“Anyone home?” She called toward the top of the stairs, but only eerie silence answered back.
Why didn’t they answer? Her mother had told her to be back before church, so where were they?
She ascended the stairs, the aging wood creaking under her feet like it always had. Her parents’ door was cracked open. A pungent, metallic smell hung in the air. Her palms were clammy as she pushed the door open. Terror clutched a scream in her throat.
Blood. Spattered everywhere.
Her mother stared straight ahead and hummed a haunting melody, rocking Elyse’s lifeless sister. Her father lay motionless in a pool of red.
Out of the back corner of the room, a blurry figure came towards her, holding something…long, shiny. Light from the window flashed on the blade. She screamed and ran down the stairs. “No!” she screamed, the footsteps closing in behind her.
“Elyse, wake up.” James’ voice boomed around her, and she sat up, her eyes wide open. He stood beside her, slightly out of breath.
“I heard you cry out, and I thought—” He stopped and shook his head. “You were having a nightmare. It’s been a while…I’d hoped they’d stopped.”
That wasn’t entirely true. She’d been having them again since they’d gotten the DNA results and picked up her mother’s things.
“They’ll never stop. Not until I figure out what they’re trying to tell me.”
“You think they’re trying to tell you something?”
“I think they’re trying to tell me who killed my family.”
“Your mother turned herself—”
“No. There was someone else in the room that day. I see the figure in my dream. Every time. I’m telling you, my mother did not kill Daddy and Evie. Someone else was there.”
It wasn’t just the frequency of her nightmares that had changed. James had changed, too—the way he talked to her, the way he looked at her, and last night—she thought he wanted her the way she wanted him, but he didn’t even kiss her.
He started pacing, crossing his arms and uncrossing them. He faced her and sighed, but kept his gaze directed toward the floor.
“I’ll have Terry see if she can find the files. Maybe between your memories and what’s in there we can piece together what happened that day.”
Elyse climbed out of bed and stood in front of him.
“Stop pacing and tell me what’s going on.”
“What do you mean?”
She furrowed her brow. “You’re keeping something from me—something about my DNA results. And I feel like your effort to keep whatever it is from me is pulling you away from—” She paused. Was she about to tell him how she felt? She was pretty sure he knew after the storm, but still…saying it out loud was a different story. “Look, I know I screwed up by running, and I’m sorry, but after what you said in the truck, I thought you still wanted…well, me. Last night, I wanted—I needed—to be close to you, but you didn’t even kiss me.”
He took a step back and looked her up and down, his gaze stopping on her lips. “Oh, Elyse, I do want you. I want to be close to you, to kiss you, but—”
He reached around and rubbed the back of his neck. Elyse let out a short laugh and shook her head.
“What?” he asked.
“You know you do that every time you get nervous.”
“Do what?”
She pointed toward his hand, and he quickly pulled it off of his neck. “I’m not nervous. I’m just—”
“—being a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”
“How am I being hypocritical?”
“You keep telling me to trust you. You know how hard that is for me, and you know I’m trying. But you’re hiding something. There’s something you’re not telling me.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled, then looked at her, his eyes pleading with her to let this go. She held his gaze and shook her head, slow and deliberate.
“Remember when you said you can’t? Well, I can’t either. I’m…”
Possibly about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
“I’m opening myself up to you, trusting you…I need…I want you in my life. But I can’t keep doing this push pull routine with you. I feel like you’re pulling me close, then some invisible barrier pops up and you push me away, and I don’t just mean physically. After everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve done, don’t you think you owe me the truth?”
He took a deep breath.
“You’re right. We need to talk. But, how about you put something more than my t-shirt on? I’ll make coffee.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
James left the room and she pulled on a pair of jeans, her thoughts running a million miles an hour.
Whatever he had to tell her must be important, or he would’ve just told her. Was it about the DNA? Had he figured out who her attacker was? Or worse…had he finally had enough and was turning her case over to a different officer? Could she blame him if he had?
“Stop.” She scolded herself in the mirror and pulled her tousled curls into a messy bun, then took a deep breath and exhaled through pursed lips. “Just go talk to him.”
He was already sitting at the table with two cups of coffee and a way-too-serious demeanor. Maybe it was the coldness of the safe house, maybe it was the darkness from the one-way glass windows, but the depressed atmosphere made her heart sink.
She walked toward him, hoping he’d stand up, pull her into his arms, and hold her until everything was right. Instead, he put his hand out, motioning for her to sit across from him.
She sat, trying to fight back the tears she felt building. Oh God, he is giving my case to someone else…
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I’m not sure how to tell you this. Making love to you—”
“Was a mistake, I know. I was upset…I never should’ve let it go that far.” The words flew out of her mouth before she’d even given them permission, but she had to protect herself. Say it before he did so it wouldn’t hurt as much.
It hurt. A lot.
He pulled his chin back and shook his head. “No, that’s not—you don’t really think that, do you?”
She closed her eyes, hoping she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life.
