Catch a Killer

by Kris Rafferty

  “Forget it,” she said. “Probably nothing.” Turning her head, she stared out the window but barely noted the passing scenery. There was too much going on, and her thoughts were a jumble. “I wonder how the residents of the brownstone took all the commotion in their lives.”

  He merged the car into traffic, looking disgruntled. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  “Just curious.” Hannah pictured Mrs. Branaghan and her cribbage club drinking tea, tittering over the day’s activity, Ellen being passed between the women. “I’m sure they’re eating it up with a spoon. Mrs. Branaghan is proud of their crime watch group. This must be the most excitement they’ve seen in forty years.”

  “Charlie delegated the brownstone shoe canvasing to uniformed police officers.”

  Hannah nodded. “I know he spent the day at the marina.”

  “His forensic team is working in shifts, round the clock, pulling personnel from other precincts to help out. When this case is over, we’ll have to send them a case of Jack Daniels.” She nodded, feeling her consciousness play with the idea of drifting off.

  As the silence lengthened and her eyelids fluttered closed, she heard him say, “Can we stop talking about the case for a while? I’ve waited all afternoon, and now I can’t wait any longer. I need to know. Tell me what happened when I left.”

  A jolt of panic forced her eyes open, and sleep became the last thing on her mind. She didn’t want to talk about it, but she knew he deserved to hear the truth. Hell, she deserved him hearing it…to comprehend what he’d done to her. “My birth control failed. I got pregnant. As I was…trying to figure out how to tell you, we fought, and then you were…gone. I didn’t know what to do.”

  He shifted in his seat, apparently composed, his gaze fixed on the street, but she could tell he was upset. Yeah, well, she was upset, too. She remembered finding out about his murder at work, receiving the news in a daze, then making it to her apartment before she came unglued. Being surrounded by his stuff, his scent, made everything worse, not better.

  “It was hard,” she said. “I was afraid Murtagh would come for me next. I kind of skated through the days, transferred to Boston. I had complications that sent me to Brigham and Women’s Hospital on bed rest. Every time they thought I could go home, they’d take a test that would change their minds. I was there for a month, mid-March until she was born. I spent my days on my back, worrying I was losing our baby. It was horrible and—” She suffered from PTSD. The death, the traumatic pregnancy—she’d only recently been able to sleep through the night. She had nightmares and panic attacks, but telling him that might give him the excuse he needed to kick her off the team, so she kept it to herself. “I went into labor right on time, and she came out perfect. Ellen was perfect.”

  His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he took a turn onto Storrow Drive. “How did you keep it all a secret? Even now. No one knows.”

  More easily than she could have hoped. “I worked from home when I couldn’t hide the pregnancy any longer.” She shook her head. “And now, I have no life. Just work and Ellen. Separate. No one comes to the apartment. When I was in the hospital, people assumed I was on assignment. I allowed them to think that, and the Special Agent in Charge doesn’t gossip. Remember, I’m new to Boston.” She could see his confusion, and realized he still didn’t understand what his death had done to her. “I was in mourning, Jack, with a new baby. It’s a miracle I knew my own name.”

  He seemed baffled. “Who took care of you?”

  “I did.” She wanted to slap him. Who the hell did he think would take care of her? He knew her parents were dead.

  “Okay, okay. Don’t yell.” He took his eyes off the road for a moment, frowning at her. “This is a lot to take in. I’m trying to do and say the right things—”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “—but it’s not easy.”

  “You had easy. This is what happened.” She folded her arms over her chest and glared unseeing out the side window. “I had the baby. Mrs. Branaghan babysits while I’m at work. That’s it. The whole story.”

  “I have a daughter.” His tone had her looking at him. He seemed worried. “I don’t know her, but I want to. I want to do the right thing for my benefit, as well as hers and yours. I was an ass. I get that. I’ll make it up to you if you’ll let me, but I need to be in Ellen’s life. You have to see that.”

  She did, and wanted that, too. It’s just that Hannah hadn’t planned that far in advance. “It’s a lot to process.”

  He snorted. “Understatement of the year.”

