Chapter Seven
With a shake of her head, Remi unlocked the front door and braced herself as Buddy launched himself toward her. With a laugh, she forgot her list of worries, which was growing longer by the hour, and bent down to give her dog a full-body rub. It was only when Buddy rolled onto his back for her to scratch his belly that she noticed the torn piece of paper that was lying on the linoleum floor of the entryway.
Fear curled through the pit of her stomach even as Remi told herself that Ash had probably dropped it earlier. They’d been shuffling through the boxes of files. There were dozens of notes that had been written on cocktail napkins, tissues, and other scraps of paper. It would have been easy enough for one to have gone astray.
Reaching out with a shaking hand, she grabbed the paper and turned it over.
I need to see you
That was it. It wasn’t signed. No indication of who might have written it. Just a few words scribbled on a piece of lined notebook paper.
Remi straightened. Had it come from the files or had someone shoved it under the door? Impossible to know for certain. With a grimace, she tossed the paper on a table next to the front door. She’d show it to Ash when he returned. For now, she had to get Buddy some exercise before jumping in her car and heading across town.
Unnerved enough to keep her pepper spray in one hand, she braved the cold to walk Buddy to the nearby dog park. He was well-behaved, but if he didn’t have an opportunity to run and play, he would find some other way to release his energy. Usually by eating something she didn’t want eaten. A shoe. A pillow. The corner of her couch.
Once his tongue was hanging out and he flopped at her feet, Remi took him back to the house and climbed into her car. The drive to the north side of town took nearly half an hour, and Remi’s nerves were stretched tight by the time she drove through the wrought-iron gates and up the long, tree-lined driveway.
She parked in front of the white, colonial home that had tall windows framed by black shutters and a portico. It was large enough to easily house a dozen people and was surrounded by manicured grounds that included a pool and a pool house, a tennis court, and a six-car garage.
The estate had been built by her mother’s grandfather, or maybe it was her great-grandfather, and she’d inherited it after their deaths when Remi was just a child. Her father had hated the place, but he’d been willing to live there to please his wife.
Remi swallowed a sigh. They all did things to please Liza.
Crawling out of her car, she hurried up the stairs to the porch and pressed the bell. The minutes ticked past as she shivered in the frigid air. At last the door was pulled open to reveal her mother.
Liza Harding-Walsh was a short, curvaceous woman dressed in an expensive, ivory pantsuit and shoes that had four-inch heels. Her black hair was as sleek as satin and pulled from her round face. She had pretty features, but her eyes were her most stunning asset. They were a deep emerald green and thickly lashed. Remi’s father claimed he’d been a goner the first time he’d seen those eyes.
Liza allowed that stunning gaze to run over her daughter’s disheveled appearance, her lips curving into a meaningless smile. As if she was looking at Remi, but not really seeing her.
Just once, Remi wished her mother would be mad, or disappointed, or . . . anything.
“Hello, Mother,” Remi said, swallowing a resigned sigh.
“Hello, Remi,” the older woman politely murmured, stepping back so Remi could enter the house. “I thought you might have forgotten the time.”
Remi entered the foyer. It was almost as large as her house, with a marble floor and a vaulted ceiling. On one side, a curved staircase led to the upper floor with a bannister that had once graced an English manor house. Straight ahead was an arched opening that led to the living room. Remi hadn’t been in there since the night her father had been murdered. She didn’t know if it would be worse to see it and realize that everything had been changed or to have it be exactly the same.
Maybe if Remi could remember what happened that dreadful night it would give her and her mother a sense of closure. Instead, they both tried to pretend they were moving on with their lives.
With an effort, she thrust away her dark thoughts.
“Sorry,” Remi automatically apologized. It was something she did a lot when she was in her childhood home. “I had an appointment this morning.”
