by Laura Scott
Finding out who’d killed Brady had to remain his top priority.
Shanna didn’t sleep very well; the slightest noises kept waking her up. All because she’d let the creepy stalker get to her more than she’d wanted to admit.
At least she’d held it together in front of Quinn. He was too attractive for her peace of mind. Not handsome per se, but definitely ruggedly attractive. On top of that, he’d been nice, supportive. Not that she needed his help.
What she needed was action. Today she’d get a full investigation going on this note-writing guy, whoever he was. Stalking was against the law, as were threats. She’d find this guy and hand him over to the police the first chance she had.
With renewed determination, she took a quick shower and spent a few minutes blow-drying her hair before heading to the kitchen, intending to brew a pot of coffee.
As she walked past the entryway to the living room, she happened to glance through the large picture window overlooking the street. She froze, her heart leaping into her throat when she noticed the SUV parked directly across the street from her house. The car stood out because her neighbors across the street were elderly and didn’t drive. Fearing the worst, she grabbed her cell phone and almost punched the numbers for 911 when she realized why the car looked familiar.
It was the same car that had followed her home last night. The vehicle belonged to Quinn. Flipping her cell phone shut, she crossed over to the picture window in time to see Quinn yawning and stretching his arms over his head. While she was staring at him, he glanced toward her house, capturing her gaze. For a moment, the strange connection between them seemed to shimmer in the air.
Had he really slept out there all night? She was touched by his chivalry but was determined not to read more into his actions than the situation warranted. Uncertainly, she opened the front door. Was she supposed to invite him in after the way he’d slept in his car to protect her?
He climbed awkwardly from the car, his limbs obviously stiff from the cramped seat. But then he came straight toward her, meeting her halfway. “Morning, Shanna. Did you sleep well?”
She tried to act nonchalant. “Better than you, I’d be willing to bet. Quinn, it was very sweet of you to sleep in your car, but I told you I’d be fine.”
“I know, but I was too tired to drive,” he said, glancing longingly over her shoulder. “Is that coffee I smell?”
“Yes.” She felt bad about the exhaustion shadowing his features. As uncomfortable as she was having him there, the least she could do was feed him. “Come on in, there’s plenty to share.”
He followed her inside, crossing the living room to the kitchen. He took a seat at her table, and she could feel his gaze on her as she filled a mug from the coffeemaker. She couldn’t help feeling self-conscious with him there, maybe because she’d never had a man in her house. Ever.
She carefully set the mug on the table, thankful she didn’t spill. “Ah, do you like eggs? Because I have to tell you, there isn’t a huge variety of food to choose from.”
“Eggs would be great.” His stomach rumbled loudly, as if reinforcing his need for food. He flashed a sheepish grin and her heart did a funny little flip.
She squelched the reaction and quickly threw together scrambled eggs and toast. The sooner she gave him food, the sooner she could send him on his way.
When he’d finished the first cup of coffee, he came over to get a refill. His closeness was enough to rattle her, and she burned her thumb on the edge of the frying pan. She swallowed a yelp, thrusting her thumb under a stream of cold water. This was ridiculous; there was no reason to be nervous.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine.” She forced a smile. “The eggs are just about ready.”
“Thanks.” He carried his mug over to the table, and she handed him a plate full of eggs and toast. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Quinn spoke up. “You’re going to call the police when we’re finished with breakfast, right?”
She barely refrained from rolling her eyes. The man sounded like a broken record. “Right.”
As soon as she finished her meal, Shanna gave in and pulled out her cell phone. Considering she’d worked all day Sunday, she could afford to be a little late to work this morning. She had to look up the non-emergency number in the phone book and briefly explained her situation when one of the officers came on the line.
“They’re sending someone over,” she said, hanging up a few minutes later. “They asked me to leave the card from last night under the windshield wiper.” She hadn’t touched the note, figuring the cops would want to see exactly where the guy had left it.
