Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  She jerked around to find her father hovering in the doorway. He looked so unlike the brash, gutsy detective, not to mention the only father she remembered, that she stumbled into an answer without thinking. ‘Yes.’

  ‘He seems like a good man. You could do a lot worse.’

  Her gut clenched. The last thing she needed was approval from a man who’d made a botch and a half of his own relationships.

  She waved her hand, to stall not only his words, but also his movement towards her. ‘This visit has nothing to do with Seth and any associations we do or don’t have. It’s about me questioning why you were so interested in the time of my meeting with Madden. Perhaps so you could prevent it?’

  ‘What reason could I possibly have for doing that?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps to hide the fact that he’s my mother.’

  She hadn’t thought it possible that her father could turn paler. ‘That doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘What doesn’t? You hiding his existence or the fact that he gave birth to me?’

  ‘Roan Madden is a man.’

  ‘Who was once a woman.’

  His eyes widened, then narrowed. ‘That explains a lot.’

  So, he hadn’t known the full truth. Not that that absolved him from guilt.

  ‘Tom and Mary Clarke weren’t my birth parents. Madden and some unknown man were.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘It’s true, then?’ The nausea she’d been holding at bay rose up her oesophagus and into her throat. As she forced it back down, she realised that until now she’d been wishing it all away as a lie. An elaborate hoax trumped up by a psycho-killer so he could wheedle his way beneath her skin.

  Her father’s weary nod trashed that theory.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I wanted to protect you.’ His hand fumbled for the wall, even as he took two small steps towards her.

  She raised her palm, stopping him mid-step. She could tell he wanted to hug her, hug away her worries as he’d done so many times in the past. No manner of hug could do that now.

  ‘Who told you?’

  ‘You don’t have the right to ask me that. Not after twenty-something years of lies. I want to know everything.’

  ‘Honey—’

  ‘Don’t “honey” me.’ She had the sudden urge to scream, to ram her fist through the white plaster of his living room wall. Instead, she stalked towards the far end of the room and turned, her breath coming in short, fiery gasps. ‘Dammit, Dad!’ Her hands dropped to her sides. ‘I don’t even know if I should call you that anymore.’

  ‘Of course you should!’ His face twisted. ‘No matter what, I’ll always be your father. Nothing can change that.’

  Tears pushed against her eyelids and she blinked fiercely to keep them at bay. ‘You don’t get it, do you? My entire world is a lie. Until this afternoon I knew who I was—Jayda Thomasz, Homicide Detective, daughter of Dean and Lydia Thomasz, sister to Rebecca Thomasz. Now I’m . . .’ She opened the file and scanned the front sheet. ‘Samantha Madden, daughter of a serial killer.’

  ‘You’re still Jayda Thomasz, the same person you’ve always been. And you’re still my daughter. Madden was a DNA donor and incubator, nothing more. Withholding the truth meant you grew up without the stigma of his actions. I don’t regret that.’

  ‘The secrecy when I was a kid, I get. But later?’

  He shuffled his feet, not an action she’d ever associated with the gutsy detective who’d earned the Victoria Police Service Medal on more than one occasion. ‘It wasn’t something you could benefit from knowing.’

  His justifications were empty and echoing.

  ‘You should have told me, Dad.’ With deliberate movements, she sat on the couch, hands resting over the folder in her lap, as though the two of them were having nothing more than a simple father-daughter chat. ‘Tell me now. Everything. I have a right to know.’

  His steps were slow and heavy. He pulled his mobile out of his back pocket and glanced at it before he sank onto the couch beside her. She edged further into the corner.

  ‘You’re still the same girl who sat on my knee and begged me to tell her a real, live police story. Knowing about Madden won’t change that.’

  A tear squeezed out from the corner of her eye and she brushed it away. ‘But it might help catch Bec’s killer.’

  His skin stretched taut over his cheekbones, and now that he was close she sensed something else.

  ‘You’ve been drinking.’

  He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. ‘One whisky. But if I’d predicted this conversation was coming, I’d have had a few more.’

