Code Name_Redemption

by Natasza Waters

  “What do you care, Dream Squad member?”

  He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll explain what I can without doping your drink. Come on.”

  Stuart held her hand as they left the cemetery.

  The pub wasn’t half as busy as it used to be. Usually by this time on a Friday night you couldn’t find a seat, but the Ripper had changed everything. Women didn’t walk in parkades at night or even across a well-lit mall parking lot.

  Stuart led them to a quiet corner and slid onto the bench seat next to her.

  “Think you’d be more comfortable over there,” she said, pointing across the table.

  He inhaled deeply and moved across from her. “Okay, so this isn’t a social call. And you holding my hand was just to placate me.”

  “No, you held my hand.” She pushed the placard with the drinks of the day out of the way. “I’m trying one final time to ask you what the hell is going on and what the police actually know about the Ripper. Montgomery said he’d fabricated the coroner’s report. He thinks the second void at Diana’s murder is a submissive. The Ripper’s Sub. I want to know whether you’ve hidden the truth about other victims, maybe prostitutes, disappearing. I want the truth before it’s too late.”

  Stuart leaned across the table and grasped her hands, pulling them to his mouth and kissing her knuckles. “I swear to you, I am taking care of this. You need to have a little faith that I know what I’m doing. How about that?”

  He didn’t let go of her hands when he lowered them to the table.

  “Stuart—”

  A bubbly young guy swooped in to take their order. “What can I get you?”

  Turning her attention to their server, she said, “Something without a date rape drug.”

  “She’s kidding. I’ll have the dark IPA and…coffee,” Stuart said before she could answer.

  “’Kay.” The waiter trotted off to the next table.

  “Do I have to worry about this JTF guy?”

  “Worry, how?”

  Stuart sat back with a plop. “Fuck, you’ve already slept with him, haven’t you?”

  Her cheeks heated, and she glared at him for no other reason than being too observant. She’d learned from a young age, lying to a cop never worked out well. “As if it matters to you?”

  Stuart shook his head in disgust and stared out the window where night cast its inky darkness across the small parking lot behind the pub.

  His silence bothered her. “We had a—” She shrugged. “He’s a sailor.” As if she needed to explain anything to Stuart. Typical guy. He didn’t get her into bed first and his alpha slash competitive nature reflected with disappointment on his features. At her!

  The server returned with their drinks and a couple of cardboard coasters printed with the pub’s logo of a gentlemen in a bowler hat riding a Penny Farthing. “You want me to run a tab?”

  Stuart nodded. “And bring her a pint of this.”

  Mattie rolled her eyes. “Stuart.”

  “You’re having a drink with me. Maybe even two or three.”

  “Or none,” came a harsh voice from behind her left shoulder.

  Stuart’s expression grew tight. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Although she knew the voice intimately, it was Stuart’s reaction that confirmed who stood behind her.

  “Let’s go, Mattie.” With his shoulders taut and immensely huge, Greg plucked her coat hanging on the hook next to her seat.

  Stuart slid from the bench and the men faced off. “Maybe you should hit the road before I call in a disturbance.”

  Greg took a step closer and looked down at Stuart. “And leave Mattie wide open for the Ripper to take her. Is that the ultimate goal?”

  “Get the fuck out of my face, LaPierre.”

  “Gentlemen!” A guy approached with an I’m the manager expression. Not to mention a healthy dose of fear because he was a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. “If there’s a problem, please take it outside.”

  Greg gripped her hand and dragged her from the seat. “I don’t give a shit if she hates me or not but if you want her, you have to come through me.”

  “Greg—”

  He had that scary intense look in his eyes again when he threw his massive arm around her waist and hustled her to the front door. She didn’t want to make a scene and kept in step with him.

  As soon as they were outside, he turned on her, his gaze smoldering green like a cauldron about to explode. “Our relationship is not his business.”

  “We don’t have a relationship.” She pivoted on her heel and walked down the sidewalk toward her car, ignoring the fact he remained beside her as if someone had tied their ankles together.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Actions speak louder than words, and you couldn’t wait to get me off the boat this morning. I can take a hint. I hope you can too. Fuck off.”

