Don't Breathe: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller (Darkwater Cove Psychological Thriller Book 6)

by Dan Padavona

Darcy moves around the bed.

  “Where’s Kealan’s picture?”

  “Right here,” says Leigh, lifting the frame.

  Nadia had lain the picture face-down. The young man in the photograph wears a smile which appears smug to Darcy. His blonde hair looks perfectly groomed, his teeth straight and flawless, chin lifted as though challenging the photographer. A politician’s son. Darcy bets Kealan Hart isn’t used to hearing no.

  “Maybe your sister tossed the necklace,” Ketchum says. “Nadia lowered Kealan’s picture, so it’s obvious she didn’t want any reminders of him.”

  Leigh sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. The mattress groans.

  “Not Leigh. She was sentimental and would never throw away the necklace. She might give it back to him, but tossing the necklace in the trash would have upset her.”

  “So she hadn’t closed the door on their relationship.”

  Leigh stares at her hands.

  “Nadia still loved Kealan. But he acted like she was his property instead of his mate.”

  “Did they argue?”

  “Kealan yelled a lot after the relationship ended. He wanted Nadia back and wouldn’t give her time to think things through.”

  “Did Kealan have a key to the house?” Darcy asks.

  Leigh chews her lip.

  “Nadia gave Kealan a key after she moved in. It’s a rough neighborhood, and Kealan’s a big guy. It made her feel safe when he was around.”

  “Do you think Kealan stole the necklace?” Ketchum asks.

  The woman’s eyes move to the window.

  “That seems like something he would do.”

  Darcy wanders to the corner and pulls open the closet door. Shirts, pants, and dresses dangle off hangers, swaying ghost-like. Six pairs of shoes and sneakers cover the floor. Noticing nothing unusual, Darcy closes the door. Her neighbor, Derek Ramirez, pops into her head.

  “Leigh, does Kealan keep pets?”

  “Nadia wanted a dog, but Kealan told her no. They’re too dirty, and he didn’t want a dog messing up his stuff.”

  “What about exotic pets, something he’d keep in a cage? They don’t make a mess of the house.”

  “Kealan had a gecko or something during college. He used to joke about it whenever those Geico commercials came on.”

  “What about other pets? Snakes, spiders.”

  Leigh shivers.

  “I hope not. I wouldn’t enter his house if he kept spiders.” Leigh turns to Darcy. “Why did you ask about spiders? I thought you disagreed with Detective Pinder?”

  “We’re covering all the bases.”

  Darcy and Ketchum examine the other rooms in the house. After they complete their search, Darcy stares through the kitchen window at a detached garage. An idea flashes in her mind.

  “Leigh, where did your sister keep her bike?”

  “In the garage.”

  “So the police found her car behind the library, parked where it usually is. Yet Pinder discovered Nadia’s bike beside her in the forest. Did Nadia have a bike rack on the back of her car?”

  “No.”

  “Was the trunk large enough to accommodate a bicycle?”

  “Not unless she removed the jumper cables and emergency kit and put the seats down.”

  “So she didn’t ride to the trail from the library. How did the bike end up in the forest?”

  Ketchum strides to the window and follows Darcy’s eyes to the garage.

  “What if the killer stole the bike from the garage and planted it at the scene to make it look like Nadia had an accident on the trail? That’s a lot to go through, but our unsub seems intent on maintaining a low profile.”

  “Only one way to find out,” Darcy says.

  Leigh follows the agents out the back door. Garbage and recycling cans stand against the rear of the house. Outside the garage, Darcy stops and kneels.

  “Footprint,” she says, pointing at a sneaker print beside the door.

  Ketchum peers over Darcy’s shoulder as Leigh sneaks looks around them.

  “That’s too big to belong to my sister.”

  “Run inside and grab a shoe from Nadia’s closet.”

  Leigh does as she’s told, and she returns a minute later with an Adidas running sneaker. Not wanting to disturb the scene, Darcy sets the sneaker next to the print and snaps a photograph.

  “The print is at least three sizes larger than Nadia’s sneaker,” Ketchum says. “Someone stood beside Nadia’s garage in the last week. Does the landlord stop by?”

