Coveted: Saint Cecilia Slayings Book Four

by Blanco, N. Isabelle

  At all.

  Another glare, equally as lethal and miffed as the one she gave me just a couple of days ago. Rather than huff and make a scene, though, she simply falls into her seat and dives right into her work.

  Which is exactly what I should be doing, too.

  No use in sitting here waiting for her to speak up. That’s probably the last thing she wants to do with me right now and, truthfully, I probably deserve her silence for being such a dick. When she’s ready to talk, she will. No doubt about that.

  So I follow suit, deciding it best to keep my mouth shut and get on researching our latest victim from the alley, Evelyn Blount.

  Her background info pops up on my search, baring the woman’s entire identity to my gaze.

  My unfocused gaze.

  I wrangle my thoughts, my obsessive thoughts as usual, constantly reminding myself that I can’t judge Ruby if I’m not going to put every ounce of my energy into catching this killer.

  But she hasn’t answered my latest text.

  Her last response was just her checking in to see how I’m doing and to tell me she misses me.

  Again, she’s not fucking responding to my latest text.

  I’m sure you can guess who I mean by “she.” Fucking Kiera DuBois.

  I catch Ruby glaring at me from the corner of her eye once more. A reminder that I’m fucking up, being a dirty hypocrite. The guilt for getting Ruby in trouble multiplies as I struggle to read through the words in front of me.

  Mrs. Blount. Sixty-three years old. Four years younger than my mother. Five years away from full retirement age. Actively employed at . . .

  Winsor School.

  A name that rings a bell for some reason.

  Convinced I’ve heard of it before, I minimize the screen to pull up my browser. I’m only halfway through typing Winsor when the school comes up at the top of the drop down. Clicking on it, I find myself staring at the main website and a picture of the building’s facade.

  I know that school. Of course I do. It’s one of the most well-known private schools in Boston. Don’t know much about it past that, yet it’s definitely one I’ve heard of before.

  I click the link for the website next and head straight to the About page.

  Prestigious school. Over a century old. All girls school, too.

  Ah, my dear gut. The one that never leaves me alone.

  Ignoring the pounding of my heart, I dive a little deeper. Within minutes I have the current head of the school’s name, as well as the list of trustees.

  There’s more faculty, of course, but it’s a start.

  I’m about to go even deeper when my personal cell vibrates in my pocket. The only problem? I also left the notification volume up so my very angry, very bitter-at-the-moment partner hears it.

  Eyebrow raised, she turns that sour expression my way, eyeing my pocket with disdain.

  I pretend to ignore it and go about my work. It’s not like I don’t know where this is going if I engage.

  Alright it’s time I admit it. I’ve been an asshole. Sure, her fixation with Blackstone might be warranted, but whatever he’s up to is nothing compared to the Slayer being loose on the streets. Yes, I’m being a dick about it, however, it might be time I re-evaluate my stance.

  And, yes, considering I’m fucking dying to stop my search to check if that message is Kiera, I’m also aware I’m a hypocrite.

  As I previously admitted.

  Yet, then it occurs to me it might be my mother needing something—

  Ma doesn’t text. She calls.

  Fuck it. If Ruby asks, I’ll just claim it is. As horrible of a person as that might make me.

  * * *

  It was my girl.

  Was, as in: her responding to me was short lived. The first text read that she missed me and needed to see me. In my elation to hear from her, I replied with the same, but tacked on at the end that we also needed to talk.

  And that was it.

  Radio silence ensued once more and I didn’t hear from her again.

  It’s been hours since then. Ruby and I are back from lunch. Nathaniel and Jared are out questioning Evelyn’s husband. My phone may not have vibed again, but the need to check it, almost compulsively, is almost impossible to ignore. I’ll read three sentences and feel the itch, the burning in my pocket egged on by that insidious mental demon.

  Do it. Just check.

  What if she wrote back and you didn’t feel it?

  She may need you.

  Just do it, Maverick.

  Fuck me.

  I can’t brush it off this time. The last bit gets me, really gets me, and before I can process what I’m doing, the phone is in my hand and I’m opening up our thread. The same messages I’ve read probably a million times stare back at me, reinforcing the fact that something is very wrong.

  I know I shouldn’t be upset that she doesn’t trust me. I mean, we’ve only known each other for a very short period of time.

  But I want her to trust me.

  I want her to tell me everything, to confide in me with her deepest, darkest secrets.

  Basically, you want to be her knight in shining armor, my mind chortles. And yet your armor is more dull than shiny. Can’t save the girl if you can’t save yourself.

  Save myself from what?

  The Slayer, obviously.

  Your demons, to be more exact.

  Although, they’re one and the same, aren’t they? Have been for almost ten years now . . .

  Have I mentioned how much I loathe myself?

  Right at that moment, Ruby clears her throat in an exaggerated fashion. I can feel her eyes on me, too, and when I drag my gaze to where she sits, she flashes me another glare. “You know, if you’re going to sit there all high and mighty, pretending like you’re so invested in this case, then at least act like it.”

  Guilt and anger rush me in the same hand, shooting my head back. “What are you talking about?”

