Dead Don't Lie (16 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

R
YAN
BLINKED
. T
HE
tiny movement sent excruciating agony through every part of his body. Pain and confusion clouded his mind, making his thoughts muddy. He blinked again and tried to get up off the floor. Why was he on the floor? What was that putrid smell? Why did everything hurt? He shook his head to clear his mind, then vomited as the room began to spin. Pain boiled over, searing every nerve ending. He managed to pull himself up to his hands and knees and cried out before collecting his breath. Crimson droplets and tears fell from the tip of his nose and dripped onto the floor. He tasted copper in his mouth.

Blood was everywhere.

The room spun, tilted on its axis. Speckled lights flitted in and out of his vision. With each ragged breath, his chest convulsed in violent spasms. He felt as if he were breathing through Jell-O.

What was happening?

Nothing made sense.

When he’d left Kate and Ava in the kitchen, they were devouring vanilla gelato straight out of the container. The last thing he recalled was kissing Liam and laying him down to bed. He remembered turning on the sound machine, then softly pulling the door closed.

Then he’d felt searing pain in his back.

He’d turned. Another jolt of pain had hit him as a blade plunged into the softness of his belly. His breath had left him, but still he’d fought hard, Kate and Ava on his mind. He had to get to the kitchen. Protect his family.

He’d twisted and rolled away from another swing of the knife. Protecting his family was his sole goal. He’d driven his shoulder into the hooded man, then tackled him. They’d tumbled down the stairs and landed hard. He’d looked up and seen the butt of a gun come down. Then darkness.

Soft cries from the kitchen screamed for his attention. Panic tore into him. He dragged himself from the dining room, a trail of blood following behind his wrecked body. Pushing through the torture, he crawled down the hallway toward the quiet, desperate pleas. Kate. He could hear Kate begging someone.
Who was she talking to?
Suddenly, she cried out. A single gunshot exploded in his ears. His wife’s hysterical sobs echoed in his mind, then went quiet. Too quiet.

He tried to stand. His legs buckled, betraying him. Collapsing against the wall and gasping for air, he put his hands on his knees, then struggled to right himself. A figure loomed over him.

Ryan gathered his waning energy and lunged, desperate to get to his family. He needed to see them. Protect them. The figure sidestepped Ryan’s feeble advance. He fell. The figure’s boot came down and cracked against Ryan’s skull. His face exploded in blinding pain. He tried to raise his head, but the movement sent an electric surge through his body.

He opened his eyes and stared through blood and tears. “Why are you doing this? What do you want?”

The man knelt in front of him. His head cocked to one side, and his eyes narrowed into tiny slits.

“What do I want? I want Evelyn to know that she misjudged me. She should’ve taken me more seriously. She can’t take from me and expect me not to take from her.” He sneered at Ryan. “So I’m sending a message.”

He leaned into Ryan’s face and pressed his hand into one of Ryan’s knife wounds. Ryan swallowed the moan in his throat.

“Do you think Evelyn will get this one? That I stole the only family she had left?”

“Evelyn?” Ryan’s mind was muddy, hazy, but he knew he had to keep the bastard talking. “What do you have against her?”

“She lived. My family died, but that bitch lived. It’s her fault. She was supposed to pay then. She got lucky. Her family didn’t. But I’m collecting now.”

“You’re...”
The man who killed Evelyn’s family.
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. And just as she’d been powerless to save them then, he was now helpless to save her or his own family. His heart stuttered and dropped. His body sagged as despair ripped through him.

“Yes. I’m...I’m...” He mimicked Ryan in a singsong voice. “I’ve tracked her for fifteen years. But now I’ve got her. And there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

A cruel smile spread across his dark features. He raised the gun.

Ryan stared down the cold metal barrel. Hope trickled out of him. His chest constricted and his breath caught in his throat. He’d lost his wife. Pain gripped his heart and squeezed. He couldn’t lose Evelyn, too; he needed to warn her. But he knew he couldn’t. He’d failed her, failed them. He turned his face toward the kitchen that held his broken, bloodied family. Sorrow tore at his soul. A series of sharp cracks exploded into the still air.

Then Ryan felt nothing.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

T
HE
EVENING
HAD
been perfect. Marcus wanted to prolong it and take Evelyn down to the local hole-in-the-wall pub he’d discovered, then continue talking over a nice bottle of wine. But with a sweet smile, Evelyn had insisted on going back to Ryan’s. So here he was, opening the car door so he could take her back to her partner’s home. How did this woman have such an effect on him? He grinned. He liked it.

