Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls) (14 page)

“I was waiting for you.” Excitement drew him forward and glittered in his eyes. “Women aren’t meant to be in positions of power. Fate put us together tonight. I’m supposed to teach you to be a properly submissive female. I’d handcuff you, bend you over this table, and give you a lesson in a woman’s true purpose.”

“You little—” Lance said, his teeth bared.

Stella put a
cool-it
hand on his forearm to ward off the pending explosion. She glanced sideways at him. One more sign of aggression and she was kicking him out. He eased back a scant inch, but the muscles under her palm were rigid as stone.

Spivak’s eyes laughed at them. He was enjoying Lance’s reaction.

“If we drug tested you right now, would you be clean?” Stella gave his arms a pointed look.

“Yes.” He bent his arms to conceal the scars. “Those are from prison. I’ve been clean since I got out.”

“Isn’t that backward?” Lance asked.

“You try serving time,” Spivak shot back. “Many things happen in prison that aren’t optional.”

“You were forced to use heroin?” Lance asked in a skeptical tone.

“I was forced to do a lot of things,” Spivak said without breaking eye contact.

Hostility rose between the two men like heat waves off hot blacktop.

Time to change tactics.

Stella set a picture of Missy Green on the table. “Do you know this woman?”

Spivak glanced at it. Recognition lit his eyes, then pure spite twisted his mouth. “I’ve never seen her before.”

“Fucking liar.” Lance slammed a fist onto the table.

“He’s out of control. I’m not answering any questions without a lawyer.” This wasn’t Spivak’s first trip to the police interview room. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest, his nasty gaze landing on Stella’s chest. “Unless she strips down and gives me a look at her tits.”

And that was the end of the interview. Stella got up and opened the door for the uniform standing outside the door. “Put Mr. Spivak in holding.”

“I won’t be in here long, not once my lawyer gets a look at this.” Spivak pointed to his abraded cheek and split lip. “And when I get out, I’ll be keeping an eye out for you around town.” He pointed at Stella and licked his lips. “I want to bite into you like a ripe peach.”

He was looking for a response, so Stella didn’t give it to him. She gathered her papers into her folder. But inside, her stomach protested the images his words put in her head. Plenty of criminals tried to intimidate her with sexual insults and comments. It was one thing about being a female cop that she couldn’t get used to no matter how hard she tried. But this was somehow worse. Spivak wasn’t some idiot loser spewing empty threats. This man was cunning, cruel.

Based on the disgusting visual he’d given her earlier, he liked handcuffs.

Had he sent her the photo of Missy’s body? He was definitely the type who would enjoy tormenting a woman. Despite the heat in the room, goose bumps rose on Stella’s arms.

The uniform spun Spivak around with unnecessary force, snapped the cuffs on his wrists, and marched him down the hall.

Below the general sense of disgust, anger rumbled in Stella’s throat. She tapped Lance on the chest and pointed to the door. He followed her into the hall, where the camera on the ceiling didn’t record audio.

She leaned close and whispered, “What was all that?”

“He’s a lying scumbag,” Lance’s voice was low, but the rage on his face startled her. “I should have put his head through the wall. He’s a waste of oxygen.”

“He was goading you, and you let him.”

He studied his Frankenstein cop shoes. His shoulders slumped.

“Are you all right? This behavior isn’t like you.”

“I’m working on it.” He ran his hand through his buzz cut. “I’m sorry. I fucked up. It won’t happen again.”

Stella exhaled. “You want to talk about it?”

Lance clamped his teeth together. “I’m not real happy with psycho druggies right now.”

Like the one who’d shot him.

Lance punched his palm with his fist. “And the thought of that guy stalking you makes me want to snap his neck.”

“Spivak is going to jail, so neither of us has to worry about him,” Stella said. “Deal with this now. Don’t let it build.” As if she should give advice.

His head dropped in a single, curt nod.

He went into the conference room. Stella followed him, watching as he updated the whiteboard with Noah Spivak’s information. He pinned a mug shot of Spivak under “suspects.” His posture relaxed. “I’m sorry about the interview. And the alley.”

They both knew there would be repercussions from Lance’s aggression. Spivak had been around the legal block a few times. He’d play the abuse-of-force card for all it was worth.

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I came around the corner just as he hit you. I kind of lost my shit for a few minutes.”

