Wicked Release (21 page)

33

J
ess finished her photographs relatively quickly, all things considered. Maybe she just wanted to get the hell out of there. She'd never had to photograph the body of someone she'd just seen alive less than twenty-four hours before. Even though she barely knew this kid, it still knocked the wind out of her to look so closely at his lifeless eyes. Eyes that had been bloodshot, but still lively hours earlier while he divulged all sorts of information to Sam. That couldn't have been coincidence.

She pulled the camera off her neck, pausing at Dylan's feet. From that angle, she could see up his nose and she crouched, pulling the camera to her face once more. She zoomed in as tight as she could on his nostrils. She couldn't be certain, but it looked an awful lot like drugs were packed into his nasal cavity—almost as though someone had shoved the drugs in forcefully. She snapped the last picture, making a mental note to point it out to Sam before she left.

Though her job was done, Sam's was only just beginning. As she walked to the edge of the promenade toward the impromptu snack and coffee station, she found Sam and Matt huddled away from the group, in a private meeting.

She gave them an extra minute together, pulling the envelope addressed to Cass from the hospital out of her duffel bag and tearing it open. A stack of stapled, photocopied papers fell into her hands with a note clipped to the front. It was monogrammed stationery with the initials RGB letter-pressed to the front. Jess flipped the note open.

What the hell?
Jess flipped the envelope over, looking at the postmarked date—September fourteenth. The day before her sister's death.

“All done?” Sam's voice was raspy, and he sounded almost as fatigued as he looked.
Dammit,
she thought to herself, and shoved the letters back into the envelope, doing her best not to appear as unnerved as she felt. Her feet sunk into the sand, making it even more difficult to stand tall than it usually was around Sam.

“Yep,” she said, and her own voice was also weary, reflective no doubt of her exhausted body. It was just after three in the morning and they'd all been up since nearly six. It didn't seem human that Sam could still function after hardly any sleep the night before. “Be sure to check his nasal cavity,” she said. “I got a macro shot of it, but it looks like there may be some powder forced inside.”

“I noticed the bruising at his eyes and redness around his nose. Now that you're done, we can move the body and have a closer look,” he answered sharply, not looking at her directly. “Good job. Go home, get some rest. If you could get us those images in the morning that would be great.”

“I'll deliver them first thing.” She paused, shifting uncomfortably. “Well . . . good night.” Moving aside, she pulled out her phone, searching for a cab company.

Sam's baritone voice came from over her shoulder, far closer than she expected him to be. “What are you doing?”

“Calling a cab, what does it look like?”

“I don't think you need one.”

“We've been through this. We can't be seen together and you won't be done here for at least an hour—”

“Not
me,
” he grunted, then jerked his head up to the parking lot beside the beach. There was Elliot's limo with Lyle sitting on the hood, staring at his phone. He looked up in time to catch Jess and gave a little wave.

“Guess Elliot wanted to make sure I got home safely,” Jess said.

Sam nodded. “I hate that I'm about to say this . . . but I like him for that. He seems . . . okay.”

A warm sensation flooded her stomach and for the first time in a while, Jess felt like she had family watching out for her again. She was too independent for her own good sometimes. She knew that. And yet, now and then, it was nice that someone else was there to pick up the slack. She looked to Sam. It would be nice if she could let him be that person. Someone else to stay home and wait for the cable guy. Another human being to help out when a pipe burst or when a package needed to be signed for. That warm feeling exploded into a fireball as her eyes connected to his and little sensations popped off in her chest like mini-fireworks.

“You should get home,” he said.

“I should.”

Another pause. More eye contact.

“Jess—” His voice was firm, but it also came out in an amused sort of chuckle as she snapped herself out of the daze.

Gathering her duffel bag, purse and camera bag, she was about to say good-bye, but she blinked, Sam's face coming more into focus despite her exhaustion. A dark trickle ebbed its way out of one nostril. “Sam . . . your nose. It's bleeding.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek, the rasp of his stubble scraping her palm.

He jerked out of her touch, pressing a finger to his nose and looking at the scarlet stain that streaked his hand. “Shit,” he groaned. “You got a tissue?”

Jess nodded, diving a hand in her bag to pull out one of those little travel tissue packs. “Here. Are you okay?” she asked as he tipped his head back, pressing the tissue against the bloody side.

“Fine, fine. I . . .” He seemed to stop, thinking before continuing. “I'll be okay. Probably just pushed myself a little too hard today.”

“Why don't you let Matt finish up here—”

“No. This is my case. Dylan was my responsibility.”

