Deadly Abandon

by Kallie Lane

  As the techs reached the upstairs landing, Breeana allowed herself to be hustled through the sunroom and into the kitchen, all the while working up a full head of steam.

  As ridiculous as it felt, she worried the crime scene techs would find the vibrator tucked away in one of her bureau drawers. Her purple vibrator—the deluxe model with extra batteries—a joke gift from Miranda and Rainey for her last birthday.

  The thought sobered. What is the matter with me? Her friends were dead, someone had tried to kill her last night, and all she could think about was the looming discovery of a vibrator? How ridiculous was that on a scale of one to ten?

  She tugged her arm out of Sully’s grasp the instant the kitchen door swung closed behind them. He must have gone home to shower. Dressed in crisp black slacks, shirt and tie, this was not a good omen in her book. The only color relief was the oatmeal jacket he wore over a gun holstered at his waist. She could see the telltale bulge of it.

  “How are you feeling today?” he asked.

  “I’m okay, but that’s not the issue here. Do you mind telling me what those people are doing in my home? And why are they in my bedroom? I want the truth and I want it now.”

  Sully met her urgent plea for information without a hint of emotion on his face. Instead, he straddled a kitchen chair and pointed to the coffeemaker; the passionate, compelling man who had comforted her in his arms last night had been erased. The man was all business.

  “You really want to know, cookie? Then make us a fresh pot of coffee and I’ll tell you. And I wouldn’t say no to a muffin to go along with the coffee. I missed breakfast this morning.”

  At those callous words, Breeana glared at Sully as if he were something unpleasant clinging to the bottom of her shoe. But, staring at him only flooded her with memories of the night before, the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her, the knowledge of what she’d wanted to do in those arms. Thinking about the closeness they had shared only made the moment worse. She marched to the table and sank into the chair opposite his.

  “If you want coffee and a muffin so badly, you can get them yourself. This isn’t a restaurant and I’m not Rachael Ray.”

  “Sure, turn me loose on the coffeepot,” he said, his voice soft and even. He unfolded his large frame from the chair and moved to the counter to grind coffee beans.

  As he set up the coffee maker, Breeana dialed Cody on the phone intercom to let him know there were sleuths looking for clues in her bedroom. Clues to what, for heaven’s sake? She didn’t know. But, in spite of her growing alarm, she couldn’t help noticing Sully smelled delicious, shower gel, underlying woodsy cologne, and his own virile scent taunted and teased.

  His body was as big and powerful as she remembered. She wanted to throw herself on his mercy and beg him to make love to her right there on the floor. Ridiculous.

  Breeana girl, face it, you need major professional help. One bad scare and you’re ready to tumble at the man’s feet.

  Why, even Tom hadn’t elicited this kind of response from her hormone-frenzied self. Her pheromones were so out of whack her senses were having a field day.

  While he got his snack, she satisfied herself by drilling holes in his back with a glare that could melt polar ice. Oblivious, he grabbed a couple of homemade muffins from a container on the counter and placed them on a plate. Once the coffee was ready, he poured two cups and returned to the table, setting one in front of her.

  “Here. You might want to add a little brandy to yours.”

  Brandy? At eight o’clock in the morning? Breeana almost snorted. The cop was certifiable if he thought alcohol would help. “Will you just get on with it? Tell me what’s going on.”

  “Have it your way.” His eyes held hers from across the table, his expression unreadable. Shivers ghosted along her spine, intuition warning Breeana she wouldn’t like what he had to say.

  “Here’s the thing. I believe the person who attacked you last night has already been inside your house. It’s why I brought Denise and Pete with me to gather evidence.”

  “What? You think they’ll find evidence in my bedroom?” Breeana jumped to her feet and toppled her chair in the process. She felt her face flush a bright crimson. “Have you lost your mind? What makes you think the guy has been inside my house? Do you honestly believe I have a parade of men sliding between my sheets on any given night? Of all the filthy-minded—”

  “Calm down and let me explain.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow in her direction, waiting for her anger to run its course and for her to take a seat again. She righted the chair and dropped into it.

