Blood Moon (14 page)

His door was slightly ajar, but I still
knocked before pushing it open. “O’Malley said you wanted to see
me, sir?”

I heard the rustling of paper, and when I
stepped into the room, he frantically closed a file on his desk.
“Brooke,” he greeted, his eyes finding mine and softening with
relief as he folded his hands on his desk. “How are you
feeling?”

I closed the door and sat in the chair
opposite him. “I feel good. I got in a good run this morning, had a
hearty breakfast. I feel better than good, actually.” My eyes fell
to the file under his folded hands. “What do you have there?”

Dad looked nervous, his eyes falling to his
desk and then flitting to his blank computer monitor. “It’s, um…”
He scrambled for an answer—one that I guessed might not be entirely
truthful—so I leaned forward, reaching out for it. Dread stirred
inside me, and I was almost certain I knew what was in the
file.

“Dad,” I whispered, and one look into my
eyes was all it took before he surrendered the file to me. I took
it, and my stomach rolled slightly when I saw that the file had
been marked as a cold case. Then I read the side of it:
Robert
Leighton—Homicide—October 2007

“Wh-why do you have this?” I managed to
choke out, unable to bring myself to open it and view the contents.
For the hundredth time.

Dad sighed heavily, leaning back in his
chair. “When you passed out in here the other day after going on
about the similarities between these murders and your brother’s, I
picked up the picture you dropped and saw what you saw.”

“Is that why you called me in here? To tell
me you think this is the same guy?”

He nodded solemnly. “That, and to see with
my own eyes that you’re on the mend.” Pausing, he shrugged. “I
think there’s a good possibility that you’re right, and I’ve been
authorized to re-open these cases so we can see if we can find a
pattern.” He picked up the other unsolved files from seven years
ago and handed them to me.

Hearing this stunned me into silence, and I
just stared at the files in my hands. “I’ll find this son of a
bitch,” I said softly, though I wasn’t sure if I was reassuring Dad
or myself…or maybe I was making a promise to Bobby and the other
victims.

“I know you will, Brooke.” Dad tilted his
head toward the door and smiled. “Now get to work.”

After leaving Dad’s office, I met up with
David, Keaton, O’Malley, and several other officers on our case in
the briefing room. Upon first glance, I saw the whiteboard had been
filled crime scene photos of the latest four victims as well as any
leads O’Malley thought he found in my absence. I looked it over,
but there really wasn’t much there other than how they assumed
these victims were found in a secondary crime scene. They figured
there were primary scenes still out there with blood evidence that
may or may not tell us who did this.

But I wasn’t so sure. Something deep in my
gut told me there was more to this than everyone else was seeing. I
still couldn’t explain why I felt this way—I just did.

Before David started the briefing, I opened
Bobby’s cold case file and rifled through the pictures until I
located the one that haunted my every thought since I wound up in
the hospital. All eyes were on me as I walked to the front of the
room and stuck it on the board, directly beneath the blown up image
of the wound on the victim number one’s neck. Upon first glance,
they appeared to be an exact match, but only an in depth analysis
would tell us for sure.

“This photo was taken at a crime scene seven
years ago,” I said, pointing at the picture of Bobby’s neck. I
glanced once at David, who knew this wasn’t easy for me, and he
offered me a sympathetic smile before I continued. “And these”—I
pointed at each of the most recent victims’ photos—“were taken just
last week in Chaparral Park. I don’t know if these cases are
related, but I don’t think we can afford to dismiss the
similarities at this point. We don’t have any solid leads
yet
, but I’m confident we can change that. We’ll exhaust
every avenue searching for this guy, but we
will
find
him.”

When I finished, David allowed O’Malley to
take over since he’d been heading up the case over the last few
days, and then we doled out individual tasks for everyone to carry
out. O’Malley had already spoken to the victims’ next of kin, but I
mentioned how I would feel better if I could talk to them as well.
Maybe see if they’d let me take a look around to see if I could
find something. David agreed with this plan of action, and we
prepared to head out. Before we left, I stopped by the break room
for some coffee while David headed out to grab the car. By the time
I stepped outside, David still wasn’t back with the car, so I
waited on the sidewalk and went over any questions I wanted to ask
the families.

Lost in thought, I stopped paying attention
to my surroundings, jumping when a familiar and unexpected voice
came from behind me.

“Hey, Brooke.”

I turned around quickly, startled and
staring up into the nervous blue-green eyes of Nick. Dressed in
faded jeans and a white T-shirt that hugged his muscular torso, he
walked toward me, and my breath faltered slightly. His longer,
disheveled hair and stubble-riddled jawline still came as a bit of
a shock when compared to the usual clean-cut look I was used to
seeing on him. Seven years ago.

My stomach flipped like it used to back
then, and I took an involuntary step toward him before my brain
registered what my feet were doing and forced me to stop. We
continued to stare at each other, and the gloomy look in his eyes
unnerved me.

He took a hesitant step forward, possibly
afraid I was going to toss my coffee to the ground and pummel him
again, and his eyes shifted to the ground between us, then back up
to mine. “Do you have a minute? I think we need to talk.”

I
didn’t say
anything—what was I supposed to say? He wanted me to spare a minute
to talk? After leaving me without so much as an explanation seven
years ago? It wasn’t a good idea, and I really didn’t owe him
anything. He was probably just having an attack of conscience and
wanted me to absolve him of all his wrongdoings. Too little, too
late, if you asked me.

“Please,” he pleaded, clearly seeing the
uncertainty on my face.

