Known (15 page)

“Well, Schwarzenegger was always the hard-ass.”

“But presented unattainable standards.”

“True. I liked Nicolas Cage. He was a geek but always won.”

“The nineties were great for Cage. I can watch
The Rock
over and over.”

He smiled. “One of my favorites. Sean Connery. Ed Harris. Good stuff.” Movies had been an escape for him after the two years he’d spent underground in the hands of a kidnapper. In the movies the bad guy always got his due. And the heroes weren’t always tough guys like Stallone and Schwarzenegger. Chris’s favorites were the heroes who had everything going against them and defeated the bad guys with their brains.

“I always like the females who were nerdy scientists,” said Gianna. “I have a weak spot in movies for the underdog and for women who were discounted because of their looks. They would rise up and kick butt every time.”

“Is that why you went the science route?” asked Chris. He didn’t think so, but he wanted her to keep talking. Their forced time together had fostered an easy intimacy that he hadn’t experienced with a woman in years.

Someone simply to talk to.

“Hell no. I continued with science because I couldn’t get enough of anatomy and physiology in high school. Other students thought dissecting cats was disgusting, but it was my favorite class. Getting to see how the muscles and tendons work beneath the skin? Fascinating.”

His high school had offered the same class. Chris hadn’t taken it, but he clearly recalled the smell from when he’d passed by the classroom on dissection days. He’d stuck to computer classes. Computers didn’t smell.

The OSP detectives and Michael chose that time to step into the room, and Chris immediately missed the aura of companionship that had developed. The end of his time with Gianna was in sight. He wasn’t ready to part ways.

Michael made introductions. “Major Crimes Detectives Henry Becker and Nora Hawes. Hawes and I met during a murder case a year ago,” he said, indicating the tall woman. Nora Hawes appeared to be in her forties and looked like a young Helen Mirren. She shook their hands, said pleasantries, and handed them a business card as Chris tried not to show surprise at her lack of an accent. Henry Becker was younger and looked more like a ski instructor than a detective. He let Hawes do most of the talking, but Chris noticed he didn’t miss a word.

Gianna woke Violet and the three of them told their story for the umpteeth time.

“Can we see the pictures?” Becker asked. He had the smallest hint of an accent that made Chris think of Canada. Or somewhere near the Dakotas.

Phil brought out a battered laptop, and Chris popped the memory card into the port. He sat back as the detectives studied the photos, occasionally asking a question. When they got to the images of the body, Gianna leaned closer to the screen and increased the size of the photos. Phil and Jason looked away. “His burns are fourth degree,” Gianna stated calmly. “Black and white and charred to the bone.”

“I didn’t know there was anything beyond third degree,” muttered Becker.

“I’d call some of them third degree, too.” She pointed at the picture, her voice in lecture mode. “See where this yellow layer is exposed? That’s subcutaneous fat and—”

“Mom, please.” Violet tilted her head at Jason, who was striding out of the room.

Gianna glanced at the other listeners. Hawes shrugged. “Doesn’t bother me. Go on.”

The next image popped up. “I don’t think you need my professional opinion on this one,” said Gianna.

“We’ve seen a few,” agreed Hawes as she leaned closer to study the bullet holes in the skull. “What’s this?” She touched a perfectly round ash-covered spot near the victim’s neck. Gianna shrank the image slightly, trying to bring the edges of the spot into focus.

“Looks like some sort of medallion on a chain. Does it show in the other shots?” She automatically moved to the next pictures and stopped on one. “I didn’t even notice it. I was looking at the entry holes.”

“How do you know they’re not exit holes?” Chris asked.

“The angle of the bevel. It gets smaller as it goes through the bone. Only on this photo can you see it clearly. I noticed immediately when we were in there.” She increased and decreased the size of the photo, trying to get a good look at the medallion. Chris estimated it to be a good two inches in diameter.

“That’s rapper-size jewelry,” stated Becker. “Unless it’s one of those medical alert things.”

“Not like any medical alert I’ve seen before,” stated Gianna. She frowned at the screen and continued to adjust the image.

“It has some sort of swirly design on it. Can anyone make it out?” asked Hawes.

Gianna was silent, staring at the medallion.

Becker touched the screen. “This part of the design looks like the tip of a bird’s wing. Could it be military?”

“We’ll figure it out later,” said Hawes. “It’s nearly dark. It’s going to have to wait until tomorrow, when I can get a team in there to clear the area. We aren’t going to investigate until I’m certain no one will shoot at us, and I can’t assign anyone to keep people out of the area in this cold weather overnight. I hate to leave the scene exposed, but there’re too many factors working against us right now. So I’ve given strict orders for no one to be let through on the highway.” She raised a brow at Michael. “No one.”

He gave her a grin.

“Gianna?”

She forced her eyes open in the vehicle, abruptly aware of a heavy warmth across her lap, and her hand automatically stroked the dog’s fur. Chris had turned around in the front passenger seat and was looking in her direction. She couldn’t make out his eyes in the dark.

“We’re almost to your house.”

Looking out the window, she recognized the street adjacent to her own. Some minor slush had accumulated along the roadsides, but the streets and yards were clear. It’d been dark when they left the ranger station. Michael had slowly followed the Oregon State Police detectives past the scene of the pileup. They’d all gaped at the burned and smashed vehicles. The emergency vehicles were gone and two county patrol cars had stayed to turn around any drivers who tried to continue along the highway. A lone tow truck had been pulling a crumpled car up onto its truck bed with a winch.

