A NIGHT SPENT ON A COT in a jail cell had taken its toll on the woman. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, the dark circles beneath deepened by the streaks of mascara she’d cried off throughout the night. Once-manicured nails had been bitten down, and the poise she’d walked in with had diminished to nervous and fearful restlessness.
“I thought Lauren was going to ask for money. Danny already paid her. More than enough to take care of the baby.” Trisha Atkins tugged at the sleeves of her sweater. “I just wanted Harold to go away so we could get past the mistake.” Her teary gaze landed on Ryan. “I didn’t think the oil would kill him. I only wanted to make him sick so he’d leave us alone. It was an accident.”
“Deputy Frost, as you’ve heard, my client made a mistake.” Edward Armitage straightened the silk tie that no doubt cost more than Ryan made in a month. The lawyer, in his three-piece suit, had walked into the sheriff’s station under no pretense of who he was representing. “Trisha Atkins never intended to kill Mr. Kennedy.”
Ryan scowled, not in the mood for the lawyer’s attempt to downplay Trisha Atkins’s guilt. It was determined fairly quickly that Congressman Atkins wasn’t part of his wife’s plot. “How did you know about Harold’s peanut allergy?”
“When he came by the house, I offered him some cookies. Peanut butter.” Trisha sniffled. “He told me he couldn’t have any because of his allergy.”
Ryan thought he heard her lawyer groan before raising his hand. “Mrs. Atkins never intended to kill anyone.”
Was this guy serious? “She used peanut oil to trigger an allergic reaction that did kill someone. Not only did her actions kill Harold Kennedy, but then she set fire to the Gazette, endangering the life of Vivian DeMarco.”
“I didn’t know anyone was in there,” Trisha whimpered in the chair next to her lawyer. “I thought she’d left.”
Ryan ground his molars. When the firefighters pulled Vivian out of the building, he’d never been so scared . . . until last night. Getting the call about Frankie was beginning to make him think that taking a job with the FBI would be a mistake. And his stupidity at the hospital last night made him doubt he had any future with Vivian in Atlanta.
“Why’d you start the fire?”
“I thought Harold was writing a story about Danny and the baby. When he . . . died, I thought it was over. But then when you and that reporter came to the house, I realized he must’ve had notes or something. I couldn’t let the scandal ruin us.”
“It’s our hope that my client’s candor demonstrates the sincere remorse she feels for what has happened.”
“Judge Sullivan will make that determination on Monday morning.”
“But that’s in two days.” Trisha’s voice shook. “I can’t stay in that . . . that cell for another two days. It’s disgusting.”
Ryan stood and pushed his chair in, the metal legs scraping against the floor. “That’s the intention.”
“We want to talk with Sheriff Huggins,” the big-city lawyer called out just before Ryan closed the door to the interrogation room. He’d send in Sheriff Huggins, but he didn’t think it would matter much. They’d found the Victoria Rose hoodie hanging in her closet and a gallon of peanut oil inside her kitchen pantry.
Forensics was running her prints against some found on the vehicle and outside the old bank building where the Gazette office was located. He knew there’d be a match. That coupled with her confession meant Trisha Atkins would need to get used to sleeping on a cot.
Ryan slipped his cell phone from his pocket. After he had left the hospital, he came to work, but Sheriff Huggins ordered him to go home for a few hours of sleep that didn’t come. In between the nightmares he had about Frankie, his thoughts were consumed with how royally he’d screwed up with Vivian. It had eaten at him all night, and this morning he would’ve called her had it been a decent hour . . . or had he known what to say. Why couldn’t I have just let her explain?
The hurt he’d seen in her face—that was him. He’d caused that, and he didn’t know how to even begin to make up for it.
Rounding the corner, Ryan jerked to a stop. Vivian was there. Sitting inside the conference room talking to Sheriff Huggins. Why?
Ryan had to force his feet to close the twenty or thirty feet between them. He tried licking his lips, but his mouth had gone dry. What could he possibly say to make his behavior last night forgivable? Start with I’m sorry—
“Good morning.”
