Tattooed (25 page)

30

T
he shrill blaring of a siren from somewhere outside woke Kate from a deep sleep.

She sat up in bed. Her heart began to pound.

It was her house alarm.

Alaska raised his head. Charlie opened her eyes.

She threw back the covers just as her cell phone rang. She grabbed it. “Kate Lange speaking.”

“It’s Secure For Life Alarm Systems,” a woman’s voice said. “Our system indicates a forced entry at your residence.”

“I can hear the alarm. Have you called the police?”

“I needed to ensure that this was an unauthorized entry. Do you want me to call 911?”

“Yes, please.”

Kate threw on her clothes. She hurried over to Muriel’s room, gesturing for the dogs to wait in the hallway. But the elderly lady had not woken up.

She ran to the front door. Through the window she saw the flashing blue lights of two patrol cars.

First the note on her car windshield. Now a break-in.

This wasn’t random, she was sure of it.

Once Ethan heard of the break-in, he would call her. So she would call him first.

On the second ring, he answered. “Drake.” His voice was surprisingly alert, given it was after three in the morning.

“It’s Kate.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone just broke in to my house.”

“Where are you?” Panic sharpened his voice.

“Don’t worry. I’m not at home. I’m at Muriel’s.”

“Thank God. Have you called patrol?”

“My alarm service just did.”

“Kate, promise me you will stay put. Don’t go over there. Patrol can handle it.”

She wanted to see what had happened to her house. But she said, “Okay. But are you coming?” There was a note of pleading in her voice that she didn’t try to disguise.

“I’m on my way.”

She felt bereft when she disconnected the phone. She hugged her arms.

Did her intruder know she wasn’t home? Had he planned to attack her?

A patrol officer approached the Richardsons’ house. “Ms. Lange? Detective Drake told me to find you here.”

She nodded.

“Do you have a key so we can search inside your house?”

She rummaged in her purse and found one. He left and she stood by Muriel’s front door, watching the police search her property.

The two dogs lay on the mat by her feet.

He arrived six minutes later, his hair still mussed by sleep, his T-shirt on inside out.

“They are searching the property right now,” he said.

She nodded.

“God, Kate.” He pulled her into his arms.

She sagged against him. “Thank you for coming.”

“Tell me what happened.” He smoothed her hair.

She stepped back. “I don’t know. I was sleeping, but the alarm system woke me up.” She shivered. “Did patrol tell you anything?”

His mouth tensed.

Uh-oh.

“Someone broke the window of your bedroom—”

“But that’s on the second floor.”

“He climbed onto the porch roof and used a window puncher. It’s kind of strange, Kate, unless…”

“Unless he was looking for me.”

“Or for something in your bedroom. Do you have anything of value in there?”

She laughed, a mirthless sound. “No. The only things of value were sleeping with me over here.” She felt sick. What if the dogs had been there? And someone had attacked them?

She swayed. Ethan put his arm around her. “Let’s sit down,” Ethan said. “I’ll make some tea.”

He led her into the kitchen. She was numb with fatigue—and fear. She sank into a kitchen chair and watched him fill the kettle.

“I have something to tell you.” Her voice was low. “Someone left a note on my car this morning.”

He spun to face her. “What kind of note?”

“It said ‘The Body Butcher left you for me.’” There was the slightest tremor to her voice.

“Jesus Christ, Kate! Why didn’t you call me?”

“At the time, it didn’t seem important.” She heard his exclamation of frustration. “I thought it was a prank. You know, someone who saw the news coverage and wanted to upset me. They had stuck a photo of me from the newspaper in the envelope.”

Ethan stared at her. “And you didn’t report it?”

“No.”

God.
She was an idiot. She saw it in his eyes. But she knew it, anyway. She could have been attacked. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it.”

“You are just lucky—”

Someone knocked on the door. Kate hurried to answer it. A patrol officer nodded to Ethan and said, “Ms. Lange, we’ve looked through the entire property and adjacent lots. We found a footprint in your garden bed, but that was it. We’ve brought in a sniffer dog.”

