by Justine Dare
Alex couldn't argue with that, either. And he went back to work wondering just how big a thing the gardener had for the redhead. And why he didn't much like the idea.
'Take me, use me, I'm yours."
Lynne Garrison looked up at Detective Nick
Kelso and grinned. "There was a time when that would have made my little heart flutter, Nicky."
The big blond looked at his watch. "Drat. I'm fifteen minutes too late?"
"More like fifteen years," Lynne said with a laugh. She meant it, though. When she'd been fourteen, a man like Nick would have been her ideal. She'd even had a bit of a thing for him when they'd gone through the law enforcement driving school together a few years ago. Being sent from the same department, they'd tended to stick together, had even flirted a little, but when school was over so was the flirtation. She'd wondered if the reason was that she'd beaten him soundly for best final score in the class, but if it truly bothered him he'd never let it show.
And now he was just a tad too handsome—and charming—for her taste. He played the field too widely as well, although she supposed she could understand it after he'd been unceremoniously dumped—as in packing up and decamping in the middle of the night—by the woman he'd been engaged to.
"Just my luck," he said with a dramatic sigh. "But, use me anyway." "What do you mean?"
"I've been assigned to your case until it's cleared." Lynne blinked. "You have?" "Told you my luck was rotten." "What about Ben?"
"Oh, you've still got him, too. The chief told the captain he wanted to be sure we had equal representation already in place if it comes to a task force.
You know how he hates the sheriff's office or the feds taking over."
"Are you calling our chief a control freak?" Lynne asked with an arched brow, knowing Chief Raines was far from it.
"Do I look suicidal?" Lynne laughed, and Nick's grin widened as he added, "Really, I think Greer just didn't want you quitting on him because you had to work with Durwin every day."
"Reason enough," Lynne said with exaggerated grimness.
"So, want to bring me up to speed?"
In fact, she was glad of the help—and the buffer between her and Durwin—so Lynne quickly gave him the rundown on where the investigation stood.
"He's quick, he's clean, and he's clever," she said as she finished.
"They usually are, or they get caught by now."
She nodded and, when he asked, gave him the files on each murder. She watched as he glanced through each. He paused on the grim crime-scene photographs, but a faint tightening of his mouth and his forehead were the only sign of reaction to the bloody images.
Nick Kelso's armor was pretty thick, Lynne thought. As thick as hers, even though she'd been at it five years longer. Nick had been a late bloomer when it came to law enforcement, joining up at age twenty-five. Although he had a fondness for late nights with the boys, and rumor had it even more fondness for the attractive powers of the badge for a certain type of female, he'd worked hard to live up to the expectations of having graduated second in a large academy class.
After a few minutes, he handed the files back to her. "I'll go over them in depth later."
"Good. Then maybe you can tell me if we're dealing with a real serial killer, or a vigilante run amok."
"Or both," Nick suggested. "What's the latest?"
"I finished up the interviews at Rachel's House this afternoon."
"Anything? Wasn't there one woman there with a record for battery on her husband?"
"Ex-husband, yes. The case fell apart when the guy refused to testify."
"Figures. No guy wants to admit a woman can really hurt him. But they don't dare fight back, or they're the ones who end up in jail."
Even if she didn't have the male ego that made the first part true, Lynne couldn't argue with the last part. "Too bad. The statistics might be a little more accurate if more men would report being battered."
"Not likely," Nick said. "Anything else turn up at the shelter?"
"I did a little pushing, prodding, and may have shaken something loose. I got a call from the ex-wife of the last victim a little while ago."
"Oh?"
"She says she knows who probably killed him." Nick sat up straighter. "She was pretty upset, so I don't know how good it will be."
"So you're heading back there?"
"No. She doesn't want to talk there. We're meeting at Smugglers."
Nick nodded; the popular restaurant was only a couple of miles away. "Let's go, then."
Lynne hesitated. "I don't know, Nick. She's a victim, and you're a man and—"
"Thanks for noticing that, darlin'," he drawled. "Look, I know how to handle these women, okay? She'll love me, I promise you."
Beneath her irritation at that "these women" phrase, something flickered in Lynne's memory. Something from when Nick had been in patrol, and most of the guys on the street had agreed he was the one you wanted to back you up on a domestic violence call. It's amazing, how the women respond to him. They're spitting mad one second, purring the next, when Nick's around, someone had said.
Sometimes you had to use whatever tools you had at hand, she thought. "Okay," she said. "But if she starts to get nervous, you bail."
"Sure. But she won't."
They were down in her assigned plain unit, pulling out of the secured department lot, before he spoke again.
"Have you notified potential victims yet?"
It was on her list, but not exactly at the top. "I think the news headlines have been doing that quite nicely with all that 'Avenger' stuff."
Nick snorted. "Yeah, how to egg on a nut case. Give 'em a catchy name in big print, feed the ego. But they've got to be warned, now that we know the connection to that shelter."
She braked to a stop at a red light, glancing over at him. "We've requested a court order. We should have it soon."
Nick stared at her. "A court order? What the hell for?"