Vivian’s charcoal-blue eyes landed on him for only a second before returning to the sheets of paper lined up in front of her. “Morning.”
Good morning? He wasn’t greeting Deputy Wilson or a bank teller. This was Vivian . . . the woman who’d stolen his heart not just with her beauty but with her inner geek. She was unmatchable and the best he could offer was good morning?
Sheriff Huggins stood, gathering his coffee mug. “You finished with Trisha?”
“Yes, sir. I think I’ve got as much information as we’re going to get, but her lawyer wants to talk to you.”
“I’m sure he does,” Sheriff Huggins grumbled. “Deputy Lynch is speaking with Blaise Taylor right now. Let’s meet in here in an hour and go over the case.”
Ryan shot Vivian a look. She was still working on the case? With him? Sheriff Huggins walked by, catching his attention with a curious lift of the eyebrows that said he knew something was up.
“Sheriff Huggins said Frannie is awake and going to be okay.”
His stomach twisted at the waver in Vivian’s voice. He pulled out a chair next to her. “She is. My mom called this morning and said they’ll probably discharge her this afternoon.”
“That’s great news.”
He thought he saw her shoulders relax, but she still wouldn’t look at him. His confidence an apology was going to help was dwindling. “Vivi, I’m sorry—”
“Stop.” She looked up, spearing him with stormy eyes brimming with pain. “I’m not here to talk about last night. I’m here to work through these case notes so you guys can catch the Watcher and make him pay for what he did to Bethany and Harold.”
“But I want to apologize. Charlie and Frankie told me—”
“Ryan, please stop.” Sadness twisted her features for a fraction of a second before she wiped the emotion from her face. “Let’s just work on this case and forget everything else.”
He didn’t want to forget everything else. Not now or ever. Ryan’s fingers curled with the urge to draw her close to him so he could wrap her in his arms. If only she’d let him explain. Like I let her explain last night?
“Well, that was the most interesting conversation I’ve had all week.” Charlie walked in and dropped a pad of paper in the center of the table, ending Ryan’s chance to talk to Vivian alone. But from the look of relief on Vivian’s face, it seemed he was the only one bothered by the intrusion.
“Meet Blaise Taylor.” Charlie rotated a photo around so he and Vivian could see it. “Another victim of the Watcher.”
Vivian picked up the photo. “Another?”
“Wait, wasn’t he the one who took Bethany Price to the party where she was drugged and filmed?”
“Yes, but he didn’t stay. In fact, he tried to convince her to leave with him, but she wouldn’t.”
“What does the Watcher have on him?” Vivian asked, setting down the picture.
“The kid might have a killer hook shot, but he struggles in math. Took to breaking into his teacher’s desk to steal test answers so he could pass. When college scouts started eyeing him for scholarships, he knew he needed a better-than-passing grade. He basically cheated his whole way through senior year.”
“And no one caught him?” Ryan said.
“Nope. He stayed under the radar by making sure his test scores reflected the grades he was getting on his classwork.”
“First, how did the Watcher know Blaise was cheating or going to cheat?” Vivian’s nose wrinkled the way it always did when she wasn’t buying it. “And second, how did the Watcher get a video of this happening?”
“He didn’t.” Charlie leaned back in his chair. “He got a video of Blaise cheating at Anderson College.”
Ryan tried to wrap his head around the information Charlie was sharing. “So, the Watcher knew about Blaise cheating in high school and then just waited for him to cheat in college?”
Charlie crumpled a piece of paper and tossed it across the room into a trash can. “Do you know how much Blaise will earn this season playing for the Wisconsin Wolverines?”
“Do I care?” Ryan said.
Vivian shook her head.
“You should.” Charlie addressed Ryan. “Just under two million. For a poor kid from Taft, Georgia, whose dad is dying from cancer and has no money to cover medical costs . . . it’s all the incentive Blaise needed to break into his professor’s office at Anderson.”
