“I appreciate the offer, but there’s a hotel five minutes from here.” Dean had already crossed that professional line he’d drawn in the sand a long time ago when it came to becoming involved with people attached to an investigation. The last thing he should be doing was spending another night underneath her roof, especially when it wasn’t her spare bed that he truly wanted to fall into. He made a last-ditch effort to save his sanity. “If you’re not willing to stay with your friend, then what about following me to the hotel? You can stay in a place where you have access to a phone, and then you’ll be able to hit the Sprint or Verizon store on your way back home, whichever carrier you happen to use.”
Kenna didn’t respond, but instead arched that one eyebrow of hers that spoke volumes. His hopes and dreams of that king-sized bed was slowly fading away, much like his peace of mind.
“I’m not getting you to leave this house tonight, am I?”
“No,” Kenna replied, taking the time to put the parmesan cheese in the side door of the refrigerator before gesturing toward the stairs that was located in the small hallway. “Follow me. You already know where the spare bedroom is, but I’ll grab you a fresh towel and washcloth from the linen closet on the way. The sheets are clean, and the pillows are worth more than the mattress and bed put together.”
Kenna caught his skeptical expression, but she probably assumed his reaction was in regard to the pillows. In reality, he was wondering how he’d gone from controlling the situation to him actually considering her offer.
“My mother has a penchant for anything goose down,” Kenna responded with a shrug, leading the way through the kitchen to the hallway. She technically wasn’t giving him the ability to deny her offer, but he found that the lure of clean sheets and two pillows that might actually feel like heaven were too much of a good thing to pass by. “Help yourself to the guest bathroom. There’s soap, shampoo, conditioner, and even spare toothbrushes in the drawer next to the sink.”
By this time, Kenna had already flipped the light switch so they had light to reach the top of the landing. The two-story house was a three bedroom, two and a half baths. He was already familiar with the layout since he’d walked through it last night to ensure that the inner perimeter was secure.
Kenna paused in front of the linen closet and grabbed him a towel and washcloth as promised, handing them to him before leading the way to the spare bedroom. She hadn’t stopped talking to him, explaining that the left-hand side lamp sometimes didn’t turn on with the first turn of the knob. She almost sounded nervous, but he chalked up his observation to fatigue. She stopped right at the threshold of the spare bedroom, flipping on the overhead light.
“Is there anything else that you think you’ll need?” Kenna asked, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear as her gaze swept across the room. She pressed her hands together. “Clothes. You have nothing to sleep in, do you? I think my father might have left some—”
“Kenna.”
She stopped talking immediately, and he realized that she had been nervous ever since she’d led the way up the staircase. He involuntarily reached out, cupping her heart-shaped face with the palm of his hand. He instantly regretted his reaction for the mistake it was, but it wasn’t too late to rectify the situation.
“Hey, I can grab my coat and drive to the hotel,” Dean reassured her, having come to the conclusion that maybe a man, other than her father, hadn’t spent the night under her roof since her husband had died. Granted, she’d been a widow for almost three years, but not everyone wanted that second chance at happiness. “I shouldn’t have even agreed to this option in the first place. You—”
“Stay,” Kenna directed softly, resting her hand over his before he could pull his arm back. Her green eyes darkened as the warmth of her hand invaded his, almost as if she was accepting the underlying change in the air. She didn’t know it yet, but she’d just reeled him in…hook, line, and sinker. “I’d really like you to stay here with me, Dean.”
Chapter Thirteen
The next morning, Kenna was up early after a long, sleepless night of tossing and turning. It wasn’t that she didn’t feel safer with Dean in the next room. She most certainly did…and then some, which was the problem. It was the latter part of those emotions that had her wishing he hadn’t pulled away from her last night. It was the first time since losing Justin that she’d had even a stirring of desire. She’d accepted that it was time to move forward a while ago, but knowing something was good for her and acting on it with something akin to proper motivation were two separate things.
What surprised her most was that she had really wanted to be spontaneous last night, which wasn’t part of her genetic makeup in any way, shape or form. She’d always been obsessively cautious, liked to plan activities down to the most minute detail, and couldn’t live without her daily planner. Her addiction to being overly prepared was so consuming, she even got excited at the arrival of a brand-new planner every year. It was crazy. Her need to plan things out to the most miniscule detail was the reason she hadn’t taken that fateful skiing trip with Justin almost three years ago.
Last night, though? Kenna had come so close to seizing the moment, and there had been a small part of her that wished she had taken that tentative step toward him in the threshold of the spare bedroom.
“Good morning.”
Kenna gripped the spatula in her hand so that he wouldn’t catch her slight tremor. He’d already proven to be very observant, and the last thing she needed was for him to see right through her thin veil of emotions. He was a federal agent investigating a serial killer. The last thing he was considering was that she was anything other than a potential target, besides reminding him of his mother, which made things a bit uncomfortable. Basically, he was doing his job, and she would do well to remember that.
