Evan hadn’t been to a funeral in twenty years, not since he’d attended the one for his parents. When Mrs. Brody had called him this morning to ask if he had any news about the case and to tell him they were burying Shannon today, something compelled him to attend. Maybe the expectancy in her grief-filled voice or the thought this might be an opportunity to find himself in the same space with the killer. He was convinced the bastard would be smug enough to be right here, in the candle-lit church that was almost too small to accommodate all the people who’d come to see Shannon on her last journey.
Evan stayed near the entrance, careful not to impede people from coming in or going out. The scent of burning candles and wilting roses was overwhelming; the priest’s words summoned memories that, for many years, had been too painful for him to bear.
It had been a long while after the accident before he was able to remember the good times he’d spent with his parents, to relive the moments of joy without them being immediately swallowed by crushing pain. He was ashamed of many things he’d done as an angry, misguided teenager, and even later, as a young adult. But in the end, he hoped his mom and dad would have been proud of the man he’d become, the man he tried to be every day.
His gaze lingered on the iconographic art adorning the walls of the church. Probably Bible scenes, saints whose names he didn’t know, and a benevolent Christ in front of the altar, hands spread wide in blessing or forgiveness. Evan noticed the paint was slightly cracked in places, as were the ornate pillars supporting the beautifully painted dome. The church must be centuries old, a work of art born from a faith he didn’t really understand.
Many traditions were different here. Although most people in the U.S. preferred to be cremated, in Ireland, many chose to honor the dead by keeping their bodies intact. He was glad there was enough of a crowd to block the coffin from his view. He saw Shannon’s parents next to it, their heads lowered, their postures curled up by grief. He wanted to pay his respects, to let them know he cared enough to come. But what comfort could he bring them? He had no real clue yet as to the person who’d killed their daughter. There was nothing he could say to ease their pain. The only thing he could do was act.
He studied the faces around him, wondering if the killer was here and had come to see the aftermath of his handy work. All he saw were sad gazes. Some of the mourners dabbed at their tearful eyes with handkerchiefs or tissues. He spotted Patrick sitting on the other side of the church, away from other people. Tears glinted in his eyes, which seemed vacant, the glass doors to an empty shell. Evan could only imagine the young man’s pain. He and Shannon hadn’t been together long, but that didn’t mean they weren’t in love. They might have built a life together, got married, had children… Any chance of that was now ruined because of the monster who’d put that pretty young woman in a coffin.
Evan turned to go, pushing aside the sadness and anger. They wouldn’t do Shannon any good now. The only thing he could do was to doggedly pursue all the leads he had. He’d just made his way out of the church when someone grasped his arm. Surprised, he turned his head and stared into Chelsea’s eyes. Their lavender color was even more vibrant amidst the shadows of fatigue.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asked, drawing her to the side, away from the mass of people getting ready to leave for the cemetery.
“I read about the funeral in the newspaper. I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Her skin appeared translucent in contrast to her black coat. Her hair was drawn back from her face in a tight knot. As he looked down at her, still holding her shoulders between his hands, Evan felt a searing urge to take her in his arms. Her pale skin and light-colored eyes reminded him too much of the other woman, the one lying in a wooden box, waiting to be covered in earth. He’d faced death too many times to count, but after his parents had died, he’d never cared for anyone enough to be terrified at the thought of losing them. Emotions he couldn’t explain flooded him, and he cupped Chelsea’s cheek protectively. Her skin was cold against his large palm. He couldn’t tell what she was thinking and didn’t know if all these indefinable feelings were a side effect one experienced when confronted with the reality of mortality.
Chelsea must have shared these feelings because she surprised him by taking a step forward and into his arms. The simple, natural way she buried her face against his chest made his throat tighten. Wordless, he drew her closer and just held her, enjoying the warmth of her body close to his.
Several moments later, she withdrew. Embarrassment glinted in her eyes, along with a trace of tears, as she looked away from him toward the people leaving the church. He felt awkward and didn’t know what to say. What the hell had happened anyway? They hardly knew one another, they hadn’t even known the victim, and they were hugging like saps at her funeral?
