The Forgotten Widow

by Layne, Kennedy

  “Is that why the FBI was brought in so early into the investigation?” Kenna inquired without hesitation. Again, he didn’t notice an ounce of judgement in her tone. He found that highly unusual. “I take it that Meghan Vance was the third victim?”

  “Yes, she was the most recent victim, though her identity is not the reason for our involvement. A third victim confirmed the case was the work of a serial killer. It’s the only reason we’re involved now. The governor did bring this case to our attention quickly, but I was the one who made the final decision to assist local law enforcement once I’d reviewed the case files.” Dean didn’t want Kenna to think for a minute that the FBI’s participation in this investigation wasn’t on the up and up. “You do need to take extra precautions, Kenna. As of right now, we have no definite idea how this unsub is choosing his targets. Only suspicions.”

  Kenna’s green eyes appeared almost black as she studied him, but he was able to release some of the tension from his shoulders at her slight nod of accord. He highly doubted that she would make reservations for a flight down to Florida, but he could still hold out hope that she had some distant family or some close friends in the area who she could stay with for a couple of weeks.

  “Are you from here?”

  The question threw him for a moment, and he couldn’t quite understand the directional turn in the conversation. The fact that he’d hesitated on answering had her explaining her train of thought.

  “It’s going to be a long night, and talking about nothing but a serial killer while we’re stuck inside my house in the middle of a blizzard might not be such a good thing for our mental states,” Kenna replied with a small smile. “I’m a transplant myself. I was actually born in Hartford, but my husband’s job was here in Winter Heights. We moved here right after college.”

  “You decided to stay after his death,” Dean said, not bothering to phrase that as a question.

  “My life is here.” Kenna made it sound as if it were that simple. Having witnessed his mother’s devastation firsthand, he understood more than most that it wasn’t always that straightforward. “Justin, my husband, traveled a lot for his job. Sometimes even a week at a time. I had my own circle of friends, my clients that I’d spent years cultivating, and the familiarity of the town gave me comfort. I guess you could say the combination of all three known quantities were instrumental in establishing my support system after Justin was gone.”

  Dean had been about to divulge that his mother had done the opposite. She’d moved him and his brother months after they’d lost their father from Philadelphia to New Haven in order to be closer to family. When children were involved, support provided by family was like no other. Bottom line? Kenna didn’t need to know those personal details about his past.

  “Don’t get me wrong, my parents have tried everything and anything to get me to move down to Florida,” Kenna said with an affectionate half-smile. “As a matter of fact, I was on the phone with my mother when you rang the doorbell. She tries at least once a week to convince me that moving near them would be the best thing for me, but I’m just not ready for that kind of upheaval in my life.”

  “I’m sure they worry about you.” Dean stretched his legs out in front of him, doing his best to loosen his muscles. He hadn’t been able to go on his daily run since the beginning of this case three weeks ago. For some reason, a cardio workout had him thinking of Kenna covering her chest with her hand when she’d mistaken the reason of his visit. “What kind of clients do you work for that had you believing I was here to arrest you for some white-collar crime?”

  Kenna’s grin grew into a full-blown smile. The flames of the fire danced over her classic features. She really was a beautiful woman, with her porcelain skin and green eyes that reminded him of shimmering emeralds. She had naturally high cheekbones that accentuated her heart-shaped face. He would do well to remember that she was part of his investigation, and therefore was off limits.

  “The majority of my clients are in their seventies and eighties,” Kenna replied with a light laugh. “Trust me, they want me to do everything by the book. My other clients range from self-employed individuals to a few mom and pop shops scattered around the area. I’m very meticulous, although it is my job to seek out certain loopholes that could benefit my clientele. I do have a new client, though. He opened up that new pub on the main thoroughfare through downtown. I helped him put a financial business plan in place for the bank a couple months back, and he came away quite successful with his plans for a pub. Anyway, I couldn’t think of any other reason the police would come knocking on my door.”

  Dean didn’t let on that his interest was piqued at the mention of a new client. The professional lives of the victims had already been covered, and no connection in that area had been found. That didn’t mean some thread wasn’t there to be pulled on. He would look into the new business owner first thing tomorrow.

  “You must be very good at your job,” Kenna pointed out, resting her elbow on the arm of the couch so that she could rest her head. It was still early, but the fire and the surrounding darkness offered up a rather relaxing atmosphere. “I asked you a question, and we’ve spent the last ten minutes talking about me.”

  Dean rubbed his lips to keep from grinning, respecting that he hadn’t been able to pull one over on her. He chalked it up to her having a father in law enforcement. He’d taught her well. Regardless that her dad was the one with the training, there were certain behaviors that rubbed off on family members that became ingrained in their subconscious. Just like children of engineers were more likely to ask detailed questions, children of cops were naturally suspicious of people’s motives.

  “Have we?” Dean asked nonchalantly, knowing that she’d seen right through him. It was time to cut and run, but he was definitely limited on choices right now. “You don’t mind if I take a look around the house, do you? I’d like to make sure we’re secure for the night…habit and all.”

