by Chris Taylor
“We worry about you, Clayton. The things we’ve been hearing on the news—it sounds scary. We both know how serious you take your job. You’re not responsible for this madman, you know.”
Clayton closed his eyes, grimacing as he rubbed at the spot across his forehead where the headache had become more persistent. “I know, Janet. I know and I appreciate your saying so. But I’m here to find him. People are relying on me. That’s why I’m here. To find him.”
Janet sighed on the other end of the phone, but remained silent. Clayton was grateful she didn’t try and argue with him. She knew better than that.
“Anyway,” he added with forced cheerfulness. “Say hello to Olivia for me when she gets home. Tell her I’ll Skype her tonight.”
“Of course, Clayton. You take care, you hear?”
“Yes, Janet. And thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Clayton ended the call and slipped the phone back into his shirt pocket. Taking a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and headed toward his desk. He needed to go over everything again. Every scrap of evidence they had. There wasn’t much, and he had to do it.
The pressure of responsibility sat surely and squarely on his shoulders, no matter what Janet said. He’d been called in to put together a profile of the monster they hunted—a profile that would lead to the killer’s exposure. So far, he’d failed everyone.
He glanced across at Ellie’s still-vacant desk and his thoughts went back to the anger and desolation that had suffused her features just before she’d stormed out. That had to be more than just a reaction to the child’s death.
She was a professional, a cop of some years’ experience. As tragic as the toddler’s drowning had been, it hadn’t warranted the utter devastation he’d caught in her unguarded eyes.
It had been personal. Way too personal. And he had no chance in hell of prying it out of her.
The door to the squad room swung open and Clayton looked up in surprise as Ellie walked back in, her face unreadable. She tugged off her coat and headed for the locker room.
* * *
Ellie closed the bathroom door behind her. Catching a glimpse of herself in the tarnished mirror that hung above the solitary sink, she sighed and ran her fingers through her windblown hair in a vain attempt to regain some semblance of order. The riotous curls defied her, springing back as quickly as she could smooth them down.
With a sigh, she gave up. Turning on the tap, she bent over the sink and splashed cool water onto her face before patting it dry with paper towel. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and cringed.
Her eyes were huge in her pale face. Pain stared back at her, dark…fathomless. Memories buffeted her consciousness, but she refused to give them access. She was at work, surrounded by colleagues—people who didn’t know about her son. She couldn’t afford to break down, to give the memories free reign. If she did, she’d splinter into a thousand pieces and she’d never be able to put them back together again.
If her colleagues found out she’d be an object of pity, of whispered conversations, of sick curiosity. Not again. She couldn’t go through that again.
Determination surged through her and she riffled in her handbag for a brush. With vicious strokes, she dragged the bristles through her hair, unwilling to stop until it had been returned to an almost-normal state. A quick slash of rouge across both cheeks added vital color. She finished with her usual plum-colored lipstick.
Stepping back, she surveyed the results and decided she’d pass muster from the casual observer. Only people who knew her well would see the shadows of darkness beneath her veneer.
It would have to do.
Tossing her handbag back into her locker, she shut the door and made her way back to the squad room. Her gaze glanced off Clayton. He sat at his desk, surrounded by paperwork, a frown darkening his features.
She owed him an apology.
Taking a deep breath, she stopped beside his desk and waited for him to look up. When he did, she almost reeled back from the anger in his eyes.
Misunderstanding its cause, she stumbled over her words. “Clayton, I’m… I’m sorry. I was such a bitch. I-I don’t know why I yelled at you like that. It wasn’t your fault. I know that.” She shook her head. “I’m so sorry.”
The anger in his gaze slowly faded and his shoulders slumped on a heavy sigh.
“It’s all right, Ellie. I’m not mad at you. I wish you’d tell me what happened to make you so upset, but it’s not you I’m angry at. It’s me.”
