Deception

by Lisa Clark O'Neill

  Okay, now he was making her nervous.

  “Sam?” Josh obviously noticed. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Her insides went soft as taffy, then twisted into an uncomfortable knot. “I’m fine,” she lied, mustering a smile for him.

  Josh looked doubtful, then took another peek at his watch. “Damn.” He hurried out from behind the counter. “I don’t know what time I’ll be home tonight, but call me if you need anything. There’s… well, there’s something in the fridge, I’m sure, so help yourself to whatever. I’ll pick up some groceries on the way home. And Sam –” His face grew pensive. “If you feel threatened, for any reason, at any point today, don’t hesitate to dial 911 and tell them what’s happening. They’ll be able to get to you more quickly than I will.”

  Sam nodded, worried eyes latching onto his.

  “Be careful.” His hand rose to brush across her cheek. Then he moved off toward the stairs and as Sam watched him go she thought it ironic that the one man, besides her brother, who’d do anything to keep her safe, was ironically the only one who’d ever broken her heart.

  CHAPTER TEN

  JOSH caught up with Clay over lunch at Murphy’s, where they tucked themselves into a booth near the bar. The windows in the front of the old building were open to allow the passage of the mercurial fall breeze, the salty scent of which mingled with the more powerful aromas of Irish whiskey and frying fish. Josh noted that his friend looked a lot less green than the last time he’d seen him, and was reminded by the glow of anticipatory happiness that Clay was getting married in four days.

  “So have you booked your one-way ticket to Tibet yet?”

  “I hope I’d pick someplace a little warmer if I had cold feet. And anyway, you think Tate wouldn’t be able to track me there?”

  “You’re an FBI agent,” Josh reminded him. “I thought you’d been trained in evasive maneuvers.”

  Shaking his blond head, Clay sent Josh a pitying look. “If you think there are any maneuvers capable of shaking off a scorned woman, it’s no wonder you’re not getting laid. You clearly have no understanding of the finer points of the female sex.”

  Josh figured it was probably a grievous error in judgment, but he took a nip at the bait. “And you know so much about my sex life because…?”

  “Because you and I have been sucked into the web of the World’s Nosiest Family. Between the bartenders, the detective, the pharmacist and the innkeeper, is it any wonder that anything you do is no longer secret? They’ve got practically every avenue of the information highway covered. How’d that Ben-Gay work for you last week? Your arm feeling better?”

  Josh snorted, then closed his eyes in defeat. He’d stopped by Maureen Murphy’s pharmacy last Tuesday because he’d been pushing his shoulder too hard. “Well, at least I’m not marrying one of them.”

  “Yeah, I sort of beat you to that punch.” He emphasized his point with a cocky grin. “But you know, working with Kathleen every day is almost as big a commitment. That sort of partnership is kind of like a marriage.”

  “Harding’s going to marry Kathleen?” Rogan asked, coming up to the table with two steaming plates of food. “I’ll tell Declan he can come out of the kitchen, then. He went into hiding when Josh came swaggering in the door. Guess he thought you’d come back for round two. But you probably won’t hit him again since he’s gonna be family.”

  “Aren’t you just a laugh a minute,” Josh said dryly as Rogan slid the mounded plates of Shepherd’s pie down the table. His ankle obviously paining him, Rogan dropped in the booth beside him, but both Josh and Clay knew better than to comment.

  “Speaking of Kathleen,” Rogan grabbed an extra fork and speared a bite from Josh’s plate. “She said you’ve moved some little honey into your place. Overheard you telling her where she could pick up her parking pass.”

  Josh just looked at him as Rogan continued to nosh his food. From across the table, he could hear Clay choking back laughter. “Is there anything you people don’t know yet?” He grabbed his plate, and pulled it closer.

  Rogan chewed, considering the question. “Boxers or briefs. Me, I think a man with your sense of style would go for silk undies, but there’s been some speculation that you might prefer tightie-whities. Something about them making your ass look better in those tailored pants.”

