Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  “Let me guess. It has more pictures in it.”

  “Wrong, but when Jake and I were going through the box at my place...”

  She stopped when Quinn quirked his eyebrows up and down. “You invited Jake to your apartment?”

  “He just showed up with the box.” She flicked her fingers in the air. “As I was saying, when we were going through the box, I saw a scrap of paper with the same name as the one in the email address.”

  She didn’t intend to tell Quinn she’d seen that piece of paper while in the throes of passion in Jake’s arms. Quinn was a father figure to her, and you just didn’t tell your dad stuff like that—even though he would’ve approved wholeheartedly.

  “There’s your connection. Unusual name?” Quinn cocked his head.

  “Yeah—La Prey. That was in the email address with the picture attachment, and that name was printed on a piece of paper in Matt’s storage unit.”

  “La Prey? What does that mean?” Quinn slid from the stool. “I’d better get the meat loaf out of the oven.”

  “I have no idea. It could also be LA Prey, like Los Angeles prey, like I’m his prey.” She grabbed plates from the cupboard, feeling lighter already. It always helped to confess her sins to Quinn. He never judged her.

  “Mashed potatoes are in the microwave. I didn’t want to overheat those.”

  They suspended discussion of Kyra’s crimes and misdemeanors while they bustled around the kitchen, grabbing dishes and food to lay out on the kitchen table by the sliding doors.

  When the table was set, Quinn pulled out her chair for her.

  She smiled her thanks and said, “Ever since Jake came over here, set the table for dinner and even put a vase of flowers in the center, eating on the couch in front of the TV isn’t good enough for you.”

  “It was nice.” He patted her hand as he sat down. “This is nice. Why waste that view off the patio.”

  She glanced through the glass doors at the moonlit water as it lapped against the rocks that formed the borders for the canals. “You’re right. It’s beautiful. Charlotte loved this house.”

  “And you. Charlotte loved you.” Quinn’s blue eyes watered. “You should’ve been ours. If I hadn’t had that drinking problem, DCFS would’ve given you to us.”

  “It was more than that and you know it, Quinn.”

  “They thought we were too old.” He made a spitting noise with his tongue. “Nonsense.”

  “It wasn’t just that, either. Looking back now in my position as a therapist, the social workers probably didn’t think it was a good idea for a homicide detective and his wife to adopt a girl he’d rescued from the bloody scene of her mother’s murder.”

  “Why not?” Quinn pounded the handle of his fork on the table. “Who better? I knew what you’d been through. I was in the best position to protect you.”

  “And you did anyway.” She dug into her meat loaf and smacked her lips. “You’re right. Rose is a hell of a cook.”

  Quinn knew she’d never allow him to blame himself for her time in the foster care system. He and Charlotte did everything they could to help and protect her.

  With the subject thoroughly changed, Quinn returned to their previous one. “I take it you already went to the library to nose around, and they wouldn’t tell you anything.”

  “Exactly.” She scooped up a mound of potatoes and studied it on her fork, wondering how Rose got the potatoes so fluffy.

  “I know who could’ve helped with that if you’d told him.” Quinn swirled the last sip of beer in his bottle and then downed it, daring her to disagree with him.

  She couldn’t. “Believe me, I wished more than once for Jake at my side.”

  Quinn shoved his plate away and pointed at the kitchen counter next to the landline phone he still had plugged into the wall. “Hand me a piece of paper and the pen by the phone.”

  Kyra hopped up from her chair, taking their plates with her. After she’d placed them in the sink, she retrieved a memo pad and pen from the counter. She smacked them down in front of Quinn and took her seat, scooting it closer to his.

  He tested the pen with a blue scribble in the upper-right corner of the pad of paper. “Okay, Matt planted playing cards for you during the first copycat killer spree. He hinted to Jake that someone had paid him to do it. Matt dies of a drug overdose before spilling the beans.”

  Despite the way Quinn clutched the pen, his writing was neat and sure as he marked down each point.

  “Then Matt leaves you everything he has, including pictures from your foster care with the Harmons. You destroy one of those pictures and someone named La Prey sends you the same pic as an attachment to an email.” He glanced up, his blue eyes clear and bright. “How am I doing?”

  She gave him a thumbs-up. “So far, so good.”

  “You then discover a piece of paper with that same unusual name among Matt’s things, indicating a connection between Matt, the playing cards, the email and the pictures.”

  She planted her elbows on the table and said, “I didn’t want to believe it, but it sounds like this La Prey person did pay Matt to plant the cards and maybe intended to use him for other...pranks. When Matt died, La Prey picked up the mantle and carried on by himself. But why? And what does any of this have to do with the copycat killers?”

  “We need to find La Prey.” Quinn shook a finger at her. “You need to tell Jake everything—yes, even why you got rid of that picture of the Harmons. He can help you. I have a good feeling about that guy, and not just because he’s an LAPD homicide detective.”

  “What if he...?” Kyra sawed her bottom lip, the memory of Jake’s kisses tingling.

