Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5)

by Camille Taylor

  They said their goodbyes and Nick bundled her into his car.

  Leaning back against the headrest, she studied Nick’s face, illuminated by the dashboard lights. There was so much more to him than the man he presented. A son, a brother, an uncle, a partner…a friend. An enigma. And she was falling in love with him.

  Maybe already had.

  How would she walk away when this case closed? How could she forget all that stood between them? Already, she was mourning the loss.

  “What’s the bet they’ve gone straight to bed to make out?”

  She giggled into the darkness of the car. Riley shook her head. She was not a giggler. How much had she changed in the short time she’d been staying with Nick? She shuddered to think.

  The drive home—to Nick’s, she needed to remember the distinction, she’d fought the drowsiness overcoming her. A combination of wine and exhaustion had made it difficult and when her eyelids fluttered in an effort to remain open, Nick scooped her into his arms and carried her all the way from his basement parking to his apartment. She’d feebly protested, and in the end, simply secured her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder.

  He deposited her in bed, removed her coat and heels and tucked her in. She wanted to hold onto him, to pull him down beside her and snuggle against him but despite Aimee’s suggestion, she feared rejection and humiliation. Tears burned behind her eyes and a lump formed in her throat so instead, she rolled over, presenting him with her back and held herself tightly as though she could stop herself from shattering.

  She bit back a sob when he leaned over and placed a soft kiss to her forehead.

  Chapter 25

  Days later, Nick engaged the locks of his apartment door and immediately sensed something wasn’t right.

  A warmth was missing from the room.

  He surveyed the open area room to discover Riley was neither on the couch or in the kitchen though a faint curry smell still wafted throughout the apartment.

  A chill raced the length of his spine and his stomach lurched. “Riley?” His voice croaked. He cleared it, his knees weakening as he strained to hear anything to indicate she resided in the apartment. He called out to her again, louder this time.

  Time slowed down as he waited for her answer. He counted his heartbeats as he wiped his sweaty hands on the fabric of his pants.

  A clunk sounded from the back of his apartment and his heart leapt to his throat. He started toward the noise, his adrenaline surging, only to take a deep breath as Riley emerged from the laundry room. She smiled when she saw him and his knees buckled. He hid his reaction by leaning against the wall.

  She’d scared him.

  How was he going to cope when she returned back to her own place? His would certainly feel smaller, too quiet. Too cold.

  “How was your day?”

  He swallowed hard and pushed the words out. “Good.”

  Raising his hand, he produced the bouquet of flowers he’d been holding. A vibrant selection of multi-coloured flowers he couldn’t name had been artfully arranged and wrapped in violet tissue paper.

  Her eyes lit up. Damn. Now he wished he’d thought of them.

  “These are from James. He said you’d know why.”

  Her smile widened. “Aimee must’ve talked to him.”

  He nodded and handed them over. She skipped into his kitchen and found the largest container—he doubted he had a vase, having never needed one—and filled it with water before adding the flowers, puffing them about until she was satisfied then placed the container centre of his dining table. Standing back, she admired her fare. She nodded once then turned her attention back to him.

  “Your mother stopped by. Brought what she called her famous something chicken.”

  “Cacciatore,” he said absently.

  “Anyway, I’ve been salivating for hours waiting for you to come home so I can devour it.”

  She rubbed her hands together and licked her lips. He couldn’t help laughing.

  He cleared his throat. “Wouldn’t want to be between Riley and food. Dish it up while I take a quick shower.”

  “Don’t take too long.” She headed to the kitchen while he travelled down the hallway.

  Ten minutes he joined her at the table where she’d laid out their dinner. He caught her eying the bouquet with a soft stare and knew if he ever stuffed up he had an idea how to seek her forgiveness.

  Riley scooped a mouthful of his mother’s chicken cacciatore. He knew the moment the taste exploded on her tongue. Her eyes widened with appreciation and a murmur of approval escaped her lush lips and hit him square in the groin.

  Shit. He took a sip of the water Riley set out to wet his dry mouth.

  “So, your mother is under the impression we’re living together…as a couple.”

  He studied her face. There was a slight flush to her face. More prominent due to her Irish complexion.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “I assume you set her straight.”

  Her gaze dropped to her plate. “She doesn’t believe me.”

  “She means well.”

  She sighed. “Yes, she does. You’re really lucky. I’d kill you in a heartbeat to take your place.”

  He laughed. Something he noted he did more often around her.

  “I better start watching my back.”

  “Nah, you’re too pretty to kill.”

  He would not feel satisfaction at her words. If he’d been a peacock he’d have preened.

  His stomach tumbled for a second before a wariness washed over him, prickling his skin and tightening the muscles at the back of his neck.

  “What else did you and my mother talk about?”

  She shrugged. “Books mostly. She picked up my selections. Even started one last night and is already hooked. That’s my favourite part of this industry. Finding people to love the books I do. And she’s worried about poor single Rose.”

  Nick dismissed that. “Rose is fine.”

  “I know that. But it’s a mother’s duty to pair off all her children. You were on that same list until a couple of days ago. You’re welcome.”

