Harlequin Intrigue May 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Carol Ericson

  Kyra crumpled the paper in her fist. “I was so fixated on the LA part, I couldn’t see past it. I mean, it can’t be him...can it? It’s just someone using the name to terrorize me for some reason.”

  Jake tapped one finger on his knee, his hazel eyes dark and flat. “Who else knows your identity besides me, Quinn and Matt?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed a hand against her midsection to still the butterflies that kicked up every time she thought about this. “There were people at the time who knew, of course. The cops, the social workers. If you noticed, the news stories about Buck’s...death didn’t mention that the foster child who did the dirty work was the daughter of a homicide victim. That would’ve been a juicy story, but the press didn’t run with it. Still, I’m guessing some of the cops knew. That’s why they were so sympathetic.”

  “Captain Castillo?”

  She blinked at him. “He was around, so maybe. I wasn’t taken to your division. It was LAPD jurisdiction, but it was a different station. Why Castillo?”

  “Not sure.” He picked at the soggy label on his bottle. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too difficult for someone involved—social worker, cop, medical worker—to have kept tabs on you through the years and followed your name change. If someone wasn’t watching you, Marilyn Monroe Lake could morph into Kyra Leigh Chase without a hitch, but if someone had his or her eye on you, was checking up on you periodically, that name change may not have been so seamless.”

  The creepiness of someone watching her that closely receded slightly with the realization that he knew her middle name. “We’re back to cops again. Why? Why would someone be tracking me like that?”

  “Matt Dugan did.”

  “Matt was obsessed with me.”

  “What was Matt’s response to Buck’s death?”

  Her cheeks grew warm and she pressed the cool, damp bottle against her face. “He thought it was the raddest thing ever. Kept making excuses as to why he’d never done it himself. Started looking at me a little differently after that.”

  “Do you think it led to his obsession?”

  “Absolutely. He fancied us a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde going on some crime spree together. Quinn had different ideas. That’s when he and Charlotte finally got me for good. DCFS was just happy to get rid of me at that point.” She clasped her hands between her knees. “But that’s Matt, and Matt’s dead. Who else would want to keep tabs on me?”

  Jake traced a pattern on the thigh of his jeans with the tip of his finger. Without looking up, he said, “When I confronted you about the playing cards during the first copycat killings, you mentioned that The Player was still out there. Do you still believe that?”

  “Well, he is, isn’t he? Quinn never caught him. He stopped his killing spree. Nobody ever confessed, no witnesses ever came forward. He must be out there somewhere.” Her gaze shifted to the huge window that took up one wall of Jake’s living room.

  He had no drapes or blinds on the window, but he didn’t need them. He was high enough on the hill that nobody could see inside his place. He could see them, but they couldn’t see him—sort of a metaphor for his job.

  Jake said, “He could be dead.”

  “Could be. Hope so. But if he is—” Kyra twisted her fingers in her lap “—who’s this Player tormenting me?”

  “If he isn’t, why would he be taunting you now?”

  Her stomach flip-flopped. She’d never talked about any of this stuff with anyone other than Quinn. The conversation with Jake stripped her bare—and not in a good way.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Stay with me for a minute.” He held up one finger, a shred of the beer label hanging off his fingernail. “If The Player isn’t dead and he’s behind the playing cards and the email, why? Why would he contact you now?”

  “Not sure. Maybe because of the renewed interest in his crimes due to the copycats.”

  “Okay, I’ll go along with that, but does he even know who you are? Does he know about Matt and the Harmons?”

  “Good questions.” She picked up her beer again, less eager to down the remaining sips now that it had done its job of taking off the edge while she’d come clean to Jake. “I asked Quinn about that, and he’s always been pretty vague. The news reports at the time did mention that Jennifer Lake’s daughter had been asleep in the house during her mother’s murder and that she had discovered the body. That’s all true.”

  “The accounts I read never mentioned your name, showed your picture or gave any details about your fate. For all anyone knew, you could’ve left the state with grandparents or other relatives.”

  Kyra’s throat tightened and she gulped down the rest of the beer after all. “Well, that didn’t happen.”

  “The Player wouldn’t have known that. He had no way of tracking you, so he wouldn’t know who you were now, especially now with the name change. Maybe that’s why...” Jake broke off and rubbed his jaw.

  “Why what?” The fluttering continued in her belly, almost as if there was something to be discovered around the corner that she didn’t want to know.

  “I know Quinn and Charlotte never officially adopted you, but you did go to live with them when you...left the Harmons. When you changed your name, why didn’t you take Quinn’s last name? Kyra Quinn has a nice ring to it.”

  “I wanted to. I’d planned on it...” She put her hand to her throat and met Jake’s eyes. “Quinn didn’t want me to. I was hurt, but he and Charlotte made up some excuse, which I accepted at the time, and then proved in a thousand different ways it wasn’t because they didn’t want me. You think Quinn didn’t want me to take his name because he didn’t want The Player to know who I was.”

  “I think so.” Jake squeezed her hand, which was lying limply in her lap. “Not that he would be looking for you. Why should he? That’s what I’m thinking now. Why would The Player, after getting away with several murders, come out of the woodwork now? Just because some sickos decided to copy his demented crimes?”

