Crossing the Line (7 page)

“No. I didn’t miss it. I know you still love Melissa.”

Hearing his wife’s name twisted the knife that seemed to be permanently lodged in his gut. 

When he didn’t add anything, she continued. “Why does that mean nothing can happen between us? Don’t you think she’d want you to move on? Find someone else?”

“I can’t.” Paul met Megan’s gaze and shook his head. “I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am, but I just can’t.”

Without giving Megan time to respond, Paul said good night, and bounded up the stairs. He was running away, he knew that, but it was either that or break down in front of her—and to Paul, that would have been worse. Talking about Melissa to Chloe was one thing. Discussing her with Megan was something altogether different. Paul didn’t want to think about why that was, exactly. He knew he might find answers he didn’t want to know.

Paul woke up the next morning feeling as if he hadn’t slept at all. It had taken him hours of tossing and turning before he’d finally drifted off, and then when he did, he was tortured by images of Melissa
and
Megan. In one dream, he’d been lying in bed with his wife, talking . . . kissing. It was a pleasant dream, and one he had often. 

But as he leaned in to give Melissa a kiss, the dream changed and it was no longer Melissa in front of him. It was Megan. He’d woken with a start, panting, and stiff as a board. 

Sleep was impossible after that. 

The smell of coffee filled the kitchen as Paul pulled Melissa’s mug out of the cabinet. He’d found it in the dishwasher the day after her funeral, and he’d been using it ever since for his morning cup of coffee. It made him feel close to her somehow, as if a part of her was still with him when he started his day. 

Before his wife died, Paul always drank his coffee black. He figured if he was going to drink the caffeinated beverage then it shouldn’t be doctored to make it taste like something else. That was before, though. 

Paul opened the refrigerator and removed the milk, setting it on the counter. Once the coffee pot stopped percolating, he filled his glass three quarters of the way, and then topped it off with milk—just like Melissa used to drink it. 

After putting the milk away, Paul sat down at the kitchen table and picked up the morning paper he’d snatched from the driveway as soon as he came downstairs. This was his routine, and routines were good. Unfortunately, Paul couldn’t focus on the words in front of him. It was as if he were reading some foreign language instead of English. 

Frustrated, he tossed the paper down on the table, and massaged his temples. What was happening to him?

The sound of footsteps on the stairs caused him to glance up. Seconds later, Megan appeared. She was still wearing her pajamas from the night before. The bottoms only covered about a quarter of her leg, which meant there was plenty left over for him to see. Megan wasn’t tall, but her legs were long, and for a moment, Paul wondered what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his hips.

Startled by the direction of his thoughts, Paul shot up out of his chair and nearly spilled what was left of his coffee.

“You okay?” 

Paul noted the concern in her voice. Unfortunately that wasn’t helping whatever it was that seemed to be happening to him. To them. No, to him. There was no
them
. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

She looked at him intently for a long moment, and then strolled past him to the counter to get herself some coffee. Paul clenched his eyes closed, and forced himself to breathe. He needed to get out of there.

Clearing his throat, he turned to face her, but she had her back to him. Unfortunately, that gave him a clear view of her backside. He averted his eyes quickly as his body began to betray him. “I’m going to head to work early this morning to catch up on some paperwork.”

Megan turned around, holding her coffee against her chest. His eyes narrowed in on her breasts. “All right.”

He knew he needed to go—get out of there, but his feet refused to move. 

“Paul?”

“Yes?”

She laid her cup down on the counter, and stalked toward him. Okay, maybe stalked was too strong a word, but that was how he felt at the moment. His feet were glued to the floor by some unknown force, and she was walking toward him. His brain was telling him to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction, but his limbs weren’t cooperating. 

Megan came to a stop in front of him. Without pause, she placed her right hand in the center of his chest, and met his gaze. “Why are you running away from me?”

He swallowed. “I’m not.”

By the look in her eyes, she knew he was lying. “Yes, you are.”

