by Lara Lacombe
“No problem.” A pang of disappointment speared his chest at her mention of closing the case, and he immediately felt guilty. He should be happy the murderer was gone and there would be no more victims, but a selfish part of him understood that Rebecca would be leaving soon. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her, not when there was so much left unsaid between them.
And whose fault is that? he chided himself. If Rebecca didn’t know how he felt about her, it was because he hadn’t made it clear. He needed to stop waiting for the perfect moment to talk to her—there was never going to be an ideal time. He simply needed to open up the conversation and tell her what was in his heart. Quinn was fairly certain she cared for him as well, but he didn’t know what she thought their future should look like. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he knew what their future should look like. One thing was certain, though—they needed to decide together, and the sooner, the better.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Concern gleamed in her eyes, and he knew she was worried about leaving him alone.
“Take as long as you need. I’ll be fine.”
“Can I get you anything before I go? Something to eat or drink?”
He shook his head. “I’m not hungry. But I’ll take a kiss.”
She smiled and leaned down. She smelled like soap, from the shower she’d taken earlier at the hospital. “I can definitely do that.”
Her lips brushed against his, a soft caress that gave him goose bumps. She tasted like coffee, with a hint of the doughnuts they’d shared on the way home from the hospital. He reached for her, wanting to bring her closer so he could deepen the kiss. Holding her all night had been nice, but now he wanted more. A sharp pain lanced his side as his movement pulled the stitches holding his wound closed. He sucked in a breath at the unexpected sensation, his arousal vanishing as his injuries vied for attention.
Rebecca pulled back, her eyes roaming his face. “Hurts?” she asked.
He nodded. “A little. I’d almost forgotten about all the stitches.”
“That’s not good.”
Quinn disagreed. For a moment, it had been wonderful. Kissing Rebecca had made the world disappear. Warmth had spread through him, chasing away his aches and pains. His mind had calmed, his thoughts no longer circling around the killer and his victims. The stress of recent events had eased, and his worries over their future had quieted in the face of their connection. Rebecca was his refuge from the world, and he needed her, now more than ever.
“Are you going to be okay on your own?” There was a note of worry in her voice, and he knew if he expressed any doubt she wouldn’t hesitate to stay with him. A selfish part of him considered lying—it would be nice to spend time with her now that they were both safe. But he couldn’t abuse her goodwill that way. Trust was an important part of their relationship, and he didn’t want to take hers for granted.
“I’ll be okay. I’ll watch TV and nap until you get back.”
“Promise?” She hesitated, clearly torn about leaving him. Quinn knew he was going to have to be a bit more convincing to get her out the door. She might want to stay, but he knew how important it was for her to talk to the police chief. Her dedication and sense of responsibility were two of the qualities he loved most about her, and he didn’t want her to feel guilty about leaving him.
He nodded. “I won’t do anything more strenuous than walk to the bathroom.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’m taking your keys so I can lock up behind myself. That way, if you’re asleep when I get back I won’t have to disturb you.”
Quinn smiled, touched by her concern. “That’s very thoughtful of you.”
“I’ll bring food when I come back. If there’s anything that sounds especially good to you right now, text me.”
“I will.” He could tell she was stalling, looking for any excuse to stay. So he shooed her off. “Get going. The chief is waiting for you.”
Rebecca hesitated, then bent and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Call me if you need anything,” she said. Her blue eyes were warm with affection.
“Maybe we can talk when you get back?” She blinked in surprise at his sudden change of topic, and Quinn wanted to bite his tongue. This was hardly the moment to start such a sensitive conversation! But he felt better after bringing it up—now he had a deadline of sorts, and could no longer find an excuse to postpone telling her about his feelings.
“It’s nothing bad,” he added, seeing the worry on her face. “I just have some things I’d like to say to you.”
Understanding dawned in her eyes and she nodded. “I’d like that,” she said, sounding almost shy. “There are things I want to say to you as well.”
Quinn’s heart skipped a beat as anticipation fizzed in his system. Maybe he didn’t need to worry about talking to her after all—if they were both on the same page regarding their feelings for each other, surely they would be able to make everything else work.
She gave him one last smile, then turned and walked out the door, taking his heart with her.
Chapter 15
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice.”
Chief Givens nodded absently and ushered Rebecca into his office. “No problem,” he said. “Truth be told, we’re looking forward to wrapping up this investigation.” He sat behind his desk and gestured for her to take the chair opposite. His expression was a bit apologetic as he glanced at his computer. “We’re not really cut out for these kinds of cases,” he said, lowering his voice a bit. “Usually, our biggest worry is speeding tickets, maybe a little drunk-and-disorderly. That kind of thing. Murder is a whole different ball game.” He shook his head and met her gaze while his computer hummed busily. “I can count on one hand the number of these cases I’ve encountered in my whole career. At least, I used to be able to...” He trailed off, sounding dismayed.
“I understand,” Rebecca said. “Murder investigations are always difficult, and a serial killer is especially disturbing.”
“I just can’t believe one of our own did this.”
