Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  ‘Rather than mocking me, how about you suggest a better way of analysing the facts?’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare.’ He raised his palms, unable to suppress the grin this time. ‘Didn’t I tell you how much I love lists?’

  She rolled her eyes, clearly not susceptible to his wit, and returned her attention to the screen. Her lips pursed and his eyes lingered there. All he had to do was lean across the table and rediscover how she tasted. If not for her hands-off ultimatum . . .

  What was with that? It had to be about more than she’d let on. Her expression earlier as she’d talked about work colleagues and relationships had left him pondering a line of question marks. Like the story with Chase and her. How far did their ‘partnership’ go? The man had called three times in the past two hours. Such dedication screamed of more than just work.

  Messy.

  Something he neither wanted nor needed.

  And then there was his own reason for being here. Much as a side trip with Jayda would be pleasurable, it wouldn’t get him closer to his story.

  He was here for the story.

  He stood and moved in to peer at her laptop. His hand gripped the back of her chair and she stiffened, electricity charging the air between them. Her rules were as transparent as her reaction. And he got why she fought it. Guilt and grief were powerful extinguishers.

  Still, he wouldn’t be human if he didn’t feel a modicum of satisfaction that she still wanted him.

  Moving closer still, he suppressed the urge to test his theory, his eyes following hers to scan the bullet points filling the screen. She inhaled deeply, then exhaled, the clear light in her eyes hardening. Cop-mode. A place with no room for feelings. Her voice was cold and removed, no sign of the vulnerable woman he knew lay beneath as she paraphrased aloud. ‘At 0015 hours New Year’s Day, the Night Terror re-emerged and, after twenty-five years, killed his first victim.’

  He returned to his chair, relaxing back, lacing his fingers behind his head, closing his eyes.

  ‘She was personal assistant Sarah Vaughn, aged twenty-three. He subdued and then murdered her after she stepped out of a friend’s birthday party for fresh air. Three days later, he took his second victim, 22 year-old air hostess Tracey Usbourne, after she left her friends in a city restaurant and headed for home. Over the next three weeks there were five more victims, all killed in and around the city centre: shop assistant Clara Gayle, twenty-three; nursing student Sonja Johansson, twenty-one; legal secretary Jeanette Symonds, twenty-four; and psychologist Mikaela Lind, twenty-five.’

  Jayda hesitated, her voice a mechanical recitation as if this were some list for her weekly grocery shop. Not for catching a killer. ‘The last murder was two nights ago, beautician Rebecca Thomasz, twenty-four.’

  Seth opened his eyes in time to see her blink, one hand clamped in her lap, the other clutching the mouse so tightly he wondered if it might crack. Then her body stiffened and rage chased the sorrow from her face, its only residue the sheen of unshed tears warring against her eyelids.

  He would have gone to her, but within seconds the mask had returned.

  This time when he leaned back and closed his eyes, his threaded fingers rested on his stomach.

  ‘In each case, the MO is identical—petechial haemorrhaging and bruising around the neck, indicating manual strangulation. Left index finger amputated post-mortem. Body propped into a sitting position, publicly displayed. No DNA or fingerprints on the skin, suggesting the killer wore gloves during the attack. Each of these recent murders is identical to those committed twenty-five years previous but for one detail—hydrogen peroxide around the nose and mouth causing white powder-burns to the skin. Which begs the question, why the change?’

  He opened his eyes to find Jayda staring. She quickly looked away, but not before he caught the flood of red across her cheeks.

  ‘It’s a tough one.’ Something darted through the recesses of his mind. The hint of an idea that flickered and fluttered just beyond his grasp. ‘What’s changed in the last twenty-five years that would require a killer to use industrial strength alkali on a body?’

  The refrigerator whirred dully in the kitchen. Someone fired up a lawnmower outside. A clock ticked in a room nearby.

  He worked backwards, considered the recent killings, the past ones. Considered the evidence so far. ‘Hydrogen peroxide. Why?’

  It was there, right in front of him. But he couldn’t quite reach it.

