28 Days: a romantic suspense (8 page)

“I’m still waiting for some test results to come back, but I’m guessing that she’s been dead for nearly as long, around seven years.”

“I give.” He smiled, knowing that she was itching to give him a bit of a science lesson, one he probably knew already, but he loved watching Amber become animated.

“When a body is buried in the ground, and left, once it starts decomposing the chemistry of the soil changes significantly, which means—”

“You’ll be able to match up the year of death by how much the soil has changed.”

“You got it in one, Detective.” Amber grinned, and it was only when his captain cleared his throat beside his desk that he realized he was grinning just as wide back.

Between a half cough and half laugh, he managed to wipe whatever his boss thought he saw from his face. He was too old for that crap anyway, which he needed to be reminded of often when Amber was around.

She was a breath of fresh air to his old ass—mid-thirties to his late forties.

“You have an appointment at the prison this afternoon,” his Captain stated. “Tell him about Jocelyn and when you’re done, question the brother next.”

Already planned.

“That’s on the agenda,” he replied, only just stopping himself from asking if there was anything else.

“You’ve got a couple of hours until the interview so I suggest you make a move.” The man glanced at Amber and then him.

“I’ll go back to the morgue.” Amber glared at the captain, not giving a shit, and why should she when he wasn’t her direct boss.

“Call me if you discover anything else,” he requested to Amber’s retreating back.

“I will.”

Once Amber left, he noticed his Captain stood gazing after her. “Easy on the eyes.”

Coulter slammed his hand down on the desk in anger at his captain’s words. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day.”

He didn’t wait for a response as he left.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t be around for a while longer now that he had to interview the people from Jocelyn’s life. Those interviews would happen a few hours away from Tampa, in Port Jude and Harlington.

His gut told him that her death had everything to do with her ex-husband and his trial, but what? The timing was too much of a coincidence for him to not look back at the original players.

He shoved the key into the ignition of his truck, gave it a turn and all it did was choke. He tried again, and nothing. About to try once more, he caught his captain waving to him from the door.

“What does he want now,” Coulter grumbled, but climbed out of his truck anyway, slamming the door behind him.

He jogged back to the station door, and was just about to question the hold up, when a loud explosion shook the ground.

Coulter grabbed the handrail on the wall lining the steps to stay on his feet. Turning, the shock of seeing his truck completely engulfed in flames made him stop dead as his pulse raced and the reality of what had happened started to sink in.

If his captain hadn’t called him back, he’d have been dead.

While the shock still had a grip on him, other officers grabbed fire extinguishers from the building and started to try and hold the fire back. They only stopped when firemen from the firehouse across the street rushed over with two hoses.

Coulter was tugged away from the railing and pulled around the side of the steps by his captain who looked just as shocked as he was.

“Pissed anyone off lately, Robinson?” If he hadn’t been wondering the same thing, he’d have told his Captain where to shove his question.

“I don’t know, but you sure have great timing.” He met his captain’s gaze. “Thank you.”

His Captain waved him off. “Forget about it. I can’t even remember what I called you back for now.” He shook his head. “I need to call the boss.” Turning, he disappeared inside the building, just as Coulter spotted a slight figure with a head full of bright orange hair come flying out.

He could hear the gasp that left Amber’s mouth from where he stood, and then her shoulders started to shake.

Anything he was about to say left his head when he realized that she was crying—
for him.

“Amber,” he whispered. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “Amber.”

Her head whipped around and before he could catch his breath, she jumped down the steps and was wrapped around him. Her sobs absorbed in his shirt as she clung to him.

Up until Amber’s response, he hadn’t realized just how much she obviously cared for him, but she wasn’t letting up with her tears.

He stroked the hair down her back and buried his face into the curve of her neck, just wanting to inhale the scent of Amber’s freshness.

“I’m sorry,” Amber whispered as she tried to pull away from him. “I got your shirt all wet.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He kept her in his embrace. “My truck can explode every damn day if it gets you in my arms.”

She whacked him on the arm, and dried her tears. “You...you...ugh! How can you say that? Look”—she pointed toward what was left of his truck—“you could have been inside. So don’t you dare joke about it.” Her face crumpled again, and he tugged her back into his arms, his heart aching with so much longing.

“I’m sorry, Amber.” He kissed the top of her head, and met his captain’s gaze.

All he needed.

