“Is there a way you can check it?” Her voice hitched.
“I can see if any of the email addresses match, but that’s about it.” He shook his head. “I’m no computer expert.”
She sniffed and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“We will find him, Addison.”
She nodded, her expression still somber, and he lost the battle against reaching out to her.
He gripped her ice-cold hand in his, rubbing warmth into it. “I know you don’t completely trust me, but have faith in God. We’ll find the killer, and we’ll stop him.”
“And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
“What happens after we find him, if we do? Do I return to writing? Do I write another book some other killer might emulate?”
He cradled her cheek and used his thumb to wipe her tears. “I can’t answer that for you, Addison. Only you can decide where to go from here, with a lot of soul-searching, I imagine. But I don’t think you should let anyone take away something you obviously love, something you’re quite good at.”
A tentative smile softened her features.
Even though he knew what her answer would be, and reluctantly agreed with her to some extent, he had to try. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the police?”
She jerked back as if he’d slapped her.
He instantly wished he could take back the suggestion, though he knew he couldn’t. “If we’re going to catch this killer, we need more resources than you and I have. We also need more manpower. We’re pressed for time, and we need help from somewhere.”
Jace hadn’t walked back into a police station since the day he’d resigned. Even then, he hadn’t known whom he could trust, so he had no one to turn to now. But if they went to the police in Shady Creek, maybe that wouldn’t matter. He swallowed hard, forcing the next words past the lump of resentment threatening to choke him. “I’ll go with you.”
“You don’t understand.” Tears darkened her lower lashes, shimmering in the fading light from the window.
“Then tell me. Help me understand.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to cooperate. I desperately want this killer to be found and stopped. And I would do anything...” She held his gaze, anger burning in her eyes. “Anything at all, no matter the personal cost, to stop him. But the police won’t help me. No matter which station we go into, at the end of the day, the SCPD is in charge of this investigation. The killings took place in their jurisdiction, on Brandon’s turf.”
She wasn’t wrong about the jurisdiction, and he didn’t hold a high opinion of some of his fellow officers, which was why he was no longer on the force, but he couldn’t imagine them turning their backs on potential information about a killer. “No matter what happened between you and your ex, no cop is going to ignore evidence that might lead them to a serial killer.”
“Brandon has a lot of pull. One of his buddies already insinuated I was behind the murders when he questioned me.”
He had to concede that was true. The man had half the force in his pocket, and those he didn’t control were too afraid of the consequences to cross him. Jace was living proof of the power the man held. “There’s no love lost between Brandon and me, but he has nothing to do with this.”
Her laughter held no humor. “You and Brandon? I thought you two were partners, though that didn’t stop him from trying to take you down with him.”
Anger surged through him in a wave he had no hope of controlling, and he trembled with the need to dull it. “Instead of him.”
“What?”
“He tried to take me down instead of him, because I wouldn’t indulge in the...activities he so enjoyed once I found out what was going on. Unfortunately, no one would stand against him with me, and he tried to set me up to take the fall for his illegal pursuits.” He clenched his fists, willing the rage to the small compartment he’d created to contain it.
“It didn’t work, because I quit. I walked away from my career, the people I thought were my friends, my self-respect...and then Jennifer was killed. A warning? Or maybe my punishment for crossing him.” Maybe Brandon had been concerned Jace would keep talking if he went to jail. Maybe he was afraid the right—or wrong, in his mind—person would listen. So he’d given him a warning, because there were other people in the world Jace loved, too: Connor, Connor’s parents, who’d taken him in when his world had shattered and provided a loving home.
And once he’d walked away, he’d been acquitted along with Brandon and the rest of them.
He turned away, unable to face her, unwilling to see the pity in her eyes.
“No one walks away from Brandon unscathed,” she said softly.
“I know.” Just because his scars didn’t show didn’t mean there were none. God knew he carried his share.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” She wrapped her arms around herself, pain and fear evident in her stance. “There is no way Brandon will allow anyone to help me. A killer is after me. If he’s not found, he’ll kill me, unless I...”
She waved away whatever she’d been about to say. “Brandon would love nothing more than to see me dead, especially at the hand of a killer I created. For all I know, he hired someone to play the part. That would be just like Brandon. Let someone else do the dirty work, then walk away if he gets caught. Ideally, Brandon wins. But, trust me on this, he never loses.”
Without waiting for her tea, Addison turned and walked away, her back rigid, stress bunching the muscles in her shoulders.
He watched her leave, then leaned his hands on the counter and lowered his head between his arms, wrestling the anger and pain under control. He had to find a way to control the rage, to let go of the past, to forgive all of those who had harmed him, especially those who had turned away out of fear for their own safety. Could he blame them, really?
The smell of sausage cooking turned his stomach. He needed to think. He stirred the fully browned meat, then rubbed a hand over his scratchy five-o’clock shadow. He needed a shave. If Connor didn’t get there soon, he’d have to ask Addison to sit right outside the bathroom door, where he could hear her if she screamed, while he took a shower.
