Dark Legacy: (Dark Falls, CO Romantic Thriller Book 3)

by Trish McCallan

  Dark Legacy

  (Dark Falls, CO Romantic Thriller Book 3)

  Trish McCallan

  Copyright © 2018 Trish McCallan

  Cover Art © 2018 Lori Ryan

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Dark Falls

  Also by Trish McCallan

  Dark Legacy Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Sample: Dark Secrets (Book Two)

  Sneak Peek: Dark Nightmares (Book 4)

  Sneak Peek: Dark Terror (Book Five)

  Dark Falls

  Dark Falls - Lori Ryan

  Dark Secrets - Savannah Kade

  Dark Legacy - Trish McCallan

  Dark Nightmares - Becca Jameson

  Dark Terror - Sandra Owens

  Dark Burning - Lori Ryan

  Dark Echoes - Savannah Kade

  Dark Memories - Sandra Owens

  Dark Rage - Becca Jameson

  Dark Tidings - Trish McCallan

  Dark Obsession - Lisa-Marie Cabrelli

  Dark Passion - Lori Ryan

  Also by Trish McCallan

  Red-Hot SEALs Novels

  Forged in Fire

  Forged in Ash

  Forged in Smoke

  Forged in Ember

  * * *

  Red-Hot SEALs Novellas

  Bound by Seduction

  Bound by Temptation

  Bound by Deception

  * * *

  Other Novellas

  Spirit Woods

  Dark Legacy Blurb

  Dark Legacy

  Dark Falls, CO Series

  Book Three

  By Trish McCallan

  * * *

  Blurb:

  Rhys Evans

  Sixteen years…

  For sixteen years he’d lived with the certainty that they’d caught the right guy…convicted the right guy…punished the right guy. While life behind bars didn’t make up for what the bastard had done, the families he’d destroyed, or the lives he’d stolen, the fact he’d died a broken, lonely man locked in a cell had been a small comfort. But now Ariel Hamilton was back—the onetime love of his life and the daughter of Dark Fall’s infamous serial killer. She rolled into town with her icy smile, furious eyes and baseless accusations of police corruption. Damn it to hell, Hamilton had been the X-factor killer, he was absolutely certain of that—no matter how desperate Ariel was trying to prove him wrong.

  * * *

  Ariel Hamilton

  Sixteen years…

  For sixteen years she’d lived with the knowledge her father had been framed, and watched him waste away in prison for crimes he hadn’t committed. Nobody had believed her back then. Even Rhys, the boy she’d loved with all her heart, had walked away. It had been a hard lesson, but she’d learned it well—count on no one. Well she finally had proof of her dad’s innocence. Proof that Dark Falls police department had framed an innocent man and covered it up…were still covering it up. She wasn’t nineteen anymore, she wouldn’t be cowed and ran out of town. She’d stay and fight to clear her father’s name. Even if that meant drawing the real killer out…even if that meant making herself a target and losing a second chance with the only man she’d ever loved.

  Chapter One

  Detective Rhys Evans drained the last of the coffee from the travel mug as he stared out the windshield of his unmarked Ford Explorer. A line of identical vehicles—many of them bearing the black-and-white insignia of Dark Falls’ patrol units—stretched out along the side of the road in front of him. His gaze settled on the back end of the silver Ford Explorer he’d parked behind. He recognized the vehicle with its DFPD1 plate—Chief Forsythe’s—it stood out like a falcon in a sea of crows.

  A normal 10-67 brought a quarter of the precinct on-site. This particular dead body had brought almost everyone out, including Chief Forsythe, which was unusual and a strong indicator of just how screwed they were.

  He shoved the travel mug into the cup holder and took a few seconds to roll his shoulders, hoping to alleviate some of the tension cinching his muscles tight. The 10-67 wasn’t the problem—hell, he’d handled his share of stiffs during his eight years with the DFPD. The trouble was the description of the victim and the location of the body… hell… those two things unleashed a tsunami of unwelcome memories.

  Memories he’d suppressed for years… memories he had no intention of giving free rein to now.

  He grimaced, casting off the last of the nightmare images knocking at his brain, and glanced up at the puffy gray sky. If they were lucky, the weather would keep most of the lookie-loos inside and they could keep this situation under wraps for a while longer. The roads were still slick and crusty from the previous day’s snowstorm, which had partially melted and turned to ice overnight. Spring in Dark Falls, Colorado, was unpredictable. From snow to heavy rain to warm sunshine was not uncommon—often within hours.

  The smart man prepared for everything.

  He grabbed his battered sheepskin jacket from the passenger seat beside him and thrust open the driver’s door. Frozen slush crunched beneath the thick treads of his boots as he exited the vehicle and stepped into the cold, crisp air. He paused to pull on the brown jacket. After turning the collar up, he buttoned the coat all the way to his chin. Warmth instantly cocooned him from the waist up. Too bad he couldn’t say the same for his jean-clad legs. His thighs were already feeling the bite of the chilly Colorado morning.

