Chapter Fifteen
The front door was pulled open as Ash stepped onto the porch. He conjured up his most charming smile as he studied Remi’s face in the light that spilled from the house.
“I’m home.”
“Hmm.”
She turned to walk back into the living room, and Ash took a selfish second to appreciate the fine shape of her backside, which was shown to advantage in her soft jeans. Then, giving a shake of his head, he was hurriedly stepping inside and closing the door. It was freezing outside. Plus, he knew Remi well enough to sense she was pissed.
“I recognize that ‘hmm,’” he said. “You’re mad.”
Coming to a halt in the center of the living room, she turned to face him. “You don’t have to sneak away while I’m in the shower. If you have to go somewhere without me, you can just walk out the door.”
He winced at her frosty tone. “Ouch.”
She shrugged. “I just mean that you’re free to come and go as you want.”
“Stop.” Ash stepped forward, cupping her face in his hands. He felt a genuine remorse for his childish flight that morning. “I’m sorry. I left without telling you where I was going because I didn’t want to worry you. I won’t do it again.” Lowering his head, he brushed an impulsive kiss over her lips. “I promise.”
Remi blushed, but she thankfully didn’t pull away from his touch. “Why would I be worried?”
“Because I went to your mother’s estate to check out the Mustang,” he confessed.
He felt her stiffen. “You said it was a coincidence.”
“I had to know for sure.”
“And?”
Ash grimaced. “I have more questions than answers.”
Her expression tightened with frustration. And something else. Was it fear?
“I don’t understand,” she rasped. “Was it my father’s car that nearly ran over Roo or not?”
“It’s really impossible to say yes or no,” he told her. “There was nothing to show that it had been out of the garage since Albert had last driven it.”
She blinked in confusion. “Albert was driving it?”
“He takes out all the cars to keep the batteries charged and check for any problems.”
“Oh.” She wrinkled her nose, her tone rueful. “Sometimes I forget how spoiled I was when I lived with my parents. I just got in my car and assumed it would be ready to go. I never even filled up the gas tank until I moved out.”
His fingers brushed over her cheeks, fascinated by the soft satin of her skin. He didn’t want to talk. Especially not about the Butcher. He just wanted to savor the feel of her beneath his hands.
“I didn’t realize food didn’t magically appear on my plate at dinnertime until I got my own place,” he assured her. “Kids are supposed to be spoiled.”
She trembled at the heat that sparked between them. “Speaking of food,” she hastily tried to distract him, “your mother stopped by this morning.”
“Ah. That explains why you taste like cinnamon.” His gaze lowered to the lush temptation of her lips. He desperately wanted to kiss her again, but he sensed she was too edgy. One wrong move and she’d be pushing him away. “What did she want?”
Remi shook her head. “Not until you tell me what you found out.”
Ash wanted to assure her that he’d found nothing. Why worry her? Then he had a memory of her face when she’d opened the door tonight. If he kept shutting her out, how could he expect her to lower the barriers that kept him at a distance?
“Like I said, it was impossible to know if it’d been driven or not,” he said.
“But?” she pressed.
“But I discovered there could be a dozen former employees who had keys made to the car.”
She furrowed her brow at his accusation. “Why would anyone want to use my father’s Mustang?”
It was a question that had plagued him for the entire day. He’d shuffled through dozens of various explanations. None of them had truly satisfied him. But one did stand out as the most likely.
“It’s distinctive,” he reminded Remi.
“Exactly,” she said.
“What better way to draw attention from yourself than to drive a vehicle that could easily be traced to your father?”
A hint of frustration rippled over her face. “Why draw attention to himself at all? He could have slipped in and out of the park unnoticed.”
Ash twisted his lips in a humorless smile. “I have a wacky theory.”
“Tell me.”
Ash had to force out the words. “The Butcher isn’t satisfied with killing anymore,” he said. “He needs to punish you.”
Her eyes widened. “Me?” she breathed in shock. “For what?”
