Dead Don't Lie

by L. R. Nicolello

  “Gotta go, babe.” Ryan stood, leaned over to his wife and kissed her.

  Ava scrambled down from her chair and threw herself at Evelyn. “Don’t go, Ev. You haven’t seen my new book yet.”

  “I see how I rate.” Ryan chuckled, then shrugged on his North Face jacket.

  Evelyn hugged Ava tightly. “Next time, sweets. That’s a promise. Okay?”

  After letting her go, Evelyn leaned down to hug Liam, who was reaching up from his high chair. She laughed as he dug his chubby face into her neck and gave her a slobbery, openmouthed, potato-covered baby kiss.

  God, she loved this family, these kids. No one could replace her own family. Ever. She ached for them daily, the pain still as fresh as it was fifteen years ago. But the O’Neil clan came a close second.

  The gaping wound in her soul healed a bit with every minute spent with them. She didn’t know if she’d ever be whole again—some days, she doubted it completely. But this family made her feel like she had a fighting chance, and she’d do anything for them.

  Ryan stood by the door. “Let’s go, Evelyn. The captain will piss himself if we don’t get there soon.”

  “Ryan.” A groan of exasperation escaped Kate’s lips.

  He shrugged, a sheepish smile crossing his face. It morphed into a smirk as he took a giant step forward and wrapped Kate in a tight embrace, noisily kissing her. Ava squealed in protest. Twisting out of her husband’s arms, Kate blushed and rolled her eyes at Evelyn.

  “But he will. Truly. Piss himself,” Ryan said straight-faced. He laughed as he dodged Kate’s playful swat.

  No need to remind Evelyn of that. Captain Kessler’s temper was legendary. Hot lava bubbled just beneath the surface of his even, cool disposition, just waiting for the right moment to erupt. It didn’t do so often, but when his temper flared, it was hot and violent.

  She tried her best to stay on the easygoing side of his demeanor, but something told her that tonight they just might see him explode. Nothing in the message she’d received alluded to that, yet her instincts screamed that something was amiss. Something big. And ugly.

  Evelyn blew out a long breath. So much for time off. She kissed Kate on the cheek. “Thanks for the dinner. Who knows, maybe one of these days you can teach me how to cook.”

  Kate smiled. “That’d be nice.”

  “You? Cook?” Ryan snorted, pushed open the front door and stepped out. “Not possible.”

  Smiling, Evelyn shrugged into her black lightweight North Face jacket, then followed Ryan into the foggy Seattle evening.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IT HAD BEEN fifteen years. Still...she didn’t think she’d ever stop missing the constant sun and warmth of Phoenix. Shivering in the wind, she zipped her jacket, hunched her shoulders against the bone-chilling drizzle that fell from the sky and headed toward the station’s metal double doors. Admittedly, this misty Pacific Northwest weather suited her—the Evelyn of today. The Evelyn who’d once soaked up the golden sun in Phoenix and traipsed through Milan without a worry in the world had gone into hiding a long time ago. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see her again, or if she even existed anymore.

  The station’s small foyer sat vacant except for the young officer perched behind the front desk. He lifted his head. “Detectives.”

  “Sampson.” Evelyn nodded. “What’s going on tonight?”

  His brows pinched together. “Sorry, Detective. Haven’t heard a thing.”

  She frowned. “Okay. Thanks.”

  A sick sense of dread twisted her stomach. She and Ryan rode to the third floor in silence. This was their night off. Being called in, especially after working the Langdon case nonstop, only meant one thing: trouble.

  A soft chime announced their arrival. Captain Kessler sat on the desk closest to them—Evelyn’s desk—his face stormy.

  “It’s about time,” he said. He pushed his tall, lanky frame off the corner of her desk and glared at them. Has he been waiting for us? Evelyn cast a quizzical look toward Ryan. He shrugged.

  “Come on.” Kessler marched down the hall to his office door.

