Deadly Deception (16 page)

They cleared what looked like the master bedroom then came to the last door on the left. She stopped and he couldn’t help but notice it was the first time she’d hesitated.

He moved closer, nudging her. “Something wrong?”

She shrugged and reached for the handle. “This was my room.”

She didn’t elaborate, but she didn’t need to. He suspected what was going through her mind. How the room had looked the last time she’d been there and how those images must still linger.

He rested his hand on hers, motioning for her to step back. She looked as if she was going to argue, then silently relented, moving behind him as he palmed the handle. The knob creaked as he turned it, and he readied his gun before swinging it open. Light beamed through the open window, making the room oddly bright compared to the rest of the house. He blinked against the sudden glare and took a step forward, then stopped dead.

“Holy shit.” He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, trying not to taste the metallic scent hanging in the air. “Mallory, don’t—”

Her gasp cut him off, and he turned. Her face looked whiter than he’d ever seen it, as her gaze travelled the room, from the blood arced across the ceiling and quilt, to the teenage girl mutilated and posed on the bed, before settling on the man lying face down on the floor, more blood pooled around his chest as it dripped from several puncture wounds along his back. Something akin to a whimper passed her lips before she backed up, bending over and resting her weight against the wall.

Sawyer moved in front of her, keeping her at his back as he kept watch at the door. This wasn’t a random killing, and while he hadn’t tracked down the crime photos from Mallory’s family, he had a pretty good guess that this was a close approximation of what her bedroom had looked like after the murder, though the fact the killer had included another victim in place of Mallory was more than disconcerting.

Mallory grabbed his shoulder. “I don’t need protecting.”

“Do you honestly think the bastard who did this didn’t stick around to see your reaction? While there are a shit ton of questions I have no answers for, the one thing I’m certain of is…we aren’t alone.”

“Fuck. Cole’s still outside. Alone.”

“We’ll get to him. Just stay close and don’t even think of darting off after anyone. Got me?”

She met his gaze, a flash of hurt in hers. “Weren’t you listening last night when I told you I wanted to be a better partner—in every sense of the word? Now stop treating me like a child and let’s get Cole.”

He didn’t stop her as she pushed past him, clearing the hallway before darting down it. She’d mentioned there was a small mudroom at the end of the house, and he assumed she was headed there. He followed after her, listening for any hint of movement as they stopped at the back door. It didn’t look as if Cole had made it to the rear porch yet, and that thought sent a cold shiver down Sawyer’s spine. The man should have been inside the house by now.

Mallory peeked out a window. “Cole should be here. Where the hell is he?”

“Maybe he couldn’t gain access to the yard?”

She scoffed at him. “I’ve seen him scale fences bigger than the one lining this house. No way something like that stopped him. And if it did, then why didn’t he just follow us in the front?” Her mouth quirked. “I don’t like this.”

“Cole can handle himself. But if he is hurt, getting ourselves killed won’t be the rescue he needs.”

“So help me, if Davies has so much as touched him…”

Her words faded as shouts erupted outside, followed by a shot. Sawyer didn’t wait to find out who they belonged to. He grabbed the handle and yanked the door open, barrelling through as he cleared each side then jumped onto the ground, searching for any sign of Cole. Another shot rang out and he grabbed Mallory as she moved in beside him and pulled them both behind a planter.

Mallory cursed, popping up to get a look before ducking back down. “I think it’s coming in the direction of the shed, but I’m not sure. I didn’t see shit.”

“Me, either.” Sawyer checked the yard. “I’ll go on three. You cover me and when I reach the shed, I’ll cover you.”

“I’m faster.”

“Like hell you are.” He nodded at her. “On three.”

He mouthed the numbers, cleared the area then bolted, running for the shed at the rear of the yard. He saw Mallory dart out, scanning the area, but she didn’t fire, following on his heels once he’d reached the outbuilding. She rolled in behind him, brushing off the dirt as she pushed to her feet next to him. She looked as worried as he felt, and he knew if Cole had been killed, it’d be the final straw that pushed her over the edge.

