He slammed the folder shut and stared at twelve more just like it. All young girls approaching their teens. All taken from small towns within a small radius of Rebel in the middle of the night and found disfigured on deserted roadsides in shallow graves, rope burns on their arms and legs and crushed in heads.
He pushed his fingers through his hair. His thoughts grimly wandered to the dark place where he kept Sadie hidden, then surprisingly to Lacy.
He cursed under his breath. He’d held Lacy tight and listened to her breath until sleep took him over last night. Then Bishop’s call came through.
No note. No sign she’d ever been there except his shirt and one pair of boxers folded neatly on his nightstand. Somehow, that one detail irked him the most. She’d taken the time to fold his clothes. The only thought that managed to snuff out the anger was the image of Lacy curled up in her own bed still wearing his boxers and reliving last night in her dreams.
He’d always been the one to sneak his arm out from under a slumbering fling and exit stage left with an empty promise to call.
Lacy hadn’t even felt the need for the guilt-induced promise.
He’d never been on the receiving end of the dismissive treatment. It left him hollow.
Maybe he shouldn’t have made her beg. Dominant personalities didn’t like to give up control. Maybe he’d been too forceful with her. Come on too strong for strangers.
The thought made his guts twist tighter. She’d been so unyielding. So challenging. He’d let her get under his skin in a way he didn’t normally let women get to him. The more she held him off, the deeper he wanted to sink into her.
In their last moments together, with her wrapped in his protection and the gentle sounds of her breathing in his ear, he could have easily lost himself. He could have forgotten about the sick son of a bitch hunting young girls like wild game for sport near Rebel. But he had to stay focused. Lacy could be next, just as easily as any other young, attractive woman wondering the streets alone in the dark.
The thought unnerved him, the only reason he risked exposing himself to the chief by asking the secretary for access to the older case files.
“Kilpatrick.” Deluna stood over his desk, coffee in hand, sarcastic grin glowing over the rim. “You didn’t waste time pissing off the old man, did you?”
“I’m not in the mood.” Mitch scowled at the young officer, not sure if the comment was directed at his night at the bar and later Lacy, or the pile of files scattered across the borrowed desk.
Deluna barked a dry laugh. “Well, you better get in the mood. The chief’s looking for you, and I don’t think it’s for a personal invite to the shin-dig at his house tonight.” Deluna nodded to the wooden door set into a wall beyond a row of desks. His gaze slid back to Mitch. “If I’d known you didn’t have jurisdiction in Rebel—”
“You were too drunk to know the difference. You would have run your trap even if I’d told you I was Richard Wray, live and in person.” That comment seemed to shut the rookie up.
“Either way, the chief’s hot, and I’d place bets it has more to do with the case than his daughter doing the walk of shame with a massive case of beard burn up her neck.” He sipped his coffee. “Small town. People talk. New guys tend to get the works from the gossip mill.”
“They can all go to hell,” Mitch bit out. “A girl’s dead, and the most important news in town is the chief’s daughter’s extracurricular activities?”
“That and the chief’s birthday party for his son. He’s invited the town. The whole town, which, at the moment, includes you.” Deluna winked.
Mitch rolled his eyes up from the files. “If you have a point, I suggest you make it.”
“Maybe I was wrong about you. I got the feeling last night you were fishing for information about the Wray cases. An invite to a party with the whole town drunk off their asses by nightfall would be easy pickings for Intel. I guess I pegged your motives wrong.”
Deluna sauntered off, the look of amusement on his face giving away the fact he’d spent time on the wrong side of the chief and was more than willing to let someone else handle this shit-storm.
But the party comment hadn’t gone unnoticed. For his age and lack of experience, Deluna had a level head on his shoulders.
Mitch groaned and stood. He walked across the open room of desks in perfect lines, knocked on the door and opened it without waiting for a response. “Chief.”
