Simon Says Die (28 page)

He didn't stop until they reached Forsyth Park a few blocks away. He plopped down on a bench and pulled her onto his lap. Then he buried his face against her hair. It was only then that she realized he was shaking.

“Pierce,” she whispered against his chest. “Are you okay?”

He pulled back and the fury in his eyes took her breath away.

“Pierce?”

“What the hell were you thinking meeting Damon alone? You could have been killed.” He pulled her against him again, and stroked her hair. “Don't ever scare me like that again.”

She stiffened and pulled back from his embrace. “What do you mean,
again
? You can't possibly want to ever see me after this. I was horrible to you. Twice. I said the most awful, cruel things.”

“Yes, you did. But then I read your text.”

She let out a shaky breath. “I'm so sorry I hurt you.”

He gently smoothed her hair back. “Say it.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Not that, say what you said in the text.”

She frowned, then understanding dawned. “I love you,” she said, as if she was confessing a terrible secret.

“It's about damn time you admitted it. How about we try this again?” He stood and fished in his pocket, then dropped to his knees.

She stared in disbelief at the solitaire diamond ring he held. “You can't be serious, after what I did to you.”

“It's my duty,” he said. “Someone has to take you in hand, and protect the world from you.”

Her throat thickened with the urge to cry. “That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.”

He laughed and leaned forward, kissing her cheek, gently smoothing her hair out of her eyes. “I love you, Mads. Is that really so hard to believe?”

“But . . . you let me go so easily, when I broke up with you. You never came after me. I never thought you cared for me as much as I did you.”

“I knew you were lying when you told me you were bored and ready to move on. You needed time. I knew you were working through something. I didn't know what you were working through, but I knew you weren't ready. I have to admit, after a while, when you didn't come back, I pretty much thought I was an idiot and had imagined the way you'd looked at me, the way you touched me or said my name in your sleep. I began to think I might be wrong about how you felt.”

She shook her head. “You knew I'd lied?”

He nodded.

“How? You always know when I'm lying. You said I do something when I lie. What do I do?”

He grinned and brushed her hair back behind her ear. “If you haven't figured it out, I'm not telling.”

She started to argue, but he pulled her to him and kissed her thoroughly until she was quite breathless.

When he pulled back, she looked at him in wonder. “Will you marry me, Pierce?”

He burst into laughter and slid the ring onto her finger. Then he grabbed her by the waist and literally swept her off her feet.

 

Epilogue

L
OGAN GLANCED DOWN
at his shirt and wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Why the hell are we wearing pink?”

Pierce grinned. “The same reason we wore purple on
your
wedding day. That's what the bride wanted.”

Logan sighed heavily. “Point taken.” His face wore a resigned look as he waited for his wife, Amanda, to make her appearance as the matron of honor.

Pierce stood next to him, not minding at all that he and Logan were wearing pink shirts, pink cummerbunds, and pink bow ties with their black tuxedos—as long as it made Madison happy. He didn't even mind that Madison had chosen to get married outside in the blustery wind in Whitefield Square, standing in front of a gazebo, where all the tourists could gawk at them.

What he did mind was that the men he worked with were sitting in the rows of white folding chairs on the grass a few feet away, hiding their smiles behind their hands.

Taking pictures of him.

Wearing pink
.

He didn't bother to lower his voice when he stared at one of the agents in the front row, snapping picture after picture with a huge grin on his face.

“Did you bring your gun?” he asked Logan.

“Of course.”

“I'll need to borrow it after the ceremony.” He narrowed his eyes at the agent.

“Is there a problem?” Logan asked.

The agent paled and lowered his camera.

Pierce grunted in satisfaction. “Not anymore.”

He looked over at his brothers, sitting on the groom's side on the front row. He nodded in response to Braedon's grin and his thumbs up signal. Devlin was next to him, looking bored. Austin was sitting in the last seat. Today was one of his good days. No wheelchair. Just a cane.

Pierce couldn't help but grin when he saw where Matt was sitting—next to Tessa on the second row, with a dark frown on his face, as if he'd been forced to sit by her and didn't want to. Tessa was pretending to ignore him, but doing a poor job of it since she kept glancing at him beneath her lashes when he wasn't looking. Pierce had a feeling he and his family would be seeing a lot more of her in the near future, once she and Matt decided to quit fighting their obvious attraction for each other.

Logan leaned in close and spoke in a whisper. “Does my sister know what
really
would have happened in that basement if she hadn't butted in?”

Pierce stiffened. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean.”

“You can't tell me you wouldn't have killed Damon, if you thought for one second he might not go to jail, that he could be a threat to Madison in the future.”

“I
did
kill him.”

“You know what I mean. If Hamilton and Madison hadn't been there, if it had only been you and Damon, there's no way he'd have left that basement alive.”