Liza nodded, watching Remi as she shrugged out of her coat and hooked it on a coatrack in the corner. In silence, they entered the second arched opening that led to the dining room. In the center of the room was a long, glossy table with a dozen matching chairs. The walls were paneled and decorated with a collection of charcoal etchings that depicted Chicago from the mid-eighteen-hundreds to the nineteen-fifties. They’d been commissioned by her great-grandfather. Remi had heard a friend of her mother’s say that they were worth a fortune, but Remi didn’t care about their value. She just liked them. Overhead was a large chandelier that had been brought over from Italy by some distant ancestor, and beneath her feet was a Persian rug that had been a gift from a diplomat from one of the Middle Eastern countries.
Her mother moved directly to a heavy sideboard that had a full bar setup. She poured herself a glass of her favorite wine. “I hope your appointment wasn’t at that center,” Liza said. “That neighborhood isn’t safe.”
It was a familiar argument. Her mother wanted Remi to get a job at a nice private school. Understandable. The youth center was in a dangerous neighborhood.
“No, I wasn’t at the center,” Remi assured her.
Liza sipped her wine, waving a hand toward the bottles on the sideboard. “Do you want a drink?”
Remi shook her head. “No, thank you.”
“Then I suppose we might as well get started.” Liza moved to take her seat at the head of the table.
Remi followed to take her place on her mother’s right, unfolding the linen napkin and laying it across her lap as her mother rang a small bell. Instantly, a middle-aged woman appeared with lunch on a silver tray.
Remi felt a pang of guilt as she caught sight of the beef stroganoff and homemade bread on the delicate china plate. Her mother knew it was her favorite. Sometimes, Remi was so busy looking for her mother’s disappointment in her that she forgot to see the tiny acts of love.
“How was your gala?” Remi asked between bites of savory noodles and the melt-in-the-mouth bread.
“Successful.” Liza polished off her wine while barely tasting her lunch. “We raised over twenty-thousand dollars for the Chicago Police Memorial Fund.”
“Oh.” Another stab of guilt sliced through Remi. “I didn’t realize that was the charity you were promoting. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”
Liza shrugged. “I didn’t really expect you to attend.”
Remi ignored the unmistakable lack of interest whether she was there or not. The stress of Ash’s sudden arrival, not to mention the fear the Butcher had returned to Chicago, was making her more irritable than usual. Plus, it’d nearly made her forget that she had a delicate subject she wanted to discuss with her mother.
Taking another bite of bread, Remi wiped her mouth and considered her words. “Have you made plans for the holidays?” she asked at last.
Her mother arched a brow. “I assume you’ll be here for Christmas dinner?”
“Yes,” Remi quickly assured the older woman. “But I thought you might enjoy spending a few days with Uncle Lawrence in Palm Beach. I know he invited you.”
“How do you know?”
Remi blinked. “Excuse me?”
“How do you know Lawrence invited me to Florida.”
“He called me.”
With a smooth motion, Liza was on her feet. “So you and my brother have been talking behind my back.”
Remi watched her mother move to the sideboard to pour herself another glass of wine. Remi wasn’t entirely certain what had happened between Liza and her younger brother, Lawrence Harding, although she suspected it had something to do with their inheritance. Liza had ended up with the lion’s share of the estate, plus a trust fund that ensured she never had to worry about money. But neither of them ever discussed the frosty relationship.
In fact, Remi couldn’t remember the two of them speaking until her father had been murdered. Lawrence and his wife had traveled from Florida to Chicago to stay with Liza, clearly concerned when Liza had retreated to her bedroom, refusing to attend Gage’s funeral.
It’d taken months before Liza had shaken off her deep depression and returned to her normal routine. At the time, Remi had been grateful to her uncle for being there to offer her support, but once Liza had decided to crawl out of her bed, the older woman had insisted Lawrence and his wife leave her home.
“He’s worried,” Remi told her mother. Lawrence had called Remi last week, urging her to convince Liza to spend a few days at their beach house.
Liza frowned. “Why would he be worried?”
