Deadly Abandon (5 page)

Uh-huh. He could see she’d been crying. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the lids swollen. He guessed she hadn’t wanted to fall apart in front of him.

“How could it happen? Rainey didn’t have an enemy in the world. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to kill her.”

“Was she seeing someone new recently?” He reached for the notepad in his jacket pocket and opened it to a fresh page. “Or did she have a boyfriend in her past who had threatened her? Maybe she dated over the internet?”

She shook her head. “She’s been with the same guy for three years. He’ll be devastated when he finds out. They planned to get married when he returns from Afghanistan. Tim Matthews is a pilot with the military. He has been stationed overseas for the past several months.”

Sully knew it was easy enough to check. “What about her relationships at work? Is there anyone she didn’t get along with?”

“She taught first grade, Lieutenant. I don’t think any of her students are capable of murder.” Breeana leaned forward in the chair and hugged her arms around her waist, rocking slightly. “How did she die?”

He gauged how much he should tell her. It wasn’t his practice to discuss the facts of his cases with anyone. Yet, she appeared so fragile. He could well imagine what she was thinking and didn’t want her envisioning the worst. If nothing else, perhaps he could lay her nightmares to rest.

“I don’t have the forensics yet. However, it appears she drowned in her hot tub.”

“That can’t be right. Not another drowning…”

“Breeana? Stay with me.” She swayed in her chair and slid toward the floor. Sully flew to his feet and caught her before she hit the ground. He lowered her head between her knees and took a quick glance around the living room. “Do you have any liquor in the house?”

“I…in the sunroom, but I don’t need anything.”

Jesus
, he’d seen better color than she had right now on week-old corpses. “I’ll be right back.”

He found the bar and poured a generous shot of brandy. Returning to her side, he leaned her head back against his arm to press the rim of the glass to her lips. Her gaze struggled to remain focused. “Easy, I’ve got you. You’ll feel better after you drink some of this.”

She coughed as the liquid slid down her throat, her eyes tearing. It was another few minutes before her color returned and he was satisfied she wouldn’t keel over in a dead faint. He released her, reluctantly, and settled on the ottoman in front of her. She had felt incredible in his arms, smelled like honeysuckle after a soft summer rain; the thought blindsided him. Her lower lip still trembled. Her mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out.

“Don’t talk. Just breathe for a few minutes. I don’t want you hyperventilating.”

He continued to watch her until she regained a bit more color in her cheeks. Hell, would it be so bad to postpone his questions until tomorrow? Maybe she didn’t have anything useful to tell him. Then again, there was only one way to find out. He gave her another few minutes to compose herself before he continued.

“What did you mean when you said ‘not another drowning’?”

Breeana’s limbs still shook, but her voice seemed steady enough when she answered. “Another friend of mine, Miranda Greene, died almost a month ago. She was canoeing on Lac St-Louis, practicing for an upcoming race.”

“Miranda was a professional athlete?”

Breeana wrung her hands in her lap. “A social worker, not a professional athlete, but she was competitive in just about everything. She intended to win the Ultimate Paddler’s Award at the Dragon Boat races coming up in July, so she practiced in the canoe alone. The police insisted she was out too far on the lake that night, in the shipping lane of the Seaway passing along the far shore. They claimed her canoe was hit by a tanker. Her death was classified as an accident.”

Sully bit back a sigh. He knew what was coming next. “You don’t believe their theory?”

“No, they’ve got it all wrong.” She dug in her pocket for a tissue and dabbed her eyes.

“You don’t think the Mallard Bay Police did a proper investigation.” It was a statement, not a question. He already knew the MBPD had mishandled valuable evidence at Rainey Dubé’s crime scene.

“Not thorough enough,” Breeana insisted. “Or they wouldn’t have drawn the wrong conclusions.”

She blew out a breath, her throat working several times before she added, “I know Miranda never went near the shipping channel. She told me her coach had warned her about the danger. There was also a storm on the lake that night. She would have headed
for
shore when the storm hit,
not
in the opposite direction.”

