Dead Don't Lie

by L. R. Nicolello

  Marcus’s eyebrows shot up and a smile tweaked his lips. Ryan stared at her as if she’d grown another head.

  “It was addressed...” Ryan made a little choking sound in his throat, put his hands on her desk and leaned toward her. “Are. You. Fucking. Serious? You’re seriously going to give me that bullshit? What if there was something other than photos in your little present? A bomb. Anthrax. You’d have my balls in a vise if the tables were turned and I’d pulled this shit on you.”

  She calmly watched her partner. “Are you finished?”

  His eyes flashed, the blue turning the color of cool steel. “Oh...I’m just getting started, sweet cheeks.”

  Evelyn bit her lip to keep the grin from escaping. Despite the hellish nightmare this day was turning into, the fire in Ryan’s eyes and that nickname slip made her want to laugh.

  “Ry—”

  He held up his hand. “He could’ve killed you. He just made this personal.”

  It’s always personal. At least for her. She didn’t doubt that both men glowering at her right now continued to keep the boundary between duty and personal drawn. It was something that had been beaten into them from day one in the academy. And it made sense, really. It protected your sanity. But she’d made a conscious decision as she’d been sworn in to never draw that line. Right or wrong, it didn’t matter to her: every murder was personal.

  “Okay, first, he didn’t kill me, Ryan. I’m here. Alive. All is well.” Evelyn lowered her voice as she eyeballed her partner, who was still leaning on his hands—in her personal space.

  She put her hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him away. He stood and crossed his arms.

  “And fine, yes, he made it personal. But instead of busting my balls—”

  Marcus chuckled, which threw her off guard. She cast him a dirty look. He put his hand over his mouth, looking apologetic. She turned her attention back to Ryan, who was still glowering.

  “The real question is, why? I don’t have any connection with any of the victims. He could’ve sent this to any one of us.”

  “Yes, but he sent it to you,” Marcus said. “And after he sent that little letter to the editor. We have to assume that the unsub has something, some sort of personal vendetta, against you, or he wouldn’t have sent you the crime scene photos.”

  “Maybe he has issues with women in authority?” Ryan suggested, finally relaxing.

  Evelyn shook her head. “No. That doesn’t make sense. If that were his trigger, then his targets would be just that—women in authority. Not family units where the women are stay-at-home moms. And he would torture them, but he doesn’t. He targets and tortures the husband.”

  Marcus’s eyes grew dark with worry. “He’s trying to taunt you, get your attention.”

  “Well, he definitely did that. But I’m not fazed.” Deep down she was. This whole string of murders felt familiar. Personal. The fact that she hadn’t figured out why by now ate her from the inside out. She’d survived to help bring justice to victims like these families, had she not? If not for that one reason, then why?

  She pinched the bridge of her nose and shook the dark thoughts out of her mind. She needed to get out of her head and into the psycho’s to find him.

  But first, she needed to diffuse the ticking bomb in front of her. Ryan was still clearly agitated. Worry shone brightly in Marcus’s eyes.

  “Okay. Fine. Yes. Opening that package was not the smartest move. But I did it. Now it’s over. I’m sorry. Let’s move on.”

  “No more heroic shit,” Ryan said.

  Marcus nodded.

  “Promise.” She smiled at the men, grateful to finally be out of the spotlight. It made her uncomfortable to be in the hot seat with either of them. She stood, reached over and picked up the photos Ryan had tossed on his desk by the edges. “Now. We need to get these to the lab, have them run for prints. Maybe he got sloppy and left one.”

  “You don’t think he did, though, do you?” Marcus asked.

  “Honestly, no. He’s smart, patient. But it’s a shot. And right now, we need anything we can get. I hate feeling that he’s one step ahead of us.”

  Ryan got up and paced. Evelyn sighed. She thought she’d successfully put out that fire. Apparently not. Crap.

  “Why not send them to the station?” The heat in Ryan’s words rose as he aired the question. “Why to your home?”

