by Mia Sheridan
“He’s targeting UC students?” Like her. Like she’d been. Even if that had nothing to do with the reasons Marshall Landish had abducted and tortured her in the first place. It was a similarity this new psycho could copy. Was copying. Disbelief rolled through her. She couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Maybe.”
“What are the other reasons for copycat killings?”
Zach scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s a form of depersonalization. The killer adopts a persona and it makes committing the crime easier because it’s not him, it’s a character. It’s like a warrior painting his face before war so he can assume a new identity prior to riding into battle. It helps separate the real him from the persona and makes acts of aggression easier.”
“It’s why Marshall kept wearing the mask too,” Josie murmured, a slow shiver moving down her spine as she pictured his masked face. “It not only hid him from me, but in that way, he was able to achieve depersonalization. I was able to ID him based on other tells, but by wearing the mask, he could hide from himself.”
“As a general profile, I’d say that’s probably accurate. We never got the opportunity to interview Landish.”
Josie looked up, meeting Zach’s eyes and then looking quickly away. “No,” she murmured, pushing herself away from the sink where she was leaning. Marshall Landish had taken all his secrets to the grave, including the whereabouts of their child. “You must be tired,” she said as she walked toward the kitchen doorway. “I can set you up in one of the guest rooms upstairs if you’d like?”
“Couch is good. I don’t want to wake you when I get up to do one of my checks.”
Josie thought of the couch where he’d slept the night before. “Will you be able to get some actual sleep?”
“I’ll drift at least,” he said, following her from the room.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was watching her body as she moved away, and that the expression on his face was decidedly . . . appreciative. Heat infused her skin and she glanced quickly forward again. Strangely, that look hadn’t made her feel skittish as similar looks had done over the years, even if those other looks had been given in very public places like the grocery store or the library.
It didn’t mean anything. Men were visual. But she would chalk it up to another win as far as her healing. Sure, she felt safe with him in general—her guardian—but he was still bigger than her, stronger. And still a man. The fact that she welcomed his attention felt . . . good. Positive.
“There’s, uh, only one working shower in the house right now,” she said, turning when she reached the bottom of the staircase. “I’m actually re-tiling the other two. They should be done next week, but for now . . .” She waved her hand in the air. She was babbling. “Anyway, if you want to take a shower, you’re welcome to. It’s upstairs. The second door on the left.”
“I showered at home before I came over. But thank you.” He smiled, tilting his head slightly so he looked boyish and charming. Her stomach fluttered and she self-consciously brought a hand to it as though butterflies might explode through her skin in a mad flapping of tiny wings. Of course he’d showered. When he’d stepped close to her, he’d smelled so good. She took her bottom lip between her teeth and his gaze shot to her mouth. The air filled with . . . something . . . and she stepped backward up the stairs, her hand still holding those butterflies in, nerves vibrating, but not unpleasantly so.
She gave a small embarrassed laugh, which she cut off immediately. It seemed inappropriate. Why was she laughing? God, she could be so awkward sometimes. “See you in the morning,” she murmured. “Oh, I, um, told my mother I’d visit her tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Early. Seven-ish? I want to get back here and work on that re-tiling.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll go with you. Jimmy won’t be here until ten or so.”
Josie hesitated. She hardly wanted to bring this man to see where she’d come from or to meet the old crone that was her mother, but she supposed she had to get used to the fact that—temporarily—she had armed security. She still had to live her life. And when they got there, she’d ask that he wait in the car. “Okay. Goodnight, Zach.”
“Sleep well.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Josie?” Zach called softly at her door. He’d waited downstairs until seven fifteen, and when he still didn’t hear anything from above, he went upstairs to make sure she was okay.
He heard scuffling from within the room, the sounds of locks turning—was that three?—and then the door was pulled open. Josie stood there blinking, mussed from sleep, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. “God, I’m so sorry.” She looked behind her, grabbing her robe from the end of her bed. “I overslept. I never do that,” she murmured.
