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

by Trish McCallan

  A lie exposed by her next step, which covered too much ground and would have sent her tumbling down the stairs if his hand hadn’t flashed out to reel her back.

  Jeez… she needed to get her head back in the conversation and her eyes back on the stairs.

  “I’m serious, Rhys. How many other bodies with an x carved into their foreheads are you and your police buddies sitting on?”

  “None.” He sent her a grim look. “But if you want to keep the body count to one, you’ll hand over your phone.”

  “Nice try.” But she swallowed a guilt-ridden grimace. “You know damn well you wouldn’t pull anything more from my phone than the feds pulled from Ash’s.”

  “You don’t know that,” he told her, his tone uncompromising.

  And damn it, he was right. She didn’t know for certain whether they could pull anything from her phone, which meant she did need to turn it over. But she’d do so on her terms and her timetable, not theirs.

  First stop was a cell phone store and a new phone. Then she’d turn the damn thing over. Not that she was going to tell him any of that… at least not right now. Which mean their descent to the lobby was borderline frigid. When they reached the lobby, he took her elbow and steered her to a hallway on their left.

  “If the guy who brought you to town followed you over from the coffee shop, he’ll be waiting out front. Use the back entrance instead,” he explained at her inquiring look.

  She frowned. He was certainly taking the stalker theory seriously. She thought of protesting, mostly because the decoy exit hadn’t been her idea, but yeah… that would just be stupid.

  “Fine.” She veered in the direction he was urging her. “How do I get ahold of you if something comes up,” she asked, thinking of her phone and how to get it to him.

  He reached into the side pocket on his cargo pants, pulled out his wallet, flipped it open, and removed a business card, which he handed to her.

  “Call me.” His mouth tightened. “From the phone you refuse to hand over.”

  Subtle. She rolled her eyes.

  Her refusal to comply with his demands plummeted his mood by at least a bazillion degrees. With each step down the hall, the atmosphere dropped even further. By the time the rear exit came into view, she felt like she was dripping in icicles and slogging her way through a blizzard.

  The redheaded, freckle-faced child-cop from earlier hovered next to the glass doors looming at the end of the hall.

  Hell no!

  She stopped in her tracks. “I do not need an escort.”

  Instead of stopping to confront her, he latched onto her elbow and towed her forward. “Connie will take you to your car and see you off safely.”

  “I don’t need a bodyguard either.” She tried to wriggle free of his grip, only to hiss—more in annoyance than pain—as his fingers tightened around her arm.

  “Too damn bad.” He sent her a pseudosympathetic look, almost identical to the one she’d offered him earlier—except his expression was belied by the steel in his voice. “You’re getting one.”

  “Wow!” She widened her eyes and then batted her eyelashes at him for extra effect. “You almost sound like you care.”

  She considered protesting again, but honestly—it wasn’t worth the effort. And it wasn’t like her baby-guard would discover anything she didn’t want the cops to know. Even without the police escort, it would take the cops seconds to track down the make, model, and license of her car.

  But if Rhys thought they could follow her back to her home away from home, he had a surprise coming. She’d become pretty damn proficient at losing unwelcome attention. Shrugging off an inexperienced, baby-faced cop would present no problem at all.

  Piece of cake.

  And she was going to shove it down their throats too.

  Chapter Seven

  Within minutes of escorting Ariel to the station’s rear exit, Rhys was back upstairs in the squad conference room surrounded by most of the major crimes detectives. Everyone not in on the interview had watched the questions and answers through the camera feed on the big-screen television mounted to the wall.

  “You know her best,” Sevier said, tossing Dahlia up. The blue ball glittered as the light bounced off its casing. “Was she lying? Or telling the truth?”

  Rhys’s previous relationship with Ariel had been the only reason the captain had allowed him in on the interview. Although how the hell Scanlon expected him to assess Ariel’s character after a fourteen-year absence…

  Scrubbing a hand over his head, he gave Sevier’s question some thought. Finally he shrugged. “Fourteen years ago, I would have said yes. But now? Fuck, I don’t have a clue.”