“What was stolen?”

The patrol officer shook her head. “We were hoping you could tell us. None of the usual high-ticket items are missing.”

“Of course. I’ll be right over.”

She glanced up the stairs. What if Muriel woke up?

Ethan saw her concerned look. He turned to patrol. “Do you have a spare constable? Someone who could wait here in case Ms. Richardson wakes up? She is easily disoriented.”

A patrol officer was found, and five minutes later Kate hurried down the sidewalk to her house. The scene felt surreal: lights flashing, uniformed officers striding around her property with flashlights.

A patrol officer accompanied her to the front door and Ethan pushed it open for her.

“Let’s do this systematically,” he said.

“After I see my bedroom first.” Kate marched up the stairs. She paused in the doorway to her bedroom. Ethan stood behind her.

“Damn,” she said softly.

Jagged glass glittered in the frame of the tall window that overlooked her backyard. The blind hung crookedly at the top, the louvers bent. The bureau sat in the corner as if it were drunk, with drawers half-opened and clothes spilling out. She stepped toward it.

“Why don’t you look in the top drawer,” Ethan said. “That’s the one patrol said had been touched.”

“How do they know that?”

“Because the contents had been dumped on the ground.”

He stood at the window, ostensibly inspecting the roof outside, while Kate opened the drawer. The contents were in disarray, her bras jumbled on one side, her panties crumpled on the other.

Everyone, it appeared, had gone through the contents of her underwear drawer.

She separated the items, doing a mental inventory. All her bras were there.

Where were the black-lace panties?

And the pink ones?

“Everything okay?” Ethan asked.

“No. Some of my underwear is missing.” She shook her head. “What a pervert.”

She stared at the drawer, tears choking her throat.

She felt so…violated.

She closed the drawer and rummaged through the rest of her bureau, hoping the missing underwear had been accidentally placed in a different drawer by the police when they searched her room.

No. The underwear was gone.

She couldn’t believe it.

She spun away from the bureau and opened her closet.

Nothing had been disturbed. It looked just the same as it had looked yesterday.

“Kate.” Ethan’s voice was gentle in her ear, but she started nevertheless. “Patrol found something else. On your bed.”

Her skin crawled. “What do you mean?” She rushed over to her bed. “I don’t see anything.”

Ethan handed her a bag. It held a piece of paper. “They found this on the bed.”

Kate held it up to the light.

It was a sketch.

“My God.” The sketch was of her. As a pinup girl. Naked, seductive Kate. The object of someone’s fantasy.

She thought she might throw up.

“Who would do something this sick?” she whispered.

She pressed it against her chest, ashamed by the wanton nakedness in the picture. “Don’t show it to anyone.”

“Kate, I’m sorry.” Ethan touched her arm. “It’s evidence.”

“It’s humiliating. Everyone is going to see me like that.”

He took the bag from her hand and cupped her face. “I’m so sorry, Kate.”

“Everyone will look at me and see this naked pinup girl.” Tears threatened to spill.

Ethan pulled her to him. “I’m sorry. We will find the bastard who did this. I promise. But in the meantime, you can’t stay here. Or at Muriel’s house.”

“I have to. Muriel needs me.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the couch.” With his service revolver, no doubt.

The thought was extremely comforting.

31

K
enzie slid from the bed, dropping the sheet behind her. They had forgotten to close the blinds in Finn’s bedroom last night, and the morning sun stalked the pale oak floors. Finn dozed lightly, his face buried into his pillow. Kenzie resisted the urge to run her fingers along the smooth ridges of muscle exposed by the sheet.

Foo, who had spent the night on the rattan chair under the window, lifted his head. She pressed a finger to her lips. He whined, not willing to forgo his breakfast for Finn’s sleep.

“Hey.” Finn opened an eye. “Come back here. I’m cold.”

Kenzie blew him a kiss. “Can’t. Sorry. I’ve got a client booked in an hour.”

He pushed himself to an upright position. “Lucky client.”

She grinned. “You know all about it.”

