Hold On (Page 63)

“Step off Ms. Rivers’s stoop,” he ordered, that smooth voice that hid the rough underneath a memory, his voice was vibrating with the rage he was not hiding.

“Sir—” Walter Jones started.

Merry shifted a hand, pulling back the dark blue suit jacket he was wearing to expose the butt of his gun in its holster at the side of his chest as well as the shiny badge clipped to his belt.

“Take…your hand…off Ms. Rivers’s door…and step…the fuck…off her goddamned stoop,” Merry growled.

I heard the storm door whisper, but it didn’t bang into place because Merry moved quickly and caught it with his hand.

I moved to go after him.

He stopped and cast the blue ice of his eyes down to me.

“You stay in here, baby.”

His tone was not gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was a hard order he expected to be obeyed.

And the addition of “baby” was not meant to soften that order.

It was a communication to Walter Jones of who I was to Merry.

Thinking my best move at that point was to do what I was told, I nodded.

Merry pushed through the door. It whispered again as it closed and I caught it before it banged. Then I stood on the other side of it to watch Merry prowl the three strides that took him to Walter Jones, who was standing at the foot of my stoop.

When he stopped, he pushed both sides of his suit jacket back to plant his hands on his hips, again exposing his badge and gun, but also expanding his frame so he bested Jones in height and in width.

“So you been in contact with Ms. Rivers about Dennis Lowe,” he stated unhappily.

“Can I ask your name, Detective?” Jones returned.

“It’s lieutenant…Lieutenant Garrett Merrick of the BPD. Now, confirm. You been in contact with Ms. Rivers about Dennis Lowe?”

“I’m an FBI profiler—” Jones started.

“I don’t give a fuck what you are,” Merry cut him off. “What I want right now is to be sure I’m gettin’ straight what’s goin’ on here. You been in contact with Ms. Rivers about Dennis Lowe. Yeah?”

“I’m writing a book—”

“I don’t give a fuck about that either.” Merry’s tone was deteriorating. “I asked you, you been in contact with Ms. Rivers about Dennis Lowe?”

“Obviously, I have,” Jones sniped in the face of Merry’s interrogation, his patience waning too.

“And she made it clear that she didn’t wanna speak to you,” Merry stated.

Oh shit.

I hadn’t actually done that.

“No, actually, she didn’t,” Jones spoke my thoughts. “Ms. Rivers didn’t take my calls.”

“No, actually, Ms. Rivers refused to take your calls, so she did make it clear that she didn’t wanna speak to you.”

That was a good twist.

And damned true.

“Lieutenant—”

“Then you found her address and showed in her door without notice.”

“Her insight into—”

“Right,” Merry bit out. “We’ll start with this, and it shocks me I have to share this with you, seein’ as you’re in law enforcement—”

Jones interrupted him through tight lips, “At the present time, I’m not with the FBI. I’m freelance.”

Not missing a beat, Merry stated, “Then it shocks me I have to share this with you, seein’ as you’re a former law enforcement officer, but you do not, under any circumstances outside havin’ a warrant or probable cause, open the goddamned door to a dwelling. I don’t give a fuck it’s the storm door or the fuckin’ front door. You don’t do it and you know it. Unless you think doin’ it’ll intimidate the occupant of the dwelling into givin’ you what you came to get.”

“It’s clear Ms. Rivers had some barriers to speaking to—”

Merry’s head tipped sharply to the side. “So you admit it was clear Ms. Rivers didn’t want to speak to you?”

Jones’s mouth set.

Merry kept going.

“I’ll continue. As a former officer of the law, you are very aware that Ms. Rivers made it clear to you that she doesn’t wish to communicate with you, so right now you’re committing the crime of harassment.”

“As a former officer of the law, I know that calling Ms. Rivers on the phone and knocking on her door hardly comes close to criminal harassment,” Jones retorted.

“As your intent was to discuss an episode in her life where she and her son were victimized by a serial killer, and you could infer from her refusal to take your calls that you were causing her alarm or even mental torment, this absolutely could be construed as criminal harassment. And I’ll note that in these parts, it absolutely would be construed that way. Not to mention a credible threat to her safety, even if that safety is a threat to her mental health. So it does come close to criminal harassment. Ignoring her clear communication that she did not wish contact from you, then showing at her door and essentially helping yourself to her property by opening that door, that could conceivably add trespassing and even menacing.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jones spat.

“I disagree,” Merry returned. “But you want a second opinion, be happy to call Lieutenant Colton and see how he feels about this shit you’re pullin’.”

Jones tried to check it but couldn’t quite hide the fact he’d reared back.

That meant either Colt had already told him to go fuck himself (which was probably not the case, Colt would have warned me) or Colt’s reputation had preceded him, considering the number of people before Jones he’d told to go fuck themselves.