  ‘You promised Mum.’

  ‘Your mother’s not here.’

  ‘I thought—’

  ‘Well, you thought wrong.’

  ‘What’s going on, Dad?’

  He scratched his jaw. ‘Too much.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He shook his head, evading her gaze. In typical avoidance fashion, he withdrew his mobile again and began tapping.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I was supposed to call someone. I’m letting them know I’ll call later.’

  ‘Dammit, Dad! Stop shutting me out. Is something wrong with Mum? Has something happened?’

  He dropped the phone onto the coffee table and lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘Your mother’s fine. I promised I wouldn’t tell you any more than that, so please don’t ask.’

  She jumped up. ‘This family has too many fucking secrets!’ Her heart squeezed as she recalled the last time she’d uttered those words. This time there was no Bec and no pinkie promises to douse her anger.

  ‘I met your mother through Madden. Did you know that?’

  She shook her head and bit back a retort. Of course she didn’t. She knew nothing but the lies she’d been fed.

  ‘We were friends, the best. And of course, there was you.’ His eyes warmed for the first time since she’d arrived. ‘He had no other family, or none that I knew of. So, when he asked on your first birthday if I’d be your godfather, I didn’t hesitate.’

  She dropped back onto the couch. His hand reached out, as if it might touch her knee, then he pulled it back and let it fall shakily into his lap.

  ‘He told me his wife had died of cancer, and I always knew he wanted to find the right woman to be a mother to you.’

  He sat stiffly against the cushions, his shoulders bunched so tight it seemed they’d shatter with the smallest movement. ‘Then one day he said he wanted me to meet the woman he’d fallen in love with.’ He stared at the wall opposite. ‘The moment he introduced us, everything changed. Lydia was . . .’ He blinked and turned to her. ‘Your mother and I knew we were meant to be. Madden took it hard at first. Of course he did. It was the ultimate betrayal between friends. But then he met Juliana and it seemed everything was going to be okay.’

  ‘Until he killed her.’

  He nodded. ‘Then all I could think about was how it could have been your mother.’

  ‘So, my nightmares . . .’

  ‘You were hiding under the kitchen table when he did it. I have no idea if he would have killed you too, and thank God you ran so we’ll never know. Somehow your leg was cut. None of your blood was found on his knife and you were never clear on what happened that night. What I do know is that emergency received an anonymous call, and we found you hours later, hiding in the reeds next to the old lake at the end of your street.’

  His gaze returned to the wall. ‘Madden pleaded out at trial. I always thought it was to save you the pain. Now, it seems he had another agenda.’

  ‘All those women . . .’

  ‘I should have known.’ His head fell in his hands for the briefest of moments before he raised it and turned to her. ‘Doris Thombes, his first victim. Do you remember the date she was killed?’

  ‘June eighteenth.’

  ‘The day I told Madden I was marrying your mother.’
r />   The air became heavy. Onerous. Like death waiting to happen.

  Thoughts stuck like barbs in the back of her throat and her breath caught, each swallow like sandpaper rasping against raw flesh. ‘His victims all had blonde hair and blue eyes.’

  Her father nodded. ‘Like your mother.’

  47

  Seth turned his head for the umpteenth time.

  There was no movement, either in or around the house. No lights turning on or off. Nothing to indicate what was going on beyond that closed front door.

  Twilight had slowly given way to dusk, transforming the pale-blue sky into an expanse of blue-black.

  More than once he reached for the car door only to drop his hand and vow to give her five more minutes. Sixty had already passed. He couldn’t fathom why he cared so much. For a woman he’d known less than a month, who prodded at every raw nerve he owned.

  She’d hooked him good, drove him insane as much as she drove him to want her.

  He jabbed his fingers through his hair. Sure, he wanted love, marriage, kids. The whole white picket fence hoo-ha. When his career was set.

  The timing was all wrong. She was all wrong.

