Another swerve in conversation to avoid getting close. Just when he thought she’d open up and let him in, when he thought her guard was dropping, the damn thing went back into automatic snap-shut mode.
He took a jerky swig of his beer, stemming the temptation to knock the entire bottle back in one gulp. After the ease between them in Eric’s apartment, he’d hoped for more. Guess he should have been used to expecting the unexpected when it came to Jayda.
‘There are two scenarios.’ She ticked them off with her fingers. ‘Eric either hid the cameras in my apartment, or knew who did. Either way, he stumbled onto something or someone, and was killed before he could reveal what he’d found.’
She stared at some indefinable spot across the room. ‘What we do know is that he was in the parking garage just before he was killed.’
‘Of course. We passed him on the stairs.’
‘I mean later. After we left the building.’
‘And you know that how?’
‘The oil on his shoes. A whole can was spilled down there sometime between 12.30 and 2 pm. I’ll get Chase to check the surveillance cameras, but after what happened last time, I doubt we’ll find anything.’
‘And the significance of the oil?’
‘No idea. It’s all linked somehow, like a jigsaw. Unless the spill is mere coincidence, something I’m inclined to doubt. It’s more likely that Eric was killed or captured down there and the oil was spilled to cover up the crime scene. Teddy’s report will help determine either way. Whatever the case, the more pieces we uncover, the more we can connect. And by the time we complete the puzzle, we should have found our killer.’
‘That’s almost poetic.’
‘You’re not the only one who knows their way around a dictionary.’ The way her lips curved into a slow, wide arc made his heart kick more than it should.
He cleared his throat, and his mind, of that mouth. ‘Eric hacked into your account; he was stalking you. He had the expertise to set up the surveillance system, and the pictures on his wall prove he was using it.’
‘If he was the one who put them there.’
His chest tightened. Even now she was defending the guy, when they had rock-solid proof of his guilt, for the hacking if nothing else.
He was sorry the man was dead—he really was—but Eric was far from the innocent she seemed hell-bent on defending.
‘Who else would pin photos of you on Eric’s wall?’
‘Didn’t it strike you as odd that everything in his apartment was orderly and precise, but the pictures were haphazard, showing no logic or sequence?’
‘I didn’t—’
‘And that there was no sign of a camera or zoom lens for those long shots?’
‘It could be in his car.’
Her gaze narrowed, but her voice remained steady and low. ‘Or someone else’s.’
‘So, you think the Night Terror’s muddying the waters?’
‘I think he’s trying to throw us off track. Only reason he’d do that is if we’re getting too close.’ She sipped at her drink. ‘Roan Madden must be the key.’
Getting her to see sense over Eric was a waste of time. And passé now the man was dead. It was time to move on. ‘Speaking of keys . . .’
‘Yes. How does that fit in?’ She glanced towards the black metal object on the bench. ‘Either the killer left it as a message, or someone else banked on me searching Eric’s apartment and understanding the significance of the photo. When we discover what the key opens, we might get a better handle on who planted it.’
She moved towards her computer. ‘I have an idea.’
That ridiculous song belted out from her phone. She backtracked and looked at the caller ID.
‘But first we need to deal with this.’ Sliding her finger across the screen, she held the mobile to her ear. ‘Officer Brandon . . . yes. What’s the topping? . . . That’s it. Please let him up . . . No problem . . . Thanks.’
Within minutes there was a knock at the door.
‘Pizza!’ Her face was a city of lights as she scooped up her purse and raced across the room.
He noticed that no matter her hurry—or hunger—she still peered through the security peephole before unlatching and unlocking the door. And as she opened it, one hand rested on the gun at her hip.
It wasn’t necessary. Her security detail was back outside her door, and the pizza guy really was a pizza guy, bearing a couple of appetite-inspiring pizzas. But it was reassuring to know that she was on the alert.
‘You’re gonna love this!’ She handed one box to the cop outside, brandished a winning—and perhaps conciliatory?—smile at him, before double-locking the door and turning to drop the other box onto the coffee table. Perching on the edge of the couch, she flipped open the lid, scooped up a slice and held it out to him.
He took it and sank into the armchair opposite. Sliding her wine across the table towards her, he watched her capture another slice before drawing it into her mouth. She munched, licking a glob of sauce from her lips. He swallowed a groan along with a large bite of his slice.
‘Good pizza, right?’
Her contented, pizza-sauce grin tugged one in return from him, even while he fought the impulse to lean across the table and taste a different, more tantalising alternative.
‘Want to talk about what we found in Eric’s apartment?’
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and assessed the remaining pieces before selecting the biggest and nabbing a bite. ‘We just did.’
‘I mean, about how it made you feel.’
The pizza froze midair. ‘Touchy-feely doesn’t solve cases. Hard facts do. We need to dig deeper into Madden’s past.’
‘I tried that and hit a cyber-wall. His past doesn’t exist on the web pre-trial.’ Now was as good a time as any to share what he’d found. ‘At least I thought it didn’t, until I realised the truth.’
‘What truth?’ She popped the last bit of crust in her mouth and polished it off with a mouthful of wine. It was obvious she didn’t consider his news significant. He couldn’t wait to see her expression when she realised it was.
