“To catch the guy who committed this crime? It’s my pleasure. Your boss has gotten me up to speed.” Presley pushed her glasses higher over the bridge of her nose as she looked through the two-way mirror. “If McManus is guilty, we’re going to need a confession to make this case airtight. I’m sure it goes without saying that any hint of coercion will get whatever he says in there tossed.”
“I’m only here for the truth,” Isabella said. “But don’t worry. I will get it.”
The A.D.A nodded. “I hope you do.”
Isabella reached for the doorknob, her hands steady even though the rest of her wasn’t. Walking into the interrogation room, she shut the door behind her, lingering just outside of McManus’s line of sight long enough for him to give in to the aggravation she’d watched mounting on his face for the last thirty minutes.
“I’ve been sitting here for over an hour! This is outrageous. You have no right—”
His words died abruptly as she walked to the spot across the table from him. “I apologize for the wait. My name is Detective Isabella Moreno, and I have just a few more questions for you before we let you go. Do you mind if I sit?”
“Oh.” McManus stared at her, his shock obvious. Just as Isabella had known it would be. “Well, I suppose not.”
She managed a demure smile, although she had no idea how. “Great, thanks,” she said, settling into the empty chair. “Before we start, I should let you know you’re entitled to have a lawyer present.”
Her fingers tightened over the file folders still in her grasp. She was banking on McManus’s ego being bigger than his brain. Now she just had to pray her gamble would pay off.
“It’s only a few questions, and as I told your colleagues, I have nothing to hide. I’m sure a lawyer won’t be necessary,” he said, but not even the way he’d folded his hands and cleared his throat could hide the sheen of sweat that had just bloomed over his forehead or the way he was still blinking at her as he continued to stare.
Isabella manufactured a look of concern. “Are you okay, Mr. McManus? Can I get you some water?”
“No, I…” He shook his head before firming up his shoulders and seeming to regain his calm. “You look like someone I know, is all.”
Steady, girl. Don’t let him rock you. “Hmm. Must be a coincidence. Kind of like this mix-up with the photos.”
Isabella used her free hand to tap the two eight-by-tens Maxwell had left on the table, and McManus frowned.
“There’s no way you can say with one hundred percent certainty that this is me, and you definitely can’t prove I kidnapped anyone.”
“You’re right about the photo. It’s only a ninety-eight percent match.” She waited for him to pale at the statistic before cranking the vise a little tighter. “As for being able to prove you kidnapped anyone…I’m going to have to disagree with you, there. In fact, I think I can do one better and argue that not only did you kidnap someone, but you repeatedly raped and murdered her.”
“You have no proof of that,” McManus said. But a tiny crack had formed in his smug exterior, and it was exactly what Isabella needed in order to pounce.
“Maybe not for the girl who was murdered last week.” Isabella made sure to punctuate the sentence with an unspoken yet before reaching for the file folder on the top of her stack. “But you haven’t always been so careful, have you? See, I did a little digging, and it turns out you’ve lived in a lot of places since you left town twelve years ago. Memphis”—the top folder hit the table with a firm snap, the others following suit as she listed them off, one by one—“Jackson. Birmingham. Atlanta. Jacksonville. Charleston. Raleigh. And do you want to know what they all have in common besides you?”
“I imagine the list is long,” McManus said, but half of his bluster had given way to unease.
Isabella took full advantage despite the fact that she had more adrenaline in her veins than blood. “Maybe, but the item on that list that I find the most curious is that every single one of these cities has an unsolved kidnapping, rape, and murder of a young woman that happened just weeks before you moved away. And the most interesting part of all is that the M.O. for all nine crimes is exactly the same. Fourteen-year-old girls taken from a city street. Kept for three days. Raped and strangled by someone’s bare hands.”
“That’s a coincidence.”
