Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  Silence. She checked caller ID and the bones in her back sagged as she hugged her waist with her free arm. ‘Chase.’

  ‘Jayda.’

  ‘Have you heard from Bec?’

  Again there was that silence. She shivered, despite the lingering warmth of summer in the air.

  ‘There’s been another murder. I think you should come down.’

  She dragged in a deep breath. ‘Where?’

  ‘Main Street in the city. I’ll text you the address.’

  ‘I’ll be there as soon as I get a cab.’

  ‘And Jayda?’ Another pause. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘About what?’

  The question met an empty ringtone. She stared at her mobile. What the hell had burrowed up his arse? More weirdness. Something was definitely up, something more than their shared non-event.

  Which reminded her . . .

  Dropping the phone, she stepped into her undies, avoiding the still aroused and naked Seth on the lounger. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘I heard.’

  His visual disappointment could only have been exceeded by hers.

  As she grabbed her clothes, she was vaguely aware of him discarding the unused condom in his trouser pocket before sliding his feet into the trousers and pulling them on. Regret washed through her. The promise of what could have been wrapped once again in fitted blue denim.

  Although in her mind, she could still see him—all of him—hard, hungry. The perfect smorgasbord to end her seven-year famine.

  Just twenty minutes more and . . . She hesitated, almost dropped her clothes to the ground before making him do the same.

  Her phone beeped. Chase’s text. She swallowed back a sigh.

  The one thing she couldn’t—wouldn’t—waver on. The job came first.

  ‘Sorry about the timing.’ She managed to don her jeans without further embarrassment, sliding the mobile into her back pocket before reaching for her bra. ‘Unfortunately the scumbags we chase don’t keep regular office hours.’

  ‘The Night Terror?’

  ‘Could be.’ She wasn’t about to discuss the case.

  ‘Rather than trying to get a cab, let me take you.’

  She looked at him then. He was already dressed, the only evidence of their tryst the wayward disarray of his hair. She’d done that. She turned, scouring the area for anything she may have dropped. Her gaze took in the dilapidated state of the lounger. She’d come by tomorrow and pay Carmello for the damage. What explanation she’d give, she hadn’t a clue.

  ‘That’s not necessary.’

  Seth grabbed her arm, more of a caress than a clutch, and she looked at him then. His expression was earnest. ‘This doesn’t have to be weird, you know.’

  Too late. It already was. That dreaded moment after, when you realised the things you said and did were things you would never normally say and do.

  She tried for a reassuring smile. ‘It’s not. But work’s work.’

  ‘And I can take you there. No strings. I’ll even drop you nearby and leave if that makes you feel better.’ His thumb stroked her skin. ‘Getting a cab this time of night won’t be so easy.’

  His offer was genuine and she was being a heel. She’d never been a don’t-let-the-door-slam-on-the-way-out kind of girl. Tough, yes. Unfair, no. The least she owed Seth after his gentle understanding was trust.

  ‘Sure. I’d appreciate a lift. I’ll need to pop by the precinct for my gun and badge, though.’

  ‘No problem.’ He waved in the direction of the ladder. ‘After you.’

  Seth wasn’t one for small talk, and for that Jayda was grateful. The leather of his Mustang was soft and warm at her back, the FM station playing dulcet oldies-but-goodies she’d have hummed to under different circumstances.

  She could almost have relaxed, if she hadn’t known what waited for her at the end of their short journey.

  He lowered the volume. ‘Makes you wonder why he’s come back, doesn’t it?’

  It was a question she’d asked herself over and over. ‘There are any number of reasons for a killer’s sabbatical. He may have moved away from the area or travelled overseas. Perhaps he’s been serving a prison term for another crime. Or maybe there’s something that triggers his need to kill. Something that hasn’t happened for the past twenty-five years until now.’

  ‘What do you think it is, Jayda?’ He glanced briefly at her before returning his concentration to the road. ‘What does your gut tell you?’

