Reece
THE ALL-NIGHT study sessions were driving Reece nuts. Most groups stopped when the law library locked its doors at eleven p.m. But the students in his group were night owls and insisted on meeting late and working into the wee hours of the morning. Reece had spent all night hunched over a rickety kitchen table in a freezing basement apartment that reeked of urine and pot.
It wasn’t just the timing of the study sessions. The kids in his group irritated the hell out of him. He was stuck in a generation gap where he was the old codger. When they weren’t on their phones, they were quibbling over semantics and engaging in lengthy debates on strategy. Whenever Reece pointed out a law enforcement inconsistency in their argument, they’d freak out over the criticism.
Getting kicked out of the group before he secured an articling position for next year would be tantamount to career suicide. And he needed their help to keep his marks high, which wounded his pride. At thirty-eight, law school should be a cakewalk for him. It wasn’t. And it upset him that he was taking out his frustration on Sam, rather than finding a constructive way to deal with the issue.
Concentrating last night had been a nightmare because of how he’d left things with her at police headquarters. He’d acted like a total jerk. Confessing in private to Bryce had removed a weight from his shoulders, but it hadn’t done his relationship any favours. He’d intended to go home after class and admit his deception to Sam. But after class, he’d received an urgent text to meet the study group. If he hadn’t gone, he would have failed the assignment. Things were spinning out of control.
At least he’d had the sense to reach out to Margaret and warn her about the police involvement into her brother’s disappearance. He’d called her the second he left Bryce’s office. Margaret had promised to talk to her parents before detectives arrived to question them, but Harry and Betty Walsh were good friends and Reece had to disclose what he knew about Bart’s girlfriend. And he couldn’t do that until he told Sam. School was messing up every relationship he valued. Major damage control was in order, and it began with confessing to Sam.
When he trudged into the loft at a little past seven in the morning, he heard the shower running upstairs. He shuffled to the kitchen and popped an espresso disc in the Tassimo. Beside the coffee machine was a container of homemade cookies. Sam never baked. Confused, Reece opened the fridge and lifted a red cover off a plastic container. Piled inside was homemade chili. She’d cooked a nice dinner and he hadn’t come home. He was a total dick and a cowardly liar. Filled with self-disgust, he flipped through the mail on the kitchen table. His hand paused at an empty envelope with a Millhaven Institution return address.
He crushed the envelope in his fist and threw it. It hit the corner of the marble countertop and bounced to the hemlock floor. Reece knelt beneath the sink, opened the cupboard, and flicked aside a wet paper towel from the top of the garbage. Perched on an onionskin he spied a corner of charred paper. After she’d read the psychopath’s letter, she’d burned it. So long as Incubus lived, Sam would never be free of his evil.
With calculated coldness, an unbidden thought drifted through his exhaustion. Pay an inmate inside Millhaven to shank the psychopath.
Jesus, what the hell was happening to him? He wasn’t the kind of person who considered hiring a killer. He gulped his espresso and the scalding liquid burned the roof of his mouth.
Reece tried to focus on why Incubus would write Sam now. He considered her insistence in Bryce’s office that there were similarities between the new murders and Incubus’s crimes. His gaze dropped to the wrinkled envelope on the floor. It clicked. This wasn’t the first letter. Reece dumped the kitchen garbage and rifled through the pile of rubbish. At the bottom, he found a second envelope and checked the postmark. So the animal had originally written following the police’s discovery of the first victim. Then he’d written again, when authorities found the second body. Incubus was fucking with Sam’s head and she was keeping it a secret.
“What are you doing?”
He continued rummaging through the heap of trash. “Searching for the letter.”
It wasn’t there and he turned to stare up at her, challenging her to deny the letter’s existence.
Her eyes darted to the crushed envelope in the middle of the kitchen floor. “I burned it.”
Reece tidied the garbage off the floor and grabbed a fresh bag for the can. “And the first one?”
“I… I burned it, too. Please don’t make a big deal out of this.” She snatched the envelope, opened the bag he’d finished tying, and disposed of the envelope.
He squeezed soap on a dishcloth and cleaned the floor. “Did you read it?”
“I don’t read them.”
“Don’t lie to me.” His tone was sharper than he’d intended. Shame rolled over him. What a judgemental hypocrite he was. He was concealing a major secret and had the nerve to accuse her of lying.
She leaned against the edge of the sink. “You look terrible. How was study group?”
“What did the letter say?” he inquired calmly.
She sighed. “He sees a similarity between these new crimes and his work. He thinks it’s a copycat.”
“Why didn’t you keep the letter and show it to Bryce?” Reece was sure he knew the answer. Incubus was his fiancée’s obsession. Sam held onto her wrath and hate, refusing to admit to anyone—including herself—the power those emotions gave her nemesis.
She grabbed cream from the refrigerator and prepared a mug of coffee. “You heard Bryce yesterday. He denies any connection. Besides, Incubus will only share his theory in person.”
Blood pounded in Reece’s head and he ground his teeth together to keep the rage from his voice. “He wants you to visit.”
“Four young men—that we know of—are missing,” she retorted in a defensive tone. “And we can’t find Bart Walsh. We have to investigate all leads because we need evidence. Bryce will discount supposition, just like he did yesterday.”