“I’m working, Nick,” I replied, looking
around for David’s car. “I don’t have time for this.” I turned to
walk away from him, but he refused to give up easily.

“How’s your shoulder?” he called out,
forcing me to stop walking and turn back around. I opened my mouth
to ask how he even knew about it, but he cut me off. “My…uh…my mom
heard from yours that you were in the hospital following some kind
of wild animal attack. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.” We
stood there, staring at each other for several seconds, letting the
awkward silence thicken the air between us. It was hard for me to
look into his eyes and not see the man I thought I’d share the rest
of my life with, and, slowly, my resentment toward him wilted. My
carefully constructed walls crumbled, and Nick smiled slightly,
sensing the beginning of a thaw between us.

Then, the stark realization that he left me
when I was at my worst ripped through me like a knife, reopening a
wound I’d worked long and hard to mend. “What are you doing here,
Nick? Why did you come back? Why now?”

His smile disappeared, and his posture
deflated as he shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked like a
lost little boy—a broad, six-foot-tall, lost little boy. “That’s
why I wanted to talk to you, Brooke. Please. I know you don’t owe
me anything, but—” His words registered with me, hitting me so hard
in the gut that I was winded, and they reminded me that he was
exactly right: I
didn’t
owe him a goddamned thing.

He must have seen the fire in my eyes,
because he rushed forward, his expression no longer full of
apprehension but instead flooding with regret…remorse. “I’m so
sorry,” he said softly, his eyes never once straying from mine as
one of his hands cupped my face.

Without thinking, my eyes closed, and I
pressed my face into his palm, welcoming the warmth, and his
fingers tangled into the hair at the nape of my neck. I inhaled
deeply, taking in his natural, woodsy smell, and he whispered
sadly, “I never meant to hurt you. I was scared. I didn’t know what
else to do. I panicked.”

His words reached me, and I immediately
snapped out of my dazed state, taking several steps back and
watching his arm fall back to his side. “
You
were scared?” I
demanded, my rage bubbling below the surface. “My brother died.
Died
, Nick. In a filthy alley outside a nightclub, and
instead of being there for me—for my
family
—you just packed
up your shit and bailed.”

Something flashed in his eyes—surprise,
maybe?—but it disappeared just as quickly as it had arrived. I
couldn’t quite pinpoint it or what brought it about in the first
place. I didn’t get a chance to question him about it either,
because he was quick to contribute to the conversation. “I know
what I did back then was a shitty thing to do, but you don’t
understand, Brooke—”

“Because you never gave me a chance to!”

Something behind me caught Nick’s attention,
and his face twisted in annoyance before he looked back down at me.
“I didn’t come here to fight with you. I came to apologize for what
happened the other night, and to try and explain myself.”

I rolled my eyes and waited, but he shook
his head with a nervous laugh. “It’s a…long story.” Reaching into
his back pocket, Nick pulled out a piece of paper and held it out
for me. “Here’s my number and the address to my place.”

“Y-your
place
? You’re staying in the
city, then?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly as I looked at the
scrap of paper in his hands; the address was less than ten blocks
from mine. Since my hands were full, I couldn’t take it, so Nick
took it upon himself to slip the piece of paper into the pocket of
my jeans. His fingers brushed my hipbone, and a forgotten—and all
too familiar—sensation passed through me. I hated that he still had
this affect on me after all this time.

Nick nodded in answer to my question. “I’ve
got some business to take care of, and I can’t be sure how long
it’ll take. I’d stay with my mother, but I don’t want to disrupt
her life when I’m coming and going at all hours of the day, so I’m
staying at a house one of my buddies owns.”

My head bobbed in understanding, but I
didn’t know what to do or say; I was honestly still trying to wrap
my head around his more permanent return to town.

I heard footsteps behind me, and when I
turned around, I saw David rushing up the sidewalk. And he didn’t
look happy. Behind me, I swore I heard a low growl coming from
Nick, but when I looked back at him, he was watching me
expectantly. “You should—”

Nick nodded. “I’m leaving,” he interjected.
“Just…
please
call me or stop by. We need to talk. And soon.
There’s something I need to tell you. Before the next full moon,
preferably.”

Before I could question his odd request—or
even give him a response—he turned and took off down the sidewalk,
limping slightly as if favoring his right leg. It was likely he
didn’t wait for an answer because he didn’t want to run the risk of
me telling him where to shove his small piece of paper—which was
exactly what I should have done—but a part of me was curious to see
what he had to say. Now, while I wasn’t sure if I was going to call
him or not, I didn’t want to upset David by telling him that my ex
just slipped me his number and was staying in the city for a little
more than just a few days.

“What did he want?” David asked, taking his
coffee from me.

“He, uh, wanted to talk,” I told him
honestly, turning around and leading the way to where David left
the car.

“About?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. He never got the
chance to say.” Before David could question me further, I
continued. “You ready to go?”

Mrs. Turner was a little nervous to talk to
David and me when we showed up on her doorstep. Thankfully, David
convinced her that this was just a routine follow-up, and that we
only wanted to look around and double check a few details. After
giving her consent, she invited us into her home and offered us
both some tea while we asked our questions.

Mrs. Turner’s home was full of pictures and
memories of a happy childhood, and while her daughter didn’t live
here anymore, it was obvious that she had a good upbringing. David
sat on the sofa across from Mrs. Turner while I walked around,
examining pictures for…something. I knew that the chances of
finding anything that could tell us more about the murder were slim
to non-existent, but it was my job to search for them
regardless.