She gaped in surprise. “You? Why would you be mad at yourself? I was the one behaving like an immature brat. You were only trying to be nice. You’re always trying to be nice.” She shrugged. “It irks me sometimes.”
A tiny grin tugged at the corner of his bottom lip.
Her heart leaped in response.
“Really? Why would being nice irk you?”
“I don’t know. As I said, I can be a bitch. It’s not you; it’s me. And don’t go trying to change the subject. You haven’t answered my question. Why would you be mad at yourself, Clayton?”
Shadows flitted across the blue of his irises, deepening them to cobalt.
“I was brought up here to find a killer and I haven’t. He’s still on the loose. Will probably strike again. May have already struck again. And what have I done to stop him? Nothing. Zilch. Zero. If any other women lose their lives to this maniac, it will be on my head.”
“No!” The word was wrenched from her with a surge of anger. “Don’t be ridiculous. How could you even think such a thing? We’re a team. You’re part of a team. No one expects you to solve this on your own. Not a single person on this taskforce expects that of you. Don’t you dare go putting that kind of pressure on yourself. How can you hope to function with a clear head when you’re filling it with that kind of bullshit?”
Her breath came fast. Her cheeks were hot. She looked at Clayton and saw the tiny grin had morphed into a full-blown smile and gratitude and a flash of admiration had already replaced the shadows.
“You sure do have a way with words, Ellie. I’ll give you that.”
She returned his grin. “So, are we friends again?”
He stared at her. His gaze wandered over her face and then lower, to pause on her bottom lip. When he met her gaze again, his eyes had darkened with unfathomable emotion. “It’s a start.”
Ellie blushed from the intensity in his eyes. Her mouth went dry and all of a sudden, she couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“I—um…”
“Clayton, Ellie. I’m glad you’re both here. I just got off the phone to Samantha Wolfe. She called as soon as she heard. The lab… They’ve found some fingerprints.”
* * *
Ellie raised her voice so that Clayton could hear her over the chatter of nearby patrons who were also enjoying an after-work drink at the Hilton’s Marble Bar in the heart of Sydney.
“After all the excitement, I didn’t even find out where the fingerprints were found?” she said and leaned over to take a sip of her iced water.
Clayton smiled and nodded toward her glass. “Glad to see you don’t always hit the hard stuff.”
Heat stole up her cheeks. She offered an embarrassed grin. “Every time I think of that night, I cringe.”
“Don’t.” His voice lowered. “I had a good time. It was nice to know you felt comfortable enough to let your guard down.”
His gaze filled with warmth and she looked away. A pulse throbbed in her neck and the room suddenly felt overheated.
After driving into the city from Penrith, she’d pulled up outside his hotel, fully intending to wish him a quick farewell and then head to her unit in Darling Harbour. Her only thought had been to kick off her heels, open a bottle of merlot and put the day behind her, but he’d turned to her as soon as she’d pulled up at the curb and had issued the invitation.
Despite some reservations, she’d eventually succumbed to the pleading in his eyes and had agreed to go with him for
a drink—a celebratory drink after their first real break in the case. With criminals being fingerprinted for eons, there was a much higher likelihood they’d find a match than with the relatively recent DNA database.
Notwithstanding the shitty start to the day, they’d managed to end it on a high. An almost perfect set of fingerprints. She should have felt elated. She would have felt elated, if she wasn’t so damn nervous.
He cleared his throat. “To answer your question, it was the good old trash bag. The one they found part of Angelina Caruso wrapped in.” He grimaced. “The one they overlooked.”
“Better late than never, I guess.”
He shrugged in response and took a sip of his drink. She leaned back into the cedar-colored, studded-leather booth and concentrated on soaking up the ambience of the dimly lit bar located in the basement of one of Sydney’s oldest hotels.
She’d suggested the bar because it was a place that never failed to relax her. Discreet lighting glowed dully off the dark mahogany wall paneling, encompassing them in a quiet intimacy. The bar’s elegant furnishings, soft, easy listening music and air of sophistication made it popular with older professionals.
