by Jen Talty
She cupped his face. “Jag. We are. This is just sex. I’m sorry. If you can’t...oh, my God.” She arched her back while he slipped his finger inside her, curling gently, stroking tenderly. “That’s not fair.”
He chuckled. “First. When you and I are together, it can never be described as just sex. Second. Never be sorry about us. And finally, I want you to know that I will always respect your wishes, just as I did when you left the last time. You asked me not to chase after you. So I didn’t. If, when you leave again, and you tell me this is over, I’ll respect that.”
She blinked a few times, licking her lips. “I…can’t…respond,” she said with gasp. “When you’re doing that.”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Fuck no,” she said, grabbing his forearm and encouraging him to dive deeper, harder, and faster.
He smiled as he leaned in and sucked her nipple into his mouth. She’d always been a wildcat, and their sex life had never been boring. Even what some might consider mundane lovemaking could only be described as passionate and desperate. She made him want to please her first, and if he never climaxed, it wouldn’t matter.
Her desire was all that he cared about.
And his was all she ever focused on.
It was a sexual pairing made in what could only be described as a devilish heaven.
With sensitive hands, he removed her thong as well as his sweatpants and underwear. He made sure to take his time kissing every inch of her glorious body. He wanted to feel all her muscles twitch and shake under his touch. Perspiration dotted their skin like precious beads.
The light of the moon danced across the night sky, casting a glow over Puget Sound.
He kissed his way down her taut stomach, enjoying every soft curve and sweet moan. She tasted like warm honey. Her slender fingers threaded through his hair, guiding him to where she needed it most. It was easy to get lost in her pleasure, and there wasn’t any other place he’d rather be.
She was home.
She lifted her hips. “Oh, Jag,” she whispered.
Wanting to feel her climax tighten around him, he eased himself into her, kissing her tenderly.
She accepted his weight as if they were one person. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony. Their soft moans filled the room, adding to the music.
They were made for each other, and he would spend the next few days showing her just how much they should be together.
“I love you,” he whispered in her ear while her body convulsed and shivered. He soaked up her orgasm before releasing his own.
“Jag,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t. It’s just that saying it will only make leaving harder.”
He squeezed his eyes tight. “I know, babe. It’s okay.” He kissed her temple. Letting her go again was going to kill him.
Chapter 10
The acid in Jag’s stomach churned. He couldn’t even take a sip of his coffee; his belly was so sour. He made the turn down Park Avenue, and as much as he wanted to deny reality, he knew deep down the Trinket Killer had returned.
He pulled into the brand-new glamping site and parked behind Jenna’s patrol car. Also at the crime scene was Hanson Paget, one of his other officers.
Jag put the Jeep in park and surveyed the area. There were six glamping tents with one game tent, a tiki bar, firepit, and an outdoor kitchen. Hanson stood by the kitchen area with a group of people while Jenna made her way from one of the tents toward Jag. He sucked in a deep breath and stepped from his SUV.
“Hey, Chief,” Jenna said. “Sorry to have woken you up.”
He took a quick glance at his Apple Watch. Callie would be up soon, and she wasn’t going to be happy he left without waking her.
Especially when she reads the note.
“It had to be done,” he said. “So, what do we have?”
“White female. Approximately twenty-five to thirty years of age. Long blond hair. Tall. Slender. And she had one of those raven things you showed me in her left hand.”
He rubbed his temple. “Left hand? Not right?”
“Yup,” Jenna said. “And it was the rose gold raven trinket.”
“The dolphins had been gold at first, then silver. All in their right hand. The other girls had been mood rings on their left ring finger.”
“What are you babbling about?” Jenna asked.
“Cases that might be connected.”
“Okay. I get the connection with the dolphins. That would be the Trinket Killer. But what about mood rings?”
“I’ll send you the files, but we found a case that we thought was closed, but maybe it was the early work of the Trinket Killer, who might be a woman.”
“That’s an interesting twist,” Jenna said. “I’d like to see what made you draw that conclusion.”
“Since the fucking asshole decided to drop a body on our doorstep, I’ll make sure you get everything,” he said. “I want you taking lead anyway.”
“The mainland’s going to do that, and you know it. I’ve already called CSI and the medical examiner. They are in the front of the ferry line right now,” Jenna said. “Oh, and before I forget, Matt’s on his way.”
Jag headed toward the tent where the body was found. “Why? This didn’t happen in the city of Seattle.”
“Nope. But since we’re probably going to make the connection to the Trinket Killer, he wants to be involved.”
“Why him?” Not that he minded working with Matt. If anything, he’d prefer him. He just wanted to know why and how it happened so quickly.
“Don’t get mad, Chief, but I called him directly first. I thought you’d want to get ahead of this just in case we really are dealing with that bastard again.” Jenna stopped at the base of the tent platform and looped her fingers in her uniform belt.
