Dangerous Obsession

by Jessica R. Patch

  “What’s goin’ on, boss?” Frank asked and slid his gaze to each team member present.

  “You like movies?” Wilder asked. “I’ve got a great one.” He cued up the footage and hit Play.

  Cosette kept her eye on Frank. Watching his reaction, body language, facial features.

  At first, he frowned as if confused, but as the video continued he recognized what was happening. He jumped up. “That is not me, Mr. Flynn!”

  “Is that your hat?”

  “Yeah, but that went missing yesterday at lunch.”

  Wilder cut his eyes at Beckett. “Well, that’s mighty convenient.”

  “It’s t-true,” Frank stammered. “I eat at the Blue Café most days. I had to go to the john and left my hat on the table. I came back and it was gone. I even asked the waitress about it. You can check that.”

  Frank didn’t seem smart enough to ask the server about it to throw them off. Wilder looked to Cosette. He read her eyes. It appeared Frank was telling the truth.

  “What was that waitress’s name?”

  “Kelly.”

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Beckett said and held his phone up behind Frank’s head. He was going to call and check it out.

  “Mr. Flynn, I’m not a rocket scientist. But I’m not dumb enough to bite the hand that feeds me. I have nothing to gain from burning down your stable.”

  “Have you been approached by a man lately concerning Miss LaCroix?” Wilder asked.

  Frank shifted his attention to Cosette, confusion crinkling the lines around his eyes. “No,” he said warily.

  “Then someone followed you. Stole your hat. Wore painter’s gear and a mask and framed you.” Wilder pointed to the video screen. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “But why?”

  That was the million-dollar question.

  Beckett returned and nodded. Frank’s story had checked out. If it wasn’t a planted story.

  “Mr. Flynn, on my honor, I didn’t do this.”

  Wilder believed him, but until he knew for sure, the man couldn’t stay on his property. “Frank, I want to take you at your word. We’re going to do some more investigating and when we fully clear you, the paint will be here. Until then, I’m afraid I’ll have to suspend the work.”

  “I understand. I’ll tell my crew and we’ll be on our way. Don’t hold nothing against ya. I’d do whatever was necessary to protect my lady, too.” He slipped from the room, escorted by Shepherd.

  Cosette wasn’t his lady, but no one in the room said a word. “Cosette?”

  “Direct eye contact. Genuine surprise. That’s hard to fake, especially when you have a group of former SEALS and a marine sniper in the room. He was nervous and fidgety, but I felt it was more due to fear of you and the team and what you might do to him than getting caught. He didn’t respond like a guilty man.”

  Wilder trusted her professional judgment. “Beck, see if there’s cameras at the Blue Café.” He texted Shepherd to tail Frank for the next twelve hours, then switch off with Jody for the next twelve. He wanted to know where that man was going at all times of the day and night.

  Picking up the phone, he called his contact at the Atlanta PD and inquired about the prints. A few minutes later he hung up. “Nothing popped.”

  “So now what?”

  Wheezer poked his head in the office. “A detective Monty Chase is here to see you and Cosette.”

  Great. The same detective who had accompanied Detective Bodine from New Orleans. “Send him in.”

  Cosette licked her lips and perched on the chair next to Wilder’s desk.

  Detective Chase entered. “Mr. Flynn. Miss LaCroix.”

  “What can we do for you, Detective?” Wilder asked.

  “I’m here about Kariss Elroy.” He focused on Cosette. “She was a patient of yours?”

  “Yes. For over a year.”

  “Medical examiner came back with the autopsy. We’re ruling it homicide.”

  Cosette closed her eyes.

  Wilder wanted to reach over and grasp her hand. Instead, he remained stoic. “Did she die from the carbon monoxide?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then how do you know it was homicide?” Wilder asked.

  “Miss LaCroix, did you prescribe her any meds? Xanax, to be specific? She had a lot of it in her system.”

  “I did not. And if she got her hands on it otherwise, who’s to say she didn’t overdose herself, then go sit in the vehicle?”