  Amber eyes roll in a perfect circle as she sighs and gracefully slithers onto her feet. She’s around my desk, leaning toward me in a mere blink. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Quinn. Had the nerve to complain about me to Porter, a complaint which resulted in a write-up, yet here you are eating total shit on your phone. At least I was compiling an investigation, not fixating on getting my pussy wet.”

  She’s gone after that, stalking to the break room with her head held high.

  And there I am, left at my desk in shock.

  Not only because of what she said to me, but because she clearly must have stolen a peek at my screen. Which means she may have seen the K in place of a full contact name. With how intuitive and intelligent my partner is, I wouldn’t put it past her that she’s already well on her way to figuring out who K is.

  Fuck.

  If there were ever a time for extreme damage control, now would more than likely be it.

  “Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”

  - James 5:16

  “Damage control.” Hah! Yeah, right. Damage control. There’s no such thing once a woman is on DEFCON 5. Ever heard the saying, “Hell hath no fury”? I’m living it right now.

  Haven’t stopped living it since yesterday, to be exact.

  Ruby is on sheer fire with her ire toward me and there’s no getting through to her.

  In the passenger seat, she’s busy typing away on her work phone, in full work mode.

  In a way I swear I’ve never seen her before.

  I’d be happy about it, except that scowl on her face doesn’t bode well for anybody.

  Who am I kidding? It doesn’t bode well for me.

  Finding a parking near Winsor, I take the spot and shut off the engine; make no move to get out of the car, either. Do you think Ruby even notices? Nope. She’s too busy engrossed in whatever she’s doing, a clear attempt not to reach over and kill me.

  And here I go, about to poke the mad lion I provoked.

&nb
sp; Taking a deep breath, I angle toward her and lean my forearm on the steering wheel. “Saunders.”

  Eyebrows rise, expression flattening entirely, and her response could not be colder. “Hm?”

  “Saunders, can we talk for a moment?”

  Faster typing. To the point that I hear her short nails hitting the screen. “Inputting the notes on Mrs. Blount. Might as well head in, too. It’s around lunch time for most of the faculty.”

  All of this said without blinking once in my direction.

  Shit.

  Running a hand down the side of my face, I try again. “Saunders, I . . . apologize. Okay?”

  Her phone falls out of her hands onto her lap. In a whirl, she’s facing me, face twisting. “You what?”

  I throw my hands up and move back a bit. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Oh? Oh. You’re ‘sorry’,” she spits, making air quotes with her fingers and everything. “You got me in severe trouble. You don’t even realize how much, do you?”

  I open my mouth—

  “I got a fucking write up!” Ruby interrupts in a near screech. “Not just a talking to. A goddamn write up!”

  “Fuck. Jeez. Ruby, I’m sorry. I didn’t think he’d—”

  She slams her hand against the arm rest. “Blackstone has already complained about me! Do you have any fucking idea what that means?”

  Depending on what Blackstone had to say in his complaint, it could mean one of two things. Either she crossed a line I don’t know, aside from the investigating him—stalking him—thing, or he’s caught onto just that.

  That Ruby is eyeing him like some kind of perp.

  Not that I get a chance to say any of this.

  Throwing her hands up in the air, she laughs sarcastically. “And coming from a hypocrite like you of all people.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She points in my direction. “Yes, you. Sanctimonious prick. Preaching about keeping my head in the game, about not being distracted. Fuck you, Quinn—you’re the king of being distracted lately. You’re barely present ninety-percent of the time, always staring at your phone like some obsessed freak!”

  “No, I’m not!” I bark back, which only adds fuel to the fire.

  Rage heats her cheeks, crawling upward from her neck. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re pulling that thing out every ten seconds! Is the pussy that good that you’re acting so fucking desperate?”

  My mouth is popped open, I can assure you that, but I can’t speak.

  I’m speechless, can’t believe she just went there.

  “Figures,” she scoffs. “The minute you guys get your dick wet on the regular, you’re useless.”

  Slam!

  The turbulent sound jolts me in my seat. Mouth still popped open, I watch through the rear view mirror as she stalks into the school. For the briefest moment I contemplate not going in after her, but that’s not really an option.

  I have to.

  This is my job, not trusting Ruby with my lunch order while I wait in the car.

  On a resigned sigh, I step out onto the pavement and lock the car behind myself as I follow the path she took. I spot her near the reception desk the second I’m inside the building.

  A quick rake through my hair and I’m sidling up beside her, fully aware she tenses uncomfortably. She doesn’t falter, though. Continues on with her query as the older woman behind the desk eyes me.

  I flash her my badge to ease her mind and offer a polite smile for good measure.

  Within minutes we’re being ushered to the head mistress’s office, where an older woman is waiting for us behind the desk.

  “Detectives. I figured we’d get a visit sooner or later. Please, have a seat.” She motions politely to the two overstuffed chairs in front of her large, antique desk.

  Ruby and I do as asked, and I allow Ruby to take lead on the questioning.

  “I’m sure you’re aware we’re here about Mrs. Blount.”

