by Cynthia Eden
She didn’t speak.
“ ‘He deserved what you did.’ ” Dace’s voice sharpened as he kept reading. “ ‘I understand. I understand so much about you now.’ ” He shook his head. “What the hell? He’s saying you killed your father!”
“Yes,” Victoria said. She cleared her throat. “That’s exactly what he’s saying.”
Dace’s lips parted. She could see him struggling to find words.
She was struggling herself. Time to admit the truth. I can’t hide any longer. The killer knows. He’s going to make sure my past comes out. Everyone will know what I did.
“Did you?” Dace finally asked. “Did you kill your father?”
Yes, yes I did. “I—”
“Fuck, no,” Wade said, stepping in front of Victoria. “You are not seriously asking her that, are you?”
His broad back blocked her view of Dace. Victoria sucked in a few quick, desperately needed breaths. She balled her shaking fingers into fists.
“The perp is just playing some mind game,” Wade continued. “You should get that shit. And, hell no, you don’t get to ask her if she killed her father. I mean, come on! She’s Victoria fucking Palmer. The woman has worked with the FBI on some of their biggest cases. She’s the go-to-girl that the cops use when they need help with their dead. You certainly were using her services. She spent her life trying to help people, and you’re going to stand there and ask her if she killed her father?”
Um, yes, that was what Dace had done.
Because that is exactly what I did.
“No,” Wade snapped before Dace could say anything else. “She did not kill him. Good enough for you?”
She craned her neck and looked around Wade’s body. She saw Dace run a hand over his face. “Right. Sorry. Shit, I know you can’t believe a word guys like him say. I just—why did he send that message?”
“Because he is trying to screw with her head,” Wade said flatly. “The guy gets off on tormenting people, but he is not going to hurt Victoria.” He looked back at her. “I’ll be damned if that shit goes down on my watch.”
There was such a dark intensity in his golden gaze.
“If the killer is the one who sent these texts,” Dace said, “then if Matthew Walker is innocent—”
Before he could finish his statement, a sharp knock sounded on his office door. Seconds later the door was opened and a female officer poked her head inside. “Detective Black,” she called. “Wanted to let you know that Walker’s lawyer is here.”
He swore.
The female cop lifted a brow. “You ready for him?”
“Hell, no.” But he nodded. “I’ll be right out.”
The cop vanished.
“Shit,” Dace said. “Now what the hell am I supposed to do? I’ve barely got enough to hold him. Jeremiah never actually saw him face-to-face, so he can’t ID the guy. There are damn hundreds of Jags in this city. Smoke and fucking mirrors . . . that is all this damn case is.”
The door shut behind the detective. Victoria slowly exhaled. She hadn’t even realized she’d been holding her breath.
Wade turned to face her. His gaze met hers.
“Thank you,” she told him. “For coming to my defense that way.”
His lips hitched into a half smile. “Like it was hard, baby. I know you aren’t a killer.”
You’re wrong.
She glanced toward the door. They were alone. She didn’t know how long they’d have before the detective came back inside. “What if I were?” As soon as the words slipped out, Victoria wished that she could pull them back.
Wade blinked. Then his brows climbed. “What?”
“Gabe . . .” She pressed her lips together, and then continued. “Gabe killed the man who took his sister. You were there when that happened.” Her heart was beating too fast.
“Yes . . .”
“Self-defense, right?”
His gaze slid away from hers.
She straightened her shoulders and kept going. “Is that the only time you think it’s okay to kill? If you’re defending yourself? Because then it’s kill or be killed, isn’t it? There isn’t really a choice. I mean, if you’ve actually seen what he can do.” He. Oh, crap, that had been a slip-up. “If you . . . if you know the guy will really kill, that he won’t stop, what are you supposed to do?”
He wasn’t smiling any longer. “Victoria . . .”
Her breath came faster. So much faster. She couldn’t do this. Couldn’t let Wade lie for her. No, no, he didn’t even realize that he was lying. Because Wade was good. The cop. The stand-up agent. And when she said this, when she crossed this line . . .
It would be over for her.
Her hand lifted. Touched his cheek. “I’m sorry.” And she really, truly was.
Because she’d enjoyed being with him. No strings, that had been their rule. She’d started to break that rule. So maybe it was good, that the truth was coming out. Maybe it was long past time for her to pay for her crimes.
THE FOOL HADN’T even locked his front door. Talk about being easy prey.
He curled his gloved hands around the doorknob and swung it open, and the door’s hinges barely groaned. He slipped inside the little apartment. He’d been there before, of course, with Melissa.
Jim hadn’t been home, not then. He’d been at one of his night classes, and never even knew about the little visit.
So he moved carefully, avoiding the area of the floor that would squeak too loudly, and headed toward Jim’s room. Though he really didn’t have to worry too much about a squeak of sound. Jim had his music on, and the pounding beat drifted through the apartment.
Jim’s bedroom door was ajar, but a glance inside showed him that Jim wasn’t in the room. The music was pumping in there, but . . .
No Jim.
