04 A Killing Touch (9 page)

“So others suffer for your cause.” He’d known it was only a matter of time before they stopped getting along, but he hadn’t expected it quite this quickly.

“You know what?” Lana set her mug gently on the counter and faced him. “I’ve enjoyed the last ten hours with you so I’m going to forget the last few minutes.” She headed toward the door. “I’m going to go home and get ready for work and pretend you don’t see me as a soul-sucking, moral-lacking journalist.”

“Lana.”

“Good-bye, Aidan.”

Just like the morning before, she left him standing at his door, uncertain.

Uncertain as to whether or not to pursue her.

Uncertain of what to say if he did.

Uncertain of how to be with her.

Rubbing the ache in the middle of his chest, he shook his head and closed the door. The only thing he was certain of was that it was probably for the best that they’d argued and she’d left.

Now he could focus on rash-ridden corpses.

After a quick shower, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the office. If he wanted a shot at keeping stories of the allergy deaths out of the press he needed to get a jump on Lana, which meant he had to work fast since she had a head start and a web of contacts that always kept her in the loop before most of her counterparts.

Thanks to the work Kieralyn and Ava had put in the night before, the case was now theirs, though they only had a file on the woman in the alley. The other victims hadn’t been discovered in questionable circumstances, so there were no investigations to take over.

“I’m almost finished with the algorithm for running down connections between the victims.” Tyler caught Aidan up as he looked through the photos the morgue had sent over. “So far I don’t see where they could be. Different ages, professions, lifestyles.”

Gruesome didn’t begin to describe the violence of the rash these people had suffered. Regardless of how quickly they’d died they had to have been in severe pain while it lasted. And then there were the pictures of the handprint. It wasn’t like the fingers Lana had talked about. No, this one was an entire hand and the rash looked as if the blood had boiled to the surface beneath the touch, creating pustules three shades darker than the rest.

“I hate to sound like Lana,” Aidan mused, “but these rashes are too much alike for there not to be a connection.”

“It’s annoying when she knows so much,” Kieralyn said as she and Ava moved to their desks. Sometime in the last few months they’d fallen into a routine of showing up at the same time every morning. If they didn’t need different cars so often he suspected they’d be carpooling by now. “But it’s not such a bad thing to sound like her when she’s on to something.”

That he had to admit she’d been right was the part he hated. And that she’d come to them for help rather than taking it all on herself. She was willing to hold the story until she had all the facts, something he couldn’t deny, but she’d still tell the story in the most entertaining way. Her ultimate goal at all times was her byline and a larger readership.

“Did you find anything on Natasha Lambert?”

Ava nodded. “In her late forties, she’d been recently diagnosed with cancer. She wouldn’t have lived much longer. Until she’d become too sick to work she’d been employed by the Miami DMV, and until ten years ago, she’d been a foster parent.”

Liam came in and, without interrupting their flow, rolled a dry erase board over. He knew that while Tyler preferred seeing things on the computer, Aidan preferred old school. The dry erase board would lay everything out side by side in a way that often showed a large picture that individual screens just didn’t provide.

Aidan nodded a silent thanks to his twin. “What happened ten years ago?”

“According to a neighbor,” Ava continued, “she’d had enough of the heartbreak that came from getting attached to the kids only to see them moved to another home.”

“Nothing controversial there.” Tyler tapped the data they discussed into his tablet. It would no doubt feed directly into whatever computer he had working on his algorithm. “The first victim was just as tame.”

“What was her story?” Aidan asked as Liam grabbed a new color marker for the second victim. The color-coding allowed them to make notes about one victim in another vic’s column while still keeping it straight who the information was about. Hypothesizing became easier.

“Danielle Johnson,” Kieralyn started. “A young woman with special needs whose parents left her with a lot of money. In her early twenties, she lived in an assisted living facility with her health degrading daily. Supposedly has a cousin, but left her money all to charity. She’s been in the morgue several weeks while they wait to see if the cousin can be located.”

Liam drew a line between the notes about family from the first and second victim. It was a commonality more than a connection, but neither had anyone close to miss them. Another line showed that they’d both had failing health.

“And the third victim?” Aidan asked.

“Lance Keys,” Ava took over. “Mid-twenties, working as a medical insurance auditor. He was with a group of friends at dinner when his attack hit. No one remembered him being held in a way the mark indicates, but a couple of people do remember him having a peanut allergy. It seems something they had ordered was made with peanut oil.”

“Do they specifically recall seeing him eat the food?” Liam asked. “I’d think he’d know how the foods were cooked and be careful to avoid them.”

Kieralyn shrugged. “We haven’t had time to talk to his friends yet. We’re going off the report.”

“That would be interesting to know,” Aidan added.

“If you tell me where they were eating and when, I could check the restaurant to see if they have a security camera. Maybe we’d get lucky and see for ourselves what happened at dinner.”

“Kieralyn and I will check into it,” Liam promised.

“Breck and Kami are meeting with their wedding planner today about final details,” Aidan stated. “Ava, I could use a second set of eyes at the morgue. I want to go talk to the chief examiner.” And put a stop to the information sharing Lana had access to. She wouldn’t back off the story, but now that it was theirs he didn’t have to share information with her until he was ready.

“Breck and I have court this afternoon.”

“We’ll take my car. I’ll drop you off.”

Aidan nodded as he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text message to Breck alerting him to where they were all going to be. As the team leader, Breck typically issued the assignments, but as long as they kept him in the loop he trusted them to do what needed to be done on cases. They worked as a team as often as they handled investigation aspects on their own. They always checked in with each other and offered help when needed. The freedom was what made them a great team.

