Deadly Lies

by Chris Patchell

  He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. He rubbed his hands across his face and then sat back with a sober stare. Jill’s anxiety grew.

  “So there’s been a development in the Honeywell case,” he began, voice halting.

  Relief flooded through Jill, the respite so strong that she felt light-headed. The breath she’d been unconsciously holding let out in a rush. This wasn’t about her. This wasn’t about the string of dead bodies she’d left behind in California. This was about Alex’s pet case. If she wasn’t so relieved, she might actually be irritated. His whole world seemed to revolve around the damned case. Abby Watson’s damned case.

  “What kind of development? Do you know where he is?”

  “Not exactly.” Alex shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line. “But we do know where he’s been.”

  Jill cocked her head, eyebrows arching as she tried to grasp his meaning. Where he’d been. Why did it matter, unless it provided some kind of clue to his whereabouts? And why was Alex being so careful in the way he shared this information with her? This sounded like the kind of news they’d talk about over wine. Why did it warrant a family meeting?

  Alex leaned forward, placing an object on the table between them. Jill hitched in a breath as she caught sight of the gun. What the hell?

  “There’s no good way to say this, Jill. Honeywell has been following you. Or at least, he was.” Alex sat back, staring at her as she put the pieces together.

  “What do you mean? Where?” She felt short of breath, and her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat.

  “He sent me pictures of you at Alki Bakery. He must have followed you there.”

  Jill’s lips parted as the image flashed into her head of the man she’d found watching her.

  “Shoulder-length blonde hair, blue eyes. He had a cell phone …” The words tumbled out in a rush.

  “You saw him?”

  “I caught a guy staring at me. There was something creepy about the look on his face. He didn’t stay long. Once he knew I’d seen him, he dialed a number on his phone and left.”

  “Do you remember what time?”

  “Around ten-thirty I think. Why? Is it important?”

  Alex didn’t answer. His eyes still rested on her, but she could see that his focus had turned inward. Maybe he was putting this information together with a set of assumptions. Whatever it was, he was not sharing.

  “He’s using me to get to you,” she said at last.

  Alex nodded, his eyes shifting to the gun. His hand reached across the table to cover hers, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers penetrate her skin. The hairs on her arm prickled. Her racing pulse slowed. She knew she should be worried about the psychopath following her, but things would have been so much worse if Alex—

  The thought stopped suddenly as she caught the shift in Alex’s expression. He looked perplexed. There was no other word that seemed to fit.

  Jill eased back in her chair and pulled her hand out from underneath his. Crossing her arms, she waited for him to speak.

  “This is serious, Jill. He’s killed other women—girls.”

  “I know,” she said quickly.

  “Then why don’t you look more worried?”

  Hard as she tried to stifle it, she couldn’t stop the crooked smile that curved her lips.

  “I’m wearing my fear on the inside.”

  He clearly didn’t appreciate the joke, so she continued, nodding toward the pistol.

  “Look, I’m assuming that this is what the gun is about. You want to make sure I can protect myself. I don’t actually think freaking out is going to help the situation or make you feel better. If I’m wrong, let me know, but be warned, it will take me a few minutes to work myself up into a full-blown frenzy.”

  He raked his hands through his hair and shook his head.

  “This isn’t funny, Jill. I want you to start carrying the gun with you. I can’t be with you every second to make sure you’re okay.”

  His lips flattened into a grim line. Her attempts at humor fell flat.

  Jill could read the concern on his face. It was evident in the dark circles under his eyes and the tense lines etched into his forehead. There was no way to put him at ease. No matter what she said, he would worry, so Jill quit trying to reassure him. Instead, she picked up the gun and examined it.

  The grip fit nicely in her hand. Alex had chosen well. She checked the magazine before setting it down again.

  “It’s registered in my name. I’ve picked up ammo.”

  His voice trailed off, as if the surreal nature of the situation gave him pause.

  “Try not to worry. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  “I’ll also need your phone.”

  “What for?”

  “The department is testing a new cell phone application. It works with your phone’s GPS software to feed the location of the originating call into the 911 emergency system.”

