by Paula Graves
“It was hot in the office, so I thought I’d take my work home,” she answered simply.
“Oh, so you live near here?”
The tree-lined street no longer seemed so free of danger. “Was there a particular reason you flagged me down?” she asked, erasing her smile. She didn’t want him to get any wrong ideas about the nature of their relationship.
“I heard there was another one of those murders,” Tyler said, cocking his head to one side. “I hear you’re doing some paper on them. I wondered if you could use some help.”
She couldn’t decide whether or not it was safe to relax her guard. After all, this wasn’t the first time a student had expressed interest in her work. To some kids, murder investigations probably seemed exciting, even glamorous.
Of course, that perception rarely lasted past their first face-to-face encounter with a dead body.
“I appreciate the offer, Tyler, but I have to do the work on my own. You understand.”
“I know you talk to the police. You get help from them, don’t you?” Tyler took a couple of steps forward, brushing his sandy hair out of his face. “Like that cop you were seeing. You’re not still seeing him, are you?”
Alarm it is, she thought. “Tyler, my personal life isn’t an appropriate topic of conversation between us. Do you understand that?”
His mouth flattened with annoyance. “You’re not that much older than I am. Hardly at all.”
“I’m your teacher. Age is irrelevant.” As he looked ready to argue, she quickly added, “I have to go. I have plans to meet a friend for dinner.” She started to walk away.
“A date?” he asked.
She swung around to face him. “None of your business.”
He held up his hands as if in defeat. “God, you feminist types can be real bitches.”
She bit back a retort, knowing that arguing with him would only escalate the situation. Instead, she turned and walked away, deliberately passing her street and walking on, not wanting him to know where she lived.
She circled the block and came in from the other end of the street, scanning the area carefully to make sure Tyler hadn’t followed her. Ahead, her apartment building slumbered like an elegant old lady, a little worn by time but still retaining the essence of beauty she must have possessed in her youth. Alicia felt a surprising surge of affection for the place as she climbed the steps and headed for her front door, keys in hand.
She stopped short in front of the faded welcome mat, spotting a white, letter-sized envelope propped against the front door. Her name was printed in block letters on the front.
She looked around quickly, the hair on her arms standing on end. Did Tyler know where she lived, after all?
Seeing no one watching her, Alicia crouched and picked up the envelope. There was nothing on it but her name.
With a sinking sensation in her belly that she didn’t want to think about too closely, she slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, certain it was a quick goodbye note from Gabe Cooper. She’d pushed him too hard that morning, forced him to delve into areas of his mind he wasn’t ready to examine.
Or worse, had he sensed her attraction to him and decided to nip things in the bud before she embarrassed herself further? She didn’t know whether to feel humiliated or relieved.
The envelope came open and all thoughts of Gabe Cooper fled when she pulled out the contents, a single three-by-five index card. On the lined side were three words, written in the same heavy block lettering as her name on the front.
“You are 22,” she read aloud, her brow creasing.
She flipped the card over to see if there was anything else written on the card. It was otherwise blank.
She rose to her feet, puzzling over the note. She was 22? What the hell did that mean?
Her cell phone rang, making her jump. She slid the card back in the envelope and pulled her phone from the side pocket of her briefcase. “Hello?”
“Alicia, it’s Gabe Cooper. I’m at last night’s crime scene and I think I found something strange. How soon can you get here?”
ALICIA SOLANO’S SMALL FORD Focus pulled into the abandoned parking lot across the street from the convenience store and parked beside Gabe’s truck. He got out to greet her, noting that unlike yesterday, she was dressed in a form-fitting yellow sundress that showed off her toned arms and shapely legs. The color emphasized the honey tones of her skin and the hair spilling around her shoulders in thick, dark waves.
“You said you found something strange?” She didn’t bother with a greeting, just crossed to his side in a couple of purposeful strides. “Why did you come back here?”
“To see if I could remember anything I might have overlooked the night I found the body.”
Now that she was here, he was beginning to doubt his own motives. What he found might be interesting. It could also be nothing. Had he just called her up and lured her here to give him an excuse to see her again?
“It could be nothing,” he said, gesturing for her to walk with him across the street, to where yellow caution tape blocked off the store and parking lot.
He led her around to the side of the convenience store building, which consisted of a plain brick wall. It was completely blank, except for a large black “21” spray painted onto the bricks near the back of the building.
Alicia let out a soft gasp.
Gabe turned to look at her, surprised to find her staring at the wall with alarm. Her face seemed pale beneath her golden tan and she turned her dark eyes to his.
“What is it?”
She looked back at the wall. “Twenty-one.”
He nodded. “Does that mean anything?”
“Do you have a handkerchief? Or maybe a napkin?”
He didn’t have a handkerchief, but he’d gone to a drive-through restaurant for lunch and there should be some leftover napkins in the bag on his passenger seat. He fetched one and returned to her. “What’s going on?”
