The Deadly Series Boxed Set

by Jaycee Clark

  She opened her eyes and met Brayden’s angry glare.

  He didn’t say a single word, but he didn’t have to. He might as well have just roared, “Who?”

  Chapter 18

  A knife could have cut the silence of the living room.

  “Are those more photos of Christian?” Jock asked.

  Brayden didn’t say a word, nor did a single flicker cross his eyes.

  “This is just what he wants,” she told him, trying to ease the tightness in her chest. That framed photo was bad enough, brought it all back. But it was in the past. Behind her.

  Still Brayden didn’t move, barely blinked. She’d never seen him this angry. She knew he wasn’t mad at her, but Brayden’s anger had been known to spill on those around him. And maybe he was a bit pissed at her.

  “As you told me, you’re letting him win.”

  That got him moving. He hurled the photos away and strode to her, ripping the box from her hands.

  “Letting him win?” he yelled. “Good God, woman! I’m not the one still protecting him!”

  That’s what he thought?

  “Brayden, calm down,” Quinlan said.

  “I agree,” Jock said. “There’s no cause to act this way or yell at her.”

  Brayden whirled on his father. “She knows the son of a bitch, Dad. She knows the bastard, but God forbid she tell me his name.”

  All eyes turned to her. Christian raised her head and looked straight at Brayden, who was so angry, so enraged for her and at her.

  “Why do you want to know?” she asked.

  Both eyebrows rose on that one. “Excuse me?”

  “I asked,” she said, standing her ground, “why you want to know.”

  “You need to even ask?” His voice was hard and low.

  She shook her head. “That’s why.”

  “You know the man who did this?” Jock asked.

  “Why didn’t you say something?” Kaitlyn butted in.

  Christian closed her eyes and counted to ten. Finally, drawing a deep breath, she looked straight at Brayden.

  “Yes, I know this man. Yes, I know his name and no, I won’t tell you. Any of you.” She glanced around the room, noting the shocked faces.

  “I. Want. His. Name,” Brayden said, spacing each word.

  For a long moment, she stared at him. Finally, she said, “And you’ll get it.”

  “Now.”

  “No.”

  “Now!”

  “I said no!” She walked to him, jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “You’re pissed? Fine. You’re angry? Fine! Do you like these pictures, Brayden? Do you like what you see here?”

  She didn’t expect an answer and she didn’t get one.

  His eyes burned dark and blue, a witch’s raging caldron. Still, she didn’t back down. This was too damned important.

  “You want a name because of what you see, what he did, what I told you. But your anger is nothing, nothing compared to mine.” She should probably stop before she said something she might regret, but she couldn’t stop the flow of words. “You think I’m protecting him? Well, you’re wrong. You were right. I protected him for too long, lost in my own fear, from threats and dark memories. But no more! No more!”

  Christian stalked past him to the French doors. The glistening snow offered no advice. “My fury could swallow yours. I’ve hated this man for far too long to let you or anyone else take this away from me.” She turned and stared back at him.

  “You’re not taking him on,” Brayden said. “This.” He held up the box with the frame. “Was sent to me. Me. Not you. He’s angry at me.”

  That he was, and Christian wasn’t about to let Richard turn on Brayden or any of the rest of them.

  “I’m not hiding behind you,” he bit out. “And if you believe anyone else in this house is, you don’t know us nearly as well as you think.”

  Silence stretched and stretched some more. Kaitlyn was the one that broke it. “Why didn’t you ever say something? We would have helped you.”

  They would have. Or they would have started to. No. Hell. Even as well as Christian knew the Kinncaids, she also knew how persuasive Richard could be. Doubt whispered mockingly at her. She only shook her head.

  “No?” Kaitlyn asked. “No, what? You didn’t want our help? I’m trying to understand.”

  Christian sighed and looked at the older couple she thought of as her own parents. “It’ll all be over soon, it doesn’t matter.”

