Fragmented

by Colleen Connally

  Fragmented

  by

  Colleen Connally

  * * * *

  Published by Colleen Connally

  Fragmented

  Book One, Boston’s Crimes of Passion Series

  Copyright @2013 by Colleen Connally

  Edited by Faith Williams

  The Atwater Group

  Cover Art by Erin Dameron-Hill

  www.edhgraphics.blogspot.com

  Smashwords Edition License Notes

  All rights reserved. This book or parts thereof may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without permission of the author is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  December 2013

  http://jerrihines.org/

  Praise for Fragmented:

  “Fragmented is a thoroughly engrossing romantic suspense which will have you turning the pages as fast as you can! Author Colleen Connally does a masterful job diving into the demented mind of a serial killer. If you liked Silence of the Lambs, you’ll love this story. Highly recommended!” ~ S.G. Rogers

  "A gripping, page-turning thriller. You won't be able to stop reading. And you'll sleep with the lights on! Colleen Connally creates evocative words that will send more than chills down your spine. There's also a few scenes that will grip your heart!"~ Elaine Raco Chase

  "A fast-paced, sensual romantic suspense with a compelling heroine and a caring, dynamic hero." ~ Lindsay Townsend

  Dedication

  To the people of my adopted home~Boston.

  For showing strength and unity through the most trying of times in the spring of 2013.

  Acknowledgement

  I want to say thank you to everyone who has helped me on my first suspense thriller. I won't forget anyone’s kindness. I have to mention my husband who has always supported my obsession. To my beta readers who painstakingly went through my manuscript for me. A special thank you to Karen Skiby for her insights in helping me refine my work. I can’t thank my cover artist, Erin Dameron-Hill, enough for her assistance. She has done much more for me than just create my beautiful covers.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Boston PD Detective Sergeant John Brophy stepped out of the Suffolk County Courthouse. He had done so hundreds of times in the past, but never like this. This was personal.

  He pulled a cigarette out of his coat pocket and lit up. He hadn’t smoked in years. Lauren had convinced him to quit, but today that didn’t seem to matter. He stood for a moment and blew out smoke. He sighed. It looked like more snow.

  After nineteen years of marriage, he no longer wore his wedding ring. He had taken it off during the proceedings. In a simple procedure, one signature and a bang of a gavel, his connection to his former life dissolved. He was a free man.

  Funny, he didn’t feel free. He felt like shit. He took another puff and walked down the steps. Nothing he could do about it now.

  Lauren hadn’t wasted a look his way once during the hearing. She concentrated on the judge and her lawyer. He hadn’t bothered to listen. Instead, he had studied his wife…no, his ex-wife. He hadn’t seen her in over a month.

  She had let herself go. That was obvious. She had always taken such care with her appearance. Not today. Her graying hair was pulled back sharply off her face. She wore an old dress she had bought for his parents’ wedding anniversary a few years back. She had put on a few pounds. Tension riddled her face. No doubt, this had been hard on her.

  Probably hadn’t spent a dime on herself since this whole thing started. Not Lauren. She sacrificed everything for her kids. Their three wonderful kids, thanks to her. Her whole life had revolved around her family, around him. But not now. He had only himself to blame.

  Broken trust, a trust he couldn’t regain. The divorce had been her decision. She had reached the end of her rope, tired of always giving in a relationship that she got nothing in return. After her proclamation she could take no more, she walked away without a glance backwards.

  She had left the parking lot before he reached his car. He pulled out his keys in his jeans pocket. He wondered briefly, while he drove off, whether she thought it was going to get better for her and the kids. Or was it just she couldn’t live with him anymore?

  His tires suddenly skidded across the icy parking lot. He took his foot off the pedal. His hands firmly gripped the steering wheel and steered the car in the direction of the skid and regained control of the car. He banged his hands against the steering wheel.

  Anger surged through him. He had sworn the divorce hadn’t affected him…that it had liberated him. The truth of the matter was—he hated it. He missed the kids…he missed Lauren. Shit, he had royally screwed up his life.

  He steered the car back in a straight line. A few minutes later, he pulled up in front of his new apartment in Southie. Wasn’t much to look at. He couldn’t afford much—not on what he had left over each month.

  A fleeting thought of going down to O’Malley’s crossed his mind, but he wasn’t in the mood for people or family. He hadn’t even told his parents that the divorce was finalized today. He didn’t want to hear the disappointment in their voices. No, he wanted to be alone, just him and a bottle of Jack Daniels.

  He took the stairs up to his third-floor apartment. That would be the extent of his exercise on this day. He walked up to his door in the dark hallway. The light bulb was blown. He would have to get a light; it was too dark. Without a doubt, Lauren wouldn’t approve of the place. She would worry about the kids.