  “I made sure the doors and windows were all locked before you arrived, but feel free to check for yourself.” Kenna shifted so that she could stretch her legs out on the couch. “The garage door is locked, so make sure you don’t shut yourself out there. Oh, and would you please blow the candle out in the bedroom? It’s better for us to sleep in the living room next to the fire.”

  Dean nodded his understanding about the garage door, grateful for the warning. He stood, stretching his hamstrings that were too taut while noticing the change in temperature. It was going to be long night without power.

  “Oh, there’s a flashlight underneath the kitchen sink,” Kenna called out after him. He’d been planning on using the light on his cell phone, but he’d rather save what battery life he had left on it. “It’s a good-sized Maglite. Right hand side, and it’s got fresh D cell batteries.”

  Dean noticed that Kenna didn’t waste time reaching for her own phone, most likely pulling up whatever information she could on The Widow Taker. He couldn’t blame her, and he sure as hell hoped that he and Chaz were wrong in their prediction that one of the five women they’d sought out tonight might end up the fourth victim. Their calculations were based purely on casting a wide enough net within the parameters set by the profiler, which right now was small enough to define a decent fishing spot. That would likely change further into the investigation.

  He located the flashlight using what little illumination reached the kitchen from the gas fireplace. Once he had it in hand, he began his security checkpoints starting with the side entrance to the garage. Kenna drove an older model Jeep Cherokee, but still new enough to have all the amenities to ride in comfort. It was clear that the wind had picked up speed from the way it was battering the isolated aluminum garage door.

  Once Dean had secured the outer perimeter as best he could, given the circumstances, he quickly and efficiently swept the interior until he was back in the living room and certain no one else was inside the house. Kenna was still reading whatever she had pulled up on her phone rather inte
ntly, biting her lip in concentration.

  “Dean, why didn’t you tell me about the rose?”

  He’d clicked off the flashlight, about to set it on the coffee table before her question caught him off guard. His gut tightened at the ramifications of what Kenna had just shared with him. There went about the only sequestered detail they had left in the investigation. That piece of information hadn’t been made public for a very good reason.

  “Let me see your phone.”

  Dean hadn’t meant to come across so abrupt or downright unfriendly, but this type of leak threatened his investigation. Chaz had all but sworn his life on the fact that he’d shut down the deputy responsible for sharing information about the case, but clearly someone else hadn’t gotten the memo. Well, he or she would by the time Dean got through with the chain of command. There was no room for errors with an investigation as notorious as this one had the potential to be. It was time to put everyone on notice. The only effective way to do that was to suspend the sheriff’s deputy without pay pending a formal review in a couple of weeks.

  The single rose left poised in between the victims’ hands had been the one detail that they’d purposefully kept from the public. It was one of the questions they’d even reserved to weed out the scum who sought notoriety for claiming someone else’s horrific deed. He could only stare at the single headline as a deep-seated anger vied to remove the composure he’d somehow managed to keep hold of in front of a potential victim. If Kenna wasn’t scared before, this headline certainly made it all too clear that the killer wasn’t done claiming more victims.

  “Who will receive the next rose?”

  Chapter Seven

  Kenna woke to the delicious smell of her favorite hot beverage—rich Columbian coffee. Even now with the fog still not quite clear from her thoughts, one deep inhalation told her that the elegant blend brewing was hazelnut crème. She stretched and blinked a few times, wondering how that was even possible without electricity. On the other hand, she wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth considering her circumstances.

  “Good morning.”

  It had been a very long time since she’d heard the rough timber of a man’s voice first thing in the morning. It was a welcome sound. Kenna used her fingers to gently pull back the heavy blanket she’d used last night, having grabbed a similar one for Dean. He wouldn’t take the couch no matter how much she’d insisted, opting to sleep in the overstuffed chair instead. She would have bet money that he hadn’t slept at all, yet the sight before her seemed to prove her initial hypothesis wrong.

  How was it that a man could look so good the following morning, without even a wrinkle to be found in his dress shirt or tie? Not even the wrinkle release spray that her mother swore by could compare to whatever it was that his personal dry cleaners obviously used at their place of business.

  “Morning,” Kenna managed to say, refusing to fuss with her hair in front of him. She could only imagine the sight she presented, and it certainly wasn’t as crisp as he appeared with his straightened tie and not a strand of his short-cropped black hair out of place. Even the fresh whiskers of his five o’clock shadow were perfectly even, not that she would admit to looking at him that closely. She tried to concentrate on one thought. “Is that what I think it is?”

  Dean slowly smiled and lifted a steaming cup of hot coffee in offering. Her heart fluttered a bit, but she chalked it up to her lack of the much-needed caffeine.

