“Evans, could you give us the room, please?”
Dean might have worded his question as a suggestion, but it was anything but. Evans didn’t hesitate, snatching up his laptop and transferring his workstation out into the bullpen. Frank had set Dean’s coffee in the middle of the table before taking a seat in the chair that Evans had just vacated. The veteran agent leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees as he rubbed the top of his head in frustration.
“It’s worse than I thought, Dean.”
First names used by Frank were always the first sign of trouble, and this was no exception. Whatever he’d discovered about his nephew must have been pretty damned cut and dried. No one wanted to believe that a family member could be so inherently screwed up. Still, it looked as if their investigation was going to come to a close.
His first instinct was to reach for the phone and call Kenna to reassure her that the danger had passed, as well as the fact that he would gladly take her up on that offer for chili. That urge alone told him that had she not been part of the case, he most likely would have spent the night in her bed and not the spare bedroom.
Right now, he needed to put all of his concentration into making a clean arrest. There was definitely going to be blowback from the media once they figured out that Oliver Stevens was a blood relative of one of the federal agents on the case. On any other investigation that would have been easily contained. Unfortunately, the governor’s involvement had already made that rather difficult.
“You did the right thing, Frank.” Dean draped his dress coat over one of the chairs, going over in his mind how best to handle this fucked-up situation. “You can drive back to New Haven once you’ve given me a statement on what you’ve discovered, documented how you found the evidence, and if Oliver gave you some sort of impromptu confession. I’ll call in for a search warrant to include all the areas you specify.”
By this time, Frank had dropped his hands and was staring at Dean with what could only be described as disbelief mixed with anger.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve actually met Oliver, spent time with him. How can you believe that my nephew would brutally murder three women? Jesus Christ!” Frank stood up so abruptly that his chair flew back into the one behind it, setting his hands on his waist as he began to pace back and forth. Dean was at a loss as to what the hell he was dealing with, so he kept his mouth shut until Frank finally clued him in. “I’m talking about my marriage, Malone. Beth wants a divorce.”
Chapter Fifteen
Kenna set the wooden spoon on the ceramic ladle holder as she covered the crock pot with its glass lid. The delicious aroma of mixed spices blended into the chili had wafted into the air, but it was looking more and more like she would be eating alone tonight. She wasn’t sure why she was disappointed when Dean hadn’t shown any signs of acknowledging the attraction between them. Maybe she had been out of the game too long, even though she’d never really thought of dating or relationships as a game to be played. Justin hadn’t been that type of man, nor did she think that Dean would be that shallow.
She would let the chili simmer a bit longer. The thought of eating alone tonight after spending the last two evenings with Dean was no longer appealing. It had been a rather slow day, though she had spent most of the afternoon setting up her new phone and reloading all her apps that had required passwords. Thankfully, she’d had the backup setting of her contacts and personal information set to automatic. There hadn’t been too much to do, although she did fiddle with the new features that she wasn’t accustomed to. Afterward, she’d done a bit of work before straying over to the internet to see what else she could find out about The Widow Taker case from the news agencies.
It was only a matter of time before the national news began picking up coverage of the murders from the local affiliates, and it was then that she would receive a frantic phone call from her mother. Their conversation would inevitably lead to another argument about why she had decided to stay in Connecticut, and Kenna just wasn’t up for that at the moment. She had missed quite a few texts from her, along with Jenn, after her phone had taken a dive in the toilet. She’d returned their messages, with the promise of maybe paying a visit to Jenn this weekend if her schedule allowed.
Kenna took her glass of sweet tea into the living room, glancing at the television set as she walked to the couch. She’d set the channel to a local station. She’d come to find out over the last two days that the murders were usually their top story. The grandfather clock that had been handed down to her from her grandmother had already chimed six o’clock. The news anchor would soon delve into the latest details provided by either the police or the lead investigative journalist on the story, Quinn Simmons. For an individual who amounted to little more than a beat crime reporter, she certainly seemed to have very good contacts within the sheriff’s department. Truthfully, Kenna was surprised that Dean hadn’t somehow figured out the identity of Miss Simmons’ source.
Kenna had just settled on the couch, even pulling the cream afghan over her legs when the doorbell rang. There was no denying the flutter that had replaced her heartbeat. She tried not to get her hopes up that Dean had decided to accept her dinner offer. Granted, it had been the first time since Justin’s death that she’d attempted to dip her toe back into what she considered a social wading pool. It wasn’t like she’d ever been the type of woman who dated a lot of men or even went barhopping back in the day. She pretty much ran the straight and narrow, so the fact that she’d stepped out of her comfort zone this morning was a pretty big deal.
Not wanting to spill her tea, Kenna set her glass on the sandstone coaster next to the lamp before tossing her blanket aside. She’d gathered her hair in a side bun that settled delicately just below her ear, though a strand did rest against her cheek that was always a bit bothersome. She tucked it back behind her ear as she finally made it to the door and shifted the curtain to the side. There was no holding back her smile when she flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.