Rebecca nodded understandingly. “It’s always hard to imagine the people we know are capable of such evil acts.”
The man continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I mean, Harry’s always been a bit of a wild card. But never in a million years would I have expected him to be guilty of something like this.”
“What makes you say that?” Rebecca was curious to hear his thoughts. She’d formed her own impression of Harry based on her earlier interview, but maybe the police chief could give her some insight into Harry’s life that would help her find the connections between him and the first victims.
The man shrugged, narrowing his eyes a bit as he considered her question. “He got into trouble on a fairly regular basis, but it was always for low-level stuff. Public intoxication, speeding, even a DUI once. You could tell he was a kid who was frustrated about how his life was going, but he didn’t know what to do about it.”
Rebecca nodded, agreeing with him. So far, no smoking gun...
“Did his behavior ever escalate? Did he ever show flashes of temper or rage that were uncharacteristic?”
“No. Harry didn’t have enough self-control to hide his emotions. You always knew exactly what kind of mood he was in and what he was thinking.” The man paused, tilting his head to the side. “I guess that’s why I’m still in disbelief. I didn’t think he was smart enough to live a double life.”
“Maybe he was a better actor than you knew,” Rebecca suggested.
“Maybe,” Chief Givens replied, sounding a bit doubtful. “Anyway, here are the photos we took at the scene of Harry’s death.” He swiveled the computer monitor around so she could view the screen. “As you can see, there’s nothing to suggest murder.” He scrolled quickly through the images, as if this was simply a formality.
“Wait, please,” she said. She frowned and reached for the mou
se. The chief surrendered it and leaned back with a “have at it” wave of his hand.
Rebecca scrolled through the files again, this time at a slower pace. Sure enough, the chief’s description of the scene matched the images. The photos showed Harry, flat on his back in bed, his eyes open and sightless. Dried vomit decorated his chin and the sheets under his head, indicating the most likely cause of death. She turned her attention to his forearms, visible in several of the pictures. Scratches marred his skin, but the red lines appeared close together and ran in parallel tracks. She frowned, zooming in on one of the images. These injuries didn’t look like the kind of thing inflicted by a spade. Unless she missed her guess, these wounds resembled those from a cat or a small dog.
Maybe Quinn had been mistaken—perhaps he’d slashed Harry’s chest, not his arms? But Harry was shirtless and she saw no marks on his upper arms, his chest or his stomach.
She made a mental note to talk to the medical examiner. It was possible she was mistaken, that the pictures weren’t clear enough and she wasn’t seeing how bad the scratches truly were. Quinn was certain he’d slashed his attacker, and she believed him. She simply had to recalibrate her expectations. After seeing the severity of Quinn’s injuries she’d imagined Harry would sport similar wounds. But he attacked Quinn with a knife, while Quinn only had a spade, she reminded herself. It made sense that Harry’s scratches would be superficial at best.
Feeling a little better, she perused the rest of the pictures. Harry’s room was a mess, with empty beer cans and cigarette packs strewn about the floor. Several bongs decorated his bedside table, the discolored glass a testament to their frequency of use. A ticket stub peeked out from under a bag of weed, and a twenty-dollar bill—
Wait a minute. She scrolled back to the image of the ticket stub. It was a bus ticket, dated the twenty-fifth.
The date of the first murder.
Rebecca’s breath caught as she strained to make out the details printed on the paper. It was a ticket from Austin to Alpine. But had Harry really taken the trip? Or was this simply a ruse to give himself an alibi in the event the police ever questioned him about the first murder?
She jotted down the bus company’s name—perhaps they had cameras on their buses, and she could obtain the footage from that trip. She scrolled through the remainder of the images, but her thoughts were elsewhere.
If Harry really had been in Austin in the days leading up to the first murder, how had he scouted his victim? And if he’d been on a bus the day Quinn had discovered the body, then Harry wasn’t the killer. The medical examiner had already determined the death of the first victim had occurred a few hours before she’d been discovered. That ruled out the possibility Harry had killed her and dumped the body before his trip.
A cold sweat broke out on Rebecca’s skin as her thoughts whirled. This changed everything. If Harry really had taken that trip, he wasn’t the Yoga Killer. All of the victims had been murdered by the same person, so if he hadn’t killed the first woman, he hadn’t killed the others, either.
“Do you have the contact information for Harry’s parents?”
“Uh, sure,” the chief replied. He shuffled through some papers on his desk, then passed her a form. “Here you go. What’s up?”
Rebecca ignored the question and quickly dialed the phone number on the page. She knew it was a little insensitive to call rather than talk to them in person, but she didn’t have time to make the drive.
A man answered the phone. Rebecca tried to be as delicate as possible, understanding Harry’s father was still trying to process the death of his son. Still, she had to know...
“Mr. Chambers, I realize this is an odd question, but did Harry take any trips recently?”
“I—I don’t know,” the man said. He sounded exhausted, and she felt a pang of sympathy for him. Even though Harry had been trouble, his parents had still loved him.
