First Do No Evil: Blood Secrets, Book 1 (12 page)

For no other reason than the small smile Sky gave at the sight of him, Danny’s heart lifted, and the blood heated in his veins. Submarining his reaction, he sat down next to her on a slipcovered loveseat in a space so tiny it didn’t seem to merit the term living
room
. It was night and they were alone in her home and Sky’s eyes glistened with a look he would like to interpret as desire. And he might’ve gotten away with flattering himself had he not known it was grief that deepened the soft blue of her eyes to the color of nightfall.

His fingers grazed the back of her hand, and then he pulled them back. Christ. Even if he hadn’t been a cop, and she a material witness to a crime, he wouldn’t have the right to try and woo her away from a dead man.

He had no right to picture twining her long brown hair around his fingers, no right to consider allowing his thigh to brush up against hers, and he sure as hell didn’t have the right to imagine how soft and tight her body would feel. He had his integrity, and he knew there was one thing that would bring him even more relief than sinking into the silken space between her thighs: Driving away the pain from her eyes. “You wanted to talk about the robbery.”

“I do.” Sky’s voice quavered, and her upper body drew back, increasing the safety zone between them.

Her voice had been funny on the phone too. He studied her posture, her eye movements, searching for signs of intoxication, but didn’t find any. “When we talked on the phone, you sounded odd…I thought maybe you’d been drinking.”

Her eyes flashed. Good. Pissing her off was far more honorable than seducing her.

“Say what’s on your mind, why don’t you?”

“Always do.”

“Well, I haven’t been drinking. But if I had been, I don’t see how that would be any of your concern.”

“I’m not judging you. A lot of people self-medicate with alcohol, Sky. If you’re in trouble—”

“Trouble?” As a cutting laugh escaped her throat, her hand sent an empty mug crashing from the coffee table to the floor. It made a
thunk
and spun unbroken. Without apology, she picked it up and put it back on the table. “I don’t have a drinking problem. You’re way off base.”

“No. My foot landed square on the bag. Maybe not about the drinking, but about the trouble.” She was definitely nervous, but not drunk he decided. And if he’d been quick to suspect substance abuse, he had his reasons.

Driving her fingers into her hair, she bent her elbows and dropped her face between her arms, fixed her interest on the polished oak floorboards. “Is it so obvious then?”

“To me it is, yeah. Last time I saw you, you looked like hell. Now you look like hell warmed up in the microwave and shoved around with a dinner fork. Something’s happened since last night.”

“Something did happen after I left you last night. And then something else happened this morning. And now I realize I need help to sort this out.” Her lashes lifted to reveal guarded eyes. “You’re the only person who seems to have any interest in figuring out what happened in that diner, so I’ve decided to tell you the truth.”

That last part surprised him, raised his gall. “You lied to me?”

“Not exactly. But when we were discussing the case, I left something out. And I think it might be important.”

“Why would you leave something out, Sky? I can’t help you if you conceal things from me.”

“I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you, more like I didn’t want to believe it. I guess I’m scared.”

“What don’t you want to believe? There’s nothing to be scared of.”

“You’re the one who says the bad guy’s still out there. The
only
one who says that.” With a raised brow, she dared him to contradict himself.

“What I mean is there’s nothing to be scared of, because I won’t let anyone hurt you. I give you my word.”

She jerked her head up, looked at him so earnest his heart turned over in his chest. “I’m not asking you to protect me. That’s not the point.” Picking up the empty mug, she rose. “Can I get you something to eat or drink?”

She’d suddenly remembered her manners…or maybe she was just stalling. “Nope.”

She carried the cup to the kitchen. He heard water running. When she returned, she shook droplets from her hands, paced the length of the living room, and then went to the window. Her back was to him. He couldn’t see her face.
Definitely stalling
. Nothing to do but wait.

