Yes, Simon thought. He loved her. He, who had never been one to fall in love quickly, had fallen in love with Dr. Nina Whitaker in less than two weeks. For the briefest moment, he felt guilty. How had Nina so thoroughly filled the place in his heart that had once only belonged to Lana?
Did I do this to you, Lana? Did you blame me, as your life left you, for failing to protect you?
Every doubt and insecurity he’d ever harbored came swamping through him. What right did he have to try to go on with his life when Lana no longer could? What right did he have to apply for a commanding role, when he’d had the role once before and given it up? When doing so had cost him Lana, had driven a wedge between them, and for all he knew, had driven her to act so recklessly that it had gotten her killed. He’d fucked everything up, just like he was fucking up this case.
He hadn’t been able to stop another attack. Hadn’t been able to stop Lana from being killed. Hadn’t seen how troubled DeMarco had gotten. Hadn’t kept Nina from being hurt again and again and again...and most recently, by him.
Instinctively, he moved closer to Lana’s headstone. He touched the smooth surface as if doing so would grant him a physical connection with the woman he’d once loved.
The breeze suddenly picked up and swirled around him. Simon closed his eyes. Envisioned Lana’s beautiful face. He could swear for a second that he smelled her. Heard her.
But it didn’t comfort him. All it did was make him remember that he’d lost her.
And that, one way or another, he was going to lose Nina, too.
Help me, Lana, he thought. Help me to understand what’s going on. Who is this killer? What’s motivating him? He’s killing for a reason. To prove something. But to whom?
Me? Nina? The mentally ill? The cops?
Who is he targeting?
To his surprise, the answer came to him, not in Lana’s voice, but his own.
Maybe he’s targeting all of us at once.
But why? And more important, who could pull off something like that? Who did Simon know that could carry out that kind of vendetta without getting caught? Whoever he was, he was dancing circles around the police, staying one step ahead of them despite the advanced security systems that had been put in place.
As the questions swirled through his mind, Simon’s vision focused on the epitaph that Lana’s parents had engraved on the elegant marble.
Two words on the tombstone came into stark relief.
Beloved Daughter.
BD.
It couldn’t be, he thought.
But was it really that much crazier than any of the other theories he’d come up with?
He’d thought Lester Davenport’s grief over losing his daughter had driven him to murder. He’d even briefly considered whether the same thing had motivated Rebecca Hyatt’s father to strike out. Couldn’t that same reasoning apply to Gil Archer, who’d lost his daughter, too?
What if BD didn’t stand for someone’s name but something else? Something like an endearment.
Beloved Daughter.
Davenport and Hyatt had blamed Nina for the deaths of their daughters. Who did Gil Archer truly blame for Lana’s?
The cops for not protecting her?
A mentally ill man for killing her?
Simon for breaking up with her before she was killed?
Nina for working with Simon, and even dating him, after his daughter no longer could?
It made sense. More sense than anything had up to this point.
If Simon was right, Gil Archer was going after all of them.
And he was winning.
* * *
AFTER LEAVING THE CEMETERY, Simon hit the ground running. After a brief stop at SFPD to put together what he needed, the first thing he did was visit Rita Taylor and show her a photo lineup that included Gil Archer’s photo. Unfortunately, Rita’s identification didn’t go exactly as planned, and Simon was now having to move to Plan B—a plan that he needed Jase and Carrie’s help to carry out.
“That’s quite a theory,” Jase said after whistling in amazed disbelief. He leaned back in his desk chair, hands folded against his chest. “But I have to say, given the security systems that have been tampered with, especially the parking lot security tapes, it makes sense. Archer set up our security system, did you know that?”
“I did,” Simon said. “And it’s something I definitely considered in wading through all this. And in formulating my plan.”
“It’s a good plan,” Jase said, “if a little risky. You really think she’ll go through with it?”
Simon thought about the woman Jase was referring to—Rita Taylor. “She said she will. Naturally, she’s scared, especially after everything I’ve said about her needing to take her own protection seriously. But showing her the photo lineup didn’t work. She said a couple of the men, including Archer, looked like the guy, but she couldn’t be sure. She insists she needs to see the man up close, see him talk, get a ‘feel’ for him, in order to make a positive ID. She’s willing to take some limited risks. According to her, it beats living in fear every day of her life.”
“Well, between you accompanying her, and Carrie and I covering your back, we’ll limit the risk to her. And if it turns out you’re right, she’ll certainly take Gil Archer by surprise, which you’ll be able to witness for yourself. We’ll be there right when the gala starts.”
“I’ll see you there, Jase. And thanks.”
As he left SIG, Simon again wondered if he was thinking crazy. Did he truly believe Lana’s father, Gil Archer, a respected community member and a friend of Commander Stevens, was the person behind the homeless murders?
He did. It felt right. In a way that suspecting Hyatt and even Davenport hadn’t.
Besides, it was just a theory, Simon told himself. There was nothing wrong with exploring possibilities. Isn’t that what Commander Stevens had said when he’d suggested Nina might know something about the murders? That a police officer had to remain objective despite personal relationships with others? Despite what he thought he knew about a potential witness or suspect?