  “I think the person who attacked you has been stalking you for a while. And, okay, I’m guessing he’s been inside your home. It’s part of his methodology, and he’s done this before.”

  Her eyes searched his over the rim of her mug. She understood. “You’re talking about Rainey and Miranda, aren’t you?”

  “I’m talking about Rainey, for a fact, and possibly Miranda. Her body is with the coroner now and we should have some answers later today.”

  “I think I’ll have the brandy now.”

  Without another word, Breeana stalked to the bar in the sunroom, fighting to control her emotions every step of the way. She searched desperately for a calm she could not quite capture. Moving back to the table, she placed the bottle in front of her after splashing a generous portion of liquor into her coffee mug.

  Sully leaned toward her. “I want you to tell me about the music you heard last night at the clinic. Where did it come from?”

  “He played it on his phone. And I’ve been getting weird calls from him, too. He never says anything to me when I answer. He’s more like a heavy breather…with weird taste in music.”

  “And it’s the first time you’ve mentioned it?” Sully snarled. “In case you haven’t noticed, someone tried to kill you last night. Did you ever stop to think this might be important information for the investigators to have?”

  She was about to argue the point when Cody pushed through the door and shuffled past them on his quest for the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of orange juice from a shelf and tossed the drink back in three smooth gulps. Then he wiped his mouth on the arm of a ratty sleeve and eyed her curiously.

  “Hey, Mom, if you don’t want to lose the necklace you’ve got stashed in your underwear drawer, you might want to get upstairs fast.”

  “What necklace?” Sometimes this kid of hers operated on another astral plane. Breeana had no idea where he was coming from.

  “It’s the one with all the fancy bead work.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, because I don’t own anything like that.”

  “Huh, thought so. It’s what I told Grissom and Willows up there. Then they became all secretive and stuffed the thing into a baggie when they thought I wasn’t paying attention.”

  She was on the move before Cody finished his last sentence. Sully pounded the stairs behind her and slid to a halt close on her heels as they reached the bedroom door.

  “Doc!”

  She swiveled when he grabbed the waistband of her capris to hold her back and noticed his gaze glued to her backside. “Are you staring at my butt?”

  “I’ve been admiring your very fine assets every step of the way,” he whispered out of earshot of the criminalists. “How do you think you beat me to the door in the first place?”

  “Dirt bag,” she murmured, trying not to smile. It felt nice to be admired, even though she didn’t want to be. Unfurling his grasp from her waistband, she flicked his hand away and plowed through the bedroom door. “I want to see the necklace.”

  Denise glanced in Sully’s direction. When he nodded, she reached inside her case and pulled out a sealed evidence bag. Taking it, Breeana examined the chain of pink beads sliding against the plastic wrap and her fingers.

  “This isn’t mine. I’ve never seen it before, but I know it’s a rosary. I attended mass a few times with Mirand
a and Rainey at their church. But I’m not Catholic, so I’ve never had any reason to own one.”

  A nerve ticked in Sully’s jaw as his gaze locked on her. He was impossible to read, but she didn’t need psychic abilities to sense his mushrooming concern.

  The psycho had invaded her home and left her a strange parting gift. Why did he leave her a rosary when she wasn’t Catholic? And why had he tried to roast her like a wienie on a spit last night?

  The space between them closed as Sully came forward to grip her upper arms. “You’ve had company in your bedroom, Bree, whether you were aware of it or not.”

  “I swear…I don’t know who could have done this. No one has been inside the house, except for Cody and my father.”

  “That you know of,” he stressed in a tone that scared the stuffing right out of her.

  Her eyes went wide as the ugly realization dawned. She could feel the blood drain from her head. Eclipsed by a nauseating wave of dizziness, she clutched the lapels of Sully’s jacket to hold herself upright. “The music he plays when he calls me—it’s always the same hymn—something about a shepherd. He played it again last night when he attacked me at the clinic.”