  Both their faces hardened. “Do not insult us like this,” Kaitlyn said. “You are just as much one of our children as any of the boys. And if one of them is in trouble or hurt . . .” She trailed off as her voice cracked.

  Christian didn’t know what to do to make it better. She couldn’t tell them, not yet. It was too close to being completed, if she could just get the damn documents in the mail. But she was hurting them and she didn’t like that or the fact they saw it as an insult.

  “If any of our kids are in trouble,” Jock picked up, “we damn well know about it and what the hell to do about it. We no more let them stand between us and trouble than we will let you.”

  “You don’t understand,” she tried.

  “Because you won’t explain,” Brayden said.

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Why? We don’t need protecting!”

  She couldn’t hold in the harsh chuckle. “No, you think you’re invincible. He thinks so too, but he doesn’t like to be crossed. The only advantage I have right now is that he still thinks I’m too terrified to do anything. But if he didn’t . . .” She only shook her head. “If I told you, you’d go off half-cocked. He’d be out before you knew what happened suing this family for slander, if he was in the mood. Or maybe he’d be sympathetic and play the oh-those-poor-deceived-people card and show you the evidence of how very unbalanced I am.” At Brayden’s raised brow she continued. “What? You don’t think I’m delusional, Brayden? Don’t think I’m a liar? Well, that can be disproved right off, can’t it?” She counted off on her fingers. “There’s my age, my name, my omission of the truth. He’d produce file after file, document after document over how unstable I was as a teen, of the lie I’ve clearly led up until now, clearly deceiving you good people. His own pocketed psychiatrist would vow before a court he’d seen me twice a week for hour-and-a-half sessions and would vouch for how unstable I am.”

  She ground to a halt. No, she was not going there.

  “And did you?” he asked.

  “What? See the illustrious doctor? No. I never saw him.”

  “Then what did you do during that time? Where were you?”

  Even as he asked the question she saw something flicker in his eyes. She should have known he wouldn’t let it go. Damn it!

  “Where was I? What was I doing? Use your imagination, Brayden.” She bent down and picked up the packet of photos. “And if that fails, flip through these, they’ll give you a good enough idea.” She tossed the envelope on the couch. “Why did I never say anything? Why? I have to have every shred of proof I can. He’s not getting away this time, because if he did . . .”

  God, the repercussions . . .

  “Do you honest to God think I never asked for help?” She shook her head. “People were bought off. Or worse. He killed those that helped me. You don’t understand him, the lengths he’ll go to. He’d do the same again because this time he has so much more to lose. Maybe you’d turn on the coffeepot one morning, only to have the shop burst into flames. Or perhaps Jesslyn would flip a light switch in the nursery and the house would go up.” At his look of disbelief, she said, “He’s done it before. I tell, someone dies. Or in one case, an entire family, who not only dared to believe me, who wouldn’t take his money, but helped me escape. All of them, parents, grandparents, children, Christmas morning. Ka-boom. And before you think you’re better equipped, that man was a cop, a decorated veteran cop. Or maybe your parents would get in the jet to fly somewhere, only to have it explode. He told me he was ra
ther partial to fires, very cleansing, he said.

  “Then there’s Jock, who likes to play golf. What’s a new friend? One that might have a heart problem too and wants to know what meds Jock takes, compare notes, gripe about age, that sort of thing. Maybe he’d slip your dad something that would prove fatal, switch out his nitro with a sugar pill. Or Quinlan could get shot in a mugging gone bad. Though he tries not to repeat the same crime, so maybe he’d just have Quinlan run off the road. Oh, no, wait, he did that too. Hell, maybe this time he’ll just have someone take your mom out with a rifle shot while she’s out walking. Are you getting the picture now? Am I protecting you? You’re damn right I am.”

  She looked around at all the questioning, confused and angry faces. “You’re my family.” Tears clogged her throat and she looked back at Brayden. “My family. He made it impossible for me to have anything to do with the relatives I have left. I survived what he did once. Not the beatings or the rape, but to those I cared about, those I loved. I couldn’t do it again.”