He cleared his throat briskly. “I came to check things out. Thought the killer might be here and, you know, turn himself in.”
She smiled weakly at his lame joke. “Aye, that sounds like a valid possibility. No luck?”
“Not yet. Did you get the reports I emailed you last night?”
“I did. Maybe I’m missing something, but I didn’t read much in them.”
Evan shoved his hands into his pockets. The thick fog didn’t back down an inch, making the air seem even colder, damper.
“There’s nothing groundbreaking. I have to follow up on some leads, but it doesn’t look good so far.”
Her mouth twisted, and she bit her lower lip in frustration. Evan figured he must be seriously depraved since he found this gesture arousing.
Chelsea pulled her black scarf higher, her delicate ears half-buried in it. “Want to get a drink? I’d like to talk more about the case if you don’t have other plans.”
He shrugged and gestured for her to lead the way. “Sure. I tracked down the other three men Shannon met on that dating website other than Patrick. I have their names and addresses, and I plan to question each of them today.” As he walked beside her, he tried to match his large stride to her narrow footsteps.
She glanced at him sideways. “Do you think you’ll find them at home?”
“I suppose.” He furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“Well, because it’s the Halloween weekend. I don’t know what it’s like in the USA, but Halloween is a public holiday here, and we celebrate it on the last Monday of October—which is the day after tomorrow. Most people go to parties this weekend, to bonfires, to festivals; others go to visit their families. It’s not a good time to question people or even find them home, for that matter. Better wait until Tuesday.”
“And let the trail grow colder? No way.”
Chelsea expelled a breath. “You’re not sure if this is even a trail, are you? You’re more likely to get taken as a trick-or-treater in a Garda uniform.”
He looked down at her. “Really?”
She laughed. “Okay, maybe not a kid knocking on doors for candy. But you have a better chance if you wait a couple of days. You’ll get better info from sober men. Besides, you need a break. You look worse than a zombie. How many hours have you put in this week?”
“Who’s counting?”
Chelsea waved a hand shortly, obviously trying to contain her annoyance. “It’s your call. I just gave you my opinion.”
“And I appreciate it.”
Evan stopped when Chelsea took a corner, then pushed open an ornate wooden door.
The pub was crowded, the air warm and filled with delicious smells of food and beer. Evan was suddenly parched. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he hadn’t realized until now how thirsty he was. He guided Chelsea through the maze of little round tables, keeping his hand at the small of her back until they found a vacant table near the window.
They had taken off their coats and hung them on the nearby hanger when a waiter approached them. The dimples in his cheeks and the bright orange freckles on his nose made him look so fresh and carefree Evan almost envied him.
“Good day, Ma’am, Sir. What can I get ya?” the young man asked.
Evan gave Chelsea an inquiring look.
“Hot cocoa and a stack of pancakes,” she said, smiling in return.
“Make that two,” Evan added as he sat opposite Chelsea. “And a bottle of water, please.”
“Coming right up.”
After the waiter left, Evan leaned back in his chair. It was surprisingly comfortable, with its curved wooden backrest and cushioned seat. Gazing around, he had to admit he loved this place. If someone had told him a few months ago he would enjoy a tiny European restaurant with tables too small to fold his legs under, crammed together so you could hear everyone’s conversations, he would have thought them crazy. Yet he liked it here. Maybe because everyone seemed cheerful and friendly, and this crowd of people felt more like a foreign family than a bunch of strangers. Or maybe because he was here with Chelsea.
As their gazes met, the warm intimacy of the embrace they’d shared in the churchyard still hovered between them. Evan regretted the only thing they had to talk about right now was murder. But it was a start—if a macabre one. It was their job.
“So, have you run a check on those three men Shannon dated before she met Patrick?” Chelsea asked, unwrapping the thick scarf from around her neck. She wore a black sweater, and as she leaned over to place the scarf on the chair beside her, Evan caught a glimpse of her neckline. It wasn’t low, quite the opposite, but that quick peek at the curve of her breasts ignited his imagination. He wasn’t drawn to what he could see but to the shapely unknown hiding underneath the soft wool.
