She stumbled against him, inhaling the scent of coffee grounds on his clothing. Why was she thinking about coffee grounds? She fumbled for her gun pouch with thick fingers, but Jordy easily removed the purse from her grasping hands.
“I’ll take that. You have something else of mine, too, don’t you? So nice, so friendly. They all pretend to be nice and friendly.” His hand plunged into her open purse and grabbed the cup.
At least he hadn’t noticed the gun tucked in the pouch. Her tongue felt twice its size as she attempted to form words being transmitted slowly from her fuzzy brain.
He laughed. “Yeah, she had one too many.”
He guided her along the sidewalk, which had turned into a tunnel.
She could barely focus on her feet tripping over the pavement, Jordy’s arm propping her up, Jordy propelling her to the same fate as her mother.
“No.”
“It’s okay. I pumped enough drugs into your system, you’ll hardly notice when the world stops turning for you.” He continued to march her along, and she was happy for him to do so, as she could barely feel her legs.
She could still feel the occasional brush of another human and hear voices far off at the end of the tunnel. He didn’t have her alone, yet.
Then she heard the jingle of keys, the beep of a horn. His car.
“No.” The word screamed in her head, but came out like a whimper.
Jordy mumbled something.
“What?” The word sounded like a wisp of air.
“Rule number four. The victim should never be someone you know. Rule number four. Rule number four.”
She put all her efforts into forming words with her mouth and tongue. “You know me, Jordy. I know you.”
“None of you know me. You pretend you do. Get muffins, Jordy. Get scones, Jordy. Get decaf, half-whip, low-fat, extra foam, shot on the side, Jordy.” He maneuvered her to the passenger side of his car, and she couldn’t move her limbs to fight him off, couldn’t reach her weapon, couldn’t get away.
“Rule number four. Rule number four.”
“You’re violating rule number four, Jordy.”
Had he heard her mumbled words?
He propped her against the car and opened the door. Once he got her in his car, he’d strangle her, dump her body and hook up with a prostitute.
“Rule number four. Rule number four,” Jordy sobbed as he grabbed her to shove her into the car.
“Stop, Jordy. It’s over. Let her go.”
Jordy dropped his hands from her body, and she slid halfway down the car.
Had she imagined Jake’s voice in her fog. “Jake?”
Jordy ducked and reached into the car. “Get back. I’ll kill her if you don’t get back.”
“Let her go, Jordy. It’s over. I called for backup. More cops than you can imagine are going to be rolling up any second.”
The scream of sirens punctuated Jake’s words, and Kyra hugged the side of the car to stay upright. It was over. She wasn’t going to die like her mother.
Jordy grabbed her around the neck and dragged her backward, a cold blade at her neck. “I said I’d kill her, and I will. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore. I broke rule number four.”
Kyra bucked against Jordy’s hold, creating a sliver of space between them. In that split second, a blast of gunfire cracked through the air.
Wet droplets sprayed her face as Jordy released his grip on her and crumpled to the ground at her feet. She staggered back, her hand sliding against the blood-splattered car window.
Jake rushed to her side, his weapon drawn, the smell of gunpowder permeating the air. He nudged Jordy’s body with his foot, and the unlikely killer rolled onto his back, the knife resting on his outstretched palm.
As several squad cars flooded the area, illuminating the sky with their revolving red-and-blue lights, Jake curled a hand around her waist, burying his face in her hair.
“Kyra! Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right.” He smoothed a rough hand down her throat.
She swallowed and mumbled, “He drugged me, but I’m fine. He didn’t cut me.”
Jake must’ve understood her because he gathered her in his arms and pressed his lips against her temple. “Thank God, you’re safe. I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d reacted too slowly.”
Several cops rushed in, weapons drawn, but Kyra had eyes for only one cop. As she rested her head against his shoulder, she said, “You were just in time.”
EPILOGUE
“Kyra said one beer, Quinn.”
The gruff detective snorted. “Just because she solved her first murder case, she thinks she can boss us around.”
Kyra placed a bottle of beer in front of Quinn. “If I hadn’t gotten ahead of myself and had just left Uncommon Grounds without playing amateur sleuth and called Jake about my suspicions, which he already had, maybe the task force could’ve arrested Jordy Lee Cannon without fanfare and gotten some answers out of him.”
