“I think we need to go down to the precinct and tell them what we know. They haven’t tied this back to your father at all. No one is even considering the fact that it might be bigger than just some campus crime. It’s important they know you’re here.” Bobby rested his chin on Piper’s head and closed his eyes. He knew she wouldn’t want to rehash her history, but in his heart he assumed she’d do what was right, even if she did it reluctantly.
“No,” she said sharply as she pulled away from him. His chin fell suddenly, sending his teeth into his tongue. It was equally as jarring to Piper. Leaving his arms felt like the shock of a windy day—your hat blowing off your head before you could even raise your arms to try to stop it. She was the one backing up, but it still felt like he was the one being pulled away.
“We have no idea if this is my father or not. Someone could have easily searched the Internet for serial killers and decided they wanted to play lunatic for the day. I’m not going to go shout from the rooftops that I’m here in Edenville only to find out this had nothing to do with me.”
Bobby was stunned by her steely tone and met her frustration with his own. “I’m not asking you to go on the ten o’clock news. I’m asking you to come down and talk to the captain. Tell him what you know, who you are. You have a responsibility here.”
“Do you think I went on the ten o’clock news back in New York? No. But somehow information was leaked. My father found out I survived and now here I am. If this attack wasn’t my father, if it was someone else, I can kiss Edenville goodbye. You can kiss me goodbye. All I have is this new identity. Please don’t take it from me. I can’t start over again.” She stared up at him, letting her eyes speak.
She had powerful eyes that seemed to have the ability to express things that words couldn’t. They were the eyes of a broken-hearted person, and anyone with an ounce of empathy couldn’t resist their pull. She didn’t flash them often, she never wanted them to become too familiar or to lose their effect, but right now they were necessary. She could tell her stare was creating small fractures in the shield Bobby had placed between them, but it had yet to shatter.
“I’m a police officer, Piper. You can’t ask me to withhold information about an active case. There’s a massive internal investigation going on right now. People are being linked to Judge Lions, and everyone is on edge. Edenville has been completely turned on its head, and we need to be as forthcoming as possible with any information we have. Heads are rolling, jobs are being lost, and people are going to jail. We need to stay on the right side of this. I know when you sat in your living room and told me who you really were you didn’t imagine it would ever come to this. You told me because you love me, and now I’m asking you to trust me.”
“Bobby, honestly, what’s your hang up? You love me. That should come first. I get the good guy thing. I even understand the sense of duty, but does that really trump how you feel about me?” Piper didn’t want to appear hurt, but she couldn’t understand why he towed this line with so much damn conviction. What was really keeping him from putting her first?
He wanted to shout that she didn’t understand, that maybe she never would. His own history had created that black and white definition of the world. Just as hers had made her jaded and skeptical, his past had made him this way. All he had to do was keep walking the straight and narrow to keep his demons stuffed away. The rules were the rules for a reason, and as long as he followed them he’d never find himself back in that terrible place he’d escaped. He was convinced Piper didn’t need to know why he was so inflexible and law-abiding. She just needed to know and accept that he was.
When he didn’t answer she continued her plea. “All I’m asking is for you to let the investigation play out for a couple of days. Let the forensic team do its job.” She moved back toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist, begging him again with her eyes. “Please, promise me you’ll give it a couple of days.”
Bobby couldn’t do that. The conflict raging inside his body kept his mouth from agreeing to her terms. He wouldn’t make that promise. It was far too similar to one he’d made before, one that ended so badly he still couldn’t forgive himself. “And what about everyone upstairs?” he asked as he deflected her request. “Do you plan to keep them cut out of all this? Do you want to go back to hiding everything about yourself from people who care about you?”
Piper assumed she’d need to make some kind of concession. She was asking a lot of Bobby, likely too much. It was only fair to expect she would have to give something in return. “I’m going to tell them the truth. I trust them, and I know they care about me. They deserve to know who I am.” She stood on her tiptoes and held Bobby’s face in her hands. “I’m sorry I’m not normal. I hate that I come with all this baggage. Please, stand by me on this.”