Zach took a step into the room, his eyes drawn by the desk against a wall, bulletin boards above it hung with . . . articles and lists, pictures . . . He scanned it all, pulled by the vision. It looked like a tiny version of an incident room, one Zach was sure they’d be putting together today or tomorrow, a place to put the evidence from both crimes in one place so it could be visualized, compared, connections made if possible. It was what detectives did.
His eyes moved quickly from one thing to another, names of adoption agencies, hospitals, individuals. His gaze snagged on a sketched picture of an infant, the lines simple, unskilled. He stood in front of it, the awareness of what this was hitting him. God, his fucking heart. Josie Stratton was still looking for her son. She’d never stopped. This was her version of command central.
“I can’t draw worth . . . anything.” He turned and she was standing behind him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her finger trailing along the baseboard of her bed. She wouldn’t meet his eyes. She looked as though he’d caught her naked. In a sense, maybe he had.
“I’m sorry, I’m invading your privacy.”
She shook her head, her gaze darting to him and then away. “This probably looks . . .” She licked her lips, obviously searching for the right word, the proper description of what was in front of him. “Kind of insane.”
“It doesn’t look insane,” he said. He was actually somewhat blown away that she hadn’t stopped searching, though every professional assigned to help her had given up long ago.
. . . kid’s gotta be dead. A sick fuck like that? I can’t see him dropping the baby off on some nice old lady’s doorstep . . . Nah, he threw that kid in some garbage dump, treated him about as well as he treated his mother.
“It looks valiant.” He looked back to the photo she’d drawn from her own memory of the baby she’d held for such a short time. “Did you name him?” he asked.
Josie came up beside him, folding her arms under her breasts. She looked at him curiously, her cheeks still slightly flushed. “No one, in all these years, has ever asked me that,” she said quietly. She turned her head, gazing at the hand-drawn picture. “Caleb.”
He nodded. “Good name.”
He glanced at her and she gave him a small smile, looking shy, still a little embarrassed. “Thank you.” Their eyes held and he felt the weight of those words. She gestured toward the bathroom. “I’ll be real quick. Meet you downstairs in ten?”
“Yeah.” He moved toward the door, glancing back at the proof of Josie Stratton’s never-ending hope, despite the overwhelming likelihood that she’d never see her son again. The likelihood that he’d died at his father’s hand many, many years ago. Caleb. “I’ll be waiting.”
Zach did another check of the downstairs windows, though he’d done one only a few hours before. It was mostly to keep himself busy as he waited for her. His nerves felt strung tight for some reason he couldn’t exactly articulate to himself, but he knew was as much personal as it was about his job of keeping Josie Stratton safe. He stood at her kitchen window, linking his hands on top of his head. Fuck. He was developing feelings for her. And there was nothing he could do about it. It’d probably be best—the most professional
move—if he turned the job of protecting her over to another detective or officer, but the thought of doing so made him grit his teeth. No.
No, he would not abandon Josie right now. He knew she was beginning to trust him. And he wasn’t blind. He felt the simmering tension vibrating between them, the tension that always made her look slightly curious and slightly terrified. God damn, this situation was all kinds of sticky.
“Ready if you are.” He turned, dropping his arms, annoyed that he’d been so deep in his own thoughts that he hadn’t heard her coming downstairs. Gotta be more on your game than that if you’re going to be a guardian worth his salt, Copeland.
“Yeah, ready.”
Josie’s mother lived in a rundown house in Addyston. Zach pulled up to the curb, his truck idling as he eyed the small home with peeling paint, one shutter hanging loose, and the other one missing entirely. The yard was overgrown with weeds and basically, whoever lived here was either real down on their luck, or just didn’t give a shit. He turned the key, shutting off the ignition.
“I won’t be long,” Josie said. “You’ll wait here?”
“Nope. I’ll come in with you.”
She reached across and put her hand on his arm. Her skin was cool and smooth and fuck, even that small contact sent a jolt to his system. “You really don’t have to. I’ll be fine, and I’ll be quick.”