  “No trace of a Xanax bottle anywhere.”

  “She could have gotten them in a baggie from a dealer,” Cosette offered.

  “Maybe,” the detective said. “But that wouldn’t explain the bruising around her neck and wrists. Someone did that. Maybe that dealer using baggies.”

  “No need for that tone,” Wilder said and stood. “We’re trying to make sense of this as much as you are.”

  “I’m going to need alibis...again. A former boyfriend. Now a patient. Can you connect these two people together in any way, Miss LaCroix?”

  “I have a theory.” She looked to Wilder for support. He gave her the go-ahead with a nod.

  She told him everything that had happened since their first encounter and how she believed that Jeffrey had escalated. Wilder filled him in on the stable burning and someone knocking him out. “He’s on a medical leave of absence. We haven’t been able to locate him. He’s away from his apartment, and like I said before, we’re trying to be discreet.”

  The detective pocketed the slip of information. “I looked into him myself, but he’s squeaky clean.”

  “I assure you, he’s not,” Cossette said.

  Wilder walked him to the door. He hadn’t believed them last time and he wasn’t picking up what they were putting down now.

  Time would tell.

  EIGHT

  Cosette stood at the stable ash pile and relived what happened three nights ago. Wilder’s body lying lifeless. Her dream destroyed. Until Jeffrey was apprehended, she’d never be free. Never be able to stop looking back. Her life was in a prison. Like her father’s. His attorney had called two more times since the stable had burned and she’d ignored them, but hadn’t blocked him. Some teensy part of her was curious, wanted to obey God’s instructions to forgive. His conviction was always hovering no matter how hard she tried to escape it. It came loud and soft. Demanding but coaxing.

  Jody’s words about forgiveness continued to grip her heart. Forgiving was for Cosette and her freedom. Freedom to move on. To let go of the past. But mixed in with that pain and those reminders of nights she’d cowered in a room, afraid Dad was going to storm in and lash out at her, she also had some fond memories. The frightening memories always outweighed them. But they were there.

  Crawfish boils, swimming in lakes, hot summer nights. Humidity never bothered her. Laughing with friends. Boating on the bayou. Cokes in glass bottles at Grandma’s. Fishing on pontoon boats. Sundays fanning herself with the bulletins and listening to the preacher talk of faith, hope and love. She’d given her life to Jesus as a child. Somewhere between faith and fear, she’d lost her way. Her need for security and love led her down a crooked path. A path that looked well-lit, only to be utter darkness. So many mistakes had been made. And then Dad went into a drunken rage and Mama took a tumble down the wooden stairs at his hands.

  Manslaughter.

  The crunching of grass brought her spinning around. Wilder approached. The man could wear jeans like no other. She swallowed and cleared her throat. He carried a rolled-up paper in his hand. “Whatcha doin’ out here? It’s almost nightfall.”

  As if he didn’t know exactly where she was. He’d probably been watching her on a monitor from his office.

  “Just looking at what was,” she sighed. “Until Jeffrey is found and put away, he’ll keep coming. Keep burning down all my hopes
. All my dreams. He’ll keep my future in flames until nothing is left.”

  Wilder stood next to her and looked at the piles of ash. “That seems hopeless. Since when did you stop looking on the bright side?”

  “Since it stopped being bright.” She pointed to his paper. “What’s that?”

  “The bright side.” His grin sent her tummy into flight. “Cosette, if you think I’m going to let a stalker rob you of your joy and future, you really don’t know me at all.”

  “We keep saying that to one another. I think it’s because deep down, we know it’s true. You might know my favorite cake flavor and what I like to drink at the coffee shop, and you know my personal past because of a background check. But you don’t know me. And I sure don’t know you.”

  He kicked at the dirt. “I know you love people more than yourself. You’ll go on fumes if that’s what it takes to make someone well. You never buy yourself anything, just because. You save every penny you can because you want this equine therapy. Again, confirming you love others more than yourself. I know that your father broke your heart and your family, but you climbed out of that pit—not without emotional scars—and made something of yourself. You refused to be a statistic. You’re a perfectionist, which as a boss I happen to love.”