If what Breeana said was true, Sully figured the Mallard Bay Police had screwed up royally on Greene’s case, as well as Dubé’s. “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Yes.” Her tears flowed freely now, and he nudged a box of tissues in her direction. He was powerless when it came to a woman’s grief. “M-Miranda’s father came to see me shortly after he identified her remains. He had to identify her by a tattoo on her shoulder because her face was almost unrecognizable, maybe from being in the water so long. But, he saw no indications of the damage a collision with a ship would have done.

“The accident report makes no sense. There is no way she died the way the police said she did. I argued her death wasn’t an accident, over and over again. The last time I went to the station, they told me not to come back. They threatened me with harassment charges unless I backed off. But I know it in my heart—Miranda was murdered, like Rainey. I can’t prove it and I can’t let it go. Will you help me?”

Breeana had lost two friends in a month? Both to supposed water accidents? What was the law of averages against it? Sully didn’t like the odds. “I’ll check into it, I promise. Did Rainey and Miranda know each other?”

“Yes, of course. We grew up together and went through grade school and high school at the same time. We were best friends, Lieutenant. Actually, Miranda was the other woman in the photo you saw at Rainey’s house.”

“Sullivan…call me Sully.” He didn’t like coincidences, and he didn’t like where this was going. The cell phone chirped on his belt. He grabbed for it, glanced at caller ID, excused himself, and moved out to the hallway to take the call. It was the medical examiner. “Marie, what do you have for me?”

“I found a fresh cigar butt smashed between the flagstones near the hot tub, Loot. I’ve already verified it didn’t belong to anyone viewing the crime scene. I’m sending it now for DNA, but it could be months before I get results. And if the perpetrator isn’t already in the system, we’ll need someone to compare it with.”

“Well, well. Nice work, Matisse.”

“Hey, I’m the best, as you already know. I also did a vaginal swab. No semen present and there are no obvious signs of vaginal tearing or bruising. The victim doesn’t appear to have been raped, based on cursory examination. I won’t know for sure until I do the complete post mortem tomorrow.”

Sully glanced over his shoulder to make sure Breeana wasn’t within earshot. “I’m thinking the guy who killed her got off on admiring his handiwork.”

“Ain’t that the truth? Imagine standing around smoking a stogie at the scene of the crime. The creep must have brass balls, but it wouldn’t be the first time some sicko got his rocks off by killing a woman.”

“You see everything in our business, Marie. Listen, I need an exhumation on a woman named Miranda Greene. I don’t think her father will fight us on this one. From what I understand, the Mallard Bay squad may have botched the investigation into her death.”

Marie’s shrill whistle shot through the phone. “I’ll start the paperwork, Loot.”

“Please. She and Rainey Dubé were tight, had been friends for years. Greene died a month ago, an accidental drowning on Lac St-Louis, according to the MBPD.”

“What? Another floater? You think she was helped along?”

“Damn straight, but we won’t know for sure until you exhume the body and run the forensics.”

“Okay. I’ll call in some favors and get the court order ASAP. One question…are you talking serial killer here?”

“Bite your tongue, Matisse. It’s possible Greene died of natural causes.”

“Oh, sure, and maybe pigs fly. I’ve never known your instincts to stray off course.”

“Let’s wait for the evidence. It will tell us where we need to go from here.”

“I’ll be sending up a silent prayer to God and all the angels. I hope you’re wrong.”

Sully disconnected the call and rejoined Breeana in the living room. She still looked vulnerable and shaken. For some stupid reason, he wanted to hold her in his arms and tell her everything would be all right.

Sure, like that would happen. First off, she was a potential witness in this murder investigation. And second? Sully freely admitted to being the king of commitment phobes. His live-on-the-edge life and dedication to the job didn’t allow any time for a serious love interest. He gathered the coffee mugs and headed for the kitchen, loading them in the dishwasher. Then he continued on to the front door, before he gave in to the sappy impulse of crushing Breeana against him. He must be going soft in the head.

“I’ll let you get some rest.”

She followed him to the entrance and placed a restraining hand on his arm. Electricity zapped him like a Taser. She dropped her hand in one hell of a hurry. Too late, his body had already responded to her touch. He was human, after all.

“Lieutenant, do you think Miranda’s and Rainey’s deaths are connected?”