  Sully’s glance cut to Denise and Pete for an instant before sliding back to her. “Did Rainey, or Miranda, ever mention receiving the same type of phone calls?”

  “They never said anything.”

  He inhaled a quick breath and she could feel the muscles tense in his hands wrapping her arms. “After I leave here, I want you to stay in the house until I get back. And lock the doors. I’ll keep the patrol car outside in the driveway. If you see, or hear anything unusual, you boot it to the door and get those officers inside with you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “I’ve got it.” She was sickened by the implications of the rosary tucked in her drawer and the killer tracking her down on both her cell and home phones. He not only watched her; he had come into her house. “But, I’m not staying inside forever, Sully. I won’t let the creep curb my actions or control my life.”

  “Bree, if this guy gets a hold of you, you won’t have a life.”

  ****

  “I’ve got the info on the rosary,” Sal mumbled to Sully between mouthfuls as he reached for another chocolate donut. Detective Clemente was a bottomless pit with a lanky frame to fill. The man never stopped eating, but he was a talented cop. Jacques Millette and Marie Matisse were also in the conference room to compare notes on the investigation. Sully poured coffee all around before taking his seat at the table.

  He spared a glance at the puke-green walls and grimy windows before flipping open his laptop and powering up. At least the electronic equipment was up to scratch in the department, if not the decor.

  “In a minute, Sal. Let’s start with the autopsy results on Miranda Greene first.”

  Marie Matisse opened the file folder in front of her and gave them the specifics. “Cause of death was difficult to determine. But, not impossible. I can tell you this; Miranda wasn’t on the lake by herself that night, not when someone wrapped their hands around her throat. The bruising pattern is significant, as well as the repeated strike marks on her face and shoulders. She was hit with a wooden object for sure. It could be a paddle because I found splinters in the wounds. The official cause of death is blunt force trauma, which nullifies the accident report of the Mallard Bay squad doing the initial investigation, Loot. No way was the lady hit by a tanker.”

  “Do we know where the canoe and other evidence are now?”

  Jacques grunted at him in obvious disgust. “The canoe was never recovered. Everything else was destroyed when the accidental death ruling came down.”

  Sully shook his head. He couldn’t help but wonder how many other crime scenes had been botched. How many other women had lost their lives to the madman with no one being the wiser? Jesus Christ. It ends here.

  He and his squad were on the case now, and he would nail the bastard if it was the last thing he did. “Marie, do you have forensic results on the evidence from the cold cases yet?”

  “No, it’s still too soon. I’m hoping for some news by late afternoon. I’ll call you.”

  “Good.” Sully zeroed in on Clemente across the table while he updated his notes in the laptop. “Sal, what did you find on the rosary left at Dr. McGill’s house?”

  The detective dropped his donut and wiped his hands on a napkin before reaching for his notebook. “No prints, Loot, but I do have some information on the rosary itself. The sterling silver chain is twenty inches long with pink glass beads. The crucifix and Madonna medal centerpiece are also sterling silver. You can buy it on the internet for about forty dollars and small change from several suppliers.” He paused to glance at Millette across the table. “Jacques, you want to take it from here?”

  Millette leaned forward, excitement flaring his expression. “Here’s where it starts to get interesting, Lieutenant. I called the suppliers Sal gave me and discovered there is only one manufacturer for the design. And Dr. McGill’s rosary is an older version of what is currently being manufactured. Fifteen years older to be exact.

  “The rosary was hand-crafted, the silver work on the chain distinctive, whereas the newer version is assembled by machine with no obvious tool marks. I have the suppliers pouring through old records now. Maybe we’ll get lucky and get a name and address for a large sale in the area.”

  “Hold it.” Sully stopped tapping the keys to focus on Millette. “You want to explain what you mean by a large sale, Jacques?”

