“Almost.”
Devra turned back to the picture, unable to face the hardness in his face, and noticed the strong resemblance between him and the other man in the picture. “Brother?”
“Yeah. Okay, done.” He grabbed the paper out of the printer and thrust it at her.
She scanned it, then signed her name on the bottom.
“Riley, what are you doing?” a man boomed as he walked through the door.
“Just getting a statement, Captain.” The detective stood and faced the man, then gestured toward her. “Captain Lewis, this is Devra Morgan. It was her locket we found on Michelle.”
Devra stood uncertainly, trying to hide her nervousness.
The captain took only a second to size her up, then
turned back to the detective. “Have Pat finish up her statement. You need some time off. Go home and be with your family.”
Devra sat back down and pretended to be reading her statement. He was being taken off the case. She smothered a smile.
“Captain—”
“I don’t want any arguments about it,” his captain continued. “You’re too close to this case to be objective. You could do more harm than good.”
“I’ve been living the night stalker case for thirteen months. I know it inside and out,” he insisted.
“At this point, it doesn’t matter. This wasn’t the night stalker.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This one is different, hair and fibers don’t match up.”
“That’s why Michelle was out there. She was trying to flush this guy out. Are you telling me someone else got to her?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you. Michelle was a good cop. Her death is a terrible loss for all of us. Do yourself a favor, Riley, go home and take care of your family. Take care of yourself.”
“There’s no way I’m dumping this case,” he said softly.
Captain Lewis gestured with the manila file folder clutched in his hand. “You don’t have a choice. The FBI is taking over.”
“Why?”
The captain glanced at Devra, took the detective by
the arm and led him a few feet away. “The computer matched forensics with three other murders—one each in Portland, San Francisco and Miami. What we have is a killer who goes after blondes—blondes that look a lot like Michelle.”
Even though his tone was muted, Devra couldn’t help but hear him. Her eyes widened as he listed the cities. Cities she’d lived in. They’ve found out about the others. It would only be a matter of time before they discovered her connection with those cases, too. But what had he said about forensics?
“Are you saying they were all murdered by the same man?” The detective’s voice rose in pitch.
His words didn’t make sense. The same man? There was only one killer? The thought and its implications came crashing down around her. Only one? All this time? But she’d thought… It hadn’t been the victims she’d been connected to, it’d been him—a killer who murdered women who looked like her.
The room spun. Her stomach heaved.
He’d
known about her all along.
He’d
been following her. Terror seized control of her senses. She stood. She had to leave. Now.
Riley watched his suspect swing her purse over her shoulder and get ready to bolt. She’d heard something. Before she’d gone two steps, he gripped her arm and pulled her back. “What do you know about this case?” he demanded, his barely controlled fury rasping his voice.
“Nothing,” she whispered, her eyes widening with the fear of a trapped animal.
“You do!” he insisted. “Tell the truth.”
She cringed beneath his fury and fell back into the chair, clutching her purse against her stomach, refusing to meet his gaze—the little scared kitty again.
“Riley!” Captain Lewis warned, outrage crossing his face.
“She’s hiding something, Captain.” He’d seen it in her face. Something she’d heard had thrown her into a panic. All he needed was another minute to work her and she’d break.
“Get hold of yourself,” Captain Lewis demanded.
He wouldn’t get hold of himself, he couldn’t. His fury was too strong, too pungent; he could taste it with every breath he took. He was so close to the truth. He pulled the folder out of the captain’s hands and dumped the contents onto the desk for her to see. Pictures and papers spread haphazardly—pictures of three different women, all with long blond hair cascading in curls around their pale lifeless shoulders.
Pictures of women who looked like Michelle.
Pictures of women who looked like her.
His captain stepped forward. “Riley, we know how much Michelle’s death has affected you, but this behavior is unacceptable,” he warned. “I shouldn’t have to tell you that you’re skating on thin ice here, real thin.”
“The last murder took place in Miami, three years ago,” Riley said, his voice sounding cold and hard. “Where did you live before you came here, Miss Morgan?”