She took the napkin and reached into her pocket, pulling out a white envelope with her name printed on it in blocky black letters. She handed it to Gabe, taking care to hold the napkin in place. “Use the napkin to hold it. I may have already ruined any chance of getting prints off it, but—”
He took the envelope, tearing the napkin in two pieces so he could open it without letting his fingers touch the paper. Inside, he found a small index card. On the card, the words “You are 22” were written in the same handwriting.
“Damn,” he said aloud.
“It has to be connected, don’t you think?” She looked at him, her expression tinged with hope that he’d contradict her.
“I don’t know.”
“Can we be sure that’s fresh paint?”
“It is. I went under the caution tape to check. It’s dry on the wall, but some of it dripped down onto some trash on the ground, including a register tape dated yesterday evening around eight o’clock.” Seeing the look of fear in her eyes, he wished he could have given her a different answer. “I didn’t touch it. Just looked at it. I think maybe you should call your friend in the police department. This could be important.”
“I don’t remember anything like this at the other murder scenes.” Alicia’s voice came out in a raspy half-whisper. She was hugging her arms as if she were cold, although it was as hot as hell out here in the full sun.
He cupped her elbow, feeling her arm tremble at his touch. “Why don’t you go on back to your place? I’ll call the cops, tell them what I found.”
“No, I’ll call them.” She lifted her chin. “You should go. They might be wondering why you came back to the crime scene. Don’t want them putting you back on the suspect list.”
He gestured with the envelope he still held. “This could very well mean you’re a target. I’m not leaving here without you. No way.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide and dark. “I have a friend who’s a police officer. I’ll call him. He’ll know the best way to handle this.” She pulled her phone from
the pocket of her sundress and dialed a number. A moment later, she said, “Hi, Tony, it’s Alicia.”
She seemed to know this Tony person well, her tone friendly and, on occasion, almost intimate. She’d mentioned she used to date a cop. He guessed this Tony must be the guy.
Alicia hung up the phone. “Tony’s on the way. He’s not actually investigating this case, but I already convinced him to look into Victor Logan’s driving history, so he sort of has a vested interest.”
“Is Tony the ex-boyfriend?” Gabe kept his voice light.
Alicia shot him an odd look. “I told you about him?”
“I think you said he helped you get access to files and other material.”
“Right.” Her eyes strayed back to the spray painting on the brick wall of the convenience store.
“How long were you together?”
“Only four months. Our schedules didn’t mesh—his work, my work. I guess we just didn’t really want the relationship enough to make it work.”
He’d had a few relationships like that. Most of his relationships had been like that, really. Women had trouble understanding why he’d drop everything to go on another wild goose chase to find out who killed his sister-in-law.
He’d canceled his share of dates and getaway weekends over the years when another lead cropped up unexpectedly. None of his girlfriends had ever really understood his stake in the investigation.
Of course, he’d never told any of them the truth about his own terrible connection to the murder, had he? He’d been too ashamed, too guilty about his mistakes to share the truth with any of the women he’d dated over the past decade. Maybe if he had, one of them would have understood what drove him and supported his decisions instead of walking away.
But he’d never told anyone. Not because he didn’t think they’d understand and maybe even support him.
He was beginning to suspect it was because he was afraid they would. He was afraid one of them would hear the whole story and try to convince him he was being too hard on himself. And maybe, if he’d heard it enough, he might start to believe.
He couldn’t do that. His brother had spent the last twelve years without the love of his life. He had a lifetime of grief and loss ahead of him because of what Gabe had done. Cissy and her brother Mike had lived most of their lives without their mother and they’d spend the rest of their lives without her.
How could he bear even a hint of happiness when he’d brought such loss to people he loved so much?
“I’ve found only fifteen murders I thought were connected,” Alicia murmured, drawing his thoughts back to their more pressing problem. “I thought I was thorough. But if these numbers mean what I think they mean—”
“Why now?” Gabe asked. “There was no number left at Brenda’s crime scene. And as thorough as you seem to have been, I would think you’d have noticed if other numbers had been left at other crime scenes.”
“I went to the other two crime scenes—one five days afterwards, then the very next morning on the second one, once I realized they were probably connected.” Alicia leaned against the side of Gabe’s truck, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “There was nothing like this at those scenes.”
“So why now?” he repeated. “That note—it was a message to you. It had your name on it.”
“Whoever’s doing this knows I’m investigating the murders,” Alicia said flatly. “They’ve decided I’m their next target.”
“So why warn you?”
She shook her head. “It’s a game? They want to show me they’re smarter than me—so smart they can give me a warning and still defeat me?”
Gabe’s chest tightened with anger. If those sons of bitches thought he was going to let them get to this woman, they’d badly overestimated their power. “Well, that’s not going to happen. You’re not alone like those other women. You’re not going to be alone.”
“I live alone. I walk to work and back every day, alone—”
“No more of that. You drive everywhere. No more walking alone.” Gabe crossed to where she leaned against the truck, putting his hand on her shoulder. “And no living alone, either. I know you’ve got neighbors all around you, but that note proves the killers think they can get to you regardless. So you’re not living alone, either.”
