The Broken (The Apostles) (21 page)

His hands dropped to his sides, and for the second time that day, a barely contained roar rumbled his chest. “Only because you’re looking for them.”

“Others will too.” She picked up the scarf and draped it around her neck. Of course she’d wear it, no matter how Hayden’s feathery touch made her feel.

“Kate, you’re a beautiful woman.” His fingertips rested on her shoulders. “You don’t need the scarf.”

“More psychobabble stuff, Hayden. I’m totally onto you. You’re trying to boost my courage before I go out in front of all those people and all those cameras.”

“And if I am?”

“This is no fairy tale. You don’t have magical powers, and your words won’t change who I am.”

He jerked her toward him. “Exactly who are you,
Kate
? And don’t give me a single line of vitriolic nonsense your mother planted in your head.”

She tried to pull away. He was crazy if he thought she would let her insane mother define who she was. She’d long ago escaped that dragon.

Hayden’s fingers dug into her shoulders. “She was the monster, Kate, not you. You have to get her out of your head.” One hand slid along her shoulder to her neck. Anything she’d been thinking, any words that thought about shooting off her tongue, disappeared. Did he feel the skip and quickening of her pulse?

Hayden bent toward her, and his lips parted, but they didn’t settle on hers. He went lower, to her neck, where his breath and then his lips brushed against her heated skin.

“You’re beautiful, Kate.” His lips traveled down the column of her throat, along the raised, white-hot scar. His tongue flicked at the spot where her pulse hammered. Then he raised his head and sunk his fingers into the silk scarf, which he tore off. “You don’t need it.”

She was too stunned to argue. With trembling fingers that had nothing to do with nerves over the press conference, she switched off the light and walked out of the bathroom, Hayden at her side, the silk scarf puddled on the floor.

*  *  *

Sunday, June 14, 1 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

Tripods clicked to attention, fingers tapped on mics, and bodies jockeyed for the best camera angle. Sights and sounds from her past. But at this press conference, Kate wouldn’t be reporting the story. She would
be
the story. She stood to the right of the podium, next to Hayden and behind two Dorado Bay police officers.

Chief Greenfield stepped up to the mic and read his prepared statement regarding Jason Erickson and the Broadcaster Butcher. Although the police chief spoke first, Kate knew the man directing this dog-and-pony show was FBI agent Hayden Reed, the same man who had sent her world out of kilter with a series of kisses. Her fingers slipped to the bare column of her throat. The skin was still ablaze.

When the chief finished his statement, Hayden took his turn at the podium. She watched his careful gestures, the occasional well-timed facial expressions, his lips. He was smooth and steady and masterful in the way he spoke. And kissed.

“We have a witness that has recently come forward,” Hayden was saying, “and she has been instrumental…”

Kate didn’t hear the rest of his words but focused on the pressure of Hayden’s lips against her neck. On his words.
You’re exquisite, Kate.

“…she’ll now issue a brief statement. Katrina Erickson.”

A gasp rippled through the journalists as they crowded closer. Her feet twitched. Hayden held out his hand to her, and she reached for it. Cameras clicked and hands flew to lenses, tightening in on her face. Hayden nodded. She could do this.

On a small piece of paper in her pocket, Hayden had written what she needed to say, but she didn’t need a script.

“For those of you who don’t recognize me, I’m Katrina Erickson, and I’m a former news reporter for KTTL Frontline News. Three years ago I was attacked in Reno, stabbed twenty-four times by a man I have since identified as Jason Erickson, my brother.”

A soft murmur swept across the crowd.

“Like most of you, I feel angry at this senseless taking of life and at the gross injustice done to my seven fellow broadcasters, and I am working with the FBI and Dorado Bay Police to find the individual responsible for these deaths.”

That was the easy part. Truth always came easy to her. Her fingers dug into the podium ledge. “In the past week I have undergone memory recovery therapy and was able to recall that my brother, Jason Erickson, didn’t act alone. He had a partner, the killer who you know as the Broadcaster Butcher, and I have since given details to the authorities. It is my hope that this information will aid in apprehending this killer swiftly and that justice will be served.”

A display of fireworks exploded as more cameras flashed, capturing her face, which no doubt displayed her determination and her fear. The bait was set.

