"The photographer may not be agreeable to giving me copies."
"Then have Rafe ask him."
After he reiterated his instructions not to speak to the police without him at her side, Harold hung up. Their timing was perfect, because Erin was only a couple of blocks from her house.
One white media van was parked out front. The local station just wasn't going to give up. She hit the garage remote, hoping she could get inside without a confrontation. A short chubby man came rushing up her driveway. She slid the gun into her purse and got out. He stopped at her back bumper.
"I have no comment." She delivered her words in her chilliest voice.
"Some guy left this on your porch." He held out an envelope, which Erin snatched from his hand.
"Now get off my property."
"It's not from me. It's windy out here today. I figured if I made sure it was safe, you'd appreciate it."
"I said leave." She pulled out her cell. If he didn't do as she asked, she'd call the cops.
The reporter shrugged, backing out of her garage. A question sprang to her mind. "What did this man look like?"
"You don't talk to me, I don't help you."
Erin hurried inside, bolting the door behind her. Her hand trembled when she dropped the envelope on the breakfast counter.
The message light on her home phone blinked frantically, indicating more than one missed call. Dreading the crank calls, she tapped the button, but kept her finger poised to hit delete.
Detective Beckett's baritone voice rumbled through the line, asking that she phone him. Harold's instructions had been clear. She deleted two requests from Beckett and two more from reporters. She called Harold again, leaving a message with his assistant about the latest envelope. Disregarding instructions, she called the detective.
The next number she dialed was 666. Rafe sounded winded. He'd been cleaning out and packing up his dad's garage but would shower and come straight over. Again, he didn't question her. His response meant a lot.
His earlier comment about how death could damage a family troubled her thoughts. Losing his mother must have devastated the family. The pain had apparently destroyed his dad. Rafe had grown up without a woman's guiding touch. In Erin's case, having a stepfather had been the worst thing that happened to her.
She fished out writing material from the kitchen drawer and piled up on the couch to wait for Rafe. Her gaze kept wandering back to the breakfast bar, but she blocked the envelope from her mind.
She hadn't spoken to Jeff or Lotty. No doubt, they were worried, so Erin put everything aside and called them. Jeff answered, putting her on the speaker so she could speak with him and Lotty at the same time. Lotty's progression had been phenomenal, and she was full of questions. Erin did her best to relive any stress she'd caused and closed with a promise to keep them informed.
Erin grabbed the pen and pad, jotting down the names of the kids Penny and Sara had hung out with at school. Erin couldn't remember the names of all the girls' teachers, but knew who would. The school nurse and her best friend, Carla Nye, had a memory like a seasoned game-show winner.
"It's good to hear your voice," Carla said on a sigh. "Just tell me you're okay."
"Thank you for not being mad at me," Erin said, feeling guilty for keeping her friend out of the loop.
"Not mad. Worried. Bring me up to speed."
"So much has happened. After Jeff enlisted help from Harold Penza and Rafe Sirilli, I've had someone with me at all times, except when I was in bed."
"Back up to the Rafe Sirilli part. Isn't he the football player whose picture still hangs in the display case at school? All-America twice, drop-dead handsome as a teenager."
"Arrogant, distant, and now a federal agent? Yeah, that's him."
"Well, tell me. Does he still look good enough to eat, or is he fat with a belly that hangs over his belt?"
Erin laughed. God, it felt good to be frivolous. "You won't believe me."
"You're breaking my heart. He's not only fat, he's bald." The sadness in Carla's voice gave Erin another laugh.
"Okay. I'll tell the truth. He's better-looking now that he's matured. He's definitely grown into that long lanky body."
"Do I hear a hint of interest in your voice?"
"I'm only attracted to his badge. Having an FBI agent willing to help prove I'm innocent makes me feel safer." Carla had moved to town a few years back and knew nothing of Erin and Rafe's history. She had no reason to tell her now.
"Hmm. This good-looking FBI agent just happened to volunteer his services. What are you not telling me?"
"Calm down. Rafe's dad and Jeff were partners. He asked Rafe to help me."
