Killing Me Softly (20 page)

Dawn frowned, her attention riveted. “You've kept track of him?”

“You're damn right I have. He even sniffs in this direction, I'll know about it. Olivia trusts me to keep her safe.”

She nodded and studied his face, wondering if he realized that he was in love with the professor. Probably not. Men were notoriously dense about such things, weren't they? Hell, she should talk. She'd single-handedly ruined the best relationship she was probably ever going to have.

“You said he'd moved up in the criminal world,” she asked. “How so?”

Nick's attention was on Bryan, but Bryan wasn't looking back at him. Sighing, Nick focused on her again. “Tommy Skinner's not a cop anymore. Doesn't have to maintain a phony facade. Even though he did time, he didn't rat out any of his contacts, and that gave him street cred with the bosses, so they brought him back in. He's pulling in the big bucks now, and he's got a lot of power, not to mention friends with even more.”

“You're talking about organized crime,” Dawn said.

Nick nodded.

“But how do you know he's still interested in her? Hasn't he got bigger things going on by now?” she asked.

“'Cause I know. I keep track. He's influential in Chicago. Anyone goes sniffing around asking questions about Sara Quinlan, he's going to know about it almost instantly.”

“Shit,” Bryan said softly. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What?”

He lifted his head, met Nick's eyes. “You'd better get someone out there to keep an eye on her place. Rico might already be there. I gave her his number. But if he's not, get him there.”

“Why?” Nick asked, and the timbre of his voice seemed to hold a warning.

He sighed. “I ordered one of her old yearbooks.”

“You mentioned Sara by name?”

Bryan nodded. “So I could find out the right year. I didn't know I'd be putting her in danger.”

“You should have asked!”

“You should have told me! You knew I was digging into this! And don't get all self-righteous, Nick, when you're the one who's been breaking the law for the past sixteen years, maybe to the point where it's cost some father his own son, for crying out loud!”

“You—” Nick thrust a finger at Bryan as he spoke the single word, but it seemed the rest just deserted him. He closed his mouth, shook his head. “You're right. I should have told you.”

“You're sure she had nothing to do with the murders?”

“I guarantee it. I checked that angle completely, believe me. She couldn't kill a flea, that one.”

Bryan nodded. “Okay. Okay, I'll keep this to myself. But I still think you'd better—”

“Yeah, I'll get Rico on it, if he's not already there. I'll tell the chief I suspect Nightcap might go after her.” Nick looked at him. “You really going to keep this to yourself, Bryan?”

Bryan nodded. “For now, at least.”

Nick rolled his eyes, threw up his hands.

“What if he promises to talk to you first, Nick?” Dawn didn't think the two men were communicating on the same wavelength just now. “Bryan, you can promise that much, can't you? That you won't tell anyone else until you've given Nick fair warning?”

He nodded slowly. “Sure. Sure I can.”

“That doesn't mean he's definitely going to blow it, Nick,” Dawn added quickly. “Just give him some time to work through this in his mind.”

“Yeah. Time. And a safe haven, and my help and unwavering support. Just like always. Right, Kendall?”

Bryan looked at him, then dropped his gaze.

“Have a good night, you two.” Nick turned and left them. He didn't slam the door. He didn't gun his engine or spin his tires. His anger was quiet, contained and somehow more potent in its silence.

Dawn sat on the sofa beside Bryan. She studied his face and she knew it was not the time to talk to him. He needed to mull this over on his own. He needed to figure it out for himself. He did not need her to say the words that were dancing on her tongue and knocking on her teeth to get out.

But she was going to say them if she didn't distract herself, and fast, so she patted his shoulder, just to let him know she was there if he needed her and not angry with him like Nick was.

Without lifting his head, he said, “What should I do?”

Dawn was stunned. “Bry, I can't tell you what to do. This is your deal, it's not—”

“Okay, suppose I do nothing? What are
you
going to do?” He lifted his head now, staring up at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, it's all up to you, because I've thrown up my hands. So what do you do? Do you call the chief and tell him what you know about Olivia Dupree? Do you keep her secret and trust that she's really a good person? Do you go and talk to her again, and then decide? What?”

She shook her head rapidly. “Bryan, don't put this on me. I can't be the one to—”

“Please, Dawn, I'm begging here.”

