“Hey, there, boy.” Jace squatted to pet Phoenix. “Did the shower help?”
Startled, Addison jumped. “What?”
“The shower?” Jace frowned. “Do you feel better now?”
“Oh, sorry. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” She’d been busy watching him with Phoenix when she should have been trying to work out why the killer had deviated from the time line she’d laid out in her novel. “Yes, I feel better, thank you.”
“What’s that?” He pointed toward the piece in her hand as he stood and moved to stand beside her, careful to maintain enough distance to keep her from feeling trapped between him and the curtained windows.
“The thing he threw through the window.” Addison placed the still-wrapped stone in his hands but didn’t release her grip.
“Actually, he paid a kid fifty dollars to throw it through the window.”
“Hmm...” She captured his gaze with hers. “Was the car bugged?”
“Not that we could find, but one of Connor’s guys switched cars with us and we’re going to move anyway.”
She nodded and released the stone and his gaze.
He turned it over and studied the smooth, flat bottom. His brow furrowed. “What is this thing?”
“If my guess is correct, it’s from his next victim’s garden, except it isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?” Jace asked.
She shook her head, unable to get her thoughts straight. “He shouldn’t have killed her yet. I’m not supposed to get the clues until after...”
“What’s going on?” Maris came up behind her, Connor glued to her side.
“I don’t know.” Jace squeezed closer to Addison to allow them room until all three of them leaned over her at the small table.
A vise squeezed her chest. She spun the chair around to face them, and they finally backed up. She sucked in a deep, greedy breath.
Jace studied her for a moment and started to lift his hand, then lowered his gaze and let his hand drop to his side.
Disappointment surged. For an instant, she’d thought he might reach out to comfort her. The thought of losing herself in Jace’s strong embrace, even if only for a moment or two, appealed more than she cared to admit.
He frowned at the green rock. “So, what is this thing, and why does it have you so upset?”
“I think that’s part of an alligator garden decoration. The whole alligator is actually three pieces, three separate stones—the tail, the back and the head. When you line them up in the garden, it looks like he’s partially submerged. The piece you’re holding—” she gestured toward the object Jace still held “—is the back. In the book, though, the killer sends the detective a picture of it as a clue after the third murder. At least, I think it’s the third murder.”
You’d think that with all the time she’d spent writing and editing that book, she’d remember the order of the murders, but she couldn’t be positive. It had changed too many times to keep track.
“Yeah, it was the third murder. I didn’t put it together, because in the book he only sent the picture.” Jace set the piece on the table. “I don’t remember a scene where he threw anything through the window, but I didn’t finish reading yet. Did he deviate from the book again?”
“Sort of.” But it didn’t make sense, because the real killer couldn’t know that... “The killer did pay someone fifty bucks to throw a rock—just a regular rock—through the detective’s window.”
Jace’s gaze shot to Connor. “No wonder the little punk kept repeating that phrase about the fifty dollars. The killer told him to say it.”
Addison squeezed her temples between her thumb and fingers. “Yeah, well, there’s another problem.”
“What’s that?”
“It didn’t happen until book two.”
“I thought you said book two hasn’t come out yet.”
She held his gaze. “It hasn’t.”
“That changes everything.” Jace grabbed a pen and pad from the nightstand and started scribbling notes on a clean page. “Who would have read the second book?”
“A lot of people. My editor, my publicist, my agent, the team who acquired it, reviewers and anyone else who received an ARC, too many—”
“Wait.” Jace held up a hand. “What’s an ARC?”
“An advance reader copy. Sometimes reviewers and bloggers get copies of the book ahead of time so they can read it and post reviews when it releases. Other authors also receive a copy so they can read it and offer advance praise for the book.”
Seeming deflated, Jace tossed the pen and pad back onto the nightstand. “Still, it’s a lot fewer people than have read the first one. Is there a list?”
Addison shrugged. “I suppose someone could figure out who it was sent to, but what about people they might have lent it to?”
“They’re allowed to do that?”
“Not really, but some do. My point is, if someone really wanted a copy, they might be able to get it.”
“Well, it still narrows the field.”
“Plus, if the killer was the man who broke into my house, I saw him through the window, leaning over the bed where my laptop was. My files are password protected, but if he knew what he was doing, he might have been able to get a copy from there.”
Silence descended on the room, each of them lost in their own thoughts. They could possibly narrow down who had read the second book. Just because she didn’t give these things much thought didn’t mean someone else didn’t. Probably Ron or her publicist, Jerry, would know how to find out.
“Maybe we can use the stone to find the victim before he gets to her,” Connor said.
Maris shook her head and frowned. “Why would he do that? Why give the clue if you can use it to locate the victim before he can kill her?”
Jace shrugged. “Maybe to up the tension.”
“Or maybe because she ran.” Connor took the stone from the table and examined it. “Maybe when Addison left instead of hanging around and playing his game, he decided to up the stakes, give her a clue early.”