Jake grabbed the plates of fish and chips and brought them to the coffee table. “I don’t know what we could’ve gotten out of him. We know how he met his victims—at Uncommon Grounds in West Hollywood and Studio City. They weren’t alarmed when he approached them because they knew him from the coffee place or he looked vaguely familiar to them. He plunged a needle into their necks to disable them, got them in his car where he finished them off by strangulation and then dumped their bodies. He maybe tried to throw us off by mimicking The Player’s MO, and he took a piece of jewelry for a trophy—we found all the items in his room at his mother’s house.”
“But not the fingers.” Quinn picked up a fry, considered it and popped it into his mouth.
Jake chewed the inside of his mouth. “Maybe he never wanted the fingers as trophies. He just took them to copy The Player and got rid of them.”
“To catching the bad guy.” Kyra held up her beer, and Jake and Quinn toasted with her, clinking the necks of their bottles.
She said, “He sure seemed upset about breaking rule number four.”
Quinn raised his shaggy eyebrows and Jake said, “We think rule number four was not knowing your victim. Jordy figured he was following rule number four because he didn’t really know these women. We wouldn’t have been able to find out about Jordy by tracing the victims’ friends or family. But he knew he’d broken that rule because he didn’t choose random victims. He chose women he knew through Uncommon Grounds.”
Kyra shook some vinegar over her fish and chips. “I didn’t realize serial killers had sets of rules.”
“Of course they do.” Quinn glanced at Jake. “Did you find his rules or anything like that when you searched his mother’s house?”
“Nope. He must’ve had them in his head. I wonder what the other rules encompassed.”
“Obviously, not leaving prints or DNA. He wore gloves and he didn’t sexually assault his victims.” Quinn shook his head. “A careful killer...just like The Player.”
Kyra hunched her shoulders. “I’m just glad you found Jordy’s car so fast when you got to Melrose.”
“His manager told me where he parked. When Rachel mentioned that the two of you had met for coffee that night and then you left that message about finding something, I got a sinking feeling in my gut. I’m just glad I got there on time. I’d shoot that guy all over again and damn his interview or any lies he could tell us.”
Kyra gave him a look from beneath her lashes that made him glad all over again.
She brushed her fingers together. “At least Billy ID’d the first victim, so we didn’t need Jordy’s help with that.”
“Why did that take so long?” Quinn crunched into a piece of battered fish.
“Shelby Shipton was from out of town. She’d pulled up stakes in Idaho and came out to LA to make a new life and pursue her dreams.”
“Sounds like someone else I know.” Quinn reached over and grabbed Kyra’s hand. “I heard about Matt Dugan’s death. Are you okay?”
Kyra shifted her gaze from Quinn to Jake and back to Quinn’s face again. “I—I was sorry to hear about Matt. He took a bad road a long time ago, so it’s not surprising.”
Quinn squeezed Kyra’s fingers in his gnarled ones. “He won’t bother you anymore.”
She sniffed and took a gulp of beer.
Was the sadness feigned? Jake knew all too well you could mourn the loss of someone you didn’t like.
They finished their food, and he helped Kyra clean up the kitchen while Quinn watched TV. The old detective had gotten a supreme sense of satisfaction when they caught The Copycat Player—must’ve been almost as good as solving the original. Almost.
Kyra wiped her hands on a dish towel and snapped him with it. “Do you want to go outside and watch the sunset from the bridge?”
“Sounds good.” He called into the living room. “Quinn, you wanna go out with us?”
Quinn waved his hand. “You two go. I’m watching my show. I like to laugh at all the stupid things these detectives do—and the public really believes things work that way.”
Kyra poked Jake in the side. “You should watch a great movie called Shots Fired, Quinn. True to life.”
Jake rolled his eyes. She’d never let him forget that...and he hoped she’d keep on reminding him.
With a last glance at Quinn, Kyra opened the front door and stepped onto the porch.
Jake inhaled the scent of the ocean. “It’s pretty out here.”
“Not quite like Venice, Italy, but not like LA, either.”
When they got to the bridge, they sat down, dangling their legs over the water. Jake slipped an arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him. They hadn’t had a real date yet, but what they’d been through together had brought them closer than a hundred real dates could.
He pinched her chin with his fingers and kissed her sweet lips, just a little tart from the lemon. But that was Kyra—sweet and tart.
When he pulled away, she stroked his jaw with her fingertips. “Does this mean you don’t hate therapists anymore?”
“Never did.” He rubbed her back, which arched like a cat’s beneath his touch. “I’m liking this therapist a lot right now.”
The phone next to him on the wooden bridge buzzed, and he groaned. “The pitfalls of dating a cop. My ex-wife never got used to it.”