She met his eyes, saw the need in them and dissolved like sugar in boiling water. Sinking deeper into the sofa beside him, she nodded slowly, her mind working overtime. “All right. I guess, if it were me calling the shots—and it's not, but if it were—I guess I'd do some more investigating. If I could rule her out as the killer and verify what Nick told us about her ex-boyfriend, then I suppose I'd agree to keep the secret.”

He nodded. “And if you couldn't rule her out as the Strangler?”

“Then I'd turn her ass in and make her my number-one suspect.”

He listened, taking it in. Then he said, “What does your gut tell you about her, Dawn?”

“I think she's innocent,” she said, without a hint of hesitation. “But that doesn't mean a damn thing. There's some kind of genetic, gender-based instinct inside me that wants to believe no woman could be capable of this. Of murdering other women so brutally.”

“But you think she's innocent?”

It was as if he hadn't even heard the rest of her words after those. “Maybe I just hope she is.”

He sighed deeply. “I think it's more than that. I know you don't think so, Dawn, but I do. I think you still have some kind of…connection.”

“I don't. I don't have anything like that.”

“We'll see.”

She shrugged. “You're not going to be able to sleep yet. We should find something around here to do, take your mind off all this for a while.”

He studied her face. “I'm so busy feeling my own turmoil, I'm ignoring yours.”

“I don't have any turmoil.”

“No? You've got a killer after you. And no turmoil?”

She shrugged. “I feel safe tonight.”

“I'm glad you feel safe here.”

“It's not the place, Bryan. It's the company.”

His eyes darkened a little as they locked with hers, and she felt a familiar shiver up her spine. She wanted
him. She felt the awareness of it like a rush of heated floodwaters. She wanted him so much. And she knew he still didn't trust her enough to try again.

She wondered if they could have sex without starting things up again—without reigniting the feelings they'd once had for each other. She doubted it. There was just too much history between them. Sex between them now would be like touching a match to dry tinder, and that could start a forest fire that would destroy them both.

“Why don't we walk down to that lake out back?” she suggested.

“It's a reservoir.”

She looked toward the doors that led onto the deck, and through them to the glimmering water beyond. “It's the
size
of a lake. And the falls are spectacular.”

He held her gaze for a moment longer, then broke eye contact, surging to his feet and nodding hard. “Good idea. In fact, I'll do you one better.” As he spoke, he crossed the room, flung open a large closet door and rattled around inside it for a moment. Then he called, “Just one question. Do you want to do it on the dock or in the rowboat?”

Dawn's jaw dropped. She stammered for an answer. “I…don't… What… There's a rowboat?” It wasn't an answer, but it was the only thing she could think of to say.

“Yup.” He emerged again, holding a tackle box in one hand and a pair of fishing poles in the other. “So, dock or boat?”

She shook her head and smiled. And then she
laughed. He was so good at that. At breaking her tension. At making her laugh. At helping her relax.

Always had been.

“Boat,” she said. “If it's reservoir-worthy.”

“It was the last time I was here.” He nodded at the closet. “Grab a couple of hoodies. Gets chilly on the water at night.”

She did, and then followed him through the kitchen and out the back door.

The air smelled like pine, and moonlight made it light enough to walk without flashlights. They crossed the broad redwood deck, then went down the steps at the far end to the ground. From there, a meandering but well-worn path wriggled down a slight incline to the shore. The reservoir had to be sixteen acres' worth of water, dark in the moonlight, glittering on the surface, frothy and foamy where the falls splashed down. A narrow wood dock jutted from the shore into the water, extending out about sixteen feet, its far end supported by floating barrels, so that it bobbed and dipped as they walked over it. Halfway along, a rowboat was tied to a post.

Bryan set the gear in the boat, then climbed in. He reached a hand up to her, and she took it. So strong, his hand. So big compared to her own. He helped her as she stepped off the wobbly deck and into the wobbly boat. She sat down on one of the seats, but he didn't let go of her hand as he sat opposite her, looked at her steadily.

“I don't know how I would have gotten through this if you hadn't come back, Dawn.”

She gave him a half smile. “You haven't gotten through it yet, Bry. Maybe you'd better hold off on the gratitude until I've actually done something to help.”

“You're helping. Believe me.”