  He turned suddenly. She saw the look of horror flicker across his face.

  She held her breath. Don’t, Ryan. She knew his mind had locked onto the same question she’d landed on as she’d dumped the package’s contents on her counter.

  “Evelyn, how did he get your home address in the first place? It’s not listed.”

  Crap.

  Marcus’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”

  He glanced from Ryan to Evelyn, then back to Ryan, irritation and concern flashing in his eyes.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Her address is unlisted.”

  “Evelyn.” Marcus spoke with such authority she had no choice but to listen. Not that she could’ve done anything else but sit captivated by him. “That complicates things—a lot. We have to consider that he’s following you. Which means—”

  She didn’t want to hear Marcus say it, but she’d already suspected what he was about to say. She’d had that exact thought the moment the photos dropped onto her counter. The killer was watching her, had followed her to her home. The idea terrified her—and royally pissed her off. She hadn’t let the last psychopath rule her every waking minute—at least, that’s what she told herself on a regular basis—so she sure as hell wouldn’t let this one scare her now.

  “Consider?” Ryan asked in disgust. “I think that’s pretty blatant here. Don’t you? The psycho left her that little package. On. Her. Doorstep. We need to move her—”

  “Absolutely not,” Evelyn said. She’d let the two men stand around being all cavemanlike long enough. Yes, she was a woman. She had breasts and a pretty face that made men want to protect her. She got that. But she wasn’t weak, scared or sitting in a corner crying because some prick had left her an early morning package.

  She was a seasoned, sought-after homicide detective. One who didn’t easily back down from a threat. And she wasn’t going to back down from this one—she was going to meet it head-on. “I’m not going to let some psycho dictate my life. It’s not happening. End of story.”

  “Then we get a protective detail on you,” Ryan said.

  “That’s not—”

  “Don’t give me that shit, Evelyn. You want to be stubborn, fine. But it’s necessary, and you know it.” Ryan looked at Marcus for support.

  From Marcus’s perch on the edge of his desk, he nodded his head. “I agree with him.”

  “Fine.” She threw up her hands, aggravated at being railroaded by both of them. “Plainclothes. The last thing I need is my quiet, sweet neighborhood up in arms because some cop cruiser’s permanently parked outside my home.”

  She glared at Ryan. What was with him today? “Does that work for you, dear knight in shining armor?”

  “For the time being.”

  “Good. Now that that’s settled—”

  The fire in Ryan’s eyes vanished. In its place, genuine concern brimmed.

  “I’m only trying to keep you safe,” he said. “Kate would kill me if something happened to you.”

  A lump unexpectedly lodged in her throat.

  Evelyn swallowed the tears and smiled at Ryan—her partner and her brother. “I know, Ry. As much as I fight you when you go all Neanderthal on me—”

  “I did not.”

  Her eyebrows arched.

  “Okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down. “Maybe a little.”

  “A lot, but deep down, I appreciate it. Promise.” />
  “I know you do.” He laughed heartily.

  And just like that, Ryan and Evelyn were once again in sync.

  “Now can we please get back to business?” She pointed at the two men. “If you two are so concerned with my well-being, then stop playing caveman and let’s figure out why this sicko is fixated on me.”

  As the three of them went back to work Evelyn glanced up at the ancient clock and shuddered. They were still playing catch-up to this guy, and they all knew it. With each second that passed, he continued to outmaneuver them, left them one step behind.

  They were losing ground, and fast.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SEVEN HOURS OF interviewing witnesses and scrubbing call logs had resulted in nothing. Again. There were no prints, no fibers and nothing out of place at the crime scenes. There were no witnesses. All the properties were lakefront, so the unsub must’ve come in and out by boat. But even searching boat rentals resulted in a big fat goose egg.

  The bastard was smart.

  And Lady Luck was not on their side for this one.