  Opening the door, he surveyed the room. For some reason, it looked worse this afternoon. The walls were too bare, no pictures…nothing. A plain dinette table with hard back wooden chairs, an old recliner that was a remnant of another time, and an end table he used as a TV stand. He had allowed himself one luxury. He had cable hooked up. He couldn’t miss the games, not in this town.

  His kids…not being around his kids was what killed him the most. Not that he had been home that much, not with his job. He had been on the Boston Police Department for twenty-one years, fifteen years as a homicide detective. He was good at it, very good. Obviously he hadn’t been the best husband, but as a father, he loved his kids.

  His oldest, Jake, had obtained his license last month. An athlete, Jake lived for his sports, especially hockey and baseball. Brophy spent Jake’s formative years at a baseball field or hockey rink. Brophy realized Jake kept his grades up for one reason: to play the games he loved.

  His daughters were another story. Amelia loved her sports too, but at fifteen, had her sights on saving the world. Whereas Brophy would be watching the Celtics on television, she watched the presidential debates. Then there was the spark plug, little Sara…smiley. She always had a smile on her face. Sara hadn’t been a planned pregnancy, but had come at a time when the family needed something to smile about. Sara’s
smile never faded.

  It had been such a sad period in his life. His only sister, Sara, his daughter’s namesake, had been diagnosed with terminal cancer. Little Sara had been born a few months before his sister lost her battle. It had been Lauren’s idea to name her. It had meant the world to his sister. Lauren had a good heart. Suddenly, the comprehension Lauren deserved better than what he had to give sank deep within him. The thought depressed him.

  Brophy plopped down in his recliner: glass in one hand, bottle in the other. Lauren and the kids would be safe and secure in their suburban home in West Roxbury, a small white Cape on a quiet tree-lined street, where everyone kept their yards groomed and houses neat. Nothing fancy, but it served its purpose. Brophy had never imagined moving out, but then again, it wasn’t his choice.

  He shot down a swig of Jack Daniels. He took the remote in his hands. The television screen came into focus. He choked on his drink. Darren’s face was plastered across it. The ever formidable ADA, Darren Kennedy, won again.

  Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t think even Darren could have pulled this one off, but then again, it was Darren. The perfect ADA, a bulldog. The man wouldn’t let go. Good for him. Good for good old Darren. Brophy raised his glass, toasted the television, and took another swig.

  * * * *

  Darren Kennedy loved his sports. He loved his town. Boston. At the moment, he loved almost everything. A large grin emerged as he watched Chara check Crosby into the boards. A moment later, Lucic took the puck down the ice and put it in the five hole…scoring. A roar erupted from the electrified crowd. Nothing better than winning!

  “Darren, my boy!”

  Darren glanced around to see Harold Breton, district attorney for the city of Boston—his boss—walking up to him. Darren began working for the man more than nine years ago, when he first came out of law school. A natural prosecutor, he earned his reputation for being tough, unflinching, and a hell of a closer. He was good and he knew it. His job had become his life, or had been for the last seven years since he had lost his Sara.

  “Darren, glad to see you could make it. Need to celebrate after the Katz case. So much for a plea bargain.” Harold Breton slapped Kennedy on the back. “Convinced you, I hope, of quashing those nasty rumors of leaving.”

  Darren gave a little laugh. He wouldn’t mention that Breton wanted him to offer the defendant a plea deal. No, not now. Too good of a mood. Winning did that to him, especially when the odds were against him.

  “You just don’t want to have to replace someone with the salary you pay me.”

  “Can’t argue with that,” Breton said. He waved his hand to the waitress for a drink. “Seriously, Darren, can’t see you anywhere else. Not going to badger you tonight. Tonight, savor victory. Doesn’t get any better than this, does it?”

  Darren couldn’t disagree as he looked up at the scoreboard. Two minutes ‘til the end of the period. The Bruins had a cushioned lead. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw Breton talking with Joel Warren, an investment banker and one of Breton’s ardent supporters. Darren wasn’t going to complain, considering he enjoyed the man’s hospitality tonight. His attention returned to watching Bergeron take a slap shot.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a young woman sitting down close to the glass. She was a pretty thing. Her shoulder-blade-length dark hair hung loosely in waves around her face. Even sitting down, he readily recognized the red sweater she wore accented her figure to her advantage. Her eyes stared straight ahead, seemingly intent upon the game.

  Yet, he saw quickly her concentration lay upon the middle-aged man sitting next to her: a distinguished-looking man, dressed in a casual buttoned-down shirt with a touch of gray in his hair. Darren didn't recognize the man, but comprehended the man's attention focused on the girl.

  Her irritation with the man was well apparent with her body language, which Darren realized hadn't sunk into her companion. Drink in one hand, the man placed the other on her shoulder. Reacting instinctively, the woman immediately pushed the man’s hand back. Her eyes flared at him, but he seemed undaunted. Darren watched in amusement.

  She bolted up and excused herself, walking toward Darren. He moved aside, quickly assessing he was just an obstacle in her path. He turned as she passed. Her eyes burned toward her intended target, Joel Warren’s wife.

