Say You're Sorry

by Karen Rose

  “Yeah.” Gideon pinched the bridge of his nose, fighting back a headache. “Sasha and Damien took her to your parents’ house, Rafe.”

  Rafe nodded, staring down at Trish’s body with a carefully blank expression. “She was stabbed and strangled.”

  Erin squeezed Rafe’s shoulder. “We can hand this one off,” she murmured.

  Rafe shook his head, his blank expression remaining unchanged except for the twitch of a muscle in his cheek. “No. We’re going to find the fucker who did this.”

  “Okay,” Erin agreed. “But say the word and we’ll back off.”

  “You knew Trish well?” Gideon asked.

  Rafe’s nod was terse. “She’s been a regular at Sunday dinner for the past six months. Ever since DD moved in. My mom . . . liked her.”

  “I’m sorry,” Gideon murmured, but Rafe didn’t respond, continuing to study Trish’s body with angry concentration. Gideon crouched next to the body, careful to stay out of Cindy’s way. No one had touched Trish since the coroner hadn’t yet arrived. “He strangled her. Just like he tried to do to Daisy.”

  “And the others,” Erin said quietly. “‘They all do.’”

  Rafe pointed to a pile of clothes next to the body, neatly folded, but jagged slices in the fabric were visible. “He cut them off her. That’s her work uniform. I hope he wasn’t as meticulous about cleaning the crime scene as he was with her clothes.”

  “I think he was,” Erin said. “I checked the kitchen. It’s very clean, except for a single butcher knife washed and left in the dish drainer. I smelled bleach on it. I haven’t been able to find any bleach anywhere in the apartment. Not even a bleach-type spray bottle. Nor are there any empty bottles. He may have brought it with him or at least taken the bottle with him when he left if he used Trish’s. My money is on him bringing it with him. This was planned.”

  “Agreed,” Gideon said. It was impossible to tell whether the knife had made the incisions, but it seemed likely. He hoped the coroner would be able to hazard an opinion. Pivoting, his gaze swept over the apartment, falling on the coffee table.

  He rose, frowning. “Look at the stack of magazines.” The blood spatter on the top magazine had abruptly stopped, leaving a clean edge.

  “He took the top magazine,” Rafe said flatly. “Why?”

  “Souvenir?” Erin waved Cindy over. “Can you get this from every angle, Cindy?”

  Gideon stepped back to let Cindy take the photographs. “Possibly a souvenir,” he said. “Daisy thinks he took Trish’s necklace. Turquoise cross.” He found the photo he’d e-mailed to himself. “I sent it to your e-mail, Rafe. I didn’t have yours, Erin.” He passed Erin his phone so that she and Rafe could examine the necklace. “Daisy said that Trish always wore it.”

  Erin studied the photo. “He took her necklace, like he took Eileen’s locket.”

  “We should have been guarding them both,” Rafe said heavily. “This may have had nothing to do with Daisy specifically. Nothing to do with her e-mails or voice mails. He might have simply followed them from the community center on Thursday night, but Daisy surprised him by confronting him.”

  Gideon agreed. “Which means he might come after her, too. Especially if he’s afraid she can identify him.”

  “We can put her in a safe house,” Erin said.

  Rafe’s laugh was grim. “We can try. After twelve years in hiding, she’s not likely to agree to being hidden away again.”

  “Then we don’t let her out of our sight,” Gideon said. A.k.a., I don’t let her out of my sight. So basically, nothing about her protection plan had changed.

  SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 4:45 P.M.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. I’m so sorry to bother you at this time.” He smiled sympathetically at the woman who’d answered the door at Kaley Martell’s house. This would be her mother and her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying. Poor lady.

  It honestly hadn’t been anything personal toward this sad old woman. Her daughter had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and had been unforgivably rude, refusing to get into his car when he invited her nicely. Something about her “policy.” She’d tried to convince him to get out of his car.

  He might have cut Kaley some slack and moved on to another hooker had he known she was a single mother with a sick kid, but he’d been in a crisis of his own that night.

