Three (Count to Ten Book 3)

by Jane Blythe

  “If she’s known for over thirty-five years, then why would she kill him now?” Belinda looked puzzled.

  “According to her sister, Eve has recently been diagnosed with cervical cancer. The human papillomavirus causes most types of cervical cancer. It’s sexually transmitted; she blamed Roman,” Ryan explained.

  “Her stressor,” Belinda nodded understandingly.

  “To make things worse,” Ryan added, “the sister said Roman forced Eve to have sex with him. Said Eve didn’t want to sleep with Roman anymore, was okay with remaining married so she could have the benefits of Roman’s money, but she didn’t want to be intimate anymore. Roman had other ideas.”

  “Marital rape is hard to prove,” Belinda pointed out. “If it’s true, though, she may use it as part of her defense. It could make her sympathetic to a jury, especially with her medical diagnosis. Anyone you talk to give you any other suspects?”

  “No one could think of anyone who would want to hurt Roman,” Ryan replied. “And,” anticipating his boss’ next question, “no one knew of any other girlfriends or boyfriends. Roman’s closest friend said two women were all he could deal with at any one time.” He cast a concerned glance at Paige as she looked at her phone, and then stood and began to pace. “Everything okay?”

  “Fine,” Paige replied, stopping abruptly and turning back to the table. Partway back, she began to sway.

  Darting to her side, Ryan wrapped a hand around Paige’s arm to steady her. “Easy, I got you. Are you okay?”

  “A little light-headed,” Paige murmured, pressing her eyes closed.

  Belinda pushed a chair over, and Ryan lowered his partner down into it, then crouched at her side, reaching for her wrist to check her pulse. With Eve Hitacheel’s medical diagnosis in mind, he was conjuring up all sorts of reasons for Paige’s faintness—none of them good.

  “Should I call an ambulance?” Belinda asked, phone already in hand.

  “No,” Paige opened her eyes. “I'm fine. Really. I've been a little distracted today and haven’t eaten anything. I'm sure that’s why I was a little faint.”

  Raising a doubtful eyebrow, Belinda looked to him, “How’s her pulse?”

  “Too fast for my liking,” Ryan replied. “What’s going on with you?” he asked Paige.

  Before his partner could reply, the door swung open and Stephanie bustled in, her gaze immediately going to Paige. Her hazel eyes narrowed in concern, “What’s wrong with Paige?”

  “Nothing,” Paige insisted.

  “She nearly passed out,” Ryan supplied with a small frown at his partner. He didn’t understand why Paige wouldn’t just tell him what was wrong. Usually she talked to him about everything. He remembered back when Paige and Elias had just started dating, and she was upset because she thought he was cheating on her; it had taken him all of two minutes to get that out of her. Why was she shutting him out now when something was obviously upsetting her to the point where it was affecting her physically?

  Setting her papers on the table, Stephanie took Paige’s other wrist.

  “Ryan already did that,” Paige murmured.

  Ignoring her, Stephanie turned to him and Belinda, “Her pulse is racing. Why is she still here? I’ll call an ambulance.”

  “I don’t need an ambulance,” Paige insisted. “Really, I probably just need to eat something and get a good night’s sleep.”

  “All right,” Ryan reluctantly agreed. “But I'm calling Elias to come and pick you up.” Paige merely nodded her assent, which did nothing to ease his concern. Standing, he pushed the chair—with Paige still in it—closer to the table. “Put your head down,” he gently pressed on Paige’s shoulders. Folding her arms on the table, Paige rested her forehead on them.

  “I’ll call Elias,” Belinda dialed Paige’s husband and walked to a corner of the room.

  “How was Sofia when you saw her?” Ryan asked Stephanie.

  She shifted her worried gaze from Paige to him. “She was pretty upset, but Jack was doing a good job at calming her down. She didn’t want to take the sleeping pills, but Jack managed to convince her that you would worry less about her if she was getting some rest. He’d set her up on the couch in the living room so he could keep an eye on her while she slept. When I left, she was just drifting off.”

