Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  She nodded, her mind skipping back to her car. It needed fixing, something she didn’t have time for right now. Of all days for this to happen—

  ‘Jayda . . .’

  She rubbed the back of her neck and glanced at the camera above before returning her gaze to Eric, who was still struggling. Any other day she’d have patience for his nerves. And he was more nervous than usual. It had to be Seth.

  Eric and social didn’t mix. Unless you had a motherboard, sixteen-gig hard drive and large LCD screen, that is.

  ‘I heard about your sister. If there’s anything I can do . . .?’

  The ache in her heart spiked. ‘Thanks, Eric.’

  ‘I’d like to go to her funeral, say goodbye. Rebecca was always nice to me. Kind, even.’

  ‘Bec would be happy to have you there. Me, too.’ Her smile wobbled but she held it together. ‘It’s set for Friday morning. I’ll drop round with the details when they’re finalised.’

  ‘Thanks.’ His mouth moved, soundless, as if he wanted to say more. ‘She was nice.’

  She glanced at her watch—2 pm. She needed her car towed, and she needed to get to her sister’s.

  Rubbing her brow didn’t come close to relieving the pound in her head. ‘How the hell am I supposed to get anywhere now?’

  Eric’s nose twitched. ‘I can take you.’

  Seth stepped in before she could open her mouth. ‘I’ve got that covered. My car’s just outside.’

  Eric looked from Seth to her, then back again. ‘Oh. Well, if you’re okay?’

  Her new, ever-present appendage placed a proprietorial hand on her elbow. ‘The police will be here in fifteen.’

  Shaking her arm until his hand fell away, she hoped her expression was as withering as it felt. She masked it before providing him with the full impact of her turned back. ‘Thanks for the offer, Eric. But I’m fine.’

  Seth needled his way into her side vision, measuring Eric through narrowed eyes. It would seem he was a dog and Eric was very much the bone. ‘You’ll need to wait. The cops want to speak to you as you’re the only witness.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything.’

  ‘They still need a statement.’

  Eric looked less than impressed, and she didn’t blame him. Much as Seth was right, his attitude set her teeth to grind and she wasn’t even the object of his attention. At least, not right now.

  Strong fingers wrapped around her elbow as he towed her away, out of earshot. ‘After we meet the cops, I’ll drive you to Bec’s.’

  A heavy weight lodged inside her chest. Reality was a bitch. It loved to strike when you were already down. Seth stood beside her acting as if, white horse and all, he’d saved her day, when actually he’d just manhandled her, and the only reason he was there was his damn story. That heavy weight exploded.

  She wrenched from his grasp. ‘Sure thing. And while you’re at it, bend over and tie my shoelaces, won’t you?’

  He looked at her perfectly tied Skechers. ‘You’re more than capable of tying your own laces.’

  ‘Are you sure? After all, until you inserted yourself into my life, I was walking, talking and making decisions all by myself. And now, apparently I need to ask permission to take a piss.’

  He stiffened, moved back a step. ‘Point taken.’ His tight gaze strayed towards her broken car. ‘How well do you know Eric?’

  ‘He’s my neighbour, has been for the past two years, so as well as anyone ever knows their neighbour. Why?’

  ‘Have you considered that it’s possible he wrecked your car?’

  ‘Why would he do that?’

  Eric shuffled his feet beside the crumpled metal. Behind their lenses, his eyes were a deep, warm brown, his skin more tanned, his physique more toned than most computer geeks. He wasn’t a bad guy, or even particularly bad-looking. If only he’d step away from virtual reality and into the real world.

  ‘He may be a little socially challenged, but Eric wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

  Seth raised an eyebrow. ‘Because no one’s ever said that about a psychopath before.’

  ‘You’re right. Why let reality get in the way of a good accusation?’

  ‘This is far from a joke, Jayda.’

  ‘I know that more than anyone.’ She blinked back the rush of moisture. At least Seth had the decency to look sheepish.

