“If that’s what you want I’ll try, Red.”
His sexy smirk set her pulse racing. “And stop calling me Red. I have a name.”
The sexual tension between them made it very hard for her to focus, but they managed to go over the case. Randy agreed with her that the victims had nothing in common, and while the killer’s methods were consistent, there were two variations in each case: the type of flower and the object stuffed in their mouths.
“I think our first step is to track down the source of the flowers. They’re not something your average florist shop keeps in stock. In fact, a couple of them have to be special ordered.”
He stroked his jaw. “Or he grows them himself.”
Becca nodded. “Yes, that’s a definite possibility. We should check out stores in the area first.”
“Sure, we’ll tell them we’re planning our wedding.”
His lopsided grin brought a smile to her lips. “If you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’ll meet you at the bikes.”
Randy hung onto the railing and expelled a long breath. How am I going to be her partner when all I want to do is replay the incredible night we shared so long ago?
She locked her back door and without giving it a second thought, he took her in his arms and captured her mouth in a kiss.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. Anger flashed in her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Red. I had to get that out of the way if I have a hope in hell of working with you on this case.”
“It cannot happen again. Do I make myself clear?” Becca stormed off, stomping down the steps and jogging to her bike.
Randy ran a thumb over his lips and smiled. For one brief moment before pulling away, she kissed him back.
Normally he was the decision maker, but it seemed his new partner fully intended on taking the lead. Fine by me. He was thoroughly enjoying the view of her oh-so-sweet ass, straddling a mighty fine turquoise and cream Harley. Her obvious comfort in the saddle told of a seasoned rider.
Under any other circumstances, blue skies and the sun’s warm rays were an open invitation to ride. Unfortunately, with a guy like The Florist on the loose, there wouldn’t be any afternoon runs to the water until they found him.
Randy followed Becca into the parking area out front of Jack’s Flowers. After parking and walking across the parking lot to the front door, no words were exchanged. The jingle of a bell announced their arrival. An overwhelming wave of floral ambrosia caused him to sneeze. He’d never seen so many flowers in one place. Potted plants, decorative foliage, and freshly cut arrangements filled the small shop on either side of a narrow path to the counter.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” A silver-haired man, his shoulders slightly hunched, stood behind a wooden counter.
Becca offered her hand. “Hi there. My name is Becca, and this is my...” She looked in his direction. “Fiancé, Randy.”
He stifled a laugh at her obvious discomfort. “We’re hoping you can help us. We’re looking for very specific flowers for our big day.”
The store-owner stroked his stubbly chin. “Well, I’ll sure try. What kind of flowers are we talking about?”
From her inside pocket she took a folder paper and smoothed it out on the counter. “White orchids.”
The shop owner whistled long and low. “That sure is one pretty specimen.”
Randy caught a flash of disappointment in his new partner’s eyes. He stepped up to stand beside her. “Are they something you carry here?”
“I don’t keep orchids in stock, but I can special order them, that is if you’re not in too much of a hurry.”
“No, that’s fine. We’re in a time crunch. Thanks for your help.” She took back the picture, refolding it on her way out of the store.
Randy held the door open and followed her outside. “One down, how many to go?”
Becca offered a weak smile. “Too many.”
He tasted the blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, and Jeffery Dunn lay at his feet, out cold.
“Did you really think you’d get out of your punishment so easily?”
Despite the fucker’s lame attempt to overpower him, the butt end of his gun connected with the side of the man’s skull hard enough to render him unconscious.
There will be no second chances for you, buddy.
He bound his hands and feet, even tied his knees together for good measure before dragging him over and up onto the couch. Next, he secured his head with heavy tape.
Jeffery mumbled incoherently, struggling against the rope. His eyes flew open. “What the hell is going on?”
He tilted back his head and laughed. “If it wasn’t for guys like you, I’d be with my one true love, and she’d still be alive.”
“Who would? You must have the wrong guy. I have no idea what you’re talking about. How about you untie me and we’ll just forget any of this ever happened?”
From his bag, he pulled out basketball netting. “Maybe this will give you a clue. Do you remember the last time you saw one of these?”
Jeffery’s face turned beet red. “You’re fucking nuts! You’re talking crazy-talk.”
“I’ve heard enough from you.” Before Jeffery could say another word, he stuffed the netting in his victim’s mouth.
Anger and fear dueled in the guy’s bulging eyes. He struggled against his bindings as he gagged and made a futile attempt to spit the netting out.
“Do you remember watching a kid shooting hoops with his dad...and how jealous you were? Do you recall how you were angry enough to aim your car at the little guy later that night?”
Jeffery froze—a hint of recognition in his too-bright eyes.
“It’s going to give me great pleasure shutting your mouth for good.”
The last two lines of the journal entry urged him on.
If the boy hadn’t jumped into the bushes, he’ would’ve been seriously hurt, or even killed. Should I be scared? Is Jeffery envious of me?
The needle slid through his lips easily. He’d become quite the accomplished tailor. A slow smile of satisfaction played on his lips as Jeffery’s eyes roll back in his head. Afterward, he meticulously cleaned up around the stitches and then took out his revolver.