Now it was the Butcher’s turn. How would he react? Come at her? Kill another? Her legs were shaking as she walked from the podium toward Hayden.

“Ms. Erickson, how do you feel about your brother’s death?”

“Katrina, where have you been for the past two and a half years?”

She kept walking. She’d given what she could. Right now there was nothing left.

Behind her, Chief Greenfield took the podium, but she didn’t hear what he said.

“Perfect,” Hayden said softly.

“I need to get out of here.”

Hayden put his hand at her back and guided her off stage.

Chief Greenfield raised his head and asked, “You want me to take the Q&A?”

Hayden paused then shook his head. This was a crucial moment, and Kate knew he couldn’t give up control. He motioned to Hatch. “Get her inside,” Hayden told his teammate, and then to her, “I’ll be right there.”

Inside the police station, Kate found more people, more stares. The scar along her scarfless neck burned, and she tugged her hair across her throat.

Hatch led her through the station. When she spotted a women’s bathroom, she rushed toward it. She pushed open the door, but Hatch dashed in before her.

“Hatch!” She pointed to the ladies room sign.

“I’m staying with you.”

She threw a glare at him then yanked open the bathroom stalls. “Look, no butchers. Give me some privacy, please.”

He paused.

Please
, her eyes begged, in a way her words couldn’t.

“Okay,” Hatch said on a long breath. “I’ll be right outside.”

When the door closed, Kate’s knees gave way. Her fingers gripped the counter as emotions crashed over her. Mostly fear, because the Butcher finished every job. He would take the bait. He was on his way.

She turned on the tap and thrust her hands under the water, letting the cool stream wash over the heated pulse at her wrists. With cupped hands, she splashed water on her face. Handful after handful, she tried to wash away the stares, the fear, and the ingrained desire to run.

At last she turned off the water and fumbled for the towel dispenser. Cranking out a paper towel, she tore off a piece and blotted her face. She raised her face to the mirror, but instead of her own reflection, she saw another.

“Long time no see, Katrina.”

Chapter Fourteen

Sunday, June 14, 1:25 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

H
ow the hell did you get in here?”

Robyn Banks, a line of blood dribbling down her shin, pointed to the narrow window on the back wall. “Hungry reporters will do anything for a story, and these days I’m hungry, Katrina, real hungry.”

“My name is Kate.” She wadded the paper towel and threw it in the overflowing trash can next to the sink.

“Reinventing yourself?”

Kate didn’t have time for Robyn Banks and her questions or her jealously. The two had had a notorious rivalry back in her KTTL days, when Kate had uprooted Banks from the nightly news anchor spot. “What do you want?”

“A story, of course.” A feral smile tugged at Robyn’s glossy lips.

“You got my story.”

“I got two minutes of vetted FBI propaganda.”

“It’s all I have.”

The painted calm of Robyn’s face cracked. “It’s bullshit.”

“There’s no more. So don’t waste your time or mine.”

“Do you think you’re going to get rid of me that easily?”

Kate walked toward the door.

Robyn’s red-tipped nails dug into her upper arm. “Déjà vu, huh? You and me at each other’s throats. We had our share of heated moments.”

“We fought like cats. Claws extended.” Kate shook off Robyn’s hand.

“Thirty minutes.” Robyn blocked the door. “That’s all I want. Your terms. You choose the location, the camera angle. Hell, I’ll even let you choose the questions. Just give me an exclusive.” Robyn’s desperation had an almost manic tone.

Kate took a page out of the Book of Hayden. “No.”

The calm ruffled Robyn even more. “You owe me the story.”

“I owe you nothing.” Kate stepped around her and reached for the door handle.

“You owe me your life.”

Kate stopped but didn’t turn.

“The night you were stabbed and bleeding to death, someone called nine-one-one.” Robyn’s words lost all bravado. “That someone was me.”

*  *  *

Hayden grabbed Hatch’s shirtfront in his fisted hand. “Where the hell is she?”

Hatch blinked his surprise. “In the bathroom.”

He let go of Hatch, forcing his heart out of his throat. “How long has she been in there?”

“Five, six minutes.”

Hayden’s fist twitched. “Is it five or six?”

