This wasn’t making any sense to him. “Then who put up all this yellow tape?” he asked.
“I did.”
The low, controlled female voice came from behind him. The vague thought that the voice was more suited to an intimate dinner than a crime scene crossed Logan’s mind as he turned around again.
Logan found himself looking into the saddest blue eyes he’d ever seen.
They were also, quite possibly, the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, which was saying a great deal considering that the Cavanaughs were fairly littered with members who had blue eyes of all hues and shades.
The eyes were set in a striking, heart-shaped face that would have easily launched a thousand love songs, he couldn’t help thinking. Sometimes, Logan decided, this job did have its perks.
“Are you part of the crime scene investigation unit?” Logan heard himself asking as he quickly assessed the slender, pale-looking blonde standing before him. “Or do you just have a thing for crime scene tape?” he quipped wryly, trying to lighten the moment. She seemed much too serious for someone so young. He knew this job, especially this part of the job, could really get to people if they didn’t take any precautions and insulate themselves properly.
His flippant manner caught Destiny off guard for a second. Since the officer at the door hadn’t tried to turn the man away, that had to mean that he was with the Aurora police force.
Terrific. Just her luck. They’d sent a brash, cocky detective who looked as if he was in love with the sound of his own voice and, most likely, with the image he saw in his bathroom mirror each morning. Dark-haired, green-eyed, he was as handsome as they came, and she was certain that he knew it.
She was familiar with the type, and right now it was the last thing she needed. She needed a professional detective, not a male model.
“I’m with the crime scene investigation unit,” she told him, her voice low and remarkably stoic. She surprised herself.
It was all she could do to hold it together. Part of Destiny still didn’t believe that any of this was actually happening. The other part felt as if she was slowly slipping into shock and would, at any moment, just completely lose it.
You can’t. If you do, you won’t be able to help Paula.
The moment the thought formed, it struck Destiny as ironic. After all, at this point nothing would help Paula. Nothing was going to bring her back.
Destiny struggled to keep her angry tears in check.
Logan nodded, taking the attractive woman’s information at face value. “I guess this is just an open-and-shut case,” he surmised. “A suicide,” he added, telling her what the lieutenant had told him. Then, his mouth curving in a particularly captivating smile, he asked, “How is it that I’ve never seen you before?” He would have certainly remembered someone who looked like her. He had a feeling that if she smiled, she could light up a room. Even somber, there was something exceedingly attractive and compelling about her. “Are you new to the team?”
She didn’t bother answering his last question. At another time and place, she might have been more than mildly interested in his attention. Destiny wasn’t averse to having an occasional good time, as long as no promises were exchanged or expected. She was married to her work, and most of the men she’d encountered felt that they should come first in a woman’s life, not second.
Right now, all her energy was focused on not breaking down and, more important than that, on finding who had done this to her sister.
“It’s not a suicide,” Destiny informed the detective firmly.
About to walk to where he could view the deceased’s body, Logan turned instead and focused on the intense crime scene investigator. She sounded as if there was no room for argument.
“Why?” he asked, the detective in him pushing the playboy far into the background. “Did you find something that would indicate that the woman was murdered?”
“Not yet,” Destiny answered between clenched teeth. “But I will.”
Okay, he was officially confused, Logan thought. Was there some sort of an agenda he was missing? Exactly what did this woman mean by “not yet”? What did she know that he didn’t? He didn’t like playing catch-up.
“If there are no indications that it’s not a suicide, what makes you think that it isn’t?” he asked the shapely blonde.
“Because she wouldn’t commit suicide,” Destiny informed him heatedly.
Really curious now, Logan looked at the young woman who, he realized, had more going on, even without the aid of painted-on clothing, than Stacy ever did. She didn’t reek of raw sex, but there was a subtle promise there that intrigued him. A lot.
Since the department paid him to solve cases, not ruminate on beautiful women who said baseless things, Logan forced himself to focus on the wild claim the crime scene investigator had just made and not the fact that the words had come out of nearly perfect lips.
“And you know this because...?”
A very tempting chin shot up like a silent challenge. “Because she’s my sister.”
It took him a second to absorb that. “You weren’t called in, were you?” Logan guessed.
No, she hadn’t been. She’d come here looking for answers and had wound up face-to-face with a dreadful question: Who killed Paula?
“I did the calling,” she told him.
As if in a bad dream, once she knew that Paula was beyond resuscitating and she’d stopped crying, she’d pulled herself together and called her boss, even though protocol would have had her calling 911 first.
The sound of Sean Cavanaugh’s voice had almost made her lose it again, but Destiny had managed to hold herself together enough to describe what she’d found when she’d walked into her sister’s apartment. Sean in turn had set everything else in motion, promising to be there as soon as he possibly could. He told her not to leave.
As if she could.
With no knowledge of what had taken place between his father and the crime scene investigator, Logan had a different take on things.
