by Mallory Kane
“Dev?”
She straightened and turned just in time to see him rear back and aim his fist at the wall again. Without stopping to think, she dove toward him, getting between him and the wall. “Dev!” she cried. “Stop!”
He froze, his muscles bunched and straining. His unfocused gaze met hers, but she didn’t think he saw her. She grabbed his wrist with both hands and held on tight, barely noticing the pain in her injured palm. After a couple of seconds, he visibly uncoiled. She touched his cheek, wiping away dampness with her thumb.
He bowed his head. “Oh, God,” he muttered against her hair, a prayer, not a curse. She rubbed his back.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.
“Then whose is it?” He pulled away and looked at her with fury in his eyes. “Whoever this bastard is, I will stop him. If it’s the last damn thing ever I do.”
Chapter Twelve
Dev’s anguished expression turned to fierce determination as he marched Reghan over to the curb where several uniformed cops stood. “This is Officer…?”
“Mintz, sir,” the officer supplied.
Dev didn’t take his eyes off her. “Officer Mintz is going to take you to the station and get your statement about what you saw here.”
He looked at Mintz. “Don’t let her out of your sight. Not for a second. Once you’ve filed her statement, call me.”
She started to speak, but he took her by the shoulders. “You will stay at the police station until I get there. Do you understand me?”
“Dev—”
“Do you understand?” He pronounced each word distinctly. “Officer Mintz will lock you up in a holding cell if you refuse to cooperate.”
“I understand,” she said, awed and a little afraid of the stolid resolve in his dark gaze.
He barely waited for her answer, but gave final instructions to the officer, then sent her one last warning glance and headed back to the crime scene.
Officer Mintz approached. “Ma’am. If you’re ready?”
Reghan assessed him, but his face held a stubborn focus. Dev had obviously warned him about her. She opened her mouth, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to try anyway, but the officer just stared at her steadily.
“Fine,” she said, resigned. “Let’s go.”
Mintz drove her to the Royal Street station, where he painstakingly took down everything she’d seen, smelled, touched, or even thought about at Nicky’s apartment.
By the time they finished, she was shaking with a delayed reaction to the trauma. She signed her name to the printed report with a hand that quivered. “Officer, I’m feeling ill. Is there somewhere I can lie down?”
“I’m not sure,” he said. “I can check.”
He started to leave the room when his phone rang. He answered it and listened. After a few seconds, he frowned. “Where is he? Did he say how to get in? I better call him and verify this,” he said, listened some more, and hung up.
Reghan was pretty sure she knew what the conversation was about. “Was that about me?” “Give me a second,” Officer Mintz said as he reached for the radio that was attached to his shoulder. “This is Officer Mintz. Patch me through to Detective Gautier, please.” He waited for half a minute. The dispatcher informed him, “No response from Detective Gautier’s vehicle. Shall I patch you through to someone on scene?”
“Yes, please.”
After another moment there was a staticky response, which Mintz apparently understood. “I’m trying to reach Detective Gautier.”
Reghan made out about three words of the reply, two of which were “don’t know.”
Mintz turned to her. “The dispatcher said Detective Gautier called in a message for me to take you to the Johnson Center. Said he was in pursuit of a potential witness.” He frowned. “I think I’ll wait to hear from the detective himself. He told me specifically he’d call me when it was safe to let you leave the station.”
Reghan was absurdly grateful that Dev wanted Mintz to take her to the center. She really needed to lie down, and she’d be safe there. “I have his phone number. I’ll call him.”
Mintz looked doubtful. “He didn’t answer his car radio. If he’s in pursuit on foot, it’s not a good idea to call his phone.”
“Oh, right,” she said, her voice quivering. She sat down in the hard-backed chair beside the officer’s desk and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn’t muster the strength or the will to try to persuade Mintz to take her to the center.
The officer looked at her with compassion. “Apparently Detective Gautier told the dispatcher that you have a key to the center?”
She looked up hopefully. “Yes, I do.”