“I’m sorry, buddy, but I forgot to set my stopwatch.”

Hayden raked a hand through his hair. “Why did you let her out of your sight?”

“You want me to wait outside the bathroom stall while she pees?”

“I want you to do a better job keeping an eye on my witness.”

“Your
witness
?” Hatch’s eyebrows disappeared into his shaggy blond hair. “Is that what she is?”

Hayden pushed past Hatch and into the bathroom, where he almost crashed into Kate. She stood still and white, a marble statue in front of a brassy-haired woman with a bloody leg.

He grabbed his sidearm and drilled it on the woman. “Step away from her and put your hands in the air.”

The woman laughed. “Oh God, you sound so FBI.” She made a show of running a liquid gaze up and down the length of his body. “You look it, too.”

“Hands up.”

Kate placed a hand on his outstretched arm. “Hayden, it’s okay. She’s harmless.”

The woman tilted her head, a sly smile sliding onto her red-lacquered lips. Keeping the Sig aimed at her, he whisked his left hand along her dress. No weapon.

“Feel free to search a little longer,” she said with a sultry laugh.

He ignored her and asked Kate, “Who is she?”

“Robyn Banks. We used to work together at KTTL.”

A broadcast reporter. The woman in the red dress had the sleek look, the practiced moves and delivery of someone accustomed to life in front of a camera—from the look of her, many years in front of the camera. An unnatural tightness stretched from the corners of her eyes, and a false fullness plumped her lips. This was a woman who had had some serious anti-aging work done.

“Did she hurt you?” He moved closer to Kate.

She shook her head. “Shocked me though. She claims to be the one who called nine-one-one the night I was stabbed.”

That low simmer bubbled in his gut. “You were at Kate’s house that night?”

“Fortuitous thing, wouldn’t you say?” Robyn said.

His pulse spiked, and questions raced through his head.
Go slow
, he warned himself. He first needed to know if she was indeed the caller. “How did you identify yourself to the nine-one-one operator?”

“I told her I was Katrina’s fairy godmother.”

His pulse accelerated. The fairy godmother line was a holdback. “Why the anonymous call?”

She shrugged. “It was easier that way.”

“Easier?”

“I like to cover the news, not make it.”

“Why did you go to Kate’s that night?” Hayden asked.

“A story, what else?” Hayden watched Robyn Banks speak. Most people lied easily with their mouths. Tougher to do with a body. “I’d just broken a story and needed Katrina’s help with some sources she’d used in the past.”

“And when you got there?”

She tapped her finger against her chin. “Hmmm…this sounds like official questioning.”

“It is.”

“I got to her house and she didn’t answer. Being the curious sort I am”—she shot him a what-can-I-say look—“I walked in.” The cockiness oozing from Robyn dried up. “I found her in a pool of blood in her bedroom. I knew she needed help, so I left and called nine-one-one.”

“You went to a convenience store two blocks away to make the call from a pay phone. Why didn’t you call from her home phone or your cell?”

“Like I said, I like to cover the news, not be a part of it. I didn’t want my prints on the phone or the call traced to my cell.”

He’d run across the don’t-involve-me mindset many times. “Did you see anyone at or near Kate’s house?”

“No one.”

Hayden drilled her with the look he saved for his most reluctant witnesses.

“I may be a hard-ass reporter, Agent Reed, but I’m not heartless. If I had any information on Katrina’s attacker, anything that could have stopped those other killings, I would have come forward long before this.” She raised her eyebrow and looked at Kate. “You’re not the only one who believes in justice for all. Now, since you’ve refused me an interview, I need to get back to the station.”

“One more question,” Hayden said.

“For a face like yours, I’ll give you two.” Robyn puckered her lips.

“How old are you?”

Her shoulders stiffened. “Is it important?”

“Is it a secret?”

“Thirty-five.”

He nodded. “Before you go, I need contact information.”

She pulled out a business card.

“Home address, too.” He handed her a pen, but she didn’t take it. It hovered between them. He waited. With a scowl that sent ridges along her lipstick, she grabbed it and scribbled on the back of the card.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said. After she left, Hayden handed the pen to Hatch. “Have latent run prints.”