Dead Don't Lie
“Impressive.” He sank against the wooden stall, hand rubbing the stubble on his chin as he studied Evelyn’s obliterated target.
Evelyn picked up and tossed the empty shell casings into the trash. Ryan crossed his arms across his barrel of a chest and kicked a few casings her way. “So, Kate and the kids want you to come over for dinner tonight.”
Evelyn stopped short and glanced up. Ryan smiled.
She didn’t want to disappoint the kids, but what she really needed was a bottle of Malbec and a bubble bath. She shook her head. “Ryan, that smile of yours isn’t going to help you.”
“My killer smile may not have worked on you. But I have one better.”
Evelyn groaned and leaned back on her heels.
“Kate said she won’t take no for an answer. Be there at six o’clock, Davis.”
There was no arguing with Kate O’Neil. Evelyn knew it. Ryan knew it. Hell, even Kate knew it. Evelyn sighed. She’d clearly lost this battle.
“I guess I’ll see you at six, then.” She threw a shell casing at Ryan’s head, but he ducked without so much as a blink. “But I’m bringing a date.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ryan’s eyebrows arched together. “Who’s the lucky man?”
She fluttered her lashes. “His name is Mr. Malbec. Ever heard of him?”
Ryan’s deep laugh bounced off the wooden walls of their shooting stall. “Nice one, Davis, real nice.”
Evelyn picked up her gear and made her way toward the exit. She pushed open the door, turned and winked at her partner. “Thought you’d like that.”
“Six o’clock, Davis. And don’t be late,” Ryan shouted after her.
* * *
EVELYN STEPPED OUT of Starbucks, nursing her double-short, no-foam, soy latte as she crossed the cobblestoned street and walked to her favorite spot in Seattle—Pike Place Market. Heading straight to the end of the market, past the infamous fish-throwing stand, she turned right. She let the heavenly scent of lavender lead her, its invisible tether reeling her in. The soft aroma invaded her senses and melted the stress of the preceding weeks. She filled her lungs with the delicate fragrance. Tonight, after dinner at Kate and Ryan’s, she’d sit in a hot lavender bath and let the rest of the stress seep out of her pores.
Arriving at the stall she sought, she smiled at Josie’s familiar face. Pixie-like with her petite figure and a voice to match it, the vendor’s eyes crinkled as she grinned at Evelyn.
“How are you this evening, Detective?”
Evelyn shook her head, still smiling. “Just Evelyn tonight. I’m officially off the clock and desperately need some lavender oil and bath salts.”
She swung her small black bag to her front and riffled through its contents. Where was her wallet? She carried the smallest purse possible, yet always managed to misplace things. Would wonders never cease? Finally locating the item she was searching for, Evelyn looked up. Josie’s head was down as she leaned over the counter that overflowed with lavender and stretched to reach the bath salts.
“Are you ever truly off the clock, Evelyn?” the tiny woman asked as she pawed though her lavender products. She put the oil and salt into a tiny opaque bag and held it out to Evelyn. “Somehow, I doubt it.”
“Well, this—” Evelyn exchanged money for the bag and held it up, the soft scent floating up to her nose “—helps with my half-hearted attempt. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome.” Josie winked and turned to help the tall man who had strolled up to her small boxy stall.
Evelyn left. She walked back through the marketplace, soaking up the late afternoon activity. She didn’t have to be anywhere for an hour or so and had every intention of enjoying her downtime. God knew she needed the break, and this was the perfect place for her to get it.
She loved Pike Place Market. The hustle and bustle was strangely refreshing, and she came here as often as possible. People never seemed to have a care in the world as they purposely, yet leisurely, went from stall to stall searching for that perfect treasure. It was a place to enjoy, a place to discover. And nowhere else could she fade into the background so quickly and easily.
* * *
HE FOLLOWED BEHIND EVELYN, twirling a lavender sprig. Just far enough away that she wouldn’t notice him in the sea of people, but close enough to smell the lavender trail wafting behind her. He seethed as she ambled from one marketplace stall to the next. He’d wanted to move in, destroy her as she’d laughed and bantered with that vendor woman. He’d even stepped closer, his hands twitching in anticipation. But no, it wasn’t time.
Not yet.
So he’d bide his time, and watch, then make her feel pain she’d never known before. Then. Only then would he take her.