Simon was simply taking a page from Stevens’s playbook.
He had some possibilities to explore.
Covertly, he thought.
And given that tonight was the fundraising gala and that Archer was going to be there, it was the perfect opportunity for him to do so.
* * *
“SO WILL YOU GO WITH me, Nina? We both got invitations from Gil Archer to attend this fundraising gala to benefit the mentally ill. I wasn’t going to go by myself, but now that you’re here, it could be fun.”
Nina did her best to ignore the heavy linen and embossed invitation Karen was waving in front of her face. There was no way she was going to that fundraising gala. Simon was going to be there and she didn’t want him to think she was mooning over him, following him around with stars in her eyes when he’d already made it clear he wanted her to stay as far away from him as possible.
Because he wants to protect you, she reminded herself. Because he’s afraid the same thing is going to happen to you that happened to Lana. That you’re going to die on him.
It made perfect sense he’d be worried. But she couldn’t help wondering if it was a convenient excuse because he’d simply grown tired of her. They’d gone to bed a few times, but so what? He’d never once said he wanted anything more from her. Never once said he loved her.
Not the way she’d said she loved him. Even though she’d told him she hadn’t meant it, that it had just been the sex talking, he hadn’t believed her. And she couldn’t lie to herself anymore, either.
She did love him. She loved Simon Granger.
But it didn’t matter. Not with a killer still out there, infecting them with fear time and time again.
In her mind, dead men carved with the letters BD swirled around, clashing into one another. Jarring her reality. Considering it was his job to find the killer, how much more did those images play through Simon’s mind? With that ki
nd of weight on his shoulders, it was a wonder they’d managed to get close at all.
And even once the killer was caught? There was still her career and the massive differences in their life views that would constantly drive a wedge between them.
“Nina. Are you even listening to me?” Karen said.
Focus, Nina, she told herself. What had Karen been saying? Oh, yeah. “You know how much I hate having to make small talk with strangers,” she murmured.
“You could take your cop. Bet he’s good on the dance floor,” Karen teased.
Nina’s heart twisted, and pain shot through her chest. The only dancing she and Simon had done had been in bed, and now she’d probably never feel his naked body stretched over hers again. That thought left her feeling morose.
“He’s not my cop,” she mumbled. “And we’re not dating.”
Dating was where a guy picked a girl up at her house with flowers in hand. Dating was where the guy took the girl to dinner and the movies and hoped for a kiss good-night. Dating was where a guy willingly waded through five or ten dates before getting lucky enough to get it on in the girl’s bed. Dating was not living in the guy’s house because a serial killer was after the girl. Dating was not using sex for distraction.
“Fine. Forget I said anything about that. You don’t need a date because you have me. And if you don’t want to go just for fun, think about work.”
“The police have already decided to go forward with the program, Karen. We no longer have any reason to schmooze them into it.”
“But we can always schmooze for money. The more money we have, the better training we’ll be able to provide. Besides,” she said, “how often do you and I have a chance to go to something like this? These golf club people are the richest in the city. And the ones with the most power. You never know when one of them might be willing to scratch your back because you were nice to them at a charity fundraiser. Tomorrow, you’re going back to your patients. I’ve already agreed to take the lead on the program. Let’s go have some fun. I said I’d buy you drinks when this is all over, remember?”
At that, Nina actually smiled. “The drinks at this thing are going to be free. It’s an open bar, remember?”
“Is it?” Karen said with an expression of mock innocence. “Even better.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
WHEN SIMON WALKED INTO the fundraising gala, several people stopped and stared. Not at him, but at the woman on his arm. She was a stunner, with her ample cleavage, wild hair, heavy makeup and short dress. She stood out among the older, more sophisticatedly dressed women, and that was perfect as far as Simon was concerned.
He’d brought Rita Taylor to this fundraising gala because he wanted her to be noticed. Specifically, he wanted her to be noticed by the man who’d paid her a thousand bucks to ID a cop as Cann’s killer. He wanted her to be noticed by the man he was betting was Gil Archer.
“So this is how the other half lives, huh?” Rita said, her normally jaded eyes wide and glittering with no small amount of wonder. He couldn’t blame her. The place looked lavish to the extreme, which again, he found a little over the top for a fundraiser for mentally ill citizens, many of them homeless.
Rita apparently felt the same way. She clucked her tongue. “Lousy bastard. By the looks of things, he could have paid me way more than a thousand bucks to lie.”
Simon couldn’t help it—he laughed. “Yeah,” he said. “But he probably wouldn’t have been willing to negotiate with you.”
She smiled back at him then looked around the room. “You’re probably right. So, do you see the guy you’re thinking is the one?”
Simon searched for Gil but saw no sign of him. However, he simply said, “I can’t tell you that. And I can’t point him out to you. You need to identify him on your own. That way, it’ll be harder for someone to claim I influenced your ID.”
“Right. Well, I don’t see him right now and I have to go to the little girl’s room.”
“I’ll walk you to the restroom and wait right by the door. I don’t want him seeing you and getting to you before I can.”