  He blinked and his jaw slackened, but that’s all she saw before hoofing it toward her car.

  Greg chased after her, not giving in or taking a hint. “Mattie, I screwed up, all right. I admit it. I’m sorry.”

  She swallowed and kept walking, but his words hooked a claw into her heart. Keep walking Mattie. Don’t stop. You stop, you’ll relinquish your pride and be his Sub for the rest of your life. Just her luck finding the only man who acted like quicksand on her resolve. The man who would drive her crazy, and probably end up turning her into a simpering mess.

  “Mattie.” He caught up and blocked the driver’s door.

  She backed up a pace and crossed her arms. “Don’t need any guy who yanks my chain. You do it. Stuart’s doing it. Is it something about my face? Do I have sucker written on my back?” She stared at his boots. Angry at herself, she wrapped both hands on his arm and pulled, but he wouldn’t move out of the way, and displacing two hundred plus pounds of raw muscle was impossible.

  His warm hand palmed her cheek. “Haven’t you ever screwed up? I mean…I don’t know what to do except say I’m sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you forgive me.”

  She tilted her head to look at him. “I forgive you. Now, can I go home?”

  He shifted, but not enough to open her door.

  “Mattie, please. Just let me watch over you until this is over. I promise I won’t…I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you really want.”

  It’s not what she wanted. Not at all. But she said what every warm-blooded woman with a hot temper would say. “That’s what I want.”

  His brow grew taut as he watched a car drive past them. “It’s not what I want.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit,” she barked. “You assholes are all the same. Smooth words. Warm smiles. Sensual touches. But once you’ve been between a woman’s legs, it’s back to business.”

  Greg’s jaw tightened to a hard line. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

  “I don’t have to know. You said it loud and clear with your actions. You reel in a woman, then pull her off your hook and toss her back into the ocean. Get out of my way.”

  “Good idea. Get out of her way,” Stuart said, finally catching up to them.

  Greg reeled around and nailed Stuart square in the face with a powerhouse punch. Stuart stumbled and landed on his ass.

  “Jesus, Greg! What are you doing?” She rushed to Stuart’s side and knelt, waiting for the little birds circling his head to clear.

  A couple passing by stopped for a moment and then the guy hustled his girl past the spectacle Greg caused. Stuart would go all cop then Greg would end up in jail. Not what she wanted to happen.

  Greg shifted with a stealth movement. His voice harsh. The dangerous undercurrent obvious to her. He had no fear.

  “Gonna call the boys in blue?” Greg squatted next to Stuart who leaned back on one hand and gripped his jaw with the other. “Or are you going to explain why every time we turn around, you’re there. Think that’s what you cops call stalking.”

  “Fuck you, LaPierre.�
�� Stuart pushed to his feet and squared his shoulders. “I call it being concerned for a friend. A woman who I care about.”

  “Care about, huh?”

  Mattie’s purse squawked from the hood of her car where she’d dropped it. Her ears tuned into the code the police dispatcher called out.

  “Oh, shit!” When the men didn’t stop barking at each other she said it again. “Shit.”

  She ran and dug out the scanner. Both men finally paid attention and circled her.

  Mattie handed the scanner to Stuart. The dispatcher called for units to respond to a SD. Sudden death wasn’t what drew their attention, but the location was. Fisgard Lighthouse.

  “It’s the 16th,” she said. “He’s killed again. Did anyone report a missing person in the last few days?”

  Stuart shook his head. “No. No one.” He pulled his cell and called a number.

  While Stuart wandered away from them, she took the opportunity to glare at Greg. “I have to do my job. You get that, right? Chasing the story. Finding the Ripper. It’s a team effort, but I’m part of that effort. I have to get over to Esquimalt.” Greg would know where Esquimalt was located. It was the Pacific’s headquarters for the Naval Fleet.

  Greg wrapped his muscular arm around her waist. “I’ll drive you.”