His step lightened, the mental picture of her bleeding out at his feet pulsing through him. He stopped behind the column, held his breath and waited for her to finish at the wood-carver’s stall. She laughed. Anger burned in his eyes. How the hell can she be cheerful? She doesn’t deserve it. Not with what she’d done, and what she’d taken from him. He crushed the lavender sprig in his hand and threw it to the ground. She didn’t deserve happiness, but that would soon change.
He’d see to that.
CHAPTER TWO
KATE THREW THE wide glass door open. Evelyn smiled and held out the bright assortment of lilies, roses and baby’s breath that she’d picked up at Pike Place Market.
“For you.”
Kate’s face lit up. “Thanks, sweets. They’re beautiful. How do you manage to find these? I swear, I never have the same luck when I venture down there.”
She put the flowers down on the foyer table, turned and pulled Evelyn into a massive bear hug. As they stood at the same height of five foot ten, it was easy for Kate to do. The affectionate contact surprised Evelyn every time she found herself in her friend’s tight embrace. She had accepted Kate’s need to hug her. But it wasn’t always like that. After her family’s death, Evelyn had kept everyone at arm’s length—literally.
“I knew you wouldn’t say no.” Releasing her hold, Kate stepped back. Her curly red hair fell to one side as she tilted her head slightly. She clucked her tongue. “Wow, Ev. You look awful.”
Evelyn laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”
She was forever amazed at her friend’s bluntness. It was the trait that had initially drawn Evelyn to her. The moment Ryan introduced them, a tight bond had formed between them. Knowing where she stood with Kate had been a welcome place for Evelyn. And eight years later, she still appreciated Kate’s candor and friendship. Looking at the green-eyed beauty, one would never guess that she was a cutthroat, shoot-from-the-hip, take-no-shit assistant district attorney.
“Just saying how it is,” Kate teased as she closed the door behind them.
Kate moved across the foyer, entered the dining room and flipped the light switch. Evelyn followed behind her. The clear, blown-glass chandelier twinkled to life. The room had plush cream carpets and pale blue walls. The table settings were laid out on the pub-style table.
For six.
Evelyn, plus the O’Neil clan, made five.
“Why are there six plates on that table?”
She pushed down the frustration bubbling inside her. If she had known Kate planned to pull this tonight, she would have declined—and nothing would have stopped her. Damn Kate, always trying to set her up.
“Are there?” Kate smiled innocently.
“Tonight, of all nights? You know how much the Langdon case took out of me. And how much I hate you trying to set me up.” Evelyn fought to keep her voice level.
Kate giggled.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Ryan owes me ten bucks.” Kate reached for the sixth place setting and gathered it into a neat pile. “Do you honestly think I would have made this a blind date? Tonight? Not in a million years. I haven’t seen either of you in weeks, and I want you all to myself. Besides, Ry thought it would be funny to see how long it took you to notice the number of place settings. I told him less than two minutes. He said ten. We bet, and I won.”
Evelyn should have known better. Heat kissed her cheeks. Apparently she needed this evening with her friends more than she realized.
Kate balanced the plate setting on one hand and reached for the flowers. She stopped, tilted her head. “Hear that?”
Little feet clapped down the hardwood floors, tiny giggles bouncing off the hallway walls. Evelyn grinned. She dropped to her knees and waited for the assault to commence.
Right on cue, Ava, Kate and Ryan’s six-year-old daughter, charged around the corner, long blond hair swinging wildly, and flung herself into Evelyn’s open arms.
“You’re here! You’re here!”
Ava tightened her grip around Evelyn and squeezed. Her little face pressed into the soft curve of Evelyn’s neck. She returned the child’s hug and quietly sighed. Kate knew her too well. This was exactly where Evelyn needed to be tonight.
Here with this family...her adopted family.
Ava pushed back from Evelyn’s embrace and, despite her lisp, babbled a mile a minute. Evelyn and Kate exchanged an amused look—the child was an attorney in the making. Evelyn turned her attention back to the chatty child as Kate headed toward the kitchen.
“Ry, can you grab me a vase?”
A baby’s contagious laugh pulled Evelyn’s lips into a smile, and she shifted Ava to one side to lock eyes with the little love of her life.