‘Roan Madden was born Rose Madden.’
Jayda’s jaw dropped. ‘You mean . . .’
He nodded. ‘Roan Madden was a woman.’
‘No way! Will would have told me.’ She frowned. ‘I asked him if the DNA analysis revealed anything else. I asked him.’ Her gaze slipped. ‘He would have told me.’
She blinked. The glass in her hand dipped. He jumped up and saved it seconds before she snorted and collapsed into laughter.
He set her drink on the table.
Chortles bubbled up her throat as she clutched at her stomach and flopped back against the couch. Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her mouth opened. She gasped, lips moving, only she lacked the breath and ability to form the words.
He’d missed the joke.
With any luck, she’d pull it together before her heart seized up and he had to call emergency triple 0.
Her breath burst out in pants as she tried again. ‘Y . . . you . . . don’t . . . get . . . it!’
Nope. Not a clue. ‘Get what?’
‘Th–the irony.’
She dissolved into another bout, scattering the couch cushions. The tone changed. Her laughter lost its humour. He leaned in. Her tears were real.
He skirted the table and pulled her into his arms. ‘Hey, it’s okay.’
She shuddered beneath his palm, collapsed into him, her sobs deep, shattering.
‘It’sssnot!’ She sniffed, pulling away to drag the back of her hand across her eyes.
He reached for the tissue box with the tips of his fingers and dropped it into her lap, watching as she yanked a handful out and mopped her face.
‘Th–thanks.’ She hiccupped, then slowly shook her head. ‘A woman killing all those women.’
‘For all intents and purposes, when he became the Night Terror he was a man.’
‘Still . . . I don’t get it.’
‘He’s a psycho-killer. What’s to get?’
She snatched another wad of tissues and blew her nose. A couple of deep, shuddering breaths later and she was right but for large splotches under her eyes and nose.
For an age she sat, fingers clenched around the hem of her top, staring into some distant place Seth could neither fathom nor see. Then she jolted and the haze in her eyes cleared.
She grabbed his hand. ‘Show me.’
He let her pull him towards her computer. A couple of mouse clicks and he found it. ‘Here.’
They stared at the screen. He clicked through the series of photos he’d uncovered until he reached the last. He’d seen it before, but it didn’t lessen the shock of staring at the image again.
Madden as a woman turning man, dressed in maternity clothes and about to pop.
35
‘He was pregnant?’ Jayda’s eyes widened, her lips full and open and waiting for him to . . .
Seth dragged his gaze back up to those eyes. ‘She.’
‘When was the photo taken?’
‘A year before his marriage to Juliana. By then he was on his way to becoming male as a result of the hormones and injections. He must have stopped the hormones to have the child, then continued on with them and had the gender reassignment operation soon after.’
‘He has a kid.’
‘Not a kid. He or she would be in their late twenties by now.’
‘We need to find them.’ She moved to the kitchen counter and grabbed her phone.
‘Who are you calling?’
‘Will Andrews. I need him to run a familial match on the NCIDD.’
‘What makes you think he’ll check the criminal DNA database for you?’
‘Not for me, for the investigation. And this time I’ll make sure I get straight answers from him.’
‘You might want to reconsider calling him this late, in that case.’
She glanced at the screen before dropping the phone back onto the bench. ‘I’ll call first thing tomorrow.’ She grinned, remnants of the laughing, crying woman from seconds before gone. ‘This kid is the link. I know it!’
‘Which would explain why we’re coming up against that cyber black hole. He’s covering his tracks.’
‘You’re assuming Madden had a son.’
‘What’s the likelihood he had a daughter and she also had a sex-change?’
‘Now you’re assuming today’s Night Terror is male. Much as the profile suggests a man, what if the killer is a woman? Madden could be running the show from prison with his apprentice as his proxy. A woman could easily lure other woman into a trap without suspicion. It would explain why none of the victims felt threatened when approached.’
‘Yet a woman still doesn’t fit the profile. Most female serial killers target male victims they share a relationship with. And more often than not, their motivation is financial.’
‘You have a point, but there are exceptions.’
‘There are always exceptions. Why don’t we wait and see what Will comes up with?’
‘You’re right. We have other angles to work in the meantime. Like this black hole you keep referring to.’
She wandered back to the couch. ‘Do you think someone with ASIS-level computer skills could wipe all mention of Madden off the internet for that period?’
‘Maybe, if they had the means and the access. I assume we’re talking Eric again?’
She finished her glass of wine and refilled. ‘Either Eric was working for our killer, or our killer has skills that equal, or even surpass, Eric’s.’
‘Skills that could empty a person’s bank account and donate the funds to charity.’ Eric may have died, but Seth wasn’t convinced that made him any less guilty. At the very least, he was a hacker. At the most . . .
She snagged another wedge of pizza. ‘If Eric didn’t do the hacking, it makes perfect sense that the person who trashed both our cars and stole my money is the same one who killed Bec and who’s stalking me. Eric was just the fall guy, a red herring. What I don’t get is, why target me? I’m not even officially on the case anymore. Why not target the investigation?’
