Lethal in Love

by Michelle Somers

  ‘Oh, Juz! I’m sorry.’

  ‘Me too.’ His voice trailed, and her heart ached for him. He cleared his throat again. ‘If it’s okay with you, I need a good old-fashioned debrief, even if it is over some of that syrup you call wine.’

  ‘I still have half a dozen bottles from the box you bought at Christmas.’

  ‘Then bring a bottle when you come.’

  ‘I’ll try to sneak away.’

  ‘Don’t tell me reporter boy is the possessive type?’

  ‘More like protective.’

  ‘And you have to ask permission to meet a friend?’

  ‘I don’t have to do anything.’

  ‘But you do?’

  ‘I don’t know. It hasn’t come up yet.’

  ‘That’d be the only thing that hasn’t.’

  She rolled her eyes and snorted. ‘If you’re angling for details you’ll need more bait than that.’

  ‘Spoilsport!’

  ‘Ah, but you love me.’

  ‘How could I not?’

  Five minutes more of banter and she ended the call feeling refreshed. And with direction.

  She moved back to her computer. She needed to take a closer look at Garry. His guilt wasn’t a given, but neither was she ready to rule it out.

  Then there was Juz. Logic said he was still a suspect. But that same logic argued that he was a friend who never failed to make her feel better. He struggled to use his iPhone most of the time, let alone any type of computer. And he loved cats—Tumbles in particular.

  ‘How’s your boyfriend?’

  She looked up from the screen to find Seth lounging against the wall. A sight that never failed to send shivers up her spine and heat into her blood.

  ‘Single.’

  ‘Garry left him?’

  ‘Don’t sound so happy. Juz is miserable.’

  ‘Poor Juz. Perhaps we should go see him.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Sure. Why not? He’ll need the support of friends. Your friends are my friends. Unless they happen to be a killer, that is.’

  Lucky for Seth, Juz was right and she hadn’t lost her sense of humour. She rolled her eyes. ‘Really?’

  ‘Too soon?’

  ‘You think?’ She pushed out of her chair. ‘Want to guess where Garry’s working now?’

  ‘No. Want to tell me?’

  ‘Where’s your sense of fun?’

  His chin dimpled. ‘Right where you left it,’ he checked his watch, ‘just over an hour ago.’ He closed the distance between them, his gun-metal gaze igniting an inferno on her senses. ‘Want to find it again?’

  Fire rolled across her cheeks. She remembered exactly what they’d been doing an hour earlier, and from her body’s reaction, it was more than ready for a replay.

  ‘Nicholson Museum.’ She stepped back. ‘Garry’s working in antiquities at the Nicolson Museum.’

  The flirtation left his expression. ‘And you think he had access to the methyl cellulose?’

  ‘It’s a possibility we can’t overlook. I just don’t get his relationship to Anna Jones. No adoption came up in his history, so unless he was swapped at birth . . .’

  ‘Which is more Hollywood than Garfield.’

  She shrugged. ‘Yet not so outlandish that it hasn’t happened before.’

  ‘Maybe this will help. One of my contacts has found a birth certificate listing Anna Jones as the mother. He’s emailing it across now.’

  ‘The name?’

  ‘He didn’t say. We’ll know soon enough.’

  I’m gonna make him an offer he can’t refuse.

  Seth pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the caller ID. ‘I need to take this.’

  Jayda nodded then disappeared into the kitchen, her departure followed by coffee-making sounds that made his mouth water. He was getting more than used to her personal brand of coffee, and instant hadn’t tasted the same since. In fact, since she’d entered his life, nothing was the same.

  He put the phone to his ear.

  ‘Seth!’

  He pulled it away and winced. ‘Richie, hey. Tell me you sent that email.’

  ‘It’s on a cyber course to you now.’

  Jayda returned to the living room and shot him a smile that promised more than coffee once he put down the phone. With that thought his jeans grew uncomfortably tight. He moved towards her with nothing in mind but what was about to occur.

