Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5)

by Camille Taylor

  Riley’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously? You transferred here?”

  Nick assumed that that fact alone was a big deal.

  “Absolutely. I wanted to be closer to my little sister.”

  Riley squealed with delight, reminding Nick of Maddie and Heather when they were happy. She launched herself at Declan who caught her in his arms, her tiny feet dangling in the air. After a moment he gently placed her feet on the floor and looked up with a questioning glance at Nick.

  Nick stepped forward, offering his hand. “Nicholas Doyle.”

  They shook, each applying just the right pressure that it was a handshake and not a crushing force that proved his manhood. “Declan O’Neill. So, what’s going on here?” He looked between Riley and Nick, obviously trying to ignore that fact that they were both half-naked and all that implied. “When I couldn’t get a hold of you, I called B&G and asked for your assistant. Michelle told me about the novel and that you’ve been under police protection. She wouldn’t give me anything more and advised me to talk to the Superintendent who told me you were here.”

  Thank you, Amelia. She could’ve at least given him a heads up. He could just imagine her saying ‘paybacks a bitch’ for all the times he’d pissed her off. He imagined her laughing her head off and getting some sort of malicious glee from sending Declan to the man who was sleeping with his sister. Although technically it wasn’t until last night that they had actually slept together but Amelia Donovan no doubt saw it coming just like the rest of his team. Oh well. If he survived this meeting with Declan today he’d gladly take all the ribbing his team could dish out so long as he woke up with Riley in his arms.

  “Ah, well, all that’s true.” Riley’s voice broke into his thoughts. “Sorry. Everything has been so crazy I completely forgot to give you my new number. Please come on in. Can I fix you something? A sandwich? A beer?”

  “A beer would do wonders.” Declan followed Riley to the kitchen.

  “Sit down, I’ll get it.”

  Declan immediately sank down on one of the stools.

  Nick watched as Riley cared for her brother, the love between them was obvious and there was something more, an understanding and acceptance which he didn’t understand. Riley quickly filled Declan in on everything—excluding their relationship of course, and Declan shook his head solemnly.

  “This could only happen to you, Riley-O.”

  Riley glared at him. “It’s not like I asked for the deranged murderer to fixate on me, Deckie.”

  Nick coughed to cover his laugh. Declan turned and faced him. “So, what’s your story?”

  “Honestly, Declan, you want his resume?”

  Stepping forward, Nick leaned a hip against the kitchen counter. “I’m heading up the Novel Killer Taskforce over at the LAC.”

  Declan grunted. “The Novel Killer, huh?”

  “Seemed fitting.”

  Declan’s face drained of blood, considering his already pale Irish complexion, the look scared the shit out of Nick.

  “Declan what is it?” Riley’s voice held a slightly hysterical note.

  “You’re going to get a call real soon, Doyle. When I was at the LAC I heard all about a double over on Alexander, one of our own and a young female. I’m guessing that’s your guy.”

  “Shit,” Nick muttered and immediately went in search of his mobile.

  ***

  Declan looked over at her. “Come on, Riley-O, you’re safe, I’m here now and I’m not going to let anything happen to you and if my guess is right, Detective Doyle would lay down his life for you.”

  Riley snapped out of her fear coma and glared at her brother. “I don’t want anyone dying on my behalf thank you very much, Dec. I’d rather if you all kept your lives and used it to find the son-of-a-bitch who killed those poor innocent women.” She slammed down her fist on the kitchen bench.

  Declan covered her tiny fist with his much larger palm and gripped it tightly before turning it over and uncurling her fingers one by one. He drew her hand to his mouth and gave her a quick kiss where her skin was red from the contact with the bench. It was an action he’d done years ago when she had been a girl, whether she had fallen off her bike, gotten a splinter or just stubbed her toe, Declan had been there kissing her injury and drying her tears. She smiled at her brother, lacing her fingers through his.

  Nick returned to the kitchen dressed for work. He glanced at Riley and then at Declan.

