Most Likely to Die

by Lisa Jackson

  “Yeah, and besides that, they all had alibis for the night Jake was killed.”

  “You really did go through all these old files, didn’t you?” Rachel sipped on her Diet Coke.

  “A few years after I joined the force, I asked permission to take a look at the Cupid Killer files,” Dean said. “It wasn’t that I actually thought I could find anything your dad and his partner missed. I was curious. You know, because the victim was Jake and because of how things happened. I think Jake’s murder affected all of us in some way or other.”

  “Mmm…” Rachel washed down the bite of sandwich in her mouth with another sip of cola. “Sometimes, I think the reason I went into law enforcement after college, other than the fact I wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps, is because of what happened to Jake.” She looked directly at Dean. “Is that crazy?”

  “I don’t think so, but I’m the wrong person to ask. I figure the way Jake’s murder hit all of us so hard is one of the reasons I joined the Portland Police Bureau.”

  “It seems you and I have a great deal in common, don’t we?”

  Dean reached out and brushed a stray curl off Rachel’s cheek and moved it behind her ear. Their gazes connected and held for a heart-stopping moment.

  “Too bad we didn’t realize that years ago,” she said.

  “Better late than never.”

  Oh, no. Those pesky butterflies were doing a jitterbug in her belly again. Every time Dean looked at her as if he wanted to kiss her, she felt the kind of rush that comes only with falling in love. But she wasn’t falling in love with Dean, was she? Not Dean McMichaels! Of all the men on earth, why him?

  It’s just good old-fashioned lust, she told herself. You haven’t been with a man in a long time and you’re horny. That’s all there is to it. You need to have sex.

  Did that mean she should have sex with Dean?

  “So, we’re on for tonight,” Dean said.

  “Huh?”

  “You haven’t been listening, have you? Where did you go just then?”

  “Nowhere. Just woolgathering.”

  “Were you thinking about Jake?” Dean pulled away from her and sat back in his chair.

  “What? No, I wasn’t thinking about Jake. Actually, I was thinking about—” Are you out of your mind? You can’t tell Dean that you were thinking about having sex with him, to use him to scratch an itch.

  Dean glared at her.

  “I was thinking that we should pick up a bottle of wine to take to Kris and Ross’s tonight.”

  Dean gave her a skeptical look. She knew he didn’t believe her.

  “No problem. We can pick up a bottle on the way there.”

  Rachel laid her hand over Dean’s. “I haven’t been carrying a torch for Jake all these years. After I moved to Chattanooga with my mother, I got on with my life and I hardly ever thought about Jake.”

  “You didn’t ever think about me either, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Every once in a while.” She punched him playfully on the arm. “I thought about how you were always giving me a hard time.” The minute the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could recall them and rephrase that statement.

  Dean grinned. “Interesting choice of words.”

  She blushed. Heavenly days! “Don’t read anything into them,” she told him. “They were just words.”

  “If you say so, but you’ve got to wonder…”

  “I’m not finishing that sentence for you.”

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll finish it. You’ve got to wonder what it would be like if we hooked up, did the horizontal”—he lowered his voice and added—“had sex.”

  “Even if I might be curious, that doesn’t mean I’m going to jump into bed with you,” she whispered. “Believe it or not, there are still some women in this world who do not have casual sex, and I’m one of them.”

  “If we ever had sex, it wouldn’t be casual.”

  Before she could respond, Officer Ray Middleton approached them, calling out to Dean as he walked toward Rachel’s desk.

  “Hey, Dean, that eyewitness from the Henderson case showed up early,” Officer Middleton said. “He’s pretty nervous, so I thought it best to come tell you and not make him wait too long. He might bolt.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Dean said, then turned to Rachel. “See you later.”

  He winked at her again.

  And her insides quivered.

  Kristen crinkled her nose with worry as she spoke to Lindsay Farrell, who had telephoned while she was in the middle of setting the table in Ross’s apartment dining room. Their daughter Lissa was at a friend’s house studying, so dinner tonight would be a foursome.

  “Look, Linds, I’d like nothing better than to cancel the reunion, but Rachel and I are a majority of two,” Kristen said. “Even Mandy, who’s as nervous as a cat these days, says we can’t let some nut job dictate what we should and shouldn’t do. The others agree, so the reunion is still on.”

  “I had planned to come in early,” Lindsay said. “And we still might, if—”

  “You and Wyatt?”

  “Yes, Wyatt and I. Who would ever have thought that we’d wind up as a couple? But then again, who would have believed that we had a one-nighter in high school that resulted in a son who is now nineteen?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me or tell Rachel? We might have been able to help you.”

  “What could either of you have done?” Lindsay asked. “You were both teenagers, too, and would have agreed that my giving my baby away was the only thing I could have done.”

  “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, knowing he was out there somewhere. Lissa tries my nerves, but the thought of having no choice but to give her up at birth—”

  “If Wyatt and I can work things out with Leo—you know, the three of us figure out what kind of relationship we each want—then I’ll get a second chance with my son as well as with his father.”

  “Linds?”

  “Huh?”