His gaze traveled over her nude body, caressing the obvious works of art and lingering on those bestowed by Mother Nature.

“Where’s your shower?” she asked, stretching.

His eyes gleamed. “Let me show you.”

Forty minutes later, Kenzie sat at a red light on Robie Street, her hair still damp, her skin still glowing and her heart still racing. She flipped open her smart phone and checked for messages.

She had received a text.

Damn him. Even though she had ignored all the text messages he sent last night, he hadn’t gotten the hint.

She threw the phone onto the passenger seat. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of opening the message.

Foo gazed at her.

She glanced at the phone again. “Shit!”

McNally was too dangerous to ignore. She grabbed the phone and opened the text, bracing herself for an obscenity-laced rant.

But it was a picture.

A picture that spoke a thousand words. And one that sent an unmistakable message.

It was a sketch of Kate Lange, in McNally’s favorite pinup style.

A car blared its horn and she jumped, dropping her phone into the well of the steering wheel. “Damn!” The light was green. She stomped on the gas, the car lurching forward, Foo slipping forward on the seat.

“Sorry, baby.” With a shaking hand, she stroked his head.

She drove the remainder of the trip to Yakusoku Tattoo with one thought in her head: McNally was going crazy.

He will never leave you alone, Kenzie.

And now that you are a tattoo artist, you can’t hide from him anymore.

Her mind whirled. She was trapped. If the police didn’t get her, McNally would.

A choice of life sentences.

No. She wouldn’t let McNally ruin her life.

And what about Kate Lange? If McNally didn’t lead the police to her doorstep with his stupid appearances at her hotel, then she still had to contend with Kate. What if she made the connection between Heather Rigby’s tattoo and her dead sister’s?

Her fingers found their way to her neck. She caressed the skin, imagining the koi swimming up, up.

As always, it calmed her.

I can make it up this waterfall.

She couldn’t let McNally or Kate Lange drag her down.

Both of them were threats.

But how to stop them without being discovered by the police? They were hot on her scent. She was already a suspect.

Think, Kenzie.

You got away with murder once.

You can do it again.

* * *

The morning came with brutal honesty, light forcing its way through the heavy velvet curtains of the Richardsons’ house. Kate lay in bed, allowing her eyes to gradually adjust to the light. A pot banged.

Alaska trotted over to her and nosed her arm. “Hello, boy,” she murmured. Charlie, not to be outdone, rushed over to lick her hand. “Hey, Charlie.”

Another pot banged.

Was Muriel making breakfast?

Then everything came back to her: the house alarm waking her up, the break-in, the missing panties.

The sketch.

The noise in the kitchen was most likely Ethan. She threw on a pair of jeans and a loose sweater and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, trying to avoid her reflection on three hours’ sleep.

Ugh.
She really needed a shower.

She dabbed concealer under her eyes and hurried into the kitchen.

“Good morning,” Ethan said. “Breakfast is ready.”

She had heard those words many times during their engagement. “Wow. Thanks.”

Ethan scooped scrambled eggs onto the plates, which already boasted freshly sliced oranges. “The toast should be ready in a minute.”

The French press gave off a delicious aroma of coffee. She poured the hot brew while Ethan buttered the toast. They sat down at the table.

Ethan took a long gulp of the coffee. “I needed that.”

He probably hadn’t slept at all last night. She knew what he was like when he was on a case. And he was no doubt worried about the implications of what had happened to her… . “Thank you for coming last night,” Kate said. “I really appreciate it.”

“Kate, I want to be there for you. But I want you to understand something. Even if we aren’t together, I would still come. I care for you. I always will.”

Heat rushed to her face. “Thank you.”

She forced herself to eat a mouthful of the eggs, although she had no appetite. “Why do you think someone did that last night?”

Ethan exhaled. “It’s the work of a stalker, Kate. He leaves a note for you in the morning on your car. Then he takes it a step further, breaking in to your house, and leaves a drawing of you. There’s no question he’s escalating his behavior.”