Liam O’Neil. At sixteen months, he was still a sweet baby to her, but he’d started to tear around the house as soon as he learned to walk, and his constant nonsense babble was heartwarming to hear. Liam hesitantly toddled toward her, his eyes sparkling with determination and untold mischief. Oh, dear. He took after Ryan with his playful demeanor, jet-black curls and matching dimples.
Liam was going to be one solid heartbreaker when he grew up.
His feet got ahead of his small body as he glanced up at Evelyn and he face-planted. Hard. His chin connected with the floor with a hard crack. Ava’s jabber halted. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her brother’s crumpled figure.
He lay there for a minute, hugging the floor, his tiny body a statue. A whimper escaped his lips as he slowly lifted his face toward Evelyn. His chin quivered and tears collected in his eyes.
Evelyn set Ava down and, in two steps, scooped him into her arms to cuddle him close to her.
“Look at you, little man. You’re okay, sweetheart.” She lightly kissed the red, angry knot on his chin. He whimpered again, fat tears threatening to roll down his cheeks.
“You’re okay. See? All better.”
Evelyn pushed the curls away from his eyes. Liam tentatively smiled up at her. She kissed the tip of his nose and felt his body relax. She looked into his eyes, the stress of the Langdon case gone. She didn’t know how or why, but the tiny man in her arms pushed back the darkness in her world.
Seeing that her brother wasn’t broken, Ava once again launched into chatter about the red-haired boy who sat behind her in class, always pulling her hair. Why did he do that anyway? When no one answered, she embarked onto her next story.
“Kate, can I get a bag of frozen peas?” Evelyn grabbed Ava’s hand, cradled Liam to her chest and headed toward the kitchen.
* * *
RYAN AND EVELYN’S phones beeped at the same time. In tandem, they reached for them. Their delightfully calm and refreshing evening crashed and burned.
Ryan skimmed the text and set down his frosted mug of Guinness. “Son of a bitch.”
“Ryan,” Kate chastised between clenched teeth, casting a quick glance at Ava.
A look of chagrin crossed his face. Kate had a mouth that made the trashiest sailor blush, but demanded clean language around the children. It was one of the many contradictory things about her partner’s wife, and Evelyn knew he loved every single one of them.
Ava giggled at her parents’ exchange, nothing lost on her brilliant young mind, and went back to her favorite meal: cedar plank salmon. Which still boggled Evelyn’s mind—what six-year-old loved salmon? But after one nibble off Evelyn’s plate when Ava was five, the little munchkin was sold. Liam stuffed mashed potatoes into his mouth without the use of his fork, which now lay on the floor. Kate had given up that fight not even five minutes into dinner, as he insisted on using the utensil as a drumstick against the wood. Fearing for her lovely table, she’d left the fork on the floor when it went flying after her son’s last particularly creative drumming session.
Evelyn scanned the message and silently agreed with Ryan’s choice words. She pushed back from the table and ruffled Liam’s curls as she popped another piece of asparagus into her mouth.
“Gotta go, babe.” Ryan stood, leaned over to his wife and kissed her.
Ava scrambled down from her chair and threw herself at Evelyn. “Don’t go, Ev. You haven’t seen my new book yet.”
“I see how I rate.” Ryan chuckled, then shrugged on his North Face jacket.
Evelyn hugged Ava tightly. “Next time, sweets. That’s a promise. Okay?”
After letting her go, Evelyn leaned down to hug Liam, who was reaching up from his high chair. She laughed as he dug his chubby face into her neck and gave her a slobbery, openmouthed, potato-covered baby kiss.
God, she loved this family, these kids. No one could replace her own family. Ever. She ached for them daily, the pain still as fresh as it was fifteen years ago. But the O’Neil clan came a close second.
The gaping wound in her soul healed a bit with every minute spent with them. She didn’t know if she’d ever be whole again—some days, she doubted it completely. But this family made her feel like she had a fighting chance, and she’d do anything for them.
Ryan stood by the door. “Let’s go, Evelyn. The captain will piss himself if we don’t get there soon.”
“Ryan.” A groan of exasperation escaped Kate’s lips.
He shrugged, a sheepish smile crossing his face. It morphed into a smirk as he took a giant step forward and wrapped Kate in a tight embrace, noisily kissing her. Ava squealed in protest. Twisting out of her husband’s arms, Kate blushed and rolled her eyes at Evelyn.