  She couldn’t help her smile.

  “You sleep with your face buried in a pillow. I have lipstick stains on mine to prove it. I also know that as much as you hated your childhood, you’ve hung on to it or that jewelry box wouldn’t have stayed on your dresser all these years. You have photos of you and your mom in your apartment—those are memories.”

  Wilder was astute. He did know her. What could she say about him? “All I know is you hide things, Wilder.”

  “That’s not true and you know it. But you’re right. Some things can’t be told. Some things are classified.”

  “Not all things.”

  Wilder shoved a hand in his pocket. “I hang on to the dice to hang on to Alan. To remind me of who I am supposed to be—a protector. If I hadn’t gone in a ditch, Alan would be alive.”

  A step in the right direction. “You feel that way, but it’s not true. You can’t control life, Wilder. You aren’t God.” If he hung on to the dice for that reason... “Is that why you hang on to Renny? To hang on to Allie?”

  “I suppose.” His jaw ticked and he gestured with the rolled-up paper. “The bright side.”

  “Why can’t you just tell me what happened? Do you think I’ll judge you?”

  Wilder slapped the paper on his palm a few times, then held it out. “I see no point in drudging up the past. I’d rather focus on the future.”

  Frustration wound tight around her chest. “Fine. Let’s focus on the future.” A future that was a moot point with Jeffrey out there. “What is this?”

  “Blueprints. For a new stable, office and reflection pond. I read they’re relaxing and beneficial.” He pointed beyond the pile of ashes. “I thought they could dig it out that way. Build a bridge over it. Maybe you could use it as a metaphor. Building a bridge from the past to the future.”

  Cosette was wrong. She did know Wilder. Not his past, but his heart. Tough as nails. Tender as spring grass. Loyal. Protective. Fierce. Tenacious.

  Blinking back hot tears and swallowing the lump in her throat, she clasped his big, warm hand. “You’re a good man, Wilder Flynn.” Even with his flaws. His added ideas only proved how important this equine therapy was and how much she needed this job. A relationship with Wilder could jeopardize that. “I appreciate that you took time to research it. It’s a great idea.”

  “Good.” He patted the blueprints in his hand again. “My family is cooking out tonight. Come with me and we’ll look at the blueprints and set up a time to go check out those quarter horses again. Have you talked to the Abrams woman?”

  “I have, actually.” She fell into step with him as they strode to the house. “I told her things were on hold for now, but her offer for me to fly out and talk is still open. She’s really a sweet lady.”

  “I want to ask you something.”

  “Okay.”

  “Can we please skirt the law and find this guy? Just to know his location. We don’t have to approach him. Just...locate him.”

  Cosette wanted to scream yes, but Wilder wouldn’t stop there. “And if he’s in a hotel ten minutes from here, you’ll leave him there? Unapproached?”

  “Unapproached.”

  Cosette grinned. “But not alone.”

  “I’ll put eyes on him. Yes. Then we catch him dead to rights. I don’t like hearing you talk about your life being in limbo, with no future. You’ve had enough. If we can connect him through financials to New Orleans and here, we might be able to connect him to the murder of Beau and Kariss. Let’s be honest, the police are looking at you and me for that right now.”

  As they approached the house, a car pulled into the circle drive and Cosette groaned. “I know that car.”

  Wilder heaved a sigh. The door opened and Detective Chase got out. “Were your ears burning, Detective? We were just talking about you.”

  Detective Chase sucked his top teeth. “Burning is why I’m here.”

  “You talking about the stable?” Wilder asked.

  “Nope.” He messed with the collar of his button-up shirt. “Can we talk in the air-conditioning?”

  Wilder nodded and led him inside to the conference room.

  Cosette tried not to fidget. She’d appear guilty. “Would you like a glass of lemonade or water?”

  “No, thank you. Can you tell me the last time you spoke to or saw Malcolm Hayes? I’m aware he’s also a patient of yours.”

