Brian climbed the stairs to the second floor, where his rented room awaited. The flight to Houston had been overly long, overly crowded, and he’d never been happier to be on solid ground in his life. He was running on fumes, having traveled to Flagstaff and back, dealing with surveilling Harper at the gallery auction, losing her, plus dealing with Gage had left him mentally and physically exhausted. Add in the fact he hadn’t slept almost the entire time, and all he wanted was a hot shower and a soft mattress.
This motel wasn’t the worst place he’d ever stayed, didn’t even rank in the top ten of lousy places he’d stayed. Of course, he could have gotten a much nicer landing spot in Shiloh Springs proper if he’d wanted. All he had to do was ask Ms. Patti to hook him up with a short-term rental, and he’d bet his last nickel his backside would be ensconced at the Big House, surrounded by a passel of Boudreaus before he could blink. Which had a bunch of pluses and an equal number of minuses. Nope, he needed to keep himself separate. He could lie to himself and say it was because of the case. But mostly it was because of Harper Westbrook.
Walking inside, he tossed his bag onto the closest chair and turned to lock the door. His hand hovered over the light switch, and he froze, an odd tension in the air. Reaching for his weapon, he cursed, realizing he’d stowed his gun before leaving the airport. Best try to bluff, figure out who had big enough brass ones to enter his room when he wasn’t home.
A long sigh was followed by a click, and the lamp beside the couch flicked on. Brian relaxed when he recognized the two men seated on his sofa. Heath, he understood, the sneaky jerk. He already knew what Brian was up to. What he didn’t understand was what Antonio Boudreau was doing in his apartment.
“What’s going on guys?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Antonio didn’t raise his voice, but the emphasis he deliberately placed on each word let Brian know he wouldn’t get away with not giving his fellow FBI agent answers.
Glaring at Heath, he wondered if he’d spilled Brian’s secrets to his brother. Heath raised his hands shoulder height and shrugged. “I didn’t tell him anything.”
Well, good to know the big guy can keep a secret.
“Imagine my surprise,” Antonio leaned back against the sofa cushion, the appearance of nonchalance and ease, and continued, “when I got a phone call early this morning from a friend, asking why she was being investigated by the FBI.”
“Harper.”
“That’s right. Apparently, the FBI interrupted the owner of an art gallery during her event last night and questioned her about Harper. Two agents, and surprise, surprise, one of them was named Brian McKenna.”
Thank goodness Gage never gave his name last night or he’d been knee deep in alligators, too.
“Nothing for you to be concerned about.” Brian walked into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of Dr Pepper. If he was going to be interrogated, alcohol was out of the question. Holding it up, he silently motioned, asking the other two men if they wanted one. At their nods, he pulled two more from the refrigerator and shut the door. Handing one to each, he sank down into the armchair across from the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him. If he was going to get the third degree, might as well be comfortable.
Antonio watched him like a rattlesnake waiting for the perfect moment to strike out at its prey, coiled, silent and deadly. He was protective of his family. Brian understood that on a gut deep level, but it was more than that. Antonio was a darn good agent, probably one of the best. He’d made a point of reading his case files, knew the man had impeccable instincts, and once he was on a case, he was tenacious as a bulldog, sinking in his teeth and never letting go until he got the answers he wanted.
“You might as well tell him what he wants to know, man, because he ain’t going away until he gets answers.” Heath chugged a long drink of his soda before adding, “I’ve gotta admit, I’m curious why you went all the way to Arizona—to an art gallery of all places—to ask questions about Harper.”
Might as well get it over with. They won’t leave until I give them something.
“I’m looking at Harper in connection with a case.” He glanced at Heath again. “You already know this.” Heath simply shrugged.
“You know what he’s talking about?” Antonio shot his brother a veiled glare.
“I gave my word I wouldn’t say anything until Brian was ready to come clean. I caught him spying on Harper and confronted him.”
“I wasn’t spying on her. I was conducting an undercover surveillance operation, which your brother almost botched.”
“Why? What does Harper have to do with your case?” Antonio leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, hands clasped loosely. “Girl had a hard life, but she’s not into anything illegal.”
“That you’re aware of.”