  His tone softened. ‘If not Eric, who? Who out there hates you enough to do this? Because there’s a lot of pent-up anger behind that destruction.’

  ‘The Night Terror?’ Not that she believed it, even as she said it. The Night Terror destroyed lives, not inanimate objects.

  Seth shook his head. ‘He didn’t do this. Why would he? Not without a darned good reason for straying so far from his MO.’

  It was as if he’d robbed the words straight from her brain. And it was solely because of those instincts that she’d allow him to stick around. For now.

  Jayda stared at the closed white door.

  No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make her feet carry her the remaining two steps to open it and go inside.

  They’d been in the apartment an hour already, checked phone messages, scoured for any evidence her squad may have missed; a suggestion, perhaps, that Bec had planned to meet someone other than Chase the evening she died.

  The search had come up empty, systematically leading them into the bedroom, and to Jayda’s other reason for being there.

  Searching the apartment was one thing. But there was a vulnerability—a feeling much like snagging a gaping wound on barbed wire and then pulling—that made rifling through Bec’s clothes and personal items intolerable.

  ‘If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can go in and get it for you.’

  Her head whipped round. Seth lounged against the door jamb, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankles, watching her with an intensity that set her nerves on edge. Ridiculous for a detective who dealt with lowlifes and felons on a daily basis without so much as a flutter.

  She’d nearly forgotten he was there. How was that possible when he refused to leave her side?

  Returning her attention to Bec’s walk-in robe, she glared at it as if willing the door to open itself. ‘I need to do this.’

  ‘You don’t, you know.’

  She edged forwards and grabbed the door handle, but something inside prevented her from taking that final step. ‘How would you know what I do or don’t need to do?’

  Like an atom bomb, the silence mushroomed. If not for the flutters in her stomach at his nearness, she’d believe he’d gone.

  Then his keys jangled. ‘I know because I’ve been where you are now.’

  17

  ‘His name was Callum and he was my older brother.’

  The handle slipped through Jayda’s fingers as she turned. ‘You said you had no siblings.’

  ‘I don’t. He died just after his eleventh birthday. I was nine.’

  She should have said something then, words of reassurance or even a simple ‘I’m sorry’. But her mind was still trying to process why he was telling her this now.

  Seth continued, the vacant wander of his voice causing her to question if he remembered her presence through the fog of old wounds. ‘Cal wanted to study science, be like my parents. When he died, I always wondered if they wished it was me.’

  She blinked. Her parents loved her and Bec equally. Had never distinguished between their biological and adopted daughters. How could any parent worth anything do that? ‘That can’t be true.’

  ‘You’d think that, wouldn’t you? Only he was the genius and I was the screw-up.’ He waved her off when she went to protest. ‘I’m not telling you this for sympathy or as a distraction. I’m telling you so that when I say you don’t have to go into that wardrobe, you know where it’s coming from. I can get the outfit for you. You’re allowed to mourn without feeling responsible. And you don’t need to punish yourself because you survived.’

  Vision blurred through the pound in her head and she inhaled s
harply. ‘It’s the blue-lace cocktail dress at the far end of the hanging section.’

  She’d meant to say that he was wrong. That none of what he said was true. But when she’d opened her mouth, its connection to conscious thought had severed and that came out instead. And there was more. ‘There should be matching sandals on the shoe rack underneath. They’re the same shade of blue, with a one-inch heel.’

  He pushed off the door jamb and she watched the lithe swagger of his black leather jacket and fitted denims disappear into the wardrobe containing memories she wasn’t ready to relive.

  Averting her eyes, she moved to the dressing table and opened the top drawer. Bec’s sunflower address book lay amongst the multicoloured silk and lace. She slipped it into her purse. Perhaps she’d find something useful inside. Anything.

  She rummaged, locating undies, a matching bra and, recalling her father’s tormented request, Bec’s black silk gloves, stuffing them into her purse before she could think about the implications of why they were necessary.

  Rough plastic scraped her hand and she pulled it out, only to stare at a half-full bag of scrunchies. Her vision blurred.

