Criminal Behavior--A Thrilling FBI Romance

by Amanda Stevens

  Addie had just turned seven when Sandra Kinsella had been killed. Some days, she could barely recall what her mother looked like, and then there were times, especially in the dead of night when she lay awake staring at the ceiling, that she not only remembered her mother’s features, but the scent of her perfume and the deep red of her favorite lipstick. Addie had bought that same classic shade for herself, though she rarely wore it. The color reminded her too much of a crimson magnolia.

  Besides, red lipstick didn’t really suit her. She wasn’t her mother’s daughter. Sandra Kinsella had been capricious and bold, a woman who gleefully embraced her darkest emotions and deepest desires. Addie wasn’t like that. She was cautious and serious. Or at least...she had been until Ethan Barrow had come into her life.

  Him again.

  Addie frowned.

  Put him out of your mind and focus.

  Her mother’s face wasn’t the one she saw now in the back of her mind, nor was it her mother’s whiskey-smooth voice she heard in her ear. The imagined reproach came from Helen Cutler, a woman who had been there for Addie through thick and thin, who had been both confidante and guardian. Helen had encouraged Addie to reach for the stars even as David Cutler had held her feet to the ground.

  Was it at all conceivable that the deputy chief had been involved in a police cover-up twenty-five years ago, one involving her mother’s murder and that third DNA sample? Addie didn’t think such a thing possible. David Cutler was as straight an arrow as one could find in the police department, and he’d earned the respect and admiration of every man and woman who served under his command. And yet his promotion had allowed him to seal some of her mother’s case files that remained out of Addie’s reach to this day. She hadn’t questioned his action, because she thought she knew the answer. He’d done it to protect her mother’s reputation and to inoculate Addie from gossip. But doubts were starting to niggle, and Addie had to decide how far down the rabbit hole she was willing to go to placate Ethan Barrow’s obsession.

  She hurried along the cobblestone lane, impatient to get back to her vehicle. So deep in thought, she’d lost track of time and her surroundings when she needed to remain focused and vigilant.

  Lined with brick walls and lush plantings, the alley lay in deep shade, but a sunlit street glimmered just ahead, like a light at the end of a tunnel. Somewhere behind her, a dog barked. The guttural bay sounded primal and fierce, an animal protecting its turf. Addie registered the commotion but she wasn’t concerned. The dog was safely contained within the brick wall, doing what came naturally to a canine guardian. Still, the hair at the back of her neck lifted as the barking dropped to a menacing growl, and for a moment she had visions of gleaming eyes and a predatory prowl.

  The barking ceased abruptly. In the eerie quiet, Addie heard the rustle of bushes and the soft thud of what might have been footsteps.

  She whirled, hoping to find Ethan trying to catch up with her, but the lane was empty for as far back as she could see. She scanned the shadows, peering into the deepest part of the shade along the wall as her hand went to her bag. She’d heard something. The stealthy sound hadn’t been her imagination. Had someone disappeared inside a gate?

  Farther down the alley, the dog came back to life. The throaty snarls unnerved her as she took a few steps toward the sound.

  “Hello? Is someone there?”

  She saw him then, a man slipping along the top of the brick wall, crouched and almost hidden from her view by a silvery cascade of Spanish moss. Even after she’d spotted him, she wondered if her eyes were playing tricks on her. His movements were so fluid and furtive, he might have been nothing more than a figment of her imagination. Yet he was right there, hidden in plain sight, and she could have sworn the scent of magnolias emanated from his presence as he drew close.

  The perfume overwhelmed her. The whole tableau seemed so dreamlike that she felt disoriented and dazzled from the sunlight shimmering down through a live oak. “I see you on the wall,” she called out. “I’m a police detective. Come down with your hands where I can see them.”

  He remained where he was, shoulders slouched and head bowed so that the hood he’d pulled over his head obscured his features. But Addie knew that he watched her. The power of his gaze was a tangible shiver down her backbone.