The amusement fled Rita’s eyes and was replaced by something else. It wasn’t quite fear, but close. “Right. Thanks for reminding me. You promised to keep me safe and I’m counting on you to keep that promise.”
“I won’t let you down. Just let me know the second you see him.”
“I will.”
* * *
NINA WAS STANDING NEXT to the bar with Karen when she saw them.
Simon and a dark-haired, overtly sexy woman wearing a short black dress. He’d arrived with a date.
And that made her feel like a complete fool.
Had she really been that wrong about him?
Had all that talk about wanting to protect her just been an excuse to get her out of his hair so he could move on to the next woman? Hurt and disbelief combined to make her breathless and slightly light-headed.
“Are you all right?” a man next to her asked.
She turned to face him. He had gray hair, but looked fit for his age. Handsome. Kind.
But then he frowned, and it made him look fairly ominous. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he observed.
Next to her, Karen had just caught sight of Simon, as well. She glanced at Nina, obviously following her train of thought.
“Oh, no, Nina. I’m sorry. Is that his date?”
Nina shrugged and smiled tightly. “Looks like it. Would you excuse me? I—I’m suddenly feeling a little claustrophobic.” She turned away from Karen and the man standing next to her, noting that each of them wore identical expressions of concern as they stared at Simon and the woman by his side. Karen was her friend, not to mention a woman, so she would understand the kind of betrayal Nina was feeling. But this man was a stranger; she must really look poleaxed for him to be exhibiting such concern. “I need to get some fresh air.”
“I’ll come with you.”
She shook her head. “No, Karen. I’d like to be by myself. Please just leave me alone.”
If only everyone would leave her alone, she thought as she quickly walked out of the banquet hall and down a long corridor. Karen, Simon, grieving fathers, psychotic killers—every single one of them.
But they wouldn’t. They hadn’t.
And, she realized, even if they suddenly complied and left her alone from this very moment on, the damage was already done.
Nina no longer felt safe.
She suspected she never would.
* * *
SIMON WAITED OUTSIDE the women’s restroom for Rita Taylor to come out. As he did, he scanned the room, spotting Commander Stevens and the mayor at one table. Carrie and Jase were there, too, dressed to the nines and each covering different sides of the room. To his surprise, he even saw DeMarco at another table, talking to a pretty Asian woman. It was the same woman—the same doctor, he realized—he’d seen walking out of Welcome Home the day he’d first met Elaina Scott. Was she the “counselor” DeMarco had told Jase about? If so, why were they here together? For personal or professional reasons?
He decided he didn’t really care. DeMarco looked more like his old self again. Relaxed. Smiling. And from where he stood, that was pretty damn amazing.
As he watched, DeMarco looked up and caught Simon’s eye. He jerked his chin in greeting and Simon did the same. He couldn’t talk to DeMarco now. Couldn’t let down his guard. He’d sworn to give Rita Taylor his full attention, his full protection, while she was here. Once they saw Archer and she confirmed whether or not he was the man who’d paid her off, they’d be done here.
When he still didn’t spot Archer, his gaze continued to roam the room.
His scan, however, came to a screeching stop when he caught sight of a beautiful blonde woman in a floor-length navy gown. Nina stood in front of the bar with her friend Karen, and an older man with graying hair and a gray suit.
What the hell was she doing here?
Almost immediately, however, his gaze
returned to the man beside her. He’d seen him before...but where? For some reason, he envisioned the man wearing a blue polo shirt...
Wait! That was it. He’d seen the man at Welcome Home. He was the security guard Elaina Scott had told him about. The one who’d looked familiar to Simon the first time he’d seen him, only he hadn’t been able to figure out why. Now, the knowledge tickled at his brain but still remained just out of reach. He’d never actually met the man before, Simon thought. But he’d seen his face. In a photograph? A file?
Yes, he thought. A personnel file.
The name Harold McGrogen clicked into place.
He’d been a cop. One who’d retired right around the time Simon had been promoted to captain. That’s why he looked familiar. But why was he talking to Nina? How did they know each other?
He’d just stepped forward to find out when he remembered Rita Taylor and cursed. He couldn’t abandon his post. Not now.
Talking to Nina would have to wait.
Even so, his gaze ate her up. She looked amazing, but she could have been wearing a cardboard box for all he cared. Her presence made him feel a thousand times better and a thousand times worse. He didn’t want her anywhere near the man he now suspected of murder, yet even as he had that thought, Gil Archer walked into the room.
He was surrounded by several of his high society cronies. The man looked to be in his element, shaking hands with this person and waving at another. He reminded Simon of a politician rather than a businessman/security expert. Then again, schmoozing had always seemed to be Archer’s specialty. Hopefully, it meant his guard was down and he’d react with the surprised horror Simon was expecting when he caught his first glimpse of Rita Taylor.
Something brushed against his arm and he heard a gasp.
Rita now stood by his side.
As he watched, her eyes widened and she went white. “It’s him,” she said. “I see him. He’s here.”
Dear God, Simon thought, as adrenaline surged through his veins. He automatically looked back at Archer, who was still scanning the room, likely looking for the most influential guests. When his gaze landed on Simon and the woman next to him, he frowned.
Shades of Passion Page 28