He coughed, covering his mouth politely. It was only a tactic to regain his self-control and give himself a mental slap. He was not looking for a relationship of any kind, especially with a shrink, for God’s sake. She probably studied him like she would analyze a rat under a microscope, speculating on his thoughts, his feelings, his reactions. Although she seemed to be a decent human being, he could never trust a woman again—and by no means a psychologist.
He focused on answering her question. “I did, yes. I have their information.”
“Anything pop?”
“If you’re asking whether either of them has ‘killer’ in their résumés, then no.”
Her laughter was contagious. If a homicide detective and a criminal profiler couldn’t joke about these things, who could?
“Sorry to hear that,” she said at last. “Unfortunately, most killers hide well wearing the masks of ordinary people. Any other leads?”
He debated for a couple of seconds, then told her about the comment from the mysterious person nicknamed Black Dawn.
“It’s not exactly a lead, but something about it is bugging me. I’ve nothing to go by, but I got the distinct impression it’s a woman. Or a very bitchy man,” he finished, toying with the box of paper napkins, his fingers restless. “Do you think I’m grasping at straws?”
Chelsea gazed thoughtfully out the window, lips pursed. “I don’t know. It would seem a huge coincidence if you were on to something, but… You have good instincts. I would trust those instincts.”
He felt slightly puzzled when their eyes connected.
“You hardly know me,” he said. “How can you be sure I’m not the crappiest cop on the force?”
“A crappy cop wouldn’t have single-handedly uncovered the Robin Hoods and taken them down.”
Slowly, Evan leaned back in his chair, away from her. The waiter brought their order, but they hardly noticed. Their gazes were locked together as if in battle. Evan felt the cozy intimacy between them cool down and dissipate, and his jaw turned to steel.
“I see you did your research on me. So did Mandi, but I suppose you already know that. I’d be an interesting case study, right, Doc?”
Chelsea placed a hand on the table, palm down, fingers outstretched, as though she wanted to reach out to him. “It wasn’t like that. I stumbled across an article on the internet last night. The headline caught my attention, and then I read it and realized it was about you.”
He didn’t know whether to believe her or not. He didn’t know anything about this woman, and now she knew the most embarrassing things about him and his life.
“Well, the internet and the tabloids were full of information when that shit happened. I guess I should have been flattered. For weeks I got more coverage than movie stars or global warming. You’d think people had more important stuff to gossip about.” He glanced away, tasting the bitterness of the biggest failure in his career all over again. Then his eyes moved back to Chelsea. “Did that article cover all the scintillating details, or is your curiosity still unsatisfied?”
Her expression was a mix of insult and hurt. He cursed himself for noticing and cursed those big, expressive eyes that could mesmerize the most jaded of men.
“I didn’t say that to fish for information, Evan. I meant it. I don’t know how you felt about that situation, but I think you were a hero. You were essential in identifying and apprehending an important cybercrime organization.”
“While getting shot like an idiot by one of the key members,” he retorted angrily.
“The article said you had discovered her true identity already.”
“Not soon enough. The bitch had me fooled for almost three weeks. I guess you could literally say she fucked my brains out.”
“She must have been very smart and cunning,” Chelsea said reasonably. “But your blaming yourself for it is wrong. You had enough brains left to figure out who she was and act accordingly. That’s what matters.”
He scoffed. “If I had any brains at all, I would have read through her act.”
“You may have lost a battle, but you won the war.” She raised her voice, looking exasperated. “People can be deceiving—especially a woman who knows how to use her feminine charms to manipulate a man. All humans have impulses, weaknesses, flaws. Sometimes it’s impossible to resist a temptation that lands in your lap, all wrapped up and irresistible.”
His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. “You’ve read all that in an article?”
Chelsea’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Not all. I’ve read the basics and summarized the rest. Then I did a search on Mandi Klein. A man would have to be dead to resist that kind of bombshell, with her mile-long legs and flame-red hair. Hell, I’m a woman and can admit she was gorgeous.” She gave him a chagrinned look from under her lashes. “She’s the kind of woman all men want and all women hate.”