Heath shook his head. “Antonio’s right. Ever since we talked, I’ve kept eyes on her, watched her. She’s not up to anything nefarious. Unless you count painting as a crime, then she’s guilty.”
Brian decided getting straight to the point was his best option. At the very least, it would shut them up—at least momentarily.
“Over the past year, there have been four murders we believe are related. Affluent businessmen who have no connection to each other that we’ve been able to discern, other than being wealthy and having an eye for beautiful women. Two were married with children. One was engaged. One was single and would be considered a player.”
“No common business associations?” Antonio asked.
“No.” Brian took another swig of his drink, suddenly feeling parched.
“There must be a reason you’ve connected the dots and think these cases tie together. What’s the common thread?”
“The way they were killed. Each one received a single stab wound to the heart with a long cylindrical weapon. The M.E. extrapolated from the size and shape it’s probably an ice pick or possibly a narrow letter opener.”
“It’s certainly a unique way to kill someone. Unlike a large blade or a gunshot wound, there would be minimal blood on the assailant. No gunshot residue either.”
Heath leaned forward and scratched at his chin. He’d obviously taken his time off to heart because he was sporting several days of hair covering his cheeks and chin. “I’m going to assume the killer brings the weapon with them, since not everyone is going to have an ice pick lying around.”
“That’s our assumption,” Brian answered.
“I’m still not seeing the connection to Harper. What makes you think she’s involved with killing four people? Because, honestly, I’ve never seen her lose her temper, much less plot something so coldblooded.”
Brian understood Antonio’s confusion. Heath knew about Harper’s pictures, her being in the same locations as the victim just prior to their deaths.
“During our investigation, we began to see a pattern emerging, one that’s grown increasingly concerning with each victim.” He stood and walked to the bag he’d thrown on the chair earlier and pulled out a worn manila folder and brought it back, handing it to Antonio. He waited, giving the other man time to study its contents. Heath read over his brother’s shoulder, a scowl on his face. Brian watched Antonio closely, knew the exact moment he found the connection between the four murders.
“Where are the photos from?”
Taking the folder from Antonio’s outstretched hand, Brian pulled out the four pictures and spread them across the coffee table. He knew each one, knew the order of occurrence, he’d looked at them so much. Knew every line, every detail. Had the expression on Harper’s face memorized.
“This one,” he pointed to a black-and-white picture, “came from a security camera at the hotel. There’d been a corporate party for the company president. Investments brokerage. Big money, lots of rich and famous people attended.” He pulled a photo from the manila folder. “This is William Sadler, Junior, president of Logos, International.”
Antonio and Heath studied the image of a silver-haired man who looked to be in his late fifties. A few lines creased around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise he appeared in good health. He stood beside a woman in a sequined black gown, her hand touching his arm in an intimate connection. Cool blonde hair in a stylish chignon highlighted her high cheekbones and the diamond earrings which graced her ears.
“Who’s the woman?” Antonio pointed to the blonde.
“Alicia Winters, fiancée to Sadler. Comes from another wealthy family. From what I understand, it wasn’t so much a love match as a business merger. Of course, that’s secondhand news, because Sadler is dead, and Ms. Winters claims she was hopelessly in love with him.”
“Got it.” Heath picked up the picture of Harper, studying it with an intensity even Brian admired. Knew he took in the white silky sheath that hugged her curves as though it had been tailored exclusively for her. Who knows, maybe it had been. He had no way of knowing what Harper kept in her closet. For all he knew, she had a rack filled with designer dresses, couture bags, and shoes.
Heath looked up, meeting Brian’s gaze. “I’m looking at this and I know it’s Harper. Her face, her hair right down to the colored streaks she likes to wear. But I’ve never seen her look like this. I mean, the Harper I know is sweet and funny. A little Bohemian chic and a little bit tomboy. But she’s always sunny and happy. The woman in this photo is ice cold. Dude, look at her eyes. They’re lifeless. Like those in a porcelain doll. Bright and shiny, but nobody’s home.”
Antonio picked up the second photo. In it, Harper was dressed in a classy business suit, the pencil skirt and jacket expertly tailored. Dark charcoal with a darker blue blouse beneath, it screamed young urban professional. Again, her hair was pulled up in one of those complicated twists and swirls that women seemed to know how to accomplish with a few movements of their fingers. Somehow, she’d managed to hide the colorful streaks normally on full display. And he hated it. Hated that she was hiding her natural vibrant personality under a thin veneer of professionalism.
