Merciless

by Mary Burton

  “The articles spin a lot of theories, but they were short on facts.”

  “Believe me, I dug deep. But I came up empty handed.”

  By seven Malcolm was bone tired and needing food and a break. He’d thought about Angie several times over the day, and each time he did, his sense of urgency for the case ramped. They’d not made plans or agreed to see each other again. This morning he’d kissed her and told her to be safe. But that had been it.

  Now as he parked across the street from King’s he realized he wanted to see her. Not just to assure himself that she was okay, but because he wanted time with her. Around her, he could be himself. He could show her all the darkness and ugliness of his job and know she wouldn’t be afraid to listen. An encounter with her always left him juiced and ready to tackle the next hurdle.

  He pushed through the front door and found her sitting at the bar talking to Eva. Their heads were bent close. He could see they were lost in conversation. His sisters were like that. They had some kind of code talk that only they got. Like all sisters, his sisters fought, laughed, and would defend the other to the world in a heartbeat.

  He didn’t want to intrude on their vibe so he took a booth table. Just seeing Angie calmed his worries and allowed him to relax if only for a few minutes.

  He ordered his meal and was on his second coffee when Angie slid into the seat across from him.

  “So were you going to say hello?” she said.

  With Angie it was right to the point. That’s what he liked about her. “You had your sister thing going. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “You could have interrupted.”

  “Naw. I learned long ago not to get between sisters.”

  She raised a brow. “You have sisters?”

  “Two. Eleanor and Tess.” He pretended to shudder. “Getting between them is like putting your hand in a shark tank.”

  A smile tipped the edge of her lips. “I promise not to bite.”

  “That’s saying a lot.”

  “I may be the Queen of the Dammed, but I can restrain myself.”

  God, but it felt good sitting here with her. He knew that whatever he tossed Angie’s way she’d give it right back.

  “How many Kiers are there?”

  “Some would say too many. I’m number three of four.”

  “Good to know.”

  His meal arrived. “You eating?”

  “Eva said she’d send it over.”

  “Good.” He was hungry, but he’d wait.

  She sat back in the booth. “Go ahead. Don’t let your meal grow cold.”

  “No rush.”

  The lull gave her an opening to ask about the case. “I’m trying not to obsess, but … did you get an identification on those bodies?”

  “No word yet. But assume that it was not Dixon or Donovan. Could be a couple of vagrants fighting over shoes or drug dealers. Don’t let your guard down.”

  “I’ve been careful. Has anyone seen either?”

  “No. I spoke to many of Dixon’s acquaintances and came up empty. Also spoke to a guy at the paper named Robert Farmer. He’s one of the few at the paper who will still work with Donovan.”

  “Robert? Tall guy, short hair, nicely dressed?”

  “Yeah. How’d you know?”

  A wry smile twisted her lips. “A guy joined my AA meeting last week. His name was Robert. He was nosy and didn’t seem to fit.” She shook her head. “Typical Donovan.”

  He shoved out a breath. “I wish I’d known when I was talking to the guy.”

  The waitress arrived with Angie’s salmon cakes, and they both held back comments until she moved away. “One fire victim appears to have been killed like the girl in the motel. His throat was cut.”

  “Which means?”

  “Could mean a lot of things. Just keep your eyes open and your mace in hand.”

  “Sure.”

  They ate in silence for several minutes. “We should talk about last night,” he said.

  “We don’t have to.” The truth was she didn’t want to. She just wanted to cling to the glow.

  “Like it or not, last night changed a lot.”

  She raised her gaze, her shock clear. “Please, you don’t have to.”

  He cocked his head. “Don’t have to what?”

  “Make more of it. I mean, it was great. Really great in fact. But …”

  Malcolm shoved out a breath. “Are you running scared, Carlson?”

  Her gaze steady, she shook her head. “No. I’m not scared. I’m practical.”

  “Maybe I’m not.” What the hell had gotten into him? “Maybe, I’d like to see more of you.”

  “Why?”

  That made him laugh. “Gosh, Carlson, I don’t know. Maybe it is the way you ride your broom or cast spells.”

  She set her fork down. “The thing is, Malcolm, I could really learn to like you. I don’t know why, but I could get attached.”

  That pleased him. “And that’s a bad thing because?”

  “Oh, it would be great in the short run. It would be really great. But in the long run we’d hit the wall.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “You want things in life that I can’t give you.”

  “You’re kind of jumping ahead, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I am. But that is one of my strengths. I can look ahead and see the problems. It’s what makes me a great attorney.”

  “So you don’t want to spend more time together?”

  “I would. But I’d always be wondering when you would finally realize I wasn’t enough.”

  “You’re enough.”

  “For now.” Bitterness tightened her voice. “But not in the long run.”

  “Why don’t we just take it a day at a time? Hell, you might wake up one morning, look at me, and decide I’m not worth the effort. I mean, I work like a demon and I’m moody as hell when the case goes poorly.”

  She chuckled. “You, moody? Never.”

  He leaned toward her. “My point is neither of us knows what will happen, so for now let’s let it ride.”

  “I’ve never been good at letting anything ride.”

