Violets Are Blue

by Velvet Vaughn

  "And lastly, I wanted you to know I’m spearheading a campaign to raise money to establish scholarships to Lawrence Monroe College in each of the victim’s names."

  Well hell, the admiration grew.

  He sighed. "I’ll tell you what, Ms. Larrson. I’m not one to hold a grudge. You made a mistake, even if it wasn’t specifically your fault, but you owned up to it. I appreciate that in a person. If you promise to keep playing by the rules, I’ll give you the exclusive when we catch this bastard."

  She gasped. "I didn’t tell you about the scholarships or the phone call to make you do this," she said honestly.

  He believed her. "Do we have a deal?"

  "Absolutely. You don’t know what this means to me, Detective Turner. Thank you."

  He hung up and stood, sliding into his coat. He needed food. Now. Stepping into the hall, he jerked to a stop when he spotted Maya. Her back was to him as she spoke intimately with another officer. The man leaned down and whispered in her ear. She nodded and followed him down the corridor and out of sight.

  Nick fought the urge to follow her. He had no claims on her. Whom she had sex with was none of his business. She could sleep with half the precinct and it made no difference to him.

  He didn’t even realize he had started walking until he crossed the parking lot. The temperature had dipped as a light snow fell. He forgot to zip his jacket but he didn’t even feel the sting of the wind. His mouth opened of its own accord.

  "Officer Demaree?"

  She spun around, her brows raised in question. When she spotted him, the brows slammed down. Nick nodded a greeting to the rookie and then focused on Maya. God she was beautiful.

  "What?"

  She looked angry, no more than angry, she looked pissed. She no doubt thought he’d proceeded with his date with Lacey the other night. He hadn’t had a chance to tell her otherwise. Did she think they had sex? Did she care?

  His brain churned, trying to come up with a plausible excuse for why he interrupted her date. If possible, her brows slanted further, nearly touching in the middle. Her lips had thinned into a straight line. "I just wanted to check to see if you found anything else on ViCAP."

  She studied him through narrowed eyes for a moment before she answered. "I would have informed you if I had."

  He nodded. "Right. Sorry to bother you." He was an idiot. With a brisk nod, he turned to leave.

  #

  It was late, Jake was bone tired and about to call it a night. He'd sent the rest of the team home to get some sleep and Turner had just left. He really wanted to spend the evening with Violet but the task force had worked non-stop all day trying to find any clue as to the identity of the maniac terrorizing Lawrence Monroe College. The Burlington Butcher.

  Picking up the poems, he read each in order one last time. Then he came to the latest one:

  Roses are red

  Violet’s divine

  And soon, very soon

  She will be all mine

  Have you figured it out?

  Do you need a sign?

  How about a hint

  Our lives intertwine

  Jake read the last poem once, twice. It was on his third pass that pieces fell into place.

  "Sonofabitch," he roared as the meaning sank in.

  #

  Maya watched Nick turn around and suddenly she couldn’t let him walk away. She didn’t know why. He'd been a complete jerk since their one night together and for all she knew, he spent the past few nights in the company of loose-legged Lacey.

  "Detective Turner?"

  He glanced over his shoulder. She sent an apologetic look to Stan, a fellow officer and friend from the academy. They were part of a group who met for drinks every month. She’d beaten him rather soundly at a game of pool at their last get-together and promised him a rematch. She felt guilty for meeting her friends with a serial killer on the loose, but Stan persuaded her that she needed to take time for herself as well. Nick just gave her the perfect excuse to decline. "Rain-check?"

  Stan looked like he wanted to argue, but he glanced at Nick before reluctantly nodding. "Give everyone my best," she said, squeezing his arm. She jogged over to Nick.

  "I know we’ll have a briefing first thing in the morning, but is there anything new on the case?"

  "Not a damn thing."

  "He’ll make a mistake. Maybe if we—"

  "Maya," he interrupted.

  Fine. She was bothering him. She could take a hint. "Never mind. I’ll find out in the morning."