“He believes you’re lonely.”
Liza narrowed her gaze, clearly offended. “I’m not lonely. I have a very full life.”
“That’s what I told him,” Remi said in soothing tones. “Still, it might be nice to get away from the cold for a week or so.”
“I have too much to do.” Liza curled her lips as she took a sip of her wine. “Besides, your aunt has that obnoxious dog she treats like a child. I can’t abide being covered in fur and listening to its constant yaps.”
Remi had to agree with her mother. She loved Buddy, but her aunt’s dog was obnoxious. He’d peed on the carpet, tried to bite Remi when she’d taken him out for a walk, and barked from dusk to dawn. No one had been sad when they’d taken the tiny beast back to Florida.
“Okay.” Remi sucked in a breath and prepared herself to make the ultimate sacrifice. “If you don’t want to go to visit Uncle Lawrence, I’ll come and stay with you for the holidays.”
Liza was clearly caught off guard by Remi’s offer. But instead of being pleased, she looked . . . flustered.
“Don’t be silly.” She abruptly drained the wine before setting aside the empty glass. “You don’t have to drop everything to babysit me. I’m fine.”
Remi studied her mother. Usually, the older woman was far better at disguising the fact that she had no desire for her daughter to be underfoot.
What had her rattled? Maybe a new man in her life?
Remi didn’t know if the thought pleased or horrified her. “Okay.” Feeling strangely off-balance, Remi rose to her feet and grabbed her empty dishes. “If you change your mind—”
“What are you doing?” her mother interrupted with a frown.
Remi glanced down at the plates in her hands. “Taking these into the kitchen.”
Liza clicked her tongue. “How many times must I tell you that there’s no need? I pay my housekeeper an outrageous sum to take care of me and my guests.”
Remi resisted the urge to continue into the kitchen. Annoying her mother was all too easy and something she was trying to avoid. Wasn’t she? “Okay. Thanks for lunch,” she said, placing the plates back on the table. “I’ll call you later in the week.”
She walked out of the dining room and into the foyer. Grabbing her coat, she was just pulling it on when her mother appeared in the entrance.
“Remi, be careful,” the older woman said without warning.
Remi sent a startled glance toward her mother. Had the older woman heard about the murder? It was possible that one of her father’s old friends had contacted her. “Careful about what?” she demanded.
Liza looked uncomfortable, as if she was regretting her impulsive words. “Just be careful,” she muttered.
“I will.”
Stepping forward, Remi brushed her lips over her mother’s cheek and turned to leave the house.
She would never understand Liza Harding-Walsh, she decided.
* * *
As expected, Ash found his brother in his small cubicle. Jax was like all Marcel men: an incurable workaholic.
He quickly shared what he’d learned in Bailey, watching his brother take notes as he spoke. Once he was done, he expected a few questions about his impressions of Angel’s friends.
Instead, Jax leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. “Do you remember O’Reilly?” Jax asked.
“O’Reilly?” Ash leaned against the edge of his brother’s desk and dredged through his memories. At last, he recalled the weasel of an officer who was always lurking around trying to cause trouble. “Yeah, I remember him. He was an asshole. And a terrible detective. Gage had to turn him in to the Internal Affairs unit.”
“For what?”
“Gage claimed he took drugs off a perp and they never showed up in the evidence room.”
A disgusted expression settled on Jax’s face. There was nothing worse than a dirty cop. “Did he get in trouble?”
“No. Gage didn’t know if the crime was too petty to warrant an investigation or if someone up the food chain squelched his complaint. I know he was pissed as hell when nothing happened.”
Jax studied him with a steady gaze. “Do you think he was trying to interfere in your investigation of the Butcher?”
Ash jerked in surprise at the unexpected question. “Why do you ask?”
Jax revealed his encounter with the detective, as well as his vague warning not to stir up the past.
