In the mirror’s reflection, he saw a room behind him. He stood just outside the door and listened down the hallway. All was clear. In the room, a large desk littered with papers held a sleek computer. He didn’t know computers very well, but he could tell that this was one impressive setup. He walked into the room and noticed several boxes half full next to the closet door. Packing?
He approached her desk and glanced at the papers lying next to the keyboard. All double-spaced pages with the name Miller in the header. Miller? More pages lay facedown in the top tray of a laser jet. He picked them up, and scanned the first few lines. Alarm tightened his gut as he continued to read.
From the shadows he watched the blonde sashay down the stone tiles of St. Peter Street. Plastic gold-and-green dice bounced on her chest as her turquoise pumps clickity-clacked in rhythm with her sway.
“Hey, lady, looking good tonight. Want me to read your fortune?”
The woman glanced at the tarot card readers lining Jackson Square, then threw a cute one a wave. “No, thanks. Tonight I make my own fortune.”
“I just bet you do,” the man responded, laughing.
He watched their exchange, then saw her steal a glimpse behind her, searching for whoever had been following her as she’d left the Café Du Monde and headed toward Bourbon Street. His footsteps had been steady, but in the darkness, she hadn’t been able to make out the source. He’d made sure she wouldn’t.
She slipped her hand under her jacket and shifted the Glock in her waistband. He knew she was carrying one; what cop wouldn’t when in the Quarter alone? The way she was dressed, he guessed she was trying to lure out the night stalker who’d been cutting up whores. He’d been watching her for over an hour, if anyone was helping her, he’d have known it. It was foolish of her to go it alone—foolish for her, advantageous for him. Tonight, she’d get more than she bargained for.
She turned right down Royal, heading for a more isolated street. He smiled at his good fortune. This time of night there were too many hosts standing outside trendy bars and restaurants, hoping to draw in the tourists.
His heartbeat rose in anticipation. Excitement crawled along his skin as she turned left onto Orleans Street, once again heading toward the raucous noise of Bourbon Street. Here, no one would hear her scream.
He closed in. Her quick furtive glances behind her betrayed her fear. She could feel him hunting her. He enjoyed this part of the game, perhaps even more than the kill itself. She quickened her pace. He left her.
From his new vantage point, he watched her turn again. She stopped and listened, becoming aware that his footsteps had fallen silent. She let loose a deep sigh, and the corners of her mouth lifted slightly as she shook her head. She continued up the block to Bourbon Street, toward him. People up ahead were laughing and stumbling their way down the neon alley. She visibly relaxed even more.
As she approached, he stepped out from behind an old-fashioned cast-iron lamppost. Alarm chased across her face. She reached behind her, grasping the Glock’s handle.
“Hey, Michelle,” he said softly and gave her a disarming smile.
She squinted into the dull light from the dirt-encrusted lamp, trying to get a handle on him. Recognition dawned. She relaxed, dropping her shoulders. “Hey. What’s up?”
“What are you doing out here?”
“Just heading to Bourbon Street.”
“It’s not safe to be out here alone. Let me walk you.”
“You know I can take care of myself.” She took a quick glance behind her, then threw him a smile. “But I don’t mind the company.”
They’d only taken a few steps before he motioned to a doorway on the right. “What’s that?”
She peered into the darkness. Before she could turn back, he seized her. His big hands wrapped around her neck, squeezing as he shoved her up against the wall. She clawed at his wrists. He could feel her heart hammering with fear. She let go of his wrists and tried to reach behind her for the Glock.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” he hissed.
He twisted the beads around her neck, applying more pressure, squeezing harder. Her eyes widened as she choked for air. She slumped forward. He pushed her back, grabbed the gun and pocketed it.
Breath surged back into her lungs and she gulped it. The blade flashed in the dim light from the street lamp. In one swift movement, it was over and she slid down the wall. He took something gold and shiny and slipped it around her neck. A gold heart with a rose etched across the front dangled between her breasts, nestling amidst the rivulets of blood seeping from her throat.
Riley swayed as pain and confusion obscured his vision. He stormed through the house, a burning rage pushing him beyond control. He slammed the wad of papers bunched in his hands onto the table. “I want the truth and I want it now.”
Devra’s eyes widened as she stared at the papers.
“You were there. You saw the whole thing. Tell me who killed her.”
She stood, her chair falling behind her with a loud crash. “I wasn’t there.”
“Then what is this?”
“It’s just a scene from my book.”
“Bull. This is a reenactment of Michelle’s murder.”
Devra covered her face with her hands.
He gripped the table’s edge to stop himself from grabbing her shoulders and giving her a good shake. “You know too many details for someone who wasn’t there!”
She tried to back away from him, but hit the wall behind her. “I wasn’t there. I swear.”
“Liar,” he roared.
She covered her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m not a liar. I didn’t kill her. I swear I didn’t.”
He stepped closer, leaning down into her face. “I want the truth.”
“I didn’t.” She swayed before him, her eyes glazed and frightened. “I didn’t kill Tommy, Papa.” The color drained from her face and she collapsed in a heap onto the floor.