“Okay, but that doesn’t explain how the Watcher knew Blaise would do that.” Vivian picked up her notes. “All the victims were set up.”
“So was Blaise.” Charlie raised his eyebrows. “He received an email from his teacher—or so he thought—requesting a meeting. Blaise assumed it was to go over his recent test score, but when he got to the teacher’s office, it was empty. Except for the test sitting on his desk.”
“Let me guess.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “It was all captured on video surveillance?”
“Bingo.”
“I don’t know.” Vivian played with the top button of her blouse. “We’re still working under the assumption that the Watcher knew Blaise’s struggles before and then set him up to be exploited.”
Ryan noticed Vivian kept her attention wholly on Charlie. It was a not-so-subtle message. That and her crisp cream-colored blouse, tailored black slacks, and heels said she was here as a professional with a single goal in mind—and it wasn’t to forgive Ryan.
“You said Blaise was never caught cheating, yet someone had to have known,” Ryan said. “Did Blaise tell anyone?”
“There’s only one person who found out about Blaise cheating in high school.”
Charlie slid a paper across the table, causing Ryan and Vivian to reach for it at the same time. Their hands brushed for a nanosecond before Vivian pulled hers back.
“Here.” Ryan held the paper out to her. “You can look at it first.”
“No, it’s fine.” Vivian scooted her chair over just enough so she could lean across and see the page Ryan was holding. “We can both look.”
The vanilla jasmine scent of her perfume tickled his nose and brought back the ache of regret he’d been harboring since he left the hospital. How could he get her to listen to him? To forgive him?
“Who’s Jamal Thurgood?”
Charlie looked between Vivian and Ryan. “He might be the Watcher.”
Ryan shook his head. “Oh no.” He lifted his hands up, palms out. “I already jumped the gun once and was wrong. What makes you think this Jamal guy is him?”
“College scouts went to Taft High School eyeing two players.” Charlie held up two fingers. “Blaise and Jamal. Both were good enough to be recruited. Only one made it.”
“Blaise.” Vivian made a note. “What happened to Jamal?”
“The boys were rivals on and off the court, but Taylor’s skills were more refined. It seems Jamal figured his time was running short to win a scholarship, so he upped his game and ended up with an illegal foul that broke Taylor’s nose. He was thrown out of the game—”
“Ending his chances to play for college,” Ryan added, studying the picture of Jamal again. “Now Blaise is making two million dollars—”
“Two million reasons to extort Blaise,” Charlie cut in, folding his arms over his chest.
Vivian rolled her lower lip between her teeth. “It doesn’t explain why he’d extort the others though.”
Ryan looked at Charlie. “But it gives us enough reason to have him questioned.”
“Taft Police Department is already on it.”
Jamal Thurgood was not the Watcher. According to an officer with Taft PD, Jamal Thurgood was picked up from his place of business, an auto body repair shop, and adamantly denied being the Watcher.
Ryan made a call to FBI Agent Hannigan to look into Jamal’s financial records and to search his computer, but it was an unnecessary call. Jamal Thurgood gave them access to everything and they found nothing. No hefty bank accounts, and the one computer he had at home was more than a decade old—not the kind of machine someone of the Watcher’s caliber would use to build a maze of firewalls securing his identity.
“Are you hungry?”
“Hmm?” Vivian looked up from the notes. Ryan was watching her and it was unnerving he had the power to stir the pieces of her broken heart. Dramatic much? “Uh, I’m fine.”
“You refused the sandwiches Lane brought in for lunch, and I haven’t seen you eat anything since you got here. The case will still be here when we get back.”
“I think Charlie said there are leftovers.”
Vivian turned her attention back to the pages in front of her. She’d been staring at them so long the words had begun to string together in an incoherent blur she couldn’t make sense of. It didn’t matter though, she would stare at them as long as it took until Ryan left her alone.
Coming into the station this morning, she believed her drive to find the Watcher would outweigh the emotional turmoil still churning within her for Ryan. Vivian had to actively concentrate on the story of the case and not the piercing heartache of their own story ending.
