Cold Fear (21 page)

“My mother’s brother. My parents moved back here in the eighties, but Mom’s family lived on the Outer Banks for generations.”

“So this really is home for you?”

Izzy pulled a face. “It should be.” She checked her shoulder, but Kit wasn’t home. The owner of the diner had called and asked her to take a shift. Working might take Kit’s mind off her misery so Izzy thought it was a good idea. Or maybe she’d see other friends she could grieve with.

“I never really felt like I belonged here. I always had itchy feet.” She looked at him lying so close beside her she could see the flecks of gray in his eyes. That’s what made his eyes such a cold blue—that and the fact they saw straight through bullshit. “Actually, that’s not quite true.”

His gaze sharpened as if she was about to tell him some important secret—no way in hell, but this was personal, more personal than she usually got. “When I was sixteen I had a boyfriend who died in a car accident. After he died I had the overwhelming urge to get away.” Izzy drew herself up into a tight ball.

Frazer said nothing. There was nothing to say.

“It was a tough year.” And losing Shane had been the lesser of two tragedies.

Frazer leaned closer and she could smell the hot musky scent of him. He stared at her mouth like he wanted to kiss her. The idea made her nipples instantly harden against the fabric of her t-shirt. Hopefully, he’d put it down to the cool wind blowing off the Atlantic.

“Is that why you became a doctor?”

“Part of it, I suppose.” A wave of nostalgia hit her as she thought about Shane. He’d been so young—Kit’s age, Helena’s age. Gone before he’d started living. Stupid. Innocent. “He’d been drinking, ran into a telephone pole. It was his own fault, but it was hours before they could get him out of the wreck.” She shied away from the memory because she’d been there holding his hand when he’d died. She’d begged him not to go, not to leave her.

“You couldn’t save him so you decided to save the world?”

Basic psychology, but her true reasons were a little more complex. She’d been escaping and atoning for her sins. She shrugged. “What about you?”

“Me?” A small smile curved those perfect lips.

“Yeah, you. What made you want to save the world?”

His blue eyes held an almost icy sheen in this light. That was his defense mechanism, she realized. Being the aloof observer, never really engaging, never letting anyone in. But he didn’t look away from her the way she expected him to. Instead, he said quietly, “My parents were murdered.”

“Murdered?” she asked sharply.

“Home invasion when I was fifteen.”

“Oh, fuck. You were there.” She could see it flickering over his features even though he probably thought he revealed nothing.

“Yes.”

“You saw it happen.” Her throat was so dry she could barely get the words out.

His mouth tightened.

Watching Shane die was bad enough, but she knew how murder felt. It felt like demons and darkness and evil.

And he’d embraced it.

“I became a federal agent so I was the one who got to ask questions. My turn.”

Izzy held still. He was going to quiz her about her father. Had they identified the bodies they’d found on the beach? The idea made her want to gag.

How could she lie to the man after what he’d just told her? How could she not?

Her heart hammered. He watched her pulse skipping in the base of her throat. Would he put it down to fear or desire? Both were running rampant through her body.

He leaned a little closer and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her. Then her phone dinged, jerking them both out of the moment. She checked the screen and her mouth dropped open.

An image appeared. A young woman on her knees in front of a guy who sat in an armchair with his legs spread, face aimed at the ceiling. They were fully clothed. No faces were visible. But the suggestive pose said everything that needed to be said. The message that came with it slammed her in the gut.

“Kit Campbell gives head while BFF has hers smashed in. Poor little Helena. Best friend’s a slut. KC blows.”

Izzy dropped the phone.

She bent to pick it up, but Frazer beat her to it. He looked at the image for a long moment before typing something into her phone and sending it. Then he deleted the message while she watched him, stupefied.

“I’ll have someone trace the photograph and whoever sent it to you. I suggest you go find your sister and make sure she hasn’t already seen it.”

God. This would destroy Kit.

Her cell rang again. This time it was Chief Tyson. Frazer moved so close his shoulder brushed against hers as he tried to listen in—unnerving the crap out of her. After a curt message from Tyson she hung up and climbed to her feet. “Kit’s at the police station. She was arrested for assault.”