“Will you be okay?” he asked, putting Amber at arm’s length, his hands flexing on her shoulders. She felt too good in his lonely arms that he wanted to keep her with him.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’m not the one I’m worried about.” Her shy smile affected him more than it should have. “Are you still going to the prison this afternoon?”

“Probably tomorrow now.” He ran his hands through his hair before resting them on his hips.

“Will you call me, Coulter? Let me know you’re okay.” Amber backed away slowly toward the steps.

Before he could think too hard about his next move, he grabbed her hand, tugging her back to him. Coulter kissed her pink lips. “I’ll call you,” his voice nearly failed him, but he added, “I promise.” One last kiss and he turned and walked toward the wreckage.

If he stayed with her any longer, he’d be begging her for a lot more, and he wasn’t sure he was ready to go there with her. He certainly wanted to. He’d woken plenty of nights with his legs tangled in the sheets, his cock hard and aching to get wet between Amber’s thighs.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts so that he could concentrate on finding the fucker who’d just blown up his truck. He’d pissed a lot of people off over the years, but he didn’t think he’d pissed them off that much. He stared at the flames as they started to die down, his thoughts navigating over all the coincidences. There were too many. Quinten’s death warrant, Jocelyn’s body, Saige Lockwood visiting him, all the players out on the table and in the open…now his truck…No way was everything a coincidence, and he would bet his badge that they were all related.

3
:30pm

I
t had taken Quinten
a long time to get used to the shackles going on every time he left his cell. At first, he feared what would happen to him while they were on. Over time, he wouldn’t say he got used to them, but he certainly didn’t have to count in his head anymore to keep the panic from completely taking over.

He’d been in them a few minutes when he frowned at the approaching guard, who held the keys to unlock him. “You’re having the interview here.”

“Who with?”

“A detective. He’s been here before. Can’t remember his name. Roberts or something like that.”

“Robinson?”

“That’s it.” The guard motioned for him to enter his cell and then quickly removed his shackles. “You’re the only one in this section right now, so there’s no reason you can’t have official visitors here. Your brother will have to be in the designated area though.”

He wondered why Detective Robinson would come to talk to him now. They’d said everything that they had to say during the other visits. The detective had done everything he could to uncover the truth back then. Quinten knew that. Just like he knew the evidence had been against him from the start, especially when they found his DNA all over the shack where they’d concluded the five college girls had been killed. He hadn’t had a hope in hell.

The sound of the gates opening gave him chills, and the sound of them closing and the locks clicking into place made his heart race with fear. It was yet another reminder of what his fate held.

“Quinten,” Robinson greeted, moving into his line of sight.

“Detective. It’s been a while,” he commented and watched as Robinson tried not to fidget.

Quinten narrowed his eyes and took an assessment of the man. He’d always been professional, cool even, and was always courteous. He’d been confident, a man that knew his convictions and held firm to them. Today, the large man was different…he seemed…rattled.

Detective Robinson pulled a chair close to the cell, and sat down. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees before he met Quinten’s gaze. “My truck blew up yesterday.”

Quinten’s eyes widened in surprise before he started to wonder what that had to do with him. There was no way he could have done it, so why had the detective come to the prison. He never wished the detective harm even when it was clear that he would be charged.

“That isn’t why I’m here.” Robinson paused. “I’m rattled, which you noticed.”

Quinten lifted his chin in acknowledgement, sitting on the bed.

“When did you last have contact with Jocelyn?”

After a long pause, Quinten shook his head. “I’m not sure why you’re here asking questions about her, but I haven’t seen her since the day I was sentenced, and I haven’t heard from her since then. The divorce was handled by the lawyers.” He frowned. “What’s this about, Detective?”

“A body was discovered yesterday morning.”

Quinten watched the other man but nothing showed even though he knew what was coming.

“At the moment, we are going under the presumption that it’s Jocelyn Peterson. What remained of breast implants had a partial serial number on them and that partial matched Jocelyn. These”—Robinson pulled three evidence bags from behind him—“were found on her skeletal remains.”

Quinten flinched at the detective’s words. Everything he’d ever felt for Jocelyn had died long before his life went to hell, but he hadn’t wanted her to be murdered…and it had to have been murder or the detective wouldn’t be here.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes. “Let me see them.”

Detective Robinson moved closer under the watchful eye of the guard.

