The Broken (The Apostles) (31 page)

Finally, a puzzle piece he’d been searching for. “We’re chasing one person. Not two. A master of disguise.” He could see it now. The Butcher dresses up as a woman, gains entrance to the victims’ homes, perhaps with a story about a broken down car or a lost dog. Once inside he pulls the knife on them from behind and immobilizes them. Then he kills.

The images in Hayden’s mind grew crisper and clearer.

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 17, 7:35 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

Kate frowned at the scraggly orange and black pile of fur and bones in her lap. She’d come out to the porch to get away from all the people inside—Lottie, back from the medical center; Smokey and Maeve; Hatch and Evie; and Hayden, especially Hayden—but Jason’s cat, Ellie, was determined Kate wouldn’t be alone. The cat had slinked out from under the porch, eyed Kate for ten minutes, then stomped her way onto the porch swing next to Kate. Ellie now rested in Kate’s lap, buzzing out a purr that sounded like a chainsaw with carburetor issues.

As she stroked the cat, Kate watched the blood-red sun sinking in the sky and knew Hayden would soon demand she come inside. And when Hayden demanded…She shook her head and stared out at the peaks of the Carson Range, which tonight were gray-green sentinels against the red-gold sky.

Inside the cottage a steady stream of voices continued to chatter and laugh. Kate ran her fingers through the cat’s matted hair and wondered if she would ever be able to sit in a room full of people without feeling like such an outsider. Although, to her credit, she had made serious headway the past few days. She held real conversations with Evie, Hatch, and Maeve. But not Hayden.

She ran her knuckles over Ellie’s head, and the cat purred louder. Damn Hayden for not telling her about Marissa, and damn her for feeling hurt over it. After all, neither one of them wanted anything serious, and their fling would end as soon as the Butcher was found, but she deserved to know that he was
married
up until three weeks ago.

A crack of light slipped through the front door, followed by the one person she didn’t want to see.

“What’s that?” Hayden shut the door quietly behind him.

She continued to stroke Ellie, refusing to look at him. “My cat.”

“You own a cat now.”

“Ellie seems to have come to that conclusion.”

Hayden sat on the swing, and she inched to the far side, Ellie grumbling but not moving out of her lap.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” Hayden said.

An exasperated puff fell from her lips. “I’m not. You’ve been parked two feet from me at the window for the past thirty minutes.”

“You saw me?”

“No, Hayden, I
felt
you.” She dug both hands into Ellie’s fur and kneaded. “Of course I saw you. You rarely leave my side.”

He laid a hand on her leg, which she didn’t realize had been shaking. “I told you I’d keep you safe.”

She pushed away his hand. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Being nice. I’m trying to be really pissed off at you.”

“Why?”

“Because…” She struggled for words, not because she didn’t know them, but because there were too many racing through her head.
Because I want to know why you didn’t tell me you were married, why you tried so hard, so long, to make your marriage work, and why the hell I care?

Hayden slid closer. “What’s wrong, Kate?”

“Stop it!”

A rush of air spilled over his lips. “What am I doing now?”

A half growl, half laugh rumbled in her throat. “Being Hayden. Taking care of the world with utmost efficiency and aplomb.” He opened his mouth but she waved him off. “And I’m having problems with it because I have problems. Period.”

In the cottage behind them, laughter erupted. He turned toward the graying mountains. “I’m sorry. I should have made other arrangements for everyone.”

“Yeah, there are a lot of things you should have done.” And before she could stop herself, she added, “Like tell me you never divorced Marissa.”

There. The words hung suspended between them, tight and electrified.

His jaw hardened.

“We both know there’s nothing serious between us,” she said, “just sex. And we know it’s not going anywhere. You have your job, and I have…I have places to go.” Her feet kicked at the porch floor. The swing creaked and swayed. “But I deserved to know that you never divorced your wife.”

His gaze remained straight ahead, stonelike. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, there’s a new one.
Life is complicated.
Yeah, Hayden, I know a little about how complicated life can be, and you know that because you know everything about me. But I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know your favorite color or if you’re a dog or cat person. I don’t know anything about your family or why you stayed in a marriage that was broken beyond repair.”

