Mortal Sin (23 page)

“I—he knows I killed someone before.”

Sean’s expression turned stony. “Adam Scott?”

“Yes, I told him when we were involved. And—and he thought—” She shook her head, unshed tears burning the back of her eyes. “He apologized. But I am capable of murder—”

Sean pulled her to him. His eyes flashed, darkened, and he said in a stern voice imbued with restrained fury, “That wasn’t murder.”

Then he kissed her. It stunned her, the intensity of his lips, the way his hand grasped the back of her head, holding her to him. He broke it off just as quickly, and before he could shield his emotions, Lucy recognized the rage in his expression.

“Lucy, did Cody tell you he was arresting you? Investigating you?”

She shook her head. “He thought I was protecting someone, but—”

“That bastard. Do not talk to him alone again.”

“He knows I had nothing to do with Prenter. I pointed out all the reasons why it couldn’t be me. He understands that now.”

“He’s a cop, Lucy. Do not talk to him alone about Prenter or the WCF—promise me.”

She agreed. “Someone used
me
to kill Prenter. They
used
my account
.” Her voice cracked and she willed herself to remain calm.

“If Prenter’s account was deleted, how did Lorenzo get hold of the email?”

“Prenter had auto forwarding to his personal email. The police printed a copy from his cell phone.”

“Is it traceable back to you?” Sean asked.

“No—it’s nearly impossible to trace. WCF has blind accounts. If someone was really good or had a warrant, they might be able to follow an active account back to the source, which would be
Women and Children First
, not me personally. But Cody knows all my account names, and knew the name I used with Prenter.”

Sean was thinking, his body deceptively relaxed, his eyes looking right at Lucy, but she could tell he wasn’t seeing her.

Lucy was so torn up by the situation, she couldn’t stop talking, trying to figure it out. “At first I thought it was personal—that someone who knew one of Prenter’s victims had killed him,” she continued. “I looked into each of them, and their families, which I didn’t want to do.”

Sean’s eyes focused and he stared at her. “Because they were victims.”

It wasn’t a question, and she nodded, relieved that Sean understood exactly how she felt. “No matter how sensitive or well trained the police or the prosecutor, rape victims always feel violated by the criminal justice system. But I did it because I thought one of them used me.”

“And?”

“Nothing. Maybe you can find something more—”

“You don’t even have to ask. And I’ll be exceptionally discreet.”

She knew he would—another reason she was glad she’d called him. “But then I thought, maybe Prenter was killed by someone else—a drug deal, since we know he had date-rape drugs in his possession. And since he was released recently from prison, some prison battles spill out into the streets. So I ran all his cell mates against his victims, Prenter and his family, and all staff and volunteers at WCF. I added in all other parolees targeted by the WCF and everything came clear.

“Out of twenty-eight parolees targeted, most were in fact reincarcerated. Ten had never taken the bait—they were no shows. Seven are dead. Eight, including Prenter.”

She took a deep breath. “They all died the night I set them up to violate parole. Murdered. One hit-and-run. Three stabbings. And with Prenter, four shootings. Twenty percent of the guys I set up were murdered that same night.”

Sean turned her head to face him. “What do those eight have in common?”

She said, “Nothing, other than they’re convicted sex offenders who were paroled early.”

“Are they local?”

“No—Prenter is the only one in the greater D.C. area. They’re all over the Eastern seaboard. Even one who was paroled in California. WCF has contacts in law enforcement all over the country.”

“What about their crimes? Rape?”

“Prenter was the only one who was in for rape. The others were child predators. But,” she added, “one of Prenter’s victims was raped when they were both in high school. She’s still in a coma from the homemade Liquid X he overdosed her with.”

“Where?”

“Rhode Island. I looked into her and her family. I don’t see them being involved, but maybe … I needed to talk this out with someone before I talk to Kate.”

“You can’t tell Kate.”

Lucy frowned. “She’s smart. She’ll see the whole picture. If anyone can keep a lid on something, it’s Kate. She didn’t tell me about Morton’s plea agreement, and it’s not like she hasn’t kept her own secrets from the FBI.”