  “Doesn’t it automatically do that?”

  “Well, not exactly. Even though today over half of all 911 calls are made from cell phones, in most cases the best we can do is to get a general location-based on the closest cell phone tower. We can narrow it down to an area within a several-block radius, but not an exact location. This application will provide more info on where you’re located, so if you hang up, they know where you called from. I’ve been testing it on mine already, and it seems to work pretty well.”

  Alex fell silent. He ran a weary hand across his eyes before meeting her gaze.

  “Look, Jill, I’m really sorry about this.”

  “Sorry?”

  “About all of this.” With a broad sweep of his hand, he gestured toward the gun. “I’m sorry my job brought this crazy son of a bitch into our lives, and now I’ve put you at risk. This isn’t how it should work. Ever. I’m so sorry, Jill.”

  Pushing her chair back, she rose and rounded the table, stopping behind him. She planted a kiss on his hair, fingers kneading his knotted shoulders. She could smell the liquor on his breath, and she wondered how much he’d had to drink before she’d arrived. The smell of boozy breath conjured an image of her stepfather. Sam had been a mean drunk, but Alex was nothing like him. He was the one person she could trust.

  “Not your fault. But I wouldn’t complain if you decided to quit your job and become a real-estate agent, or something.”

  That won her a low chuckle, and at last, Jill could feel the tension in his body ease.

  “Sure I can’t make you a sandwich? I’m starving.”

  CHAPTER FORTY TWO

  Weeks after Kenneth Cox’s body had been planted in the ground of a Miami cemetery, Christmas passed in a blur of brightly colored paper and twinkling lights. There were family celebrations and quiet nights at home. But after three days of sleeping in late and getting caught up on prerecorded television programs, Alex looked twitchy and decided to go into work. He told Jill that he was worried the headway he had made on his recent backlog of cases was disappearing as new ones flooded in. She knew the real reason, of course. He was still searching for Jerry Honeywell, and while the case had dipped on the overall department priority list, it was still at the top of Alex’s.

  Jill, on the other hand, opted to camp out at Alki Bakery and use their free Wi-Fi to check Lilith’s mail. Kenneth Cox, a.k.a. Casanova, was dead. One down, but there was still one to go. She had to find the dark-haired man from the video.

  Seated at a table near the back of the bakery, Jill nibbled on biscotti as she looked out the window. For once it wasn’t raining, and the locals were taking advantage of the “good weather” to take a chilly stroll along Alki Beach. The bakery teemed with life as folks ducked through the door to warm up with a cup of coffee and a treat.

  Jill’s thoughts strayed back to the hotel in San Francisco and the encounter with Kenneth Cox. A search of the hotel room had uncovered a small hidden camera. No doubt intended to capture their tryst for upload onto his private pornographic website
. Putting a stop to his covert activities felt pretty damn good, and the careful planning increased her confidence that she hadn’t left a trail. She was safe. All those years of listening to Alex drone on about how they tracked their suspects hadn’t been a waste of time.

  “Penny for your thoughts,” a man at the next table said.

  Jill started visibly at the interruption. Her knee hit the table, and the coffee mug rattled against the scarred surface, slopping over the edges. She swore softly, her fingers rubbing her throbbing knee, and glanced over. The man was in his thirties, with the coloring of a Siberian husky—dark hair and freaky blue eyes. Small silver hoops twinkled from his ears.

  “Trust me, they’re not worth that much.” Jill forced a quick grin, careful not to maintain eye contact for long. Shifting back to her laptop, she busied her fingers on the keys, hoping that he would just go away. An uneasy tingle raced down her spine. Paranoia or intuition? She didn’t know which.

  Regardless, Jill reached down to edge the laptop bag closer to the leg of her chair. The gun Alex had given her was safely tucked inside, close by in case she needed it.

  “I doubt that. I’ll bet there are all sorts of interesting things going on in that pretty head of yours,” the man persisted. His smile seemed disarming enough, and reluctantly Jill looked up.

