by Dawn Altieri
She stared at the screen, at the police officers and bystanders milling at the edge of the murder scene, then spun to face him. Jake’s gut churned. Her horrified expression was filled with fear and disgust. “Is this why you were called back?” she asked.
Jake approached her with an outstretched hand. “Emma—”
She stepped back, out of his reach. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want to upset you. I wanted to get you home safe first.”
“What the hell is going on?” Ben asked.
She faced the TV again. “I’ll explain everything after Jake leaves.”
“Emma…” Jake shoved a rough hand through his hair. What the hell could he say? Nothing would fix this right now. “I need to get down there. Will you be all right?”
“She’ll be fine, Detective,” Ben answered before Emma had a chance, throwing his arm across her shoulders. “I’ve got her from here.”
Jake’s jaw clenched. She should be safe enough with Windsor. The man was her dead fiancé’s brother, for God’s sake. Emma clearly trusted him, but in Jake’s jaded mind, trust counted for very little. He tamped the frustration down and turned to the foyer.
“Wait,” Emma called, and she led him to the door where she gazed up at him with those accusing brown eyes, waiting for an explanation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said softly, and he truly meant it. “I was going to tell you when we got upstairs. I didn’t expect anyone to be here. How the hell did he get in?”
Her mouth fell open. Damn it. The question had come out more harshly than he’d intended.
“He’s Justin’s brother. He has the code. He’s going to take Justin’s old car since I never use it. I just haven’t had a chance to do the paperwork.”
“He let himself into your apartment to talk about a car?” Behind Emma, Windsor took a seat at the breakfast bar as though he’d done it a thousand times in the past. Hell, he probably had. Jake squelched the anger lifting the hair on the back of his neck and struggled to keep his voice to a whisper. “He couldn’t have just called?”
Her brow twisted. “What’s the problem? You should be happy. You said I should have someone here with me. I’m sure he’ll stay if I ask.”
No shit, he would.
Jake sucked in a breath to pull himself together. He had to snap out of this fantasy. Emma had family and friends to rely on; she didn’t need him. He had no claim over her, no right to decide who could stay in her apartment and who couldn’t—and he never would.
He’d worked all day to gain her trust, to establish a relationship so she’d follow his instructions and let him keep her safe. Yes, he’d crossed the line and established more of a relationship than he should have, but now he was back to square one, and he’d be lucky if she listened to him at all.
“Don’t you need to get to the precinct?” she asked, her eyes alight with irritation.
He gestured toward the television. “I’m heading there now.”
She nodded, and her anger seemed to soften. “I’m sorry. Please…be careful.”
“It’s a crime scene, which is usually the last place a criminal would hang out, so I’ll probably be okay.” Before he had a chance to think better of it, he lifted a hand to her cheek, ran his thumb across her smooth skin. He let his hand linger for a beat longer than he should have, even as the heat of her scalded his palm. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch with a sigh.
That was no fantasy. That sigh had been completely real.
Damn it, why did Windsor get to be the one to stay?
Chapter Seventeen
“What the hell is going on?” Ben demanded.
His accusatory tone left Emma’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she locked the apartment door, struggling to shake off the warmth Jake’s touch had sent coursing through her.
“What is Quinn doing here? Are you screwing him?”
She shot a glare in Ben’s direction. “What? How dare you? No, I’m not screwing him.”
But what they’d just done in his kitchen had definitely gotten her thinking about the possibility.
What was wrong with her? She didn’t mess around with guys she wasn’t even dating, and she couldn’t imagine dating someone with a dangerous career like Jake’s. She’d already buried one man she loved, and she had no desire to do it again. So why had she become thoroughly distracted by thoughts of the brooding detective? Was it the way his face lit up as he mentioned his mother and her love of flowers? Was it his gorgeous blue eyes, his lean, toned muscles, and the way her body gave up all hope of reason when he touched her?
The intensity of it all scared her.
Still, Ben had no right to talk to her this way.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said, as if reading her thoughts. “I shouldn’t have said that. But I saw the way he looked at you just now. What was he really doing here?”
She settled onto the barstool next to him. “He’s investigating these murders. The woman who was strangled in the alley a few nights ago, and now the woman they found today.”
“Okay…” Ben hesitated as though he still couldn’t fathom her connection to the case. “What does that have to do with you?”
She inhaled a deep breath in an unsuccessful attempt to fortify her nerves. “I was attacked downstairs, outside the front entrance, the same night the first woman was killed.”
“What?” A look of horror twisted Ben’s face as he jumped off the barstool and moved closer to her, gripping her upper arms. “Are you okay?”
She wriggled out of his hold. “I’m fine. One of my neighbors scared him off, but Jake and his partner think it was the same guy.”
“Em, why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you call Rachel?”
She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t reached out to Justin’s family as she’d done so many times in the past. Somehow, she no longer felt they should be the first people she turned to when she needed help. And in her mind, the fewer people who knew about what was happening, the better. Except now that Ben had some of the information, she was certain he’d want to know everything.
