“I want to see her apartment.”
“Are you sure?”
She nodded, though she really wasn’t. There would be blood on the floor, evidence of the struggle. Was she as strong as her dad always said she was? She wasn’t sure.
The detective held out his hand and helped her to her feet. He led the way, the crowds parting when they saw who was coming. She followed close, staring at the floor, afraid of what she might see in the eyes of her neighbors. Mrs. Thomas, Tracy’s closest neighbor, was standing in the middle of the third-floor landing, crying as she spoke to the patrol cops guarding the floor.
“She opened the door to the victim’s friend downstairs.”
“Tracy.”
The detective looked quizzically at Kelly.
“The victim’s name was Tracy.”
“Of course. I apologize.”
He seemed truly apologetic. He might have smiled—and she imagined he had a very charming smile—under different circumstances. And she might have found it very attractive if the circumstances were different.
The detective pushed open the door to Tracy’s apartment. A few crime scene investigators were still lingering in the room, but it was mostly cleared out. It wasn’t as bad as Kelly thought it might be. There was some furniture turned over in the living room, but otherwise it seemed to be as it always was. The paintings were still on the wall, even the ones Kelly knew were very expensive, her wall safe clearly undisturbed. Kelly could even see her cell phone and wallet were still sitting on the coffee table where she often dropped them when she returned from somewhere.
She hesitated before moving deeper into the apartment, but the detective didn’t try to stop her as she crossed to the kitchen. There was nothing out of place there. The granola she always ate for breakfast was on the counter, the box tipped over, but not open. Her coffee maker was unplugged and clean, her dishes from Saturday night still in the drainer. It all looked as it always looked, like Tracy might walk into the room at any moment and laugh at the colossal joke she’d just pulled on everyone.
It was the bedroom where the bulk of the action had taken place. When Kelly moved to the doorway, a couple of crime scene investigators were still kneeling on the far side of the bed, one taking pictures, the other gathering minute evidence with a special swab. Kelly hesitated, the detective moving up behind her and touching her arm lightly, encouraging her. She appreciated his intention but wished he wouldn’t.
She stepped inside, interested in only one item. She knew that Tracy kept a box here in the bedroom that held the stocks and bonds that her father had left to her when he died. She once asked her why she had a wall safe in the living room if she kept the most valuable thing she owned in that box. She told her it was because any criminal worth his salt would assume that all the good stuff was in the safe and wouldn’t bother with the old, battered box her father had kept those papers in all her life. Kelly couldn’t find a hole in that logic.
The box—a vintage lunch box with a picture of the actors from the television show The Dukes of Hazard—was still sitting on a low shelf beside her bed, still battered and looking completely out of place in this room that was stuffed full of valuable paintings and furnishings from the most expensive stores in town. Kelly picked it up and popped the little clasps, her heart jumping into her throat when she saw that all those old papers were still there.
“It wasn’t robbery.”
“Are you sure?” the detective asked.
She held up the box so that he could see its contents. “Positive.”
He nodded. “Okay. Then we’ll have to start looking at her friends, her family.” He shook his head as though that was the last thing he’d wanted to do. He gestured for her to follow him. She kept the box, holding it under her arm as he led the way out into the hallway. “We’ll need to talk to you if you don’t mind. But it can wait until later in the day.” He pulled a business card from his pocket. “But if you should think of something, or you just want to get in contact with me, you can call either of the numbers on that card.”
Kelly glanced at it, noted his name was Dane. A strong name.
“Thank you.”
She walked away as quickly as she could, her heart pounding in her chest even after she reached her apartment and stood behind the locked door. No one could touch her there.
Or could they?
It was obvious to her what had happened to Tracy, and it was something she couldn’t share with the police, with this Dane, or anyone else in her life right now. There was only one person she could tell, and he didn’t want to have anything to do with her.
It had to be the blind date. Tracy set it up using Kelly’s name. And, if Kelly knew Tracy, she never bothered to correct the guy on the whole identity switch. He probably still thought she was Kelly up to the moment he strangled her.
Did he still think he’d killed her? Was it over now?
Somehow, she didn’t think so. He would eventually figure out what he’d done, and then he’d be twice as desperate to get to her.
She couldn’t do this alone anymore. She needed her husband. She had no choice.
Even if he was determined to forget their shared past, their love for each other, everything that they’d lost that night in that far away hospital.
Chapter 3
Springfield, Illinois
Mastiff Security Headquarters
Durango stepped up to the open doorway of Axel’s office, admiring the way he’d moved in so quickly, hanging paintings on the wall and organizing framed photographs on his desk. Axel had never been the type to keep personal items close at hand, but Durango suspected the woman he was cradling in his arms had something to do with it.
He cleared his throat, causing Axel to jump and the pretty girl to blush slightly as she stepped back away from her man.
“Sorry to interrupt. I just need to talk to Axel for a moment.”
“No problem. I was just leaving.”
“Abigail . . .”