“I know, and I appreciate your concern.”

“I’m just so fed up with everything. Everywhere I look in this town, I see drugs and crime. We catch the criminals, and the system lets them out. What’s the fucking point?” Lance pressed a hand to his thigh. “My leg won’t ever be the same.”

“I’m sorry,” Stella said quietly.

“What now?” Lance picked up a marker and listed Spivak’s arrest record under his picture. Frustration pressured his strokes, and the letters he wrote were sharp and dark. “He recognized Missy’s picture.”

“I know. Let’s see if we can get more information on Spivak. For now, we can hold him for assaulting an officer and illegal weapon possession.” Stella rubbed a sore spot on her butt. Her skid in the alley had likely left a few marks. “If my witness IDs him, we can apply some additional pressure.”

“When can you get your witness here?” he asked.

She’d called Gianna’s cell earlier, but the phone had gone to voice mail. “If she doesn’t call me back by morning, I’ll stop at her place tomorrow. We can’t talk to Spivak again without a lawyer. That’s not going to happen tonight.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s way past shift change. You should go home.”

Lance draped an arm over her shoulders. “You, too. Get some sleep.” He sniffed her hair. “And take a shower. You rolled in garbage.”

“A shower would be great.” Stella planned to spray her car with disinfectant, too. The interior smelled like a Caesar salad.

“I’m serious. Don’t do anything else tonight. Go home and ice your face.”

“I’ll leave soon. I want to update my notes from tonight’s arrest while the details are still fresh.”

“You and your paperwork fetish.” Lance stalked away. Though obviously making a great effort, he couldn’t completely conceal his limp. But it wasn’t his physical injury that bothered Stella the most. It was the murderous look on his face when he’d slammed Spivak into the bricks. If she hadn’t been there, how far would Lance have gone?

“Stella.”

She turned to see Brody leaning into the doorway. He dropped into a chair and stared at the whiteboard. “What’s happening?”

She gave him a rundown on Noah Spivak’s arrest. “Did you verify Adam Miller’s alibi?”

“Sort of.” Brody frowned. “His client verified that they talked in the parking lot before leaving the club. He refused to sign an official statement because he isn’t sure of the amount of time involved.”

“So Adam has a weak alibi.”

“The client was nervous. I’m going to keep working on it. I’m still working my way through interviewing the waitstaff, valets, and caddies at the golf course. A background check on the client is pending.”

Stella made a note on the board. “Unless you break Adam’s alibi, Spivak is our only suspect. For now. We really need a search warrant for his parents’ house and his car. To get that, we have to establish a link between him and our victims.” Being at the church wasn’t enough.

“But there’s something that bothers you about him as a suspect.”

“Missy wasn’t sexually assaulted. If Spivak tortured and killed her, there would have been a sexual component to the murder.”

“Then we keep looking for other suspects,” Brody said. “I found something interesting in Lyle Jones’s background check.”

“Dena’s physical therapist?” Stella asked. “I thought we checked his record.”

“He’s clean in New York,” Brody nodded. “But he has two old assault charges on his record in New Jersey from four and five years ago.”

Stella found Lyle’s picture and pinned it to the bottom of the board. “He’s a long shot, but maybe we should take a closer look at him.”

Brody leaned forward. “When were you going to tell me about the photo you received this morning?”

“I haven’t seen you all day, and the chief wants it kept quiet.”

“You should have told me immediately,” Brody said.

“I told Horner.”

Brody huffed.

“I know. I’m sorry. I should have called you,” she admitted. He was right. She’d gotten caught up in the investigation, but her own safety had to be a priority, whether or not she liked it.

Brody pointed. “Promise me you won’t let it happen again.”

“All right.” Stella moved to stand in front of the two photos of the Green crime scene where they hung on the board, side by side. “Why would Missy’s killer want me to see the scene? Forensics couldn’t lift any prints from the envelope or photo.”

Brody’s gaze fixed on the pictures. “He posed her carefully, and he wanted you to see that. She wasn’t discovered for a day and a half. Her body position changed, either from the wind or animals. But what bothers me is that he sent it directly to you.”

Stella lifted a shoulder. “He probably saw me on the news.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it either, but there isn’t anything I can do about it.” Though Stella wished she could avoid the media, dealing with them was part of the job, especially when her boss kept shoving her in front of the cameras to prove he was an equal opportunity employer.