Eventually, she started to talk. Her voice was quiet, and he had to strain to hear her words. “What I want is to understand what’s happening to me and to the people I care about. I want to know the truth.” She pivoted toward him, and he could read the anguish in her eyes. “I
need
to know the truth. No matter how awful it turns out to be. They say you’re a good detective, the best on the force. Will you help me find the truth?”

She wanted truth. He approved of that. If there was another way to bring about justice, he hadn’t discovered it yet. But going looking for that truth might turn out to be a bumpy, off-road trip, possibly even a deadly one, and he wasn’t all that jazzed about letting Sky ride shotgun. If they were going to make the journey together, it would have to be on his terms, and protecting her was part of the deal. Whether or not she wanted his protection was irrelevant. “You have my word. But I can’t help you if you withhold information from me. From now on, I expect you to be honest with me. And that includes not lying by omission.”

“Understood. And I expect you to keep me in the loop.”

“Deal.”
Sort of
. “Now then, what haven’t you told me?”

Plunking herself down on the couch, she dragged her knees to her chest and tucked her chin. “Flagstaff’s a nice town. Peaceful, wouldn’t you say?”

“For the most part, yeah.”

“Low crime rate.”

“Not as low as you might think. We’re right around the national average.”

“Okay, but how many murders are there per year, ballpark?”

“No need to ballpark, the answer’s one to three per year for the last five years.”

She picked at her cuticles and surveyed the damage. “Last night you told me the violence at Jolene’s was atypical and went far beyond the bounds of what the circumstances warranted. You said the majority of robberies don’t end in homicide.”

“They don’t.”

“Well then, in a town like Flagstaff, what would you say the odds are that a law-abiding citizen would have two loved ones murdered in two separate robberies?”

“I’m not sure what you’re driving at, but I’d say pretty damn low. About the same as the chances of winning the Powerball.”

She twisted a lock of hair around her index finger and then unwound it, leaving a soft, glossy ringlet dangling in front of her ear. “Guess I’ll buy a lottery ticket.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Sky?”

When her shoulders stiffened, he allowed himself to touch her. Just once he stroked the back of her hair. It felt soft as wind against his palm.

Her face remained expressionless. Her voice robotic, she said, “When I was younger, a man broke into our house. He murdered my father and tried to kill me. Now Edmond’s been murdered—also in a robbery. When you said you thought the violence at Jolene’s was atypical, I started thinking.” She paused for breath and flicked her eyes around the room. “That horrible night, the night my father was killed, he did everything the man told him to do. My father didn’t put up a fight. He opened the safe right away.” Her voice trailed off, and then she brushed her palms against one another as if brushing away crumbs of denial from her hands. “
My father did everything the man told him to do
. You see what I’m getting at.”

He did. And she knew it. First, her eyes widened, begging him to say she had it wrong, and then her words followed suit. “Maybe it’s all a horrible coincidence. Some people have a black cloud hanging over their head that defies logic. Maybe I’m just one of those unlucky people.”

It wasn’t hard to understand why Sky hadn’t told him this before. Denial was a powerful defense mechanism, a bulwark against a storm. He hated to strip her of her defenses. But they’d just agreed to be honest with one another, and lying to her was no way to keep her safe. “I’d have to look into both crimes before concluding they’re linked, but the circumstances are unusual to say the least.”

“So you do think there’s a connection?”

“I really couldn’t say without knowing more. When was your father killed?”

“Fifteen years ago.” Sweat beaded her hairline, and her lips blanched. “On Halloween.”

Halloween
. The implication was obvious. Well, it was obvious to anyone with more than a rudimentary knowledge of criminology. A serial killer might go dormant for years, but given enough stress, given the right circumstances, he’d break. And Danny knew the anniversary of a kill was just the sort of trigger to bring back a monster. Two murders, two robberies, one thing in common: Halloween.

Make that two things:

Halloween…and Skylar Novak.

