Reasonable Doubt (2 page)

Thanks to everyone who helped me bring this book to life. Rad for giving my stories a place to thrive. Sandy Lowe for tending to every detail along the way. Cindy Cresap, my editor, for making me laugh out loud during edits even while you challenge me to be better with every book. A huge shout out to the entire Bold Strokes team, from PR to proofreading—thanks for everything you do!

Ashley Bartlett and VK Powell—the best first readers in the world! Your friendship means the world to me. Thanks for your honesty and your willingness to deal with my crazy schedule. Ruth Sternglantz, my bonus story editor—your willingness to talk through plot points, anywhere, anytime is a true gift of friendship.

Lainey, thanks for all the sacrifices you make, big and small, to allow me to pursue my dreams. I love you more every day.

To all my readers—thanks for making this journey so worthwhile. I cherish all the e-mails, notes, and words of encouragement. This story is for you.

To Lainey, without a doubt.

Sarah Flores ducked as the bullet barreled past her head and into the wall behind her. She cast a quick look at the body on the bed. She could do more good chasing the suspect. She ran out into the hall and paused at the top of the stairs, listening for footfalls. Was he hiding on the landing or had he ducked into one of the other bedrooms on this floor? Seconds later, she heard a crash outside and dashed down the stairs and out the door. Her boss, Trip Sandler, met her on the front steps.

“I lost him.” Sarah pointed up at the second story balcony. “He must’ve jumped,” she said between gulps of air. “Come on.”

Trip placed a hand on her arm. “Slow down. Mendez and Davis took off after him. We need to stay here and secure the scene.”

He was right, but Sarah chafed at the order to stand down. It was against her instinct to stay behind, but she dutifully led her boss up the stairs and into the bedroom where she’d found the Atlanta Strangler’s latest victim. The kill was too fresh to smell, but the woman on the bed was clearly dead.

Trip pulled on a pair of gloves as he circled the bed. “Is this the sixth or the seventh? I’ve lost count.”

Sarah looked up from the body. “You know, when you start losing track, it might be time to call it a day.”

“Why should I keep count when I’ve got you to do it for me?” He struck his forehead with a gloved hand. “Oh, wait, I only have you for the rest of the day. Who’s going to keep track of all the dead bodies when you’re gone?”

Sarah shook her head but didn’t bother replying. Trip had been bellyaching about her upcoming transfer for weeks. He’d gone from cajoling at first, in an attempt to get her to stay, to his present mode of inserting guilt-tripping remarks into every conversation.

Didn’t matter. He could do whatever he wanted. Tomorrow she’d be back in D.C. packing up her apartment, and the day after that, she would be on a plane to Dallas and a new job that didn’t involve body counts. She’d spent her entire career as an agent in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit investigating serial killers and witnessing the rituals of their carnage. She was ready for a routine of paper pushing, which was exactly what her new position in the fraud unit would entail.

She was almost done examining the body when another one of their team members walked into the bedroom. Peter Buckner, their resident nerd, looked the part. He was skinny, awkward, and sporting out of style glasses, but he could kick all of their asses when it came to calling up facts and figures on the fly or gaining access to computer databases that provided information crucial to keeping up their team’s success rate. She could tell by his expression he didn’t have good news, but she asked anyway, “Did they get him?”

“Nope. They barely even caught a glance before he vanished. We’ve got Atlanta PD on it and I’ve sent notifications to the airport, bus, and train stations, but we don’t have much in the way of a description.”

“I didn’t get much of a look at him either. But he won’t leave town,” Sarah said as she finished making her notes. “He’s escalating.” She pointed at the body. “Look at these marks here. He did this while she was still alive. He’s taking more risks, getting more juiced by the killing. No way will he take this show on the road when he’s just hit his stride here, where he’s most comfortable. Being chased today probably just amped up his adrenaline.”