Ash swallowed as he watched her face pale. This was precisely what he’d wanted to avoid. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to continue. “Surviving.”
She took a second, as if she was struggling to clear a lump from her throat.
“So why hasn’t he tried to kill me?”
Ash didn’t have an easy answer to her legitimate question.
“It’s possible that right now he’s enjoying the hunt, and it has the added pleasure of tormenting you,” he suggested.
“By killing other women?”
“By ensuring the women look exactly like you. And then using your father’s Mustang and deliberately trying to run down a pedestrian so it would be sure to be noticed,” he said. He couldn’t come up with any reason to use that particular vehicle and then commit a hit-and-run except to draw attention to themselves. “The killer didn’t realize Roo wasn’t about to call the cops and report the car that nearly hit him.”
Horror darkened her eyes. “If you’re right, that would mean the Butcher is someone who worked for my parents.”
Ash gave a slow nod of his head. “Or someone who visited the house and happened to wander into the kitchen. Albert said that your father would leave his keys in a bowl on the counter.”
“God.” She stepped away from his clinging touch, biting her lower lip. “Have you told Jax?”
“Not yet.” In an effort to keep himself from reaching out to pull her close, Ash slid off his coat and tossed it on a nearby chair. “It’s still just a theory, and he has enough real leads to concentrate on. I did my own investigating.”
“Did you find anything?”
Ash rubbed his hands over his chilled face. It’d been a long day, and without the assistance of the police department database, he’d been forced to track down the past employees with his feet, not a computer.
“I discovered that three of the former employees have left town and two have been in the Cook County jail for the past year.”
She arched her brows. “Jail?”
“Drugs.”
“Oh.” She didn’t look particularly surprised. Obviously, the old saying was true: It was hard to find good help. “Did you track down anyone you could talk to?”
“Roy Parker.”
“The name is vaguely familiar,” she murmured.
“He worked cleaning the pool and mowing the grass around six years ago.”
She heaved a small sigh. “There were so many.”
“No crap.”
She ignored his muttered words. She was used to having a full staff that remained mere shadows in the background. In his house, they never hired out duties. It was his father’s opinion that God gave you children to take care of chores.
“What did he say?” she demanded.
Ash hid his urge to shudder. Roy Parker had reminded him of the perps he used to arrest when he still carried a badge. Whiny. Cunning. And always trying to turn a situation to his own advantage.
“He remembered that the keys to the garage and the cars were always available.”
She hunched her shoulders, a wistful expression on her face. Was she recalling the innocent days when they’d never worried about evil touching their lives?
“We never thought about it. I tossed my own keys in the bowl.”
Ash pressed on, hating the knowledge he was causing Remi pain. “He also recalled that there were at least three other part-time workers who came and left in the six months he worked for your parents.”
“Did my mother fire them?” she demanded.
He shrugged. “I don’t know about the part-time workers, but Roy admitted it was your father who told him to leave and not come back.”
She jerked, clearly caught off guard. “Dad?”
“Roy claimed he was caught sneaking an extra cigarette break in the pool house, but I can’t imagine that’s the full story,” he said.
Surprisingly, Remi gave a firm shake of her head. “That could have been enough to get him fired.”
“A smoke break?” Ash studied her in confusion. “That seems a little harsh.”
“Not the smoke break, being in the pool house,” she clarified. “There’s an old story that my grandfather used to take anyone who double-crossed him there to be punished.”
“Punished?” Ash lifted his brows. He’d heard lots of stories about the Harding family. He’d assumed most of them were exaggerations. “A stern chiding?”
She looked almost embarrassed. “A little more old school, I’m afraid,” she admitted, obviously not wanting to admit that the pool house had been the site of extreme violence. “Once my grandfather died and my mother inherited the estate, my father had the doors locked to keep out trespassers who thought they would see a ghost, or worse, take a picture of the place and sell it on eBay. As far as I know, it hasn’t been used for thirty years.”