Through a storm of tears last night, Vivian had somehow managed to drive herself home, where she’d given herself permission to wallow in her sorrow. She’d cried until her eyes were raw and there were no more tears left, just body-shaking sobs that echoed in the emptiness of her house.
From the corner of her eye, she watched Ryan’s boots finally disappear from the doorway. She inhaled deeply, forcing her shoulders to relax. Vivian had expected he would try to talk to her, and when he started to apologize, it took every ounce of self-control and self-respect to keep from throwing herself into his arms. It had to be this way. She was foolish to ever have believed he could love her wholly.
Once again, she just wasn’t enough.
Rubbing her eyes, Vivian rested her head against the back of the chair, wanting just a few minutes to rest her brain. It was hard work keeping her thoughts off Ryan. Thankfully all she had to do was think of him and Holly hugging in the hallway to bring back the grit she needed to stay focused.
Her cell phone rang and she groaned. Opening her eyes, she looked at the screen. Seriously? Like the day couldn’t be any harder—he had to call. Vivian denied the call, knowing it wouldn’t deter Russell Bradley from leaving another message.
Sure enough, a minute passed by and then a message popped up. A glutton for punishment, she played it.
“Vivian, it’s Russell. I’m just calling to check in. The Weather Channel says there’s a storm headed your way. Um, if you’re not too busy, would you mind calling back? I’ve, uh, well, I just wanted to talk. You have my number. I hope to hear from you soon. Take care.”
She stood and went to the only window in the conference room and stared up at the sky. Blue and cloudless. Guess you were wrong, Russell. And if he thought she’d ever call him back—he’d be wrong again. What happened with Ryan made her keenly aware of why she’d built a wall around her heart in the first place and what could happen when you let someone in.
“I’ve got turkey and roast beef.” Ryan walked into the conference room carrying a tray. “A cup of pasta salad and half a cookie.” He looked at her, his eyes wide with confusion. “Who eats half a cookie?”
Vivian wanted to refuse him. Wanted to reject every attempt he was making at small talk and ignore the way she’d catch him looking at her whenever she dared a peek at him. But her stomach won with an angry growl that made her clutch it in embarrassment.
“Eat, Vivian.” Ryan set the food on the table. “I promise we’ll only talk about the case.”
She gave in and grabbed the turkey sandwich before choosing the chair at the opposite end of where he sat. Tucking her legs under her, she took a bite of her sandwich, not realizing how hungry she actually was until there was one last bite left. Vivian eyed the cup of pasta salad and the half a cookie.
“Take them both.” Ryan stretched across the table, his forearm flexing as he pushed the items toward her. “I ate lunch.”
“Thanks.” Why’d he have to be so Captain America–like? If he had the arrogance of Tony Stark, it would be a lot easier to hate him.
“What?” Ryan caught her looking at him. “Do I have something in my teeth?”
“No.” Focus on the case, Vivian. She pushed her attention to the whiteboard, where all the victims’ photos were lined up now, including ones of Bethany and Blaise. “It feels like we’re so close.”
“It’s like we’re trying to hack into a scrypt.”
She rolled her eyes. “I have no idea what that means, Jarvis.”
“Nothing artificial about my intelligence,” Ryan said, catching her reference to Iron Man. “It’s a much harder algorithm to crack, like this case.”
“We think the Watcher is local or nearby.” Vivian set aside the bowl of pasta salad and walked to the whiteboard, putting some distance between her and Ryan. She moved four pictures to the middle of the board. “Harold, Bethany, Lauren, and Blaise. We need to find the connection here.”
“Three out of the four didn’t have the money to pay the Watcher.”
“True,” Vivian said. “But, technically, the Watcher wasn’t trying to get money from Lauren.”
“And if he knew about Congressman Atkins’s affair with Lauren, why wouldn’t he have taken advantage of that?”
“Because he didn’t know.” Vivian rubbed her temples. It was right there. That feeling she got in her gut that told her the answer was right in front of her. She just had to . . . look. Vivian pulled Blaise’s picture off the board. “Cougar.”