She turned, reached up and gently put her hands on either side of his face. Marcus’s pulse took off. Without a word, she pressed her lips softly to his. Disappointment shot through him when she pulled back. He wanted so much more.

“I’m glad you’re here, Marcus.” Evelyn smiled up at him, her eyes twinkling. “Let’s close this case already.”

She winked and slid into the passenger seat, then looked back at him, her eyes soft, warm and trusting. His heart jumped. Had she just...? Yes. He could see it in her body language, her face, her expression. She’d just let him in—completely. He’d thought it was coming, felt something shift between them during the evening. But it still somehow managed to leave him speechless.

Evelyn Davis had just let him into her heart.

As he shut the door, he grinned like an idiot, then walked around the front of the car and got in. She locked eyes with him again and he forgot to breathe. Swallowing hard, he turned the key and the engine rumbled to life. He checked over his shoulder, then pulled into the light traffic on Pike Place.

He grabbed her hand. “You know, all I want to do right now is take you to my place.”

Color stained her cheeks and a surprised, nervous laugh bubbled out of her. After a brief pause, she smiled at him. “And all I want to do right now is say ye—”

His police scanner squawked, interrupting her. “Shots fired. We have a possible oh-ten at 5345 Southwest Admiral Way. All available units respond immediately.”

The color drained from her face. She pulled her hand from his and lunged for the purse sitting at her feet. She frantically rifled through it until she pulled out her phone. “No, no, no.”

Marcus yanked the wheel hard, slammed on the brakes and threw the car into Park. “What? What is it?”

Her fingers shook as she hit the number one on her speed dial, then pressed the phone to her ear for a moment. She hung up, then hit redial. “Come on...come on...don’t give me voice mail. Pick up!”

“Evelyn. Talk to me. Now.”

“It’s going directly to voice mail.” She stared straight ahead. “That’s Ryan’s address.”

Marcus’s eyebrows knit together. Before she could utter another word, he threw the car into Drive and, tires squealing, pulled a U-turn in the middle of Pike Place.

“He’s not picking up.” Terror was etched in her face. Her eyes turned turquoise as tears threatened to overflow.

He flipped on his siren and lights. The siren screamed as he gunned it.

“Call again.”

She grabbed the dash as he weaved, dodging traffic. She hit the next number on her speed dial and clutched the phone.

“Kate isn’t picking up, either,” she whispered.

Marcus heard the panic in Evelyn’s voice. It sent cold fear down his spine.
Please, God, let them be okay
.

“Call again.”

She punched at the phone and hugged it between her ear and shoulder, then pointed at the looming green street sign. “Take Western to Lenora, then hang a left. Get onto Alaskan Way. Go, go, go!”

With surgeonlike precision, Marcus maneuvered his car through the throng of traffic toward Western. Dread snaked its way around his heart and squeezed.

“Without traffic, it’ll take at least ten minutes to get there.”

“Yeah, if you’re driving like a fucking civilian,” Marcus said, pressing the accelerator farther to the floor.

“Get onto West Seattle Bridge.”

The car flew over the wet concrete. The streetlights flashed by in a blur. The minutes crawled, each second more agonizing than the last. His mind tumbled over itself, endless possibilities emerging for him to filter through. None of them good.

“Take Admiral. Follow it around,” she shouted.

The force of gravity pushed them into their seats as his car hugged the curve, topping ninety.

“Oh, God, please don’t let us be too late. Please...” She whimpered against the back of her hand pressed firmly to her mouth.

His heart pounded. He wanted to take it all away: the fear, the panic, the pain. If he could, he’d absorb it all into himself.

Marcus pressed the pedal harder and the speedometer flashed past ninety-five. He should slow down. The road was hazardous enough without adding the slickness of the falling rain, but he ignored the warning bells clanging loudly in his head and inched the car toward one hundred. Instead of speaking to Evelyn, he focused on driving, on getting them to Ryan’s house.

Besides, what was he supposed to say? That everything was going to be okay? That maybe it was a mistake? How could he say any of those things when none of them were true? His gut twisted as he thought about Ryan, Kate and the kids.

What the hell would he and Evelyn find waiting for them?

Up ahead was the flashing light of a cop car. He took his foot off the accelerator, letting the vehicle slow itself down. “Evelyn. Let me go in—”

Evelyn whimpered again and angrily dabbed at her eyes before glaring at him.