  Leigh shakes her head.

  “He’s never here. Nadia had a leaky shower pipe over the summer, and it took a month before the landlord showed his face.”

  As Darcy takes additional photographs of the shoe print, Ketchum pulls the door open.

  “Where did Nadia store her bike?” he asks.

  Raising an arm toward the back wall of the garage, Leigh says, “She leaned it against the wall so she could park the car inside when the weather turned bad.”

  Darcy joins Ketchum in the garage. Bicycle tire tracks on the dirt floor lead toward the opening. The same prints from outside follow the bicycle track.

  “He stole the bike from the garage, wheeled it to his vehicle, and dumped it in the forest to make it look like Nadia wrecked on the trail,” says Darcy.

  “Yet Nadia didn’t sustain a single scrape or bruise,” Ketchum adds, bobbing his head. “I’ll call the Smith Town PD. They need to see this.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Thursday, September 17th

  11:30 a.m.

  Darcy watches in the mirrors when the FBI SUV pulls behind her in front of Kealan Hart’s Colonial Revival home. Black shutters offset slate gray stucco siding. Charcoal shingles cover the pitched roof, and a raised deck with white fencing extends off the upper floor, while a white gazebo accents the side yard.

  “You said Kealan Hart is twenty-five, correct?” Darcy asks, confirming the address on her notes.

  “Appears he’s doing well for himself,” says Ketchum.

  A concrete pathway lined with rose bushes leads to the front stoop. Before Darcy can press the doorbell, the door swings open. Kealan Hart leans in the doorway in cargo shorts, a mauve v-neck t-shirt, and sandals. His auburn hair parts on the side, and bifocals with expensive frames perch on his nose. Despite the designer clothing and neatly combed hair, Kealan looks like a train wreck. Red splotches mar his eyes, and the dark circles suggest the man slept little over the last week.

  “Kealan Hart?” Ketchum asks.

  “You’re the guy who called me?”

  “Agent Ketchum with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and this is Agent Haines. Mind if we come in?”

  Kealan holds the door open. The inside of Kealan Hart’s house is even more impressive than the exterior. The open floor plan features a sitting area with an enormous high-definition television. A long island divides the kitchen with new appliances as chrome pots and pans hang from the ceiling. Darcy counted three bedrooms along the front of the house. There must be at least that many in the back. When Kealan bumps into the couch and stumbles, Darcy catches liquor on his breath. She stares at Ketchum, who winks.

  Ketchum takes in the high ceilings.

  “Just you here?”

  “Yeah, just me now,” Kealan says, motioning them to sit along the kitchen island.

  As Darcy and Ketchum slide onto stools, Kealan paws through the refrigerator.

  “Can I get you anything to eat or drink? I’ve got leftover takeout, beer, water.”

  “We’re fine,” says Darcy, opening a notepad.

  Kealan shrugs and pulls a bottled beer from the refrigerator.

  “Hope you don’t mind.” He wrestles the cap off with his hands and takes a sip. “So, you’re here to talk about Nadia.”

  Darcy clicks her pen. At least Kealan gets right to the point.

  “Where were you Monday morning between seven and nine o’clock?” Darcy asks.

  “Sleeping,” he sa
ys, rubbing his eyes.

  “You didn’t work Monday?”

  Kealan stares at the table for a heartbeat.

  “I’m not currently working.”

  “Were you drinking Monday morning too?”

  Kealan’s eyes dart to Darcy before he runs a trembling hand across his head.

  “I haven’t felt well lately.”

  “Can anybody verify your whereabouts Monday morning?”

  Kealan scrunches his brow and sweeps his arm across the downstairs.

  “Like who?”

  “So that’s a no.” Ketchum raps his knuckles on the island. “This place has to be worth six, maybe seven-hundred thousand on the open market. How can you afford the mortgage payments without a paycheck?”

  The young man shrugs and brushes the hair off his eyebrows.

  “My father gave me a loan. When I get a job, I’ll pay him back.”

  “Your father is Curtis Hart, mayor of Smith Town, correct?”

  Kealan presses his tongue against the side of his mouth.

  “You already knew that. It’s not a crime to come from money.”