  She hated to push him away, but she couldn’t let him tug on her emotions or muddle her mind any longer. Gently, she removed his arm. “Greg, I’m not in danger.”

  Stuart finished his call. “LaPierre, you have nothing to do with this investigation,” he announced, joining them.

  “Yeah, other than getting arrested for being the Ripper. He’s running free, and as long as that’s the situation, Mattie doesn’t leave my sight.”

  Stuart ignored him. “Mattie, the task force is responding.”

  “But you said you weren’t on it anymore.”

  “I am now. I just spoke with Sergeant Montgomery. The woman’s been identified.”

  Mattie clutched her jacket around her and ignored the drops of rain sliding down her cheek. “Who is she?”

  Stuart glanced between both of them. “It’s Marlene Summers.”

  A chill of disbelief ran across her skin. “What?”

  “Who’s that?” Greg interrupted.

  Stuart pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll explain in the car. I’ll drive.”

  Piling into Stuart’s SUV, Mattie’s heart raced. Uninvited, Greg stepped into the backseat, while she joined Stuart up front. “Are you sure?”

  Stuart nodded and his eyes darted to the rear-view mirror. “Marlene is a journalist at the New Times Colonist.”

  She pulled at the seatbelt, hating the restriction across her torso. She couldn’t breathe. “Drive faster.”

  “Easy, Mattie.” Stuart placed his hand over hers. “She’s not going anywhere.”

  “Marlene texted me this morning. She said she had a lead.” This had to be a mistake. If Mattie hadn’t been wallowing in her own man-pity, she would have seen her text earlier.

  Stuart drove through the dark, wet neighborhood with large oaks and cherry tree branches stretching their arms across the road until he merged with Highway 17, then turned left onto the connector to Highway One. Twenty minutes later, they passed BC’s oldest pub called the Six Mile, dating back to 1855 when it began its existence as a hotel. An old roadhouse with ghosts and spectres haunting the legendary walls that survived prohibition and changed hands many times.

  Police units with their lights flashing overtook them on the narrow road as they drove toward the spit of land where the Fisgard Lighthouse and Fort Rodd Hill was co-located. The sweep of the windshield wipers cleaned the downpour blurring her vision, but it didn’t do a thing to clear her mind.

  The barricade to the National Park had been removed, and Stuart turned onto the paved walkway most tourists wandered on foot to see the historic landmark. They parked among ambulances and police cruisers responding to the call in front of the Lower Battery. The night lit by the flashes of red, blue and white. The color of tragedy.

  Mattie noticed Montgomery’s black Dodge was already there. As soon as Stuart stopped the vehicle she jumped out, needing air.

  She got what she expected.

  A cold winter gale blew down Juan de Fuca Strait and bent the limbs of the trees skirting the park. Stuart and Greg joined her, and they rounded the Battery to the dark path leading to sea level, the causeway and at the end stood Fisgard Lighthouse.

  She blinked the droplets from her eyes and stared down the long causeway. The lighthouse perched on a rise of rocks at the other end. Floodlights sprayed down the white column, illuminating the structure. Automated in 1929, it still warned mariners and invited the Canadian Navy home at the entrance to Esquimalt harbour.

  The wind howled and clawed at her clothes as she measured her approach by the small lights situated every ten feet down the middle of the pitted, uneven pavement. The smell of dying kelp invaded her nose.

  Her thoughts sparked with random questions. Had the Ripper met Marlene here or conned her into joining him for the last steps she’d ever take? How many hours ago had she walked on this same ground? Her friend was street smart. Why hadn’t she sensed danger?

  Stopping at the base of the lighthouse, she raised her eyes and followed the steps to the landing and entrance to the Keeper’s home. Picturesque, the cedar boards painted with a warm muted red and white shutters bracketing the widows. During the summer, bunches of yellow bloomed flowers grew from the crevices in the rocks. Mattie hadn’t been here since she’d come for a high school field trip. Tonight her fond childhood memory would become a grownup nightmare.

  They climbed the steps to the stone-embedded landing. A railing ran along the right side of the narrow passage and kept visitors from inadvertently falling onto the rocks or children from exploring. At the base of the lighthouse, two Vic PD officers blocked their way.