“Hey,” he said, grabbing her hands. “You don’t, do you? I don’t. I mean, you’re right, things shouldn’t have gone that far, but it wasn’t a mistake. I wanted to make love to you.” He reached across the table and gently ran his fingers along her bruised jaw. “I wanted to last night.”
“Then why didn’t you…what’s wrong?”
He took a breath and exhaled. He held her gaze, his expression solemn.
“Twelve years ago, my dad worked a murder case.”
She parted her lips and inhaled. “My family.”
“Yeah. Dad swore Maggie didn’t commit the crimes, and he followed every lead he got, no matter how crazy it was. He got a call one day. The caller—a woman—said she had the proof dad needed to drop the charges against your mom. Dad was supposed to meet her at the old CF Furniture plant the next day. He asked me to come home early from football practice to watch my little brother, Matthew.”
“I saw Matthew in a picture at Pops’ house.”
“Yeah.” James’ gaze was distant, like a movie only he could see played in his head.
“I didn’t want to leave early that day, didn’t want to be bothered with babysitting…so I stayed at practice. Dad still went to the warehouse, but he took Matthew with him. Dad told Matthew not to leave the squad car. One simple command. Stay in the car…”
James’ eyes glistened, heartbreak evident on his face.
She squeezed his hands. “What happened?”
“They were ambushed. Dad was shot in the chest. Matthew thought—I don’t know—thought he could help him, I guess? Got out of the car and took a bullet in the leg. He bled out.”
“Oh.” Her breath caught in her throat as the pieces came together. “The DNA�
��when you realized who I was…your dad and Matthew were killed because of my family’s case.”
He lifted his head, eyes narrowed, one corner of his mouth pulled up. “Not just because of the case. Your mother turned herself in and confessed.”
“What? No! How can you—you don’t really think my mother killed your dad, do you?” She stood, shaking her head and pacing. “Did it ever occur to you that your dad was right, that she was innocent, and someone else killed my family?”
“There was no evidence to suggest that.”
“She was innocent James, and one way or another I’m going to prove it.”
She stopped pacing in front of him and tried to steady her breathing. Of course, he’d react that way. He had no reason to doubt the evidence. She just had to convince him the evidence was wrong.
“James…I remembered things…at the cabin. Images, mostly of family, but also a feeling—the feeling I had lived there in hiding. What if I was hiding from the same person who I see in my dreams?”
“It’s possible, but—”
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” she pleaded.
“But the evidence—”
“The evidence is wrong!”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “Finding your attacker is my priority right now.”
“And you’ll find him. But while you’re working on that, help me. Help me get to the bottom of the dreams, help me prove my mother’s innocence and find the person who killed my family—and yours. James, whoever is in my nightmares is my attacker. I’m sure of it.”
He sighed, heavy and contemplative, then stood and looked her in the eye. “Of course, I want to help you stop having nightmares, but you have to promise me something. Promise me you’ll accept the evidence, whatever it is.”
“I’ll accept the truth. That someone else killed my family, and my mother is innocent.”
“I hope you’re right. I want to believe you’re right, and your mother didn’t kill my dad and Matthew. I want to believe the evidence was wrong…I care about you, Elyse. You know I do. But if I see what happened every time I look at you…”
His voice trailed off, but she knew what he meant. Had she let him in only to be rejected?
“So making love with me was…?”
“Not a mistake,” he emphasized. “But complicated. When the DNA results came, I was mad at you, and I wasn’t mad at you, for what your mother did, and I don’t want to feel that anger every time I look at you. But when I thought about your attacker finding you, and the storm, and it was night…I admit, I was weak, but it made me realize just how much you mean to me. I failed once to protect the people I—”
He turned his back to her, his head hung low. “It’s just best if I try to keep some kind of distance. I need a clear head so I can keep you safe.”
She put her hands on his shoulders. “What happened to Matthew wasn’t your fault.”
“He’d be alive if I’d come home.”
She turned him to face her. “Maybe. Or maybe after your dad was shot, the killer would’ve come for you and Matthew. Or maybe you and Matthew would’ve been placed in foster care. Or maybe Pops would’ve given up because he didn’t have you to take care of…there are a million maybes, James. Maybes that are always going to haunt you until you get answers. Help me.”
Her eyes searched his for some hint she might be getting through to him.
His gaze locked with hers, and he grabbed her shoulders. “I’ll help you, but you need to help me, too.”
“I’m doing everything I—”
“Not quite. My feelings already risked your life once—I can’t let that happen again. Help me fight what’s going on between us.”
It was an impossible request. They’d just crossed the only emotional barrier keeping them apart, and she wanted him more than ever. She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head on his chest, then raised her lips to his neck.
“I’m tired of fighting.”
He pulled away but didn’t let go of her. “I’m serious, Elyse. Please don’t make this harder than it already is. I can’t allow my emotions to risk your safety again. I won’t. Until we get answers about your mother, find your attacker, and close this case, we…cannot happen.”
