Deeper Evil (The Evil Secrets Trilogy Book 2)

by Vickie McKeehan

  But at that same moment Reese and Jake were crammed into one of the interrogation rooms at the downtown police station waiting for St. John to make his appearance. Jake sat at a table, drumming his fingers on the wood, nervous, while Reese sat there, the epitome of cool and collected, a fact that slightly pissed Jake off, until he reasoned that it wasn’t Reese’s ass that was on the line here.

  After all, Reese hadn’t been the one to marry a woman like Claire.

  Determined to get out of this mess once and for all, to put it behind him and therefore move on with his life with Kit, Jake stiffened his resolve. He’d be damned if he took anymore crap from Max St. John. For the first time in two years, his chips were all in.

  When the door finally opened and fifty-five-year-old Max St. John strolled in with a smug look on his face, Jake’s resolution quickly turned to resentment, especially when he noticed Max’s hands were empty. He hadn’t brought Claire’s case files after all. That one fact took Jake all the way past pissed.

  “Come here to confess,” Max chided, as he took a seat across from the two men.

  So it was going downhill from the get-go. To hell it would, Jake thought, as he upped the ante. “I came here to find out why you never mentioned you had DNA on file; DNA that would have exonerated me two years ago.”

  Max’s eyes widened a fraction. “Who told you that?”

  Jake’s body vibrated with anger. He stood up. When Reese tried to get him to sit back down, Jake simply batted his arm away. “Two years ago I took a polygraph and passed. I had an alibi for that day. The airline confirmed what time my plane landed at LAX. Witnesses at work told you what time I came through the door that morning and verified that I never left the entire day until eleven-thirty that night. I gave you a DNA sample. I did everything you asked of me. I cooperated fully until the day you told me I was the only suspect that made any sense.

  “Damn it, St. John, I didn’t kill Claire. I found the body that night, I was in that room, I saw all the furniture turned over, the mess, and the blood all over that bedroom. She fought with someone, Max. You know it and I know it. And it wasn’t me. You have to have DNA from under her fingernails, something that clears me once and for all. And you’re too fucking stubborn to admit it.” Jake’s fist slammed down on the table. “I want some answers from you. After all this time I deserve some goddamned answers.”

  “Where was this kind of emotion two years ago, Boston? I watched you sit there stone-faced, waited for you to get angry, and never saw anything but relief that your wife was dead.”

  Exasperated, Jake ran his hands through his hair. “Okay, you got me. Maybe something inside me might have been relieved. I don’t know. She was sleeping with every man she came into contact with but me. How the hell was I supposed to react to that? You should know, Max. You’re the one who sat me down in a room very much like this one and not so politely told me the facts about every one of her affairs. Let’s see,” he counted on his fingers, “there was her aerobics instructor, her yoga instructor, her personal trainer, her tennis coach. As I recall, you had a list. But you left someone out.”

  They stared at each other until Reese started to speak, but Max simply waved him away with his hand. “There was a list, a fairly long one.”

  “Did you name everyone on that list, Max? Or did you leave someone out?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Go get the file. I want to see the list.”

  Max got up and went to the door but before he turned the knob, he wanted to know, “You looking for someone in particular, Boston?”

  “Yeah.”

  Five minutes later, Max was back in the room. It wasn’t a file folder he carried, but rather a moving-size box. And he wasn’t alone. Dan Holloway, his partner, joined them at the table. Max pulled the top off the box, pulled out a stack of papers, and started thumbing through the sheets until he found what he was looking for. “Now, you want to tell me whose name’s on this list that I didn’t mention?”

  “Connor Boyd.”

  “Oh, come on, Boston. Man, you and the Griffin woman must have one major personal vendetta against this particular family. No wonder they kidnapped Kit and tried to get back at you. Connor Boyd? You must be crazy.”