  ‘Why?’ Jayda tapped her bottom lip, murmuring to herself. ‘It oxidises and bleaches, is used for cleaning. It kills germs, can kill skin cells . . .’

  Their eyes clashed.

  ‘DNA!’

  16

  ‘Oh my god! It’s been staring us in the face the entire time.’ Jayda jumped up and began to pace.

  He nodded, adrenalin slamming through his veins. ‘He kisses his victims before he kills them. Not a problem twenty-five years ago. But now, with DNA analysis . . .’ His voice trailed at the expression on Jayda’s face. Realisation, pain, grief. And then it was gone.

  He clamped his lips. Idiot! This wasn’t just any case to her.

  Jayda’s hand was steady and deliberate as she grabbed her mobile from the table. ‘I have to call Chase.’

  Something tightened in his gut. ‘Shouldn’t we talk this through first?’

  ‘After. I need Chase to pull the cold-case evidence.’ Her eyes were shining, only this time there were no unshed tears. ‘What if our killer wasn’t as careful back then as he is now? What if the means to identify him has been sitting in a box in storage all along?’

  He pushed up from his chair and grinned. ‘I told you we’d make a good team.’

  A tentative smile trembled across her lips. ‘I can’t believe this is finally happening. We’re really going to catch the bastard.’

  ‘Did you ever doubt it?’

  ‘A little at times.’ The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. ‘If we’d realised sooner . . .’

  He grabbed her shoulders. ‘We’ll get him, Jayda. He won’t escape this time.’

  She bit her bottom lip. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing an escaped tear. Her head tilted, her mouth ready as he made to sweep his lips over hers.

  ‘I have a call to make.’ Voice shaking, she pulled back and turned, already scrolling through her contacts as she took up pacing again.

  He dropped into his seat and stared at his computer, bugged. That she’d pulled away. That she wouldn’t look at him, even now. That at such a ground-breaking moment in the case she felt the need to contact her partner. Something that shouldn’t have the power to bug him. Not even a little. But it did.

  After all, Jayda and Chase had a history. They worked together, watched each other’s backs. He should be glad the other man was there to help. Because when the information came in, he’d be on the inside and get the exclusive he needed.

  ‘Chase, it’s me.’

  There was a pause. Seth made to type, a string of disconnected letters he’d have to delete later.

  ‘What did he say?’

  From the corner of his eye he saw her glance his way. She grabbed her empty glass and wandered towards the kitchen. A move made to seem casual, but it smelled of concealment. Was it personal or professional? He shoved back his chair and strode towards the glass doors leading onto her balcony.

  He was here for a story. It was that simple.

  He released the lock and pushed. The door shuddered for a second before groaning sluggishly along its track.

  The air outside was balmy but the breeze had a bite—typical weather for Melbourne, nearing autumn. A few doors down a lawnmower still purred and he caught the whiff of freshly cut grass. Afternoon sun burned his face as he stared at the neighbour’s vegie garden below. Even the metal handrail burned. The burn in his gut wasn’t weather-induced. He didn’t know what the hell it was.

  ‘We should have DNA results in less than two weeks.’ He turned in time to see Jayda step onto the balcony.

  ‘Tha
t’s great. Chase came through for you then?’

  ‘Not Chase.’ Her gaze dropped.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I didn’t tell him.’

  ‘Oh.’ He couldn’t fathom the relief those four words gave him. ‘Any particular reason?’

  She shook her head, her eyes still evading his as she joined him at the handrail. ‘I called in a couple of favours. Once we get something concrete, I’ll fill him in. No point sending the squad off on tangents if we’re wrong.’

  ‘Sounds fair.’

  ‘Does it?’ Her lips snapped closed, as if the words had escaped without her consent. ‘I have to go.’

  His hand caught her wrist before she moved out of reach. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Aside from losing my sister and being benched from the job that would help me find her killer? Sure.’

  ‘We’ll find him, with or without the Department.’

  Her eyes welled. ‘Thanks. It’s nice to know at least one person in this mess is on my side, no matter the reason.’