“But he will. Truly. Piss himself,” Ryan said straight-faced. He laughed as he dodged Kate’s playful swat.
No need to remind Evelyn of that. Captain Kessler’s temper was legendary. Hot lava bubbled just beneath the surface of his even, cool disposition, just waiting for the right moment to erupt. It didn’t do so often, but when his temper flared, it was hot and violent.
She tried her best to stay on the easygoing side of his demeanor, but something told her that tonight they just might see him explode. Nothing in the message she’d received alluded to that, yet her instincts screamed that something was amiss. Something big. And ugly.
Evelyn blew out a long breath. So much for time off. She kissed Kate on the cheek. “Thanks for the dinner. Who knows, maybe one of these days you can teach me how to cook.”
Kate smiled. “That’d be nice.”
“You? Cook?” Ryan snorted, pushed open the front door and stepped out. “Not possible.”
Smiling, Evelyn shrugged into her black lightweight North Face jacket, then followed Ryan into the foggy Seattle evening.
CHAPTER THREE
IT HAD BEEN fifteen years. Still...she didn’t think she’d ever stop missing the constant sun and warmth of Phoenix. Shivering in the wind, she zipped her jacket, hunched her shoulders against the bone-chilling drizzle that fell from the sky and headed toward the station’s metal double doors. Admittedly, this misty Pacific Northwest weather suited her—the Evelyn of today. The Evelyn who’d once soaked up the golden sun in Phoenix and traipsed through Milan without a worry in the world had gone into hiding a long time ago. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see her again, or if she even existed anymore.
The station’s small foyer sat vacant except for the young officer perched behind the front desk. He lifted his head. “Detectives.”
“Sampson.” Evelyn nodded. “What’s going on tonight?”
His brows pinched together. “Sorry, Detective. Haven’t heard a thing.”
She frowned. “Okay. Thanks.”
A sick sense of dread twisted her stomach. She and Ryan rode to the third floor in silence. This was their night off. Being called in, especially after working the Langdon case nonstop, only meant one thing: trouble.
A soft chime announced their arrival. Captain Kessler sat on the desk closest to them—Evelyn’s desk—his face stormy.
“It’s about time,” he said. He pushed his tall, lanky frame off the corner of her desk and glared at them. Has he been waiting for us? Evelyn cast a quizzical look toward Ryan. He shrugged.
“Come on.” Kessler marched down the hall to his office door.
They passed through the bull pen to follow him. It was small, cramped almost. A dozen or so ancient metal desks butted up against one another. Each pair of detectives faced their partner. Ryan’s desk proudly featured his family’s framed smiling faces. Evelyn’s was mostly empty. No personal knickknacks, save the oversize black coffee mug she’d picked up at the market and one photo of Evelyn with Kate and the kids.
Normally bustling with loud—sometimes bordering on obnoxious—activity, the open space was vacant, quiet. She glanced at the assignment board. The detectives were all out. All of them.
Evelyn started to shake off her jacket.
“Don’t even bother, Davis,” Kessler called to her.
She shrugged back into the empty sleeve. Her brows lifted in surprise at the captain’s agitated jitteriness. With a lift of his broad shoulders, Ryan turned and headed toward Kessler’s office. Evelyn followed.
“I’m sending you over to Mercer Island.”
Evelyn and Ryan exchanged guarded looks. Not good. Not good at all.
“That’s Sanderson’s precinct.” Ryan leaned against the door frame, weary of the coming storm.
Despite her best attempts, anytime Evelyn and Sanderson were in the same vicinity, sparks flew—and not the good kind. Sanderson had made his disdain for her obvious on several occasions. Ever since he’d screwed up the close on the one—and only—case they’d been forced to work on together, his dislike had boiled over to sheer black hatred. Evelyn groaned inwardly.
She’d put up with a lot of bullshit being a woman on the force. But his chauvinistic, Neanderthal behavior was the worst. He was cocky, quick to leap to broad conclusions and straight-up sexist. There wasn’t a woman in the entire SPD who could stand to work with him. And to think she’d just been about to spend a relaxing evening with Kate and the kids.
“Yes.” Kessler gave Ryan a hard look. “Is that a problem, O’Neil?”