“Good morning,” Kenna replied as she flashed him a smile over her shoulder. She’d already made his omelet, and she was finishing up hers. The clean grey suit he was wearing told her that she’d been right about a change of clothes being in his vehicle. “Breakfast is for champions. I figured with the day ahead, you’d need something more than coffee in your stomach.”
She’d still been getting ready this morning when she’d heard the spare bedroom door open, followed by fading footsteps down the stairs. At first, she thought that maybe Dean was actually leaving without a word, especially when the front door opened and closed. It wasn’t long before he’d returned, and she realized that he’d retrieved something from his vehicle. She’d purposefully stayed inside her bedroom until she’d heard him slip into the guest bathroom.
“You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” Dean replied, though it was hard to miss his deep inhalation and small groan of pleasure at the smell of the delicious spices she’d used to whip up the omelet. She could hear him shrugging out of his suit jacket to enjoy the meal she’d taken time to make. “Although, I have to say that you might just give my brother a run for his money in the breakfast department.”
“I highly doubt that,” Kenna replied with a laugh, sliding the spatula underneath her omelet. She served herself before making sure that the burner was turned off, feeling relieved that he wasn’t making a big deal out of spending the night in her spare bedroom. “Dig in. Salt and pepper are on the counter.”
Kenna had set the island with two place settings instead of the table, so she grabbed her lukewarm coffee and sat on the stool that she’d brought around so that they weren’t side by side. A little space with an obstacle between them might be for the best considering how she’d almost acted impulsively last night. Dean must also keep a toiletry bag in his car, as well, because the woodsy aroma definitely hadn’t come from the products she’d left in her guest shower. Most of those were old Christmas or birthday gifts.
They ate in silence for a few moments. Kenna did her best to refrain from asking questions about Bright. She figured she’d hear about the questioning one way or the other. It was still mind-blowing that the last t
wo days had even taken place. Could she really have been naively doing business with a man capable of brutally killing three women?
“Do you have any idea how many active serial killers we have here in the United States?” Dean asked quietly, somehow once again reading her thoughts. That didn’t bode well for last night’s near catastrophe. “Twenty-five to fifty, and I personally believe that’s being conservative. They walk among us, interact with the public on a daily basis undetected. No one sees through their masks, Kenna. If Brighton is responsible for taking the lives of three women, you wouldn’t have known it any more than I would know how to do my own taxes.”
“What will happen today?” Kenna asked, wanting to know what the fallout would be after such questioning. “I recall a ton of cases that my father worked on during my childhood, but does your agency handle things differently?”
“Not really.” Dean set down his mug and picked up his fork, holding his tie against his white shirt as he leaned forward to take another bite of his omelet. There were blue stripes in the fabric that matched his eyes. “We’ll ask Brighton to come into the station for further questioning. He has every right to lawyer up and say nothing, but we’ll demand detailed alibis for the nights in question.”
“But didn’t Bright give them to you yesterday?”
“Yes, for the most part.”
The fact that Dean didn’t elaborate on what those alibis might be told her that he didn’t quite believe everything about Bright’s claim on his whereabouts on the dates in question.
“How did the rice trick work out for you?” Dean asked, changing the subject before she had a chance to continue on topic. He smiled when she scrunched her nose in response. “Not good, huh? I take it you’ll be taking a trip into town today to replace your phone?”
“Unfortunately, yes.” So much for her plan to stay home, hunkered down in front of the television watching Christmas movies while she got some work done. She couldn’t be without a phone, though. “Looks like I’m splurging for a new smart phone this morning.”
“There’s nothing wrong with buying yourself an early Christmas present,” Dean responded with a chuckle. He was definitely more relaxed with her than he had been the two previous evenings. “Treat yourself to one with all the bells and whistles. I’m sure you’ll find—”
Dean’s phone rang and his expression closed off within a blink of an eye. He reached into the interior pocket of his suit to pull out his cell while using a napkin to wipe his lips. He’d even taken the time to shave off his five o’clock shadow, giving him that clean cut look of a federal agent.
“What’s going on?” Dean didn’t mince words. He tossed his napkin onto his empty plate, his frown deepening with each passing second. She continued to search his gaze for any sign that there might be another victim, wondering if this was how it was for him each and every single day. “Are you sure? And the bartender corroborated it? What about the afternoon manager? Same story?”
Dean was talking about Rhonda and Paul from the pub, which meant that Bright did have alibis for the nights in question. A wave of relief washed over her, and with it the lingering fear she’d been attempting to keep at bay since yesterday.
“I’ll let Frank know the change in plans, but I still want Dwight and Evans to look into his phone records. Did his military record jacket come in from St. Louis?” Dean listened intently to whoever was on the other line of the phone. His body language altered slightly. “No, I didn’t drive back to New Haven last night. I have an errand to run, but then I plan to pay a visit to Timothy August at the local gym around nine. I’ll take Frank with me. Why don’t you see if Chen was able to pull the rest of those names? Frank and I shouldn’t be too long, unless we’re able to pull a needle from a haystack.”
Dean hadn’t said a word about staying with her last night. She figured that was for the best. She wouldn’t want him to get into trouble with a superior, not that they had done anything wrong. For all she knew, he was talking with the sheriff.