“Good.” Quinn sat back, sipping his coffee as if he wasn’t in a hurry to leave.
“The police are on their way, Quinn. There’s no need for you to stay.” She carried her dirty dishes to the sink, cleaning up the remains of their breakfast mess. “You need to go home, get some decent sleep.”
“How long before you get anything back from the lab?” he asked, ignoring her blatant hint urging him to go. “On the fingerprints and hair fibers?”
“We have lots of evidence to sift through. I’m afraid it will probably be awhile.” She understood how anxious he was for news, any news. She’d been on his side of the waiting game. It had only been in recent years that she’d learned how patience was a virtue. “I promise I’ll get in touch with you if we come up with anything.”
He glanced at her. “You know I’m not really involved in this investigation, except peripherally. All of your evidence needs to go to Hank Nelson.”
“I know.” She wrung out the dishrag and turned toward him, resting her hip against the counter. “But you’re the one who knows the students on campus, right? Hank has to keep you involved in the investigation to a certain extent. Maybe we do have to give all the evidence to the lead homicide detective on the case, but I see no reason why the crime lab wouldn’t cooperate with the campus police, too.”
He smiled and shrugged. “Hank probably won’t like it, but I’ll take anything you can give me.”
His appreciation warmed her heart. After the way he’d slept in his car, just to protect her, this was the least she could do in return. Besides, the homicide had taken place on his turf. She’d expect the same consideration in his shoes.
Their gazes locked, and for a moment she felt as if she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t deserve to feel this attraction to him, but she couldn’t look away. If she were honest, she’d admit she intended to keep him in the loop because she wanted to see him again, not just because of professional courtesy.
The ringing of her doorbell echoed through the house, breaking the moment. She swallowed hard and pushed away from the counter, crossing over to the living room to open the front door.
The officers who stood there had their respective IDs ready, which she carefully inspected before allowing Officers Kappas and Jones inside.
“Murphy?” Jones, the taller of the two, frowned when he recognized Quinn. “Haven’t seen you since your old man’s funeral.” His gaze landed on Shanna, frankly curious. “I—uh—didn’t know you were involved with anyone.”
Funeral? Shanna glanced at Quinn in surprise, but then flushed when she realized the two officers assumed she and Quinn were a couple. “He’s a friend,” she said quickly.
The last thing she needed were rumors going around about her and Quinn. How embarrassing that would be.
“We were at Karly’s Kitchen last night when Ms. Dawson saw a man loitering by her car,” Quinn said, as if sensing her discomfort. “I didn’t see him, but we found a white envelope with her name printed on the front in block letters, stuck under her windshield.”
She was grateful Quinn cut to the chase, putting the interview back on track.
“Ms. Dawson has received other notes, as well.” He picked up the three notes she’d left on the counter and handed them to the officers. “Shanna, when did you get the first note?”
“Two weeks ago.” She e
xplained how the first note had actually showed up in her mailbox down at the CSI lab. The message read “Guilty as charged,” so she hadn’t really thought too much about it. “I guess I figured the sender was just someone dealing with a lot of anger. The second and third ones, though, were in my mailbox here at home.”
Her personal space. Her haven.
“You dusted for fingerprints?” Kappas asked.
“I’m a CSI—of course I dusted for prints. Didn’t find any, though. I also tried to narrow down the source of the paper, but it’s carried everywhere.” She lifted her palms helplessly. “Really, this could be related to any one of my cases, although the one I just wrapped up, the Markoviack murder, is the most likely one.”
“Did the man by your car look at all familiar?” Jones took over the questioning.
“I only caught a glimpse, but didn’t recognize him at all.”
“You mentioned this being related to one of your cases, like the Markoviack murder. Why does that one stand out in your mind?” Kappas asked.
She quickly explained about the last big case she’d worked on, how her evidence put Jessica Markoviack in prison. Both officers exchanged a look and agreed that Jessica’s former boyfriend was a possible culprit.
