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

by Trish McCallan

  But they still hadn’t managed to identify the victim or the kill site, and they had nothing that pointed toward her killer.

  Meanwhile, an ugly black tornado swirled above their heads, gathering speed, threatening to unleash all kinds of hell. Once the press got wind of the news, which they would—Christ knows they always did—the department was fucked. Accusations of shoddy investigations and cover-ups would storm down on them. They’d be accused of sending an innocent man to prison. The major crimes unit would drown beneath bureaucrats and politicians and outraged but poorly informed citizens.

  It would be a fucking nightmare.

  Scowling, Rhys dragged a hand over his head. He was exhausted; they all were. Twenty-four hours on the clock while the entire unit pored over the Hamilton case files, which they’d pulled from off-site storage, meant coffee wasn’t even working anymore.

  They needed sleep… but they needed to find this new killer even more.

  “Let’s recap.” Mason England, Rhys’s partner, pushed a stack of manila folders aside until he could rest his elbows on the surface of the table and squinted at the list of units scrawled across the whiteboard in front of them. “Crime-scene personnel, ME personnel, the prosecutor’s office, major crimes personnel. Who else would have access to Hamilton’s signatures?”

  “We need to back that up by seventeen years,” Rhys reminded the room grimly. “Just because he dropped the body now, doesn’t mean he acquired the signature recently. He could have picked it up at any point in the past decade and a half.”

  Which had just added dozens of more people to their growing list of names.

  Nate Ryder bounced his Gel stress ball—christened Dahlia courtesy of Cantu—off the whiteboard near their untidy list of departments, caught the dark blue sphere on the rebound, and scowled. “Hell, Hamilton himself could have told someone before he died. The leak didn’t have to come from any of the units we listed.”

  True… not that it mattered.

  They’d have to interview every damn person who had access to the Hamilton files, as well as everyone Hamilton had talked to through the years. Which sounded like a monumental task when one was running on zero sleep and too much coffee.

  “We’ll need to talk to the Warden at Florence and get ahold of Hamilton’s visitor log.” Gerald Osborn ran a hand down his face to cover a yawn.

  Osborn was one of the veterans in the unit. Although he was close to retiring, he could still stay awake with the best of them.

  Craig Patel, hands down the most experienced among them, laced his fingers behind his bullish neck and rocked back in his chair. “We need to talk to Hamilton’s daughters too.” He glanced over at Rhys and raised a shaggy gray eyebrow. “Hey, sport, you used to date the older gal. You keep in touch with her?”

  A stricken face and red-rimmed brimming with tears jumped into his mind. He banished it along with his annoyance at the use of the nickname.

  At the best of times the nickname grated. Right now with exhaustion crashing every nerve, it shrieked through his tired brain like a knife down a chalkboard. Not that he showed it—had ever or would ever show it. Any sign of irritation at the usage guaranteed his buddies in Major Crimes would use it incessantly. Hell, Cantu would doubtlessly come up with one of his lame-ass limericks based on it.

  He was rarely called sport anymore anyway. But when the nickname started to fly, it was almost always tossed out by Craig. The older detective was brilliant at reading body language and facial expressions, so Rhys suspected Craig knew how much the damn nickname annoyed him. The asshole was using it to get a reaction from him.

  The bastard.

  Rhys grimaced, shame touching him. Like everyone in the unit, Craig had his annoying traits. But his positive qualities far outweighed the negative ones. The guy was a genius when it came to identifying patterns and connecting dots. He was generous with his time and knowledge too. Hell—he’d mentored most of the guys in the unit, including Rhys.

  Rhys felt lucky to call him friend… most of the time.

  A balled-up piece of paper bounced off the side of Rhys’s head. “Hey, sport. You awake over there?”

  Rhys ignored the paper and the irritating nickname. “I haven’t talked to Ariel since she left town.”

