by Lisa Childs
“A wedding veil?” the guard asked.
She nodded. Then she waited until Jared looked at her. When his gaze was on hers, she told him what she really thought. “It’s Lexi’s veil.”
Chapter Sixteen
Other women had been murdered. The veil could have belonged to one of them. Lexi’s wasn’t the only veil that hadn’t been found. But not all of the women had intended to wear them with their gowns.
Would Becca?
Jared didn’t want their fake wedding to get that far, though—far enough that she was fitted for her gown. He needed to catch the killer first. But the next suspect he wanted to interview was proving difficult.
“I need you to come into the Chicago Bureau,” Jared told the man over the phone. He was at the Bureau now—restlessly prowling his office as he waited for the lab to get back to him about that veil.
“I don’t understand why you need to speak to me, Agent Bell,” George Droski replied.
“It’s about Lexi Drummond.”
A soft sigh rattled the phone. “I haven’t thought about Lexi in years...”
That didn’t make him sound as obsessed as Harris Mowery had claimed he was.
“Not even when you’ve seen the news about other women being murdered just like she was?” Jared asked. It would only be natural to think about her then.
A heavier sigh rattled the phone. “I guess I’ve thought about her then.”
“Another woman was just murdered.”
“I saw that on the news,” George admitted.
But was that the only way he’d learned about it? Or had he killed Amy like he’d killed all the others?
“Had you ever met her before?”
After a hesitation, George asked, “Who?”
“Amy Wilcox.”
Another hesitation and then he said, “How would I have ever met her?”
“She was a friend of Lexi’s.” Or so Becca thought.
“That was a long time ago,” George said. “A lot has happened since I saw Lexi last. I got married. I have two daughters. I really don’t remember much about back then. I think my coming in to the Bureau would just be a waste of your time, Agent Bell.”
Jared silently agreed, and he realized why Harris Mowery had mentioned George as a suspect. He’d wanted Jared to waste his time on a dead-end lead instead of pursuing a real suspect: him.
“I’d still like to talk to you,” Jared persisted. He needed to meet the man in person to assess if George Droski could fit the profile he’d done of the Butcher. “If you won’t come in, I’ll come out to meet you.”
There was another hesitation. Or maybe the man’s cell phone just had poor reception. Then George replied, “I’m sure I can get to your office soon. I’ll check my schedule and call you back.”
Since Jared didn’t have any evidence to link Droski to any of the murders, he couldn’t justify having him picked up for questioning.
“I will expect a call and a meeting soon,” Jared warned him. Because if the man tried to avoid meeting with him, then maybe he had something to hide. He clicked off the phone as his office door rattled with a knock.
He glanced up, hoping the lab tech had brought the results from the veil. But it wasn’t a tech. He opened the door and greeted the man, “Mr. Kotlarz...”
Amy Wilcox’s fiancé looked as if he hadn’t slept since she’d first disappeared. A twinge of guilt struck Jared for thinking that the man had cared more about the engagement ring he’d given his fiancée than he’d actually cared about his fiancée.
“Agent Bell,” the man’s tone was sharp with anger and disapproval. “I’m surprised to find you here. Thought you were too busy getting engaged to work Amy’s case.”
He’d obviously seen Kyle Smith’s news broadcasts.
“I am still very much working the case,” Jared assured him.
“Do you have any new leads?”
Another person, a lower-level agent, stepped into Jared’s office with an envelope. “The lab results, Agent Bell,” the young woman told him. “I know you were waiting for these.”
“Thank you,” Jared said.
She smiled and turned to leave. And Troy Kotlarz watched her walk away. Maybe he didn’t look so tired because he’d been grieving.
Jared tore open the envelope.
“Are those lab results from Amy’s crime scene?” Troy asked. “Did it take all this time to get them back?”
“No,” Jared said. “We got those back already.”
“And you didn’t call me?”
“There was nothing to report,” Jared said. “Nothing to lead us to Amy’s killer.”
“And what about the ring?” Troy asked.
Jared should have counted how many minutes it had taken the man to ask about his family heirloom. Maybe it was all he cared about, and he’d only asked the other questions so he didn’t appear callous.
Jared shook his head. “I’m sorry. It hasn’t turned up yet.”
Unable to wait until the man left, he pulled the lab results out of the envelope he’d already opened. The report confirmed that the stain on the veil was blood. Lexi Drummond’s blood.
Becca had been right.
“Have you been checking pawnshops?” Troy asked.
“No,” Jared said. “We’re looking for a killer—not a thief.”
“But if he pawned the ring, it could help you find him,” Troy suggested.
Jared nearly laughed. Kotlarz was totally unaware of his profile of the Butcher. “He wouldn’t pawn the ring.”
The color drained from the brawny man’s face. “What are you saying? That he’s keeping it? It’s some kind of sick souvenir for him?”
Jared nodded.
Serial killers often kept souvenirs, mementoes to remind them and help them relive their kills. The Bride Butcher had always kept something related to the wedding. Veils. Shoes. In Lexi’s case, her veil and her body.
“So I’ll never get the ring back then,” Troy said, his broad shoulders slumping with dejection.