“Make sure he can’t grab them,” the guard rumbled.

The minute the detective held the clear plastic evidence bag up with the charm bangle, he knew that it was hers. He hated the thing and often wondered whether one of her many lovers had given it to her.

“That was hers,” Quinten snapped. “And so were those. The wedding band had been her mother’s, and the other ring had belonged to her sister. They both died along with her father in a car accident...about fifteen years ago now.”

“I’m sorry, Quinten.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. You know that I hated the woman, more so after the lies she told when I was first arrested, then on the stand during the trial. I didn’t want her dead, just out of my life.”

“I get that. What I don’t like is that someone made sure we found her, after seven years of being buried.”

“Seven...years? She’s been dead for seven years?” Quinten shook his head. He should have realized when Robinson had said skeletal remains that her death wasn’t recent.

“Yes.” Robinson continued, counting off on his fingers, “It isn’t a coincidence that your warrant for execution was signed. Then your ex-wife’s body was found…Saige Lockwood came to talk to me yesterday morning. And, to top it all off, my truck exploded in front of the police station yesterday.”

“Saige?” Quinten heard what the detective said, but it was
her
name that grabbed his attention.

“Yeah, Saige.” The detective leaned back in his chair. “Why didn’t you tell me that you had a relationship with her?”

Quinten shrugged, trying to get his head around the fact that Saige had spoken with the detective. “She’d been through enough and I wanted her left alone.”

“So you protected her.”

Quinten stood and began pacing in his small cell. It suddenly felt smaller than it was.

“I love her. I’d have done anything to protect her, and back then it meant keeping my mouth shut. I’m sure you remember her father. He hated knowing that his daughter wanted to spend time with me. I was nothing to the Lockwoods, and I wasn’t someone who they wanted Saige associating with, let alone loving.”

“Why didn’t I find out any of this back then? I specifically asked
everyone
? How the hell could I have missed all this drama?” Robinson’s jaw tightened with anger, and Quinten couldn’t blame him.

“I asked Alex to keep quiet about my relationship with Saige when she first went missing. I didn’t want you focusing on me when everyone needed to be looking for her. Afterward, there was no reason to come forward without hurting Saige, and I figured you wouldn’t believe me anyway…You were investigating the murder of those five girls and Saige’s abduction, you weren’t investigating a soap opera.”

“It sounds like I was in the middle of one...Fuck!” Robinson sat with his head thrown back before he leaned forward and asked, “Did your
wife
know about your relationship with Saige?”

Quinten grounded his teeth together at the insinuation. “You know that my
wife
was an unfaithful bitch. Until I met Saige, and started spending time with her, I’d never been unfaithful, regardless of all the times I felt like giving Jocelyn some of her own medicine. I was a possession to her until I was arrested, then I became inconsequential. She moved on and probably found another sucker.” He paused and thought about Jocelyn. He didn’t think she had ever loved him, despite their marriage. He took in a breath before answering the detective’s question. “So yes, Jocelyn did know about Saige, but not to begin with. It all really came to a head when Saige went back to school, a week before she went missing. I went crazy not knowing where she was or how she was. I have the scar from Jocelyn’s anger down my face. A constant reminder.”

“The scar she always said was in self-defense when you were taking your anger out on her.”

“I never laid a finger on her, and you know that. You never believed a word she said.”

“I believed you, and you’re right. I never believed her. But I wish I’d known about all that shit back then.”

“It probably wouldn’t have made a difference. My DNA was all over that shack. Shit like that doesn’t lie.”

“It would have explained your protectiveness over Saige when you both were found. It might have made the jurors question the reason you were in that shack to begin with. They might have paid more attention to the unidentified DNA that was found. You know they presumed you stumbled on the cops, which was why you wrapped yourself around Saige. Made it look like you were protecting her instead of harming her.”

“It’s pointless dredging all that up now. I’m in here, not for much longer, but I’m in here, and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” Quinten dropped his head into his hands.

Silence followed until Robinson broke it. “Your girl’s gone home to question her father and stepmom.”

Quinten’s eyes shot up to the detective’s.

“Alex took her,” he added.

“What the
fuck?
” Quinten rushed from the bed and gripped the bars that separated Robinson and him. “Why is she with Alex?”

“Calm down,” the guard snapped. “And move away from the bars...Now!”

Quinten breathed like a bull ready to charge, but the thought of her with his brother, instead of him, made his head spin.