  Cosette’s stomach roiled. “Has he been harmed?”

  Detective Chase opened his notepad. “He burned down his apartment, and most of the building in the process, last night.”

  She’d encouraged him on several occasions to rent a house. She’d feared if he set his apartment ablaze, lives would be taken. “How many were hurt?”

  “Most of the tenants got out alive. Minor injuries, some smoke inhalation. Unfortunately, Malcolm wasn’t one of them. He was killed in the fire.”

  Cosette covered her mouth, afraid she might be sick. “He suffered from pyromania.” She was no longer bound to confidentiality.

  Wilder crossed his ankle over his knee. “Why the drive out here to tell us one of her patients suffering from pyromania died in a fire he started?”

  “ME is doing the autopsy. Can’t rule out accident just yet.” He eyed Cosette. “You think that boy burned down your stable?”

  Wilder looked at Cosette. She tried for a brave face, but it was faltering. Two of her patients were dead. What was happening?

  “I’m not saying he couldn’t have. But he wouldn’t have stolen the painter’s hat and dressed like a painter. His desire to set something ablaze isn’t calculated. It’s not intended to murder or hurt people. It’s a disease.”

  “You think this Jeffrey Levitts did it? Like the other crimes?”

  “I do,” Cosette said. “I have no patients obsessed with me. No one in my life who might be suspect. We’ve already had this discussion. We also suspected Beau at first. But now we believe Jeffrey murdered Beau. Maybe Kariss, too.”

  “You must be fearful, Miss LaCroix. Ready to make this go away.”

  “More than you—”

  “Stop!” Wilder said, his hand raised. He stood. “Don’t say another word, Cosette.” He narrowed his eyes and locked them on Detective Chase. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “Malcolm Hayes wasn’t the only one dead in the fire. We’ve identified the other body in his apartment as Jeffrey Levitts.”

  Cosette slumped in the chair, her mouth hanging open. Jeffrey was dead? How? How did they all connect? “Are you...are you sure?”

  “Partial remains of a wallet says so and we
’re running dental records. Should have something soon.” He ran his teeth along his bottom lip. “I’m going to ask if you’ll ride with me to the station for further questioning.”

  “Ask them here.” Wilder laid a hand on Cosette’s shoulder.

  “I can have her come as a formality or I can arrest her. I have grounds.” Detective Chase stood. “Beau Chauvert threatened you. Kariss Elroy tried to run you down and Malcolm... Malcolm may well have burned down your stable or done something I don’t know about yet. They’re all dead now. Miss LaCroix, you have motive.”

  “Well, so did Jeffrey Levitts, if he was using them as pawns.”

  “And yet Jeffrey Levitts is now dead, too. So no one really knows what his part in all of this was. No one is left but you, Miss LaCroix.”

  Cosette stood, but her knees buckled until Wilder stepped to her side and kept her upright. “I didn’t do this. I would never take a life.” Was she being framed by someone else?

  Wilder clutched her shoulders. “Go with Detective Chase. Say nothing. I’ll call Aurora and we’ll meet you at the precinct. This is going to be okay. I promise.”

  Detective Chase had come to arrest her all along. They had no hard evidence. Only circumstantial, but it was enough to hold her. Enough to try and scare her, and it was working.

  How had Jeffrey managed to get into Malcolm’s apartment? Did he talk Malcolm into burning down the stable? If he knew her client was a pyro, it wouldn’t have been difficult. He’d have used mind games on him. But how had he ended up dead?

  Wilder framed Cosette’s face. “Be brave, darlin’. I’m right behind you.” He kissed her forehead.

  Cosette struggled to breathe. She’d never been arrested. Never been held for any reason. This looked bad. If it got out, she could lose her job. Her reputation. Was that Jeffrey’s plan all along? Then he could swoop in and offer to whisk her away, back to Washington, where a prestigious job would be waiting for her. Jeffrey would be her hero. She’d owe him. Love him.