Cavanaugh Pride
Marie Ferrarella
Cavanaugh Pride
Marie Ferrarella
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u9b35da5b-10b7-5c44-9d0e-2e916af27eea)
Title Page (#u63e8cded-4570-5579-b7c2-cf8c18973859)
About the Author (#u76591c2b-0e5d-5aab-a975-e743eae196ba)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Marie Ferrarella has written more than one hundred and fifty books, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website at www.marieferrarella.com.
To Jacinta, who lights up Nik’s life and made him smile again.
Chapter 1 (#u7ad631fd-baf9-5d91-9a07-00fb602b3c7b)
Detective Julianne White Bear didn’t want to be here. And she was sure the four detectives looking her way in the homicide squad room didn’t want her here. They weren’t openly hostile, but she knew resistance when she saw it.
She couldn’t blame them. She knew all about being territorial and, if the tables were turned, she would have felt exactly the same way.
But Captain Randolph had sent her here and she wasn’t about to argue with the man. Years before she joined the force, she had learned to pick her battles judiciously. When she did decide to dig in and fight, the very act carried an impact.
Besides, who knew? Maybe it was fate that brought her here. Maybe this was the place where she would finally find Mary. This was where her leads had brought her.
For a moment, Julianne silently scanned the small, crammed room, assessing its inhabitants. The lone woman looked to be about her age, maybe a couple of years older. She’d been talking to two men, both of whom had a number of years on her. The man off to the other side was younger.
He was also studying her.
She wondered which one of the detectives was in charge of the newly assembled task force and how long it would be before she butted heads with him—or her.
“Can I help you?” Detective Francis McIntyre, Frank to anyone who wanted to live to see another sunrise, asked the slender, dark-haired woman standing just inside the doorway.
His first thought was that a relative of one of the dead girls had finally shown up, but something about her had him dismissing the thought in the next moment. He couldn’t deny that he’d be relieved if she wasn’t. Though he’d been working homicide for a while now, breaking the dreaded news to people that their child, spouse, loved one was forever lost was something Frank knew he would never get used to.
Mentally taking a breath, Julianne crossed to the good-looking detective. A pretty boy, she thought. Probably used to making women weak in the knees. She didn’t get weak in the knees. Ever. She knew better.
“Actually, I’m here to help you.” Saying that, Julianne held out the folder she’d brought with her from Mission Ridge’s small, single-story precinct. She was acutely aware she was being weighed and measured by the tall, muscular dark-haired man with the intensely blue eyes. A glance toward the bulletin board indicated the others were following suit.
“You have some information about the killer?” Frank asked, looking at her curiously as he took the folder from her.
Was the woman a witness who’d finally decided to come forward? God knew they needed a break. Something didn’t quite gel for him. Most people who came forward, whether over the phone or in person, usually sounded a little uncomfortable and always agitated. This witness—if she was a witness—seemed very cool, very calm. And she’d obviously organized her thoughts enough to place them into a folder.
“No, those are my temporary transfer papers—plus all the information we have about our homicide.”
“‘Our’?” Frank repeated, flipping open the manila folder. He merely skimmed the pages without really reading anything. Three were official-looking papers from the human resources department from Mission Ridge, the rest had to do with a dead woman, complete with photographs. As if they didn’t have enough of their own.
“I’m from Mission Ridge,” she told him, pointing to the heading on the page he’d opened to. “Detective White Bear, Julianne.”
He frowned.
“I don’t know if we have any openings in the department,” he began. “And besides, I’m not the person to see about that—”
Julianne’s belief in the economy of words extended to the people who took up her time, talking. She cut him off. “It’s already been arranged. My captain talked to your chief of detectives,” she told him. “A Brian—”
“Cavanaugh, yes, I’m familiar with the name.”
Frank was more than familiar with the name and the man, seeing as how Brian Cavanaugh had been part of his life for a very long time, starting out as his mother’s squad car partner. Just recently the man had married Frank’s mother and made no secret of the fact that he was absorbing Frank, his brother, Zack, and two sisters, Taylor and Riley, detectives all, into what was by now the legendary Cavanaugh clan.
He would have expected a heads-up from Brian about this turn of events, not because he was his stepfather, but because Brian was his boss.
“And just why are you being transferred here?” he asked.
“Temporarily transferred.” Julianne emphasized the keyword, then pointed to the folder. “It’s all in there.”
Frank deliberately closed the folder and fixed this unusually reticent woman with a thoughtful look. “Give me the audio version.”
She smiled ever so slightly. “Don’t like to read?” she guessed.
“Don’t like curves being thrown at me.” And this one, he couldn’t help notice despite the fact that she was wearing a pantsuit, had some wicked curves as well as the straightest, blackest hair he’d ever seen and probably the most exotic face he’d come across in a long time. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” he suggested.
“I’m here because my captain and your chief of detectives seem to think that the body we found in Mission Ridge the other night is the work of your serial killer.”
Frank didn’t particularly like the woman’s inference that the killer was Aurora’s exclusive property. That placed the responsibility for the killing spree squarely on their shoulders—the squad’s and his.
Damn it, they should have been able to find the sick S.O.B. by now.
He was just being edgy, Frank upbraided himself. Edgy and overly tired. Ever since he had put two and two together and realized they had a full-fledged serial killer and had gotten his new stepfather to give him the go-ahead to put a task force together, he’d been working almost around the clock. As far as he was concerned, this was his task force and his killer to bring to justice. The fact that they were getting nowhere fast tended to rob him of his customary good humor.
“And why would they think that, White Bear, Julianne?” Frank asked, echoing the introduction she’d given.
Julianne didn’t even blink as she recited, “Because the woman was found strangled and left in a Dumpster. There was no evidence of any sexual activity.” To underscore what she was saying, she opened the folder he still held and turned toward the crime-scene photos. “That’s where your killer puts them, isn’t it? In a Dumpster?”
Both questions were rhetorical. Ever since Randolph had told her he was loaning her out to Aurora, she’d read everything she could get her hands on about the serial killer’s M.O. Lamentably, there hadn’t been much.
“He’s not my killer,” Frank corrected tersely.
“Sorry,” she apologized quietly. There was no emotion in her voice. “No disrespect intended.”
The blonde she’d first noticed standing by the bulletin board came forward, an easy smile on her lips. The first she’d seen since entering the room, Julianne noted.
“Don’t mind Frank. He gets a little testy if he can’t solve a crime in under forty-eight hours. To him life is one great big Rubik’s Cube, meant to be aligned in record time. I’m Riley McIntyre,” the woman told her, extending her hand. “This is my brother, Frank.” Riley nodded toward the two men she’d been talking with. They were still standing by the large bulletin board. Across the top of the bulletin board were photographs. Each one belonged to a different woman who had fallen victim to the Dumpster killer. There were five photographs, each heading its own column. “That’s Detective John Sanchez and Detective Lou Hill.” Each nodded in turn as Riley introduced them.
