Did they have any chance of a relationship? He was a man defined by his job, but she was a doctor and seemed to feel the same way about hers. A couple of days ago, these sorts of musings would have sent him straight out the door, but now he wanted to figure her out—and figure out a way to keep seeing her. To maybe have a future together.
He shook his head at himself. After avoiding any entanglement for the last two decades, he’d gone and fallen for a woman who was guardian to a seventeen-year-old female with an uncanny ability to raise hell. Still, Kit Campbell was a good kid. Probably.
It didn’t take a psychology degree to figure out some of his “issues” stemmed from the fear of being rejected. Most kids who lost a parent had abandonment issues, even when the parent had no choice as to whether or not they left. Fear of rejection led to emotional distancing, which had contributed to the breakup of his disastrous, short-lived marriage. He was scared to let anyone close, scared to reveal that the real him was less than the perfect shell he showed the world.
He rubbed his beard-roughened jaw and knew he really needed to duck next-door to shave. He stayed where he was, booting up the old PC, figuring out how to hook up the scanner.
He heard the TV go on in the living room. Isadora was watching the news. He called Hanrahan and told him what he wanted him to do. It involved a trip to Mildred Houch’s house and a truckload of patience as she looked at the school photo. He scanned the image to maintain resolution. Hopefully, Mildred could ID Denker and his friends. And perhaps she’d remember the name Duncan Cromwell, but he didn’t want Hanrahan to give her that name upfront. See if the lady came out with it on her own. His old mentor was good at that sort of thing. Good at eking out information. The key was to get people talking without even knowing they were doing it, and then learning how to listen. Frazer’s forte was more prodding and poking until he got a reaction. Different things worked on different people.
He emailed the file and then heard a sound from the living room, as if Isadora was in pain. His hand reached for his SIG as he raced out the door.
Isadora’s eyes were huge as she stared at the news screen. “The reporter said there is evidence to suggest Ferris Denker didn’t kill any of those women. The press is starting to speculate the state might be about to execute an innocent man.”
He put his gun away and walked towards her. “Ferris Denker is trying to stir up trouble to get himself out of the hot seat at the end of the month. He’s guilty as hell.”
She hugged herself with her uninjured arm. The pain in those sage green eyes did something to his insides. “One of the women he was convicted of murdering was the one you found on the beach. Beverley Sandal, right?”
He nodded. The information had been released to the media, but they hadn’t IDed the unknown male found with her yet.
“And because of that fact you’re now trying to link Duncan Cromwell to Ferris Denker—you’re trying to link the new crimes to the old ones.” Her knees seemed to give out as she collapsed to the sofa. She pointed at the box of photographs. She’d placed all the ones they hadn’t used back into the box. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?”
He nodded, but suddenly the feeling in his gut wasn’t admiration or something unnamable. It was dread. Because those eyes told him she knew something he didn’t. Something important to this investigation.
She massaged the fingers at the end of her casted wrist. “What if Denker didn’t kill Beverley Sandal. Would that change anything?”
The wash of the waves was growing stronger on the beach. The rise of the wind was starting to howl. Everything grew louder inside his head. His own personal storm. “Denker named Beverley as one of his victims.”
“But what if he lied?” she insisted. “What if he really is innocent and spent all those years in prison…” She looked as if she was about to throw up.
“That’s what he wants us to believe. If he can create doubt about his conviction he might get a stay of execution from a governor notoriously unsympathetic when it comes to condemned killers.”
Isadora shook her head and he noted the expression in her eyes. Absolute devastation. “But I know he didn’t kill her,” she whispered.
Ice spread over his body. “How do you know?”
“Because my father did.”
Frazer felt like someone had slammed him into a brick wall. “What do you mean?”
“I have something to tell you.” Her voice was fluttery and weak. “I meant to tell you before, but I was worried about Kit, and I honestly didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t plan everything else that happened between us.” She bit her lip, and he felt himself shrinking inside, withdrawing, moving further away from the lover and becoming the federal agent he was supposed to be.
