Читать книгу It Started That Night - Virna DePaul - Страница 8

Fifteen years later …

Lily Cantrell opened her front door and stared at the man who had his hand raised to knock again. He was tall, dark-haired and wore a yellow button-down shirt and jacket with jeans. His shoulders were broad and his eyes were still the most beautiful shade of blue she’d ever seen. Despite the years that had separated them, he’d been the only man she’d ever loved, even after he’d rejected her so ruthlessly. Even after…

“Hello, small fry,” John said, his voice deeper than she remembered. “It’s good to see you again.”

The years had perfected his masculine frame. He’d gotten bigger. Broader. The strong angles of his cheeks and jaw provided a rugged framework for the dark slash of his eyebrows above his pale blue eyes, and the prominent thrust of his nose and the sensual line of his wide mouth proclaimed him to be a bit of a barbarian. Fine lines gathered at the corner of his eyes, telling her without a doubt the boy she’d loved had grown into a man to be reckoned with.

John pushed back his hair in a familiar gesture that twisted her insides with longing and pain.

“You going to invite me in, Lily?”

Invite him in?

Instinctively she raised a hand to her cheek. Fifteen years ago, her mother had slapped her for the first and only time. All because Lily had insisted on going to see him, this man, the boy her mother had warned was too old for her and would only end up hurting her. She’d been right, but Lily never had a chance to tell her so. She’d never had a chance to say she was sorry for the terrible things she’d said. And she’d never had a chance to say goodbye.

Before any of that could happen, her mother had died. Now, days before the man responsible was to be executed, John suddenly showed up?

Her first instinct was to slam the door. To hide. To run. But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She’d acted like an ungrateful, selfish child once and soon afterward her mother had been murdered. She wouldn’t disgrace her mother’s memory any more than she had. She wouldn’t run from this man now.

She stepped out onto the porch, shutting the front door behind her. “What do you want, John?”

He didn’t smile, but she could swear his eyes did. “Good to see you, too, Lily. Can I come in?”

She shook her head. “Answer my question.”

“I’d really like to talk about it inside—”

“And I’d really like you to tell me why you’re here before I call the cops.”

“No need. They’re already here.” He pulled out a thick black leather flasher wallet and showed her a shiny badge and accompanying picture ID.

“You’re a cop?” She couldn’t disguise the shock in her voice. He’d been the ultimate bad boy. Accused of doing drugs and worse.

“I’m a detective with El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department.”

“El Dorado County? But why—” Realization made her eyes widen. “Is this about the execution?” The execution of her mother’s murderer wasn’t something Lily was taking any pleasure in. In fact, with the dreams having started up again, she’d been trying not to think about the execution at all. She just prayed that afterward she and her family would find some measure of peace, peace that had been eluding them. Her work with her art-therapy patients helped a lot, but—

John’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here to cause trouble. This doesn’t have to be a battle between us, Lily.”

He’s changed. Still intense, but more controlled. Confident. He didn’t need to play the bad boy anymore. He was prime alpha male, sure of himself, not caring what others thought about him.

Well, she’d grown up, too. “This is about the execution, isn’t it?”

He blinked and cleared his throat. “Talking to the victim’s family isn’t unusual during the last stages of the appeal process. Chris Hardesty’s claiming innocence, so—”

“I don’t understand.” The calm façade she’d adopted cracked slightly. “Who cares what he’s saying now. You have the evidence. You have the trial transcripts. His confession. Why are you reopening my mother’s case?”

“We’re not reopening the case, Lily, but the Attorney General’s Office wants me to follow up on some leads. There’s been a series of murders in El Dorado, murders I’ve been investigating, and the modus operandi for all of them are similar to your mother’s. At first we thought they were copycat murders, spurred on by news coverage of the approaching execution, and they probably are, but …”

When he hesitated, her heart beat in a furious rhythm, pounding in her ears. His words left room for doubt and for a second it shivered through her.

No. No matter what I dream, the evidence shows Hardesty killed Mom. But if these murders were similar, that meant …

“Someone’s been stabbed?”

He didn’t say anything and a wave of dizziness hit her.

“Look, I’m not saying Hardesty’s innocent. Just that it needs further investigating. Hardesty says—”

A laugh burst from her, raw and ugly. It horrified her. Made her sound like she was on the verge of hysteria. She knew exactly how convincing Hardesty was. “The police investigated. I don’t know why you people are doing this.”

He narrowed his eyes and shifted the bag on his shoulder, a black satchel she noticed for the very first time. “You people?”

“Yes. Hardesty and his attorneys. The D.A. Now you. All you do is cater to the criminals. In the meantime, forget about the victims—”

John shook his head. “I never forgot about you. And somehow I don’t think you forgot about me, either.”

The innuendo in his voice shocked her. So did the tugging in her stomach. She remembered telling him she loved him. She remembered kissing him at his party—the party to which she hadn’t been invited. And she remembered what he’d said in response.

Here’s some advice. Lose the makeup. It makes you look trashy. And whoever taught you to kiss didn’t do a very good job.