  “Try it. You might like it.”

  She sighed. “Can you tell me if we got serious that it would not be an issue for you that I can’t have children?”

  “Carlson, you are just too many steps ahead of me.”

  A sad, knowing smile tipped the edge of her lips. “I might be able to let it ride with someone else. I can’t do that with you.” She leaned forward and laid a warm hand on his forearm. “Let’s end it now while we’re still friends.”

  He shook his head. “You’re dumping me.”

  “Just preventing us a lot of pain.”

  Angie’s head pounded with the final image she had had of Malcolm Kier. He’d been sitting in the booth, staring at her. The hard lines of his face were deep with frustration and annoyance. She’d have loved to get to know him better, but the facts were plain. He wanted children, and she could never give him that. Unshed tears burned in her throat as she got out of the car and grabbed the grocery bag from the backseat.

  “I am not going to cry. This is silly. I don’t need him. I don’t.”

  She parked her car in front of Vivian Sweet’s house. She wasn’t sure why she’d slipped down the back staircase at King’s and driven without an escort here. She walked up the sidewalk and rang the front bell. She’d called minutes ago from her cell, and Vivian had agreed to see her.

  The front door opened with a whoosh. Vivian’s expression was sober. “What brings you here so late?”

  “I was in the grocery and passed by the formula and diapers. I thought you could use them.” It seemed a paltry offering in light of what the woman was enduring.

  Vivian accepted the bag, but didn’t invite Angie inside. “Every little bit helps.”

  She searched beyond Vivian into the living room for the baby. She was disappointed he wasn’t anywhere to be seen. “How is David?”
>
  Vivian shifted so Angie couldn’t see into the house. “Doing fine. He’s sleeping now. Had a bad day. Fussy.”

  “He’s not sick, is he?”

  “He’s cutting teeth.”

  Angie didn’t know the first thing about baby timetables. “Is it normal to cut teeth at his age?”

  “He’s a bit late, but he’ll catch up.”

  “Does he see a doctor?”

  Vivian’s eyes narrowed. “Lulu took him when he was little. He’s been healthy since I had him so I haven’t taken him.”

  That didn’t sound right. “So he’s current on all that he needs?”

  “Close enough for now.” Defensiveness crept into her tone.

  Angie wanted to say that wasn’t good enough. But the boy wasn’t hers. “How are you feeling?”

  She raised her shoulders. “I’m doing just fine. Don’t worry.”

  “I can’t help but worry.”

  Vivian frowned. “The paper said today that Lulu died because of you. The paper said whoever is killing these women is killing the ones that know you.”

  “The writer made some terrible assumptions that are not based in fact.”

  “It’s got to be true or it wouldn’t be in the paper.”

  Resentment burned. “The papers don’t always get it right.”

  “Sounded convincing to me.” She stared down at the bag in her hand. “It’s better you stay away from us. I don’t want nothing to happen to David.”

  “I would never do anything to bring harm to that boy.”

  “I can’t take that chance. Now if you don’t mind, you’d better leave.”

  “What about the legal work?”

  “I’ll find another attorney.”

  He followed Angie from King’s to Vivian Sweet’s house and then back to the pub. As he stood in the shadows across the street from the pub, he watched the top attic light turn on and then finally off. He imagined her sliding off her clothes before slipping under the cool sheets of her bed.

  Absently, he rubbed his hands together, anticipating what it would feel like to take his knife and drag it across the tender flesh of her neck.

  “Sleep tight, Angie Carlson. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Chapter 27

  Thursday, October 13, 7 A.M.

  Briefcase in hand, Angie disarmed the alarm at the office and pushed through the front door. She’d not called for a police escort this morning. She should have. But after last night with Malcolm, she’d simply not wanted to deal with anyone—especially a cop.

  She’d spent a restless night at Eva’s. Her mind had tossed between Malcolm and David, and no matter how much she tried to distract her mind with other thoughts the two haunted her.

  She savored the silence of the office and kicked the door closed. The phones weren’t ringing, the fax machines weren’t buzzing, and Charlotte or Iris wouldn’t be standing in her doorway with a question. She crossed to Iris’s desk and set down her briefcase.

  She heard the door settle into the frame but didn’t hear the lock click closed. Turning to close the door, she watched the door push open. A tall man, his face obscured by a hoodie, stood in the doorway.

  She screamed and backed up until she bumped into Iris’s desk. Thoughts scrambled to the mace buried on the bottom of her purse and the phone behind her. But she didn’t dare move her gaze from this man. “Get the hell out or I’m calling the cops.”

  How could she have been so stupid and careless?

  The man raised his hands and pushed the hoodie from his face. “Angie, stop. I just want to talk.”

  Martin!

  “Stay away from me!”

  “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

  Her hands trembled, and she fumbled for the phone receiver behind her. “If you want to talk, come back later when there are people here.”

  “I need to talk to you. In private.”

  Her fingers blindly skimmed the desk and grazed over the top of the receiver. She held it up to her ear. “Later today, Martin.”

  He remained in the doorway, seemingly more afraid than her. “My last name is Rayburn. I’m Blue’s son.”