  “Listen, I don’t mean to be rude,” she began, careful to keep her tone friendly, “but I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Despite her efforts, an edge crept into her voice.

  He raised his hands in a quick movement that had her scraping her chair back and gripping her bag. The stab of panic she felt must have flashed on her face. His palms-up gesture was designed to put her at ease.

  “Okay, calm down. Just trying to make conversation.”

  Jill gave a brief nod and looked away, releasing the tight grip she had on her bag. Jill glanced at the cell phone she had sitting beside her computer. She could call Alex if she needed to, but that was a last resort.

  With a muttered curse under his breath, the man stood and moved to a table closer to the window. A long sigh escaped her as she felt the tension drain from her body. Maybe she’d overreacted, but a girl couldn’t be too careful, especially with creeps like Jerry Honeywell lurking.

  Jill shook off the thought. Focusing back on her laptop, she called up her online profile. She grinned at Dana Evans’s picture. While not a perfect match for Lilith’s vital statistics, it had been close enough to lure in Kenneth Cox and the sixty other hits that had come in since she had last logged on.

  Now it was time to go hunting for the third man involved in the sex-video ring. It didn’t take long to find him. He called himself Joel Goodsen. If you pictured your ideal stockbroker or CEO type, he’d look just like this: compact build, close-cropped, dark hair, all-American face. Sharp. Focused. Ruthless.

  She smirked. Surely it wasn’t his real name. No one in the shark tank used their real name. Jill pressed her lips together as she considered his profile. Every detail oozed success. She wondered what drove him to the kind of twisted, thrill-seeking behavior he and his sick buddies made their hobby. Whatever it was, he’d live to regret the shitty choices he’d made. She’d make sure of it.

  Opening a new browser window, she typed the name “Joel Goodsen” into the search screen and scanned the results. None of the hits seemed to match the online profile. There was, however, one reference that made her smile. Joel Goodsen was the name of the character Tom Cruise had played in Risky Business.

  At least the asshole had a sense of humor. Risky business. Well that just about sums up life in the shark tank.

  She typed Joel’s name in the chat window. Half a second later, Joel pinged back. Jill’s pulse began to pound, and an electric energy surged through her. Hairs pricked at the back of her neck as she shifted forward in her seat. The hook was baited; all he had to do was bite.

  “How’s life in the Big Apple?” Jill typed.

  “Not in New York at the moment.”

  “Where in the world are you?”

  “Nursing a merger in San Francisco.”

  Jill could feel her pulse throb in her ears as she read the reply. San Francisco. Dumb luck. What were the odds?

  “Not quite the same as nursing a hangover, but I do feel your pain.”

  “LOL. Sure. Dull. Throbbing. Inescapable. Kind of like the city itself.”

  “Ah, I take it you don’t like the financial powerhouse of the West Coast.”

  “Powerhouse? Hardly.”

  The cursor blinked at her from midscreen. Leaning back in her chair, Jill took a sip from her latte as she thought about Joel. He’s definitely type-A, nothing flirty about him. He communicated in crisp, clipped sentences—probably conducted his transactions that way, too. Nothing personal, ma’am, just the facts.

  “So how long are you stuck in paradise?”

  “A few more weeks.”

  “Poor thing, living out of suitcases in a hotel is a drag.”

  “Corporate condo.”

  A high roller. If he was telling the truth, he was employed by a pretty high-powered firm. Of course, that was a big if. Everybody in the shark tank lies.

  “Good view, I hope?”

  “It’s okay. Within walking distance to Chinatown.”

  “Authentic dim sum is a good thing.”

  “Got that right, but what would a girl from Georgia know about dim sum?”

  There it was; that hook into the encounter. Up until now, he could have been chatting with a work colleague. He’d just swallowed the bait. Would he run with it?

  “Oh, I’ve traveled a little.”

  “The Midwest doesn’t count.”

  Jill’s lips tightened as she stared at the screen, and she bristled at the insinuation. He had her pegged for a midlevel corporate hack, smart enough to work in a plodding business environment, but not sharp enough to play with the big dogs. Boy, was he in for a surprise.