Trip leaned over her shoulder as she took pictures of the cuts, still clotted with blood, that formed a heart shape on the woman’s chest. The cuts were deeper, more jagged than the ones on the previous victims. “She’s right. Peter, get Baker from Atlanta PD on the phone. I want a meeting with their folks first thing in the morning. We need to give them an updated profile and talk new strategy.”

Sarah looked up to see Trip staring at her. She’d worked with him long enough to know exactly what he was thinking. She shook her head. “No way.”

“Come on,” Trip said. “We’ll get your flight rescheduled. Just a few more days.”

“Right. It’s always just a few more days. And what if another call comes in? A few more days after that?” She shook her head. “They’re expecting me in Dallas.”

“Right. All those paper pushers just sitting around with files full of bank statements for you to dig into.”

Sarah laughed. The fraud unit at FBI Dallas would probably have a thing or two to say about Trip’s characterization of their work, but the lack of excitement was exactly what she was looking for. The past six years as a special agent in the BAU had taken its toll on every aspect of her life: her sleep, her mental health, and definitely her social life. She had a hard time keeping up any kind of relationship when she had to fly out of town at a moment’s notice, and most of what she saw on the job wasn’t suitable for dinner conversation. Trip and some of the others had been doing the job a lot longer, but she’d watched everything about their personal lives fade until they were nothing without the work. She still had time to make a new life for herself, and the transfer to Dallas was what she needed to resist being defined by the evil she encountered on a daily basis.

“Just because there’s no blood involved, doesn’t mean the job isn’t fulfilling,” she said.

“Sure. I guess there’s always the risk of a paper cut to make things interesting.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged off his teasing. He only did it because he was going to miss her. She was going to miss him too, along with the rest of the team. They’d been her family for the past six years, but it was time to find a new family. One bound together by something besides murder.

Ellery Durant idled her F150, certain this was the place she’d seen the treasure when she’d been riding as a passenger in April’s tiny sports car the day before. Of course, now that she had space to haul away the find, it was nowhere in sight. She turned around at the end of the block and vowed this would be the final pass before one of the residents called the cops and reported her as a stalker.

She’d just about given up when she spotted the abandoned door on the street side of the sidewalk in front of a medium-sized bungalow. She pulled over and slipped on a pair of heavy leather work gloves before stepping out of the truck, quickly spotting the reason the object had been so difficult to locate. She lifted several busted piñatas and a sack of what appeared to be party debris, and set them to the side before removing the boards underneath them, careful not to scratch the wood. Once she’d worked the door free, she stepped back to admire her find. Years ago, this arched pine door had been brand-new, its lead glass panels bright and its auburn stain shine fresh and unmarred by the passage of time. Now, scratches and divots covered its surface, but Ellery could see only the opportunity to bring it back to life. She spread a blanket in the back of the pickup bed and carefully slid the door into place, securing it with a couple of bungee cords and some rope. She replaced everything in the pile exactly as she’d found it and drove home, eager to begin her work.

A light rain started to fall as she pulled into her driveway. She jumped out of the truck and rushed to get the door into her workshop before it could get too wet, thankful she’d found it before it had sat in the rain. Once inside, she spent a few minutes moving things around, trying to decide where to put her new project. When she’d converted the garage into her workshop, she worked hard to create an efficient space, but as each potential project piled up, she realized the organizational skills she’d relied on in her past didn’t fit with her new creative career. At any given time, she had four to five projects going at once. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment that came with finishing a new piece of furniture using the materials others had abandoned, she loved the freedom of bouncing from project to project more.

This old door would soon be new again, given a new purpose. A desk perhaps. Or maybe a wardrobe. The first step would be stripping away the beaten finish. The lead glass was a rare find and she might use it on another project altogether. It would make a beautiful wall cabinet.

Ellery looked at her current project, a custom order. The buyers wanted a large dining room table constructed from the old boards they’d saved when the unstable barn on their property had to be torn down. She’d finished the construction, and now it was time to sand the piece. She pulled a face mask from a drawer and fastened it in place. She loaded her sander with an eight grit belt and began to grind away the rough surface of the wood. The boards she’d chosen for the tabletop were each unique, and she loved bringing them new life. When the initial sanding was done, she reached for her orbital sander and applied a finer grit to add extra polish to the surface without taking anything away from the natural characteristics of the grain. She took her time, and when she was done sanding, she circled the table, smoothing her fingers across every inch of the surface until she was satisfied she’d done her best.

