“At no point, ever, did the X Factor Killer send taunting letters to the police department,” Scanlon pointed out in a tense, carefully modulated voice.
“True.” Rhys tone was tight, neutral, because they all knew that didn’t make a damn bit of difference.
If this letter really had been written by the X Factor Killer—
No. Fucking. Way! The rational, educated half of his brain insisted.
But if it had—if the bastard behind the words was the killer from fourteen years ago—he could have reached out now because he was bored. Because he wanted to show off, because he wanted to prove how much smarter he was than those investigating him.
Hell, the letter could simply be an example of ego and grandstanding… if it had been written by the X Factor Killer.
“There is nothing in there, at all, that proves the author is the X Factor Killer,” Scanlon said tightly.
She almost sounds like she’s trying to convince herself of that.
But Rhys kept his mouth shut. The captain didn’t have to convince him. Hell, he wanted to believe her. They all wanted to believe her.
“And nowhere does the author state, as a fact, that he was the killer,” Scanlon continued in that same taut voice.
Mason’s forehead scrunched at that. “Well, it is implied. Quite heavily even.”
Yeah, with every single fucking word.
“Okay.” Scanlon took a deep breath and then another one, stepping aside as a couple of the lab geeks converged on Rhys’s workstation.
As the techs moved in to do their magic, Scanlon turned to Rhys.
“Why you?” A frown knitted the skin between her eyes, and her gaze lost focus as though she were playing the question through her mind. Trying to make sense of it. “Why did he send the letter to you? Why not Patel or Osborn. They’d at least make sense. They were the lead investigators on the Hamilton case. You weren’t even on the force back then.”
A very good question.
Too bad he didn’t have an answer to it.
Chapter Nine
An hour later, as he waited in his Explorer in front of the Daily News for Ariel to arrive for their meeting, Rhys was still mulling over Scanlon’s question. He shifted against the backrest, absently listening to the leather seat scrunch beneath him.
Why had the letter been addressed to him?
It didn’t make sense.
Except for being the brother of the final X Factor victim, he hadn’t been involved in the investigation. He hadn’t taken part in Hamilton’s arrest or conviction. Hell, for a good chunk of the trial, he hadn’t even been in town. So why had the letter been sent to him? Why not send it to Osborn or Patel? Both detectives had been instrumental in the original investigation, instrumental in the conviction of Kenneth Hamilton. Common sense said one of them should have received the letter.
Both men had also shrugged the author of the letter off as a poser. They were convinced they’d convicted the right guy, that Kenneth Hamilton had been the X Factor Killer.
Hell, maybe this new killer was trying to grab the spotlight. Far too often, people confessed to crimes they hadn’t committed for the notoriety.
Rhys could only hope that the damn letter never made it public. He could just imagine Ariel’s reaction to it. She was already convinced her father had been framed. If she got her fingers on that damn letter, she’d take it and run… probably right to her sister and the FBI.
He straightened in the driver’s seat as a yellow Honda Passport came into view. The SUV zipped into a parking space next to his Explorer.
She was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses again. He shook his head. Like that would fool anyone. At least anyone who knew what she looked like. They climbed out of their cars in unison.
She beeped the locks to her Passport and headed toward him, her hand outstretched. “Here.”
She shoved what looked like her phone into his chest. He barely caught it before it tumbled to the ground.
He glanced down at the cell phone. “You got a new one?”
“That’s right.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him.
He recognized the pose. She was on the defensive and feeling vulnerable. Apparently her vandalized decoy rooms had left her feeling exposed.
“Did you keep the same phone number?”
She tapped her foot and compressed her lips. Only the lower half of her face was on display, but she still managed to look impatient. “You called me on it an hour ago, what do you think?”
“You could have swapped the phones out since then,” he countered.
She scoffed—loudly. “Not a chance. It took forever at the store I went to.”
She sounded like the time spent waiting had wrung years from her life. But then Ariel had never been a fan of waiting.
Some things hadn’t changed.
“Well, if that’s all.” She turned toward the Daily News’s front entrance.
“It isn’t.” When she ignored his comment and tried to breeze past him, he reached out and caught her elbow. “We need to talk.”
Twisting her elbow from his grasp, she spun to face him. A scowl twisted her face, or at least what he could see of it.
“About what? The break-ins? You already told me about those. Where I’m staying? I’m not telling you that.” She paused to huff out a breath. “Looks to me like there’s nothing left for us to talk about.”
There was an odd tone to the outburst. Almost hurt and he got the sense he was missing something. He frowned, before shrugging the impression aside.
“Things have changed in the past twenty-four hours,” he told her with all the patience he could muster.
More like the past hour, but she didn’t need to know that. “I need to ask you some questions about your father and what you remember while he was under investigation.”
That caught her attention. She went still for a moment and then slowly pulled her sunglasses off. They dangled from her right fingers.
“Why? You think Dad had something to do with your new body?” She lifted her eyebrows and added sarcastically, “It will be a lot harder to pin that murder on him considering he’s dead.”