He turned without even a rustle of sound and headed for Melissa’s room. Poor Melissa. She’d always been looking for love. Wanting someone to adore her so completely—thinking that if she just found the right man, she’d fill the emptiness inside.
Nothing would fill that.
Her bedroom door was open, too. Jim was inside her room, standing at the foot of her bed, his shoulders slumped as he stared at the quilt that covered the mattress. He knew all about that quilt. Melissa’s grandmother had made it for her. The one thing she’d kept from the screwed-up mess that had been her home life. She’d said her grandmother had always loved her.
Such a blind girl. You never realized how much he loved you, did you? Melissa had died not knowing.
His fingers slid toward the knife that he’d tucked inside his coat. Jim never even looked back at him. He was too lost to his grief.
And then . . .
Got you. Just like that, he had the blade pressed to Jim’s throat. “You were supposed to make a trade,” he whispered. “Your life for hers. She died . . . so that doesn’t sound like a fair trade to me.”
Jim stiffened but didn’t fight back. How could he? One move and the man’s throat would be slit open.
Just like Melissa’s.
“Not fair at all,” he said, and he let the knife cut across Jim’s throat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
VICTORIA HAD TEARS in her eyes. No, no, he couldn’t handle that. He hated to see her cry. She couldn’t be in pain. When a tear spilled over and slid down her cheek, Wade caught it with his thumb. “Baby, it’s okay, whatever—”
But she shook her head. “You’re wrong, Wade. It’s not okay.” She licked her lips. “I—I did it.”
For an instant his heart stilled. “Viki—”
“I did it,” she said again. “The perp—he isn’t just playing a game. He’s found out what I did. He knows that I—”
Wade kissed her. He just had to stop the tumble of her words. This was the wrong place, and
the wrong sort of people—cops—were too damn close by.
But Victoria pushed against him. “Stop it! Stop!”
He needed to get her out of there.
“Wade . . .” She pulled away from him. “Didn’t you hear me? I just told you that I—”
“No.” His growl cut off her words. “Not another word here, understand?” He caught her hand in his. “Let’s go outside. We’ll find out if Dace gets any evidence from my phone later. You and I—we’re getting out of this station.” And he was getting a drink. A really big one. And giving her one, too. “Then we’ll talk, and you’ll see that—”
“I’m a killer, Wade.”
Fuck. Did the woman want to get tossed behind bars? He cast a desperate glance toward the door.
“And . . . you’re a cop.” Now she sounded confused.
“Ex-cop,” he gritted out. There was a real big difference there. “We aren’t talking about this now. Come on, let’s go.” He locked his hand around her elbow and steered her to the door.
“Wade. Didn’t you hear me? I just told you—”
“Baby, please, I’m begging here. Don’t say another word about it. Not until we’re out of the cop station, got it?”
Her eyes had never seemed bigger. She blinked, appeared a bit confused, but nodded.
Good. He yanked open the door even as he kept a grip on her with his right hand. The bullpen was full of cops, and the last thing he wanted was for one of those uniformed men or women to overhear Victoria’s confession.
She killed her father. She killed him. Shit. He should have realized it sooner. Put all the pieces together.
“Wade . . .”
He kept walking. He could see the door. They were almost there.
And—
Matthew Walker was marching out of the room to the right. A bald guy in a suit was at his side, a guy who was speaking with a bellowing voice as he pointed at Detective Black.
Hell. Now it’s a party.
“My client will not sit through any more of your badgering!” the guy in the suit blustered. Has to be Walker’s lawyer. “So either you charge my client or he is walking out of this place right now!”
Dace didn’t have enough to charge Walker. Wade already knew that. He tightened his hold on Victoria and—
She stopped. Froze.
For an instant his eyes squeezed closed. Don’t confess, baby. Not here. Not now. I have to think of a way to cover that sweet ass of yours and a confession now will blow everything to hell.
“I’m getting another text,” Victoria said.
He shook his head. “What?”
Her face had gone stark white. She was staring down at the screen of her phone. “My God . . . I think . . . I think it’s Jim.” Her hand was shaking as she shoved the phone toward Wade.
She hadn’t just gotten a text this time. She’d gotten a picture. A picture of yes, dammit, Jim Porter. Jim was on the floor, holding a hand over his bloody throat.
“Fuck!” His roar had every eye in the station coming to him.
In the silence that followed, Wade ran toward Dace. “Get your men—we need people over at Jim Porter’s place right now!” He pushed the phone toward Dace and saw the other man pale.
Melissa hadn’t died right away. She’d survived for precious moments. Perhaps—maybe Jim Porter could survive, too.
But only if he had help. Right fucking then.
THE AMBULANCE BEAT them to the scene. Dace had sent cops and EMTs rushing to Jim Porter’s apartment. And they knew the photo had been taken from Jim’s place because they’d downloaded the picture and taken the GPS coordinates right off the damn thing. A little trick most folks didn’t realize . . . unless you turned off the settings on your smart phone, the longitude and latitude coordinates of every photo you took were stored—all you had to do was check the properties on that file, and bam, you had a perfect address.
So the ambulance rushed to the scene. The cops went in with sirens blazing.
