THE MISSING (L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Book 4) (8 page)

He pointed to the book. “How can you read that stuff?” He snatched up the latest edition of
The Achilles’ Heel
and shook it in her face. “How can you
write
this stuff?”

Julianna stiffened. “The same way you can keep working in Homicide.”

His expression switched from anger to insult. “It’s different. I’m helping people. Trying to find some kind of justice for victims and their families.”

“And what do you think I’m doing?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t know.”

“The stories I write are about victims who’ve been forgotten. Their cases closed because the police can’t find the perpetrators. I’m telling the public that these children and their grieving families shouldn’t be forgotten. I’m a constant reminder that these murderers are out there, ready and willing to kill some more. By keeping the stories in the public eye, maybe someone somewhere might do something. Maybe even the police.”

He winced at the comment, then squared his shoulders. “You know damned well a cold case is only shelved because there aren’t any viable leads. If there were the police would be on it.”

She chewed on her bottom lip. She’d hit a nerve by questioning his precious job. “Keeping the story alive is important.”

“And your life isn’t? Putting yourself in the line of fire for a story…how smart is that?”

She shrugged. “It’s what I do.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt.

Raking a hand through his hair, Luke spun around. “Then you need police protection.”

“Right.” She gave a small, ironic laugh. “I tried that. But the police in San Francisco don’t hand out protection to every woman who’s been threatened or harassed. You of all people should know that.”

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of apology in his tone. “Well, then, you should stop writing the stories.”

Her mouth fell open. “Excuse me?”

“The solution is simple. Stop writing the stories.”

She crossed her arms. Huffed and said, “I’m not going to stop writing the stories. I can’t do that. I need to finish the series.” She pivoted away from him, her muscles drawing tighter and tighter. He had never understood her passion for writing, and he’d never grasp why she had to write these particular stories. If he understood, he’d never have stopped looking for Mikey’s murd—
Oh, God
. She caught herself mid-thought.

Don’t. Just don’t.
Her pulse suddenly pounded in her ears. “Besides, no one would ever think to look for me here. I haven’t told anyone. Not my editor. Not even my mother.”