  “Stay safe, will you. Okay?”

  “I will. You, too.”

  “Not knowing where he or she will strike next is the worst part,” Kristen said. “Ross is so concerned about me that he’ll barely let me out of his sight. And Mandy’s husband is talking about hiring a bodyguard for her. And even Rachel, who’s a trained professional, carries a gun, and knows karate or one of those martial arts, has Dean looking out for her.”

  “Are they together now?” Lindsay asked. “Once again, who’d have thought it—Dreamy Dean and our Rach. She was always hung up on Jake.”

  “Yes, she was, just as you and I were.”

  “We were fools, weren’t we?”

  “Yes, we were, but we were just kids who didn’t know any better.”

  “Kris, please keep me posted on what’s happening.”

  After she replaced the phone on the cradle, Kristen finished setting the table, then went into the kitchen to check the roast in the oven.

  If she had her way, they would cancel the reunion, but then again maybe the others were right about not giving in to pressure, not allowing their fears to dictate their actions. And who was to say that if they canceled the reunion the threats would stop? If the person who was behind the child’s arrow stunt, the notes, phone calls, and breakins had killed Aurora and Haylie, they could strike again at any time. But without proof that Aurora’s death was not an accident and with such damning proof that the homeless bum killed Haylie during a robbery, there was no way to definitely connect either crime to what had happened to Lindsay in New York. Nor could their deaths be connected to what had been happening with her, with the other committee members, and with Rachel.

  They were up there now, Kristen and Rachel and Dean McMichaels, with Kristen’s rich hubby Ross Delmonico. Just like back in high school, they were having fun, enjoying the good life, while she was on the outside looking in. Damn them. Damn them all. Kristen, so pretty and oh so smart. And never without a boyfriend. Even Jake h
ad turned to her when he’d broken up with Lindsay. And Rachel, the good sport, everybody’s friend, even Jake’s. It had been unfair twenty years ago that girls like Kristen and Rachel and Lindsay had everything going for them, that they got all the breaks, had all the fun. And it seemed that very little had changed in all this time. Maybe they hadn’t been deliberately cruel to her, but ignoring a person was more than simply being unkind. Sometimes she used to feel invisible, as if none them ever saw her. She had longed to be one of them—really one of them—and not just one of those girls hanging around on the periphery.

  She stood outside the building, gazing up at the high-rise apartment that belonged to Ross Delmonico. She had followed Rachel and Dean, wanting to see just where they were going, and wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that their destination was a visit with an old friend. Probably dinner. She’d noticed that Dean was carrying a bottle of wine.

  Have fun tonight. Enjoy dinner. Talk and laugh and discuss old times. The last laugh won’t be on me—it’ll be on you. On you, Kris. And on you, Rachel. But most definitely on Lindsay. Bitch!

  But killing them would have to wait. She knew now that the time and place for their deaths would come soon enough. But for those three, the end should be special. She had jumped the gun with Kris and even more so with Lindsay, because she hated Linds the most.

  God, how she hated those cute little nicknames. Kris and Linds and Rach. She especially despised those names when Jake had used them.

  “Ma’am, are you all right?” a voice asked.

  Astonished by the fact that someone had spoken to her, she gasped loudly. Her gaze connected with a set of dark brown eyes. A young couple, apparently walking their dog, were standing there staring at her as if she had two heads.

  “I—I’m fine,” she replied, then hurried away, up the street. Don’t panic, she told herself. They wouldn’t remember her. Besides, they hadn’t gotten that good a look at her, there in the semidarkness. And who would be asking them about her anyway?

  She all but ran back to her car, which was parked a block away, got in, and started the engine. Leave Kris and Rach for another day—for the night of the reunion. There is someone else who deserves your immediate attention, someone less important than the exalted three, but someone as guilty as they, someone who deserves to die. And soon.

  Dinner with the Delmonicos had been nice. Dean liked Ross and hoped he and Kristen would continue trying to make their marriage work. And not just because they had a kid together, but because they seemed to genuinely love each other. Maybe when all was said and done in a relationship, love really was all that mattered. Real love. Not lust. Not fleeting passion. Not memories of raging teenage hormones.

  Who was he kidding? He didn’t know the first thing about real love. As a teenager, he’d bonked just about any girl who’d let him. And later on…well, he’d been around the block a few times before he got married. He had loved Kellie and she him, but it hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been real and true and meant to last a lifetime. His parents had had that. Still had it. They were off traveling across the country in their motor home, loving life and loving each other as much as if not more than ever.

  He wanted that kind of relationship. Hell, he wasn’t getting any younger. If he was going to remarry and produce a few offspring, he needed to get started pretty soon. After all, he was scaring forty to death. So maybe that was the reason he kept putting Rachel into the scenario, kept thinking about her as a life partner, as the future Mrs. Dean McMichaels. Ever since they were kids, he’d been protective of her, almost like a brother, but somewhere along the line, he’d become possessive, too, and by their senior year in high school, he’d known he loved cute, bubbly Rachel Alsace.

  He glanced over at her where she sat looking out the passenger side window in his Thunderbird. “Penny for your thoughts.”

