Authors: Virna DePaul
He glanced at her with a heavy frown. “Christ, Nina, you know what I mean.”
Unfortunately, even with Simon’s stigmatizing language, she did. If Lester Davenport had indeed killed her cat and those homeless men, he’d gone far beyond grief. He could very well be a psychopath.
The thing was, the notion didn’t jive with what she knew about the man. Lester Davenport had always seemed to be miserable. Depressed. He’d never had the hallmarks of a psychopath—grandiosity and clever manipulation. Could he instead be experiencing a late onset of schizophrenia? But schizophrenics were rarely violent and usually didn’t have the organizational ability to go off the grid so thoroughly, navigate around security systems so accurately they could escape detection or even bribe witnesses to cover their tracks. Something was off, but what?
“After we get your clothes from your house and I drop you off at your hotel,” Simon said, “I’ll head back to SIG. You won’t be shadowing me, of course, but I’d still prefer you not go into work tomorrow. If need be, I can call your boss and explain, but—”
“That’s not necessary. I can call my boss myself. She’s not expecting me at work until Monday anyway.” She crossed her arms over her chest, and stared out the passenger window for the next fifteen minutes until they reached her neighborhood. She tried to imagine what she’d do stuck in a hotel room, her only choices to think about Davenport and the men he’d murdered, or the feel of Simon’s body inside hers as he’d temporarily made her forget that pain.
Simon steered the car into her driveway, parked, turned the engine off and yanked the key out of the ignition. He rolled his head on the back of the seat before looking at her.
This time she looked back, and held his gaze. “What happens after Davenport is caught? Will I shadow you again?”
She read his answer on his face. Not that Commander Stevens wouldn’t authorize such a thing, but that Simon wouldn’t want it.
“Yeah,” she nodded. “Probably not a good idea.” It was for the best. He’d given her what she wanted by giving her sex. She’d known it would be a one-time thing, but already she was feeling addicted to him. Not wanting him to leave her. And more specifically, not wanting him to leave her body, aching for the pleasure and fulfillment only he could give her. Yes, indeed, staying at a hotel by herself was going to be a miserable experience. Tiredly, she climbed out of the car.
He cursed, got out and stepped up to her, capturing her arms in a gentle grip when she would have walked past him. “I just don’t think us working together is a good idea. You said it yourself. I care about you and I think you care about me. But nothing’s going to change between us. We’ll never be able to reconcile our beliefs. As much as I loved making love with you, I need to focus on my bid for management and—” Abruptly, he stopped speaking and stared through the front windows next to her front door.
“Simon—what is it?” She leaned around him but couldn’t see past his broad shoulders.
“Go to a neighbor’s house,” he ordered. “Now. Call 911.”
“What? Why?”
“I heard something from inside. Someone moving around. Give me your house keys.”
She fumbled in her purse, then handed him her set of keys.
He thrust his cell phone in her hand. “Call 911. Go to a neighbors and wait for me. Now.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
S
IMON SLID ALONGSIDE
the outer door of Nina’s garage and headed to the front door, his gun in his hands, at the ready. Nina would call 911 and convey all the needed information, which would get him backup in about three minutes. But no way was he going to chance whoever was inside—and he was betting it would be Davenport—getting away and continuing to pose a threat to Nina. If he could capture Davenport, she would be safe, and so might another homeless person.
Simon quietly stepped onto Nina’s porch, reached her darkened front door and grasped the handle, giving it a controlled twist. It was unlocked, leaving him no need to use the key Nina had given him. He eased the door open, then made his way inside the darkened house, following protocol by sticking to the wall and thrusting his gun out at each corner.
He covered the ground floor, but couldn’t find anyone. Didn’t matter. He’d heard someone moving inside and the front door had been unlocked. Davenport had probably gone up the stairwell to the second floor. Quietly, he made his way to the foot of the stairs.
In the background, he heard the familiar wail of sirens. Backup.
That meant Nina had called 911. Good girl.
