The Heart of a Killer

Six

Sleep had been an illusion, a fantasy. Anna had come home after getting off duty, stripped off her clothes and climbed into a hot shower to scrub the remnants of the day from her body, her mind filled with the possibilities of this case.

By the time she’d crawled into bed, the thick shades pulled down to block out the morning sunlight, she was exhausted. But sleep had been in fits, and dreams had been filled of that night twelve years ago, of being pinned down and helpless, the burn and screaming pain of a sharp knife carving into her chest. And suddenly it wasn’t her anymore, but George, a shadowy figure standing over him as he cried out for help, the tip of a knife glinting silver and menacing in the moonlight.

She woke with a gasp, her hand immediately going to her chest to rub the ache that never seemed to go away. Dragging her hand through her hair, she got up, dressed and made coffee.

Cup full of life-infusing brew, she stepped out onto the back patio.

It was brutally hot outside already, the humidity rising like the steam coming off her coffee. She took a seat on a cushioned chair, glad she had a shaded patio to cool her bare feet. If it was this hot in June, what was August going to be like?

Unbearable. And this kind of heat bred crime.

But she wasn’t on duty right now and she’d barely brushed the cobwebs out of her mind. It wasn’t time to think of work yet.

She sipped her coffee and watched the birds peck at the feeder in the corner of the yard. She’d impulsively bought it this spring, thinking her backyard needed some life and color—much like her life—but hey, she had to start somewhere, and the yard was easier. She’d added flowers and bushes, and had spent a couple weekends digging into the dirt with her shovel, sweating her ass off and loving every minute of it.

She didn’t need a social life if she had a backyard project, did she? Try telling that to her father.

Now she had to remember to water everything and put seeds in the bird feeder, but at least she had something out here to look at besides a couple trees and some grass.

She sipped her coffee and smiled at the birds fighting over the seeds.

The only thing missing from her life now was a rocking chair and a cat.

She laughed, thinking her dad would not be amused by that thought. He was already bitching about her getting close to thirty and not giving him grandchildren.

As if that was a priority.

As if any man would want to deal with all the baggage she’d bring to a relationship, the scars from the past, both physical and emotional. She could hardly stand getting naked in front of a man. Nudity required explanation of her scar, and since she’d never told the truth about that night, she had to lie about how she’d gotten it. Sex was much better in the dark, wearing some clothes. Not that she had a problem with sex. She liked it just fine, but the whole relationship and marriage thing? No thanks.

As if she was even interested in getting married and having children, anyway.

Her work hours were shit, she had frequent nightmares, the past still had a stranglehold on her and she liked her independence. She dated rarely, slept with men even more infrequently and took her sexual frustration out on her job.

Yeah, she was one hell of a catch.

Her cup empty, she went inside to refill and saw her phone vibrating across the kitchen counter.

It was a text message from Dante asking her to call him when she woke up.

She pressed the call button and he answered on the first ring.

“I didn’t expect you to answer me right away,” he said. “Figured you’d still be asleep.”

“I don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“So you’ve said. You ready to meet with all of us tonight?”

No. She didn’t want to meet with any of the guys, but figured Dante would keep insisting. And if he didn’t, Roman would. Roman worried like an old woman. “I guess so. How about pizza at my place at six?”

“Okay. I’ll round everyone up. I’ll bring the beer.”

“Won’t this be fun.” The best kind, too—they’d be talking about a murder, and she’d have to once again relive that night.

She clicked the phone off and leaned against the counter, ignoring the throb of the scar on her chest.

There had to be an explanation for George being killed in the alley, for the uncanny resemblance of his murder to the death of Tony Maclin. And for the carving of the heart on the victim’s chest.

But there was also the matter of the flowers and the card. No explaining that away as coincidence. Someone had wanted her to know about the murder. The flowers had been a gift. A sick gift, and there was no way to neatly tie this up as a coincidence, no matter how much she wanted to.

She had time, so she headed to the medical examiner’s office. Richard Norton hadn’t autopsied the body yet and she wanted to take another look.

She walked into the nondescript one-story brick building, which was always cold as a tomb even outside the examination rooms. She figured they deliberately kept it that way to discourage visitors, but on a day as hot as this she welcomed the arctic temperature indoors, passed her way through security and signed in to view the body being held in storage downstairs. The attendant outside the room went in with her.

She pulled the sheet back. George hadn’t been cleaned up yet—they’d do that when they autopsied him, but the carving on his chest resembled hers. Same location, left side of the chest, crude, as if it had been done in a hurry just to make a point. His wound looked deeper than hers, though, as if someone had dug down hard with the knifepoint. She wondered if George had still been alive when the killer had taken the knife to his chest.