“Josie, it’s my job. I’m sorry, but I have to keep you in my line of sight.” That wasn’t necessarily completely accurate. No one would have blamed him if he’d waited in his truck, eyes on the front of the house as Josie went inside and visited her mother, but there were some guys milling around outside the house next door, someone sitting in a car across the street staring at them, and his protective mode was notched up to its highest level.
Her shoulders lowered and she bit at her lip. “All right, but my mother . . . she’s . . . well, she can be very . . . abrasive.”
“I’ll stand aside. You won’t even know I’m there.”
That got a small smile from her. She turned and opened the car door and as she got out, he heard her mutter, “Trust me, this is not a place where you’ll blend.”
“Mom?” Josie called when they’d climbed the three rickety steps to the front door, and Josie had turned the knob, opening it a crack.
“Well, come in,” came one of the raspiest female voices Zach had ever heard. Josie glanced at him and then opened the door wider so they could both enter.
The living room they walked into was dank and drab. A fog of smoke hung in the air and it reeked of cigarettes, though the older woman sitting in the recliner in front of a TV set was not currently smoking. She looked up, her expression pinching when she saw Zach. “Who are you?”
Zach stepped around Josie, reaching out his hand. “Ma’am, I’m Detective Zach Copeland with the Cincinnati Police Department.”
She took his hand, her grip weak, skin soft and papery, eyes assessing. “Diana,” she muttered, looking at him suspiciously. “Police, eh? I don’t like the police.”
“Mom, there have been a couple of crimes committed recently that are similar to mine.” Josie ran her hands over her hips as though she was nervous about mentioning the topic to her mother. “Someone broke into my house a couple of days ago, and Detective Copeland and some of his co-workers are making sure I’m not in danger.”
“Danger? What kind of danger?”
“We don’t know, ma’am, and we’re hoping this is just a precaution, but until we know for sure, Josie’s got an escort.” He flashed a quick smile at Josie, trying to make the situation sound as routine as possible.
Josie’s mother eyed him again, giving a small snort. “You could do worse,” she said to Josie, who pretended not to hear, picking up a blanket on the couch and folding it.
“Mom, come on into the kitchen with me. I’ll make you something to eat while I clean up.”
The older woman took her time reaching next to her, picking up a pack of cigarettes, and tapping one into her hand. As she placed the cigarette in her mouth, Zach noticed she had a dip on the side of her bottom lip—a lifetime of smoking had literally carved itself into her body. He’d been present for a few autopsies where the deceased had been a heavy smoker. They should show those pictures in school—no one would ever pick up a cigarette again. Of course, that was wishful thinking. There would always be humans who were self-destructive, weak, and too dependent on vices that could literally kill them. Zach wondered what it’d been like for Josie growing up with this hardened creature. It seemed impossible that someone like Josie—sensitive, refined, beautiful—had been created by the woman in front of him.
She pulled herself from the recliner. Her maroon bathrobe was stained and wrinkled, and it appeared as though she hadn’t bathed in . . . too long. In her worn face, though, Zach could see the ravaged vestiges of long-ago beauty. It gave him an odd feeling, one he could only describe as sadness. Zach’s job offered ample opportunity to confront the wicked things people did to each other, but it just as often showcased the wicked things people did to themselves. Diana gave him a narrow-eyed stare as she turned, following Josie through a swinging door into what must be the kitchen.
Zach sat in a chair by the window and blew out a breath. He pulled the heavy curtain open slightly. A shaft of sunlight brightened the room. Better. At least a little. He took out his phone and sent Jimmy a quick message. He heard dishes clattering from the room beyond and Diana’s voice, clear as day. “You screwing him? That detective?” she asked, obviously chewing as she spoke.
“Mom,” Josie hissed, her voice low, but not low enough that Zach couldn’t hear.