"The records from Rachel's House, so we can track down the abusers who might be on whatever list this guy is working from."
Anger flickered in Nick's eyes. "You mean they're refusing to hand them over? People are being murdered here, Garrison."
"And several of those women were almost murdered themselves," she pointed out as the light changed and she turned her attention back to driving. "They have a right to be careful."
"What have they got to hide, anyway?" Nick still sounded annoyed.
"Their whereabouts, for one thing. The more people who see those files, the more likely it is for something to leak."
"We're dealing with a serial killer, for God's sake. That takes precedence over anything else."
She couldn't really argue with that, although she would have appreciated a bit more sensitivity to the plight of the women of Rachel's House. "I think we'll get the order," she assured him.
"You think?"
She gave a half shrug. "When you're dealing with a powerhouse like the Court Corporation, you never know."
The light turned green. As she accelerated, she could almost hear his frown. "What have they got to do with it?"
"You didn't know? They're the main benefactor of the shelter. It’s a personal project of Mrs. Court
's."
"Oh, great." Disgust echoed in Nick's voice. "Just what we need, a bunch of high-priced lawyers to wade through. Damn, I didn't want this assignment anyway."
"We'll just have to be careful to go by the book with this one. We should anyway, as high-profile as this is getting."
"I know, I know, the media's already having a field day."
"And they'll be really in a frenzy if the connection to the shelter comes out."
"You mean when," Nick said. "You'd think if they wanted to really keep it quiet, they'd have just handed over the files. Now there'll be a court record."
He had a point there, one she couldn't argue with. But she understood why they'd made the choice they had. She supposed no man could re
ally understand the kind of constant fear these women lived with.
The minute they walked into the restaurant, Lynne spotted her. She'd never met the woman, but she knew her instantly, even before she noticed the purple sweater she'd said she'd be wearing. There was just something about the way she huddled in the booth, eyes straight ahead, as if afraid to make eye contact with anyone, that made something knot up in Lynne's chest.
"Dawn?" Lynne asked as they reached her, although she knew she was right.
The woman looked up then. Those eyes were the kind Lynne had seen so often, tear-reddened, frightened, wary, and ancient. She hated seeing those eyes.
Dawn froze, the fear in her hazel eyes intensifying when she saw Nick.
"This is Detective Kelso," Lynne said. Before she could go on, Nick took charge smoothly. He sat down on the opposite side of the table, and gave the woman a smile Lynne was sure had soothed many a female heart.
"If I make you nervous," he said gently, "I'll leave. But I really want to catch this guy, so if you don't mind, I'd like to stay."
"I... guess that’s all right."
"Thank you, Dawn," he said, with all the charm Lynne had seen him exert on occasion. It didn't fail him now. The woman actually gave him a fleeting smile.
Lynne sat down beside Nick, guessing the woman would feel trapped if she sat beside her, cornering her in the booth seat.
"You said on the phone you know who killed your ex-husband," she began.
Dawn nodded, stifling a sob.
"Who?"
Dawn sniffed. Stared at the table. Ran a finger through a patch of spilled salt. Lynne waited. Nick followed her lead and sat silently.
At last the woman looked up.
"My father," she said.
CHAPTER 5
"What else did you expect them to do?"
Alex could hear Regan's voice from the driveway. Something was obviously wrong. He dropped his tool belt back in the bed of the truck and headed for the porch.
"Dawn, you told them your father was the killer! Did you think they'd just slap him on the wrist?"
Uh-oh. This didn't sound good at all, Alex thought as he reached the door and found it, unusually, standing open. He hesitated in the doorway. He could hear a woman crying, heard other voices, muted, in the background.
"I didn't say he'd done them all, just Art! I didn't know they'd put him in handcuffs, and take him to jail," the crying woman wailed. "I didn't want that. I was just so angry at him."
"I don't think you were angry at him at all," Regan said, her voice almost soothing now. She seemed to grow calmer as the woman got more upset, and he wondered if she had it down to such a fine balance that she knew exactly how hard she could push before she was pushing too hard and they'd break.
"I think," Regan went on, "that you were angry at life, at yourself, at Art, and it just all came out when your father said he was glad Art was dead."
The woman said something too distorted by her crying for Alex to understand.
"Do you really think he killed Art?" Regan asked.
"No, no, he never would. I just wanted to hurt him back," Dawn whined between sobs.
Sounds like you got that done, Alex thought.
"So what are you going to do about it?" Regan said, almost sternly now.
"I..." Another round of sniffling, then, "I have to call the police, don't I?"
"I would think so."
"They'll let him go, won't they? God, Regan, it's my father!"
"He was your father when you called them. And he's done nothing but try and help you see the truth."
Alex frowned. It seemed she was being a little tough on the woman. She was already crying her heart out.
"I'll call right now," the woman said.
"Good," Regan answered. "And when you do, Dawn, think about this. Think about how you've made it a little bit harder for every woman here to get believed."
Understanding struck Alex. This was why she was being hard on the woman. He'd never thought of that, that any false report from an abused woman, like the boy who cried wolf, made it harder on the genuine victims. No wonder Regan had chewed her out.