Wade and Victoria stayed back, watching from a distance because they’d been told not to interfere. Wade saw the EMTs burst out of the building’s front door. Jim was on the stretcher, blood soaking him.
Just like Melissa.
He didn’t seem to be moving. The techs were working frantically on him. A crowd had gathered near the street, watching in horror.
“We’re too late,” Victoria said. “I think we always were. The perp—he could have waited before he sent that photo. Jim could already have been dead before I ever got it.”
Sonofabitch.
Dace marched down the front steps. He didn’t even look at the ambulance as it sped away. Instead, his gaze was fixed solely on Wade and Victoria.
When he was right in front of them, Dace finally stopped. “The killer took that picture with Jim’s own phone. Cocky sonofabitch. He took the picture, then he sent it to you.” His eyes narrowed as they swept over Victoria. “Why the fixation on you?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Wade hated the fearful stutter in her voice. He hated for her to feel any fear at all.
The ambulance had left. Cops were still there, interviewing neighbors. Trying to find witnesses.
“No sign of forced entry,” Dace said. “No signs of struggle at all. Hell, from the looks of things, the guy just stood there and let the bastard slice him open.”
“I—I want to see the scene,” Victoria said, still with that tremble in her voice. “Can we come into the apartment now?”
Wade locked his jaw. What he wanted was for Victoria to get as far away from that place as possible. They needed to leave town, right the hell then, and he was sure that Gabe would back him up on that decision.
But Victoria . . . she was moving forward because Dace had given a grim nod.
Hell. Wade hurried to follow even as his suspicious gaze swept over the crowd once more. Was the killer out there, watching again? He’d watched while Melissa died, so it sure stood to reason that the guy would be close this time, too.
Once inside the building, he and Victoria were given gloves. They were also given soft covers for their shoes so they wouldn’t track in debris. They crept into the apartment, moving carefully.
Wade noted the front door—the lock didn’t have so much as a scratch on it.
Uniformed cops were scattered through the apartment. Wade and Victoria walked carefully inside, and Wade’s gaze swept the scene as thoroughly as possible. They were on the third floor of the building, so the killer must have gone in and out through that front apartment door. Maybe they’d get lucky. Maybe someone in the building had seen him . . .
They walked into a bedroom. One with white furniture and black and white photos on the walls. Photos of waterfalls and beaches.
A bed sat in the middle of the room. A bed that was covered by what looked to be a hand-sewn quilt . . . and a spray of red.
“The perp came up from behind him,” Victoria said. “Based on that spray . . . Jim had to be facing forward. The guy came up, sliced his throat . . .”
“And then sent you a pic,” Dace muttered. “So you’d be in on his fun.”
Yeah, that is fucking what it was like. The guy wanted to share with Victoria. Because he thinks they are so damn alike.
He was wrong.
“I—I’ll need to see Jim’s body.” Her voice was wooden.
She’s already talking as if he’s dead. No, baby, no. Have hope.
“If I look at the angle of the cut, I can give you an idea of the perp’s height. Tell you if he was right-handed or left and—”
Dace’s phone rang. Frowning, he stepped back and took the call. “What?” he barked into the phone. “Is he dead?”
Victoria’s gaze swung to meet Wade’s. Her gaze seemed so sad. Desolate. His chest burned as he stared at her.
There was no hope—none at all—in her green eyes.
“You’re going to have to wait on seeing the body,” Dace said, voice sharp.
Victoria glanced at him.
“He made it,” Dace said, a wide smile splitting his face. “That kid made it to the hospital! EMTs say the knife missed his trachea, the cut wasn’t that deep, and the guy—hell, he’s lost a shitload of blood, but he’s in surgery. He might just pull through!”
Victoria’s eyes lit up.
Thank Christ.
“He can identify the killer.” Dace gave a quick nod. “When that kid comes out of surgery, he’ll tell us who did this to him! We’ll have that perp locked up before he can ever think of hurting anyone else!”
Wade’s gaze slid back to the blood-covered bed. A survivor. Hell, yes. That was exactly what they needed. The perp probably thought he was free and clear.
Think again.
The kid was a fighter, and they were going to find the man who’d attacked him. No more victims. No more games.
It was over.
WADE LOCKED THE B&B door.
“How long do you think the cops are going to keep my phone?” Victoria asked as she paced in front of him.
“Permanently.” He leaned back against the door and his gaze slowly slid over her as she turned toward him.
She rubbed the back of her neck. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“If any more texts or even calls come in from the killer, the cops want to trace them. They’re taking over the case now.” Dace’s captain had been clear on that. They’d barely had time to leave the apartment before Captain Harry Vann arrived, saying they had to surrender Victoria’s phone and needed to step the hell back from his case.
His case . . . like they hadn’t busted ass helping the PD. But now that the news crews were closing in, Vann had tightened ranks. They were out. Only the cops were in.
Vann had told them to stay away from the hospital. Yeah, reporters were already swarming, and Wade knew exactly what the captain had been thinking . . .
You don’t want it looking as if LOST is in charge. This is your city, your people . . . I get it, man. You want to be the one running the show.