She dialed his office and got his voice mail. She left a brief message for him to call back and then rang the dean’s office. Work would give her something to focus on since her friends were busy. Might as well let the interim dean know she would be back to work tomorrow.
"Hello?"
"Phyllis? It’s Violet Anastasia."
"Violet! How are you, dear? I’ve been so worried."
"I’m fine, thank you." She didn’t feel like going into detail. "I am calling to speak with Dean Glasgo’s replacement."
"Dean Valdez. Sure, dear, I’ll put you through."
"Phyllis—before you do, have you seen Professor Timms today? I tried his office and got his voice mail."
"Professor Timms?" Sally parroted her question and paused. "Dean Valdez put him on leave a couple of days ago."
Dread settled in her stomach. "Did he fire him?"
"No, just a leave. He’s free to return once the case is wrapped up and he's cleared. You might try him at home."
"Thank you, I'll do that."
"Okey dokey. Good luck, dear."
Violet pulled her eyebrows together. Good luck? Why would Phyllis wish her good luck? In reaching Todd, maybe? The hold music cut off abruptly and Dean Valdez’s nasally voice blasted through the line. "Ms. Anastasia, is that you?"
"Yes, it is. Good morning, Dean."
"Yes, yes, good morning. What can I do for you?"
If Violet didn’t know better, she would swear he was pinching his nose to make that sound. "I wanted to let you know that situation with the serial killer has ended."
"Yes, Mr. Kincaid called and apprised me of the situation regarding your father."
With his brisk, no-nonsense tone, Violet had the distinct feeling she was getting the brush-off. "Ex-stepfather," she corrected. "Anyway, I will be back at work tomorrow."
"About that…." Dean Valdez cleared his throat. Her heart kicked up a notch. "No need for you to come in tomorrow."
"But I’m fine, really, and I am ready to resume teaching. I need to get my life back in order."
Dean Valdez flattened her with his next sentence. "Your classes have been reassigned. You were still on your one year probation, you understand."
She fought to keep the tremble from her voice. "A-are you firing me?"
"No, no, of course not."
She breathed a sigh of relief.
"Technically I can’t fire you until you have been with us for a year. You are simply being released of your duties."
"I am being fired," she whispered.
Dean Valdez didn’t give her time to wallow in sorrow. "I need you to return your keys and any University property you have as soon as possible. Phyllis will box up your belongings. You can pick them up from her, along with your final check."
Violet couldn’t even respond.
"The sooner the better," he pressed.
Violet replaced the phone in the cradle without responding, wanting very much to throw it against the wall.
She was strong. She had survived worse than a broken heart and being fired. But she hadn’t given up just yet. This could be her last night with Jake. An idea formed and gelled.
No doubt about it now—she was going to go full guns with her plan. She wouldn’t let Jake go without a fight. And she knew just who to call to help her launch her campaign. She picked up the phone and dialed.
#
Jake propped his feet on the conference room table, his tie strewn around his neck, his shirt unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled to expose his forearms. Tipping an icy bottle of pale ale from a local micro-brewery to his lips, he took a deep pull. Turner sat across the table, his posture and clothing disarray mirroring Jake’s, although, Turner’s tie was fifty decibels louder.
"Where the hell do you get those things?" he asked, fingering his own tie.
"My old partner’s son gave me this one for Christmas a couple of years ago. He was going through his Simpson’s phase."
Jake eyed the big yellow-tinged kid surrounded by an older woman with blue hair and a fat older man, presumably the dad, yelling "Doh". He shook his head and laughed.
They had just finished with endless meetings, press conferences and an in-depth, exclusive interview with Olivia Larrson. He was almost too tired to move.
"Have you talked to Maya?"
"I stopped by the hospital this morning but she was sleeping soundly. She didn’t want to spend the night but the doctors wanted to make sure the drugs Kinney shot her with were out of her system." He finished off his beer. "So what are you going to do now?"
