Dead Don't Lie (11 page)

Marcus followed Ryan into the elevator. The doors closed, enveloping the men in silence. An intense desire to go to Evelyn battled the regulations screaming in his head. More to the point, hadn’t she drawn that line in the sand just the previous night?
You don’t mix business with pleasure
. But was this really pleasure? He doubted it, not after that blowup with Sanderson. This visit was purely business, end of story. She and Ryan were his business now, his responsibility, until the case was over.
Mentally cursing himself, he ran his hand over his five o’clock stubble. Who was he kidding? If he were going to check up on Ryan, the mental bullshit he’d just run through would pass. But he wasn’t. He was going to check on Evelyn. And with her, it was pleasure the moment he’d set eyes on the stunning detective. That sweet kiss he’d shared with Evelyn last night left him wanting to see that softer side of her—the side she reserved for a limited few—more than ever. He smiled as he remembered the softness of her lips.

Business. Pleasure. Both. It didn’t really matter at this point. He was going.

Ryan’s phone chirped as the doors opened. He flipped his phone over and looked at the caller ID.

“It’s the wife.” Ryan grinned. “Hey, babe.”

The two men walked out of the station together. Ryan lifted his hand in a silent goodbye and moved toward his FJ Cruiser. Marcus waved back. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out his car keys. Yes, there was something more to Evelyn Davis, and he’d every intention of finding out what that was.

Tonight.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

E
VELYN
FUMED
ALL
the way home, driving too quickly and not caring in the least. Anger and humiliation ripped through her. How dare he bring up her family in front of everyone? She pounded the steering wheel, willing herself not to cry.
Oh, crap, too late
. With one hand on the wheel, she dragged the back of her other hand across her eyes, gritting her teeth against the tidal wave of emotion threatening to wipe her out. She’d been promised that the circumstances of her family’s death would stay out of her file, which was the only way she’d agreed to come to Seattle.

So how the hell had Josh Sanderson found out?

She hadn’t felt such defeat, such vulnerability, in fifteen years. Her lip trembled.

The case was eating at her. She knew it. Ryan knew it. And if Marcus hadn’t known, he certainly did now.

Her stomach tightened at the thought of being in the ruggedly handsome FBI agent’s arms. She briefly felt warm and protected when he’d pulled her back from Sanderson. Last night’s excuse of professional lines not being crossed was pathetic. If she were honest, she’d have admitted to Kate that she felt his presence before her eyes found him, that she instantly surveyed any room she walked into, hoping for a glimpse of Marcus.

When he’d kissed her last night, she knew it was pointless to argue against regulations, or whatever, any longer.

But that was before he’d witnessed her attempt to attack a fellow officer.

She cringed. No doubt he’d run from her complicated life now. She shook her head, then focused on the road in front of her, careful not to hit any of the pedestrians that paid no heed to the walk signals at the crosswalks on the busy street.

Evelyn wanted to be home. Needed to slip into a hot lavender bath, drink a bottle of Malbec, anything to get her mind off this case—and more importantly, off Marcus.

An hour later, she dropped the towel from her shower and stepped into a pair of black boy-cut underwear. She put on an oversize cotton T-shirt and sighed. The soft fabric hugged her. She’d just flipped her head over to dry her hair when the doorbell chimed.
Who in the world?
She tugged on a pair of yoga pants, tied her hair up in a messy bun and walked to the window. Pushing aside the sheer curtain, she peered outside. She dropped the curtain as if it had seared her hand and took a step away from the window.

Marcus’s car was parked at her curb.

Her stomach cartwheeled and tumbled. She yanked off the T-shirt and tossed it on her bed. She threw on a black bra, grabbed a black tank from her chair and put it on. Not the best outfit, but better than nothing.

The doorbell chimed again. She took one last look at herself in the mirror, then ran down the stairs, unbolted the door and pulled it open a crack.

“Marcus, hi.” She peered around the door at him. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. What are you doing here?”

He grinned down at her.
Oh, crap.
That wasn’t good.

Was it?