The memory still hurt and she clung to that pain with all her might.

Yes, remember how he hurt you. Remember what happened that night.

“Did—did you know I get letters from them just about every week?” she asked. “Begging me to visit him in prison so he can convince me of his innocence. And the D.A., he hasn’t even—”

Anger lit the flame in his eyes to a bonfire. “His attorneys had no right to ask that of you.” He stepped closer. “Stay away from them, Lily.”

Involuntarily, she crossed her arms and stepped back until she hit the front door. “I don’t need your advice.”

“I’m giving it to you anyway. I let you down before, but I swear, I’ll help you through this. Trust me.”

“Why? What’s in this for you?”

“Nothing. I gave up what I wanted a long time ago.”

Her pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”

“You have to know it wasn’t easy for me to turn you away that night. In fact, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Feeling sucker punched, she couldn’t believe he’d actually brought that night up. Humiliation filled her as she remembered what she’d said to him. How she’d clung to him, devastated that he was leaving town, begging him to wait for her. The way his friends had laughed at her.

“I threw myself at you. You mocked me. You kissed Stacy in front of me!”

He advanced on her so fast she couldn’t have run even if she’d had room. Bracing his arms on the door on either side of her, he leaned down until she could smell his spicy cologne and sun-kissed skin.

She suddenly had the feeling he was fighting to keep his hands off her. She shivered in fear and unwanted desire.

“You were sixteen! Even if I wasn’t too old for you, your father thought I was a petty thug. You already hated him because he’d left your mother. I was causing nothing but problems for you. What did you want me to do?”

Love me! she almost shouted. Like I loved you. But she choked back the words, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “All I want is for you to leave us alone. Leave me alone. Assign someone else to the case. You can work the recent murders without having to interact with me or my family.”

The flare of anger in his eyes dissipated. He pushed away from her and shook his head, pity flooding his eyes. “I’m not going to do that. I can help. This isn’t just about your mother anymore. It’s about you. Two of the three girls look—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She looked at the ground and felt the fight leave her body. She’d beg him if she had to. She raised her gaze to his and forced herself not to look away. “Please, John. I fought with my mother that night. And then afterward, when I found her—she was lying there—killed by a man I—I’d befriended—”

Her voice broke and she struggled to breathe.

“Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault, Lily. And it wasn’t mine. But this isn’t going to just go away. And neither am I.”

Propping her hands on her hips, she thrust out her jaw, the words coming out before she could stop them. “My father’s a judge now. I’m sure he can arrange to have this reassigned to someone who didn’t know the victim or the witnesses.”

John’s eyes narrowed and his smile made her shiver. He dropped his bag with a thump and once again moved toward her. “I don’t like being threatened, Lily. And I’m sure your father wouldn’t do something so foolish. Let the experts do what needs to be done, small fry.”

She tried to shove him away, but he grasped her wrists, easily holding her hands against his chest. Her fingers flexed, wanting to sink deeper into his taut muscles. Wanting to pull him closer.

Whimpering, she pulled away and he released her. Jaw clenched tight, he glanced down a split second before his horror-filled eyes met her own.

She looked at the bloody images. Her mother. Her beautiful mother. Nausea rushed straight into her throat.

John cursed. “I’m so sorry, Lily—”

Backing away from him and shaking her head, she whispered, “Why are you doing this?” She fumbled for the doorknob behind her.

“Lily—”

Finally, she got the door open, stumbled inside, then stared at him one last time.

“I just want to help, small fry.”

“Then leave me alone.” With bone-shattering control, she closed the door and engaged the lock with a quiet click.

John swiped his hands over his face in frustration. Damn, that had gone even worse than he’d expected. He shoved the photos and papers that had fallen back into his satchel. Standing, hands on his hips, he stared at Lily’s front door, cursed, then made his way to his car. Once inside, he simply stared some more at Lily’s house.

He hated it.

The small blue-shingled A-frame with black shutters fit in well with the cozy downtown Sacramento neighborhood. Older but not outdated. Paint holding up well. Certainly nothing extravagant. But it had a generic green lawn. No flowers. No decorations. No welcome mat. It was simple and quiet.

It reminded him of Ravenswood, the rehabilitation clinic she’d been admitted to after her mother’s murder, the place he’d visited her only once before her agonized screams had chased him away, resolved never to come back. And it wasn’t at all what he’d imagined for her.

Even at sixteen, Lily Cantrell had been complex. Colorful. Unpredictable. Dark, soulful eyes. A crease in her left cheek that never quite developed into a dimple when she smiled. A quick laugh and quicker temper.

She’d been more complex than her staid, generic home revealed. She still was.

And she was more beautiful than ever.

Her face was a mix of her father’s Anglo background and her mother’s Asian roots, pale skin with freckles and slightly slanted eyes. She still had shiny dark hair and a petite frame, but she’d gained enough weight to give her luscious breasts and hips where before she’d had none.

