Dark Legacy: (Dark Falls, CO Romantic Thriller Book 3)

by Trish McCallan

  Being under house arrest—even if Scanlon had called it a protection detail—had put the kibosh on all of her plans. She could hardly go off investigating when she was stuck here all day.

  Although…Ariel straightened against the couch cushion in sudden excitement. Nobody had said anything about her being confined to these rooms. Her guards were mobile. If she were to visit, say, the ME or the newspaper, they could accompany here.

  She ignored the little voice in her head that laughed at her.

  Sure…dumbass…they’re gonna let you skip around town, out in the open, where anyone can take a pot shot at you.

  She frowned, mulling that possibility over. It was doubtful the person stalking her would try to take her out with a bullet. He seemed to want to get his hands dirty. It was personal to him. Which meant he’d use something more intimate to kill her with. Like a knife or strangulation. She shuddered, her heart suddenly racing.

  Yeah, it was a little morbid imagining her own murder. Time to stop.

  Of course, that wasn’t to say that he wouldn’t change course if he realized her guards made it impossible for him to grab her. Once that realization sank in, he might switch to a bullet. And if that were the case, waltzing around in the open would put her in danger.

  It would put Rhys and Mason in danger too.

  Well…shit…

  With a frustrated sigh, she scrapped that plan. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if either man got hurt because of her foolish behavior. So she’d stay put and try not to go stir crazy due to boredom and raging hormones.

  On the plus side, her hormones weren’t raging quite as hot with Mason beside her instead of Rhys. Holy shit could her college sweetheart rev her engine. Too bad they didn’t have the apartment to themselves. From the heat in Rhys's eyes, and the hunger that periodically flashed across his face, they would have found plenty of activities to fill the time.

  Before that line of thought got too specific and sensual, a knock sounded at the door.

  With one quick roll off the couch, Mason turned into a cop. He pulled out the gun holstered beneath his armpit and shot her a quick glance. “Stay here.”

  Ariel nodded. She was perfectly fine with that.

  Before Mason reached the end of the living room, Rhys joined him. He wore boxers, his chest was bare, and he carried a big, black gun. The two men approached the door in tandem, their arms outstretched, their weapons held in professional, two handed grips.

  She craned her neck to see over the waist length wall that separated the foyer from the living room. The men separated at the door, setting their backs to either side of the door jamb.

  Rhys nodded at Mason and reached across to unlock the door. With a quick twist and flip, he eased the door open.

  Ariel gulped down a big breath and held it.

  Nothing, No sound. No gunshots. No voices. Just…nothing.

  After a few seconds, Rhys ducked his head out the open door. Just as quickly, he pulled it back in. A second later, he did it again. But longer this time, scanning to the right and left.

  “Clear.” Rhys’s voice was calm. Even.

  Even from across the living room, she could see the tension release his shoulders.

  Mason stepped out from his position against the wall and joined his partner in the open doorway. Both men bent their heads, studying the floor.

  “Better get some gloves, and call it in,” Rhys finally said.

  His voice was so grim Ariel’s belly lurched. Rhys’s tension was back, too. And not just his shoulders. His whole body had gone rigid.

  What were they looking at?

  Ariel rose to her feet as Mason, his tanned face tighter than she’d ever seen it, headed across the living room toward her.

  “What’s going on?” Even to her own ears, the question sounded small and scared.

  “Nothing for you to worry about.” Rhys’s partner stopped walking long enough to offer her a reassuring smile, but the ice glazing his green eyes belied the comforting words.

  Whatever they’d found in the doorway was something for her to worry about. They were troubled by it. If it was enough to concern them, then it worried her too.

  Mason pulled his jacket from the back of the couch, rooted around inside the right pocket and pulled out a pair of thin, black nitrile gloves. She wasn’t surprised he had them on hand. All cops did. Medical grade nitrile gloves were dispensed like candy through most police departments.

  He reached for his cell phone, which was sitting on the coffee table next to where his feet had been minutes earlier. When Mason turned, Ariel fell in step behind him, following him to Rhys and the still open door.