“An unfortunate one for you,” Isabella pressed. “See, you might have gotten good at this over the years, learning how to hop from state to state to avoid triggers within databases and taking extra measures to blend in and stay off the radar. But that first time, twelve years ago?” Isabella’s heart slammed as she took the last file folder and placed it on top of the others. “You left DNA on your victim when you raped her.”
McManus’s eyes widened as she flipped to the report that backed up her words as the truth, but oh, his survival instinct was made of Kevlar. “This case is twelve years old. Surely the DNA tests from over a decade ago are considered ancient history now.”
“Actually, they’re not. The DNA found on that victim was tested to federal standards, which are not only highly accurate, but they’re the same now as they were then. Thirteen markers in all. Do you want to know how I know?”
He didn’t answer out loud even though his expression told Isabella he knew exactly what she was about to say. Hell, with the way she and Mari had always been mistaken for sisters, he had to have known it since the minute he’d put eyes on her.
I have your back, Marisol.
“I know, because the victim was my cousin,” Isabella said, her voice calm and certain despite the raw, reckless emotion that wanted to make her grab McManus out of his chair and show him what it felt like to be scared for his life.
But this was about justice. Not revenge. Sinclair and the D.A. had trusted her to do her job.
And now, after twelve years, she was going to put Marisol’s murder to rest.
“See, I’ve had this case file memorized for a decade, so I know every tiny detail inside this folder. You kidnapped my cousin twelve years ago, then you raped her and strangled her and left her body in a basement, just like you did to all of these other women. My team is combing these cases as we speak, and we will tie you to every last one of them closely enough to have you arrested before bedtime.”
Whether it was her words or her wildly certain tone, Isabella couldn’t be sure, but McManus had been stunned into silence.
So she continued, “Once you’re arrested, we shouldn’t have a problem getting a judge sign off on a DNA test. You and I both know the DNA will match. Just like we both know I will do every single thing in my power to make sure you’re charged with all nine of these crimes. So really, Gerald. Tell the truth so these families can have closure. The D.A. might go easier on you if you do.”
Isabella sat perfectly still in her chair, forcing herself not to flinch or blink or move for the longest minute of her life.
And then McManus said, “You look so much like her. I remember all nine of them, you know. What they looked like. How they smelled. What they sounded like when they begged me not to hurt them. I remember snapping each of their necks and dumping them in those dark, dirty basements like it was yesterday.”
Oh God. Oh God, she’d done it. He’d confessed.
Isabella barely had time to process the thought before the door opened and Sinclair made his way inside. But rather than taking McManus into custody, he simply handed her a pair of handcuffs.
“This one is yours,” he said.
She’d waited for this day for twelve years. She wasn’t waiting any longer. “Gerald McManus, you’re under arrest for the kidnapping, rape, and murder of Marisol Pérez and the kidnapping, rape, and murder of Brittany Martin.”
She made her way through Mirandizing him with care before cuffing him and handing him off to Maxwell and Garza, who had entered the room with Sinclair. Her heart pressed against her ribs, adrenaline and shock and pure emotion winging through her fast enough to make her dizzy.
&
nbsp; “Isabella!”
The familiar voice cut through the haze in her mind, filling her with relief. “Kellan? What are you doing here?”
He stepped all the way into the room to grab her in a firm embrace, but it was Sinclair who ended up answering the question as Kellan let go.
“I called in a favor with Bridges. Thought after this, you might need the moral support. Take all the time you need. And, Moreno?” His steely eyes softened, a small smile framing his mouth. “You did real good tonight.”
Kellan waited until Sinclair had made his way out of the room before turning to look at her. “Did you get the guy?”
“Yeah.” Tears pricked at her eyes as the truth settled in, and she slid her arms around Kellan, holding on tight. “We got the guy.”
And then she leaned on him, letting him hold her up completely as she started to cry.
Chapter 9
Kellan examined his reflection in the mirror in the small room at the front of the church, wanting nothing more than for the next few minutes to fly by so they could get this show on the road. The last three days had been a blur of last-minute preparations, family gatherings, and early holiday celebrations, and even though he and Isabella had spent much of that time together, he’d barely seen her alone since the night she’d arrested McManus and fallen apart in his arms.