He heard a bang on the ceiling above him, then footsteps in quick succession, moving away from him. Fuck—Davenport
was
upstairs. What the hell was he doing? Had he heard Simon come in? Had he thought Simon was Nina, and even now was lying in wait in her bedroom, prepared to hurt her? Maybe even rape her before he killed her?
Rage pumped through Simon’s veins. He swerved around the banister and started to charge up the stairs. When he was halfway up, Simon paused, listening for hints of Davenport’s location. Suddenly, he heard more footsteps, one followed quickly after another. Moving away from the stairwell.
He was running, Simon realized—but not to come back down the stairwell. He was headed to the front of the house. Probably planning on climbing through a window and onto the upper-deck balcony that stretched across the front of the house and the side of the garage. Once he was there, it would be an easy job for Davenport to clamber down to the ground below.
Where Nina might be waiting.
God damn it all!
“Police. Stop where you are!” he shouted, reversing his direction and charging back down the stairs and to the front door, desperate to reach Nina before Davenport could. He raced out onto the front porch.
Immediately, he saw him.
A man running down the long driveway toward the road.
Simon bolted after him, gaining ground quickly. “Stop. I’m with the police! Stop now!” he shouted.
The man didn’t listen, but his flight would do him no good.
Simon was almost on him when the man turned to look over his shoulder. Simon had researched Lester Davenport and seen a couple of photos of the man. It was him!
His expression one of panic, Davenport raised his right arm, giving Simon a glimpse of the gun he was trying to swing around.
Before he could point it, Simon tackled him.
They hit the ground hard.
Simon immediately flipped Davenport to his stomach, wrenched his arms behind his back and snatched the gun away from him. With his knee in the man’s back, Simon began reading the man his rights.
“You have the right to remain silent...” he began. “You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have an attorney...”
Simon heard a sound coming from the front of the driveway. Some distance away, patrol officers were running up to help him. Nina was there, too, her horrified gaze pinned on the man beneath Simon.
Davenport looked up and saw her, as well. All of a sudden, he began thrashing and fighting Simon’s hold.
“You!” he screamed. “It’s all your fault. Your fault that Beth died. And now you think you can get away with it again? Fool people into thinking you can help them? You didn’t save that little girl. You put her in danger, just like her father says. Just like my Beth!”
“Shut up,” Simon ordered, but no matter what he said, he couldn’t get Davenport to shut up. He kept shouting his hatred at Nina until patrol officers took him away.
And from the look on her face, Nina heard every word.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
T
HE BLUE AND WHITE LIGHTS
on the last patrol car faded into the distance. Standing in her front yard, Simon turned to face Nina. She was pale and trembling. All he wanted was to bring her inside and take her into his arms, but she couldn’t stay in the house. In minutes, the forensic team would arrive to process the place. In the meantime, they needed to get her stuff.
When he reminded her of that, however, she looked confused.
“Why do I still have to leave? Davenport’s in custody.”
Gently, he explained about the forensics team. Then said, “Besides, aside from the forensic team needing to do their job, we can’t make any assumptions. Davenport’s obviously guilty of breaking into your house. I think he’s the man who killed two men because of his daughter’s mental illness, but I don’t want to make any assumptions that could put you in danger. I need to go in and interview him. Get him to confess he killed Cann and that second man. In order to do that, I can’t afford to be distracted. Worried. I need to know you’re safe. I can still take you to a hotel. Or better yet, to a friend’s house. Is there a friend you can stay with?”
It took her a few seconds to process what he was saying, to accept that this wasn’t over quite yet.
“Nina,” he prompted.
She glanced up at him with shadowed eyes, then nodded. “I can stay with Karen. My boss. She’s a friend, too.”
“Okay. Let’s go in and call her. If it doesn’t look like he’s messed with your things, you can grab some essentials and then I can drive you to her house.”
They both went inside.
“Mud,” Nina grumbled under her breath as she walked past her living room and headed for the stairwell.
“Excuse me?” Simon asked, on her heels.
She pointed to the faint impression of muddy footprints near the back patio door and automatically took a few steps toward them. “Davenport must’ve tracked it in.”