  “Did you get the call?”

  “Yeah, came in half an hour ago.”

  “But how come you didn’t—” She suddenly stopped, realising the reason why they hadn’t heard his phone ring and blushed deeply, cursing once again for her pale skin making her embarrassment shine brightly like a flashing neon sign. A thought flashed through her mind. “It wasn’t Cade, was it? The officer who died? I know he was on Addison Smith’s protection detail.”

  “No, Watson was the one who called it in. He had the twelve-hour shift today. This is probably going to kill him inside—survivor’s guilt you know poor bastard.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to meet Hawke and Murphy over at the crime scene so I’ll be late.”

  He hesitated as he looked over at Declan. Did he want to kiss her goodbye, but was too afraid to do so in front of her brother?

  Declan crossed his arms over his broad chest. “A real man would kiss a woman regardless of the company and possible death sentence he’d be signing for fooling around with a man’s sister.”

  Nick grinned. “I think I’m going to like you, O’Neill.”

  He grabbed her waist, hauling her up against him and gave her a goodbye kiss she wouldn’t forget for a while. When he was done he winked at her, inclined his head towards Declan and walked out his front door.

  Chapter 32

  A hush fell over the LAC, each officer mourning the loss of one of their own in such a vicious attack. Nick and his team watched the press conference Amelia Donovan had set up from the command centre. Once a conference room, it had been converted to house the new taskforce which had been set up by Amelia in order to catch the Highway Dumper.

  A sombre Amelia, dressed in a black skirt suit stood behind a podium. Staring directly into the camera, she informed the public of another murder and promised to bring the killer to justice. Nick silently congratulated her on artfully dodged the questions set forth by a tenacious Harbour Bay Tribute reporter who tried to fluster Amelia into slipping up and announce that the multiple murderers which were similar in M.O were the work of a serial killer. She had been shut down at each and every turn, politely of course by Superintendent Donovan and made the reporter look unsympathetic and media hungry.

  The reporter hadn’t been the first to try that tactic and most by now knew better.

  Nick pushed his chair back and stood before stalking over to the large corkboard attached to the wall. His gaze ran over the limited information they had: various reports and crime scene photos from each murder site. Beside the photos was a photocopied page from TNK’s book detailing what he was going to do to his victim ahead of time.

  He leaned his palms against the board and lowered his head.

  The search James had submitted yielded no results on a Richard Dyson. Did Dyson, like Megan use a pseudonym? He’d have thought the man was too narcissistic to allow another to take his credit but maybe he had already planned his little murder spree ahead of time and been duly cautious, the book nothing but a lead up to the real thing. A search between all four victims including and then excluding Riley had also shed no light.

  They were still waiting on the collected fingerprints to be run through the system.

  The latest crime scene had been a blood bath, manly Joe Winston’s. The entire kitchen floor had been red, the officer’s blood seeping out onto the carpet where Addison Smith’s body had lain. Once again, the word ‘bitch’ disfigured her stomach and Nick couldn’t help feeling the pain of her death more than the others. He had met Addison Smith. Had stood in her home when she’d bee
n alive, had spoken to her and promised her that Harbour Bay Police would protect her. He had failed. He had broken his promise.

  “Why ‘bitch’?” Matt asked and everyone snapped out of their own self-pitying thoughts and looked at him. “Why carve ‘bitch’ into his victims?”

  Nick shrugged. “Crime of passion or anger. They did something he took offence to.”

  And now there was nothing stopping the killer from going after Riley. His stomach twisted. It had been knotted ever since Declan had told him about Joe and Addison.

  He was barely holding onto his sanity. He wanted to back in his apartment, closeted away from the world with Riley. Enjoying the new aspect of their relationship. Every minute he was away from her, the antsier he became until he was ready to tear at the walls with his teeth.

  “Could he be referring to Riley?” Matt tapped his pen against the rectangular ash conference table. “None of the victims had anything in common but Riley was tormented with the fore-knowledge of their deaths—including her own. Why?”

