Vicki rushed across the studio. “Oh, Becca.”
“What’s wrong?”
She threw her arms around her friend’s neck. “I knocked earlier, and you didn’t answer. I was so worried. I thought something had happened to you.”
Becca’s eyebrows drew together. “Why would you think that?”
“Another girl was found.” River crossed the room, thankful to find the dark-haired artist alive and well. Vicki had been through enough for one morning.
Becca turned to River, her face taut with concern. “Where?”
“The next exit up to Bay Street.” He gestured in the general direction.
“Oh, my goodness!” Her dark eyes grew wider.
“The whole area’s blocked off. Police tape everywhere.” Vicki squeezed Becca’s arm. But instead of relief washing over her features, she remained tense, and a hint of fear flashed across her face.
River studied Vicki. Why was she still afraid? Becca was safe. At one point, he’d worried the crime scene, the mutilated body, and the overpowering stench would be too much for her. But she’d remained steadfast in her assurances she was fine. He shook his head.
“You didn’t answer,” Vicki continued. “I saw people gathering, and when I saw the body, I thought it might be you.” She hugged her friend again. “Thank God I was wrong.”
“I’m fine.” Becca patted Vicki’s back. “I was doing inventory, moving stuff around. I guess I just didn’t hear you. I can’t believe it happened so close by.”
“Did you see or hear anything when you arrived?” he asked.
“No. I got to the shop around six. It was quiet. I didn’t see anyone.” Her face whitened. “Do you think he was—?”
“No.” River waved away her concern. “The timeline puts her death before six. Just routine questions.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Well, I’ve got to get back to it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. At least this part of the morning turned out well. “Glad to know you’re okay, Ms. Carlson.”
“Thank you, Detective.” She turned toward the beaded curtain, her long colorful skirt swishing around her legs. “I need to go sit down for a moment. Vicki, you can show Detective Chastain out.” Without waiting for a response, the raven-haired artist went into the back room. Long strands of beads undulated in the doorway, softly clacking in her wake.
Pivoting on his heel, River headed toward the shop’s exit. Halfway across the room, he stopped to look at a picture—an excuse to stay a little longer.
“You have good taste,” Vicki said, joining him.
“Never been accused of that before.” The painting was nice, the colors soft shades of blues and greens. River stared at the piece of art. The blends were attractive enough, but he had other things on his mind. “So, what’s up with you and the officer we passed on the way here?”
“Who?” Her mouth quirked, and her brows drew together. “Officer Burns?”
“So, you admit you know him.” His jaw clenched. He hadn’t expected her to know his name.
She wandered farther down the line of paintings. “How about this one?” She gestured toward a medium-sized canvas with deep purple and blue swirls and flecks of gold that sparkled like stars. She crossed her arms over her chest. “When Detective Dauscher directed Lenny and me to opposite corners, Officer Burns was kind enough to keep me company.”
River snorted. “I saw him checking you out.” The guy hadn’t taken his eyes off Vicki. He’d smiled way too much and leaned toward her—an act of intimacy. “You two a hot item now?”
“Why?” She tilted her head, and a curtain of hair fell forward, obscuring half her face. “Jealous?”
He stared hard at the painting, trying to ignore his peripheral of her. All that hair, those teasing gray eyes. Man, he wanted to kiss her again. “I was going to ask you out to dinner, but I wouldn’t want to step on any toes if you’re already involved.”
“At the moment, I’m not seeing anyone.” She pushed her hair behind her ear. “And as for dinner, I’d love to go, but I already have plans with Becca.”
“Oh.” Well, hell. What am I supposed to do now, ask her out for tomorrow night?
The beads in the stockroom doorway rattled, and Becca peeked through. “Um, Vicki, about dinner tonight. Something just came up, so I won’t be able to make it. Feel free to make other plans.” She raised an eyebrow and smiled.
Vicki shook her head. “Seems I’m free after all.”
River grinned. “Why don’t I just take both of you out?”