  He’d be more appreciative if it was real.

  “She means well.”

  Riley’s laughter quickly died.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Her gaze caught his and held.

  “Wishing I had a family like yours. I don’t remember my mother much. Declan tried but it’s not the same. Actually, your mother reminds me of my Gran. Both such warm, loving women.”

  “Have you tried calling your brother?”

  She took a sip of her water and pushed her food around her plate. “I don’t want to bother him. I’m fine. Plus, if he knew he’d come up here and push his weight around. I love him, but he can be a bear.”

  “I understand. I’m just as protective of my sisters. And you. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Riley. I promise.”

  To his surprise, she took his hand. “I know, Nick. I’ve never doubted it.”

  She withdrew and stared at him, her head tilted to one side. Her eyes held questions.

  “What did I do?”

  “He’s a sociopath, Riley. You probably didn’t do a damn thing except exist.”

  “Not him. You. That first day. I thought it was the beginning of something special. I could’ve sworn you did too. Then all of a sudden you were freezing me out. Did I read our time together so poorly? Was I so desperate to see something I made it all up?”

  His heart squeezed. What could he say? No, it wasn’t her? It’s him all the way? He doubted she’d believe that.

  “Riley…”

  “No. I don’t want to know…Yes, I do. Forget about pride dammit. I want to know.” She thumped her fist lightly on the table. Her fork jumped from her plate and landed on the tablecloth.

  She stared at him, her eyes glossy.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He took a deep
breath. “It’s not you, it’s me.” Even as he said them, they sounded inadequate to his ears let alone what she’d take from them.

  Riley frowned. More questions raced across her pretty face.

  “Really. I’ve got so much going on I can’t think about anything else. I’m really sorry this is happening to you.”

  “Yeah, so am I. With everything.” She collected her still full plate and glass and disappeared into the kitchen leaving him alone. A state he was coming to hate. Especially when he hurt others to maintain it. Why couldn’t he just cave? Riley was not Vanessa. And he felt strongly for Riley. Almost too strongly. Why the hell could he not get his legs to follow after her and show her what he’d been hiding all this time?

  Because he was scared. He had no idea how to get over it. Even now, he found it hard to trust.

  Plates clanged as she stacked them in the dishwasher. He cursed softly.

  The sooner he closed this case and brought the killer to justice, the sooner he could move Riley out of his life. Seeing her only wedged the knife further into his heart and until he was ready to take the plunge, he had to keep his hands and lips off of her.

  Chapter 26

  Nick had a way of infuriating her. Like he knew how to push each of her buttons. As she gripped the phone tightly, Riley tried extremely hard not to scream at him on the other end. She paced back and forth from the front door of Nick’s apartment to the kitchen bench and back again, one hand holding the phone, the other on her hip. She took a deep, calming breath and tried to explain once again without flying off the handle.

  “Listen up, Doyle. Michelle is my friend and she’s in trouble. I’m not asking for your permission. I’m allowing you to be a part of my decision. I don’t care how you arrange it, or what I have to do, I’m going to help her out. So, find me a wig, send me around back, whatever just do it!”

  Okay, she had tried but damn her Irish roots. Try doesn’t necessarily mean she will succeed. It didn’t help that Nick was just as stubborn as she was, neither of them giving an inch. Just who did he think he was commanding her to stay locked up in his apartment?

  The man who is trying to keep you safe and ultimately save your life that’s who.

  She huffed out a deep aggravated breath.

  She’d been angry since last night. Not just at him but at herself for asking. It was true when they said ignorance is bliss. She still had no idea what had happened between them. Or how he felt. His answer had done nothing but pose more questions.

  Grabbing Nick’s West Tigers beanie that hung from the hook beside the front door, she jerked it over her head, taking the time to tuck her red strands under the hat. She shook her head; the man should be paid as a walking promoter. He really needed a new hobby—like making babies.

  Where had that thought come from?

  As much as she liked Nick, wanted to be with him in every way possible, this moment was just an example at how their lives would be in the future, bumping their heads together every time they disagreed which lately was almost an hourly thing. The tension slowly growing between them was coming to a startling explosion that was bound to take them both down.

  Stop thinking about Nick. He doesn’t want you and nothing short of stripping off buck naked in front of him like Aimee suggested would change that. She was a little hurt that Nick, notorious flirter didn’t bother to butter her up or make her feel special. There was, of course, the occasional moment when she thought he wanted to kiss her, a flash of desire in his eyes that made every other coherent thought fly out of her head and have her betraying body warm, clench and unclench and prepare itself for his invasion.

  Then there were the times he was so sweet, her heart ached. Like tucking her into bed and kissing her forehead. It was like playing a game of tug-o-war. One, she lost either way.

  How did her life come to this? She had been perfectly happy in her abstinence lifestyle, never worrying about what she was missing out on, not until he had shown up in her life and then her body had become a raging hormone reactor about to blow sky high.

  This morning had been a repeat of those early days, each keeping their distance. Nick had gone to work early after his usual run with no word on when he’d be home.

  She’d gotten the message. Loud and clear.