Julianne saw the flicker of interest in their eyes. Assessing the new kid.
How many times had that happened in her lifetime? she thought. Enough to make her immune to the process, or so she wanted to believe.
Julianne nodded politely toward the two detectives, then looked back at the smiling, petite blonde. Despite her manner, Julianne had a feeling the woman could handle herself quite well if it came down to that. “And which of you is in charge?” she wanted to know.
“That would be me,” Frank told her.
Of course it would, Julianne thought. She glanced at the folder he held. “Then maybe you’d like me to read that file to you?” she offered.
This one was going to be a handful, Frank thought. Just what he didn’t need right now. “Riley, get your new little playmate up to speed,” he instructed, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” Riley asked, raising her voice.
Frank paused only to glance at her over his shoulder, giving his sister a look that said she should be bright enough to figure that out.
It was Julianne who was first to pick up on the meaning behind the expression. He was going to the chief of detectives, she would have bet a year’s pay on it—and she wasn’t one who gambled lightly.
“Before you go,” she called out to him, “you should know that I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.”
“Not possible,” was all he said as he exited the squad room.
“Don’t mind Frank,” Riley told her again. “He hasn’t learned how not to take each case he handles personally.” She led Julianne over to the bulletin board to bring her up to speed. “Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s really not a bad guy once you get to know him. Authority has made him a lot more serious than he usually is,” she explained. “He’s still working things out.”
Julianne had always believed that, up to a point, everyone was responsible for his or her life and the way things turned out. “If he’s not comfortable with it, why did he agree to be in charge?”
“Because Frank was the first one who made the connection between the latest victim and the other bodies.” She gestured toward the bulletin board. “Until then, they were on their way to becoming cold cases,” Riley told her. “C’mon, I’ll get you settled in first. This is a pretty nice place to work,” Riley assured her with feeling, a smile backing up her words.
Julianne glanced over her shoulder toward the doorway where Frank had disappeared. She supposed she couldn’t blame the man for being abrupt. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about all this, either. “I’m willing to be convinced.”
“An open mind,” Riley commented with a wide grin. “Can’t ask for more than that.”
Julianne thought of Mary and all the months she’d spent trying to find her seventeen-year-old cousin—afraid that when she did find her, it might be too late—if it wasn’t already.
“Yeah,” Julianne answered quietly, “actually, you can.”
The blonde spared her a curious look, but made no comment.
Frank knocked on Brian Cavanaugh’s door. “Got a minute?”
He’d waited outside the glass office, curbing his impatience, while his new stepfather had been on the phone. But the moment the chief of detectives had hung up, Frank popped his head in, attempted to snare an island of the man’s time before the phone rang again or someone walked in to interrupt them.
Brian smiled. This was an interruption he welcomed, even though he had a feeling he knew what it was about. He’d known Frank, boy and man, for almost as long as he’d known Lila and was proud of the way Frank and his siblings had turned out. They were all a credit to the department—as well as to their mother.
“For you? Always.” Brian beckoned his stepson in and gestured toward one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
About to demure, Frank changed his mind and sat down. He looked less confrontational sitting then standing, even if he preferred the latter.
“What’s up?” Brian asked.
Frank didn’t beat around the bush. “Did you assign a detective from Mission Ridge to my task force?”
Brian nodded. He’d guessed right, but he hadn’t expected to see Frank in his office for at least a day or so. Had he and White Bear locked horns already? Had to be some kind of a record.
“I meant to tell you, but then the mayor called with another one of his mini-emergencies. With the police chief out on medical leave, I get to wear more than one hat.” With the current mayor, however, it was more a case of constant placating and hand-holding. The mayor was highly agitated about the serial killer, afraid that if the man wasn’t captured soon, it would bring down his administration when elections came around in the fall. “Don’t know how Andrew took it for all those years,” he added, referring to his older brother, who before taking early retirement to raise his five children had been Aurora’s chief of police.
And then Brian took a closer look at Frank. If the young detective clenched his jaw any harder, his teeth would pop out.
“Why? Is something wrong? You did say you could use more of a staff.”
“Yes, but I meant someone from our homicide division.” He’d never thought someone from the outside would be brought in. He didn’t have time to integrate this woman. “Maybe Taylor, or—”
“Granted, we have the superior police department,” Brian agreed, tongue in cheek. Mission Ridge’s police department numbered twelve in all, but he’d been given White Bear’s record and found it exemplary. “But I thought, since the captain called from Mission Ridge and the killer’s M.O. was exactly the same as the serial killer we’re dealing with, that it wouldn’t hurt to bring in a fresh set of eyes.” That said, Brian leaned back in his chair to study his stepson. “Is there a problem?”
Other than feeling as if he was being invaded, no, Frank thought, there wasn’t a problem. At least, not yet. And then he replayed his own words in his head before speaking. He was coming across like some kind of grumpy malcontent.
Leaning back, Frank blew out a breath and then shook his head. “No, I guess I just would have liked a heads-up.”
“Sorry I couldn’t give you one,” Brian apologized, then added, “I’m sure that the dead women would have liked to have been given a heads-up that they were about to become the serial killer’s next victims.”
“Point taken,” Frank murmured. Brian was right. Nothing really mattered except clearing this case and getting that damn serial killer off the streets before he killed again. If bringing in some detective from a nearby town accomplished that, so be it. And then, because it was Brian, the man who used to bring him and his siblings toys when they were little, the man who he’d secretly wished was his father when he was growing up, Frank let down his guard and told him what was really bothering him. “I just thought that maybe you thought—”
“If I didn’t think you were up to the job, Frank, I wouldn’t have let you head up the task force,” Brian informed him. “My marrying your mother has nothing to do with what I think of you as a law-enforcement officer. And if I have something to say about your performance, I won’t resort to charades—or to undermining your authority. You know me better than that,” he emphasized.
“Yeah, I do,” Frank agreed, feeling just a little foolish for this flash of insecurity. This, too, was new to him. Self-confidence was normally something he took for granted.
“I hear that White Bear’s good,” Brian continued. “Maybe what she has to contribute might help you to wind up this case.”
If only, Frank thought. Out loud, he said, “Maybe,” and stood up, turning toward the door. He’d wasted enough of the chief’s time.
“Frank?” Brian called after him.
Frank stopped and looked at the man over his shoulder. “Yes, sir?”
“Go home at a reasonable hour tonight,” Brian instructed. “Get some sleep. You’re no good to me—or anyone else—dead on your feet.”
Frank turned to face him again. “I’m not dead on my feet,” he protested.
They both knew he was, but Brian inclined his head, allowing the younger man the benefit of the charade. “Almost dead on your feet.”
The last thing he wanted was preferential treatment. There’d already been some talk making the rounds about that. Since his mother had married Brian, there’d been rumors sparked by jealousy. He was beginning to have new respect for what the younger Cavanaughs had to put up with, working on the force.
“Just one thing.” He saw Brian raise a quizzical brow. “Are you speaking as the chief of detectives, or as my new stepfather?”
