Drew clenched the cell phone hard in his fist. He’d gone to great lengths to escape his past, and he wasn’t about to let Liam ruin everything. There was no way he was going back to being Andy Bowman, high school dropout. Andy Bowman with the criminal record and the crazy father. Andy Bowman the loser. He’d risked everything to become Drew Matthews, and he wasn’t about to lose it all now—his job, his money, his fiancée, maybe even his life—by letting that entitled little shit spill his guts to Alicia.
Drew considered pocketing the phone but decided against it. Alicia would notice its absence. Instead he deleted the text, flipped Alicia’s phone into airplane mode, and slid it back into position beside her champagne flute.
Just in time, as it turned out. Alicia’s high heels clicked on the floor behind him. Her fingers trailed along his neck as she passed. She stopped to press a gentle kiss on his lips. He tasted the champagne and caught a whiff of her sweet perfume.
Drew took a sip and forced a smile, as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. There was nothing forced about Alicia as she smiled brighter than the diamond on her finger.
In life, perfect moments were rare, and he wasn’t about to let Liam ruin this one. He’d deal with Liam soon enough.
“What’s bothering you?”
“Nothing. Why?”
She nodded toward his hands. “You always play with your ring when there’s something on your mind.”
He released his grasp on the bloodstone ring. “I do?”
She nodded. He grasped her hand and raised it to his mouth. Drew ran the tip of his tongue along the ulnar nerve on the soft underside of her wrist. Alicia’s breath caught, and she shivered.
“You’re right. I do have something on my mind. What do you say we skip dessert?”
Chapter 41
The search party called it in just after one o’clock in the afternoon. Another body. Another dead girl. Seth got the news moments later. The entire drive up the I-5 corridor, he prepared himself for the inevitable. Though the report was short on details, a few things struck him right away.
The body had been found close to one of the job sites where Charles Sully had worked. North of Redmond, the new housing developments were popping up like acne on a teenage boy’s face. This one backed up onto a large greenbelt. The densely wooded area had all the makings of a great dump site. That’s why Seth had pointed Elizabeth Holt’s volunteers off in this direction.
According to the volunteers, the body had been left intact, out in the open, not sliced and diced like the one they’d found in Sully’s trunk. Why would he take such pains in dismembering one girl and just dump the other? Had the girl they found in Sully’s trunk done something to make him angry? The difference in the MO was interesting, and unusual. Maybe this girl had been killed first. Maybe he had been trying to throw them off the trail.
Seth hadn’t missed the frightened look on Marissa’s face when the news came in. Although she tried to present a brave front, he could see the terror in her eyes. Worried she might insist on coming with him, he was already formulating his response when she surprised him by making a feeble joke.
“We can’t spend all of our dates identifying bodies, right?” she said.
He admired her pluck and was thankful she didn’t want to come. Strong as she was, he wasn’t sure she could make it through another scene like the one at the morgue. He didn’t want to put her through it, not unless he had to.
Staring at his GPS, Seth gritted his teeth. Where was this damned place? Housing developments were popping up so fast in this area, the map applications couldn’t keep up. Wending his way down the twisty hillside, he read the street signs. Finally, at the bottom of the valley, he spotted the neighborhood.
Dozens of cookie-cutter houses dotted the streets, all in various states of completion. The half dozen or so at the end of the cul-de-sac glimmered with postcard-perfect coats of fresh paint. Each had been given its own unique touch—different trim color, different front door, some subliminal personalization preventing you from striding into the wrong egg crate and scaring the hell out of your neighbor’s wife. Soon the landscapers would work their magic and “For Sale” signs would spring up like the golden heads of dandelions from freshly planted grass.
Midafternoon, the cul-de-sac was blessedly deserted. Seth was relieved. After Sully’s very public suicide by cop, he didn’t want any more publicity.
He parked behind a line of SUVs close to the trail where the search team leader waited. He followed two uniformed police officers up the trail. The terrain was rugged. Rocks slid underneath his feet, making it slow going. All around him he smelled the fresh pine forest.
