by Cynthia Eden
Anthony blinked. His expression was bemused. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have a personal relationship with her? Because that’s something I need to know about.” Right the hell then.
Anthony’s face tightened. “Look—”
“No, you look. We have a killer imitating the Iceman in New Orleans, the same city that the Iceman’s only surviving victim just happens to live in. And then we have you...the detective who found the body based on a tip. Then I learn that you and Dawn... You two seem close. I’m thinking the killer knew that, too, and that’s why he chose you to receive the tip.” His breath felt cold in his lungs. “So I’m going to ask again, just what is the nature of your relationship with Dawn Alexander?”
A muscle flexed in Anthony’s jaw. “We’re friends. I help her on cases and she helps me.”
Friends. “Nothing more?”
Anthony’s mouth opened.
“No, nothing more.”
That had not been Anthony responding. Tucker glanced to the right and saw Dawn step from the side of the building. She came toward him with slow, determined steps.
“Eavesdropping?” Tucker demanded.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. “I’ve found that cops don’t always want to share directly with me. But you’d be surprised what you can pick up from folks if you just stop...and listen.”
And hide out of sight.
“I need to get back to the station,” Anthony mumbled. “Captain Hatch is going to be wanting a report from me. Agent Frost, we’ll finish this conversation later.”
“Nothing left to finish,” Dawn said. “I think I gave him a solid answer for us both.”
“Dawn...” Anthony’s voice had a warning edge. “Watch your step with him. The FBI might not play as nicely with you as the NOPD does.”
She didn’t speak until Anthony was gone. Then she swept her gaze over Tucker. “I asked you to play nicely before, but you shut me out of the investigation.” She shook her head. “That’s okay. I don’t give up easily.”
Obviously not.
“You followed me here?” Tucker asked.
She smiled. For an instant, he could have sworn that his heart stopped.
“Don’t be silly. I know where the coroner’s office is. Julia and I go out for beignets every Thursday.” She paused. “And po’boys on Tuesdays.”
So she had an in with the coroner. “You’re planning to get her to tell you what she’s learned on the case?”
Her smile dimmed. “I was actually hoping you would tell me what you learned.” She paused a beat. “Is it him?”
Him? And he found himself reaching for her. This time, he was prepared when she flinched away from his touch, but he still kept his hands wrapped around her shoulders. “Jason Frost is dead.”
“Was the MO the same? Was the pattern of slices the same?”
“Yes,” he ground out, “but...”
“Was she alive when he put her into the freezer?”
He didn’t speak but he could tell by the way her face paled that his silence was answer enough.
“So...” Dawn licked her lips. “If this is a copycat, we’re dealing with someone who has closely studied Jason’s work. To get all of the wounds just right, to attack with a knife that many times...”
“I’m going to find the guy,” Tucker swore. “I will stop him.”
Her thick lashes swept down, concealing her gaze. “Right. That’s what you do now, hmm? No more out saving the world by fighting the secret missions you couldn’t talk about with me. These days, you go after monsters much closer to home.”
Because I had monsters in my home.
“I want in on this investigation.” She was still not looking at him. “I need in on it.”
“I get that you want closure.” Oh, hell, yes, he got that. “But the FBI doesn’t pull in civilians when—”
Her gaze flew up and he saw the anger burning in her eyes. “I’m not a civilian. I’m a PI. My specialty is missing person cases, and I am very good at my job.”
And I don’t want you in danger. Not on my watch.
“You’re going to say no again.” She backed away—no, pulled away.
His hands fell to his sides.
“Why can’t you see that I’m not the same broken woman you knew before?”
Her words pierced right through him. “I never thought you were broken.”
“Then why did you leave? Why did you leave me?”
He took a step toward her. “Dawn—”
“Someone has been watching me.”
For a moment, all he heard was the thunder of his heartbeat. Again, too loud. Drumming in his ears. Nearly bursting. Rage heated his blood. “What?”
“It started a few months ago. I felt someone watching me.”
He grabbed her arm and pulled her with him, moving too fast, knowing that his touch was too rough, but not able to help himself. He steered her to the side of the building. The same spot she’d been hiding in before because that spot gave them perfect privacy. “Why the hell are you telling me this now? It should have been the first damn thing you revealed—”
“I have no proof. If I’d had proof, I would have brought the evidence to the police long ago. If I go to them with nothing, I’d look like the woman crying wolf. With my past, folks would jump to the conclusion that I’m suffering from PTSD. I have built a solid reputation with my clients. They know me. They trust me. If I start throwing claims of some shadow stalker without any evidence...” She shook her head. “I’d lose everything I’ve worked to build.”
His hands pressed into the rough stone on either side of her head. He wasn’t touching her then, he didn’t trust himself to touch her, but he caged her with his body because she wasn’t getting away, not until she’d answered all of his questions. “At the police station, you should have told me—”
“You keep looking at me as if you think I’m going to shatter. I didn’t want you to think I was crying wolf, either.”
