28 Days: a romantic suspense

by Lexi Buchanan

  “He has gone into detail about each murder except the first one. In my experience, serial killers never forget the first life they took. They remember it, and try to better it. Why doesn’t Paul Lewis remember?” Coulter shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Then go and ask him.” Greg shrugged when Coulter met his eyes. “He’s talking, regardless as to what his lawyer has advised. It’s as though he has no secrets, so ask and see what he says—how he reacts.”

  Coulter turned his gaze back to the two-way glass wondering what was really going on in the head of Paul Lewis.

  “I’ll stay and watch,” Greg commented, and probably used it as his way of telling him he didn’t have all day.

  Coulter nodded and walked from the room. He took a minute to himself in the hallway and ran a hand down his face, exhausted. The case had kept him awake at night because something niggled at his conscience but what was the big question.

  He glanced at the door and before he could have second thoughts, he pushed his way inside.

  Paul Lewis sat straighter in the chair when he saw him, but the man’s lawyer frowned and whispered something to Paul, who ignored whatever was said.

  “Detective,” Paul started. “I was told that I wouldn’t see you again so this is a nice surprise.” He moved around on his chair as though he was excited.

  That word again.

  “I wanted to go over some questions with you.” Coulter took the chair across from them, and his frown deepened when he glanced at Paul who eagerly awaited the questions.

  Coulter sat back in the chair and held Paul’s gaze. “Tell me why the college girls were killed one way, and Fern and Tracy another...and what I can’t understand is why you have no recollection of your first killing—that doesn’t normally happen with a serial killer.” He’d leave Jocelyn and Saige out of it for now.

  Without a pause to think, Paul answered, “I was rushed and drunk with the first girl. That memory isn’t really there. Fern though, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I didn’t intend to kill anyone else, but she caught me sneaking around outside of Alex’s building. She threatened to scream and would have given me away. So I silenced her...It felt good to silence her.” Paul grinned and then looked sad just as quickly.

  He continued, “I really didn’t want to hurt Tracy, but she followed me one night and saw me digging up the jewelry box, which I buried after I put the trinket from Fern inside. After I left she went and dug it up to see what it was.” He looked remorseful for once. “I knew someone had been around, messing with my things...and then Tracy acted weird around me, and I just knew. I went to her house that night when Alex was there and heard her tell him that she knew who had taken Saige.” Paul glanced at his lawyer, who looked exasperated with him.

  “Paul, what else?” Coulter prodded.

  “I had to keep her quiet, so I took her out into the woods and killed her. She fought me though. Made me angry. I didn’t want to hurt Tracy, but I couldn’t stop...I’m sorry.”

  Coulter rubbed his brow and couldn’t find any hesitation in Paul’s answers—nothing that raised a red flag saying that he lied.

  “What about Jocelyn? You said that you loved her.”

  “Detective Robinson,” the lawyer said, annoyance in his voice, “my client has been asked these questions over and over again. I know that’s the norm but he’s already been charged. You have the evidence and you have his signed confession.”

  Coulter ground his teeth together to keep his mouth shut until he could talk without his own annoyance showing.

  “We will continue to ask your client questions until we are satisfied with the answers.” Coulter proceeded to look at Paul. “Jocelyn?”

  Paul stayed silent and stared at his hands on the table. “I thought she loved me. She didn’t.” His voice hardened. “She was going to betray me. Once Quinten had been sentenced to death, she had second thoughts and was going to tell you that Quinten was innocent and that it was me. I didn’t believe her at first, but as she started to walk away from me, I realized she would tell you. I was angry and upset so I struck out and attacked her. She begged me not to hurt her, but I did. She was like all the others...a whore.”

  Over the many years that he’d been a detective, Coulter had seen and heard things that would give others nightmares, and in all that time he’d never met anyone like Paul Lewis before.

  “Your truck, Detective,” Paul added, which got Coulter’s attention. “At first, I didn’t want you showing up in Port Jude, which I knew you would at some stage because the warrant had been signed by the governor. I knew you’d show up asking questions. I was stupid with the bomb, and inept as it turned out, for which I’m grateful because it was premature of me when you’re the one I expected to get Quinten out of prison. I knew he wasn’t guilty, but I figured everyone was safe as long as he was in prison. I didn’t want him to die though. That would be wrong.”

  Coulter was tired of Paul and the case. He needed some fresh air, and Amber, to clear his head.

  He stood and shoved his chair under the table. “Why, Paul? Why kill those women within hours after they’d been with Alex?” That was one thing that had been on his mind.

  Paul looked up and held his gaze. “Because Alex is the evil brother...not Quinten. I wanted to lead you to him but you never once thought that he killed anyone. I must have done something wrong to set him up, huh? I won’t make that mistake again.”

  Coulter left and sagged against the wall outside of the room. Paul Lewis wouldn’t get a next time. He was totally, utterly crazy.

  Day 21

  3:00pm

  * * *

  Quinten clutched Saige’s hand in his as they rode the elevator up to Saige’s apartment in Tampa. He’d been nervous to leave the beach house and the wide-open space of the beach and ocean for an apartment building in the much larger city—he hated it.