“Where’s the fourth note now?” Jones asked.
She glanced at Quinn. “We left it beneath the windshield wiper. My car is in the garage.” Leading the way out the side door, to the detached garage where her Toyota Camry was parked, she gestured to the car.
The officers looked at the note, then used gloved hands to remove it from beneath the wiper blade. She took out her fingerprint kit and dusted both the note and the windshield for prints.
There weren’t any, just like the previous notes.
Jones opened the flap and removed the note. They crowded around to see what it said. “Next time, you’ll be alone,” Jones read out loud.
“I don’t get it,” Quinn muttered. “How did he know you were with me?”
She couldn’t suppress a shiver, fear congealing in the bottom of her stomach. “Because he’s watching me.”
Kappas and Jones exchanged a grim look. “I’ll recommend increased surveillance of this neighborhood, ma’am,” Jones said.
Sending a patrol car through every couple hours wasn’t going to prevent this guy from trying to get her, but she understood they were doing the best they could. “That’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” Quinn argued bluntly. “If this guy is watching you, he’ll know to hide from the police. You need a bodyguard. Or at least a comprehensive security system.”
“Maybe.” She didn’t want to admit his idea had merit. “I’ll think about it.”
Quinn looked as if he wanted to argue, but instead he turned toward the officers. “Anything else?”
“Ms. Dawson might want to find a friend to stay with for a while,” Officer Jones said. “Being here alone is asking for trouble.”
Friends? She almost laughed. The only real friend she had was Megan O’Ryan, and she’d recently moved to Crystal Lake, Wisconsin. Megan had just gotten married, and after everything her friend had been through, Shanna couldn’t bring herself to dump her own troubles on Megan’s shoulders. Megan had barely survived being strangled by a serial killer. Worse, the killer was someone they knew. Raoul Lee was a brilliant scientist. Now he’d spend the rest of his life in jail. The cops waited expectantly, so she nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The officers left, promising to be in touch if they found anything.
“I’ll follow you to work.” Quinn’s tone didn’t leave room for discussion.
His persistence was starting to annoy her. But rather than arguing, she gathered her work stuff together, including her shoulder holster. She sensed Quinn’s frustration as he stood watching her. Before she could get out the door, her cell phone rang.
She recognized Alan’s number from the lab. Setting her laptop case on the kitchen table, she answered the phone. “Do you have something for me, Al?”
“Yeah, uh, we got a hit on one of the fingerprints found at your college frat house crime scene.”
A hit on the fingerprints was good news. “Who is it?” she asked eagerly, glancing at Quinn. An identity would get them one step closer to finding the killer.
“Are you on your way here? Because I think we should talk in person.” He cleared his throat loudly. “The news is going to be a bit of a shock.”
His tap-dancing around the issue only irritated her. “Just tell me.”
There was a pause. “Shanna, we have a set of fingerprints matching a child who’s been missing for fourteen years.”
A child? Missing for fourteen years? No. Oh, no. Her stomach twisted, and little red dots swam in her vision. She grabbed the edge of the kitchen table and pushed the word through her tight throat. “Who?”
“Your sister. Skylar Dawson.”
THREE
Shanna blinked, staring up at Quinn’s anxious face looming over her. The kitchen floor was hard and un-yielding beneath her back. Disoriented, she winced and lifted her head. “What happened?”
“You fainted.” Quinn’s gruff tone betrayed his concern.
“Fainted?” Embarrassed, she pushed up onto her elbows, her head throbbing. She must have hit her head on the floor.
“Let me help you up.” Quinn put his arm around her shoulders, supporting her weight as she struggled to her feet. Her knees still felt wobbly, so she sat at the kitchen table.
“What happened?” Quinn asked, picking up her cell phone from where it must have skittered across the floor. “One minute you were saying something about the fingerprint results from the crime scene, and the next you collapsed onto the floor.”