  She kept a safe distance as she drew her weapon. “I said come down!” When he still didn’t comply, she hardened her commands. “Who are you? Why are you following me?”

  “Adaline...”

  The distorted singsong was identical to the disguised voice she’d heard in the gutted house the night before. He was the same intruder who had left a trail of crimson magnolia petals on her walkway.

  She took out her phone to call for backup.

  “Adaline...” the altered voice rasped.

  “Who are you? What do you want?”

  A long pause. Then, “It’s time you learn the truth.”

  She squinted into the light. “What truth?”

  “The truth about your mother.”

  He burst out of the Spanish moss with the shock of a shotgun blast. His speed and agility startled Addie and she stumbled back as he dropped down on the cobblestones in front of her. Her phone clattered to the ground as she clung to her weapon.

  He didn’t attack even though he momentarily had the advantage. Instead, he turned and dashed back down the alley.

  His features had remained hidden, but Addie took note of his size. He wasn’t a big man. Average height, average build. She’d faced more physically imposing suspects, but none that had unnerved her more.

  She picked up her phone and took off after him. “Police! Stop right there! I said stop!”

  As abruptly as he’d fled, he halted. His hands came up as he stood with his back to her. Then slowly he turned, head still bowed, but now Addie could see the lower part of his face. Mouth, chin, part of his jawline. His grinning countenance seemed both feral and cunning, and her blood ran cold with dread.

  The dog was still barking, louder, closer, a frenetic counterpoint to the man’s silent sneer. The sunlight streaming through the oak canopy elongated his shadow, and for a moment, it almost seemed to Addie that something evil crawled along the ground toward her. She inadvertently took a step back as the dog grew more frenzied. Nails pawed at the wooden gate. The latch and hinges rattled.

  Too late, Addie realized she had been lured to this particular spot for a reason. The scent of magnolia seemed to intensify as her fingers tightened on the grip of her weapon.

  “Who are you?” she demanded yet again.

  His hands were still in the air. Slowly, he unfurled his arms as if he were reaching for the edges of the alley. He opened his hands, and scarlet petals rained down upon the cobblestones. Addie wasn’t surprised. She’d known he was her assailant, and yet for one split second, she froze in shock.

  His fingertips raked against the brick wall, drawing a deep shudder as Addie tried to intuit his next move. With a flex of his hand, he released the wrought iron latch, and the gate flew open.

  Addie saw nothing more than a dark blur with bared teeth and gleaming eyes before she was knocked off her feet. She landed hard on the cobblestones, and the dog was on her in a flash. Instinctively, she lifted her arms to stave off the attack, but a sharp command from behind the wall saved her.

  “Thor! Come!”

  The German shepherd hovered over her, growling and drooling, and then he turned with a defeated whimper and trotted back through the gate.

  The owner came rushing out, effusive with apologies and explanations as she closed the gate behind her. “Oh, my God, are you okay?”

  “Yes, I think so. He didn’t bite me. Just knocked me down.”

  The woman hurried over to offer a hand as Addie scrambled to her feet. “I’m so sorry. Nothing like this has ever happened. He’s a good dog, well behaved and obedient. But h
e’s very protective of his turf. If anyone tries to come onto the property, he lets me know.” Her tone held a subtle accusation.

  “It wasn’t his fault.” Addie inspected the scrapes on her palms. “I suspect someone provoked him before they let him out.”

  “Provoked him?” The woman looked outraged. “How?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he was goaded through the gate or from over the wall. He may even have been physically incited.”

  “Why would someone do such a thing?” The woman was clearly upset, so much so that she’d failed to notice Addie’s gun. Her eyes widened as Addie slipped the weapon into her bag. She backed away. “What are you doing back here, anyway? Who are you?”

  “Detective Adaline Kinsella.” Addie presented her shield and ID. “Someone was here a minute ago, a man wearing a hoodie. Average height, average build. You didn’t see him when you came through the gate?”