  If it hadn’t been for the report from Dr. Erikson, then he doubted they’d have come back so soon. But here they were and he tried to keep his apprehension to himself, although with the quick glances Saige kept giving him, he didn’t think he succeeded.

  She squeezed his hand, and smiled as the doors of the elevator opened and they stepped out.

  “We’re right here,” Saige said, and opened the door.

  He was surprised at the wide-open layout of the apartment when they stepped inside. Floor to ceiling glass walls along two sides of the apartment opened it up even more, and he could see Tampa stretching out on the horizon to the ocean. Everything was in white and pastel, but it was the brown, leather chair that held his gaze. It was so out of contrast to the rest of the apartment that he smiled to himself.

  “The chair”—she smiled, and wrapped her arm around his waist—“something told me I had to bring it with me. Now that I have my memories back, I’m glad I did.”

  “I am as well. We really got to know each other on that chair.” Quinten smiled, and bent his head to kiss Saige on the top of hers. Not only had they spent time talking, but he sat in that chair with Saige in his lap every night for a month in frustration—every smile, every touch, had affected him deeply.

  Movement from the corner of his eye, drew his attention.

  Saige lifted her head, but kept her arm around his waist. “Tamsyn, I wasn’t sure if you were home.”

  He frowned because the other woman didn’t look too friendly, and his suspicion was confirmed when Saige moved further away from him—her fingers intertwining with his.

  “What’s wrong?” Saige asked.

  Tamsyn disappeared and a minute later returned with two large suitcases. “I’m sorry to do this, Saige, but I’ve found somewhere else to live. I know how it looks and I guess you’d be right.” Tamsyn glanced at Quinten and back to Saige. “I didn’t want to move. I love living here and we get on well, it’s just that I can’t stand the constant harassment every time I leave the apartment. The press wants to know where you are. How you’ve been living? If your memory loss
was real? I can’t do it anymore. I’m sorry.”

  Tamsyn tugged the cases to the door and turned back to Quinten. “I’m glad you’re both back together...I’m sorry.” She left.

  “You okay?” Quinten glanced at Saige’s stunned expression.

  “I can’t believe she left.” Saige bit her bottom lip, and he reached out and rescued it from her teeth with his finger. “We were friends, not best friends, but...” she sighed and he saw tears shimmering in her eyes. Then she shook her head and said, “At least we have the place to ourselves.” She smiled and shrugged. “C’mon, I’ll give you a tour.”

  He followed Saige and tried to hide the panic that had started to build inside of him. He’d never been claustrophobic before but he had a feeling that that was what was wrong with him. The large windows in the main part of the apartment had views of other apartment buildings, and the other side the ocean. He spotted the lounge chairs on the balcony, and he knew where he’d be coaxing Saige to sleep tonight.

  * * *

  10:00pm

  * * *

  Saige worried with Quinten having sat out on the balcony since they’d reached her apartment hours ago. He’d made all the right noises as she showed him around, but now she felt that something was off with him.

  They needed to talk.

  Grabbing two beers from the fridge, Saige made her way toward him and smiled when he tugged her down onto his lap instead of the separate lounger. His arms tightened around her as he nuzzled into her neck. “I love holding you like this, smelling you,” he chuckled.

  “Smelling me, huh?” Saige made herself comfortable so that she could see his face and offered him an amused smile. “What’s wrong?” She caressed along his brow and down the side of his face, tracing along the faint scars down his cheek.

  “Honestly, I’m finding all this difficult.”

  “Oh.” Saige dipped her eyes and wondered what he referred to as being difficult.

  “Not you, Saige.” He cupped her chin. “I need space—” He quickly cut off his words and tightened his hand on her hip. “I’m not explaining myself very well.” He closed his eyes and tucked her head under his chin. “I’ve spent years in a small space where I had to wear chains if I left the cell. Now that I’m free, I need open spaces, and I’m struggling being in the city with so many people. I’m struggling being inside this apartment.” He kissed her forehead. “But for my need of peace and quiet with you, I’d love this place. You’ve only half made it a home though, right?”

  She was surprised he remembered what they used to talk about—her dream place. “I used to want a lot of color and space with our books sharing shelf space, and the old, brown leather chair close by so that we could both curl up and snuggle together while reading or just relaxing.”

  “That’s right, and the only thing you got right was the chair,” he observed and she realized it wasn’t a criticism but a genuine observation. “When we start to build a home together we’re going to have that color. I’m going to build us the most amazing bookcase for your books—I’ve no idea where mine are—and it’s going to our place. It’s going to be ours, babe. I can see it now.”

  Her tears would soon start to soak into Quinten’s shirt but there was no way he wouldn’t know so she lifted her face and let him see how much his words affected her. “I want that more than anything.”

  He smiled and wiped her eyes with his thumbs, or rather he tried to. She laughed and knocked his hands away. “I’ve got this.”

  He watched her closely and asked, “So, have you given any thought as to where you want to live?”