  “Check it out. I believe Connor and Claire were having an affair. I missed it two years ago because I concentrated on the list you put in my head. But there had to be neighbors who saw him come and go at the house—more than once. If you interview those neighbors again, show them a picture of the man, one of them might remember seeing him come to the house the day she died. Maybe they might remember how often he came to the house. Of course, I’m not stupid. I know that only proves they were having an affair. But then there’s the DNA evidence, a ton of which must include blood and semen samples. It wasn’t my DNA you found there, Max, but that of the man who killed Claire.”

  Dan Holloway stared at Jake in disbelief. “Let me make sure I understand this. After everything that’s happened to Kit at the hands of Collin Boyd, after he kidnapped her, you want us to reopen your wife’s case, start digging around, go talk to your neighbors in Westlake Village, get them to ID Connor Boyd as the man Claire was seeing, and then go after him?”

  “Actually,” Jake said, as he jerked a piece of paper out of Reese’s hand. “We have someone who has already done the legwork for you guys. He’s already talked to the neighbors, showed Connor’s picture around.

  “It just so happens, the names on that paper are several of the neighbors who remembered him and identified him from the photo Jordan Donovan showed them. It seems Connor Boyd was someone who visited my house on a frequent basis. A few estimated the guy in that picture came and went from my house as long as a year before she died.”

  Jake handed the piece of paper off to Max, let him study it. “All you guys need to do is present him with that fact that he was having an affair with Claire, gauge his reaction, and then ask him where he was the morning she died. Ask him to submit to a DNA test.”

  Max shook his head. “That’s all we have to do, huh? Look, Boston, you have the bucks to spend any way you choose, but…”

  Jake interrupted him. “And that just chaps your butt, doesn’t it, Max? I don’t give a rat’s ass about your petty vendetta against me. All I’m asking is for you to do what the taxpayers pay you to do, what you should have done two years ago. Find Claire’s killer.”

  “It isn’t quite that easy, Boston. I respect the fact that you came here today. I’ll even tell you this much, the DNA we have on file did not match yours.” He gave him a rueful look. “Okay, I owe you one. But so often in these cases, trust me, it’s the husband.”

  Reese stood up, lawyer taking over in place of a supportive friend. “So officially he’s no longer a suspect.”

  Max looked irked for about two seconds. Then glad to have this chance to clear the air, he admitted, “You’re right. We have semen samples. Plenty. And your wife had blood and skin under her fingernails. She put up a helluva fight. There’s plenty of DNA to go around. We swabbed every person on that list I gave you. There were no matches. I didn’t know about the affair with Boyd. If and I emphasize if, the affair ever happened.” He pointed to Reese. “You of all people should know that I can’t just go knocking on Connor Boyd’s door and say, ‘hey there, how about you open up your mouth and I’ll swab it for DNA?’ I have no official cause to do that.”

  Reese countered, “Hypothetically, if we could get you a DNA sample would you compare it, use it? Would you send it to the lab?”

  Max lowered his voice. “This conversation never happened, got that?”

  Reese nodded. “Of course not. We were never here.”

  “If we were having this conversation, we’re talking about a sample from Connor Boyd, right?”

  Jake nodded. “That’s the plan.”

  “Okay, if you could manage it, and I don’t know how you could, I’d send the sample to the lab just like I would anyone else’s you brought me, if for no o
ther reason than to shut this one up.” Max gave Jake a brief glare and then smiled. “But if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it all the way to retirement.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they’d left the building and were standing outside in the parking lot. Jake turned to Reese and asked, “How do you think it went?”

  “Good on two fronts. First, we found out your DNA doesn’t match anything they have, which we already knew. And second, we got them to say they’d compare a DNA sample if we got one. I’d say that’s a win-win.”

  As he opened the door of his car, Jake took out his cell phone. “I need to call Kit, let her know how great it went.”

  CHAPTER 18

  On the Sea Warrior Dylan woke to sunlight dripping down through the skylight above the bed. A glance at his watch told him he’d slept until almost ten o’clock. For him to do that, he must have been wiped. He crawled out of bed, stopping to listen for any signs of life outside his door in case the others had been just as exhausted and were still sacked out. But all he heard was the water lapping at the sides of the boat and the sounds of the harbor slowly coming alive around him.