Simon grabbed her elbow and pulled her to a halt before she could get too close to them. “Don’t touch anything yet. We don’t want to contaminate the scene. As soon as the techs come in to process the place, they’ll photograph the prints and match them up to Davenport.” Simon frowned. “But I thought he gained entry through your front door. It was unlocked. Is it possible you left it unlocked when we left this morning?”
“It’s possible. More likely probable. He definitely came in through the back. See, the footprints are red, made with the mud from my backyard,” Nina said slowly, drawing her words out. “I’m having a new patio put in. Right now part of the backyard is covered with this red-colored earth—fill the contractor put down as a base before laying the brick. Davenport had to have been in my backyard to get this red dirt on his feet.”
Simon stroked her arm, knowing she had to be rattled by the fact Davenport had broken into her home. Hell, even he was still rattled, overcome with thoughts of what Davenport had been planning to do to Nina. None of them were pretty and even now he envisioned Nina’s torso bared, her back marred with bloody initials. Fighting back nausea, he took his hand off her arm and patted her back, hoping she wouldn’t notice that he was shaking. “Let’s see if he touched your stuff.”
She led him to her room. The last time he’d been in it, she’d cried herself to sleep in his arms. Now...
Nina’s horrified cry mingled with Simon’s ugly curse.
The letters
BD
were spray painted on her walls and on her pale bedspread.
Once again, he placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Doc. But if this doesn’t link him to the homeless murders, I’m not sure what will. I’ll get the stuff in your dresser. You grab what you need from your closet. But if anything looks like it’s been messed with, don’t touch it, okay?”
Shakily, Nina nodded and headed for her closet. As she extracted a suitcase and began filling it, Simon walked over to her dresser and examined a few of the items on top of it. Framed photos of her and Rachel. A ballerina music box. A bundle of swim team ribbons. A little teddy bear with a pink bow. Like the rag doll she carried in her purse, was the bear something she’d had as a child? Maybe even something that had belonged to her sister? But he wasn’t about to ask her that now, just as he hadn’t pressed her for details about her sister’s suicide. He already knew Rachel Whitaker had slit her wrists in the bathtub. The last thing Nina needed right now was to remember that.
He turned to her. “Bring casual and business clothes. In case you—” He broke off at the expression on her face. Her jaw had gone slack, her complexion ashen and the pupils of her eyes had dilated until they seemed almost black.
“Nina.” Simon took a step forward, but she shrank back. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
Nina took another step back and pointed a shaking finger. “The bear. On my dresser.”
“What is it? Isn’t it yours?”
She swallowed and wrapped an arm around her stomach, then bent at the knees, going into a low crouch. She gave a low moan of pain.
“Oh, Doc. Oh, no.” Immediately, he went to her and gathered her in his arms. With gentle movements, he stroked her hair as she buried her head in the crook of his neck, gasping for air. He murmured her name and held her tight until her breathing regulated.
“That’s how she did it,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“That’s how who did what?” he asked, but somehow he knew the answer.
“That’s how Beth killed herself. She used a pink ribbon from a teddy bear to strangle herself to death. That bear doesn’t belong to me. He brought it with him. Davenport. He left it here for me to find.”
* * *
S
IMON WANTED TO RIP
Davenport’s heart out through his rib cage, but right now Nina needed him. After she’d come close to collapsing in her bedroom, he’d held her until she stopped sobbing. Then he’d finished packing for her, throwing items from her dresser and closet into the suitcase she’d already pulled out. After that, he’d struggled with indecision. He’d been planning on leaving her in a hotel or at a friend’s house and following up with Davenport.
But at that moment, Nina had needed him more. She’d trusted him with her body. He was taking responsibility for her emotional well-being, too.
He’d bundled Nina and her overnight bag into the car and had taken off for his place.
Nina hadn’t argued. Didn’t even ask questions. That worried him. She wasn’t going to be able to take much more. Not with everything she’d already gone through.
On the way to his house, Simon called DeMarco and asked him to conduct Davenport’s interview, but DeMarco said Davenport had asked for an attorney. There would be no interviewing him until at least tomorrow.