  She studied him, and saw a lot to admire. He’d gotten more attractive since she’d seen him last. She wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he seemed more confident, maybe a little more self-aware. That realization made her sigh, frustrated, because Hannah felt more vulnerable since last they’d been in each other’s lives. Parenthood had humbled her. It ripped the scales of ignorance from her eyes and forced her to see how alone she was, how easy it was to be distracted by friends, work, college, whatever. Bring a baby into the world? Everything else takes a back seat, leaving a person humbled. And vulnerable.

  Parenthood was exhausting. She couldn’t remember the last time she wasn’t worried, but even she had to admit, it was worth it. Ellen made everything worth it.

  “I’m glad you want to be in her life,” Hannah said, but couldn’t help thinking, let’s see if he has the stomach for it.

  Chapter 12

  When Jack pulled up to the curb outside of the brownstone, he felt a knot solidify in his gut. He was going to see Ellen again. It distracted him, so when Hannah spoke to him, he merely nodded, unable to have a conversation when he was feeling this level of anxiety. His heart was racing and his damn hands were sweaty.

  “Jack.” Her impatience cut through his distraction.

  “Hmm?” He stopped at the front door, impatience to get inside clawing at him. “Yeah?”

  “I asked if you would have stayed if you’d known about the baby.” She jangled the keys in her hand, looking irritated.

  “Yes.” No hesitation. He knew himself. A child would love him no matter what. He’d never turn his back on that opportunity. He saw Hannah’s face fall, and knew she was taking it the wrong way. She thought he was saying Ellen was more important than her. “You’d never have left me if you were carrying my child.”

  She gasped. “Left you? You left me!”

  He shook his head. “You can’t understand.” And he refused to explain. He’d look like a fool, and sound like a coward. Hannah averted her eyes, hiding whatever thoughts her expression might have revealed.

  Once inside, he beat her to Mrs. Branaghan’s door, knocking harder than he’d intended. He stepped back, glancing at Hannah, who looked a bit shell-shocked. He sympathized. He was feeling a whole hell of a lot shell-shocked. Father. He was a father. Ellen was his daughter. Shell-shocked described him perfectly.

  The door opened and there Mrs. Branaghan stood, holding a cooing Ellen. Jack took her from Mrs. Branaghan’s arms and wandered down the hall, up the stairs to Hannah’s apartment. He’d waited all day for this moment, and now that it was here, his breath came a little easier, his heart beat a little slower, and his mind was at rest. She was safe. He had her. Everything was going to be alright.

  “You’re mine,” Jack whispered into her tiny ear. “And I’m going to make sure nothing bad ever happens to you.”

  “Then keep my secret.” Hannah had followed at a slower pace, but caught up with him, and then opened the apartment door. “She’ll never be safe otherwise.”

  “Secret for now,” Jack said. “With a killer on your tail, it makes sense.” She nodded, then stepped inside the apartment. Jack kissed Ellen on the forehead, and then followed Hannah, kicking the door closed behind them. “As much as I want to shout to the world I have a daughter, I’ll wait.” He saw her shoulders r
elax, presumably with relief. “For now, Hannah. For now.”

  “Thank you.” She gave him a sad little smile.

  “I’m starving. Do you know if Ellen ate?”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “Of course she ate. She’s a baby. She eats all day,” she said. “Do you think I starve my child?” She took Ellen from his arms.

  He followed her into the kitchen, disappointed that she’d taken the baby. “I’ll make supper.”

  Hannah snorted, humor lightening her expression. “You only know how to make eggs.”

  “I’m making eggs.” What had she expected?

  Hannah laughed, surprising him. “Fine. I like eggs.”

  * * * *

  An hour later, fed and sleepy, Hannah was trying to ignore Jack surveilling the neighborhood out the living room window. It was impossible. “Stop it, Jack.” He was freaking her out, and she wanted to sleep, but she still hadn’t prepared the couch for him. “There are two patrol cars out there, a camera mounted on the back porch, and Natalie is on the clock.” She carried Ellen into her bedroom, every muscle in her body aching from her dip in the Boston Harbor. “The perp already has his photos of me. Why would he come back?”