He sat beside her, but didn’t touch. “Tell me.”
She glanced at him, and he knew whatever she said was going to rip him to shreds. He sat there, waiting for it.
“A little over seventeen years ago, I came home late from a party and found my parents in the driveway of the beach house.” She pointed outside. “Dad had been away on a business trip and was back early. I saw the light on and ran down to say hi.”
The murmur of the storm, the tick of a clock, the muted buzz of the TV, all formed background noise, but only Izzy’s words mattered. “I found them sitting on the ground. Mom was holding Dad in her arms, and at first I didn’t understand what was going on. I thought he’d had a heart attack or something.”
Frazer felt cold all over. Detached. Desolate. But he had a job to do and the job always came first—something she’d made him forget for a brief period of time. “Okay, hold on for a moment. I’m going to take you back to that night, Isadora. I want you to lie on the couch and I’m going to hypnotize you and you are going to tell me everything.” This way she’d be less likely to lie or forget some small relevant detail. “Are you okay with that? If you need a lawyer, say so now.”
“No. No lawyer. I want to get this over with.” Her eyes met his, swimming with tears, but they didn’t affect this version of Lincoln Frazer. This version hunted monsters.
He smiled. “You’re in safe hands. Trust me.”
* * *
THE DISTANCE BETWEEN them yawned to a gulf as big as the Atlantic stirring up outside. This was what she’d known would happen, what she deserved. The feeling of cold rushed over her with a blast of grief. Whatever they might have had was lost now. Gone. Dead. Destroyed. And she’d been the one to do it.
“Take a few deep breaths…” His voice sounded like an icicle being dragged down her spine.
What did it even matter anymore? Just give him this. Get it over with.
He entranced her with the calm quiet voice she recognized from when he’d hypnotized Jesse. Impersonal. Kind. She hated it, because it hid the real him beneath a cool perfect facade, rather than the flesh and blood man who’d made love to her as if she meant something.
“Let go, Isadora.”
The words made her eyelids heavy, and they drifted shut even though she tried to keep them open. Suddenly she was reliving that awful night seventeen years ago…
The first thing she noticed was a light on, down at the beach house. She sure as heck hoped her mother wasn’t down there cleaning for any last-minute guests. That was the service industry for you, hard work, constant interruptions, and snarky members of the public thinking you were their slave. Izzy turned off the engine and listened to the hot metal ping as it cooled.
Her mother was pregnant with her fourth child—unfortunately her mom had miscarried the two she’d conceived after Izzy and, after all these years, this was a miracle baby. Now in her ninth month of pregnancy everything looked good, but no one was taking any chances. Izzy got out and dumped her purse on the front step, heading around the side of the house to see what was going on. She followed the path that linked the two properties, hidden behind a row of sage bushes that rustled softly in the breeze.
She smiled when she saw her father’s SUV
parked down beneath the rental cottage. He’d been away on a sales trip, but must have come home early. She frowned when she heard raised voices. Her father saying something like “it isn’t what you think.” And her mother was screaming at him. Words that didn’t make any sense. Murderer. Evil. Monster. Izzy’s heart banged in a nervous staccato.
What was going on? Her parents never argued. They were perfect together, but this was a humdinger. They didn’t know she was there. She was torn between giving them privacy and stopping them before someone said something unforgivable or her mother got upset and went into premature labor.
Izzy started to jog forward when an ear-shattering scream pierced the night, followed by an indescribable gurgling sound. She stopped dead for a moment and almost backed up in fear before realizing something terrible had happened to one of her parents.
Running, she rounded the corner and found her mother kneeling on the ground with her father’s head propped against her distended stomach, rocking him back and forth.
“Oh, Will. Will. I’m so sorry…” Tears streamed down her mother’s cheeks, glistening in the reflection of the porch light.
“Mom?” But her mother didn’t hear her.
What on Earth is going on?