Her mouth seemed different, too. Less innocent. More sinful. Soft and full.

Rolling his shoulders, he closed his eyes. He’d hoped the passage of time and his current assignment would create some kind of natural barrier against any lingering feelings they had for one another, good or bad. He should have known it wouldn’t happen.

He’d always felt a strong connection to Lily. She’d been the ultimate good girl and he the neighborhood bad boy, but they’d been drawn to one another, first by the friendship between their mothers, then by the sheer pleasure of each other’s company. Eventually, he’d trusted her in a way he hadn’t even trusted his own family. Years ago, when his girlfriend Stacy Mitchell had accused him of dealing drugs, he’d told Lily the reason she’d done it—to hide the fact that she’d been doing it herself. That her father hit her and her uncle had done far worse. Wanting to protect Stacy despite what she’d done, he’d cautioned Lily not to tell anyone. She’d believed him and refused to give up their friendship, causing enormous strife between her and her parents.

Lily’s relationship with her cop father had suffered the most, leaving Lily particularly vulnerable when Chris Hardesty, a homeless man who had started hanging around at a nearby park, befriended her. Eventually, it was that friendship that had led Hardesty to Lily’s mother, Tina.

John reached for his cell phone and dialed the office number of Deputy Attorney General Lucas Thorn.

“Hi,” he said when the man answered. “This is John. I just saw Lily Cantrell and she wasn’t happy about it. Don’t be surprised if you get a call from Judge Cantrell fairly soon.”

“Damn. I was hoping she’d cooperate. Doesn’t she get we’re trying to speed Hardesty’s execution along, not stall it?”

John frowned at Thorn’s choice of words. He wasn’t trying to speed anything along, just trying to make sure both The Razor and Tina’s murderer were brought to justice, regardless of whether they were the same person or not. He knew Thorn wanted the same thing—he was probably just frustrated that the governor was taking Hardesty’s claims about The Razor seriously. “Did you tell the governor that a patch of Sandy LaMonte’s hair had been shaven, too, just like the girls before her?”

Thorn sighed on the other line. “I did. He doesn’t see it as a significant deviation from how Tina died. She was stabbed just like Tina. And as you already pointed out yourself, LaMonte looks even more like Tina than the victims before her.”

More like Tina. And more like Lily, John thought. Which was the only reason he was here. Once again, he stared at Lily’s door, as if doing so would give him another glimpse of the young girl who’d turned into a beautiful albeit mistrustful woman.

Had he been wrong to believe Lily’s life was in danger? Or had he simply used his fear to justify seeing her, when he’d sworn long ago to leave her in peace?

But it was Thorn who’d asked John to look into Tina Cantrell’s case. Thorn who hoped John’s findings would mollify the governor and rule out any connection with The Razor. And contrary to jumping at the opportunity, John had even expressed reluctance at first.

“But I knew the Cantrell family. We were neighbors. Our mothers were friends,” he’d said.

Only Thorn hadn’t seen that as a problem. It was a long time ago, and he trusted John to look at the evidence objectively. Besides, Thorn reminded him, looking into Tina’s murder was just a formality. It wasn’t as if anyone actually believed Hardesty was innocent.

Still, John hadn’t wanted to dig up old memories or the pain that came with them. Plus, looking into the case meant probably having to interview Tina’s family, including Lily. Better to let a stranger handle it, right?

But then something had struck him….

Inside his car, he reached into his satchel and shuffled through the photos until he had the right one, the one of The Razor’s latest victim, LaMonte.

Like the other victims, neither her purse nor the jewelry she was wearing had been disturbed. And she looked startlingly like Tina Cantrell and her daughter, Lily.

The Razor’s other victims had been dark-haired and petite, too, something he’d registered, of course, but it wasn’t until he’d put all the photos side by side that he saw just how much each subsequent victim looked more and more the way Lily had at sixteen.

It had to be coincidence. After all, if The Razor had killed Tina, why had he waited so long to kill again? Granted, they couldn’t know for sure he hadn’t killed other girls in other locations, but still …

In the end, logic hadn’t mattered. In that moment, he’d feared Lily was in danger. He still did.

Even after all the separation and regret, he wasn’t going to walk away. Even if it meant having to face her and their past, he wasn’t taking any chances. Lily had implied he was trying to hurt her and her family, but all he wanted to do was make sure they were safe, her most of all.

Fifteen years ago, she’d offered her love to him and he’d done what he’d thought was best. But in doing so, he’d hurt her. Terribly. Keeping her safe now was the least he could do.

Thorn’s comment about speeding along Hardesty’s execution once again echoed in his mind. It had just been a poor choice of words, John told himself. Thorn’s caseload had gotten intense in the past few months, which had to have contributed to his breakup with Carmen. It still pissed John off, especially when he saw how badly Carmen was taking the breakup, but he knew Thorn was hurting, too. It was obvious any time Carmen’s name came up. Plus, he’d worked with Thorn for years. He trusted him. He was a good guy.

Too bad Lily no longer trusted him.