“You think that now that Kate has her life back in the FBI with her position at Quantico she can keep the lid on a vigilante killer?” Sean asked.

“I need more information,” Lucy admitted. “I need to know who was assigned to each parolee.”

“It wasn’t your ex?”

She shook her head. “We have several officers who volunteer to help WCF in their free time. Cody is one of five or six in the greater D.C. area, and that doesn’t count other regions.”

“I need their names. I’ll do my own investigation.”

Lucy’s stomach felt queasy, but she agreed. She couldn’t imagine any of the men and women she knew at WCF could be party to vigilante murder. While they all wanted justice, they were all wards of the court. Cops. FBI agents. A correctional officer. One of them wouldn’t kill in cold blood, would they?

“I’ll run a deeper comparison of each parolee and see if there is something in common that isn’t obvious,” she said. “The program I’m developing has all the data points already identified; it’s just a matter of picking which victims to compare.”

Sean asked, “How are you going to find out who was assigned to each case?”

“Fran will know,” Lucy said. “I’ll talk to her—I need to be there at three anyway.”

“No,” Sean said forcefully. “You don’t know that Fran isn’t involved.”

Lucy stared at him, slowly rising from her chair. “This is
Frances Buckley
. Former FBI. Head of WCF. She’s not a killer!”

“Vigilante killers are a completely different breed than sex offenders or serial killers or mass murderers.”

“You don’t have to tell me that!” She understood criminal psychology. She’d lived it.

“No, I don’t,” Sean said quietly.

Lucy put her hands on the table and closed her eyes, head lowered. She didn’t know what to think. This was
Fran
, her mentor. A woman she wanted to emulate, in her dedication, her compassion, and her rock-solid emotional control. Fran had taken Lucy under her wing from the beginning, and Lucy loved her like a sister. Like a mother.

“Lucy?” Sean sounded concerned, and Lucy bit back her emotions. She was not going to lose control.

“You’re right. I can’t tell Fran, not yet. I’ll get the information on my own.”

“Be careful.”

Sean rose and wrapped his arms around Lucy from behind, putting his chin on her head.

“Lucy, I know this is hard for you.”

Hard?
It was hell, but she’d gone through hell before. She would survive, even in the face of betrayal. Because the only other option was to go to bed and pull the covers
over her head and cry. If she hadn’t done it six years ago, she certainly wouldn’t do it now.

“If she’s involved, that means she used me and my computer program to target those men. I developed my database to help WCF better assess the dangers of individual predators. She encouraged it, helped me with details, helped me input data. She’s my friend.” Her voice cracked.

“And it’s very likely she’s done nothing wrong.” His tone said he didn’t believe it. He turned Lucy around and touched her cheek tenderly. “But you still have to be cautious. Maybe you shouldn’t go into the office. Can you hide your feelings on this?”

“I’ve done it for years, Sean,” she said. “I’m going in. It’s the only place where we’ll get the information we need. Then, we’ll have to talk to Kate.”

“Okay. I’ll go with you.”

She almost said no. “And what would I tell Fran?”

“Can’t you show me around the office?”

“For a couple of hours?”

“I’ll drop you off; you give me the grand tour. I have a few tricks up my sleeve. Then I’ll leave and watch the building while you work, pick you up when you’re done.”

“What kind of tricks?”

“Legal-ish tricks.”

Lucy stared but didn’t say anything.

“I think it’s best you don’t know,” he said.

She crossed her arms and continued to stare, frowning.

Sean raised an eyebrow. “No need to get testy. I’m going to bug the office.”

“You’re not bugging Fran’s office.”

“We’re not stealing corporate secrets. We’re trying to find out who at WCF used you to target and kill sex offenders. I think it’s pretty damn important to get the right information, don’t you?”

Sean’s casual posture painted a false picture. An undercurrent of anger still coursed through his voice. He added, “If the killer learns you figured this out, you’re in danger. I need all the information I can get.”

Lucy didn’t know what was the right thing to do. But deep down she was humiliated and angry that she’d been used in this deadly game.

“And,” Sean said, “you need to tell your ex to keep a lid on this. If you trust him.”