  They passed through the bull pen to follow him. It was small, cramped almost. A dozen or so ancient metal desks butted up against one another. Each pair of detectives faced their partner. Ryan’s desk proudly featured his family’s framed smiling faces. Evelyn’s was mostly empty. No personal knickknacks, save the oversize black coffee mug she’d picked up at the market and one photo of Evelyn with Kate and the kids.

  Normally bustling with loud—sometimes bordering on obnoxious—activity, the open space was vacant, quiet. She glanced at the assignment board. The detectives were all out. All of them.

  Evelyn started to shake off her jacket.

  “Don’t even bother, Davis,” Kessler called to her.

  She shrugged back into the empty sleeve. Her brows lifted in surprise at the captain’s agitated jitteriness. With a lift of his broad shoulders, Ryan turned and headed toward Kessler’s office. Evelyn followed.

  “I’m sending you over to Mercer Island.”

  Evelyn and Ryan exchanged guarded looks. Not good. Not good at all.

  “That’s Sanderson’s precinct.” Ryan leaned against the door frame, weary of the coming storm.

  Despite her best attempts, anytime Evelyn and Sanderson were in the same vicinity, sparks flew—and not the good kind. Sanderson had made his disdain for her obvious on several occasions. Ever since he’d screwed up the close on the one—and only—case they’d been forced to work on together, his dislike had boiled over to sheer black hatred. Evelyn groaned inwardly.

  She’d put up with a lot of bullshit being a woman on the force. But his chauvinistic, Neanderthal behavior was the worst. He was cocky, quick to leap to broad conclusions and straight-up sexist. There wasn’t a woman in the entire SPD who could stand to work with him. And to think she’d just been about to spend a relaxing evening with Kate and the kids.

  “Yes.” Kessler gave Ryan a hard look. “Is that a problem, O’Neil?”

  Ryan raised his hands. “Nope. Not for us, sir.”

  “The chief...”

  “Excuse me, sir.” Evelyn threw a shielded glance at Ryan. “The chief?”

  Chief Diaz had been responsible for bringing her to the Seattle Police Department. He, Captain Kessler and Ryan were the only officers privy to her complete, sealed file. Though she knew the chief had watched over her—and her career—like a concerned older brother, once her move had been completed, she’d set out to prove herself, by herself. And prove herself she did. Her promotions, as the youngest woman to make detective, had been of her own merit. Still, she wasn’t deaf to the murmurs that the chief favored her.

  Having him involved tonight spelled disaster. She took a deep breath and shifted her weight. Kessler’s blue eyes were dark with concern.

  She didn’t need any more trouble from Sanderson. Her working relationship with him had gone from bad to worse when she had made detective before him. He’d protested just loud enough and made a not-so-subtle hint about her connection with the chief. It was a load of shit. But still...try as she might to ignore his egotistical arrogance and remain calm and professional, he always found a way under her skin.

  Since her promotion, she and Ryan had been kept away from Sanderson. But apparently their luck had just run out. Great.

  Kessler glared at her from hooded eyes and motioned for her to sit, which she did. He ran his forefinger over the top of his thumb, picked at his cuticle. Evelyn frowned. She’d picked up that tell during the first month reporting to him. What was making him so anxious?

  “Given your background and your closing rate, the chief believes you’ll be an asset to the case.”

  She leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, its faux leather groaning.

  “And the
case is?” She crossed her arms, cautiously intrigued.

  Kessler hesitated. His face was ashen, the calm in his eyes dissipating.

  “Captain?” Ryan broke the silence in the fishbowl room.

  Kessler cleared his throat and, without blinking, answered. “It appears to be a family annihilator case. But something is off....”

  She froze as the term family annihilator tumbled from Kessler’s lips. A low whistle came from Ryan as he rubbed his hand over the black scruff on his jaw.

  She balanced on the edge of an emotional cliff, and she knew it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan take a step toward her. She gave a tight shake of her head. He stopped, lifted a brow.