He leaned down and kissed her, instantly calming every jagged nerve and untying all the knots in her stomach. The effect on Bobby was slightly different. The kiss didn’t calm him, it scared him. Loving her scared him. She made him walk a fine line he’d always avoided. He was afraid loving her would be his undoing.
Their bodies however didn’t seemed to be as conflicted as their minds. They leaned into each other, Bobby’s hand grasping firmly to Piper’s lower back and pulling her in tighter. There were some things that weren’t impacted by the reality of a situation, and their physical attraction hadn’t tapered off at all. On the contrary, the tension between their bodies, the desperate hunger to finally come together, had grown to an almost unmanageable level. She let her body grind slightly into his and a low moan passed from his mouth to hers. The passing of a rumbling motorcycle broke them from each other, reminding them that no matter how badly they wanted to give in to their desires, once again they would have to wait. Understanding the attack today would need to come first. Just like they had put the task of taking down the judge before their passion. It felt like the right thing to do at the time, but now as their bodies ached for each other and more problems stood in their way, they were both wondering if waiting had been the right choice.
Chapter Two
Michael stood with his elbows on his kitchen counter, lost in a nagging thought. He couldn’t believe what a weak son of a bitch he had become. He was astonished at how far he had fallen in the last few weeks. Somehow everything he once thought to be important was taking a back seat. He had worked hard to convince himself that the perfect formula for life was being a great lawyer, remaining a happy bachelor, and limiting his connections to acquaintances rather than friends. That was, of course, until he met a ragtag team of overzealous do-gooders.
In matter of weeks, they had turned him into a vigilante who had a strong allegiance to warm and fuzzy friendships. In their defense, the vigilantism had resulted in a very successful endeavor to remove a crooked judge from the bench. He took pride in the part he’d played in that. But these people were challenging everything he believed in. Take Bobby, for instance, the rookie cop with impossibly high standards for morality. It was admirable really, but at some point even Michael found his inflexible views of right and wrong unrealistic.
Making matters even more complicated was Piper, the broken girl Michael just couldn’t stop trying to piece back together. She was like a shattered window, a pile of glass, all shards and slivers. You just look at it not knowing where to start. When you do finally make a plan to clean it up, all you get for your trouble is an overwhelming feeling of how insurmountable the task is, and lots of little cuts.
Then there was Betty, the diner waitress whose home-cooked meals were as warm and welcoming as her southern charm. The kitchen was an extension of her body, her pots and pans as familiar as limbs, her apron a second skin. She was a firecracker. Michael didn’t think he had ever heard her whisper. She preferred to deliver impassioned soliloquys and southern idioms whenever appropriate. Hell, forget appropriate. She didn’t let little things like political correctness or sensitivity to timing stop her from telling someone they were as useful as a hole in a cano
e. Her words weren’t merely spoken, they were delivered, infused with so much passion and feverish movements of her hands that when she got on a roll it was best to duck to avoid a finger in the eye.
To date, Michael’s favorite was a comment she’d made about him. Betty, though big in personality, wasn’t more than five feet and a couple inches tall whereas Michael stood a full foot over her. When chatting one day over a meatloaf with the whole gang, Michael revealed that he had been a bit on the scrawny side as a child. In an effort to make himself look taller in middle school he’d begun spiking his hair. Instead of fooling his classmates, his hair only earned him the name Spikey Mikey. God forbid he rode his bike to school, because his classmates had written a whole song about how Spikey Mikey rides his bikey. It was all rather silly, but Betty read his reminiscing as a small wound that might need a southern bandage. And what exactly was a southern bandage? Laughter.