“I agree with Heath.” Antonio turned the photo around to face Brian. “There’s something not right about these pictures. Not that I’m doubting what I’m seeing. It’s Harper. What I do question is how and why she’s a suspect.”
“Somebody being in the same place as a murder, nobody’s gonna comment on it. Not unless there’s a direct connection,” Brian agreed. “Two times might be an unlucky coincidence. Four times? Come on, guys, even you must admit that goes far beyond being unlucky and straight into suspect.”
The brothers exchanged a long look before they nodded. Well, at least they were all on the same page now. Brian pulled his notes from the folder and passed them across the table. He’d give them a couple minutes to look at the facts he’d collected. Maybe they’d be able to see something he was missing, because he’d gotten too close to this case. It got harder every day to think about Harper being so cold-blooded.
When his cell phone rang, he started to send it to voicemail when he spotted Gage’s name on the caller ID. But he doubted Gage would be calling him unless it was important—he’d just seen the man hours earlier before he’d left Flagstaff to come home.
He caught himself at the thought. Home? When had he started thinking of Shiloh Springs as home? He certainly wouldn’t call this two-bit motel room home. Yet the feeling that settled over him like a warm blanket felt right at the thought that this town, these people, really were his happy place. His refuge. Even being away for almost two decades didn’t matter. It was home.
“I’ve got to take this.” He motioned toward his phone before getting up and walking a few feet away. Not that it would afford him much privacy. The only way he could keep the nosy Boudreaus from listening it would be to take the call in the bathroom or step outside, and he wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “What’s wrong?”
“We’ve got another body.” Gage’s somber pronouncement deflated Brian like a balloon.
“What happened? There wasn’t anything when I left.”
“I was headed to the airport myself when I heard. Radio claimed a wealthy local businessman’s body was found earlier this morning. Name of Wilson. Jeremiah Wilson. Fifty-nine years old, Caucasian. Single, not in any serious relationship. Reasonable physical condition, no medical issues. And the kicker? He was at the benefit auction last night.”
Brian cursed under his breath and slammed a fist against the doorjamb. He thought they were in the clear, at least for now. Chalk up another one of those coincidences of Harper in the wrong place at the wrong time—unless she really was the killer.
“Same M.O.?”
“I’m sitting in the police station right now. They’ve reluctantly given me access to what they’ve got so far, which isn’t much. Waiting for the autopsy results, but you and I both know what it’s going to say. I hate it too, but you’ve got to bring Harper in.”
“Can you send me what you’ve got?”
“I just sent you everything the cops have. I’m going to head back over to the gallery, talk with Simone and her staff. See if anybody noticed Harper speaking with or spending any time with Wilson. Hate to admit it, but things aren’t looking good for your girl.” Gage paused and Brian knew what he was going to say, since he’d been thinking the same thing. “You know you’re going to have to bring your boss in on this now. You need to cover your backside, bro, or you’re going to find yourself dragged through the mud for not disclosing information. He doesn’t even know you’ve been checking out Harper unofficially or otherwise, does he?”
“No. I’ve been doing all of this on my off time. He’s been letting the local jurisdictions handle things. You’re right, I’ve got to take everything in, and hopefully they’ll let me continue to work the case on an official basis. I’m going to have to do a fancy tap dance to keep from being tossed off the case.”
“That’s if you don’t get your keister fired. I know I’ve been helping in an unofficial fashion, but bring my name in if you have to, so they can see you haven’t gone off half-cocked on a personal one-man crusade, trying to catch a serial killer.”
“This is turning into a nightmare. Thanks for the head’s up, Gage. Keep me posted on what you find out.”
“No problem. Watch your back.”
Brian looked over at Heath and Antonio, who were watching him intently. Eavesdropping and not doing a thing to hide it. “Antonio and Heath are here. I’ll fill them in.”
Gage laughed heartily at Brian’s admission. “I knew it wouldn’t be long before the Boudreaus stuck their noses into your business. Heath I already knew about, you told me. How’d Antonio find out?”
“Got a call from Harper, wanting to know why the FBI was asking questions about her. Guess Simone told her about our visit.”