“Please,” Rebecca persisted. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”
Harry’s father sighed. “I think he went to Austin a couple of weeks ago. Had some friends to see out there.”
“Do you remember their names?”
“No,” he said flatly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my wife.”
He hung up the phone before she could say another word. Rebecca glanced at the police chief, who was watching her with a puzzled look on his face.
“Harry may have been in Austin during the first murder,” she said shortly.
Understanding dawned on the man’s face. “But that means—”
“I know,” she said. She reached for the keyboard and pulled up the internet. “His father said he’d gone to see some friends, but he didn’t know their names.”
“It’s possible he didn’t leave town at all,” the chief said hopefully. “Maybe he just told his parents he left, but he stayed in the park with the first victim.”
“Let’s hope,” she said, pulling up Harry’s Facebook page. She scrolled down, holding out hope that she wouldn’t find anything...
“Damn,” she said softly.
“What is it?”
She flipped the monitor back toward the chief. “Pictures of Harry and his friends in Austin, timestamped on the date of the murder.”
The man stared at the screen, pressing his lips together. “Maybe the pictures are fake?” he suggested weakly. “People can do a lot of things with Photoshop these days...”
Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t think so.” Her stomach dropped as the implications of her discovery sank in.
Harry wasn’t the killer.
So who was?
She’d been so focused on Harry and his friends, thinking she’d found the murderer. Now that she knew better, she was left with no leads, no other possibilities to explore. Back to square one, with no clues to indicate where she should go next.
How much time had she wasted, trying to catch Harry in a lie? Had she overlooked evidence that would point her in the direction of the real killer? God, if she hadn’t been so single-minded, she wouldn’t have insisted on spying on Harry and his friends!
Quinn’s face flashed in her mind, a memory of how he’d looked when she had discovered him. Images from that horrible night taunted her as she recalled his blood-soaked shirt and the slippery feel of his skin as she pinched the edges of his wounds together to tape them closed. It was her fault Quinn had been attacked, her fault he’d almost died.
She ran a shaking hand over her face as her guilt blossomed. If not for her mistake, the Yoga Killer would never have encountered Quinn alone on the trail. He wouldn’t have tried to murder Quinn, wouldn’t have grown so angry when he hadn’t been able to finish the job. If not for Rebecca’s actions, the man would never have snatched an innocent woman from her campground and killed her in a fit of rage. Her mistake went far beyond trying to pin these crimes on an innocent man—thanks to her, a woman was dead and the man she loved was dealing with the fallout from a brutal attack.
Bile burned the back of her throat. She swallowed hard, feeling sick to her stomach. Doubt landed on her with the force of a hammer blow. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this job anymore. Everyone made mistakes, but this one was different. This error had cost a life and drastically affected another. It wasn’t the kind of thing she could simply shrug off or ignore. Her actions had real-world consequences, and because of her misjudgment, this psycho was still out there, free to act again.
And she had no idea where or when he’d strike next.
* * *
The doorbell rang just as he pulled cookies out of the oven. Quinn had told Rebecca he’d rest while she was gone, but in truth, he’d been too keyed up to sit quietly and wait for her to return. The anticipation of telling her how he really felt about her filled him with nervous energy, and he’d had to find something to keep his hands and mind occupied. He wasn’t much of a baker, but t
he package of premade dough in his fridge had looked straightforward enough, and the instructions were simple. He glanced at the cookies as he set the tray on the stove top—they seemed fine, and they smelled good. Hopefully, they were edible...
He walked to the door, wondering who was wanting to visit him in the middle of the afternoon. A neighbor, perhaps? Maybe a coworker who had heard he’d been released from the hospital? Or maybe Rebecca had lost his keys, or simply forgotten she had them.
He opened the door and blinked, staring at his visitor in blank surprise before registering his presence. “Justin,” he said, his mind scrambling. “It’s good to see you again.”
Naomi’s widower smiled. “How’s it going?”
“Uh, I’m okay.” Quinn struggled to come up with a reason for this visit. Running in to Justin at the bar a few nights ago had been unusual, and even though they had made vague promises about meeting up for a meal while Justin was in town, Quinn hadn’t actually expected to see him again. They had never been close, despite their wives’ friendship. “What brings you to my place?”
“I’m headed out in the morning, thought I’d stop by for a drink and say goodbye. Can I come in?”
Quinn wasn’t in the mood to chat, but he didn’t want to be rude. “This isn’t the greatest time,” he hedged. “I actually just got out of the hospital this morning.”
“Oh, man.” Concern flitted across Justin’s face as his eyes searched Quinn for obvious signs of injury. “You do look kind of pale. What happened?”
Quinn shrugged, dismissing the question. No way was he going to talk about the attack with Justin. Even though the man had been Naomi’s husband, Quinn had never been all that fond of him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but there was just something about him that rubbed Quinn the wrong way. He always seemed to think he was the smartest guy in the room, a quality Quinn found irritating. And now that Ashley was gone, he didn’t have to pretend to like Justin anymore. “I had an accident on the job,” he said.