The sound of him smacking Jeffery’s cheeks broke the silence. “Wakie, wakie! You don’t want to miss the grand finale, do you?”
Jeffery opened his eyes to stare down the muzzle of the gun. His eyes brimmed with tears as he watched The Florist take position at the end of the sofa.
“Paybacks are a bitch, asshole.”
Chapter Six
She suddenly spun around, reaching for her gun.
“Whoa!” Randy raised his hands.
Becca gulped for air, struggling to catch her breath. “Don’t sneak up on people. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
He stepped back. “Sorry, I just wanted to ask if you’d like some coffee, but apparently caffeine is the last thing you need.”
Blowing out a rush of pent-up frustration, Becca lowered herself to the curb and pushed her fingers through her tangled hair. What I need is sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the crime photos of all those vacant eyes haunted her, the disturbing image of their mouths sewn shut, emblazoned in her memory.
Randy sat on the curb beside her, his musky scent comforting and titillating at the same time. “Listen, I’m not going to tell you how you should feel. What I will tell you is that I’m in this for the long haul. We will find the son-of-a-bitch together. You are not in this alone.” He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly.
Becca blinked back the threat of tears and shrugged his hand away. There was no denying the attraction between them, but a relationship with this man wasn’t an option. I’m poison to those I love, plus everyone close to me dies. First Jack, then Darla, and now Susan... She took a deep breath and pushed herself up from the curb.
“Thanks. I guess we won’t find him sitting
around here all day.”
Much to her relief, he let it go without further discussion and ambled over to his bike with an air of quiet confidence.
Becca followed suit and prepared to head out. “Maybe we’ll get lucky this time.”
Randy pulled his hair back in a ponytail before putting on his helmet. “Alrighty then, let’s rock and roll.”
Within minutes both engines rumbled beneath them. Randy put two fingers to his forehead and smiled, raised his foot from the ground, and then took off.
Maybe it’s time I let someone else lead. The corners of her mouth twitched as she checked him out from behind. He’s definitely the epitome of a hot biker, and he definitely knew exactly how to make her body sing. She heaved a sigh. Please let the next shop give us something—anything—that might bring us closer to finding The Florist.
Randy lifted his coffee to inhale the rich aroma and noticed Becca did the same thing from the edge of her seat. A braided silver band on her pinky finger, the only jewellery of any kind he’d seen her wear, glinted in the sun. From what he could tell she wasn’t seeing anyone special. Is it an heirloom?
A sign hung in the flower shop window: Gone to Lunch. His watch read ten minutes to twelve, giving them a little time to sit in the sun and enjoy a cup of java.
“You know, if this is another dead-end, maybe we need to look at the growers nearby. There are a few nurseries outside the city limits.”
Becca nodded. “I agree. Somebody has to know something. I’m realizing you’re average home gardener wouldn’t have the resources to grow these types of flowers.”
The jingle of keys stole their attention. The store owner stood at the door to her shop.
“Excuse me, miss. Could we have a minute of your time?” Randy jogged across the parking lot with Becca on his heels.
He introduced them, dropping the guise of planning a wedding.
Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to realize they’d hit another brick wall.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” the proprietor stated.
Randy’s pager buzzed, and he raised a finger. “I’ll be right back.” He walked away, taking his cell phone out and keying in the precinct number.
“Randy, The Florist struck again. I’m on my way over there now. “
“Do you want us to meet you there, Chief?”
“How is Becca holding up?”
“She’s doing okay.” He opened his notebook and scribbled down the address the chief rattled off.
Becca crossed the distance between them, a genuine smile on her face as she waved a piece of paper in the air.
“The owner thinks we need to visit a Professor Olsen Davies. He’s a professor of horticulture. If anyone has the answers, it will be him.” She stopped short and looked sideways at him. “Is there something going on I should know about?”
“He struck again. Chief Thomson wants us on the scene right away.”
The unpleasant bitterness churning in her stomach increased tenfold with the putrid stench of death coming from the house. She squatted and drew in a shaky breath.
Randy crouched beside her and spoke discreetly. “Are you okay?”
Becca pressed her lips together firmly and gave him a definitive nod. “Let’s do it.” She straightened her stance and gave her professional persona full rein, a mastered trait garnered over twenty years living on the ugly side of life.
Once inside, an eerie silence settled upon the room like a blanket of fog. The coroner kneeled beside the latest victim, a man. His eyes remained wide open, and blood caked the flawlessly aligned holes where the needle had pushed through his lips. A perfect hole in the center of his forehead looked like the killer had painted it on. The man clasped the long stem of a fuchsia azalea in his bound hands.
Disturbingly peaceful.
Chief Thomson stepped out of the kitchen and padded across the room to join them.
“Detectives,” he said, stone-faced. “Jeffery Dunn, thirty-eight years old, computer tech.”
“Did you find anything that might link him to any of the others?” Randy let his gaze wander the room.
Their boss shook his head. “Not that we can see.”