“I’m not your ex.” Kyra swept up the phone and handed it to him. “It’s Billy.”
“Hey, Billy. You’re interrupting my private time.”
“I didn’t know you had any of that, brother.” Billy coughed. “You’re gonna want to hear this—or maybe not.”
“What is it?” A slow dread thrummed through Jake’s veins.
“Body just discovered—card in the mouth and severed little finger.”
Jake’s gut knotted as he grabbed Kyra’s hand.
“What’s wrong, Jake?”
“Looks like we have another copycat killer.”
* * * * *
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ISBN-13: 9781488072741
The Setup
Copyright © 2021 by Carol Ericson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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www.Harlequin.com
“I’m not a sheriff.” Not anymore.
He helped her regain her balance on her own two feet, his hand still pressed into her lower back. Bands of heat swirled through her, and she forced herself to step out of his reach. To prove she could. She wasn’t a sheriff anymore, and he wasn’t a private investigator anymore, but that didn’t make the desire bubbling under her skin any more appropriate. She was the chief deputy of this district—his superior. If the top United States marshal himself got even a hint of intimacy between her and Dylan, she’d lose her job and he’d be suspended.
She couldn’t let the past ruin what she’d built here. For either of them.
The Suspect
Nichole Severn
Nichole Severn writes explosive romantic suspense with strong heroines, heroes who dare challenge them and a hell of a lot of guns. She resides with her very supportive and patient husband, as well as her demon spawn, in Utah. When she’s not writing, she’s constantly injuring herself running, rock climbing, practicing yoga and snowboarding. She loves hearing from readers through her website, www.nicholesevern.com, and on Twitter, @nicholesevern.
Books by Nichole Severn
Harlequin Intrigue
A Marshal Law Novel
The Fugitive
The Witness
The Prosecutor
The Suspect
Blackhawk Security
Rules in Blackmail
Rules in Rescue
Rules in Deceit
Rules in Defiance
Caught in the Crossfire
The Line of Duty
Midnight Abduction
Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Remington “Remi” Barton—Small-town sheriff turned chief deputy US marshal. Remi’s failure to catch a serial killer from her days as a Delaware sheriff is about to put everything she’s tried to protect in danger, including one of her own deputies.
Dylan Cove—As a former private investigator, Dylan is more than capable of uncovering the truth, but his past mistakes threaten to derail the hunt for a killer and compromise his future with Remi.
Beckett Foster—Deputy US marshal assigned out of Oregon division office.
Finnick Reed—Deputy US marshal with specialized experience hunting serial killers assigned out of Oregon division office.
Jonah Watson—Deputy US marshal and former FBI bomb technician assigned out of Oregon division office.
New Castle Killer—Credited with murdering three college-age victims in Delaware, the New Castle Killer is determined to finish what he’s started with Remi, but what happens when another killer catches up with this serial killer?
To my mind-blowing readers:
Keep buying my books, please.
&nbs
p; But seriously, you’re amazing.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER ONE
Some people believed evil could be predicted. It couldn’t.
Chief Deputy US Marshal Remington “Remi” Barton stepped over the threshold of the small cabin on the outskirts of the city. Sitting between Mount Hood and Portland, Gresham, Oregon, was one of the state’s largest cities, but it still hung on to that small-town feel. One hundred thousand people lived within the limits, yet not a single one of them had been close enough to hear the victim scream.
“Heard you might have seen something like this back in Delaware, Chief.” Sergeant Daniel Nguyen, the Gresham officer who’d called her to check out the scene, motioned her inside. He flipped open a small notebook and cradled a pencil in his other hand. Handsome Asian heritage highlighted sharp cheekbones, a thin nose and thick black hair. Dark eyes scanned the scene. “The medical examiner is on her way, and the crime scene unit will be finished in a few minutes. No forced entry, and whoever finished the job had wiped down any surfaces before leaving the victim. I doubt we’ll be able to pull fingerprints. Whoever did this sure as hell knew how to clean up after themselves.”
“You said a pair of hikers found him after one of them got sick and were knocking on doors for help. They saw him through the window?” Dread pooled at the base of her spine. The heavy scent of copper and decomposition twisted Remi’s stomach as she cleared the path of a tech leaving the scene. The USMS didn’t normally investigate homicide cases. Remi and the team she supervised were specifically trained in fugitive recovery, prisoner transport, asset forfeiture and witness security, but she couldn’t ignore the detailed similarities between this victim and the memories she’d run from.
Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 19