Danny got to his feet and rummaged in his pockets for his keys. He knew in his gut this was no coincidence. At the moment, there might not be enough hard evidence to prove the connection between the murder of Sky’s father and the murder of her fiancé, but the connection was there…and so was the proof. He just had to find it. His mind raced, sorting a thousand scenarios, sifting facts through the sieve of his knowledge of criminal behavior. His skin prickled, and adrenaline juiced his muscles. His hands, like always, held rock steady.

With the practiced calm of a seasoned detective he said, “I need to take this information to the captain. He’s gonna want the guys who worked the case to take a new statement from you.”

“I doubt that.”

She didn’t know the captain. The man was anything but dim. “This stuff’s too compelling to ignore. It raises more than enough questions to warrant reopening the investigation.”

She shrugged. “You’re the only one who thinks so. The captain already knows everything I just told you.”

“But I read your statement. There’s nothing in it about your father’s murder.”

“I didn’t need to include it in my statement, because your captain already knew.”

“Flagstaff may be a small town, but that doesn’t mean the police remember every violent crime that ever happened here. What makes you think Captain Scarborough is aware of a murder that took place fifteen years ago?”

“Because,” she said evenly, “Charlie Scarborough was the lead investigator on my father’s case.”

Concealing his surprise, he cut his eyes away from Sky’s. Scarborough was a good man, both diligent and honest. He’d earned his rank the old fashioned way, through good police work, not cronyism. Why the captain would dismiss such an obvious connection between these two crimes had him baffled. The mayor wanted things wrapped up neat and tidy, that’s what the captain had told him. He shoved his keys back in his pocket and sat back down beside Sky.

The mayor must’ve applied more than the usual pressure to get Scarborough to close the case under circumstances like these. The question was why. What did the mayor have at stake? When Danny did the math, nothing added up. He ought to go to the captain now, ask him directly what was up. His fingers twitched around his keys, and then, his decision made, he released them. He wasn’t going to the captain with his questions about the mayor just yet.

Removing his hands from his pockets, he rested a palm on each knee and leaned toward Sky. “I’m going to need you to tell me exactly what happened the night of your father’s murder.”

Chapter Eight

Kafka had it wrong
.

Men do not awaken in the bodies of cockroaches.

It’s cockroaches that awaken in human form.

Releasing a heavy sigh, the man lifted his foot, balanced on the opposite leg, and eyed the heel of one pearly, snakeskin Tony Lama. Regretfully, these incarnate vermin, these pseudo-humans with bug-like souls, were not small enough to grind under his boot heel.
They were, however, of tiny intellect and therefore easy to manipulate.

With that satisfying thought, he resumed pacing his spacious office. The sound of his boots, tapping out a staccato beat on the parquet floor, pleased him. After scuffing and retracing an X in front of his formidable desk, he paused at the confluence to gaze out upon the town of Flagstaff. Thanks to the thrice daily cleaning he demanded, the glass in the picture window of his second-story office was invisible, allowing the moon-drenched, snow-frosted tips of the San Francisco Peaks to hang like a Thomas Kinkade on the wall of his well-appointed office. A high-rise view would have been more fitting for a man of his standing in the community, but in Flagstaff, there were none to be had, and given the myopic mindset of the town’s predominately granola population, there probably never would be.

He despised this self-indulgent little town of tree-hugging pseudo-intellectuals—always had. The village idiots had practically taken up arms over the installation of a goddamn Walmart Supercenter for Christ’s sake. He would’ve moved to DC years ago if not for
her
. But because of her, he could not escape. Around every corner, in every shop, he saw her face. Even the wind was infused with her essence. Flagstaff held him in a stifling, close-fisted grip.

He leaned closer to the window. The evening storm had dumped several inches of snow and ice, dressing the ubiquitous pines in pristine white and the narrow streets in gray slush. For a moment, he held his breath and studied the sidewalks below, as if
she
might truly appear beneath the halo of a street lamp. But of course, she wasn’t there. Nothing but the usual alloy of tourists, students, and denizens, making their way home with nightfall closing in.