  He dropped her hand. It wasn’t as if she could delve into his brain and read the images that flashed across his conscience. A computer file containing lists of his own. Lists that included Bec.

  He turned back to the railing and stared down at the russet-tiled roof below. It wasn’t as if having Bec’s details meant he would use them.

  She hesitated. Waiting for him to speak, perhaps? Then her expression closed and she moved towards the door.

  ‘I have to go out for a few hours, so let’s call it a day.’

  ‘I’ll come with. We’re a team, remember?’

  ‘It’s personal.’

  Visions of her and Chase pushed him to ignore the determined tilt of her chin. ‘How personal?’

  ‘As personal as it gets.’

  At the quiver of her lip, something clicked. ‘You’re either going to your father’s or Bec’s.’

  She startled, then shook her head. ‘Private seems to be a word outside your vocabulary.’

  ‘Let me come with you.’

  ‘This isn’t part of your story.’

  ‘I know. Not everything is about the story.’ Did he really just say that? He shrugged. ‘Can’t this be an instance of one friend helping another?’

  ‘Is that what we are? Friends?’

  ‘Why not?’

  A blush stained her cheeks and he knew what she was thinking. It was the very same thing his own body felt as he stepped closer.

  His heart pounded. ‘What are we, Jayda, if we’re not friends?’

  Heat radiated from her lips, they were so close. He allowed his palm to scale her arm, running up and over her shoulder to her neck, where his thumb rested on her carotid, measuring the racing gallop of her blood.

  ‘Let go, Jayda. Your rules don’t take into account this thing between us. I felt it the very first moment I saw you, and I know you felt it, too.’

  The moment froze, expanding like the silken filament of a spider’s web unfettered in the pull of the breeze. Her eyes never left his as she dragged in a lungful of air.

  Then she blinked and turned away, unhinging his hand.

  ‘If you’re coming, you’d better get ready.’ She was already through the door and halfway across the living room when her final words filtered back. ‘We leave in five minutes.’

  Jayda’s legs couldn’t carry her fast enough across the living room floor.

  The door shut behind her with an unequivocal thud. If only it were as easy to shut out her weakness when it came to him.

  Her father’s old mantra popped up to poke sticks at her folly.

  Mixing work with pleasure is like sticking dynamite under your pillow. At some stage you’re gonna wake up with a helluva headache.

  As if to mock, a pound took up residence between her eyes. She jabbed the pressure points at her temple. Involvement with Seth was disaster in the making. Distraction. One which would see her mind focused anywhere but where it had to be.

  She hauled on a black hoodie to match her black t-shirt and black mood. Because after her very short and not so sweet phone call to her so-called partner, there was more. Hackett had issued his dictate, and lapdog Chase was following suit—until further notice, Jayda was on a break. Bereavement leave, vacation, the name didn’t matter, the outcome was the same. She had orders—stay away from the case. And her squad had theirs—she was out of the loop.

  It didn’t help that Chase was still pissed about her breaking the copycat murders without him. She squeezed the pressure points again.

  If not for her father and his contacts there would have been no one to call. No one to check for DNA and ensure she stayed very much in the loop.

  The Night Terror was her case. Break or not, she wasn’t about to let that change.

  Collecting her wits along with her keys, she made for the living room.

  He was waiting at the front door. Not that she would have gone without him, despite the inner voice that told her she should. It was her apartment, after all—she wouldn’t give Seth free rein with all her stuff, her life. No matter how many times he said she could trust him.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘Bec’s.’

  ‘Why don’t I drive?’

  ‘Because I’m quite capable.’ Jayda the bitch was back. ‘Look, I can do this myself. I may be mourning, but I’m not weak, so stop treating me like I’m some wounded creature that needs something or someone to lean on.’ Blood roared through her brain as she moved past him to open the door. ‘I don’t lean. I fight. And if you’re going to stick around, you’d best remember that.’

  She was halfway down the hall before she realised he wasn’t behind her. She didn’t stop. ‘If you’re coming, you’d better move. Because another thing I don’t do is wait.’