“Megan . . .”

“Paul.”

Wrapping his fingers around her wrist, he removed her hand from his chest, and took a step back. “I told you last night that this couldn’t happen, and I meant it.”

“I’m not agreeing to that.” He could hear the stubborn determination in her voice. 

“You’re going to have to.”

“Why? Give me one good reason why this can’t happen.” 

Her eyes were fierce. He could see the fight in her. “I’m still in love with my wife. I can’t . . . I can’t give you anything.”

Megan’s eyes softened a little. “I know you still love Melissa.”

“Good. Then you understand why nothing can happen between us.”

She stepped closer, eating up the space he’d put between them. “No. I don’t. Why does that mean you can’t give me anything?” 

Megan leaned forward, brushing her breasts against his chest, causing him to suck in a breath. “What are you doing?”

“Proving a point.”

“Which is?”

She looked up at him. “You want me, Paul Daniels, whether you want to admit it or not.”

Before he could respond, Megan leaned back, gave him a coy smile, and slid around him. She disappeared up the stairs, leaving him dumbfounded. He didn’t want another relationship. Not with Megan. Not with any woman. 

He did want her, though. She was right about that. Or at least, his body did. The evidence was visible if anyone happened to walk into the kitchen at that moment. 

But it didn’t change anything. 

Leaning his head back against the wall, Paul took several deep breaths until he felt his body was back under control. Work. That was what he needed to take his mind off Megan and whatever was happening between them. There was a serial killer out there, and he knew from experience that whoever it was wouldn’t stop until they were caught. 

Before his thoughts were invaded once again by Megan, Paul raced up the stairs to get ready for work. Megan was young. She probably just had a crush on him or something. It would pass.

He repeated that mantra all the way to the station, trying to convince himself that it was true. Paul didn’t want to think about what it would mean if it wasn’t. Megan lived in his house, and he hadn’t been with a woman in nearly five years. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to resist her temptations. Paul didn’t want to hurt her. He cared about Megan, but he also knew he could never give her anything more than his body, and she deserved so much more than that. 

Chapter 6

Paul breathed a sigh of relief when he entered the station. People were milling around, going about their tasks even at the early hour. It was familiar. Safe. 

He bristled.
Safe.
Since when had that become what was most important to him? He used to be willing to take risks. Used to do it all the time for his job. How many people had told him and Melissa that they would never last, yet they’d been married for more than ten years when that drunk driver ran her off the road. More than that, they’d been happily married. With a newborn baby. 

Chloe had changed things for them, but not in a bad way. They’d cherished the little girl who had blessed their lives. Melissa had difficulties getting pregnant, but after five years of trying, they’d brought a beautiful baby girl into the world. Unfortunately, Melissa had only been part of Chloe’s life for six months before she was taken away from both of them. 

Thinking about Chloe brought him back to Megan. As he sat down at his desk, Paul replayed the conversation he’d had with his daughter’s nanny. He’d had women come on to him over the years—more so since becoming a widower—but none of them had sparked anything in him. This morning was different. There had been a spark, and he wouldn’t lie to himself. It scared him on a deep and primal level.

After Megan sauntered out of the kitchen, it had taken a good ten minutes for his erection to go down. No woman had done that to him with such ease since Melissa. She used to be able to look at him, and he’d be up for whatever she had in mind. 

“You’re here early.”

Paul looked up as his partner slid into the desk across from him. “I wanted to go over the new files.”

Janey glanced down at his desk and raised one eyebrow. “Were you expecting those files to magically appear in front of you?”

He shrugged and reached for the stack of folders on the corner of his desk. “Very funny, Davis.”

Leaning back, she gave him a once-over. “Something happen at your brother’s wedding I should know about?”

“It was a wedding.” He tried to concentrate on the report in front of him. 

“That doesn’t mean nothing happened.”

Paul continued to look down at the files as if they held all the secrets in the universe.

When he didn’t elaborate, Janey sighed. “You’re sure?”