  Rhys glanced at her, a light frown knitting his forehead. He didn’t say anything though, just accepted the gloves Mason handed him and squatted in front of a white, rectangular envelope positioned in the middle of the door.

  That’s what all their grim faces and tight shoulders were about? A letter?

  As Mason talked on his cell, asking for a forensic unit, and Rhys pulled on the nitrile gloves, she inched closer, aiming for a better look.

  Yep, it was definitely an envelope. And there was something written on it in bold, black, blocky letters. She edged closer, peering over Rhys’s shoulder, trying to make out the word.

  She took a few more steps forward before the single black word on the brilliant white envelope, came into focus.

  It was a name. Her heart jolted, then burst into an irregular, urgent rhythm.

  Her name specifically.

  The letter was addressed to her.

  By the time Erica Cross, the technician the lab had sent, processed the letter and sealed it in a ten by ten plastic envelope, Rhys felt like he was swimming in ice.

  The delivery of the letter to the safe house meant they were dealing with someone associated with the Major Crimes Unit. A detective, or a cop, or —he glanced over at the small, plump black woman—a lab tech. Although Erica looked more like a librarian, with her glasses and bobbed hair, than a hardened criminal. He watched her hand the letter off to Scanlon and kneel to pack up her kit.

  The cap walked over to him, the plastic wrapped envelope in hand.

  “No prints?” he asked. It hadn’t looked like Erica had found anything from where he’d been watching across the room.

  “No. They dusted the door, door jamb, door knob, as well as all the entrances to the building. It will take a while to process those.”

  Rhys shifted restlessly. Yeah, it would take a while. Like fucking forever. And they wouldn’t find anything. The bastard was smart. He’d have worn gloves.

  “What about the camera feeds?” Maybe they’d get lucky and find something there.

  The captain’s lips tightened, and Rhys tensed.

  “We’ve pulled the camera footage and the lab will go over it with a fine toothed comb, but whoever left that letter knew where the cameras were. He’s wearing a black jacket and a ball cap, and he’s very careful to only show the back of his head. The camera never recorded his face.”

  Fuck…fuck…fuck…

  They almost had to be dealing with a cop.

  “We need to pull all the case files associated with this place.” Rhys waved his arm, indicating the room. “See who played guard dog in here. Maybe we can find our guy that way.”

  Scanlon simply nodded. She looked stressed though. Her face tight, her eyes brittle. He understood the feeling. It was a hell of a thing to realize that one of the guys you worked with was a killer.

  “He might not be in Major Crimes,” Scanlon offered, as though she’d read his mind. “Plenty of Unis are offered protection details.”

  True.

  But that really wasn’t much better.

  After a moment, Scanlon nodded to Ariel, who was sitting on the couch maybe a dozen feet away, watching them with dark, anxious eyes.

  “I’d like her to look at the letter. Maybe she’ll have some insight into what it says.”

  Maybe. It was addressed to he
r after all. Rhys turned, leading the way to the couch.

  Ariel’s worried eyes latched onto his face and she rose to her feet. As they drew closer, her attention shifted to the sheet of plastic in Scanlon’s hand.

  “We’d like you to take a look at this. See if it makes any sense to you.” Scanlon said, passing the letter over.

  “It’s about time,” Ariel said. But it was clear her bravado was forced. “It’s addressed to me, which I believe makes it mine.”

  He watched the muscles of her throat work as she swallowed, and could almost feel the effort it took to force herself to look down. He’d read the letter so many times by now, he knew it by heart. Could call up the words by the path of her eyes.

  SORRY I MISSED YOU THE OTHER NIGHT.

  BUT DON’T WORRY WE’LL DO IT AGAIN SOON.

  JUST THINK OF WHAT FUN WE’LL HAVE.

  OR AT LEAST I’LL HAVE.

  BTW HOW’S YOUR SISTER?

  YOU SHOULD ASK HER HOW THE COPS KNEW ABOUT THE MEMENTOES IN THE GUN SAFE.

