She’d woken something inside of him, something he’d denied since the night he’d killed his mother. Something he’d sought to control ever since. Allowing emotions to play into any part of what he and Garrett had done led to loss of control, which led to sloppiness.
He shrugged out of the bloodied mechanic’s suit, then dropped it into the steel barrel in the corner, along with the gloves — no amount of bleach would remove the stains. Sloppiness was what had led to Garrett’s arrest. That and arrogance. Garrett had always considered himself the one who held the power. He’d considered himself unstoppable, uncatchable.
Dousing the suit and gloves with lighter fluid, he reached for a pack of matches. He lit the match, tossed it into the barrel, along with the entire matchbook. As flames swept over the clothing, he shook his head. Garrett used to laugh every time he wore the mechanic’s suit, ski mask and gloves. How he’d spend hours washing the suit and gloves in bleach. He’d made fun of his numerous cell phones. The reminder of them had him moving to his tool chest, then dumping them into the burn barrel.
Garrett had been a stupid fool. Leaving evidence of what he’d done behind, because he was arrogant, because he thought he was unstoppable. Not him, though. He watched the flames lick at the clothes, the phones, let the heat from the small fire warm his naked body.
As he stood there, waiting for the fire to consume the evidence, he ran through what he had to do tonight to prepare for tomorrow. While making a short, mental list, his thoughts strayed to Celeste. To the fantasy that would become a reality. He began stroking himself, then stopped. He needed a release, but not here. Not where they might find traces of his semen. The shower would have to do. Again.
He used the fire extinguisher on the barrel. Once satisfied that the embers wouldn’t reignite, he locked the room, without giving Ugly Evie’s dead body a final glance.
Dead is dead.
In the closed garage he quickly dressed. As he buttoned his shirt, he grinned when he caught the scars on his fingertips. The pain he’d endured when he’d taken battery acid to his fingertips the day he’d decided to
kill
Tobias Haney, and resurrect himself as someone else, had been well worth it. They had none of his DNA, or a usable fingerprint.
They’d never catch him, he assured himself, not with arrogance, but with something Garrett had always lacked. Confidence.
And he was more than confident that by this time tomorrow, Celeste would be dead. By the time they found her, he’d be long gone.
Sipping a Corona and seducing senoritas.
*
Celeste finished filling the salt and pepper shakers, then placed them on the tray, while Rick and Karen wrapped up the rest of their closing duties. The rain that had been forecasted for Sunday had hit early, and had been more like a torrential downpour. Due to the weather they’d been slow for a Friday night, and since they hadn’t had a customer in over an hour, she’d decided to close early.
Will had already left, Rick and Karen were looking forward to an early night, and she wasn’t sure how to feel. Glancing at the clock, her stomach twisted into a knot.
Lack of customers had given her too much time to think. John had called earlier, briefed her about what had happened at the hospital, then went on to tell her Roy had managed to gather a search party for tomorrow morning. She still worried that she was sending them on a wild goose chase, but as John had assured her, they’d rather make the attempt to find the third victim than do nothing at all.
Shortly after she’d spoken with John, Dan had called. She’d figured he was looking for another order of kalachkis for his sick wife. Instead, he’d asked if she wouldn’t mind staying at his house until the hospice nurse arrived around noon while he helped with the search.
She didn’t mind, but the thought of sitting in Dan’s home with his terminally ill wife didn’t settle well. Although it had been three years since her mom had died, being near someone knocking on Death’s door still hit too close to home. Will promised to open the diner in the morning after she’d let him leave early tonight, and if she couldn’t be part of the search, at least she was still helping.
Thoughts of her mom had lingered after Dan’s call, which had led her to spend the next few hours thinking about Ian and what they’d talk about tonight. Last night’s trance? Most definitely. Maybe he could shed some light as to how it had happened, and better yet, give her suggestions on how to control them in the future. They’d likely spend no more than an hour together tonight. The trance would hopefully take up most of that time. But what if he wanted to discuss other things?
Ian had planned to leave tomorrow. The next time she’d see him would be when she moved to Chicago. Should she tell him that she’d decided to live with John? Or that she was actually considering working for CORE?
No. Not yet. She finished replacing all of the salt and pepper shakers, then dropped the tray to her side. Maybe instead of discussing the trance, she should use this short time to know the man her mom had once loved. Give him a chance at learning more about her.
She stacked the tray with the others and decided she was, once again, completely over-analyzing things. She’d go with the flow once Ian arrived and let him take the lead.
