I'm Watching You (10 page)

Ruby had a teenage daughter to support. "I hate leaving
you."

She didn't want Ruby to worry. "I'm going to be
fine."

Frown lines formed around her mouth. "I'll be back as soon
as you can have me."

Lindsay squeezed her hand. "I know."

Tears in her eyes, Ruby disappeared into the kitchen as the front door
opened.

Zack strode in the foyer, his stern expression sweeping clockwise until
it landed on Lindsay. Behind him stood a tall, grim-faced man dressed in jeans
and a T-shirt. Even if he'd not been wearing his badge on a chain around
his neck, she'd have guessed by his demeanor he was also a cop.

Zack made no move toward Lindsay but stared at her long and hard before
he released a deep breath. "Are you all right?"

Unexpected relief flooded Lindsay's body. She wanted to rush to
him, let him take her in his arms and assure her everything would be okay. But
she didn't run to Zack. She stood her ground, her back stiffer than wood.

"I'm great. Never a dull moment, is there?" She tried
to sound glib but instead sounded brittle. So be it.

Zack was deadly serious. "You look pale."

"I'm fine." She put steel behind the words, knowing if
he showed her any pity she'd break. "Just figure out who sent me
that little present in there and I'll be even better."

His expression reflected his disbelief. He knew stress made her bitchy.
Knew this shelter meant everything to her.
Knew about her
mother's death.
Knew
her
.

Tension knotted her lower back. She folded her arms over her chest. This
was not the time to have unwanted feelings rolling to the surface.

Zack cleared his throat. "This is my partner, Detective Jacob
Warwick. This is Lindsay O'Neil. She's the director of the
shelter."

Warwick nodded.
"Ma'am."

Lindsay prided herself on reading people, on being able to size up
anyone in a nanosecond. But this guy was a blank slate. Tight, controlled, he
reminded her of Zack during his undercover days when life and death depended on
cloaking emotions.

"I'll bet you worked undercover at one point," Lindsay
said.

Warwick didn't seem to appreciate her hard tone.
"That's right. That a problem?"

Shrugging, she feigned disinterest.
"Nope.
I can just spot you guys a mile off."

"Tell us what happened," Zack interjected.

Lindsay drew in a deep breath. "I had just returned from taking
the last of my residents to the Riverside shelter and was headed into my
office. Ruby told me someone had sent me flowers. I opened the box and saw the
irises."

If Zack had remembered that he'd once sent her irises he gave no
indication.
"And?"

"And I picked up the flowers. That's when I saw the second
package. I opened it and saw the hand. I dropped the package. I ran straight to
the police car outside." No need to mention her scream could have
shattered glass.

"Do you know who might have sent the flowers to you?"
Warwick said.

"If I had an idea I would have shared it with the other six
officers who asked me the same question in the last fifteen minutes."

Warwick let his doubt show. "Would you have told the
police?"

The challenge caught her off guard and irritated her. She stepped
forward. "Yes, I would have. Do you think that this is fun or that I want
this kind of drama in my life?"

"That's a good question," Warwick said.

"What about Jordan Turner?" Zack countered.

Her defenses rose. "What about her?"

"Harold Turner was smacking her around. Not only did she run into
you at that charity fund-raiser, but apparently you two had a long conversation
about Harold's abuse at the party. And you called her today."

"I'm not about to apologize for doing my job. I consider her
a client. Our conversations were--are--privileged."

"Not legally," Zack said.

She raised her chin.
"Morally."

"Do you think she could have done this?" Warwick asked.

She shifted her gaze from Zack to Warwick. "No."

"But you thought she could have killed her husband," Zack
said. "That's why you didn't share the details about your
conversation with her two weeks ago. It's why you called her this
morning."

No sense denying what Zack already knew. "I wasn't sure what
she'd done at first." She sighed. "When I realized it was
Harold, I was afraid she'd snapped. But after seeing the hand, I know she
didn't do it."

Zack's eyes narrowed. "Why do you say that?"

"Because cutting off Harold's hand was some kind of public
declaration. The killer is making some kind of statement."

"And Jordan wouldn't do that?" Warwick said.

"She wouldn't. Above all else, Jordan Turner is a very
private woman. Appearances are important and this kind of drama is not her
style. She'd find it tacky, for lack of a better word."

Neither cop looked convinced.

"Unless she thinks we'll never catch her," Zack said.

Zack knew Lindsay put her heart and soul into her work. It didn't
make sense that she'd trash it all. But he'd come across crimes
before that made little or no sense.

He and Warwick walked into Lindsay's cramped office, made more
claustrophobic by Sara as she snapped pictures of the scene with her digital
camera.

Sara glanced up at them and smiled at Zack. "So we meet
again."

Stoic, Zack pulled out his notebook.
"Yeah."

She raised the camera to hide her frown.

"What do you have?" Zack asked.

"I've rolled prints from the flower box but have yet to run
them through AFIS." AFIS, the Automated Fingerprint Identification
System, would compare crime scene fingerprints with millions of others across
the country in hours. If the murderer was in the system, they'd find him.

"Anything else?"
Warwick said.

"No hair fibers so far, but I've yet to take the hand out of
the bag. I'll do that when I get back to the lab."

Zack glanced at the note, now sealed in a plastic evidence bag. He
picked it up, holding the bag by the corner. The bold script was large and
covered most of the white card with embossed edges.