Becca frowned. “I don’t see a box.”
“That’s because there isn’t one. None of the other crime scenes had one either. This guy does a thorough cleaning before he leaves.”
“How did he get in this time?” she asked.
The chief shrugged. “No sign of forced entry or a scuffle of any kind. There is one difference to this case, though.”
“And that would be?”
“The neighbour called the cops after seeing a motorcycle leave the driveway. The old gal has lived in this neighborhood for years and never once saw a bike at the victim’s house. In fact, he rarely had visitors. When she phoned over and didn’t get an answer, she called 911.”
“A motorcycle? The press is going to have a field day with this, bad-assed bikers and all,” Randy folded his arms across his broad chest.
“Did anyone see a motorcycle at the other houses? A delivery truck maybe?” asked Becca.
“That’s a good question. There is no report of a delivery truck or a strange car out front.”
“I bet nobody even thought to mention a bike,” Becca added.
“I’ll get somebody on that right now.” Chief Thomson strode out to his car.
Becca moved robotically. It was like she’d flipped a switch to transform the confident, self-assured woman he was falling for into a stone-faced, no-nonsense cop.
While she talked with the coroner and one of the crime-scene techs, Randy took the opportunity to call the professor. A woman named Mable answered and scheduled them a visit the following morning.
Hopefully Becca would agree to take the rest of the evening off, giving him time to research Professor Davies.
The motorcycle added an interesting twist to the case. Unfortunately the press would undoubtedly blow the biker aspect way out of proportion and everyone who rode a bike would be suspect, putting even more emotional strain on the city.
By the time they were ready to leave the crime scene, the sun had begun its decent, lighting the horizon ablaze in shades of orange and pink.
“Why don’t you go home and take it easy for the rest of the night? It’s been a long day, and I think you could use a good night’s sleep.”
“Okay, okay, I’ll go home and take a long soak in the tub.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Sometimes you act more like a father than a partner.”
He moved in close enough to feel her breath on his face. “Trust me, Red. I have no desire to be your father. How about I share that bubble bath with you and remind you how good we are together?”
Becca pressed her palm against his chest and pushed him back a step. “Trust me, I don’t need a reminder.”
“Is that a no?” Randy trailed a finger down the hollow of her neck. Her shiver had him grinning sheepishly.
“How about you ask me again after we find this guy?”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
Randy insisted following her home and seeing her to the door.
“This really isn’t necessary. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a cop. I know how to take care of myself.”
“Humor me. I’ll be back here by nine bells. Try to get some sleep.” He turned on his heel and descended the porch steps.
“If I’m a good girl, can we stop for ice cream tomorrow?”
He chuckled to himself on the way back to his bike.
You can have anything your heart desires, Red.
Chapter Seven
For the first time since Susan’s death, Becca slept through the night without a nightmare. Dare she feel hopeful about their visit with the professor in just a little while?
She sifted through pictures of the different flowers The Florist left in his victims’ hands. How were these beautiful images connected to the strange items he left in their mouths? It was more than his signature,
something he went to great lengths to orchestrate.
The rumble of a Harley approaching brought a smile to her face. She padded across the tile floor to a full-length mirror in the hallway. At a light rap on the door, she quickly swiped gloss across her lips and slipped the tube in the front pocket of her jeans.
“Come in.” She inched the door open, and her partner poked his head inside. “Have a seat. Can I get you some coffee?”
Randy shook the hair from his eyes “Sure. We’ve got a little time to kill before we’re due at the farm.” He pulled out a chair and sat, careful to keep his feet on the mat in front of the door.
“Don’t worry about your boots.” She poured him a cup of coffee, inwardly pleased he cared enough not to step on the floor.
He reached for his mug at the same time she set it on the table, his hand lingering a few seconds longer than necessary. Flustered, she addressed the photos.
“It’s ironic how beautiful the flowers are. Why does he leave them behind after doing what he does to the poor souls?” He sipped from his mug.
She shrugged. “I’ve been asking myself the same question. Maybe the professor can shed some light on this whole sordid mess.”
Randy gulped the rest of his coffee down. “Well, there’s no sense in sitting inside on a beautiful day like this. It’s a nice run through the country to his property.”
“Now that sounds like a plan.” She smiled. “I’ll just grab my helmet and we can head out.”
Randy squinted against the bright morning sun and slipped on his sunglasses. It was a beautiful day to be out on the bikes. Too bad it wasn’t under different circumstances. He wouldn’t mind getting reacquainted with the gal he’d only known as Red.
Her bike, parked outside the garage door, sparkled in the sun. Some serious time went into buffing the chrome. You gotta love a woman who takes such pride in her ride.
The back door banged shut, and Becca locked it before putting her helmet on. She’d tied her oversized denim shirt around her tiny waist. The black tank top revealed three quarter sleeves of colorful tattoos up her arms. The edge of another tattoo peeked out from her scooped neckline. Several colourful feathers cupped the curve of her milky white breast. The memory of her naked body quickened his pulse.
Killer Scents Page 3