“Okay,” Mintz agreed with a sigh. “You look like death warmed over. I’m detailed to you until I hear differently. We might as well wait for him at the center as here.”
…
As soon as Reghan unlocked the door, Officer Mintz preceded her into the center as if he were answering a break-in call, with his weapon drawn and ready. He cleared the front room and the kitchen, then came back to the door. “Okay,” he said. “You can come in. Lock the door behind you.”
As soon as she was inside, she heard the telephone in the office ringing. She ran to answer it. Officer Mintz followed her.
“Reghan?” the voice said.
“Penn. What’s up?”
“I’ve been trying to call Dev and you for ages. Your phone goes straight to voice mail.”
“Oh,” Reghan said. “I didn’t even think about it. The battery’s probably dead. And Dev’s working. He may be in pursuit of a witness.”
“A witness? What’s going on?”
“Oh, Penn. Nicky’s dead.” Reghan’s voice caught. “We found him this morning at his apartment. Dev’s really torn up.”
“Nicky? Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m not there for Dev. Listen to me. You take care of him. He’s going to take Nicky’s death hard,” Penn said, her voice thick with tears. “Really hard.”
“I know. I will.”
“Listen, Reghan. There’s a call on the center answering machine from the warden at Angola. I picked up messages when I phoned earlier. I left it for Dev to hear. Gerard Fontenot died a few hours ago. Kidney failure.”
Fontenot was dead. Reghan’s hand tightened on the phone. “He was in the hospital yesterday when I went to see him,” she said.
“Does that mean this is all over, and we can come home?” Penn asked.
“I don’t know, Penn. Maybe you shouldn’t do anything until you talk to Dev.”
“Okay. That’s probably best.” Penn paused for a second then said, “By the way, have you seen Tracy?”
“Tracy?” Reghan was surprised. “She’s not with you?”
“She rode down here with us, then she suddenly decided she needed to be back in New Orleans. She said she was too worried about Nicky—” Penn broke off. “Oh no. This is going to crush her. You know that she and Nicky were sleeping together, right?”
“No,” Reghan said, surprised. “I didn’t.”
“I’d better go,” Penn said. “My phone’s running down and the only charger I have with me is the one for the car. Tell Dev I’m so sorry about Nicky, and tell him—no. Forget that. I’m coming back. I’m getting Katie and leaving right now.”
“But Penn, Dev wanted—” Reghan started.
“I don’t care. He can’t handle this alone.”
Reghan’s throat closed. Penn probably hadn’t meant her words to hurt, but they did. She swallowed, then spoke. “He’s not alone, Penn. I’m here.”
But the other woman was still talking. “—see you soon,” she said, then hung up.
Reghan felt the hurt swirling in her chest. Penn had been upset. She’d spoken without thinking. But with each argument Reghan came up with to excuse Penn, there was always the same counterargument. But she said it.
She heard an odd noise behind her. A sort of gurgling moan. She turned around, expecting to see Mintz with a glass of water maybe, bu
t he wasn’t standing at the office door. She peeked out into the front room and saw that a light was on in the kitchen. She started in that direction, but then she saw him to her right, in the dimness near the front door.
“Officer Mintz?” she said, starting toward him. “That was Penn, the woman who helps take care of the teens here. She said—”
Mintz made that odd sound again and took a step toward her, one hand out in front of him, the other at his neck. Reghan squinted, trying to see. He looked as if—
The lights suddenly went on, blinding her. She blinked against it, then looked at Mintz again. He wasn’t even near a light switch. In fact, he was barely standing, and the hand at his neck was—
She gasped. Oh, God. It was covered with blood. Blood dripped off his hands and down the front of his uniform, pooling in his empty gun holster. Reghan swayed.
“Wh—what on…?” She couldn’t talk, couldn’t form a coherent thought.
In front of her, Mintz collapsed to his knees. Then he thudded to the floor.
Dead.
…
Dev ran up the steps to the front door of the station. Just as he pushed open the doors, his phone rang.