The bell above the front door rang, and her stomach did a somersault. So much for going with the flow. She glanced up, expecting Ian, then froze.
John stood in front of the door, wearing a sexy, crooked grin. Wet from the rain, his dark hair appeared even darker. His shirt stuck to his chest, revealing those perfect pecs she loved to hold onto when she rode him hard. The thought, the image made her hot, and brought heat to her cheeks as well as between her legs.
Then she noticed the time.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, rounding the counter while her skin prickled, her stomach flipped, and her head buzzed. Ian would be by any minute, any second, and John would realize she’d held back on him. After how honest he’d been with her, she’d owed him the same. Regret ate at her. She should have told him everything about Ian last night. Why the hell hadn’t she?
Because Ian had asked her not to. Because she wanted to start her relationship with her biological father on the right foot. Because she figured she had more time. Ian would be gone tomorrow, and that’s when she’d planned on spilling everything to John.
She should have gone with her first instinct and told John from the start. When, though? She’d learned about Ian being her father yesterday. Then there was the trance. The whole let’s move in together and...damn. She should have just told him. In a matter of minutes Ian would waltz through the door and John would be completely sucker punched.
“I finished early and thought I’d swing by for some dinner, then give you a ride home. I see you’ve closed the place down though.”
“Yeah.” She glanced at the clock again. “But I saved you tonight’s special.”
“Great. How long before you’re ready to leave?” he asked, brushing droplets of water from his shirt as he approached her.
“Soon, but—”
“Is Will still here?”
“No, he—”
John wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. He nuzzled his damp head against her neck, brushed his lips at the hollow of her throat. “Are we alone?” he asked as he kissed her chin, then her cheek. “I’ve fantasized about taking you against this counter. Bending you over, spreading you—”
“Stop,” she said, even as the wicked image ran through her imagination and heated her body. “Just stop.” She pressed a fist against his chest. “We’re not alone, and I’m expecting...someone.”
Still holding her, he leaned back and snared her gaze. “Someone?” he asked, his voice holding a hint a jealousy.
She laid a hand on his cheek. “John, there’s something I should have told you about yesterday. I planned on telling you tomorrow when he left.”
Releasing her, he took a step back, leaving her suddenly cold and insecure. “
He?
And who would that be? ”
She crossed her arms over her chest to ward off the chill in his voice. “My—”
The bell chimed as the front door opened. Wind and a few dead leaves whipped into the dinner.
Along with Ian.
John stared at Ian, who had the audacity to smile at him as he brushed rain from his coat. Ian had dumped him in Wissota Falls then had ignored his calls. After five days, now he was standing in the doorway of The Sugar Shack?
Confused as to why Ian was there, and whether or not this was the “he” Celeste had been referring to, he turned to her. Her cheeks bloomed scarlet, her wide eyes held shock and...familiarity.
When she met his gaze, a slow burn seeped into his chest making him wish he hadn’t left the antacids in the car. She
had
been expecting Ian, but he’d guarantee she hadn’t planned on him finding out that she actually knew Ian. The knowledge of it was clear on her face, with the way her pulse beat quickly at the base of her throat, and how she twisted a curl around a shaky finger. She knew
his
boss and hadn’t bothered to tell him?
Ian had kept him in the dark for nearly a week, not returning his calls, and instead kept apprised of the investigation through the sheriff. Had he also been talking with Celeste? From the beginning?
He ran a hand through his damp hair as his stomach sank with a betrayal he hadn’t felt since...Renee.
Two for two.
Twice now he’d allowed a woman to pull one over on him. Only this time the betrayal hurt worse. He loved Celeste. Trusted her. He’d told her things he’d never told anyone else. He’d given her his heart, his soul. Hell, he’d asked her to move in with him with the thoughts of marriage and babies.
What had she done in return? Like Ian, she’d kept him in the dark, and now he wondered what other secrets she had hidden beneath that pretty smile and her bright blue eyes.
“I see this is rather awkward,” Ian said as he approached, offering him his hand.
John didn’t bother shaking the other man’s hand. As far as he was concerned, his days with CORE were over. He’d rather flip burgers or bag groceries than have to deal with Ian and his bullshit.
Ian dropped his hand, then gave Celeste a kiss on the cheek. The affectionate gesture took him over the edge. “You’ll have my resignation in the morning,” he said to Ian, reached into his pocket, then set the key to Celeste’s home on the counter.
She placed her hand over his, the warm metal from the key stuck to his sweaty palm. “What are you doing?”
He snatched his hand away. “Leaving. Tonight.”
“What about the investigation?” Ian asked. “You’ve never quit anything in your life.”
