Dying to Kill (Angel Delaney Mysteries Book #2)

by Patricia H. Rushford

  TWENTY-SIX

  Detective Riley.” Janet said his name as if it were the answer to all her problems. “We can show these to Callen. He’ll know what to do.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’d rather not involve him.”

  Janet frowned. “What happened? I thought you and he . . .”

  “I think he may have an anger problem. And the way he yelled at me tonight . . . I don’t know.”

  “Did he hit you?”

  “No.” Angel didn’t want to talk about Callen. She wasn’t ready to deal with her feelings. Yet suddenly she found herself telling Janet about the argument they’d had.

  Janet frowned and seemed to be having difficulty accepting the concept. “Callen Riley? Abusive?”

  “I don’t know for certain that he is.”

  “I’d never have pegged him as the abusive sort, and I should know. I’m a pretty good judge of character these days.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yes, he interviewed me regarding the Jim Kelsey case. He was very kind. I suppose I could be wrong, but I don’t think so.”

  Angel felt as if she were gossiping about a good friend—as though she were betraying him. “I didn’t realize you knew him. I shouldn’t have said anything.” She remembered his kindness in the interview room shortly after she’d first met him. He’d listened intently, been protective. And after she’d been attacked after Billy Dean’s funeral . . . Protective. Maybe that’s what it is.

  His anger had been because of the way she’d endangered herself. Those were the only times she’d seen him angry—at least with her. But how healthy was that? Angel needed to rethink things. Callen had been upset when she’d told him about Darryl. He didn’t want to see her in a job in which she could be hurt. But what did he think being a police officer was all about?

  She had gotten angry with him as well. In fact, she was the one who’d run away from their conversation, acting like an adolescent instead of a responsible adult. She should have stayed and talked the issue through.

  “Please don’t say anything to anyone.” Angel focused back on Janet. “I mean, I’ve only seen him angry a couple of times. I may be overreacting.”

  “Of course not. You know what you tell me is confidential. And I hope you’ll keep what I’ve told you confidential as well. I will talk to Rachael and see where things lead. Hopefully I won’t have to leave town over it.”

  “I doubt you will.”

  “If you have the slightest doubt about Callen, give it time.” Janet took a deep breath and moved to the kitchen. “Wait until you’re sure one way or the other before you commit to anything. I married after only three months, and look where it got me.”

  “You may be right. I need to talk to him. I owe him an apology anyway.” And you need to talk to him about your father.

  “Let me know how things go.” Janet walked Angel to the door. She frowned. “I should have said something earlier. I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” Angel nodded. “Looks like I’ll never get to talk with him—find out what he really thought about me.”

  Janet bit into her lower lip. “Sometimes it helps to write a letter or go to the grave. Talk to him and think about what he might say. You might be surprised at the answers that come to you.”

  Angel doubted it would help but thought it might be worth a try. “Thank you.” She ducked out, closing the door behind her.

  As she got into her car, she thought about the emails again. Dragonslayer had threatened to keep her out of the way. I don’t want to hurt her, but . . . She’d been threatened before, but as frightening as that was, she needed to keep her wits about her. She’d have to be more aware of her surroundings and try not to be alone too much—like she was right now.

  Angel drove fear from her mind with a prayer of protection, then forced her thoughts back to Janet. Angel now saw the competent counselor in a different light. Janet had counseled both of the abused women whose husbands were now dead. She had been abused herself. Could her rage run so deep that she would kill abusive husbands to save their wives from further pain? Janet had claimed that she’d received the emails, but what if she had written them and sent them to herself to confuse the authorities? It had certainly confused Angel.

  Angel had to admit the idea made no sense at all. Why would Janet use her own name?

  Then again, the therapist could have a multiple personality. Angel had only a superficial knowledge of psychiatry, but she wondered if Janet had suffered severe enough abuse to send her over the edge. Psychopaths often played mind games with the police and others, sometimes wanting to get caught, sometimes setting traps. But Janet couldn’t have written the last two as they had come in while Angel was there with her. Unless Janet had found a way to time their arrival or had a partner.