Kenna began to clear their plates, giving him some privacy in case he needed to talk in specifics. She might want to know everything she could about the case, but she also respected his need to do his job. Seeing as she needed to head into town, she’d collect her purse and coat so that she was ready to leave after he finished his call. She hadn’t even made it halfway through the living room when the doorbell rang.
Her first instinct was to flip the deadbolt and open the door, but she curbed it. Even with Dean in the kitchen, she found herself revisiting those old habits that her dad had instilled in her before sending her off to the college dorm. A brief glance through the curtain revealed a man in uniform, just not one she was expecting today.
“…talk to you when we get to the station.”
Dean was finishing up his phone call right when she let the alarm system technician into the house.
“I’m glad you caught me,” Kenna said with a welcoming smile, rubbing her hand up her right arm as she closed the door behind Stan. At least, that was the name on his uniform. “I thought our appointment was for tomorrow morning.”
Stan looked down at the metal clipboard in his hand, the kind that could store additional papers inside. He flipped up the top page, but shook his head at her assumption, telling her that she’d misunderstood the woman who’d called ahead to confirm the appointment.
“I’m a few minutes early is all, ma’am, but the paperwork is definitely for today.” Stan was probably in his early forties, with one of those combovers that indicated he should think about shaving his head completely. He’d clearly lost his hair early in life, but he should embrace the look instead of trying to pretend otherwise. “You called about an estimate on one of our elite alarm systems. I’m here to go through the house to get an accurate count of all windows, outer doors, and any other potential entry points.”
“Do you have some company identification?”
Kenna flushed when Dean stepped forward, sans his suit jacket. It must still be hung over the back of the stool. Either way, he came across as a rather imposing figure, especially with his shoulder holster firmly in place and his weapon showing.
Stan visibly swallowed, his gaze resting on the full frame firearm. He nodded quickly, trying to reach for his wallet, which was no doubt in his back pocket. The heavy jacket he was wearing made that nearly impossible, but Dean remained quiet while he waited patiently reading the body language of the alarm company serviceman. Somehow, that made the situation tenser than before.
“I took your advice, Dean,” Kenna replied, rubbing the back of her neck so that Stan couldn’t see the warning glare she shot at Dean. He was overreacting, but she would give him a pass since he wasn’t aware that she made the appointment. “I called one of the local security firms to give me a quote on a comprehensive alarm system.”
“Do you still have that message?” Dean asked while still staring at Stan, his tone nothing like it was when he was laughing with her in the kitchen over her damaged phone. “The one that stated the date and time to expect their technician?”
He didn’t even try to hide the fact that he thought maybe Stan was lying about the appointment on the report attached to his clipboard. Stan had finally managed to gain access to his wallet, pulling out not only his business identification, but also handing over a business card.
“It wasn’t a voicemail. I spoke with the woman yesterday, after leaving my meeting early. You remember the reason why, right?” Kenna asked, noticing that Dean didn’t appear the least bit disturbed as he took his time reading over Stan’s personal details on his driver’s license. “I’m sure it was a simple misunderstanding.”
Dean didn’t respond right away, but instead studied the two forms of identification as if memorizing the details. Stan shifted in uneasiness while she shot him an apologetic look. The tension could be cut with a knife, but that analogy only reminded her of the reason Dean was taking precautions in the first place. He was merely doing his job with minute attention
to detail and as professionally as possible.
“You’ll want to include the small bathroom window on the main floor,” Dean added with nod of approval, handing back the ID, but sliding the business card in the right pocket of his pants. “It’s undersized, but someone with a small frame could still fit through it quite easily.”
“I’ll make sure to include it,” Stan replied quickly, not bothering to put his identification back into his wallet. He just shoved it into the pocket of his coat. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to start at the top and work my way down.”
“Of course,” Kenna murmured in response, stepping back so that Stan had enough room to slip on those blue thin booties that various workers used so that they didn’t traipse mud and dirt all over a house. “Go right on up. Can I grab you a cup of coffee or anything?”
“No, ma’am.” Stan didn’t hesitate when the elastic of the blue material snapped around his left ankle. He practically made a beeline for the stairs. “I appreciate the offer, though.”
Dean had retreated to the kitchen, most likely to retrieve his suit jacket. She made sure that Stan had made his way to the top of the staircase before retracing Dean’s path. He was already waiting for her.
“Before you say anything, I didn’t mean to overstep.” Dean already had one arm into his suit jacket. He finished laying the material across his shoulders, using the lapels to draw it down a bit firmer. He seemed irritated with himself. “That’s not to say that you should take anyone’s word for who they say they are without confirming it first yourself. We still don’t know how the unsub is targeting his victims or gaining entrance to their houses.”
The entire time that Dean spoke, she could sense that he was listening to every movement Stan made upstairs. It was clear that he didn’t like that she hadn’t followed the technician room to room, just as it was evident that he didn’t want to overstep the boundaries of their newfound friendship. She wasn’t even sure that’s what she would call their relationship.
The Forgotten Widow Page 12