He shook his head. Amusement had tinged his fury. “For every woman like that, there’s a man who’s tired of her.”
Chelsea raised her eyebrows. “Bollocks!”
He laughed aloud at her expression. His anger was still there, along with humiliation, but he decided he might as well come clean. Talking to someone about this could be a good way to make peace with it himself. And wasn’t it time he did talk to someone, instead of beating himself up every chance he got? He didn’t give a shit what most people thought of him, but all at once, he realized he cared about Chelsea’s opinion of him. If she was going to judge him, he wanted her to hear the story first, from him.
Taking a deep breath, he began talking. “I met Mandi in a bar one night when I was too tired to work a minute longer and too pissed off to go home. I went to get a drink and cool off. I was working twelve- to fourteen-hour days on the Robin Hoods case and supervising two other cases. To say I was overworked would be an understatement, but in my gut, I felt I was on to them, getting close enough to smell their fear. Later, I found out that’s why they brought Mandi in to distract me. Our meeting in the bar was not accidental, nor were all the things we talked about that evening. She was gorgeous, as you said, pretended to be interested in the same things I was, liked the same movies, listened to the same music, so I liked her right away. Of course, she had done her homework regarding me, so she would be certain we’d hit it off.”
He took a sip from his cocoa, then gulped it down to soothe his dry throat. He was glad the drink was sweet since it made the taste of bad memories more palatable.
“I know I’ll sound like the most misogynistic prick on the face of the earth,” he went on, “but I needed an outlet, something to balance the insane pressure I put on myself at work. In short, I needed to get laid.”
He looked over at Chelsea, expecting a judgmental smirk, but her face was expressionless. She was a good sounding board, he had to give her that.
“Since she made it clear she was interested in me, I took her home that night,” Evan continued. “I don’t know if it was the fatigue or the fact that I was half-drunk, but the sex was great. I thought I’d hit the jackpot. We continued to see one another, and she knew exactly how to keep me hooked. She wasn’t clingy, she didn’t call me all the time, she played hard to get sometimes, and she was fantastic in bed—you know, the typical things most men like in a woman. What can I say? We are primitive creatures with basic needs. Turns out all those militant feminists are right about that.”
“My envy for this superwoman grows by the second,” Chelsea joked.
Evan stared at her, his eyes involuntarily cruising over her body. God, he was truly acting like a prick!
He looked back into her eyes. “Trust me, you have no reason to envy any woman.” His voice was low and hoarse.
Pink spread across her cheeks, but she kept her tone light. “Let’s agree to disagree on that. What happened next?”
“I started noticing little things about her that seemed false—things that didn’t jibe with her stories or didn’t resonate with the background she’d given me. I started doing some research of my own, careful not to raise her suspicions. I did a full search on her, and although the front layers were what she’d sold me, when I dug deeper, I discovered she was a member of the Robin Hoods. That was exactly the night before it all came down. She showed up at my place, and since I only had circumstantial evidence, I decided to go on with the charade and act as though nothing had happened. I didn’t want to spook her, but she must have sensed something because at around three a.m. I caught her nosing around in my phone. I was careless enough to keep email conversations between another agent and myself, with whom I’d shared the data about Mandi and me. The sneaky bitch freaked out when she realized I was on to her. Before I could dig my handcuffs out of my jeans, she grabbed my gun and shot me, then ran. I was lucky her aim sucked, and she got me in the shoulder,” he said, absently rubbing his left shoulder.
It still hurt, especially in this weather. He’d been indeed lucky. An inch or two in a different direction, and the bullet could have touched the heart or an artery. He would remember the deafening noise and the brutal push of that shot as long as he lived.
“Anyway,” he resumed, taking a gulp of air. “I ran after her and caught her in the end. We made quite a picture in front of my house—me, bare-assed, and her in a skimpy red negligee. Even though it was the middle of the night, the raucous woke up most of my neighbors, who saw me cuffing her. They probably thought we were playing kinky games because none of the bastards moved to help me call for backup. They stood like gawking statues in their slippers and robes while I held Mandi down with one hand, blood dripping from my shoulder all over her face.”