  No more friendly dinners. No more comfortable chats.

  Fine by her.

  Except it wasn’t. Not by a long shot.

  She hurt so bad, it was a wonder she’d didn’t lay down and die where she stood.

  Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door. Riley approached cautiously, not planning on taking any chances. As she neared her mobile rang, her ringtone causing her to jump. She quickly answered it after she checked the caller ID. No chance of pretending she wasn’t home now. She stared at the front door.

  “Senior Constable Watson is on his way there now.” Nick forewent any pleasantries. She could tell by his voice he was pissed. Well too bad, she was pissed too but she wasn’t going to let that fact ruin her day.

  “I think he’s already here.”

  “Describe him.” An order, not a suggestion.

  She rolled her eyes before obediently looking through the peephole. A young man of about twenty-six with blue eyes and a mop of ginger hair neatly parted on his head stood on the opposite side of the door. He was dressed in casual wear—jeans and a polo shirt, a pair of leather loafers on his feet. He didn’t look like any senior constable she’d ever met before, his young babyface oddly off-putting.

  But only in a trusting him with her life kind of way. As a complete package, he was sure to make women’s heart pound. Just not hers. But then, she’d already figured hers was defective.

  “That’s him,” Nick said once she finished her description. “But confirm it anyway.”

  Riley bit back a retort, one sure to be four-lettered and never to be repeated in polite company. Really what was it about him that was a lit match to her dynamite?

  As she opened the door, she smiled welcomingly at Cade Watson. The young man blinked twice, uncertain of her attitude. Obviously, Nick had told him to prepare for the worst.

  “Hi, Ms. O’Neill, I’m Constable Cade Watson. Nick Doyle sent me.”

  Riley opened the door wide and offered her mobile. “Want to talk to Nick?”

  Cade eyed the phone warily. He swallowed hard. “Does Nick want to talk to me?”

  “Just say a few words to give him peace of mind.” While Cade spoke with Nick, Riley shrugged into her jacket.

  “Hi, Nick…yeah.” He looked at Riley. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Handing her back her phone, Riley immediately deposited it in her back pocket of her antique jeans.

  “Do I want to know what he said about me?”

  “No, not really ma’am.” At least he was honest.

  Riley took his arm. “I thought so.”

  Chapter 26

  Nick parked his car outside the dilapidated mobile home two hours’ south-west of Harbour Bay. He hadn’t told Riley where he was going today. She had specifically told him she didn’t want to know and as much as he would rather not face the man who had once meant everything to Riley—at least nineteen-year-old Riley. This was something he couldn’t hold off any longer.

  Brad Gallagher was a person of interest.

  Climbing out the car, Nick was glad that he wore his heavy winter coat, the further south he travelled the colder the climate. He knocked briefly on the caravan door and listened for signs of life. A small rustling and a squeak of rusted metal rubbing together told him someone was home. He waited unsure of what he’d find and whether or not digging into the past would do more damage than good.

  The thin, small door opened outwards and a man in his early forties looked out at him, squinting his eyes against the harsh light of day. The man reeked of booze and smoke and Nick assumed he was still coming down from an all-night bender.

  “Yeah? Who are you?”

  “I’m Detective Sergeant Nick Doyle, I’m looking for Brad
Gallagher. Is he here?” He refrained from explaining exactly which police station he represented. If Gallagher was innocent—of the Novel Killer crimes that is, the last thing Nick wanted to do was lead the man to right to Harbour Bay…and to Riley.

  “Well, you found him, what do you want?” Gallagher demanded.

  Nick took a long measuring look at the man before him. The file on Gallagher said he was a man in his mid-thirties, not much older than Nick himself but he could just make out the similarities of the man with the ten-year-old driver’s licence photo he had pulled of Brad Gallagher. Time had not been friendly.

  Nick was happy about that. The bastard deserved so much worse but he’d take retribution where he got it. “Do you mind if I come on in? I promise not to stay long.”

  Shrugging, Brad stepped back allowing Nick to enter. It was then he realised Gallagher leaned heavily on a cane, limping as he moved. The man sank down heavily onto the small couch inside and poured himself a glass of Southern Comfort. After extracting two pills from the foil sheet he washed them down with a shot of liquor.

  Nick refrained from commenting at the hazards of mixing what appeared to be high powered pain-killers and strong alcohol.

  “My knee’s bothering me today. Always aches like a son-of-a-bitch on cold days like this.”

  You’ll get no sympathy from me. You hurt my Riley. You’re lucky you’re still breathing.

  “So, what can I do for you, Detective? I haven’t done anything wrong—lately.” He chuckled. “I can’t imagine what you’re doing on my doorstep.”

  “Do you recognise the name, Riley O’Neill?”

  Gallagher choked on a mouthful of Southern Comfort spitting it back into the glass for what Nick could only assume was for consumption at a later date. Nick saw the fear in the man’s eyes. Did Riley put that there? It was possible—more than possible. She could be scary when called upon.

  “Jesus, I haven’t heard that name in a good long while. Not long enough though if you catch my drift. What’s the little bitch done? She always was a troublesome woman. Much too headstrong.”