  Quinn smacked the table between them. “Stop right there. If he can’t understand why you did what you did, he’s not the man I thought he was, and he’s not worthy of you. Your deception is a different matter.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I mean, young lady, when you constantly lie to people, you erode their trust in you. Jake may be able to forgive you for your actions—he might have a harder time forgiving your deception.”

  Quinn’s words pained her heart, and she tapped her chest. “It’s even worse. His wife cheated on him with a coworker.”

  “Then you face the consequences, but you tell him the truth—if not for your relationship with him, then for the case. You’re withholding important information.”

  “I know you’re right.” She stabbed a finger at his list of events. “Put down ‘Kyra comes clean’ in your bullet points there.”

  He waved the memo pad in the air. “I’m not done yet. I’m interested in this name, La Prey. Is that how Matt wrote it down, as two words with a space between them?”

  “No, I just say it that way for convenience. Matt and the email address had it all run together as one word—laprey. Here, I’ll show you.” She took the notepad from his hand and picked up the pen. She carefully printed out the name and turned the pad toward Quinn.

  He studied the pad for several seconds and then held out his hand for the pen. Clutching the pen, he hunched over the paper, poking at each letter. Then he wrote something beneath it and looked up at Kyra, the lines on his face etched even deeper than usual.

  She caught her breath. “What’s wrong?”

  “Laprey is an anagram. It’s not only advisable that you tell Jake what’s going on—it’s imperative.”

  He shoved the paper toward her, and with her heart galloping in her chest, she read the rearranged letters—player.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jake pushed the computer from his lap, putting distance between himself and the seamy story of a foster parent abusing his charges and the one foster kid in his charge who fought back—stabbing Buck Harmon to death.

  He had no doubt the unnamed teen was Kyra Chase.

  He rubbed his eyes and then trained them on th
e view from his window, a sheet of glass that took up the whole wall, bringing the glittering lights of the city into his home. You’d think he’d want to get away from the city, with its evil and darkness, but from up here it looked...enchanted. When he was in this house, looking down at the lights, he could remember all the good, all the decent people.

  His gaze wandered to his open laptop, and his blood pounded in his temples as he studied the smug face of Buck Harmon. He knew some foster parents did it for the money; he also knew so many more who did it from the goodness of their hearts. He saw those people when he looked down from his perch in the Hollywood Hills.

  The headlights of a car moved across the window as it pulled into his driveway. He pushed up from the couch and peered outside at Kyra’s compact stopping behind his car.

  The knots in his gut that had been unraveling tightened. Why was she here? What was he going to say to her? If he admitted he knew about her past, she’d accuse him of snooping. If he pretended he knew nothing, she’d sense something was off. Billy was right—Kyra knew people. She’d gone into the right field.

  Before he had time to decide how to play it, his doorbell rang. He practically dragged his feet to answer it, when normally he’d be jumping out of his skin at a visit from Kyra.

  He swung open the door, and he didn’t even get a chance to say hello. She charged past him, her blond hair loose and messy, her eyes glassy and bright.

  She took several steps into the room and then spun around, throwing her hands in front of her as if offering him something that wasn’t there.

  “I have something to tell you—several things to tell you.”

  He nodded, his jaw seemingly locked in place.

  “That picture you saw in Matt’s mirror, the one of the family? That was our foster family, the one Matt and I shared. The parents were Buck and Lori Harmon, and I killed Buck Harmon when I was sixteen. Stabbed him.”

  She seemed to run out of steam, and he gaped at her like an idiot. She took his silence as encouragement, and she wound herself up again, throwing back her shoulders and pacing to the window.

  “I’m not proud of what I did, but he deserved it. When I was living with the Harmons, I discovered that Buck was molesting the younger girls. I tried to tell my caseworker at DCFS, but she didn’t believe me, and the girls all denied it—because they were scared. Even Quinn couldn’t help. The social worker wouldn’t even move me out of the home, not that I really wanted to leave the younger girls. The Harmons were the only ones willing to take...troubled teens.

  “I tried to protect the girls. I—I told Buck he could have me instead if he left them alone. Do you know what he said?” She twisted her head over her shoulder to meet his eyes.

  Jake’s stomach turned, but he said quietly, “No.”

  “He told me I was too old.” She snorted, which turned into a sob. “He liked them young and fresh, wasn’t interested after they hit puberty.”

  Jake’s hands curled into fists, and he felt like smashing them through the plate-glass window. “You took out the trash.”

  She turned toward him and flattened her hands against the window, her blue eyes wide, the lights of the city still reflected in their depths. “It was self-defense. One night when he came for one of the girls, I was there to stop him. He smacked me across the face and brandished a knife. Told me he’d kill Sophie if I didn’t watch him defile her and take pictures for him, and then he’d kill me.”

  Although Jake wanted to reach for her, he knew better. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and froze in the middle of the room. The news stories had confirmed the killing was in self-defense without going into this level of rancid detail.

  “Something snapped inside me.” She formed a cross over her chest with both hands. “When he held the knife to Sophie’s throat, I went for him. Used a few tricks I’d learned from Quinn and was able to disarm him. Didn’t hurt that Buck was on his third six-pack. I got the knife from him, but he didn’t stop. He laughed. Then he punched me in the stomach and lunged for Sophie. I lunged for him.”