Had he already had someone else picked out to give it to?
Before Jared could ask, the man walked out. Jared didn’t expect to see him again—now that he’d given up hope of finding his grandmother’s ring.
The chief passed him on his way out and gave him a curious glance. “Amy Wilcox’s fiancé?”
Jared nodded.
“Was he putting pressure on you to find her killer?”
“That wasn’t his primary concern,” Jared replied.
“Agent Munson said you had the lab results.”
Jared handed them over.
The chief rubbed a hand over his chin. “This should make you feel better about your engagement.”
“Better?” The bloodied veil was a message to Becca—that she would wind up like her sister if she tried to get married. “This proves how dangerous this is. We need to call off the engagement.” His next call would be to Kyle Smith—to give him an exclusive on his broken engagement.
Lynch slapped the report down onto Jared’s desk. “You were just given new evidence on a six-year-old case. This is the most progress you’ve made in a while.”
“Progress?” he scoffed. “This does nothing to lead us to the killer.”
“You don’t have to chase the killer anymore,” Lynch said. “You have him coming to you now.”
Jared shook his head. “Not to me—to Becca.”
“We will keep her safe,” the chief vowed. “Rebecca Drummond is the key to you finally catching the killer.”
He wanted to catch the killer, but not if it meant losing Becca.
* * *
REBECCA SQUINTED AGAINST the lights as she stepped out of the doors of Alex’s school. Agent Campbell held tightly to her arm; whenever they were out now, he kept close to her side. He blinked against the flashing bulbs of the cameras.
The press had ambushed them—the same way they had ambushed Jared at her house that first time she’d seen him in six years. And like the
n, Kyle Smith led them like the alpha leading a pack of wild dogs.
He thrust a microphone into her face. “Ms. Drummond, do you really expect us to believe your engagement is real?”
Blaine tugged Rebecca away from the reporter. But Kyle followed, keeping the mike in her face. “Back off,” Agent Campbell warned him.
“It’s okay,” Rebecca told her protector. She wanted to talk to the reporter. “I want to answer his questions.”
“Of course,” Kyle said. “Because you want to use me and the rest of the media in order for you and Special Agent Jared Bell to set your trap for the Butcher.”
She blinked as if stunned by his accusation even as her heart pounded frantically with fear that the plan had been blown. It would never work now. She drew in a breath to steady herself and replied with a question of her own, “Do you think that the FBI would use a civilian to bait a killer?”
She had him stunned because he shot no question back at her.
“They would never risk my safety,” she said.
“But Special Agent Bell would,” Smith replied with his usual animosity for Jared.
“He would risk the life of the mother of his child?” she asked. “You don’t know Jared at all.”
“By putting a ring on your finger, he’s risking your life,” Smith argued.
But Rebecca wore no ring. Fortunately, she’d pulled on her gloves before she’d stepped outside, so Kyle couldn’t know her hand was bare—unless he looked closely. She slid her hands into her pockets.
“I will be safe,” she said and hoped like hell that she spoke the truth. “I wouldn’t have accepted Jared’s proposal if I didn’t believe he could keep me safe.”
Except that Jared had never proposed and probably never would even if she survived their fake engagement.
The reporter smirked. “Come on, Ms. Drummond. I think you would do anything to catch your sister’s killer.”
Maybe the man knew her better than she’d realized.
“I leave catching criminals to my fiancé,” she replied. “I’m too busy planning my wedding to the man I love.”
“You love him?” the reporter scoffed.
She nodded. “We’ve been apart for too long. You know we share a son. And we don’t want to wait a minute longer to become a real family.”
If only that were true...
“So you’re serious—your engagement is real?” the reporter persisted.
She drew in another breath and looked directly into the camera. “I am in love with Jared Bell,” she said, and realized that she spoke the truth. “I’ve been in love with Jared for six years.”
Blaine glanced at her and nodded. Either he approved of how she was handling the obnoxious reporter or he approved of her loving his friend.
“So something good came of your sister’s death then,” the reporter said, as if trying to justify Lexi’s murder.
Had Jared been right to suspect the reporter could be more involved than she’d thought? Had she been entirely too focused on Harris Mowery to the point that she hadn’t realized there could have been another killer and Lexi was just a random victim?
“I wish Jared and I had met some other way,” she said. Because then he never would have doubted her feelings the way he had six years ago. “But I’m glad that we met. And I can’t wait to become his wife.”
“Do you really think that the Butcher will ever allow that to happen?” Smith asked, almost as if he pitied her.
She kept her reply to herself and allowed Blaine to escort her through the throng of reporters. But no, she didn’t think that the Butcher would let her make it to the altar.
Chapter Seventeen
The way she stared into the camera as she vowed her love made Jared feel as if she was speaking directly to him. But that declaration wasn’t meant for him; it was meant for her sister’s killer. So that the Butcher wouldn’t suspect she was setting a trap for him.
Kyle Smith had suspected it was a trap. Was he the killer?
Jared cleared his throat and gestured at the television. “You were convincing,” he told her. His heart ached with longing. He wished she’d been speaking the truth, that she really loved him. But if she loved him, why had she kept their son from him?