Jess held in a sigh, simply nodding instead. There was no point in arguing when Sam got this way. He was stubborn. A trait she recognized and understood because she was the exact same way. Something they had connected over at a very young age when they both wanted to play with the same set of Legos in preschool. “Okay,” she said. “Just take it easy, okay?” She gave his shoulder a little squeeze before walking up to Lyle's car.

 

It took another hour and a half after Sam put Jess into Lyle's car before he finished his own work at the crime scene. His limbs were weary, the night chill was transitioning into a morning dew, and in a few hours the sun would be cresting over the ocean. Slowly, he made his way up to the parking lot where his car awaited. Only a few more minutes and he could collapse into bed. His head was pounding. He finally understood where that phrase
splitting headache
came from. There was no escape from this headache. No amount of Tylenol could help. Nothing.

The moment his car came into view, he noticed that something was wrong. A padded envelope was pinched between his windshield wipers and his hand instinctually went to the gun on his hip as he scanned the area for shadows or any bit of movement. Everything was still. Cautiously, he walked up, comforted by the fact that dozens of uniformed officers and Matt still roamed nearby. After diving a hand into his pocket, he slipped on a latex glove he was still carrying from the crime scene and carefully opened the envelope.

A torn piece of stationery fell out along with a memory card for a digital camera. The exact kind of camera that Jess used. Sam carefully unfolded the note, which read:

The sweat from a long day's work chilled against his flushed skin and he dove inside his car, grabbing his laptop from the backseat and shoving the memory card into its reader. Twenty images were on the card, all of Jess's new house. There were very standard interior shots like something you'd find in a real estate listing. And then the last two images, of Jess fast asleep in her bed. The covers were pulled up high around her chest, her head turned to the side, mouth parted.

This fucker had been
inside
her house while she had been sleeping.

 

The ride back home was pretty smooth and thankfully Lyle was quiet most of the way. Almost as if he could sense how exhausted Jess was. She really just needed some quiet time to think. And read. But she knew better now than to take that piece of paper out anywhere other than in the safety of her home.
Even still . . . could it really hurt? A quick peek?
The windows were tinted and Lyle had his eyes on the road.

She stole a quick glance at him in the driver's seat, eyes fixed straight ahead, focused. Quietly, she pulled the envelope out of her purse. Just the first page. She'd only glance quickly at the first page and then slip it back into her bag. The paper rustled in the nearly silent car, as loud as an alarm blaring in the middle of the night. She froze, waiting for Lyle to react. But he didn't. She turned the radio on from the backseat and glanced at the first page.

It was an attorney's notes. Personal notes for a potential medical malpractice suit that resulted in death. No . . . two deaths. And personal medical records. For her parents. Mr. Nicholas Walters and Mrs. Renee Walters.

Jess's head felt too light for her body and stars danced behind her eyes. The music that she had only just put on seemed to warp in her ears, producing a horrible, tinny sort of sound. Her breath shuddered with each inhalation. What the fuck was going on? What did any of this have to do with her parents?

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her brain to work at full capacity. She couldn't fall apart. Not now. And she sure as hell shouldn't be reading this anywhere in public. She quickly folded the papers three times and then stuck them in the inside pocket of her jacket along with the note from Dr. Brown. The envelope it came in was too puffy to fit in her pocket, so she shoved it inside her duffel bag on top of the rest of the mail. Something—instinct or maybe paranoia—made her take a pause and she grabbed a stack of the junk mail and slipped it inside the envelope, tucking the flap closed before falling back into her seat. She held her breath, puffing her cheeks out before slowly releasing it through tight lips.

The more she learned about her sister, the more confused she got.

Lyle pulled into her driveway behind her car and stood to open the door for her. He yawned as she stepped out, dipping his head and covering his wide-open mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry about that,” he said.

“It's okay,” she said with a glance around at the neighboring houses. “I'm sorry Elliot dragged you out of bed so late for me.”

“I don't mind. I wasn't even asleep yet.”

“Well, thanks again.” Lifting her bags and sliding her purse over one shoulder, she headed for her front door, pulling out her keys.

“I'll wait until you're inside,” Lyle called after her with a wave. “Flip the outside switch a couple of times when you're locked in and safe.”

Jess gave him a nod, unlocked her front door and walked into her foyer. Shutting the door behind her, she switched the main light on, turned to lock the door behind her, and flickered the lights for Lyle. She watched as his headlights backed out of her driveway and the car took off down the street.

Even though she was exhausted, out of habit Jess dragged her memory card out of the camera, plugging it into her laptop and uploading the photos. She was way too tired to edit, but she could at least have them culled and ready for the morning.

After thirty minutes of work, she dragged her weary body up the stairs. As she came closer to the master bedroom, she heard music softly playing.