“The dangers of a colorful past,” he teased lightly.
She offered a rueful smile. “‘Colorful’ is one word for it.”
Sensing her unease at discussing the family business they’d hoped to bury in the past, Ash was quick to change the subject. “That’s all the man could tell me,” he said. “I’ll try to track down the other employees tomorrow.”
She gave a small nod, a visible shiver racing through her. “It gives me the creeps to think the Butcher might have been strolling around my house.”
“It’s more likely I’m chasing shadows,” he reminded her, reaching into his pocket to pull out the soft object he’d stuffed in there earlier. Now that Remi was already upset, he might as well finish with the last of what he’d discovered. “I did find this,” he said, holding it out.
Gingerly, she reached out to grab the object, smoothing the soft leather with her fingers. Then she gave a tiny gasp, her gaze lifting to reveal her pained recognition. “That’s my father’s glove.”
“I found it under the Mustang,” he said. “Albert swore it shouldn’t have been in the garage.”
“So how did it get there?” She glanced down at the glove in her hand. “And where’s the other one?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
She slowly lifted the glove to her face, rubbing the soft leather against her cheek as a heartbreaking tear slid down her face.
“Can’t the bastard let my father rest in peace?”
Unable to bear the sight of her raw grief, Ash gently tugged the glove from her hand and placed it on the low coffee table. Then he turned back to gather her in his arms.
“Tell me why my mother was here,” he urged, hoping to give her the opportunity to regain control over her emotions. She’d always hated people seeing her cry.
“She asked about the night I was attacked,” she said in a hoarse voice. “And she wanted to know why I broke off our engagement.”
“Christ,” Ash breathed. Talk about leaping from the frying pan into the fire. “I’m sorry, Remi. I love my mother, but she can’t help sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.”
A shaky smile curved her lips, her face still tragically pale. “I think she’s worried I might hurt you again.”
He mentally cursed his meddlesome mother. He adored her, but she was way too fond of interfering in matters that were his own business.
“I’ll say something to her,” he promised.
“No. She’s your mother,” Remi protested. “It’s her job to be worried about you.”
“I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time,” he reminded her.
There was a short silence before Remi asked a question that sounded as if it’d been on her mind.
“Does your family blame me for your decision to leave the force and move away from Chicago?”
Ash lowered one arm and wrapped the other around Remi’s shoulders. This sounded like a conversation that might take a while. They might as well be comfortable. “Let’s go into the kitchen,” he said, urging her forward. “I want a piece of that coffee cake before it disappears.”
She managed a wry smile. “You know me too well.”
He bent his head to brush his lips over the top of her head. “I intend to know you better.”
He heard her breath catch at his low words, but she firmly pulled away as they entered the kitchen. “Did you eat dinner?” she asked, clearly hoping for some task to keep herself busy.
Ash swallowed a sigh. Patience.
“Unfortunately,” he admitted. “The price of getting information out of Roy was taking him out for a burger and a beer. I think he ate half a cow and slurped down a pony keg before I could leave.”
“A hefty price,” she agreed, hovering near the doorway.
Sensing she might decide to bolt to the seclusion of her bedroom, or even take off to spend the evening with one of her friends, Ash took drastic action.
He knew one certain way to keep her in the kitchen. Grabbing two plates and a knife, he moved to the counter to cut a couple of large slices of his mother’s coffee cake.
Placing one on each plate, he settled on the high barstool and pointed toward the second plate. “Here.”
She placed her hand on her stomach, but she couldn’t disguise her desire for the gooey sweetness. “No. I already ate three slices.”
“Come on,” he urged. “You know you want it.”
She blew out a heavy sigh, moving to settle on the stool next to him.
“Fine, but if I can’t fit into my jeans tomorrow, it’s entirely your fault,” she warned, taking a large bite.
“I’ll take full responsibility,” he assured her, pressing a lingering kiss on her lips. “Mmm. Cinnamon,” he whispered.