  That made Ryan feel better. If Sofia was asleep, then she wasn’t driving herself crazy with worry. Typically, she wasn’t a big worrier, but her nerves had taken a battering lately. “Did you find anything in the house? Or any fingerprints on the card or flowers?”

  She shook her head. “Sadly, it doesn’t look like I'm going to find anything useful. We know in the past he’s never left fingerprints, and it seems like he’s been just as careful this time. I’ll keep looking, though. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

  “Elias is on his way,” Belinda announced. “I’ll go with you, Ryan, to arrest Eve Hitacheel.”

  “That’s what I came to talk to you guys about,” Stephanie’s hazel eyes were grave.

  A sinking feeling in his gut hinted that he wasn’t going to like what Stephanie was about to say. “What did you find?”

  “There were some useable prints from the hotel room,” Stephanie began.

  His mood lightened. “Well, that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yes,” Stephanie nodded.

  “They weren’t Eve Hitacheel’s?” Belinda asked.

  “No.”

  Stephanie’s one-word answers were disconcerting. “Did you get a hit in AFIS?” If their killer was in the Automated Fingerprint Identification System, then they could go and pick her up immediately. Ryan didn’t see why Stephanie was acting as though this were a bad thing.

  “Yes.”

  “And?” Paige prompted, lifting her head.

  “Head back down,” he and Stephanie said simultaneously, each pushing softly on her shoulders. Paige rolled her eyes but complied.

  “And?” Ryan turned back to Stephanie. “What’re they wanted for?”

  “Murder. Several counts of murder,” Stephanie replied.

  “Well that’s no surprise, given how coldly calculated Roman’s murder was.” His brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s up, Steph? Why are you being so evasive? Whose fingerprints were they?”

  Anxious hazel eyes looked back at him. “They’re Isabella’s.”

  Shocked and disbelieving, “Sofia’s Isabella?”

  “Yes, I'm sorry, Ryan. Isabella was in that hotel room. It doesn’t prove that she’s the killer, but she was there, and given what she did to her family, it’s logical that she was the one who murdered Roman Hitacheel.”

  * * * * *

  9:41 P.M.

  She was giddy.

  Could a fifty-eight-year-old woman be giddy?

  Helena Mendleson wasn’t sure, but what she felt whenever she was with Tyler certainly felt like giddiness. That feeling hadn't left her since she first met Tyler almost eighteen months ago.

  She had thought things were over for her in the love department. And they had been for a long time. The love of her life had died just three years after they were married, leaving her with eight-month-old twins to raise on her own. It had been hard—and lonely—work, but she had managed. Sometimes just by the skin of her teeth. Her son and daughter were all grown up now, in their thirties, and both were happily married with kids of their own. Helena loved being a grandmother but she had known that something was missing in her life.

  While raising her kids, she had been too busy to even think about dating anyone else. And her love for her deceased husband was still so strong that even the idea of dating had felt like she’d be cheating on him. But once she was all alone she had realized just how lonely she was.

  After a few awful dates, she had met Tyler Mendleson. Her life had changed from that second on. Her kids and Tyler’s three daughters had all been happy to see their parents find happiness with someone after so many years alone. And her second wedding ceremony had been as small and intimate as her first one had b
een a huge, over-the-top celebration.

  Now, it was like all those sad years had been wiped away. She still loved her first husband with all her heart, but she had found a way to love someone else, too. And even thought it would never take away what she and Jacob had had, and their two beautiful children, she was glad that she had met Tyler.

  “Ready to go?”

  She looked up at Tyler, at the love shining from his sparkling brown eyes. Helena nodded.

  Taking her hand, he led her out of the restaurant and into the cold night. As the initial slap of icy air faded, Helena suddenly had the feeling that someone was watching them. Turning her head, she scanned the parking lot. There were a reasonable number of cars parked there, but it was too dark for her to see if anyone sat inside one of them watching. The park was across the street, full of trees and places to hide. Helena shivered.

  “Cold?” Tyler asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

  Helena leaned into him, but his warm body did nothing to ease the feeling of watchful eyes following her every move.