It was a familiar song by the Eagles.
Did I leave the radio on when I was getting ready?
Slowly she stepped into her sister's dark bedroom. The curtains—curtains that she knew she had pulled tightly closed, were now wide open; a Bluetooth speaker was suction-cupped onto the center window, playing the tune.

She backed out of the room. She had to get out of there.

She turned to run down the stairs as cold metal jabbed into her back and a gloved hand came down hard on her mouth.

“Not a word,” a man's voice said.

34

T
hat voice . . . I know it. I know that voice, but from where?
She had to get him talking. Keep him talking and maybe it would jog something in her memory.

Her toes pressed into the hardwood floors at the stop of the stairs. She whimpered against the gloved hand smashed against her lips. Sweat and moisture beaded between the thick material and her skin. A tiny shiver hit her shoulders, but she willed it away. Willed the fear and terror back somewhere deep inside of her.

“Where is it?”

“Where is
what?
” she tried to say, but it came out muffled from behind the pressure of his hand. The gun pushed harder into the small of her back and she yelped, craning her neck to free her mouth. “Whatever it is you want . . . take it,” she panted. “Take it. I don't care.”

His chuckle sent a cold shiver racing down her body. “
Whatever
I want?” His hand brushed down her hip to her thigh and as he slid it back up, his thumb brushed over her pelvic area.

She gulped down the bit of bile that threatened the back of her throat and something hard that she didn't know existed in herself anymore took over. She felt cold. Numb. Like stone, this man would have to take a sledgehammer to her to break her down at this point.

“If
that's
what you were really here for, you would have taken it already.” She hardly recognized her own hollow voice.

“You're not afraid.” It wasn't a question. And as his torso pushed against her body, she felt . . . nothing from him. Absolutely nothing. No arousal at all.

She noted this, but at the same time, she wasn't a complete idiot. There was no need to poke the hungry lion when you were the tethered, sacrificial lamb. She tried to take a step back, but his body prevented her from moving anywhere and she hated being at the edge of her steep staircase. “I
am
afraid,” she said. “Is it the money you want? Cass's money? That's what this is all about, right?” Jess moved her eyes as best she could without alerting him that she was looking around. There was a strip of skin between his sleeve and his glove . . . he was white. Not a lot of arm hair. Shifting to look down, she saw that he was wearing dress shoes . . . loafers, maybe leather. Not cheap-looking. Of course they weren't cheap-looking; he was a drug dealer. He had money to afford the good stuff.

“Money?” The grim sound came out as half chuckle, half grunt. “Sure. That would be nice, too.” There was an unnatural deepness to his voice, like he was trying to disguise it. Like he knew she might recognize him.

She gulped. “I don't have it. Not here. But I'll have it tomorrow night at the masquerade on—” she stopped, catching herself just in time before she said Elliot. “—Master's yacht.”

“Warner has five bedrooms on the second-level deck. Leave the money in the first one on the left.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice just yet.

“Now,” he continued, “Your sister's mail. Where is it?”

“Her mail?” she squeaked, inhaling on a jagged breath. “M-most of it was already open. I barely looked through anything myself yet.”

His hand came down hard on her hair, squeezing and yanking her neck back, the gun pushing further into her spine. She yelped and this time it was real fear that quivered in her voice.

“I don't need your fucking play-by-play. Just tell me where it is.”

The act was gone. The veil had dropped. And the reality of her situation slammed into her like a sixteen-wheeler careening down a highway. Tears pricked behind her eyes and her throat felt too tight to answer him. “I-it's downstairs . . . by the front door.”

The gun nudged her forward down the steps. “Show me. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

She stepped cautiously, her bare feet cold against the chilly stairs. Her jacket from earlier was flung carelessly across the banister and she could see the corner of her parents' medical records peeking out from the pocket inside.

“Put your hands flat on the door. And don't do anything stupid. You can't run faster than a bullet.”

She looked at the beveled glass, the window cut out in her door, squinting her eyes and trying to catch his reflection in it. All she could make out was the blurry outline of a dark figure behind her. His laugh was far deeper this time and he shoved her body harder into the door in front of her. The glass was cold against her forehead and his breath was hot and stank of gin as she felt his mouth trail against the back of her neck. This time, his erection was very present and pushed into her backside.

Oh, God. I'm going to die. Now. Tonight
. She forced her eyes open to look out the window.
Shut your brain off. Don't feel anything,
said a little voice inside her that sounded too much like Cass for her to ignore.

One hot tear cut through her makeup, falling down her cheek as the man behind her pushed his erection harder against her. Jess blinked as headlights came into focus. There was a car pulling into her driveway. Hope sparked in her chest. Someone was here. Someone was going to save her.