  ‘Thanks, man. I need to—’

  ‘That’s not the reason I called. Have you seen today’s “On the Inside”?’ Richie’s voice stampeded across the phone line and into Seth’s eardrums. ‘Great story! I’m glad you changed your mind. What I don’t get is why you sent it to such a low-down rag?’

  His eardrum echoed from Richie’s inability to have a phone conversation on any volume other than full. Maybe that’s why it took a few moments to grasp his friend’s meaning. ‘What are you talking about? Change my mind about what?’

  ‘Get your head out of your pants and focus, man. The story.’

  ‘The . . .’ He skirted a stunned Jayda and flipped up his computer screen. It took only seconds to find the scandalmonger’s front page news.

  ‘Son of a bitch!’

  ‘Seth?’

  ‘What the . . .?’ Every word that scrolled upwards with the click of his mouse made the boil in his blood bubble up and threaten to overflow.

  Fuck!

  He slewed his hand through his hair. ‘Rich. I’ll call you back.’

  He didn’t wait for an answer. He ended the call and tossed the phone onto the table.

  It was all there. He corrected himself. Almost all. Mercifully Jayda’s link to Madden was missing. Small comfort. His mind jumped to the computer file on his hard drive—every detail of their joint investigation, their conversations. Evidence that somehow he was responsible for this monstrosity.

  ‘What is it?’ Her breath at the back of his neck didn’t warm him as it would have moments earlier. It just set the lump in his throat and made it impossible to breathe.

  He jammed his hand onto the mouse and closed the screen.

  ‘What was that, Seth?’

  The coldness in her voice said he’d reacted seconds too late. She’d seen, and he had no idea how to explain away the irrefutable evidence that he’d betrayed her, regardless of the fact it wasn’t true.

  The article was written in his voice, albeit not in his paper, but under his by-line.

  ‘I haven’t worked it out yet.’

  ‘Worked out how The Inside Story on the Thomasz Family got out?’

  ‘It wasn’t me, Jayda.’

  She reached over and gave the mouse a couple of clicks. The headline flashed up again, his name proudly stamped beneath it.

  ‘That is your name?’

  ‘It’s not my story. Someone else wrote it.’

  ‘Who the hell would do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. He must have hacked into my computer like he hacked into yours.’

  ‘So you’ve been keeping notes.’

  He nodded, hating the disbelief in her expression.

  ‘Why? Why would you keep notes on a story you weren’t going to write?’

  ‘To help me think it all through. There was never any danger of me using it like this.’

  ‘But someone else did. You wrote stuff I told you in confidence, about Bec, about my parents. Stuff I’ve never shared with anyone, stuff I never would have shared if I’d thought it would go on record.’

  How could he explain he used the notes the way most people used diaries? The way Jayda used her lists.

  Writing helped him process information, work out how he felt, how he’d cope. He had folders of files dating back to his teens, to days when the only one who would listen was his old clunky keyboard and hard drive.

  She scrolled down, then stopped and swallowed. ‘Shame you didn’t go further. The inside scoop on Jayda Thomasz, and yes, I’ve been inside! Wouldn’t they love to know that? You have so much more you c
ould have told them about the daughter of the biggest serial killer Melbourne has ever seen—innocent-come-slut, a screamer in the bedroom who loves it when her supposed boyfriend goes down on her. Now that’d sell papers and get you that wonderful promotion you’re chasing.’

  He knew she was hurting, that she was just trying to hurt him back. But the idea that he’d kiss and tell, do anything to injure her, made him want to ram the computer and every bit of the story against his parents’ perfect, white-washed wall.

  ‘I’d never do that. Jayda, come on. Do you really think I would?’

  The cold in her eyes was only just outweighed by the scepticism. ‘Let’s say for argument’s sake that you didn’t write this.’ Her hand waved at the screen. ‘The fact that you had the material meant someone else could. Or was it that you intended to write it, you were just waiting for something more to happen before you did?’