“So…do you think it’s just a crazy person who saw me in the paper? Or someone who is targeting me because of the assisted suicide campaign?” Kate sipped her coffee.

Ethan shrugged. “It’s hard to know. You haven’t received any notes, texts, pictures or phone calls before that note yesterday morning?”

Kate shook her head. “I read through every message that was sent to my office after Frances Sloane’s television appearance, and none of them were threatening.”

“We need to look at those. As well as the online news forums that reported Mrs. Sloane’s story. We’ll contact the moderators to see if anyone has posted threatening content about you.” Ethan’s phone vibrated. He glanced at the number. “I’ve got to go.”

Kate followed him to the door. “Thank you, Ethan.”

He gave her a stern look. “You can thank me by calling me if you receive any more messages.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Kate, don’t fool around with this. I know you’ve been through a lot, and you are obviously a very tough woman, but stalkers are unpredictable. They live in a fantasy world. You can’t assume you know what they will do next. Don’t answer the door to anyone who isn’t a close personal friend.”

“I understand.” His warning, in a strange way, warmed her. She wasn’t in this alone.

“I’ll be here tonight. As soon as I finish work. Unless we bring in a suspect on the Rigby case…” He paused. “Do you have anyone you can call if I can’t get away?”

“I’ll call Finn. It was his turn to come over, anyway. We’ll all spend the night here.”

“Good.” He reached over and brushed his lips across her cheek. “I’ll call you later.”

“Thanks.” There was a comforting familiarity in his words.

“And lock the door after you.”

Kate smiled. “I will.”

He strode out the door, yanking his phone from his back pocket. She watched him stop outside his car and scan Kate’s house, the property and the houses adjoining it. She knew he was wondering the same thing: Who was the guy who broke in?

And what would he do next?

Ethan jumped into his car and gave her a final wave before heading down the street.

Kate closed the front door, securing the dead bolt. It seemed foolish in the bright light of morning. But she had made a promise.

Muriel, she discovered, liked to sleep in late. Kate tiptoed to the bathroom.

A long, hot shower refreshed her, and she dressed for work. Corazon was due in ten minutes. While she was dabbing more concealer under her eyes, her phone rang.

She checked the caller. It was Nat. “Are you calling about what happened last night?” Kate asked. The media would be all over this.

“No. What’s up?”

Kate told her about the break-in. She wanted to tell her about the note and the sketch, but she knew that Nat walked a fine line between their friendship and her job. And she didn’t want her friend to be in a position of having to conceal an obviously hot news story.

So she kept silent.

“Was it a random break-in?” Nat asked. “Did they take anything?”

“Not much.” In fact, nothing was taken. Except two pairs of lace panties. She wished she could tell Nat. “The alarm system went off and he ran away.”

“Well, you are certainly keeping the police busy, between the break-in and your client.”

Kate straightened. “What do you mean?”

“That’s why I was calling. The police were at your client’s house yesterday morning. In fact, Ethan was there.”

The Sloane house was, of course, within walking distance of the Rigby murder site. It would make sense that they would canvass it. “Was this just the usual neighborhood canvass?”

“I don’t know. But I think not. The police seem unusually tight-lipped.”

As Ethan had been with her.

And as it should be, Kate. You are Frances’ lawyer. Ethan is the investigating officer on the
Rigby case.
They each had a duty to their respective professions.

“Do you know who they interviewed?”

“Frances Sloane.” Nat sounded surprised. “She’s the only one who lives there, right?”

“Yes, but her daughter is visiting from out of town… .”

And out of all the members of that family, Kate could guess which Sloane the police would take an interest in.

Kenzie Sloane.

Who would have been the same age as the murder victim.

Who, from Kate’s own personal experience, was capable of leading a young girl down a path of destruction.

Had she done the same to Heather Rigby?

“Is this going on tonight’s news?” Kate asked.

“You bet. There was practically a lineup to get a shot of the driveway to Frances Sloane’s house.”

Damn.

Kate had not given up hope that Harry Owen would change his mind if she could convince him to meet with her client.