  Which wasn’t quite the truth. They’d broken up long before Hamilton’s wife and daughters had packed up and fled Dark Falls. The laughter, the ease, all those hot, vivid emotions between them had hardened into ice and silent accusations months before she’d left. She’d never returned to college, or if she had, it hadn’t been Colorado State.

  But then he hadn’t gone back there either. Instead, he’d traded in his football scholarship for a career in law enforcement and transferred to the Criminal Justice program at Sam Houston.

  “She didn’t believe he was guilty,” Rhys added. “At least back then. She was certain he’d been framed. She was passionate in his defense.”

  “I remember.” Osborn sighed. “Her defense of Hamilton glued a target on her back as well as her family’s. It increased the media coverage, their notoriety, their exposure. It was hell on the family. They were getting vandalized daily—even the occasional death threat. I’ll admit, I was damn relieved when they left town and changed their names.”

  Rhys simply nodded. He hadn’t realized the extent of the harassment at the time. He’d been lost in his own grief and rage. Lost in the total annihilation of his family and the destruction of his life.

  “There were two daughters, weren’t there?” Nate asked, bouncing Dahlia off the wall again, although this time Cantu leaned forward and snatched the ball out of the air on the rebound.

  “Ariel and Ashley. Ash was three years younger.” Rhys caught the Gel ball as Cantu tossed it toward him and lobbed it back to Sevier.

  He didn’t remember much of Ariel’s younger sister. Ashley had been dark-haired and dark-eyed like her sister and mother, but unlike her curvaceous, sparkling older sibling, she’d been smallish and scrawny, her nose constantly buried in a book.

  “We need to locate them.” Osborn smothered another yawn with a wide palm. “Talk to them. Find out if they visited their old man. Maybe Hamilton mentioned a particular fan.”

  A combination of scowls and grimaces traveled the room. It was damn weird how many serial killers took on a celebrity status. True, humanity had an inherent fascination in abhorrent behavior. But for Christ’s sake, some of the worst serial killers in history ended up with actual fan bases—and that was disturbing as hell.

  “Why drop this new body now? Was yesterday’s date significant?” A thoughtful frown settled over Sevier’s face as he snatched Dahlia out of midair and launched into an impromptu game of keep the ball away from Nate with Cantu. The dark blue sphere flew back and forth between the two men.

  Rhys jerked his gaze away. The damn thing was making him dizzy.

  “I’ve located Hamilton’s daughters.” Captain Scanlon’s voice entered the room ahead of her. Everyone in the conference room shifted to face the doorway. Nate caught the ball and set it on the table.

  Scanlon had ruthlessly caged her black hair again, twisting and pinning it in her habitual bun at the back of her head. “They go by Beaubien now. Their mother’s maiden name.”

  Which meant Ariel hadn’t married. Or if she had, she hadn’t taken her husband’s name. She’d been the same age as he, which put her at thirty-five. Maybe she’d married and divorced and resumed her maiden name. Not that it mattered either way. Whatever they’d felt for each other had shattered and died a long time ago.

  “The older girl—Ariel—is a crime writer,” their captain continued. “She’s considered a rising star in the Ann Rule literary world. Or at least she was. Apparently her last book bombed. She needs a win with her next one.”

  “Interesting.” Patel leaned forward, resting his elbows on the conference table and folding his thick hands into a meaty fist. “Exonerating her father by investigating a new killer with an identical MO could be a blockbu
ster for her. Get her career back on track—which gives her motive. Her father could have told her about the withheld ligature signature.”

  “She visited her father before he died.” Scanlon glanced down at the paper in her hand. “Quite often from the dates listed.”

  Frowning, Rhys massaged his aching temples. He couldn’t see Ariel killing anyone. Or at least he couldn’t see the Ariel of fourteen years ago doing so. Who knew what she was capable of now. “What about the younger daughter. Ashley?”

  Scanlon directed a slight nod in his direction. “That’s interesting too. She’s FBI. In the BAU. And she never visited her father in prison. Not even once.”