  Of course, the emails could be bogus—an attempt to get Candace and Michelle off the hook. The mysterious Dragonslayer could be nothing more than a farce. Still, she had to go to someone in authority. She was too upset with Nick to take the information to him. As much as she hated to admit it, Janet was right. Callen seemed the obvious choice.

  Angel got home at 11:30. Her answering machine was blinking, and when she pressed play, it said she had three new calls, all from Callen issuing an apology and urging her to call him back. She picked up the phone and punched in his number, then almost hung up before it could ring. It was late and he’d probably be in bed. But Angel needed to talk to him, more for her own peace of mind than because of the emails.

  Callen picked up on the first ring. His first inclination was to ask Angel where the heck she’d been for the last four hours. He held back, realizing he’d been way out of line in telling her to quit her job. He would be even more out of line grilling her about her whereabouts. Especially now that he knew about her father. No wonder she’d been so upset.

  “I’m glad you called,” he said in as calm a voice as he could muster.

  “I wanted to apologize for flying off the handle,” she said. “I should’ve stayed and talked to you about how I felt.”

  “It was my fault. I knew talking to you about Nick’s issues was wrong. And then I had to add my two cents. Angel, please forgive me.” The only excuse he had for his behavior was that he cared far more than he was willing to admit. He wanted to keep her safe. He’d felt that way since he’d first met her. Angel was anything but vulnerable. He hadn’t liked her working as a cop and liked her working as a detective even less. He’d handled the whole situation with Nick in the worst possible way.

  “You lost your temper. You hit your car,” Angel said.

  “I know. I let my frustration get the best of me.” After a long pause he said, “Angel, Tim told me about your dad. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  He heard the distress in her voice and wished he could be there to hold her.

  Silence again. “I need to talk to you about something,” she finally said. “I should probably call Nick, but I’m not sure I trust him to handle it right now. I wanted you to see it first.”

  It was Callen’s turn to hesitate. The call was about the Jenkins’s murder investigation, not their relationship. No matter. He’d take what he could get. He thanked God she was still talking to him. He had a lot of damage to repair. He only hoped it was repairable.

  “Do you want me to come over?” He was still in his jeans and T-shirt. He’d gotten as far as taking off his shoes and sweatshirt but hadn’t wanted to give up hope.

  “Please.”

  Callen tapped on her door at 11:45. It was all Angel could do not to throw herself at him, hold him, and smother him with kisses. He looked rugged and weary, and Angel wanted to soothe away the worry lines on his forehead and tell him everything was going to work out.

  Is love so blind it makes you stupid? Their argument and his reaction had caused a rift between them, and she was not about to close it without some degree of analysis.

  She let him in and handed him
a cup of coffee, then poured one for herself.

  “I’m sorry for getting you out this late. I probably should’ve waited till morning.”

  “I’m glad you called. What can I help you with?” He took his coffee and eased onto the sofa.

  My heart. Tell me you would never hurt me. Tell me you don’t have an abusive bone in your body. Tell me everything will be all right.

  Angel set her cup on the counter and picked up the email letters she’d brought from Janet’s. “You know Janet Campbell?”

  “We’ve met.”

  “Well, she called me tonight and asked me to come over. She’d gotten some disturbing emails.” Angel handed them to Callen and watched his face grow pale as he read them. He looked up at her with an expression she couldn’t read, then picked up his coffee and took a sip. She wasn’t certain what to expect—and didn’t know what to say next.

  “You need to give these to the Sunset Cove PD,” Callen told her.

  “I know. I wanted you to see them because . . . I guess because I wanted you to know I was right. It’s very possible that someone other than Candace killed Phillip Jenkins and Jim Kelsey and may kill again.”

