Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5)

by Camille Taylor

  Nick didn’t believe her for a second. She cared. She cared too much which hurt him just as much as it hurt her. If only Riley wasn’t Riley it would make things so much simpler. “I guess Dean will only tell you anyway—”

  “If you can’t tell me because you can’t I understand Nick.” Her voice conveyed her offence at his suggestion. “I do come from a family of cops you know. I’m not about to go behind your back to Dean because he happened to marry my best friend for a little bit of information.”

  Well, that certainly put him in his place.

  He stabbed stiff fingers through his hair, wishing he’d never answered his phone in the first place. “Yes, Olivia Charles is the second victim. The scene was exactly as described in his novel.”

  “It’s far from over, isn’t it?”

  Nick closed his eyes, anger welling up inside of him at the knowledge of how useless he was in this case. “If I had to guess, I’d say he was just getting started. He’s having far too much fun with this to simply stop now.”.

  “I was afraid you’d say that.” She fell silent. After a while, she spoke again. “I’m sorry, Nick, for whatever it was I did or said that’s made you hate me. I’m really sorry.”

  Nick’s heart squeezed painfully inside his chest at the genuine regret in her voice. “You didn’t do a thing wrong, Riley and I don’t hate you. It’s just me and my issues. I’m sorry for letting you think otherwise.”

  James shook his head and mouthed, ‘pathetic.’ Nick flipped him off. He didn’t need his colleagues to dump on him too. He already knew he’d made mistakes with Riley.

  “I guess we’re both sorry then—for everything. Goodbye Nick. Good luck finding the SOB. Hopefully, you’ll get a shot at him before the others arrive.” She hung up, the click of the receiver sounding as final as the possibility of their relationship.

  Nick leaned back in his office chair, emotions swirling around inside his six-foot body. Goddamn Riley O’Neill! Just the simplest of words or actions and she had him. And he was most definitely hers. He only prayed she never made a play for him because he knew he didn’t have the courage to walk away from her.

  “What’s with you two?” James asked.

  Nick tapped his fingers against his desk. “What do you mean?

  “The night of Dean’s engagement party. You two were flirting pretty hard. I’d have laid a bet you two would spend the night together.”

  A knot tightened in his belly. He remembered well. “You’d have lost.”

  “What happened?”

  “I found out who she was.” At James’ blank look, he continued. “I don’t date friend’s sisters or family members and Riley is like both to Megs and Dean. No way am I risking a friendship—or a partnership. Not even for Riley.”

  Then there was Vanessa and her aftermath. But he wasn’t ready to talk about that. Especially not to James.

  “I think you’re making a big mistake. You can’t deny you two have chemistry.”

  “I try not to think about it.” Liar.

  James sighed, as though he couldn’t believe Nick was being such an idiot.

  Some days, Nick agreed.

  Chapter 7

  The day of Brittany Hudson’s funeral was lovely. Warm for winter with just the slightest hint of a breeze, the thunderstorm earlier in the week a distance memory. It was almost like God himself felt guilty at allowing such a young, beautiful woman that had so much to live for die, and he was trying to make amends by giving her a memorable send-off.

  Sitting in the back, out of the way, Riley noted the swarm of reporters like vultures hovering over a dying man waiting to pick him clean. Riley hated reporters. Funny how vehemently she felt about what she believed the lower life forms considering she had never had to deal with them. She guessed it had something to do with the way they capitalised on the worst days of people’s lives. Riley had had her fair share of worst days but luckily no one had been there to witness or report her failings. She could only imagine what the Hudsons must be going through.

  As the Funeral Director began his eulogy, the occupants of the room fell quiet with only a sneeze or cough marring the silence. Riley surveyed about the room, wondering if he was here. Was he watching with repressed glee at what he had caused? Did he enjoy watching the Hudsons fall apart as they lay their only child to rest? Riley shivered. Of course he did. Animals like that existed in this world and there was no option other than to put them down.

  Riley studied the faces of every man in the room that she could see. Would she be able to see through his mourning facade and see the emotionless killer below? Her brother would be able to. He had made a living out reading people’s facial expressions to know whether or not they meant to act on the threats they made. But she wasn’t her brother and the only faces she could see all appeared to be normal. Her gaze fell upon a man hidden away off to the side who was unobtrusively filming the funeral and she guessed him to be a cop. It was standard procedure these days to film each crime scene and funeral just in case the perp came back to gloat.

  Riley barely heard any of the words the funeral director said as she continued to scan the heavy crowd. The funeral had been opened to the public—at Nick’s or James’ request she assumed and due to Brittany’s media coverage, the small funeral home had standing room only. She squirmed in her seat, the room hotter than necessary because of the high amount of body heat and she could feel an uncomfortable drop of sweat roll down between her breasts and tried to ignore the stickiness as her shirt stuck to her skin. She hadn’t bothered to remove her jacket when she’d sat down, not expecting the high turnout and now regretted the decision. She forced herself to sit still after receiving one too many quelling glares from the oversized woman beside her and not wanting to make a scene—particularly at a funeral—Riley bit her tongue and tried in vain to focus.