Pierce crossed his arms. “I guess we'll never know.”

Logan grinned. “Yeah, I guess we won't. But I'm certainly not shedding any tears for the bastard.” His breath hitched as he looked down the middle aisle.

His wife, Amanda, slowly waltzed up the path in a long-sleeved, floor-length, pale pink dress that shimmered in the sunlight. She and Logan seemed lost in each other's gazes, as if this were
their
wedding day all over again. Pierce was in awe of the love that shone between them, and he was more than a little pleased that he'd had a small hand in getting them together all those months ago, when Logan had been too stubborn and proud to realize what he was throwing away.

Amanda crossed onto the brick path in front of the gazebo. She nodded respectfully at the preacher standing on the top step as she took her place across from Logan.

Logan looked back down the aisle and started laughing.

Pierce followed his gaze and promptly elbowed him in the ribs. “Knock it off.”

“I hope you like cotton candy.” Logan choked back his laughter.

Pierce grinned at the delightful pink confection otherwise known as Madison. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

Madison's answering smile beamed out at him as she stood at the end of the grassy aisle, holding onto Alex's arm. Her gown was anything but traditional. It suited her perfectly. The hot pink top hugged her curves and the dress flared out over her hips. He had no idea what the skirt was made of but it hung down in long, thin strips in various shades of pink, floating and swirling around her in the breeze. On her feet were shiny, flat pink slippers like a ballerina would wear.

Rather than walk Madison down the aisle, Alex kissed her cheek and stood to the side. Madison had chosen to go down the aisle by herself, saying her daddy in heaven would walk beside her.

She'd insisted on not having any music, and Pierce could see why. She was a bundle of energy and never could have managed the slow walk of a wedding march. Instead, she pranced—there was no other word for it—up the path until she stood next to him. She gave him a saucy wink and an outrageous leer. Then suddenly she was in his arms pulling his mouth down to hers.

Pierce ignored the catcalls and laughter coming from their small audience and gave back as good as he got. But when the preacher cleared his throat, Pierce reluctantly broke the lusty kiss.

Madison gave Pierce another quick, hard kiss. “I'm going to marry you,” she whispered.

“I certainly hope so,” he whispered back.

They joined hands and faced the preacher. As the laughter subsided, the preacher wiped his forehead and adjusted his collar. His face was an unusually bright shade of red as he cleared his throat. “Dearly beloved . . .”

 

Keep reading for an excerpt from Lena Diaz's thrilling

He Kills Me, He Kills Me Not

Available now from Avon Impulse

 

Chapter One

T
HE SWEET MUSIC
of her screams echoed in his mind as he inhaled the lavender-scented shampoo he'd selected for her. He sat cross-legged on the carpet of pine needles, stroking her hair, his fingers sliding easily through the silky brown mass he had washed and brushed.

Underlying that scent, the metallic aroma of blood teased his senses. He traced his fingers across her naked belly to the sweet center of her. The temptation to linger was strong, but the ritual wasn't complete.

He picked up the blood-red rose and tucked its velvety petals between Kate's pale, generous breasts. Molding her cool fingers around the stem, he pressed her palms together, embedding the single remaining thorn in her flesh. As he stood, her sightless pale blue eyes stared at him accusingly, just like they had in Summerville the first time he gave her a rose.

Let her stare. She couldn't hurt him anymore, not today.

A rhythmic pounding noise echoed through the trees, an early morning jogger trying to beat the impending heat and humidity of another scorching summer day. The sun's first rays were starting to peek through the pine trees, glinting off the rows of swings and slides.

Thump. Thump. Closer. Closer. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as he listened to the jogger approach. Was Kate coming for him again, already? No matter how many times he punished her, she always came back. He'd walk around a corner and there she was, condemning him with a haughty look, taunting him with her sinfully alluring long hair.

He risked a quick glance down and let out a shaky, relieved breath. She was still lying on the ground. She hadn't come back to torture him.

Not yet.

After one last, longing glance at her body, he slid between some palmettos and followed his makeshift path through the woods. He emerged at the parking lot of Shadow Falls' only mall, next to a row of dumpsters. Exchanging his soiled clothes for the clean ones he'd hidden in a plastic bag, he quickly dressed. Then he stepped around the dumpsters, pitched the bag into his trunk, and got into the patrol car.

L
OOSENING HIS TIE
in deference to the already sweltering eighty-degree heat, Police Chief Logan Richards did his best to blend into the shadows beneath the moss-covered live oak tree. Several feet away, Officer Karen Bingham interviewed the young female jogger who'd discovered the body. Logan had offered to help, but Karen had informed him the young woman didn't need an NFL linebacker hovering over her when she was already terrified.

He'd never been a professional football player, but he conceded the point. His size intimidated people. That had served him well when he'd worked as a beat cop here in Shadow Falls, and later as a detective in the roughest precincts of New York City. But intimidating this young witness was the last thing he wanted to do.