Fuck. “There’s something you need to understand. Right the hell now.” He stared into her eyes. Got lost in her gaze, like he used to do. “I will always believe you. I have never doubted you.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “But I doubted you.”
Oh, shit. “That wasn’t what I—”
Her hand came up between them and her palm slid over the stubble that covered his jaw. He hadn’t shaved that morning. Deliberately.
Because if I have stubble or a beard...maybe I don’t look quite as much like him. Jason had always been freshly shaven. He’d always been so fastidious about his appearance. An organized, obsessive killer—
“It’s his face.”
Every muscle in his body locked down at her soft words. “His face. But I am not him.” He wouldn’t be, fucking ever. But had Dawn sensed the darkness in him? All that seething energy that he kept bottled up every moment? He wouldn’t let it out. He’d never let it touch her.
“It hurt me, at first, to see you.”
He knew that. When he’d tried to make love to her after the attack...
Her screams haunted him.
“But then you were gone—” her hand was still against his cheek “—and that hurt worse.”
What?
She swallowed. Her hand fell back to her side. “But that’s in the past. We both moved on.”
“Someone didn’t move on. Someone is out there, starting his crimes again.” And that had him breaking out into a cold sweat. “Why do you think someone has been watching you? Tell me everything, right now.”
Because he truly did believe her. He would always believe her.
Only you’re wrong, Dawn. We both haven’t moved on.
If only that part was true.
* *
*
THE PLAYERS WERE TOGETHER. He’d waited. He’d been so patient. So careful. But now they were all there.
He watched as Dawn led FBI Special Agent Tucker Frost away from the coroner’s building. They’d been having quite the conversation moments before, but now they were hurrying from the scene. Did Tucker realize he had a tendency to stand too close to Dawn? That was a dead giveaway.
He knew plenty about body language. About the unspoken cues that could give away a person’s real emotions. People lied with words, but their bodies always told the truth.
Tucker still cared about Dawn. That was his weakness. But just how much of a weakness, well, that remained to be seen.
Tucker had left the scene. He and Dawn had vanished. He’d find them later. He kept his gaze on the coroner’s building. His victim was still in there.
Eventually, they’d find out who the woman was.
But he’d planned for that. Just as he’d planned for everything.
How much will you be able to take, Tucker, before you break? Because he knew there was a darkness inside of Tucker. And it was time to let that darkness come out and play.
I’ve been waiting for this moment. For a very, very long time.
Seven years, to be exact.
CHAPTER FIVE
DAWN’S HOME WAS on the second floor of a historic building in the French Quarter. Years ago, the house had been converted into two condo units. Dawn had jumped at the chance to get the upper condo. She loved the view of the city that she had from her balcony. Loved watching the tourists on her street. Loved listening to jazz music drift on the breeze.
And the second floor should have been safer. I picked it because it was harder to access. And this updated building had top-notch security.
She should have been safe.
Only she didn’t feel that way.
“As you can see,” Dawn murmured as she gestured to the security control panel near her door, “I always set my alarm. It’s never gone off, never warned me that any intruder was inside...”
Tucker had paced toward her den. He stood there, glancing around the space curiously.
Tucker is here. She swallowed and would not let her emotions push her to say something she wouldn’t be able to take back. He was there to help her. Nothing more, nothing less.
“The alarm didn’t go off, but you think someone has been here.”
She nodded. “I do.” She walked toward the window. “It’s small things that I notice. Things that other people might brush away.” She pointed toward her bedroom. The door was open, and from her vantage point she could see the pictures that hung on her wall—a dark blue wall. She’d painted it blue because the color was supposed to soothe, to help her relax.
Only I haven’t been relaxing at all lately.
“My pictures... One day, I noticed that two of them were moved. Just...switched in position.” A mocking laugh came from her. “Try telling the cops that someone came in and moved your pictures for you. This is New Orleans. We had the biggest homicide rate in the US just a few years ago... The cops are too busy to worry about swapped pictures.”
He stalked into her bedroom and studied the photos hanging on the wall. Dawn followed him, her steps slower. She’d taken both photos. Photography was her hobby. Another thing that was supposed to soothe her. When she’d been in therapy, her psychiatrist had been big on soothing.
He’d actually been right about the photography, though. She liked taking her pictures. When she looked through the lens of her camera, she got lost in the moment. She forgot her past and only focused on the image she was trying to capture. She focused only on the moment. The present.
The present mattered. The past didn’t. And the future? Why plan for something that could go so terribly dark?
Her breath eased out as she looked at the framed images. In one of the photos, she’d captured the sunset over the Mississippi. In another, she showed the imposing figure of the St. Louis Cathedral at nighttime.