  A muscle jumped in his jaw. He wasn’t listening. Christian threw up her hands.

  “How can you not understand I have to have this? That I need to see him stripped of his life, of how everyone sees him after everything I’ve told you?”

  Brayden’s eyes stormed, and she could see he was grinding his teeth. He shook his head, raised his hands and dropped them. “I can’t let you do this alone.”

  Christian shrugged. “Well, it’s not really your choice, Brayden.”

  He took a deep breath, probably trying to calm down, but his bunched fists told her it didn’t help.

  “That makes you mad. I’m sorry for that. But I can’t let you take this away. I’ve waited too long, come too damn far. He’s going down. And I’m going to be the one that jerked his perfect little rug out from under him. You don’t like that, I understand. But he started this twisted game long ago in his sick mind. I’m going to be the one that finishes it. He created this storm of rage in me, and by God, that bastard is going to reap what he sowed.”

  With that, she turned and walked out of the room, Brayden’s mumbled curse mixing with someone else’s the only sound she heard over the pounding of her own heart.

  • • •

  Later that week, Christian sat outside the police station.

  The Kinncaids were barely speaking to her, and she couldn’t really blame them. She’d gone to see her doctor earlier that day for a follow-up. Everything thankfully was fine, other than she needed to work on her stress.

  Stress? Yeah, she was rather familiar with that emotion.

  She flipped the visor down and checked her appearance. Satisfied, she got out and hurried inside.

  For some reason the police station made her nervous, but she figured it probably had that effect on everyone. People shouted and laughed. Some cursed. Printers whirred and phones rang, papers shuffled, and people jostled.

  Chaos, plain and simple in her opinion.

  “Lieutenant Morris, please?” she asked the desk sergeant, who told her where to find Gabe. Checking her watch again, she took the stairs as fast as traffic would allow.

  Once in his area, she spotted him. Gabe sat at a desk with his feet propped on the corner. His partner, Emma Laurence, said something to him that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

  He looked up and saw her.

  If she wasn’t head over heels in love with one Brayden Kinncaid, she could easily fall for this guy.

  Gabe waved her over. Taking a deep breath, she figured it was now or never.

  “I’m glad you made it back here to the good ol’ U.S. of A.” His gaze ran over her. “How are you doing?”

  She sat in the chair he motioned to, set beside his desk. “I’m better, much better. Thanks. Hello, Ms. Laurence. I’m sorry, but I forget your rank.”

  “It’s lieutenant, but call me Emma.”

  Christian shook the woman’s hand and turned back to Gabe.

  Dark eyes assessed her, and she could read nothing in them. “You’re not moving back to the condo, are you?”

  The condo . . .

  She could only shake her head.

  He gave a nod. “Didn’t figure you would want to, let alone that those bodyguards you have would let you.”

  “Bodyguards?”

  “Is there another name for those Kinncaid males?” One brow cocked.

  She smiled and laughed. “Bodyguards, they’ll get a kick out of that.”

  He only grunted.

  Clearing her throat, she tried to think of what to say.

  “So, what brings you to us without one of them hovering?”

  With a shrug, she answered, “Probably because they don’t know I’m here.”

  She hated that supercilious lift of his brow. “Still keeping secrets, Miss Bills?”

  “I have to, Lieutenant.”

  He shook his head. “So?”

  Christian took a deep breath. “Have you gotten the DNA results back from the attack yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, we did.”

  Her heart slammed in her chest, and without realizing it, she latched on to his arm. “You did?”

  Gabe looked from her to her hand on his arm, then back at her.

  Christian snatched her hand back and put it in her lap.

  “Yes, we did. Strange thing, once in the database, it matched up to the offender in two other unsolved rape cases, one filed in California on an Oregon case, and the other in Arizona. Both minor Jane Does, no names given. Which is not all that uncommon . . .”

  His words faded.