Ignoring the urge to break something, he headed to the pantry for spices. Garlic powder, sundried tomato and basil—hmm...that might work—a few cans of tomato sauce. He grabbed what he needed in both hands and turned, lifting his elbow to shut off the light.
He headed back to the kitchen with the spices and sauce and dropped them onto the counter beside the stove, then added what he needed to the sausage and stirred.
Addison wasn’t the only victim Brandon had left in his wake.
But Jace had allowed Brandon to take everything from him. Maybe if he’d fought harder...
It wasn’t like Connor had abandoned Jace when the scandal came to light. He’d stood by him, had offered help. Once he’d left the Marine Corps, Connor had opened his own private investigation firm, and he’d even offered Jace a job.
Jace had turned him down. He’d been so absorbed in feeling sorry for himself, he’d pushed away the one man who might have believed in him. Then Connor had buddied up with Maris, supposedly trying to prove the allegations she’d wielded against Brandon. Her story must have been very convincing, because Connor had come to Jace then, had confronted him, asked him if the charges she’d made against him were true, begged him to be honest if he’d been involved in any crimes.
Jace, his mind dulled by alcohol, his emotions raw from grief, had blown up, seeing the question as a betrayal. Looking back, he could see more clearly. Connor hadn’t accused, he’d simply asked. But Jace had been too stubborn to understand the difference.
Addison’s scream jolted him back to the present. Her next scream propelled him through the doorway, weapon drawn.
SEVEN
Blackness weighed heavily, pinning her down.
Fear held her immobile. She clenched her teeth hard, desperate to hold back the scream.
She had to move, had to help. She had to get out of there before the darkness crushed her. She curled into a tighter ball, tears streaming down her cheeks, trying to keep her sobs soft enough so he wouldn’t hear, wouldn’t find her. She had to hide.
Had to help.
The smell of blood surrounded her, seeping to her along with a small sliver of light. Terrified, shaking, silent, she pressed one eye against the crack, peeked. Blood covered the floor, dark hair fanned around—
“Addison!”
She squeezed her eyes closed, blocking the image.
“Addison, come on.” Strong hands gripped her arms, shook her.
No. She had to stay hidden, couldn’t respond. The voice, so familiar. She wanted to reach for him, wanted to lose herself in the safety of... No! Mommy said to hide. She had to listen...had to hide...had to help.
“Addison! Wake up, now!”
The scream welled within her until her lungs would no longer contain it, then it ripped free with such force it tore Addison from the nightmare.
Hands clutched her throat. No, not hands...hair. Her hair had wrapped around her neck while she’d slept. She jerked up on the couch, clawed at it, tried to untangle it from her throat.
“Hold on, Addison. Stop.” Though Jace’s command was a bit rough, his touch was gentle as he lifted her hands away, then worked to unwind her hair from where it had settled across her throat. “Take it easy, now. I have you. Everything’s fine.”
Addison sucked in a shaky breath. Not enough air. She needed more. Disoriented, she scanned the room. Hadn’t she been working? Her desk chair had been pushed back, her laptop closed.
“Addison?”
Her gaze shot to his.
Jace smiled, but his eyes remained somber, narrowed in concern. “That must have been some dream.”
His voice remained calm, steadying her as he tucked the last strands of hair behind her ear and sat back, close enough to still offer comfort, yet far enough to allow her the space she needed to breathe. “Are you all right now?”
She nodded. Heat crept up her cheeks. How could she explain the nightmares she’d suffered since childhood?
He flopped back against the couch cushion, totally at ease, and propped his feet on the large ottoman. Surely he’d be more alert, if there was any threat? “I have a little experience with nightmares, and I’m a good listener if you want to talk.”
Phoenix stood nearby, hovering but not agitated.
Her first instinct was to blow Jace off. After all, everyone suffered nightmares. Jace had just admitted he did, but something about her nightmares seemed important. Addison sat up straighter and curled into the corner of the couch. Shivering, she pulled a throw around her. “My eyes started to burn, so I grabbed a notebook to work on plotting and came to sit on the couch. I must have fallen asleep.”
Jace got up and searched for a second, then lifted her notebook from the floor, found her pen stuck between two cushions. He closed the book, tucked the pen into the spirals and set it aside on the ottoman before returning to his place. “It’s really not surprising you’d have a nightmare after all you’ve been through.”
“That’s just it—the nightmare is nothing new. I’ve suffered with them for as long as I can remember.”
He sat up straighter. “Are they always the same?”
She shrugged. She’d never spoken about her nightmares to anyone, not even Maris, when her sister used to lie beside her at night and stay awake as long as she could so Addison could sleep. A dull ache gripped her heart. She was going to have to make up with Maris, forgive her for doing what she must have thought was the right thing. Who knew? Maybe it was. She might have failed to take Brandon down, but at least Addison had realized what a monster he was. “The nightmares are always some variation of the same thing. I’m trapped in an enclosed space, the smell of blood surrounding me, cloying, choking me.”
“Can you ever remember actually feeling trapped somewhere, even if it was only figuratively?”