  She startled. It could have been her father sitting beside her, posing the same question as she agonised over some niggling facet of a case.

  ‘My gut tells me you’re awfully interested in the Night Terror and my thoughts.’ She waved her hand. ‘My gut also wonders why.’

  Seth’s eyes were trained on the road ahead. Maybe it was safety, a need to watch for traffic and trams and pedestrians as he negotiated the narrow streets. Or maybe it was more.

  He tapped at the steering wheel. ‘Morbid curiosity. I imagine the greater public is asking the exact same question.’

  ‘Well, you seem to have given the case a lot of consideration. What do you think his motives are?’

  That steely gaze pierced the distance between them. ‘His or theirs?’

  She turned in her seat to face him, her heart faltering. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘What do you think about the last two deaths?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You play a mean game of hardball.’ His chin dimpled for one brief moment before his expression sobered. ‘I’d say we think the same thing.’

  She raised her brows and he answered. ‘That there’s more than one killer out there at the moment targeting women.’

  Falling back into her seat, she felt the beginnings of a smile.

  ‘Am I right?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. So, why did the police release a statement yesterday attributing all the deaths to the Night Terror?’

  Her body tensed. ‘Good question.’

  ‘You don’t agree?’

  It was one thing to discover their consensus on the case. It was another to go openly and vocally against the Department. ‘I’m not discussing this with you.’

  ‘So, we can do what we almost did, but you can’t talk to me?’

  ‘Not about this stuff. I don’t even know you.’

  ‘We could rectify that.’

  Her heart fluttered. She drew in a deep breath, the clasp of her purse cutting into her palm. ‘I need to work, Seth.’

  ‘Now, yes. But not later.’

  The promise in his words almost had her forgetting herself, his voice melting her, bone by bone. She shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now.

  Seth was a one-nighter. No culmination made no difference. They wouldn’t be seeing each other again.

  The car slowed, then stopped.

  Police vehicles littered the area, the criss-cross of their high beams illuminating the otherwise blackened city street. Outside the cordon of crime scene tape, officers diverted passing traffic down one of the wider side-thoroughfares and two uniforms interviewed a young couple.

  Beyond the barricade, Chase and Teddy huddled together in deep discussion.

  ‘Just think about it, okay?’

  She turned to Seth and nodded. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘No problem. I’m glad we met again, Jayda.’

  She managed a brief smile, her mind already beyond the taped area. Opening the door, she stepped out.

  ‘How will I see you again?’

  Her hand gripped the door as she wavered. Then Chase looked up and she knew she had to go.

  ‘You won’t.’

  As she slammed the door and approached the crime scene tape, Chase and Teddy rushed to meet her.

  ‘What—’ Tyres screeched and the air singed with burning rubber.

  Bustle around the scene froze. Former detective Dean Thomasz charged out of the haphazardly park
ed blue sedan towards them.

  ‘Jayda!’ He clutched her to him, a familiar cloud of leather and sandalwood, and the lean muscle in his body shook. When he pulled back, moisture rimmed his eyes. Her father never cried.

  ‘Dad, what are you doing here?’

  ‘Chase called me.’

  ‘Why?’ She looked from one man to the other.

  Nausea whirled up from her gut and into her throat, her intuition cemented by her father’s next words.

  ‘For Bec.’

  Teddy placed a restraining hand on his arm. He shook it free before ducking beneath the tape.

  ‘Where is she? I want to see my daughter. Now.’

  11

  Jayda was fine until the first tears slid down her father’s cheeks.

  Approaching the scene was difficult, but necessary. She was primary on the case and, regardless of the officers who tried to hold her back, she needed to see the victim. Even if the victim was her little sister.

  This time there was no needle mark, no hesitation with the cut. No difference bar one—he’d left a note.

  Distinguish the master from the imitation.

  Conceited bastard.

  There was no satisfaction in knowing she’d been right.