Either that, or he was going to kill them both.

A sliver of hope shined through like a quarter amidst a pile of dirt. The will to live sparked inside of her. “Her mail's in the duffel bag,” she choked out. “Just take it.” The sound of the car engine outside sputtered off and the lights went out.

The man pushed off of her and she heard a rush of movement from behind. She looked down in time to catch the man hunched over the duffel bag, unzipping it. A mask covered his face and a hat hid his hair—she should have known he would be prepared.

He gave a satisfied grunt and without looking back at her said, “Get the
fuck
out of Portland. We've given you every chance. You have until Monday.” He didn't give her time to ask any questions before taking off out the back door. Jess unlocked the front door, threw it open, and fell into Dane's arms.

“Jess!” he exclaimed, her weight nearly knocking him back off the steps. “What's wrong? Are you okay?” Her body shook as his strong grip wrapped around her and wetness stained her cheeks, soaking into his soft cotton shirt. His chest was pure hard muscle, tensed against her.

She couldn't answer his question yet. She didn't even bother trying. Fisting the sleeves of his shirt, she just clasped him closely. She was alive. She wasn't hurt or taken advantage of. The thought alone caused her throat to close. And she owed that to Dane. She didn't care what his reason was for showing up at her house in the middle of the night. She just didn't care. He crooned some soothing sounds against her hair until her tears had diminished. Then he gently pulled her back, grasping her shoulders.

“Are you hurt?” He scanned her face, her body for any trace of damage, his palm eventually landing on her jaw, cupping her face. “Jess, goddammit, you've got to talk to me.” He peered into her house.

Jess ran her hands across his arms. He was real. He was here. And she was going to be fine. Somehow she managed to sputter out an explanation—she told him about the man in her house and how he threatened her, though how Dane made sense of it was well beyond her. Even still, he seemed to understand every word.

“He's gone?” he asked.

“I-I think so.”

Dane looked around before stepping into the entryway and grabbing her purse, jacket, and camera bag from the floor. “Come on. Lock up.”

“Where are we going?” Jess's hand trembled as she slid her key into the lock.

“Anywhere but here.”

He helped her into the passenger side of his truck before getting behind the wheel and peeling out of her driveway.

Jess closed her eyes, her head feeling heavy on top of her shoulders, as though her neck had to strain simply to stay upright. Eventually, she let it fall against the seat, her eyes closing, thankful for the silent ride.

She must have fallen asleep, but when she opened her eyes, only a few minutes had passed.

“I'm going to take you to my house. Is that okay? I can call whomever you want me to once we're there. Sam or Elliot—whoever,” said Dane from the driver's seat.

She desperately wanted to see Sam, more than anything. She wanted to curl up next to him in bed and let him stroke her hair until she fell asleep. But seeing him would mean explaining that someone broke into her home. And going to his home this late in the evening would just cause more danger. For all of them.

“Your house is fine. As long as you're there, too,” she said wearily. “It's too late to call anyone.”

“I promise I'll be there all night. I can even sleep in the room with you if that would make you feel better. On the floor, of course.”

Somehow, she didn't even think that would be enough of a distance to appease Sam. The very fact that she was going to be spending the night in Dane's house was likely enough to piss him off. “Dane?” she asked, barely recognizing her own voice. She was exhausted. “What were you doing at my house so late?”

His jaw jumped, but he glanced quickly to Jess before bringing his eyes back to the road. “I was out with Lyle when he got the call to pick you up. I-I wanted to say good-bye.”

All the weariness was gone in a flash and Jess sat straight up, turning her body to face him. “Good-bye?”

“Well, not for forever or anything. I just might have to go out of town for . . . for another small job. And I didn't know how long you'd be in town for, so in case, I thought I'd come tell you that I'll be gone for a bit.”

“For how long?”

“A week . . . maybe two?”

Jess grew quiet. She was sad to see Dane go. She knew he was keeping something from her, but she didn't feel like she was in danger around him. “I'll probably be going back to New York soon, too.”
You have until Monday.
She shuddered at the memory of the thick, gruff voice in her ear.

“Yeah? It's probably safer there. At least until this all blows over.”

If
it all blew over. “That's what I'm told.”

Dane was quiet for another tense moment. “But is it what
you
want? You want to go back to New York eventually, don't you?”

A sob bubbled in her chest and Jess looked out the window before it could explode into another tearful breakdown. “No. I want to find the people who did this to Cass and get justice for her death.”

Dane took a right turn out of the downtown district and pulled into a quiet neighborhood in South Portland. “You think you're getting close?”

She placed a hand to the folded medical records in her jacket.

“I know I am.”