  ‘That you’d even consider such a thing says you can’t possibly know me.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t know you.’

  The defeat in her voice almost killed him. It hurt more deeply than her anger.

  ‘Tell me you don’t still want that promotion.’

  What killed him almost as much was how her hard-earned trust had turned to dust. And how he was about to provide the final clip of ammo that would seal her belief of his betrayal.

  ‘I already have the promotion.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I got the offer on Monday. I meant to tell you. But after meeting my editor, I came back to your apartment being a crime scene, then I brought you here and Tumbles was killed, then we’ve been working round the clock to solve this case. So much has happened, I never got the chance.’

  ‘You said you were meeting a friend that day.’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you until it was a certainty.’

  ‘You lied about it beforehand, and then after you didn’t tell me at all.’

  ‘I’ve just given you my reasons.’

  ‘You never got the chance. What about last night in bed? This morning? Or even five minutes ago before the phone rang?’

  ‘I forgot.’ It may have been the truth, that it had been the furthest thing from his mind these last few days, but it sounded so damn lame, even to his own ears.

  ‘The job you want more than anything, the reason you approached me, seduced me, wanted to work with me, and you forgot? Would you believe you right now?’

  ‘I’d want to try.’ He reached for her hand. ‘I love you, Jayda. Through all of this, you have to believe it.’

  She wrenched out of his grasp and it was like someone ripped away a piece of his heart. She dropped her phone into her bag, grabbed her keys and headed for the door. ‘I don’t know what I believe anymore.’

  ‘Jayda, at least stay and we can talk about it.’

  ‘I’m not like you. I don’t talk, and last time I tried it brought me to this.’ Again her hand waved towards his computer.

  ‘It’s not safe for you to leave.’ He tried to grab her hand again and she evaded him.

  ‘And it’s not safe for me to stay.’

  Next thing he knew he had a gun barrel pressed between his eyes. ‘Follow and I’ll shoot.’

  She backed away, her free hand disappearing behind her to twist the doorknob and open the door. She didn’t say another word, but she didn’t have to. The look in her eyes said it all.

  He’d lost her. And if that was possible so quickly, so easily, he wondered if he’d ever really had her at all.

  59

  Jayda’s mind whirled.

  Liam all over again.

  Only this time it was so much worse. This time her love was real.

  She gripped her head in her hands and squeezed. The whirling didn’t stop. It only intensified, and now everything had become a blur. The reason became obvious as the first tear skidded down her cheek and dropped from her chin onto her jeans. She scrubbed the next before it had a chance to fall and willed the rest to stay back.

  Do. Not. Cry.

  One shaking hand gripped the wheel, the other jabbed the key in the ignition and jiggled. The car roared to life.

  Funny. Her car had been ready for pick up from evidence for the last two days, yet she’d felt no great rush to do so. She could have blamed it on the case and being too busy to take time out to collect it. Could have blamed it on Seth for distracting her to the point that she’d no longer cared whether she got her car back or not.

  The truth was much simpler. Driving the Beetle made her feel close to Bec. As if her sister was in the car with her, laughing with her unique brand of humour. Providing comfort when she needed it.

  She needed Bec now. Needed her comfort more than anything. Only she was so very far away and she was never coming back.

  The light at Seth’s front door flickered on. Before he could follow, she skidded onto the road, only just missing a passing car. The screech of brakes and beep of the horn brought her back to the moment.

  Where to go?

  Her apartment was a crime scene and one of her friends was trying to kill her. She could go to her parents’, but there would be questions she wasn’t ready to answer yet.

  She slid the gear shift into fourth and came to a decision.

  She would go to the person who knew her best. The friend least likely to be a killer.

  Damn, damn, damn and . . . damn!

  Jayda was gone and she’d made it pretty clear she didn’t want him to follow. He could still feel the chill of cold metal against his temple, while a corresponding chill lodged itself deep in the chambers of his heart.