She didn’t answer, just stared at him with her round baby-blue eyes trapped in fear.
She should be scared, he thought. Real scared.
By now, everyone in the department was standing, listening, staring with curiosity alive on their faces. Riley swung the swivel chair she was sitting in, turning her around to face the captain and everyone else.
“Tony, where did Miss Morgan live before she came here three years ago?”
Tony opened his file. “Miami.”
“Whose locket did we find on Michelle?”
“Miss Morgan’s.”
Riley turned to his captain. “You think she doesn’t know something about this murder? You said we have a killer who goes after blondes—blondes that look a lot like Michelle.”
He turned and lifted the glasses off Miss Morgan’s shocked face, then released her hair from its clip. An audible gasp sounded throughout the room as long blond locks cascaded around her shoulders.
“Well, what do you all think about this?”
Chapter Three
Stunned silence permeated the room.
“Riley, I want to see you in my office now.” Captain Lewis’s tone was soft and lethal. “O’Connor will stay with Miss Morgan.”
Riley followed him into the office and tried not to notice his captain’s clenched fists or the heavy rise and fall of his chest.
With a steely gaze, he pinned Riley to his seat. “You have a choice, MacIntyre—voluntary three-day bereavement leave with pay or mandatory three-day suspension without pay, and one extremely unhappy captain who will make your life a living hell. Which will it be?”
Riley groaned and scrubbed his face with his hands.
“You are not working this case. You were too close to the victim to be objective and your behavior with Miss Morgan proves that.”
Riley glanced at Devra through the office window. She’d managed to pull her hair back again, completely changing the way she looked. Pat O’Connor was smil
ing, patting her on the shoulder, comforting her after the trauma she’d been forced to endure. Somehow, he had to make the captain see he was on to something, that he was right about her. “That woman knows a lot more about this case than she’s letting on.”
“Based on what?”
“My gut.”
“Your gut isn’t good enough, considering the circumstances.”
“It’s never been wrong before and you know it.”
“The victim has never been part of your family before.”
The image of Michelle lying on the dirty French Quarter sidewalk flashed through his mind, making his own fists clench. “That’s bull.”
“The truth is you’ve never been this unhinged before. You’ve always been Mr. Cool, Mr. Confident—hell, Mr. Cocky. Now you’re a loose cannon and I won’t have your emotions jeopardizing this case. Take your three days and spend the time with your family. Rest, relax, and when you come back, you can focus on the night stalker case and let Pat and his team handle this one with the FBI.”
Somehow he didn’t think “Ladies’ Man Pat” would do what it took to find Michelle’s killer. “I can see his charm is working wonders on
my
suspect as we speak. She’s all ready to let loose and spill everything she knows any minute now.” They both watched Pat through the glass. Though he was trying, Miss Morgan was sitting as stiff and tight-lipped as a pastor’s wife in a Bourbon Street strip club.
“You’ve been known to load on the charm yourself,” the captain grumbled.
Usually, Riley thought, but not when it came to her. That woman just drove the charm right out of him.
“Just stay clear from her. Got it?” The captain ordered on an exasperated sigh.
Riley nodded, but continued watching Devra out of the corner of his eye.
“By the way, your father has called three times. I’m going downstairs. You can use my office to call him back. Consider that an order.”
Riley swore under his breath as the captain slammed the door behind him. Sometimes it didn’t pay to have a powerful father. He wondered how much his forced leave had to do with his old man, then pushed the thought out of his head. Tony had had the same idea earlier and if it’d been anyone else, Riley would probably even agree. Anyone with a loss of this magnitude should take their three days, but the worst part was having his case ripped out from under him.
Surreptitiously, he watched Miss Morgan. Three days of mandatory leave—three days to get that woman to crack. He raked a hand through his hair. Three days to get the answers he needed for his brother, Mac, and his old man.
A lead weight dropped to the pit of his stomach as he picked up the phone and dialed the ranch. “Hey, LuAnn,” he said when his stepmom answered the phone. “How’s Dad?”
