Torn (19 page)

He stared at his reflection. Matthew knew he was looking into a one-­way mirror, and cops were probably on the other side of that glass. Cops who thought he was some kind of killer.

“This is a mistake,” he said, giving a firm nod. “I'm a professor at Worthington! I am a respected member of the community. I. Am. Not. A. Killer!” He was sweating, though, because one of the cops had told him that Melissa Hastings was dead.

The door opened behind him. In the mirror, he saw the dark-­haired detective who'd been in before—­Dace Black—­heading his way. Matthew whirled to confront him. “If I'm not being let go, right the hell away, then I want my lawyer in here. This is
bullshit.
I haven't hurt anyone and—­”

“Are you familiar with Jeremiah Jennings?”

“Who? What?”

“Jeremiah owns a cottage on Jekyll Island.”

Matthew yanked a hand through his already tousled hair. “Great. Wonderful for him, but—­”

“According to Mr. Jennings, you've been renting his cottage on Jekyll Island for the last five years.”

Matthew's jaw dropped. Then he scrambled, saying, “The hell I have! I don't know any Jeremiah Jones—­”

“Jennings,” the detective corrected quietly.

“Jennings. Jones. Who-­the-­hell-­ever. I don't know him, and I certainly haven't been renting a cottage from the guy! I haven't even
been
to Jekyll Island in years!”

Detective Black stared back at him. He really didn't like the way the detective was eying him.

Like he thinks I'm guilty.

“Melissa Hastings was killed on Jekyll Island. She was abducted and held prisoner in your cottage . . .”

It was hard to breathe. “Not my cottage!” He nearly yelled. “I don't care what BS that guy told you, I haven't been renting from him.”

Detective Black placed a manila file on the small table that rested in the middle of the interrogation room. He flipped open the file. “Then why is your name signed on the rental agreement?”

Impossible. Matthew inched closer and saw—­“That's my name.” Shock ripped through him. “But that is
not
my signature!” His gaze flew up to the cop. “I don't know—­someone is setting me up! That's what's happening. Because that is
not my signature
!”

The detective's face remained impassive. “Jennings has been receiving monthly cash payments from his tenant for the last five years. First of the month, just like clockwork. The guy lives in the middle of fucking nowhere, and the payments just show up on his doorstep. He deposits the payment into his bank account—­and Jennings gave us his bank records to prove those transactions occurred.”

“Who the fuck pays in cash?” Matthew swiped his hand over his face. “Someone trying to frame me, that's who! Someone who wanted me to look guilty—­some jerk who was trying not to leave a paper trail.” His breath heaved out and he started to sweat. “This can't be happening.”

Detective Black pulled out a chair at the table and sat down, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

He doesn't. He isn't being set up!

“Jennings said he saw a black Jag leave his house one day, after a drop-­off payment was made.” Detective Black made that statement, then waited a beat and asked. “Do
you
own a black Jag?”

He already knows I do. I bet the guy pulled my tag and registration.
“Yes,” Matthew gritted out. “But I wasn't making any payments for a place on Jekyll! That's bull!”

“Did you know the victim?”

Matthew backed up a step. “You . . . you already know that I did.” What was up with these questions—­questions the detective already knew the answers to? Was the guy trying to trip him up?

“She was in one of your classes. No . . . two of them, correct?”

Was the room getting hotter? It felt as if it was. “Melissa was a . . . a very bright student.”

“Is that all she was?”

He knows.
“I didn't abduct Melissa! Okay? I didn't—­”

“It's an odd coincidence, you see . . . a bouncer at Vintage—­that's the club Melissa was at right before she vanished—­he remembered seeing Melissa get into a black Jag.”

Oh, hell.
“I wasn't at Vintage.” His voice had gone hollow.

“Ummm . . .”

What in the hell was
ummm
supposed to mean?

“You began teaching at Worthington University just over five years ago.” Detective Black nodded. “Two weeks after your employment began, Kennedy Lane went missing . . . and then, what a twist of fate . . .
you
were the one to find her body—­what was left of it—­on the same trail that she vanished from so long ago.”

It
was
hotter in there. Had the detective turned off the air? Was that some kind of interrogation trick? Matthew licked his lips. “I didn't know Kennedy.”

“Didn't you?”

Matthew started pacing. “I
didn't
know her.” He threw a glance toward the mirror. How many cops were watching him right then?