“I’m following you home.”

“I was going to finish my notes first.”

“Well, now you’re not.” Brody stood, his posture stiff.

“You’re right.” Stella packed up her briefcase. “I can finish at home. And thank you.”

“I’m saying this both as your superior and your friend.” Brody escorted her to her car. “You are to take backup with you everywhere. Me, Lance, Mac, someone. I don’t even want you walking to your mailbox alone. You are to take zero chances. Whoever killed Missy Green has singled you out for special attention.”

Chapter Nineteen

The air was sticky and hot as Mac climbed into Stella’s cruiser late Friday morning. Her charcoal slacks and white blouse were all business, as was the weapon at her hip. But she’d have to wear a Sumo wrestler costume to cover those curves.

She turned to hand him a take-out cup of coffee.

“Thanks.” He fastened his seat belt and took a long sip. Sleep hadn’t come easily the night before. The insomnia had nothing to do with his wound. As the ER doc had promised, pain wasn’t keeping him up at night. At worst, his stitches itched. It was thoughts of death that invaded Mac’s dreams. A woman lying on a dark road. Cheryl, Lee, and the Colonel all made special appearances until Mac woke sad and frustrated. He couldn’t even escape his grief in sleep.

Stella’s gaze lingered on his face. “No time to shave?”

“Rough night.” He reached up to feel his jaw. Stubble rasped under his fingers. “I thought you liked the scruff.”

“I do.” The blush on her fair cheeks sent a warm wave of pleasure through him. Why didn’t he dream of
her
last night? His imagination did a fine job of conjuring the feel of her skin under his hands, the taste of her . . .”

Yeah. Those images would keep the nightmares away. He made a mental note to think of her the next time he closed his eyes. A vision of Stella, naked in his bed, flashed into his mind.

Not now.

He refocused on the conservatively dressed woman next to him,
dressed
being the key element. Her hair was wound into its usual tight bun, exposing the delicate line of her jaw and the column of her throat. Her cotton blouse was buttoned up far too high.
What was that?
A purple shadow outlined the left side of her jaw. He reached out and turned her face to catch the light. “Is that a bruise?”

She pulled her face out of his gentle grip. “It’s nothing.”

Anger surged.

“Who put it there?” Mac barely recognized his voice.

“A suspect.”

“When?”

“Last night.” Stella turned the car around and drove away from his cabin. “It’s not a big deal. Gianna called me to say she’d seen a strange man creeping around her NA meetings.”

“So you went and staked it out?” While Mac had been hanging out with the family, she’d been working the case. Alone.

“I took a uniform with me, and we caught him. Getting him into the handcuffs was a challenge.” She frowned.

“Do you think he had something to do with Dena’s disappearance?” Whoever he was, Mac wanted to smash his face.

“No. He’s a suspect in Missy Green’s murder.” She checked her phone. “I’m waiting for Gianna to return my call so I can get her to ID him.”

“Have you found anything to connect the cases?”

“No. Maybe I’m wrong and they’re not related.” She turned the rearview mirror to examine her face.

As much as Mac hated to see that mark on her face, he said, “Gives you street cred.”

She smiled, then winced as if the motion hurt. “Always good.”

“Where are we going?” He gulped coffee.

“The drug treatment center Missy used. The New Life Center for Hope.” She glanced at him. “Like I told you on the phone. You don’t have to come with me. This might not be related to Dena’s case.”

“Then again, maybe it is,” Mac said. “I read the case files. Both women are about the same age. They both have dark hair. Both the murder and the abduction were violent crimes, and they occurred within days of each other.” He paused. “Besides, I trust your instincts even if you don’t.”

Blushing, Stella settled into her seat, her fine-boned hands low on the steering wheel.

“What do you know about the center?”

“It’s run by a Dr. Randolph. He has no pending malpractice suits and no criminal record.” Stella tucked a stray hair back into her bun. “His center is supposed to be the best. People come from quite a distance to get treated there.”

“The Who’s Who of rehab?”

“Something like that.”

“Do you always wear your hair all coiled up like that?” He regretted the question as it left his lips.

“Our chief takes the dress code very seriously.” Stella sighed. “My other option is to buzz it above my ears.”

He pictured the way her hair had looked tousled and damp the night he’d crashed his Jeep. “The bun is awesome.”