  The room already felt empty without her. He wasn’t ready to consider what her absence would mean to his life.

  What was he supposed to do now?

  Solve the case.

  The voice of reason. He had no idea where it came from, but it was as good a suggestion as any.

  The birth certificate should have hit his inbox by now.

  He logged into his private email, found two unread messages—one from Richie, one from his parents.

  If humour was something he still owned, he would have laughed out loud at the irony.

  They’d obviously read his last message. His decision to move out of their place had earned what his achievements had failed—their attention. He waited for the familiar wrench—it didn’t come. Their inability to love him no longer mattered. Neither did anything they had to say.

  He clicked on Richie’s email, then the attachment, and scrolled through the document until he found what he sought.

  The mouse dropped from his hand.

  Shit.

  His breath clogged as his worst fears were cemented in the distinct black scrawl.

  He now knew, with absolute certainty, the identity of the Night Terror. Grabbing his keys, he rushed to the door only to remember his car was still waiting in evidence for him to collect it. He’d been in no hurry to pick it up, hadn’t planned on going anywhere without Jayda, and they’d been using Bec’s car.

  He dialled Jayda’s number hoping she’d answer, not expecting much. She lived up to the expectation. The woman was as stubborn as a damned mule, and didn’t he love her for it? The message he left was brief and much as he hoped to God she’d check it, there was no guarantee.

  Cursing again, he dialled the number for St Kilda police station and prayed he’d get hold of Chase before it was too late.

  ‘One glass of Moscato coming up!’ The welcome clink of wine glasses echoed from the kitchen. ‘And I know you said no food, but chocolate doesn’t count!’

  Jayda’s lips twitched into an almost-smile.

  She wandered aimlessly through the familiar living room, the layout so very like her own.

  What was she meant to do now? The man she loved had been collecting data on her. Extensive data. He was a reporter at heart, and now he’d become one in title. His most recent by-line proved the story would always come first, whether he’d written this particular report or not.

&nb
sp; Didn’t the data’s existence suggest intent?

  It was the same damned circle she’d been round a hundred times since she left him. And it led her nowhere but migraine-central. Not that she suffered from migraines, but if there was ever a time for one to hit, now would be it.

  She stood at the sideboard, fingering miniature Turkish bowls dusted within an inch of their lives.

  Did Seth write the article? She doubted it. He’d never stoop to writing for a rag like On the Inside and his shock was too honest to be anything but genuine. Plus, he’d promised he wouldn’t, and somewhere inside she knew that he’d meant it.

  Then why was she so angry?

  The notes. Not about the case. She had more than enough of those herself. It was the other stuff. Personal stuff. Thoughts, feelings, anecdotes, about Bec and herself, her parents. Things that no one had been privy to until he’d typed them up and left them on his computer, ready for someone to hack into.

  And then, of course, there was the doubt.

  Seth thought he loved her—had even said it a few times—but could he really? He loved his job, wanted a promotion more than anything. She got that. She’d been the same when it came to earning her detective badge. But he’d just achieved the biggest leap in his career, the dream he’d worked for, seduced her for, and he hadn’t said a word.

  What was she supposed to think?

  Her gaze scanned the bookcase without seeing a single title. He’d told his reporter friend. Had he told his parents?

  Why hadn’t he told her?

  That same circle. Only this time she had an answer.

  This wasn’t about anger. It was about the knife that plunged so deep into her heart she doubted it would ever come out. Seth hadn’t shared his biggest triumph. Hadn’t wanted to. Hadn’t needed to. And that knowledge was slowly killing her, because she’d believed he wanted to share his life with her.

  He thought he loved her, but from where she stood, it seemed he’d just got it wrong.

  She picked up the Lladro kitten. It really was beautiful. All the more so because it had been lovingly carried from halfway across the globe. Maybe that’s what she’d done wrong. She should have travelled. Seen the world and experienced it enough to tell when a man truly loved her.