  She told him why Janet had called her—that the therapist’s name had been at the source of the emails. “I don’t think she wrote them. She got two more messages just before I left, and I know she didn’t type them while I was there. Even if she had, there’s no reason I can think of that she’d send them from her own account. The last thing she needs is that kind of attention.”

  “Where are those last two messages?”

  “I didn’t get a printout. One said he’d picked another victim. The other was a threat.” She swallowed hard before finishing. “Against me.”

  Callen closed his eyes for a moment, his lips clamped shut. When he opened them again, he went to her and without a word wrapped her in his arms and held her. Angel stiffened at first, then melted against him, tears tumbling down her cheeks and onto his shirt. The fear that had ridden her all the way from Janet’s broke over her. She cried for herself and for her father and mother.

  She clung to him, not wanting to let go. Being with him felt right and safe. As the tears subsided, the comfortable feeling passed. She moved back. “I’m sorry.”

  “There’s no need to be.” He used his knuckle to sweep away the last of her tears. He led her to the sofa. When she sat down, he lowered himself beside her and settled his arm around her shoulder and tucked her into him.

  She let her head rest on his shoulder.

  “You’re on to something, Angel,” he finally said.

  “What?” She lifted her head to look into his eyes.

  “This investigation. Looks like you were right all along about Jenkins’s wife. Nick may not have been as thorough as he should have been. I’m not saying I think it’s a good idea for you to put yourself in danger.” He guided her head back to his shoulder and kissed her forehead. “But you’ve gotten too close for someone’s comfort.”

  “And you want me to back off?” Angel’s fists tightened at the implication.

  He rubbed his chin. “I’d be lying if I said no. I want you safe, but I know better than to redirect you.” He smiled. “At least I hope I’ve learned that much. I’ll go in tomorrow and talk to Joe and Nick. Do you mind if I take these with me?”

  “No. I thought you might.” Angel sighed. “I don’t think it will do much good.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “They’ll think someone wrote the notes to get them off track. I wouldn’t be surprised if they accuse Janet of writing them—just like she was afraid they would.”

  “But you said she couldn’t have written the last two.”

  “My say-so, which doesn’t account for much these days.”

  “I believe you.” And his eyes told her he did.

  “They’ll check into Janet’s background and find out she was abused too.”

  “Oh?”

  “I can’t tell you the details. All I can say is that it won’t look good for her. You’ll probably hear about it soon. She’s going to see Rachael tomorrow.” Angel glanced at her watch. “Today.”

  “Sounds ominous.” Callen laced her fingers in his. “You seem to be sending a lot of business Rachael’s way.”

  “There may be more.”

  “Tell me about your other suspects. Whose cages have you rattled?”

  Angel went through the list—Darryl Jenkins, Barry Fitzgibbon, Becky Reed, and the women at the shelter.

  When she’d finished Callen removed his arm from her shoulder and rubbed his chin. “You’ve been busy. Are you sure you don’t want to get back on at the PD? Maybe with the idea of becoming detective? At least there you’d have someone watching your back.”

  Angel pursed her lips. “I have my cell phone. If there’s a problem, I can call for help.”

  Callen frowned. “Sounds as though you’ve stirred up several hornets’ nests. Does any one of them stick out for you? Can you put a face to those notes?”

  Angel shook her head and pushed herself off the couch. “I’ve been trying to. I can’t even tell if it’s a man or a woman.”

  Callen read through them again. “A woman,” he said. “There’s a vindictiveness there—a hatred for men, and I don’t think it’s just abusive men.”

  “Janet thought they sounded more male oriented because of the way the men were killed.” Angel shuddered as she thought again about the language used in the messages. “If the letters are genuine and came from the killer, this person sees it as their job to destroy men like Kelsey and Jenkins. He—or she—sees them as animals who deserve to die.”