  “You’re a sick son of a bitch, you know that?”

  Rogan laughed, then slapped Josh on his good shoulder. “All the better to mess with you.” He reached over Josh’s arm and stole one more bite before sliding off the wooden bench. “Well, some of us have to work. I’ll come back and check on you in a few to see if you need anything.”

  They watched him limp off and Josh turned to murmur to Clay. “He’s really struggling with this, isn’t he?”

  Clay frowned, his happy glow temporarily dimming. “He’s carrying some misplaced guilt,” he concluded. “It’s sort of like a post-traumatic stress disorder. Max was kidnapped while Rogan was on watch, and he still hasn’t forgiven himself. Strange as it may sound, I think there’s a psychological aspect to why his ankle won’t heal right. It’s almost like he… wants to keep the injury as some kind of reminder. The opposite of a badge of honor. The rest of us have healed, for the most part, tried to put the worst of it behind us – Max still has nightmares; hell I have nightmares, and I know Tate does, too – but for Rogan, this is his personal ball and chain. Until he accepts that he was in no way responsible, he’s not going to be able to focus on healing. And until he heals, he’s not going to be able to move forward. Which is a damn shame where Kim’s concerned.”

  Kim, Clay’s good friend from the Bureau. Josh had met her several times, and she seemed like a great woman. And she must have the patience of a saint to still be interested in Rogan after the past several months.

  But then, he was hardly one to talk. Sam had pushed him away almost ten years ago and he was still a total sucker for her. And speaking of Sam…

  “Aside from your charming company, there’s a reason I asked you to lunch,” Josh informed Clay. “Of a professional nature.”

  “Okay,” Clay shoveled in some food. “Shoot.”

  Josh flipped open the bag which normally held his laptop, filled instead with a large packet of crime scene photos. The packet was thick, as he’d ended up retrieving his camera from the back of his car and taking most of them himself, making certain everything was documented.

  He pulled the photographs out of the manila folder and slid them discreetly across the table. Josh already had his ideas about what had happened, but knowing that his friend would ask the questions he needed to know and preferred not to be sidetracked by extraneous opinions, he said nothing until the other man had flipped through each of the photos. Along with the photographs was a report detailing the stolen television set and items of personal value lost in the destruction.

  “Whoever did this is very frustrated; very angry with the woman who lives here.” Clay glanced up at Josh, his brown eyes sober, then shuffled the photos until he found the one he wanted. It was one showing the shredded remains of Samantha’s underwear. “Was any of the underwear missing?”

  “I don’t know,” Josh answered honestly. “Things were such a mess that… the victim wasn’t able to readily answer that question. The TV was gone, but other than that, nothing else was exactly obvious.”

  “He probably took a pair,” Clay said, “and the TV was just a ruse. What he really wanted was the woman, and he was frustrated that he couldn’t have her. He took out that frustration on her most intimate possessions.” He pulled out another photo, studied it. Glanced at part of the report. “He urinated on her makeup and hygiene products?”

  “Yeah,” Josh was disgusted. “He did.”

  “That sort of action shows both arrogance and contempt. This man has a high opinion of himself, and he hates women and what they represent.”

  “Women in general,” Josh asked, as he pushed his food aside. There was no way he could discuss this
and have an appetite, no matter how good it smelled. “Or this woman in particular?”

  Clay considered, taking another bite of food. He’d seen so much worse in his career that probably nothing messed with his appetite by now. “Well, based solely on what I’ve seen from these photos, I’d lean more toward generalities. This behavior – breaking and entering, targeting a woman’s intimate things – is a fairly common precursor to rape amongst sexual predators. Peeping Toms, voyeurs, burglars, rapists – there’s a thread of obsessive personality that links them. The lesser offenses are stepping stones to rape and murder.” He studied one of the photos of the lingerie again. “The extreme damage done to her personal items in this case shows that this is a man with a great deal of anger toward women. This has been building in him for a while, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s done this before. You may want to look at previous offenders, maybe someone with a record for voyeurism or B and E, but I’m sure you’re already on that. As to the way he trashed the rest of the place, I’d also say he has a tenuous hold on his control. He doesn’t like being thwarted, and he’s angry about not getting his way.”