She sat on a wooden bench a few feet away, sheltered from the press's cameras by a stand of pine trees. Her freckled face was pale and her shoulders hunched as she wrapped her thin arms around her abdomen, shaking as if she were in the middle of a snowstorm instead of the Florida Panhandle in July.

Someone called Logan's name. He looked toward the obscenely cheery yellow tape that cordoned off a section of the park, contrasting starkly with the macabre scene within its borders. Medical Examiner Cassie Markham was waving at him, ready to share her initial findings.

Logan crossed to the tape, ducking beneath it, careful not to step on any of the bright orange tags his detectives were using to mark off their search grid.

Cassie was kneeling next to the body, sliding a brown paper bag onto the victim's hand. One of two Walton County medical examiners who rotated on-call duties for Shadow Falls and the neighboring communities, Cassie rarely had the need to visit this small rural town in her official capacity. Logan had only met her once before, about six months ago when she'd handled a domestic violence case, right after he'd moved back to take the job as chief of police.

“Hell of a way to spend a Sunday morning,” he said when she looked up at him.

“You got that right.” She tossed her head to flip her short blonde bangs out of her eyes. “Is she your missing college girl?”

He gave a short, tight nod. “Carolyn O'Donnell.”

“How long was she missing?” Cassie picked up another brown bag and gently lifted the victim's other hand.

“A little over three days. She disappeared late Wednesday night, from this same park.”

“I'm guessing a young woman her age wasn't playing on the swings. Neighborhood hangout?”

“So I hear.” An uneasy feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach as he noted the way the body seemed posed, her legs spread for maximum shock value. Ligature marks darkened her wrists and ankles. Stab wounds riddled her abdomen and extremities. Many of her bruises were deep purple or black, indicating they'd begun to heal before she was killed. Dreading the answer, he asked, “How long has she been dead?”

Cassie finished securing the paper bag before answering. “She's not in full rigor yet. Liver temp indicates about six hours, but it's hard to be specific in this heat. Might be longer.”

Logan scrubbed his hand across his brow to ease the dull ache that was starting to bloom. While he and his men had been searching door-to-door, the killer was sadistically torturing this young woman. Where the hell had he stashed her? And where was he now? Was he already searching for a new victim? Logan blew out a frustrated breath. “Tell me what you have so far.”

“Not much beyond the obvious.” She peeled off her gloves and stowed them in her kit, then stood up beside him, her head barely reaching his shoulder. “The amount of blood doesn't fit the injuries. She was killed somewhere else and washed down before he dumped her.”

Logan nodded, having reached the same conclusion. “Trace?”

“A few cotton fibers, nothing remarkable or distinctive. No hairs. No bite marks. He sliced off her fingertips. I figure she scratched him and he wanted to make sure we couldn't get his DNA from under her nails.”

The perp was aware of forensic techniques. Then again, who
wasn't
these days, with all the crime scene investigation shows on TV? Logan didn't ask if the victim had been raped. The answer was painfully obvious. “Semen?”

“I'll take swabs but I doubt we'll find anything. As careful as he was not to leave any other evidence, he probably wore a condom. There's bruising on her neck, petechial hemorrhaging in her eyes.”

“He strangled her.”

“Yes, but I suspect that was the killer's version of ‘love play'. I can't be sure until I perform the autopsy, but I'm leaning toward exsanguination as cause of death. She has deep puncture wounds in her abdomen. She would have bled out in minutes.”

“What about her face?” A deep, ragged wound splayed her open from temple to jaw. Logan hoped to God she was already dead when the killer cut her.

“That's unusual, isn't it?” Cassie said. “It would have bled all over the place. Not enough to kill her, but it would have hurt like hell.”

Logan's hands curled into tight fists as he struggled to tamp down his anger. Ten years ago he'd allowed his emotions to control him, and he'd made a tragic, rookie mistake that allowed a killer to go free. How many other women had suffered and died at the hands of that killer because of Logan's screwup? That question haunted him every day. The whole mess was the reason he'd fled Shadow Falls so long ago and had gone to New York City.

He'd worked in the toughest precincts to be the best detective he could be, so he'd never make that kind of mistake again. No matter how much he wished he could wrap his hands around the throat of the animal who'd tortured Carolyn O'Donnell, he couldn't let his anger cloud his judgment. Other women's lives hung in the balance if he made any mistakes with this investigation.

“Did you hear about the rose?” Cassie asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“The responding officer said Carolyn was holding a long-stemmed, red rose.”

“That's right. The rose bud was nestled between her breasts and the stem was stripped clean of all but one thorn, which he embedded in her right palm, postmortem. Creepy.”

Definitely creepy, but if Logan's suspicions were correct, that rose might be part of the killer's signature, his pattern. Everything about the scene told Logan this was the work of a killer who'd killed before—and would kill again.