After the interview that had resulted in his confession, McManus had cooperated with both his attorney and the D.A.’s office, agreeing to plead guilty to all nine crimes in exchange for no death penalty. Since he’d also agreed to serve consecutive life sentences with no chance of parole, both the D.A. and Isabella had been okay with that. Telling her family that they’d finally found Marisol’s killer had been emotional as hell, of course. But the closure seemed to have calmed Isabella, enough that she’d agreed—albeit grudgingly as hell—to let her team have her back so she could take a little extra well-earned time off.
God, he and Isabella had come so far from the people they’d once been, both so guarded and wary and alone. Now Kellan couldn’t live without her, and she trusted him to have her back, to hold her up when she needed him most.
Talk about full circle.
“Hey!” Kylie poked her head past the door, a giant smile on her face. “Merry Christmas and happy wedding day! Can I come in?”
Kellan laughed. “Do you even have to ask?”
“Eh, good point.” She scooped up the hem of her long, dark red dress, the material swishing softly as she made her way across the room. “I thought you might want a little company since Devon’s dealing with the ushers.”
“Sure.” He turned, letting her straighten his tie. The scent of roses and pine needles wafted up from the lapel of his charcoal-colored suit jacket as Kylie smoothed her hands over the fabric, and she turned suddenly and noticeably pale.
“What’s the matter?” Kellan grabbed her hands, stilling her motions. “And don’t insult me with a ‘nothing’. Your face is the color of those Christmas lilies over there.”
“Ugh, no flowers,” she said, covering her mouth with one hand. “I refuse to throw up right before you get married.”
His gut perked with worry. Kylie might be an adult, and a highly accomplished, fiercely smart one at that, but she was always going to be his younger sister. “Are you sick? I can go see if Quinn and Luke are here yet.” The paramedics were the best around.
“I don’t think Quinn and Luke have anything that’ll fix this,” Kylie said, biting her lip, and what was that look on her face?
“Don’t be silly, Ky. If you have some sort of stomach bug, I’m sure we can—”
“I don’t have a stomach bug, Kellan. I’m pregnant.”
And whoa. “You’re what?”
“I’m ten weeks pregnant,” she said with a soft laugh. “I was going to wait until after you and Isabella got back from your honeymoon to tell you, but between my queasiness and the fact that I needed the seamstress to work some serious voodoo on this dress last night to have a prayer of getting into it, Isabella just figured it out.”
“She is a detective,” Kellan allowed, still blinking past his shock. “So, wow. Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I don’t mean to hijack your wedding, but…well, it was kind of killing us not to tell you.”
“You’re not hijacking anything,” he said, angling the flower on his suit jacket away from her before leaning down to fold her into a hug. “This is great news. You and Devon are going to be parents.” As weird as the thought was, it was also pretty cool. “You know I’m going to be the crazy uncle who loads this kid up with sugar and buys him drum sets and video games that make all the annoying noises, right?”
Kylie laughed, and man, it looked like he wasn’t the only one who had come full circle. “You might want to wait until she’s bigger than a cherry tomato for that. Also, just remember. What goes around comes around. I’ll save those drums for when it’s your turn.”
“You want to let me get married first? I mean, I am already in the suit.”
As if on cue, Devon opened the door. “Hey, you two. It’s time.”
“Go,” Kylie said, tears rimming her big, blue eyes. “Go get your girl, big brother.”
She kissed them both before heading to the hallway leading to the back of the church. Devon tipped his head, his grin unmistakable as he asked, “You ready?”
“Since the day I first laid eyes on her, man.”