Tony Maclin had been toying with her when he’d carved the heart into her skin. She still remembered the burning pain, how much it had hurt.

Had George felt the pain? Or had he already been beaten so badly he couldn’t feel anything at all by that point, not even the knife cutting into his skin?

Her scar tingled. She wanted to rub it, to remember, but the tech’s presence prevented her from doing so.

We’re connected now, George. You’re not alone.

“See something on him?” the tech asked.

“No. Just wanted to take another look, see if there was something I missed.”

She covered him with the sheet and the tech closed the drawer.

It had been a waste of time to come here. She didn’t know what had drawn her.

She stared at the silver drawer where George Clemons lay and thought how easily that could have been her twelve years ago. If the guys hadn’t been there, if they hadn’t rushed to her rescue, she could have ended up on a slab in this ice-cold room, dead at sixteen.

Everything she was now, everything she’d worked so hard to become, would have been obliterated that night in the alley. She’d have been buried underground, locked in a box, surrounded by dirt.

The room got hot. Her vision began to swim and her throat tightened, cutting off her breath.

No. Not now. This couldn’t be happening.

She had to get out of here.

“I’m done,” she said, forcing her breaths to slow down even as dizziness took over.

This was such a shitty time for a panic attack.

She pivoted and pushed through the double doors, already feeling the cold clamminess, the numbness in her fingers and face.

Get out. Get out now.

“M.E.’s behind schedule but has him on tap for tomorrow,” the tech remarked casually as they walked into the elevator. “You coming back to watch?”

Anna nodded, barely focusing on his words as he pushed the button and the elevator pitched and rolled. Nausea rose in her stomach and she leaned back against the wall for support. She needed to lie down, to feel something cool against her face.

She’d never fallen apart in front of anyone. If someone found out, they might tell her she couldn’t do her job.

Could the tech see her sweat? Did he notice how pale she was? She tried to stay calm, to keep from breathing too fast.

When the doors opened, she walked slow and easy past the desk, but as it was, she could barely walk at all. She could no longer feel her legs past the pins and needles stabbing them.

“See you tomorrow,” the tech said, waving her off.

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

Her car seemed a thousand miles away as she shoved the door open, the blast of summer heat only making the queasiness worse. She was going to collapse right here on the front steps. She needed to lie down, to curl up in the fetal position so she could breathe.

But it was so hot out here. A few more feet, then she’d be in the car. She could turn on the air-conditioning and lie down.

She breathed in and out as fast as she walked, which only made it worse, she knew, but once the panic hit the only thing that mattered was getting to safety, being able to shut the doors and lock everyone out.

She weaved through the lot and knew she looked like a drunk. She could only hope no one saw her.

A few more feet. Just a few more feet. She fumbled in her pants pocket for her keys. Where were her keys, dammit? Finally she grasped them, dug them out and hit the remote, the sweet sound of the car unlocking her salvation. Sweat poured down her face and back as she grabbed the door handle and slid inside, punched the lock and started the engine.

She cranked the A/C down to the sixties, punched up the fan, the sick feeling overwhelming her as she breathed in short pants, trying to remember to take in slow breaths and exhale easily.

She pushed the seat back as far as it would go and leaned over, shoving her head between her knees.

This was going to pass. She was going to survive it.

She was drenched in sweat, but the cold air-conditioning was a lifeline. Every minute that passed had her chest loosening up so she could draw a breath. Within fifteen minutes she could lift her head without wanting to pass out or throw up. She swiped her wet hair away from her face and looked around, thankful no one had come

by the car to see her embarrassing show of weakness.

When she was no longer shaking like a leaf, she put the car in gear and headed home.

Dante made sure to arrive at Anna’s house earlier than everyone else. He wanted a chance to talk to her first.

When she opened the door, she looked gorgeous. Her shorts and tank top showed off incredibly toned legs and arms.

But she also looked pale and tired, with those dark circles still under her eyes. And that worried him.

“You don’t look like you slept at all.”

She pulled the door open. “If I want that kind of browbeating I’ll go see my dad.”

“How is he, by the way?”

“Doing okay, other than being grouchy as hell. He had to retire a few years ago because of a knee injury.”

“Job related?”

“Yeah. Went running after a suspect and blew out his ACL when he tripped in the dark. After a couple surgeries, it was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to work as a detective again, so he took early retirement.”

Dante followed her into the living room. “Bet that pissed him off.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

He held up the case of beer he’d brought. “Where do you want this?”

“Fridge is fine.”

He put the case in her refrigerator and pulled two out, handed one off to her after popping the top off.

She pulled her legs up and crossed them, took a long swallow and sighed.

“Long day?” he asked.