  “Electricity came on about a half hour ago.” Dean carefully handed her the mug before reaching for his suit jacket that he must have laid over the back of the overstuffed chair. He slipped his right arm in first, shrugging the dark grey gabardine fabric over his shoulders. “The crew that the station sent to remove the tree should be here momentarily. I’ll be out of your hair right after they clear your driveway of what must have been a beautiful mature tree once upon a time. It’s a shame, really. Old growth trees seem to be a rarity around the newer neighborhoods nowadays. Everyone loves a large magnificent tree until it threatens to fall on their home. Then it becomes a nuisance.”

  Kenna used both feet against the cushion to push herself up so that she could enjoy her coffee, ignoring the fact that her favorite pair of pink fuzzy socks looked ridiculous in the full light of day with their toe tassels. She was too mesmerized by the impeccable milky color she always strived to get with every cup. He must have been paying very close attention when she’d stirred cream and sugar into her coffee last night. A tentative sip revealed that the barista at the local café couldn’t have done it better.

  “You don’t have to rush out on my account,” Kenna responded, after tasting a bit of heaven and finally being able to string together a coherent sentence now that her taste buds had been treated with their favored magical elixir. She was a bit more awake as the caffeine crashed into her system, and there was something that she wanted to run past him. “I can whip up a couple of omelets for breakfast.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I really need to get back to the station to do some damage control.” Dean’s smile faded, only to be replaced once again with the annoyance that had settled over him last night. She understood why he was so frustrated over the media getting ahold of such important information. She’d seen her father go through much of the same kind of professional disappointment. She sure as hell wouldn’t want to be the guilty party of such an unauthorized disclosure. Dean didn’t strike her as someone to let something like that go unpunished, and whoever it was would most likely be terminated from his or her position. “That article hurts our ability to investigate the case properly, and I’m sure the hotline we’ve set up for tips are lighting up this morning at a record pace. Every greenhouse owner in the state is going to report missing roses.”

  Dean must have buffed his dress shoes after cleaning them off last night, because they were practically sparkling clean. He turned on them with a purpose and walked back into the kitchen. Had he been in the military? She’d most likely never know, because he probably wouldn’t answer her question directly if she ever inquired about such a personal matter. It had been hard not to notice the length he’d gone to in order to keep the conversation all about her.

  Kenna quickly tossed aside the blanket she’d used last night, careful not to spill a drop of her coffee. She discerned right away that there was still quite a chill in the air. It would take a while for the heater to warm the entire house, especially with her high ceilings.

  “I was thinking about the victims,” Kenna said, trailing after him. He’d returned to get himself a cup of coffee, causing her to relax just a bit that he wasn’t going to rush out the door quite yet. She still had a ton of questions she wanted to ask him about the case. “How long ago did these women lose their husbands?”

  Dean must have already gotten another mug out of the cabinet and pressed the brew button before bringing her the first cup of coffee. His was already waiting for him to claim in her little dream machine. He turned around and leaned against the counter as he regarded her in contemplation.

  “Eighteen months, three years, and nine months in that order,” Dean replied specifically, once again taking a sip without allowing his steaming coffee to cool down. How did he have any taste buds left? “You would have made a damned fine investigator, Kenna. Not even the officers working the case thought to inquire about the time gaps. I had to request research on that tidbit myself. My colleague had to go back over his notes and send me that information yesterday.”

  Kenna took a seat on the stool he’d occupied last night, allowing the warmth of her mug to soak into the palms of her hands. She’d only thrown out her question in hopes of receiving a certain answer that she failed to retrieve. Unfortunately, she fell into the confines of those statistics when she’d been hoping for another outcome. Dean must have realized that she’d been wanting reassurance more than kudos on choosing such an unambiguous question.

  “Kenna, we’re looking into every lead that comes into the station.” Dean took
a step toward the island, setting his cup down on the granite as he leveled her with a supportive gaze. “If you’re not going to take a few weeks to spend with your parents, just be conscious of your surroundings. Take note of unfamiliar vehicles, strangers, or anything out of the usual. Don’t post your location or plans online, and make sure you keep your doors locked securely at all times…even when you’re home.”

  Kenna’s throat constricted a bit, but she chalked it up to too little sleep and not enough caffeine. Not once in these past few months did she feel uncomfortable outside of her home. Was she guilty of leaving her front door unlocked after getting her mail or the garage door open after working in the yard? Of course, she was culpable of such ordinary activities. Wasn’t everyone?

  Kenna would take Dean’s advice and be vigilant, though. She didn’t like the sliver of fear that invaded her thoughts, and she’d already made the decision not to mention any of this to her parents. She didn’t want them to worry needlessly, especially when there was a chance they’d be here for Thanksgiving. If their visit didn’t come to fruition, then she’d most likely tell them when she visited for Christmas. She would hold out hope that this serial killer was caught and put behind bars before then.

  “Kenna.” Dean reached out and rested his large hand over her forearm. She hadn’t realized that she’d zoned out, thinking of different circumstances where she wasn’t afraid of what could potentially happen. He waited to speak until she raised her chin and met his encouraging gaze. “You were raised by a cop. You’ve got his instincts. You’re more prepared for a situation like this than the average citizen. That makes you a hard target.”