  “Because they do.” He’d followed them into the bedroom. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s Ellen’s bedtime.”

  “Are you sure?” He had way more energy than anyone had the right to this late at night.

  “Yes, I’m sure.” Three hours ago, she’d have taken offense at his questioning her parenting, but she’d figured out it was more a reflection of his lack of confidence than any lack of confidence in her skills. Been there, done that, she thought. Jack was discovering the learning curve of parenting was steep and unkind. “It was Ellen’s bedtime at eleven o’clock yesterday, the day before, and now today. It will be her bedtime tomorrow, too.” She changed the baby’s diaper under his intense scrutiny. He was watching her like he was cramming for a test. It was adorable. “If you’re looking for more time with Ellen, you can be the one to wake up and hold her if she cries tonight. There are prefilled bottles in the refrigerator, and the warmer is easy to use. You plug it in, slip the bottle in the device, and it turns off when the bottle is the correct temperature.”

  “Why don’t you just use the microwave?”

  “Don’t use the microwave.”

  “Why?”

  “Jack.” Hannah was exhausted. “I don’t have the energy to give you a crash course in keeping Ellen alive. Time for due diligence is over. You spent it on assignment doing whatever you were doing while I was poring over every baby book in existence. You’re just going to have to take my word for things. For now, anyway. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He seemed eager enough. “What do we do if she cries?”

  “Make her stop.”

  His face fell. Ellen yawned and smacked her lips. Though Jack looked properly chastised, she could see the light of challenge in his eyes. Hannah suspected she’d just triggered Jack’s ambition to be the first man to get a graduate degree in parenthood. The thought had her smiling, which seemed to confuse the hell out of him.

  “I’m glad you find this so amusing,” he said, disgruntled.

  “I’m punch-drunk, not amused. Don’t mind me.”

  After snapping Ellen’s onesie, then her terry cloth pajamas, Hannah leaned down and kissed her daughter. Ellen was nearly asleep, so she held her out for Jack to hold. He took Ellen in his arms as if she were glass filigree and he feared shattering her into a million pieces. It was a marvel to watch his gentleness. His reverence. Jack kissed Ellen, and that did it. It nearly brought Hannah to tears, because it reminded her that Jack lost something, too, when he’d died. Something precious. And nothing could bring Hannah’s pregnancy and Ellen’s first four months back.

  Then Jack stepped closer to Hannah, offering her Ellen, bringing their faces close. She took her daughter from his arms, as his breath warmed her lips, and it made her wish things had been different between them. She’d loved Jack with all her heart and soul, but didn’t trust he reciprocated her feelings, so kept them secret. Was that Jack’s fault? No, she thought. It was hers. And the repercussion was Jack had thought she didn’t love him.

  Jack held her gaze, and whatever he saw there had him leaning toward her, slowly, giving her a chance to pull back and shut him down. Hannah didn’t suffer so much as a hesitation, and met his lips halfway to their kiss. It was a gentle pressure, over too quickly to deepen. Then Jack left the baby’s room in a rush, even before her eyes opened again.

  Hannah put the sleepy baby in her crib, quietly closed the door behind her, and found Jack standing in her darkened bedroom, his back to her, staring out the window. She knew he was looking for signs of their perp.

  “Tell me it’s going to be okay, Jack.” She lingered at the doorway, not wanting to turn the light on until Jack moved from his position at the window.

  “It will. I won’t allow anything to hurt you, Hannah. Or the baby.” He kept his gaze directed out the window, and his tone was as close to emotionless as a person could manage and still say the word “baby.”

  “I’m afraid for Ellen.”

  He shook his head. “Worrying is wasted effort. Let’s work the case. What’s the next stanza?” He tugged the drapes closed. “You can turn the lights on now.”

  Hannah flipped them on, dispelling the intimacy of the darkened room, and then stepped inside. “I don’t have it in me to think anymore. It’s your turn to think.”

  “The next stanza, Hannah.”