  Ice crunched with each sliding step, and his breath hung in plumes of frosty white as he made his way to the crime scene. Fuck, he was ready for spring… real spring, that was… not this half-assed get-your-hopes-up shit.

  Benjamin Page, one of the newer crime-scene techs, stood guard in front of the perimeter tape, the obligatory clipboard in hand. Rhys glanced at the cheery yellow plastic tape; long swaths of it were already glazed with ice. The perimeter had been established for a while. He was one of the last to arrive.

  “Who found her?” Rhys asked as Page scrutinized his clothing, making sure nothing would contaminate the crime scene.

  “A golden retriever.” Benjamin used a boney index finger to push his wire-rim glasses up to the bridge of his nose. After carefully logging Rhys’s name and unit on the intake form, he passed the clipboard over. “According to her owner the dog dug under the fence and went roaming.”

  Rhys signed his name in the empty space next to the entry Page had made and handed the clipboard back.

  Everyone who crossed the perimeter tape and entered the crime scene was logged in… at least while evidence collection was in process. That was for chain of evidence and prosecutorial purposes. Those who crossed into the second perimeter around the actual crime scene were often called to testify in court. Keeping an accurate log of personnel who accessed the site was essential.

  “How did the owner locate the dog?” Rhys lifted the tape and ducked beneath it.

  The nearest house was a couple of miles away
. It wasn’t like the owner would have seen her dog from her backyard. This section of the Colorado State Forest was on the very outskirts of Dark Falls, barely within city limits. If the body had landed a half a mile to the east, the state patrol and sheriff’s department would be wrestling over jurisdiction.

  “Apparently Sassy, the dog, is an escape artist. The owner has one of those GPS tracking devices attached to her collar. She followed Sassy here on her cell phone.”

  Great. No doubt the animal had already disturbed the crime scene. Of course, without the canine interference, who knew how long the vic would have remained undiscovered.

  Except for teenagers and their endless attempts to fuck with each other, this section of Colorado’s National Forest was generally avoided. Superstition had set in years ago, after the first few bodies had been discovered. People claimed that there was something unclean out here… something sinister… like the evil that had taken place beneath the canopy of the aspen and ponderosa pine had infected the soil and sky and trees.

  It might be fourteen years since the X Factor Killer had been caught. Twelve years since he’d been convicted and three years since his death in prison, but the forest still carried haunted memories for the citizens of Dark Falls.

  Rhys turned in a slow circle, but there was no sign of a woman with a golden retriever. “Where’s the witness?”

  “Officer Underwood took her home.”

  That sounded like Connie. The kid was always Johnny-on-the-spot. His enthusiasm made Rhys feel damn ancient and jaded most of the time.

  “Who took her statement?”

  “Detective Sevier.”

  John Sevier was a good detective—sharp, intuitive. But Major Crimes would still track the dog owner down for another round of questioning. In the interrogation room this time, with the video feed on and the rest of the unit watching on the big-screen television in the conference room.

  You never knew what might pop up under a second round of questioning or what someone else might notice that everyone else had missed.

  When it came to murder, every avenue was investigated.

  Assuming the victim had been murdered.

  Rhys suspected she had been; his instincts had been humming since he’d gotten the call an hour earlier. The location and markings were too damn suspicious for anything else. Unless… unless some malicious prick had found a dead drifter and decided to play a nasty prank on the town.

  He crunched his way across the first perimeter, his skin and chest tightening beneath the constant furtive glances that followed him. Sevier was waiting at the second perimeter tape—red this time.

  “You’re late.” There was no accusation in the comment; instead, concern narrowed the light brown eyes studying him. “You okay?”

  The question stopped Rhys in his tracks and tensed the muscles of his back. Fuck… he’d expected the concern… the questions… those little sideways looks everyone was giving him. He just hadn’t expected them to dig under his skin like slivers of ice.

  “I’m fine.” He kept his voice neutral, his face blank, and ducked beneath the tape to join Sevier. “When did you start buying into Cantu’s theory of oversharing?”

  Eric Cantu was Sevier’s partner. He was also the Major Crime unit’s company comic and pop psychologist. Christ, it was bad enough having Cantu mothering the hell out of them, encouraging everyone to express their feelings. Having two dithering hens in the unit would be two too many.

  Sevier simply shrugged. “The boss fill you in?”

  “About the carvings? Yeah.” Rhys buried his immediate visceral reaction. But remnants of the nightmare slipped through.

  A white face frozen in terror… glazed blue eyes… icy blond hair stuck to the snow… a dark red X-9 carved into a bleached-white forehead…

  He locked down the corresponding surge of rage and horror. Even now, so many years later—those early, raw emotions dug their claws into him sometimes, catching him unprepared. He’d spent the past forty-five minutes drinking coffee and girding himself to make sure they didn’t latch onto him here… now.

  “Whoever did this… the perp? He’s a mimic. A fucking copycat.” Sevier scowled and blew out a deep breath that hung in the air like a frosty question mark.