A few more minutes had them at the front of the church, standing beside the minister. Even Kellan, who had never much cared for a whole lot of fanciness or fuss, had to admit that the church looked pretty, with pine wreaths at the end of every pew and snowy-white candles sending a glow over the stained glass. He caught sight of his fellow firefighters, a smile moving over his face as he nodded first at Gamble, then at Shae and Slater and Quinn and all the guys on squad. Everyone from the intelligence unit was there, too, and January and Finn were arm in arm, rounding out the bunch. Soft music drifted from overhead as Isabella’s parents walked down the aisle and lit a candle at the front of the church, her mother stopping to plant a quick kiss on Kellan’s cheek before taking her seat. Kylie did the same, giving up an exaggerated wink to go with it that made him and the other churchgoers laugh.
The music changed to the bridal march, and Kellan’s heart stuttered in his chest at the sight of Isabella standing at the back of the church. Her dress was lacy but not overdone, hugging every one of the curves he loved before tapering down to a wider skirt below her knees. The material must have had tiny beads sewn into the lace, because every time she moved—even slightly—the fabric glinted and glimmered, making her look like an angel. Her dark hair was pulled back in an understated knot with wisps breaking loose to frame her face, and oh God, she was so beautiful that it actually hurt.
But then she caught his eye, grinning that wild grin that never failed to steal his breath and make him fall in love with her all over again, and Kellan couldn’t stop his feet from kicking into motion. A muted gasp rippled through the church, the sound quickly turning to a collective sigh when his path became clear.
“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to come to you,” Isabella said, her eyes full of laughter as he met her halfway down the aisle.
“I know, but I love you, and I couldn’t wait another second to start our forever.”
She smiled, reaching out for his hand and squeezing it tight. “Well, I can’t think of a better way to begin than together. You wanna get married?”
Kellan squeezed her back, knowing that as long as he had Isabella, he’d never need anything else.
“I do.”
In Too Deep - Excerpt
Read on for an excerpt of IN TOO DEEP, the latest full-length standalone in the Station Seventeen series!
Okay, so driving the ambulance was just weird. Not that Quinn was pioneering new territory by sliding behind the wheel, because she’d talked Parker into letting her drive way more than once over the last half-decade. But the passenger seat was broken in
just the way she liked it, with the perfect ratio of support to cushion, and ugh, how did Parker last for even one shift on this slab of concrete?
Quinn let out an exhale and tamped down her inner voice with a steady shot of suck it up, buttercup. Yes, she hated that Parker was hurt, and yes, she really hated that there was nothing she could do to help him. She had to focus on what was in front of her, though, which meant taking care of whoever was on the other end of this call with Slater as her partner.
The thought made her belly tighten with twin feelings of excitement and curiosity. She’d known he’d probably take the assignment to ambo as seriously as he took everything else—which was to say that on a scale of one to ten, he was going to clock in at about a forty-two. What Quinn hadn’t been expecting was the reveal on his sister, which—while it wasn’t some huge go-viral-on-the-Internet-style bombshell—still had to make her wonder.
What other surprises was he hiding beneath that wickedly sexy turnout gear and serious ice-blue stare?
“Isn’t engine supposed to go with us on person-down calls?” Slater asked from the passenger seat beside her, and okay, she needed a super-sized reality check. For God’s sake, she’d been around turnout gear on a regular basis for the last five years straight. Never once had the word ‘sexy’ entered the equation.
“Not always,” Quinn said, and at least her voice was normal even though the rest of her had clearly filed for temporary insanity. “They’ve almost certainly got their hands full with that brush fire, and we’re not headed to a rough part of the city.” If the call had come in from North Point, dispatch would’ve either sent them with a police escort or pulled the guys from Station Twenty-Nine to back them up, just in case. Granted, this one looked like it was a bit close to the fringe, but she’d been on a bazillion medical calls with no backup, and had never had so much as a hiccup.
“Most person-down calls are no big deal anyway, especially in heat like this,” she continued. “Someone probably just got a little dizzy mowing their lawn or taking a jog. Fifty bucks says we get back to the house before engine does.”
Forever Deep: A Station Seventeen novella Page 7