  Her voice hitched at the end, and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He launched toward her and wrapped his arms around her stiff body. A tremble rolled through her frame, and he stroked his hand down her back.

  She spoke into his shoulder, her voice muffled. “There was so much blood. Sophie screamed and woke up the entire household. Buck’s wife, Lori, knew about the abuse, and she didn’t do anything to stop it. She didn’t do anything to help Buck at the end, either.”

  “She called the police?”

  “I did.” She broke from his embrace and stepped back, her eyes searching his face. “Lori didn’t make a move to do anything. The younger kids were hysterical. Matt wasn’t home. I was in shock, but I knew what I had to do.”

  “Did the police arrest you?”

  She ran a hand through her tangled hair. “They took me into custody and they read me my rights, but they didn’t handcuff me. I told them to call Quinn and Charlotte. They were with me when the cops questioned me.”

  “That must’ve been...traumatic.” She’d wandered away from him, not needing or wanting his comfort. He licked his lips. “I—I understand why you wouldn’t want to tell people about what happened, but I’m glad you told me.”

  She’d stopped at the edge of the couch, and her back straightened as if a rod had replaced her spine. Cranking her head toward him, she said, “Looks like I didn’t have to tell you. You already discovered everything on your own.”

  His heart stopped for a second and resumed pounding at a furious pace, the blood pulsing against his ears. His gaze shifted past her to the open laptop on the couch, Buck Harmon smirking at him from the screen.

  He lowered his voice. “I did find out about the Harmons.”

  Holding his breath, he watched the emotions arch across her face and braced for an explosion.

  Kyra’s shoulders sagged and she dropped to the arm of the couch, her feet spread apart and her knees pinned together, looking like a chastised schoolgirl. Not what he expected from her.

  He kept his breath pent up, his muscles rigid—just in case.

  “I don’t blame you.” She raised her eyes to his face, her cheeks pale. “Your instincts were right.”

  He released a long breath through his teeth, which came out as a whistle. “What do you mean?”

  “I had a beer at Quinn’s, and I could use another.”

  He sprang into action, heading for the kitchen. He grabbed two beers from the fridge and pointed one at the couch. “Sit down. Glass?”

  “Glass? I’m ready to mainline it.”

  A grin cracked his stiff face, and he twisted off the caps. He joined her on the couch, shutting his laptop with a snap on Harmon’s smug face and putting it on the coffee table.

  “I’m all ears.”

  “You’ve been all ears since I got here. Feel free to jump in at any time.” She cleared her throat, swigged some beer and told him about the email she’d received at work with the Harmon family picture as an attachment.

  “It obviously didn’t come from Matt Dugan.” Jake snapped his fingers. “Is that why you were in deep discussion with Brandon Nguyen? You were trying to find out where the email came from?”

  “The Santa Monica Public Library, but I’ll get to that in a minute.” She dropped her lashes. “First, I need to tell you why I, uh, went cold last night in the middle of...everything.”

  Jake choked on his beer and it foamed from his nostrils. When Kyra opened up, she really went all out. “I thought you just weren’t feeling it with me.”

  “Yeah, right.” Color washed into her cheeks and she took another sip of beer. “It’s because I saw a piece of paper among Matt’s things with the same name as that email.”

  “La Prey?” Jake furrowed his brow. The name that made no sense. “You didn’t tell me about it beca
use you’d have to have told me about the email and the picture.”

  She laced her fingers around the bottle. “Yeah. Sorry.”

  She didn’t have to apologize for wanting to keep that bit of her past hidden. How much trauma could one girl take?

  He coughed. “You have the email, the picture and the connection to Matt. Did you have any luck at the library?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think the librarian told you to pound sand.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I can help you with that.”

  “Exactly.”

  “This laprey probably did pay Matt to plant the cards during the killing spree of the copycat, and now he’s taunting you with that picture of the Harmons during this second wave of copycat murders. He could be connected to the killers, Kyra.”

  “There’s more, Jake. Even with all that info, I was telling myself that Matt’s involvement and even La Prey’s involvement had nothing to do with the serial killers. I was still planning to keep all of this from you...until tonight.”

  “What happened tonight?” He hunched forward slightly, watching her lips, not wanting to miss one word that fell from them. Quinn must’ve convinced her to come clean.

  “I was going through everything with Quinn, and he started writing out the events on a piece of paper. When it came to La Prey, he wrote it out as it appeared on the email address and Matt’s scribbling. Here, I’ll show you.” She ripped off a piece of paper from a notebook on his desk and grabbed a pen. She printed out the letters on the paper and shoved it in front of him on the table.

  He looked at the word for just a second. She didn’t have to tell him why she was here tonight confessing everything. His gaze flew to her face. “La Prey is an anagram for player.”

  * * *

  IT HAD TAKEN Jake less time than Quinn to see what was right in front of their faces. She’d been the only one to miss it. Had Matt missed it? Matt had a lot of issues, but he was no killer. He wouldn’t help one, either.