Cassie motioned for her assistants to bring the gurney. “When I finish the autopsy, I'll overnight the samples to the state lab.”

“Hold onto the samples. I want to give the Feds first crack at the evidence.”

Cassie nodded, her relieved expression telling him she was just as anxious as he was to get help with this case. Shadow Falls was a small town with limited resources. And although Logan had worked on several serial killer cases in New York, no one else in the Shadow Falls Police Department had that kind of experience. He couldn't do this alone.

Cassie gave him a friendly wave and turned to help with the removal of the body.

Once the body was carried outside the taped-off area, Logan crouched down to examine the footprints he'd noticed earlier. He followed the trail to a group of palmetto bushes. Some of the palm fronds were bent and twisted as if someone had recently passed between them. When he parted the leaves, he saw a narrow trail hacked through the woods. Someone had spent hours, maybe days, cutting this path. The killer? Had he also selected his victim ahead of time? Or did Carolyn O'Donnell just have the bad luck of being in the park when the killer made his move?

Looking back, Logan located his lead detective, David Riley. At thirty, Riley was only five years younger than Logan, but a lot less experienced. When Logan had taken the job as chief and inherited Riley as the lead, he'd assumed Riley was in that role just because the department was so small and there weren't a lot of candidates to choose from. But Riley had quickly proven his abilities.

He was smart and friendly, able to play good cop or bad cop, depending on the need. He could charm a confession out of a suspect before they'd even seen the trap he'd set.

Unfortunately, Riley was speaking to Randy Clayton, a well-seasoned officer with a mouth that never quit. Clayton, who'd already been a veteran back when Logan began his career, wasn't a bit pleased that the rookie he'd once taunted was now his boss. Logan only tolerated his smart-ass attitude because Clayton was due to retire in a few months.

Sighing in resignation, Logan motioned for Riley to join him and wasn't surprised when Clayton tagged along, his usual smirk firmly in place.

Logan ignored Clayton and addressed Riley. “Has anyone searched this area yet?” He parted the fronds, revealing the path between them.

Riley's brows rose in surprise. “We stayed out of this section, waiting for the medical examiner.”

Logan drew his gun from the shoulder holster beneath his suit jacket. He stepped between the palmettos, careful to avoid their sharp tips, keeping to the edge of the path so he didn't tread on any of the footprints. “Let's see if we have company.”

Riley and Clayton glanced at each other with wide eyes and drew their weapons. The three men followed the path through the thick brush. A few minutes later they emerged at the edge of the mall parking lot, next to a row of dumpsters.

Logan motioned to the others and they fanned out, checking possible hiding places. When he was sure there was no danger, he holstered his weapon. “I'll call for another team to tape off the area. Secure the scene until they arrive.”

Clayton tugged on his pants to pull them up over his protruding belly. “Riley, doesn't this seem similar to that other murder when you were a street cop? About four years ago?”

A look of realization crossed Riley's face. “You're right. I should have thought of that.”

“What murder?” Logan glanced back and forth between them.

Clayton scratched at the gray stubble on his jaw. “There was another girl that went missing, and then turned up in a cabin all cut-up a few days later. There was a rose in her hands too. I can't remember her name though, something like Diana, Deana—”

“Dana,” Riley said. “Dana Branson. I should have thought of her as soon as I saw the body this morning. I wasn't a detective back then, but I heard the details, saw the pictures.” He shuddered, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. “It seems like an obvious tie-in now, but I was at the convention when O'Donnell went missing, and didn't think about it when you called me, Logan. Maybe if I'd been here a few days ago, I might have—”

Logan waved Riley into silence, impatient to hear the details about the other murder. “Clayton, tell me what you remember about the other case.”

“The vic was Caucasian, mid-twenties, long, brown hair, blue eyes. She, ah . . .” He cleared his throat, his face flushing red. “She was missing for three days before we found her. Just like O'Donnell.”

Logan's throat ached with the urge to shout his frustration. He wished his men had told him about the earlier case when O'Donnell first went missing. Would it have changed how he'd directed the search? Maybe, maybe not. It all depended on the details of that first case and whether there were any clues to that perp's identity. Without knowing for sure, he wasn't about to lay that kind of guilt on someone else. He was the chief. Ultimately, he was responsible. “Who were the suspects in the original case?”

“There weren't any suspects. All the leads went cold,” Clayton said. “But Branson wasn't alone. There was another woman with her.”

Disbelief had Logan clamping his jaw shut to avoid saying something he knew he'd regret. How could his men have forgotten a brutal, double homicide in a town of fifty thousand people? Especially since the only murders around here were usually the result of a drunken bar fight or a crime of passion between two people who supposedly loved each other. He took a deep breath and prayed for patience. “Who was the second murder victim?”