Ash scowled, mentally reviewing his handful of encounters with O’Reilly. The man was a year or two older than Ash and had clearly been bitter about Gage dumping him for another partner. And once Ash had suspected that O’Reilly had been snooping through the evidence they’d collected on the Butcher. That was when Gage had suggested they start keeping their own notes that weren’t included in the official files.
After Gage’s death, he’d forgotten about his partner’s suspicions. Now he realized he needed to do more than skim through the files he’d just taken out of storage.
“Do you think he’s just jealous, or is he somehow involved in the murders?” he bluntly demanded.
Jax grimaced. “Hard to say. It’s possible he’s just being a dick, but I’m going to keep my eye on him,” he said, his voice hard.
Ash nodded. He knew without a doubt that O’Reilly wouldn’t be able to so much as fart without Jax knowing about it. “Have you started searching for the plastic surgeon?”
Jax shook his head. “I’ll do that on Monday. Most of the clinics are closed on the weekends.”
Ash squashed his flare of frustration. He better than anyone knew that detective work wasn’t like on the TV shows. It was slow, and methodical, and, a lot of the time, boring as hell.
Still, he couldn’t resist hoping for some break in the case.
“Anything new?” he demanded.
“Not really.” Jax reached up to rub his nape. “I have the patrols scouring the park for anyone who might have been there on the morning Angel was killed. They’re also pulling any surveillance footage in the area. We might get lucky.”
“Did she have a phone with her?”
“Still looking for it,” Jax admitted.
Ash tried to imagine a young woman without her phone in her hand. It was impossible. Still, if it was missing, it didn’t necessarily mean the killer had it. People could be stone cold and it wasn’t unusual for a passerby to steal the phone or wallet off a corpse.
“Have you checked out her social media?” he asked, holding up his hands in apology when he caught sight of the irritation flaring through his brother’s eyes. “Okay, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your job.”
Jax released a short laugh. “That would be a first.”
Ash grimaced. In hindsight, it was easy to see that he’d come into the department with an arrogance that must have pissed off a lot of people. Including his brother.
He’d been a young hotshot who assumed he knew it all. Age had, thankfully, tempered his ego. “Only because I’m always right, bro.”
Jax flipped him off and they both laughed. There’d been occasions when it’d been a pain to work in the same unit, but most of the time they’d cherished the opportunity to share what they both loved.
Ash’s smile slowly faded. “While you’re in such a good mood, I need a favor.”
Jax unfolded his arms and leaned forward in his chair. “What now?”
“I want you to run a background check on a Doug Gates.”
Jax grabbed a pen and jotted down the name. “Is he connected to my vic?”
“No, he’s Remi’s next-door neighbor.”
Jax jerked up his head, his expression hard with disapproval. “Ash . . .”
“I genuinely think he’s sketchy,” Ash insisted. “He moved in six months ago, he lives alone, and this morning, I caught him peering into her window.”
Jax stared at him for another minute, no doubt trying to decide whether Ash was being a crazed ex-boyfriend or a vigilant detective. “Fine,” he at last conceded. “I’ll check him out.”
A portion of Ash’s tension eased. He’d already decided he was going to discover everything possible about Doug Gates. Having Jax use the resources of the Chicago Police Department was going to make it a lot easier.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked his brother.
“Yeah.” Jax sent him a grim smile. “Go see Mom.”
Ash swallowed a sigh. He’d bet good money his mother had already discovered he was in town and had called Jax to complain he hadn’t come by yet. Of all the Marcels, his mother was the best detective.
When Ash was still in high school, the older woman could not only find his pack of cigarettes no matter where he’d hidden them in his room, she had a sixth sense that warned her when he was lying. Plus, she could walk out the door of her house and track down any one of her children, no matter where they were.
It was uncanny.
“Are you coming with me?” he asked.
Jax waved his hand toward his desk, which was hidden beneath piles of folders. “I have a dozen case files I need to look through,” he told Ash.
“Unsolved murders?”
“Yep. These are going to take me all weekend.”