Brian was not quick to answer. “Now that you mention it, both,” he finally said, then leaned forward, lowering his voice. “And if you don’t comply, I’ll tell your mother.” He punctuated his threat with a grin.
“Message received, loud and clear.” For the first time in two days, Frank McIntyre grinned.
“And if you get a chance,” Brian added just before his stepson went out the door, “Andrew would like to see you at breakfast tomorrow.”
Everyone knew about Andrew Cavanaugh’s breakfasts. More food moved from the former chief of police’s stove to the table he’d had specially built than the ordinary high-traffic restaurant. The family patriarch welcomed not just his immediate family, but his nieces and nephews and their significant others as well. There was no such thing as too many people at his table and, like the miracle of the loaves and fishes, Andrew never seemed to run out of food no matter how many people turned up at his door.
“If I get the time,” Frank answered.
“Make the time,” Brian replied. There was no arguing with his tone.
“Is that an order, sir?”
At which point, Brian smiled. “That’s just a friendly suggestion. You really wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of Andrew.”
It was an empty threat. Even though everyone knew that in his day, Andrew Cavanaugh was a formidable policeman, when it came to matters concerning his family, Andrew always led with his heart. “I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Frank promised.
“You do that, Frank. You do that. And don’t forget to tell me what you think of this White Bear—once you give her a chance,” he added knowingly.
Frank nodded. “Will do.”
He still wasn’t all that happy as he went back to the cubbyhole that served as the task force’s work area. Becoming integrated into the Cavanaugh family was enough of an adjustment without having some outsider suddenly thrust upon him. It was the last thing he needed.
At any other time, he thought, pausing in the doorway and quietly observing the newest addition to his task force, he would have welcomed someone who looked like Julianne. The woman was a head-turner, no doubt about that. But he was in charge of the task force and that changed the rules.
He’d never much liked rules, Frank thought with an inward sigh, but there was no arguing the fact that he was bound by them.
Squaring his shoulders, he walked into the room.
Chapter 2 (#u7ad631fd-baf9-5d91-9a07-00fb602b3c7b)
“So, did Riley get you all caught up?” Frank asked as he came up behind Julianne.
Five victims were on the board, five women from essentially two different walks of life who, at first glance, didn’t appear to have anything in common. If there was a prayer of solving this case and bringing down the serial killer, each victim would require more than just a glance. More like an examination under a microscope. No way could she have even scratched the surface in the amount of time that he’d been gone.
Was he testing her?
“She gave me a thumbnail sketch of each victim,” Julianne answered guardedly, watching his face for an indication of his thoughts. “It’s going to take me a while to actually get caught up.” She pulled a folder out from the bottom of the pile of files she’d been given and placed it on top. “While I’m at it, you might want to go over Millie Klein.”
The name was unfamiliar to him. “Millie Klein?” he repeated.
“The woman found in the Dumpster in Mission Ridge,” Julianne elaborated.
She leaned back in her chair as last Tuesday came rushing back at her. The woman, an estate planning lawyer, had been her first dead body. When she closed her eyes, Julianne could still see the grayish, lifeless body half buried in garbage, her bloodshot eyes open wide and reflecting surprise and horror.
“It looks like your guy was off on a field trip when he had a sudden, uncontrollable urge to kill another woman,” she speculated.
“That the way you see it?” Frank asked. Crossing his arms before him, he leaned back and perched on a corner of the desk that Riley had cleared off for the Mission Ridge detective.
McIntyre studied her more intently than was warranted, Julianne thought.
Stare all you want, I’m not leaving.
“Right now, yes,” she said flatly. “There’s no other reason for him to have strayed from his home ground. Plenty of ‘game’ for him right here.” She’d already gotten a list of clients that Millie had seen that week she was murdered, but so far, everyone had checked out. And every one of them lived in Mission Ridge.
“Maybe it’s not the serial killer.” He studied her face to see if she was open to the idea—and caught himself thinking she had the most magnificent cheekbones he’d ever seen. “People have been found in Dumpsters before this serial killer started his spree.”
“Not in Mission Ridge,” she informed him. “We don’t have a homicide division in Mission Ridge. Stealing more than one lawn gnome is considered a major crime spree. It’s a very peaceful place,” she concluded.
Frank’s eyes narrowed. He’d been laboring under a basic misunderstanding. “Then you’re not a homicide detective?”
“I’m an all-around detective,” she answered succinctly. Then, in case he had his doubts and was already labeling her a hick on top of what he probably perceived as her other shortcomings, she was quick to assure him, “Don’t worry, I won’t get in your way.”
It didn’t make any sense. Why would they send over someone with no experience? And why had Brian agreed to this? “If you don’t mind my asking, why were you sent here?”
That, at least, was an easy enough question to answer. “Because Captain Randolph isn’t the kind of man who sweeps things under the rug, or just lets other people do his work for him. This is kind of personal.”
Riley walked by just then and without breaking her stride, or saying a word to her brother, dropped off one of the two cans of soda she’d just gotten from the vending machine, placing it on Julianne’s desk. Julianne smiled her thanks as she continued.
“Millie Klein was the granddaughter of a friend of his, and he wants justice for his friend. That means seeing her killer pay for her murder. You have the superior department,” she informed him without any fanfare. “It just made sense for him to send the case file over here as well as someone with it.”
Okay, he’d buy that. But he had another question. “Why you?” She’d just admitted to not having experience and from the looks of her, she couldn’t have been a detective that long. They had to have someone over at Mission Ridge with more seniority than this lagoon-blue-eyed woman.
Julianne studied him for a long moment before she said anything. “Is your problem with me personal or professional?”
“I don’t know you personally.”
And he knew better than to think that just because the woman was beautiful she’d gotten ahead on her looks. If he would have so much as hinted at something like that, his sisters—along with all the female members of the Cavanaugh family—would have vivisected him.
So he was saying that his beef with her was professional? She took just as much offense at that as she would have had he said it was personal.
“Professionally, I worked my tail off to get to where I am.” Her eyes darkened, turning almost a cobalt blue. “And you don’t need to know me personally not to like me ‘personally.’” She set her jaw hard. “I’ve run into that all my life.”
Prejudice was something he’d been raised to fight against and despise. “Because you’re Native American,” he assumed.
“You don’t have to be politically correct,” she told him. “Indian will do fine.” The term had never bothered her, or any of the other people she’d grown up with. She didn’t see it as an insult. “Or Navajo if you want to be more specific.”
“Navajo,” Frank repeated with a nod. He’d bet his badge that there was more than just Navajo to her. Those blue eyes of hers didn’t just come by special delivery. “And you won’t find that here,” he informed her.
“Other Navajos?”
“No, prejudice because you happen to be something someone else isn’t. I don’t care if you’re a Native American—”
“Indian,” she corrected.
“Indian,” he repeated. “What I don’t like is not having a say in who works for me.” But even that could be remedied. “But you prove to me that you can pull your weight, and we’ll get along fine.”