“Please don’t,” she said with exasperation, and narrowed her eyes at Ian. “This has nothing to do with the investigation. Does it?” She looked back to him, her eyes imploring, uncertain. “I should have told you about Ian.”
He moved away from the counter. He couldn’t stand being near her, catching her scent, the warmth radiating from her body, knowing that their relationship had all been a lie. Angry and upset, he didn’t trust himself not to draw her into his embrace and pretend none of this was happening. But then Renee’s image surfaced and the painful memory of her duplicity renewed the fight in him.
“I’m all ears now,” he said with sarcasm.
Taking a deep breath, she rubbed her arms and shivered. “Before you came over Wednesday night, I read through some of my mom’s old journals hoping to find something to help me with my trances. Instead I found out that my mom had been a psychic advisor for the FBI and had also been in love with a man named Ian.”
Her mom had been in love with Ian? He couldn’t imagine anyone loving Ian. Self-centered, egotistical, and a downright ass on most days, the man didn’t have a sympathetic or compassionate bone in his body.
“Let’s cut to the chase before steam starts coming out of his ears.” Ian dropped into a chair. “Although I have to admit, I like seeing this side of you, John. It’s good to know you’ve got more than ice running through your veins. You sometimes worried me.”
“Worried,” John echoed. “That must be why you didn’t bother to return my calls this week, because you
worried
so much.”
Ian chuckled. “In less than five days you’ve become not only insolent, but sarcastic. You’re starting to remind me of someone else.”
“Who’s that?”
Ian glanced at Celeste, his eyes holding a glimmer of pride. “My daughter.”
John jerked his head as if he’d been slapped. He hadn’t seen that one coming, and turned to Celeste for confirmation.
She nodded. “I found out yesterday morning. I wanted to tell you—”
“But I asked her not to,” Ian interrupted. “You needed to stay focused on the investigation, not concern yourself about the ramifications of dating the boss’s daughter.”
“Ramifications? You really thought I’d care one way or another?”
“I did, and stand by my decision.”
“Of course, because you’re a manipulative son of a bitch,” he said to Ian, then looked to Celeste. “And you went along with him. After everything we’d talked about, after...” After he’d told her he’d loved her, that he wanted to be with her. “How could you keep this from me?”
“I didn’t want to, and it was hard not to tell you after...” She blushed and tossed her hand in the air. “I know you have trust issues, and I planned on telling you everything once Ian left tomorrow. Please, let’s go home and talk about this. I don’t want what’s happened tonight to come between us. I love you, John. I still want to come to Chicago with you.”
“Chicago?” Ian smacked his hand on the table, and they both swung there gazes to him. “This is wonderful news. Does this mean you’re considering joining CORE?” he asked, grinning at Celeste.
“He offered you a
job?
” John shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from knocking the grin off Ian’s face. “You find out yesterday he’s your dad, he offers you a job and you didn’t think you should tell me?”
“I wanted to,” she said, her voice rising. “I told you, he asked me not say anything to you and I didn’t want to start our relationship off by betraying his trust.”
“But you had no problem betraying mine?” He pushed a hand through his hair again. “I can’t do this.”
Tears swelled in her eyes as she frowned at him. “You can’t do what?”
“Be with you.”
Her breath caught on a sob. “John, you don’t mean that. We can work through this. Please, come home with me and let’s talk.”
“You were more worried about starting off your relationship with Ian, than you were about
ours.
” He shook his head. “You would have always come first, Celeste.
Always.
Over my family, my friends, my career.” He took another step away, distancing himself, his heart, from her. “I need the same in return. You proved where your loyalties lie, and I’m not willing to take the chance that it won’t happen again.”
“Kain,” Ian snapped, as Celeste covered a hand over her mouth and turned her back on him. “Walk it off. When you’ve cooled down, and have that logical, rational head of yours on straight, come talk to her. Don’t say something you’ll regret. Regret’s an ugly thing. Trust me on that.”
“I already regret,” John shouted at him, letting the pain and anger free. “I regret coming to this shitty town, dealing with this shitty investigation and falling in love with a woman who...”
She whirled on him, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks flushed and wet with tears. “Who
what?
” she asked, her tone low, seething.
Was she actually mad at
him?
He hadn’t done a damned thing wrong. She had. If she’d only had enough trust and faith in him, none of this would have been a big deal. He could give a shit if her dad was Charles Manson, and certainly could care less that Ian was her biological father. None of it would have made a difference to him, but her silence had. Without trust in a relationship, there was no relationship at all.