Ash felt a stab of guilt. Jax already had circles beneath his eyes from working late into the night. Now, he was going to be stuck in the tiny cubicle for the entire weekend.
“Thanks,” he said, his voice gruff with emotion.
Jax shrugged. “For doing my job?”
“We both know you’re going above and beyond the call of duty on this one.”
Jax held Ash’s gaze. “You’re not the only one who cares about Remi.”
Ash gave a slow nod. His family had adored Remi from the moment he’d brought her to dinner. Not only because they knew how happy she made him, but because she was smart and funny and kindhearted. A woman just like his mother.
An emotion that was soft and wistful spread through him. “I know.”
Jax rose to his feet, squeezing Ash’s shoulder before giving him a small shove out of the cubicle.
“Now go see Mom before you’re the next homicide I have to investigate.”
Ash lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m going.”
* * *
Rachel Burke moved across the barren room to stare out the window. Night had settled over the private clinic while she’d been sleeping, revealing the Chicago skyline outlined in lights. She smiled. They shimmered like a thousand diamonds.
It was weird. She’d lived in the city for twenty-four years, but she’d never bothered to admire the view. Probably because Chicago wasn’t nearly so pretty up close and personal. At least, not in her neighborhood. Her view had included a grimy street that was lined with crumbling brick apartments and windows covered by wire mesh. Most days, she felt like a rat trapped in a cage.
She grimaced, then released a small grunt of pain. Lifting her hand, she gingerly touched her face. It was nearly healed, but it was still tender.
The price of success . . .
The words whispered through the back of her mind.
That’s what the director had told her. If she wanted to achieve her dreams, she had to be prepared to make sacrifices.
The first sacrifice had been leaving her home. Something Rachel had been eager to do. She lived in a pigsty with a drunk for a father and two younger brothers who expected her to be their unpaid maid. She’d wanted out for years, but with no high school diploma or job skills, she’d known she would end up on the streets. Or worse. Her only hope had been her beauty.
She’d been told she was pretty from the day she was born, and while her father had urged her to use her looks to attract a husband who could offer her a stable home in the suburbs, Rachel had refused. She wasn’t going to be satisfied with a boring life with a man she had to depend on to provide a roof over her head. She’d seen what it’d done to her mother. The woman had once been as pretty as Rachel, but after years of poverty and enduring beatings from a husband who wasted his paycheck on booze and gambling, she’d looked closer to sixty than forty when she’d died of a sudden heart attack.
Rachel intended to trade in her looks for independence. She’d booked a few local modeling gigs, although none of them paid. And she’d done one commercial for a used auto shop. It wasn’t until she’d been contacted by a real director that it seemed her dreams might actually come true.
The second cost of success, however, hadn’t been so easy to accept.
Her fingers carefully traced the reconstructed line of her nose. The alterations had been minor, but she’d been reluctant to agree. All she had was her face. What if some quack screwed it up? It was only the thought of being forced to return to her father’s apartment that made her go through the surgery.
Thankfully, she’d discovered that once the swelling had gone down and the bruises had faded, the modifications had actually improved her appearance. Her nose was thinner and her lips fuller. Plus, something had been done to make her cheekbones more prominent.
She went from pretty to stunning. And she hadn’t had to spend a dime of her own money.
Even better, her isolation at the clinic meant that her father and brothers couldn’t be a constant drain on her time or her newly acquired cash. They didn’t know where she was, or how to contact her. A win-win situation.
Of course, she couldn’t deny that she was starting to get bored . . .
On cue, the disposable phone that was lying next to the bed started to vibrate. Rachel eagerly rushed forward to snatch it off the nightstand and pressed it to her ear. “Hello,” she said in breathless tones.
“It’s time to take the next step in your career,” a voice informed her. “Pack your bag.”
The connection was abruptly ended, but Rachel’s lips curved into a smile of anticipation.
“Hell yeah.”