  “Prison. You know better than I do that serial killers stop when they die or are imprisoned. Maybe he’s been in jail all this time.”

  “Still doesn’t explain how he found you. Maybe the person taunting you now is just some messed-up acquaintance of Matt’s. Matt got drunk or high, told the guy all about you, and he picked it up and ran with it. I’d sure like to talk to him, see if he had any connection to Jordy Cannon. He might even lead us to Andrea’s and Crystal’s killer.” He reached across her to grab her beer bottle. “I’m glad you told me everything.”

  She nudged the toe of her sandal against the laptop on the coffee table. “Too late. I didn’t have to tell you. You found out on your own from Billy’s friend at DCFS.”

  Jake tripped to a stop on his way to the kitchen with the bottles in one hand. “It didn’t happen like that.”

  His voice had dropped, and she twisted on the couch to face him fully. “You don’t have to lie. I saw Tara’s name on your phone, and I asked Billy about her later—told him I was jealous.”

  Jake’s eyes widened briefly. “I did talk to Tara, but she didn’t give me the goods...couldn’t. Your file at DCFS is locked down. Matt’s, too, for the same time period.”

  “Oh.” She skimmed a hand through her hair. “I have Quinn to thank for that, too.”

  “I imagine you do.” He continued on his way to the large kitchen and edged around the granite island in the center.

  She pushed up from the couch and followed him. As he dropped the bottle in the recycling bin, she sat on the chair at the end of the island and planted her elbows on the granite. “How did you find out about the Harmons and what happened there? Did Matt have some paperwork in that box I missed?”

  “No.” Jake folded his arms and wedged his lower back against the counter.

  A muscle twitched at the corner
of her mouth. Jake didn’t want to tell her. Who was left to betray her? Quinn never would, not even to Jake.

  “It—it’s okay, Jake. I won’t be upset. Quinn made me see that I should’ve been telling you everything for the sake of the case.”

  He pushed away from the counter and reached for a shelf on the other side of the kitchen from her. He yanked his phone from the charger and tapped the display.

  He placed the phone in front of her and said, “This is how I knew.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Kyra swallowed when she saw the text message calling out the Harmons. “Who sent this?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I tried texting back. I tried calling the number. It’s like the text was sent and the phone turned off.” He spun the phone back toward him with one finger. “Unlike you with the email, I haven’t had a chance to put a trace on the phone, but my guess?”

  She answered for him. “It’s a burner.”

  “Probably stuffed in a trash bin, as we speak. Doesn’t mean I can’t try. Remember when we thought Jordy had called from a burner phone, and it turned out he’d stolen one from Rachel Blackburn.”

  “That definitely helped crack the case. Maybe this guy made the same mistake as Jordy.” Kyra folded her hands on the smooth granite as if waiting to be schooled by the great detective. “How did this person know you were looking for my foster family?”

  Jake tugged on his earlobe. “That’s a question I’ve been avoiding. Who would know?”

  Kyra raised her hand and wiggled her fingers, ticking off each one with a name. “Tara, the social worker. Billy, if Tara told him. Matt, who’s dead. Quinn, probably. Anyone who overheard you at the station.”

  “Nobody overheard me.”

  “That’s what you think. I saw the display with Tara’s name, and I saw your text exchange with Matt last month. People who are hell-bent on discovering information will find a way.”

  He swept some nonexistent crumbs from the counter into his palm. “None of those names you mentioned makes sense. If Tara had the Harmons’ name, she would’ve given it to me. Billy wouldn’t know or care. As you pointed out, Matt’s dead. Quinn wouldn’t betray you if I offered him The Player on a silver platter.”

  “Unless—” she sucked in her bottom lip “—Quinn told you to force me to come clean to you about everything. Quinn has been warning me that the stuff happening to me might be connected to the copycat killers.”

  “Quinn wouldn’t send me an anonymous text from a burner phone, though. He’s not that kind of guy. He’d tell you he was going to do it, and then he’d call me directly and tell me.”

  “You’re right.” She drummed her fingers on the surface of the island. “It must be La Prey—I mean, the other player. He seemed to know that I’d destroyed the picture of the Harmons I took from Matt’s apartment. He knew you were looking into my past.”

  “He could be making some educated guesses. I was going to meet Matt before he died. Maybe player just assumed I was digging into your past.” Jake circled a finger in the air. “He’s not some omniscient creature.”

  “Sure feels like it.” She rubbed the goose bumps racing up her arms. “And can I ask you a favor?”

  “I figure I owe you a few for snooping into your past.”

  Wrinkling her nose, she waved her hand. “Forget that, but could you not call this new threat against me The Player? Sounds too much like the old threat against me—or at least my mother. I prefer to think of him as La Prey, sounds almost refined.”

  “Done. I want to track him down, not just to make him stop torturing you, but to find out why he’s so interested in The Player and this current killing spree. He might know these guys.”

  “You’re checking out Jordy Lee Cannon’s friends and associates, right?”

  “Yeah, though the fact that he’s dead doesn’t make it easy. If I could’ve kept him alive, taken him into custody, questioned him...” Jake ground his fist into his palm. “I could’ve made him talk, give up his secrets and his motivation.”