  “So do you think this guy’s a disorganized offender – aren’t they the ones who strike randomly with a blitz style attack? Lose control of themselves at the scene? Or was it possible he was hopped up on drugs?”

  Clay looked at the photos again. “Did you find any evidence that he used something at the scene to slice up her clothing? Or the cushions on the sofa?”

  “No.” Josh scratched his head. “The victim’s knives were all in the dish washer, which she’d run that morning, and the dishwasher was still locked. And even if it hadn’t been I don’t think the knives she had available would have gotten the job done.”

  “How about scissors?” Clay wondered.

  “The only pair she has she keeps in her purse. They’re the little kind, like you find in sewing kits. And she had her purse with her.”

  “So the perp brought his implement with him.”

  “That’s what I was thinking.”

  “How about prints? Any evidence that he wore gloves?”

  “The results aren’t back yet, but there really weren’t a lot of prints in that apartment. It had been cleaned recently, and I’m betting we’re not going to find much.”

  Clay looked up at him with a raised brow, lips twitching into a lopsided grin. “So then you already figured this guy’s not disorganized.”

  “I suspected,” Josh admitted. “But I wanted to get your opinion.”

  Clay dropped his gaze to the photos. “You know, there almost seems to be a method to the madness. You see how the cabinets and drawers are all uniformly ransacked, the sofa bed not only opened but each cushion sliced precisely? It’s like he was looking for something, but grew frustrated when he didn’t find it. That hole in the plaster?” He pointed to a photo. “Looks like it was made by a fist. So he lashes out, but when that failed to satisfy him, he directed his frustration toward the woman, vicariously through her belongings.”

  That observation threw Josh. “Looking for what?” he wondered.

  “That, I can’t answer. If he’s been peeping on her previously, maybe he had a specific item of hers that he intended to break in to take – something that fueled his fantasy. Maybe he was frustrated when he couldn’t find it. Hell, it could have been a particular pair of panties that he’d seen her wearing, and that’s why he shredded all of the others. He was angry that they weren’t there.”

  “Would he be looking for the underwear in the cabinets?” That didn’t make a lot of sense.

  Clay shrugged. “If this guy has been fantasizing about this woman for a while, mapping out a plan for his attack, he could possibly feel that it’s a game between them, that maybe she hid the underwear – or whatever – from him on purpose. Taunting him, if you will. Now normally, that sort of behavior is more typical of stalkers or what we call power reassurance rapists – the guys who create a sort of imaginary relationship with the victim – than of men who are so filled with contempt that they urinate at the scene. That’s more typical of an anger-retaliatory or exploitative rapist, who spend little time fantasizing beforehand, but strike when the opportunity presents itself, with the goal of dominating and humiliating the victim. Urinating on the woman after or during the course of the attack is fairly common.”

  Josh felt like throwing up. If Sam had been home…

  But he had to approach this like a professional, or he’d miss something important. “This woman received a package the night prior to the attack.” He reached over, pointed to the photo of the negligee. “This article of lingerie arrived on her doorstep, hand delivered, no note or return address. The box was covered in plain brown paper, with nothing more than her name on it, but it came from Intimate Expressions. That’s a –”

  “I know what it is,” Clay interrupted, a grin lighting his face. “Tate got a few… items from there for her bridal shower. They made up for the coffee pot and toaster.”

  Recognizing the look of a well-satisfied man and thinking of Sam back at his condo, Josh shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He’d been trying to avoid imagining Sam in that negligee, and this conversation was definitely not helping. “So,” he said a little gruffly “I was wondering if you thought there could be some connection between the mysterious gift and the B and E.”