  ASK HER WHO RATTED HIM OUT.

  When she reached the bottom, her eyes skimmed back up and she read the letter again. And then a third time. Finally, she lifted her head. Her eyes were huge, dark, dazed, swimming with disbelief.

  She shook her head, as though trying to clear the confusion. “I don’t…I don’t understand. What does he mean? What is he implying?”

  The implication was clear. She just didn’t want to see it. To believe it.

  “No,” she shook her head again, only this time a blind sheen glazed her eyes. “It’s not true. He’s lying. Ashley wouldn’t have turned Dad in—”

  Rhys’s chest tightened. So she had realized the implications.

  “—she didn’t even know what was in the safe. How could she? It was locked.”

  Rhys exchanged glances with Scanlon. One of the files he’d read, before he’d been ejected from the case, was an account of the anonymous caller who’d tipped the off the investigators. The tipster, as it turned out, hadn’t been so anonymous after all. Oh, she tried to do it anonymously. She’d called from a pay phone, but the phone had been in front of a jewelry store, and the store’s security camera had caught her making the call.

  Whatever Ariel saw on Rhys’s face, caused her to shake her head violently. “No. No. It’s not true. Ash wouldn’t have done that. She wouldn’t.” She searched Rhys’s face, and then the captain’s. After a moment, she pulled up her knees and offered a very quiet denial. “No.”

  Since the Captain didn’t look like she intended to explain, Rhys stepped up to the plate. The damage was already done. Ariel already knew. She deserved to know the rest.

  “The anonymous tip was tracked to a payphone. Camera footage shows your sister placing a phone call on that pay phone at the exact moment the tipster rang in.” He paused, but Ariel didn’t say anything, just watched him with those huge dazed eyes. “Your sister was picked up for questioning. She admitted making the call. She said she was in the garage, parking her bike, when she noticed a colorful scrap of fabric hanging out of the bottom corner of the safe. She was curious, so she opened the door to see what it was and she found…”

  He trailed off. She knew what had been in the safe. She knew what her sister had found.

  She chewed on her bottom lip, something she only did when upset. But then suddenly her teeth went still and she frowned.

  “You know,” she said slowly. Her brow furrowed, and the shock faded from her eyes. “That doesn’t make sense. If she saw into the safe, then the safe must have been open. My dad wasn’t stupid. If he was the X-Factor Killer, he would have made damn sure that safe was closed and locked—all the time. He wouldn’t have forgotten to do that.”

  Rhys cocked his head, watching her intently. She was deflecting, trying to distract herself from the bombshell they’d just dropped on her. Ariel was intensely loyal. But she expected the same loyalty from those she loved. To find out her sister, who she trusted implicitly, had been responsible for destroying their father, hell—for destroying their entire family? That kind of news would take awhile to absorb.

  She looked up when Rhys didn’t respond. “I’m serious.” She glanced between him and Scanlon. “Why would he do that? It makes no sense.”

  The certainty in her voice made Rhys frown, and reconsider.

  All evidence pointed to the X-Factor Killer as being highly organized. Strategic in his kills, in his dumpsites, hell—in everything. That kind of a perp wouldn’t leave the safe that held his mementoes open. Not when a member of his family could stumble upon them.

  Fuck…Ariel was right. If Hamilton had been the X-Factor Killer, he wouldn’t have made that mistake. He was too damn cautious to forget something that crucial.

  That’s when he realized he was thinking of the X-Factor Killer in present tense. Not past. Present, like the killer was still alive.

  Hell, Ariel was right…about everything. Her father could have been framed. The X-Factor Killer could still be out there. Their current murder suspect might not be a copycat killer at all. And their suspect might be a cop.

  Fuuuck.

  For the second time in twenty-four hours, his world titled on its axis again. And he emerged from the destruction with a brand new…much darker…worldview.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “You’ll be safe here.” Rhys said quietly as he shut the door to their new safe house behind them.

  Ariel simply nodded, so exhausted by stress and emotion she couldn’t find her voice.