Stunned, Riley dropped to his knees beside her. “Come on, lady. Wake up.” He gritted his teeth to restrain himself from clutching her in his arms to make sure she was okay.
Long lashes fluttered on her cheeks. She opened luminous eyes full of hurt and vulnerability and pinned him to the wall. He felt a need to apologize, to help her in some way. Dammit, why wouldn’t she just tell him the truth?
“What happened?” she asked with a shaky voice.
“You fainted,” he muttered, and tried to swallow his irritation.
She sat up, cradling her head in her hands. “I’m sorry. Really, I am. I know you want answers, and I wish I had them for you. But I don’t. I just don’t.”
Tears filled her eyes, and damn if they didn’t work. He could feel the fury seeping right out of him. Apparently, he was in worse shape than he thought. He needed sleep. He needed food. He needed to go home, recoup and try to sort this mess out again later.
“Listen—”
The sound of crashing glass reverberated through the room. Riley jumped to his feet as splintered shards scattered across the floor. Clumps of glass mixed with something red hit the sides of the sofa and oozed down the fabric. Devra let out a bloodcurdling scream, shattering Riley’s ragged nerves.
He turned back to her. “It’s okay,” he said, then bent down and touched the wet squishy substance. Raspberries? “What the hell?” Pulverized red berries covered the hardwood floor at Devra’s feet. Riley looked at her, at once concerned by the blank stare and chalky color of her skin. “It’s only berries,” he said, trying to assure her. “Raspberries.”
She started to rock, emitting a strange moaning sound. Riley watched, a wave of hopelessness crashing over him. There was nothing fake about her pain. Obviously, something bad had happened to her in her past.
Something he didn’t want to deal with.
“I’m sure it was just a prank. I’ll show you,” he said and dashed out the front door, expecting to find a couple of giggling boys hightailing it down the block, but the street was deserted. Back insid
e, Devra was still on the floor, holding herself and rocking back and forth. He placed a hand on her shoulder.
She looked up and met his eyes. Her face was red, wet and swollen, but that didn’t bother him as much as the anguish he saw in her eyes. And the fear. Genuine grab-you-by-the-balls-and-squeeze kind of fear.
This was no game.
“Talk to me,” he pleaded, kneeling down next to her.
For an eternal moment, she just stared at him, un-blinking and barely breathing. Then she gulped a breath and grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands.
“He’s back!”
Chapter Four
“Who?” Riley asked, at once filled with hope that they were finally getting somewhere. “Who is he?”
She released his shirt and dropped her gaze to the floor. “I don’t know.”
Riley blew out a frustrated sigh. He didn’t have time for this, not the patience nor the energy.
“You don’t understand,” she said, her eyes beseeching him to do just that. “Everyone thought it was me, and sometimes I believed it myself. But deep down, I knew it couldn’t have been me. No matter what they all thought, they were wrong. The locket proves that.” She stood and gestured toward the gooey mess on the floor. “So does this.”
Riley needed a shower to clear the grit out of his eyes and a pot of strong coffee for the cobwebs in his head. Then, and only then, would he have a minuscule chance of figuring out what in the hell she was babbling about. “Can we just slow this boat down, back up and try again?” He held up the typed pages. “Let’s start with these.”
She stared at the papers. “Yes, those. Well…”
He waited for an eternity. “I’m drowning here.”
She looked him in the eye and stated matter-of-factly, “I have dreams.”
He took another deep breath and slowly let it out before responding, “Yes, don’t we all.”
“No, I mean I have dreams.” Her big blue eyes locked onto his as she emphasized the word.
“The water’s real muddy over here. I’m not following.”
She took the papers from his hand and held them up. “I had this dream last night.”
He looked from her, to the papers, then back to her again.
“It’s true,” she insisted.
“You expect me to believe you dreamed Michelle’s death in precise detail, then typed it all down?”
“Yes.”
He’d heard of cases like this. Who hadn’t? Every other shop in the Quarter spouted a voodoo priestess, palm reader or some other psychic brouhaha. New Orleans was a mecca for paranormal nutcases. He’d never put much stock in them before and he certainly wasn’t hearing anything that would convince him to now. He shook his head. “I don’t know where to go with this. Your story’s a little over the top, even for New Orleans. Let’s stick with the facts.”
“How could I have given Michelle my locket if I didn’t even have it?” she insisted.
“How can I be sure you didn’t?”
Her eyes rolled heavenward. “Because Joey, the lit tle boy at the hospital, gave it to a man claiming to be my friend. I told you this already.”
“We’re still checking on that.” He made a mental note to call Tony and have him talk to Joey and the nurse.
“Then there’s this.” Again, she gestured toward the mess on the floor.
“It’s some kids’ idea of a prank,” he countered.
“No, it’s not,” she insisted. “Raspberries were Tommy’s favorite fruit. Whoever did this knew that. Whoever did this knew about Tommy.”
Riley groaned in exasperation. “Who the hell is Tommy?”
“Tommy is the boy I didn’t kill!”
Riley dropped his head and gave it a shake. This just kept getting better and better.