  They matched. They matched! Even he hadn’t been able to change that with bribes or terror tactics. Christian was still waiting on notarized documents from the lab in Arizona and San Francisco. But apparently the doctor, or the lab, whichever, filed one case, and a forgotten cop, the other. Thank you, God.

  They matched.

  “. . . With the time difference, we’re checking dates with prison incarcerations and releases. Cross-referencing and waiting.”

  Christian nodded.

  “Do you know anything about this?” he asked.

  “How long does the cross-referencing take?” she asked instead. “You will find him, right?”

  “Do you think I’m going to drop this?” he asked, clearly insulted.

  What was it with her and stubborn men?

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean, I’ll feel . . . I don’t . . . Once I know he’s behind bars, maybe I can sleep safely,” she told him. Which was, essentially, the truth.

  A moment passed, then another. Gabe shoved some papers aside and leaned up onto his elbows. “You’re safe now. Though I don’t like the fact you’re out alone.”

  “Well, I’m sure no one else would like it either,” she said. “I needed to come see you without going through an inquisition.”

  And she would undoubtedly pay hell for it. Brayden was at the shop, where she had supposedly been for hours, at least as far as Kaitlyn was concerned. He, however, thought she was out at Seneca and would ride in with Kaitlyn and Tori later. Another small white lie, as they didn’t intend to come to town. Today was golf day for Kaitlyn and Jock; how she’d forgotten that fact, and Brayden hadn’t picked up on it, was beyond her. ’Course, she hadn’t exactly lied to Kaitlyn, she’d just needed to meet Gabe before going to the shop. Which, technically, was the truth. First off, she hadn’t wanted anyone with her at the doctor’s office. And she was glad now she’d stuck with that idea. Second, she didn’t want anyone with her when she came here. But, Brayden would likely not have understood.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “I needed some time.”

  “For?”

  She looked at him. “Stuff.”

  “Are you always this helpful?” he asked with a grin.

  “Hmmm.”

  She needed to think. She hadn’t come in today to spill all to Gabe. When she told him everything, it would be hard enough. She knew the evidence Richard would produce against her and sh
e didn’t want to seem flighty, confused, or scattered.

  “Can you find a man?” she asked.

  “The man who attacked you?”

  She shook her head. “No, but this man knows all his moves, all his plans, or most of them.” Deciding to chance it, she said, “I need you to find an Ivan Ristovolich.”

  In long easy strokes, she wrote his name out. Then she took a photo out of her purse that she’d ripped out of a newsmagazine. The original copy was a photo of Richard waving to fooled constituents and Ivan was standing beside him. She’d cut Richard off and copied the picture of Ivan.

  “Here’s a photo of him.”

  He took the paper and the photo and passed them to his partner. “This isn’t your attacker?”

  Christian shook her head. “No, but if you can crack him, you’ll have your guy.”

  “Why the middle man? Why not just tell me the bastard’s name?”

  She stood and thought about how to phrase it. Finally she shrugged. “You won’t get that man,” she said, pointing to the file on his desk with her name printed neatly on it, “unless you get Ivan. Trust me, I know. The bastard’s gotten away with it”—she looked pointedly at the report about the Jane Does—“twice before, and without Ivan, he probably could weasel his way out again.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Gabe asked, standing, anger tightening his rugged features.

  She shook her head, leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I never thanked you, did I?”

  That caught him off guard. “That doesn’t matter,” he said with a wave.

  “Yes, it does. So, thank you.” She pointed to the paper. “I promise, soon. I’ll answer all your questions soon. I just have to find the courage somewhere.”

  “Is it going to be anytime soon?”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “You and Brayden are so much alike sometimes.”

  “Why the wait?”

  “Because I need some time to think.” She smiled at him.

  “I could arrest you for obstruction of justice.” His glare could melt steel.

  “But you don’t want to have to explain that to my bodyguards, do you?” She turned and walked out of the police station. Though Brayden was currently so mad at her that he might just help Gabe snap the cuffs on.