  Oh Ash, how could you—

  She cut the thought off. She couldn’t deal with that particular revelation right now. It was still too raw…too horrible…too destructive…

  “Nobody will find us here,” Rhys continued, his blue eyes laser focused and locked on her face. “Only four people know where we are. You, me, Scanlon, and him.” He jerked his chin toward his partner.

  “I know,” she managed, wanting to ease the worry in his eyes. The worry over her. “I heard you guys making the preparations.”

  He didn’t relax, if anything his shoulders and spine drew tighter. “Just wanted to make sure you were listening.”

  Oh she had been listening, albeit vaguely. But enough to know that he, Mason and their Captain were going to extraordinary measures to keep her safe. The safehouse they’d chosen—and this time it was a full freaking house—wasn’t connected to the police department, or either of the men protecting her.

  It had come courtesy of a friend of Scanlon’s mother who was out of the country. From the bits and pieces she’d heard, she wasn’t even sure their occupancy of the residence was legal. The captain had known where to find the key, since she’d apparently watered the inside plants once when her mom had sprained her ankle. But she’d never mentioned whether she’d contacted the woman to get her permission to use the place.

  They’d reached the property thanks to a car that had been left for them several blocks from the first safe house. Scanlon had driven them to it, and Rhys had found the key hanging from a wire beneath the hood. So the vehicle was free of possible connections too. And then there were the cell phones. Before driving off in their new ride, Mason and Rhys had handed their cell phones off to their captain. They’d strong armed Ariel into doing so as well, even though neither the Major Crimes Unit nor the lab had been able to trace her cell phone.

  But it didn’t matter. Not really. In fact, it was almost a relief. She wouldn’t know if Ashley called, which meant she wouldn’t know if her sister was in town, which meant she could avoid the confrontation for a bit longer.

  Oh Ash…how could you…

  Her heart was breaking, yet livid with rage. Somehow, she was experiencing both at the same time. That was a new one for her.

  While Mason swept the house, gun in hand, Rhys led Ariel to what looked like a sitting room. The space was crowded, full of gleaming little tables bristling with tea settings. Shelves stuffed with books ringed the wall. The chairs were nice though, much more comforta
ble then the last place he’d stowed her. Feeling the need for a little creature comfort, Ariel picked the plushest, plumpest one and sat.

  Rhys took the chair across from her and they sat there in silence.

  “I’m sorry,” he suddenly said, an uncomfortable yet earnest expression stamped across his face.

  “Why?” She tilted her head, staring at him. He did look regretful, but she wasn’t sure why. He had nothing to be sorry for.

  “For not listening to you, for not believing you, for ignoring what you tried to tell me.” He got up to pace the small, cluttered room, as though he just couldn’t sit still after all. He paused in front of the window to the left of her and pushed the window curtain aside.

  Darkness blocked the view outside the window pane. Night had fallen as they’d pulled up to the house. She didn’t have her phone and there were no clocks in this room, but it had to be after seven p.m..

  “I’m sorry for everything, Ariel. A thousand percent sorry.”

  A thousand percent sorry…

  She smiled sadly, recognizing their old high school and college code. A hundred percent effort was okay, but a thousand percent was better. It meant giving something your all, and then more.

  “You should be.” She tried for brash, bravado, for sass and confidence. But her heart just wasn’t in it. Her voice broke during the middle of the retort.

  “Hey,” concern warmed his voice.

  And he was suddenly there in front of her. He swooped in, wrapped his arms around her and stood up, cradling her close. While she tried to burrow into his chest, he sat down in the same spot she’d just vacated.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he soothed.

  She felt his chin pressing against the top of her head, and his hard arms holding her close, holding her tight. She could even feel his heat enveloping her, sinking into her flesh and bone. But it didn’t come close to warming the chill that burrowed to her very soul.

  “I’m sorry too.” Her voice cracked.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, in the gentlest voice she’d ever heard. Warm, strong hands slid up and down her spine in a rhythmic, soothing motion.