“That was smart. Thanks. Now tell me everything I need to know.” He sucked in a deep breath and tentatively ducked under the crime scene tape. The body lay on her back with her head tilted to the side. Her long hair haphazardly covered her face. Her left arm stretched out to the side, and her right one was draped over her stomach. She wore a pair of jeans, cowboy boots, and a thick white sweater now stained with blood from where she’d been stabbed.
Everything about the scene was identical to ten of the other Trinket Killers.
The ten that he’s decided the killer didn’t care as much about because the kills weren’t as violent nor did the killer take the extra steps of cleaning up and presenting the body.
Nope. All he—she did was make sure the trinket was placed in the hand.
“Our victim, Barbara Quinn, checked in at around six in the evening. Her girlfriend was supposed to meet her here around nine, but she never showed.”
“Where is the girlfriend now?”
“We don’t know,” Jenna said. “We believe her name is Holly Whalen and that our victim just met her a couple of weeks ago.”
“Was she already on the island?”
“According to the owners of the glamping site, when Barbara checked in, she said her new girlfriend was coming from the mainland. Hanson is still interviewing everyone. Barbara was quite friendly and spent some time at the tiki bar with a bottle of wine. One of the guests said she was pretty tipsy when she went to bed at midnight.”
Jag arched a brow. “And what did she have to say about her new girlfriend and her ETA? The ferry only runs until one in the morning.”
“Same guest said Holly finally texted back stating something came up and she’d call in the morning.”
“Ouch,” Jag said as he knelt by the body, snapping on a pair of gloves. He took a pen and lifted of a thick clump of hair. “The victim has bruises and a cut on her cheek. Looks like maybe a scratch from a fingernail.”
“That’s what I was thinking. There are some on her wrist as well,” Jenna said.
“If she fought back, how the hell did no one hear?” he mumbled.
“The couple in the tent next door heard something. They don’t know what woke the
m up. They said they heard a thud, like something falling.”
“Or a body hitting the ground.”
“Yeah. But, Chief, I don’t think she was killed here.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They heard that at about two and went back to sleep. The husband then heard a rustling noise and the sound of a zipper. He said he saw a shadow race out of the tent. A few minutes later he heard the sound of an engine down the road. He decided to check things out, and he found Barbara on the floor. That was at four twelve.”
“So, you think the killer came into the tent, they left, fought, and then the killer murdered our victim somewhere else and dragged the body back here.”
“I do. Look at the back of the tent,” Jenna said.
Jag lifted his gaze. The flaps were pulled down, and the screen wasn’t zipped all the way up.
“It’s freezing at night out here. You don’t leave those suckers down and turn the space heaters too low. You won’t stay warm. I know this from experience. My husband and I stay here every time he’s back from a deployment. I was too lazy one night after using the outhouse, and my husband cussed me out something good when I made him get his sorry naked ass out of bed to both zip it up and turn the heaters on full blast.”
Jag chuckled. Knowing her husband, he could only imagine what came out of that sailor’s mouth. Of course, Jenna gave as good as she got. “Any blood?”
“There is some on the floor and on the bed,” Jenna said. “But if you look under her body, there is very little. Another reason why I don’t think she was killed here.”
“She could have gotten up to use the bathroom and was taken out there,” Jag said. “It didn’t have to originate here, and I don’t see signs of a struggle inside the tent.”
“Good point.”
Jag turned his attention to the left hand and the trinket.
A raven.
Rose gold.
Placed in the palm.
“Oh fuck,” he mumbled.
“What is it?” Jenna asked, standing behind him.
“It’s a mood ring on her left finger.”
Jag took a step back while the medical examiner zipped up the body bag and placed it on the gurney. He followed Matt out of the tent and toward the kitchen area.
Jenna and Hanson had finished up with the rest of the guests, taking their information, and were currently helping to escort them off the property. The glamping site would be shut down for at least the next couple of days.
“Let’s take a walk around the grounds again,” Matt said, slipping off his gloves and tossing them in the trash. “Thank you for letting me help.”
Jag laughed. “I had a choice?”
“Not really,” Matt said. “But you do realize that’s the first time the Trinket Killer has left the city of Seattle.”
“That we know of,” Jag added. “But that brings up something I was thinking about this morning.”
“Don’t hurt yourself with all that brain power.”
Jag stepped behind one of the tents and onto a trail that looped around the property and through a couple of hiking trails. “I had originally thought that when we released Adam it gave our killer permission to finish her cycle.”
“You’re really sold the killer is a woman?”
“I am,” Jag said. “I really believe she would have killed Stephanie anyway. There was no pause when we caught Adam, and I think we should take a look at his murder a little more closely. The Trinket Killer could have murdered him for a plethora of different reasons.”
“I’ve already pulled the case.”
“Thanks.” Jag walked slowly down the path, scanning a few feet left and right, looking for clues of any kind. “So, I was thinking that if victims with the mood rings is the Trinket Killer, she didn’t stop when we caught the janitor. But since he wasn’t released, and the world thought he’d done it, she might have switched up her game.”
“That’s a solid reason for a serial killer to change their MO.”
“Which means, we’re looking for three dead young women with blond hair, killed sometime between the last mood ring murder and the first dolphin one.”
