by Debra Webb
“You expect me to feel guilty because I tried to move on with my life and failed three times or because I have needs? What does that have to do with trust?”
“No! I want you to feel guilty because you walked out on us twenty years ago and now you have the audacity to pretend you are so here for me. That was about trust and you broke mine.”
He looked away, tried to slow the emotions churning inside him before meeting her expectant gaze. “Are we never going to get past the past?” Bring it down a decibel. Shouting was not the adult thing to do and they were both adults now. “I thought we talked about this already. Last week, remember? How many times are we going to do this? We can’t just go from here?” Christ, she was like a dog with a bone.
“As soon as you drag yourself out of denial,” she charged, “we can move on. What do you say, Dan, are you up to the challenge?”
“What denial?” he snapped. “I told you why I came back home after college. We had different visions of how we wanted to spend our lives. I just didn’t realize it in the beginning. You wanted free of family entanglements. You wanted to live half a country away. I didn’t!”
She nodded. “Oh yeah. I almost forgot that part. You needed to be close to your parents. Bullshit!”
Take a breath. He stared at his feet, anywhere but at her while he grappled for control yet again. “Look, this isn’t accomplishing anything.” Dan ran a hand over his face. “We should take a break.”
“Why? So you can find a distraction from the truth?”
Fury expanded in his chest. “I told you the truth.”
“Admit it, you have commitment issues. We were planning our wedding, what kind of house we’d buy for Christ’s sakes, and you bailed. You came running back home. Made your career and subsequently bailed out of three marriages! That’s a pattern, Dan! You cannot do the forever thing. You just can’t. And I’m not going to live in this whole storybook fantasy you’ve created about us. There is no us! There hasn’t been an us since you walked out and left me to build my future alone.”
Her words hit their mark. He couldn’t respond to that. . . he wasn’t sure which hurt the most, the idea that he had wounded her that badly or that she refused to forgive him.
She snatched off her glasses, tossed them on the counter and rubbed at her temples. “I’m in crisis right now, Burnett. I blew that case in Richmond. Four months before that my divorce papers came in the mail – for a marriage that was as wrong and screwed up as any one of yours. And now the ghost of that goddamned case has followed me here. I’m scared to death every decision I make is the wrong one.” She turned her hands up in frustration. “Lives are depending on me to be smart and strong and perceptive. And I don’t even know who I am anymore!”
He took her face in his hands. She tried to pull away but he held on. He needed her to look him in the eye.
“You’re right.” He had some trouble of his own holding her gaze then. “About all of it. I couldn’t do it. You were so strong and independent and ambitious and I was afraid.”
“That’s crazy.” Her lips trembled. “Afraid of what?”
His gut clenched, but he wasn’t stopping there.
“Afraid of you, Jess. Afraid you would always outshine me. That I would never be good enough or strong enough. I was just plain scared. I was twenty-two and stupid. So I came home and I grew up. I tried to pretend that we were just kids back then and had different visions. I worked hard at moving on. Yeah, okay, my marriages did end because I had commitment issues. I had commitment issues to you. My marriages died swift and certain deaths because no one could live up to my memories of you, Jess. No one.”
For a long time they just stood there. . . looking into each other’s eyes with the weight of twenty years slowly lifting – as least for him. He’d said it. The truth he hadn’t wanted to admit even to himself. She’d helped him understand and he desperately and selfishly wanted her to understand, too.
“Well,” her lips trembled into a smile, “that was certainly a mouthful.”
He nodded. Relief rushing through him. “I’m sorry, Jess. I made a mistake and I’ve regretted it ever since.”
By now they would have had that house they’d dreamed of. . . kids. . . and he screwed it all up.
She reached for him, caressed his jaw. “You are and always have been a good, strong man. We were young.” She shrugged. “Women do mature faster than men and you –”
He hushed her with his lips. She tasted hot and sweet, like chocolate. She tensed at first but didn’t resist. Her arms went around his neck and he took that as a sign. His hands went to her bottom, and he pulled her against him. She made a soft sound that confirmed he’d gotten it right. He picked her up, settled her on the counter, and then moved between her legs without breaking the fiery connection of their mouths.
When catching a breath became necessary, he drew back, reveled in the look of her just kissed, all flushed and breathless. He showered more kisses on her cheeks, her nose, along the line of her delicate jaw and down the slender length of her neck.
Her fingers roved over his back, along his sides and up and over his chest, as if she needed to learn him again.
“Jess,” he murmured against her ear, “I want –”
Her phone made that sound that signaled she had received a new text message.
She stiffened. “I should check that.” As much as he wanted to say she could check it later, that wasn’t an option. He set her onto her feet and she hurried to the dining room. He moved a bit more slowly in an effort to get his body back under control.
Jess made a small sound. She turned to face him and the fear in her eyes had him rushing to her side. He took the phone from her and read the message.
Riverchase Drive A Fed EX delivery just for you.
16
Riverchase Drive, Wednesday, July 21st, 12:01 a.m.
The scene was one straight out of a grotesque horror film.