“What makes them think it’s the same guy?” he asked.
“I found an envelope in my mailbox filled with lilac petals. And there were lilac petals tossed over the first victim. It’s clearly someone who knows me. Someone who knows what those flowers would mean to me.”
His confused expression told her he didn’t remember. She hadn’t expected him to. Flowers probably weren’t high on his list of priorities.
“Our wedding flowers were going to be lilacs.”
He frowned. “Seriously? Who would even know that?”
“I don’t know.”
He shook his head. “Jesus. What is he doing about it, this detective? Why the hell aren’t you in witness protection or something?”
“It doesn’t work like that. Jake said unless there’s a direct threat against me, the police can’t do much.”
“Jake said that.” Bitter sarcasm laced Ben’s voice as he stood and began to pace. “So he’s coming here hoping to get his rocks off while the other cops are out actually looking for this guy? Is that how this works?”
“Damn it, Ben—”
“Someone attacked you outside your home, threw what would have been your wedding flowers on a dead body, then sent some of those flowers to you. That’s not considered a threat? Does he want to wait for this guy to try to kill you?” An angry vein in Ben’s forehead pulsed with the urgency of his questions. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked toward the windows overlooking the city.
What if Ben was right? Sure, she’d come on strong at the beach house and assured Jake she wasn’t looking for a commitment from him, but Jake hadn’t needed much convincing before he’d gone against whatever ethics regulations he was supposed to be following. What if he w
as hoping to take advantage of a frightened woman in a vulnerable situation?
No, she’d felt his concern when he touched her cheek. There was more to it than a cop simply protecting a witness. Jake wasn’t just a jerk looking to abuse his position for a quick lay.
She jumped off the stool and approached Ben. “No. That’s not what he’s doing—”
He spun around, nearly crashing into her. “Then tell me what he is doing, Em.” Ben’s frantic eyes searched her face for answers. “Tell me what he’s doing to prevent anything from happening to you. Because I swear to God, if anything happens to you—”
He threw his arms around her and yanked her close. For a moment, she stood unmoving. He’d always been protective of her—especially in the wake of Justin’s death—but never like this. She tried to relax into his embrace, tried to reassure him as much as herself that she was okay, but he pulled away with the same swift motion.
“What can I do?” He rubbed his hands over his face until the skin under his eyes reddened. “Do you want me to stay with you? I can go home and pick up some things and stay in the guest room until they arrest this asshole.”
Her chest tightened at the thought. Hanging out for a few hours to make sure she was okay was one thing, but moving in? “No, Ben. You don’t have to do that.”
He glanced around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time and assessing every shadowed space. “I can stay. I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I did.”
“I have an alarm system, and the building is safe. You have your own things to worry about. Work and—”
He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. “Nothing is more important than you.”
“But I—”
“I’ll drive you to work in the morning.” He gave a firm nod as though he’d figured it all out and wouldn’t be swayed. “I’ll meet you at the end of the day and get you home safe. I’ll take care of you until this is over.”
She didn’t want him taking care of her. She’d fought for independence from the Windsor family for so long she couldn’t bear to give it up, even if the thought of someone targeting her life threatened to crumble her resolve. She valued her privacy—not that she’d been putting it to good use lately—and she needed to know she could take care of herself.
“No, Ben. That’s not what I want. I’d rather deal with this myself.”
Chapter Eighteen
Jake pulled up to the yellow tape the uniformed officers had used to cordon off the dark alley. The last thing he wanted was another victim, but a new crime scene might mean new clues. It had been over a week since they’d uncovered any new information in Abigail Murray’s case. He switched off the Tahoe’s emergency lights and made his way through the crowd of uniforms and investigators to find Mack right where he expected him, behind a dumpster, hovering over the victim’s body, taking notes.
“Got anything?” Jake called out.
Mack looked up and gestured toward a door in the building on the other side of the dumpster. “She was found by a store employee taking out the trash earlier this afternoon. ME got held up on another case, so we’re still waiting, but it looks like another strangulation. I think it’s safe to say we need to make a few phone calls.”
Jake nodded as his gaze fell to the victim. The NYPD had criminal profilers and psychologists they would call in. New forensics tests would be ordered, DNA matches would be checked between samples found at both scenes, and surveillance footage would be cross-referenced. But Jake didn’t need their expertise to see a pattern here. The slim body, the long brown hair. The resemblance to Emma was undeniable, and the shriveled lilacs strewn across her torso were identical to those on the previous victim.
His stomach churned as he spotted the unmistakable red hand marks across the woman’s throat. Anger could drive people to do some fucked-up things, but you had to be pretty determined to kill someone to do it with your bare hands.
A small piece of paper with a handwritten message stuck out of a pocket on the victim’s blouse. “You got this?” Jake asked.
“Yup,” Mack replied.
Jake leaned in and directed the beam of his flashlight toward the paper. “‘If two people love each other, there can be no happy end to it.’” A chill ran down his spine as he straightened. “He’s quoting Hemingway now?”