Chapter Thirteen

C
HIEF
T
YSON MET
her at the door of the Rosetown police station.

“Where is she?” The fury in Izzy morphed into something that tasted bitter in her mouth. This man had enough crap to deal with. Helena had been murdered, and his son had almost been beaten to death. This incident was both frustrating and mortifying and underlined how bad she was at being a guardian.

“Come on back. I’ll take you to her.” He held the top of the counter high enough for her to pass through ahead of him.

“Jesse’s okay?” she asked quietly.

“The bodyguards arrived a couple of hours ago. Charlene and Ricky are with Jesse right now anyway.” He shot her a look. “I came in to handle this personally. Because I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Izzy wanted to curl up with embarrassment but straightened her spine. “But I do appreciate it. Can you tell me what happened?”

“Group of girls sitting in the diner started taunting Kit over some photograph.”

“Have you seen it?” she asked.

He pressed his lips together. Nodded.

“Someone texted it to me.” Izzy could hardly breathe. “Did you read what it said?”

His lips were bloodless now. He indicated a door with his head. “She’s in there. You can go talk to her. I’m about to go talk to the parents of the girl she punched.”

“Punched?” Izzy grimaced.

“Broke her nose,” Tyson clarified.

“Oh…”
Shit. Fuck. Hell.

“I’ll see if the girl still wants to press charges when she realizes she’ll then also be facing charges of spreading child pornography.” Chief Tyson didn’t say anything else, but the glint in his eye gave Izzy hope.

Suddenly the door behind them burst open and there stood ASAC Frazer, hair damp, the sharp scent of citrus shower gel coming off his skin in waves that made her want to inhale him. His blue suit was back in place, crisp white shirt, red and gray stripy tie—knotted perfectly but slightly askew. How he’d done all that in the time he’d had was beyond her.

“I told you to wait for me.” His eyes narrowed, and she was reminded this man was used to being in charge.

She put her hands on her hips. “Looks like you caught up, so what’s the problem?”

His blue eyes were frosty with disapproval.

She went to grab the door handle.

“Wait.” He touched the tips of his fingers to the top of her arm. Shivers of something dark and sensuous skittered along her nerves. She was disconcerted enough to do as he asked.

To Tyson, Frazer said, “I have someone trying to trace the primary source of the photograph. There will be charges pressed when we find them. Make it clear to everyone involved that this is a criminal matter, I want the kids deleting that image rather than spreading it far and wide.”

“Might be too late for that.” Tyson nodded. “But I’ll make sure the message gets out, then I’m going back to the hospital.” He hesitated. “Has this got anything to do with Helena’s murder?”

“I don’t know,” said Frazer. “Honestly? I doubt it.”

So what was he doing here? Izzy pushed open the door into the interview room and there sat Kit in a hard plastic chair, glaring at her. Her sister’s eyes were red and fresh tears streamed down her face. Izzy doubted she’d stopped crying for more than an hour since she’d found out about Helena.

“Did you see it?” Kit didn’t look embarrassed at all. She looked downright furious.

Izzy nodded.

“I suppose you think they’re right. That I’m a slut?” The words were a challenge, but there was enough uncertainty in them for Izzy’s anger to dissolve.

Izzy shook her head and sat down next to Kit, drawing her into her arms and letting her sister’s head rest on her shoulder. “I wish I’d been home that night. I wish I’d checked with the Cromwells about your plans.” If she could turn back the clock and do everything differently, she would.

“We’ll find out who took the picture and who spread it around social media,” said Frazer.

“What does it matter? It’s gone viral now.” Kit’s words were bitter. “I should just quit.”

“Quit what?” Izzy asked sharply.

Her sister’s young, blue eyes flashed. “School. Life.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Izzy admonished, fear squeezing through her veins.

“My best friend is dead. And who’s going to hire me for a real job now? Some dirty old man who thinks I can polish his knob while answering his phone? Everyone’s going to see that photo and think I’m a whore. It’s going to be around forever.”

“And whose fault is that?” Izzy snapped impatiently.

Kit’s lip curled. “And there’s the truth about how you really feel.”