The sharp ring of Luke’s cell phone interrupted. Why was she not surprised?

~~~

LUKE PULLED OUT his phone, glanced at the number, saw it was Jordan and then walked a few steps away before he answered.

“Yeah,” Luke said, keeping his voice low.

“Just checking on your ETA. I’m going to make an appointment with the new lead on the Renfield case and I want you to be there.”

A rush of adrenaline coursed through Luke’s veins. He needed to get back. He had a job to do. But…if he left, there’d be no one to protect Jules. Dammit. He couldn’t leave her here alone.

“Yeah, about that…some things have come up, Buddy. You’re gonna have to do the interview without me.”

It was quiet on the other end of the phone for the longest time. Finally Jordan asked, “Something wrong with Abe?”

“No, something else. I can’t talk now, but I need a favor.”

“Sure—what’s up?”

“A cold case.” He searched his brain for the name of the child in the story. “Willis…Renata Willis. Pull it for me, will you? Then I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

Jordan agreed and Luke hung up. Julianna was incredibly naive if she thought there was no danger. It was obvious the articles had triggered some kind of hostility in the person who wrote the messages. She had to know that.

But why? What bothered this person so much he, or she, had to make threats? That’s what he needed to find out.

He walked over to where Julianna stood by the window. It was dark now and there was nothing to see outside, but she stared out anyway.

Standing behind her, he said, “Tell me about the other threats.”

“What other threats?” She turned to face him.

“There are more, aren’t there?”

Briefly, she closed her eyes, rubbed her temples with two fingers. “If you’re going to nag me until you find out, then yes, there were a couple of phone messages. I picked them up from my voice mail the night you arrived.”

He rubbed the spot on his forehead where there was still a mark from her bashing his head with the butt end of the shotgun. “That’s why you reacted so violently when I came in. You were scared.”

She pushed him away and went to sit on the couch. “Yes, I was scared. I thought you were a freaking burglar.”

He couldn’t help the grin that formed. “Yeah. I guess you did.”

A tiny grin tipped up the corners of her mouth. “You have to admit, that night is kind of funny in retrospect,” she said.

“Don’t try to change the subject.” He went over and stood in front of her. “What did the recorded messages say?”

“Just more of the same. You can listen to them tomorrow. Right now I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”

She rose to her feet and as she started to walk away, Luke placed a hand on her shoulder. “Now. I want to hear them now.”

SLEEP WAS AS ELUSIVE as Julianna’s answers to Luke’s questions. He kept thinking about the voice-mail messages. She’d told Abe about them, but she hadn’t told him. And he was the one who could protect her.

He’d been pissed when she showed him the e-mail messages, but the calls were serious threats. Whether the police did anything or not, the calls needed to be documented with the San Francisco police. Julianna would know that. She wasn’t stupid.

But she’d always been unpredictable. Just when he thought he knew what she was going to do, she threw him for a loop. Which was why he had a bad feeling she might not be telling him the whole story.

He remembered the first time he saw her across the room at Bernie’s, the local sports bar where Luke and his buddies hung out whenever they could watch a game. He’d been a beat cop when they’d met, on the cusp of promotion to detective.

For him, it’d literally been lust at first sight. But she’d been with another guy and they’d left before he could find a way to introduce himself.

A week later he arrested her at an environmental rally that had turned into a riot. So started their tumultuous relationship. And it had been that way ever since.

He smiled. Despite everything, she still made him smile. She’d affected him like no other woman ever had, and from the moment they’d met, he’d wanted to get her into bed. When he fell in love with her, the desire only intensified…and no matter how many times they’d made love during their marriage, each time was as exciting as the first.

Would it be the same now? How wonderful would it be to feel her body against his. Her silky smooth skin against his hairy roughness. Jules had the smoothest skin he’d ever touched. His pulse quickened, blood rushed to his vital parts. But he knew the danger of giving in to desire with Jules. He’d only open himself to more pain. He couldn’t do that again. Not even if she was willing. If he did, he might never recover.

He checked the clock on the night table. 2:00 a.m. It was pointless to stay in bed when he couldn’t sleep, so he pulled on a pair of jeans and headed for the living room. On the way, he grabbed a Coke from the fridge, noticing some Bud Light next to the soda. Jules must’ve bought the beer because his dad wouldn’t be caught dead drinking light beer.

In the living room, he set his drink on the end table, clicked on the lamp and dropped into the worn leather recliner next to it. The chair had been there since Luke was a kid. Even though it was his father’s favorite, his mother had threatened to torch the behemoth more than once.

He glanced at the pile of magazines next to him and his stomach knotted. He didn’t want to read about missing children, but to know what was going on with Jules, he had to do it. He picked up the latest issue of
The Achilles’ Heel,
and as he read, he could see why the caller might’ve been disturbed about the story. By putting all the facts and the interviews from the victims’ families together, it gave a more complete picture. A human interest story that put faces to cold statistics and made the tale more compelling.

And from his experience in working with criminal profilers, she’d described the traits of a serial killer perfectly. If the person making the threats was the murderer, he might believe she could expose him.

In another part of the article, she’d stated her theory about the connections between several similar crimes, even indicating she knew the names of criminals with the same M.O.