“Did you . . . want to know her? Is that why you abducted her? Why you kept her?”

“
Kept
her?” Matthew repeated. “Hell, no! I didn't do this! Not any of it!” He gave a frantic shake of his head. “Someone is setting me up! Don't you see that? I didn't rent the cottage! I didn't hurt those women!”

“But you
did
have a relationship with Melissa, didn't you? Because I saw the way you flinched when I said her name. Saw your eyes widen and—­”

“I want my lawyer.” The words flew out of his mouth. He was in way, way over his head. “I want my lawyer
now,
and I am not saying another word until he gets here.” Because this was a nightmare. An absolute freaking nightmare. And there had to be a way out of it . . .

“Have it your way,” Detective Black said as he rose, collecting the manila file. “The guilty always lawyer up fast.”

Matthew clamped his lips shut. The guy was just taunting him. A smart man would get a lawyer.

“Just so you know,” Detective Black added. “We've got warrants to search your home and your work office. We're going to tear apart your life and all the dirty little secrets that you've been keeping. They
will
come out. They always do.”

“My lawyer,” Matthew gritted.

“I'll make sure you get to call him.” The detective gave him a hard smile. “By the way . . . you didn't even ask . . .
How did Melissa die?
I mean, aren't you curious?
”

“I—­I—­”

“Seems like, if you were innocent, you
would
have asked that, right? But then . . . if you killed her, then I guess you already know . . . she choked to death on her own blood, and there wasn't a damn thing we could do to save her.”

Matthew didn't move.
Melissa . . .

“I don't like it when women die on my watch,” Detective Black said, jaw clenching. “So believe me when I say . . . I am going to fucking nail your ass to the wall on this one.”

Then the detective turned and strode out of the interrogation room.

The door shut behind him with a loud click, sealing Matthew inside once again. Slowly, he turned to look back at the one-­way mirror.

When he saw his reflection, Matthew hardly recognized the pale man with the desperate gaze who stared back at him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

W
HEN
V
ICTORIA OPENED
her eyes again, Wade wasn't there. Her hand reached out and she touched his pillow.

Still warm.

For a moment she didn't move. Had she really bared her soul to him in the middle of the night? The nightmare had come too swiftly, and she'd been too tired to think clearly. She'd almost revealed too much.

If Wade learned the full truth about what she'd done, what would he do?

Sighing, she pushed herself up in bed. A glance at the bedside table showed her that he had brought her phone to her. Thoughtful. She probably should check in with LOST and see if Gabe had turned up any search hits on NamUs.

Just as she reached for the phone, it vibrated, telling her a text had just come through.

She lifted the phone up and stared at the text from Wade. When she saw the words there, it became very, very hard to breathe.

I know all your secrets. There won't be any hiding.

He didn't know them. Her fingers tapped on the screen.
I shared too much last night.
She'd been too open with him. More open than she'd ever been with anyone else in her life.

Her head lifted as she looked around. Was Wade in his room? Maybe she should just go talk to him, but—­

Her phone vibrated. Her gaze slid back to the screen so she could read the message.
Before I'm done, you'll share everything with me.

Victoria shook her head and started typing back a response.
I can't, I—­

Her bedroom door opened. Wade stood there. Startled, no,
stunned,
she sent that half-­written text.

Wade smiled at her. “Morning, baby.” He strolled toward her. His hair was wet. Fresh from the shower? And a towel curled around his hips.

Yes, yes, he'd been in the shower.
Because his broad shoulders still gleamed with droplets of water.

He bent and kissed her. Victoria's phone vibrated in her hand once more. Wade's lips were gentle, so careful, against hers.

She pulled away from him, staring down at the screen of her phone in growing horror.

The message was short. Terrifying:
You will. And I will own you, body and soul.

“Who's texting you?” Wade asked her, voice rumbling. “Is it Gabe? Did he—­”

“It's you.” Her cheeks felt cold. She was too cold. “You've been texting me.” She forced her gaze away from that text and back up to his face.
I thought it was you.

A furrow appeared between his brows. “What?”

“You texted me.” Her hand slowly turned and she showed him the screen.

Fury came then, washing across his face as he took that phone from her with a quick jerk. “What the fuck?”

“It's your number,” she said, pulling the covers tighter. “You—­”

“I left my phone on the damn beach.” His eyes were slits of rage. “I dropped it there when I bent to pick up Melissa.
Sonofabitch.
It's—­”

“Him.” She knew it, absolutely, and felt sick as she thought of the texts she'd exchanged with the killer. “He must have still been on the beach. Melissa—­her wounds were fresh. He must have been there, watching . . .”
Watching her die.
“And he took your phone.”