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

M
ARCUS
WASN
’
T
SURE
what he’d expected, but it wasn’t to see her with wet hair. She’d clearly just gotten out of the shower. Even without a stitch of makeup on, she was stunning.

“For you.” He handed Evelyn a bottle of wine. She took it, looked at the label and smiled.

“Thanks. I undeniably need this tonight.”

He leaned against the door frame, crossed his arms and studied her sweet face. “No doubt, after that blowup.”

She cringed and looked away. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. From where I was standing, Sanderson was out of line.”

She looked up and mustered a small smile, rendering him speechless. He cleared his throat and pushed off the door frame. “May I come in?”

She hesitated, and Marcus’s heart dropped. He held his breath and waited.
Open the door, Evelyn. Come on, let me in.
After what felt like a million years, she nodded, opened the door wider and stepped back.

He entered, the nervous tension returning. He heard the click of the dead bolt behind him as he surveyed her home.

The main living space was open. Beautiful hardwood floors lined the house from the front door to the back. A fire crackled in the huge fireplace that sat in the middle of the wall to the right. It was flanked by two floor-to-ceiling windows. A large white sofa sat facing the fireplace. Two overstuffed chocolate-brown chairs sat at each arm, a white throw tossed over the back of each. An old wooden shipping trunk, acting as a coffee table, sat on a throw rug.
Coastal Living
magazines were piled at one end. The living room seamlessly moved into a large eat-in kitchen. Someone had poured a lot of sweat and time into remodeling this small home to make it feel so open and warm.

He glanced at her. “You eat yet?”

“No.” She cradled the wine to her chest.

He walked toward the kitchen. “May I?”

She titled her head, and her eyebrows creased.

“Cook you dinner. We Morettis make a mean Italian meal.”

“You want to cook me dinner?” Her voice rose in surprise. She followed him and reached for a corkscrew to open the wine.

“Do you mind?” he asked, already rolling up his sleeves.

“No, that sounds lovely.” She smiled, then pulled out the cork, brought the bottle closer and reached for a glass.

“Great. Sit.”

She sat, then poured the red liquid into two glasses. She handed one to him.

“I’m mortified you had to see that today. It’s just this case. It’s eating at me.”

He swirled the glass, brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, then sipped. “You sure know your wine.”

“Ryan?”

Marcus laughed and nodded.

Evelyn chuckled. “He knows me well.”

Marcus figured Evelyn would shoulder most of the responsibility for tracking their killer. She was still a mystery—one he’d enjoyed unfolding and discovering—but he’d known from the beginning that she demanded more from herself.

But to think she was solely responsible for capturing the killer was ludicrous.

“You know you’re not working solo, right?”

“Yeah, but I should have already figured this guy out. Gotten inside his mind. Something.” She shook her head and reached for her wine. “Each time I look at the profile I’ve put together, something changes, something shifts and I have to rework it. It’s maddening.”

“Eve—”

She jumped up. “Enough about me.”

Marcus bit back a smile.
Fair enough.
Clearly talking about the case—or more importantly, her frustrations with it—was off the table. He’d go with it. For now.

She grabbed two plates and some utensils. Once the places were set on the granite counter, she picked up her glass and pulled up a stool. “So why this case? Why Seattle, and why now?”

Marcus glanced up from rinsing the baby spinach he’d pulled from the fridge. “Justice runs in my blood and has for generations. When duty calls, I answer. This case called. So here I am.”

It wasn’t the full truth, but now was not the time to bring up his ulterior motive. When the mayor called in a personal favor to consult on this case, Marcus hadn’t hesitated. He wanted Evelyn on his team at the Bureau. Ryan had smelled that the first few days on the case. She, on the other hand, hadn’t said anything to him yet. She was smart. She had to know his endgame. But now things had gotten a bit...complicated.

Turning back to the sink, he swallowed hard. Her softness more than intrigued him. So yes, he wanted her on his FBI team, needed her on his team, but he
wanted
the woman in front of him. And he couldn’t separate those two things, so instead he focused on the truth that’d never change—that justice ran in his blood.