“Detective Gautier? Stevens here,” the officer said quickly. “Officer Mintz left about fifteen minutes ago to take Ms. Connor to the center, like you asked him to.”
“Like I asked?” Dev said, bewildered. “I didn’t tell anybody any such thing. Who said I did?”
“I—I think maybe one of the dispatchers?” Stevens replied. “I just tried to reach Mintz on his radio, but he’s not answering.”
With a muttered curse, Dev hung up and immediately dialed Connor’s phone. It went straight to voice mail. He turned around to head outside again.
“Dev?” Givens called after him. “I want to talk to you— What’s going on?”
“I can’t reach Connor.”
“Isn’t Mintz with her?”
“He’s not answering his radio. Somebody told Mintz I said to take Connor to the center. I’ve got to get over there.”
Givens waved him on. “I’ll keep trying to reach Mintz. Backup?”
Dev called back, “Hell yeah.” As he headed out the door again, one of the junior detectives tried to stop him. “No time!” Dev shouted and kept hurrying by.
“I’ve got info on Shareese Galloway, sir,” the young man said, holding out a printout.
Dev started to brush the guy off, but the warning hum vibrated at the edge of his brain. “What about her? Make it snappy.”
“Shareese Galloway is not an attorney—not in Louisiana. I went through every name of every person who has taken the bar exam since 1960.”
“And?” Dev asked impatiently.
“Take a look at this,” the detective said, holding up the printout.
Dev slashed a hand and opened the door. “Tell me,” he demanded.
“This shows that in 1977, a girl was born to one Emma Galloway. But the birth certificate lists the father’s name as Gerard Fontenot.”
Dev pivoted on a dime, stunned. “Fontenot? Are you sure?” The door closed with a whoosh.
“Yes, sir.”
The pressure on Dev’s chest became unbearable as a sick dread spread through him. “What’s her full name?” With a curse, he whirled and headed down the steps even before the young man spoke. He had a sinking feeling he knew what the answer would be.
“Shareese Tracy Galloway.”
Tracy. Dev felt as if he were moving in slow motion as he sprinted to his car. Tracy. He should have seen it. Connor had. He should have paid more attention to her suspicions about the girl. Tracy had been right there at the center. She knew almost everything that went on. She had all the boys wrapped around her little finger. She could have easily impersonated a police dispatcher.
As he jumped into his car and cranked it, he remembered the day she’d had to take out a contact lens and he’d gotten a glimpse of her pale blue eye and the dark contact. How had he forgotten his reaction to her natural eye color? In hindsight, he realized it was creepily identical to her father’s.
Fontenot’s daughter. Good God. That’s why he’d thought the man’s eyes looked so familiar. Liz had suggested the killer could be female, but she’d seemed to dismiss the idea, and so had he. He just prayed his incredible blunder hadn’t cost Connor her life.
He raced to the center, trying her phone and Mintz’s radio over and over, but nobody answered. What if he was too late? The thought was unbearable.
How would he live with himself if he lost her?
How would he go on without her?
…
Reghan stared at Mintz, crumpled on the floor on his stomach, his lifeless hand still pressed against his neck. Blood spread slowly and steadily across the hardwood.
Stomach lurching, she fumbled for her cell to call 911. Oh, God. The battery was dead. Suddenly, the office phone started to ring. She swiveled toward the sound. Yes.
“Don’t even think about it, Reghan Connor,” a low, serene female voice said.
Reghan jumped. A figure stood in the shadows about twenty feet away from where Mintz lay bleeding out. Fear tore through Reghan like a lightning bolt. She recoiled, her mind in a whirl.
Run!
No. She had to get to the phone. Had to help Mintz. Phone. If she could just answer it—
“Don’t move,” the woman said evenly, “or I’ll kill you.”
Reghan froze. “Wh-who are you?” Her whole body cramped with the need to run. Her mind screamed danger, but her limbs were paralyzed.
Behind her, the phone rang again.