She much preferred it to the noisy city bars downtown that overflowed with loud bands and raucous young people who, in her eyes, looked barely legal.
She frowned. God, she must be getting old. If she’d started thinking of anyone over the age of eighteen as young and was avoiding the crowds and loud music she’d once embraced wholeheartedly, it wouldn’t be long and she’d be applying for the pension.
She gave a quick shake of her head. Get over it, Cooper. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.
Yeah, it had been a shit of a day. Shit of a month, really. Thank God it was nearly over. For the past three years, she’d struggled through the month of July. It was the month when she had to suffer through the anniversary of Jamie’s death and now a madman had chosen the western suburbs as his playing field.
But, although she wouldn’t have believed it three years ago, the pain from her son’s memory had eased infinitesimally. She grimaced. Well, until the discovery of the toddler in Penrith Lakes, which had brought the horror of it back in clanging, banging Technicolor.
But they’d just gotten their first real break on the case and now she was sitting in a booth across from the hottest guy she’d ever known, with nothing but a tiny wooden table between them.
She casually lifted her glass and let her gaze wander over him. Using the straw, she took a sip of water and then sat the glass back down on the table. Despite the fact that he’d been at work all day, his shirt remained blindingly white and unrumpled. A perfectly knotted maroon and gray tie lay straight against the broad expanse of his chest.
He’d shrugged off his dark navy suit jacket as they’d walked in and had hung it over the back of a nearby chair before taking a seat across from her. A sexy, five-o’clock shadow darkened the chiseled line of his jaw.
Realizing she’d been staring, Ellie turned her head abruptly and took another sip of the icy cold water. The straw gurgled loudly and she blushed. Clayton grinned, his straight, even teeth showing white in the dimness.
“Would you like another? I’m pretty sure they’re still making it.”
Her blush deepened and she was once again thankful for the discreet lighting. Ignoring his quip, she took refuge in the case.
“When will we know if we get a hit?”
His eyes were full of knowing, but he didn’t pursue it. Instead, he sat forward and took another sip of his scotch.
“Sometime tonight, with a bit of luck.” He swirled the ice in his glass. “Let’s hope they come up with a name.”
Her lips tightened in response as her thoughts returned to the DNA they’d recovered from Angelina Caruso, and hadn’t matched. “Yeah, that would be a good start.”
He finished his drink and sat the glass on the table. The silence between them lengthened. She felt the warmth of his gaze upon her and her heart picked up its pace.
“Tell me about yourself, Ellie.”
The invitation was murmured softly, politely. A request, not a demand.
Still, she froze. Her past was her past. She didn’t share it with anyone. That’s how it had always been. That’s how she wanted it.
Wasn’t it?
Then why did she suddenly feel an almost overwhelming urge to confide in him? To finally let someone else know about her pain?
She moved her empty glass aimlessly back and forth across the table in front of her, staring blindly at the wet circle of condensation as it stretched and lengthened. His gaze continued to probe, gentle but insistent.
Her tongue darted out to swipe at the moisture on her lip. A strand of hair had worked its way loose from the short ponytail she’d scraped together in the bathroom at work. She pushed it back behind her ear. She searched for courage and came up empty. Sighing inwardly, she feigned a smile as cowardice won out.
“Hey, nothing much to tell. I was born in Sydney. Royal North Shore Hospital, to be precise. My parents have a unit in the eastern suburbs at Point Piper. They retired a couple of years ago. They’re determined to visit as many cities across the world as they can.” She shrugged. “Last time I heard, they were in France.”
He leaned forward in his seat and rested his chin on his hands. His gaze encouraged her to continue. “What about brothers and sisters?”
A wave of repressed longing surged through her and she shook her head. “Nope, just me.”
His eyes widened in surprise. He leaned back against his chair. “Really? Wow, I always wondered what that would feel like.”