  At her insistence, the guys made an early evening run to the Starbucks down the street for a caffeine boost. She was glad they’d taken the break. But she’d secretly needed space from the two men after their caveman duet earlier. She’d told Ryan she appreciated his concern, and she did. Still, when he’d suggested they move her to a safe house, she’d wanted to smack him. But only for a brief moment. Then reason roared in, reminded her that if the tables were turned and some psycho had left crime scene photos at Ryan’s house, there wouldn’t have even been a discussion. She’d move them to a safe house immediately. End of story.

  Quiet chatter between the other detectives flitted through the air. The captain had holed himself up in his office and was currently bent over a pile of reports. She grimaced. The mayor was pressuring them for something—anything—that would seem like forward motion, but Kessler took the brunt of it.

  Evelyn picked up her phone, irritated at the lack of movement, and called down to the lab. “You got good news for me, McCarthy?”

  “I wish I did, but no. I’ve got nothing—no prints, no fibers. The photos were printed on a home printer with normal photo paper. You could get the stuff anywhere—Target, Walmart, the local Walgreen’s.”

  “Which narrows our suspect list down to, oh, a few million people in the Seattle area.” She rubbed her throbbing forehead. Where was that caffeine?

  “Sorry I couldn’t be more help, Detective.”

  “That’s okay, not your fault.” She blew out a breath in frustration. “Thanks for rushing them for me.”

  “Anytime, Detective Davis.”

  She slammed down her phone, closed her eyes and tilted her head to the left, then to the right, trying to erase the strain pulling at her neck. How was this guy still ahead of them? He couldn’t be that good, could he? She shook her head at the thought. No. She knew how to get into a killer’s mind. She might need to traverse a few hypothetical paths before she landed on the one that led her home, but she always found a way.

  The elevator’s chime announced the arrival of her latte. She looked up, then silently swore. Instead of her much-needed caffeine fix, Josh Sanderson stepped out and made a beeline toward her. Great. She hadn’t thought her day could get any worse. At the sight of the short arrogant man charging her way, she knew she’d been wrong.

  “Detective Sanderson, what can I do for you?” The only thing she wanted to do for him was punch the down button for the elevator and escort him out of her house. That clearly not being an option, she went with being polite.

  He sat on the edge of her desk, flipped his jacket open and stared down at her. His familiar gesture made her bristle. Funny how the same movement from Ryan or Marcus felt comfortable. Not so with Sanderson. The urge to smack him, then sanitize her desk, flooded her.

  “Off.”

  His jaw jumped at her stern order. He obediently stood, then straightened his shoulders.

  “Why are you here?”

  “Had to drop something off to Jones downstairs and just thought I’d check in to see how the investigation’s going.”

  She pursed her lips, felt a sarcastic quip bubble up within her and tried to swallow it. Jones, her ass.

  “You came all this way to check in. There is this thing called a phone, Sanderson.” Her voice took on a contemptuous tone.

  “The investigation, Davis...”

  She sighed. “It’s going. Slowly. But we’re doing all we can to track this guy. When something breaks, believe me, we’ll let you know.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. I should’ve been the lead on this. Our guys would already—”

  “Oh, give it a rest.” Evelyn was too tired to deal with the whining complaints of this egotistical idiot. “The chief asked for us. Get over yourself.”

  A detective across the room chuckled. Sanderson’s face reddened and his eyes narrowed. “I know all about your history.”

  “Excuse me?”

  The elevator chimed again. Marcus and Ryan walked out. Ryan spotted Sanderson and cast an apprehensive glance at Evelyn. Her partner moved quickly to his desk and put down the coffees. Evelyn noticed the sudden shift in Ryan’s demeanor but ignored him, casting a glance at Marcus. He stared back at her, curiosity and concern shining brightly in his face. She knew she looked like a small animal backed into a corner. Anger and panic radiated off her. Damn you, Sanderson. She turned back to the detective sneering down at her.

  Ryan came around his desk and stepped up to Sanderson. “Is there a problem here?”