Chapter Six

Lionetti’s shell wasn’t as thick as people believed. Lana had only needed to ask around a little to discover why the homicide detective had moved from New Jersey to Miami. He cared too much. He got too close to the victims and in an area where the crime rate rocketed it had become too much for him.

Because of his reputation, Lana was guessing the detective had looked in to Natasha Lambert before turning the file over to Aidan and his team. He would have wanted to know whom he was turning over to the feds. That file would also be the starting point for the team, but Lionetti would’ve gone the expected route first.

Lana took a different approach. One that didn’t include thinking about Aidan’s hands and the magic they performed.

Setting aside such thoughts was easy enough when she considered the strides Aidan would take to block her. He’d go to the morgue and track down Nigel in a move to cut off her path to information. Though she hadn’t confirmed Nigel as her contact it disturbed her a little that he knew her source.

Unless Kieralyn had mentioned her ex. No. Kieralyn might mention an ex in an attempt to push her and Aidan together, but she’d never mention him by name. Her best gal pal would play up the mystery and the way it kept things open to interpretation.

Knowing Aidan, he also likely assumed that Lana would race him to the morgue to keep him from blocking her. She’d considered it, but dismissed it quickly. Half the fun of working with Aidan was going to come from watching him struggle to predict her.

Natasha Lambert was in good hands with Aidan. He didn’t want Lana in his way. This time they could both get what they wanted.

Dressed in her conservative best, down to annoyingly sensible shoes—something she discovered made her more approachable at times—she entered the unimpressive lobby for MedBridge. The insurance company Lance Keys had worked for was as uninviting as most hospitals.

She’d exchanged a couple of emails with someone from MedBridge early on in the story, but her contact hadn’t shown for their meeting. Now one of their employees had ended up a victim. Lana hoped Lance hadn’t been her contact, but her gut said he was.

A young woman who’d barely broken the threshold of twenty sat behind the reception desk doing something that looked remarkably like busy work. She glanced up with her mouth drooping in a frown. “Welcome to MedBridge. Can I help you?”

“I hope so.” Lana didn’t go for brightness like she normally would. Instead, she acknowledged that the girl’s mood was grief that was likely over Lance. Respecting the girl’s emotions, Lana shifted from her plan of offering a cover story to get into the records. She chose instead a more direct path.

“My name is Lana Quinn.”

The young woman’s face brightened a little. “You write for Miami Morning News.”

“Yes.” If she was familiar with Lana’s writing maybe she’d also be familiar with how she handled her stories. How she always tried to shine a fair and favorable light on those she could. “I’m working on a new story, and I’m hoping you can help me.”

The brief brightness dimmed and the woman stared back at her blankly.

“I understand a gentleman named Lance Keys worked here.”

With her frown darkening her sad brown eyes more, the woman nodded.

“I wonder if you would know of anyone he knew,” Lana continued gently. “Someone I could talk with.”

“How is Lance story worthy? He died of an allergic reaction.” As if Lana’s visit illuminated a new light on something the woman knew, she tilted her head. “Or is this about something else?”

Carelessly chosen words could reveal too much and potentially damage any case Aidan and his team were building. Lana wasn’t willing to risk that, so she cautiously indulged the other woman’s question. “I heard he’d been asking questions about some files he was auditing. Guess I was hoping there’s a story there.”

The woman looked around the empty lobby and licked her lips with uncertainty. Her voice, when she spoke long seconds later, was hushed and hesitant. “I could talk to you.”

Yes!
“Thank you.” Rather than pulling one of three notepads from her bag she set her phone on the woman’s desk. “Do you mind if I record our talk? Just so I can be sure to be accurate.”

The woman drew her head back, a withdrawal from the offer she’d made.

Lana rushed on gently. “If you don’t want your name in the story I will honor that, but if Lance was on to something that needs to be exposed…”

Lana let the unfinished thought linger. If she’d read the young woman correctly no more nudging would be needed. She would pick up the gauntlet for the sake of his memory. “I miss him.”

“I can see that. I’m sorry you had to lose someone you obviously cared for.”

“He enjoyed your stories,” the woman finally said. “He said he was going to send you something.”

Nothing had come to her office—mail or email. Nothing except the emails from a confidential informant she was no longer getting a response from. Chills shot between the vertebras in her spine, suffusing her.

Lance. Lance had been her source. It was the only logical conclusion. He had turned her on to the case and then become a part of it. What had he found that she didn’t know about?

“He’d love that you’re here because of him,” the woman continued. “And he’d hate it if I didn’t help you.” Picking at the clear nail polish on her short nails, she released a long sigh. “You can record this, but I’d rather not be named.”

“Absolutely.” Lana shook off the thoughts about what Lance might have sent and where. If he’d gotten it sent she would find it. “Can I know your name, though?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. It’s Darla. I’m Darla.”

“Thank you.” The phone rang. Darla glanced toward it but didn’t move. “I know you’re busy,” Lana went on, “so I’ll make this as quick as possible.”

“No worries. It’s been pretty quiet. And I have a back up the phones will go to.” Darla nodded to the chairs in the waiting area. “Let’s sit over there.”

“Great.” Lana moved to the chairs and got her recorder app ready. When Darla indicated she was ready, Lana started the recorder and jumped in. “Were you close to Lance?”

“We were seeing each other.” Emotion choked Darla’s voice, but she controlled it. “I’d thought he was going to propose, but then he started acting different. He pulled back.”

“How long ago was that?”

“A week or two before he died. I thought he was cheating on me.”