Tall trees closed in overhead. The canopy of branches rustled in the wet wind. He remembered camping trips with his stepfather deep in the Cascade Range. Campfires and lakes brimming with fish. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was hunting game in the forest with his stepfather instead of searching for the body of another dead girl.
Ahead the dense stand of trees thinned. Seth could see a semicircle of people gathered around the small clearing, speaking in hushed tones. Some angled their faces toward the sky while others looked at him with sad expressions.
The circle dispersed as Seth approached, and he glimpsed a pair of black leather boots. Small. Women’s size six or seven. Brooke Parker sprang to mind, but Brooke had been wearing high heels the night she’d disappeared.
With a sense of foreboding, he stepped closer.
Her face was hidden beneath the branches of a small tree. Squatting down, he smelled the rank sweetness of decaying flesh. Bracing himself, he angled the branches gently away.
Seth’s shoulders slumped. He raked his hands through his hair. Equal parts anger and sorrow flooded him as he stared down at the girl laid out on a bed of brown pine needles. What a waste. What a goddamned fucking waste.
He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. He needed to look. He needed to see. Seth felt the eyes of the volunteers on him. Reluctantly he gazed down at the dead girl. She looked like a wood sprite sleeping peacefully on the forest floor. Her sightless green eyes stared up blankly at the darkening sky. He knew from the bruising around her throat and the unnatural tilt of her head that her neck was broken.
His heart heaved in his chest.
Tess Turner. He would recognize her face anywhere.
Waiting for the techs to arrive, Seth eyed the scene with the clinical detachment he’d perfected analyzing dozens of crime scenes. Tess hadn’t been killed here. There were no signs of a struggle, no blood on the ground. There were no drag marks. She had been dumped here. Like trash. The son of a bitch had carried her up the trail.
Whoever he was, he was strong, and Seth thought about Charles Sully’s husky build—his broad chest and thick shoulders. He’d been used to heavy work and he’d known the neighborhood.
It was well past eight o’clock when Seth left the scene and returned to the office. His initial shock had faded, giving way to anger. He’d warned Tess to stay away from Sully, and with all the invincibility and swagger of a nineteen-year-old girl, she’d blithely ignored him. And now she was gone. She’d had such a bright and lively future ahead of her, and someone had snuffed it out in the blink of an eye.
If this had been Sully’s handiwork, death had been too good for him. He’d deserved to live a long miserable life in jail as some asshole’s bitch buddy for the lives he stole. Instead he’d taken the easy way out, and it was those left behind who would suffer. Good people, like Lara’s family. Tess’s family. Marissa. Kelly. So much blood. So much death.
Seth propped his elbows on the desk and ran his hands across his face. He stared down at the report he’d just completed. The techs would compare Tess’s DNA to that of the blood samples lifted from the trunk of Sully’s car. But what good would that do?
The case would be closed, and Tess would still be dead.
It all seemed so fucking pointless.
Seth sighed. Paper work complete,
there was only one thing left to do. He opened his desk drawer and reached for his car keys. His hand stalled. Holly’s photo lay facedown in his drawer. He wanted to slam the drawer closed and get the hell out of there, but he didn’t. He pulled the picture frame out of the drawer and turned it over.
Holly’s frozen smile stared up at him. Accusing him. He’d let Tess careen off into harm’s way. He hadn’t been able to save her. He hadn’t been able to save his own wife. He couldn’t save anyone.
Seth closed his eyes. All he could do was react to the shitty things that happened every goddamned day.
Find the killer.
Bury the dead.
Some fucking job.
He jammed the picture back into the drawer and slammed it shut.
#
Tess Turner’s parents lived in a modest brick rambler in Everett. Lights were on in the living room. Seth passed the Ford F-150 in the driveway on his way to the door.
Luke Turner answered on the second knock, and Seth saw where Tess had gotten her dark hair and lively green eyes.