He sighed and took a moment to scrub his palms down his face. Hell, he’d forgotten how exhausting it could be to deal with Ariel. Her good qualities—like her intelligence, her work ethic, and that unshakable loyalty that had allowed her to still believe in her father beneath a mountain of evidence, had made up for her more negative qualities. But man, she could be exhaustingly stubborn sometimes.
“You wanted someone to check into your dad’s case, compare it to this new murder, see if anything showed up that would exonerate him.” He paused, watching her steadily. “That’s what I’m doing.”
Hamilton wasn’t the X Factor Killer. How many more bodies do I have to drop before you realize that?
He forced the letter from his mind and held Ariel’s suspicious gaze. “You might be able to help with the details.”
She studied his face and frowned, but some of the suspicion faded from her dark eyes. “Okay. What do you want to know?”
Right… she believed him. Not too surprising since everything he’d told her had been true. Jesus—talk about a quagmire. Up until an hour ago, he hadn’t given any serious consideration to Ariel’s claims that her father had been innocent. Even now, post letter, he was ninety-nine point nine percent certain they’d convicted the right man.
Hello, you stupid fucks. I’m here. I’ve always been here. I’m getting tired of waiting for you to come get me.
Well, make that ninety-five percent certain.
He glanced toward the entrance to the Daily News. This was not the place to have the kind of discussion he wanted to have with her. The captain’s press conference the day before had downplayed the connection to the X Factor Killer. The last thing the department needed was some enterprising reporter listening in on his conversation with Ariel and jumping to conclusions… or running with a speculation piece tha
t would freak out the whole town.
“Let’s take a drive.” He gestured toward his Explorer.
The fact she didn’t argue with him, simply turned around and headed for his SUV, was a nice surprise and a clear indicator that she believed he was finally on her side.
He pinched off a sliver of guilt. He hadn’t lied to her. He was examining the possible connection between their current murder investigation and her father’s case. He’d had a slight reversal of disbelief. Very slight. Just enough to open his mind to the possibility.
She waited until they’d climbed into the Explorer and strapped themselves into the seats before twisting to face him.
“What happened?” Her voice was thoughtful. Her eyes laser sharp on his face.
“What do you mean?” He looked over his shoulder for oncoming traffic—a good excuse to avoid her eyes—and backed out of the parking slot.
“You didn’t believe me before. Didn’t believe this new victim of yours was connected to the X Factor case. None of you did. So what changed? Why are you so interested in what I know now?”
Fuck. She’d put that together too damn fast. He banked the mixture of annoyance and pride and scrambled to come up with an answer she’d buy.
“We were always interested. You didn’t stick around the precinct long enough for us to ask questions.”
He shot her a look to see whether she’d swallowed that half-truth. The shadowed skin of her forehead beneath the brim of her hat was furrowed, and her eyes were squinty. She was thinking about it.
His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered.
Her lipstick was lighter, more peach than ruby. She’d gone for the drama back in high school and college. Crimson lipstick, smoky eyes. Rosy-red nail polish.
These days she went more natural… less look at me and more blend in. But the lips beneath the paint looked just as soft and inviting as before.
With no warning, desire surged. The urge to taste those lips swept him… to taste and compare… were they as sweet as before? As soft? As—
The blaring of a horn jolted him from the sensual haze. He jerked his eyes forward and corrected the trajectory of the Explorer with a controlled hand.
“Rhys?” Her voice was sultry, dazed.
He chanced a quick glance toward her, before jerking his gaze forward again. But that quick peek told him everything he didn’t want to know. She’d seen his desire. Experienced it herself. Was still tangled in the carnal web that arced between them.
Whatever feelings they’d had for each other—at least the physical variety—were alive and well and hanging heavy in the air between them.
Ariel scowled as silence engulfed the interior of the Explorer.
Rhys might be ignoring her now, but he hadn’t been able to hide the hunger he still felt for her. On full display, his desire had sizzled between them—sharpening the chiseled angles of his face and burnishing his eyes to electric blue.
Oh yeah, he wanted her—just as she wanted him. But then she’d always wanted him. Even after he’d walked away and broken her heart, she’d still longed for him. Far too many nights she had woken, his face tangled in her dreams, her sheets damp with sweat, her body aching for his touch.
Ignoring the desire wouldn’t extinguish it. It would only serve to squeeze the flame higher. Hotter. Brighter.
Best to bring it out into the open and deal with it.
“So what are we going to do about this?” She flapped her hand between the two of them.
To his credit, he didn’t pretend he didn’t know what she was talking about. “We ignore it.”
She snorted. Like that was going to work. “Like we ignored it back in high school?”
Pretending the spark wasn’t there had led to her stretched flat across the back seat of his Mustang, losing her virginity.
The look he shot her was as molten as a volcano and full of memories. “That was a long time ago. We’re not kids anymore. We have some damn self-control.”
Maybe he did. She wasn’t so sure about herself. She flounced back against the Explorer’s seat, the leather creaking beneath her. “Where are you taking me?”