He scoured the landscape, catching a hint of movement over behind a group of fruit trees. He pointed to the copse. “Someone’s over there.”

Mallory peered at the spot, her breath stalling. “Damn, it’s Cole.”

“How can you tell?”

“He always wears that stupid leather jacket. I’d know it anywhere.”

She moved to dart out when Sawyer snagged her wrist.

“It could be a trap. Someone else wearing Cole’s jacket to lure us there.”

She looked over at him. “Then I’ll blow their brains out once I get there.”

He grimaced, knowing nothing short of shooting her would stop her from going to Cole’s aid, whether he needed it or not. “Fine. You start off. I’ll cover you in case that is Cole and we still have a gunman on the loose.”

She nodded, took a deep breath then ran, covering the distance at a full sprint. She dove to the ground as she neared the trees then disappeared behind them. Sawyer searched the fence line, but nothing glared out at him. He cursed and took off running, praying he hadn’t allowed Mallory to walk into a setup as he raced across the yard, finally ducking in behind the trees. Cole had his back to one of the trunks, a line of blood dripping down his arm. Mallory had managed to get his jacket off and was busy accessing a blackened wound on his shoulder. Another body slouched against the tree next to Cole, but Sawyer could tell the woman was dead, her blank eyes staring at nothing.

Mallory knelt beside him, wadding up a piece of her shirt on the wound. She didn’t speak, just held it tight as she kept watch around them.

Sawyer went to his knees. “Guess you drew the short straw this time.”

Cole scowled, grunting as Mallory increased the pressure. “That damn gate was harder than shit to get open. Then I saw the woman as I came around the side, but when I tried to see if I could revive her, our perp popped out from behind the shed. I yelled at him to stop, but he landed a lucky shot.” He winced as Mallory added another wad, layering it on top. “I fired one back, but he’d disappeared.”

Sawyer nodded, tilting his head as sirens blared in the distance. Seemed Cole had already called for backup. “You get a good look at the guy?”

Cole’s eyes creased at the edges as a line formed across the bridge of his nose. He glanced at Mallory then sighed. “It looked like Davies—same hair, same angular nose and beady little eyes—but, shit, I can’t swear on it.”

“I’ll take your word.” Sawyer patted Cole on the leg. “Rest. Even a brute like you might run out of blood.”

Cole scoffed at him. “Not likely. It barely made a scratch.”

Mallory snorted and shook her head. “It went clean through your shoulder muscle, you big jerk. So I’d call it more than a scratch.” Mallory motioned to the dead woman beside them. “Our killer left another one inside, along with a guy. I’m betting the corpse is Thomas.”

Cole’s eyes widened and he glanced at Sawyer before looking back at Mallory. “Where did you find them?”

Mallory forced down a swallow then turned away.

Cole swore, slamming his good hand on the ground. “Fuck. The bastard did something inside, didn’t he? What did he do?”

Mallory grunted and grabbed Sawyer’s hand, placing it on the wound. “Keep the pressure on. I’ll go make sure the paramedics don’t miss the house. They sound like they’re just down the street.”

She bolted before either of them could get a word in, her back stiff as she made for the gate, constantly checking behind her, finally rounding the side of the building. Sawyer growled under his breath, trying to stem the anger welling inside him. Whoever was responsible would pay…one way or another.

Cole reached for Sawyer’s hand, drawing his attention. “What the hell did the bastard do inside, Sawyer?”

Sawyer released a slow breath. God, he was tired. Tired and angry and just too damn close to see anything but the pain on Mallory’s face. He met Cole’s gaze. “He turned Mallory’s old bedroom into a murder scene…one that I think hit a bit too close to home. My guess is the creep recreated her father’s death, only with a new twist. He left a dead woman on the bed.”

“Goddamn, son of a bitch! I knew it. I knew there was something wrong with this case the moment Fisher called us in the middle of the damn execution. I told Mal nothing good was going to come of this, and well, fuck!”

Sawyer nodded, not sure what else to say. They were constantly a step behind and if they didn’t catch a break soon, Davies might not be the only ghost they ended up chasing.