“Oh, no.” Becca stepped through the beads. “You and Vicki go. Have fun. I’ve got painting to do anyway.”
“Please come with us.” Vicki’s eyes were wide and pleading. She bit her lower lip.
River glanced at Vicki. Is she afraid to be alone with me? They’d been out to eat before. He shook his head, remembering while they’d kissed, she’d had a vision of his impending death. Maybe she worried about having another.
“If you’re sure I won’t be imposing.” Becca narrowed her eyes. “I don’t like being a third wheel.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” A nervous giggle escaped her lips as she turned to River. “Tell her she’s not a third wheel.”
“You’re not a third wheel.” He grinned. “Besides, sitting at a table with the two of you will make me the most envied man in the restaurant.”
“Okay, then.” Becca nodded. “I’ll go.”
“Good.” Vicki took his arm, led him across the studio, and opened the door. Outside, she looked up at him, her furrowed brow softening. She rose up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his. “Thank you.”
He stared down at her, meeting her heated gaze. Desire stirred inside him. “Glad I could help.”
Giving him a shy smile, she stepped back through the doorway. “See you tonight.”
He sauntered down the sidewalk, the warmth of her kiss still tingling on his lips. From her actions, it appeared she wasn’t afraid to be alone with him. So what had gotten her so nervous about leaving Becca alone?
Unless…. River put the pieces together as he climbed the stairs up to Bay Street. She must have had a vision about her friend.
Even her statement about worrying Becca had been murdered made perfect sense. She’d wanted to accept River’s invitation, but she didn’t want to leave the raven-haired artist alone. His offer to take both of them to dinner had solved the problem.
He started down the cobblestone street, moving to the side to let the coroner’s van rumble past. The body had been removed, and soon he would get an autopsy report. If the copycat continued in his current imitative fashion, River already knew what the report would say.
Officer Burns stood on the side of the street and nodded to River. “Detective.”
“Officer.”
The guy was crazy to think he stood a chance with someone like Vicki. She was way out of his league. Of course, River still had to figure out why she was interested in him.
From the far side of the police line, Dauscher gave a slight wave. River flicked his wrist, acknowledging he’d spotted him. Paperwork and more paperwork lay ahead. Witness interviews, reviewing the pictures on the UFOP reporter’s camera card, and time spent working with a sketch artist to get a rendering of Matthew.
River strode past his Malibu. He continued as far as the front fender before realizing something didn’t seem right. Backing up, he peered through the lightly tinted window.
A folded white paper lay in the seat.
“Crap.” A ball of ice formed in his stomach. River glanced around. Is the son of a bitch watching me right now?
He dug inside his jacket, retrieved the latex gloves he’d removed earlier, and pulled them on again. With care, he lifted the handle, but the car door didn’t open. A shiver ran down his back. This guy could have rigged a bomb to explode. He moved to the other side and tested the passenger door. Locked. Just like I left it. So how the hell did he get in?
River shook o
ff the tension and took his keys from his pocket. A quick tap of the fob, and the locks released. Opening the door, he plucked the message from the seat. He forced his fingers steady as he unfolded the paper.
At the top of the page, a circle with a pentagram inside and a pointed D in the center had been neatly drawn in thin black pen. Beneath, in bold lettering, the word Licentia. Below were the same initials. KLR. Kent Lee Rowton. Killer.
“Sonovabitch.” The words flowed from his mouth on a whisper of air. The bastard had been here. Right here in plain sight.
“What’s up?” Dauscher approached, his brows drawn. His focus shifted to the paper in River’s hands. “Oh, shit. Is that what I think it is?”
River nodded and held the message for him to see. “Found it in my car. My locked car.”
Dauscher scanned the paper and shook his head. “Sonovabitch is bold. I’ll give him that.”
“We’ll send it to trace, but I doubt they’ll find anything.” He dropped it into a plastic bag his partner pulled from his jacket and held open for him. “What I want to know is how he got it inside my car without anyone noticing.”