  She smiled and straddled his lap, her hands held loosely on his shoulders. “What about Montana? It’s full of large spaces and less people. We can choose somewhere that isn’t over populated.”

  “Are you choosing Montana because of what I just said about needing peace and quiet or have you given it some thought?” Quinten tipped his head and watched Saige closely.

  “I was thinking a complete change to Florida. Somewhere that has nice summers, but cold winters. I think we’re both ready for the change and we’ll be able to choose whether or not we want to be around people or not. Have a town close by with a convenience store. Driving distance to a larger city maybe for a once a month large shopping trip, and we need schools close by.”

  Quinten threw his head back and laughed. “You do have it all planned. Anything else?” he asked, his eyes darkening the further his hands slipped up her thighs.

  She grinned. “I know you really won’t like this but you’ll just have to live with it for now.” She watched him frown and continued, “This apartment is mine, Quinten. I bought it with money that had been left in a trust for me when my mother died. I’m going to sell it and get us a home in Montana that we both love. I know you’re a proud man, but until we get ourselves sorted, you’re going to have to forget about where the money is coming from and just enjoy being with me.” She bit her lip, hoping he would just agree.

  “I can do that for you...but as soon as the money I’m owed comes through and I’m working, we’re going fifty-fifty, and that isn’t open for discussion.” He grinned. “However, what I might let you open for discussion is how much I want you, how much you drive me insane, how much I’ll always need you by my side, and what we’ll never discuss is who loves who the most because I’m pretty certain we’ll never agree on that one.”

  Saige silently agreed and swooped down to capture the lips that always captivated her.

  Day 22

  2:00pm

  * * *

  After phoning Coulter to see if they could go back to his beach house for a couple of weeks, Quinten helped Saige pack her things up. He didn’t have much—a week’s supply of clothing, as well as sneakers and work boots that Saige had bought him as soon as she knew he’d be released. Alex would have the rest of his gear ready to go with them when they moved to Montana.

  The minute Saige had suggested where they should move to, he’d liked the idea without even having to think about it. He’d probably be able to get more carpentry work out there as well because they tended to keep within a country theme. Although his specialty was woodcarvings, he used to build kitchens, and made to order furniture. He was pretty sure it was a skill that one didn’t forget.

  The worry about their future was there, but he felt more positive about it and about being able to provide for Saige, and any children that might follow.

  He’d love to see Saige pregnant with his child and he refused to think about what they’d already lost through no fault of their own. His girl was strong, stronger than anyone he knew, but he couldn’t help wonder if she was really all right.

  Her father could go to hell for all he cared, but at the end of the day, Quinten would follow Saige’s lead because, until she’d met him, her father had raised her well.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” Saige asked, snapping his attention back to her delectable bottom as she leaned over the bed, watching him over her shoulder. “And don’t go getting any ideas,” she chuckled. “Coulter will be here soon to help us down to the car and away from this place.”

  “I’m sure I can keep my hands to myself for an hour or so...I’m happy, Saige.” He dropped his ass to the end of the bed and met her gaze when she paused in what she was doing. “I’m finally free to be with you after so long.” He held his hand out to her, which she took and sat beside him. “But, I’m also worried about you and what your father has done to the relationship between you both.”

  Saige shook her head. “As long as I have you by my side then I’m happy too, Quinten. When I had no memory of you, there must have been something there because I brought our chair with me to Tampa. As soon as I started to remember, I longed to be with you, and then when I remembered everything about our time together, I knew nothing would keep me from you once you were free...I’m heartbroken about my father and really don’t know what’s going to happen, especially after I give Coulter the report.”

  Quinten wr
apped an arm around her shoulders and kept her close. “What they did to you was illegal, and I’m guessing Coulter will make sure they don’t get away with it...He’s your father, Saige, are you sure that you’re okay with that?”

  “You think I should just ignore what he’s done.” She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her.

  “No, I’m not saying that. I want your father to pay. I’m angry with him and I’ll never want him near you or any children we may have in the future. He somehow manipulated the evidence against me, which lost eight years of my life with you. He did the unspeakable to you, so no, I don’t want you to ignore what he’s done.” He inhaled and slowly exhaled to calm his temper at the thought of her father. “I just want to make sure you’re okay with taking this further, but I’m going to be right by your side no matter what happens. Do you hear me?” He slipped a hand to the nape of her neck and cupped the back of her head.

  Saige swallowed a few times, but he was relieved that, for once there were no tears. “I’m angry and upset that he isn’t the man I thought he was. There’s still part of me that feels I should protect him, but I can’t.”

  He sighed in relief because he knew that he would have had to say something to the detective if Saige had decided against it. Quinten wouldn’t have been able to walk away without making sure Saige was protected.

  “I’m glad that’s cleared. Let’s buzz Coulter in,” Quinten said, and after a quick kiss to her lips, he did just that.

  * * *

  2:30pm

  * * *

  Coulter smiled when Quinten opened the door to him and Amber, showing them inside. Minutes later he watched as Saige led Amber out onto the balcony to admire the view of the ocean.

  “You’re looking a lot better than the last time I saw you.” Coulter observed.