  Evelyn straightened. She’d opened up to Ryan years ago, after an interrogation that had shaken both of them. She trusted him, and he’d sworn to always keep an eye out for her—no matter how independent and strong she thought she was.

  But she didn’t need Ryan, or anyone for that matter, to keep her from tumbling over the cliff’s edge. She could manage it herself, for crying out loud. She reined in the suffocating emotions. She was seasoned at corralling her galloping heart—she’d spent years perfecting the task.

  With the help of her therapist, she recognized that emotions didn’t make her weak, but strong. She wasn’t a statistic, but a survivor. Everything she’d walked through made her the woman—and most importantly, the detective—she was.

  Kessler picked up a thin case file off his desk and leaned toward her.

  Swallowing hard, Evelyn took it from him. She knew her partner had noticed her brief hesitation and seen the emotions dance behind her eyes. To most people, she was unreadable. But Ryan wasn’t most people. He read her like an open book. He’d noticed. If Kessler did, he didn’t say anything. Her lips tightened into a hard line as she flipped the file open.

  “Appears?” she said to no one in particular as she studied the photos.

  “Yes. It’s the second such case in the past two weeks—in the same precinct, with similar family units. Those photos—” Kessler motioned to the brightly colored crime scene images “—are from the first.”

  She flipped through the photos. The wife’s body lay at the feet of what appeared to be her husband. The back of his head was missing. Evelyn swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. With each sweep of her eyes she cataloged the grisly images of the husband and wife. She continued skimming through the photos, then stopped. A young child lay on her back, a deep, crimson gash across her throat. Evelyn’s hand trembled. Her throat tightened, rage and grief warring within her.

  “Have either of the husbands recently lost their jobs?”

  “No. They’re both successful in their respective industries,” the captain replied.

  Evelyn tapped the photos on the table.

  Something wasn’t right.

  Men who took their family’s lives fell into one of two categories: angry at their partners and seeking revenge, or hopeless and despondent and believing their family was better off dead. It was usually a reaction to a loss of some kind—a job, a wife. They were typically mid-thirties to middle-age, socially isolated and had been depressed or frustrated for a long time. For many family annihilators, the act of murder was a way to reestablish control.

  At first glance, neither of these men fit that profile.

  So what triggered this violence?

  “Family annihilator cases are extremely rare, especially with family units like this,” she said without looking up.

  “I agree.”

  “Do we have any leads?” Ryan sat next to Evelyn, peering over her shoulder at the photos.

  “Why bring us on now? Why not with the first case?” Evelyn passed the glossy five-by-sevens to Ryan and glanced over at him uneasily. She hadn’t wanted to hand the photos over, concerned about how they might affect him. They made the perfect pair: he was lighthearted, she was serious; he played by the book, she pushed the boundaries. While she held people—and the emotions they garnered—at a distance, Ryan was all in. Had always been all in. It was one of the many qualities that she loved in her partner; he felt deeper than any man she’d ever met. And she couldn’t even imagine what those pictures would do to him if they’d hit her so hard.

  Ryan began to flip through the photos, then stopped. He looked up, his face hard. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t fucking happening. Here. On our stomping ground.”

  He held the same photo of the young child with her throat slit that she’d stopped at. The child looked to be about Ava’s age. His hand shook. A muscle in his jaw jumped. They’d seen some twisted things while working homicide. The seasoned—burned-out was more like it—detectives told them it’d get easier. That seeing the capacity of the sickos out there was par for the course. They encouraged both her and Ryan to disengage. Total bullshit. So yeah, she could only imagine that the photo made him see red.

  “The Langdon case was a priority,” Kessler said. “We needed your full efforts to close that one down. At the time, we thought it was a one-off. But with this fresh crime scene...”

  Evelyn’s mind scrambled to categorize the information they’d been given. Her gaze swept to the captain. She did a double take. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a tight grimace as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

  Evelyn leaned forward and gripped the armrest. “Does the chief think serial?”