Chelsea’s lips trembled, pressed together, then her face grew red. Her burst of laughter was contagious. Evan had a sense of humor heavy on cynicism, but Chelsea’s reaction reflected the absurd tragicomedy of his story. Before now, he’d never seen the comedy, only the tragedy. Yet, as he watched Chelsea flush and fight to contain her giggles, he couldn’t help but picture the scene he’d just related to her. It would have made a damn good scene in a comedy.
It was a relief to be able to laugh harder than she was after all the months he’d punished himself. As it turned out, he had needed to talk about it. Not only that, but just as important, he’d needed the right person to listen. And that person was Chelsea.
By the time their laughter subsided, she was dabbing tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes.
“Jesus, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard,” she said, catching her breath. “I wish I could have seen it, but you do know how to paint a picture.”
He grinned broadly. “I suppose it takes time before one can see the humor in situations like this.”
“It does.” Her face relaxed slowly, her gaze turning serious. “But you have to talk about it. I’m glad you trusted me enough to talk to me.”
He moved his shoulders in a careless gesture. “Well, since you already knew the basics, I wanted to fill in the blanks, give you the whole story before you judged me.”
Her lips parted, and her eyes grew softer. “I would never judge you, Evan—you or anyone else. Hell, do you think that I’m not human, that I don’t make mistakes, or do things I regret later? I know my profession can be off-putting for some, but at the end of the day, I’m a normal person, just like you. I’m actually more flawed than many individuals.”
“I doubt that. I’m glad I get to see you as Chelsea, not Doctor Campbell.”
She smiled back at him, hands up, palms up. “Both Doctor Jekyll and Ms. Hyde are one and the same person.” Laughing, she picked up her cold cocoa and raised it in a toast. “Here’s to human flaws. Slàinte!”
“Slàinte!” Evan repeated. He lifted his cocoa cup, and after realizing it was empty, picked up the water bottle, making Chelsea laugh again. “I heard it’s bad luck to toast with water, but what the hell. It’s either this or pancake syrup.”
“Don’t tell me you’re superstitious.”
“Not in the least. But many people are. I suppose it’s fortunate since it’s how I became the proud owner of a black cat.”
“Really? How did that happen?”
He pulled the plate of pancakes closer and began to cut a piece from one. They weren’t hot anymore, but they were fluffy and drowned in chocolate syrup, making his mouth water.
“It’s a long story,” he said, then ate the piece of pancake.
Its sweet, creamy texture was delicious, making him realize how hungry he was. Kieran would love some of this. He looked back up at Chelsea, who’d started eating too, but still glanced at him expectantly.
“Well, maybe not that long,” he said. “It turns out Shannon had a cat, but her parents refused to take him because they thought he was bad luck.”
Her face softened in a smile. “So you took him. That was lovely of you.”
He chewed away, eyes on his plate. Her reaction made him feel a bit sappy and heroic at the same time.
“I didn’t have much choice. I had to take him, or they probably would have put him down, all because of his coloring. That sounds like discrimination to me.”
When he looked up again, she was still watching him, fork forgotten halfway between her plate and mouth. God, a man could get lost in those amethyst eyes…
“I agree,” she said. “I had a black cat when I was in high school. She was my best friend for seven wonderful years. My dad found her abandoned in the field and brought her home to me. She was so small and hardly had any fur. But that was her lucky day. I named her Tail because she was very temperamental and was always sweeping the floor with her tail. Cats do that when they’re pissed off.”
“Mine is a lazy fat male, and I don’t think I’ve seen him move his tail yet. His name is Kieran.”
“Oh, that means ‘dark’ in Irish, did you know? Kieran sounds like the best companion for you.”
Evan smiled at her. His impulses were going to get him in trouble again, but the hell of it was he couldn’t help asking his next question.
“Do you want to meet him?”