  Her mind wandered again and so did her gaze, her breath catching in her throat, almost choking her when she found a set of cornflower blue’s belonging to none other than Nicholas Doyle. He stared right at her, probably wondering what she was doing here. Well good luck to him, because even she wasn’t one hundred percent sure. All she did know was that she felt connected to this girl and wanted to say her goodbyes to a woman whose death she had experienced in vivid, well-written detail.

  Nick held her gaze, not allowing her to break away whether she wanted to or not. She ran their last conversation over in her mind. Where the hell had it left them? In some sort of limbo was how she felt. But how did he feel?

  That was the ultimate question, wasn’t it?

  He curled his mouth ever so slightly as if to say, “Hello” and she sent him back the barest discernible nod before shifting her gaze to James who stood a short distance away. She’d already noticed Matt Murphy on the way in and no doubt, Darryl Hill, the last of the unit would be around somewhere.

  Riley waited long after the funeral was over and the crowd began to disperse. Close family and friends were being led to the vehicles that would take them to the cemetery where Brittany Hudson would be laid to rest. The curiosity seekers and various reporters now having had their fill of whatever had prompted them to show up in the first place all took their leave until there was only a small crowd of twenty or so left in the funeral home, a mixture of stragglers, funeral employees and members of Harbour Bay Police.

  Nick and his unit all moved inward, meeting in the centre of the room to presumably discuss their ideas on the whether or not the killer had shown up, and if he’d been caught on camera. They spoke in low voices, but since she was only a few rows away she could hear them clearly. She stared toward the front of the room where the podium had been situated as Brittany’s casket was wheeled away to the loading dock where it would be transferred to the hearse that would take her to the cemetery. Tears burned in Riley’s eyes and her heart ached for what could’ve been and just how easily a life can be taken—here one minute gone the next.

  Nick broke away from the group and headed to her. He took the
seat beside her, leaving scarce inches of space between their bodies.

  Her skin hummed as his heat penetrated through the layers of clothes she wore. She twisted her fingers together in an effort not to touch him.

  It appeared not only could she not take a hint, but she didn’t learn either.

  “Surely the fabulous Riley O’Neill has something better to do on a Wednesday afternoon than to come to a funeral.”

  She wished. The only thing on her to-do list was work.

  “Not really, how sad is that? I have less of a social calendar than Brittany Hudson does now that she’s dead.”

  Nick looked Riley up and down. “Any particular reason you’re not sleeping?”

  “That obvious, huh? How about every time I close my eyes I see Brittany and Olivia being raped and murdered? Not exactly the sweet dreams I was hoping for.”

  She felt the weight of his gaze as though he compelled her to look at him. She forced herself to continue staring ahead.

  “Maybe you should talk to Natalie about how to overcome those nightmares.”

  Her stomach knotted. “And just how would I do that?”

  “How would I know, honey, I’m not a psychologist.”

  Riley glared at him, her voice chilling. “Don’t call me honey.”

  She stood, practically climbing over him in order to pass him in the row and made her way up the aisle to the front door.

  Nick hastened to catch up, grabbing her wrist to stop her. She jerked it back but he held on tight. “I’m sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender, releasing her wrist. “Truce?”

  Riley gave the matter some thought—his mouth tightened when she gave it too much before somewhat reluctantly nodding her agreement.

  “I promise you, Riley, we’re going to find this guy.”

  Neither of them said the unspoken words, “hopefully before he kills again” but the words undoubtedly skittered across both their minds.

  ***

  An hour later, tired and disheartened, Riley returned home to her quiet apartment. Removing her jacket, she placed it on the back of her kitchen chair and changed out of her funeral clothes—a black fitted shirt and pressed pants, donning on a large footy shirt and a less than fashionable pair of grey sweatpants. If it wasn’t so cold, she would be drowning her sorrow with some double choc chip ice-cream right about now. But it was several degrees too cool for anything frozen, so instead she poured herself a glass of room temperature wine and took a deep sip.

  Lost in the sensation, and weighing the pros and cons of getting drunk, she didn’t immediately notice the rectangle parcel on the floor to the right of the door where it had been pushed. When she did however, the bottom dropped out of her stomach and she sculled the rest of the wine, hiccupping as she swallowed the last drop. After pouring another glass, she repeated the action, replacing the long-stemmed goblet on the dining table with a bang. Her nerves and courage now fortified, Riley moved across the room warily as if approaching a snake or skittish animal rather than an inanimate object. Retrieving the envelope, she sucked in a deep breath when she recognised the handwriting on the address label.

  Dialling Nick’s number from her mobile, she listened to it ring as she cradled the handset between her ear and shoulder. She ripped open the package with gusto, a need to know outweighing her sensibility that said, ‘ah possible evidence here, don’t handle’ and yanked out the stack of paper, her heart nosediving in her chest when she read the title: Act Two.

  “Hi, you’ve reached Nick Doyle—” Nick’s voice echoed inside her ear as she reached his voicemail. She left a brisk and to the point message. “I have something here you’ll want to see. Please get back to me ASAP.”

  After placing her mobile on the table beside her purse, she dropped the manuscript on the table like the poison it was and paced back and forth.