In a rush it all came flooding back.
Skylar. The pressure in her chest built to the point she could barely breathe. Her fault. It was her fault her little sister had been kidnapped fourteen years ago. Her fault that her parents had divorced, destroying what was left of their family.
“Shanna, breathe,” Quinn commanded in a sharp tone.
Feeling dizzy again, she obeyed, taking a deep breath before she did something stupid, like fainting for a second time. After a few minutes the room stopped spinning.
Forcing herself to meet his questioning gaze, she knew she couldn’t lie to him. Not now. Not about this. “The prints at the scene of Brady’s death match those of my sister, Skylar.”
Quinn frowned, perplexed. “Okay. Does your sister go to Carlyle University, too?”
“I don’t know.” She licked her dry lips. “Skylar was kidnapped when she was only five years old. Her case has remained unsolved. I haven’t seen her in fourteen years. No one has.”
Quinn’s jaw dropped, and he sank into the chair beside her. “You’re kidding.”
“No. I’m not.” The memory burned with a clarity that belied the passing years.
On Skylar’s first day of kindergarten, her mother had insisted Shanna take her sister all the way inside the elementary school to meet the kindergarten teacher. She was older by five years, so Shanna had agreed. As they’d approached the school, she’d discovered a bunch of her friends were playing kickball on the older kid’s section of the playground, farthest from the building.
“Shanna!” Toby Meyers, the boy she secretly liked, had waved and shouted to her from the game. “Hurry up, we’re losing. We need you on our team.”
Thrilled that he’d noticed her, and that he’d wanted her on his team, she’d dropped Skylar’s hand. “Just go inside the building there, Skylar, okay? You’ll see Mrs. Anderson, the kindergarten teacher, in the first classroom.”
“But Shanna,” Skylar protested, hanging back.
“Just go!” Impatiently, Shanna had given Skylar a little push and then turned away, rushing over to join the kickball game already in progress. Toby made room for her in the lineup to kick next.
She’d taken her turn, kicking the ball with all her strength, sending it sailing over the heads of all
the kids. With Toby cheering her on, she’d rounded the bases, making it all the way home to score.
They hadn’t won the game—the bell had rung and they’d had to quit—but Toby’s cheering had echoed in her head for the next hour. Until the school principal, Mrs. Haggerty, had tapped her on the shoulder, taking her out of her fourth-grade class to the office.
“Shanna, when did you last see your sister?”
Skylar? Guiltily, Shanna realized she hadn’t even thought about her sister since hurrying off to the kickball game. “This morning, when I walked her to school.”
“Did you take her inside to see the teacher?”
Numbly, Shanna shook her head no.
“She’s not in the kindergarten class.” Mrs. Haggerty looked extremely worried. “Your mother is on her way here. I think we’d better search every classroom. Maybe Skylar got lost and is hiding somewhere.”
Shanna felt sick, knowing her mother would be so angry that she hadn’t taken Skylar all the way inside the classroom as she’d been told to do. Mrs. Haggarty had hurried away to begin searching for her sister, but she’d just sat in the principal’s office, afraid to do anything, hoping and praying they’d find Skylar hiding as they thought.
But her little sister hadn’t been hiding. Nobody had seen Skylar anywhere around the school. Shanna had been the last person to see her sister alive and well.
Now she was gone. And it was all her fault.
“Here, drink this.” Quinn thrust a glass in her hands.
Blinking at him, she willed the guilt-laden memories away. She took the glass and drank, reveling in the cool water soothing her throat. “Thanks. I’m fine.”
“No!” Quinn’s tone was sharp. “You’re not fine. You’re pale, as if you’re going to faint again.”
“I won’t,” she protested. She refused to faint again; once was certainly bad enough. She needed to pull herself together. The reality of the situation finally sank into her brain. Her sister’s prints were found at the scene. After fourteen years of not knowing anything, those fingerprints meant that Skylar was alive. Alive!