“Sit,” the older man instructed from behind an open case file. His graying hair and sunbaked skin made him look far older than the fifty-five years his police profile confessed, but Mitch recognized him right off.
He’d never forget the face of the man who’d sat with him in the department lobby thirteen years ago while his aunt and uncle heard the gory detail of their daughter’s final moments.
Andrews had been a detective then. His face had held the warmth of a caring man. His voice a comfort to a scared boy. He’d repeated everything was going to be okay so many times, Mitch had almost believed him.
The cold man staring him down now as if he couldn’t decided to shot him or kick him the hell out of his town wasn’t the same man.
Andrews surveyed Mitch for several long seconds, trying to place his face, but didn’t find enough of the boy he’d known to remember the connection they’d once shared.
Not that Mitch could blame him. After his father split, he’d taken on his mother’s name, and the innocent boy Andrews comforted during the horrible hours following Sadie’s death ceased to exist.
“So, you’re the ass-wipe detective horning in on my murder investigations.” His stare bore bullet holes in Mitch’s face.
“Investigation.” Mitch eased into the hard, wooden chair and stretched his legs out, sending Andrews an unmistakable air of confidence. “As in one. A young girl by the name of Shannon Corbin.”
The chief shook his head and removed his glasses. His dark eyes watered in anger, and his cheeks puffed. “Don’t presume to tell me my business, son. I went to school with that girl’s father. I was there when they dragged her body from her shallow grave.”
“I don’t doubt that.” Mitch put his hands on the chair rails and leaned forward. “But maybe your closeness to the case blinded you to the facts.”
Andrews slid his glasses back in place. His mouth bowed in a frown. “Son. I think you’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”
Faking out his competition had become second nature by the time Bishop had gotten ahold of him in basic training. “I know exactly who I’m talking to, Sir. A chief with an unsolved murder on his hands who isn’t asking the right questions. Is the killer Wray? Why go dormant for thirteen years? Why change the MO from young girls to women? Why get sloppy after years in hiding? Wray didn’t kill this girl or the one you found two weeks ago.”
“Slow down, Detective. Let’s not start throwing around assumptions we can’t back up.” Red washed over the chief’s face.
Mitch smoothed a hand over his cleanly shaven cheek. It’d be so easy to pull the ace in the hole, the length of rope that had been overlooked at the crime scene, from his front pocket and demand the chief order forensics to take a look. The same length of rope that would cost him his job if he sent it to Nashville to investigate. “Back up, I can’t. Not now anyway, but it’s not an assumption. You’re looking for the wrong killer.”
“You better have a damn solid reason to suggest negligence on the part of my department.”
Mitch stood and shoved his hands in his pockets. He rubbed the smooth plastic evidence bag containing the length of rope from the scene. “Call it a gut instinct.”
The chief’s voice turned to gravel. “We don’t deal in gut instinct here, boy. You’d better remember that if you want to keep that shiny detective badge.”
“Then Nashville will just send another pain in the ass to investigate. The next one might not be so willing to let threats slide.”
“Since when is Nashville interested in what happens in Rebel Rapid
s?”
“Since the uncle of one of your victims is running for city council. Seems he doesn’t care for the accusations his darling niece was mixed in with the wrong crowd and ended up dead. A serial killer makes for a much more compelling story during an election year, don’t you think, Chief?”
“So, money talks.” Andrews leaned back in his chair, making the leather crackle under his considerable weight. “They sure didn’t give a damn thirteen years ago when thirteen young girls went missing and ended up mutilated from scalp to toe.”
Anger, red hot and liquefied, pulsed through Mitch’s body at the casual mention of Sadie’s murder. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted the tang of blood. Then he bit even harder to hide the pain. “I wouldn’t know anything about that, Sir.”
Andrews rocked forward. “Then what the hell are you doing in Rebel, Detective? Why’d they send a snot-nosed rook like you?”