‘Because this was never about the investigation.’
She gaped, wine glass in one hand, pizza in the other. ‘What was it about then?’
‘Some deep-seated hatred for you or your family. History.’
‘I don’t have history with someone who’d want to kill me.’
‘How do you know? You said you were adopted. What about your birth family?’
Her brows knitted as she contemplated the jumbled topping on her pizza. ‘My parents were killed in a house fire. I was two at the time, and the only keepsake I have from that day is this.’ She set her glass onto the table and scrunched up the left leg of her jeans to reveal a jagged scar from ankle to knee.
How the hell could he have missed that before? ‘Ouch. What happened?’
‘A metal bookshelf collapsed while the fireman was rescuing me. He managed to shield my body, but my leg caught a slashing.’
‘Damn!’
‘Yeah. That pretty much sums it up. Still, it could have been worse.’
His stomach churned just thinking about it. ‘Any other siblings, then?’
‘I was an only child until Bec was born.’
‘Was Dean connected to you in some way before you were adopted?’
‘All I know is that he was good friends with my biological dad, and he also happened to be my godfather.’ She eyed the last slice of pizza. ‘You going to eat that?’
‘Take it. I had lunch.’ He knocked back a mouthful of beer.
She snatched it up as if she believed he’d change his mind, all attention centred on devouring the food.
‘Jayda, we need to go there.’
Her hand stalled.
When she’d already been pushed to her limits, here he was, pushing her more. For the case, for her own peace of mind. Was it too much?
Air hissed from her lungs. ‘I know.’
Weight lifted from his chest. It was a concession he never thought he’d hear.
‘My life pre-adoption is a mystery.’ She stared at the half-eaten slice in her hand. ‘Pretty much everything from that time was destroyed in the fire. There were no photos, no mementos. Even my original birth certificate and other records were lost.’
‘Couldn’t you ask your father?’ Silence stretched. He tried again. ‘Surely Dean would know more.’
‘I’ll ask him when I see him next.’
‘That’ll be the funeral. Wouldn’t it be better to call him now?’
She closed her eyes and bit through the thick, cheese-covered crust. Her expression declared ‘do not disturb’, her focus solely on the food in her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, blinked, sipped at her wine.
By the time her gaze reconnected with his, any and all emotion was gone. ‘Heard from your parents yet?’
His head jerked back as he waited for that familiar emptiness to swallow his insides. It did, although with less vigour than in the past. ‘This isn’t about me.’
‘Maybe not. But I’d like to enjoy my food without being reminded there’s someone out there who wants me dead, or worse. Just five minutes’ respite. Is that too much to ask?’
Her whole diversion tactic and conversation round-about made his head spin. Not that he didn’t get how hard this all was for her. But how the hell was he supposed to keep up?
‘No, I haven’t heard from them. But they probably haven’t received the message yet.’ Automatic pilot had kicked in, making him tell the same old story, all the while hating himself for defending them.
She reached for her wine, gripping it to her chest, her knuckles glistening starkly against the clear glass.
Barely a movement, then her next breath shuddered out through her lips. ‘I haven’t spoken to Mum yet.’ Her voice was soft, her head bent so the words were almost lost in her drink.
‘You mean lately?’
‘No. I mean ye
t. As in, since Bec.’
His beer stilled en route to his mouth. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. She won’t return my calls.’
‘What does your dad say?’
‘That she’s not coping. That she’ll call me when she can.’
‘Maybe it’s just as he says.’
She shook her head, her bleak expression a reflection of his own in pasts not yet distant enough. Her eyelids fluttered as she chased back a fresh flow of tears. ‘Growing up, I was always Daddy’s little girl and Bec was Mum’s. They were close, really close. Now that Bec’s gone . . .’
‘You’ll be daughter to them both.’
‘I don’t know if I’m enough.’
Her words wrenched at memories, dragging them up from his heart to his throat so that he struggled for breath.
‘Seth, what if I'm not enough?’
Jayda gulped down her wine, the alcohol scalding the back of her throat in the process.
Just desserts.
As soon as she’d said those five needy words, she regretted them. Words like that defined a person, and they weren’t her. This wasn’t her. She was a homicide detective hunting a killer. Now was the worst possible time for her defences to crumble. She’d already had one lapse of control for the evening. The last thing she needed was another. She pushed up from the couch. ‘So, let’s see if my theory on the key holds up.’
Grabbing it and her laptop, she sank back into the couch, balancing the key on the computer just below the screen. Her fingers raced over the keyboard without waiting for Seth to comment or offer input.
He did, regardless. ‘It’s from a security deposit box.’
Pine filled her nostrils and the cushion beside her dipped. He made himself comfortable, too close for sensible thought. Heat scampered across the side of her body adjacent to his, their thighs so close nothing more than a cat’s whisker separated them.
She riveted her eyes to the screen. ‘You got part A of a two part question right, Einstein. Now for part B. A security deposit box from where?’
He took the key and turned it in his hands. ‘It could be from anywhere.’ His breath fanned her hair and she fought the urge to turn, to bring her lips in line with his.
Lethal in Love Page 26