  She brushed past him, intent on keeping her dignity intact when he called out her name. It took every ounce of willpower she could muster to stop and face him.

  "I was going to say that it is too cold to stand out here and chit-chat. I was headed to get something to eat. If you want to join me, we can continue the discussion over dinner."

  Maya’s eyes widened. "Eat?" she sputtered. She glanced around the deserted parking lot. "With me?"

  One side of Nick’s mouth tipped up. "Unless you would rather sit in the car while I chow down?"

  Maya shook off the shock. "No, of course not." Stiffening her spine, she marched forward and breezed by him. "Tell me where and I’ll meet you there."

  When he didn’t answer, she stopped and spun around.

  "Maya," he said softly. "Wouldn’t it be easier to take one vehicle?" He wiggled his keys.

  "For you, maybe," she muttered under her breath.

  Nick craned his neck forward. "What was that?"

  "I said, sure," she responded with fake eagerness and followed him to his car.

  #

  Nick didn’t know what had gotten into him, asking Maya to dinner. Dammit, he couldn’t think at all when she was around. She made him forget everything except how her body felt when he was buried deep inside.

  He braked at the red light and then turned to gaze at her. Even without makeup or fancy clothes she looked stunningly beautiful. Awareness crept into her features, staining her cheeks with a pink blush. She broke eye contact first.

  "The light changed."

  Nick slowly faced forward and pressed the accelerator.

  "Can I ask you something?"

  Nick’s stomach clenched. "Uh, sure."

  She faced him. "Will you answer honestly?"

  His stomach did a full three-sixty. He shrugged casually, feeling the exact opposite. "I guess we’ll see after you ask."

  She huffed in annoyance and he fought a smile and lost. She was one tough chick.

  "Why did you leave in the middle of the night without a word?"

  His smile evaporated. Dammit, why did women want to analyze every single thing? Okay, maybe he’d been a jerk, not leaving a note or calling or, hell, even acknowledging her existence after that night. Why did it have to mean anything?

  "Did that night mean nothing to you?"

  He glanced at her, his brows knitted. How could she think that? It was incredible, earth-moving, soul-shattering. Did she really think he was that unfeeling? Maybe because you treated her like Satan’s spawn you jackass, a little voice whispered in his ear. It sounded remarkably like her father and he forced a swallow.

  "Or do I mean that little to you?"

  Maya’s voice was soft and resigned, as if she expected the worst from him. Well, he deserved that. He hadn’t given her any reason to think otherwise. Swerving into a strip mall, he parked away from the other cars and killed the engine, surprised to find his hands shaking.

  He turned to face her. She stared out the window, refusing to meet his gaze. He reached over and wrapped his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him. He hated that wariness in her eyes, knowing he put it there. He didn’t remove his hand, instead brushing his fingers over her cheek. "I guess I owe you an explanation."

  She nodded, her eyes locked with his, the wariness still there. He dropped his hand and looked away.

  "First, I want you to know I didn’t sleep with Lacey Crane…hell, I didn’t even go out with her."

&
nbsp; Maya’s eyes rounded in surprise. "You didn’t?"

  He shook his head. "Asking her out was a mistake, a lapse of judgment." After a pause, he admitted honestly, "I don’t know why I left that night, Maya. Every cell in my body wanted to stay in that bed with you and never leave."

  She remained silent, her eyes still wide, mouth slightly open. He was afraid he’d admitted too much.

  "Y-you wanted to stay?"

  One corner of his mouth quirked ruefully. "More than anything."

  "So it wasn’t me?"

  "God, no, Maya. It wasn’t you."

  "And you enjoyed it…you know, the sex?"

  She dropped her gaze to her lap. He reached out and cupped her cheeks. "More than any other time in my life."

  She blinked, clearly stunned. "I thought I was so horrible that you couldn’t even stand to look at me."

  Guilt burst through him like a fired cannon. All these months Maya had walked around feeling like a failure because of him. He was a complete and utter bastard. He did the only thing he could think of to convince her how much he enjoyed that night…enjoyed her. He kissed her.