“I think you need to take some responsibility for the photograph. You shouldn’t have been doing it in the first place.” Izzy’s voice rose. She wanted to comfort and rail at her sister all at the same time.

Kit’s chin went up. “Now it’s my fault?”

“Of course it’s your fault!” It was hers too. Dammit. “In today’s society where cameras are everywhere? What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking that some asshole was going to post it online saying what they did about Helena,” Kit snarled. “They dared me to do it, so I did it. Screw. Them.”

“No,” Izzy stuffed both hands into her hair. “Screw you, apparently.” She stood and paced, wishing she knew what to do for the best. She didn’t want to judge, but this wasn’t okay. Izzy took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. Being a guardian of a seventeen-year-old sucked, but then so did losing a mother and best friend—and no one knew that as well as Izzy did. The thought made her racing heart slow. Kit needed her support, not her censure.

Frazer stood near the window and watched the interaction. Dissecting their relationship. Dissecting her.

“I just think you’re too young to be doing
that
—especially at a party you didn’t even tell me you were going to.” Izzy’s insides froze as the horrors of what could have happened to her sister flashed through her mind.

Kit sneered as only a teen could. “Maybe if you learned to give good head you wouldn’t be stuck home every night like some fucking virgin.”

“A fucking virgin. Now there’s something I’d like to see.” Ted’s voice made her whirl around as he slipped into the room. He held his hand out to Frazer. “Ted Brubaker. Izzy and Kit’s uncle.”

Izzy’s cheeks burned with heat, but it wasn’t embarrassment—it was fury.

Frazer nodded and introduced himself. “Isadora was telling me about you earlier.”

Izzy raised her brow at his tone. Like they’d been sharing confidences.

“How did you know to come down here?” Izzy asked Ted.

His cheeks whitened. “Pastor Rice was sent the photograph in the hopes he could save Kit’s immortal soul. He called me about it. I called Hank, and he told me Kit had been arrested.”

“So now all your cronies have seen it too?” Kit’s eyes widened, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, my God.”

“What did you expect? That you got to choose which guys ogled it?” Izzy smacked her hand forcefully on the table and both Ted and Kit jumped. Not Frazer though. He watched her intently. Then his phone dinged with an incoming text.

“Would you mind waiting outside?” Frazer asked Ted politely. But it wasn’t a question.

Ted muttered something about “only wanting to help” and then headed out the way he’d come.

“Who is the guy in the image, Kit?” Frazer asked as he seated himself across the table from her sister.

Kit crossed her arms and glared at him.

“You promised to tell me what was going on. You promised to tell me all the rumors and gossip,” he continued.

Kit had made him promises? And neither of them had bothered to tell her? Izzy worked hard to keep her anger contained because even though she felt like she was the one losing control, this wasn’t about her.

“Who is it?” he repeated the question.

“Damien Ridgeway.” Each syllable was bitten off.

“I’ll help you,” Frazer told her, “but I think we need to go over the ground rules, one more time.” He leaned closer, and his voice was so frigid it made ice crawl up Izzy’s spine. “You tell me
all
the rumors, all the high school gossip, and I’ll find out who killed Helena. Got it?”

Kit’s gaze shifted away from him and flicked over the floor.

“So I’m thinking you should have called me when you first saw this, rather than lashing out,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Kit glared.

“I want the truth about what went down on New Year’s Eve. You got drunk?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“After the party you and Damien went back to the rental cottage and got high on cannabis?”

So Izzy hadn’t removed the smell as well as she’d hoped.

Frazer shot her a look that suggested it would take more than a gallon of Lysol to fool him.

Kit nodded again, looking miserable.

“How did you get there?”

Kit slouched farther down in her chair. “On the back of his bike.”

Izzy wanted to shake her sister all over again. That’s why she hadn’t seen Kit’s car the next morning.

“Is it possible Damien left the cottage at some point during the evening?”

Kit’s mouth compressed into a straight thin line. “I didn’t see him leave.”

“Is it possible?” Frazer pushed.

Kit’s slim shoulders bobbed up and down. “Maybe. I-I don’t know.” The first sign of uncertainty.