“All right,” she said. She looked at the clock. “I need to get my files and laptop.”

“I’ll wait.”

Sean watched Lucy walk out of the room and when he was certain she was out of earshot, he called Jayne in Sacramento.

“Jayne, I need you to run some people for me, complete background.”

“Hold on a sec, okay?” Without waiting for him to answer, she put him on hold.

Half a minute later, a male voice said, “Sean?”

“Duke?”

“I told Jayne the next time you called, I wanted to talk to you. You don’t have any active cases. What’s going on?”

Even three thousand miles away, his brother was second-guessing him. They’d had this conversation a hundred times—and Sean had thought that after he’d worked several complex cases both on his own and with Patrick, Duke had finally accepted that he was a
grownup capable of running an investigation without his big brother’s guidance and micromanagement. But it wasn’t until Duke—reluctantly—agreed that Sean and Patrick could open RCK East that Sean thought he had truly changed.

“Do I need permission to use Jayne?” Sean asked.

“No, of course not, but—”

“Then why are you doing this?”

“Patrick told me about Roger Morton’s murder. The FBI is investigating, and we have a delicate relationship with federal law enforcement and need to finesse any parallel investigations.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Sean didn’t particularly care about finessing any relationship with the FBI, but he wasn’t burning bridges, either.

“I just want to be kept in the loop.”

Sean decided to save this battle with Duke for another day. He didn’t have the time or inclination to fight now. “This is unrelated to Morton. There’s a vigilante group targeting sex offenders, and Lucy Kincaid is unwittingly in the middle of it. They used her to set up their victims, and I need some deep background checks.”

“Who knows about this?”

“No one except you, me, and Lucy. And possibly a local cop. He’s the first I want to check out. I don’t think he’s involved, but he has access.”

“Give me the names. I’ll take care of it personally.”

“For now, two—Cody Lorenzo, a D.C. cop, and Frances Buckley, the director of WCF. She’s former FBI.” Because he’d assured Lucy he’d be discreet with Prenter’s victims, he’d take care of those himself.

“Got it. I’ll run these and call you later.”

“Duke—”

“What?”

“If you want to talk to me about how I’m running RCK East, call me. Don’t put Jayne in the middle of it.”

Duke didn’t say anything for a moment. “Fair enough. But you have to understand—”

“No, I don’t have to understand anything about your lack of faith in me. I’m twenty-nine. You were running Rogan-Caruso when you were twenty-nine. I thought this move was a positive step, that it proved you trusted me—”

“I do, Sean.”

“Not when it matters.” He hung up.

Lucy came back into the dining room with her laptop packed into its case and a thick file folder. “I’m ready.” She tilted her head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Just a disagreement with my brother.”

“Business or personal?”

“Both.”

She nodded in understanding. Sean leaned over and kissed her lightly. “We’re going to find out exactly what’s going on. Trust me.”

“I do.”

Duke had known him his entire life and didn’t completely trust him. Lucy had known him for a few weeks and was putting her future in his hands. In
their
hands, because she was just as involved in this as he was. Sean wasn’t about to let her down.

They walked down the hall and she gestured toward a vase of red roses. “Thank you,” she said as she opened the alarm panel.

“For what?”

“The flowers.”

Sean halted mid-step. He stared at the roses, as if the answer of who sent them was printed on their petals. He said flatly, “I didn’t send you flowers.”

“But—” Lucy’s voice caught when she saw the truth in his expression.

Sean looked at the table and saw the card. Fury and fear raced through his bloodstream as he read the brief message.

“I didn’t write that. Who knew we went skating yesterday?”

The panic that crossed Lucy’s face was tangible.

“No one,” Lucy whispered. “No one.”

Lucy was wrapped up in her own thoughts as Sean drove to WCF. She hated feeling like a victim again and vowed she
wouldn’t
. She wasn’t a victim. She’d fought back six years ago, and while she lost a couple of rounds, she’d won the battle. She’d
survived
. She’d
prospered
. She had a life and a future and family.

Someone watched you yesterday at the ice rink. Some sicko saw you with Sean. Saw you kiss him. Dirtied what was pure and fun
.