“No way. I’m going in. We don’t know anything yet.” She unbuckled her seat belt and stared straight ahead as they approached. One hand rested on the door handle, the other tightened into a fist in her lap.

He pulled up to the house, stomped on the brakes. “Evelyn, wait for me.”

But before the car settled to a stop, she’d grabbed a set of latex gloves from her bag, thrown herself out of the car and raced toward the open front door. Marcus slammed his hand against the steering wheel. Nothing good could come out of this.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

E
VELYN
IGNORED
M
ARCUS
and ran to see Ryan and his family. She shoved down the emotions that threatened to engulf her. The panic. The fear. Now was not the time or place to lose her edge—she owed it to them to do things right. She’d seen her share of crime scenes, but this would be different. She took a deep breath and quickened her stride, slipping on the latex gloves as she went. She took the stairs to the front door two at a time and flashed her badge to the uniform standing guard, then muscled herself through the door.

There was blood everywhere.

Deep crimson pools stained the off-white carpet in the dining room. It splattered the hallway walls, and bloody handprints
smeared the staircase railing leading upstairs. The stairs no longer looked white. Large stains marred them in an odd pattern, as if someone had thrown a basketball coated in red paint down them.

* * *

D
EATH
HIT
HER
like a wrecking ball. Skidding to a halt, she covered her mouth to keep the cry from escaping her throat.
My God, what happened?
She stood horrified, her eyes sweeping the scene.

She glanced to the left, to the right, but her feet refused to move. She didn’t know where to go first.

She moved to go upstairs, then she saw him.

Ryan.

He was slouched against the wall at the far end of the hallway. He wasn’t moving.

“Oh, God, please, no.” Without hesitation, she ran to him. She stared down at him, her stomach heaving. He was barely recognizable, his body riddled with bullet holes. His head was down, chin resting on his right shoulder, and his arms drooped limply at his sides. His left eye was swollen shut. An angry gash split open his bottom lip. A large red stain covered the lower part of his shirt.

Despite what she saw, she crouched down and put her fingers against the side of his throat.

Nothing. There was nothing. No pulse. No hope that he could be saved.

Ryan was gone.

She hung her head, pushing against the advancing pain and the sorrow threatening to consume her.
God, please, not again.
She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. Blackness swarmed the edges of her vision, eager to pull her to its waiting black pit. She dropped to her knees, cradled her head in her hands and focused on breathing. In. Out. In. Out. She couldn’t pass out now. With each measured breath, Evelyn shoved back the advancing darkness until it was a mere shadow at the edge of her consciousness.

Marcus came up beside her and dropped to his knees. He caught her in his steady gaze, his eyes soft, searching. She couldn’t deal with his warmth. If she gave in to it now, she’d never recover. Evelyn shook her head. He nodded and looked past her to the kitchen, his face hardening.

She didn’t need to go to the kitchen to know what she’d find. One of Kate’s feet, now bloodied, stuck out from the kitchen door frame, her perfectly manicured toes marred with dark stains. Evelyn bent over Ryan, her body slumped.
I can’t do this, not again
.

She looked down at her gloved hands. They were covered in blood. Ryan’s blood. Her heart stuttered. She shouldn’t have touched him. A visual exam would have confirmed what she’d already known.

Ryan was dead.

“I just need a moment,” she whispered, reaching for Marcus’s hand.

“You got it.”

And that’s all she took: a moment. A moment to collect herself, set aside the pain, banish the fear, bridle the grief.

She knew from experience that it would all be there when this was over. But for now, she pushed it aside, locked it away.

A commotion to her right pulled at her. She opened her eyes. Officers rushed into the house and slammed to a halt. Silence engulfed the house. Evelyn rose and glanced around. She cleared her throat. All eyes were on her.

She took a deep breath. “Listen up, everyone. This isn’t just any crime scene with unknown victims. This is Ryan, his family. My partner. They’re our own. Family. Right now, I need the best from you.” Evelyn looked from face to face, locking eyes with each of the officers in front of her. “If you can’t be here, and I mean all in, I understand. This is hard for everyone. But if you can’t, please leave now. No one will think less of—”

She hadn’t even finished before the newest member of the force shook his head, mumbled a sorrowful apology and walked out. Watching him go stung, but she understood. She nodded, then turned to the rest of the cops. “Anyone else? It’s okay.”

No one budged.