“So, what—I get myself a roommate and now she’s in danger, too?” Alicia shook her head firmly. “I’m not putting another woman in danger.”
“Not a woman.” Gabe leaned toward her. “Me.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “You?”
“I’ve got enough money in savings to pay my bills for a couple of months. I don’t have to go back home until we fix this.” Even as he fleshed out his impromptu offer, Gabe realized just what he was offering. He was putting himself on the line between Alicia and at least one of the men who’d killed his sister-in-law.
And how had that worked out the last time?
“I can’t ask you to do that,” Alicia protested.
“You didn’t ask.” Gabe pushed away his doubts. What other choice did he have? Walk away and let her fight the monsters alone? That wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll sleep on the sofa. I’ll drive you to work and pick you up when you’re done.”
“And what do you do in the interim—watch soaps and eat ice cream?” She gave him a skeptical look.
“I’ll do a little investigating on my own,” he replied. “I have training. I have a few police contacts of my own. And I’ve got nothing but time.”
Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated his offer. “We share notes? No haring off on your own?”
He smiled at the suspicion in her voice. “If you’ll promise the same.”
She was silent for a moment. Then she nodded. “Okay.”
Gabe released a pent up breath.
What the hell was he doing?
Chapter Eight
“You should be in protective custody.” Tony Evans shot Alicia a sharp look as he returned from investigating the spray painting on the brick wall.
“I’ll have protection.” She slid a quick glance at Gabe, who had remained across the road in the abandoned parking lot where his truck and her Ford were parked. She’d crossed with Tony to show him the evidence that the crime scene technicians had missed.
“If this guy’s targeting you—”
“These guys,” she corrected, keeping her voice light to hide her growing sense of dread.
“Whatever.” Tony didn’t exactly buy into her theory of two killers working together. She didn’t know why—such a situation wasn’t unprecedented.
“You know serial killers sometimes work in pairs, Tony. Bianchi and Buono, the Copelands, Graham and Wood—”
“Yeah, but if your theory is right, one of these guys switches partners like a woman changes shoes.”
“He changed partners once that we know of,” she argued. “Victor Logan went to jail for running down Micah Davis, so he was out of commission for a few years. The alpha didn’t have his beta partner anymore, so he found someone else.”
“The younger guy.” Tony had been the one who helped her get her hands on the statements of Jake Cooper and his wife Mariah, from the month before. They’d witnessed Victor Logan’s death and had provided the tantalizing information that Logan had been cooperating with a younger, unidentified man shortly before his death.
Jake Cooper’s wife, Mariah, who’d considered Victor Logan a mentor and a friend up until the time he killed her lover Micah, had been convinced that Victor was the man who’d killed Brenda Cooper. But Gabe’s brother Jake wasn’t as sure, pointing out that Victor’s style of violence was more personal and indirect than a killer who found great pleasure in nearly gutting his victims with his own hand.
“I think it’s possible the alpha’s hooked up with a younger guy, yes.”
Tony gave her a look that was somewhere between concern and exasperation. “You know most of the guys in the detective squad think you’re a nut.”
She lifted he
r chin. “What about you?”
“Oh, I’ve always thought you were a nut,” he said with a grin. “But you’re just so damned cute, I overlook it.”
She lightly punched his arm. “Seriously.”
“Seriously? I think you’re probably onto something, and right now, it’s scaring the hell out of me.” He tugged a lock of her hair. “I know we’re not together anymore and I’m totally on board with that—you were right that we’d never work together. But I still care and the thought of that guy—those guys—being after you full-bore—”
She caught his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be careful. Gabe’s going to play bodyguard—”
Tony’s gaze wandered across the road to where Gabe stood beside his truck, his arms folded. He had been watching them the whole time; Alicia practically felt the weight of his gaze on her. “What do you know about this Cooper guy? Is he connected to Jake and Mariah Cooper?”
“He’s Jake Cooper’s brother.”
“Which makes him the brother-in-law of Brenda Cooper,” Tony added, glancing across the road. “He has his own stake in solving these murders. And that concerns me.”
“Why?”
“What if his agenda clashes with yours? Is he going to put you at risk to get what he wants?”
Alicia looked across the road. Gabe seemed to be staring a hole through her. “He seems to be a man of his word. I believe him when he says he wants to help keep me safe while we investigate these cases.”
“While we investigate?” Tony echoed. “He’s playing private eye, too?”
“He’s a deputy back in Chickasaw County,” Alicia defended. But honesty compelled her to add. “Part-time auxiliary.”
“Which basically means he’s called in for manhunts, emergency search-and-rescue and the occasional natural disaster,” Tony replied, his tone dismissive. “Great.”
A surge of annoyance heated Alicia’s face. “Oh, well I’ll just have to tell him to go home now,” she retorted. “Because protective custody in a fleabag motel with some geriatric Millbridge cop ogling me all night would be so much better.”