  Relief rather than disappointment glossed Sevier’s face. “At least you’re not still hung up on her. You’re assessing her clearly instead of through rosy blinders.”

  Sure…

  Rhys coughed, swallowing a grimace. If Sevier had caught his reaction when she’d brushed past his chest at the coffee shop, there wouldn’t be relief on his face.

  Disbelief maybe. Worry for sure.

  “She agreed to contact us if he calls her again,” Cantu reminded the room, his expression thoughtful.

  “Do we believe her?” The question came from Osborn and was neutral.

  Captain Scanlon had considered bringing Osborn and Patel in on the interview, until Rhys had mentioned Ariel’s animosity toward the two men. She’d taken their questions and investigation into Kenneth Hamilton very, very personally.

  Ariel was loyal to a fault… particularly when it came to her father.

  It had been his suggestion to exclude the two detectives from the room so she’d be more malleable and inclined to answer questions. His understanding of her personality had convinced Scanlon that his familiarity with her might come in useful.

  “No, we don’t fucking believe her.” The denial burst from Patel, who’d been remarkably silent about his banishment from the interview. He paused to cough into his fist, before continuing gruffly. “She could have called her own phone and then her sister’s from the burner. Nothing she said exonerates her.” The grittiness cleared from his voice. “Fuck, she could be lying through her teeth.”

  Rhys simply nodded. Patel was right. There was no proof either way. She could be lying. She could be innocent. Pulling her phone records and triangulating the call might clear some of their questions up, but it wouldn’t clarify everything.

  “She refused to hand over her cell phone,” Osborn continued. “The cap should have pushed back on that.”

  Sevier ran a hand down his face and covered a yawn with his palm. “She didn’t refuse. She asked for time to transfer her contacts to a new phone. Hardly criminal.”

  Rhys’s eyebrows rose. What interview had Sevier sat in on? Not only had Ariel refused the request, she’d gleefully rubbed her refusal in their faces. He watched another yawn stretch his buddy’s face. Nobody had gotten much sleep over the past few days; maybe Sevier had slept through the interview.

  “Right, which gives her plenty of time to delete whatever she doesn’t want us to see,” Patel drawled. Crumpling a piece of notepaper, he tossed the rolled-up ball at Sevier’s head. “You pussy. Ava’s turned you soft. You used to have adequate instincts. Now you see the good in everybody. Ava’s pussy whipped you, boy. You’ve lost your edge.”

  Sevier shrugged, unfazed by the tongue-lashing. But then Patel was right about one thing. His buddy had been damn content since he’d hooked up with Ava McNair.

  “Our killer could be her caller. He could be setting his sights on her,” Cantu said.

  Rhys grunted in agreement, his chest tightening. That exact concern had started messing with his mind the moment she’d told him about that damn phone call.

  “Next interview will be Craig and me. We’ll rattle her. Ask her the same questions you asked earlier. See if she answers the same.” Osborn ran a finger down the dark brown skin of his left temple, lightly tracing a faded, jagged scar.

 
Rhys stiffened. The suggestion was standard protocol. Nothing about it should have stoked his temper, yet it did.

  Captain Scanlon stepped into the doorway and hovered near the door. “The sister confirms the phone call. She sent her cell to the lab at Quantico.”

  The news was greeted by a flurry of bodies straightening.

  “They pull anything?” Cantu asked the question that was on everyone’s mind.

  “Not much.” Scanlon sounded tired, like disappointment had released the exhaustion.

  Damn. Rhys swallowed his own disappointment.

  “It was a burner, as we suspected. Came in at 1:35 on the fifteenth. And the call originated in Dark Falls. The south side of town.”

  So the call had come from within Dark Falls. Not a surprise considering the victim had been dumped in town. On the plus side, the call’s origins made it unlikely that Ariel had made it herself. Unlikely, but not impossible. She could have traveled to Dark Falls and then called her own and her sister’s phone.

  But Major Crimes knew the time stamp of the call now. They could triangulate it and find out whether Ariel had lied. Whether she, or at least her phone, had been in Dark Falls when the call rang through.