Axel grabbed her hand and whispered something close to her ear. She smiled and nodded, watching as he approached Durango. Their sweet exchange reminded Durango of his early days with Sarah. It made his chest ache a little with the memory, but it wasn’t nearly as painful as it might have been five years ago, just after some crazed serial killer had taken her from him.
They stepped out into the empty hall. Axel had chosen an office on the far side of the executive floor, far from Durango’s office and the conference rooms where they often entertained clients and presented evidence to whoever might be interested in some of their bigger cases. Axel said it was because he wanted the quiet to help him work, but Durango suspected it had more to do with the fact that the only empty office on the other side of the floor had belonged to Kyle Peters, Durango’s partner and the woman whose duties Axel was attempting to take over.
Kyle had been murdered not quite a month ago by the same killer who’d taken the life of Durango’s fiancée five years ago. And Kyle’s murder had been followed a few weeks ago by the murder of a detective who was working her case, a woman who had been a brief lover of Durango’s.
It was all enough to give a man a complex. And a reason to feel persecuted.
“We have a new client. She’s in my office.”
“What kind of case?”
“Protection.” Durango stared at the closed door of Axel’s office, his thoughts more on the peculiarities of women than concern over Abigail overhearing their conversation. “She has a friend who was murdered over the weekend, and she’s convinced that the killer mistook her friend for her.” Durango tilted his head slightly, not sure if he quite bought the story. “Says they looked a lot alike, same body type and everything.”
“The cops are working the case?”
Durango nodded. “She says the head detective, Dane Hood, has been quite accommodating, and she feels like he has it well under control. She simply wants someone to watch out for her as she makes public appearances over the next week or s
o.”
“Public appearances?”
“She’s famous, apparently.” Durango pulled a paperback book out of his back pocket and held it up. “Even autographed it for me.”
Axel took the book, flipping through it. “Our client is the writer?”
“Yeah. Kelly Hobart. She’s got a couple of book signings downtown here in Springfield this week and a couple in Chicago next week.”
“I’ve heard of her. She’s pretty popular with the millennials, I think.”
“That’s what Gracie said. Something about a series of dystopian books she wrote a few years ago. Something about people rebuilding society after the nuke went off or something. And she’s just released the first book in a new series, something similar. Gracie said something about two Adam and Eve type people trying to end an infertility problem in a futuristic world.” Durango shook his head. “I don’t know. Not my type of thing.”
“So, protection. I think Gunner’s available. Or Ronnie.”
Durango shook his head. “She actually made a direct request.”
“A request?”
“She wants Ryder Fairfield.”
Axel tilted his head slightly. “Ryder refuses to take protection jobs. He doesn’t like the one-on-one interaction with clients.”
Durango nodded. He knew.
Ryder was a cop several years ago when a shooting went wrong. He was crucified in the press because the kid was only sixteen and some sort of star scholar. But Ryder was cleared in the investigation when it turned out the kid had a gun, and he got off three clear shots at Ryder, one of which landed dead center in his bulletproof vest. But the press didn’t care, and Ryder’s career was over the moment the bullet left his gun and hit that kid in the arm.
Durango had been there. He was a well-respected homicide detective when the killer he’d been pursuing for the better part of two years killed his fiancée. Durango was tried for the murder, in the press as well as the courts, only to have the evidence prove him innocent over and over again. So he understood Ryder’s disgust with the public, his reluctance to connect with other human beings. And that’s why it was puzzling as to how this woman knew anything at all about him.
“I asked her how she knew him, what she’d heard about him. He’s only been here, what, nine months? But she was adamant. He’s the one she wants assigned to her case.”
Axel nodded, burying his fingers in the front pockets of his slacks as he thought it over. “I think he’s free. I’ll have to check, but I think he just finished that operation over at the bank. If he’s free, I’ll give him a call, have him come in and meet the client.”
Durango slapped him on the shoulder in gratitude. “I’ll let her know.” He started to walk away but then turned. “How did your big date with Calder and his girl go?”
An uncharacteristic smile broke Axel’s serious expression. “The girls loved each other. I’m not sure how Calder felt, but it was an enjoyable evening. We’ll probably do it again.”
Durango shook his head, making a little tsking sound with his tongue. “Just a month and you’re doing the double date thing. You’re in deep, my friend. Very deep.”
Axel chuckled. “Yeah. I know.”
Durango watched him go back into his office—catching sight of Abigail moving into his arms as he closed the door—then turned and headed back to his own. Gracie was still at his assistant’s desk, working with the pretty blond she’d hired to take the position. Durango had gone through a dozen assistant’s in the past few weeks, finding it impossible to find anyone who could stick it out for longer than a few days. He’d tried everything, even wrote out his list of expectations that was presented to each candidate during the interview process—a suggestion of Gracie’s—so they wouldn’t be so shocked on the first day of work. But it hadn’t seemed to have helped.