Reece’s eyes widened with disbelief. “You’re considering it? The man is a psychopath. He’s trifling with your emotions.”
Her lips puckered and she glared at him. “Contrary to your opinion, I can take care of myself. Busy as you are doing you, it may have escaped your notice, but I’m completing a PhD in deviant psychology.”
“I agree that you’re a talented psychologist. But you aren’t impartial. And Bryce ordered us to stand down and stay out of his investigation,” Reece said firmly. “I am begging you to leave this with the homicide squad. Look, even when I was an inspector with the OPP that would be protocol.”
“Oh, I realize I failed to rise to the lofty rank you did in law enforcement, but I muddle along. I was the one who identified Incubus, in case you’ve forgotten.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.
Reece scrubbed his hands over his face. “Stop reading negative subtext into everything I say.” His eyes itched from fatigue and he struggled to rein in his temper. “You’re angry over what happened at Bryce’s office,” he continued in a moderate tone. “You have every right, and I owe you an explanation and an apology.”
Her face softened. “I’m listening.”
He paused. Before he told her about Angelina Stuart, he needed to make her understand how dangerous it was for her to visit the prison. “We’ll talk, but first I need you to promise me you won’t go to Millhaven.”
Over the rim of her coffee mug, her green eyes hardened.
“The animal killed your sister,” Reece said. “You can’t manipulate him and crawl into his head. This will backfire. He has an agenda and it isn’t about helping police apprehend a killer.” He reached for her hand. “Promise me you won’t go to Millhaven.”
She squeezed his fingers. “You’re exhausted. Go take a nap.”
Her refusal to placate him meant either that she was going to the prison or she hadn’t made up her mind. Arguing was pointless. If he pushed too hard, she’d do the opposite of what he wanted.
“He’ll never tell you what the lily meant,” Reece said softly.
She dropped her eyes and picked at a loose thread on her sweater. “It symbolized something. I have to know what.”
He knew Sam believed that once she understood the meaning of Incubus’s lily calling card she’d find peace. But Reece doubted it would be that easy. Her obsession was an addiction that shielded her from painful emotions. Until she confronted those bottled-up feelings, Incubus would always have the upper hand. It terrified Reece.
“Can you do one thing for me?” he asked.
“What’s that?”
“When he writes again, I want to read it.”
Incubus would write to her again. The monster had an end game and he wouldn’t give up until he accomplished his objective. In order to protect her, Reece had to read those letters. Maybe he could figure out what game the psychopath was playing.
She pulled her hand out of his grasp and studied him with no expression.
“We’re partners in business and in life.” Reece relaxed his stance and kept his voice pleasant. “I want to support you.”
Her lips thinned and she crossed her arms against her chest. “We are partners, and I want an explanation for what happened yesterday.”
“Let’s talk.” Taking her hand again, he led her across the open-concept space toward the sitting area.
Her phone rang and she frowned at the display. “It’s Harvey.” She released his hand. “Give me a minute.”
She marched to the wall of windows and stood with her back turned. As she listened to her stepfather, her spine tightened.
In the two years they’d been together, Reece hadn’t met Grace or Harvey. Sam and her mother were estranged. Her stepfather wanted Sam to reconcile with Grace, but Sam had erected strong walls to prevent her mother from ever hurting her again. It was hard to forgive someone who perpetuated unkind behaviour and refused to own it. Reece got that. But he needed Sam to understand that forgiveness wasn’t for the benefit of the person who wronged you. It was a means of letting go of the pain.
“I’ll talk to him,” Sam was saying. “He’s busy with law school so it depends on his schedule.” There was a long pause before she said, “I’m not blaming anyone and I’m not making excuses.”
Reece sat on the leather sofa beside Brandy. Her tail wagged in response to his gentle pats.
A minute later, Sam flopped onto the sofa beside him and tucked her legs beneath her. “Harvey wants us to go over for drinks.”
Reece put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She relaxed into the embrace and laid her head on his chest.
“Let’s get it over with,” he said and yawned. “How bad can it be?”
She laughed. “Bad. My mother blames me for Joyce’s murder. My stepfather blames me for not reconciling with my sister after the argument we had before she died.” With a deep sigh, Sam lifted her head and gazed around the loft. “Harvey paid for all this.”
They had a hefty mortgage and Sam had told him that she’d paid the down payment from her savings. “I don’t get it,” Reece said. “What did he pay for?”
“Renovations. They were expensive.”
“Oh, well. We’ll pay him back.”
“I’ve tried a hundred times but he refuses to take it. Feeling like I owe him money is an albatross around my neck.” She nestled closer to his body. “I’m sure Harvey doesn’t realize why the debt bothers me so much.”
Or Harvey understood exactly what the debt symbolized. “Did he ever ask for anything in return for the loan?”
“After Joyce and I argued, the next day Harvey asked me to offer an olive branch and give her the cottage.” Her voice caught and she pulled away from his arms and stood. “If I had given her the cottage, we wouldn’t have argued outside the house that night.” Her shoulders hunched and she shuffled to the stairs.
Before she reached the top of the staircase, Reece heard her say, “I’m the reason my sister is dead.”