That sounded fair enough. “Consider it pulled,” Julianne told him.
With that out of the way, he nodded at her desk. “I’ll look at that folder you brought now.”
Julianne held the folder out to him. It was thin compared to the ones that Riley had given her. There was a folder complied with random notes and information on each victim posted on the board.
“You know, all that information was input on the computer,” he told her. He indicated the small notebook computer Riley had managed to mysteriously produce for the new detective. It had to have come from one of the other squad rooms, but he wasn’t about to ask which one. This was a case where “Don’t ask, don’t tell” applied particularly nicely. “You can access it easily enough.”
Rather than draw the notebook to her, she moved the folders closer. “I like the feel of paper,” Julianne told him. “If the electricity goes down, the paper is still here.”
Frank laughed shortly. He didn’t hear that very often, and never from anyone under thirty. “Old-fashioned?” he guessed.
She’d never thought of herself in those terms, going out of her way not to have anything to do with the old ways to which grandmother had clung.
“I prefer to say that I like the tried and true.” With that, she lowered her eyes and got back to her reading.
Frank knew when to leave well enough alone.
Julianne was still going through the files and rereading pertinent parts at the end of the day, making notes to herself as she went along.
She did her best to remain divorced from the victims, from feeling anything as she reviewed descriptions of the crime scenes. She deliberately glossed over the photographs included in each file.
The photographs posted on the board showed off each victim at what could be described as her best, before the world—or the killer—had gotten to her. The photographs in the files were postmortem shots of the women. Julianne made a point of flipping the photographs over rather than attempting to study them.
“Pretty gruesome, aren’t they?” Riley commented.
Julianne looked up, surprised to find Riley standing in front of her desk. She’d gotten absorbed in the last folder, Polly Barker, a single mother who made ends meet by turning tricks. Her three-year-old daughter, Donna, had been taken by social services the day after the woman’s body was discovered. Despite her best efforts, Julianne’s heart ached, not for the mother, but for the child the woman had left behind.
She closed the folder now. “Yes.”
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to look at them, but I really think you should.”
Julianne glanced at Riley, somewhat surprised though she made sure not to show it. She’d sensed that the other woman was watching her, but more out curiosity than a of desire to assess the way she worked.
“Why? I’ve got all the details right there in the files.” She nodded at the stack.
“You’re supposed to be the fresh pair of eyes,” Riley reminded her. “Maybe you’ll see something we didn’t.”
Taking a deep breath, Julianne flipped over the set of photographs she’d just set aside. It wasn’t that she was squeamish, just that there was something so hopeless about the dead women’s faces. She’d fought against hopeless-ness all of her life and if given the choice, she would have rather avoided the photographs taken at the crime scene.
But Riley was right. She was supposed to be the fresh set of eyes and although she doubted she would see something the others had missed, stranger things had happened.
The first thing she saw was a tiny cross carved into the victim’s shoulder.
Just as there had been on Millie’s.
In his own twisted mind, was the killer sending his victims off to their maker marked for redemption? Was he some kind of religious zealot, or just messing with the collective mind of the people trying to capture him?
After a beat, she raised her eyes to Riley’s. “How long?”
Riley looked at her, confused. “How long what?”
Julianne moved the photographs away without looking down. “How long before you stopped seeing their lifeless faces in your sleep?”
Riley nodded. She knew exactly what the woman meant. “I’ll let you know when it happens,” Riley told her. And then she smiled. “The trick is to fill your life up so that there’s no time to think about them that way. And to find the killer,” she added with feeling, “so that they—and you—can rest in peace.” Riley glanced at her watch. It was after five. “Shift’s over. Would you like to go and get a drink?”
While she appreciated the offer, getting a drink held no allure for her. Her father had been an alcoholic, dead before his time. Her uncle, Mary’s father, while not an alcoholic, was a mean drunk when he did imbibe.
Julianne shook her head. “I don’t drink.”
“Doesn’t have to be alcohol,” Riley told her. “They serve ginger ale there. And coffee.” It was obvious that she wasn’t going to take no for an answer easily. “I just think you need to unwind a little. And it wouldn’t hurt to mingle,” she added. “Might make the rest of this experience tolerable for you.”
What would make the experience tolerable would be finally finding Mary, but, having kept everything to herself for most of her life, she wasn’t ready to share that just yet. For a moment, Julianne debated her answer. Turning Riley down would make her seem standoffish and she didn’t want to generate any hard feelings beyond the ones Frank seemed to be harboring.
“All right.” She rose, closing her desk drawer. “I’ll follow you.”
“Great.” Riley grinned, moving over to her desk to grab her purse. “I’ll drive slow.”
“No need. I can keep up,” Julianne told her.
Riley nodded. “I bet you can.”
Rafferty’s was more a tavern than an actual bar. While it was true that on most nights, members of the Aurora police force went there to unwind and shed some of their more haunting demons before going home to their families, the establishment just as readily welcomed spouses and their children. In many cases it was a home away from home for detectives and patrol officers alike.
And Rafferty’s was also where, on any given evening, at least several members of the Cavanaugh family could be found.
This particular evening there were more than a few Cavanaughs in the bar and Riley made a point of introducing Julianne to all of them, as well as her older brother, Zack.
“Taylor’s probably out on a date,” Riley told her matter-of-factly, carrying a mug of beer and an individual bottle of ginger ale over to the small table she’d staked out for the two of them as soon as they’d walked in.
Julianne took a seat, accepting the ginger ale. Riley had refused to let her pay. “Taylor?”
“My sister.” Riley sat down opposite her. “She’s the social butterfly of the family. Like Frank,” she tagged on as an afterthought. “Or he was until he got assigned to this case.”
After having met the man, it was hard for Julianne to picture Frank McIntyre as anything but solemn. Except for that one instance, he hadn’t smiled during the course of the day, not even when the smaller of the two detectives, Sanchez, had made a joke.
Keeping her observation to herself, Julianne scanned the crowded room. As she recognized faces, it struck her that she’d been introduced to more people than she’d realized.
“And you’re related to these people?” she asked Riley, slightly in awe as the fact sank in.
Riley nodded, taking a sip of her beer before answering. “Through marriage,” she qualified, although she’d gotten to know a great many of them from day-to-day interaction ever since she joined the police force. “My mother is married to the chief of detectives, Brian Cavanaugh. Real good guy,” she said with a wide, approving smile. Brian was the man her mother was meant to have married. He treated her far better than the man who had fathered all four of her children. Brian Cavanaugh was the man she herself had always pretended was her father, when times became rocky. “They used to be partners back when they were on patrol.”
Julianne looked at her in surprise. “Your mother was on the job, too?” This police department really was a family affair, she thought. It made her feel even more of an outsider than usual.
“Yes. Almost everyone I know is on the job,” Riley told her.