Wade was scrolling through her texts now, and the fury on his face just deepened. “
Fucking bastard.
He wants you.”

“No, he's just playing with me.” She climbed from the bed and wrapped the sheet around her body. Her guts were knotting but a cold rage burned within her, too. “Now let's play with him.” Play with him. Trap him. Whatever worked. “Let's track your phone. I know you have the app. Let's do this.”

He gave a grim nod. When he whirled to leave her bedroom—­
he's going to get his iPad, he'll log in and check to find the location of his missing phone—­
another text came through. She glanced down at the screen. The bastard was busy. Taunting her and—­

How did it feel when you killed your father?

Her gaze shot up from the phone and locked on Wade's back. He was in the doorway, rushing out of the room so fast.

She had to delete the text. He couldn't see it.

The phone vibrated again. Helplessly, her attention turned back to the screen.

He deserved what you did. I understand. I understand so much about you now.

Victoria shook her head. He understood nothing.

Her fingers tapped on the screen, though, because she wanted to keep him talking to her.
I want to understand you.

She sent the text. Held her breath. He didn't write back, not right away. The seconds seemed to pass by so slowly. Each moment lingered and her heart raced. That fast drumbeat filled her ears.

The phone shook in her fingers as the text came through to her.
You will.

“Sonofabitch!” Wade burst back into the room. He had on his jeans and a T-­shirt, and his eyes blazed. “The bastard is in the alley right behind this building. He's right outside!”

Had he been watching her room? Watching her, all that time? Just waiting?

Then she realized that Wade had a gun in his hand. She knew that he usually kept the weapon close, but right then—­

“You aren't going out there, not without me,” Victoria told him as she started grabbing her clothes. She dressed in record time, jerking on her underwear, shirt, and jeans, and then nearly tripping as she fought to get her shoes on her feet before tumbling toward the door—­and Wade.

“We should call the cops,” Victoria said. “Get Dace over here.”

“After we get the bastard, we will.” His face was tight with a hard fury, his eyes deep and cold. “He was coming for you.
You
were his next target. That shit isn't happening. I won't let it happen again.”

Wait?
Again?
Yes, he'd said again but—­
I'm not Amy.
Her chest ached as she stared up at him.

“Stay with me, every single moment, got that? Every—­”

Her phone vibrated again.
See you soon.
Oh, hell.

“Wade—­”

He'd read the text, too. He swore, then said, “Let's go,
now.
”

Right. They rushed outside together. She saw that Wade made a point of hiding his weapon. The better not to scare any of the pedestrians milling on the street. But they didn't head out to the main street. She and Wade immediately ducked around back, into the alley. It was a long, narrow passage, one that stretched behind the historic homes.

They pressed close to the alley's walls, staying covered as much as possible. Wade went first, checking the scene and—­

“Bastard.”

She saw a phone, positioned very carefully in the middle of the alley.

Wade kept searching, but the alley was empty.

See you soon.

Victoria ran past Wade and toward the mouth of the alley. She rushed out and looked to the left, then to the right. People were all over the place. So many cars—­even a horse-­drawn carriage—­filled the street.

Men. Women. Children.

A killer?

Yes, she thought he was there. Damn him, he was there, hiding in plain sight.

Victoria took a step back and she bumped into—­

She whirled around.

“Easy,” Wade told her softly.

No, no, there was nothing easy about the situation. The killer had been jerking her around. He'd been right outside their B&B. Now he was gone.

See you soon.
“He had access to all your contacts, Wade. Your e-­mails. Any data you had on your phone.” She shivered. “He had you.” For hours, and she hadn't even known it.

Worse, though . . .
he'd had me.
The conversations flashed in her mind and shame washed through her. A killer had been toying with her. She was supposed to be a professional. She should have known—­

I didn't know. But he knows me. He knows what I did.

“I want to see those texts, every single one of them,” Wade said. “We're pulling Dace in. Whatever the perp is planning, we will stop him, I swear it.”

Her gaze darted to the busy street once more.

And the crowd just kept walking right past her.

S
HE HADN'T SEEN
him. It had been a very near thing.

Luckily for him, she'd given away the game.
I want to understand you.