She shrugged. “You would do the same for me.”

“Up to a week ago, I doubt it.”

“You were still that angry?”

He nodded.

“And now?”

“You've made up for it—ten times over.”

She frowned, tipped her head to one side. “Then you…you forgive me?” She turned her hand in his, laced their fingers and squeezed.

“I forgive you.”

Her eyes fell closed, tears managing to slip between her lashes all the same. “God, I needed to hear that.”

He ran a hand over her hair. “Maybe you can forgive yourself now, huh?”

“Maybe.” But she didn't think so. As Bryan released her hand and rose to quickly untie the rope that held the little rowboat to the dock, she thought she would never be able to forgive herself. She'd lost his love. She'd ruined her chances with the only man she wanted a chance with. And she didn't think she would ever forgive herself for letting him go.

B
ryan rowed the boat—rowed it hard, for a while—because once he got started, he realized the exertion was relieving his tension, at least a little, so he put way more effort into it than he really needed to.

Of course, sleeping with Dawn tonight would have relieved his tension, too—in spades—but he didn't want to do that. It would be self-destructive to the nth degree. He would end up falling as hard as he had before, and he knew too well what lay at the bottom of that fall. A bed of nails that would skewer him when she walked away again.

Maybe she wouldn't this time.

And how the hell could he be sure of that?

Maybe he should just ask her.

Right. Like he would get an honest answer. She was worried about him, had rushed to his side to help—out of guilt. And, okay, maybe a little bit out of caring. They had been special to each other, after all. They'd lost their
virginity to each other. That had to mean something. They'd been friends. They were still friends.

And if he asked her to stay, she might not be able to say no to him, at least not today. But only out of guilt. Out of pity. Or based on the knowledge that he might soon end up in prison doing a term of twenty-five to life, so it might be his only chance at feeling alive until he came up for parole.

And she might be right.

“I think we're out far enough,” Dawn said softly.

Bryan stopped rowing, glanced up to see how far they'd come, then turned and checked behind him. They were well beyond the middle of the lake and heading for the opposite side, where the water flowed out of the lake, between man-made concrete dams and into several swift-running streams, then on downhill. He nodded, pulled in the oars, dropped the tiny anchor to keep them from drifting with the current and reached for the tackle box. “No live bait,” he said. “Nick has some rubber worms that are nearly as good, though.”

“Hey, I'd far rather handle the rubber kind.”

He smiled but didn't meet her eyes, not wanting her to see what he'd been thinking just a few moments ago. For the next several minutes he busied himself attaching the realistic rubbery worms, and half-red, half-white bobbers and tiny lead sinkers to their lines. Her pole ready, he handed it to her, then picked up his own.

“I haven't done this in…years. Not since I left, now that I think about it,” she said. Then she drew the pole back and swung it forward, sidearming it rather than
arcing it overhead. The line whirred through the air in a beautiful arch, then dropped into the water with a clean
plip.

He watched, then nodded at her. “Nice.”

“I guess you never forget some things.”

She met his eyes, and his got stuck there. “I guess you never do.”

He wasn't talking about how to cast a fishing pole. And he knew she knew it. He expected her to lower her eyes, look away, change the subject.

Instead, she said, “I never forgot
us.
That time, in the woods…”

He should have known she wouldn't back away from this conversation. He'd been avoiding it since she'd come home, but they both knew their time to talk things through might be rapidly approaching an end. He still wanted to avoid it. And yet, he didn't.

“Me, neither,” he said, and then he cast his line in the opposite direction from hers.

“We didn't have a clue what we were doing. And yet…it was amazing.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

“You've been with…a lot of women since I left.”

He glanced at her. “I wouldn't say a
lot.
But yeah, there have been some.” He met her eyes, then quickly lowered his. “Does that bother you?”

“If it did, I'd have no one to blame but myself, would I?”

He couldn't argue with that. Forcing an invisible
blockage from his throat, he said, “I imagine you've been with…other people, too.”

“No.”

He looked up sharply. “Come on, Dawn, you don't have to say that. I'm a grown-up.”

She tipped her head slightly to one side, so that her hair slid lower on her shoulder. “I run, I work, I keep busy, and I…take care of any urges without need of a partner.”