  “How long did you date Nadia?” Darcy asks.

  “Almost three years.”

  “That’s a long time. You must have been serious, staying together that long.”

  He chews his lip and studies the backs of his hands.

  “Not as serious as I hoped.”

  “That must have been tough on you, Nadia breaking things off after three years. Did it make you angry?”

  Kealan’s gaze flicks up, and she spies the heat in his eyes.

  “How would you feel? We planned to marry, and she threw everything away. And for what? So she could work a nowhere job at the library and waste her degree? Look at everything I offered. A beautiful, secure home in an affluent neighborhood, unlike the gangland dump she lived in. Nadia wouldn’t have needed to work a day in her life.”

  “Why did she break up with you?”

  “She wouldn’t tell me.”

  “But you must suspect her reasons.”

  “She was meant for me. There can’t be a reason greater than that.”

  Darcy writes another note. Kealan’s ego grows by the second.

  “How did Nadia end things? Did she call you on the phone, or tell you in person?”

  Kealan opens his mouth and clamps it shut. His jaw works back and forth.

  “Mr. Hart?”

  “She called.” Kealan’s hands clench. “Didn’t have the decency to tell me to my face.”

  “That must have made you angry.”

  Darcy perceives a nod before Kealan catches himself.

  “Nadia and I fought over the last month. But if you think I’d lay a hand on her, you’re dead wrong.”

  “Nobody’s suggesting you hurt Nadia,” Ketchum says, pulling Kealan’s attention away from Darcy.

  Observing Kealan’s body language, Darcy notices the man leans toward her when he answers her questions, an aggressive, territorial move meant to intimidate. He’s not used to female authority figures, and he shows no such aggression toward Ketchum.

  “The police say Nadia died from spider bites after she crashed her bike on the cross county trail,” says Ketchum, continuing.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because Nadia biked much harder trails than that. She mountain biked, competed in triathlons, and ran track at UNC. She wouldn’t crash on a walking trail she knew like the back of her hand. And she wouldn’t die from a spider bite, either.”

  Darcy leans toward Kealan with her elbows on the island.

  “Are you suggesting someone killed Nadia?”

  He pauses. Uncertainty crosses his eyes.

  “I’m not suggesting anything. All I know is she didn’t die in a bike crash.” He flicks a tear off his eyelid and clears his throat. “And I’m the last person in the world who’d hurt Nadia. I loved her. We were perfect for each other, and if she was alive, we’d…”

  He trails off and lowers his head, his shoulders shaking with sobs. Ketchum glances at Darcy, who spots a box of tissues beside the sofa. She crosses the downstairs and returns with the box. Kealan nods and offers silent thanks as he rips the tissue from the box.

  Darcy gives Kealan a minute to compose himself.

  “Mr. Hart, according to Leigh Ames, your fights with Nadia became abusive.”

  “You believe that bitch?” Kealan raises reddened eyes and looks between Ketchum and Darcy. “Leigh hated me. She was so possessive of Nadia’s time, those two being twins and all.”

  “Leigh couldn’t accept any man being good enough for her sister,” Darcy says, folding one leg over the other.

  “It was more than that. She called Nadia all the time. Didn’t matter if we were together. Leigh always had some bullshit to tell Nadia about, some concocted drama to pull Nadia away from me. It killed Leigh that Nadia loved me. If you ask me, Leigh got into Nadia’s head and convinced her to break up with me. Leigh couldn’t bear the thought of losing her sister. And since she doesn’t have a boyfriend…hell, she doesn’t have a life, wasting her time with that amateur sleuth nonsense…she couldn’t allow Nadia to marry me.”

  Leigh struck Darcy as eccentric, but not overbearing like Kealan paints her.

  “Did you ever borrow Nadia’s bike to ride?”

  Kealan’s face contorts.

  “What the hell for?”

  “Please answer the question.”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “But you’re aware she kept the bike in her garage.”

  “Inside an unlocked garage, yes. She asked for someone to steal that bike. Dangerous neighborhood, no lock on the garage. Can’t believe nobody stole it. You saw her street.”

  “What about Tuesday afternoon and evening? Where were you between the hours of three and nine?”