“Devastated like the rest of us, but he’ll be glad to hear from you. Hold on, hon, and I’ll get him for you.”
Riley waited, not sure what to expect from his dad and not able to take his eyes off the enigma of a woman sitting at his desk. He was going to make it his priority to find out everything about her that he could and flush out whatever she was hiding from him.
He watched Tony bring her a cup of water. She nodded, thanking him, a trace of a smile touching her face. As she sipped the water, a hint of moisture wet her seductive lips. She turned, her melting blue eyes meeting his through the glass. Awareness rushed through him, hot and thick, making him cringe.
He was going to take her down.
“Hey, Son.” His father’s voice sounded dull through the receiver.
Riley turned away from the glass. “Hey, Dad.”
“When you coming home?”
“Soon.”
“Good, ’cause we all need to be here right now to support your brother. He’s taking it real hard.”
Guilt slithered through him. “Yeah, I suppose he is.”
“He has a lot of unanswered questions. We’re hoping you can fill him in.”
“I don’t have a lot of answers right now. If I’d known what Michelle had been planning… I didn’t know she’d try to draw this guy out alone, Dad.”
“We know you didn’t, Son. No one blames you.”
Riley knew that, but he could still hear the quiet disappointment in his old man’s voice, disappointment that had been festering for eighteen years. And now he had Michelle to account for, too. A heavy weight pressed against his chest.
“Who knows what she was thinking?”
“She wanted to nail the SOB that had been cutting up women in the Quarter. Only she hadn’t been prepared for a new monster…a different monster. I’m going to find her killer, Dad. I promise,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.
“I know you will, Son. I know you won’t let us down.”
No, not again I won’t.
Riley ground his teeth with frustration as he hung up the phone. He took a deep breath, steeling his emotions as he watched Miss Morgan talking with Pat and Tony. There she was, playing the demure little kitten again, but it wasn’t as convincing without her big blue eyes directed his way. Now he could easily see through her little game. Her shifty little glances kept giving her away.
He left the office and approached them. “Come on, Miss Morgan. I’ll take you home.”
“Why don’t you let me do that,” Pat said, rising. “You go home to your family.” He stood possessively over her, his chest puffing up like a peacock’s.
Made Riley want to spit. “That’s quite all right, Pat. Thanks for the concern and the offer.” He dropped the good-ole-boy smile and pierced him with a cold stare. “Miss Morgan and I have some unfinished business. I’m sure you understand.”
Pat held his gaze for a moment, then looked away.
Riley turned back to Devra. She was staring at him, her fear shining like a beacon in her luminous eyes. Yeah, she was good—he took her by the arm and led her away—but he was better.
DEVRA STARED OUT of the Expedition’s window, pushing loose tendrils of hair back into their clip. Everything in its place, her mother used to say. Thankfully, the detective hadn’t muttered a word since they left the station. As he stopped in front of her house, she hopped out of the car and all but ran toward her door. Dark storm clouds raced across the sky. Electricity sparked the hairs on the back of her neck. Either that, or it was the detective’s close proximity as he followed behind her.
“Mind if I come in for a minute?” he asked when she stopped to unlock the door.
She turned, looking up into his dark brown eyes. They looked…
tormented.
She pushed back the compassion rising within her. “I can’t imagine what else we have to say to each other.”
“I have something I’d like to say.”
She cringed at the plea in his voice, at the pain clearly etched in his eyes. She could feel his anguish. A part of her wanted to help him. But she couldn’t. To do that, she’d have to trust him with her secrets, and trust was a luxury she couldn’t afford.
She turned away from him and waited, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t leave. She took a deep breath, knowing it was a mistake even as the words left her mouth. “All right, but only for a minute.” She’d listen, but she wouldn’t help him—that would cost her too much. She opened the door and they walked in.
Inside, the house was hot and heavy with humidity, but it wasn’t nearly as uncomfortable as his presence behind her. She set the ceiling fan in motion and watched
the wide wooden paddles spin, circulating a gentle breeze.