“Hmm...could be.” Shoving a hand through his shaggy hair, Jace stared at the stone as if it would suddenly reveal the killer. “Maybe he’s hoping to engage her by letting her think she might be able to save the next victim.”
“I don’t see how it will help.” Addison racked her brain for any way to use the knowledge to her advantage.
“Either way, we have to figure out where the stone came from.” Jace flipped through his notes.
“It’s not possible.” The stone had no tag offering a way to tell where it had been bought. “I saw them in a garden shop once, tons of them, then looked them up online when I was writing the story. Everyone sells them.”
Jace blew out a breath and perched on the edge of the couch. He propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his head, clasping his hands over the back of his neck. “There has to be some way to use this to our advantage.”
Maris continued to pace, arms folded across her chest.
“What do you want to do?” Connor leaned a hip against the couch.
Did she really want to run again? Her opinion of Jason Montana had changed drastically since they’d fled Long Island. He was a good man, a strong man, a man who had stepped in front of danger for her more than once, who’d upended his life by running out in the middle of the night to protect a woman he didn’t even like. And more than that, she trusted him. The realization came as a shock. When had that happened?
He sat on the couch, seemingly relaxed, though he couldn’t possibly be. She had a sudden desire to sit next to him, to absorb some of his strength, his confidence, whatever faith allowed him to remain so strong under such terrifying circumstances. The urge to flee with him battered her.
And yet... The life she’d made for herself hadn’t come easy. She’d already walked
out on her life twice, first when she’d married Brandon and abandoned all her friends and ambitions, then again by leaving her marriage behind. Divorcing Brandon had been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she’d gotten through with it. But even after she’d moved on, she’d never gotten close to anyone, holding everyone at arm’s length, never allowing herself to trust, to belong. She wanted that sense of belonging, the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared about her. She wanted friends, a family, maybe one day a nice safe husband who didn’t have the power to hurt people, didn’t wear a mask even in his own home, someone who was anything other than a cop.
Her gaze slid to Jace and she swallowed hard. “I’m going home.”
Jace turned a glare on her. “What are you talking about?”
She stood from the chair. This was her decision, not theirs. She’d spent enough of her life doing what other people expected. “I’m exhausted, and I’m going home. I’m tired of running. Besides, what difference does it make? He found me anyway.”
Jace stood. “You’re not going home.”
“Yes. I am. If I run away, he might start killing the victims sooner.” She couldn’t resist meeting the terror in Maris’s eyes. “I’m going back. I’ll stop in the garden shop where I first saw the stones as soon as they open and ask if they keep a list of people who bought them. Maybe from credit cards or local customers they remember. Who knows? It might just work.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep the pieces together. How had her life come to this?
Jace gripped her arms and tilted his head to look into her eyes.
She lifted her gaze to his, ready to argue for what she needed if that was what it took.
Jace’s gaze held strong as he studied her. “It can’t hurt to try. Maybe the killer bought it and placed it in the intended victim’s garden himself. It’s not likely he’ll be able to find exactly what he needs each time. Chances are he’s going to have to create some of the scenes if he wants to continue mimicking them so exactly.”
Gratitude poured through her.
He slid a free strand of hair from in front of Addison’s face behind her ear.
She tilted her head into his hand, reveling in the warmth and comfort for just a moment. “Thank you.”
He cupped her cheek and nodded. “If you insist on going home, I’m going with you.”
“So am I. Grab your stuff.” Just like Maris. Impatient as always.
The anger she’d felt toward Maris these past years had already started to dissipate, but it was hard to let go completely, especially when her emotions were so heightened.
Addison started past Maris.
Maris’s tentative hand on her arm stopped her.
Addison whirled to face her sister. “What do you want from me? Why are you even here?”
Maris’s cheeks reddened. “I’ve always been here for you, Addison. You were the one who walked away.”
“Walked away?” Shock held her tongue for just a moment while the pain of the past clutched her heart. She inhaled deeply, searching for calm, praying for guidance.
“I didn’t walk away, Maris. You destroyed my...” She choked on the word marriage and couldn’t even force it out. “You destroyed me.”
“What are you talking about?” Maris shoved her hands into her hair, the large bag slung over her shoulder swinging around and sliding down her arm. She ripped it off her arm and slammed it to the floor. “I’ve tried to take care of you since you were three.”
“I never asked for that.”
“You didn’t have to. Don’t you get it?” Clenching her fists, she took a step toward Addison, bringing them almost nose to nose.
Desperate for air, claustrophobia practically suffocating her, Addison backpedaled, her back slamming into the wall behind her.
“I tried to warn you about Brandon before you married him. I told you what a snake he was even then.”
Sweat wormed its way down Addison’s back. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Of course you don’t. You never want to talk about anything unpleasant. You just want to coop yourself up and hide from the world.” She shook her head, holding Addison’s gaze with her own, then threw her arms in the air and turned away. “It won’t work anymore, Addison. It never did.”