  Her father choked back a moan and their eyes met across the body. She couldn’t go to him. She had a job to do and hand-in-hand with that was holding it together.

  The air around her was damp, a spring-like freshness that should have skipped through her sinuses with a heady summer is coming kind of rush. Instead it curdled with the sour smack of diesel and exhaust, razing the back of her throat with every shallow, tortuous breath.

  This time she would find something.

  Teddy wrapped an arm about his old friend’s shoulders and led him from the scene. She stepped in. A rust-bitten can caught her toe and scuttled across the sidewalk and into the curb, stalling her in a move that would have seen her run into her father’s arms.

  No.

  Icy fingertips reached into her pocket, groping for the familiarity of her badge. She turned away, squared her shoulders and continued to scour her sister’s broken body.

  Her fingerless hand lay slumped in her lap, the yellow flowers of what she’d laughingly dubbed her Van Gogh frock drowning in a crusted pool of blood. The hem had been torn, perhaps when the body was moved?

  Jayda swallowed, blinking as her eyes skimmed the area.

  There was no obvious sign of the snagged material. She made a mental note to get the uniforms onto it, moving her gaze up towards the neck. Already the thick band of bruising associated with manual strangulation was beginning to show. Teddy would need to dust for prints. No doubt the killer wore gloves again, but who knows—even sick bastards had to slip up at some stage.

  Hard metal cut into her clenched palm. She skimmed over Bec’s face, blinking rapidly, and inspected the brick wall behind before moving around to inspect the ground. The rutted grey pavement distorted and blurred.

  ‘Jayda, you don’t have to do this. Let me take over.’

  Her hand jerked from her pocket. She dragged it across her eyes and turned to Chase, avoiding the sympathy she knew she’d see in his expression. ‘I have a job to do.’

  ‘Not tonight. Go home and remember Bec in a good way.’

  She glared at her partner of two years. ‘That won’t catch her killer.’

  ‘What the hell is she doing here?’ Detective Inspector Terry Hackett stormed through the tape, his round face suffused with its usual red as he glared at Chase. When he reached Jayda, however, his expression changed. She would have said it softened, only her boss didn’t do soft. ‘Jayda, go home.’

  ‘I can’t. I have a case to work.’

  ‘Not now you don’t. As of this moment, you’re on leave.’ The must of stale tobacco hit her nostrils as he extended his arm across her shoulder, forcefully leading her away. ‘Take a couple of weeks’ vacation, mourn your sister, be there for your family. They need you, and you’re going to need them.’

  She wrenched free. ‘What I need is to find the sick sonofabitch who did this!’ Moisture welled beneath her eyelids, threatening to overflow. She blinked.

  She would not cry. Not now, not here. Not before she claimed justice.

  Hackett scratched at the back of his neck, his gaze centred anywhere but her face. A nicotine patch peeked out from his shirt neckline. His obvious lapse in abstinence wouldn’t be helping his mood.

  Hackett didn’t do emotions, unless they were a variation of mad. Which was why she could tell Bec’s death had him thrown, despite his pigheadedness.

  ‘You’re off the case.’ He looked around until he found his mark. ‘Chase, take her home.’

  ‘I’ll do it.’

  She turned to find Seth standing outside the barrier, the restraining hand of a uniformed officer holding him back.

  Her arms crossed against the expanding tightness in her chest as she glared at the man who’d promised to drop her and leave. ‘Why are you still here?’

  ‘Instinct.’ He turned to Hackett. ‘I’ll get her home safe.’

  And that was it. Like a child, her fate was decided whether she liked it or not. She gritted her teeth. No one fought Hackett and survived. You had to pick your battles.

  ‘Jayda?’

  She stared at her boss’s upturned palm before dropping her gun into it. Then without a word she ducked beneath the tape and strode towards the road.

  A hand grabbed her wrist and she stopped without turning, the strong scent of spice filling her nostrils.