“What?”
She turned the picture around. “He’s a Cougar.”
“No, he’s a Wolverine. Plays for Wisconsin now.”
“No.” Vivian tapped the photo. “He was a Cougar.”
“Oh, right, for Anderson.” Ryan really had about as much interest as she did in sports. “So?”
“That’s the connection.” She put Blaise’s photo next to Harold’s. “Blaise was a student at Anderson and Lauren taught at Anderson. Harold was a guest lecturer at the college.”
“What about Bethany?”
Vivian frowned. Dang, Ryan was right. Bethany wasn’t connected to Anderson College. The phone in the conference room rang. Ryan walked around the table to answer as Vivian stood back, examining the pictures again.
“Deputy Frost.”
Vivian watched him from the corner of her eye, taking advantage of the distraction. The angular structure of his face shifted with the conversation and she edged closer.
“Yes, sir.” He nodded. “We’ll check into that.”
“What?” Vivian said as soon as Ryan hung up the phone.
“That was the officer from Taft.” Ryan sat in front of the computer and began typing. “Jamal remembered telling one person about Blaise cheating—a college coach.”
“Who?”
Ryan sat back in the chair so she could see the image on the screen. “Meet Anderson College’s assistant coach, Pete Robbins.”
“I know him,” Vivian said, recognizing the man smiling in the photo. “I spoke with him after a few of his players bumped into me.”
“That was the day you were asking about Lauren, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. When Otis Jackson grabbed at me.” She rubbed her arm, remembering the way Otis’s grip dug into her skin. “Why would Jamal tell Coach Robbins about Blaise cheating?”
“From what the officer said, he was trying to prevent Blaise from getting a basketball scholarship.”
“Wow.” Vivian shook her head. “They really were rivals.”
Ryan tapped the edge of the screen. “Check out the class he teaches at school.”
Vivian followed Ryan’s finger to Coach Robbins’s bio. “Computer science.” The hair on the back of her neck stood. “Do you think he had something to do with Otis coming after me?”
“I don’t know,” Ryan said. His gaze grew dark for a second before something flashed in his eyes like he had an idea. “Wait here.”
Ryan rushed out of the room, leaving Vivian to stare at the image of Coach Robbins on the screen. It was definitely easy to connect him to the victims at Anderson, but what about the others? She studied the faces of the other victims. Was Ryan right? Did the Watcher troll his victims on social media?
A few minutes later, Ryan appeared in the doorway, his face a mix of emotions. “I just got off the phone with Lauren Holt. I asked her if Harold knew Coach Robbins, and she admitted that he was the reason Harold had helped her. Lauren and Robbins dated. She broke it off with him when she got pregnant with Olivia, but Robbins became obsessed. Started harassing her. She didn’t have enough money to move, so she went to Harold for help.”
Goose bumps covered Vivian’s skin. “It’s him, Ryan. He’s the Watcher.”
“I think so, Nancy Drew.”
Vivian didn’t know if it was the nickname or the way he was smiling up at her that sent her heart into another one of its betraying flips. Remember why you’re here. She took a step back. “What happens next?”
“We’ll get a search warrant and hopefully find the evidence we need to charge him.” His blue eyes searched her face. “Vivian, I’d really like to talk to you about last night.”
“There’s no need.” Vivian moved to the table to gather her belongings. Her willpower was slipping. She needed to get out of there before she did something stupid. Like take him back. “I did what I came here to do.”
“And now you leave?”
Gah. It was too much. Her hands fumbled with the strap of her bag. “That was always the plan.”
Ryan took a bold step forward and grabbed her hand. “I’m so sorry, Vivian.”
“I can’t.” She shook her head, unable to meet the gaze she knew would melt the last of her resistance. “I’m not the one you need, Ryan.”
Vivian pulled her hand free, a shaky sigh slipping from her lips as she blinked back tears. “You deserve someone who can be everything you need and want. She’s out there.” Vivian’s voice caught. “She’s the prettiest teacher in Walton.”