  Her shoulder’s sagged. “Don’t pretend you think the perp will move on to the next victim. Gilroy’s right. It’s wishful thinking. We’re stuck on ‘tempest’ like a skipping record until I’m dead or the perp is caught.”

  “You don’t know that.” He glanced at her, but when their gazes met, he looked away. “What’s the next one?”

  She sat on her bed’s edge, trying to ignore that Jack was in her bedroom. She’d yet to call him on that kiss, and knew she wouldn’t. He would see it as an invitation to do it again, and she didn’t have the willpower to say no. And she should say no. There was no way she could just pretend the last year didn’t happen.

  “Do you want me to recite it?” She could. She had the damn thing running in a continuous loop in her head.

  “No. Give me the highlights, or whatever could be construed as a weapon of choice.”

  “Torches, tombs, and talk of couches,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind that last one. I’m so tired. Death by couch might be a restful ending.”

  “Not funny.” He paced the floor, brooding. “Recite the whole stanza.”

  Hannah flopped back and sank into the mattress. It felt heavenly. Eyes closed, she dredged up the poem from memory. “‘Seven more loves weep night and day, Round the tombs where my loves lay, And seven more loves attend each night, Around my couch with torches bright.’ Like I said,” she yawned. “Death by couch.” She heard him stop pacing but didn’t have the energy to open her eyes to keep track of him.

  “Still not funny. I’m beginning to agree with Ferguson.”

  Admitting that Ferguson said something right was a big leap, worthy of note. She opened one eye, because two eyes would have taken too much energy. She peered at him. “About what?” Hands on his hips, he seemed deep in thought, scowling at the floor.

  “I wish this guy had obsessed on a John Grisham novel. Are you sure that’s the next stanza? I don’t think it is.”

  “Hmm.” She closed her eye again and cautioned herself that if she fell asleep in this position, she’d wake in the middle of the night fully clothed with a mouth that tasted like sock. She needed to brush, at least. “I’m too tired to think. We have a scholar from UMass to do all the poem heavy lifting.”

  “Yeah. Vivian’s working on bringing him into the precinct room, but the professor, apparently, is get
ting antsy now that he knows it’s a serial killer case. Doesn’t want his family targeted.”

  “Don’t blame him. He doesn’t know what we know.” Her yawn was long and her mouth stretched so wide her jaw clicked.

  “What little we know. Move your feet.” Suddenly she felt his hands on her calves, and then he tossed her legs aside. Hannah curled into a ball on the mattress, her lower lip jutting out. He opened the hope chest at the foot of her bed, taking out a blanket and sheets. “I’ll make up the couch. Do you mind sacrificing a pillow?” She told herself not to be surprised. He might not know her apartment, but he knew what she stored in her hope chest. They’d lived together for almost two years. She kept linens in there. Her mother had stored her wedding dress in hers. “Hannah. Wake up. A pillow?”

  Hannah blinked past images of Jack sleeping on her couch, his head on her pillow, using bedding they’d bought together when things had been good. She just wanted to go to sleep and forget. But…she had things to do first.

  “Sure. Fine. Go for it.” Hannah dragged herself off the bed and peeled off her suit jacket, replacing it on its hanger in her closet. Intent on not thinking, and readying herself for bed, she’d stripped down to bra and panties before noticing the room had fallen silent. She turned around and saw Jack staring, one of her pillows hanging from his fist. Poised on the balls of his feet, the man looked like a predator about to pounce on his prey, and she was the prey.

  She recognized that look, and it triggered a jolt of adrenaline, and a reciprocating need. Caution demanded she dispel the potency of the moment, but it felt too good. Jack was alive. Her emotions must have betrayed her, because he, as if about to speak, took a step toward her. Without thinking, Hannah quickly stepped back, tripping on her shoes and falling into the closet, dragging silk blouses off their hangers on her way down. She landed hard, and then all she saw were hanging suits obscuring her view. Exhausted, she sat there, feeling mortified. Her suits parted and then she saw his beautiful face. His smile was kind as he extended his hand, offering an olive branch she didn’t hesitate to take.