Shattered

by Allison Brennan

  “But Andrew didn’t see her at the house.”

  “That he remembers. She was there, at least once, and saw Nelia turn Andrew away. It validated her. Finally, the woman has some sense, sees the truth, too bad it took the death of her only son to notice her husband is a cheating asshole.”

  Lucy stopped suddenly and looked from Max to David. “I-I didn’t mean that literally. I’m just thinking like the killer.”

  “Why didn’t you go into BSU?” Max asked spontaneously. Lucy seemed surprised by the question. “I mean, you sound like Arthur Ullman, just more … intense. You understand these people.”

  “It’s a gift and a curse,” Lucy said and averted her eyes.

  “Still, it seems you would be a natural for that unit.”

  “I’m starving,” David said.

  Max wanted to throttle him. She was getting Lucy to open up—finally. It wouldn’t have taken much more prodding. She sensed Lucy was weakening, maybe because she was so emotionally involved with this case. There was something about her that drew Max in … and she would find the answers she was looking for.

  “Let’s go downstairs. Lucy?” David asked her.

  “Give me a minute, I want to take a few more notes.” She glanced at her phone. “And Dillon’s calling me.”

  “We’ll meet you down there,” Max said. She grabbed her purse and walked out with David. “Why?” she demanded as soon as they closed the door.

  “You were about to overstep, and I didn’t want you damaging your relationship with that girl.”

  “I was not overstepping. It was a natural question to the situation. You heard her—she’s not like most feds we know.”

  “Sometimes for the most observant person on the planet, you’re obtuse.”

  “Insults. Really.” She pressed the elevator button. “Don’t interfere with this. I want to know everything about Lucy Kincaid.”

  “Then step back and watch, don’t question. I guarantee you, Max, that if you give her room to work, you’ll see her shine—and figure out why she’s so damn good at her job.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Lucy watched Max and David leave, then answered Dillon’s call. “That was fast.”

  “I have Nelia on the line with me,” Dillon said.

  Lucy’s heart pounded. “Nelia?”

  “Hello, Lucy,” Nelia said.

  “Hi.” Lucy sat down heavily at the desk. Dillon wouldn’t blindside her like this, would he?

  “Dillon explained to me what you’re doing, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

  “I—” What did she say? That she wasn’t going to stop? That no matter what Nelia said, Lucy wasn’t turning back? Why would Dillon do this to her? Her stomach twisted in knots.

  “I remember Danielle Sharpe. Dillon told me you suspect her in Justin’s murder.”

  “Yes,” Lucy said quietly. “You actually remember her? How?”

  “How is Andrew?”

  Non sequitur, but Lucy took the moment to regroup. “He’s the same. At least how I’ve always remembered him.”

  “I mean, how is he now that he’s looking into Justin’s murder?”

  “Resolved is the best word.”

  “That’s Andrew. He always controlled his emotions better than me.”

  Lucy didn’t think that was true—she remembered Nelia as being cool and aloof most of her life.

  “Justin’s murder hurt Andrew as much as me. Only, he dealt with his pain and I didn’t. I need to explain something, Lucy, I’ve apologized to you and Carina for the way I treated you both after … after Justin’s murder. But I’ve never discussed it with anyone. When I say that Andrew controlled his emotions I meant it—I didn’t. My emotions controlled me. I didn’t show it, but I lived inside my broken soul. That’s how I felt when Justin died—broken. A million pieces that I couldn’t put back together, so I pulled them all together, one big bag of messy pieces, and carried them around hoping they’d find someway to heal. They did, but not in the right way. It took me years—honestly, until Tom came into my life—before I stopped waking up every morning with my first thought being about Justin. Not the good parts, but losing him. It took a long time before I learned to manage my grief.”

  “No one blames you for anything, Nelia.”

  “I just wanted you to understand. Mom and Dad still see me as broken.”

  Lucy could relate to that.