“But
why?
”

She shrugged. “It wouldn't be fair to have a relationship with a man when I knew I wouldn't stay with him. And I couldn't seem to embrace the idea of one-night stands. I don't know. For me, at least, sex is more about emotional connection than physical release.”

“But…” He was thoroughly confused. “How did you know you wouldn't want to stay?”

“Because, to be honest, I've been homesick. I've missed the family. I've missed you.” She shrugged. “I guess the truth of it is, I've never wanted anyone else.”

There were tears in her voice, but they didn't show on her face. And in his mind, he was pleading with her,
Please, for the love of God, just tell me you won't leave again. That's all it'll take. Just say it. Say it. Say “I'll never run away from you again, Bryan.”

But she didn't say it. And just then the pole in her hands jerked, and she swung her head to the side. He followed her gaze in time to see her bobber vanishing beneath the waves. An instant later it reappeared.

“Whoa, that's a bite!” She waited, watching, and the minute the bobber vanished again, she gave the pole a quick jerk, then waited again, feeling. The end of the rod bowed, so she began reeling in the line as fast as she could.

Bryan knelt in the boat, snatching up a net, watching over the side for the catch to appear. It did, a big, black bullhead, and he quickly scooped it into the net and pulled it aboard.

“Beautiful fish,” he said. “Damn, that's gonna taste good. I haven't had a bullhead all year.” As he carefully gripped the fish underneath its spiked whiskers to keep himself from being jabbed, he fished a pair of needle-nose pliers from the tackle box, then easily removed the hook, rubber worm still intact.

She smiled. “This is fun. I'd almost forgotten how much fun we have together.”

“Me, too.” He put the fish onto a stringer and lowered it over the side. “I haven't been fishing with a girl since you left.” Then he smiled a little sheepishly. “I guess that's not at good as not having sex with one, but…”

She shook her head. “I didn't expect you to join a monastery.”

“On the upside, I'm probably better at it now than I was my first time out.”

She went utterly silent, and he looked at her. Then, keeping her eyes glued to his, she said, “I still want you, Bryan. Just in case you didn't know that.”

He nodded. “It's not that I don't…it's just that…”

“You said you'd forgiven me.”

He nodded. “I have.”

“Then why—”

The sound of a cell phone brought them up short. Bryan had totally forgotten that he'd brought it along. He pulled it out, saw “Private Caller” on the screen and frowned.

“Figures,” Dawn said. “The middle of the lake is the one place up here with a signal.”

Reluctantly, he flipped the phone open and brought it to his ear. A woman's voice came from the other end. “You've ruined my life, do you realize that?”

He licked his lips, met Dawn's eyes. “Olivia?”

“How could you do this to me?” Her voice was broken; she was obviously crying.

Bryan closed his eyes briefly. “Nick told you that I know who you are.”

“And that you've been calling around, asking about me. Calling Chicago.”

“To be fair, I didn't know it was you I was asking about. I thought it was a dead woman.”

“Thanks to you, I probably will be!”

“Olivia, take it easy, will you? Look, I'm trying to find a killer before I get convicted of his crimes. My life is on the line here. And I had no way of knowing that yours was, too. I'm sorry.”

“Sorry? I'm going to be dead by this time tomorrow—and you're
sorry?
”

“What do you mean? How do you—”

“He knows. He's found me. He just called.”

“Who?”

“Tommy!” She gulped in a few breaths before she could speak again. Then she cleared her throat. “Thomas Skinner. My onetime beau and would-be…executioner. Who else? He managed to get my phone number—and probably my address, too.”

“I only phoned your schools, and I used the automated system,” Bryan said. “How could he—”

“That's how powerful he is now. That's the sort of connections he has.”

Bryan met Dawn's eyes and could tell she was getting most of the conversation. She looked scared.

“Who called her?” she whispered. “Nightcap?”

He shook his head. “The ex.”

“Oh, God.”

“What did he say to you when he called, Olivia?”

“Nothing. He hung up when I answered. Probably just wanted to hear my voice—to verify it was really me. He's coming for me. I know he is.”

“All right, all right, hang on. How do you know it wasn't just a wrong number? Or some kids playing a prank or—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her voice rose, and he held the phone away from his ear as she raged, then brought it back.

“Is Nick there?”

“No.” She sniffled loudly. “Officer Chavez is, though.”