“You can’t be here,” he told her, transforming from a devil-may-care man who enjoyed his share of the nightlife to a homicide detective who was considered to be damn good at his job.
Logan saw the woman’s slender shoulders stiffen as if she’d been jabbed with a hot poker. She reminded him of a soldier, galvanized in order to withstand whatever came her way.
The flash of anger in her eyes was almost mesmerizing to him.
“The hell I can’t,” she snapped. “She’s my baby sister and the only family I have left. Had left,” Destiny amended, trying hard not to allow the words to choke off her air supply. “Somebody killed her, and I intend to find out who.”
Having brothers and sisters of his own, Logan could easily relate to the way she felt. But she still needed to go. “I get it, but leave it up to—”
“To who?” Destiny demanded. “To you? To the professionals?” She guessed at the word he was about to use. “I am one of the professionals.”
That might be true, but there was another, bigger factor that she was apparently missing—or deliberately ignoring. “You’re also personally involved—”
“You bet I am,” Destiny snapped, her eyes flashing again, “and no rules and regulations are going to make me stand on the sidelines like some clueless civilian, waiting for someone to find something that would point to my sister’s killer—especially when they’re not even going to be looking.”
“Now wait a minute—”
No, she wasn’t going to “wait a minute.” And she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to snow her with rhetoric.
“A minute ago, you were all ready to write this off as a suicide. You were willing to go with what you saw—or thought you saw.”
Only up to a point. Where did she get off, criticizing his work if she hadn’t seen him in action? Gorgeous or not, she needed to be told a few things and put in her place.
“Not if the autopsy contradicts the idea of a suicide.”
; Autopsy.
The very word brought up a chilling scenario with it. Someone cutting up her little sister, reducing Paula to a mass of body organs examined, weighed, catalogued and then impersonally stuffed back into her body like wrinkled tissue paper that has served its purpose.
Suddenly, Destiny could hardly bear the wave of pain she felt.
Logan saw the horror that washed over the woman’s fine-boned features before she apparently got herself under control again. Observing her, he had to admit he felt really sorry for the woman. He knew how he would have reacted if that was Bridget, or Kendra, or Kari in the next room.
No rules or orders would have kept him on the sidelines. If he couldn’t have been part of the investigation outright, he would have found a way to conduct his own investigation covertly until he found answers that satisfied him.
Until he found the killer.
He felt a budding respect as he looked at the woman for the first time, not assessing her comely features but taking measure of the person who existed beneath. Thinking of what she was feeling and taking stock of what had to be crossing her mind right now.
Logan relented, backing off from his initial stand. “Look, what if I promise to keep you filled in? Will that be enough for you?”
The moment the words emerged from his mouth, he knew they had come out wrong. He made it sound as if he was trying to dismiss her. He wasn’t doing anything of the kind.
Destiny tossed her head, anger and sadness mingling with the very stubborn streak that had seen her through a less than typical childhood, one that would have conquered a lesser person. And she had been a child at the time.
“No, sorry, not good enough,” she fired back.
“He’s right, you know.”
She didn’t have to turn around and look to know who was behind her. But she turned around anyway. Turned around and looked up at the man she respected and secretly regarded as the father she hadn’t had for all these many years, not since he’d walked out on her, Paula and their mother.
“I thought you’d be on my side,” she said to Sean. She was more than a little disappointed to hear him taking the side of company policy.
“I am always on your side,” Sean reminded her kindly. “But the rules are clear about working on a case that you’re personally involved in.”
She knew all the rules backward and forward. She also knew they weren’t going to stop her from working this investigation.
“Sean, please,” she implored hoarsely, her voice brimming with emotion. She laid a hand on Sean’s arm in mute supplication.
“Of course,” Sean continued loftily, as if she hadn’t said anything, “you are a grown woman and I can’t be expected to tie you up and throw you into some corner if you happen to do some poking around into the present case behind my back.” He saw his son staring at him, undoubtedly surprised at this break with protocol. “Oh, like you and those brothers and sisters of yours never bent a single rule,” he mocked.
“Not saying we didn’t,” Logan replied to his father, deliberately flying above this minefield. “But I’ve got to say that I’m really surprised that you’re considering it.”
“Not considering it,” Sean corrected, putting down his fully loaded case that he meticulously organized at least once a week. “But well, what happens when I’m not looking, happens,” he told his son innocently. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe the actual scene of the crime is in through there?” He pointed to the bedroom, looking to Destiny for confirmation.
Destiny only half nodded. “That’s the way to the bathroom,” she confirmed. “Whether or not that’s the actual scene of the crime remains to be seen.”
Sean gave her an encouraging smile. “An open mind is the best way to approach anything,” he agreed.
With that, he walked ahead of his son and the young woman to process this particular crime scene.
Chapter 2
Following Sean Cavanaugh through the bedroom and into the bathroom where her sister’s body was, Destiny could feel every single bone in her own body stiffening as the battle began all over again. Her protective instincts warred with the ones she had developed as a crime scene investigator.