  “He’s a writer, that’s our first and only link between killer and victims.” Darryl sat forward. “He has to be pissed at her for crushing his dream and decided this as his ultimate revenge.”

  James spoke up. “Or for not cashing in on his murder spree and make him an overnight sensation.”

  “The simplest answer is that Riley wronged him somehow. He could’ve put her in the first book but wanted to make her suffer—to know exactly what will happen,” Matt mused.

  Darryl frowned. “Where the hell is the link? None of them have been to our knowledge in the same place.”

  “You’re missing something.” A female voice behind them had them all turning to face the intruder.

  Hallie Walker-Murphy stood in old jeans, grey shirt and well-worn sneakers; her red-brown hair neatly pulled into a loose ponytail.

  “Hallie.” Nick gave her a quick, surprised hug. “You sounded so much like Natalie then, butting into our business.”

  He had expected Natalie. They probably all had. The woman couldn’t help adding her two cents in and it appeared that trait had rubbed off on her adopted daughter. Hallie grinned, taking his words as a compliment. Which she should, Natalie was a fine psychologist and her insights had helped on more than one case, bringing many happy outcomes and lessening the numbers of the ones that didn’t.

  Darryl pinned her with his gaze. “What are you doing here? I heard you just flew in.”

  “I couldn’t sit still. Not with knowing about this case and Riley.” She looked at Nick with sympathy. “I couldn’t help but overhear since I wanted too, but I think you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  Nick parked his bum on the table and regarded Hallie. “Okay let’s hear what they’re teaching over in Quantico Virginia.” He was generally interested. Hallie may look like a uni student, but she was smart and had studied extensively, going as far as to interview planned to be a specialist in criminal behaviour. She would rock at it too. Even the United States’ FBI had seen her potential and invited her to join their training program.

  “You said you couldn’t find a link between them, at least not an obvious one?” She assessed the corkboards and their macabre story.

  Nick studied Hallie. She may still be young, but she had confidence, which came from knowing all she did. “That’s right. There’s no definitive link. None of the women have been, to our knowledge, in the same place.”

  Hallie faced her adoptive father and three of the four men she considered uncles. All of whom had been a constant presence in her life, each over-protective when it came to her. “But see that’s where I think you’re wrong. Looking for a link between the women to put your killer there. He’s your common denominator. What if the only constant is him?”

  “But then how does he choose his victims, certainly not by hair colour or body type.”

  Hallie shook her head. “The Butcher chose his victims because they were successful. Physical attributes didn’t matter to him. It’s uncommon to have such a broad range of victim types but not unheard of and they all have something in common. Him.”

  “We asked the recent victim, even interviewed a barista at the coffee shop Mallory Duncan frequented. Neither of them mentioned any strange men.”

  Hallie focused on Nick, her thumbs hooked into her jeans pockets. “What’s your definition of strange?”

  He frowned. “Come again?”

  “Strange, Nick. How would you describe strange? Twitchy? Threatening? Gives off bad vibes?”

  He wasn’t sure where she was going. But he indulged her. “Sure.”

  “What if he was calm—pleasant even?” Her hands dropped from her pockets, and she linked her fingers together in front of her. “He disarms them, projecting an air of vulnerability perhaps. I think they’re approaching him and not the other way around. Women will never associate a man, even a stranger as a killer if he appears shy, pathetic even.”

  Matt growled, his paternal instincts in full swing. “I hope you’re not speaking from experience.”

  “No, I’m careful. But then I only know too well the evils out there and they come with sweet faces most of the time.”

  Nick reviewed the case in his head, applying Hallie’s logic. “I see your point but I asked about all men recent in her life, dates, co-workers.”

  “You found his victims in a book, right? The one he sent to Riley?”

  “Yes.”