  He deserves to die. Gracie had used those exact words that first night after her stepfather’s death. Angel hadn’t mentioned Gracie in her list of possible suspects. She didn’t want the girl exposed. Maybe that was a mistake.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Saturday morning brought sunshine and far too many questions. Angel’s weary mind swept to the night before and the time she’d spent with Callen. He’d listened to her—taken her seriously. Though she suspected he wanted to, he hadn’t even told her to be careful. Concern for her had shone in his eyes and in his demeanor. He hadn’t wanted to leave her alone and had made certain she’d bolted the door when he left.

  He hadn’t kissed her good night when he left either, except for the brotherly peck on her cheek. He hadn’t wanted to upset her, nor she him. He’d said very little after she told him about the evidence she’d turned up, other than to say he’d talk to the local police, which translated to Nick and Joe. It hadn’t taken him long to notify the local authorities regarding the threat she’d received. Before going to bed, she’d taken a look outside and had seen a police car drive into the parking lot, linger for about ten minutes, and leave.

  Angel had half expected Callen to tell her he’d take over the case, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t unless Joe asked for his help, and even then he would probably only come in as a consultant. She seemed to remember the OSP detectives being assigned one case at a time. Besides, Callen was too wrapped up in the investigation surrounding the murdered teenager.

  Admittedly, she was a bit nervous about the fallout from Callen’s talk with Joe Brady and Nick Caldwell. Would Nick be even more upset with her than he already was? To his way of thinking, Angel had been a nuisance; now she’d be stabbing him in the back. Callen didn’t seem to think there would be a problem. He suspected most of the lack of thoroughness came from having what they saw as adequate evidence and a confession.

  The entire day went by in a blur as Angel stayed at the house with her mother and brothers, talking, making arrangements, and answering phone calls from well-wishers. Nick came by around 3:00 to offer consolation to his second family. He’d hugged her and Anna and then spent the next hour with Peter, Paul, and Tim. He’d said nothing about the Jenkins case or Callen or the letters, and Angel wondered if Callen had talked with him.

  Angel didn’t ask, nor would she—not today at any
rate. She was exhausted, and her eyes felt as if they were full of sand—probably from all the crying. She was hardly able to talk to anyone without tearing up. She finally went home at 10:00 and fell into bed, sleep hitting at about the same time her head hit the pillow.

  The morning sun woke her at 7:00, and she dragged herself out of bed, snatched the Sunday paper off the porch, and made coffee. Normal Sunday morning events on a not-so-normal Sunday. Frank Delaney had been gone for three days, and Angel still could not absorb the reality of it. All her tears from the day before left her eyes feeling gritty and unfocused.

  She thought briefly about the threatening note from Dragonslayer. Maybe he or she didn’t see her as a threat at the moment. Maybe he was biding his time.

  You can’t afford to be paranoid about it, she told herself. There’s a good chance it was just a warning to stay away. Angel didn’t much like to listen to warnings. She took the threat seriously but wouldn’t allow it to stand in her way. She’d just have to watch her back.

  After a cursory glance at the paper and a cup of coffee, Angel showered and got ready for church. Angel planned to spend most of the day with her mother and the rest of the family. Church at St. Matthew’s started at 10:00. Angel entered the sanctuary at 9:59 and walked up to the second row from the front, easing into the space between Callen and her mother.

  Callen’s tentative smile warmed her and disturbed her at the same time. He looked so right sitting there as though he were already part of the family. Her mother had no doubt talked to him before the service, asking him to sit with them.

  How awkward things would be if she and Callen split up. It would be hard on Anna, maybe on the entire family. Funny how family, her family, anyway, merged a boyfriend or girlfriend into the fold so quickly. Rachael and Paul sat at the other end of the pew. Next to Rachael sat Tim’s daughter Heidi and Susan, Tim’s wife. Then Peter and Abby, Tim’s second daughter. When Abby saw Angel, she made her way over laps until she found Angel’s.

  The organ music started, and they all stood to sing the first hymn. The bulletin held news of Frank Delaney’s death and the funeral. There would be a luncheon served by the women’s group after the funeral, which would be held after the service.