Ignoring her, he headed for the door. As he passed Ian he said, “You’re right. I do need to walk away.”
“No, I said walk it off,” Ian corrected.
“Whatever.”
“What about the investigation? Are you really going to walk away from that, too?”
John stopped and stared at his reflection in the glass. He could make out Celeste’s and Ian’s, too. Like father, like daughter, they both glared at his back.
He didn’t want to quit the investigation. They’d come so far, and he knew they were close to catching Tobias Haney. He wanted to see this case through to the end. He wanted to see Haney dead or behind bars before he killed again. He also wanted to make sure they didn’t miss anything that might allow Winston to serve a lesser sentence because of some bullshit technicality.
Winston.
Better watch out for her. My brother’s got a thing for knives.
The crybaby killer’s threat haunted him. He gazed at Celeste’s reflection. He might be angry. He might not want anything else to do with her. But he didn’t want to see anything happen to her, either.
A woman you’d die for, or die without.
He
would
die for her. He loved her. Despite what had happened tonight, a part of him would probably always love her. Although he could walk away from her, he couldn’t allow himself to walk away from the investigation, knowing she could possibly become one of Haney’s victims.
“No,” he finally answered Ian. “You’re right. I’ve never quit during a case. I’ll finish this one out.” He glanced over his shoulder. “But afterwards, expect my resignation.”
“And Celeste?”
“Don’t, Ian,” Celeste yelled from across the room. “If he wants to walk away from me because he’s too pigheaded to see past his black and white little world, let him. And don’t you dare breathe a word of what happened tonight to Roy. I don’t want either of you giving John attitude on my account. Let him finish what he’s started so he could go back to his pitiful life in Chicago. Alone.”
“Pitiful,” John shouted back, as he swiveled. “Look who’s talking. You’ve spent the past three years hiding in Hicksville avoiding your grief and your guilt.”
“You’re no better. How long has Renee been dead? Two years?”
He looked away. “I’m over that.”
“Really? I don’t think so. That bitch warped your trust, and two years later, she’s still doing it. Only you don’t see it that way,” she said as she moved toward him. “You’ve taken a simple misunderstanding and blown it completely out of proportion. But you go ahead, finish this case then run back to your pathetic life where everything is nice and tidy.”
“You’re damn right I will. And by the way, look who’s talking. From what I’ve seen, your best friend is a fifty-year-old man, and your idea of a good time is baking up a storm in your basement. Instead of living your own life, you’ve been living through everyone else. Don’t talk to me about pathetic.” He reached for the door handle, the acid reflux burning bad enough he wouldn’t be surprised if smoke rose from his chest. “And you know what else?”
She folded her arms across her chest and cocked a brow. “Do tell.”
“I hate your fucking gnomes.”
“Enough,” Ian shouted. “Kain, get the hell out of here.”
“I’m gone,” he said as he turned his back on them and pulled open the door. Rain and wind whipped against him as he stalked to his car. Once inside the rental, he slammed the door shut, then sped away from The Sugar Shack.
From Celeste. From the only woman he’d ever loved.
*
Celeste locked the front door, then turned and leaned against the glass. Her heart breaking as the taillights from John’s car disappeared into the night. How could he have just walked away from her, from them? And over a stupid misunderstanding?
A misunderstanding she could have prevented.
Through her tears she caught Ian’s reflection in the glass as he moved toward her. “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is my fault. If I’d known he would react this way...”
Cradling her upset stomach, she turned away from the door. “This isn’t just your fault. I could have told John yesterday. I had plenty of opportunity.” She shook her head. “It’s probably best things happened the way they did. I’d rather find out now that we aren’t compatible than when I’m moved into his condo.”
“Do you really believe you’re not compatible?”
“Yes. No.” She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. They were more than compatible. John was her soul mate. The only man she’d ever given her heart to. And damn him, he’d trampled it, along with the hopes and dreams of the future they’d share.
“It doesn’t matter at this point. We’d both said some regrettable things that can’t be taken back.” Anger began to filter past the overwhelming sadness dampening her soul. “I mean, who is he to call me pathetic?” she asked, unable to stop her voice from rising as her temper continued to flare. “And he hates my gnomes? What is he, five going on thirty-five?”
Ian chuckled, and tucked a curl behind her ear. “Most men are, I’m afraid. I know I’ve done some stupid, childish things.”
“Like asking me to keep this whole father-daughter thing secret?” she asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone. None of this would have happened if Ian hadn’t waltzed into her life. Then again, none of this would have happened if she’d been upfront with John yesterday.