Something had to give. He almost wished he could move Gracie up from human resources to his assistant’s position, but he was afraid it would seem like a downgrade to her.
“Ladies,” he said politely as he walked by. They both looked up, the new assistant smiling quite charmingly. But Gracie wouldn’t meet his eye.
Still angry with him, he guessed.
“Ms. Hobart,” Durango said as he walked into his office, “our head of operations is checking on Ryder’s availability as we speak. If he’s able to take the assignment, we’ll arrange a meeting between the two of you as soon as possible.”
She stood, a small smile on her lips as she turned to face him. She was beautiful, this woman. A little on the small side and round in places some people might call unattractive, but Durango thought it only added to her appeal. Her skin was like brown sugar, her eyes a kaleidoscope of colors, mostly browns and golds and greens, her hair a soft, wavy brown that just asked for fingers to slip through it. In another life, at another time, Durango might have asked her out, taken the chance to see where her charms might take him. But this life was too complicated for anything as simple as beauty and charm.
“Mr. Fairfield is the only one of your operatives I’m interested in working with.”
“I understand that. For that reason, we won’t ask you to sign our contract until we’re confident he’s available.”
“Fair enough.” Ms. Hobart stepped forward and held out her hand to Durango. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Masters.”
“You as well, Ms. Hobart.”
She seemed a little startled by the use of her last name. But then she smiled. “I’ll look forward to your call.”
Durango watched her walk away, then he slipped out a side door of his office and down the hall to Kyle’s. Durango had been forced to take a few weeks off because of the police’s interest in him after Detective Hyde’s murder. By the time he came back, he discovered that someone had emptied out Kyle’s office, leaving the space completely bare. It didn’t feel right to him. But it made the perfect space to bring the evidence he’d collected in the Harrison Strangler case.
He stood in the center of the room now, his eyes moving over the familiar documents, the photographs he’d taken from the evidence that belonged to the Chicago Police Department. They were pictures of the stranglers first victims, women the strangler had targeted and murdered over a period of two years. Durango had made this case his life for those two years, turning his back on the wedding plans his fiancée kept setting in front of him, kept begging him to pay attention to. Two years. And then there’d been an arrest, a celebration. Only it proved to be a hollow victory.
The very next morning, as Durango was taking down these very pieces of evidence, assuming it was all over, he got the call about Sarah. And when he went to the jail to confront the killer, discovered the man he thought was the Harrison Strangler was dead, a note in his blood left on the wall:
You got it wrong, Masters. Try again.
So, he was. He was trying again, because he didn’t want to see any other women close to him pay a price for their friendship, their loyalty, their love, at the hands of this killer.
He’d already lost too much.
Sarah.
Kyle.
Hyde.
Chapter 4
Springfield, Illinois
Mastiff Security Headquarters
“See what you can do with this,” Ryder said, dropping a flash drive on one of the tech’s desk. “The camera angle was perfect if I do say myself. The client should be happy—or not so happy, depending on how you look at it.”
“Thanks.”
He nodded, turning to go.
“Hey, Ryder? Axel called down and asked us to send you upstairs when you showed.”
Ryder paused in the doorway. “Yeah? What for?”
“Didn’t say.”
Ryder just nodded, waving his goodbye as he walked out. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he made his way to the elevator, wondering if Axel had another case for him. He wanted to be busy, wanted to fill his free time as much as possible. When he had down time, he never really knew what to do. Some of the o
ther operatives had invited him on fishing trips and camping trips, but he always turned them down. He wasn’t a bonding with other guys sort of person.
He used to be. But things had changed.
There was once a time when he enjoyed spending time with friends, when having a beer on a Saturday night was almost routine, something he didn’t have to think twice about. Now? He’d simply found it easier to avoid connections. The fewer people who counted on him the better. Then he wouldn’t disappoint them when he fucked up in his life.
Like he had before.
He didn’t like to think about the past, didn’t like to be reminded of the mistake he made that led to a child’s death. The press had crucified him, but not nearly as harshly as he crucified himself. The kid was a star, one of those kids who grew up in a bad neighborhood but had worked so hard that he was headed out. He had the potential to go to an Ivy League school. He had the potential to become a doctor or a lawyer, a community activist who might make a difference in East Atlanta.
But Ryder destroyed all that when he fired his weapon that night.
It should have been him. He should be the one in the ground all this time later. He had no right to be taking breaths, to be working and earning money, to have potential.
It was breathtaking how a second could alter the entire course of a person’s life. Or end it.
He boarded the elevator and stabbed his finger on the button that would take him to the executive floor. He liked Axel. Axel was one of them before he was promoted to head of operations. He liked that. Not that Kyle hadn’t been one of them. She was personable, everyone’s girl next door. Kind. But she was never a cop, never worked out in the field. She didn’t know what it was like to be in the heat of the moment and forced to make a choice that could alter someone’s life. She didn’t know what it was like to watch someone who may or may not deserve it, to go off to jail because of what you’d done.
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