The crying stopped. Alex risked a peek through the door, saw the woman staring at Regan as if she'd just been hit with a bucket of ice water.
"I'll call them right now," she said, looking first stunned, then appalled.
For a moment he just stood there, marveling at Regan, at how she seemed to know exactly what to do no matter the situation. Some of it was learned, he was sure, maybe she'd even been trained, but a lot of it was pure gut instinct.
"You do that," Regan said. "And I'll go see Detective Garrison myself to see if I can help smooth this over."
"Should I go?" the woman asked.
Regan shook her head. "I think you'd best stay away from the police and your father until things settle down a little."
Again, good instincts, Alex thought. Then, as Regan headed toward the open door, he realized if he didn't move, he was going to get caught eavesdropping. He backed up and down the porch steps swiftly, then, as Regan stepped outside, paused with one foot on the bottom step as if he'd just arrived.
"Good morning," he said.
"It's morning," Regan agreed as she pulled the front door shut behind her.
"Oops. But not a good one, I gather?"
"Not exactly." She tugged her keys out of the brown leather satchel that seemed to serve her as both briefcase and purse.
"Problems again?"
"Still."
She was waiting at the top of the steps, and he realized she was waiting for him to move. That struck him as odd. Why didn't she just keep coming and assume he'd get out of her way? Then he decided he was picking at minutiae to avoid thinking about how great she looked this morning, in that bright yellow summer sweater that set off her red hair. He stepped aside and she started down the steps.
She was clearly heading out, probably to the police station. An idea struck him, and before he thought it through, he'd said it. "The police again?"
She stopped in her tracks. "What?"
He tried a nonchalant shrug. "They were the problem yesterday, so I just wondered."
She seemed to relax. Something niggled at the edge of his mind, but she spoke before he could pin it down. "Oh. Yes, only they aren't really the problem this time. We are."
"We?"
"Rachel's House. We've caused them some trouble, and I want to be sure it's straightened out." Her mouth twisted. "Great way to break in the new domestic-violence detective."
"I imagine you need a good relationship with him," he said, although he already knew Detective Garrison was a woman.
"Her," Regan corrected, but without the heat he'd almost expected. "And yes, we do. Especially now, since she's also working the serial killer case."
He tried to think of what the average citizen would ask. "Isn't there a homicide detective?"
"Not a full-time one. He does ... crimes against persons, I think they call it now. But because of the connection, they brought her in. And I need to get over there to see her," Regan added, selecting what had to be her car key from the ring and starting toward the walkway that led to the back of the house.
"You always park so far away?"
She stopped again. "I don't park in front of the house. Sometimes I don't even park on this street. I often come here from the off-site office, and I can't be sure I'll lose anyone who might follow me."
Alex gave a slow shake of his head. "What a way to live."
"What a way to have to live," she countered, and was gone.
Alex watched her go, pondering what had been bothering him just now. Regan Keller was as much a prisoner as any woman of Rachel's House. That she was here by choice didn't change the fact that she was as wary and suspicious as any of them, perhaps even more because she saw herself as their protector.
He wondered if she had any life at all outside of this place.
"So, one of your women
has wasted several hours of our time," Ben Durwin began.
"He had an alibi we verified first thing this morning, in about fifteen minutes," Lynne Garrison said wearily. Durwin ignored her and started back in on Regan Keller.
"I guess we're back to our prime suspect."
Lynne's forehead furrowed. As far as she knew they didn't have a prime suspect. They'd talked to everybody connected to Rachel's House, from the residents to the gardener to the mail carrier on that route, with little result. They'd talked to family members, and had turned up one real and a couple of possible suspects there, but no one she'd call prime yet.
"I'm glad you have one," Regan said.
"Are you?" Durwin almost sneered. "Since it's you?"
"Really?"
Lynne Garrison looked up at the note that had come into Regan Keller's voice when Durwin mouthed off yet again. She knew the man didn't really suspect Regan as the killer, but thought she knew something, and was pushing hard, hoping she'd break.
"I think you know more than you're saying," Durwin said. "Only you and the administrator have complete access to the records that provide the current location of those men. Are you saying that little old grandmother who's not even five feet tall is the killer?"
"Mrs. Tanaka wouldn't hurt anybody," Regan said sharply.
"But you, on the other hand, are angry enough to kill, or help somebody kill, aren't you? I've got right here the text of a speech you gave when that shelter of yours opened, where you made your opinions on men like our victims quite clear."
"Now, hold on here," Nick Kelso put in, his tone placating. "Let’s not get off on the wrong foot here. After all, Miss Keller came in to explain and apologize for the trouble that false accusation caused us."
"Before you go all chivalrous on us, Kelso, did you know her father was a cop, and that when she was a kid she used to take target practice on the police firing range?"
The redhead winced, and Durwin pounced on it. "That make you nervous, us knowing that, Miss Keller?"
"For God's sake, Ben," Lynne snapped, "her father was a cop killed in the line of duty. Have a little respect. Besides, whether she can put six in the ten ring doesn't matter much when we're dealing with a killer who slashes throats."