  “Dillon told me what happened the other night,” Nelia said. “I’m so sorry. They reacted that way because they thought I would be hurt. I’m calling them tonight. They had no right to treat you so poorly. Just like I had no right to ignore you for all those years. I meant what I said in my letter before you got married. I admire you, and what you’ve done with your life to seek answers for victims … I couldn’t do that. And I realized when Andrew called you, and not me, that he thought I was still too fragile to handle any news related to Justin. But I can. It’s been nineteen and a half years. I will always miss him.”

  “Me, too,” Lucy said and blinked back tears.

  “You know most everything about what happened then. About Andrew and me, how I got pregnant in law school, how I knew about his affairs. Sheila wasn’t the first. What you don’t know—what no one knows—is how it was just as much my fault. Andrew tried to make it work, but all I saw was my own failures. That I was pregnant and so was my mother. That I had to get married. I was in a daze, I think, because I knew Andrew and I didn’t love each other, but he tried—he tried harder than I did. Andrew put me through law school. Andrew hated corporate law, but he worked there to make the money to put me through law school because I’d lost my scholarship when I left to have Justin. Mom watched him so I could go to school, then she watched him so I could work. I thought that’s what would fulfill me, but slowly I realized that all I really cared about was my son.

  “Andrew and I talked about separating. But in the end, he didn’t want to divorce because his parents had a bitter divorce, and I didn’t want to divorce because I thought it would prove that I was a failure. And we had one thing in common. We loved Justin so much. We thought that love would be enough. We never fought. Never argued. Andrew bent over backwards to help around the house, and I knew part of it was because of his guilt for sleeping around. I didn’t care. What does that say about me?”

  “It doesn’t say anything, Nelia,” Lucy said. “Except you need to forgive yourself.”

  “Dillon told me Justin’s killer targeted him because of Andrew’s affair. And I knew about it.”

  “Do you blame Andrew?”

  “Of course not. I never did, because I knew where he was and I still choose to work that night. I could have stayed home. I could have worked from home. I should have.”

  “Nelia, what have we talked about?” Dillon interjected.

  “I know. I’m doing better.” She took a deep breath.

  Lucy said, “Nelia, are you really okay with this? With me investigating Justin’s murder?”

  “It’s not going to bring him back, it’s not going to take away the pain, but I can handle the truth. Would you do it even if I didn’t want you to?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Lucy didn’t know what to make of that, but she said, “Danielle Sharpe.”

  “It’s odd that I remember her, because I don’t remember a lot about those weeks—months—after Justin died. I remember Danielle not because she was at the house, as Dillon told me she was. I honestly don’t remember anyone at the house, though I knew Mom was there, Carina, Andrew … but I remember her because of the funeral.”

  “She was at Justin’s funeral?”

  “She came to me in the bathroom and I might have recognized her. I didn’t make the connection then and I couldn’t swear to it now. Same old condolences that everyone else gave me, except … she said she’d lost her son. He’d been eight years old, only a year older than Justin, and when she looked at me I knew she felt the same pain I felt. I don’t know why tha
t made me feel better—it didn’t last, but in that moment I realized that there were other people with the same pain I had. She gave me a note with her name and number and said I could call her anytime.”

  “Did you?”

  “No. Remember, I was broken. I forgot all about the conversation. I went to see a psychiatrist but that didn’t last. I didn’t want to go. I think I wanted the pain because grief is feeling something, and without it, I would have nothing.

  “Then,” Nelia continued, “a year or so later—I can’t swear to the time, I was already in Idaho living in my shell—Mom sent me a package. She was always doing that—cookies, jams she recently canned—”

  “She still does,” Lucy said. “I get something almost every month.”

  “I do, too.” Lucy could hear the smile in Nelia’s voice, and somehow, that made the conversation a little bit better, a little bit easier. “In the package was a letter from Danielle. She wrote that she’d raised money from the neighborhood and donated it to the parks district to rename the park where Justin died. The Justin Stanton Memorial Park. She said she debated asking my permission, but in the end didn’t want to hurt me so did it on her own, but wanted me to know. I’ve never gone back—I visit Justin’s grave once a year, but I haven’t been to the park. I can’t.”