“I am.” He looked up and gave her the best smile he could muster. “So catch me up. What’s the latest on the newest victim?”

Janey spent the next hour bringing Paul up to speed on the case. He’d only been gone for four days, but there had been a lot of new developments within that time. This newest victim was twenty-eight-year-old Casey McMurphy. She was a flight attendant, newly married, and had no children.

The similarities between this victim and the first two were few. Apart from each of the women being around the same age, and all being home alone at the time of the murders, nothing else matched up. They’d been searching for a connection between the first two victims, but had come up short thus far. Paul was hoping they would be able to find something to tie the three women together. Once they knew how the killer was selecting the victims, they would have a better chance at catching him or her. 

In his absence, Janey and one of the other detectives had interviewed Mr. McMurphy, but Paul wanted to see the crime scene for himself. Throughout the drive, Janey kept glancing over at him. 

“What’s on your mind, Davis?”

“I was going to ask you the same question, Daniels.”

He pulled into the McMurphys’ drive and turned off the engine. Paul opened his door and exited the vehicle without a word to his partner. 

Janey sighed and unfastened her seat belt. “Fine. I get it. You don’t want to talk about it.”

They strolled up to the house in silence, and Paul took the time to observe his surroundings. It was a nice neighborhood. He heard dogs barking from the house next door and there was a sprinkler going a few houses down. Nothing stood out to him as being out of the ordinary. 

Paul rang the doorbell, and after several minutes, a young woman answered. She looked to be around Megan’s age, but she was shorter. The woman was even wearing a short skirt, showing off her trim, athletic legs. 

He quickly put a stop to the direction his mind was heading. He was working, and he needed to concentrate. Whatever was going on, or not going on, with Megan and himself wasn’t what he needed to be focusing on at the moment. 

“Hello?”

They flashed their badges. “Is Mr. McMurphy home?”

The woman froze for a moment, and then seemed to come out of it, stepping back to allow them inside. “H-he’s in the kitchen. Let me . . . let me go get him.”

Without another word, she scurried out of sight. Paul gave a questioning look to his partner, and she shrugged, letting him know that she didn’t know who the woman was either. 

While they waited, Paul looked around. The house was simple, but nice. In fact, what stood out to him the most was the lack of clutter or anything else that made the house looked lived in. Granted the McMurphys didn’t have any children, but there should still be evidence of the two people living there. If there was, he couldn’t see it from where he stood. 

Evan McMurphy walked into the room looking as if he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had dark circles beneath them. “Detectives?”

Janey took the lead. “We’re sorry to bother you again so soon, Mr. McMurphy, but I wanted to introduce you to my partner, Detective Daniels. He was out of town this weekend, but he and I will be handling your wife’s case.”

Paul extended his hand. “Hello, Mr. McMurphy.”

Evan McMurphy shook Paul’s hand and nodded. 

“Detective Daniels wanted to get a look at the crime scene for himself. It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

“Sure. Of course.”

Janey led Paul down a long hallway to the back of the house. The sunroom remained blocked with crime scene tape. Although the forensic unit had already been through the room from top to bottom, it hadn’t been cleaned yet. 

As he walked around the room, Paul noted the small similarities between this murder and the others. Opening up the file, he compared the position of the victim’s body with the others. The killer not only positioned each of the bodies in a similar way, but where the women were placed in the room was the same. It was almost as if the killer had used a tape measure to find the exact center, and place the body in that spot. “Whoever this person is, they are big on details.”

His partner nodded. “I agree. It does look like this one may have struggled a bit more than the others, though.” She pointed to a vase lying on the floor—its contents spilled out on the beige carpet. With the other two victims, nothing had been out of place. There had been no sign of a struggle at all. It was as if whoever it was walked in, did their business, and left. 

Paul worked his way over to the large French doors along the back wall. There was no sign of forced entry. He opened the door, checking for any evidence that the lock had been picked. There were some scratches, but they could have come from general wear.