"Shoot. That doesn't sound sexy or romantic." Carla's disappointment flowed through the phone.
"I'm glad I called. You always put me in a good mood," Erin said truthfully. "But I'd better finish this list."
"I'll let you know how it goes at the board meeting. Eight teachers have committed to joining me to protest your suspension."
"Don't get yourself in trouble fighting for a cause you can't win."
Carla's show of solidarity was welcome and gave Erin's attitude a boost. She disconnected and went back to the list. After she finished, she walked to the breakfast bar and stared at the manila monster resting peacefully, daring her to open it. Taunting her.
A knock on the door startled her.
"Erin," Rafe yelled. "Open up."
She fumbled with the lock, opened the door, and pulled him inside.
****
Rafe reached out and caught Erin's hand, fighting the urge to tug her into his arms. "What happened?"
"Come see." She led him toward the kitchen area.
She squeezed his fingers, hanging on as if to keep him from disappearing. Not fucking likely. Erin might be pretending to be brave, but he could tell she was scared out of her wits.
"I called Harold. Left messages at both places. I called Detective Beckett, too."
"Good decision." Rafe nodded, but his attention was on the envelope on the counter. "Son of a bitch."
"A reporter gave it to me. He said a man left it on my porch."
"Which one?" He held on to her hand, allowing her to lead him to the window. She didn't resist when he pulled her back to his chest. He reached around her, lifted a slat on the blinds, and together they scanned the small group. Somebody had brought food, and they had gathered into a cluster. They were laughing and talking like today was just another day.
"Him." She pointed. "The one in the gray pullover. He's looking straight at the house."
She took a step back, pressing tight against Rafe. Under normal circumstances, he'd have allowed his body's natural reaction to surge ahead. Instead, he backed away so as not to tempt fate. Full-body contact with her was a bad idea.
"You think he lied? Maybe brought it himself?"
"Don't know." Rafe studied the man's body language. "But I'm gonna find out."
"I spoke with Harold before I got home about last night. He said between your word, the reporter's picture, and the police report, I have a good alibi."
"He's right. You could have plenty of witnesses, but everything hinges on what time the girl was murdered. He needs to get that information."
Neither had moved from the window. Rafe breathed in her scent again. The warmth and soft curves of her body barely touching his, combined with her soft scent, made his mouth water. It was enough to send blood coursing to his groin. He'd regret it later, but he dropped the blind slat and walked away from her.
She cleared her throat, looking everywhere except at him. She hadn't been quick enough for him to miss the pink in her cheeks. Maybe she didn't dislike him as much as he thought. The tension in his neck tightened. He'd kept his soft spot for her hidden for years. He couldn't let it surface now…
Her home phone rang, but she ignored it. "You're still getting prank calls?" he asked.
"Yes. Reporters mostly. So far, they haven't called on my cell, but I'm screeni
ng all my calls. I'll pick up if it's someone I want to speak with."
"Let's look at the note."
"Shouldn't we wait?"
Rafe's eyebrow lifted. He removed his pocketknife and a pair of purple gloves from his pocket and pulled them on. "Don't say a word about the color. They were the only size-large sterile gloves in the drugstore."
"Wasn't going to say a word," she joked, but her voice held a slight tremble.
He carefully slit the top, shook the envelope, and a small piece of paper slid onto the breakfast bar.
GOD PUNISHES MURDERERS.
"Can my life get any worse?" she said in a whisper.
"You can't let these cranks get to you. As soon as we establish your innocence, these whackjobs will move on to someone else. When Beckett gets here, we'll straighten this out." Rafe wasn't going to allow her to be blamed for these murders. "I'm going to have a chat with that reporter."
"So you don't think 'whackjobs' are dangerous?"
"I wish I knew. Either way, the cops need to see them." He walked to the door. "I'm going to speak with the reporter. Lock the door."
He walked straight to the reporter Erin had indicated, who stepped forward and smiled. Two other men joined them. If they expected to get a story, they were wrong.