  #

  Maya gasped softly in surprise when Nick’s lips crushed hers. He devoured her mouth, pouring all of his feelings into the mating of their lips. She participated eagerly, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him closer.

  What had gotten into him? Gone was the stern, hateful Nick and in his place was the smiling, carefree Nick she fell in love with. She had to be very, very careful around this Nick. He affected her way too much.

  Her heart sang, her blood raced. He didn’t leave that night because of anything she had done, rather because of his feelings. For her! Maya Demaree.

  If Nick didn’t have her mouth occupied, rather expertly she must say, she would sing out loud.

  She was just contemplating the logistics of getting them both into the back seat when his cell phone buzzed.

  "Dammit," they said in unison, both panting heavily.

  He brushed a kiss on her lips and reached for his phone.

  #

  Jake paced back and forth, acid burning a hole in his gut. His hair stood on end from repeatedly shoving his hands through it. The latest crime scene flashed through his mind. The guy was mocking them, laughing at them. He thought he was getting away with something and that the police were incompetent fools. But he’d slip up. Eventually they would catch him.

  He’d woken Violet earlier when he called to check on her. Her sleep-roughened voice shot straight to his groin. He imagined lying beside her in that bed, waking her up and hearing that voice murmur to him. It sent all the blood rushing from his head and pooling in places he didn’t need it to be pooling.

  He raised an eyebrow when Maya Demaree raced in the door ahead of Turner. Her lips looked swollen…and so did Turner’s. If he wasn’t worried sick, he would pay Turner back and harass the hell out of him.

  Sparing no niceties, he spun the poem around on the table. "Read," he instructed.

  Turner’s brow creased in confusion. "The note from the last murder?" He glanced from the paper to Jake. "I’ve read—"

  "Read it again, slowly," Jake interrupted forcefully.

  He watched him intently, saw the instant realization hit.

  "The same color of hair, the poems. Dammit, why didn’t we see this before?"

  "Our concern shouldn’t have been that the killer knew Violet, it should have been that he was obsessed with her."

  CHAPTER 16

  January 16

  Jake yawned and rubbed his neck, trying to ease the stiffness. He was too damn old to sleep in his car. But it had been late and he didn’t want to wake Violet so he’d just parked outside and watched her house. He was pretty certain no one could get through the security system and if they did, Zeus would protect her. But he didn’t want to take chances. He followed her to work to make sure she arrived safely before heading to his hotel for a quick shower and shave. Two cups of coffee later and he still had trouble concentrating.

  The task force had assembled except for Maya Demaree. He let Turner fill them in on what they discovered last night.

  "We can’t assume anything," Turner said. "The killer could have made a mistake with the wording, or he could be obsessed with a different Violet. We can’t afford to focus on one person and potentially put someone else in danger. But we can’t take chances, either."

  "The bastard is taunting us, toying with us and I don’t think he’s through yet," Jake said. "For the moment, Ms. Anastasia or whomever the target is will probably be safe. But we can’t let our guard down."

  "Vic," Turner said, "I want you to find out how many women with the name Violet live within fifty miles of the Lawrence Monroe campus."

  Vic nodded and jotted notes in his book. "I’ll get on—"

  Maya came rushing inside. "I’m sorry I’m late," she said breathlessly.

  Turner gave her a harsh look but nodded. "I was just filling the others in on what Kincaid discovered last night."

  "I got to thinking about those notes," she said. "And we can’t afford to concentrate solely on Ms. Anastasia in case the killer is fixated on a different woman named Violet."

  "I was just saying that," Turner gritted out between clenched teeth.

  Maya nodded, as if she expected him to come to the same conclusion. "I couldn’t sleep, so I came in early and searched for other women with the same name within a fifty mile radius."

  Turner’s brows shot skyward. "I asked Vic to do that, Maya. You are one step ahead of me."

  Maya looked pleased at the compliment.

  "What did you find out?" Jake asked.