Ryan raised his hands. “Nope. Not for us, sir.”
“The chief...”
“Excuse me, sir.” Evelyn threw a shielded glance at Ryan. “The chief?”
Chief Diaz had been responsible for bringing her to the Seattle Police Department. He, Captain Kessler and Ryan were the only officers privy to her complete, sealed file. Though she knew the chief had watched over her—and her career—like a concerned older brother, once her move had been completed, she’d set out to prove herself, by herself. And prove herself she did. Her promotions, as the youngest woman to make detective, had been of her own merit. Still, she wasn’t deaf to the murmurs that the chief favored her.
Having him involved tonight spelled disaster. She took a deep breath and shifted her weight. Kessler’s blue eyes were dark with concern.
She didn’t need any more trouble from Sanderson. Her working relationship with him had gone from bad to worse when she had made detective before him. He’d protested just loud enough and made a not-so-subtle hint about her connection with the chief. It was a load of shit. But still...try as she might to ignore his egotistical arrogance and remain calm and professional, he always found a way under her skin.
Since her promotion, she and Ryan had been kept away from Sanderson. But apparently their luck had just run out. Great.
Kessler glared at her from hooded eyes and motioned for her to sit, which she did. He ran his forefinger over the top of his thumb, picked at his cuticle. Evelyn frowned. She’d picked up that tell during the first month reporting to him. What was making him so anxious?
“Given your background and your closing rate, the chief believes you’ll be an asset to the case.”
She leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, its faux leather groaning.
“And the case is?” She crossed her arms, cautiously intrigued.
Kessler hesitated. His face was ashen, the calm in his eyes dissipating.
“Captain?” Ryan broke the silence in the fishbowl room.
Kessler cleared his throat and, without blinking, answered. “It appears to be a family annihilator case. But something is off....”
She froze as the term family annihilator tumbled from Kessler’s lips. A low whistle came from Ryan as he rubbed his hand over the black scruff on his jaw.
She balanced on the edge of an emotional cliff, and she knew it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan take a step toward her. She gave a tight shake of her head. He stopped, lifted a brow.
Evelyn straightened. She’d opened up to Ryan years ago, after an interrogation that had shaken both of them. She trusted him, and he’d sworn to always keep an eye out for her—no matter how independent and strong she thought she was.
But she didn’t need Ryan, or anyone for that matter, to keep her from tumbling over the cliff’s edge. She could manage it herself, for crying out loud. She reined in the suffocating emotions. She was seasoned at corralling her galloping heart—she’d spent years perfecting the task.
With the help of her therapist, she recognized that emotions didn’t make her weak, but strong. She wasn’t a statistic, but a survivor. Everything she’d walked through made her the woman—and most importantly, the detective—she was.
Kessler picked up a thin case file off his desk and leaned toward her.
Swallowing hard, Evelyn took it from him. She knew her partner had noticed her brief hesitation and seen the emotions dance behind her eyes. To most people, she was unreadable. But Ryan wasn’t most people. He read her like an open book. He’d noticed. If Kessler did, he didn’t say anything. Her lips tightened into a hard line as she flipped the file open.
“Appears?” she said to no one in particular as she studied the photos.
“Yes. It’s the second such case in the past two weeks—in the same precinct, with similar family units. Those photos—” Kessler motioned to the brightly colored crime scene images “—are from the first.”
She flipped through the photos. The wife’s body lay at the feet of what appeared to be her husband. The back of his head was missing. Evelyn swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. With each sweep of her eyes she cataloged the grisly images of the husband and wife. She continued skimming through the photos, then stopped. A young child lay on her back, a deep, crimson gash across her throat. Evelyn’s hand trembled. Her throat tightened, rage and grief warring within her.
“Have either of the husbands recently lost their jobs?”
“No. They’re both successful in their respective industries,” the captain replied.
Evelyn tapped the photos on the table.
Something wasn’t right.
Men who took their family’s lives fell into one of two categories: angry at their partners and seeking revenge, or hopeless and despondent and believing their family was better off dead. It was usually a reaction to a loss of some kind—a job, a wife. They were typically mid-thirties to middle-age, socially isolated and had been depressed or frustrated for a long time. For many family annihilators, the act of murder was a way to reestablish control.
At first glance, neither of these men fit that profile.