  Marcus stood by Evelyn’s side and leaned close. “You okay? You look coiled, ready to spring.”

  She nodded. The tension in her shoulders squeezed.

  Sanderson ignored both men towering over him. “I think there hasn’t been a breakthrough on this case because you can’t see beyond your own nose. Someone with your background shouldn’t be leading this case.”

  “You better stop while you’re ahead.” The words came out of her mouth low and menacing.

  Panic and rage tightened her throat as she commanded herself to breathe. How did he find out? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t let the rest of her squad know about her family. It would undermine her ability to do her job and cast her in another light. No longer would she be Detective Evelyn Davis, the best profiler and closer the department had seen for over twenty years. She’d be Evelyn Davis, the victim. She couldn’t let that happen. Suddenly she felt exposed, and for the first time in fifteen years, vulnerable.

  Then she saw red.

  Who did the other detectives come to when they were stumped? Her. She was the only one whose close rate topped 80 percent. She’d caught more killers in her time on the force than the rest of the detectives combined.

  She was confident in her skills. And she’d be damned if she let some arrogant ass push her around because she was a woman.

  It wasn’t by accident that she was being actively recruited by the FBI, most likely including the tall agent standing next to her. She glanced up at Marcus and smirked. He looked like he wanted to kill Sanderson. Despite the hellish hand life had dealt her, she prided herself on ignoring the continual bullshit thrown her way by the many arrogant, narcissistic assholes who couldn’t see past her breasts. She’d made a good life and career for herself. She turned cold eyes on Sanderson—this specific asshole wasn’t going to take that away simply because his fragile little ego had been bruised.

  “I’d consider your next words carefully, Sanderson.”

  His eyes hardened. “You’re too emotional on this, Davis, because of your family’s murder.”

  Everyone stopped moving. All chatting within the bull pen ceased.

  Evelyn jumped up. Her chair tumbled to the ground as she lunged. Simultaneously, Ryan grabbed Sanderson by the
collar, pushed him against the wall and jammed his arm up under the smaller man’s chin, cutting off his air supply. With the speed of a viper, Marcus grabbed Evelyn by the waist and hauled her back before she could get to Sanderson. He wrapped his other arm around the tops of her shoulders and pulled her into his chest.

  “Easy,” he whispered into her ear. “Easy, sweetheart.”

  She fought against his hold. Her pulse kicked into overdrive as she felt the erratic beat of his heart against her back. He tightened his grip and brought his mouth to her ear once more. “Evelyn, stop.”

  She quit struggling.

  Sanderson pawed at Ryan’s arm, his face going from white to red.

  “Enough,” Captain Kessler bellowed as he stormed from his office. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Marcus let go of Evelyn but stayed close to her. Her fists knotted by her side. A calm mask descended over her face. Gone was the panic and anger. Composed defiance washed over her as she turned to her boss.

  Ryan relaxed his hold enough for Sanderson to catch his breath, but didn’t let him go.

  “Get off me, O’Neil.” Sanderson jerked his arm up. He coughed, then spun and nodded to the captain. “Captain Kessler, I was just expressing my concern with Detective Davis being the lead due to her—”

  “Not another word, Sanderson,” Kessler said.

  Sanderson lurched as if he’d been slapped. His face reddened at the public reprimand. He pulled at his jacket, pushed his shoulders back and glanced around the bull pen. All eyes were on him.

  “Sir—”

  Kessler’s voice rose. “If you have a concern with the decisions made by both the chief and the mayor, I’d suggest you go up the proper chain of command. Before you do that, I’d highly recommend you keep your opinions to yourself.” He took a step toward Sanderson and eyed the detective in front of him. “Do you understand me, Detective Sanderson?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Now, get out of my bull pen.”

  Josh Sanderson stalked to the stairs. He shoved his palm against the door. It swung open and bounced against the cement wall. Without a backward glance, he stormed out.