  “I don’t have anything more to say to you reporters,” the woman said wearily. “Please go away.”

  He was glad he’d prepared a plan B. “No, ma’am, I’m not a reporter. My name is Johnny Steves and I live over on the next block. I saw the report on Kaley on the news. She . . . I’m a customer. At the bakery. She always had a smile for me.” A common theme of the people the reporter had interviewed. Kaley was always smiling. “We were . . . well, we’re friends.”

  Mrs. Martell’s expression grew softer and more pained. “You know my Kaley?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We talk. Every day. I . . . wanted to do something to help. She loves Amelia so much.” Amelia had been mentioned not in the article, but in the comments on the Martells’ Facebook page. People really needed to be more mindful of the information they simply gave away.

  He swallowed hard, laying it on thick. “I hate that her little girl might never know her.” He held out the shopping bag he’d stuffed full. “I got some things. For Amelia. Some toys. Stuffed animals and crayons, that kind of thing.”

  Tears filled Mrs. Martell’s eyes, and her grip on the front door loosened. “That is so nice of you. Thank you. Would . . .” She held the door open wider. “Would you like to come in and give Amelia the toys yourself?”

  He smiled. “That would be nice.”

  GRANITE BAY, CALIFORNIA

  SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 5:45 P.M.

  “Here, honey.” Sasha set a cup of tea on the Sokolovs’ kitchen table next to Daisy’s laptop and sat next to her, expression anxious. Shocked and grieving.

  Irina was baking. Tea cookies. Trish’s favorite.

  The atmosphere in the kitchen was oppressive as each of them processed what had happened.

  Trish was dead. Dead.

  Sasha had brought her to the only place it made sense to be. Irina’s kitchen. There was love here. And safety. And, at the moment, great sorrow.

  Daisy still couldn’t believe her friend was gone. “I know this isn’t my fault,” she murmured, staring at the images on her screen without really seeing them. She’d opened her laptop because she’d needed to do something. But when she’d found herself staring at the tattoos from her Eden search, she’d just sat.

  Because all she could see was Trish’s body. Bloody and broken.

  “Of course it’s not your fault,” Sasha said, making Daisy blink up at her friend’s tear-streaked face. The Sokolovs had embraced Trish as one of their own. It had been the first time Trish had had a family since her mother had died when Trish was seventeen. They’d loved her, too. “But?” Sasha added softly, knowing Daisy well.

  “But if she’d had the guard instead of me, she’d be alive right now.” Not dead. Not bloody and mutilated and . . . dead.

  “Maybe,” Irina said, sliding a plate of cookies onto the table and sitting on Daisy’s other side. “But you cannot know that. Maybe he went after her because you were guarded. Maybe had Gideon not been with you, this man might have . . .” She swallowed hard. “He might have hurt you as well.”

  Daisy sighed. Her head ached and her eyes were sore. “Maybe.”

  Irina patted her hand. “Drink your tea, Daisy. It’s getting cold.” She looked over Daisy’s shoulder at her laptop and frowned. “Why are you looking at tattoos?” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking of getting one?”

  Daisy realized that the images on her screen would raise more questions than she could answer. She’d promised Gideon her silence. “I al
ready have one,” she said, casually closing the browser window. “I have to get it finished. After that, maybe.”

  “When did you get a tattoo?” Sasha asked.

  “In Paris. I came home before it was finished.” Because her father had hired their old ranch hand to follow her.

  Sasha grinned at her. It was kind of a fake grin, because she wasn’t happy by any stretch, but she was sincerely trying to be. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Irina tsked. “I already know about yours.”

  Sasha’s mouth fell open. “But . . .”

  “But it’s on your butt cheek? Psht.” Irina flipped a hand, scoffing. “I see and know all, child. Don’t forget it just because you think you are grown.”

  Daisy snickered, happy for the distraction. “Who blabbed?”

  Irina smiled sadly at that. “Trish. How do you think she bribed me for my birds’ milk cake recipe?”

