directions, shielded on either side by towering trees and a patchwork of tall backyard fences.

Unsure what lay in either direction, I pulled up Maps on my phone, pinging my location. I was standing on an extension of the Waterfront Trail. Maple Avenue ran parallel to Ben Machree Drive, the street located behind it. Both street’s backyards butted up on either side of the trail that led to Ben Machree Park by the waterfront in one direction and ran all the way to Lakeshore Road East and beyond in the other.

Not good news.

The park was closer, and when I blew up the map, a distinct parking area grew visible at the end of the path. It was logical to think our kidnapper would take the fastest route possible to accessible transportation.

I examined both options again before heading toward Ben Machree Park, studying the fences and gates leading to numerous backyards along the way. The path was mostly

secluded, cut off from most residences by privacy fences or high shrubs and bushes. The perfect means of escaping with an infant unnoticed. I didn’t like it.

It took no time to get to the waterfront and the parking area. I checked lampposts for CCTV cameras but came up empty. Hiking back to the Paquets’, I went in the other direction toward Lakeshore Road East. It took longer, but the main street intersecting the path was busy and would have also provided easy enough access for our perp to get away.

However, unlike the waterfront, there were a number of street cameras in the area. I made a note to have someone pull the feeds and check them. It was a long shot, but one that couldn’t be ignored. As I wandered back toward the gated entrance to the Paquets’ backyard, I studied the canopy of trees overhead and the battered wooden fences along the way. Another possibility dawned on me. Our perp could have easily snuck through