  She said in a small voice without looking up, “I’m afraid that’s my fault. If I hadn’t gone after him myself, he never would’ve taken me hostage and you wouldn’t have had to shoot him.”

  “We caught him faster because of you. If he had gotten away that night, he might’ve committed another murder. You may have saved someone’s life that night, so don’t beat yourself up.”

  Jake’s words gave her a warm glow, and she glanced up at him through her lashes. He hadn’t had much of a reaction about Buck Harmon, except to say she’d taken out the trash when she had killed him. That seemed like a typical response from a cop.

  Bracing her hands against the cool countertop, she started. “I didn’t want to tell you about Buck for the same reason I didn’t want to tell you I was the daughter of one of The Player’s victims. I know it’s a past that has formed me, but I don’t want it to define who I am today. I can change my identity, but I’ll never erase those experiences. I don’t necessarily want to erase them. I just don’t want to be judged by them, even if that judgment is on my side and takes the form of pity. I don’t want people walking around on eggshells in my presence. I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I hid things from you.”

  He held up a hand. “It’s...understandable.”

  “When Quinn worked out that anagram, I realized how important it was to tell you everything. Still, it was more than that.” She peeled her hand from the counter and ran it along the tail of the tattoo on his left forearm, snaking out of the arm of his T-shirt. “I knew if I ever hoped to have some kind of relationship with you, I’d have to tell you all about my ugly past.”

  His arm tensed and corded beneath her fingertips. “Do you hope to have some kind of relationship with me?”

  His voice, all rough around the edges, sent a thrill to her core, and she dug her fingertips into his flesh. “I do, if I haven’t scared you off.”

  Keeping his arm in her grip, he hunched forward across the island and wedged a finger beneath her chin. “Do I look like the kind of man who scares easily?”

  Her lashes fluttered as she took in the strong jaw, set in determination, and the spark in his hazel eyes. She breathed out one word. “No.”

  Her breath hitched in her throat as he circled the island and planted himself in front of her. He ran one hand through her hair and leaned in for a kiss, slanting his mouth across hers; his lips, slightly chapped, caressed hers, demanding more from her.

  For the first time in a long time, she was willing to give more. She’d told Jake more about herself than she’d ever admitted to another man. It was a step, a first step.

  She curled her arms around his neck and hopped from the high chair, hanging against him for a few seconds, her toes brushing the wood floor.

  His hand slipped from the back of her head and cupped her face as he rained soft kisses on her lips. She sighed against his mouth, her knuckles brushing his prickly jaw.

  He fitted his body with hers along every line, so that his erection pressed against her pelvis. She swayed her hips in a sinuous dance to get him even closer.

  His breath hot on her cheek, he grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the kitchen. She tripped as he veered course from the stairs that must lead to his bedroom in favor of the living room with its sprawling view of the city. Before she had a second to wonder where he was taking her, his cell phone rang.

  She’d never heard that particular ringtone from his phone before. It must’ve been coming from his private cell—he wouldn’t have a song from a boy band on his work phone.

  The sound of the ringtone stopped Jake dead in his tracks. He put a finger to her thrumming lips. “I’m so sorry. I have to answer this.”

  She nodded and almost collapsed on her jelly legs when he released her and returned to the kitchen. He picked up the phone that had been charging next to his work p
hone.

  With his back to her, he answered. “Fiona, what are you doing up so late? Isn’t it a school day tomorrow?”

  Fiona? Kyra’s lips lifted on one side. His daughter.

  As Jake launched into a conversation that could only be with an adolescent, Kyra tiptoed to her purse, hitched it over one shoulder and slipped out his front door.

  * * *

  OVER FIONA’S WHINING, Jake heard the soft click of his front door. He twisted his head around, taking in the empty living room and the vacant spot where Kyra had dropped her purse earlier.

  He muttered, “Damn.”

  Fiona interrupted the tirade against her mother and her tyrannical rule, and said, “Dad, you’re not supposed to curse in front of me.”

  “I’m sorry, Fiona. You’re right.” He sat heavily on the chair Kyra had occupied earlier, her scent, like rosebushes through an open window, still wafting in the air. “You need to listen to your mother and...”

  “Brock. My stepfather’s name is Brock, Dad.”

  “I know that.” He gave a secret smile into the phone. “When you’re with them—”

  “Which is most of the time.”

  His daughter’s barbed words pricked him. When had she gotten so...grown-up? “It is, so it’s important that you follow their rules.”

  “Christmas. You said I could come for Christmas break.” She heaved a sigh that gushed over the line. “I am not going to Japan with Mom and Brock. I don’t want to go to Japan.”

  “Your mother and I still need to discuss that.” Meaning he’d ask and Tess would say no.

  “Were you busy when I called? Watcha working on?”

  His work was not fit to discuss with a fourteen-year-old girl, even one with a fascination for true crime. Where the hell had she gotten that and why had Tess allowed it? He knew something had gone amiss when Fiona had visited him last year and asked him to take her to Cielo Drive, where the Manson Family had committed their most famous crime.