  The woman, Kathleen Debby as her plate reads, reverts her attention back on Ruby, a forlorn expression taking residence on her face.

  “Evelyn had been a teacher here for the last twenty-five years. Kind soul, very loving and understanding. So generous, too. Never in my wildest dreams did I think the last time I’d ever see her would be when she walked out of here on Friday afternoon. We’re all quite shaken.”

  “Did she have any issues at home or out of the workplace that she may have mentioned?” Ruby presses.

  Kathleen shakes her head. “None at all. She was actually more lively than usual, as she and her husband were supposed to be heading out on a cruise for their fortieth wedding anniversary.”

  “Oh, wow,” Ruby and I lament in unison, our eyes meeting for a split-second.

  “Mhmm, very sad,” Kathleen agrees. “Her husband is devastated, and given his health condition, I’m not sure he’ll be around much longer without her. She was his everything.”

  Kinda how you wish Kiera could be for you. How sentimental, my demons taunt, igniting that itch in my pocket once more.

  I know damn well she hasn’t responded, and yet here I am, wanting to go check again.

  Distracted in the middle of working the case once more.

  Ruby’s right; I’m one-hundred percent a sanctimonious, hypocritical prick.

  And she’s looking at me like she knows I just realized it.

  I need to step my fucking game up.

  Clearing my throat, I turn away from Ruby and cut my eyes back on Kathleen. “Who would you say, if any at all, from the faculty here at Winsor, were closest to Mrs. Blount, or had perhaps known her the longest?”

  “Aside from myself, I’d say Mrs. Baker, she teaches eighth grade. Mrs. White, the History professor, and Mr. Coleman—he runs the theater department.”

  Ruby takes down those names in her notepad before looking back up at the head mistress. “Are you sure nothing about her demeanor was off in the days leading up to her death? Nothing at all?”

  Kathleen ponders the question for a bit, staring off into space. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Then again, I spend most of my days involved in the day to day running of the school, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

  Ruby nods. “Of course.”

  “You can definitely speak to the teacher’s I mentioned. They would have spent more time with her during the day than I have. I will also ask around with the rest of the faculty.”

  I lean forward to offer her a business card. “Instead of pulling them out of class, how about having them come to police headquarters to speak with us as soon as possible? We do need to stress the urgency of this, however.”

  Kathleen takes the card gently. “I understand. I will pass on the message immediately and let them know that they must go in during the next few days.”

  “Thank you so much,” Ruby says politely.

  I repeat her statement and stand.

  “Is there anyway we can also get a list of all her current students?”

  I’m taken aback by Ruby’s question and impressed. Hadn’t even thought of that. Yeah. Because you’re distracted thinking about Kiera for the millionth time.

  “Is speaking to the students necessary? A lot of them have taken the news quite hard and we’d really like to—”

  My partner interrupts the head mistress in a polite tone. “We can’t rule anything out, but as of right now it’s just for informational purposes. We need all we can get to try and figure out why she was targeted.”

  The head mistress remains reluctant, but she agrees to have that sent to us by the end of the day.

  Goodbyes are offered and then it’s Ruby and I again, heading down the pristine hallways to the car.

  She forges on ahead of me, as if in a hurry to put distance between us; not that I would be surprised. “We’ll need an alternate way to get that student list.”

  “Already thinking about it. I’ll also speak to the lieutenant and Cap about it. You thinking what I’m thinking?” We step back out into the early morning s
unlight.

  “That perhaps she was targeted due to the parents of one of the students she’s close to? It’s a definite possibility.” Ruby crosses the street ahead of me, making a beeline for the car.

  I disengage the locks. “Hey. By the way. You were great in there. Really on—”

  She cuts into my compliment with a glare over her shoulder, then opens the passenger side door and gets in.

  The door slams shut a second later.

  And I know without a doubt that the level of shit I’m in with my partner—the level of deserved shit—is the kind I won’t be getting out of any time soon.

  If ever.

  This is going to make things extremely awkward moving forward and it’s all my fucking fault.

  “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

  - 1 Corinthians 13:13

  Less than an hour left on the clock when my personal goes off in my pocket. Ruby’s already packing up for the day, as are many of my colleagues, and without so much as a single glance to my screen, I’m on my feet and rushing to the bathroom.

  I have to lock myself in the stall when I finally see who’s calling, stomach churning impatiently, the hairs at the nape of my neck standing tall.

  “Hello?” I sound far more winded than I should, but the near-shock has clearly stolen my breath.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” Kiera whimpers quietly, as if she’s trying to go unheard. “I need to see you.”

  “When?”

  “Now, if possible.”

  “Can’t now, baby. Still at work, but I’ll be home within a half hour or so. Meet me there?” I’m all but crossing my fingers, still stupefied by her sudden call.

  “Half hour, got it. I’ll be there with my bag, and no, I won’t leave in the middle of the night again—I promise.”

  I’m about to tell her we need to talk, but quickly decide against it. The last two times I pressed the topic, she disappeared without warning. And considering how badly I’ve been wanting—no, needing—to see her, there’s no chance in hell I’m going to screw this up with my deranged fixation to know what the hell has gone on in her past.