Shattered (7 page)

Deputy Thoreau opened the door a crack. “Time’s up.”

Landon stepped inside. “Sorry, guys.”

Reef stood, trying to put on a brave front, but she knew he was scared. She could see it in his eyes. Just like when he was a little boy terrified of thunder—every storm she’d find him cowering in the coat closet. She’d crawl in with a flashlight, a handful of books, and a warm blanket; and the two of them
would huddle under the blanket, reading by flashlight until long after the storm passed.

Often their mother would find them there the next morning, still asleep. The first time, she’d nearly had a heart attack, thinking they were missing, but after subsequent storms, she knew exactly where to look. How Piper wished this storm would pass.

She embraced Reef tightly as Thoreau stepped into the room to haul him away. “I won’t stop fighting until I get you out of here, Reef. You have my word.”

Landon found Cole and Bailey waiting in his office when he returned from escorting Reef back to his cell. Bailey stood as he entered. “I’ll wait in the lobby.” She planted a kiss on Cole’s cheek and gave Landon a hug before leaving.

“How’s Piper?” He was so worried about her.

“She’s a lot stronger than she appears.”

A family member’s guilt would test even the strongest of faith—it had flat out crushed his fledgling one.

“But . . .” Cole sighed.

“But?” Landon leaned forward.

“It’s probably nothing.” Cole shook his head. “We’re all under a lot of strain, and so much has happened. . . .”

“What’s going on?”

Cole rubbed his hands along his thighs. “Piper thinks someone may have broken into the house the night of Reef’s arrest.” He relayed everything. The unlocked back door, the opened cupboard, and the deep-sleeping husky.

“Anything missing?”

“Not that we can tell.”

“How’s Rori now?”

“Fine. Look, I know Piper’s imagination can get going, but . . .”

“Her gut instinct is usually right.” It was impressive, really, though he’d never admit it to her. It’d only fuel her antics.
“What about yours? You think someone broke in and drugged the dog?”

Cole sighed. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I’ve asked the girls to be extra diligent, but I’d say there’s nothing to be done for now.”

“I’m sorry, man. Let me know if I can do anything.”

Cole nodded. “Harland’s coming by the house tonight. I’d like you to be there.”

Would that prove to be too much a conflict of interest? Would he have to pull back when the McKennas needed him most?

“It’s cool if you don’t—”

“No, I’d love to be there. It’s just I don’t think it’s ethical if I sit in on that discussion.”

“Right.” Cole slid his hands in his pockets. “I hadn’t thought of that. Well, at least drop by for dinner afterward. Bailey’s making her Irish stew.”

“I’ll be there.” He just couldn’t be a part of anything that could, no matter how innocently, corrupt the case.

“Grainger,” Slidell hollered.

Landon lifted his chin. “I better . . .”

“See you at dinner.”

“Yeah.”

Landon entered Slidell’s office, his muscles tightening. “You wanted me?”

“Booth just called. The preliminary autopsy on Karli Davis is done.”

Landon entered the autopsy room. The stench of death enveloped the stale air. Karli Davis lay on the cold steel table, her chest covered with a series of stitched zigzags that formed a very dark Y.

Landon popped a menthol cough drop in his mouth before stepping closer, finding the trick more helpful in masking the odor than smearing Noxzema beneath his nose, as some of the other cops did.

“Landon.” Booth slipped on a fresh pair of gloves. “Perfect timing.”

His thoughts exactly. He’d observed one autopsy in its entirety, and it was something he’d never forget. Being present for the initial external exam and then briefed after the completion of the internal suited him just fine.

“Cause of death,” Booth said, bypassing the pleasantries, “was a lateral cut to the carotid artery.” Booth pointed to the incision on Karli’s neck. “She died fairly quick once the lethal cut was made.”

Landon pointed to several gouges beneath Karli’s right knee. “And what about those?”

“I’m unable to be certain which came first, the leg or the neck injury.”

“So the killer was going for either torture or postmortem mutilation?” For the victim’s sake, he prayed it was the latter.

Booth nodded.

Landon shook his head. Reef killing in the heat of anger was one thing, but torture or postmortem mutilation? Was there any way Reef could be that sick, or did they have the wrong man?

“It does look like the killer got interrupted before he could finish whatever he was attempting to do.” Booth indicated the jagged end of the three-inch gash on her leg. “Looks like he jerked away quickly.”

Most likely when Ashley and Tug arrived. “What do you think he was attempting?”

“Perhaps he enjoyed the kill but it went too quick for his tastes, so he decided to continue cutting. Or”—Booth exhaled—“he could have been carving some sort of mark or insignia into her.”

Either reason demonstrated the killer’s need to exert power over his victim.

Landon bent for a closer examination. “It looks like there’s scarring in the area.”

“Yes. My guess is from a recent injury or surgery.”

“How recent are we talking?”

“Under a year, probably less.”

“What about her blood alcohol?” Ash, Tug, and Reef all said Karli had been drinking. The alcohol in her system could have slowed her reactions and reduced her ability to struggle with the killer.

“Analysis strip showed the presence of alcohol in her system. We’ll have to wait for the full tox screen results to know how much.”

“Good work, Booth. As usual.”

The lanky Louisiana native smiled. “Just hope it results in the clear-cut evidence you need to put the killer away.”

Landon appreciated Booth not naming Reef as the killer—not until all the evidence was in. Though he knew most in town would not give Reef the same benefit of the doubt.