The latter dictated adherence to the first cardinal rule of investigation: that nothing was to be touched, nothing was to be moved. It was of the utmost importance that the scene be preserved just as it was when the deceased died. This had to be done to piece together facts leading up to that person’s final moments. And, with that, the identity of the killer, if there was one.
But Destiny’s protective instincts were just as deeply rooted within her, if not more so. She was the older sister, the one who had always looked out for Paula.
Yeah, and how’s that going for you? Destiny silently mocked herself.
Being the older sister hadn’t been easy. Though she had never doubted her sister’s love for her, Paula had fought her all the way, desperately wanting to assert her independence.
“I’m a big girl now, Destiny. You can’t hover over me forever.”
Destiny could feel the corners of her eyes beginning to sting again as she struggled for the umpteenth time to hold back her tears.
Yeah, well, you would have done better if I had hovered, Destiny couldn’t help thinking now. There was no doubt in her mind that Paula would be alive right now if she had hovered.
If.
Her protective instincts had made her want to cover Paula up, to give her sister some small semblance of modesty and dignity by draping something over her—at least a towel. She didn’t want to leave her where everyone coming into the beige-and-blue-tiled bathroom could see her like this, utterly naked and exposed.
As if sensing her turmoil, Sean told her, “I promise I’ll make this as quick as I can, Destiny.”
She was grateful to him for his kindness. Pressing her lips together, Destiny nodded, doing her best to smile her thanks and succeeding only marginally.
“Thank you,” she said hoarsely.
Logan, who had entered behind his father and the victim’s sister, squatted down now, his attention focused on the opened cell phone that apparently had slipped from the dead woman’s hand just as life had ebbed away from her.
The cell phone was in the open position and it was still turned on. As he crouched closer to it, Logan could see that there was a text message on the screen. One last message just before death had found her.
Was it a last-minute regret and a plea for help? Or was this intended to be a virtual version of a suicide note?
Using his handkerchief to keep from getting his fingerprints on the phone or contaminating any prints besides the victim’s on the device, Logan was about to pick it up when he stopped and looked over toward his father. “Did you already take a picture of this?”
“Tagged and photographed,” Sean answered as he continued examining Destiny’s sister.
Logan lifted the phone and looked at the screen. There were only three words in the text message: He left me.
“We need to find out who this number belongs to,” Logan said, thinking out loud as he examined the cell number the message had been sent to.
“Not necessary,” Destiny told him stoically.
Each word she uttered felt as if it scraped along an incredibly dry tongue. Her whole mouth felt like a desert in the midst of a seven-year drought. And she was having trouble getting air into her lungs. Part of her was numb, the other was almost on fire.
“She texted you?” Logan guessed, glancing toward her and reading her body language.
Right now, the woman appeared to be shut down tighter than Fort Knox. Logan absently wondered what it would take to loosen her up, then dismissed the thought since right now, knowing that wasn’t going to help him. Thinking of her as a woman was completely out of line. She was the victim’s sister and his father’s assistant, nothing else.
At least, not right now.
Logan caught himself hoping that there would be a later.
Destiny heard
the detective’s voice as if it had originated in an echo chamber. It sounded as if it was coming at her from a great distance.
She blinked, forcing herself to stay focused. If she let her mind wander, she wouldn’t make it out of this room without coming apart. She’d already cried once. That was all she could afford to grieve. She had work to do.
“Yes, it’s my number. I called her back almost immediately after she sent the message, but she didn’t pick up.” She pressed her lips together, taking a breath before continuing. Her voice sounded strained. “I’d been calling her all day without a response, so I got worried.”
“Why?” Logan asked. “Was she unstable? Were you afraid that she was likely to harm herself?”
Destiny stared at him. What was he talking about? He didn’t know Paula. He had no right to his assumptions. She took offense at the implication behind his questions.
“I got worried because I’m her sister,” she retorted angrily. “Because Paula normally keeps in touch. And she doesn’t send short text messages.” The three-word text was out of character for Paula. “She goes on and on, whether it’s a phone call, a text or in person. My sister is—was,” she corrected herself painfully, “not a person of a few words. She never said anything in three words that she could say in forty.”
He thought of pointing out that distraught people, especially people about to commit suicide, didn’t always conform to their normal behavior, but he had a feeling she wasn’t in the mood to be contradicted.
Instead, he focused on another piece of the puzzle. “Who’s this ‘him’ she’s referring to?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
Destiny took a deep breath, angry with herself for not having pushed when Paula had opted to keep the man’s name a secret. If she’d badgered Paula enough, she knew Paula would have finally caved in. Why hadn’t she pushed? Why had she just elected to respect her sister’s boundaries? At the very least, this mystery man of Paula’s could give them insight to her frame of mind the last time he saw her as he left.
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