“Can I help you?” Turner asked. His thick eyebrows furrowed as he took in Seth’s appearance.
“Luke Turner?”
“That’s me. What can I do for you?”
“Detective Crawford, Seattle PD.” Seth showed his badge. Concern flashed in Turner’s bright eyes. “May I come in?”
Turner shifted in the doorway, and Seth caught sight of a woman coming down the hallway. She was middle-aged, petite, with bright-red hair and trendy glasses with electric-green frames. Her husband’s wary expression stopped her in midstride.
Seth followed the Turners down a short hallway to a large, comfortably furnished family room. The Turners sat close together on a cream-colored sofa. Seth took the brown leather recliner across from them. Everywhere he looked, he could see family photos—Tess as a freckle-faced girl, Tess graduating from high school, a young man he could only assume was her brother in army fatigues, family pictures of smiling faces.
A flag case sat on the top of the entertainment center. The stars and stripes filled the triangular case, and Seth thought back to what Tess had said. Her brother was currently overseas, serving in Afghanistan. He wished the Turners’ son were home with them now instead of thousands of miles away. They would need all the support they could get.
Seth glanced back at the Turners. Mrs. Turner leaned forward, her brown eyes filled with alarm.
“I have some news about your daughter.”
“Tess?” Mrs. Turner asked, clasping her hands tight together, as if in prayer.
“Yes. I’m very sorry to have to tell you this, but something’s happened to her.”
The color drained from Luke Turner’s face. Seth dropped his gaze and stared at his feet.
“Is she all right?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Turner.”
Emotion thickened Seth’s voice. Anger. Sadness. Regret. Most times he could shut things off. Compartmentalize. Delivering bad news was part of the job, but this case had become personal. He’d liked Tess, and the tragedy of the situation overwhelmed his default coping mechanisms.
“Goddammit. What are you saying? Is she hurt? Is she . . . ?”
Seth raised his eyes with a look that confirmed Turner’s worst fears. The man’s voice broke. Turner sagged back against the sofa cushions. His wife reached for his hand, her fingers knotting with his. Tears filled her eyes.
“How?” Mrs. Turner gasped. Shock rippled across her face.
Luke Turner’s chin sagged, and he dropped his face into his hands. Her eyes blazing bright with tears, Mrs. Turner never took her gaze from Seth’s.
“How? How could you have let this happen? Her roommate is missing. Didn’t anyone think that our daughter was in danger? Why didn’t you protect Tess?”
Each word pierced Seth’s heart like a bullet. He should have done more to protect Tess. He should have driven her back to the dorm himself. He should have drilled home the danger she was in if she kept chasing Charles Sully. But he hadn’t. He’d let her go. He’d failed her and her family in every possible way.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You’re sorry? Our girl is dead, and that’s all you have to say for yourself? Get out. Get out of my house.”
“Teresa,” Luke said softly, grasping his wife’s hands.
“Get out.”
Luke followed Seth to the door. In hushed tones, Seth imparted the logistical details he was obligated to pass along. He handed Luke his card, and the door closed.
With a leaden heart, Seth lumbered to his car. His cell phone rang. Pulling it from his pocket, he saw the number. It was Alvarez, no doubt looking for the chief’s daily report.
Aw, fuck it. Not tonight. He’d had enough for one day.
#
Great Big Sea, a folk band out of Newfoundland, Canada, blasted through the speakers at the Dubliner Pub in Fremont. The familiar smell of cedar and beer embraced him like a lover. He didn’t recognize many of the faces. Once a regular, Seth hadn’t set foot in the place for over a year. Not since he’d gotten sober. But tonight he spied an empty stool at the bar.
Tonight he had every intention of falling off the wagon with a definitive thud and surrendering to the sweet haze of oblivion offered by as much scotch as he could stomach.
The bar was full. Saturday night was dart league night, and teams were scattered around the dart boards, drinking and laughing. Seth paid them no mind. He spied the green bottle of Glenlivet winking at him in the bar’s amber light.