  The scorch on her fingertips was like hot coals and she dropped it back into her bag. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. Blinking drove back the tears but not the burn in her gut at the thought that Bec wouldn’t be needing them again.

  Snagging a tissue from the blue-and-yellow box on the dresser, she mopped her face and blew her nose, then crammed it into her pocket.

  Time to go.

  The drawer shuddered closed and the burnished copper frame above it tottered. She caught it before it could fall—partner to a photo on her own bedroom dressing table. The metal felt cold between her fingers, unlike the memory. August twenty-ninth, six years ago, Bec’s eighteenth birthday. Her present—a skiing weekend at Mt Buller. Not really Jayda’s thing, but she’d done it for Bec.

  Their two-day spell had kicked off with a private lesson. Marcel, a tall French backpacker, incorrigible flirt and their instructor, was both patient and sympathetic to Jayda’s constant grappling with her two left feet, good-naturedly extending his hand whenever she upended onto her butt or flailed about with skis slipping and sliding beneath her.

  Her sister, on the other hand, was a natural, at both the sport and capturing dear Marcel’s heart. Even in the photo, the man in the middle held Bec tightly against his hip while Jayda clung to his other arm, her expression one of determination—to remain upright until the photo was taken.

  ‘Looks like fun.’

  The warm sweep of Seth’s breath against her neck jolted her back into the present.

  ‘Who’s the guy?’

  ‘One of Bec’s many admirers.’ An almost-smile wavered over her lips as she replaced the photo.

  Seth raised his brows.

  Before he could comment, she indicated towards the clear plastic protector and its contents, which were hanging over his arm. ‘You found it.’

  Bec’s sexy-and-single outfit. An indulgence after divorce number two from Mark Graham, a consummate liar who gambled everything they’d jointly owned until there was nothing else to lose. Lucky the apartment was in Bec’s name only, so he hadn’t been able to access the equity, despite trying his damnedest.

  Each outfit in that closet had a name, an event, a memory. Like old and cherished friends.

  Gnarly fingers wrapped round her gut and squeezed.

  She averted her gaze. Everywhere she looked, something triggered the memories into flooding back. ‘We should call it a day.’

  Seth nodded. ‘What do you fancy? Italian or Thai?’

  She followed him from the bedroom. ‘I assume you’re talking in a hypothetical sense?’

  ‘Nope. Practical. I thought we could grab dinner on the way home.’

  Seth watched the play of emotions run across Jayda’s face, each one telling him she was less than impressed with his foot-in-mouth slip.

  ‘Home?’

  He shot her a placatory grin. ‘That was hypothetical. I meant to say your place.’

  Her lips pursed. ‘Let’s settle this working-together thing before it gets out of hand. You need to go home. Your home. Much as I appreciate everything you’ve done, I’m fine, so no reason for us to be all over each other, twenty-four seven.’

  His grin widened.

  ‘Before you get all worked up, that was meant to be figurative.’

  ‘And they say testosterone breeds irrationality. Hold onto your panic, Jayda—I have no raging desire to move in and pick out cushions together.’

  ‘I should hope not.’ Fiery amber flecked the green of her irises.

  If she was impervious to humour, he’d get her with practicality. Why he had to get her with something, to draw out their time together, he refused to mull over too closely. This was a career manoeuvre, nothing more.

  ‘I thought we should discuss strategies for tomorrow. We can’t just sit back and wait for the DNA results.’

  ‘I don’t intend to. But today has been a shit of a day.’ Her lips wobbled and she blinked, gripping the door jamb. ‘I could do with some alone time.’

  Hell, he was an insensitive bastard. He should have seen she was only just holding herself together. The bravado and determination was her way of dealing with all that had happened.

  Grabbing his keys from his pocket, he followed her out the door. ‘I’ll take you home.’

  The ride back was stilted and silent, with Jayda lost deep in reflection. He had his own thoughts to contend with. Ones which reminded him of days he’d tried hard to leave behind.

  ‘Did you hear back from your parents?’