As soon as she'd written those words, he realized that Victoria knew she wasn't texting Wade Monroe. She'd realized the truth. She'd thought to play
him.

She wasn't at his level, not even close.

He pulled up his collar as he walked away. He'd rather enjoyed that little dalliance with Victoria, and the phone he'd collected from the beach had certainly proved useful. He'd obtained all sorts of helpful pieces of information from Wade.

He'd use that information soon enough. But first, he had another man to visit. Someone who'd offered to make a trade, but then tried to change the rules.

A trade is a trade.
Jim Porter had been told exactly what to do. He should have waited in the little cottage. Stayed there. Instead, he let Melissa run, and then
he'd
gone out, too.

A violation that would be punished.

He kept his steps slow and easy. After all, he didn't want it to look as if he were rushing away from the scene. And it was so hard not to look back. He really wanted to glance over his shoulder and see Victoria once more. But . . .

Soon enough
.

He'd see her again, when the time was right. When Wade Monroe wasn't at her side. When she was alone and waiting.

The perfect prey.

“L
ET ME GET
this shit straight,” Dace said as he paced in his office. The guy looked tired—­the seriously rough kind of tired that a man appears when he hasn't had sleep for twenty-­four hours. “You're telling me that the killer . . . he's been texting you for hours? Sending you all kinds of notes?”

Her hands twisted in front of her. “Yes, that's exactly what we're saying. And we found the phone he used—­Wade's phone—­right behind our B&B less than thirty minutes ago.”

Dace stopped pacing. “Impossible.”

“No.” Wade shook his head. “That bastard was still on the scene when I untied Melissa. I left my phone there, and he took it. I just—­hell, I just forgot about it during the search. Didn't even give the thing a damn thought.”

“No, no, I'm saying he
couldn't
have been texting her. He couldn't have been in that alley . . .” Dace exhaled on a rough breath. “Because I've got my suspect—­Matthew Walker—­in custody! He's been in my custody for hours. There is no way he's been texting you. I let him make one phone call.
One.
To his lawyer. He isn't—­”

“Then he isn't the killer we're looking for,” Wade said, cutting through his words. “Because I'm telling you—­that guy had my phone. He was making contact with Victoria. The bastard was stalking her.”

She didn't flinch at those words, but she feared Wade was right.

Dace looked at Wade's phone, which had been sealed in a clear plastic bag. Wade had been trying to protect the evidence as much as possible. “I want to read the texts,” Dace said.

Victoria hesitated, then offered her phone to him. Wade's phone would only be touched again by crime techs, so no more contamination could occur. But Dace could easily read the texts on her phone. She kept her face expressionless as he scrolled through them.

“These times—­
shit,
the times listed for the texts are when Matthew Walker was in custody!”

“Then I think you have the wrong man in custody,” Wade said quietly.

“He owns a damn Jag! He
rented
the cottage! His name was on the rental contract. Okay, yeah, so the guy was blowing smoke and saying the signature was a forgery and that he'd never been to the cottage, but I know he was involved with Melissa Hastings. He was sleeping with her.” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “The same way you're sleeping with Victoria.”

“Watch it,” Wade advised, voice curt.

Dace's gaze snapped between them when Wade took an aggressive step forward. “Easy there, buddy.
Easy.
Hell, I mean, come on, if she thought
you
were the one sending these messages, then it's obvious you two are lovers.” His gaze went back to the messages. He scrolled. “And it's obvious that—­” He broke off, stiffening.

Victoria knew exactly which text he'd just read. She steeled herself. She'd known this would be coming. She'd debated deleting the text, but . . . even if she deleted it from her phone, it would still be on Wade's. The crime analysis guys would see it. No, better not to hide it. Better to just—­

“What is he talking about, Victoria?” Dace's face showed his shock. “
‘How did it feel when you killed your father'?” he read.

She didn't speak.

“
‘He deserved what you did.'
” Dace's voice sharpened as he kept reading. “
‘I understand. I understand so much about you now.'
” He shook his head. “What the hell? He's saying you killed your father!”

“Yes,” Victoria said. She cleared her throat. “That's exactly what he's saying.”

Dace's lips parted. She could see him struggling to find words.

She was struggling herself.
Time to admit the truth. I can't hide any longer. The killer knows. He's going to make sure my past comes out. Everyone will know what I did.

“Did you?” Dace finally asked. “Did you kill your father?”

Yes, yes I did.
“I—­”