“You and Detective Deveraux are friends. Surely he would have listened to you if you’d taken your fears to him.”
It was because they were friends that she hadn’t gone to him. He looked at her with respect, treated her as a colleague. She hadn’t wanted him to start doubting her. And did I doubt myself? Maybe, at first, when I glanced at the photos, for a moment, even I wasn’t sure... “I need more proof.” She still needed it. She’d worked as a PI long enough to know that she didn’t have enough evidence for the cops. So she’d tried to get evidence. Only it hadn’t worked.
“Anything else happen?”
“I woke up one morning, and I could...smell him.” Yes, even as she said it, Dawn knew her words sounded crazy. This is why I didn’t go to Anthony. “That aftershave that Jason used to soak himself with...I smelled it. I woke up and it was all over the place.” She pointed to her bed. “It was strongest right there, right next to me.”
Her bed, a brass four-poster that she’d bought from an antiques store just down the street, sat in the middle of the room. A lounging chair that she used for reading was to the right of it, and a heavy cherry dresser leaned against the far wall. “Sometimes, you can think your mind is playing tricks on you. A familiar scent... Maybe you’re just imagining it.” Her fingers skimmed over the pillow on her bed. “But the scent was so strong. It was like he’d been standing right next to my bed, watching me. Like he was here with me.” While I slept. She breathed out, nice and slowly, then turned back to face Tucker. “After that, I upgraded my security system again and...I don’t think anyone has been back inside.”
He was watching her with that too-bright blue stare. Goose bumps rose on her skin.
Why does he have to look so much like Jason? Her breath came faster, nearly shaking her chest. Before I’m done, you’ll grow to like the pain. Jason’s voice. Always in her head. Always, damn it.
Tucker moved toward her. “Dawn?”
She shook her head. She needed to get the rest of the story out, fast. “There have been a few other times, when I was out in the city that I thought someone was following me.” She bit her lower lip. “I’m pretty good at spotting a tail.” Mostly because she tailed others and she’d learned all the tricks of the trade. “But I could never spot him.”
“Yet you’re sure someone was following you?”
She faced him fully. “You know when you’re being hunted.”
His gaze drifted to her bed. If anything, his expression hardened more. “You should have contacted me.”
She blinked.
“I get that you thought you didn’t have enough to show the local cops. You didn’t want them thinking you were imagining things, didn’t want to put your business at risk, but...” He took a step toward her.
The back of her legs bumped into her bed. He’s the only one I back away from.
When he should have been the man she always ran to.
“But you should have contacted me. Some creep is in your home, in your bedroom.” His hands were fisted. “I would have been on the first fucking plane down here. Jason is dead. But there are people out there—people who get obsessed with serials. Women who fall in love with them. Men who want to be them. As the only surviving victim, shit, that makes you a target for people like that. It makes you—”
“Why do you think I moved to New Orleans?” She gave a sad shake of her head. “I needed to get away from all that. From the letters that came from strangers who told me what they’d like to do to me.” She’d given all of those twisted letters to the authorities in Baton Rouge. They’d assured her they would investigate, but no one had ever been arrested.
That was years ago.
“I had a normal life here,” she continued determinedly. “People had forgotten. I had a business. I had clients who trusted me.” A job that made her feel as if she were ma
king a difference. And not just being a victim. “But someone started trying to unravel that life.”
He watched her with a hard gaze. “You think it’s the same man who killed our Jane Doe.”
“I think...” She stopped, then tried again. “I think I want to be a part of your investigation because someone has been screwing around with me.” She wanted to believe that Jason Frost was dead. Oh, God, she wanted that to be true. But his body had never been found and fear had haunted her. The fear was a companion that had dodged her steps for years.
And...
She was lying to Tucker. Well, a little. Only a little lie. In those first few months after her attack, she had imagined that Jason was after her. Everywhere she’d turned, she’d seen him. She’d thought for sure he was tailing her. She’d been so certain that she’d hired a PI.
Timothy Roth had been in his late fifties, a tough, grizzled, no-nonsense PI. He’d taken her money, he’d tailed her and he’d looked for someone who might be stalking her...
Jason.
And after six weeks, he’d given her the money back. No one had been following her back then. He’d found zero evidence.
The PTSD had gotten to her.
She’d seen a shrink.
She’d gotten better.
But I can’t have that dark time brought up again. I can’t have people saying that I was just imagining everything again. And that was the real reason she’d held off on contacting the police until she had solid proof. Not just scents in her home. Not just two photos that had been switched. Not just goose bumps on her arms when she was out late at night—the primitive, instinctive response to being hunted.
More evidence. Real evidence that couldn’t be denied.
Timothy had been the one to teach her that she needed more. Timothy had been the one to teach her how to be a PI. Only she wouldn’t tell Tucker any of that because she wanted him to keep believing her. There couldn’t be any room for doubt in his mind.