The woman came forward, into a beam of light from the kitchen. Her blond hair was swept back in a carelessly chic updo. Her face was heavily and flawlessly made up, from her kohl-dark eyes to her deep red lips. She wore a gray tailored suit and black pumps, with sheer black stockings on her long legs. Across it all was an artful splatter of dark crimson, spoiling the perfect image.
Reghan blinked, feeling fractured. She felt like she was in two places at once. She was standing there on solid ground…between a weirdly calm woman with blood on her suit and a dead police officer. But she was feeling weirdly calm herself, observing her own reactions from somewhere above, as if watching a movie.
From the way the blood had spattered on the woman’s suit, the detached observer in Reghan realized she must have stood directly in front of Mintz and cut his throat. Probably his carotid artery.
“Look at you. Pathetic. No wonder Dev despises you.” The woman made a vague gesture toward Reghan with her right hand. She was wearing a leather driving glove and holding something in it. The glove, the gray sleeve of her suit, and the thing in her hand were all drenched in blood. The object caught the light. Acrid nausea rose in Reghan’s throat.
A scalpel.
“You killed Officer Mintz,” she said through numb lips barely able to move. “You killed them all.”
The woman took a step toward her and something else caught the light. A gun, tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Mintz’s gun.
The phone cut off in the middle of the ring.
“Who are—” Before the word was out of Reghan’s mouth she remembered the description the warden had given her of the lone visitor to Angola Prison. “My God. You’re Shareese Galloway. Fontenot’s attorney.”
The woman laughed again. “Oh, I’m much more than that.” She moved closer. “You really aren’t very smart, are you?” She smiled placidly, and looked directly into Reghan’s eyes for the first time.
Recognition hit her like a blow. Those eyes… So blue and transparent. Like glacial ice.
“Just like Fontenot’s,” she whispered.
“Sorry, Reghan. What did you say?”
And Tracy’s, beneath the colored contact lens.
Nausea churned in Reghan’s stomach as her brain processed the truth. “Tracy. Oh, my God. It’s you.” She looked the woman up and down. “Shareese Galloway. You’re not Fontenot’s attorney. You’re his dau
ghter.”
The woman frowned. “Well,” she said with a moue, “you just spoiled my fun. I was saving that tidbit for right before I kill you.”
Suddenly it all made sense. Tracy, his daughter, was the one Fontenot couldn’t control. Reghan swallowed hard. The deranged woman had already killed at least four people. Five, counting Mintz. And Reghan was supposed to be the sixth.
“It’s about time you recognized me,” Tracy said derisively. “I walked right by you one day at your television station.” She waved the scalpel. “It was so easy. A little work on the hair and makeup, add some tastefully shabby clothes, and voilà. I transformed into a nineteen-year-old.”
“I should have seen it,” Reghan muttered.
“Ya think? You’re all just as brainless as my father said. Especially you.” Suddenly, her face contorted into a mask of hatred. “Everything was fine until you came to Dev with that ridiculous theory about my father. Why couldn’t you leave it alone?” she hissed. “Why couldn’t you leave Dev alone?”
Leave him alone or regret it. “The message on my porch, on my mirror. You did that, too.”
Tracy gazed at something only she could see. “I had to walk such a fine line. The old man wanted his revenge.” She mimed comparing weights in her two palms. “I wanted Dev to be happy. Everything was perfect, until you got involved.” She refocused on Reghan and punctuated the last four words with little jabs of the bloody scalpel.
“You wanted Dev to be happy, so you killed the kids he loved?” Reghan said in disbelief. The woman truly was insane.
Tracy sighed. “At least try to keep up,” she said mockingly. “I didn’t want to kill them. That’s why I needed Nicky. I suppose I should have known better. My God, he was so squeamish. Such a child. I had to promise him heroin to get him to do the first killing. That was a mistake. He made such a mess of that first job.” Tracy continued to gesture with the scalpel, scowling. “So I had to take care of the others myself.”
Reghan couldn’t take her eyes off the stained blade as it caught and reflected the light shining from the kitchen. “You’re saying Nicky killed Brian?”