Frustration ate at his insides, but Mitch managed to keep his temper under control. “We can shoot the shit all day long. Hell, we can even step outside and see who can piss the straightest line, but the fact remains. A young woman is dead, and the murder happened on your watch. You can help me investigate and put the bastard away before anyone else dies, or you can get in my way and have Nashville riding your back. You choose.”
Chief Andrews stiffened in his chair, no doubt deciding how to take Mitch’s threat.
“Deluna and Helms will see you have what you need while you’re here, but I’m warning you. A step, a fucking toe over the line, and I’ll haul your ass back to Nashville myself.”
Good. Compliance. He’d bought into Mitch’s warning without argument.
“Yeah.”
“Anything else I can do for you?”
Mitch pulled his phone from his back pocket and scrolled past the pictures he’d taken that morning at the crime scene to a shot of Stetson he’d snapped at the bar the night before. “Know this kid?”
“Charlie’s nephew. Parents just split. He’s here for the summer while they take care of the divorce. He was in diapers when the first murders started.”
Mitch weighed his answer. There was also the slightest chance the two murders weren’t from the same killer. People liked to copy. Take advantage of an already established kill pattern thinking it would cover their tracks.
Small towns and accusations could get very tricky. “He doesn’t seem skilled enough to pull off this clean a murder, but I’m watching him.” And if he showed up at Charlie’s during one of Lacy’s shifts again, he’d make damn sure the kid knew just how closely he was watching.
Besides, the recent murder happened around the time the kid arrived. Whoever killed her would have avoided the obvious scenario.
“Good,” Andrews answered. “If you start accusing every teenager in town, I’ll have a mob of parents on my hands.” He sat his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “These are good people, Detective. They’re scared, and they’re willing to believe whatever rumors surface about the murders. I’m not going to let you turn my town into tabloid fodder or create panic. Remember, Detective, you’re just as much an outsider here as that kid. Start a panic and eyes will be turning to you, if they haven’t already.”
“I don’t plan to.” But he’d heed the warning just the same. Small towns had a way of creating their own truths. If anything, he’d hoped to stay as low profile as possible and as under the Nashville radar as Chief Andrews had managed to hide.
“Anything else, ask Deluna or Helms. They’re young, but they’re good officers. Helms’s father and I went way back.” Some unwanted emotion flickered in the chief’s eyes before he blinked it away and went on. “Whatever you need. I don’t want Nashville breathing down my neck about not being compliant.”
Andrews cleared his throat and tossed a glance to a silver frame on his desk. “If that is all. You may go.”
Mitch grabbed the door handle, but stopped short of leaving when the chief loosened his tie and shook his head. “Something else you wanted to say, Sir?”
“My boys were right about you.” Andrews stood and circled his desk, landing a hip on the corner. “You read between the lines. Some sadistic bastard has my town on lockdown and some still wet behind the ear detective thinks he can do a better job of catching the killer than I can. Then I get all this nonsense from Nashville about archived files going missing from their department and internal investigations of my men. I want this shit brought to justice before another one of our girls goes missing and one of my officers takes the blame.”
Mitch watched the chief’s eyes glance back to the silver frame. He didn’t need three guesses to figure out who was in the picture.
“Loud and clear, Sir. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Andrews picked up the frame and held it out for Mitch. Lacy, clothed in a pale blue dress and white sweater minus the tattoos and pink hair, looking more the church going good Samaritan than the hellcat bartender from last night, looped her arms around her father’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“My daughter and I don’t get along as well as we used to. Her mom cut out several years back, and her brother and I did our best to raise her. She’s tough. She thinks she can take on the world without consequences.”
Mitch groaned in agreement with the accurate appraisal.
“Lacy lost respect for my opinion long ago. The only voice she listens to is the one in her head.”
Another accurate assessment.
“Maybe I was wrong to keep such a tight fist on her, but being my only girl, I had no other choice.” The chief took a sharp breath, pushing some protected sentiment down. “But that doesn’t stop me from being an overbearing father.” His eyes narrowed on Mitch. “You’re trouble, kid. Nothing about you is good for my daughter, and I don’t want to see her hurt again. Stay the hell away. That’s an order.”