"'Lindsay, you are not alone
anymore,'"
he read. Zack handed the note to Warwick.

Warwick glanced at the note and then at Zack. "Who the hell is the
Guardian?"

"I have no idea. Lindsay comes in contact with hundreds of
different people in a week. Some are pretty rough characters." Zack had
never liked the idea of her dealing with thugs. In his mind, she took too many
chances. "And then there was that damn newspaper article in May. How many
thousands read it?"

"I'm going to need Lindsay's fingerprints," Sara
said.

As a husband, Zack wanted to defend his wife and tell everyone she was
no killer. As a cop he couldn't rule anyone out as a suspect at this
stage of the investigation. "She had a police background check when she
applied for this job. Her prints are on file."

She nodded. "I'll pull them."

Warwick studied the hand positioned neatly in the box. "He wrapped
the hand in a plastic bag. That explains why we didn't have a trail of
blood leading from the crime scene."

"He's meticulous," Zack said. "The crime scene
this morning suggested he's an organized killer."

Warwick stared at the hand's bloated fingers with blackening nail
beds.
"Why the left hand?"

Zack didn't like the scenario forming in his head.
"Turner's wedding band is still on his ring finger. Mrs. Turner was
abused. The left hand is supposedly the one that leads to your heart. I'd
bet it's symbolic in some way."

"The killer doesn't like abusive husbands," Warwick
said.

"Maybe.
Or maybe Ronnie T. killed his attorney and set
all this up to throw us off the trail. Ronnie T. also knows Lindsay is my
wife."

Warwick nodded. "Why go after you?"

"Payback.
When I worked narcotics, I put one hell of a
dent in his operation."

"Ronnie T. is smart and dangerous, but I don't see him going
to this kind of trouble. Like I said, a drive-by is more his style."

"Maybe.
But for now it's a theory we've
got to consider."

Zack left Warwick and returned to Lindsay, who stood in the family room
by the French doors that faced out back. Yellow crime scene tape, pelted by the
rain, drooped in mud puddles.

"Who is the Guardian?" Zack said. He watched closely for any
reaction.

She looked puzzled. "I don't know."

"Why would he write you a note?"

She hugged her arms around her. "I've no idea."

"Have you received any unusual phone calls lately, notes,
contributions
, anything out of the ordinary?"

"Nothing that jumps to mind.
That May article generated several
donations."

Zack could have pressed Lindsay about sharing her case files, but he
didn't. He was going to wait for the warrant. The delivery of
Harold's hand had officially bumped this case to high priority. From here
on out, each step of the investigation could have huge ramifications, so
he'd do everything by the
book.

Lindsay flexed her fingers as if trying to release the tension knotting
her muscles. "I have a grant application due in three days. Can I at
least grab that file so I can work at home?"

Stress always did send her running in to work. "Nothing leaves the
office for now."

She stabbed long fingers through her hair. "The grant has nothing
to do with this. But it means everything to the shelter."

Despite it all, she was still trying to hold on to this place.
"It's in the office so it stays."

A helpless sigh shuddered from her. "What about my purse?"

"Nothing leaves the office."

"I need my car keys."

"I'll drive you," Zack said.

"I'm supposed to speak to a local church group
tonight."

"Cancel it."

She took a step back.
"No, thanks."

"Lindsay, there's a guy running around town who's left
a dead body in your backyard and sent you a severed hand. It's not safe
for you."

She stiffened. "Bullies don't scare me."

But he saw fear in her eyes. "This one should."

"Is it my safety that you're so worried about or are you
afraid I'll skip town because I'm the killer?"

She was going for the jugular, trying to throw him off balance. Two
could play that game. "Honestly, I can't rule you out yet."

Her mouth dropped open. "You're kidding."

"I'm not. You have motive and no alibi."

"I didn't do it."

"Prove it."

She paled and turned away.

Satisfied he had the last word for now, Zack left and found Warwick
talking to Ruby in the kitchen. The older woman was smiling and stared up at
Warwick with a twinkle in her eye. Damn, what had he said to soften her up?
When Zack entered the room, Ruby's smile vanished.

Ruby's simmering resentment suggested she knew about his and
Lindsay's separation.

"I'm going to run Ms. O'Neil home." Zack had
made a statement, not a request.

Warwick's eyes narrowed. "I'll ride along."

"Suit yourself."

"She doesn't need you," Ruby said. "She can
drive herself just fine."

Zack dug his keys out of his pocket. "Not with her car keys sealed
in a crime scene."

"I'll take her," Ruby said. "She's got
enough stress right now without you adding to it."

The older woman had painted him as the bad guy in the marriage. And
truthfully, she wasn't off base. "Thanks, but I've got it
covered."

Ruby frowned but wasn't in a position to argue.

Zack found Lindsay by the front door. "Do you have spare keys to your
house?"

"Yes.
Hidden under a pot by the front
door."

He'd lectured her enough about safety when they'd been
married. He'd always feared his undercover work would spill into his
personal life and put her in danger. "That's not too safe."

Her face colored as if she remembered what he'd said.
"It's handy."

As soon as they emerged from the house, the
reporters who'd been on the front lawn lunged toward them.
Zack shielded her from the cameras
and hustled her to his car while Warwick ran interference with the press. Zack
opened the backseat side door. She was half inside the car when Kendall darted
around Warwick and caught up to them.