“All right, then.” She pointed to the officers closest to her. “You two, upstairs. Phelan, take three guys and canvas the area. This bastard could’ve stuck around to see the show. But this isn’t a show. This is
our
family. And we
will
find the guy who did this.”

Marcus handed her a new set of latex gloves. She yanked off the set covered in Ryan’s blood, pulled on the fresh ones and moved toward the kitchen, bracing herself for what they might find.

Ava lay half in Kate’s arms. A single bullet hole was in her young forehead. Blood soaked the floor beneath them. Relief washed over Evelyn. Ava hadn’t suffered.
Thank you, God. That little girl hadn’t suffered.

Then Evelyn’s heart slammed to a halt. The blood in her veins turned to ice. “Stop. Everyone stop moving, now! Where’s Liam?”

“What?” one officer asked.

“Liam. Ryan’s little boy. He’s not here. He’s not in the kitchen.”

The officer shrugged. “Jones did the upstairs walk-through.”

“Find Jones. Bring him to me. Now!”

Frantic now, panic flooded her like a tidal wave. Was he hiding? Was he hurt? Waves of grief and fury surged through her, rolling over her with each heartbeat. Blood pounded in her ears, its roar deafening.

Jones rushed up. “Detective, we checked the upstairs level. No one was there. Both children’s beds were empty.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know. Lemme check with Phelan. Maybe they found him outside.”

“Go. Check in with him. I want an immediate report.”

Marcus came up next to her.

“Marcus, you don’t think that bastard took—”

“No, Evelyn. Stop. Don’t go there. We’ll find him.”

She took a deep breath. Steadied the wild dark thoughts swirling in her mind. Marcus was right. She couldn’t go there. Wouldn’t go there.

Evelyn turned back to Kate, the closet thing she’d had to a sister. Her stomach rolled, threatening to empty its contents.

She rubbed her temples. “Get someone from the D.A.’s office on the phone.”

“That might take a while. It’s late. Will anyone be there?” Officer Massey asked.

“I don’t care that it’s late. Get someone on the phone now. If you have to drag the D.A. himself out of bed, do it.”

Bile rose into her throat as she knelt beside her friend. Evelyn knew the killer had come after Ryan’s family to show that he was more powerful and in charge. She knew it.

Careful not to contaminate anything, Evelyn inspected Kate. There were multiple stab wounds to her back. Cuts and bruises covered her forearms and hands. Evelyn managed a tight smile. “Damn, girl, you put up a fight, didn’t you? Good for you, giving him hell.”

She wouldn’t have expected anything less from her feisty Irish friend. But her smile vanished as she reached for one of Kate’s hands. Averting her eyes from the deep, angry, crimson gashes along her friend’s back, Evelyn focused on Kate’s fingertips. “Now, tell me, sweets, did you tear into him?”

What a nightmare.

“I need forensics in here,” she called down the hall as she stood.

A young officer scurried into the kitchen.

“Can you check her now?” Evelyn asked, pointing to Kate.

He nodded and knelt. She watched him study Kate’s fingertips with one goal: to find human skin, hair, blood, something, anything, under her nails. But deep cuts tore at the soft flesh of each fingertip.

He looked up and shook his head. “There’s nothing here but bloody pulps, Detective. It looks like whoever did this took a knife and removed any evidence.”

Evelyn’s blood boiled. The killer was smart. She straightened up. But she was smarter.

“Anything yet, Massey?” she asked the officer, who was on his cell.

He looked over his shoulder and shook his head, clearly irritated.

Another officer appeared beside her. “Umm, Detective Davis?”

“Yes, Stevenson, what is it?”

Her eyes darted past him, back to Massey huddled in the corner, phone lodged between his shoulder and ear. Tearing her eyes back to the officer next to her, she waited for him to answer her.

“I think you need to see this.”

“See what, Stevenson? Spit it out,” she snapped. She said it more sharply than she’d intended to, but her nerves were raw, her filter gone.

Cheeks flushed, he held out an evidence bag.

She snatched it from his extended hand and read the crudely scrawled note inside.

Don’t underestimate me, Evelyn. This one’s on you.

She spun around and vomited into the kitchen sink.

The room spun. She gripped the sink’s edge to keep from sliding to the floor with the note clenched in her hand. The scrawled words tore at her, ripped through the softest parts of her, each word an angry, painful thrust.