“Let me know as soon as you hear something.” He was particularly interested in the trace-evidence results from the changing room. If they could prove another man had been in the women’s changing room, maybe, just maybe they’d have a new direction to head.

“Will do, but you know they are short staffed at the lab. Could be weeks, and that’s if we’re lucky.”

Lucky was the last thing Landon felt.

Following the family’s visit with Reef, Gage headed to the Polar Espresso. The rich, roasted smell he loved brought little soothing to his troubled soul. But the more he adhered to routine, the better he believed he’d cope.

He took his place in line, debating his beverage choice. The sweet scent of caramel-laced sticky buns filled the air, and the heat emanating from the kitchen contrasted sharply with the brisk winter draft sweeping in every time the shop door opened. He turned and glanced at the line forming behind him and stopped short. Darcy St. James.

“You again,” he groaned.

She rolled her eyes. “I was about to say the same.”

“Right.”

“What? You don’t honestly think I followed you here?”

“Of course not. That would be totally beneath a reporter.”

“What can I get you, Gage?” Mack asked from behind the counter.

“Large Moose Madness, with an extra shot, and one of Pam’s sticky buns.” He could practically taste the warm, gooey bread melting in his mouth.

“You got it.”

He paid and waited as Mack filled his order, willing the man to be quick. The less time spent around Darcy St. James, the better.

Her fingers moved rapidly across her Blackberry, no doubt sending texts regarding her intended story to her boss.

Women like her got under his skin, and try as he might, he couldn’t help himself. “Saw you lost your nerve,” he said smugly.

She paused and looked up at him. “I beg your pardon?”

“You didn’t question Meredith.” He leaned in and, ignoring the intoxicating scent of her perfume, dropped his voice an octave. “Too intimidating, was she?”

“Hardly.” Darcy stiffened.

“Well, just so we’re clear, you’re not making a story out of my family.” Best to drill that into that pretty head of hers before she made her next move.

“Actually, I’m trying to—”

“Prey on a family when they’re suffering?” he supplied before she could finish, before she could lie.

Taking a deep breath, she seemed to rise in stature. “I’ll have you know that I’m—”

“One Moose Madness Extreme and sticky bun,” Mack called.

Gage held up a finger. “Hold that thought.” She could hold it for all of eternity, as far as he cared. He turned, retrieved his order, and thanked Mack.

“See you tomorrow.” Mack smiled.

Without so much as a glance in Darcy’s direction, he strode straight past her and headed for the door.

“What can I get for you?” Mack’s voice echoed behind him.

Darcy prattled something, and then Landon heard the distinct sound of her three-inch bootheels clipping across the hardwood floor after him.

“We weren’t finished,” she said, before he could make his escape.

“No?” he asked, slipping the piping-hot pastry from the bag and stealing a bite. Warm caramel slicked his tongue.

“No, and I most certainly am not preying on your family. I’m trying to help.”

“Uh-huh.” He licked the extra caramel from his sticky fingers. “Sure you are, lady. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He slid
out the door as a couple entered, the brisk winter air refreshing against his heated skin.

Stepping to the curb, he waited as the plow rolled past, and Darcy stepped in front of him. “Just who do you think you are?”

He grimaced. Didn’t the lady know the meaning of quit?

“You,” she said pointedly, “know nothing about me. And if you’d stop being so boorish for just a second and let me explain—”

“There’s no need. Trust me; I know everything I need to about women like you.” He took a sip of his drink, the heat of it matching the fire coursing through his veins. The woman had some nerve.

“Women like
me
?”

“That’s right.” He stalked across the street.

“Please enlighten me,” she said, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. “Exactly what kind of woman am I?”

Reaching the other side, he stopped, giving her a once-over.

She maintained a defiant stance—shoulders stiff, head cocked—but an unmistakable blush crept over her cheeks at his raking gaze.

Taking a breath, he leaned in. “You’re the kind of woman that harasses a family while their brother is on trial for murder.” His voice deepened as his anger rose. “The kind of woman whose only concern in life is getting ahead. And the kind of woman who doesn’t care who she hurts in the process.”

“Boy . . .” Darcy whistled, shaking her head. “Some woman must have really done a number on you.”

His jaw clamped tight.

“Wait a minute.” Her eyes widened. “Meredith Blake?”

How had the woman put that together so quickly? His muscles coiled tight. It didn’t matter. It was clear it would be only a matter of time before the gnat resurrected the whole painful matter. Without a word, he turned and stalked away.

Darcy trudged back to the coffeehouse, realizing stiletto heels and ice didn’t make the best combination. Wouldn’t Gage
McKenna have loved it if she’d fallen on her bum chasing after him? His disdain for her was clear, as was his pain. She’d hit a nerve, a very raw and exposed nerve. Meredith Blake had crushed his heart, and now he was lumping all career women into the same category.

While Darcy was ambitious, it wasn’t for a story or a career boost, as he so adamantly claimed—she was after the truth. After taking off from hard-hitting news the past two years to cover the sport she loved and the adventure athletes she’d grown up with, a deeper story had finally tugged at her heart and filled her with hope that she could do some good. Her instincts said there was more to the case, more to the victim’s life than met the eye. If Gage McKenna couldn’t see past his preconceived notions to let her help, she’d find another way to get the information she needed.
Boorish man
.