  A sense of foreboding swelled. Along with the certainty that the killer had made the call and that he’d drawn Ariel back to town for a reason. Which couldn’t be good.

  “We’re about to start the press conference,” Scanlon said, her voice more exhausted than ever. “Osborn? Patel, please join me. There will be plenty of questions about the Hamilton case. Might as well have you two on hand to answer them.”

  Rhys rose to his feet as Scanlon disappeared back into the hall. While everyone was busy with the press conference, he’d track Ariel down. Reinforce his earlier warning. The arson case the captain had assigned him could wait for another hour or so.

  “Evans.” Osborn hailed him as Rhys headed toward the stairs. “Hold up.”

  Rhys turned, impatience choking him as Osborn closed in. The detective’s hair looked more silver than gray beneath the fluorescent lights. And the scent of his cologne was almost as overpowering as Patel’s. The two senior detectives made quite the pair—at least in the aftershave department.

  “Did you find out where she’s staying?” Osborn asked as he joined Rhys at the head of the stairs.

  Rhys coughed to clear his lungs of the strong scent of minty aftershave and took a couple of steps to the side. Christ, Osborn could stand to go easier on the stuff too.

  “We’ll get more out of her if we show up unexpectedly and catch her off guard,” Osborn continued.

  Oh yeah, that tactic would go over swimmingly well. He could just imagine her reaction to Patel and Osborn’s sudden arrival. Hell, they’d be lucky if she ever talked to anyone in the department again.

  Rhys shook his head. “She wouldn’t tell me where she’s staying.”

  Thank God. It was amazing how something that had triggered his temper less than an hour earlier was such a relief now.

  Osborn frowned. “Well, it shouldn’t be that hard to track down her motel.”

  True. It wouldn’t be. With luck Rhys would have the address in hand while Osborn was still on the front steps, dealing with the press. He could even use the senior detectives’ impending arrival as a secondary excuse for his visit.

  Hell, maybe she’d be so grateful for the warning she’d hand her phone right over.

  Yeah… right…

  He swallowed a snort of self-derision as Osborn headed back the way he’d come. Judging by their earlier interaction, Ariel was much more likely to slam the door in his face than hand over her phone.

  As it turned out, locating Ariel was easy enough. He hit pay dirt on his first call to the first hotel. She was registered as a guest at the Candlewood Suites. But finding her at said hotel was a different matter altogether. After flashing his badge and attaining her room number, he’d knocked on her door. There’d been no response from within. No sounds to indicate the room was even occupied.

  He’d gotten the make and model of her car, along with the license plate, from Connie earlier—one of the perks of having an officer escort her to her vehicle—so he’d swept the Candlewood’s parking lot for a yellow Honda Passport… There hadn’t been one—yellow or otherwise—in the lot.

  Unless she’d swapped cars and was hiding in her room, Ariel had not returned to her hotel.

  He’d left his card with the front desk clerks, asking them to notify him upon her arrival. Nobody had called. Nor had Osborn and Patel had any luck tracking her down either.

  As the hours ticked past, he tried to convince himself that her absence didn’t mean shit. Connie had deposited her safely at her SUV, and there was no reason to believe that their killer had moved on to her between then and now. She was probably cruising around town, checking out her past haunts, catching up with old friends that had remained in town.

  No reason to assume the worst.

  Still, a scratchy, antsy feeling rode him like an itchy rash. He didn’t like not knowing where she was, which was insane considering he hadn’t had a clue of her whereabouts for the past fourteen years.

  Back at his desk, he pushed worries of Ariel out of his mind and concentrated on the arson case he’d been assigned. Dozens of photos of the burned-out warehouse were spread across his desk.

  Eric Cantu walked past his cubicle, only to stop and sniff the air. He turned to Rhys. “Heard you were assigned that arson? You find anything during your walk-through?”

  Ah, he must have picked up on the smell of smoke, which still clung to Rhys’s clothes. “That bad, huh?”

  “Not if you’d spent the past week out in the woods, lounging around a campfire.” Cantu offered his trademarked lazy grin.