“Bet he’s good at it. Screwing.” She made a rough scoffing sound. “All they’re good for anyway,” her mom said, as though Josie hadn’t even spoken. “Especially one with a pretty face like that. Body to match? He’ll be out the door before you can say boo.”
The dishes clattered more loudly, Josie’s obvious attempt to cover her mother’s voice with racket.
Zach cringed on her behalf.
“You still looking for that kid a yours? Be harder to get a man, especially one like that, if you’re tied down with a kid. Trust me I know. Probably be better off—”
“Don’t,” Josie said, and even from the other room, Zach could hear the warning in her voice. The steel. Her mother was crossing a line. The older woman was quiet after that.
Zach stayed in his seat, texting back and forth with Jimmy, who didn’t have any major updates, and looking out the window now and again, checking that his truck was safe. Josie walked back and forth, carrying laundry, garbage cans, clutter that littered the surfaces of her mother’s house. Her mother went to a room in the back of the house and Zach heard a television turn on, something that featured dramatic music, and lots of cuts to commercial—a soap opera most likely. Zach watched Josie move about. She was basically acting as a housekeeper for her mother, and he wondered how long she’d been doing that.
At about nine thirty, Josie went to the back of the house, he heard a brief exchange, and then she came into the living room. “Ready?”
God, was he ever. He nodded, following her from the house into the bright light of day where there was breathable air.
They got into his truck and as he started it up and pulled from the curb, Josie remained looking out the window. She seemed depressed, angry. Both.
“How often do you clean for her?”
“Every other week,” she murmured, no inflection in her tone. After a minute she looked at him, and he glanced at her. Her eyes moved over his face before he looked back to the road. “You’ll need to shower to get the smell of that place off you.”
“I’ve smelled like worse things than cigarette smoke.” He took in the classic prettiness of her profile, the elegant lines of her jaw, her nose, the sweep of lashes, and wondered again how Josie shared DNA with the woman she called Mom. “It doesn’t seem to make you happy, cleaning for her. Why do you do it?”
Josie sigh
ed. “I was estranged from her for a long time. When I was abducted, I hadn’t spoken to my mother in over a year. And before that, only because it was unavoidable since I lived with her. She drank a lot when I was younger, was a mean drunk, took it out on me. I saw college as my escape and I worked my butt off to get into UC and never looked back.” She trailed a finger along the doorframe as she paused. “When I escaped, she came to the hospital. She told me she’d gotten sober, wanted a relationship. I didn’t leave my apartment much until recently. She stopped by every now and again, not often.” She sighed again. “Then last year she called and told me she had cancer. I was living in Oxford by then, and thought, how could I visit my ill aunt but ignore my own mother?” She looked over at Zach. “She needed help, couldn’t get out of bed some days. I started going to the grocery store for her, doing some cleaning. I’d hire someone if I could, but for now, every penny is going into the farmhouse.”
Josie paused again and Zach didn’t think she’d speak anymore. But then she looked at him. “She’s my mother,” she said again softly.
Yeah, she was. She was also a mean-hearted shrew who had treated her daughter like trash most of her life, and still did from what he’d witnessed. He’d seen family dynamics like theirs before. Sadly, too many times. You still looking for your kid? He thought of that bulletin board in Josie’s room, how she’d never given up on her child, not in eight long years where she struggled in ways he probably couldn’t imagine. Josie was twice the mother that woman was, and she’d only known her son for such a tragically short time.
Josie’s loyalty humbled him, even if she was loyal to a fault.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Before
The contractions woke her from a deep sleep, a painful tightening in her abdomen that radiated around her back before loosening once more. She groaned, pulling herself into a sitting position and taking a deep breath as she waited to see what would happen.
She’d been having contractions off and on for weeks, though the one that had just woken her was the strongest she’d experienced yet. The pain faded and she started drifting to sleep again, head lolling, when another sharp contraction hit her, a groan rising to her throat. She lay down again, bringing her knees to her belly. Oh God, this is it. With every feminine instinct she possessed, she knew it was.