Chapter Nine

Sawyer leaned against the doorframe, watching Mallory as she sat at the living room bar, her head bowed, staring aimlessly at the top of the table. A glass of whisky loomed dangerously close, though she hadn’t done more than glance at it. They’d spent several hours at the hospital, waiting while the doctors had treated Cole. Twenty stitches and a couple of pints of blood later, the man had been taken to a room, much to Cole’s annoyance. They’d cited something about watching him for twenty-four hours, but Sawyer knew just being in that environment had taken a toll on Mallory.

He ambled in, taking a seat next to her. He didn’t talk, just sat there, his arm touching hers as she thumbed at a coaster tossed on the counter. Silence stretched out between them until she finally sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. The gentle weight triggered something inside him. She’d never allowed him to be strong for her before, and the simple act made his heart soar.

He ran a hand down her hair, loving the feel of the silky strands across his skin. “Are you sure you don’t want that whisky?”

She snorted and lifted her head, gazing at him. “Whatever happened to asking me if I was okay first?”

He shrugged. “I already know you’re not. I’m just trying to gauge how far from okay you’ve slipped.”

Her eyes softened and she gave him a hint of a smile. “Before you came back, about half a bottle’s worth. But now?” She leaned into his shoulder again. “This seems about right.”

A fluttering feeling lighted in his heart, and he wrapped one arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer. Her breath feathered over his neck, the subtle breeze soothing the rawness he’d felt inside since opening the door to her old bedroom. After that experience, he’d half expected to find her rocking in the corner of their bedroom, mumbling Davies’ name over and over, and the simple statement that his presence was all she needed to stay sane more than humbled him.

He closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears, not sure where all this emotion had come from. He wasn’t one to fall for sappy movies, or endearing sentiments, but something about the ease with which she gave herself over to him, trusting he’d keep her safe, hit home.

He smiled, holding her tight as he dropped a kiss on her hair. “Does that mean I get the whisky?”

She chuckled. “Maybe I can offer you something better?”

“That sounds promising.” He paused, not wanting to break the sensuous atmosphere but aware they still needed to talk about what had happened. Silence was what had got between them before, and he wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

He took a deep breath. “Now before you rob me of every coherent thought, I think we should talk about what happened.”

Her body stiffened against his, her breath an audible rasp through her teeth. She pulled back, giving him a hardened look before standing and making her way over to the fireplace. She set her jaw, finally glancing over at him. “I think we’ve talked enough.”

“Funny, I was thinking the exact opposite.” He held up his hand as he pressed to his feet, covering the distance between them. “I realise talking about your past isn’t high on your list of pleasurable pastimes, but damn, until a week ago, I had no idea about your parents and after that hadn’t even considered that the fucking house was still standing.” He paused, gathering enough strength to finish his reasoning. “I lost you once because I didn’t have the courage to ask the difficult questions. I have no intention of repeating that.”

Tears misted her eyes as she turned away, a shudder trembling through her. He waited, knowing the choice had to be hers. The clock on the mantel ticked loudly in the quiet until she cursed and moved into his arms, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder as he folded his arms around her. She didn’t cry, just stood there, breathing heavily as her fingers clenched his shirt. He dropped kisses on the top of her head, silently willing her to break the tension, when she eased back, wiping a stray tear from her cheek.

She toed at the floor, darting her gaze between her foot and his chin. “Fine, though I don’t know what my past has to do with any of this, other than the obvious.”

“It’s like you said. This isn’t a coincidence. Someone is going to some pretty extreme lengths to push you off the sanity deep end, and I have a bad feeling it’s rooted in that night.”

She finally met his stare. “I already told you what happened. There isn’t anything else worth mentioning.”

He tried to soften his expression as he took her hands in his. “What happened after your mother killed your father? Did she try to run?”

Mallory snorted. “My mother? Run? The woman had spent over a decade playing housemaid to a man whose only redeeming quality was not killing her outright. She didn’t leave the house. Just walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, blood splattered across her clothes, the knife still dangling from her fingers. That’s how the cops found her.”

“Where were you during that time?”

Something passed through her eyes, though he couldn’t tell if it was regret or terror.