  “I went yesterday,” Lucy said.

  “Is it nice?” Nelia whispered.

  “It’s clean, larger, safe. They play soccer there.”

  “Good.” Nelia’s voice cracked and Lucy found her own eyes moist. “Did she kill him, Lucy? Did she really kill him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  How much should Lucy tell her?

  “I can take it,” Nelia said. “Tom’s here with me. I’m not broken, not like before.”

  She still hesitated. How much to say? How to say it?

  “It’s okay, Lucy,” Dillon said.

  She sighed. Having Dillon validate her theory helped, but it was still dark and twisted. “There’s a lot we don’t know about Danielle Sharpe,” Lucy began, “but I believe she lost her son. I suspect something happened to him when he was young—either an accidental death or murder, and that’s when she found out about her husband’s infidelity. Maybe her husband was supposed to be watching him, or maybe her motives go back even further, to her own childhood. I’m sure there’s more about her past that we need to know. But it’s clear her husband was with his mistress when their son died and she blames him. She’s completely blocked out her own grief to the point that she doesn’t feel emotions like you and I do.” Lucy knew she processed emotions differently than other people. Maxine Revere had been looking at her in that odd, inquisitive way when Lucy talked about motive … and it bothered Lucy that she’d revealed so much about herself. But she couldn’t dwell on it now, and had to trust that Max would honor her privacy.

  “She moved,” Lucy said, “we’re still working on finding out where she’s from. She moved to San Diego and possibly shut out her past life. Worked, did what was expected of her, kept a distance from people. She was friendly but quiet and aloof. Something triggered her—she may have figured out Andrew was having an affair.”

  “Andrew was discreet, out of respect for me.”

  That was interesting—Donovan hadn’t been discreet, but he also hadn’t worked with Danielle Sharpe. “We believe she stalked Andrew for some time. It could be she stalked several men who fit her profile—men who had a son and a working wife—and when she confirmed Andrew was having an affair, it caused her to relive her own pain discovering her husband had an affair.”

  “Why kill Justin? I don’t understand.”

  Lucy did. She understood this woman—at least how Danielle Sharpe thought. Normal people didn’t understand these disorders. Normal people didn’t feel like they were sharing their skin with psychopaths.

  Dillon spoke up, “To you and I and Lucy, it makes no sense. But to Danielle Sharpe, it does. She couldn’t stop what happened to her son—and she couldn’t do anything to her husband, at least back then. I suspect she may have gone after him at some point, however. There could be a restraining order against her, or maybe she really did kill him—though killing her husband does nothing to make him suffer. I think that’s how she’s thinking—she wants to make these men suffer. And the best way to do that was to take from him the one thing they love the most—their child.”

  “Does Andrew know this?” Nelia’s voice cracked. She was crying.

  “Yes,” Lucy said.

  “Dear God, he must be in so much pain right now.”

  “He’s strong. He’s a good man, Nelia, faults and all.”

  “I know he is. I’d like to call him.”

  “I think he’d like that, too.”

  “You’re going to find her, right?”

  “Yes. Do you still have that letter?”

  “No, I threw it away long ago.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “It was postmarked Tallahassee, Florida.”

  “Are you certain? You remember that after all these years?”

  “I’m certain. It stuck out to me.”

  “That helps. Thank you, Nelia.”

  “Lucy, I’m not good with people anymore. Honestly, I never was a people person. But I’d like to see you sometime. Without the family, without pressure. If you’re up near me, please let me know, okay?”

  “I’d like that, Nelia. Thank you. Good-bye, Dillon.”

  She hung up and immediately called Max.