  “There was no one back here but you.” The woman glanced around uneasily. “Was he the one who tormented my dog? Should I be worried?”

  “You’ve got Thor. You should be fine,” Addie said. “Just be on the lookout for any suspicious activity.” She handed the woman her card. “Give me a call if you see or hear anything.”

  The woman hurried back through the gate, leaving Addie alone in the alley. The man in the hood was long gone. Nothing remained of their strange encounter but a trail of crimson magnolia petals.

  * * *

  THE SQUAD CAR had already departed by the time Ethan returned to Naomi Quinlan’s house, but he wanted to make certain the black Charger wasn’t lurking somewhere nearby. He took a position down the street where he could watch the house without being detected.

  After several minutes went by with no sign of countersurveillance, he circled the block and came in through the alley, using Ida’s key to let himself in. He went through the house quickly, clearing each room before he returned to the office for a more thorough search. Then he headed down the hallway to the bedroom. He’d just opened a nightstand drawer when a sound checked him. He turned his ear to the hallway, listening for the click of a closing door or the telltale creak of a floorboard. Nothing else came to him, but he had the strongest premonition that he was no longer alone in the house.

  Drawing his weapon, he moved silently across the room, flattening himself against the wall as he peered out the door. He listened for a moment longer before slipping down the hallway to inspect the rest of the house. He checked the rear rooms first, easing through the kitchen and onto the sun porch. The windows were closed and the dead bolt on the back door was still engaged. Nothing seemed amiss, and yet Ethan couldn’t shake the notion that he had company, well hidden and malevolent.

  He opened the door and went down the steps, lingering at the bottom as his gaze moved along the fence line. A mild breeze blew across the garden, rustling the banana trees and stirring a distant wind chime. The sky was clear, the sun warm and bright. Perfect weather to be lying on the beach or drifting on a lake. Not a good day to be searching a dead woman’s house.

  He went back inside and retraced his steps, examining the windows and doors at the front of the house. Another sound propelled him back into Naomi’s office. A black-and-white cat sat atop the desk, cleaning his paws. Ethan’s sudden appearance startled him. The cat paused midgrooming, ears back, fur puffed.

  Ethan looked around the room and then glanced over his shoulder into the foyer. Then he moved to the desk. The cat hissed and backed away from him.

  “Ferocious, aren’t you?” Ethan examined the window locks. “How did you get in here, anyway?” Ida had said something about feeding Naomi’s cat, but surely the animal hadn’t been locked up in the house since the hit-and-run. He looked healthy enough. Had someone let him in after Ethan and Addie fled earlier?

  Ethan went back into the foyer and opened the front door. The cat shot out of the house like a rocket, lunging off the porch and sprinting across the yard to Ida’s garden.

  Glancing both ways down the street, Ethan closed the door and made his way back down the hallway to Naomi’s bedroom. He stood on the threshold, his senses still on alert as he waited for another giveaway sound. When nothing came to him, he set to work, finishing his search of the nightstands and then turning to the dresser. He put away his weapon, but he kept an eye on the door and an ear tuned to the hallway just in case.

  After several minutes of intense riffling, he sat back on his heels as he cast his gaze around the room, looking for less obvious hiding places. Then his gaze came back to the dresser. He had a view of the closet in the mirror. The door was ajar. Had it been that way earlier?

  He rose silently and moved across the room to throw back the door. Stepping inside, he parted hangers until he was certain the closet was clear. Then his gaze lifted to the ceiling, where a thick cord hung down from the attic door. He released the folding stairs and climbed up, each step creaking and shifting beneath his weight. Another string hung from a light socket attached to a rafter. Ethan clicked on the bulb, but the anemic light chased away only the nearest of shadows.