  She turned to face forward, then glanced at him. “I was just thinking how lucky Kristen is. She and Ross. They have each other and a daughter and…And Lindsay just reconnected with Wyatt Goddard. I told you about them and their son and…”

  “And at our age, being alone isn’t all that great, is it?”

  “You’re right,” she said. “And it makes us more vulnerable to getting involved with the wrong person or persuading ourselves that a relationship is more special than it actually is.”

  Dean harrumphed.

  “Was that a laugh or a grunt?” she asked.

  “A bit of both,” he admitted. “I was actually thinking along the same lines. About us, to be honest.”

  “Us as in you and me?”

  “Yeah. I used to care about you, back when we were kids. My feelings were sort of complicated. I pestered the hell out of you and tried to protect you, sort of like a big brother, but then when we were teenagers, I wanted you…you know, wanted wanted you.”

  “I wish you’d told me…back then.”

  “It wouldn’t have made any difference. You were too infatuated with Jake.”

  “If you had just told me how you felt—”

  “I’m telling you now. I’d like to take you back to my place and screw you all night long,” Dean said. “But if we did that, then we would both be even more confused about our feelings than we are now. Heck, I’ve halfway convinced myself that I’m in love with you, and I think you’re starting to wonder if we might not have a budding relationship in the works. Right?”

  “Maybe. Why is that so wrong?”

  “For the very reasons we just discussed. We’re both nearly forty, unmarried, no kids, and envy old friends who seem to have what we want. I don’t want us to make a mistake and wind up hurting each other by jumping into a relationship.”

  Rachel didn’t reply. He glanced at her and noticed she had turned to look out the passenger window again.

  “Rachel?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  She cleared her throat. “No, no, you didn’t say anything wrong.”

  When he pulled into the Youngs’ driveway and parked the car, Rachel opened the door and hopped out, then called, “Don’t bother seeing me in. It’s late and I don’t want to disturb Uncle Charlie and Aunt Laraine.” Just before she slammed the door closed, she added, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Dean sat there and watched her practically run to the door and let herself in, not once looking back. He released the tight hold he had on the door handle, then huffed loudly. Women! He’d never understand them.

  Don’t just sit here, he told himself. Go home. You messed up big-time with Rachel, and it’s not something you can fix tonight.

  Exactly what had he done? He’d been honest with her. Why was that so wrong? He’d thought she felt the same way—that they were in danger of thinking themselves in love, and that before taking their relationship to the next level, they needed to make sure of just where they were headed. Not for his sake, but for hers. He cared too much about Rachel to use her to simply scratch an itch.

  Apparently, sometimes honesty wasn’t the best policy.

  Chapter 28

  Rachel spent the next week with two objectives in mind. One: to continue searching for the answer to a twenty-year-old murder case. Two: to spend as little time with Dean McMichaels as possible. The first had been easy enough because it was within her control. The second had proven to be more difficult. Dean acted as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn’t all but told her to back off, that he wasn’t interested in anything serious happening between them. She had to accept the fact that Dean probably flirted outrageously with every woman he met, that the sexual banter they had exchanged was simply par for the course for him. And all that garbage about him once having feelings for her was probably little more than a ploy to get into her pants. After all, he did have a reputation with the ladies, something she’d found out from others who knew him. Since his divorce, he had dated dozens of women. She figured she was just one more “date” to him.

  Apparently he had realized she was beginning
to fall in love with him, and that was the last thing he wanted. Okay. Fine with her. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t live without him. Her feelings for him hadn’t deepened that much that fast.

  Or had they?

  If she wasn’t hung up on the guy, why did she feel as if he had slapped her in the face with a major rejection? Why did she get tight knots in her stomach whenever he was around? Why did she catch herself daydreaming about him?

  Because you’re an idiot!

  Rachel’s cell phone rang. She picked it up from where she had placed it on her desk here at headquarters, checked caller ID, and hesitated when she didn’t recognize the number. Another cell phone coming off a Portland tower.

  She flipped open her phone and identified herself immediately.

  Silence.

  “Hello. Is anyone there?”

  Breathing. Heavy breathing.

  This is ridiculous. “Look, if you have the wrong number, just say so or hang up.”

  “I have the right number,” a disguised voice said. Rachel immediately knew that whoever was on the other end of this conversation was using some type of voice-altering device, just as he or she had done for other calls. Those voice-altering things could be bought just about anywhere for little to nothing or for hundreds of dollars. Trying to trace who might have bought one in the past few months would be time consuming. A fruitless endeavor.

  “Who is this and what do you want?” Rachel kept her voice calm and even.

  “Someone is going to die.”

  Every nerve in Rachel’s body came to full alert. Reacting as the professional she was, she asked, “Is that right? Are you going to kill them?”

  “Yes, I am. Just like I killed Jake.”

  Rachel’s heart lodged in her throat. Was she really speaking to Jake Marcott’s killer? “Did you kill Haylie and Aurora?”

  Laughter. Harsh, anguished laughter.

  “Did you kill them?” Rachel demanded, her voice remaining calm, but with a commanding tone.