“I wasn’t sure you were going to…” Kenna’s voice trailed off as she realized that Dean wasn’t quite alone. He was standing on her doorstep wearing his black dress coat, matching leather gloves, and some sort of carrier. “Is that a cat? Oh, my God! He’s absolutely adorable!”
Dean stood on her front step and frowned at her enthusiasm. She wasn’t sure why he would be disappointed in her reaction to finding out that he owned a clearly upset cat, if the deep-throated meows emitting from the poor caged animal were anything to go by. He also didn’t strike her as owning any type of pet while being single and working a hectic schedule in his line of work that virtually promised that he’d never be home to feed them on time.
“You are single, right?” Kenna asked in dismay, blurting out the question as it slammed into her thoughts like a freight train. Why else would he be standing on her doorstep with a cat in hand? “Please tell me that I didn’t ask a married man to have dinner with me.”
“No, you didn’t ask a married man to have dinner with you, and I’m trying very hard not to take offense that you would actually believe I would accept your dinner invitation if I was married,” Dean said wryly, his tone a lot lighter than the troubled expression written across his features. “Not that I have any idea how your question is related to this hellion. Kenna, meet Spartacus. At least, that’s the name that was written in one of the victim’s journals.”
Kenna quickly stepped back so that Dean could enter her home. She closed the door behind him, only to end up following him through the living room until he carefully set the cat carrier on top of her coffee table. He then stood back and stared at the small crate in what could only be described as futility.
“Dean, where did you find him?” Kenna asked, reaching forward to open the grille style door only to have Dean stop her with hesitation. “Seriously? Look at those beautiful green eyes of his. He’s just a little bit scared.”
“I thought the same thing until I tried to help him out, and no
w I’m understanding some of those notes that were marked in Meghan Vance’s journal,” Dean muttered, removing his dress coat, then his jacket, only to reveal blood on the sleeve of his dress shirt. “I couldn’t just leave him there. He’s basically been on his own for the last three to four weeks. He’s definitely feral, and now I’m second guessing removing him from his former neighborhood.”
Kenna stepped forward, completely ignoring Dean’s warning about Spartacus being feral. If the tomcat wanted to go on his merry way, they wouldn’t be able to stop him. She just couldn’t take the distressed throaty meows coming from the carrier anymore. It didn’t take her long to figure out how to disengage the latch on the door.
“Hey, big fella. I hear your name is Spartacus,” Kenna replied softly, giving the tomcat room to scramble from the crate. Surprisingly enough, he only inched forward, which caused Dean to cautiously step back so that the overstuffed chair was between him and the coffee table. “Seriously? You’re a federal agent, and you’re scared of this sweet furry thing?”
“Multiple lacerations to my arm says otherwise, and I’ll have you know that I have great respect for the animal control employees. They should get hazard pay.”
“Spartacus, I don’t have any cat food, but I’m pretty sure that I have a can of tuna somewhere in the back of my pantry.” Kenna waited a bit longer, but Spartacus didn’t seem to be in any rush to vacate the confines of the carrier now that the door had been opened. “You can stay there, or you can follow me. Your choice, big fella.”
Kenna didn’t make any sudden moves. Instead, she made sure that her motions to move were natural as she made her way into the kitchen. Dean remained where he was standing behind the chair, his attention never veering from his newfound adversary. They viewed each other as enemies at the moment, but hopefully that would change in the near future.
It didn’t take her long to find the can of tuna, pop the lid, and pour the pungent-smelling snack onto a small saucer. Kenna smiled when she heard a meow of a totally different tenor. Her hope that the two alpha males would forge an alliance gained some hope. Maybe, just maybe, Spartacus had found a new friend and home. It would be sweet to witness a happy ending for the battered tomcat to adopt Dean as his owner.
“Dean, could you look up on your phone whether or not milk is okay to give a full-grown cat? I read somewhere that wasn’t the wisest choice of beverage, so I’m thinking we should stick with water,” Kenna recommended as she walked back into the living room where both Spartacus and Dean remained glued to the exact spots they’d been in when she’d gone into the kitchen. “He’s not a mountain lion, you know.”
“Tell him that,” Dean murmured, though he was doing as she’d asked in regard to the research. “You’re right about the milk. It says we should stick with fresh tap water.”
By this time, Kenna put the small plate on the coffee table right outside the entrance of the carrier. She then took a seat on the floor a couple feet away so that her presence didn’t feel so threatening to Spartacus.
“We should keep talking to one another so that he doesn’t feel like we’re staring at him while he eats,” Kenna suggested softly, looking up to find that Dean had tossed his cell phone on top of his suit jacket. He was using his forearms to lean over the back of the overstuffed chair. “We also need to clean you up. I can tell from the blood on your shirt that Spartacus gave a good account of himself.”
“Maybe I should have left him in the back yard,” Dean said with a shrug, narrowing his eyes when Spartacus inched closer to the plate. “Today was a bust. Your client seems to have solid alibis for the nights in question, that journalist finally got the interview she’s been finagling for, and my partner’s marriage is in the shitter. The only reason that I was even at Meghan Vance’s residence tonight was to look through the crime scene once more before giving the go-ahead to remove the yellow tape. The governor’s sister wants to sell the house, furniture and all, and I don’t want to cause them any more pain than they’ve already suffered. It was by happenstance that I looked out into the backyard and saw that spawn of Satan sitting there, glaring at me as if I was the one who’d taken his friend away.”