"Enjoy that vacation I planned before this impromptu trip to Vermont." He couldn’t bring himself to talk about Violet.
Turner nodded. "It’s been great working with you again."
"We make a good team," Jake agreed. "And you have a pretty good crew supporting you here."
Judging from the goofy grin on Turner’s face, Jake figured he was thinking about Maya.
"Interested in staying in Burlington and coming to work with us? We may not have this level of intrigue and excitement all the time, but then, you would have me and that would make up for it."
Jake threw back his head and laughed. Turner’s laughter mingled with his and they clinked their bottles together in salute. "I don’t suppose you’d consider moving to the much more weather-stable Midwest? I’m sure COBRA Securities could use another experienced investigator."
Turner rubbed his chin. "Now there’s something I would have to think about. I have been itching for a change of scenery." He paused. "But there is a pretty little professor right here in Burlington that will need someone to pick—"
He didn’t get the rest of his sentence out. Jake leapt from his chair and pulled him up by the shirt collar.
"One more word and you’ll be eating from a straw."
Turner threw his hands in the air in mock surrender. "Easy, big guy. I was kidding. Besides, Maya would skin me alive." He made a show of straightening his shirt. Brushing imaginary lint off his sleeves he added, "You’re just going to walk away and leave her?"
"What the hell else can I do?" Jake tossed the empty bottle in the trash. "I could be gone weeks at a time. Plus, I’m no good with relationships."
"So change it."
Jake narrowed his eyes. "Have you forgotten that I live a thousand miles away? Long distance never works out. Besides, it was just a temporary thing anyway."
Nick snorted. "Yeah, right. If that’s how you react to temporary, I’d hate to see long-term."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you tried to waste thousands of my parents hard earned dollars by physically removing my orthodontically-enhanced teeth for a joke."
Jake propped his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his palms. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he eyed Nick. "Look, I’m sorry about that. I overreacted."
"No sweat," Turner said. "Speaking from experience, I’d hate to see you throw away what you two have. Before I wised up, I walked out on the best thing that ever happened to me."
Jake tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling. "Yeah, I know," was all he said.
Nick’s cell phone rang, breaking the silence. He flicked it open. "Turner."
"Where’s Violet?" Maya asked without any preliminaries.
"Where’s Violet?" he repeated. He glanced at Jake.
"She’s at her house," Jake answered.
Nick relayed the information to Maya. "Go get her now," she demanded. "Willie Jack wasn’t the killer."
The legs of Nick’s chair hit the floor. "What do you mean Kinney wasn’t the killer?" His confused gaze met Jake’s narrowed one.
"I’ve been out of it because of the drugs, but I’m wide awake now and remembering our conversation. I asked him why he killed those girls and he had no idea what I was talking about."
"So, he could be lying or—"
"He wasn’t lying," she exploded. "He had no reason not to tell me…he planned on killing me. In fact, he told
me how he murdered his cell mate and it wasn’t self-defense. And you will have to let Violet know, but he killed her mother as well."
"Kinney killed Violet’s mother?" Nick repeated for Kincaid’s benefit. Kincaid closed his eyes and sighed.
"So you see, if he had killed those other women, he would have bragged about it." There was a shuffling noise. "I’m coming in," she said briskly.
Nick could hear her arguing with her mother. "Maya, stay put. We’ll go get Violet and come by the hospital. You can tell us the rest of what you remembered when we get there."
Kincaid was already dialing Violet’s number as he hung up. He met Nick’s gaze. "I told her not to leave the house but dammit, she’s not answering."
"Shit," Nick said, grabbing his jacket and following Kincaid’s rapidly retreating form out the door.
CHAPTER 28
"I’m so glad you called," Chris said as she navigated the recently plowed roads. "I’ve been worried about you."
"I’m sorry I couldn’t contact you earlier," Violet apologized. "I had strict orders to talk to no one. But since the killer is dead, I figured it was safe." Technically, Jake had ordered her not to leave until he okayed it, but why should she stay imprisoned when Willie Jack was roasting like a pig on a spit in hell?