  Amused, Clay scooped up the last of his lunch. “Well, gift-giving is an entirely different ballgame from typical rapist behavior. It’s one of the hallmarks of a stalker. It’s an attempt to insinuate himself into his target’s life. Does this, uh, woman have an ex-lover who may have been abusive or domineering?”

  Josh could’ve kicked himself for overlooking Collin. “She was involved in an emotionally volatile relationship about a decade ago,” he admitted. “The man,” asshole “was very controlling. Demeaned her to keep her in line. He was verbally and emotionally abusive.” Josh had heard it for himself. In fact, it was one of the first times he’d ever spoken to Sam. She’d been modeling for his life drawing class for about a week, and he’d been tongue-tied and smitten since the moment he saw her. He’d worked up the courage to ask her out, and followed her from the building after class. She’d met up with an older man, and Josh overheard a piece of their conversation.

  “Did you like letting them look at you?” the man asked derisively. “Did it make you hot?”

  “Shut up, Collin.” Sam had pulled her arm from his grip. “You were the one who suggested I take the job, so why are you making me feel like shit?”

  “Because you are shit,” he told her. “But lucky for you, you’re shit with a good body. If you hadn’t taken a job where you could use your only asset, I’d be supporting your ass again. God knows you’re too stupid to take care of yourself.” Then he’d grabbed her arm again, tightly, fingers biting into her arm. Sam winced, and Josh had almost gone to help her. But she’d turned, caught a glimpse of him, her face ashen with humiliation. So he’d pretended that he hadn’t overheard, but after that he’d watched her like a hawk. When she was modeling for the class, he’d been able to peruse her body. He never saw any signs of physical violence, which was lucky for both him and Collin. Because if Josh thought the man had ever raised his hand to Sam, he would have beat him within an inch of his life.

  As it stood, Josh realized that the best approach was to befriend Samantha slowly, and convince her that she deserved better. By the time the semester was over, Sam was on the verge of leaving Collin and had regained some of her self-worth. Josh had been waiting until she’d had time to heal before he made a move in a romantic direction, but Sam had up and left before anything could happen. He knew it had been the right decision not to push or take advantage of her vulnerability, but he still kicked himself for letting her get away.

  And now, he’d finally found her again and they were right back where they’d started. A domineering asshole was trying to ruin Sam’s life, but this time, it wasn’t going to happen. Not only was he not going to let
Sam slip away again, but Sam herself was much stronger.

  “Josh?” Clay snapped his fingers in front of him. “You still with me?”

  “I’m sorry.” Josh blinked. “What was I saying?”

  “You were saying that this… woman had an abusive ex.”

  Okay, so Clay wasn’t stupid. “I’ll have to remember never to play poker with you or Chris Sullivan. How long have you known this was about Sam?”

  “I suspected as much when you called me. By that point I already knew she’d moved into your apartment. And since you called me to set up lunch rather than running home to be with her, I figured you had her there not so much for amorous reasons as for safety precautions. When you couldn’t eat while we talked about this, I knew for certain it was personal. But for the record, your poker face wasn’t half bad.”

  “Gee, thanks.” Josh blew out a semi-amused breath. “Damn, Copeland. You’re good.”

  “That’s what Tate tells me every night. But seriously, Josh, about this ex – is there a possibility he’s in the picture?”

  “It was about eight, almost nine years ago,” Josh informed him, “and to be honest, I checked up on him probably five years back. He’d moved to California, was married with a couple little kids. I know that doesn’t preclude him from being a suspect, but do you really think that’s the direction I should be looking?”

  Clay rubbed his chin while he considered. “A couple things lead me to believe this is someone known to Samantha. One – there was no name besides hers on the package. Now, that either means our guy is shy, lacks confidence, or doesn’t want her to know he sent it for whatever reason, or the guy is so arrogant and sure of the situation that he believes she should have no doubt that it came from him. That goes right along with a controlling ex; a man who thinks of her as his possession. He wouldn’t feel the need to identify himself because she’s completely and irrevocably his. And urinating at the scene – once again, an act of contempt and humiliation.”