“I think so, too.” Her grin eased the pressure in his chest. The more time he spent around Stella, the more interest he had in his hometown. He enjoyed the kids, too, and Hannah and Grant when they weren’t too pushy. Was it possible that the good memories would eventually outweigh the bad?

“I’m taking you with me, but you have to behave.” She shot him a bossy look, which was just plain hot.
Stella
could push him around anytime. Hell, she could handcuff him and—“I’d like to get on the doctor’s good side, so please don’t body slam anyone,” she said with a direct gaze that made his blood hum.

“Yes, ma’am.” Might be interesting to see those handcuffs on her wrists, too. Padded of course. Mac would never leave a mark on her perfect skin. He stared out the windshield. “I’ve been thinking about Missy’s case. Heroin as a weapon seems odd if she was tortured.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why inflict pain on someone and then give them a painless death?”

“Good question.” Her gaze darted to his arms.

“I never did heroin, if that’s what you’re curious about.”

“No?”

“No. My drug of choice was oxy. I had this buddy in high school who introduced me to it. His father dealt the stuff in a major way. Looking back with the hindsight of an adult, I realize that I was pretty depressed and frustrated. I was the only kid left at home by that point, and my Mom wasn’t well. We didn’t know at the time she had cancer. I thought she was worn out from taking care of my dad and didn’t have any energy left for me. No one was really on top of things at that point.”

“So you were alone with two very sick parents. How old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” Her voice held too much sympathy for his comfort.

“I didn’t mean to unload on you.”

“That’s what real friends are for.”

Mac did not want to be
friends
with Stella.

She slid her hands to the top of the steering wheel and drummed her fingers. “Did you belong to NA?”

Mac watched the blur of trees pass by. “I tried it, but sharing my problems with strangers never appealed to me. My brother, Lee, the one who was killed last year, dragged me to my mother’s deathbed and made me swear to her that I’d straighten out. Later, anytime I felt tempted, I’d visit her grave.”

Grief bloomed in Mac’s chest. His mom’s illness and death had torn him apart. Except for Lee’s funeral last year, he hadn’t been to the cemetery in years. Because he hadn’t needed to be reminded of his promise? Or because he couldn’t bear to be reminded of her death? He was dreading the Colonel’s funeral.

“Are you sure you want to go out here with me?” Stella’s concerned gaze felt like a touch. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking on his part.

“I’ll be fine.” He certainly didn’t want her going alone. His memory of Adam Miller reacting to her questions was too fresh, as was the bruise on her face.

For a guy who never had much of a temper, Mac was feeling uncharacteristically violent. Stella brought out his uncivilized side, not that it was buried all that deep.

He was sure Stella was trained in hand-to-hand, and in no way did Mac think women were weak. His sister was one of the toughest people he knew. But he couldn’t control the urge to protect Stella. The emotions stirring in his chest worried him. He could get attached to her. He had enough commitment issues with his family, and Scarlet Falls was a huge pot of bad luck for him. Did she feel something for him? And if she did, how could he walk away from the potential?

The highway narrowed to two lanes. They passed meadows and patches of woods. Ten minutes later, Stella turned down a forest-lined gravel lane. They passed a lake and an old stone barn set back off the road.

The lane ended in a tight clearing. A split rail fence defined the parking area. The main lodge was a two-story cedar rectangle with a deep, covered porch. Appropriately, Adirondack chairs were grouped around low tables. Two men playing chess looked up as Mac and Stella got out of the car. The New Life Center for Hope looked more like a resort than a rehab facility.

They went up the steps and crossed the porch. Mac held the door for Stella. In the reception area, a thirty-year-old man typed on a computer. A folder lay open on the desk.

“Can I help you?” He said in a southern accent as he closed the folder. A brass plaque on the front of his desk read
Reilly Warren
.

Stella showed her badge. “Detective Dane. I have an appointment to see Dr. Randolph.”

Reilly glanced at his phone. A red light blinked. “He’s on a call, but he should be done in a few minutes.”

Stella ignored the row of chairs in the lobby. “How long have you worked here?”

“Three years.” Reilly folded his hands on his blotter.

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here.” Mac picked up a pamphlet from a wall rack.

Reilly straightened his row of office supplies. “I’m from Atlanta.”