Sharp pain pierced her temples. She jumped to her feet, tossing the throw aside. “I... Could you give me a few minutes to freshen up, please?”
He studied her for another moment while she silently pleaded for him to let this drop. He then stood. “Sure thing. If you’re sure you’re okay, I’m going to finish dinner.”
She headed to the small bathroom to splash water on her face and finger-comb her hair. Trapped. She couldn’t remember ever being trapped anywhere, and yet a vague familiarity with the space she inhabited in her dream had always plagued her after waking. For a while, after her marriage had ended, she’d thought the nightmares had stopped, believed maybe it was her marriage she’d felt trapped in and Brandon was the attacker she’d sought to hide from, but then the nightmares had started again not long after she’d moved out. Question was, why? Did she still fear him, or was it something else stalking her dreams? The same thing that had stalked her nightmares since she was a child?
She returned to the kitchen a little while later, her eyes red and slightly puffy, though for the most part she’d pulled herself together. “Can I help with anything?”
“There’s not much to do, but you can set the table if you want.” He filled a big pot with water and put it on the stove to boil, then grabbed a box of pasta from the pantry.
“If we had supplies, I’d make salad to go with the pasta, but this will have to do for tonight.” He held up a loaf of Italian bread. “I found it in the freezer.”
He cut the bread in half and opened it, then left it on the butcher-block countertop while he mixed butter, garlic powder and a few other spices she couldn’t see, from where she stood at the table, into a small bowl. “Do you like garlic bread?”
“Mmm-hmm.” She set a couple of plates on the breakfast bar and added napkins and silverware.
The aroma of sauce cooking filled the kitchen. She sat on a stool and watched him. His movements were practiced and comfortable. Cooking obviously wasn’t new to him. She’d never had a man working in her kitchen before. It was...interesting.
Brandon didn’t cook, nor did he do dishes. Those were a woman’s responsibilities, along with cleaning, laundry, entertaining his company... Brandon could have afforded an army of housekeepers—which she probably should have questioned, since his salary shouldn’t have been enough to give him the lifestyle he enjoyed—but he’d lectured her often about earning her keep, even though he wouldn’t allow her to work.
She shifted on the stool, uncomfortable with the thought of someone else allowing her to do something. He hadn’t actually said she couldn’t work; he’d just made life miserable for her and everyone around her if she tried, making it impossible for her to keep a job. She didn’t mind doing the housework. It was better than sitting alone hour after hour, day after day. Besides, a housekeeper would have been a witness to the realities of her marriage, an intrusion on the fantasy Addison had chosen to embrace.
The one thing she hadn’t allowed him to take away from her, the one thing she’d stood strong about, was going to church. Each week she went to mass and prayed for him, prayed for guidance, and when the time came, she’d prayed she’d have the strength to do what needed to be done and the courage to stand up to him.
She pushed the thoughts aside. None of it mattered now. Had she known what he was when she married him, she wouldn’t have. If she’d realized what a monster he was sooner, she would have left. Immersed in the situation, she hadn’t been able to see the truth; she’d simply accepted the way things were and excused his behavior, choosing to live in blissful ignorance rather than fight a losing battle. She pressed a hand to her lower back, the phantom pain a subtle but constant reminder of what happened when you engaged in any kind of confrontation with Brandon. Denial had been her most consistent companion throughout her marr
iage.
“Did you hear me?”
She jumped, startled from the past, Jace’s deep voice bringing momentary panic. “I’m sorry.”
He frowned at her.
She forced a smile, grimace, whatever. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“We’re going to have to figure out what to do. If you don’t go talk to the police—”
She shot to her feet. “I already told y—”
“I know.” He held up his hands, butter knife gripped in one, in a gesture of surrender. “I’m not saying you should, I’m just saying we have to figure out what we’re going to do if you don’t.”
She lifted a brow and kept her expression serious, suppressing the genuine smile tugging at her. “We?”
He grinned. “Whatever.”
Jace obviously planned on sticking around. She ignored the flutter that brought. Her laughter escaped, despite the fear that had been consuming her only moments before. Something about Jace made her want to trust him, a dangerous proposition considering the situation.
Phoenix jumped to his feet, hackles raised, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
Jace turned off the stove and slid the saucepan off the burner. Eyeing the big dog with its teeth bared, he hit the button to turn off the oven. “Get down.”
Addison crouched behind the breakfast bar, keeping the center island between her and the windows above the sink and in the back door.
“What is it?” she whispered, straining to hear over the dog’s growls and the pounding of her own heart.
Jace rounded the counter, gun drawn, expression hard, the seemingly good-natured man who’d been making dinner in her kitchen only moments ago a distant memory. The drastic change was a stark reminder people weren’t always what they seemed.
Brandon could speak with eloquence and sincerity that would win over the most jaded adversary. She’d lost track of the number of women who’d commented on how fortunate she was to have such a charming husband. To be fair, she couldn’t argue the fact. He was charming. Too bad it was all an act.
Crime Scene Connection Page 9