“Have you noticed the victims haven’t aged that much over the course of fifteen years when all this started?” Matt asked.
“I have. The mood ring victims were all younger than twenty. The dolphin victims were under the age of twenty-five, except Stephanie. She was just a year older.”
“But you know what’s weird?” Matt asked.
“What?”
“Normally, when we see this, we think our unsub is killing the same person over and over. But this feels like there is a shift with each trinket or color.”
“I have to agree with you,” Jag said. “And the change of right or left hand. And I believe even more now that Renee and Stephanie knew their killer.” Jag paused just as they came to the clearing on the other side of the property. He turned and faced his long-time friend. “I want to pull Callie into the conversation.”
“You’re joking, right?” Matt asked as he folded his arms across his chest. “She’s writing a fucking tell-all book.”
“Not even close. And let me tell you, I’ve read what she’s written so far, and some of my conclusions that we’ve just discussed have come from her research. She’s smart, and she’d be a huge asset. Besides, she’s not working for the station anymore. As a civilian, she can do things we can’t.”
Matt wiggled his index finger in his ear. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that because I’d hate to see you get fired.”
Jag tried not to laugh because it wasn’t funny. Levi and Matt had gone out on a limb for Jag more than once.
And they’d do it again, as would Jag.
“I would like to keep this as quiet as possible,” Matt said. “We don’t need the press bringing up the Trinket Killer.”
“That I’m on board with, but how are we going to do that when the Feds have been called in?”
“The agent in charge is going to be very low-key and stay in the background, but we absolutely don’t want the public to think the Trinket Killer is back,” Matt said. “How do you feel about taking a calculated risk?”
“I’ve been doing that my entire career. Why would I stop now?”
“Good.” Matt slapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sure the press will be out here eventually. Mind telling them we’ve got a person of interest that we’re talking to?”
“Do we?” Jag arched a brow. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this happened. “Because if we’re going to play the I’m just the local small-town cop, and you’re the big badass city slicker, and you’re going to go do shit behind my—”
“Relax, Jag. I know how personal this is for you, and I wouldn’t dream of doing that to you.” Matt glanced in the direction where Jenna and Hanson stood. “We have a series of dating murders, and our killer only communicates with us when we get something wrong. We’re so close to catching him, and if I link this to him, he might contact me. In the meantime, that gets people like Bailey off your back while you dig to your heart’s content and hopefully turn over something that will finally, after fucking years, give us a goddamned answer on this one.”
“Do what you need to.”
“All right. I’ve got to get back to the mainland. I’ll be in touch.”
Jag stood at the edge of the woods with his hands on his hips and stared at the fog slinking through the air, hiding the morning sun, leaving a misty dew on the grass.
Now all he had to do was tell Callie he would investigate with her.
Chapter 11
Callie sat behind Jag’s desk in his home office and flipped through the mood ring victim files for the eighth time. In all the time she’d been dating Jag, and they pretended to investigate together, they had always kept each other at a safe distance.
He actually had to because of his job.
Her job required her to do whatever it took to get the story, including beg, bo
rrow, steal, or lie.
And she did.
Which is what, in part, destroyed their relationship.
Something she had to come to terms with. Of course, he did his share of sabotaging their future, but right now, he was taking measures to rebuild.
While she was still backpedaling.
“You look like your mind is turning something over,” Jag said.
“No. That’s my stomach telling me to vomit.” She swallowed the tiny bit of bile that kept bubbling up her throat. “If your theory is correct, then the first kill is always violent. The one yesterday at the glamping site while horrific, wasn’t that brutal.”
“I know. I thought about that too.” Jag sat in a leather chair across the room with his feet up on a footstool while he tossed a tiny football up in the air. He used to do that when he’d been deep in thought, working a case that was making him lose sleep.
And last night, if he’d gotten more than three hours, it would have been a miracle.
A tap at the door startled her and she jumped, knocking over one of the files.
Ziggy opened the door and set a tray of food on the table by the door. “I’m heading back to Seattle. I’ll see you two later.”
“Thanks, sis,” Jag said as he blew her a kiss. “Say hello to Mom and Dad. Tell them I’ll call them later.”
“Please tell me you’re going to come tonight,” Ziggy said.
“I don’t know.” Jag continued to toss the football. “I’m a little swamped right now.”
“You’re off duty, technically until tomorrow morning at eight,” Ziggy said.
“I’m never off duty as chief,” Jag said. “And I just don’t know that I’m in a family dinner kind of mood. Besides, I don’t want to leave—”
“She’s still considered family.” She pointed at Callie. “So bring her.”
“Oh no.” Callie lifted one of the home-baked cookies off the tray and took a bite. It was still warm. Best damn cookies she’d ever had. “Last time I saw your dad, he gave me the famous Bowie look of disappointment. It still haunts me.”
Ziggy clutched her chest. “If you don’t come, he might hunt you down just to give you the look, which you really haven’t seen yet. That was just his sad, please don’t go look.”