Stella flashed him a warm smile. “Do you like working for Dr. Randolph?”

He adjusted the position of his stapler a millimeter. “Yes.”

“The center is highly recommended.” Mac tucked the brochure back into its slot.

“Josh is good at what he does,” Reilly said.

“But patients relapse, right?” Stella sounded innocent as she pried information out of the admin.

Reilly straightened a stack of Post-it packs. “Josh can only do so much.” He glanced at the phone. The red light had gone out. “He’s done.” Reilly slid out of his chair. Then he carefully lined up the armrests with his keyboard tray before straightening. “Follow me.”

He led them down a carpeted hall, then knocked and opened a door. “Detective Dane is here to see you, Josh.”

“Thanks, Reilly,” a male voice responded. “Please show her in.”

Mac followed Stella into the office. Behind a mahogany desk, a leather chair faced a sleek laptop. A tall, lean man rose. About forty and fit, he wore jeans, an Earth Day T-shirt, and trail running shoes. His dark hair was a half inch past needing a cut, and wire-rimmed glasses gave him a nerdy look. He rounded the desk.

Stella introduced Mac. “Mr. Barrett is assisting with my investigation.” Her tone warmed. “I must say, Dr. Randolph, you’re not exactly what I expected. I was expecting someone more . . . formal.”

Was it wrong for Mac to be instantly jealous over the smile Stella gave the doc?

“Formal doesn’t help people relax.” The doctor gestured to a circle of leather chairs in the corner. “Please, call me Josh.”

“The center looks like a mountain lodge.” Mac eased his body into a low-slung seat. He wasn’t sure if fancy digs would have helped or hindered his own recovery. The utilitarian decor of the center he’d attended had made the process feel serious. Rehab was not a vacation.

“I don’t see any reason for people to be uncomfortable while they recover.” Josh removed his glasses and polished the lenses on the hem of his shirt. “People come here voluntarily. They should feel good about their decision to make their lives whole again.”

Mac took in the expensive-looking, modern furniture. “You don’t take insurance, do you?”

Josh shook his head. “No. All my clients pay privately. This is a small facility. I prefer to keep it that way.”

So what motivated the doctor? Money?

“Why do you do this?” Mac asked.

Josh sighed. “When I was a teenager, my older brother died of an overdose. He’d suffered from depression all his life. Drugs were his escape.”

“I can understand that.” The words slipped out of Mac’s mouth before he could stop them, but the doctor’s words had struck a nerve.

The doctor’s gaze was too sharp. Too understanding.

Mac shifted his position in the chair. “You want to prevent others from the same fate.”

“That’s the idea.” Josh smiled.

Stella leaned forward, clasped her hands, and rested her forearms on her knees. “I want to talk to you about Missy Green. She was a patient of yours?”

“Yes. I was sorry to hear of her death.” Josh replaced his glasses. “How can I help you?”

Stella tilted her head. “You treated Missy for addiction, but she was recovered, right?”

“Yes, but addiction doesn’t end when someone checks out of this facility,” Josh said. “The first step toward recovery is committing to a life-long treatment plan.”

“Did Missy ever relapse?” Stella asked.

“A few times.” Josh crossed his ankle over his knee. “But most patients will relapse at some point. Recovery tends to be a forward-and-back process. There are inevitable stumbling blocks on every patient’s road.”

Stella’s lips thinned. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“It’s important that the patient not view a relapse as failure but as an experience he or she can learn and grow from.” Josh rested his hand on his calf. “Building self-esteem is an important part of controlling addiction.”

She leaned forward. “Most people would say why not let them destroy themselves.”

“That’s not an option. Addiction doesn’t only hurt the user,” Josh said.

Which was why Mac had devoted his life to stopping drugs before they hit US soil.

“When was the last time you saw Missy?” Stella asked.

“I saw Missy just a few weeks ago, and she seemed to be using her coping mechanisms well. She’d borrowed money for her treatment. During our last session, she decided that once she finished paying her debt, she was going to attend community college. This was the first time she’d looked that far ahead in her life. I thought the new direction was promising.”

“What about cutting?” Stella asked.

“Missy had a period of self-harm when she first came home from California. We dealt with it during her stay. As far as I know, she hadn’t done it since.”

Stella took a small tablet from her purse and made a note. “You saw Missy here after her inpatient program was finished?”