“I gather you have some?”
A wide grin followed. “Some? Yeah, I guess you could say that. How’s six sound?”
“Six?”
“Yep, four brothers and two sisters.”
She shook her head in amazement. “Wow, that must be fantastic?”
“Which could only be said by someone who’s an only child.” His voice was dry, but his eyes glinted with amusement.
“Hey,” she shrugged a little self-consciously. “I had to make mine up. There was my big brother Marcus and my little sister Daisy.” She grinned. “Don’t get me wrong. They were pretty good to have around. They never told me what to do; they never got me into trouble and I always got to be the princess.”
Sadness pricked at her eyes and she looked away. “But that’s not to say I didn’t always want a real one.”
“They’re not all they’re cut out to be, believe me. Not when there’s that many of them.”
Ellie braced her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands.
“I bet you had the best time growing up.”
Clayton picked up his glass and tilted it to his mouth. The ice in his drink clinked. For a few moments, the only sound was the crunching of the ice between his teeth as he chewed.
Then he smiled. “Yeah, I guess I did. You never really appreciate things when you’re a kid. Hey, there are times even now when I wish they’d learn to mind their own business.”
“That’s not something I’ve ever had any experience with.” Her thoughts strayed to her parents and her gaze fell away. Through all of the turmoil and pain she’d experienced, first with Robert and then with Jamie, they’d never done more than offer to listen, and even then, they’d insisted it was only if she felt like talking.
She didn’t know whether she liked it that way, or not. Maybe if they’d been more forceful, more persistent, she’d have opened up a lot sooner and learned to let out her pain instead of bottling it up inside.
* * *
Clayton caught the brief flash of pain in her luminous eyes before it was concealed behind a curtain of dark lashes and wondered at it. He couldn’t imagine what it must have felt like growing up alone.
He thought of his twin and their recent telephone conversation. It was one of many similar conversations he’d endured from one or another of his siblings since Lisa’s death.
Granted, no
one had said anything for the first couple of years. But lately, it seemed as if everyone managed to slip it into their conversation.
He frowned, irritation surging through him. It wasn’t as if he’d locked himself in a monastery, for Christ’s sake. He still dated occasionally. He’d asked Ellie out, hadn’t he? So what if she was a work colleague. It still counted, didn’t it?
His gaze rested on the woman opposite him. Ellie. Beautiful, feisty, tiny Ellie. Christ, he’d probably crush her if he took her in his arms.
He couldn’t believe he’d actually thought about it. Was still thinking about it. He’d worked with attractive women before. What was so special about this one?
His gaze wandered over her soft, full lips now coated in a plum-colored gloss. She must have re-touched her makeup before they’d left the station. He caught a glimpse of creamy flesh peeking out from the open neck of her tailored blouse—the deep shadow between her breasts intrigued him. The smell of her vanilla-scented perfume enticed his nostrils and all of a sudden, his head was full of her.
The night they’d gone out to dinner she’d nearly blown his mind with her sexy, curve-hugging dress. It was the first time he’d seen her wear one. The image of her crowded his dreams. He hadn’t managed a decent night’s sleep since. Morning would find the crisp hotel sheets tangled around him, his hand working his erection as he wondered what it would feel like to touch her.
His cock hardened in reaction to those memories and he frowned again, shaking his head and muttering condemnations under his breath. This was getting ridiculous.
“Hey, it can’t be that bad.”
Her gentle murmur penetrated his thoughts and he looked up. Wide green eyes were soft on his face.
“Sorry.” He grimaced and looked away, grateful for the protection of the table that hid the evidence of his desire.
“Tell me about them.”
He blew out a breath and raised his glass, forgetting for a moment that it was empty. His mind scrambled to pick up the threads of their conversation.
“My family? You want to know about my family?”
“Absolutely. I’m sure there must be plenty of stories to tell about four brothers and two sisters.”