His cell phone rang. He pulled it out and checked the display. Marissa. Shit. He knew he should talk to her, put her mind at ease. But he couldn’t. He didn’t want to tell her about Tess. Alvarez had left a voice mail. Instead of checking it, though, he placed the cell phone on the bar and powered it down.
The bartender turned.
“What can I get you?”
They both stared.
Jesse Morgan was the first to speak.
“Don’t tell me you’re here on official business.”
Seth set his keys on the bar and shook his head. “Not tonight.”
Jesse’s gaze turned thoughtful. He wiped the bar in front of Seth with a damp white cloth.
“In that case, Detective, what’ll you have?”
“Glenlivet. Neat. Make it a double.”
Jesse grabbed the bottle and set the glass on the bar in front of Seth. He poured a generous three fingers into the glass.
“Bad day?”
Seth didn’t answer right away. He focused on the neon Guinness sign behind the bar and took a long swallow from the glass. He set it back down on the bar with a thud. The scotch burned a fiery path down his throat. He felt the welcome fire of it warm his belly, like a campfire on a cold night.
“You might say that.”
He couldn’t get Teresa Turner’s voice out of his head. He didn’t want to hear. He wanted the pain to go away.
“I’ve been watching the news,” Jesse said. “No word on Brooke?”
Seth eyed Jesse with a sharp look. Suspicion was an occupational hazard, but Jesse looked genuinely concerned, nothing more, and Seth changed the subject.
“What are you doing here? Did you quit the Chapel?”
“I make too much money there to quit. No. I’m just filling in for a buddy of mine. He runs the place. Occasionally he books my band in here.”
Seth nodded. He remembered. Acoustic Tuesday was a regular thing at the bar. Once or twice he’d found himself onstage with a guitar in his hand. But that had been before the fire. Before he’d lost Holly. That had been back when his life had actually made sense.
He drained the contents of his glass and ordered another. At this rate he’d pass out before midnight. It was the first cheerful thought he’d had all day.
Jesse poured another shot.
“I hear they found another body.”
Seth looked up, wishing the kid would shut his mouth and go away. Let him drink in peac
e. He thought about moving to a table in the corner, but all the tables were taken. He sighed and cupped the glass in his hand.
“I can’t talk about that yet.”
Jesse nodded. He fisted his hands on the bar in front of Seth. The colorful tattoos wound their way up his muscular forearms, disappearing into the sleeves of his sweater.
“I’ve been asking the regulars at the bar if they saw anything the night Brooke disappeared. There was one girl, Daria, who was out celebrating her birthday.”
Seth sighed. He hoped this was going somewhere. He’d come to the Dubliner to get away from work, not to rehash the case. Draining the contents of his glass, he waited for Jesse to get to the point.
“I showed her Brooke’s picture, and she sent me a photo. In the background you can see Brooke talking to a tall dark-haired guy.”
Seth straightened with sudden interest.
“Do you have it with you?”
Seth gestured toward the glass, and Jesse refilled it before he went off in search of his phone. The scotch tasted even better than he remembered. He took another swallow. It had been so long since he’d gone on a good bender, the effects were almost instantaneous.
Jesse returned with his phone. He flipped through his pictures until he found what he was looking for. Setting the phone down, he slid it across the bar. Seth squinted at the tiny screen. It was hard to see anything in this light. He inched the phone closer. A redheaded girl smiled in the foreground. Behind her, a few barstools down, he recognized Brooke’s wavy blonde hair. She was talking to a young man.
The hairs prickled on Seth’s arms, and he looked up. It was too small for identification purposes at this resolution, but maybe with some work, they could get something useful.
“Can you send me this? I’ll have one of our guys look at it.”
“Yeah.”
Seth knew he should forward it to the computer forensics team, but given their backlog of cases, it might take days for them to get to it. Brooke Parker didn’t have days. Henry Cahill, on the other hand, was at Holt’s beck and call. He forwarded the photo to Cahill and asked him to look at it ASAP.
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