  He had met Meghan Warren once before. A beautiful trophy to hang on Warren’s arm. He couldn’t remember whether she was the second or third Mrs. Joel Warren. Didn’t matter. She was absolutely gorgeous. Dazzling looks. Her blonde hair was styled in an immaculate cut, framing her lovely oval face. Her figure showed in a perfectly fitted Quandry leather dress.

  “Meghan.”

  “Oh, don’t start, Cameron,” Joel’s wife pleaded in a whisper of a voice while she grasped hold of the woman’s arm. “It’s not even the end of the period.”

  “You asked me to the game, Meg. You said nothing about setting me up.” Irritation was evident in her tone.

  “You wouldn’t have come.”

  “I shouldn't have come anyway. I got called in for an overnight. Some of us have to earn a paycheck.”

  “Don't even try that excuse. Even if you did, you don’t have to go in until eleven, Cam. I know what you’re going to do. What am I supposed to tell Nathan?”

  Darren knew he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, but he couldn't take his eyes off of—what did he hear her name was?—Cameron. He watched her hair swing back when she laughed. Her cerulean eyes glittered in the light.

  “Not my problem. Don’t worry. I’ll still be by after work in the morning to get my instructions before you go on your trip.”

  Meghan grimaced, releasing a heavy sigh. “Not going to do me any good to try to get you to stay. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  Joel came up beside his wife, watching Cameron walk away. “Where’s Cameron going? It’s not like her to leave a game early.”

  “Oh, she’s not leaving, I’m sure. She’s escaping again. She’ll talk some attendant into finding her a spot somewhere to watch the rest of the game.”

  Joel took a sip of his drink. “Don’t know why you act surprised, Meghan.” He turned to Darren, who had been ignored in the conversation until that moment. He shrugged slightly. “My wife keeps trying to fix up her friend from nursing school. I keep telling her not everyone can be as happy as we are.”

  He leaned down to kiss his wife. He missed her lips as she turned her head from him to catch her cheek. She gave her husband a teasing smile.

  “Lipstick, you know, darling.”

  Darren watched Cameron retrieve her jacket and slip out the door. He frowned and turned his attention back to his host. By the beginning of the third period, Darren decided it was time to leave. Most of the occupants seemed more consumed with the financial dealings on Wall Street than the game at hand.

  He finished his drink. Placing his glass down on the table, he made his excuses to his boss and bowed out for the night.

  “I’m going to meet up with Ethan and Sal down at the Black Rose. Promised them a round. They worked hard on the case and it showed.”

  “I understand. Enjoy yourself. You deserve it, Darren,” Breton said. With a firm grip, he shook Darren’s hand. “Come by first thing Monday, Darren. See what I can do to influence that decision you’re considering.”

  Darren chuckled to himself. He had no doubt that Breton would try to influence him. Darren supposed it wouldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say. He wondered what he would tell his boss.

  The truth was he was spent…drained. All his time and energy directed in one direction. For the last seven years, his work had been his life. It was time to do more than go through the motions of living. He wanted to feel something again.

  Darren walked out the door. The girl had the right idea. Enjoy the game without the polite conversation. He didn’t want to have to think whether he was saying the right thing. He wanted to talk about the game…Bergeron, Lucic, Chara. He wanted to hold a conversatio
n on the possibilities of going back to the Stanley Cup finals, not the merits of a case.

  He rounded the bend in the passageway. He recognized the Boston police officer standing outside of an entrance way. Rian McMann. Good guy. He had worked on a few cases with him.

  McMann nodded when he caught sight of Darren.

  “Heard you won another one, Kennedy.”

  “Good work all around. Just came from Breton. Made him happy. So I’m happy.”

  “Who are you kidding? You aren’t happy when you lose at Candy Crush. I can only imagine if you ever lost a case.” He laughed. Glancing down, McMann caught sight of Darren’s coat in his arm. “You’re not leaving?”

  Darren shrugged. “Meeting the guys down at…”

  A cheer erupted. Darren walked up far enough to see the Bruins had scored again. In front of him, he watched the scoreboard light up in celebration, but his attention quickly turned when he saw a woman in an eye-catching red sweater. He recognized the sweater and the woman. It was Cameron, standing and clapping in the stands no more than ten feet from him.

  “You know, you’re right, McMann. Do you think I could take the seat to your right? It looks vacant.”

  “Don’t think it would be an issue. Threw the three out who had the seats before the end of the last period. Too drunk to stand straight,” McMann said with a grin. “Wouldn’t have anything to do with the young woman the usher let sit there a little while ago?”

  “Do you blame me?”

  “No, not at all. Might have myself…but, married you know. Go ahead. Don’t let me stand in your way.”

  Without hesitation, Darren eased into the row and sat before she had time to notice his maneuver. A moment later, she sat down, eyeing him questioningly.