  Her own smile faltering, Daisy glanced at Sasha, who’d closed her eyes. New tears seeped from her eyes. “Oh, baby,” Daisy murmured, wrapping her arms around her friend. “I didn’t know.” She’d known Trish was bi. She’d never known Trish and Sasha . . . “I’m so sorry. Here I am, crying like I’m the only one hurting.”

  “It was just a few dates,” Sasha whispered. “It was never going to be permanent. We broke up before Christmas. But . . . dammit, DD. I liked her. We were still friends.”

  “I know, honey.” Daisy’s throat closed as new tears clawed their way out. “I just can’t believe this. I saw her with my own eyes and I can’t believe it.”

  “Have a cookie,” Irina commanded, shoving the plate into Daisy’s hands.

  “Okay,” Daisy mumbled, grateful for the distraction that kept her from going off on another crying jag. But her gratitude was short-lived when Irina took advantage of her full hands, leaning over her to commandeer her laptop’s track pad. With a swipe and a click, she’d restored the tab Daisy had deleted and tattoos filled the screen once again. “Irina! What the fuck!”

  “Mom!” Sasha seconded, agape. “You just don’t go around—”

  “Hush,” Irina snapped. “I’ll apologize later. Maybe. First Daisy tells me why she’s searching tattoos like the one my Gideon had years ago. That tattoo was . . . wrong. I was glad when he got it covered up. It made him sad.”

  Daisy sighed and gently closed the tab again. “Irina.”

  Irina’s brows lifted into her hairline. “Eleanor.”

  “I can’t tell you,” Daisy told her earnestly. “It’s not my story to tell. I . . . promised, Irina. I can’t break that promise.”

  “To Gideon,” Irina said quietly.

  Daisy held her gaze, neither confirming nor denying. But her non-answer was enough for Irina, who nodded. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I shouldn’t have pried into your computer.”

  “It’s all right,” Daisy said softly. “You love him.”

  “I do. That boy’s like one of my own.” Irina’s head tilted. “He trusted you with information that he’s never told me?”

  “Mom,” Sasha warned.

  Irina ignored her. “It’s true. He did. That’s good.” Her eyes became sly. “I was right, wasn’t I? He is perfect for you.”

  Daisy felt her cheeks heat but tried for an eye roll. “Irina, just stop.”

  Irina winked at Sasha. “She didn’t say no.”

  Sasha’s laugh was teary. “No, she didn’t. Plus they had a date last night.”

  “Sasha.” Daisy frowned at her. “Really?”

  Irina popped a tea cookie into her mouth, not bothering to hide her delight. “Tell me all.”

  “Well, Rafe and I were having dinner and I saw them coming up the street before they got to the restaurant. At first, I didn’t know it was them. They were under an umbrella and I thought, ‘Wow, that’s so sweet how he’s holding on to her,’ and then when he put the umbrella down, I realized it was them.” She fluttered her lashes and sighed.

  “Sasha had a date with a librarian,” Daisy blurted before Sasha could say more.

  Irina turned her inquisition on her daughter, who gave Daisy a dirty look. “A librarian?” Irina said. “This is good. She is smart then?”

  Sasha’s glare softened minimally. “Very smart, Mom. Now back to Daisy and Gideon—”

  “Or not,” Daisy interrupted, relieved when her cell phone chimed. Until she saw the caller ID. Both Sokolovs ceased their chatter.

  “Take it, honey,” Irina said, the momentary respite from their grief over.

  Daisy answered, her hand suddenly trembling. “Dad?”

  “Daisy.” Her father sounded . . . terrified. “I . . .” He shuddered out a breath. “There was a body found in Sacramento. A young woman. I . . .” Another shuddered breath. “I thought it was you.”

  “Oh, Dad, I’m sorry.” Daisy’s eyes stung. “I didn’t know it would get out so quickly. I was going to call you. I’ve just been in shock.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “You knew her, then?”

  “Yes. She was my friend. Trish.”

  “Oh no. Your friend from AA?”

  Daisy nodded, then remembered she had to speak. “Yes,” she whispered hoarsely.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. The news said . . . they said there’d been a murder and they speculated that it was connected to the attack against you on Thursday night.”