Whether she realized it or not, she’d made herself a perfect target.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Jules’s low sexy voice came from behind, making him jerk to attention.

He chucked the magazine back onto the pile upside down. “Something like that.”

She came around and sat on the couch across from him, curling her legs beneath her. She was wearing a tight-fitting yellow top with barely-there straps, and loose yellow pajama bottoms with pictures of a cartoon bird on them. Tweety Bird, he remembered, her favorite. “So, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“The story. You were reading my story, weren’t you?”

He raised his hands. “Guilty. But I didn’t finish, so I won’t be drawing any conclusions.”

“Conclusions about what?”

“Whether the story’s good or not.”

“That’s not what I meant. I thought maybe you’d find it interesting. Compelling. It’s supposed to be compelling.”

He shrugged. “I found it disturbing. In more ways than one.”

She frowned. “Great. That means I’ve done my job. It made you think.”

“It did that. It made me realize how serious the threats against you are. It made me think there’s a lot of anger in your words.”
Anger and pain.
Every word dripped with the pain of a parent who’d lost a child.

“It’s a sensitive subject.” She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the red-and-blue blanket covering the couch. When she opened her eyes, she looked directly at him. “Sensitive yes, but nothing I can’t handle.”

“You can handle a serial killer?”

She sat upright. “You don’t know if he is.”

“You profiled the guy perfectly. He could think you know more than you do.”

She ran a hand through her hair, then with a shake of her head, flipped the long locks back over her shoulders. “Good. I wanted to wake people up. If I’ve done that, I’ve succeeded.”

“So, where did you get your information?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Are you questioning my resources?”

“No, I’m just curious how you know so much.”

“I don’t know any more than anyone else. I’ve just put it together in a different way. In each case I write about, the profiles are composites garnered from the experts who wrote them. The rest is public information and interviews.”

“You’ve been goading him.”

“That wasn’t my intent.”

“But it’s the result. That’s why he’s threatening you.”

“So why didn’t the police do anything when I told them? They thought I was a hack wanting publicity.”

“I don’t know, but I think you need protection, and if I’m going to help you, I need to know everything.”

She raised her chin, her expression firm. “I’m not asking for your help. And if I need protection, I’ll…I’ll call the police.”

“The police are already here.” He wanted to smile, but it was important she knew how serious this was. “In addition to letting your local police know, we need to contact the FBI. But…it might be more effective if I’m the one who calls.”

She hesitated, stood and then paced in front of him.

“You can’t blow this off, Jules.” Luke’s blood pressure rose. “Or are you just burying your head in the sand like you used to?”

She stopped dead in her tracks and glared at him.

He held up a hand. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. It’s just that…I can’t sit by and do nothing.”

“Luke.” She turned to him. “Please let it be. Whoever is making the threats thinks I’m in San Francisco.”

Her words didn’t fit her demeanor. She seemed edgy, shifting from one foot to the other, biting her cuticles, eyes darting as if seeking an escape. Maybe what he’d said was getting to her, but she couldn’t…wouldn’t admit it. Another of her traits he knew so well.

“I can’t let it go. You may be putting my father in danger.” He cleared his throat. “And
you
are definitely in danger.”

Her expression went from obstinate to obstinately resigned. “Abe knows about the calls and he insisted I stay. But if there’s any chance it might put him in harm’s way, I’ll leave.”

Luke rubbed his chin. “No…no, I don’t think you should.”

She turned, came over, snatched his Coke and took a long swig. Handing it back, she scoffed, then threw her hands up. “First you want me to leave. Now you don’t. Make up your mind.”

“I have. I think if we take the right precautions, you might actually be safer here. Especially with me as your bodyguard.”

“For once I agree with you. But not about the bodyguard part. I truly don’t believe anyone could track me here. No one knows. I left no trail. I even used a different name on the plane.”

“What name did you use?”

“I bought a fake ID from a reputable source who got it from someone else who got it from—”

“So someone else knows your fake name.”

Frowning, she said, “Okay, maybe so. But it’s someone who doesn’t have a clue who I am. Too many people in between.”

“But he knows the name and could track it, or give it to someone if they asked.”

She whirled around. “Only if he wanted to be arrested. Believe me, fake IDs aren’t the only illegal thing he traffics in. Besides, how would anyone know to even contact him?”

“You found a way.”

She shook her head. “Someone else got the I.D. for me. I’m safe. Believe me.”

Safe, maybe. But not a hundred percent. “Okay. Let’s leave it at that. We don’t know what anyone knows for sure, but to be safe, we have to assume they know everything and be prepared. Once I notify the FBI, I think we should talk to Sheriff Yuma as well.”

“Even though nothing has happened?”

“Even though. I’ll make the calls from my cell.”

“Then what?”

“We need to take steps to find out who sent the messages.” He caught her gaze to see her reaction. “Deal?”

She hesitated. Then, finally she said, “Deal,” and she reached out for a knuckle bump the way they’d always done.

Funny how some things came so naturally.

Yet other things seemed so foreign. She did seem different now, but he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what. Maybe it was simply the fact that she was older, wiser. More confident. More beautiful.

“I’m going back to bed. Don’t strain your eyes reading in the dark.”

“I don’t read. Remember.”