“Oh, you’re good,” Mack said. “I had to Google that one.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a feeling he did, too. Something tells me he’s trying to look smarter than he actually is.”
“Good possibility. We’ve got a couple of witnesses who saw the vic at a dance club a few blocks away.”
“Which club? Blue?”
Mack glanced over his shoulder in the direction of the club. “Yeah, I think that’s it. Why?”
“That’s right around the corner from Donnelly’s, which is where we were when Emma got that call last night.” Jake’s mind raced back to the pub. “He knew what she was wearing, so he was definitely at Donnelly’s, or at the very least, he saw Emma before she went in. It wouldn’t be a stretch for him to head to Blue to find another victim.”
Jake’s thoughts catapulted forward as he formulated a plan. He’d need to hit up the managers of both Donnelly’s and Blue for security footage, get a photo of the victim to show the employees, see if he could find anyone who’d been in both bars last night…
“You’re shitting me, right?”
Mack’s question snapped him back to the present. “What?”
“You were with her when she got that call? You took her on a date?”
Jake grumbled a curse. As much as he knew Mack would keep quiet, he didn’t want to put him in a position where he needed to. “Hell, no. It wasn’t a date. My brother’s band was playing there. She came in with friends. We just ran into each other.”
“You just ran into each other.”
“Yes. I had no idea she would be there.” But Mack’s cocked eyebrow told Jake he knew there was more, and Jake knew his partner well enough to know he wouldn’t let him off that easy. “We had a couple of drinks together. No big deal.”
“I got news for you, Quinn. Drinks on a Friday night? That’s a date.”
Jake grimaced at his partner. “Not if it wasn’t on purpose.”
“That’s it?” Mack asked. “Just a couple of drinks?”
Jake took a long time to answer, long enough for Mack to scowl in disapproval.
“I may have kissed her,” he reluctantly admitted.
Mack pursed his lips and shook his head. “Bad idea.”
“No shit.” Mack was right. Jake shouldn’t have gotten so close to her, shouldn’t have made out with her on a crowded dance floor where anyone could’ve seen them. Definitely shouldn’t have gotten her off on the kitchen counter at his parents’ beach house.
But it was too late to change any of that now.
The medical examiner’s van pulled up, and Mack headed toward it with a tense gesture for Jake to follow him. “You’ve gotta be careful. You know the higher-ups have their eye on you for the next round of promotions. Don’t fuck it up, Quinn.”
“I don’t plan to.” That promotion was never far from his mind. He really should watch what he said here, with half the department surrounding them. “This bastard is one-hundred percent after Emma. He followed her last night, but for whatever reason, he grabbed someone at Blue instead. I can’t let him get near her again. He was too damned close.”
Mack stopped walking. “He was. But for now, we concentrate on this victim, this case. On what he did do, not what he might have wanted to do.”
Jake took several breaths through his clenched teeth as Mack stared him down. He couldn’t let his priorities get completely out of whack, but he was dead certain Emma was the bastard’s ultimate target.
“You’re right.” He glanced down the street toward the dance club before he gave Mack a
slap on the shoulder. “I’m going down there to see what I can find out.”
…
Jake ran a hand roughly over his face as he dropped into the chair at his desk. There wasn’t enough shitty coffee in the entire precinct to wake his ass up this morning. Afternoon. Whatever. After returning to his apartment once the sun was already up, he’d slept for a total of probably five minutes before he’d given up, showered, and headed back in. Sleep could wait. Emma’s safety couldn’t.
He longed to see her again soon, but he quickly squashed the thought. Dusting off the cobwebs of his life and taking a shot at a new beginning may have seemed possible yesterday while they were at the beach house, but the situation and the timing absolutely sucked. And even if he managed to keep her safe and get this prick behind bars, his screwed-up career—his screwed-up life—would be no place for someone like her. Once she realized it and got the hell away from him, he’d be in no better shape than his dad. Alone and miserable.
Better to have loved and lost? Bullshit. He’d seen what his dad went through when his mom died. If he let himself fall for Emma, the pain of losing her when she inevitably got fed up with all this and walked away would be no different. And there was a chance he’d lose her in another, more permanent way if he didn’t get his shit together and catch this bastard soon.
He took a hefty sip from his paper coffee cup and tapped his mouse to wake his computer. He’d spent the majority of the night questioning the employees at Blue. A few remembered the victim, but none could remember anything solid about the man who’d been with her last. His tech guy, Al Marino, had narrowed six hours of surveillance footage down to just over sixty minutes, focusing on the area at the bar where the bartender said the victim had been sitting roughly an hour before the ME said she’d been murdered a few blocks away. The video was poorly lit, grainy, and hard to focus on for any amount of time with the strobe lights pulsing from the dance floor just out of camera range, but it didn’t take Jake long to scroll through and find the victim, Sarah Goldberg. She sat alone and kept to herself, sipping a martini and chatting with the bartender before a man sidled up and took the seat next to her.