Agent Nora Miller’s nude body was draped over a FedEx self-service drop box. Her hands and feet had been severed from her body.
Jess prayed she had been sedated during the execution of that shocking mutilation. If the killer had been the Player she would have been wide awake during each excruciating moment, with only enough Ketamine to heighten the experience. But this might not be the Player. Jess had no choice but to consider that cold, hard fact. That Belinda Howard had very little memory of the wounds inflicted on her body gave Jess hope that Miller had perhaps been spared some amount of the agony.
Agony that Jess had goaded this monster into employing. She had pushed his buttons and this was the result. He had been enraged. . . determined to make a point. The ache that twisted through her tugged at her ability to remain upright. Dear God, look what she had caused. Jess squeezed her eyes shut. She’d made a mistake. A terrible, terrible mistake.
Remorse jolted her. She sucked in a ragged breath.
That’s right, Jess. You did this. Are you going to stand here and feel sorry for yourself or are you going to do something about it?
Lips trembling with the effort to restrain a scream of frustration, she forced her eyes open. Deep breath. She cleared her mind and did what she knew best. Studying the body’s positioning in hopes of determining if there were any other messages left by the killer was difficult in this environment. Moving the body before the evidence techs had arrived and done their work wasn’t an option.
Jess replayed the one conversation she’d had with the agent. Miller had insisted she had the situation under control, that she had the necessary experience.
No one could have been prepared for this.
“I’m sorry,” Jess murmured. Then she turned away. The tiniest thread of hope that maybe Lori was still alive and that he was saving her for some sick, twisted reason held on inside Jess.
She scanned the street, wondered if the monster was out there somewhere watching. Birmingham PD had blocked Riverchase at a sufficient distance in either direction to keep the media and curios
ity seekers at bay. Agent Manning, since he knew Miller’s family, was making that painful visit. The crime scene unit was en route. It was the middle of the night so there were no potential witnesses to canvass. The brick wall and tree line blocked the view of the crime scene from the nearest neighboring office building. There were several businesses along this stretch of Riverchase Drive, but none that operated at night.
The unsub had little to worry about in terms of being seen, not that the presence of witnesses had stopped him so far. All he’d had to do here was drive up, position the body and drive away. If not for the text, Miller’s body would not have been discovered before morning. The sooner the necessary evidence collection and photos were taken, the sooner the mangled body could be taken away. When the techs arrived Jess would see that a trace sheet was draped over Miller’s body.
The anguish tried again to consume her. Jess gritted her teeth, shoved it back. She had to be stronger than this. She could not let this sociopath win.
Jess looked away. But there was no peace to be found. Gant and Burnett were headed her way. She steeled herself for the accusations she would see in their eyes. Her actions had prompted this horror.
Stop, Jess. Just stop. It’s done.
As her boss and her former boss neared, her beleaguered attention focused on the contrast between the two men. Gant looked as haggard as she felt in his travel-weary suit. Burnett, on the other hand, though equally exhausted, looked strong and determined in his jeans and BPD tee-shirt. Jess almost smiled as she remembered the nineteen-year-old version of him.
What in the world had happened to them? Why hadn’t they done more to work things out all those years ago? Young, foolish. Now look at them. Work – these kinds of nightmares – was their lives. Neither of them knew how to have a normal relationship. How had they gotten to this place?
Gant abruptly stopped and turned back to shout at one of his colleagues, “Get a trace sheet over here and cover her up, for God’s sake.” He muttered a few choice expletives as he took the final steps to reach Jess. Wentworth, she noticed, was conspicuously missing.
This was the side of Gant she knew best. The familiarity had emotion stinging her eyes. She had worked with him for more than ten years. Under normal circumstances, he was fiercely loyal. Under all circumstances he was damned good at his job.
The Spears case had destroyed their working relationship. Jess was nearly certain that Spears himself was the one to set her up, with the investigation and with the bizarre evidence found at her home. The only questions were for what purpose and what connection did that move have to do with this – if any?
More importantly, what did she have to do to stop it?
“The crime scene unit is almost here,” Burnett said to her.
Jess nodded. Didn’t meet his gaze. If she’d listened to him and kept her mouth shut, maybe this wouldn’t have happened.
“Chief Burnett told me about the solid profile you’d developed on a possible apprentice.”
She cleared her head and her throat of emotions. “It may be the same unsub who led me on a wild goose chase last month in Richmond. If I’m correct, that would confirm your conclusion that this is the work of a copycat.”
Might as well give credit where credit was due. She had been wrong about a lot. Mainly because she had desperately wanted to believe this was Spears. Burnett should have listened to her when she suggested he delay announcing the job offer. If this didn’t make him regret his decision. . . she didn’t know what would.
“I think we may be on the right track,” Gant agreed.
Jess squared her shoulders and said the rest of what need to be said, “I antagonized the unsub with that comment to the reporter. This,” she gestured to the poor woman behind her, “is the result. Whatever aspects of this case I was right about, doesn’t justify my irrational behavior.” She deserved the OPR investigation. She’d operated on emotion rather than her training.