Hayden ran his hand along the crisp pleat of his trousers. “Marissa lived in a mental institution for the past seven years.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin on his knuckled hands. “She’d been diagnosed as bipolar in her teens. Maeve and her husband got her therapy and on meds and tried to help her have a normal life. Marissa did, in part, but there were some rough times.”

Hayden’s words continued to come out slowly, as if he were pulling them from a place he didn’t visit often. “Marissa and I met in college, and I knew relatively soon that she suffered from a mental illness, but I saw her anyway. She was an artist and very much a free spirit. I told myself that we balanced each other. We got serious, and Maeve tried to talk me out of marriage, but I loved the color Marissa brought to my life, and I wanted to help her be whole and happy.”

Hayden’s voice trailed off, and she couldn’t help but add, “Out to save the world.”

“Out to save one soul.” He started the swing swaying. “Ours wasn’t a typical marriage, but we did okay. She stayed on her medication, and in the beginning we avoided high-stress situations. Marissa was a painter. She worked mostly on textiles, specializing in silks. Quite a few galleries were displaying her work, and she was starting to get regular commissions, but for all her artistic talent, she continued to have dark moments, always coinciding with the times I left for training or an extended investigation.” The exquisite fabric of his custom jacket bunched along his wide shoulders.

“My work was hard on her,” he continued. “I worked long hours and brought my job home. It killed her. Almost.” His knotted hands dipped. “She tried to kill herself three times. All three times happened while I was away for work. The last time…”

The night grew silent, and even Ellie stopped purring, but Kate didn’t think Hayden noticed. He wasn’t here, not all of him. As for her, she was very much here, watching this new and different side of Hayden. She placed her hand on his knee.

“The last time…” Kate prompted, not because she wanted to know, but because she sensed that he needed to tell her.

“The last time she tried to kill herself, Marissa slit her wrists, and with her own blood, made handprints all over our bedroom. Hundreds of red handprints.” He lowered his eyelids, and Kate knew undoubtedly he’d seen the image thousands of times. “And in her own blood, she signed it and addressed it to me. It was her final piece of art.”

The mountain air grew thinner. Hayden visibly struggled for breath. It was obvious he had never forgiven himself. She reached for him. He stood.

“After her last suicide attempt, Marissa’s parents and I decided she needed full-time care. She lived in the home for seven years. She didn’t recognize Maeve, her doctors, or me. She sat and stared out the window, except for three weeks ago, when I told her I was going to put in motion plans for a divorce. Even though she didn’t communicate, I thought she needed to know. Apparently she understood. An hour after I left she stole the car keys from a staff member and drove off a cliff. The authorities ruled it suicide.”

Kate could feel his anguish and guilt, something he probably hadn’t shown to anyone, including Maeve, Hatch, or his other teammates. And beyond the guilt, she saw something even more telling. A loss of hope, a hard concept for a man like Hayden to stomach. And so hard for her to see, because Hayden was a man who believed justice would always prevail. At heart, he was a man of hope.

She put down Ellie and joined him at the railing. “Hayden, I’m so sorry, for both you and Marissa.”

She reached out to him, but he turned and motioned her back toward the front door. “Time to go inside.”

“No. Not yet.”

“Kate,” he said to the door. “It’s getting dark. There’s a killer on the loose, and you need to get inside.”

“I will.” Before he could move, she slipped her arms around his waist. With surprising ease, she turned him to face her. “But first, this.”

She locked her hands behind his neck and pulled him toward her. He didn’t resist. There was nothing slow, nothing gentle, as their lips collided and tongues tangled. This kiss was very much about the here and now. It consumed her, pushing away sorrows of the past and fears of the future. Hayden must have felt it too, for her leaned his backside against the railing and pulled her to him.

“Feel better?” Kate asked when they finally came up for air.

“I feel something,” Hayden muttered between a laugh and a sigh.

“Excellent.” She tapped him on the butt and pointed at the door. “Time to get up close and personal with all of these people you invited into my life.”