Dauscher’s head swung toward the officer on duty. “Burns.”
The guy hurried to them. “Detective?”
“You wander off at any time since you were assigned to watch the line?” Dauscher jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the police tape behind him.
“No. Been here the entire time.”
Dauscher narrowed his eyes. “No distractions?”
“Haven’t spoken with anyone except Ms. Spiere.” Burns glanced at River. “She was up here for a few minutes, but the area remained clear the whole time.”
“What about my car?” River asked. “You could see it the entire time? No one poking around?”
“I could see it just fine. No one went near it.” He stared at the Malibu, and his brow furrowed. “Except….”
“What?” Dauscher snapped.
The officer rubbed his forehead. “Well, the only time your car wasn’t in plain view was when the coroner’s van came through. They stopped, asked if they should go around and enter by way of the Riverwalk or was there room to turn around without disturbing the scene.” His eyes widened with worry. “But they couldn’t’ve been stopped more than a minute or two.”
Dauscher’s eyebrow quirked up. “Plenty of time.”
“Thanks, Burns.” River strode down the street, ducked beneath the police tape with Dauscher on his heels. Frustration ate at him. This guy was brazen yet slick. “Doubt they’ll find anything.” He stopped where the woman had been found. “But let’s get my car dusted again in case he got sloppy. I’ll start questioning witnesses. Who found the vic?”
“Couple of drunk college kids.” Dauscher pulled out his notepad, flipped it open. “Marty Kasson and Donald Gavin. Started the weekend puke-fest early.”
“I’ll want to see them first. Then I’ll move on to the list of potential witnesses.” He glanced up at the rising sun then down at the line of gawkers. Damn, it’s gonna be a long day.
Chapter Twenty
Vicki frowned as she followed Becca into the pub. The place was almost deserted, with people sitting at only half a dozen tables. Smoothing the front of her dress—for the third time—she scurried to catch up with her friend. “What are we doing here?”
“We’re having girl time.” Becca sat at a table. “Look, a pristine white tablecloth, single red rose in a bud vase, and a candle waiting to be lit. Don’t we deserve a few amenities?”
“Very nice.” She seated herself, the side-slit of her dress riding precariously high on her thigh. “What I want to know is why I’m wearing this cocktail dress while you get to wear your normal long gypsy-style clothes.”
“First, the dress is amazing on you. The green highlights your gray eyes. And, second, I’m an artist. I have an image to uphold.” She wagged a finger at Vicki. “Besides, you have a hot detective you need to impress.”
“Can’t I just impress him with my dazzling personality?”
“Personality notwithstanding, it doesn’t hurt to exploit your assets.”
Self-conscious, Vicki tugged at the plunging neckline. “If I exploit my assets anymore, it’ll be bursting through the seams of this dress.” She shook her head, her face heating. “I look like a freakin’ hooker.”
Becca rolled her eyes. “You do not. You’re gorgeous. And your detective will be mesmerized.” One sleeve of her dark teal peasant top slid off her shoulder. She portrayed the archetypical gypsy, playing on the mysterious and romantic aspects to further her career as an artist. Few would guess she’d been born and raised in South Carolina.
“My detective has a name. It’s Detective Chastain.” She noticed a guy moving from table to table, lighting the candles. “And since he won’t be on duty tonight, you might try calling him River.”
“Good evening, ladies.” The guy lit the candle on their table and straightened, tossing his head so his bangs moved from his eyes. He smiled, revealing white teeth, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m working the bar tonight. Can I get either of you something to drink?”
“I’ll take a chardonnay.” Becca eyed the guy, all but drooling.
“Make that two.” Vicki waited for him to return to the bar before leaning toward her friend. “He’s handsome,” she whispered. “Long, wavy brown hair and dark good looks. You should go for it.”
Becca sighed. “Yeah. Cute, but nothing substantial. It’d just be one night of hot sex.”