  The door clicked and Seth’s heavy tread echoed behind her. She sped up, footsteps and heartbeat marking time.

  Her body missed its regular weekend visit to the gym. That’s what fuelled all this excess energy, not to mention her irrational cravings for sex and Seth. And an intermingling of them both.

  Heat doused her blood, the man behind her too damn close for comfort. She strode past the elevator and hit the stairs with out-of-character enthusiasm, reaching the underground car park, only pausing to hold the heavy fire door open for him to follow her through.

  The area was unusually dark. Two lights were out, while a third flickered feebly.

  A shadow fell in her path, followed by a man with a hood pulled halfway over his face.

  She reached for her gun seconds before she remembered it wasn’t holstered at her waist. Seth pulled her away just as the stranger pushed back his hood revealing thick, tortoiseshell-rimmed specs and shoulder-length brown hair.

  ‘Eric!’ She shook out of Seth’s grasp, too aware of him even now, instead narrowing her gaze at her neighbour. ‘What are you doing here when your car’s near the exit?’

  ‘Hey, Jayda . . .’ A shaky forefinger pushed at the bridge of his glasses. ‘I heard a noise, like breaking glass.’

  His visual tic worsened, and would have indicated nerves, but she knew better. He squinted. Another permanent condition that would take more than glasses to fix. ‘Did you hear it, too?’

  ‘We just arrived.’ She scanned the area. No sign of glass or offender. ‘Where’d the noise come from?’

  He pointed towards her car. ‘That way.’

  ‘Let me check.’ It was the first time Seth had spoken since she’d issued her edict for him to follow.

  Eric frowned at him as if he were an interloper. In a mixed-up kind of way, he wasn’t far wrong.

  ‘Testosterone versus seven years on the force? Stand down, Rambo. I think experience might just trump your macho instincts.’ She left Seth and skirted her vehicle, eyes darting everywhere at once.

  ‘Shit!’

  ‘What?’ Both men rushed towards her, Seth effectively blocking Eric’s path to arrive first.

  She stared at the ground and what remaine
d of her car’s headlights. Whoever had smashed them was long gone. But before they left, they’d thought to bash in the windshield and bonnet beyond all recognition.

  Seth sidled up beside her and swore under his breath. ‘This screams of personal. Someone wanted to leave you a message.’

  ‘This is a secure garage.’ Eric’s face spasmed again.

  ‘Eric’s right. There’s no way an outsider got in.’

  ‘So, if it wasn’t an outsider . . .?’ Seth asked.

  She pointed to the security camera above. ‘We figure out who it was.’

  As far as she could see, all vehicles were untouched bar hers. Much as it galled her to admit it, there was a high probability that Seth was right. This was no random prank.

  ‘We need to contact the police. While you call I’ll speak to security and get a copy of the video.’ She turned to Eric. ‘Sure you didn’t see anyone?’

  He pressed his glasses back against the bridge of his nose. ‘I heard a bang, and footsteps. But by the time I got here, they’d gone . . .’

  Seth’s gaze narrowed. ‘I thought you heard glass breaking.’

  ‘That, too. The bang came first.’

  ‘Just one bang?’

  Eric suddenly found interest at his feet, fingers tapping jerkily against his thigh. Signs easily misread if you didn’t know.

  ‘For god’s sake, Seth. This isn’t an interrogation, or one of your stories.’

  ‘Stories?’ Eric’s gaze lifted.

  ‘Of course, you haven’t met. Eric, this is Seth Friedin, a reporter for the Melbourne Telegraph. Seth, Eric Townsend, my neighbour.’

  The men exchanged looks. A metaphorical unzip-your-pants-and-piss-for-dominance match. If only she’d had her gun, she’d have whipped it out so they could all compare sizes. Men!

  ‘I’m calling the cops.’ Raising his phone, Seth moved away, circling until he had enough bars to make the call.

  She was happy to let him go, to relieve the claustrophobia of his constant meddling.

  ‘Jayda . . .’ Eric’s voice trailed in that way of his. Like he didn’t know if he should say what he wanted to say. Like he was measuring how his words would be received.