  Rhys grimaced. No shit.

  While he’d been a clueless kid when Kenneth Hamilton had been carving up young women and dumping their bodies in this section of the Colorado State Forest, he knew many of the detectives who’d been instrumental in catching the bastard.

  Hell, Gerald Osborn and Craig Patel had been the lead detectives on the case back then. They were sharp as needles, methodical, and unbiased. They didn’t jump to conclusions; they followed the evidence. There was no fucking way Hamilton would have been arrested and convicted without a sea of evidence supporting the case.

  The bastard had been guilty. There was no question of that in Rhys’s mind. Regardless of how vehemently Ariel had insisted that her father wasn’t the killer… couldn’t possibly be the killer—

  Rhys swiped a hand down his face. Christ, he needed to get his mind under control. These damn memories were not helping.

  He sighed and pinched the flesh between his eyebrows. This new victim with her blond hair and blue eyes and the X-10 carved in her forehead had just muddied the Hamilton case significantly.

  Someone was out to fuck with them.

  With Sevier beside him, Rhys converged on the ME who was squatting over the partially exposed body. Chief Forsyth and Captain Scanlon hovered overhead, hunched into their winter jackets. The two women looked incongruous next to each other. While both occupied positions of power in a typically testosterone-driven environment, they were physical opposites. Chief Forsyth was fine-boned and petite with blazing red hair, blue eyes, and an unbending will forged by ten years serving the streets of Linden, New Jersey. Tall and lean with dark hair and eyes, Captain Scanlon towered over the chief.

  Both women were good bosses. Easy to work for without being pushovers. They let their people work in peace, without constant handling, but would step into a situation when the circumstances required it.

  The fact that Dr. Grunholdt and Chief Forsyth were both here attested to the departmental tremors this discovery had set off. While it was unusual for the Chief of Police to show up at a crime scene, it wasn’t unheard of. Rhys could remember a handful of other high-profile crime scenes Forsyth had showed up on.

  But the ME?

  Grunholdt’s presence at a crime scene was unheard of. Sometimes assistant medical examiners were dispatched to crimes scenes, but most of the time death investigators were used to handle the legwork and assess the need for an autopsy. In the eight years Rhys had served in the Dark Falls Police Department, he’d never seen Grunholdt at a crime scene… until now.

  Scanlon glanced over as they clomped their way closer. Straightening, she ditched the ME to intercept them.

  “We have a problem.”

  From the tight knit of her tanned forehead and the grim look darkening her eyes, it was a big problem. The fact that several strands of thick black hair had escaped her habitual bun told Rhys how rattled she was. The boss’s hair was always ruthless corralled.

  “She’s fresh, blond, young, blue-eyed, and pretty,” Scanlon continued. “She’s also carved. COD appears to be strangulation.” She paused, her mouth tightening.

  Sevier and Rhys exchanged what-the-fuck-now looks.

  “Cursory examination indicates evidence of double ligature marks.”

  Son of a bitch.

  Rhys sucked in a shocked breath of icy air. His throat and lungs seized. Then burned. From the cold air… yeah… sure… the air.

  “That signature was never made public.” Sevier’s voice was as tight as their captain’s face.

  Hence the big problem. The signature of an X carved into the forehead followed by a number had been leaked to the press early in the original investigation, around seventeen years ago. After the signature had broken, the press had dubbed the
killer the X Factor Killer.

  The double ligature marks though… hell, the detectives had withheld that from the public. Only those in the need-to-know sphere had been aware of the ligature signature. For this bastard to have adopted it, along with the dump site, the victim profile, and the forehead carving—yeah, this new perp had just fucked the entire major crimes unit… collectively… up the ass.

  They needed to find this bastard.

  And they needed to do so now.

  Chapter Two

  The grimness in the Major Crimes’ conference room was so thick Rhys could almost feel it digging into his bones. So dense it tickled the back of his throat and congealed in his lungs.

  In an obvious effort to lighten the bleak mood, Eric Cantu leaned toward Craig Patel, the senior detective in the unit, and took a noisy, long sniff. Pulling back, he waved a hand in front of his face. “You could scale back on the aftershave, buddy. Use a tenth of the bottle instead of half. Think how much money you’ll save.”

  Patel jabbed an elbow in Cantu’s general direction. “Unlike the rest of you bozos, I have a life outside the station. I’m meeting a lady friend for lunch.”

  Tight smiles circled the room in the wake of the exchange, but they quickly faded as grimness took hold again.

  Twenty-four hours after the victim’s discovery and they still had almost nothing to go on. Sure the ME had narrowed the time of death to four or five days ago, based on frozen fly larva found on the body. The body had been dumped when it was warm enough for fly activity, which meant the bastard had discarded her before this last big freeze. Based off fibers and blood pooling, they knew the victim had been killed elsewhere. Plus there was that carving in her forehead. It would have bled like hell. If she’d been carved up on-site, some of that blood would have hit the ground, but they’d found no blood at the crime scene.