  “Max, I have something that takes priority for your research staff.” It irked Lucy that she could do this herself if she could access her FBI account—but she didn’t want to cross that line, not yet. Not until she had to.

  Max didn’t say anything for a moment.

  “Are you there?” Lucy asked.

  “I’m here. What is it?”

  “Danielle Sharpe in Tallahassee, Florida. I think that’s where she’s from, that’s where her son died.”

  “You’re a psychic, aren’t you?”

  “My sister Nelia got a letter from Danielle a year after Justin’s murder—which was after she left San Diego. It was postmarked Tallahassee. Danielle is the one who paid for Justin’s memorial at the park. Not Andrew like I had assumed. She killed Justin, stayed for a few months, then went back to visit her son’s grave or her ex-husband. Maybe there was another reason, but my educated guess is that Tallahassee is her home base. It’s where she goes after she kills. Sharpe may be her maiden name, I don’t know, but if she was married there should be a record of that.”

  “I’ll do what I can. Are you joining us for dinner? We haven’t ordered.”

  Lucy wasn’t that hungry, but she hadn’t eaten much today. She should eat.

  “I’ll join you—sorry, I’m distracted. Dillon had Nelia on the phone as well.”

  “And Nelia is … good?”

  “She gave me her blessing.”

  “And yet everyone thought she was going to fall apart at the mention of an investigation.”

  Lucy wasn’t certain she appreciated Max’s tone, but she didn’t comment. “I’ll be down in five minutes. Thank you.” She hung up.

  She got up from the desk and looked at the timeline again. She wrote at the beginning under Victim 0: Tallahassee, Florida.

  She was about to walk away when she saw something on the desk. A note, in Max’s bold handwriting.

  What makes Lucy Kincaid tick?

  That was it. Nothing more, as if she were doodling.

  Lucy was furious. How dare she … hadn’t anything that Lucy or Sean said sunk in? Lucy thought Sean had made it perfectly clear that they would tolerate no prying into their personal lives. None.

  Lucy didn’t want her past dragged through the media. What happened when she was kidnapped. That she’d been raped repeatedly. That her rapes had been aired over the Internet. That she’d killed her rapist while he was unarmed. In cold blood. Because if she didn’t, he would still be out there. Maybe in prison
, but he would be walking the earth and he didn’t deserve it. He would have killed her if her brothers hadn’t found her.…

  She took a deep breath. Yes, she was angry, but she didn’t see Max doing anything about it, even if she knew the truth. Which she’d never get—not the whole truth, at any rate. It was Max’s nature to seek answers. And Lucy had deliberately avoided conversations about herself and her past. No wonder Max was curious—Lucy would be if the roles were reversed.

  What did make her tick? Her past as a victim? Her need to stop people from hurting each other? Her ability to get into the heads of psychopaths?

  She may never know. Maybe a combination of the above. All she knew was that she couldn’t see herself doing anything but what she did. She’d long ago given up hope of being normal, but that was okay. Sean had taught her she had value outside of what she did. That she could love and be loved like everyone else.

  She walked out of Max’s suite and while in the elevator sent Sean a text message: I love you.

  It made her feel good, to let him know she loved him just because.

  But what made her feel even better was when Sean responded immediately: What’s not to love? and a wink emoji.

  He knew how to make her smile.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  It was late, so late Saturday that it was probably already Sunday morning, but Danielle didn’t care what time it was, she had proof. The final piece of evidence she needed.

  She poured the rest of the red wine into her water glass and sipped. She had the photos now, boy, did she have the photos. Tony Fieldstone and Nina Fieldstone.

  Sex was obviously more important to both of them than their own son.

  It was only a matter of time before they abandoned him to screw around with their respective lovers.

  Danielle Sharpe had never been so angry as she was right now. She almost confronted Nina this morning when she ran into her at the gym.

  Yes, it was on purpose. She had to look at her, see her, talk to her.

  Find out what her plans were.

  Find out what day her life would end as she knew it.

  It was only a matter of days.