  As quietly as he could, he made his way into the adjoining head and turned on the shower.

  Fifteen minutes later, fully dressed and ready for the grueling task of unloading their gear into the dinghy and hauling everything up to the house, Dylan walked out of his cabin surprised to find the salon deserted.

  As he absently counted how many trips he would have to make to get everything to shore, he slowly opened the door of Baylee’s stateroom only to find the bed made, the place neat and tidy but empty. At a complete loss, an uneasy feeling started to creep up his spine. It was then he began to look around the boat for all the gear they’d brought with them and discovered it already gone.

  How had two women with a baby unloaded all that crap into a dinghy? How had they motored to shore without him hearing their every move? And had they hauled the stuff all the way up the hill to the house on their own while he slept like the dead?

  His stomach rumbled. He peered into the galley, sniffing the air. For the first time, he noticed the fresh fruit and cinnamon rolls on the counter, smelled the hot coffee already brewed in the pot.

  It was then he spotted the note taped to the front of the refrigerator door. Ripping it off, he learned that Baylee had taken the dinghy, was already at the house, and would come back to pick him up at ten o’clock. An arrow at the bottom of the note told him to turn it over.

  He read: We let our captain sleep late.

  Underneath the simple line she’d drawn a huge red heart. For some inexplicable reason, the red heart moved him like nothing had in years. He walked over and poured himself a cup of coffee, reached for the sugar, loaded it up, and brought it back to the little bar area. He sat down, picked up a sweet roll, and shook his head in appreciation. Baylee was so unlike any of the women he’d dated. Most L.A. women wouldn’t go near pastry if you paid them for fear they might gain an extra ounce if they so much as inhaled sugar.

  But not Baylee.

  His beautiful Baylee. She cooked and ate real food. Thinking about her like that had him smiling into his coffee. God bless her, he thought, as he took another tasty bite. Just as he put the last crumb in his mouth, he heard a woman’s voice yell out, “Ahoy matey, permission to come aboard.”

  He headed topside, grinning like a fool. When he got to the deck, he peered over the side of the railing. Looking down into the water next to the boat, he saw Baylee, sitting in the dinghy, bobbing up and down on the water. She’d left her hair loose and the wind lifted it wildly in the breeze. Dressed in a sleeveless red cropped shirt and khaki shorts, she looked tan and happy. A wild thought ran through his head that the woman looked good enough to eat for breakfast. His mouth watered.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, we were getting worried about you.”

  “Hey. What happened to all the gear?”

  She gave him a quizzical look and noticed his hair was damp and pulled back in that stubby ponytail that made him look like a seventeenth century pirate, standing on the deck of his ship rather than a software geek. “Everything’s at the house. I’d have been back sooner, but we’ve been scrubbing the house clean. The floors are absolutely filthy and every piece of furniture has at least seven layers of dust in spite of the dust covers. We all started sneezing the minute we set foot inside.”

  “How? How did you move the gear?”

  The quizzical look turned almost comical. She smiled up at the serious look on his face. “We’re resourceful. Now are you staying on the boat or are you coming with me? Since I’ve got the dinghy, if I leave, you’ll have to swim in and it’s farther than it looks.”

  Sensing a challenge, he stated flatly, “I haven’t finished breakfast yet. You wouldn’t want me to leave on an empty stomach, would you? And I have to get the stuff in my room. Come on up here, Baylee.” He motioned to her with his index finger that he wanted her to climb out of the motor boat and join him on deck. “Keep me company while I finish those cinnamon rolls you left for me. And thanks for breakfast.”

  She knew he was up to something. She could see it in his eyes. But she didn’t really care because since waking up that morning, knowing they were in Catalina, knowing they had put some miles between the baby and Connor—it felt good to be on the water, sitting outside in a motorboat looking up at Dylan, relaxed without a care in the world.

  With a cloudless June sky overhead, the harbor around her coming alive with people, the island’s birds chirping a song to summer, the air itself seemed to stir with energy, maybe even optimism. It felt good to say silly things, kid around with each other, and be normal for a change. Baylee felt almost giddy, like a kid again.