  The young man’s blank eyes move to the window and stop.

  “Here. I got sick.”

  “You seem to be sick a lot.”

  “It’s been a bad fall. You ever go through a rough period, Agent?”

  Darcy makes a mental note. Kealan told the same story to Detective Pinder. But as with Kealan’s whereabouts Monday morning, no one can verify his story. Coughing into her hand, Darcy asks if she can use the bathroom before they leave.

  “Sure,” Kealan says, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “Second door on the left upstairs.”

  “Thank you. I won’t be a minute.”

  She locks eyes with Ketchum when she passes behind Kealan. He starts a banal conversation with Nadia’s ex, jabbering about the baseball pennant races. Gripping the banister, Darcy climbs the stairs to the second floor. A Persian rug runs the length of a long and narrow landing. The bathroom door stands open, the rest of the doors shut to the world. Below, Ketchum’s voice echoes off the walls, sounding hollow.

  Moving on cat’s paws, Darcy slips into the bathroom and turns the faucet on. A bit of white noise to cover her tracks. She stands in the doorway and listens until she’s certain Kealan Hart is downstairs with Ketchum. Edging down the corridor, she cringes when a floorboard groans below her feet. She pauses and listens. No reaction downstairs.

  Darcy turns the knob on the next door. It opens to the master bedroom. The bed covers lie at the foot of the bed. Just like at Nadia’s house. Did Kealan break inside Nadia’s home and sleep in her bed? Considering the possibility sends a cold ripple through Darcy’s veins. She closes the door and shuts out their voices. It’s quiet. Her eyes pan the room. A personal computer sits on a desk in the corner, protected by a password prompt. Clothes clutter the floor, and there’s a shot glass on the dresser with amber bourbon swimming on the bottom.

  If Kealan stole Nadia’s necklace, he’d keep it close. Finding the necklace will place Kealan inside Nadia’s apartment after her disappearance. The top of the dresser holds folded shirts and slacks. A Rolex watch lies beside the clothes pile. A thump downstairs brings Darcy’s head around. She tipto
es to the entryway and presses her ear to the door. Footsteps.

  Darcy’s heart pounds until the footsteps trail across the downstairs. She needs to hurry.

  Back at the dresser, she slides the drawers open and rummages through the socks and underwear, turning over his shirts and pants. No necklace. Next she searches the desk drawers and comes up empty. Darcy estimates she left the water running two minutes ago. If Kealan doesn’t suspect she’s snooping around the upstairs, he will soon.

  The footsteps come again. This time they ascend the staircase.

  Darcy’s pulse quickens as she runs through excuses inside her head. None will explain why she’s inside Kealan’s bedroom. It’s a race now. She needs to rush back to the bathroom before he reaches the second floor landing. As she glides past the bed, a theory stops Darcy in her tracks.

  He’d keep the necklace close.

  Four pillows lie beside the headboard. She overturns the first two and finds nothing. Tries the third pillow. Darcy catches her breath. The necklace curls on the mattress, a heart pendant glimmering like a fallen star.

  She can’t take the necklace. And since she has no right to search Kealan Hart’s bedroom, it’s her word against his. She clicks a photograph with her phone as the footsteps stop outside the bedroom door. He’s here.

  Straightening her shirt, trying to appear casual, Darcy pulls the bedroom door open.

  Ketchum glares at her with an arched eyebrow. Darcy exhales, but Ketchum tilts his head toward the stairs, a silent warning that Kealan is on his way.

  “The necklace,” she whispers as she points to the bed. His eyes widen. “Kealan broke into Nadia’s house.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Thursday, September 17th

  12:15 p.m.

  A pall lifts as Darcy exits Smith Town. Clouds part, as though the sun refused to shine over the crime-ridden city. She follows Ketchum’s SUV in her Prius, happy to be back in Genoa Cove. Ketchum isn’t happy with her. Searching Kealan Hart’s bedroom was a bad idea, and she took too long. He could have caught her and harpooned the investigation.

  Darcy’s phone rings. She puts Ketchum through the car speakers.

  “We have the rest of the afternoon, if you want to track down Brit Ryan’s friends.”