  Rhys grunted. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”

  On his way back from Ariel’s hotel, he’d swung by and checked out the gutted warehouse.

  “Hey, Detective Cantu. You have a visitor.” Connie’s voice drifted down the bullpen to them.

  Eric turned in the direction of the voice. “Who?”

  “Merritt McKenna. That new reporter from the daily. Says she has some questions for you,” Connie said, his voice slightly louder, as though he’d moved closer. “I was on my way up, so I told the Sergeant I’d let you know.”

  Cantu’s face went flat and cold. “Call down to the desk. Have someone tell her I’m busy.”

  Rhys straightened, surprised by the sudden iciness on his buddy’s face. Cantu had stiffened too, every muscle in his rangy body pulled taut. For such a laid-back guy, the abrupt change in attitude and posture stood out like a transvestite in a white, evangelical church.

  “What’s going on?” Rhys asked, only to pull back from the scowl his buddy turned on him.

  “Nothing,” Cantu snapped.

  Rhys cocked his head slightly. Nothing? Yeah, right. Major Crimes made a habit of playing nice with the press. Scanlon often sent Eric down during press coverage because the detective had a natural charm about him and a good affinity with reporters. Hell, Cantu had an easy rapport with everyone… except for Merritt McKenna, apparently.

  While the name was familiar, it took him a second to match a face to it. “Is she the redhead?”

  “Why?” Aggression supercharged Cantu’s scowl. “You interested in her?”

  Whoa—Rhys held up his hands, palms out. “Easy there, buddy. I have no designs on the woman.”

  Although why the fuck it would matter to Eric if he did was something Rhys was careful not to ask. He wondered though. His buddy had never shown such possessiveness toward a woman before. Hell, he was a love ’em and leave ’em kind of guy and proud of it.

  “Just hate to see you mixed up with her, that’s all.” Cantu’s voice turned gruff. “She can’t be trusted.”

  Rhys’s brows lifted in inquiry. She couldn’t be trusted? Did Eric have firsthand experience with that? Before he had a chance to ask, his buddy stalked off.

  With a shrug, Rhys turned back
to his desk and the array of photos spread across it. A few minutes later, he reached for his phone. Fuck it—maybe the Candlewood’s desk clerks had forgotten to call. Or maybe there had been a shift change and the new crew hadn’t received the request to call. Either way, it wouldn’t hurt to check in.

  He tried Ariel’s cell phone first, as he’d done multiple times through the course of the day. But like all those before it, the current call went to voice mail. He didn’t bother to leave a message… not this time anyway.

  His call to the Candlewood front desk was just as fruitless. Ariel hadn’t shown back up, and yes, the new front desk crew knew to call him if she did.

  With a scowl almost as annoyed as Cantu’s had been, he settled back in his chair. He’d give it another couple of hours, and if she didn’t show up, he’d talk to the captain about putting a BOLO out on her vehicle. Granted, she wasn’t exactly missing, but with the extenuating circumstances, they’d be wise to be proactive in nailing down her whereabouts.

  Three hours later, he pitched that strategy to Captain Scanlon, who happened to agree with him. Not that the be on the lookout call did a damn bit of good. Nobody had seen Ariel or her Pathfinder since Connie had dropped her off at her SUV.

  By the time he clocked out for the night and headed home to get a couple of hours of shut-eye, the BOLO had been on for a good four hours with no effect.

  The damn woman had simply vanished.

  A quarter after midnight his work cell rang, waking him from a shallow slumber. Instantly awake, he rolled over to grab the phone off the bedside table. He checked the caller ID as he lifted it to his ear. Scanlon flashed across the screen.

  Was the call about Ariel? Had she, or at least her car, been found? His pulse jumped.

  “Captain?”

  “There’s been a break-in over at the Hilton Doubletree on Horizon. We’re short staffed, so head over and give Andrews a hand.”

  “On my way.” He relaxed slightly. So, the summons had nothing to do with Ariel. Rhys hesitated. Then shrugged. What the hell. “Any word on the BOLO.”