Mitch’s back straightened. “Lacy’s a grown woman. She can make up her own mind about who she spends her time with.”
“Helms clued me in about last night.” His gaze cut hard to Mitch, brooking no arguments about his next statement. “Give my daughter a wide berth, Detective. She’s been through enough heartbreak. She doesn’t need an off-the-rails detective fucking with her head.”
Mitch pulled on his jaw. It wasn’t the first time he’d been read the riot act from an overprotective father, but back then his dates had been in their teens and living under daddy’s protective roof. Not mid-twenties, single, and hotter than sin. “Just to be clear, you’re asking me to stay away from your daughter? Your adult daughter?”
Chief Andrews gave a husky laugh in reply. “Lacy hates law enforcement about as much as she hates her old man.” He shook his head. “I’ve had three guys tail her from that seventh-circle-of-hell bar she insists on working in. She’s lost them all. I doubt you’ll last long.”
“Again. That’s for your daughter to decide.”
“And once this case breaks, you’ll be back to the big city, and she’ll be here, alone. That’s for you to decide, Detective.”
Mitch stifled his own laugh. “And if I say no to staying away?”
“There aren’t enough dead nieces of would-be politicians in hell to keep me from coming after you.” He ground the words out through an emotionless expression that challenged Mitch more than the threat.
“I’ll keep that in mind, Sir.” Mitch grabbed the door handle and let himself out. If hunting a killer wasn’t enough of a challenge, now he had to watch his back as well. Damn small towns.
***
Lacy shimmied into the only dress she owned with a collar high enough to cover the marks Mitch left along her neck and dabbed citrus scented lotion on her arms and legs.
Playing the part of doting daughter and sister to the audience of politicians and town supports turned her stomach, but her brother, John, only turned thirty once, and she planned to make his birthday a night worthy of remembering.
The lotion soaked into her skin and burned the gash she’d shaved
into her left ankle. She shook her head, embarrassed about where her mind had wondered in the shower. Imaging Mitch with her, his hands roaming her body, his breath on her neck. Dirty, exciting, explicit words flowing from his lips as he took her to the edge the way no man’s voice ever had.
Lost in the memory of last night, her hands had followed the path his lips had burned into her skin, across her neck and down into the dip between her breasts. Her breathing quickened and heat bloomed in her cheeks.
And the stupid fool that she was, he’d no sooner revved the engine of his Indian after the late night phone call then she’d called Connie to meet her on the main road. It was only after she’d divulged every detail of their heated night of passion that she realized in her rush to leave, she’d left behind something very important. Her favorite thong and a healthy slice of her dignity.
Too afraid to admit going home with him was a mistake, she’d bailed. Just like her mother. Without a word.
Her reflection pinkened in her bedroom mirror. All the bronzer in the world couldn’t keep her face from blushing all night while her mind involuntarily went back to that frustrating man, or hide the tiny bruises dotting her neck up to her ear lobes.
At least being the police chief’s only daughter had one great perk to go along with the several hassles. LEOs mostly kept their distance. And if that didn’t keep them at bay, her inability to commit sent them packing.
Satisfied she’d done what she could with the blushing and the bite marks, she breezed through the modern kitchen her father and brother had spent the last year updating. White ceramic platters dotted with bite sized chicken sliders and stuffed mushrooms covered one side of the counter, and an assortment of alcohol lined the other.
In a year, she and Connie’s place would look similar. Rebel’s first upscale wine bar. The food a small sample of the dishes they already had on their select menu, and tonight was the perfect chance to drum up interest with a sampling of their soon to be fare. She’d focus on that for the night and push Mitch Kilpatrick and his scathing tongue from her mind.
Confess (The Blue Line Series Book 1) Page 6