  For the first time in months, she felt hopeful.

  Wishing it could stay like this forever, she decided to join him. Stretching her arm up to reach the side ladder on the Sea Warrior, she struggled to grab hold of the lowest rung. Sometimes it was hell being short, she thought, as she finally managed to latch on and pull herself up, climbing toward the top.

  Halfway up though, all at once, she saw Dylan’s arm snake out and pluck her off the ladder as if she weighed no more than one of the island’s orange garibaldi dangling on a hook.

  “God, you look good this morning,” he called out, as he plopped her down on the deck.

  His arms immediately found her waist. His mouth connected with hers like a fierce magnetic pull. Their tongues touched, drawing hers into a playful rhythm. Their bodies hummed with pent up need. When they came up for air, he sucked in a deep breath. A blitz of images flickered through his mind. Baylee holding Sarah; Baylee feeding her. It was broad daylight. He tamped his lust down a notch, deciding to keep the mood teasing. He backed her up against the railing, leaning into her; body pressed against body, his arms still circled around her tiny waist.

  She smelled like flowers, jasmine maybe, or lavender, he wasn’t sure which. Whatever it was kicked the lust up again. It was all he could do to pack it back down. “Now spill it, woman, how did you and Kit move all that gear by yourselves?”

  “You don’t intend to let this go, do you? We’re not helpless, Dylan. We have our resources. Besides, Kit’s an Amazon with superhuman strength. Haven’t you seen her in action? And I might be small but I have strong muscles.” Despite his lock on her, she flexed an arm. “Then there’s Sarah; she carried most of the heavy stuff.”

  “So that’s the way it’s gonna be, is it? How about if I kiss it out of you? How would that be, hmm?” He kissed her forehead, her nose, each corner of her mouth and then zeroed in on those moist lips again. He lowered his head. She tasted like wind and sea.

  Baylee’s lips parted, anticipating his skilled moves. She dropped into the kiss. Longing nipped at her belly. She held on tighter. On tiptoes, she floated upward as their bodies bumped.

  What was supposed to be a quick morning kiss soon built to red-hot want. They stood tasting, sampling, nipping as hunger began to race through bo
th of them. The tongue tag went on and on, creating streams of white hot light that warmed her from the inside out.

  Sinking deeper, the heat speared up to brilliant orange flame. Caught up, she felt like her feet left the deck. She was flying, as if her entire body rose higher, higher in his arms. Suddenly she was aware they were both moving. She realized she’d left the ground for real.

  Dylan carried her down the steps going below deck.

  “Where are we going?” she moaned huskily.

  “I got my test results via text. Everything checked out. What’s your stance on morning sex?” he asked as his mouth moved to nibble that tender spot along her throat before moving to her ear, before coming back to her mouth in a fierce persuasion.

  “I’m all for it. Everyone knows morning sex is the best.”

  “Mmmm, my kind of woman,” he whispered, as he stood in the middle of the salon with her hugged up against his chest. “I want you, Baylee. But if you aren’t ready for this, tell me now, and I’ll put you down right here, right now, and we won’t go any further.”

  She wrapped her arms tighter, nuzzled his neck. “I want you, Dylan.”

  “Thank God,” he growled, and swept her into the stateroom. He laid her down on the bed and went down on top of her.

  He sought her mouth. Their tongues sampled then greedily devoured. He began to shed her clothes. When her top flew off, Baylee sought flesh too. She wrestled to get his T-shirt over his head. When it finally sailed through the air, her fingers roamed over bare chest, appreciating the feel of his athletic shoulders.

  His fingers expertly worked to get rid of the bra. The bra went flying. They tumbled over one another until Baylee straddled him. His hands reached up to take advantage of her perfect, supple breasts, her pebbled, rosy tips.

  He reared up to lave and taste, lingering over the swell of one breast all the way to the nipple and back again. He suckled one, then the other, nibbling each peak into his mouth until they hardened.

  “Baylee, you taste so sweet.”