“Michael you’d sure show those boys now if they ever saw you. Why, you’re so tall if you fell down you’d be halfway home.” It had sent Michael into an uncontrolled laughing fit that had him gasping for breath and leaving the table. That was the thing about Betty, she knew what joke would make you laugh, what lecture would straighten your ass out, and what kind of hug would make you feel whole on days you didn’t think you could take another step. Michael wasn’t a touchy feely kind of guy, but for some reason when Betty stretched her arms out he felt drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
And Betty’s daughter, the redhead Jules, was another story all together. The girl was like a southern belle with the temper of a drunken sailor. She was the oddest combination of gorgeous and terrifying that he had ever encountered. They argued about the most trivial things from what super power would be the most useful in everyday life to why baked potatoes were better than mashed. They drove each other crazy, but regardless of how heated their debates, it always ended the same way. An innuendo spoken in a breathy voice, the running of a hand across a thigh, or passionate kisses broken long enough for one to declare himself or herself right about the nonsense dispute. And then hours of lovemaking that acted like a bucket of water over the fire of their argument. He didn’t want to admit it, and he would most certainly deny it if asked, but they worked.
He and Jules were different enough to keep things exciting but compatible enough to enjoy each other. And though she didn’t seem to realize it, Jules was the best lover Michael had ever had. It wasn’t a mysterious technique or a particular fetish that made her paramount, it was her confidence, although he didn’t want to discount her magnificent skills either. She had honed in on what drove him wild, what brought him to the brink, and she constantly delivered. Jules knew who she was, what she liked, and what she wanted. She didn’t waver, which at times made her infuriatingly stubborn and hotheaded, but it also meant he didn’t need to think for her, something he hated to have to do.
So often women in his life became passengers, ready to go where he took them, ready to accept what he would give, but Jules set her own standard for happiness and had her own idea of life. The fact that she appealed to him in every way had landed him in unfamiliar territory. She could keep up with him in a heated debate and in bed. That combination was hard to find. He liked girls who were easy to walk away from, forgettable girls. Jules was anything but forgettable. Even now, in a room full of other people and at a safe distance from each other, he found it difficult to control his arousal. It took only the passing hint of her savory perfume or a sideways glance as she nibbled her bottom lip to send him into a calming chant. Baseball, Mrs. Gobelstone from third grade with the mustache, spiders crawling in your ears—all usually sure-fire ways to dampen the excitement that grew in him whenever they were close.
Now, as he moved to his living room, readying himself to hear whatever sordid tale Piper was about to share, Michael realized his time with these people was probably far from over. He could read the grave expression on Piper’s face. That, paired with the fact that Bobby had insisted all three women come to his house to be safe, let him know this was something significant. And the only thing about that revelation that bothered him was he felt relieved. Why on earth was he happy that another crazy force was about to thrust him even closer to all of them? He should feel suffocated and annoyed, but all he could think was maybe this would extend their connection. Having more time with people who made him finally feel like he was a part of something left him uncharacteristically soothed.
Suddenly Betty’s sweet southern voice cut in, interrupting Michael’s internal battle. She’d spent the day busying herself around his tiny kitchen, which was her favorite room in any house. “Oh, where are my manners—thank you, Michael, for inviting us to stay in your home… or loft? I’m not sure what you call a place like this.” He could tell from her expression that she clearly couldn’t appreciate his decorating style.
Jules, who was often embarrassed by her mother’s inability to enjoy things she didn’t understand, waved her hand trying to quiet her mother. “Ma, don’t act like that. It’s a great place. It’s just different than you’re used to. I’m sure he’s fixing to put curtains up eventually.” If she were honest with herself, Jules agreed that the apartment was awful. Everything seemed to be made of steel, brick, or glass. There wasn’t a single picture or knick-knack anywhere. But she was enthusiastic in her attempts to appreciate Michael’s unique decorating style, which she had concluded could be described as “bachelor minimalist.”
“I wasn’t trying to be ugly about it. I’m just not sure what I’m sitting on here,” Betty snickered, adjusting herself on the rigid bar stool where she was perched.