It was on the tip of Riley’s tongue to mention her late father, but since his career ended in disgrace, she decided not to go into something she didn’t really want to talk about. Besides, if Julianne remained on the task force long enough, she was pretty sure the woman would hear about it from one source or another. Facts had come to light not all that long ago about how her father had faked his own death and bided his time to come back for the money he’d stolen from drug runners. That wasn’t something to discuss with a stranger.
“My father made her quit the force after she was shot—”
“Shot?” Julianne echoed.
Riley nodded. The story was so much a part of her life, sometimes she forgot that not everyone knew about it. “While on the job. Brian saved her. Stopped the blood with his own hands and all but willed the life back into her as he waited for the paramedics.”
“I can see why your father wanted her to quit.”
He had pressured her mother to leave the force because he was jealous of Brian, not because he feared for her life, but Riley kept that to herself as well.
“Being off the force didn’t suit her. Being a law-en-forcement officer was in her blood so, once Frank was in high school, she got back into it. To keep peace in the family, she took a desk job, but she figured that was better than nothing.” She took another sip, then added, “I guess you just can’t keep a good cop down.”
Julianne heard the pride in Riley McIntyre’s voice and a trace of envy surfaced.
What was that like, she wondered, being proud of your parents? Of what they’d done and were doing, and the effect all that had on the lives of other people? She would have given anything to experience that.
But there was no sense in wishing. Those weren’t the cards that fate had dealt her and she’d already made her peace with that years back.
There’d been no other choice, really, except maybe to wind up the way her father had. But she absolutely refused to go down that road and let that happen. Pride wouldn’t allow her to.
“How’s it going?”
The deep, baritone voice asking the question came from behind her. Rather certain the question wasn’t directed at her, Julianne still turned around in her chair to see who was doing the asking. She found herself looking up at yet another law-enforcement officer. He wasn’t in uniform, but there was just an air about that man that fairly shouted: authority. He was older and had a kind, intelligent face, not to mention a handsome one. He also had the ability to take over a room the moment he entered.
She guessed his identity a second before he told her.
Smiling, Brian extended his hand to her. “Brian Cavanaugh,” he said easily, as if he was just another cop on the force rather than the chief of detectives. Julianne started to get up out of respect for the man and his rank, but he waved her back into her seat. “No need for that,” he told her. “I stopped by the task force and Sanchez told me that Riley was bringing you here for a quick orientation session,” he laughed.
His deep blue eyes scanned the room quickly. “They’re a bit overwhelming at first,” he agreed. “But they grow on you.” He turned his eyes on her again. “Glad to have you aboard for the ride.”
Something about the man made her feel comfortable. As much as she was able to be.
“Glad someone is.” The words came out before she could tamp them down. Living off the reservation had made her lax, she upbraided herself.
“Don’t let Frank get to you,” Riley said. “He’s channeled all his usual enthusiasm into solving the case and I know he can come on strong sometimes, but there’s the heart of a puppy underneath,” she guaranteed. Turning around, she saw the door opening. “Speak of the devil.”
“Riley,” Brian laughed, “that’s no way to talk about your brother.”
“No offense, Brian, but you don’t know him like I do.” And then she winked at Julianne, as if they shared a secret.
Julianne wondered what it meant. Before she could make a comment or frame a question, she saw that Frank was crossing the room.
And coming straight toward them.
All her natural defenses instantly rose.
Chapter 3 (#u7ad631fd-baf9-5d91-9a07-00fb602b3c7b)
Riley dramatically placed her hand to her chest, like a heroine in a 1950s melodrama, feigning shock.
“I didn’t think I’d see you here, mingling with the masses,” she said to her brother as Frank approached their table.
Frank spared her a slight, reproving frown. He was bone tired and desperately in need of unwinding. “Give it a rest, Riley. This is after hours.”
Stealing an empty chair from the next table, he pulled it over to the one occupied by his sister and Julianne. He straddled the chair and folded his arms over the back.
Raising his hand, he made eye contact with the bartender and nodded. The barkeep took a mug and filled it with beer on tap and handed it to the lone waitress working the floor. Only then did Frank look at the detective from Mission Ridge and ask, “Mind if I join you?”
“No, I don’t mind,” she answered crisply. “I was on my way out, anyway.” Rising from her chair, she nodded at Riley. “Thanks for the ginger ale and the introductions.”
“Don’t mention it,” Riley replied, doing her best to hide her amusement.
“I’ll walk you out,” Brian volunteered, then told his stepchildren, “I promised your mother I’d be home early tonight. I just wanted to stop by and see how the new detective was doing.” And then he smiled at Julianne. “From the looks of it, I’d say she’s doing just fine.”
Not accustomed to compliments, Julianne murmured a barely audible, “Thanks,” before turning on her heel and heading for the front door.
Brian was right beside her.
“Well, that’s a first,” Riley said the moment she judged that Julianne was out of earshot. She looked at her brother with no small amazement. “I don’t think I ever saw a woman go out of her way to get away from you before.”
Frank handed the waitress a five and then picked up the mug she’d placed on the table in front of him. He shrugged, dismissing the incident. “She said she was leaving anyway.”
“She only said that after you sat down,” Riley pointed out. The waitress cleared away Julianne’s ginger ale and made her way back to the bar. “Face it, Frank, you’re losing your charm.”
Frank eyed his sister over the rim of his mug. “I’m also losing my patience with smart-alecky sisters.” He took a long sip, then added, “If you weren’t so damn good at your job, Riley, I’d have you taken off the task force.”
To which Riley merely shook her head, as if at a loss whether to pity him or hand his head to him. “Careful, Frank, this job is turning you sour.” And then she leaned in, her expression becoming more serious. “Really, Frank, lighten up a little. You’re trying too damn hard.”
They had a difference of opinion there. He’d had the case for over a month and in that time, they’d compiled nothing but data. Data and no viable suspects. And he had an uneasy feeling they were running out of time.
“Way I see it, I’m not trying hard enough.” His expression turned grim. “The killer’s still out there somewhere, daring us to catch him. Every second he’s out there is a second less the next victim has.”
“We’ll get him,” Riley said confidently. “You’ll get him,” she emphasized. It wasn’t often that she told him she thought he was good. But he was. “Just don’t alienate everyone else while you’re doing it.”
Rising, he turned his chair around so that he could sit in it properly. He sighed and picked up the mug again. Another long sip didn’t change anything. “Sometimes I think I’m in over my head.”
“We all are.” Riley laughed shortly. “This is where the dog paddle comes in really handy. We’re all just treading water until the killer makes a mistake. When he does, we’ve got him.”
The shrug was careless. He didn’t know if he bought into that philosophy. So far, the killer had been anything but careless. It was as if he was a ghost, depositing lifeless bodies into Dumpsters. Six in all, counting the one in Mission Ridge, and nobody had seen him.
To get his mind off the case, Frank changed the subject. “So, did you learn anything about the detective from Mission Ridge?” he asked, doing his best to sound offhanded.