Once they’d passed the accident, the roads had improved. Gianna remembered how heavy her eyelids had felt and how she’d closed them just for a minute.

Or so she’d thought.

She awakened Violet.

“Can you get in without your things?” Michael asked.

Gianna finally felt the loss of her purse. Up in the forest, it hadn’t seemed important, but now she was back in the real world. “There’s a keypad to open the garage.”

He stopped at the curb and relief flowed over Gianna at the sight of her home. She’d owned it for only a few months, but she adored the house and the new beginning it symbolized for her and Violet. The outside lights were on and transmitted a sense of peace. Violet opened her door and started to slide out, no doubt thinking of her bed and good Wi-Fi.

“Wait,” stated Chris.

Gianna stopped, her hand on her door handle.

“Does the window next to the front entrance always look like that?” he asked. Michael bent over slightly to look past Chris at her home.

“Violet, get back in the truck,” Michael ordered.

The girl silently obeyed.

Gianna slid across the seats, pressing up against Violet, trying to see out her side of the vehicle to the window in question.

A spiderweb of cracks glistened in the glass, catching the light from her outdoor lamps and highlighting a large jagged hole.

“Oh, shit.” Gianna’s brain wouldn’t accept it.

“Someone broke the window,” said Violet. “Mom, why would they do that?” She started to softly cry.

Gianna pulled the girl close, her heart breaking for her daughter, who’d had one shock after another in the last two days. She squinted at the hole in the window; it was right at the height of the front door handle and lock. Clearly they hadn’t simply broken a window. Someone had gotten into her home.

Chris called the police.

Why is this happening to us?

“Can anything else go wrong?” Gianna muttered.

“Is this normal for you?” asked Michael quietly. Because of the streetlights and the dark in the vehicle, he was simply a silhouette in the front seat.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” snapped Gianna.

“Some people attract drama.” He shrugged. “It’s like they have a magnetic force that constantly brings bad luck into their lives.” He turned toward her, and she could faintly make out his eyes.

He knows.

“The last two days have been horrible,” Gianna stated. She closed her mouth. Chris had told her his brother was an investigative reporter, and she knew how to deal with reporters. Rule number one was to not speak to them. Every few years one would call her out of the blue, wanting to update the story of her life. She always refused and threatened to call her lawyer if they pestered her again. She’d had more phone numbers in her life than a call center. Once she received one of those nosy calls, she got a new number.

Violet opened her mouth to speak, and Gianna squeezed her arm.

Quiet.

She closed it.

“These have been bad days for you,” said Michael. “Someone tried to burn down a cabin with you two in it. Someone left a dead body in your place—almost as if they were trying to pin his death on you. Someone took a shot at you. Now it looks like someone broke into your place. I’d be very concerned.”

“I’m sick over what’s happened. This is the last thing I need. And no, this isn’t normal in our lives.” She tightened her grip on Violet’s shoulders, her anger growing at the man who was simply stating the obvious.

“Someone will be here in a few minutes,” said Chris. He turned to look at Gianna. “Don’t take Michael’s questions personally, but he does have a point and it’s related to the same one I’ve asked a few times. Why would someone target you?” He pointed at her home. “This isn’t a damned coincidence. They knew you were up on that mountain and they knew where you live. What’s going on?”

She stared back at him, the truth of his words slamming into her brain. Violet shuddered under her arm.

“Mom?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” she whispered.

After a thorough search, the two Portland police officers declared no one was in her home. Gianna knew most break-ins didn’t warrant more than the filing of a report. Crime scene investigators didn’t rush over to take fingerprints and trace evidence. But once the officers realized the break-in could be tied to two murders, they agreed to call an investigator and refused Gianna entrance to the home.

“I won’t touch anything,” she argued. “Let me at least look to see if anything is missing.”

The officers exchanged a look. “You’ll have to wait until the detective says it’s all right. I don’t want any evidence disturbed before the detective takes a look. He should be here within an hour.” The older one grinned. “They hate getting called out at this time of night. But from what you’ve said, we need to take precautions.”

Gianna wanted to cry. Pressing for an investigation had promptly gotten her locked out of her own home. She’d been aching for the safe haven. Her home symbolized comfort. The place where she and Violet could catch their breath and let down their guard.

The haven had been ripped away and she felt adrift.

The chaos in the forest might have followed them home.

Where can I keep Violet safe?

“What’s it look like inside?” she asked. “Is stuff broken? Is it trashed?” She held her breath, hoping they’d tell her that it appeared some kids had broken in to drink and break things.

Please tell me it doesn’t look targeted.

“I noticed there’s a computer monitor in an office, but the tower is missing,” stated the younger officer.

Violet moaned. “That has my school stuff on it.”

“And there’re a lot of files piled on the floor near a filing cabinet in the same room. Did you leave it like that?”

Gianna shook her head, unable to speak. The intruders had left the extremely expensive computer monitor but stolen the hard drive containing her personal information.
Not random.
She mentally reviewed what parts of her life had been neatly filed in the cabinet and now had been examined by a stranger.