  Shocked silence fell.

  “If she’s with the BAU, she’d have access to the case file and the withheld signature.” Rhys caught the acknowledging nods that traveled the room.

  “Either one could be our perp.” Nate absently tossed Dahlia up and caught her.

  “Or neither,” Scanlon reminded them.

  It was interesting though, how both Ariel and her sister had gravitated toward killers. One writing about them, the other catching them. Had one of the women crossed the line and became one?

  Scanlon passed the paper to Sevier, who was the closest to her and turned to Rhys. “I need a word with you. In private.”

  Rhys had been expecting the summons since she’d told them about the ligature signature. From the sympathetic eyes that settled on him from around the table, he hadn’t been the only one. Silently he rose and followed her out of the room.

  She stopped several feet down the hall and turned to face him. “Under the circumstances, I have to remove you from the investigation.”

  Rhys simply nodded. He hated to be benched. But he agreed with her decision. The second signature had changed everything.

  They couldn’t afford any appearance of impropriety, any hint of unethical behavior—and that included having a detective investigating this new case, who was the twin brother of Hamilton’s final victim.

  Chapter Three

  The musical jangle of her cell phone woke Ariel from a deep, dreamless sleep. Groggy, she turned over, tangling the bedsheets around her shoulders and legs, and reached for the bedside table and the ringing phone. Unknown caller in bright white letters lit up the glass screen.

  She almost hit Reject and rolled onto her stomach and back into sleep. The only reason she didn’t was because of Ash. Her sister was out in the wilds of Washington… or California… or maybe Oregon… working a spree killer case. As an FBI agent with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Ashley was always off somewhere, bringing a killer to justice.

  Still on her side, curled beneath the blankets, Ariel swiped the Call button and lifted the phone to her ear. The unknown caller could be connected to Ash. Ariel’s pulse picked up as anxiety stirred. Had something happened? Was someone calling about her sister?

  “Hello?”

  “Ariel Hamilton?” a digitally masked voice asked.

  A foreboding chill chased goose bumps up her legs and arms. She hadn’t been called Hamilton in fourteen years. “Who is this?”

  “Shut up and listen. A body was found yesterday in Dark Falls. In the west corner of the Colorado State Forest.”

  Dark Falls… the west corner of the Colorado State Forest.

  Her thumb froze over the End Call button.

  “It’s female. Blond. Blue-eyed and it has X-10 carved in its forehead. The Dark Falls Police Department is covering the discovery up. Your father was innocent. Now you have proof. If you have the guts to investigate.”

  A body? A cover-up?

  “What? What? Who is this?”

  Silence.

  “Hello?”

  More silence.

  Ariel pulled the cell away from her ear and started at the call ended message blazoned across the screen. The goose bumps settled into chills, deep raw ones that sank to her soul and shook her body. She lay back down and wrapped the comforter around her quaking frame.

  Maybe she’d been dreaming. Maybe—

  The phone rang again. The ringtone’s bionic woman theme sounded much harsher and more chaotic than normal. She lifted the instrument again, almost afraid to look.

  This time the name Ashley lit up the screen. She hit the phone icon so hard her thumb popped and raised the cell back to her ear. “Ash, I just got a phone call from someone saying—”

  “A body was dumped in the Colorado State Forest?” The calm tone in her sister’s voice didn’t falter.

  Her sister had gotten the call too?

  “Carved with an X-10.” Ariel’s voice shook so hard she wasn’t sure Ash understood her.”

  “Was it from an unknown caller?” Ashley asked, a thoughtful note in her voice.

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll send my phone to the lab. See what they can pull from it. But the other phone was probably a burner. At best we’ll be able to get an approximate location of the call’s origin.” Ashley’s voice tightened slightly. “Be careful, Arie. Whoever this guy is, he dug up my personal number. Not impossible, I’ll admit. But it’s secure. Unsearchable. The fact he went to the trouble to find it does not instill confidence in his agenda.”