With a satisfied smile, she followed him into the cottage, but when the screen shut, a shriek tore across the darkened porch. Kate’s eyes plunked closed, and another shriek sounded. She opened the screen. Ellie strutted in, her crooked tail high in the air.

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 17, 7:35 p.m.
Carson City, Nevada

“Goodbye, bitch.” Robyn Banks threw a photo onto the fireplace grate and watched flames leap across Katrina Erickson’s face.

Robyn discovered the shoebox full of photos the first night her husband was released from prison, the night he drank himself into a stupor and she kept him from drowning in his own vomit. She ended up unpacking the small duffel he brought home from prison, including the box of photos. Until now, she’d pretended they didn’t exist.

Robyn smelled Mike before she heard him. The scent of cheap whiskey with a double shot of despair curdled her stomach.

“You shouldn’t touch what isn’t yours,” Mike said with a heavy slur as he snatched the shoebox from the mantel.

“It’s time to get rid of them, Mike.” Robyn tried to take the box from his hands, but he wouldn’t let go. “You’re out of prison. You’ve served your time. You need to move on with your life.”

“Move on with my
life
?” He swung a hand wide in the grand gesture of a ringmaster. “
This
is a life?” A boozy cackle reverberated through the big, empty room.

“Stop it!”

“Angry tonight?”

Yes, she was livid about this ramshackle house, her flailing career, and the downward spiral of her sorry excuse for a husband. She took a deep breath, trying to push aside her growing anger. “If you’re not up to a job, you can at least try to work on yourself. Your probation officer gave you the name of a therapist, and when you’re ready, I have that list of jobs—”

“Jobs?” Mike hooted. “Who, my dear, wants to hire a money man who stole hard-earned pennies from a bunch of retirees forced to live on canned beans for the rest of their lives?”

His pompous edge sliced into her, but she fought the urge to jab back. “You can get work outside of finance. People change careers all the time.”

His lips twisted in a grimace. “And what the hell am I supposed to do with a goddamn felony hanging around my neck and one fucking eyeball?”

She looked at the smoldering photo, at the flames leaping and crackling, charring the paper image of Katrina Erickson, and she looked at the man who promised her a future in hell.

She sunk onto the floor in front of the fireplace. “We can’t go on like this, Mike. KTTL is letting me go. I sent out a few resumes.” Her trembling hands flattened on the fireplace hearth. “Nothing.”

His moment of manic ugliness disappeared as he tucked the box under his arm. “Sad thing, isn’t it? An aging broadcaster trying to stay in the bright lights. But bright lights show all the flaws and wrinkles, don’t they?”

She flinched. He wanted to hurt her because he was hurting. She kept telling herself that over and over. Prison skewered him, and all those little holes festered, oozing puss and hatred.

*  *  *

Wednesday, June 17, 11:50 p.m.
Dorado Bay, Nevada

A broad-shouldered figure stepped into the blackened frame of her bedroom door, and Kate’s breath caught in her throat. “How’s Lottie?” she asked.

Hayden took off his coat and hung it in her closet. She almost laughed at the absurdity of that exquisite coat next to her T-shirts and leathers. He loosened his tie. “I just woke her to check on her, and she told me if I touched her again, she’d make sure I never fathered a child.”

Kate tried not to smile. “I assume she used more colorful words.”

“You assume correctly.” He sat on the edge of the bed. Something warm and tingly feathered out from her heart.

She shrugged off the shiver that rocked her body and focused on Hayden, trying to gauge his mood. After he spilled the story about his wife’s suicide and his own guilt and sense of hopelessness over the whole thing, Hayden spent the rest of the evening at work, phone to his ear and hands on his keyboard. She came to bed an hour ago, but she hadn’t been able to sleep. She was too busy thinking about Hayden and trying to figure out what was going on under that granite façade.

She didn’t know, but she knew how she felt. She pushed back the bedsheet and reached for his tie, sliding the piece of silk from his neck. “You should probably get some sleep,” she said.

“I should.”

She pulled his shirt out from his pants and dipped her fingers beneath the silky fabric. “You look exhausted.”

“I am.”

“Can I do anything to help?” She slid her hands along the flat, hard plane of his abs and then followed with her lips.