Sure, he’d rejected her earlier declarations of love. He’d thought her feelings couldn’t be real then—not with everything else she’d been going through. When she hadn’t contacted him about Alex, she’d proved him right. Hadn’t she?
While he sat on the couch in front of the TV, she was in the kitchen, putting away the leftovers from the dinner she’d made. Alex was reading in his room. It was like they were already married; like they were already a family. He wished that were true, too.
She shrugged. “I don’t know if I was convincing enough.”
“I guess we’ll know soon.” Her dress fitting was scheduled in a couple of days. If the Butcher followed his previous pattern, that was when he would try to abduct her.
Try. That was all he would be allowed. An attempt. He wouldn’t take her as he had all those other women. Jared would make certain of that.
“I almost hope you’re right,” she remarked.
“About?”
“Kyle Smith,” she said. “I almost hope it’s him.”
“Harris Mowery’s wrong about you,” Jared said. “He’s convinced he’s the only suspect you’ll consider.”
She snorted derisively. “I’m not going to consider George a suspect.” She pointed at the television. “But Kyle Smith...” She shuddered. “It was like he was using our relationship to justify Lexi’s murder.”
“I caught that, too,” he said. But it had been hard to focus on anything but Becca’s declaration of love. “I’m still working on finding links between him and any of the victims.”
“But do serial killers have to have a link to their victims?” she asked. “Or do they just randomly choose them?”
“Usually there’s a link to one of the victims,” he said. “The first one.”
“Lexi...” She shook her head. “She didn’t know Kyle Smith.” She stepped away from the kitchen to join him near the couch. But she didn’t sit down beside him; she didn’t touch him. She didn’t act like a woman in love—even though she was back to sharing his bed. “It must be Harris Mowery.”
“Or it could be George Droski...”
She shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“Or maybe there was a victim before Lexi...”
Her blue eyes widened with shock. “Do you think so?”
“I haven’t found another death that matches the Butcher’s MO,” he admitted. “But there are a lot of missing persons cases.”
“So, maybe, like Lexi, his first victim was never found?”
“It’s something I’m looking into—if Kyle Smith knew someone who disappeared before Lexi.”
She drew closer to him now and knelt before where he sat on the couch. She slid her palm over the side of his face and said, “I’m sorry.”
She’d already apologized—several times—over not telling him about Alex. “Why?”
“I hope you never think I doubted how hard you’ve worked on this case,” she said. “I hope you know how much I appreciate how hard you’ve worked.”
He had worked hard. Maybe that was one of the reasons he’d rejected her declaration of love six years ago—because he’d wanted to focus on finding her sister’s killer. He’d known she needed that more than she’d needed him.
And he’d denied how much he needed her. He leaned over so that his lips touched hers, sliding back and forth in a gentle kiss.
Her breath escaped in a wistful sigh.
He would have deepened the kiss, but the doorbell rang—like it had the other night.
She tensed. “Who would ring the bell?”
She knew that the signal was a phone call to announce an intruder or a visitor. Jared reached for his weapon, and she sprang to her feet and headed to their son’s bedroom—to protect him.
Jared needed to protect them both. His weapon in his hand, he approached the door. And like the night they’d found the bloody veil, he opened the door to another ominous present. But there wasn’t just one—there was a pile of them.
* * *
“WHERE DID THEY come from?” Rebecca asked as she saw the assortment of different-sized boxes wrapped in shiny paper. “Did someone sneak them up here?”
Jared shook his head. “No, they were delivered to the front desk.”
“Then you’ll be able to get a description of who dropped them off,” she said and expelled a breath of relief. “You’ll be able to find him.” And stop him.
Jared sighed, too, but with resignation. “These were all deliveries. The presents were mailed here.”
“From where?”
He glanced down at the boxes he’d taken from the doorman who’d brought them up from the lobby. He’d dropped them at the door when the guard had grabbed and frisked him. “Several different places.”
“But we’re not registered. We haven’t even sent out invitations to this wedding.” Because it wasn’t real. “So why would anyone send us gifts?”
He shrugged but opened one of the cards attached to a present. “To Rebecca Drummond, you’ve been through so much with losing your sister. You truly deserve your happiness.”
She took the card he held out and read the signature. “I don’t know this person.”
“But maybe she thinks she knows you—from the news coverage,” he said. “Maybe Kyle Smith gave out your address again.”
Or they’d tracked her down through him. Kyle had given out his name, too. But she looked at all the boxes and shivered. What if the gifts weren’t as innocuous as the card? What if they contained other macabre gifts like the bloodied veil?
Despite her telling him to stay in his room, Alex’s door creaked open, and then he bounded into the room with a shout of excitement. “Look at all the presents! It’s not my birthday, though. Or Christmas...”
He looked up at his father. “It’s not Mommy’s birthday, either. Is it yours?”
Jared shook his head. “Nope, my birthday is in April.”
“Then why are there so many presents?”
Jared looked at Rebecca now. “With the news coverage, he’s bound to find out...”