He wanted to lie, but he had already started thinking along those same lines. She needed to be careful. “It’s too soon to tell. Just be sure to lock up behind me and don’t answer the door unless you know who’s standing on the other side. And the name’s Sully, remember?”

He slid a business card from his jacket pocket and placed it on the entryway table. “Call me anytime, day or night, if you feel anxious for any reason, or if you think of anything you forgot to tell me.”

“Lieutenant…Sully…right, I will. Thank you.”

Sully left her house with his groin cramping. He climbed into his unmarked and started the engine, disgusted with himself. After all, he’d gone into the vet’s house with questions about a murder and come out with a probable second murder on his hands.

He had more than enough to keep him busy without getting hot and bothered. Sure, he enjoyed his fair share of women—okay, maybe more than his fair share—but without strings attached. And he never got involved with a witness. Damn sure if he nibbled on this one, he’d be hooked by the bait.

Chapter Three

Breeana went to bed late, chewing on Sully’s questions about her friends. At three a.m., the phone rang, cutting into a restless sleep. Her heavy breather was on the other end of the line, the same hymn blaring in the background.
What’s the matter with this idiot?

“Listen, you creep. It’s been a lot of years since I was afraid of a man playing with himself while he breathes in my ear. Shove off!”

The line went dead.

Morning broke early. The dogs saw to it, bouncing to greet each other and the new dawn. Sun barely flushed the horizon when Breeana crawled out of bed. Sleep had eluded her since the pain-in-the-butt phone call. She felt drugged from the lack of it. With a sigh, she pulled on her running gear. Time to shake it off.

Cranking out a steady pace, she took the dogs for a brisk walk down by the lake, keeping a close eye on Bruiser’s ability to keep up. He seemed to be doing better today. Sunrise held the promise of a clear day, the air crisp and clean, a faint breeze dissolving fingers of mist above the water. She tried to find comfort in the beauty around her and not dwell on thoughts of murder. She was convinced the same maniac had killed both Miranda and Rainey.

There were no signs of life as she passed neighboring houses, only the symphony of birds taking flight and an occasional boat trolling out in the bay. A flock of ducks, late heading north, rested in the reeds. The dogs charged through marsh grasses to roust them, returning to the beach dripping mud and slime.

Breeana played fetch when she arrived back on her property. The dogs dove from the dock to catch sticks; silt and debris shaking loose from their coats as they swam.

Back inside, she put on a pot of coffee before heading for the shower. It was now or never. There would be no hot water once Cody took over. Not a morning person, his daily routine was to stagger to the bathroom and brace himself against the shower stall until the water pressure pelted him back to life. A thirty minute resuscitation, she could set her watch by him.

An hour later, Cody’s summer hockey team practiced on the ice while Breeana nursed a coffee in the stands. It was hard for her to believe only a day had passed since the discovery of Rainey’s body. Her world would never be the same. Yet, life held a false sense of normalcy, the busy routine of day-to-day living dulling the horror and pain.

Another disturbing anomaly was her attraction to Sullivan Sauvage. The man wasn’t just a cop. More like steel-edged, sexy-as-sin with a dash of choir-boy compassion thrown in.

His mouth hinted of sensuous possibilities. His scruffy, bad-boy appearance screamed
GQ
cover. Breeana knew in the depths of her soul that he was a man women chased and thought they could tame.

Nuh-uh, not me, I’m nobody’s fool.

She hadn’t wanted to be touched since her husband’s death, yet this man threatened her resolve. Surviving these last two years on fading memories and the love of her child; those were the things giving her strength. Not her sense of abandonment and the physical needs buried deep within the recesses of her heart.

Sully was the embodiment of an alpha male who would take full advantage of a woman like her, if she let him. No. Tom was her mate for life, the only man to ever share her bed, or her body.
He was the father of her child, a very pleasant and secure memory. She wanted her life to continue to be safe and uncomplicated, like it was right now.

****

“Lieutenant, you got a minute?”

Sully glanced up from reading the Dubé file to find Sergeant Jacques Millette loitering in his doorway. Millette’s short, compact body and hesitant gait suggested weakness where there was none. The bald patch spotlighting his comb-over of stringy brown hair added to the misconception.