  Jayda was rude and opinionated and as pig-headed as they come. A tough woman to crack, who refused to open up and trust him. Despite all their faults as parents, Brianna and Grant Friedin were solid in their relationship with each other, in their openness and trust. Qualities he valued.

  Jayda was a locked, steel-enforced vault. And yet she’d melted like warm honey in his arms.

  He shifted uncomfortably as the denim around his crotch shrunk two jeans sizes.

  She might be all wrong but his body had a mind of its own. It wanted her. Yesterday. Now. Every darned second it could.

  And why not? In a metaphorical tomorrow the case would be over and so would their partnership. Jayda would leave, more experienced and ready for the relationship she’d been seeking before her parents’ divorce and the past weeks’ craziness took over. And he’d leave having extinguished her well and truly from his system.

  A win-win.

  The rumble in his gut indicated dinner was overdue. Nothing more.

  His right leg was numb, his left foot a pin cushion. He shuffled in his seat, rubbing at his thighs to bring the circulation back. Perhaps a walk would do it.

  As he grabbed the door handle, movement two houses down caught in his peripheral vision.

  He turned, but the footpath was deserted. Not unusual. This wasn’t a busy street. Still . . . The weirdness of the past week had him scooch lower in his seat. He squinted through the condensation on the windscreen. The surrounding houses were in darkness. Whoever he’d spotted wouldn’t have ducked through their front door without switching on at least one light. Unless they had something to hide.

  His instincts oscillated between jumping out and searching the area, and staying put and hoping whoever it was would flush themselves out when they figured no one was watching. He stuck with the latter and edged his face closer to the window. Much as the condensation made vision damn near impossible, he was loath to rub it away. Too many late-night cop shows had taught him that much.

  The longer he waited, the mistier the glass grew. Perhaps he should have searched instead of waiting. Too late now to change his mind.

  He blinked. No, the movement wasn’t his imagination. He edged down further, pressing himself into the back of his seat as he held still.

  A woman. Her walk and the shape of her body in her dark, fitted pantsuit gave her away. Something in her demeanour induced him to remain hidden—the furtive side-to-side turn of her head, her stilted, wary movements as she headed straight for Bec’s car.

  There was no way to avoid detection if she looked inside.

  Just metres separated them and she didn’t waver, her eyes centred more on the car now than her surroundings. There was only one thing for it.

  He pushed against the door handle and scrambled out of the seat. Without stopping to close the door, he strode the remaining distance between them.

  Her head jerked up. She froze. And Seth stared into the wide eyes of Lydia Thomasz.

  Jayda had never felt more like chucking her guts than now.

  ‘All this time he’s been killing Mum.’

  Her father looked like he’d joined her in the nausea stakes. He’d have a wrestle on his hands for the toilet bowl. ‘We suspect so.’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘Not long. At least, I didn’t.’

  ‘And Mum?’

  He hesitated. ‘You’ll have to ask her.’

  ‘Difficult when she’s not here.’

  ‘I know, love. Try to understand—’

  Something clattered on the front porch. They froze, staring at each other through the metallic grind of a key in a lock.

  Shit! Was the bastard playing with them even now?

  Jayda shouldered past her father, weapon drawn, and braced herself as the door swung slowly open.

  Her shoulders slumped. ‘Mum!’ She lowered her arm.

  A whirlpool of emotions eddied through her as she holstered her gun and searched her mother’s expression. It seemed an age since she’d seen her, and if she thought her father had aged during the past week, her mother had doubly so. Her face, once barely lined, was now deep-set and tormented, and the blue of her eyes had never appeared so dull.

  ‘Jayda!’

  The agonised whisper had Jayda hurtling into her arms. She hadn’t realised how much she needed her mother until familiar warmth folded itself around her. The hurt and fear of the past weeks tumbled away as her mother’s tears fell and joined with hers.

  ‘I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry.’ Her mother’s voice shook, her emaciated arms clinging to Jayda as if she’d never let go. As if Jayda were a child again, in days when a hug had the power to heal all and a mother’s love was dependable.