“They’re both trying to help you before it’s too late, Quinten. I’m heading to Port Jude as soon as I get the chance, so I’ll try and keep an eye on her.”

His legs gave out, and he dropped his ass to the bed. “I’m so goddamn tired, and I won’t deny that I’m terrified of what’s going to happen across the hall in twenty-one days.” He looked up at the detective, unable to hide the tears on his lashes. “How is she? Is she okay?”

Detective Robinson looked away briefly. “She looked healthy.” He leaned forward. “Look, I don’t know if telling you this will help or not.” The detective had his attention now. “Saige has no memory of her abduction. In fact, she has a large blank space that covers two and a half years. I think small pieces have come back to her recently, one of which was your hands on her skin.” Robinson offered him an amused smile. “She remembered the tattoos on your hands, she also remembered the man who tortured her having none.”

The thought that Saige didn’t remember him, or the love he felt for her cut him deep, but he ignored the pain and asked, “Did she remember when she gave her statement and ID’d me from a photograph?” He hoped the answer wouldn’t send him to hell.

“Five minutes,” the guard warned.

Robinson cleared his throat. “We don’t know about the statement.”

“I heard a
but
somewhere in there.”

“You did. When we did the photo ID, she was asked if she recognized anyone in the lineup. She chose you.”

He felt like he was about to hurl. “Fuck! Of course she would choose me.”

“Hence why I wished I’d have known about your relationship. If I had, maybe I’d have realized what was being asked of her, and actually clarified that we wanted to know if her abductor was in the lineup, not if she recognized anyone. See the difference?”

“Fuck!”

He dropped to his knees, rested his forehead against his bed and let his hands drop to the floor, feeling completely defeated.

“Quinten, I haven’t told you all this to make you feel worse. I told you in case there was any doubt in your mind about Saige.”

He shook his head. “I never doubted her. I’ve only ever loved her.”

He turned his head to face the detective with tears spilling from his eyes. “Will you promise me that you’ll look after her? I need to know that there is someone out there”—he nodded toward the window—“who can make sure she’s safe. I don’t trust her family.”

The detective stayed silent for a while, until he saw the second guard approaching, and stood. “You have your promise, Quinten.”

He nodded to the detective and watched him leave.

On his knees he did something that he’d never done before, he prayed...not for himself because he was a lost cause now, but for Saige.

8
:00pm

A
lex dressed
in the guest room at the Lockwoods home and felt the walls closing in. He was fine when they first arrived at lunch the day before, especially when they’d been informed that Christina wouldn’t be home until today. He’d dropped his luggage inside, but then they’d gone into town and walked around.

The old folks who lived in town still looked down their noses at him, even after all this time. He should have expected it considering Quinten sat on death row, but he’d forgotten how hateful the people of Port Jude had been to him. It had been worse once Quinten had been arrested. No one would ever talk to him when he tried to find his own evidence to clear his brother.

Fuck them all!

Because of the attitude he faced in town, Saige was withdrawn up until one old woman had spit at his feet. She’d snapped out of her thoughts and stared at the ground and the white pearl of spittle, then her eyes filled with rage and she raised them to the woman’s. If looks could have set the woman on fire, it would have, but instead, the woman had felt the tongue lashing Saige had given her until he’d dragged her away.

The last thing he wanted right now was to attract more attention to them being there. It would be all over town now though, and the whispers would have started.
“Saige Lockwood’s returned home with Alexander Peterson. His brother tortured the poor girl and killed all those college girls. Why she’s with him is anyone’s guess.”

In their eyes, he’d be fucking her and then the hatred toward Saige would start, which he wanted to prevent. She had enough to deal with without gossip about the both of them. He should have given that more thought, but what the fuck. His brother didn’t have time, and they needed answers.

The lying Christina would be the first place he’d start, but he knew Saige was reluctant, and in a way, because of his shared history with Christina, he was too.

Christina Lockwood was a sexy woman with a body made for sin, and oh yes, back then, he’d looked, and eventually tasted. He’d broken his one rule and let her into his heart only to have her rip it out not long after. He always felt there was more to her last words to him than she wanted him to know. Either way, it hadn’t made the pain of knowing she didn’t want him—he wasn’t good enough—any less. So he’d hidden the hurt he’d felt behind anger and arrogance, and started fucking his way through life.