Burnett shook his head and started to speak, but Gant jumped ahead of him, “You’re wrong, Harris.” His gaze rested on the body of his fallen colleague for a few moments. “This is my responsibility. I was so convinced that you had,” he shrugged, “I don’t know, had a breakdown of some sort. To that end, I latched onto Spears’ allegation.” He shook his head. “It was easier to let you take the fall than to see how badly we’d all screwed up. Bottom line, I failed to warn all involved in this investigation of the possible true danger. Agent Miller was not properly prepared and that, Deputy Chief Harris, is on me.”
Gant fell silent as Miller’s body was covered. Down the street the officers holding back any traffic that might be out at this hour, allowed the crime scene folks and the coroner through.
“There’s been another development,” Burnett said, breaking the silence.
Jess’s heart stumbled. “What new development?”
“Just before you called,” Gant said as if he dreaded passing along even worse news, “I had a call from Agent Bedford.” Gant heaved a big breath. “Agent Taylor is dead.”
“What happened?” Jess and Taylor had gone to the academy together. Could this night suck any worse?
“He had surveillance detail on Spears,” Gant explained. “Once again, he was not adequately prepared for the true danger. We were so damned busy tiptoeing around the legal ramifications of accusing Spears again. . .” He shook his head, visibly overcome.
Her own regret wouldn’t allow any feelings of triumph for Jess. “Spears killed him?”
“I can’t see any other explanation. Bedford says there was no sign of a struggle. Taylor was in his car. The unsub walked right up to his window, reached in and cut his throat. And Spears has disappeared.”
“This happened when?” A terrifying scenario started to form.
“Taylor’s body was found less than an hour ago.” Gant’s expression was grim with defeat. “Spears’ private jet departed Finagin Airfield at midnight.”
Could the two, Spears and his apprentice, have plotted a double homicide, one here and one in Virginia, as some sort of lead in to the finale? To distract and confuse?
“It appears,” Gant admitted, “you were right about Spears, too. At least in part. We may never find any evidence to prove he murdered Taylor, but I know it was him. It had to be.”
Jess felt some amount of relief at the confirmation that she wasn’t completely irrational, but it failed to assuage the immense regret she felt for the senseless murder of a colleague and friend. “I believe Spears is either in control of what’s going on down here or attempting to gain control. He would never have put himself at risk by killing a federal agent assigned to his own surveillance unless he felt the step was unavoidable.”
Before Gant could comment, Jess tacked on, “He didn’t have to. We had nothing on him. He was in the clear. As intelligent and careful as he usually is, something had to have seriously pissed him off and he’s feeling some measure of desperation.”
Was Spears upset that his protégé was down here screwing up his reputation or was it because the sloppy student had made such a mess and still hadn’t gotten Jess where Spears wanted her?
“I am inclined to agree with you.” Gant shook his head in disgust.
Burnett reached for his cell, checked the screen and said, “Excuse me,” before stepping away
“I’d like to continue assessing the scene,” she said to Gant. She glanced at Burnett’s retreating back and wondered what that look on his face had been about. Not more bad news, she hoped.
Worry roiled in her stomach. Please don’t let it be about Lori.
“Take as much time as you need,” Gant said, drawing her attention back to him. He gave his head a weary shake. “I have calls to make.”
When Gant was gone, Burnett reappeared. “Harper thinks he may have a good lead on three locations based on the trace evidence from Howard’s feet. As soon as you’re finished here, I thought we’d check those out personally with him.” He glanced at the white sheet covering the victim that
was now mottled with varying shades of pink and crimson. “We have to stop this.”
That was the best idea she’d heard all night. “I need ten minutes and then I’ll be ready.”
“There’s a snag.”
He was wearing that look again. “The call you received?”
“That was Annette. There’s a problem with Andrea.” Burnett rubbed at his forehead. “I need to go over there. I won’t be long.” The worry in his voice and in his posture warned that this was no small matter. “When Harper gets here, he can bring you up to speed on his discovery.”
“I understand.” She gave him a nod. “Do what you have to do.”
He turned and started to go, then hesitated. “Stay right here, Jess, until Harper arrives. He should be here any second.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I should stay until he gets here.”
There he went again. What was she going to do with him? “What does it take –?” She stopped. Harper was striding toward them. “Go. He’s here.”
When Burnett caught sight of Sergeant Harper, his relief was palpable. “Okay. Good. We’ll rendezvous at the first site. I should have this situation squared away by the time you’re done here.”
Jess watched him hurry to meet Harper. She didn’t need a bionic ear to know how the conversation would go. Don’t let Jess out of your sight. She’s vulnerable. A target. . . unable to protect herself. And make sure she doesn’t talk to any reporters.
Damn. Damn. Damn. What did she have to do to get the man over the whole protector thing? She did not need him playing that role in their personal lives and she certainly didn’t need it in their professional relationship.
The techs had started setting up and Jess waited for their lights to go up before she began another walk through. The drop box was located in the parking area between a four-story corporate office building and a post office. The owner of the office building as well as the post master had already been contacted to determine if there was any outside security surveillance. It would be a few hours before they had access to any recorded data if it existed.