This hellish nightmare couldn’t be her fault. Could it? Could the horrible, violent deaths of the people she loved—of the only people she called family—be her fault?
Please, please don’t let it be true.
Her stomach heaved again as the darkness advanced, and her knees buckled beneath her. She tightened her hold on the cool black granite countertop.

A soft pressure on the small of her back brought her back to the present. She lifted her head and was captured by Marcus’s strong, concerned face.

“What is it?” he asked.

Evelyn held his gaze, drank in its unwavering strength. She never wanted to let go of him, never wanted to be away from that strength. The thought warmed and terrified her all at once. She forced herself to glance away. She had a job to do.

Hand shaking, she gave him the evidence bag and turned to the young officer, managing a small comforting smile. “Thank you, Stevenson. Can you show me where you found that note?”

He nodded and motioned toward the hall.

Marcus read the note. “Son of a bitch.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Kessler hollered, storming in. “Moretti, get her out of here. Now!”

“What? No! Captain, I need to be here. He’s my partner. Those kids and his wife, they were the closest thing I had to a family.”

Kessler shook his head. “That’s exactly why you
can’t
be here.”

“Sir, you need to see this.” Marcus handed the evidence bag to him.

Kessler scanned the contents. His face blanched. He looked at Evelyn.

Tilting her chin, she stared back at the captain.
Don’t send me away, please.

“She needs to be in protective custody,” Marcus said.

“No. Absolutely not.” Evelyn crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m fine.”

“I agree,” Kessler said to Marcus as if he hadn’t heard her. “I’ll speak with the chief to set it up. Starting immediately.”

“That’s not necessary. She can stay with me. No one knows where I live. It’s a sublet.”

Chief Diaz stormed into the house and slammed to a halt. He glanced between Kessler and Evelyn, his face darkening. “What’s she doing here? Kessler, I told you to keep her out of here.”

Marcus stepped in. “I’m taking her to my place now, sir. For all practical purposes, it’s as good as any safe house we can get.”

The color in the Diaz’s face drained. “Safe house? Kessler. Davis.
What
is going on?”

Kessler wordlessly handed the evidence bag to Diaz. He scanned the note. A string of colorful, deadly words flew out of his mouth. Eyes hard, he looked at Evelyn.

“I’m fine, really,” she said.

“Evelyn, no one here is questioning your ability,” Diaz said. “But you’re going with Agent Moretti.”

“Sir, that’s not necessary. I said I’m fine.”

Who was she kidding?
She wasn’t fine. But she needed to be here.

“This isn’t a suggestion, Detective Davis. This is an order,” Diaz said in an authoritative voice. She couldn’t remember him ever using that tone with her before. That alone snapped her back to reality. The painful, soul-shattering reality that more people she loved had been ripped from her life. Tears flooded her eyes. She bit her lip to keep them at bay, then squared her shoulders.

“You’ll stay at Agent Moretti’s house until further notice. You won’t leave his property until I’ve given the order. From this moment forward, I want you to all but disappear until we know more of what we’re dealing with. You’re my responsibility, and I won’t have you putting yourself in harm’s way. Do I make myself clear, Detective?”

Her jaw dropped. Had he just put her on house arrest? She suddenly felt very tired. As in, she might just slump onto the tile floor in front of all her colleagues, curl up and drift off into a deep, dark, endless sleep.

Before she could respond, Diaz turned and stepped close to Marcus’s face. “As for you...I’m holding you fully responsible for the well-being of my officer. Anything happens to her, and I mean anything—a hangnail, a stubbed toe, anything—and you’ll be answering directly to me. Believe me, you don’t want to go there. Do you understand, Special Agent Moretti?”

Despite her current hell, a small smile crept onto Evelyn’s face at the chief’s fierce protection of her. Up until recently, he and Ryan were the only ones who knew her whole story, yet they never treated her differently, never coddled her. Her heart constricted as she thought about Ryan, and how much she already missed him.

“Chief.” Her voice sounded strange, quiet, meek.

All three men turned to her, eyes filled with unspoken grief.

“I’ll go with Moretti, but I need to be part of the team that finds this guy. And I need to find Liam. Please.” She held her breath as the chief struggled with her request.

She was too close to the case, too emotionally involved. Emotions got people killed. But, hopefully, the chief wouldn’t deny her request, her need to be in the thick of things, her need to put this asshole away for good. Would he? How could Diaz, Kessler or Marcus argue with such a request? Chief Diaz sighed, then rubbed his hand over his face.