  Angie held the receiversotightly her knuckles whitened. “What?”

  “I’m Blue’s son. Eva’s half brother?”

  The information stunned her. “Why are you here now?”

  “I finally screwed up the courage to talk to you.”

  They’d first spoken days ago, and yet he waited until now when she was alone. “I don’t believe you. How long have you been stalking Eva and me?”

  “I’m not stalking you. When you didn’t show up at the gym I figured you were here. I’d hoped we could talk at the gym this morning.”

  Every nerve in her body tightened to the point of snapping. “Where is your father?”

  “Please, I’ll tell you everything. Just relax.”

  “Relax! Have you read the papers lately?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where is your father?”

  He rubbed his hands over his worn jeans. “Dead. He died a couple of years ago.”

  “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “Yes.”

  She moistened her lips. “Why not just contact me the normal way? Why are you here now?”

  “I was afraid. I want to meet Eva. She’s my sister. And I want your help.”

  Angie’s protective urge rose up strong. “There are better ways, Martin. You’ve handled this badly.”

  A heavy silence followed, and for a second she thought he’d leave. “I’m not so good with words or the conventional approaches.”

  “No shit. Come back later, Martin.”

  Another pause. “When?”

  “After eight.”

  “Okay. I’m going to leave a book on the front steps. It’s Blue’s diary. It will explain a lot.”

  “Come back later, Martin.”

  She watched him leave and close the door behind him. She heard the soft footfalls of his feet on the steps, and then utter silence followed. She waited, held her breath, and then shoved out the air trapped in her lungs.

  She waited several more tense minutes before she slammed down the receiver and crossed to the front door. She opened it. There was no sign of Martin, but as he’d said a slim red book rested on the top step. She picked it up and thumbed through the pages. Blue’s scratchy handwriting would take time to decipher, but immediately she recognized her father’s name. Would Blue be able to tell her what had happened so long ago?

  Shoving out another breath, she tried to regain her composure. Martin was gone, and yet … she sensed something, someone.

  Abruptly she turned to her right. A man raced out of the darkness and up the steps. She turned to run back into the office, but as she turned to slam the door he shoved a large, booted foot into the doorjamb. He quickly used his weight and jerked the door open.

  The man’s familiar features were almost rendered unrecognizable by the dark menace burning in his eyes.

  She screamed. He lunged and shoved a needle into her belly, pushing the plunger with a violent force that radiated through her body.

  “Bitch.”

  Immediately, her strong muscles turned to jelly. Her mind spun as if she were on a merry-go-round. She dropped to her knees, and the book slid from her fingers. She hit the floor, but fought to stay conscious as she looked up at him.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  “I’ve been dreaming about this moment for a very long time.”

  “No.”

  He knelt beside her and grabbed her chin, straightening her face so that she was forced to look at him with her dimming gaze. “Now the fun starts.”

  Charlotte had always considered her super paranoia to be a curse. She’d grown tired of the worrying, the double-checking. and the sleepless nights. She was a woman ruled by logic, and needless worrying was beyond any reasonable logic.

  But when she realized the front door to Wellington and James was u
nlocked, her mind tripped from fear of an intruder, to anger that her office manager had forgotten to lock the door, and back to fear that something was terribly wrong.

  She dug her cell phone out of her purse and put her finger on the speed dial for 911. “Angie! Iris!”

  Instinct told her to call the cops, but she’d overreacted in the past, and her terrified calls had earned her annoyed and angry glares from the responding officers. She’d made great strides in the last couple of months, and she didn’t want to lose ground now.

  “Analyze and look before you call,” she muttered. The front office appeared fine. There were no signs of trouble, and yet …

  “Angie! Iris!”

  A heavy silence hung in the air.

  She spotted Angie’s briefcase and purse on Iris’s desk. Damn. Angie had left the front door open. Not good. She lowered her cell. “Angie!”

  But the lingering silence nagged. Angie was good about locking up and being a calming force. She spotted the slim red book on the floor. It was old, faded, and the edges were beat up from wear and tear.

  The book was a journal, written in a thick, scrawling handwriting that grew shakier with each new entry. On the last page, written in a clear firm handwriting, was the name Martin Rayburn.

  Rayburn. That was Eva’s last name.

  Charlotte quickly swept the offices, bathroom, and conference room in search of Angie or Iris. She found neither.

  Her nerves kicked up into such a high alert that no calming mantra would ease it. She called 911.

  * * *

  Malcolm and Garrison arrived at the medical examiner’s office just as Dr. Henson was pulling into her parking spot. Dr. Henson worked long hours, and even on a regular day she arrived early.

  “Doc,” Malcolm called out.

  She carried a small cooler for her lunch, a large black purse, and a workout bag. Turning, she looked a bit harried. “Detectives. I’m just heading to my office now.”

  “So you left a message for me,” Malcolm said. “You have something?”

  “I am ninety-five percent sure the body in that facility is Dixon. His dental x-rays showed a pronounced crack on his back tooth and so did my John Doe. There were also fillings in the left molars, which was also consistent.”

  “Ninety-five percent sure?”