Izzy watched in horror as a dark stain spread over her dad’s shirt. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing. A horrible chill started in her core and expanded outwards until it pushed against the inside of her skin, panic threatening to burst out.
“Mom!” It felt like her voice was coming from far away. “What happened? What’s wrong with Dad?” She wanted to run and call the ambulance but her feet wouldn’t move.
“Izzy?” Her mother blinked, coming out of her fugue state with a snap.
“What did you do, Mom?” Izzy asked.
Her mother looked at the man on the ground. Her husband. Izzy’s father. Then she blinked and started crying. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I was scared…I thought he was going to kill me.”
Her dad wasn’t a violent man. This didn’t make any sense.
“I’m going to run up to the house and call 911, okay? You stay put and see if you can stop the bleeding.”
“You can’t do that. You mustn’t!” Her mother’s eyes grew huge, and she started rocking back and forth.
“He’s going to die if I don’t,” Izzy said sharply. But somehow she knew it was already too late. There was too much blood for her dad to still be alive. She was rooted to the spot in shock and horror. Her mother had just murdered her father. Tears filled her eyes, and she had to concentrate with all her might not to start screaming. If she did she might never stop.
“You don’t understand what he’s done.” Her mother pointed at the car beside her.
Slowly, Izzy walked around. The rear door of the SUV was raised and inside, a naked girl lay curled up on a sheet of plastic, partly hidden by a blanket. Izzy blinked. It was like she’d been thrown into the middle of a horror movie with no idea as to what her lines were. The girl’s hands and feet were bound with duct tape. Tape also covered her mouth. She was obviously dead.
Izzy’s legs started to shake. “I-I don’t understand, Mom.”
“He came home half an hour ago. I was asleep at the house, but I heard his car, and I saw him come down here to the beach house. He’d mentioned he was going to fix the pilot light on the gas boiler in case we got any last minute bookings. My back was sore so I thought I’d take a walk.” She sniffed, tears flowing down her cheeks and dripping onto Izzy’s father’s hair.
“I found him bending over that poor woman in the trunk.” Her mother’s breath rattled in her chest. Izzy felt the echo inside her own. “He tried to deny it, but how could he deny anything?” Her mom’s voice grew strident, but her eyes lost focus. “I accused him of being the serial killer the police are looking for on the mainland and he laughed at me! Then he lunged toward me.” She finally focused on Izzy again. “I stabbed him with this.” Her left hand groped in the sand before raising a long screwdriver. Crimson blood coated the shaft and handle.
Izzy’s thoughts crackled inside her head like there was interference in the atmosphere and she couldn’t understand the conversation. But she could. She knew exactly what had happened. Her mother had murdered her father with a screwdriver because she thought her father was a serial killer. She looked back at the pale glimmering corpse of the woman in the trunk. A thick silver chain encircled her wrist. A medical alert bracelet.
Gore rose up inside Izzy’s throat, burning the soft tissue of her gullet. Every nightmare she’d ever had paled next to this new grim reality. She went over and felt for the pulse in her father’s neck. Searched frantically for a few long seconds before recognizing the vacant eyes for what they really were. Dead.
A wave of absolute dread hit her. “We need to call the cops, Mom.”
“No.” Her mother climbed awkwardly to her feet, holding her baby bump with her right hand. “No.”
“Mom, we have to tell the cops.” Revulsion and grief raced through her as she looked at her beloved father. “They’ll know you did this in self-defense. It was an accident.”
“No. They’ll take away my baby!” Her mother backed up a step, shaking her head. “Do you know what will happen when they find out your father was a killer? Do you think they’ll believe we didn’t know about it? We’ll be pariahs, shunned.” She rubbed the hand holding the screwdriver over her belly in a way that disturbed Izzy.
“How could I not know I was married to a monster? Oh, God, I loved a monster. A monster who slept in my bed every night and fathered my children.”
Izzy’s father was a murderer…she couldn’t believe it. There had to be some mistake but the girl in the trunk said otherwise.