  Jayda braced and pulled back, the near constant flow of tears of the past week spent. She looked up to meet a familiar pair of grey eyes over her mother’s shoulder.

  Seth’s expression was indecipherable, and for someone who read people for a living, she was finding it damn near impossible to read him. What she’d trade right now for his thoughts. She hoped they weren’t centred on the story this moment would make.

  Her father rested his palm at the base of her mother’s spine, and the look that passed between them made Jayda’s heart skip an entire chorus. She recognised relief, but it was peppered with so much more. Love, for one.

  ‘Your father texted that you were here. Much as I should have stayed away, I couldn’t. I’ve missed you so much.’ Her voice cracked and she wiped the moisture from her eyes with the back of her hand.

  Her father cleared his throat. ‘Why don’t we move into the living room?’

  Too stunned to do anything but follow, she swallowed, the wash of emotion at the feel of Seth’s palm on her waist as confusing as seeing her father’s on her mother’s. Her parents looked nothing like a couple planning to divorce. And her mother had missed her, yet she should have stayed away.

  Impossible to wrap her mind around that.

  ‘Coffee anyone?’ Her father’s gaze met hers. She dropped her exhausted body into one of her parents’ two couches, reading the familiar—and hopeful—challenge in his eyes.

  She was still angry with him. That wouldn’t fade overnight. But he was right—through all this havoc, nothing had changed. He was still her father. Life was unimaginable without him in it.

  She raised her chin. ‘What say we open one of your unbeatable ports?’

  Seth watched Jayda raise the glass to her lips, then lower it without drinking.

  ‘You missed Bec’s funeral.’ She leaned forwards, eyes spearing her mother from across the room. ‘Explain to me how your daughter dying screams “time for a vacation”.’

  Lydia’s slumped shoulders sank further into the couch, the anguish in her expression a tangible thing, more so because it mirrored Jayda’s.

&n
bsp; ‘A mother should never have to bury her child.’

  ‘So instead, you boycott the entire event?’

  He had to hand it to the other woman, much as it would have been easier to duck her daughter’s accusations, she didn’t sway.

  ‘Funerals are for the living and I didn’t deserve to be part of Bec’s. It was my fault she died, my fault that bastard killed her. Staying away was meant to keep you and your dad safe.’

  ‘Because Madden loved you and you married Dad?’

  Shock bolted through Seth as the white of Lydia’s skin turned almost transparent. Pieces were starting to click into place. ‘That’s part of it.’

  ‘And what’s the other part?’

  Lydia pushed forwards from cushions that threatened to swallow her. ‘The day he went to prison, I knew what he’d done.’

  48

  Jayda gripped his hand so tight, Seth wondered if his bones would crack.

  ‘You knew he was the Night Terror?’

  Lydia’s nod was heavy, not unlike the guilt that must go hand-in-hand with such an admission. Seth couldn’t help it. The reporter in him stood up and took notice, even while the man in him ached for the two women.

  ‘He asked to see me that day, and fool that I was, I thought he was going to say he was sorry. I sat in that horrible prison meeting room, sick to my stomach with what he’d done to Juliana, to you. He stared at me, his green eyes cold and not remotely sad, and he smirked. I knew then that it was a mistake. That everything had been a mistake from the moment we’d met—our friendship, letting him meet and marry my friend. The guilt that led me to introduce them.’

  Her voice trembled and Seth had to lean in to hear. ‘The sense I’d always had that something wasn’t quite right. As I reached the door on my way out, I heard that awful clicking thing he did with his fingers, and I turned for one more look, hoping that I was wrong. I’ll never forget the words he said at that moment. “You should have loved me, Lydia. It was your cruelty that killed those women, not mine.”’

  She faltered, then the same spark he’d seen lend Jayda courage entered her eyes. ‘I knew then what kind of monster he was. What he’d done.’ Lydia swallowed. ‘He already had a life sentence, and the thought of sitting through another trial, seeing his wretched face day after day . . . What would it achieve, other than to drag you and this family through the dirt?’