"Tom Corman," the man in the gray pullover said.
Rafe studied the ID tag on the man's shirt and the TV station's name on the side of the van. "You have any other identification?"
Corman's eyebrows rose. "Do you?"
Rafe fought the urge to pull his FBI ID. He tried another tactic.
"I'm not the one the cops will be questioning."
"Let them come." Corman dug out his wallet, letting Rafe match the name and picture with the ID tag.
"Describe the man who left the envelope."
"What's in it for me?"
Rafe moved closer. "Your fingerprints are on that envelope. What if its contents are a threat?"
The reporter's eyes flashed wide, filling with a hint of fear. "I saw a guy prop it against the door and run. After he took off, I ran up and snagged it. Thought it might get me a comment from Ms. Brady."
"Description?" Rafe took another step closer. The reporter's face paled.
"Okay. Back off, man. White guy, maybe six-foot, one-ninety. Wearing a dark hoodie and jeans. Really, that's all I saw. Dude kept his head down."
The sound of an engine drew Rafe's attention. A dark blue sedan, the typical county car, turned the corner. "These two guys will have more questions."
Rafe waited on the curb until the two men exited their vehicle. Both wore slacks and shirts, with badges clipped on to their belts. He shook hands with Detectives Wade Beckett and Carl Henry. Rafe handed his ID to Beckett. Last thing he wanted was the press or the police thinking he was interfering. "I'm here strictly as a friend."
"We'll take all the help we can get," Beckett, the younger of the two men, said.
It wasn't an official invitation, but Rafe could work with it. "Thanks. I may be able to clear some of this up. You'll want to go inside to talk."
"This gets more fucked up with each day." The older cop, Carl, pressed his fingers into his temples. "I'll talk to the reporter. You seemed to have better luck with Ms. Brady."
"Erin's expecting you," Rafe said, falling in step with Beckett. No way was either cop questioning her alone. Rafe wasn't an attorney, but he'd do until Harold was at her side.
"How's she holding up?" Beckett asked. Rafe detected a tenderness in the detective's voice.
"Better than most, considering everything she's been through." Rafe stepped up on the porch and lifted his hand to knock.
Erin opened the door, allowing him and the detective inside. "Thanks for coming."
Rafe and Beckett followed her to the breakfast counter.
"You opened it?" Beckett pulled latex gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.
"I wore gloves. My prints aren't on it."
Beckett studied the note a minute before placing it and the envelope in a paper bag. "I doubt if we'll find anybody's prints. Doesn't mean we won't try."
"I'm getting an occasional prank call, but nothing like the notes," Erin said.
"Most of the time they're lonely people wanting attention." Beckett shrugged.
"They're whackjobs. I get it." Erin scowled, clearly disagreeing.
"That doesn't mean you should take them lightly." Beckett jumped on the defensive.
Rafe wanted to clear up any question about Erin's whereabouts last night. "With your help, we can clear Erin as a suspect."
"And that would be how?" Beckett asked.
Rafe glanced at Erin in case she wanted to take the lead. Her head nodded slightly, her silent way of asking him to take over. "I was here last night from ten thirty to around one. 911 has a record of Erin's call and a patrol car was here. If that's not enough, there's a photographer outside who can vouch for most of that time. You know Monroe's TOD. If she was murdered between those times, Erin has an alibi."
"You're sure of the time?"
"Yeah. Check her phone records. She called me after discovering a photographer had climbed up a tree in the backyard. I came straight here, taking maybe twenty minutes. I didn't leave until one."
Beckett looked toward Erin. "Was the trespasser arrested?"
"No." The defiance in her tone was clear. "A federal agent's word isn't good enough?"
"For me? Sure. But you two have a relationship."
"We have no such thing," Erin said, spitting the words as if they tasted bad.
"That's true," Rafe confirmed, only calmer and more pleasant.
Beckett shook his head as if recoiling from her stinging words. "I was referring to your family connection." He looked away from Rafe, directing his comments to Erin. "And there's always the possibility you hired someone to kill the girls."