Riley slanted a glance at her brother’s face. There was interest there, she’d bet a month’s pay on it. Personal probably although he’d try to keep it professional.
“Not a thing, except that she’s thorough.” The woman had studied the files without getting up from her desk all afternoon. “But she’s not exactly chatty.”
“Yeah, well, that might be a nice change,” he speculated, looking at her deliberately.
Riley swatted him.
“Hey,” he warned, pulling his head back. “You’re not supposed to hit your superior.”
“We’re off duty, remember?” Riley countered. “You’ve got to learn how to turn it off, little brother, or it’ll take you apart.”
Frank said nothing to confirm or deny the wisdom of her words. Instead, he just took another sip of his beer and thought about the woman fate—and his stepfather—had brought into his life.
Julianne could have driven back home. “Home” was only about forty-two miles away. But in the interest of time, Julianne had decided to rent a room in a hotel close to the police headquarters.
Taking the suitcase she’d thrown together last night out of the trunk of her car, she walked into the Aurora Hotel, a wide, three-story building that, from the outside, resembled one of those 24/7 gyms that had become the rage.
The decor inside could have used a little modernizing and upgrading. But in comparison to what she’d lived with when she was growing up, it was on par with the Taj Mahal.
The lobby was empty. No one sat in the five chairs scattered about, their gray color all but fading into the equally gray rug. The bored, sleepy-eyed desk clerk came to life as she approached the front desk, obviously grateful for any diversion that would make this long, drawn-out evening move a little faster to its conclusion.
Ten minutes later, with her keycard in her hand, Julianne got out on the third floor and walked to her room. As uninspired as the lobby, it at least gave the semblance of cleanliness, which was all she required. Setting her suitcase down by the pressboard writing desk, she didn’t bother unpacking. There was time enough for that later.
Right now, she had a job to do, which was the real reason she hadn’t balked at being loaned out to an adjacent police department. She had streets to drive up and down, people to question and show the picture she carried with her at all times.
Throwing some water into her face, Julianne was ready. Dinner would be fast food. She didn’t care what; it was just fuel anyway.
She wasn’t one to believe in miracles, but, as she’d said to Riley, she liked to think that she had an open mind about things. Silently, she challenged God to prove her wrong about miracles. Someone had told her that finding Mary would come under the heading of a miracle.
Mary.
Her cousin was out there somewhere because living on the street was preferable to living at home, subjected to nightly abuse at the hands of a father who didn’t deserve the name. “Monster” would have been a far more fitting title.
But he would never bother anyone again. Events had arranged themselves so that she could make that claim to Mary—when she found her—with certainty.
She hadn’t gone over to her uncle’s house to kill him even though she’d wished the man dead more than once. But when he’d come at her the way she knew in her heart that he had come at Mary time and again, she’d had no choice but to defend herself any way she could.
Julianne wasn’t even sure just how the knife had come into her hand. She only knew that when she’d told him she’d use it if he didn’t back off, her uncle had laughed at her. He’d mocked her, saying that she was just as cowardly as her father had been.
And then he’d told her what he’d do to her for daring to point the knife at him. She remembered her blood running cold. Remembered feeling almost paralyzing guilt for not having taken Mary with her before her cousin had been forced to run away.
Her uncle had lunged at her, knocking the knife from her hand and screaming obscenities at her. There’d been a struggle for possession of the weapon. They’d wrestled and though to this day she wasn’t certain how it happened, somehow the blade had wound up in his chest—up to the hilt.
Her first inclination had been to run. But she knew she could never outrun her own conscience, so she’d gone in to the captain without bothering to change her torn clothing. Numb, in shock, she’d told him the whole story.
People who lived in the vicinity knew the kind of man her uncle had been. In short order, Harry White Bear’s death was ruled self-defense, and she was free to go on with her life.
Her search for Mary began that day.
She wanted to bring her cousin home with her, the way she should have done right from the beginning instead of fleeing herself and leaving Mary behind. She’d left because her uncle had made advances, but she’d never, in her wildest dreams, thought that he would force himself on his own daughter.
That was when she still believed that there was some good in everyone.
She didn’t believe that anymore.
Julianne wanted to find Mary to let her know that she didn’t have to look over her shoulder anymore, that her father wasn’t going to hurt her again, that she could become something other than a woman who lived on the streets.
“I’m going to make it up to you, Mary. Somehow, someway, I’m going to make it up to you,” she murmured to the photograph she’d placed face up on the passenger seat. “But first, I’ve got to find you.”
Julianne knew she had a long night ahead of her. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was finding Mary.
The next morning, after only about four hours of sleep, Julianne was at her desk by seven-thirty. She wanted to go over the last of the files she hadn’t gotten to the previous day.
When she heard someone entering the squad room shortly after she arrived, Julianne was surprised. From what she’d been told, the detectives came in at eight-thirty. She’d assumed that she’d have some time to herself before the room filled up with noise.
Her surprise doubled when she looked up and found Frank standing over her desk. Something instantly tightened inside of her. Every nerve ending had inexplicably gone on high alert and she wasn’t completely sure why.
“Can I help you?” she asked, successfully stripping her voice of all emotion and the tension.
He studied her for a moment before asking, “Whose picture were you showing around on McFadden last night, White Bear?”
The question caught her utterly off guard. Stunned, Julianne couldn’t answer him immediately. How had he known where she was last night? Was he following her? That had to be it, but why?
A sudden thrust of anger surged through her. This wasn’t going to work. She wanted out. Her eyes narrowed. “You were spying on me?”
He heard the accusation in her voice, but managed not to rise to the bait. While she was part of his task force, he was accountable for her. He needed to know exactly what he was getting himself into. “I was driving down McFadden when I saw you.”
Julianne pressed her lips together, trying to choose her words carefully. She had a temper, but most of the time managed to bury it. Now it was closer to the surface than usual. She wasn’t sure she believed him, and yet, what sense did it make for him to be spying on her?
For now, she gave him the benefit of the doubt—as long as he could answer her question to her satisfaction. “What were you doing there?”
How had this gotten turned around to be about him? Still, he’d learned that in order to get something, you had to give something. So rather than pull rank, which he was obviously entitled to do, he answered her question.
“I was retracing what I thought might have been the last victim’s steps. What were you doing there?”
He waited to see what kind of an answer she’d give him. It didn’t seem plausible that she would be out, her first night on the case—her first night in Aurora—showing around one of the victim’s photographs to the ladies of the evening on that particular corner of the world.
She hated being accountable to anyone. It had taken her a while before she could trust Captain Randolph and follow instructions. This was not going to be easy. But she owed it to Randolph to try. The man had put his reputation on the line and taken her side during the investigation into her uncle’s death.
“Asking questions,” she replied tersely.
His eyes never left hers. It impressed him that she didn’t flinch or look away. “Isn’t that a little in the overachiever range?”
She shrugged carelessly. “The sooner this case gets solved, the sooner I can go back to Mission Ridge—and get out of your hair.”