  He hoisted himself up through the opening, hunching his shoulders to avoid the rafters. The area was larger than he would have imagined and partially finished with floors and walls. The space on either side of the furnace accommodated several storage boxes, and someone had created a desk using an old wooden door and two small file cabinets. Colored folders were stacked on top of the desk, and photographs had been thumbtacked to a corkboard wall behind it. For whatever reason, Naomi Quinlan had outfitted a secret office in her attic.

  Ethan’s impulse was to go straight for those files, but instead he turned to survey the rest of the attic. At the fringes of illumination, he could just make out an old wicker chair and a myriad of plastic lawn ornaments. A one-armed mannequin lay discarded on the floorboards. Someone had tucked a red flower in the nylon strands of her hair and posed her remaining arm across her chest. The staged tableau looked eerily familiar, and a shiver crept up Ethan’s spine as he moved in closer.

  The mannequin’s eyes were glass rather than painted, and the reflection of light gave life to the frozen face. Ethan knelt to touch a finger to the crimson flower petal that had been placed over the molded lips. The dried botanical crumbled at even so light a contact, releasing a musty, funereal scent into the attic.

  There was no mistaking the intent. The mannequin had been displayed like a Twilight Killer victim and left for someone to find.

  Or was this a private exhibition, a macabre showing for one?

  Ethan had only known Naomi Quinlan through her emails, but nothing she had written suggested this kind of ghoulish fascination. He used his phone to snap a few shots before he moved to the other side of the attic. Here, the boxes and forgotten keepsakes had been shoved aside to accommodate a narrow mattress beneath the eaves. Apples and potato chip bags littered the floor around the makeshift bed and a hardback lay open on the pillow. Ethan recognized the title. It was one of the dozens of books that had been written in the aftermath of his father’s confinement. He’d read them all in the hope of finding a clue or even flawed logic in the telling of his father’s story.

  Unlike the dried magnolia petal, the apples appeared fresh. Someone had been here recently.

  Using the flashlight app on his phone, Ethan scanned the attic. Satisfied that he hadn’t overlooked anything significant—another clue or someone lurking in the shadows—he carried his phone to the desk, angling the beam over the folders before zeroing in on the photographs.

  The corkboard had been divided into three sections. The first was comprised of images that had been clipped from newspapers and magazines of Twilight’s Children. The second section was all about the killers—newspaper accounts of Orson Lee Finch’s arrest and trial, courtroom sketches and even a grainy shot of Ethan’s father captured inside the state psychiatric hospital.

  The third section contained crim
e scene and autopsy photographs arranged in chronological order by victim. Ethan was no stranger to gruesome imagery, but the display in Naomi Quinlan’s attic took him aback. The photographs could only have come from the official murder files, reinforcing his belief that Naomi or someone close to her had had an important contact in the police department.

  Ethan took his time studying the images before turning his attention to the folders. He found more newspaper clippings, manuscript pages and hundreds of handwritten notes and interviews, but no DNA results.

  Returning to the corkboard, he scoured the crime-scene photographs with a magnifying glass he found on the desk. The bodies had all been displayed in an identical manner. Arms folded over chest, legs straight, hair fanned about the face.

  Ethan’s gaze shot to the mannequin. He wanted to believe she was nothing more than a visual inspiration for Naomi’s writing, but the mattress shoved up underneath the rafters suggested a darker stimulation.

  A sound at the top of the steps caught him off guard, and he whirled as he reached for his weapon. He caught only a glimpse of black-and-white fur before the cat clambered down the stairs and bolted to safety.

  Ethan stared down the open hatch into the closet. He heard nothing, saw nothing out of place, but someone had let that cat back in the house.

  Possibly the same person who had been living in Naomi Quinlan’s attic. An unsub with an unnatural fixation on the Twilight Killer case.

  Chapter Nine

  Addie walked up and down the alley and then circled the block, looking for the man in the hoodie. She’d never had a good view of his face—probably couldn’t pick him out of a lineup—but the disguised voice and the trail of crimson magnolia petals left no doubt that he was the same man who had assaulted her the night before.