  “Stuart Hellman, Ripper Task Force.” He flashed his badge.

  “And you two?” The larger cop asked.

  “Mattie Bidault and this is Lieutenant Commander LaPierre,” Stuart advised. “They’re with me.”

  The cop pulled his cap. “Mattie Bidault, from the Colonist?”

  She nodded, finding it pretty damn hard to breathe knowing what leaned against the brilliant white column of the lighthouse around the corner. The crowd of men and women responders blocked her view, but she imagined the grizzly sight and her stomach clenched with nausea.

  The cop scratched his head. “Um, yeah. I guess you better go look.”

  “Why?” she asked, thinking it was because Marlene was a fellow journalist.

  “He left a message this time, and it’s addressed to Mattie.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Mattie clenched her fists. With weighted legs, she forced herself to keep walking. The urge to hold onto something solid like Greg’s hand overwhelmed her as they approached the huddle of uniformed responders standing next to the lighthouse. Two mobile spotlights illuminated the base with a spray of brilliance for the investigators to find the smallest clues. Her senses hyperaware, Mattie’s gaze paused to watch the raindrops sparkle, passing through the wash of light. Distracted by movement, she saw four men walking up the handicap access path carrying a black canvas tent, presumably to preserve evidence.

  “Wait here, Mattie,” Stuart instructed, then shouldered his way through the crowd.

  Her gaze dropped to the wet stone under her shoes, not in any hurry to see what the circle of people blocked from her view. Marlene’s body lay on the other side of the tower, hidden from her view. When Greg’s warm fingers clasped her hand for reassurance, she gladly accepted his closeness.

  “Was she a friend as well as a co-worker?” he asked.

  She closed her eyes and nodded. “Our newspaper isn’t large by global standards. Doesn’t take an army to run it. We all know each other.”

  Stuart reappeared from the sea of dark, blue bomber jackets worn by the Vic PD. Their radios
squawked, but the gale wind from the ocean carried the sound out to sea.

  Reaching them, he gently gripped her shoulders. “I want you to think twice about doing this. I know your dad was a cop. You’ve seen a lot of crime scene photos, but I think you should head back to my car. I’ll bring some images to you.”

  She swallowed and her heart beat erratically. “That bad?”

  Stuart’s compassionate gaze didn’t help to soothe her nerves. “It is.” He darted a glance at Greg. “Take her away from here. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

  She shook her head and swept the rain from her eyes. The Ripper cut Marlene’s life short. Mattie owed her, not only as a fellow journalist, but as a friend. Marlene was the Colonist’s cheerleader. She never saw other writers as competition, wanting everyone to succeed. And they’d spent more than a couple nights comparing notes on being single over drinks after work. “No. I need to see—what he did.”

  Greg didn’t oppose her decision, and her hand slipped from his as Stuart led her through the crowd. The men and women parted to let them pass, their conversations dwindling to a deafening silence. One more deep breath and Stuart would step aside and so would her imagination. The horrifying images it had created since they’d arrived would become a hundred times worse under the unforgiving light of reality.

  Stuart’s arm wrapped around her shoulders when she stopped. Nothing protected her from the truth her sight revealed.

  The Ripper had propped Marlene’s body against the whitewashed column of the lighthouse. A slack expression of death glazed her open eyes. Strands of Marlene’s beautiful, soaking wet blonde hair, plastered to her face.

  Mattie’s hand rose to cover her mouth. She couldn’t scream but her stomach warned it might erupt.

  Stuart’s arm squeezed tighter. “Remember she’s gone. She feels nothing. This is just an empty shell. Marlene’s soul is safe and there’s no more pain.”

  His comforting timbre gave her the courage to compute what the Ripper had done to Marlene’s body. He’d torn her open from groin to neck, but it was the note he’d left on the lighthouse above her body, smeared with Marlene’s blood that caught her attention. The police worked around them, securing the canvas cover to preserve the words dripping in red stringy letters and her eviscerated body.