  JANUARY 10th

  1:24 A.M.

  “Sofia.”

  Her name barely penetrated her haze. She was running. As fast as she could. But she wasn’t getting anywhere. Isabella and a faceless man were chasing her.

  “I'm sorry, Sofia; you shouldn’t exist,” Isabella told her calmly, a knife clutched tightly in one hand.

  “Sofia.”

  She tried to get away from her crazy sister but suddenly Isabella was standing beside her. “I don’t want to. I must. You shouldn’t exist. I'm sorry,” Isabella pleaded.

  “Sofia. Wake up.”

  Now she was lying on a bed in a small room. Isabella standing above her. The knife blade glinted as it came toward her. Her sister stabbed her repeatedly.

  Sofia thrashed. Desperately trying to avoid the knife

  “Sofia, it’s Ryan. It’s just a nightmare.”

  Gasping, she raised a hand to her sweat-streaked forehead, and her eyes popped open to see Ryan kneeling in front of her. As she’d fought Isabella in her dreams she had backed herself up against the headboard. “It was just a dream?” she asked Ryan. It had felt so real that she couldn’t quite believe it wasn’t.

  “Just a dream, cupcake,” Ryan assured her, lifting a hand from her shoulder to brush her sweat-dampened hair from her face. “Are you okay?” his worried blue eyes were assessing her.

  Sniffing, she gave a small nod. Memories from the previous evening flooded her mind. Her stalker was back, and she had no idea how to make him leave her alone because she didn’t even know who he was. Glancing at the window, it was dark outside. “What time did you come home?”

  “It was close to midnight.” Ryan gently slid her down so she was lying on her back, pulled the covers over her, then settled beside her. “You were completely out cold, didn’t even stir when I carried you up.”

  Pressing her trembling body closer to Ryan’s, Jack had convinced her to take some sleeping pills only because he had insisted that Ryan would feel better about being stuck at work if he knew she was resting, and by promising he’d keep watch over her in case her stalker returned. Thinking of Jack, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Ryan’s older brother was keeping watch downstairs. “Jack still here?”

  “Yes, he thought I'd sleep better if he stayed. I hate that that man broke in while you were here alone.” Ryan’s voice was fierce.

  Catching on to where this was heading, she said, “I won't be a prisoner, Ryan. You can't be with me all the time. And neither can Jack or Paige,” she added. “I don’t think I'm in any physical danger; my stalker has never tried to hurt me before.”

  “Doesn’t mean he won't,” Ryan sounded terrified.

  “I know that,” a shudder racked through her.

  He gripped her tighter. “I know I can't lock you up somewhere so he can't get you, but it doesn’t mean I don’t worry about you.”

  Whether it was the emotional turmoil of the last few months wearing her down, her stalker’s visit, or the lingering effects of the sleeping pills, Sofia was finding herself feeling weepy and self-pitying, and tears sprang to her eyes. “I'm sorry; you’ve worried about me enough lately. And you have a new case. I'm sorry my dramas keep distracting you.”

  Beside her Ryan stiffened. “Don’t talk like that,” he said darkly. Sitting up, he pulled her up with him. “I love you, and it isn’t your fault that someone is stalking you or that Isabella went off the deep end.”

  Sofia’s head knew that but her heart refused to believe it. She was Isabella’s sister. If anyone should have seen how unstable she was, it was her.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  The trepidation in Ryan’s blue eyes scared her. “What is it?” her voice trembled.

  Reaching for her hands, he clutched them tightly, his thumbs absently brushing backward and forward across her knuckles. “This new case. There was a development yesterday. Stephanie found something at the crime scene. She, uh…she found some fingerprints…”

  “Just tell me, Ryan.” The longer Ryan delayed, the more her mind was conjuring up all sorts of terrifying scenarios. Because of Ryan’s history with his fiancée’s suicide, he had a fear of saying or doing the wrong thing with her. This often led to him putting off telling her anything he thought would upset her. She understood his fear, but right now, she just needed to know.