“Very noble of you,” he commented. She wasn’t sure she detected a note of sarcasm in his voice. And then he pressed, “So that’s all you were doing? Showing one of the victim’s photographs around?”
She raised her chin, silently daring him to disprove her. “Yes.”
His eyes pinned her. “Which one?”
Julianne blinked, her mind scrambling for a name. She stalled for time. “Excuse me?”
“Which victim?” he asked. “Which victim’s picture were you showing around? Seems like a simple enough question.” The longer she didn’t give him an answer, the less he believed her.
Damn him. She didn’t like being cornered. It took Julianne only half a beat to make a selection. He wouldn’t know the difference. Not unless he’d gotten out of the car and questioned the hookers she’d talked to after she was gone. And even then, he wouldn’t get an answer. Some of them seemed pretty out of it.
“That one.” Julianne pointed to the photograph of a somewhat bedraggled woman whose picture was heading up the third column.
He turned to look, then approached the bulletin board. “That’s Andrea Katz. She was a computer programmer for Dulles and Edwards.” He looked back at Julianne. “Why would you be asking around about her there? Andrea Katz wasn’t found anywhere near that part of town.”
Why was he pushing this? “Okay, so it was the one next to her.”
Again, he turned just to verify what he already knew. He’d gone over and over this board time and again, searching for the one connection he needed. The women’s likenesses were all embossed in his brain.
“Ramona Hernandez. Hooker. Found in a Dumpster behind a diner in the older part of the city,” he recited. “Want to try again?” he asked cheerfully.
It was getting harder and harder to hang on to her temper. “What do you want from me, McIntyre?”
“The truth, White Bear. I’d like the truth. Is that too much to ask?”
He was crowding her space. She was a very, very private person, one who had trouble filling out anything beyond her name on a form, feeling that it was her business, not anyone else’s. But what harm would telling him do, Julianne silently argued with herself. And if it would get him off her back, maybe telling him would be worth it.
“Okay,” she bit off the word. “In my off hours, I thought I’d try to find my cousin, Mary. Mary White Bear. She’s a runaway. Just before I left Mission Ridge, someone told me that they thought they saw her in Aurora.” Again Julianne lifted her chin pugnaciously. He’d agitated her and part of her was almost spoiling for a fight. “Satisfied?”
Questions about the woman before him began materializing in Frank’s head at a prodigious rate. “No.”
Her eyes narrowed into annoyed slits. “Well, there’s nothing I can do about that, is there?”
Now there they had a difference of opinion. He allowed a smile to curve his mouth. “You could tell me why you thought you had to lie about that and keep it to yourself.”
She hadn’t told Randolph about Mary and she got along with the Captain fairly well. Julianne couldn’t see herself voluntarily sharing something so personal with a stranger. She shrugged carelessly, combing her fingers through her hair and sending it back over her shoulder. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I figured you wouldn’t want me distracted.”
“I don’t,” he agreed firmly. “But what you do in your time away from the job is none of my business.” And then, because there was an aura of danger about this woman he needed to find out more about, he qualified his statement. “Unless you wind up killing someone.”
Julianne looked at him sharply, adrenaline rushing through her veins. Had he looked into her background? Did he know about her uncle?
Frank saw the heightened awareness, saw the wary look that entered her eyes. White Bear, he realized, just might be capable of anything. If she turned out to be a loose cannon, he wanted her off his task force. “Did you wind up killing someone last night?”
“No.”
Well, that was a relief. But he was still going to keep an eye on her. Ordinarily, that wouldn’t have been a hardship. But her looks were distracting and he couldn’t afford to be distracted, not until the killer was caught and this case was closed.
“Okay then, I’ve got no problem with you looking for your cousin during your downtime.” Turning away from her, he began to walk toward the cubicle that served as his office. “Can I see it?”
“See what?” she asked warily.
This woman trusted no one, he thought, as more questions about her came to mind—the first being why was she so distrustful? “The photograph you were showing around. Maybe I’ve seen her,” he added when she made no effort to retrieve the photograph from her purse.
Maybe he had, Julianne thought.
No stone unturned, remember?
She was going to have to do something about her defensiveness, Julianne silently upbraided herself, taking her purse out of the desk’s bottom drawer. Opening it, she pulled out the photograph of her cousin and held it up to him.
The girl in the photograph looked like a younger version of Julianne. She had incredibly sad eyes. “Pretty girl,” he commented.
“She would have been better off if she wasn’t,” Julianne answered grimly, looking at the photograph herself.
“Meaning?”
Julianne raised her eyes to his. “Meaning that she looked a lot like my dead aunt. And the first one who noticed was my uncle.”
Her tone of voice had Frank quickly reading between the lines. Incest was a crime he could never quite wrap his head around. It was just too heinous. “So she ran away from home before he—”
“No,” Julianne contradicted angrily, “she ran away from home after he…”
She deliberately let her voice trail off without finishing the sentence, but there was no mistaking her meaning.
Frank took a breath. Maybe that was why this woman was so angry. It would have certainly made him angry to have a cousin of his violated by the very person who was supposed to protect her.
“Sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice as full of feeling as hers was monotone.
She thought he honestly meant that and it made her regret the tone she’d taken with him. When she reached for the photograph he was still holding, he didn’t surrender it immediately.
“Why don’t I have copies made of this?” Frank suggested. “Pass it around to the beat cops. Maybe one of them will see her and get back to us.”
Us. It was on the tip of her tongue to say that she hadn’t asked for his help, but she swallowed the words. She had to start trusting someone somewhere along the line or she was just going to wind up self-destructing. That wasn’t going to help Mary at all.
Julianne pressed her lips together. Time to take the hand that was reaching out to her, she silently ordered. Taking it didn’t automatically make her weak.
“That would be good, yes,” she agreed.
But just as he began to head for the copy machine, the phone on Riley’s desk rang. Since he was closer to it than Julianne was, Frank picked it up.
“McIntyre.”
Julianne saw his face darken as he listened. His eyes went flat.
“We’ll be right there,” he said grimly before hanging up. “C’mon,” he told her, putting the photograph down on her desk. For now, it was going to have to wait. “They just found another body.”
Chapter 4 (#u7ad631fd-baf9-5d91-9a07-00fb602b3c7b)
The Dumpster was clear across town behind a popular restaurant that served Chinese cuisine, buffet style.
Gin-Ling’s was a popular food source for the homeless. Confronted with the all-you-can-eat philosophy, more than half the patrons who came to Gin-Ling’s had a tendency to overload their plates. Discovering that their stomachs weren’t really as large as they’d surmised usually followed shortly thereafter. Since the restaurant didn’t provide doggie bags, most people left the uneaten portions on their plates.
Most evenings, the twin Dumpsters behind Gin-Ling’s were filled to overflowing.
This time, one of them was more “overflowing” than the other.