"So tell me more about this secretive plan," Chris said.
"Basically I want to let Jake know how much I love him."
Chris’s head snapped around. "You love him?"
Violet smiled at her friend. "Yeah, I do."
Chris’s eyes narrowed before she focused on the road again. "I thought this was temporary, a ruse to keep you safe."
"That was the original plan," Violet agreed. "But things have changed, feelings have changed."
Chris paused and then said, "Well then, let’s prepare to dazzle him. I need to stop off at my apartment first. If we are going to power shop, I’ll need comfy shoes."
She angled into a space in front of an old warehouse surrounded by construction equipment. In the process of conversion from abandoned building to luxury loft apartments, three floors had been completed with the top two still undergoing renovations. Chris had purchased one of the first available units.
"You might as well come in," Chris said as she stepped from the car. "I’m going to change, too."
Violet gazed at the top of the looming structure as Chris applied lock to key in the front door. She shuddered at the pitch black windows that seemed to taunt her. Shrugging off the eerie feeling, she followed her friend inside. A punch of heat enveloped her, warming her tingling cheeks. She wiped her feet on the mat and admired the hardwood flooring that decorated the entry around the mailboxes. The unit Chris purchased was on the ground level, so they turned a corner and she unlocked the door.
"Help yourself to a drink," she offered, shrugging out of her jacket and tossing it across a chair. "I’ll be right back."
Violet nodded and slipped off her parka, heat pouring from the exposed radiators making her toasty. She was amazed every time she visited at how clean Chris’ apartment was with not one item out of place, not one stray paper, no sign of dust. She’d pass a white glove test with flying colors. And the house had a permanent lemon-fresh smell.
Wandering around the living room, she scanned books on a set of shelves, coming across a framed picture of her, Chris and Todd at a formal dinner for a visiting professor. They were dressed up, smiling for the camera, arms wrapped around each other. The three musketeers, Chris had called them that night.
A wave of sadness hit her remembering her falling-out with Todd. Their relationship would never be the same after he attacked her, but she wished him no harm. She felt bad Dean Valdez put him on leave. A memory flashed in her mind of the old faded scars on his wrists, remnants of a botched suicide attempt. Surely he wouldn’t be so distraught that he would try something like that again, would he?
Panic sparked like a fuse and worked its way up until she was trembling. She pulled out her cell and dialed his home number. After three rings, Todd’s fake-English accented voice instructed her to leave a message. Snapping the phone closed, she chewed her lip and paced. They would have to stop by his house and check on him. A thought struck. Chris had been around when he took the time off. Maybe she would know what he was doing.
Violet hurried down the hall to the bedroom. "Chris, do you know—" She stopped when she realized the room was empty, as was the bathroom. Puzzled, she turned and spotted a thin shaft of light spilling out from the small closet. Stepping closer, she discovered the light came from a narrow gap between the back and side walls. Sticking her fingers in the crack, she pushed. The wall slid open easily.
Violet froze, her mouth gaping in shock. "Oh my God."
#
"Dammit, Violet, pick up the phone," Jake growled into his cell for the hundredth time. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the squealing siren on Turner’s car. They hit a patch of ice and the back end fishtailed. Turner expertly turned into the slide, barely slowing. He cut the corner sharply into Violet’s driveway, the back tires bumping over the snow-packed curb. Jake latched onto the dashboard and when the car screeched to a stop, he shoved the door open and took off at a dead run. He hurdled the steps to her porch, his feet skidding on snow before he righted himself. Turner landed behind him, using Jake to slow his skid.
More sirens wailed in the distance, piercing the quiet evening. Blue and red lights swirled across the neighboring houses as porch lights snapped on all along the street. Several people stuck their heads outside to check out the commotion.
Zeus barked ferociously behind the closed door. "That dog will rip us apart," Turner said.