“It’s ergonomic,” Michael answered, not daring to tell her it cost five hundred dollars. He wasn’t dumb enough to engage in that debate. Jules tried hard to change the subject before Betty could break into a story about furniture styles from her childhood. “Piper has something to tell us,” Jules said quickly, her motives clear. “Go ahead, Piper.”
Piper waved them over to the living room and they all joined her. “This isn’t something that’s easy for me to talk about,” Piper started, as Jules and Betty sat by her on the couch. It was black leather with sharp wood edges and offered no clear way to get comfortable. Bobby and Michael sat across from them in two large leather recliners.
“We’re all here for you, Piper,” Betty said, squeezing her thigh, ironically close to where the jagged number twenty-three had been carved into her skin.
“I won’t give you all the gory details. The short version: I didn’t grow up in a very good home. My parents weren’t like you.” She hesitated, resting her head on Betty’s shoulder for a moment. “I grew up in Brooklyn, and every day was a struggle. Through the help of a priest, my mother and I finally broke away from my father, who was a very violent man.”
Michael watched as Piper fought back her nerves. After a long moment of silence she shook her head and turned toward Bobby. With her eyes, she begged him to step in.
Understanding her pleading look, Bobby continued for her. “Piper’s real name is Isabella. It was changed after her father hunted them down. He attacked them, and her mother didn’t survive. Piper barely did. The way he killed Piper’s mother and tried to kill Piper was very specific. It drew the attention of the FBI. When Piper was recovering, they came in and told her she’d been attacked by a person they had dubbed the Railway Killer. They knew this because he used the same weapon and techniques every time he killed someone. That’s when Piper realized her dad wasn’t just a violent guy who treated his family badly. He was responsible for over twenty murders.” Bobby left out the part that ate at Piper’s conscience the most. How she had stayed silent for weeks after her own attack in an effort to ignore the truth.
That hesitation on her part resulted in the murder of another girl at the hands of her father. She held her breath as Bobby continued. “Piper was placed in witness protection, and that’s how she ended up here in Edenville.” Michael was glad Piper was sitting next to Betty and Jule
s instead of having to see their reaction head on as he did. Instead, she locked eyes with Michael who purposefully clenched his jaw, keeping his face impassive. He was a steady guy, not overly emotional. He knew he could offer some composure.
“I know that case,” Michael interjected. “We studied it in law school, and I’ve followed it over the years. The Railway Killer has one of the most methodical and ritualistic styles of killing in recent history. There’s been no activity from him in over two years. The chatter was he must have died. No one with that type of compulsion just falls off the radar.”
“The girl attacked this morning…” Piper trembled, not looking ready to admit this out loud, “she had a mark on her leg similar to what my father left on me. It’s what he leaves on all his victims. But there was so much about the attack this morning that doesn’t align with his murders. We really can’t be certain there’s anything to worry about yet.”
Jules had a look of bewilderment on her face and Michael worried that she may ask something Piper wasn’t ready to answer. He’d spent plenty of time around victims and understood the sensitivity required. Jules tended to have a more direct approach with things in her life and it concerned him in these moments.
“What do you mean, he ‘marked’ you?” she asked looking over Piper’s body as if she had missed some kind of telltale sign of a killer. Michael watched as Piper hesitated to answer, and clearly saw that Bobby wasn’t sure exactly how to broach the subject either. These seemed like the details Piper didn’t want to relive again.
Michael saw the uncomfortable glances passing between Bobby and Piper and decided to switch over to his prosecutor persona. There was a way to eliminate the emotion, the personal weight of the conversation, and he knew how to do that well. “The Railway Killer uses a sharpened railroad spike to sever the femoral artery of his victims. He then carves that victim’s number into their upper thigh with a small knife. What Piper is saying, is when her father tried to kill her he carved a number in her leg, and I’m guessing the girl attacked on campus must have had something similar.”
Cutting Ties (Book 2) (Piper Anderson Series) Page 2