  Don’t do it, Riley. Don’t you dare read it. Remember the last time you read his vicious words. You still can’t sleep undisturbed.

  But I need to know.

  No, you don’t.

  Yes, I do.

  She warred with herself before finally snatching up the manuscript and sinking down on her couch. Opening to the first page, she prayed for strength and began reading.

  Hours later, she was completely immersed in the novel. As much as she wanted to hurl it across the room, another part of her was determined to see it through to the end. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest. Nausea rose, and she struggled to swallow it down, tasting the vile aftertaste that had her stomach revolting a second time.

  She shuddered, feeling lightheaded as she turned page after page. Tears dripped down her cheeks as she reached the final words and she squeezed her eyes shut. Every muscle had tensed and her stomach had twisted until every breath she took caused her pain.

  Images flashed against her eyelids, her once blackened vision filled with vibrant colour and torment as she relived the deaths and…

  She couldn’t think it. Didn’t want to believe it.

  A whimper escaped her mouth.

  Shaking, she felt brittle, each word repeating in her mind. She bit her lip, hopelessness and fear drowning her.

  A brief knock against the front door had Riley gasping, choking on the lump lodged in her throat. She jerked, her eyes wide as her assistant, Michelle opened the door and stepped inside, stopping when her gaze caught Riley’s.

  Riley doubled over, her hand going to her heart and she swore her heart almost went into cardiac arrest as she tethered on the edge of blacking out. Her head became dizzy, black spots dancing in her vision. Just how close had she came to losing consciousness?

  Michelle ran over. “Riley, are you all right?”

  Riley backed up until she was against the wall. “Don’t touch me.” Her voice sounded shrill to her ears, like a woman about to snap. She closed her eyes again, visions of blood, naked skin and a shiny blade bouncing around her head. Her body shook uncontrollably as she sank to the floor, her back sliding down the wall until she could rest her head against her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs and she rocked herself.

  Chapter 8

  Michelle opened the door to Riley’s apartment, stepping back to allow Nick to enter. His gaze searched the room for Riley. When he didn’t find her, Riley’s assistant obligingly pointed to the small huddled form on the other side of the room.

  “Thank God you’re here. She is freaking me out.” He had to strain to hear the words, as though Michelle was afraid of setting her boss off if she spoke any louder.

  “What happened?”

  A pink lip took a beating between perfectly aligned teeth. “I have no idea. She’s been like that for over an hour now and won’t let me near.”

  Nick moved closer to Riley, noting how tightly she held herself. He turned back to Michelle, a woman he’d spoken to a few times when he’d tried to reach Riley in the past.

  “It’s okay, I’ve got this. You go home and don’t worry about any of this. She’ll be fine. Riley O’Neill is a tough, hard-headed, stubborn woman—”

  “I can hear you, you know.” He bit back the grin threatening to stretch his lips as Riley raised her head from her knees, her voice barely above a whisper. Yet, still she managed a thread of steel.

  “See I told you, she’ll be fine.”

  Caring caramel eyes passed over Riley before Michelle quickly slipped out the door before anyone could renege on letting her leave.

  Nick studied Riley, her pale skin translucent. Would one touch cause her to crack and splinter, falling to the floor in a thousand pieces? It didn’t help that her petite body was swamped in an oversized red and white Sydney Swan’s Polo shirt. Had it belonged to an ex-boyfriend? He tried to ignore the spurt of jealousy. He had lost many a good shirt to his previous girlfriends, each claiming their favourite shirt of his as theirs. Her fiery red hair was now loose around her shoulders, the picture of a perfect Irish specimen. But then he had always thought she was perfect no matter how she looked.

 
Riley slowly stood but didn’t move away from the wall.

  “Want to tell me what’s going on? I got your message about ‘something I need to see’ and when I get here your assistant is acting like a skittish colt and you’re practically comatose.”

  Riley nodded. He wondered which part she was agreeing to, or whether she was agreeing to everything.

  She took a cautious step, her gaze never leaving his as if it were her life-line. Reaching down, she picked up a wad of paper pinned together and Nick noticed how much her hand shook. Tears burned in her eyes but she refused to allow them to fall as she flicked to a certain section of the novel and held it out to him.

  Nick cursed, knowing full well what she was presenting him with. Why the hell did she have to read it? Was she some kind of masochist? Did she like torturing herself for no good reason? He snatched the manuscript from her hands as if the very action would cleanse her of the foul words he knew were typed within the confines of the novel and began to read, knowing Riley watched his every facial expression for a reaction.

  He paced back and forth not wanting her to know just how much it was affecting him too. As the words slowly sunk into his head he stopped mid-pace and reread the last few lines.

  Dear God!

  No, that can’t be right. He was seeing things where there was nothing. He glanced around Riley’s apartment before his gaze settled on the woman before him. The truth was in her eyes, on her face and evident in her tense body, her arms wrapped protectively around her.

  The bastard had threatened her, detailing how he’d kill her. What he’d do. He’d better run because when Nick caught up with him the man’s life would be over.

  “You’re sure this is the same guy?” He held up his hand forestalling her objection. “I know the two are very similar but without someone claiming responsibility—”