She took another sip of Malbec and studied him over the rim of her glass. “So it had nothing to do with my multiple rejections of the Bureau’s offer to join their elite team.”

He dumped the toweled-off spinach in her white ceramic salad bowl and beamed. “Busted.”

“I’m not leaving my team.”

“You haven’t even heard my offer.” He grabbed a knife and chopped the almonds he’d scrounged up, threw them in the salad. Next, he sprinkled dried cranberries into the mix.

“Marcus, I’m not leaving my team.”

He shrugged, then grinned at her. “A guy could dream.”

She laughed. “Fair enough. Tell me about your family.”

A shadow passed over her face. He felt a twinge of sympathy for her. Just as quickly, though, the darkness passed, and she smiled at him.

“I have three siblings. Two brothers and a younger sister.”

She tipped her glass to him. “Where do you fall in the lineup?”

“Second oldest, by forty seconds.”

“You’re a twin. Oh, your poor mother.” She groaned. “I can’t imagine a second Marcus running around. Somehow, I can’t see the world being big enough for
two
of you.”

He chuckled. “My twin and I are nothing alike, in case you’re wondering. My family is currently scattered across the country, but we try to get together as often as our schedules allow. My easygoing Italian father—”

Evelyn’s eyes raised skeptically.

“I know, I know.
Italian
and
easygoing
aren’t exactly two terms you normally hear together, but that’s my dad. He’s currently working on his second retirement as a history professor and soccer coach.”

He set the salad in front of her, grabbed the seat next to her and raised his glass. “Bon appétit.”

Following suit, she raised hers and tipped her head. “Bon appétit.”

“My older brother, Derek, retired from the Air Force a full bird colonel and is now at the Bureau. Cole, my younger brother and twin, well...he’d literally have to kill us if he told us what he does. But we all have our suspicions.” Marcus chuckled.

She waved her folk in a small circle. “Go on.”

“My mother, Charlotte, was an Air Force flight nurse.”

Evelyn openly stared at him as she swirled her glass. “Wow. So your family bleeds red, white and blue.”

“Always have. Always will.”

He chewed slowly and glanced over at Evelyn.
He’d never met a woman who’d so quickly gotten to him. He’d never met a woman like Evelyn, period.
Not only did she match him stride for stride, but she also spoke his family’s language. He hadn’t seen that one coming.

“You were saying about your mom?” she prompted.

“My feisty Spanish mother met my father on a flight. He never really had a choice but to put a ring on her finger.” Marcus leaned back in his chair and beamed. “And then there’s my baby sister, Alexis.”

“So who does she take after? Your feisty mother or your laid-back father?”

“Oh, she puts my mother to shame in the feisty department. That one has kept us all on our toes. She’s in her last year at MIT. The agency’s been champing at the bit to get her on their dime, but school’s important.”

“They sound lovely.”

“They are. I’m lucky.” He put down his glass. “What about yours?”

He watched her closely. A shadow passed across her face again. He knew he’d hit a nerve and hated the idea of bringing up anything that caused her pain. She fisted her hands in her lap. He cringed inwardly, but waited for her to speak. After the crazy showdown in the bull pen, he wanted answers. No, he deserved answers, both personally and professionally. She’d made him swear there’d be no holding cards in this investigation. And while he suspected she had her reasons for keeping her background close to the chest, he needed to know. He had to make sure that emotional outburst wouldn’t repeat itself.

The vein in her throat jumped. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“They were killed fifteen years ago.” She didn’t look at him. “Their case was never solved.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened a long time ago.” A deep sadness crossed her face and tears glistened in her eyes. “Can we change the subject?”

Marcus nodded, wanting to take her in his arms to keep her grief at bay. But he didn’t, too intrigued by what she kept hidden. “Fair enough. So, what makes you tick?”

She shrugged. “Easy. Justice. All victims deserve justice.”

He was surprised at how quickly she responded. “I agree, but something makes you tick on a deeper level. What is it?”

She folded, unfolded and then refolded her napkin. Without looking up at him, she rolled it between her fingers and shifted in her seat. Fascinated by the internal struggle he was witnessing, he waited. She sighed and flicked the napkin aside, and picked up her glass.