  “LOL. Sorry to disappoint, Sugar, but I’ve never been to Kansas City. New York, Seattle, San Francisco, Boston, yes, St. Paul, no.”

  “Shopping at Macy’s doesn’t count.”

  Jill gritted her teeth, hating him more with each word. He was a condescending chauvinist, and she was going to enjoy teaching him a lesson.

  “What are you trying to say, Joel? No girls in that exclusive boys’ club of yours?”

  “Sure, we all have assistants. Couldn’t get by without them.”

  “I’m sure they help organize your work life in the same way your wife manages your home life.”

  “You know what they say; behind every successful man is a good woman.”

  And I hope she’s packing heat, Jill did not add as her fingers tapped the keys lightly.

  “Lilith?” The cursor blinked as he waited for a response.

  Jill stared at the screen. She thought of Peter, Kenneth, and Joel and their sex videos. She thought about the other women they’d hurt. Used. Jill’s fingers tapped on the keys.

  “You know, I was just thinking,” she typed into the browser window. “It’s been ages since I had good dim sum.”

  CHAPTER FORTY THREE

  Alex pushed back in his chair and finished the remnants of his tuna sandwich.

  “Shit,” he muttered as some mayonnaise dripped onto the budget spreadsheet fanned out across his desk. Captain Lewis needed a quarterly update by three o’clock, and Alex was spending his lunch hour crunching numbers. Normally he would avoid this type of task like the plague, but in this case, he was doing penance. At least, that’s what Jackson called it, good lapsed Catholic that he was.

  Dabbing the sheet of paper with a napkin, he managed to clean up most of the watery mess. At least it was still legible. Gaze still focused on the even columns of numbers, he crumpled the waxy sandwich paper and tossed it in the garbage, saving the garlic-laced pickle for last.

  “Good news, Boss,” a voice called from his doorway.

  Alex swung his chair around. Kris Thompson stood with a smile on her face an
d a printout in her hand. She wasn’t wearing her glasses, and he had an unobstructed view of her eyes. Hazel. Why had he never noticed that before?

  “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a tip on Honeywell.” An incandescent smile lit her face.

  “Where?” Alex’s mouth suddenly felt dry.

  “Yakima.”

  “How solid does it look?”

  “Pretty solid. Retired cop says that the guy who fixed his truck looked a lot like Honeywell. The locals are on their way to confirm.”

  Alex winced and rubbed his forehead with his open hand. What if they bungled the arrest? If Honeywell escaped this trap, he might just beeline it across the mountains to Seattle and make good on his threats against Jill. A printout of Honeywell’s chilling threat sat pinned under the lip of Alex’s monitor, and he eyed it with a sense of foreboding.

  “Where is he staying?”

  “He’s sharing a house on the west side of town with a couple of other guys.”

  “Shit.” Alex slammed his fist on the desk. “Shit, shit, shit.” The thought of not being there to bring Honeywell in was frustrating beyond words.

  Jackson lumbered down the hall, eclipsing Kris in the doorway.

  “Christ, you look like you’re going to puke. Something wrong with the tuna fish?”

  His partner leaned against the doorframe, eyes fixed on Alex, concern registering in his deep voice.

  “Is it Jill?”

  Alex shook his head.

  “Honeywell,” Kris said.

  “Where?”

  “Yakima.”

  Jackson’s face broke out into a broad grin.

  “You want to go get the fucker?”

  Kris’s lips formed a tight line as she handed the electronic tickets to Jackson and Alex. Breaking the rules wasn’t in Kris’s DNA, and the stress of doing so showed on her face. She was strictly a by-the-book kind of girl. But they had pressured her to use department resources for an unsanctioned trip across the mountains, capitalizing on the fact that Captain Lewis was in an all-day meeting with the mayor and had left strict orders not to be disturbed.

  While all that was true, it was more in line with the letter of the law than its spirit. Authorizing his officers to engage in an arrest outside of their jurisdiction was something for which he would not only forgive an interruption; he’d damned well expect it.