As she pulled off her mask, her stomach rumbled and she realized she was starving. She looked out the window and saw it was dark outside. Once again, she’d completely lost track of time. If not for the fact she was hungry, she might have stayed outside all night. Making a mental note to get a small refrigerator for the studio, she put away the sander and hung her canvas apron on a hook by her workbench.

When she opened the door to her workshop a thick wall of wet obscured her view of the house. The light rain from earlier had turned into a heavy downpour, and she was amazed she hadn’t noticed the growing storm. By the time she reached the back porch, she was drenched in the cold wet of the early spring rain. She shrugged out of her coat and boots, left them on the porch, and walked into her chilly house.

She must’ve forgotten to turn the heat up this morning. A glance at the clock on the oven told her it was six thirty and she’d been in her workshop for several hours. Her cell phone lay next to the stove—another thing she’d completely forgotten. How quickly she’d gone from having it with her always to forgetting it even existed. She started to walk away, but habit drove her to give it a quick glance before she went to change clothes. There was one message and three missed calls. She scrolled through the numbers. One was from April, the woman she’d dated a couple of times over the past month, and the other two were from a number she didn’t recognize. She clicked through to hear the message and April’s smooth, bright voice came through the line. “Hey, it’s April. Just checking in to see what you’re up to. Looks like we’re in for some stormy weather. They say it might even snow. Sounds to me like a wine and fireplace kind of night. If you’re not busy, maybe we could get together. Give me a call if you’re interested.”

Ellery listened to the message again, this time hearing the subtle sexy undertones. She had to agree, it was definitely a fireplace kind of night, but beer would be more her thing, and part of her wished April realized that. She shook her head, knowing she wasn’t being fair. Two dates wasn’t enough time for April to glean that kind of intel. Besides, it didn’t sound like what they’d have to drink was the first thing on April’s mind.

With the phone still in her hand, she reached into the fridge and pulled out a locally brewed stout and twisted off the cap. The dark, creamy beer coated her mouth and warmed its way down her throat. If she wanted April to get to know her better, she should invite her over and show her what she liked. She wasn’t used to having time to do this dating thing. Up until a few months ago, she’d barely had time for a quick rendezvous with any of the number of eligible women who’d run across her path. Now that she had time to savor their company, she wasn’t entirely sure how to go about it. Was it really as difficult as she was making it seem?

She drank half the strong brew while she rummaged through the kitchen, checking for supplies. Once she determined she had what she needed, she dialed April’s number before she could change her mind.

April answered on the second ring. “I hoped you’d call.”

“I just got your message. You’re definitely right about the weather. It’s a fireplace kind of night.”

“Would you like to come over? I just opened a nice Malbec.”

“Actually, I called to invite you over here,” Ellery said. “What are your thoughts on homemade chili and a nice oatmeal stout?”

“Hmmm, well, beer’s not my thing, but I love a good chili. I have the perfect wine to go with it. Can I bring anything else?”

Ellery paused, for a brief second wishing she could retract the invitation, before she mentally smacked herself. Wine, beer, what did it really matter? They didn’t have to like all the same things to get along. April was pretty and accomplished and a decent conversationalist. At least she didn’t ask a ton of questions about what Ellery did for a living and what she’d done before. It didn’t matter what they drank or whether they liked the same things. They’d have chili and talk and maybe make out by the fire. A near perfect date. “I’ve got everything covered. Head on over whenever you’re ready.”

She hung up and spent the next hour putting together the chili recipe her great-grandfather had made famous. Like her work restoring and repurposing furniture, the simple steps of putting together ingredients to create a complex result was soothing, satisfying, sensual. When the doorbell rang, she’d reached her Zen place.