“Someplace we can talk. In private.” This time the look he gave her was full of annoyance. “Since you won’t tell me where you’re staying, my place will have to do.”
She shrugged. If he thought she’d protest about going home with him, well, he was wrong… wrong… wrong. She was too curious. There was so much she wanted to know about him. Like what his house looked like and how he’d gone from the NFL to Major Crimes. Had he married… Did he have any kids. She glanced toward the broad, strong hands on the steering wheel. His ring finger didn’t carry a wedding band, but that didn’t mean much. He could have married and divorced and had a passel of kids in the past fourteen years.
“What?” The glance he shot her was knowing.
“Nothing?”
His gaze returned to the road. “I can feel your questions, Ariel. Might as well ask them.”
Well… since he’d offered. “Are you married?”
“No. How about you?” He shrugged slightly but kept his eyes on the road. “I know you’re not married, but are you involved with anyone?”
“Does it matter?” She offered him a snarky smile. “I mean since we’re ignoring the attraction between us.”
His fingers remained steady on the steering wheel. His face composed. She would have thought her answer had no effect on him… except for the tensing of his thigh. Rhys had always reacted to her digs with his body… his muscles…
Time for another question, and it was her turn. “You have any kids?”
“No.” He didn’t look in her direction. “You?”
“No.” She thought about embellishing her answer. Giving him some kind of excuse for her lack of wedding ring, picket fence, and baby stroller. She’d been too busy, too focused on her career, too stuck on him…
Oops, scratch that last excuse.
“You come close?” The spurt of jealousy that accompanied her question surprised her. She’d thought she was over that… over all those hot, complicated feelings she’d had for him.
Getting to know him again was cracking that delusion wide open.
“No.” He didn’t ask her the question in return, which stoked her temper and frustration. Did he not care?
Of course he didn’t. Why would he?
They were nothing to each other anymore.
Except for a cop. And the daughter of a convicted serial killer.
“You said you had questions about Dad? What do you want to know,” she asked, suddenly tired.
A frown touched his face, and the gaze that skimmed her eyes held concern. “Have you eaten yet?”
Her belly let out a grumble at the question, and she grimaced. “Guess that answers your question.”
She’d intended to grab something at the mini-mart when she’d filled her car with gas, but nothing had appealed to her. Another belly growl rumbled through the car. Apparently he’d awoken the beast and it was determined to speak for itself.
A twitch pulled at his lips. “You still a fan of breakfast?”
Breakfast had always been her favorite meal of the day. Anytime of the day. Warmth tried to shimmy through her. She ruthlessly strangled it. “I’m surprised you remember.”
The look he sent her was somber. “I haven’t forgotten anything, Ariel.”
She tried not to read too much into that statement.
Instead of taking her to a restaurant, he turned in to a quiet part of town full of older, smaller homes on tiny lots. Half a block down he pulled into a narrow driveway. The house was all sharp angles and off-center windows. The yard postage-stamp size with slightly too long grass and overgrown evergreen shrubs flanking both sides of the front entrance.
“You’re making me breakfast?” He’d said he was taking her to his place, but she’d assumed that meant after breakfast—at an actual café or restaurant.
“Yeah. I make a mean batch of fr
ench toast.” He twisted in his seat to study her face. “You seem surprised.”
That’s because she was. She loved french toast, had always loved it, but they’d never had it back when they’d been together. She’d been on a perennial diet through high school and college, determined not to gain an ounce.
Maybe his breakfast choice was coincidence… it probably didn’t mean anything.
She followed him out of the Explorer and onto the narrow cement sidewalk that followed the edge of the driveway. At the left corner, by the single-car garage, the path veered to the right where it followed the shrubbery lining the walls of the house and dead-ended in front of the two shallow steps to the front entrance.
They abandoned the cement in favor of cutting across the grass and saving time. Since the grass was worn to a nubbin here, the shortcut must be well established and often used.
The angles of the house were interesting, almost artistic with their sudden, sharp spikes and the way the windows were tilted at such odd angles. It looked like an abstract painting. Kind of cool to look at… but she couldn’t imagine him living in there.
Or at least she couldn’t imagine the Rhys Evans of fourteen years ago living in there… He’d grown up in such a homey, huge country-style home. This place looked like it was straight out of an art magazine.
“Of all the homes in Dark Falls to choose from, what made you pick this place?” She winced as she played the question back through her mind. One might think she didn’t like it, based on her phrasing. Which wasn’t the case. It was just… well… a surprise.
He slid a hand into his pocket, pulled out a key ring, and jingled it slightly. “You don’t like it?”
Yep. She could have worded that better. “It’s not that. It’s just so… different… than where you grew up.”
The home he’d grown up in had been huge, sprawling, bursting with bedrooms and bathrooms. The oversized kitchen had been a natural gathering point since it looked out over the family room. Plus there had been the yard… it had been at least two acres—big enough for football and baseball games or the occasional badminton tournament. His childhood home had been perfect for a family, for children.
Dark Legacy: (Dark Falls, CO Romantic Thriller Book 3) Page 8