“Day off. But yeah, still a long day.”

“Maybe you should have caught up on some sleep.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. “I get the idea this whole sleep thing weighs on you.”

He laughed. “It does when it looks like you haven’t had much of it lately. Working too many hours, or is it nightmares that keep you awake?”

He’d cut a little close to the truth, so she decided to change the subject. “Do you think everyone will be here by six?”

“I know evasive tactics when I see them, Detective. But in answer to your question, yes, they’ll be on time.”

“Did you get hold of everyone?”

“I got hold of Roman and Gabe, and Roman said he’d call Jeff.”

“Okay.”

“So on your day off did you do any detecting on the case?”

She wasn’t about to tell him about her ridiculous trip to the morgue to stare at George’s body. “No.”

“You working this case by yourself?”

“Well, Roman can’t since George was indirectly a relative.”

“But no other partner?”

“No.”

“I thought you cops always worked with partners.”

“Not always. And we’re short-staffed, so we work cases alone or with uniforms. Roman and I aren’t partnered, though we have bumped into each other on cases now and then.”

“Funny that you both ended up in law enforcement. He’s the last person I would have expected to become a cop.”

She took another drink of her beer and wrapped her hands around the bottle, making sure to keep her focus on Dante, on the present, and not on the past. “I would think you would have been more surprised that I ended up in law enforcement.”

His lips curled. “That, too, but Roman was always a little wild and undisciplined. You at least had the familial background for it.”

“People grow up and change. Maybe the incident twelve years ago altered Roman’s perspective enough to make him want to pursue law enforcement.”

“I guess it did change some of us. Or maybe it affected all of us in some way, affected the choices we made in our lives after that night.”

Cryptic words.

She wanted to ask him if that night had changed him at all, and if it had, how. He was catching up on all of them. But his secretiveness was beginning to piss her off.

The doorbell rang and she rose to answer it.

Gabe was at the door, with Jeff.

“I hope someone ordered pizza,” Jeff said as he strolled in with his usual abundance of showmanship. “I’m starving.”

Dante had never thought he’d be back here, let alone reunited with the old gang in one place. With Jeff and Gabe showing up, and Roman walking in a few minutes later, it was as if he hadn’t been gone.

They were all older now, but the smiles and laughs were the same. They were different, and yet the same.

Jeff had come in wearing a suit—a suit, of all things. No way would Dante have predicted that.

“A suit, Jeff?”

Jeff waggled his brows. “Gotta maintain my slick image with the ladies, ya know?” He flicked the lapels of his jacket. “They like me suave and sophisticated.”

Anna rolled her eyes and slapped a beer into Jeff’s hand. “He’s in insurance sales. Hence, the suit.”

Dante laughed. “Is that right? And how are insurance sales?”

Jeff popped the top off his beer. “People keep drivin’ cars, buyin’ houses and they keep dyin’. Business is good.”

“And ninety-five percent of his customers are women. Go figure,” Roman said, taking the other beer Anna offered.

“Can I help it if the ladies like me?” Jeff asked, throwing his arm around Roman.

Dante always thought Jeff and Roman looked the most like brothers. Both about the same height and with light hair, Roman’s was more surfer-boy blond, whereas Jeff’s was sandy, but Dante and Gabe used to tease them about being the golden boys.

“So any wives or kids?” Dante asked as he sat on the sofa next to Jeff.

“Oh, God, no. I’m still playing the field, hoping like hell never to get caught.”

Dante laughed.

“How about you?” Jeff asked.

“No. Not married yet.”

“I’m so glad you’re back, man. I missed you. It was rough when you and Gabe left.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t know he left the same time I did.”

“Where’ve you been?”

He was going to have to answer that question soon. Probably sooner rather than later, judging from the way Anna hovered on the edge of their conversation. “Around. Here and there.”

Jeff laughed. “That sounds like you don’t want to answer. Like you’ve been in jail or somethin’.”

“No. Not jail.”

“On the beach in Bali with the perfect woman?”

Dante laughed. “Uh, no.”

“Hey, man, I can dream, can’t I? I always pictured you running some con with a sexy brunette, then taking the money and leaving the country, living out your days in luxury.”

Jeff always had a vivid imagination. It’s how he’d survived a hellish childhood filled with abuse.

“I like the way you think, Jeff, but no. That sounds more like your fantasy.”

Jeff took a long gulp of beer and nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. Always on the lookout for the perfect woman.”

“Who’s running away from you,” Gabe replied, sliding into an unoccupied chair. “Which is why Jeff is still single.”

Dante shook his head. “The more things change…”

“The more they stay the same,” Roman said, taking a spot on the sofa on the other side of Dante.

“What about you, Roman?” Dante asked.

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