DEVRA COULD TELL he didn’t believe a word she said. Doubt and suspicion were all he could see, all he could feel. Why had she thought he’d be any different than the others? To this day, the whole town of Rosemont, Washington, population twelve hundred and fifty-four, still believed she killed Tommy Marshall, including her own parents.
“Fine, don’t believe me, but believe this,” she said. “This thing, whatever it is, is escalating.”
Riley looked up at her, exhaustion turning his eyes as murky as the Mississippi. “How’s that?”
“This time, something of mine was taken. This time, the killer has made direct contact by smashing my window. That has never happened before. Somehow, Michelle’s killer has learned about me.” Michelle’s killer. Her stomach clenched as she said the words. He wasn’t just Michelle’s killer; he’d killed all the poor women she’d dreamed about over the years.
And now he was after her.
Why else had he taken her locket? Why else had he led the police to her? He must have been following her, watching her, and when he saw the locket drop, took it.
“Before?” The detective’s voice broke. “What do you mean that hasn’t happened before?”
She stared at him. Should she tell him about the others? If she did, would he protect her or would he assume she’d left a string of victims across the nation and take her in? She wished she knew if she could trust him. Just once, she wished someone would look into her eyes and believe she wasn’t capable of murder.
She spotted the rock and the plastic net that had held the berries in place. She pointed to the items. “If this was just a prank done by a couple of kids, why didn’t they just throw the rock? This was personal. The addition of the berries proves it. He’s playing a game, trying to scare me. Can’t you see that?”
Felix strolled into the room, turned his nose up at the mess and immediately started rubbing himself against Riley’s legs.
“I have to leave,” she said, staring at the cat and biting down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling. “I can’t stay here any longer. It’s not safe. It’s obvious he’s been following me.”
“You can’t run. Running doesn’t solve anything. Let me help you. Tell me who he is.”
She looked into the detective’s dark brown eyes for any sign of sincerity, but she just couldn’t find it. He didn’t want to help her. No one did.
“I don’t know who he is,” she insisted.
He rubbed his face with his hands, but the fatigue remained clearly etched in the lines around his eyes. “Do you have any friends or family in the area you can stay with?”
She shook her head.
“If you’re right and the killer has been following you, chances are you’ll be his next target. Unfortunately, I can’t let you leave the area. I still have too many questions, especially about these.” He gestured toward the pages once more. “It’s against policy, but considering the circumstances I’m going to make an exception and let you come home with me. No one will be able to find you there.”
Devra stared at him. Had she heard him right? “I couldn’t.”
He shrugged. “Either way, you know more about this case than you’ve let on and these papers prove it. I won’t let you out of my sight until I get answers I can accept about how you’re connected to Michelle’s murder.”
“But I can’t stay with you,” she croaked.
“Suit yourself. But if you really believe you’re in danger, what choice do you have? And what better place to be than under the watchful eye of one of NOPD’s finest?”
Devra thought she’d be ill. She couldn’t spend another minute with this man, let alone a whole night.
“And besides,” he continued smugly. “You’re under orders not to leave town.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.”
This couldn’t be happening to her. But he was right. What choice did she have? “I’ll stay at a hotel.”
“With this monster cat?”
“I’ll stay at a pet hotel.”
“All right, but have you actually ever been in one of those places?” He scratched his arms as a look of disgust crossed his face.
Devra would have laughed if her situatio
n weren’t so desperate.
“Bring the cat to my ranch. You’ll both love it there. Unless you prefer fleas for roommates.”
That was a tough one.
“If it will make you feel any better, my parents live at the ranch, too. Along with my brother and Mich—”
Pain flashed through his eyes. No, Michelle didn’t live there anymore. Maybe he did believe she was in danger. If he really thought she was a killer, would he bring her into his home? Maybe, just maybe there was a chance he would help her. She thought she had him pegged as a self-absorbed egomaniac, but perhaps…
Nah, she was kidding herself. He just wanted her close to keep an eye on her. But he had a point—how much safer could she be than under his protection? She looked at her shattered window and the mess around her living room, then let out a reluctant sigh. She certainly couldn’t spend another night here. Not now. Not ever again. “All right, you win.”
“Good, then it’s all settled.” He gave her a smile—wide, devastatingly charming and beaming with triumph.
Lord, what had she gotten herself into now?
“TONY,” RILEY SAID quietly into his cell phone as he stepped onto Devra’s front porch.
“Riley, where are you?”
“Miss Morgan’s house.”
“Still? Are you crazy? The captain made it clear Pat’s working the Morgan angle and we’re to go back to the night stalker case. He said you have three days’ leave.”
“Yeah, forced leave,” Riley muttered.
“So, what are you still doing there? Or have you grown tired of being a cop and want to throw your career away?”
“Never, buddy. I’ve convinced Miss Morgan to come stay at the ranch with me for a few days.”
“What? Are you nuts?”
“Oh, and you don’t know where she is.”
“You better believe I don’t. You’re diggin’ yourself in deep. Just keep me out of it. Don’t tell me another word ’cause I don’t want to know.”
Shiver Page 5