Parking his Crown Victoria sedan at the end of the alley bordering the crime scene, Frank got out. As he began to make his way to the Dumpster where the newest gruesome discovery had been made by a homeless man with, it turned out, a very weak stomach, he pulled a pair of rubber gloves out of his pocket and started to put them on.
Mentally, Frank wished he had coveralls on instead of the suit he was wearing. But when he’d dressed this morning, he hadn’t been planning on undertaking a safari through a Dumpster.
Just before he reached the Dumpster under scrutiny, Frank glanced toward Julianne and saw that she was putting on her own pair of plastic gloves. He noted that her mouth was set grimly and recalled what Riley had told him last night. The detective from Mission Ridge wasn’t used to homicides.
“You up to this?” he asked her suddenly.
Busy taking in everything around her, significant or otherwise, it took Julianne a second to realize that McIntyre was talking to her.
“Excuse me?”
He stopped walking. “Riley said that you mentioned that the woman who was killed in Mission Ridge was your first dead body.” These things could be pretty unsettling and he didn’t want to be sidetracked by a detective throwing up her breakfast.
Julianne wasn’t sure where the detective was going with this, only that she probably wasn’t going to like it. “So?”
“So,” he continued patiently, “if you’d rather sit this out—until at least the rest of the team gets here—I understand.”
Right. He understood. And then he’d use that against her to send her back. She didn’t need those kinds of favors. She was here and she planned to remain here until she found Mary and, oh yes, helped to find the serial killer as well.
“Thank you but there’s no need to worry about me,” she told him coolly. “And Millie Klein wasn’t my first dead body,” she informed him. “Just my first homicide.”
Her uncle had been the first dead person she’d seen. And that scene had been made that much more brutal because he was dead by her hand. Blood had been everywhere. She could still see him staring down at the knife, anger and shock on his face as the life force fled from his veins.
But there was no way she was about to go into that now.
Frank could sense she was holding something back. He had a feeling that if she were drowning, White Bear’d throw the life preserver back at his head, determined to save herself on her own. Pride was a good thing, but there was such a thing as too much of it. For the time being, he let it go.
“Okay.”
As he approached the Dumpster, he saw that the crime scene investigators had already been called in. A slight, younger man was busy snapping photographs of the area directly surrounding the one Dumpster, while another man, older and heavyset, was inside the Dumpster. Wrinkling his nose involuntarily against the pungent smell, he was taking close-ups of a woman who could no longer protest.
Overturning a wooden crate that, if the image painted on the side was correct, had once contained bean sprouts, Frank pushed the box next to the Dumpster and used it as a step to facilitate his getting into the Dumpster. The thought of just diving in seemed somehow repugnant.
The smell of death and rotting food assaulted him. Still, a job was a job. The first thing he noticed, before he climbed in, was the wig. A blond wig, obviously belonging to the victim, had slipped halfway off her head.
The second thing he noticed was the woman’s face.
He’d seen that face before. Less than an hour ago.
Stunned at the way fate sometimes toyed with them, he turned to see that Julianne was gamely about to follow suit, waiting her turn to use the wooden crate as a stepstool.
“Stay back,” he ordered.
The barked commanded caught her off guard. “Why? I said I can handle it.”
Not this. “I don’t think so,” he told her tersely. There was no arguing with his tone.
Except that she refused to be browbeaten. Nor would she accept any special treatment that he could later hold over her head.
“Why don’t you let me decide that?” It was a rhetorical question and she didn’t wait for an answer. Bracing her hands on the front of the Dumpster, she was about to vault in.
“Might get crowded in here,” the investigator speculated.
“White Bear, I said get back,” Frank ordered angrily.
He shifted, trying to block her view, but it was too late. Because that was when Julianne saw her. Saw the face of the serial killer’s latest victim.
She could almost feel the blood draining out of her face.
“Mary.”
Frank jumped down from his perch in time to catch her as her knees gave out.
Julianne vaguely felt arms closing around her even as fire and ice passed over her body. For a split second, the world threatened to disappear into the black abyss that mushroomed out all around her.
Only the steeliest of resolves enabled her to fight back against the darkness, against the overwhelming nausea that almost succeeded in bringing up her hastily consumed dinner from last night.
Sucking in air, Julianne struggled against the strong arms that held her prisoner.
“I’m all right,” she insisted, hot anger mingling with hot tears she damned herself for shedding. “I’m all right,” she repeated, almost shouting the words at Frank.
The sound of an approaching car had Frank looking down the alley. He recognized Riley’s vehicle. “Look, why don’t I have Riley take you back?” he suggested kindly.
She bristled at what she thought was pity. “No.” The word tore from her throat like a war cry. Shrugging out of Frank’s hold, willing her legs to stiffen, Julianne moved back to the Dumpster. “I’m not going anywhere,” she cried defiantly.
“You’re off the case, White Bear,” he told her tersely.
Her head snapped around and she glared at him. “No, I’m not,” she insisted. “You can’t do that.”
Oh, but he could. And he had to. “You’re related to the victim.”
Her eyes blazed and she took out all the pain she was feeling on him. “You wouldn’t have known that if you hadn’t invaded my privacy.”
He wasn’t going to get sucked into nitpicking. “Doesn’t change anything. You can’t—”
Suddenly grabbing his arm, Julianne dragged him over to the side, away from the investigator who had made no secret of listening to the exchange. It killed her to beg, but if she had to, she would.
“Please, I’m asking you not to take me off the case. That girl in the Dumpster is the only family I have. I had,” she corrected. Even as she said it, she could feel her heart twisting in her chest. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. “She’s in there because of me.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You’re not going to be satisfied until I rip myself open in front of you, are you?”
This woman could raise his temper faster than anyone he’d ever encountered, but his aim wasn’t to irritate her. He had only one focus. “My only interest is in solving the case. Now if you have anything to contribute that might be helpful—”
The words, propelled by her guilt, rushed out. “If I’d taken her with me instead of leaving her with her father, she wouldn’t have run away, wouldn’t have tried to support herself by resorting to the world’s oldest profession.”
He didn’t buy that. There was always another choice. “Lots of other ways for a woman to earn a living besides that,” he told her.
Julianne knew she would have never resorted to that, but she wasn’t Mary. Mary’s demons had branded her. “Not if she thinks she’s worthless. Her father didn’t just steal her innocence, he stole her soul. And I let him.” She pointed toward the Dumpster. “That’s on me.”
His eyes held hers. Frank could all but feel her misery. “You knew what was going on?”
“No, but I should have.” If she hadn’t been so involved in making a life for herself, she would have realized what was going on, would have understood the desperate look in Mary’s eyes.
If there was the slightest case for her staying, he thought, White Bear wasn’t going to do either of them any good by blaming herself for something she had no control over.
“Listen, I’m not up on my Navajo culture, but I don’t recall hearing that the tribe had a lock on clairvoyance. If you didn’t know, you didn’t know. What happened to your cousin isn’t your fault.” But he could see that his words made no impression on her. It was as if they bounced off her head.
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