  The car swerved. He swore and righted the wheel, the angry horn of an oncoming motorbike trilling harshly through the quiet suburban street.

  Her palm rested on his thigh. ‘Are you tired? I can drive if you need a break.’

  ‘I’m not tired, I’m just . . .’ What? Fed up. Pissed off. Disappointed, again. When he should be used to that same old letdown by now. Had been experiencing it since he had the wherewithal to notice.

  Grade 3. Was that when it had hit? The school science fair. Callum accepting first prize, his parents sitting front-row centre, clapping, their normally taciturn expressions almost shattered with a smile. Just one month later, Seth was presented with the school’s investigative writing award for his article on Healthier Canteens in Schools. No one turned up to clap and cheer for him.

  And so the trend continued.

  ‘They didn’t get back to you, did they?’

  ‘They’re working.’ He said the words automatically, as he’d always said them.

  Her mouth clamped and it seemed as if she’d descended back into her thoughts. He should have known that wasn’t the case. She was, after all, a detective. She made a living out of refusing to let things rest.

  ‘An email takes five minutes to write, or less.’

  ‘Not so easy when you’re out of phone and internet range.’

  She turned in her seat. ‘Your parents’ lack of acknowledgment doesn’t make what you’ve accomplished any less great. Achievement comes from within. If you don’t feel it, it won’t make any difference what anyone else thinks.’

  His grip on the steering wheel tightened. ‘Is that a Jayda Thomasz adage?’

  ‘No, Bec Thomasz.’

  Seth spared her a sideways glance.

  Her fingers lay clasped in her lap, her knuckles jutting and white beneath her skin. ‘Tell me about Callum.’

  His throat tightened.

  She was looking for distraction. He got that. But after all she’d been through in the past twenty-four hours, he wouldn’t lie or try to relate his loss too closely back to hers. They were worlds apart.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Cal was clever. “My little genius”, Mum used to call him. But he wasn’t nerdy or a geek or even remotely uncool. He was great at sport, played the violin, always the centre of whatever was going on.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’


  ‘He was.’ The muscles round Seth’s jaw tightened as he stared out at the blackened road. ‘We weren’t close, or even friends. Cal tolerated me, at times, but I learned pretty young not to tag around where I wasn’t wanted.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her brows knitted, her teeth toying with her lower lip.

  And there it was, that whole sympathy and commiseration trap in which those who didn’t know better thought he warranted or wanted their pity.

  ‘No reason to feel sorry. If there’s one thing I learned growing up, it was self-sufficiency. Cal dying was sad, but since I never really had a brother, I didn’t miss him when he was gone.’ The hollowness in his chest was nothing more than memories of a time he’d worked hard to forget. A deep inhale went partway to filling the void.

  From the corner of his eye he watched Jayda’s changing expression. ‘I guess you think that makes me callous and unfeeling?’

  ‘No. It makes you a kid dealing with things in the only way you know how.’

  He nodded.

  It wasn’t as if anything much had changed after the accident. He’d buried his brother, his parents had withdrawn further from his life, and he’d continued immersing himself in dreams of a perfect world in which he was adopted, where one day his real mum and dad would appear and declare they wanted him back. Foolish thoughts, perhaps, but they’d kept him focused. Led him to who and where he was today.

  ‘Seth, I’m back there.’ Jayda twisted her head as her apartment block flashed past in a blur.

  The brakes skidded and he pulled over to the kerb, hands gripping the steering wheel unnecessarily tight. He inhaled, slow. ‘Let me drop you outside.’

  He forced his fingers to relax, waiting for the road to clear before U-turning the car to park out front.

  ‘Thanks for the lift.’ She released her seatbelt and was already reaching for the door handle when he jumped out of the car and sprinted round to open her door.

  ‘I’m coming in.’

  The reproach in her eyes as she joined him on the footpath said it all. ‘I thought we discussed this.’

  ‘We did. Not sure how else I’ll get my laptop, though.’ He opened the back door and extracted Bec’s dress and shoes from the car.