  “I should have expected they’d make the connection,” Daisy muttered. “Enough of the people in Trish’s building saw me there tonight and they knew Trish was with me Thursday. I should have called you right away. I’m sorry, Dad.”

  “Stop apologizing,” he said gruffly. “You were there?”

  Daisy drew in a breath, then let it out when Irina’s arm slid around her shoulder and tugged her close. “I found her. Gideon and I.”

  “Gideon? The FBI agent I talked to?”

  “Yes. He hasn’t left my side until now. He’s with Rafe now. I’m with Irina and Sasha. Karl’s here, too, somewhere.”

  “And my Damien, too, Frederick,” Irina said loudly. “Your Daisy is protected.”

  Her father chuckled. “I heard her. Tell her thank you.”

  “I will. I just wish we’d protected Trish, too. She wouldn’t have been in her apartment all alone.”

  Her father was quiet for so long, Daisy could practically hear his mind working through the details. “How did he know where she lived?”

  That was a very good question. “I don’t know. She was at work last night and would have come straight home. She was supposed to come to a pet adoption clinic with me today.” Daisy rubbed her sore head. “I guess he could have followed her home from work.”

  “Who knew where she worked?”

  Daisy didn’t want to think about it, but her father was a smart man and was thinking all the things she should have been thinking herself. “All her friends. Her coworkers, of course. All the members of our AA group. She worked in a bar. It was hard for her to stay sober. She was looking for another job.”

  “Did any of the news reports list where she worked?”

  “I don’t know. Hold on.” She turned to Sasha. “Did any of the reporters say where Trish worked or lived?”

  Sasha shook her head. “I don’t think so. Put your dad on speaker, DD.”

  Daisy did and her father greeted the Sokolov women. “We don’t think they said where she worked, Dad,” Daisy said, “but the first reporter who found me said he’d overheard Trish telling someone about the attack at work. So the reporter knew where she worked.”

  “He didn’t mention her in the news story he uploaded last night,” Sasha said quietly.

  Daisy squeezed her hand. Then forced herself to think. “On Thursday, we’d just left the community center when I noticed we were being followed. We’d been to AA. Rafe wondered if he’d followed us from there or i
f he’d been waiting—for me. I told them that he could have followed me from the radio station. But Trish came straight from work, too. Maybe he followed her from work both times—Thursday and last night.”

  Which underscored Daisy’s initial gut feeling that Trish had been the man’s target.

  “Maybe he did,” he said. “Maybe you should get that Fed to look at surveillance tapes from the bar where she worked.”

  Daisy’s mouth curved up, just a little. “I should. Thanks, Dad.”

  “Anytime,” he said gruffly. “Listen, baby. If you need anything, you let me know. I’ll be on the next plane.”

  Daisy’s first inclination was to say no, but she stopped herself. Her father loved her. She knew that. And I love him. She knew that, too. Her throat closed up and she had to clear it. “She didn’t have any family.” No father who’d loved her, even though he went way overboard sometimes. No mother who’d rocked her to sleep and let her paint the sofa. Trish’s mom had been an alcoholic, too. “I’m . . . going to have to bury her.” The thought ripped the sob from her throat and she covered her mouth to try to stifle it. “I can’t do this.”

  “You want me there?” he asked, sounding so hopeful that it made her cry even more.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Please come.”

  “I’ll send you my travel arrangements. Stay with someone at all times, Daisy. Please. I know I’m overprotective. Just . . . humor me,” he added with a stilted laugh.

  Daisy wiped at her eyes. “I promise.”

  “We will stay with her until Gideon comes for her, Frederick,” Irina stated.

  “Thank you, Irina.” Frederick’s voice had grown soft. “Thank you and Karl for everything.”

  “You are family, Frederick,” was all Irina said.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “I’ll be there soon.”

  “Bye. Love you.” Daisy ended the call, then immediately dialed Gideon, this time not on speaker.

  He answered on the first ring. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. Still with Sasha and Irina. I just talked to my dad.”

  His voice became wary. “And?”