Her expression iced over. A polar front had taken over her eyes. "There is that possibility."
Apparently unfazed, Beckett turned to Rafe. "I'll need formal statements from both of you."
"Let's get to it," Rafe said, moving closer to Erin.
CHAPTER 8
Beckett placed a small recorder on the coffee table. Erin sat, patting the cushion next to her for Rafe. The couch was a comfortable fit for her, but with Beckett sitting across from them in the recliner, neither he nor Rafe had room to unfold their long legs.
After each of them gave their names, Beckett noted time, date, and subject matter. Then he turned off the recording but left his finger hovering above the on button.
"How about it, Erin? Are you ready to answer questions this time?" Beckett asked her.
Rafe watched different emotions cross her face. She opened her mouth then closed it with a snap. "I called my criminal attorney. He's on his way."
The detective sighed. "I'm not questioning your innocence. I've never believed you murdered anyone, but you may hold the key to stopping the killer. I need your help." Beckett turned to Rafe. "Tell her."
"I can't make that decision for her." Rafe refused to pressure her. "Under the circumstances, I can understand her reluctance. With the exception of a few teachers who've supported her, this whole town has treated her like crap."
Erin's head turned his direction, her eyes misting over. She blinked a couple of times. Again, a desire to protect her slammed into him. He didn't like that feeling a damn bit.
"This is off-topic," Rafe said to Erin. "You used the term criminal attorney. I assume you've asked for help after the school placed you on administrative leave."
"I sure did. I contacted the Professional Educators Organization. Their attorneys have already started the appeal process."
"I figured you had," Beckett said. "The school district police have already been in touch with me. I'll get my information to them as soon as possible. The fact that Sara Monroe was murdered between eleven and one, your alibi should eliminate you as a suspect." He wagged his finger over the recorder on button. "No statement from you?"
> "I'll wait for Harold." Erin's expression was grim and determined.
"I'm ready." Rafe defused what he thought was about to be another argument. He succinctly gave his account of last night, finishing off with the intruder's name and media organization. "Check the local hospitals for a patient who broke his arm last night. You'll find him. Get a copy of that picture he took."
Beckett grinned. "How'd he break his arm?"
Rafe shrugged his shoulders. "Clumsy bastard fell out of the tree."
Beckett stopped the recorder. "I'll get this typed up. You'll have to stop by, read, and sign."
Rafe nodded and didn't interrupt. Beckett was aware Rafe knew the procedure, but if his guess was right, the detective was an always-by-the-book kind of man.
Erin escorted Beckett to the door, which gave Rafe the chance to follow up on a call he'd made last night. He pushed open the sliding glass doors and stepped out into the sunlight to call back Colton Weir.
Before Rafe started nosing around the school unofficially, he had to know if he was stepping on someone else's investigation. Nothing made cross-departmental enemies like screwing up another man's undercover operation.
"I'm fast but not that good." Colton, with his East Texas drawl so heavy Rafe wanted to shake the words out of him, always answered before the second ring and without saying hello.
"I'm growing old waiting."
"Take it easy. Getting all wound up won't help. The local narcotics squad is working the case. I'll find out if any other agency is helping out. How's the woman Erin?"
"A second girl was murdered last night, but I was with Erin all the time. The focus will shift off her soon."
"Really?" The word rolled off Colton's tongue like cold molasses. "Want to share info with your partner?"
"I was here. Not in her bed. She's got media crawling like ants, and she's getting notes accusing her of being a murderer. Who knows if it's serious or not, but some of these radicals are crazy as hell and twice as dangerous." Rafe quoted the notes. "Makes me wonder if it's one of the dead girls' mom or dad. Grief does strange things to a person's head."
He whirled in the direction of a loud gasp. Shit, she'd heard. He held out his arm, and she walked right to him, tucking herself close. He gripped her shoulder. Her back went rigid for a second before she relaxed into him. Until the press and townspeople believed her to be innocent, she'd need a shoulder to lean on, and he'd damn well be there for her.
Till Justice Is Served Page 6