She took a deep breath and let him go, trying to steady her racing pulse. “Where do we start?”
He nodded toward the box of her mother’s things on the kitchen table. “Let’s start with the box.”
She had a feeling that’s what he was going to say. She’d seen enough of the box already to know it made her angry. One family photo taken in front of the cabin. No other pictures, none of the childhood artwork parents usually save. No baby books…just that one photo, meaningless newspaper clippings, and costume jewelry.
“Fine,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know what you expect to find in there, though. It’s just a bunch of junk.”
“It might seem that way, but Maggie saved those things for a reason. They meant something to her. We need to figure out what.”
“She was sick. Who knows what was going on in her head.”
“Let’s try and find out.”
She was crazy. That’s why she didn’t have any of our things, because she was crazy.
No matter how much she thought it though, it just didn’t ring true. She had been fine before the killings—it had been at least a year since she’d had a breakdown. And she seemed mentally stable when Elyse had seen her at the hospital just before the attack.
Meds. Probably because she was on meds.
Still, the idea that she had just snapped one day didn’t make sense. And even if she had snapped, Elyse knew her mother. She would’ve run. She never would’ve killed her family.
She would’ve run.
The words echoed through Elyse’s mind. Elyse ran, or tried to, anyway. She’d tried to run from the hospital. She had run away from James’ house.
Her heart began to race, her palms felt sweaty.
“James, am I crazy?”
He chuckled, not looking up from the box. “A little.”
“I’m serious,” she said, trying to choke back the tears she felt building. “Do you think I’m crazy? It’s genetic, you know. Momma used to run away—if she was too stressed, if she forgot her meds. Daddy would go find her, and she’d be okay for a while, but then she’d leave again…what if I’m sick, like she was?”
“Stop. Look at me, Elyse.”
She couldn’t look at him. He was right. They couldn’t happen. She didn’t want to doom him to a relationship with someone who behaved like that.
He reached for her hand.
“Look at me.” His voice was commanding, and she looked at him, expecting to see disappointment. Instead, his eyes were full of compassion, understanding, and was that—love? She’d always imagined it would look the way he looked at her now.
“Listen to me. You ran because you’re strong. You ran to escape abuse. You ran to escape death. You ran from Pops’ house because you thought it would help me—I’d say that was pretty clear thinking. Wrong, but clear.”
“I guess.” She wiped her face, wishing she could wipe away the doubt in her mind as easily. “Just promise me you’ll get me help if you think I need it.”
“You’re fine.”
“Promise!”
“I promise, if you ever need help, I’ll make sure you get it.” He held her gaze and raised his eyebrows. “Okay?”
She nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”
James continued lifting the lid off of the box and set it on the table. She grabbed the first thing her hand touched. A newspaper clipping from The Denver Times. One side was plastered with ads for shops in the area. The other side was a story about a local couple, Doris and Wendell Goldman. Wendell was a plastic surgeon. They were wealthy, very philanthropic, and they had adopted a child. The article was about closed versus open adoptions. Elyse turned it back over and looked at the ads, wondering why on earth her mother had sav
ed it.
She set it aside and pulled out the next paper, which happened to be a story about flowers. Several flower names were highlighted. The corners of her mouth curved upward, and James looked away from what he was reading and smiled.
“Something interesting?”
She held out the paper for him to see. “Momma loved flowers. She highlighted some of the names. We had a garden with those kinds of flowers in it.”
She sighed and shrugged, then added it to her pile. She pulled another, this time it was a black and white newspaper photo of a rose garden. The roses had been colored in with what looked like red ball-point pen. She held it up for James to see.
“We had red roses, too.”
The next several articles were about flowers and gardening. She set each one on top of the pile with a little more force, slamming the last one onto the table.
“Looks like she didn’t want to forget her garden,” she quipped. “This is ridiculous. The only thing I’m learning is that she wanted to remember flowers more than she wanted to remember her family.” She held her eyes tightly closed for a moment. “That’s not true.” She opened her eyes and looked at James. “I know that’s not true. It’s just…I don’t understand. I don’t understand why she saved these stupid papers, or why she was sick, or why she didn’t die that day.”
Her voice grew louder, her tone higher, and she stood and started pacing. “Why did she live? And she didn’t kill Daddy and Evie, so why did she let the doctors put her away? Why didn’t she fight for me, James?”
She cried out, trying to fight the tears she felt building in her eyes. “Why didn’t she come get me? Instead, I got beaten while she cut out stupid articles about flowers.”
James got up from the table, stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her. “I don’t know. I am going to find out, though.”
Elyse closed her eyes and let her head fall back against him, resting in his arms and breathing in the smell that sent blood racing through her entire body. She wondered which was more dangerous, someone trying to kill her, or falling in love with a man who believed her mother was capable of murder.
This was ridiculous. He had a job to do, and as long as Elyse was in his arms, it wasn’t getting done. Besides, holding her wasn’t exactly fighting his feelings.
Killer Secrets Page 14