She grinned, revenge foremost in her thoughts. “Just what you need to get over the idiot who dumped you at the altar.”
“His name is Robert, and he didn’t dump me at the altar per se.” She glanced at the dark-haired guy who poured their wine.
“Whatever. Hot sex with no strings sounds exactly like something you need.” Vicki tilted her head toward the bar. “You could have him in your bed in ten minutes.”
The guy returned to their table and placed a glass of chardonnay in front of each of them. Brushing his hair from his eyes, he offered another dazzling smile aimed at Becca. “Is there anything else you need?”
A flustered expression crossed her face, and she tugged her sleeve, covering her shoulder. “We’re fine, thank you.”
“Very good.” He gave Vicki a furtive once-over then turned back to Becca, his interest clear. “Well, I want you to know my name is Brent, and if there’s anything else you need, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“Um.” Her bracelets lightly tinkled while she toyed with the stem of her glass. “What’s your name again?”
His smile broadened. “Brent. Brent Carver.”
“Well, Brent. I noticed you’ve been having a little trouble with your hair, and I wanted to give this to you.” She held a small red rubber band out to him.
He plucked it from her hand, pulled back his bangs, and deftly secured his hair. He stared, one brow arched with expectation.
“Much better,” she announced. “Now all the girls can see those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
“Thank you.” He beamed. “Anything else you need, you be sure to let me know.” He swaggered back to the bar.
“See? He’s as good as in your bed.” Vicki picked up her wine and sipped, the sweet liquid dancing over her tongue.
Becca sighed, her lips thinning into a grimace. “Not my type anymore.”
“Not your type?” She frowned. “He’s gorgeous.”
“Too young. Too Robert-ish.” Her gaze traveled down the bar and stopped. “Now, him? He’s something I might like to try. Nothing like the guys I usually date.”
Vicki swiveled in her seat in search of the mystery man. He sat alone at the end of the bar. She twisted further for a better view, and the guy turned toward them. Shock ripped through her, leaving nauseous chills in its wake. “Oh my God.” She spun back around. “You can’t be serious.”
A smile curled Becca’s lips as the guy approached them.
“Lad
ies.”
“Hi, I’m Rebecca Carlson.” She held out her hand. “And you are?”
Vicki cringed against the nightmare unfolding before her. What the hell? Is he following me or something?
“I’m Lenny Johnston.” He grasped her fingers. “I am so pleased to meet such a famous artist.”
Becca’s eyes lit up. “You know my work?”
“I’ve seen a few exquisite pieces.” He leaned his head in her direction. “I’d love to see more.”
Vicki fought not to groan. Laying it on a bit thick, aren’t we, you slimy hack? Her skin crawled, a thousand ants tramping up and down her arms. Unable to abide the guy a second more, she half rose from her chair and slapped at their hands.
Lenny stepped back, his eyes widening behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
She pointed a finger at him. “If you don’t get away from this table,” she warned, “I will definitely put the whammy on you.”
Becca stared at her with wide eyes. “What is wrong with you?”
Gritting her teeth, she snatched up her napkin, wiped her fingers on it. “This is the guy.”
“The guy?”
“Yeah, the guy who ruined my life.” She glared at Lenny, who’d skittered several feet away and stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at her. “The hack who wrote the article in UFOP magazine.”
“Oh.” Becca drew the word out, her gaze shifting to him. “That guy.”
“Yeah. That guy.”
She reached over and pulled out the chair next to her. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Becca!” Vicki gave Lenny a fierce stare then turned to her friend. “Have you lost your mind?”
“No. I’m just being polite.” Smiling up at him, she patted the chair next to her. “And getting to know the man who made you famous.”
Vicki huffed in frustration. What the hell is she doing? How can she invite that UFOP jerk to sit at our table? He’s just going to cause more trouble.
He eyed Vicki. Leaning forward, he pulled the empty chair around to Becca’s side of the table. “Do you mind if I sit next to you?”
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