“I figured Simone might not be able to keep it to herself. Oh, well, it was bound to come out sometime. Trust ’em, they might be more help than you think.”
Brian ran a hand over his scalp and blew out a long breath. “Already have. I’ll talk with you later. Thanks again.”
Disconnecting the call, he turned back to Heath and Antonio. “Well, our problem just got bigger. There was another murder.”
“When, where?” Antonio bit out the question.
“According to my source, the body of Jeremiah Wilson was found some time this morning. Wealthy businessman with no health issues. Hang on a second,” Brian added, pulling up the e-mail Gage sent and scanning for details. “That’s pretty much all the information we got. We’re waiting for the results of the autopsy, but I’ll go out on a limb and say it’s going to match our other victims.”
Heath stood and walked over to stand in front of Brian. “You keep saying we. Who else is working on this case with you?”
Brian sighed. “You need to understand, everything I’ve told you is off the record. My part of this investigation is strictly off the books. I started looking into it when I saw there was a connection to Shiloh Springs. I’m not authorized to have anything to do with this case. Neither does the person who’s been helping me. He’s assisting because he’s got a personal stake in this too.”
“Gage.” Antonio muttered the name, making it sound more like a curse. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Brian nodded. After all, what good would it do deny it?
“I swear, you Lost Boys get into more trouble in Shiloh Springs than the rest of the Boudreaus combined.” Heath shot him a teasing grin, taking the sting out of his words.
“Seriously? Want me to pull up the files I have on you Boudreaus? Because I guarantee the files I have on y’all are bigger than ones I have on official cases.”
“You really must stop investigating your family. It’s not polite.” Antonio leaned forward and stacked all the photos and paperwork and stuck it back into the manila folder.
Brian froze at the word Antonio used. Family. Sure, Ms. Patti told him he was family, but she was special and had a heart bigger than anybody he’d ever met. But did the rest of the Boudreaus feel the same? Accepted him as one of them, even unofficially?
“Where did this murder occur?”
“Flagstaff, Arizona,” Brian answered Heath’s question. “Where I was until this afternoon. I flew into Houston and drove straight here, to find you sitting in the middle of my room.”
“Let me guess, Harper was in Flagstaff too?”
Brian nodded, letting them connect the dots.
“She still there or did she fly back with you?”
“She was taking a later flight, a couple of hours after mine. She had a meeting earlier today with Simone.” He watched Antonio’s brow furrow at his response. “Simone is a gallery owner in Flagstaff, high end clientele. The gallery sponsored a charity event last night, exclusive high rollers in attendance, silent auction for several pieces. There were several wealthy people in attendance, including Zachary Bennett and Franklin Constantine. Probably a few more notable local businesspeople.” Brian paused for a long beat. “Want to guess who else was at the event?”
Antonio’s eyes widened before he answered, “Harper was there?”
“Bingo.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ve got a lot of options. If it was me, at this point in the investigation, there’s one thing I’d do.”
“I know, Antonio. The whole reason I haven’t is—as crazy as it seems—I don’t think she’s guilty. I don’t have any facts or evidence to prove whether she’s innocent or guilty, but my gut tells me she didn’t do this. Unfortunately, I’ve run out of options and time.”
“I don’t envy you. I’ve got the day off tomorrow. Want me to be there, back you up?”
Now it was Brian’s turn to be surprised. He’d expected the third degree; after all, he was dealing with Boudreaus, and those brothers, for all their big, bad attitudes, were nosy beyond belief and loved to gossip—as long as they didn’t get caught doing it.
“Appreciate it. I’ll give you a call, and you can meet me at Rafe’s office. Might as well make things official.” Which meant he was about to get his backside handed to him on a platter, because he needed to contact his boss and tell him what he’d been doing—investigating a case he wasn’t assigned to—and pray they didn’t immediately pull him off the case. But he couldn’t officially talk to Harper, not without authorization. If push came to shove, he’d give all the data to Antonio and have him turn it over to Derrick Williamson, his boss out of the Austin FBI office.
The moment he’d dreaded was about to come full circle—he was going to bring Harper in for questioning—as an official suspect. She was about to become a person of interest in a serial killer case.
Was Harper really a murderer?