  Ryan’s head snapped up.

  “I didn’t say that.” Kessler’s jaw twitched. No police officer in his right mind voluntarily labeled someone a serial killer until they had to. No one wanted that on their watch.

  You didn’t have to. Evelyn dropped back into her chair. She’d been right. Again. Whatever they were about to step into would make the Langdon case appear like a walk in the park.

  “We aren’t officially saying or thinking anything.” Kessler scrubbed his face, then glanced between the two detectives. “Two family annihilator cases in as many weeks is suspicious. Chief Diaz wants you and O’Neil to head up the investigation and report directly to Assistant Chief Pugel and himself.”

  The captain’s secretary rapped on the door frame and stuck her head into the office. “Sorry for interrupting, sir, but he’s here.”

  “Thanks. Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”

  Evelyn threw Ryan a guarded look. She’d never known Kessler’s assistant to interrupt him. Ever. So who the hell was important enough to do so now?

  Captain Kessler stood. The detectives mimicked his movement. Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, following the captain’s gaze. A tall handsome stranger clad in a perfectly tailored black suit leaned against her desk, animatedly speaking into his cell. She couldn’t place him. But damn, he was beautiful. The stranger caught her staring, smiled and tipped his head in her direction. Evelyn’s heart jumped. What the hell? She swung her attention back to Kessler, momentarily uncomfortable with her reaction. Where did that come from?

  “CSI is already on scene, but nothing was moved,” Kessler said. “Get over there, and get fresh eyes on it. Now.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  IT DIDN’T SURPRISE Ryan that they’d been put on this case. Some might question the decision, given his partner’s background—if they even knew, which most didn’t. But the chief made the right call. Evelyn’s instincts were primal. In one breath, she could transport herself into the mind of the predator, see what he saw and think how he thought. If a psychopathic serial killer had unleashed fear onto the streets of Seattle, there was no one better than Evelyn Davis to bring him down. Ryan floored the gas.

  Watching Evelyn work had freaked Ryan out the first year of their partnership. Kate had chuckled at him when he’d mentioned it. She’d told him to chill out and bring his new partner by so she could meet her new friend.

  One case under their belt together, and he was sold. Ho
w could he not be? She’d empathized with the grieving widow, whom the rest of the squad felt was a victim, all while asking the right questions to pull out the truth: that the woman had, in fact, murdered her husband.

  He’d rolled with Evelyn’s instincts from that day forward, letting her take the lead. She still mesmerized him. She caught things before anyone else did, connected dots that had barely surfaced and her closing rate of 80 percent compared to the rest of SPD’s 50 percent continued to push her into the spotlight—which made her squirm, and him laugh. It was quite possibly the only tell that made her human, instead of a demigod.

  So while he wasn’t surprised that Chief Diaz asked for them, he wondered what the hell his partner was thinking. How well had she compartmentalized the information they’d been briefed on?

  Ryan knew what she’d kept guarded from everyone, what her background held. He’d made it a priority to get beneath her carefully constructed barriers when they became partners. He needed to know the woman who held his life in her hands. Fiercely private, she’d kept everyone at arm’s length. A year after she’d met Kate, and only when certain of her safety, she’d finally let her guard down. But only around him and Kate, and only so much.

  After Ava was born, she’d let him and Kate in—truly in—and what Evelyn entrusted them with horrified them. She’d gone from partner to family that night.

  A normal person would’ve become a statistic. But Evelyn wasn’t normal. Instead of losing herself to the grief, she focused on bringing justice to victims’ families. He’d once asked Evelyn why she’d become a cop. She’d quietly told him she wanted to give closure to families—the one thing she’d never gotten, and the one constant that drove everything she did.

  He doubted she’d ever fully let them in, and that was okay. She had trusted him—trusted them—with her darkest moment. In turn, he trusted her with his life.

  A question gnawed at him, despite his best attempt to eject it from his mind. He took a hard left, tires squealing. Would this case hit too close?