“I’d say he’s in a shitload of trouble if he’s lost that much blood,” Carmen bit out. Okay, so that might’ve come out more tartly than she’d intended, but she needed to keep Liam from asking questions she couldn’t answer. “Hypovolemic shock is no joke. But if he’s at Remington Mem, he’s in the very best hands. As for how he got hurt, I really can’t help you. I already told you, I didn’t talk to him and I don’t know him.”
“You’re sure you’ve never seen him before?” Liam tried again. “Maybe out with a friend, at a bar or a party? Even in passing?”
Whether it was her exhaustion or something far more complicated, Carmen couldn’t be sure, but her composure dipped. “I can see why you wouldn’t take my word at face value, Detective. I’m not exactly a saint. But, contrary to popular belief, I’m also not an idiot.”
Liam took a half step back, his brows slinging up. “I don’t think you’re an idiot.”
“But you don’t believe me.”
He paused, and God, that was a no if she ever heard one. “Axel Franklin had your number in his hand. He called you three times, very likely after he’d been stabbed. I’m just trying to figure out who hurt this guy, and I think you know more than you’re telling me.”
For one scorching-hot second, she was tempted to trust him. But then her mind tumbled back to the last time she’d done that. Of what she’d said, what she’d done, and she slammed the door on the urge.
Trusting Liam wasn’t just risky. It was flat-out dangerous.
“I hope that you do find whoever stabbed him,” she said, walking over to her front door to tug it open. “But I don’t know who he is or why he called me, and I definitely didn’t talk to him. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“I’m not going to stop until I get to the bottom of this,” Liam said, turning back only once he’d cleared the threshold. “So, I guess I’ll see you soon.”
“I doubt it,” Carmen said.
But it was the first lie she’d told him tonight.
3
Liam was going to need more than coffee to get through this morning. He’d already thrown back half a pot to no avail, and now that the sun was beginning to push past the blinds in the Intelligence Unit’s open office space, he was going to have to find another way to put his sleepless night behind him. But really, it wasn’t his fault he’d tossed and turned. Every time he’d gotten within a nautical mile of drifting off, his maddening nonversation with Carmen had roared through his mind like a runaway truck, waking him right back up. The way her hands had found her hips so easily whenever he’d asked her even the simplest questions. The defiant glint in her dark brown eyes that always managed to say, “go on, I dare you”. He didn’t even want to get started on the pale pink lace he’d caught sight of on her couch, glimpsing it for only a split second before she’d hidden it with her bag.
That had done things to him that went far beyond a wake-up call, and okay, yeah, he needed to stamp out all thoughts of Carmen’s undergarments—no matter how delicately sexy they were—and focus on the real issue here.
She was hiding something, and whatever it was, Liam would bet it wasn’t small.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he looked at the case notes he’d recorded on his computer at stupid o’clock this morning. None of them had changed since the last time he’d stared them down, but at this point, he was getting desperate.
“Oh, hey, you’re here early,” Isabella said, pulling her hair into a ponytail as she hustled into the office.
“Back atcha,” Liam replied, punctuating the words with a smile he had to push into place. “I’m just trying to make sense of this before we throw it in front of Sinclair and the rest of the unit.”
Isabella nodded, sitting at her desk, which faced his in the large, open office space. “Yeah. Jonah texted me in the wee hours.”
“Really?” Liam asked, a spark of hope setting up camp in his chest. For all her caginess, Carmen hadn’t been wrong about Axel being in great hands. Jonah Sheridan was the best trauma surgeon in the city. He was also a friend, one who wouldn’t bullshit them about Axel’s chances.
“Yep. Axel made it through surgery, although there were a few complications. He lost a lot of blood, and they had trouble stabilizing him. Jonah said he’d likely been stabbed at least twenty minutes before that nine-one-one call came in, so it’s all pretty touch and go. Axel probably won’t regain consciousness for a while.”
Just like that, the spark in his chest fizzled. “Well, shit.”
“My feelings exactly,” Isabella said. “What about you? How did the meet with Carmen go?”
“It was”—frustrating. Infuriating. An odd and slightly inappropriate turn-on—“not very productive,” Liam said, and okay, yeah, he needed to nix that turn-on thing, fast. That rush of heat he’d felt during their back and forth was nothing more than argument endorphins, doing their thing. God knew Carmen was a pro at pushing his buttons.
“Seriously?” Isabella’s brows had traveled halfway up her forehead, and Liam might as well add to the pile of crap news they were building.
“Yep.” He gave her a rundown of his exchange with Carmen, from her unhappiness to see him (expected) to her taciturn responses (semi-expected—she was a CI, sure, but she’d never been the chatty type) to the way she’d pushed back hard enough for him to know she was hiding something (very unexpected).
“So, you think she’s somehow involved in Axel’s stabbing?” Isabella asked, her brows lifting in both shock and doubt.
Liam was quick to shake his head. “Do I think she stabbed the guy? Hell, no.” The idea was ludicrous, not to mention the fact that it made zero sense that Axel would call his attacker after he’d been stabbed. “Do I think she knows something she’s not telling us? Hell, yes.”
“I know Carmen isn’t exactly warm and fuzzy,” Isabella said, and Liam had no choice but to snort his agreement. “But, come on. She’s my CI, and she’s always been solid. Do you really think she’d lie about this?”
It was a fair point. Carmen might have some pretty sharp corners, but Liam doubted she’d withhold direct information about a crime. Especially one involving a grave injury.
Unless she had one hell of a reason.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But Axel called her three times in pretty rapid succession, and her number was in his hand. There’s no way he misdialed. She might not know him, but he was desperate to talk to her.”
Isabella blew out a breath, sitting back in her chair. “You’re probably right about that. Let’s start with a full dump of his cell and socials and find out what he’s been up to, or if anyone might want to hurt him. Then we can take a ride to Remington Mem and see if he’s regained consciousness.”
“Sounds good.”
By the time the phone records had landed in Liam’s inbox, the rest of the team, including their boss, Sergeant Sam Sinclair, had arrived in the office. Isabella filled them in on the details, skimpy as they were, and the unit’s tech and surveillance expert, James Capelli, started a case board on the digital array mounted on the wall over his desk.