  “I'm so sorry, cupcake, the fingerprints were Isabella’s.”

  The bed seemed to tilt beneath her, the sound of blood rushing in her ears drowned out everything else, and white spots began to dance in front of her eyes. What Ryan had just told her couldn’t be true. Isabella was gone. She wasn’t still killing people. There was no reason for her fingerprints to turn up at a crime scene.

  “Sofia? Honey, don’t pass out on me,” Ryan’s voice penetrated her haze.

  Slumping against Ryan’s hard chest, fresh tears filled her eyes, and spilled out in noisy sobs. “No, I don’t believe you,” she clawed desperately at denial. “Isabella has no reason to keep killing. Our whole family is already dead.”

  Technically that wasn’t quite true, as well as herself and Isabella, there were their father’s other two young daughters, and their grandfather’s baby daughter. However, the only two legitimate children her father had had lived in Europe with their maternal grandparents. And Isabella had taken the baby—who was both Isabella’s sister and aunt—with her when she ran off—leaving Sofia, for all intents and purposes, all alone in the world. At least alone in terms of biological family. She had Ryan, and he meant the world to her.

  “Shh,” Ryan soothed, his hand stroking up and down her spine. “I'm sorry, but it is true. Isabella’s fingerprints were found at a murder scene, but that doesn’t mean she’s the killer.”

  They both knew that wasn’t true. If her fingerprints were there, then she had done it. As much as Sofia hated knowing that Isabella was still killing, the knowledge that her sister was still close by was oddly comforting. “I thought she was slipping away,” she whispered against Ryan’s chest. “I thought we’d never find her. I want her caught. I want her someplace where she can't hurt anyone else, where she can't hurt herself. I want to be able to go and visit her. I hate what she did, but I still love her, and I miss her.” More tears came tumbling out, and she clung to Ryan, sagging against him with a heaving sigh when her tears were spent.

  “We’ll find her; I promise.” Ryan pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Is that why you were upset earlier? You felt like with every bit of progress you made getting better, your sister was slipping farther and farther away from you?”

  She should be amazed that Ryan knew her well enough to figure out what was going on inside her head, but she wasn’t. That Ryan was so good at reading her was just one of the many things she loved about him. “It’s stupid, I know,” she murmured, embarrassed.

  He pressed her tighter against him. “It’s not stupid. You lost a lot. Including your own identity.”<
br />
  Stiffening, Sofia didn’t want to discuss her true parentage. She tried to pull away. “I'm tired. I think I’ll go back to sleep.”

  Ryan refused to release her. “We’ll sleep soon. Talk to me, Sofia.”

  “I don’t . . .” she began to protest.

  “Please,” Ryan interrupted.

  The single nicety spurred her into acquiescing. Letting out a shuddering breath, she confessed what had been bothering her the most the last eight months. “I shouldn’t exist.”

  He pulled her back so he could look her in the eye, perplexed outrage on his face. “What are you talking about?”

  “Logan forced himself on Gloria. He raped her. She didn’t willingly sleep with him. He was her fourteen-year-old stepson. She didn’t want to get pregnant. She didn’t want me. She didn’t treat me any different than Logan, Lewis, Lincoln or Isabella. She knew I shouldn’t exist,” she finished on a hiccupping sob.

  He grabbed her chin so she had to keep looking at him. “Sofia, that is not true.”

  She yanked her face free. “Of course it is.” She heard the hysteria creeping into her voice. “Gloria never acted like a mother to me. How could she? Every time she looked at me she remembered how I was conceived. She hated me. She hated having to see me every day. She hated that I existed. She wished I didn’t. She knew I shouldn’t. She knew she should have aborted me while she had the chance . . .”

  “Stop, baby. Shh,” Ryan pressed a finger to her lips to silence her.

  Another wave of crying wracked through her. Her chest ached as it heaved, her eyes burned, and she felt drained. Physically and emotionally. She didn’t want to cry anymore. She didn’t want to feel like she shouldn’t be alive. And yet, she didn’t know how to stop feeling that way.