  “I went back to Rainey Dubé’s house and guess what I found tucked in her underwear drawer?” Millette answered his own question without waiting for a response. “She had an identical rosary. Then I visited with Miranda Greene’s family and asked to see her personal effects. She was in possession of a third matching rosary. Her mother found it in Miranda’s apartment, in her lingerie drawer. The family hadn’t thought anything was unusual about it because Miranda was Roman Catholic.”

  “So, you’re thinking the killer has left an identical rosary among the personal effects of every woman he’s murdered?” Sully’s mind sifted through the profile Joelle had created on the unsub, or unknown subject.

  “The profiler I contacted believes our serial killer thinks of his victims as unclean. She also asked if he’d left any mementos with the bodies, which we now know he does. Added to that is Dr. McGill’s mystery phone caller who has a proclivity for religious music.” Sully cursed under his breath, leveled his dark gaze at everyone sitting around the conference table. “It seems we’re hunting for a sexual deviant who uses religion as his excuse to commit murder.”

  They were hunting a serial killer. The three identical rosaries confirmed it, and the public had a right to protect themselves. Sully knew this wasn’t the kind of case he could keep from the media. If he did, and the killer struck again, the mayor, the city, and the police force would be held jointly responsible.

  After some later discussion with his captain, a press conference was scheduled for early the next morning, when police mouthpieces would announce to the world there was a serial killer hunting in the Montreal area. Sully knew the scene would be wall-to-wall news vans and talking heads. The media would work themselves into a feeding-frenzy, especially if his team tied the current cases to the unsolved ones. The killer may have gotten away with murder for the past several years.

  Sully dreaded the mammoth headache the announcement would cause his task force. Newshounds would be dogging their heels from here on out, not to mention the mass hysteria and inevitable false leads which would flourish from this kind of sensationalism. Every lead would need to be checked out and followed up.

  An hour later, Sully rubbed his forearm, where the healing stitches tugged at the skin, and reached for a coffee to go along with a migraine-relief chaser. He had just hung up from a frustrating conference call with his team. Forensics had reviewed the evidence from the earlier cases but was unable to make a connection between the first three d
rowning victims and the current cases they pursued. The bodies would not be exhumed. They had been buried too long to offer significant scientific evidence.

  They did, however, hit pay dirt on the four-year-old, cold arson case. The charred remains of a pink-beaded, silver rosary had been discovered among the ashes of the victim’s home.

  It had been photographed and bagged by investigators at the scene. Forensics confirmed it was a match to the rosaries recovered from Miranda Greene, Rainey Dubé, and Breeana. Given the charring, it was impossible to fully check for fingerprints but in the few areas available, there were none to be found.

  Clemente and Millette were out pounding the pavement now; contacting the families of the unsolved drowning victims to see if those women had also possessed identical rosaries at the time of their deaths. It was a long shot, but worth a try.

  Sully needed to talk to Breeana before all hell broke loose in the media. He wanted her safely under wraps and in protective custody until they caught the creep—no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Too bad if she didn’t like it. He would set her straight if he had to. He was the one with the badge, and she would do what he said.

  He pulled in her driveway an hour later and talked to the officers stationed out front. “How’s it going?”

  “It’s real quiet, Lieutenant, but if you want Dr. McGill and her son, they aren’t here. The kid had his hockey gear with him when they drove away, so I guess they’re at the arena.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you go with them?”

  “We offered, but the lady refused,” the officer answered. “She told us to watch the house until she got back.”

  Sully clenched his teeth. Breeana had taken off with Cody and not given a thought to the maniac stalking her. The woman was a serial killer’s wet dream.

  He hit the siren and laid rubber to the sport’s complex. She was in the stands watching the on-ice action by the time he caught up with her. He settled in the seat next to hers and handed her a coffee.

  “Bree, I’d like to drop-kick you from here to the arena floor. What are you doing here without a police escort? And what part of ‘stay in the house until I get back’ didn’t you understand?”