Seizing the opportunity to get some space, Addison slid away, keeping her back pressed against the wall. She’d managed to distance herself a bit when Maris turned back.
“You have to stop hiding, Addison. From Brandon, from yourself...” Her voice softened. Somehow that was even worse than yelling. “From the truth, from the past.”
Addison closed her eyes. Maybe if she ignored Maris, she’d give up and go away.
“I’m not leaving here until we have this conversation.” Steel hardened Maris’s voice, though she didn’t raise it. “If you never want to talk to me again once we’re done, that’s fine. But you’re going to hear me out this time.”
Nightmares played through Addison’s mind. No, not nightmares. Memories started to surface, but she shoved them away. Pressing a hand against her chest, she tried to relieve the ache. Why was Maris doing this? Addison opened her eyes.
“When you first started dating Brandon, I let it go. I understood you needed to be with someone who made you feel safe, and I was glad he did. But when it became too serious, and he grew more and more controlling and possessive, I got scared.” Her breath hitched, and she sniffed.
Addison couldn’t do this, couldn’t listen to this, couldn’t remember what had made her so frightened, so dependent...
“I used some of my contacts at the police station to check around a little, and what I found terrified me.”
Jace and Connor stood behind Maris, staring intently at the scene unfolding.
Heat flared in Addison’s cheeks. Great. Just what she needed, witnesses to her humiliation.
“Brandon Carlisle is a dirtbag. Half the people who worked under him were terrified of him. The other half were in cahoots with him. He was involved in extortion, bribery, prostitution, gambling... You name it, that creep had a hand in it, all while turning on the charm and appearing to all the world to be a devoted husband and dedicated public servant. And that was then. When I couldn’t stop you from marrying him, I kept watching him, waiting patiently for him to make a mistake I could use against him. And when he finally did—”
“I know what he is. Okay? Do you need to hear me say it? Fine. You were right. I needed to feel safe. I needed someone to take care of me.” There. She’d admitted it. Now, maybe, Maris would let it go, not force her to dig deeper, to search for the cause. “But I don’t anymore. I’m fine now and quite capable of taking care of myself. So leave me be, Maris.”
Avoiding Jace’s gaze, she turned and stormed across the room. She was going home.
“He killed her, Addison.” Maris’s words, spoken so softly and with such detachment, stopped her with her hand on the doorknob. “He killed his mistress. And everyone he was involved with knew it. Even those who had been contributing to all of his illegal activities up until that point were shaking in their boots.”
Though she desperately wanted to deny the allegation, she couldn’t. It was probably true. Though, try as she might, Maris hadn’t been able to prove it.
“And he hurt you.”
Phantom pain raced across her lower back.
“I know he did. There’s no way you fell.”
“I’m done, Maris. I don’t want to hear any more.”
“It’s time, Addison.”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.” Sobs wrenched Maris’s slim shoulders. “I thought I was doing the right thing, letting you forget—”
Addison clamped her hands over her ears, a scream welling deep within her.
“It’s time to remember, Addison. You were there. You
had to have seen—”
“Nooo!”
“I only wanted to protect you. I was a child. I loved you, and I just wanted you with me. You were my sister.” Maris crossed the room in three long strides and ripped Addison’s hands away from her ears. “I did the wrong thing. I was selfish. I wanted you to stay with me, so I made Daddy take you in. I shouldn’t have. They didn’t want you there. He and his new wife didn’t even want me.”
Maris shrugged it off, took a deep shaky breath. “I should have let you go. Maybe if you’d gone into a foster home, they’d have gotten you the therapy you needed, and you wouldn’t have ended up where you did.”
“You don’t understand.” With no way to contain her emotions any longer, Addison sobbed.
“I want to.”
“You weren’t there.”
“No. And I’m sorry for that, too. I wanted you to come with me that weekend, and you were supposed to, but you backed out at the last minute. I should have stayed home with you. If I hadn’t been with my father that weekend—”
Addison held her hands out in front of her and backed up. She had to get away. “Please stop, Maris. I can’t do this. Not right now. Please.”
Maris held her gaze for a long time, searching for something in Addison’s expression. Whatever she found, she relented. Her shoulders slumped and she nodded. “Okay. Only for now, though.”
“Fine.” Relief weakened her knees and they threatened to give out. “We can talk about it another time.”
“Sure.”
“I need to lie down for a few minutes.” She turned her back on the three of them.
Their hushed voices faded as they retreated through the connecting door to Jace’s room, but she ignored them, flopped onto the bed and covered her head with a pillow. As long as the past stayed buried, she didn’t really care what they thought.
* * *
Jace closed the door, leaving it ajar in case Addison needed help. He could only give her a few minutes to recover before they had to go. He turned to Maris. “You said something about Addison staying behind one weekend when she was supposed to go somewhere with you. What’s the significance of that?”
Crime Scene Connection Page 12