“Put him on the phone.”

“Yes. But first—look, I didn't kill anyone, Bryan. I swear to you, I would never hurt anyone. If I were
capable of that, Tommy Skinner would be long dead and I wouldn't be in this situation. Believe me. And I didn't know about the baby. I didn't know. It's haunting me now that I do, wondering if my actions cost a child its family. But I didn't know. I'm not a bad person.”

“I hear you. I do. Just—please, put Rico on the phone, will you?”

He waited, and a moment later his partner's voice came on the line. “Hello?”

“Hey, Rico.”

“Bryan? Holy shit, bud, do you have any idea how deep a hole you've dug for yourself? Everyone's looking for you.”

“Yeah, and I'm putting your career at risk by talking to you. And I'm going to put it at more risk in a minute. But I don't want that woman getting killed because of me.”

“Yeah, that I don't get,” Rico said. “Nick says she's on the Strangler's hit list, but how could he know that? She's years older than he likes his victims. And she doesn't look like any of them, either. Besides, if he didn't kill her the first time around, why now?”

“It's a long story. But the short version is that you need to get her out of there. She needs to be someplace safe.”

“So do you, bud. Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why don't I bring her there?”

Bryan was silent for a moment. He pulled the phone
away from his ear and hit the speaker button. “You want to bring her here?”

“If it's safe for you, it'll be safe for her, right?”

“I'm a fugitive, Rico. If I tell you where I am, you're going to have to turn me in.”

“I won't do that.”

“You could lose your job. Hell, they could charge you with—”

“Look, we're gonna to catch the real guy, bud. No one's gonna make too much of a stink about how we did it once it's done. Even if they do find out.”

“I can't live with letting you risk so much, pal.”

“Yeah? Can you live with another woman dying, when you could have saved her?”

Bryan blinked. He looked at Dawn.

She nodded, leaned closer to the phone. “Tell Nick to bring her to us,” she said. “That way you're not involved.”

“But Nick is?” Rico asked.

“She didn't say that,” Bryan said quickly. “But we could tell him where we are, and then—”

“Bullshit. And thanks, partner. I just figured out where you are. We'll be there in an hour.”

“Don't be followed, Rico,” Bryan said. “Be safe.”

“Understood.” The connection was broken, and Bryan looked at Dawn.

“Are you sure you trust Olivia?” he asked her. “Enough to be out here in the middle of nowhere with you?”

“No. But it'll be a great way to find out. Just watch my back, and if she tries something—we'll know.”

“Oh,
that's
a brilliant plan.”

“I have another one,” Dawn said.

“Yeah, what is it?”

She nodded at the oars. “Let that poor fish go and row us back to shore.”

He sighed, but he complied.

 

Rico arrived with Olivia Dupree an hour later, as predicted. By then Dawn had made friends with the cabin's spotless kitchen. She'd figured out the coffeemaker and checked out the food Nick had stocked for them. So by the time she heard the knock at the cabin's door, the place was filled with the aromas of hot-from-the-oven cinnamon buns—the kind that came in the pop-open canister—and freshly brewed coffee.

“Kiss up, much?” Bryan asked when she dashed into the living room and caught up with him on his way to the front door.

“We put her life in danger. I hardly think snacks are enough to make up for that.”

“If she's as innocent as she's claiming to be, that is,” he said. He'd been busy bringing in more firewood from the pile outside and moving the car around to the back, where it wouldn't be easily seen from the road. Not that there would be any traffic to see it. But that was all the more reason. Anyone who
did
come driving up there might very well be there in search of them.

He reached for the doorknob, then turned to Dawn.
“Stay near me at all times, just in case you're wrong about her. Okay?”

Warmth flooded outward from the center of her chest. “Okay. But just so you know, I'd probably stay near you at all times anyway.”

He smiled at that, and there was a moment when it felt…all right between them. Just a moment.

And then that moment was broken as he opened the door. Olivia stood on the other side. Her hand flashed out with the speed of a cobra and caught him across the face. Rico, just behind her, dropped the duffels he was carrying, gripped her shoulders and swore. But Bryan didn't react. Didn't pull back or slam the door or even shout at her. He just stood there, gave a slow nod as his cheek grew a red handprint, and drew a deep, slow breath probably meant to bank his temper.