  ‘I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?’ Chase hesitated, his fingers pinching her skin. ‘Just because you’re off the case, doesn’t mean you can’t get updates, right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  She twisted her hand and he let go. His narrowed gaze darted from her to Seth, who appeared deep in conversation with Teddy and her father.

  She forced a smile. ‘Thanks.’

  He was still her partner, and he still had her back. In the next couple of weeks she’d be counting on it.

  ‘There’s a strip of material missing from her dress. If we find it we may find the primary crime scene. And make sure Teddy dusts her neck for prints.’

  ‘I’ve got this, Jayda.’

  Absently she nodded, her eyes roving the scene and inner circle of cops until she sensed Seth beside her. He moved towards his car and there was nothing left for her to do but follow with her head held high.

  Being taken off the case made things difficult, but not impossible. Gun or no gun, regardless of Hackett’s dictate, there was no way in hell she intended to lay down and ‘vacate’.

  The pound inside her skull threatened to explode as she clenched her jaw and yanked the passenger door of Seth’s car open.

  The Night Terror had made one fatal mistake. In killing Bec he’d killed the best part of Jayda.

  And for that he was going to pay.

  ‘Hungry?’ Seth pushed open the front door to her apartment and stood aside to let her enter. ‘I can make you a sandwich or something.’

  Jayda’s stomach heaved. She made it to the bathroom, but not the toilet bowl. Staring at what remained of her pad Thai dinner and evening’s drinks, she grappled for composure. No time for losing it now. She had work to do.

  ‘Jayda?’ Seth joined her in the bathroom and she couldn’t dredge up the energy to be embarrassed over chucking her guts in front of a man she’d just been naked with. ‘Why don’t you change while I clean up?’

  When she didn’t move, he grasped her shoulders and guided her towards the bedroom.

  With robotic obedience she let him push her inside. He walked past and into her en suite bathroom, turning on first the shower’s cold water, then the hot.

  ‘Shout if you need anything.’ His gaze rested on her for a brief moment, then he slipped out, closing the door behind him.

  She stared at the cascade of warm water. It splattered against the acrylic base before spiralling down the drain. And all the wh
ile her heart thumped so hard that every beat was a jab against the inside of her temple.

  Something banged outside. The sound juddered through her body, dragging her back to the sparkle of ceramic tiles and a wash of thin mist over her skin. She blinked and her fingers trembled as they dragged at the fabric of her top.

  Clothes were discarded, layer by layer, and she stepped beneath the spray. Water rolled down her body, but the chill remained.

  The hot tap was cool beneath her fingers as she twisted, then waited for the heat to wash away the pain. It didn’t.

  Bec was dead because of her.

  A sob caught at the back of her throat. She gulped and water scalded her tongue. She spluttered, and whatever remained in her stomach heaved out over the shower floor.

  Her sister was a message. The sick bastard wanted her attention and that of the Department. And he’d killed Bec to get it.

  Her skin began to prick. She watched as a scarlet welt formed on her chest, then deepened and expanded.

  And then she began to cry.

  Seth dumped the last of the towels used for cleaning into the washing machine and pressed start. Then, walking up to the closed bedroom door, he unashamedly put his ear to the wood and listened.

  No noise.

  He knocked. ‘Jayda?’

  No answer.

  He knocked again. It was only a few minutes since he’d left her, but something inside dictated he check she was alright.

  ‘I’m coming in.’ He turned the handle and stepped into a room empty but for the clammy rise of steam from under the en suite door. This time he knocked on the bathroom door. It was hot and dripping with condensation.

  ‘Jayda, are you okay?’

  A sob penetrated the wood, followed by a high wail.

  He threw open the door. The heavy weight of mist obstructed his vision as he strode to the steam-covered shower stall and yanked open the door. Jayda sat slumped in the corner, her beautiful body a splotchy mishmash of bright pink and red. He reached for the tap, scalding his wrist in the process. Blanking his mind to the burn, he turned the water to cold.