  Ariel’s breathing tightened. She drew the comforter tighter around her freezing flesh. “Are you going to check on his claim?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll meet you there.”

  “No.” For the first time her sister’s voice sharpened. “I mean it, Ariel. Do not go to Dark Falls. That’s what this guy wants. That’s why he called. We don’t know what his game is. Until we do, don’t give him what he wants.”

  Ariel’s throat was so tight it hurt to swallow. “He said Dad was innocent. He said the body is proof and the Dark Falls Police Department is covering it up.”

  “I know what he said.” The breath Ashley blew out seemed to burst through the speaker. “I’ll check this out, I promise. I’ll get to the bottom of it. But you need to stay put and let me handle it.”

  Ariel frowned, suspicion stirring. How hard would Ash investigate? How much legwork would she put into verifying the tip? Pulling the phone away from her ear, she stared at it in the darkness. The bright light the screen emitted burned her eyes but sharpened her mind.

  “Arie?”

  “I’m here.” She forced her fingers to relax their death grip.

  “Don’t go there. Don’t start snooping around. You’ll be playing into whatever game this guy is running.”

  Ariel’s fingers tightened again. She didn’t like lying to her sister, but she did so without hesitation. “I won’t.”

  “Promise?” The tension in her sister’s voice eased.

  This lie was harder. But she managed it. “Promise.”

  After an exchange of I love yous, Ariel disconnected the call. The two lies permeated the room and settled inside her chest like lumps of cold, grimy coal. Still—she didn’t regret them.

  Admitting she was headed to Dark Falls come morning would just worry Ash. It would take her focus off the current killer she was after, which could prove fatal, and not just to innocent civilians but to her sister as well.

  Nothing Ash said would have changed Ariel’s mind; it would simply lead to a long string of argument, which would stir up old resentments. It had taken them years to push past the anger and betrayal that had calcified between the two of them after their father’s arrest and conviction. She wasn’t going to whip up those emotions again.

  But Ariel couldn’t leave this investigation solely to her sister.

  Ashley hadn’t believed in their father’s innocence. Rather she’d believed in his guilt from the very beginning. She’d placed the facts and the evidence and all those gory little details they’d pinned on him above her common sense—above the eighteen years of knowledge she’d had of him. Above the love he’d always shown her.

  Ashley and Rhys had been two peas in an agonizing pod, both believing the evidence and certain of his guilt.

  Rhys… okay, she
could understand his reaction. He hadn’t known her father well. And his sister—his twin—had been the killer’s final victim. Rhys and Rayne had been connected in ways she couldn’t even begin to explain. It had been eerie. He’d known something was wrong before anyone had even realized she’d disappeared. He’d known the moment she died. He’d been drowning in pain and explosive anger. He’d been looking for someone to blame.

  But Ashley… how her sister could have turned her back on their father was something Ariel had never understood. Still didn’t understand. Ash had known Dad, she’d lived with him, loved him for eighteen years. Yet she’d placed the evidence before his denials. Evidence that could have been planted. Had been planted.

  Okay, so the gun safe they’d found the pictures, the clothes, the videotapes in had been locked. But locks could be picked. And he’d promised them—promised! —that he hadn’t killed anyone. That he’d been framed.

  Ash and Rhys hadn’t believed him. But Ariel had. Even now, all these years later, she still believed him. Every fiber in her body knew he’d been innocent.

  Since Ashley didn’t believe in his innocence, how hard would she try to prove that he’d been framed?

  Plus her sister was a cop. FBI, sure—but still a cop. Would she allow her law enforcement bias to blind her to the rot in the Dark Falls Police Department? Would she merge with that blue wall and shield the previous detectives and their shoddy investigation?

  How many other bodies with the X Factor’s signature had the local cops suppressed? How many years had her father rotted in prison while proof that he’d been innocent lay buried in Dark Falls?

  Could she trust Ashley to dig to the bottom of the digital voice’s claim?