  She took a step forward. “In that book he described their homes, right? In detail? I’d say he’s a patient man, had probably been planning this for a long time. When you asked about the men in her life, how far back did you probe?”

  Nick stopped and stared at Hallie. She was right. The killer had been planning this for a while, instigating himself into his victim’s lives, becoming a friend or lover to them, long enough so that they would trust him explicitly and never once question his intentions. “Shit.”

  “The man you’re looking for is handsome, charming, even dare I say it normal—at least outwardly so. A non-threatening male they’ve seen around. He probably even has a persona he uses with each of them, one to appeal to the woman within. Shy, grieving…maybe self-conscious.”

  He’d been asking the wrong questions.

  “He is where they are. Wherever they spent the most time, he was there. That’s how he’s choosing them. He’s waiting for them to approach him, allowing them to make the first move. They’re practically putting their lives in his hands.”

  “We need to reinterview Lisa Colbert and go over any CCTV footage we can of all four of our victims. Someone has to appear in all of their lives.” He strode towards the door, stopping at the threshold and glanced back over his shoulder. “I’m really glad you went to that FBI school Hal, but I’m even happier you’re back.”

  Chapter 33

  As Riley laid on Nick’s cream leather couch, she replayed the good parts of the last twenty-four hours over and over in her head. She was hooked, undeniably hooked on Nicholas Doyle and there was no special patch she could get to wean herself off him. Her only hope was that he was just as hooked on her as she was on him. She hadn’t bothered trying to read, knew that it was beyond hope—that she was beyond hope.

  Nick had called her earlier after Declan had left her. Her big brother, of course, gave her a stern lecture before he departed on the evils of pre-marital sex, the pros and cons of condoms and how a man doesn’t buy the cow if the milk comes free. Mortified beyond belief she had been happy to see him go and was thankful one of Declan’s high school girlfriends had given her the facts of life speech. Hearing the adult version from Declan today, she knew she would never have lived through his teenaged version. Nick had rung to tell her he missed her and then went on to describe—in detail what he was going to do to her when he got home and instantly Declan’s little speech flew out her head and sinful thoughts took up the empty space.

  Now, she was waiting for him to come home. Any possible activity she could’ve done to pa
ss the time required one or two brain cells and hers were all taken up with the image of a very naked Nick, in the shower, mini rivers of water running down his hard, chiselled pecs.

  After switching on the TV, Riley allowed the mindless daytime shows wash over her. A nap an hour later had her waking up refreshed and alive and decided she would start dinner, something simple—something that wouldn’t stain Nick’s sheets should it happen to drip. Moving into the kitchen, she surveyed Nick’s fridge for ingredients.

  A knock on the door had her jumping. She’d be glad when this whole thing is over. No more hiding. No more looking over her shoulder.

  Crossing the small expanse of floor, Riley looked into the peephole, expecting to see Michelle, Declan or even Aimee and was surprised to see a young woman barely out of high school with a messenger uniform on. Had Nick ordered something and simply forgotten when it was being delivered? It was possible, Nick had been under a lot of strain lately and then, of course, his mind had been elsewhere last night and this morning.

  Opening the door, Riley gave the young woman a smile.

  “I have a package for you. If you could please sign here.” The young brunette held out a brown clipboard, a stack of names and addresses printed on the paper, multiple signatures on the right beside the names. Without looking, Riley signed her name and took the large envelope from the woman and thanked her.

  When the closed the door behind her, she checked that it was locked before glancing down at the package she was sure had been for Nick. Her blood ran cold when she saw her name, innocuously printed in black ink on the front with Nick’s address underneath. Her hands shook as she tore open the envelope, knowing what she would find inside but praying she was wrong. Her heart damn near stopped when she reached in and her hand grasped at the white bundle of paper stapled together.

  Oh God, no.

  Yanking out the novella, Riley glanced at the title. Riley’s Demise. Fear, undiluted, spread throughout her body as she began to read, a need to know driving her onwards even while her brain begged and pleaded with her not to.