Jake tried to calm his ragged breathing. "He trusts me. I’ll go in first."
"I hear gunshots, I’m coming in firing," Turner promised.
Using his key, Jake slid it into the lock and eased the door open. He reached for the alarm to deactivate it, disgusted to realize it wasn’t even set.
"Zeus, it’s me," he said to the bared fangs. The dog’s ears perked and with an excited yelp, he lunged. Prepared for the assault, Jake set his feet and barely staggered when two meaty paws slammed against his belly. He scratched the dog’s head as his eyes scanned the empty room. Nothing looked out of place. If Violet were taken against her will, he would have expected some sign of a struggle.
Finally able to shove the happy dog away, he lured him into the mud room and closed the door, trapping him inside. "I’m sorry, buddy. I’ll let you out soon."
The dog’s pitiful wail made him cringe as he jogged to the front door and whipped it open for Turner. Together, they made quick work of searching the house before meeting in the living room. "She’s gone," Jake said, slamming his hands on his hips. "No sign of struggle, her purse and coat are gone as well."
"Her car is in the garage. She left with someone she trusted," Turner concluded.
Jake’s gaze landed on a small canvas pouch resting on the kitchen counter. He lifted the object and slid it from the bag. It was a knife, probably the one Chris gave Violet to give him. She called it a pocket knife but this was no everyday knife, this was a very expensive—and very deadly—weapon…the kind a killer would purchase. He pushed a small button and the blade snapped open to reveal a serrated edge.
A framed picture of Violet’s sister caught his eye and as if his mind worked a Rubik’s cube, the pieces all twisted into place.
"Son of a bitch, I know who the killer is."
CHAPTER 29
Chris spun around with a startled gasp. "Violet!"
Violet eyed the pictures covering every square inch of the small space—pictures of her. There were photos of her walking Zeus, working in her garden, shopping at the market. There were shots of her lecturing, her face animated, and another of her talking with Ella Rodriguez, the second girl murdered. Even the missing picture of her, Daisy and her father took up space on the wall. She gasped. There was a shot of her on her couch, Jake’s strong body covering hers as they shared
a deep, passionate kiss. But most horrifying of all was the sharp dagger piercing their bodies, anchoring the picture to the wall.
Chris’s voice came out deep and low as she sighed, "This wasn’t how I intended to reveal my gift so I’ll have to improvise." She gestured around the room with her hand. "Welcome to my shrine to you, Violet. What do you think?"
Chris seemed particularly proud of the display, so Violet slowly rotated in a circle, taking in all the pictures she hadn’t noticed earlier. Air rushed out of her lungs when she faced the last wall. Portraits of the seven murdered girls hung in a neat row. Below each picture were shots from the scene of their death, each posed similarly in lingerie, a note covering their torso, a dark slash across their necks.
She slowly spun to face a killer. "You? You’re the murderer? You killed them?"
"I prefer to think of it as eliminating the imposters. They were nothing more than knock-offs of the original—you."
This couldn’t be happening. Chris could not be the killer. The killer was a man. He raped his victims. Something registered in her brain and her eyes traveled from Chris’s flat, bare chest to the brutal puckered scars carved on her stomach. No, not her stomach. His. His stomach. It spelled the word "Queer."
Violet took a step back, needing to get out of the confining space before she suffocated. "I-I’d like to go home now." She spun to escape when a wisp of silk sailed over her head and wrapped around her neck. She choked, her fingers clawing at the scarf as Chris yanked the material tight. She tumbled back and landed against a solid chest.
"I’m afraid I can’t let you do that."
Violet wedged her fingers deeper beneath the scarf to lessen the pressure against her neck. It worked and she was able to take a breath. "You're a man?"
Chris chuckled, a deep, masculine sound. "My name is Christopher, and yes, I’m a man." Proving his point, he ground his erection against her back. She couldn’t stop the shudder of revulsion.
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