  She smiled at Milt Baker as he set a steaming mug of coffee in front of her. "Thanks, Milt." Flipping a page on her notebook, she took a sip before she said, "There are four, counting Ms. Anastasia. I spoke with two and we can pretty much eliminate both. One is eighty-three and lives at the Champlain Senior Center." She flipped a page. "The other just started first grade at Edmunds Elementary School. I didn’t get a chance to locate the other one before the meeting."

  "Great work, Maya," Jake praised.

  "I second that," Turner said. "Officer Demaree, you and Hammond track down the other Violet and talk to her. See if she fits the profile."

  "Mr. Kincaid?" Tony King stepped into the conference room and nodded a greeting to the team. "We got the results from Dean Glasgo’s prints from the glass you took."

  "He’s hiding something, I can feel it," Jake said.

  "I’d say so," Tony agreed. "I just ran them through the system and I got a hit."

  Jake perked up. "He has a record?"

  "Neil Glasgo doesn’t," Tony said with a theatrical pause. "But Teddy Glasgo does."

  "The brother?" Jake’s brows furrowed and he tapped keys on his laptop. "We knew about him. This says Teddy died thirty years ago in a car accident after he was released from prison."

  "That’s not what the prints say," Tony revealed.

  Realization dawned. "Anyone want to take bets that the real Neil Glasgo died in that accident?" Turner’s question was rhetorical so no one answered. "Does that say why Teddy was incarcerated?"

  "No, but I’ve got someone on it." Jake flipped open his cell and dialed a number. "Perkins, it’s Kincaid. Did you get that information I requested on Theodore Glasgo?" Jake listened as the man spoke, his expression grim. "Thanks." Flipping the phone closed he said, "Teddy Glasgo served five years of a ten year sentence."

  "What was the charge?"

  Jake met Turner’s gaze. "Rape."

  #

  Neil Glasgo was adding finishing touches to a speech he would be giving to the Rotary Club next week when his intercom dinged.

  Phyllis’s voice cracked through the speaker. "Dean Glasgo, Mr. Kincaid and Detective Turner are here to see you."

  The lead on his pencil snapped and he froze. What the hell were they doing here? He shoved the speech aside and checked his calendar. They didn’t have an appointment. He c
ouldn’t talk to them now. He procrastinated and had nothing prepared.

  "I’m extremely busy, Phyllis. I’ve got a conference call in a few minutes," he lied. "You’ll have to reschedule for—"

  "That won’t be necessary."

  Neil inhaled sharply, his spine crashing into the back of his chair as Kincaid barged into the office. Another man followed him in and shoved the door closed with his foot.

  "This is Detective Turner with the Burlington Police Department," Kincaid said, indicating the other man. Turner flashed his shield but spots were swimming in front of Neil’s eyes and he couldn’t see anything.

  "I really don’t have time for this, Mr.—"

  "Make time…Teddy."

  All the blood drained from Neil’s face. How could they know? He had been so damn careful for the past thirty years, leading an exemplary life. He religiously drove three miles under the speed limit, never got so much as a parking ticket. The foundation he carefully built was crumbling down around him.

  "Teddy w-was my brother," he stammered. "He passed away years ago."

  "Well now, that’s funny," Detective Turner drawled. "Cause your prints are an exact match for the ones Teddy submitted when he was booked into the pen."

  Neil shot to his feet. "That’s impossible. You couldn’t know that. I haven’t had a chance to get to the station and have my prints taken."

  "No need," Kincaid responded. "After that little performance you put on last week, I got mighty suspicious. Somehow, that glass you spilled all over your desk found its way into my pocket. We pulled them from there."

  "This is an outrage," Neil bellowed. "That’s illegal. You took those without my consent. I’ll sue…." Neil gasped and clutched his chest.

  "What the hell is wrong with him?"

  "I think he’s having a heart attack."

  The voices were coming from a distance as a burning pain unlike any he had ever felt stole all the breath from his lungs. The floor rushed up to meet him. Strong arms cushioned the blow. He tried to scream for help but his mouth wouldn’t work, the pain was too intense. He thought someone ordered Phyllis to call for an ambulance. He felt his shirt ripped open and someone pound on his chest. Then he felt nothing at all.