“We have to tell the cops, Mom,” Izzy insisted. She pointed to the bodies. “What else are we going to do? Bury them in the sand dunes?” She was being sarcastic, but her mother started nodding.
“Yes. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.”
“Err, no. That’s nuts.” Izzy flinched when her mother grabbed her arm, short fingernails digging into her flesh. She waved the bloody screwdriver. “Do you know what he did to those girls? Look at her.” Her mom spun her around and pointed at the bound naked girl. “He kidnapped her. Raped her. And then he killed her. Do you think she’s the only one? Do you know what will happen to us? I’ll be arrested and questioned. I’ll probably lose this baby or she’ll be born in prison. You’ll have to take care of her. Is that what you want?”
Izzy scrubbed her shaking hands over her face. She didn’t want any of this. Her mother was verging on hysteria and no wonder. The community of Rosetown was close-knit and superstitious. Gossip and speculation about everyone’s private business was a way of life here, but they’d deal with it.
“We still have to go to the cops, Mom. They’ll know what to do.”
Her mother backed up, cradling her stomach. “If you do that, Izzy, if you tell anyone, I’ll kill myself.” The screwdriver rose to hover near the tender skin of her neck. “I can’t live with the idea that your father…that he lied to me and I was foolish enough to believe him.” Her eyes bulged.
“You’re not thinking straight, Mom.”
Her mother placed the screwdriver against her throat. “I’m not kidding, Izzy. I can’t live with the idea other people will find out what he did. What I did.” Her eyes flashed to the dead man on the ground.
Izzy’s hands clenched and unclenched. She couldn’t believe this was happening. She’d gone from being a normal teen sneaking out to a party to being on the verge of losing everyone she loved, and she hadn’t even gotten over losing Shane yet. Her mother was clinging to the narrowest edge of sanity. She was all Izzy had left, and she carried an innocent baby inside her who needed protecting.
Her mother’s hand tightened on the handle of the screwdriver.
“Stop,” said Izzy, swallowing down hard. “We’ll do it your way. I’ll move the car a bit so we don’t have to carry
him—” Her voice stumbled over the distant pronoun. “Him,” not dad or daddy. “Him” said with an inflection of hatred, of abhorrence. “We don’t want to drag him so far. Don’t strain yourself,” she warned, thinking of the baby.
Izzy hauled her father sideways and then pushed him up on top of the dead girl.
“We’ll need to get rid of this car after we get rid of the body,” her mother told her.
God. Izzy wanted to vomit as her father’s blood soaked into her t-shirt. She couldn’t believe she was doing this. Izzy eyed her mother’s bloodstained nightgown. “I’ll go get us a change of clothes from the house, and some rubber boots. You get a shovel from the shed. I’ll fetch your coat. You follow me in the van and we’ll go out to Parson’s Point.” They were about to slap a protection order on the dunes, which meant the chances of the bodies being discovered would be reduced. She needed to get her mom through the next couple of weeks. Keep her healthy enough to have her baby. Then she’d persuade her to go to the cops and tell the truth.
Izzy ran into the main house. She knew nothing would ever be the same again. Hopefully God could forgive her for what she was about to do, because she sure as hell would never be able to forgive herself.
* * *
FRAZER CAREFULLY BROUGHT Isadora back into the present, trying to figure out how this affected things. The case. Not them. There was no them. Had he really considered a relationship? Stick to sex—apparently, it really was the only non-job related thing he was good at.
She blinked awake, quickly going from seventeen-year-old girl in a panic, to mature woman with years of life experience. Her green eyes went to him as she shifted herself carefully into a sitting position. Even though she looked awkward and uncomfortable, he didn’t offer to help.
“I should have told you this as soon as they found Helena.” Her voice was croaky.
“Yes.”
She flinched.
What the hell did she expect?
“Will you promise me one thing?”
Seriously? She was asking for promises?
Cold Fear Page 29