Kenna was so surprised that Dean was sharing details of the case and his day with her that she remained silent. Spartacus was now edging closer to the saucer. He must have decided that they weren’t going to poison him, because he settled in to enjoy his meal. He was keeping a close watch on Dean though, ready to do battle once again on a moment’s notice.
“Do you think Spartacus was at the house the night she was killed?” Kenna asked hesitantly, not able to bring herself to say Meghan’s name aloud. She didn’t know how Dean dealt with cases like these on a daily basis. “Is it possible he actually saw the killer?”
“If only cats could talk to sketch artists.” Dean rubbed his eyes, but this time it wasn’t in exhaustion. It seemed to be more out of frustration than anything. “The night Meghan was murdered, there was a fresh plate of tuna set out on the edge of the patio. The sliding door had been left open, so we can only assume that the unsub took advantage of the moment. We believe he monitors the victims’ schedules and behaviors for several weeks prior to the murders.”
Kenna suppressed a shiver of fear at how Dean described the night of Meghan Vance’s murder. No wonder Spartacus wasn’t a trusting soul. He’d seen evil close up. Speaking of the handsome tomcat, he raised his head and stared directly at her after she’d subconsciously wrapped an arm around her abdomen in a defensive measure. He hopped down from the coffee table, stretched his legs, and then ambled over to her in order to give her knee a head-butt.
“Looks like I was right on the money,” Dean said with a bit of relief. “I’m glad to see that he’ll have a good home.”
“A what?”
“A good home,” Dean reiterated, motioning toward Spartacus with his right hand. The cat’s markings were almost like a tuxedo, causing him to look rather dapper when he lifted his head so that she could give him a neck scratch. He actually purred his satisfaction when her nails hit the right spot. “You were the first one I thought of when I realized he was stilling hanging around the house of the victim.”
Kenna tried not to take offense that Dean hadn’t actually stopped by her home in order to take her up on that dinner invitation. He’d only wanted to dump the cat on her doorstep. She wasn’t going to let him see how disappointed she was at this turn of events, so she forced a smile as she began stroking Spartacus.
Maybe taking in the handsome tomcat wasn’t such a bad idea. Justin had been allergic, so she’d never really entertained the idea of having one before. After his death? It had been all she could do to take care of herself. She was at a new stage in her life, though. While her first attempt to dive back into the dating pool hadn’t quite created the splash she’d been hoping for, being given a furry roommate might be the next best thing to being social.
Great. Now she was going to be the neighborhood cat lady.
Spartacus finally left her side and hopped back up onto the coffee table to finish his meal. She might as well take this miniature break from building bridges with her new sidekick and patch Dean up for his ride home.
“Come on,” Kenna said with a smile, hoping to pull off a casual attitude. “I have a first aid kit underneath the kitchen sink. We’ll clean up those scratches and put on some antibiotic ointment before they become infected.”
Kenna pushed herself off the floor and made her way back into the kitchen. She’d left the empty can of tuna on the counter, so she swiped it up and tossed it into the garbage can before washing her hands off in the sink.
“You really should wash out those cuts with some soap and water before I tend to them,” Kenna suggested to Dean after he’d followed close behind and began to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt. She let the faucet continue to run while she ripped off a paper towel from the metal holder. “How deep are they?”
“Deep enough that two of the lacerations are still bleedin
g,” Dean said wryly, taking her advice and holding his left arm underneath the warm running water. He thinned his lips when the stinging probably became more like a burn. “More like gouges, if you ask me. I’m sure to have scars.”
He’d moved to the side enough for her to reach underneath the sink for the small first aid kit that her mother had purchased for her many years ago at the local pharmacy. She highly doubted that Band-Aids went bad, but she did update the ointment every two years so that she didn’t hear her mother complain about the expiration date on the bottom of the tube.
“You mentioned that your partner and his wife are having problems.” Kenna figured it was a safe topic to cover, and he’d been the one to bring it up first. “I hope it’s nothing they can’t put behind them.”
“Let’s just say that this type of job isn’t the easiest on long-term relationships,” Dean replied, drying his hands on a couple of paper towels before he made them into a square and pressed them tightly on his wounds. “I’m sure your parents had their moments in the past.”
“Mom actually handled my father’s profession quite well, but that was because her own father had been in law enforcement,” Kenna shared while she opened the white metal case and began taking out the necessary items. “She knew what to expect up front. She worried a lot, fell asleep on the couch more often than not when my dad worked late into the night, but she understood that their sacrifice was part of something important for the community. They were a team…are a team. That didn’t stop just because Dad retired. You should see them when they come to visit me. Dad brings his toolbox and is always finding small odds and ends to do around my house. Mom is a great supervisor.”
The Forgotten Widow Page 14