She took another sip of her wine and stared at the red liquid. “You really want to know what makes me tick?”

“Yes.” He reached for his own wine.

She gently lowered her glass to the granite counter and reached for his hand. “Come with me.”

Startled, he put his glass down and pushed back from his chair. She led him up the stairs, her hand warm in his. He shot a quick glance into her bedroom, spied the unmade bed and had to rein in the wild images that bombarded his mind. Given their conversation downstairs, sex was clearly the last thing on her mind. She stopped and faced the closed door to their right. She dropped his hand and glanced up at him. He couldn’t help noticing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes.
What in the world?

“This is what makes me tick, Marcus. Like it or leave it.” She pushed open the door, then flipped on the lights.

Grisly crime scene photos, Post-it notes with hand-scrawled questions and newspaper clipping covered the largest wall. Perplexed, he looked at her for a moment before moving toward the wall. A calendar with one date circled in red jumped out at him. He walked up to it and stared. Was that the date of her family’s death? His head spun. If so, it was only a couple weeks from now. How the hell was she working this case? Why had no one mentioned this before now? He stepped closer, grimacing at the violent images.

Glancing over the old photos, his attention landed on the smiling face of a girl who remarkably resembled Evelyn. The photo butting up to it showed the same girl, hunched over a woman, bloodied, her throat slashed. He put two and two together. His chest tightened and his throat closed with unspoken emotion. The thought of losing his baby sister in such a violent manner made his stomach roll.
What kind of hell had Evelyn lived through?

“I’m surprised you don’t know already,” she said from behind him. “Though I’m grateful Ryan and the captain kept their mouths shut.”

“I tried to get it out of Ryan, believe me. But the guy’s a vault.” Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Though, I must admit, I’m surprised and a bit annoyed no one thought this important enough to mention to me.”

She leaned against the door frame, her arms wrapped tightly around her waist.

“What’s this all about, Evelyn?”

“You might want to sit.” She pulled out the large leather office chair and patted it.

He sat, and she plopped herself onto a small white sofa. Tucking her feet underneath her, she stared at the wall full of painful reminders.

“I had just landed a multimillion-dollar modeling deal and was at my first runway show in Milan.”

He whistled, though it didn’t surprise him. She was a knockout, the type who didn’t realize it, who walked around oblivious to how her looks affected people.

She rolled her eyes and a smile tugged at her lips.

“I received a DVD in the mail. My family sent them to me all the time. It was their way of keeping me connected, I guess. A few days prior, my sister had mentioned she’d be sending something, so I didn’t think anything of it. So here I was, eighteen, in another country, and naive as hell. I’d just gotten home from my first runway show and popped this DVD in, expecting to see my sister’s latest cheerleading event and my family’s smiling faces.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “Instead, I watched my family being brutally butchered. My sister was already dead. He’d slashed her neck from ear to ear before hitting Record. I was powerless to do anything as this faceless monster riddled my mother’s body with bullets, then sliced open my father’s throat. He bled out right before my eyes.”

“Holy shit.” Marcus tore his gaze from her for a brief moment to glance at the grotesque crime scene photos.
How had she even gotten ahold of those? What heartless moron had hand-delivered a constant and brutal reminder of the darkest day of her life—to a teenager?

“In that moment, my life shattered into a million tiny pieces.” She spoke quickly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “The cops never found the guy, and by the time they saw the video, the press had already labeled my father a family annihilator. My family’s memory was ruined, and I lost everything.”

He moved—professional lines be damned— and crouched in front of her, cradling her face in his hands. He brushed away her tears, wanting to pull her into his arms.

She bit her lip and drew back. “I’m sorry. How embarrassing.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” He covered her hands with his and squeezed.

Marcus couldn’t believe it. Here she was, opening up about her family’s gruesome murder and apologizing for the emotions that came with it. He’d been impressed with her from day one, but he’d had no idea just how remarkable she was until this moment. He’d never met a stronger, braver soul in his entire life—doubted if he ever would again. He was falling hard for her, and there was nothing that could stop his free fall now.