Booked to Kill, page 10
Those texts had dwindled, as had the amount of times he’d stopped by for a quick hello. But that was to be expected. Life went on for everyone, those left grieving usually forgotten.
“After that unfortunate introduction to the good detective, I’m afraid to ask what’s new,” he said, a glint of interest in his eyes.
She sighed, wanting to answer his question without divulging too many details. “All I’ll say for now is that what’s happened has forced me to put the loft on the market.”
“I’m sorry. I know how much that place means to you.”
“I remember the first time he took me there. He was so excited when you two went looking for places and he stumbled across it. Said it was meant to be.” She wiped at her eyes. “Saying goodbye will be hard.”
Mason rested a hand on her arm and gave a light squeeze. “You and I both know Dave would want you to be happy, no matter what that means. Even if it’s selling the place you loved.”
She blinked away unwanted tears. As much as she knew selling was the best option, the idea of losing another piece of her husband was so damn hard. “It’s for the best. But enough about that. Let’s find out what someone sent me. Maybe it’ll lift my spirits.”
Mason grabbed the box and used his keys to slice through the thick tape before handing it to her.
Flipping open the cardboard flaps, she found herself staring at stacks of loose-leaf paper. She grabbed a few pieces and read a jumble of words smashed together in smudged ink. Praise for her work and talent. Replicas of her art made with colored pencils. Questions about her and her life.
“What is it?” Mason asked, peering over her shoulder.
“Looks like fan mail. I don’t usually get this much.” She shuffled to the next page, and her pulse picked up. “Did Edward forward this over? All the handwriting looks the same.”
Mason shrugged. “Maybe it’s from a really big fan.”
Trepidation shook her hand as she snatched another stack of papers. The same small, loopy letters smudged the page. “Your art is so inspiring. I want to be just like you. You’re so talented.” Each page heaped more and more praise on her tense shoulders.
She reached for the last sheet of paper at the bottom of the box and gasped. A pencil sketch of herself stared up at her. The detail in the picture was so unnerving, as though someone had studied every single line of her face. “Oh my God.”
She tossed the sheet back in the box, then shut the lid. She scanned the brown cardboard and gasped.
“What?” Mason asked.
She tapped on the top of the package. “There’s no address on the box. This wasn’t sent in the mail. Someone left it at my doorstep.”
Chapter 12
The constant tap of Jack’s foot against the tile floor bounced around his office. The package from Olivia’s apartment occupied the space on his desk where his laptop usually was. Olivia and Mason sat across from him, and it took way too much effort not to throw the slick sonofabitch out the door. His boy-next-door charm might work on Olivia, but Jack saw right through the thoughtful friend pretense.
He saw a man who was biding his time until it was appropriate to tell Olivia what he was really after. And the hungry look in Mason’s eyes told him that the prize wasn’t an innocent friendship—it was Olivia.
“I wish you would have called me right away,” he said, choosing to ignore Mason and focus on Olivia. “I was right next door. I could have been back to your apartment five minutes after you opened the box.”
Mason hooked an arm over the back of his chair and let his hand dangle next to Olivia’s shoulder. The forest green stripes in his tie matched his eyes—his black suit well tailored and oozing with money. “She was scared and shocked. She needed a few minutes to gain her bearings.”
Jack stilled his foot and met Mason’s stare head-on. A quiet confidence surrounded the other man in a way that suggested he was used to getting his way. That might be true in his corner office of some stuffy downtown building, but not here. Not in Jack’s office.
Here, he was in charge. And he’d make sure Mason understood that. “I wasn’t talking to you. Olivia is more than capable of speaking for herself.”
Mason inched closer to Olivia. A wolf in sheep’s clothing moving in on his prey. “I’m only trying to help. She shouldn’t have to handle this alone.”
“I agree. That’s why I’m here.” Jack folded his hands on top of his desk, sitting straight. He wouldn’t back down from this uptight intruder.
“Both of your help is welcome.” Olivia slid her gaze from Mason to Jack. “And I didn’t call right away because I wanted to go through each piece of mail to make sure I wasn’t overreacting. You have enough on your plate. I didn’t want to add more if it wasn’t necessary.”
Her logic made sense. Even if he hated that she’d been fine to depend on someone else to help her with any issue before reaching out to him. Damn, he was losing his shit where she was concerned. He should be relieved someone else had been around when she needed them. Someone she knew and trusted. Instead, he was acting like a jealous teenager.
He cleared his throat, pushing down all his unwanted emotions. “I’m glad you brought it in now. I just hope we can still find prints on the evidence after you both touched everything.”
Olivia winced, and Mason smoothed his hand over her shoulder. “We can give you copies of our prints so you know which ones to rule out,” he said.
He fought to keep his gaze from lingering on Mason’s hand as anger heated his blood. The bastard didn’t need to be touching her. Running his tongue over his top row of teeth, he focused on the reason Olivia was here and not on the ridiculous jealousy he had no right experiencing. “That’d be appreciated. Olivia, did you notice the box when you left this morning and headed for the gallery?”
She shook her head. “No, but the painting I carried blocked my sight line. The box could have been left on one side of the door and I wouldn’t have seen it.”
Which meant he couldn’t count out Edward placing the box in the hall before he’d called the police regarding the break-in at the gallery.
Or Mason. There was no way to eliminate the man who was caught carrying the box outside of Olivia’s apartment.
Wanting to get a better idea of what they were dealing with, he slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and lifted out the top sheet of paper. “Did you look at every piece of paper?” he asked as he read the messy writing.
“I think so. Not every word, though,” she said. “At first, it just seemed like normal fan mail. But something rang a little off. Then I saw the picture. Someone put a lot of detail into that drawing. And when I realized there was no address on the box...” She wrapped her arms around her middle and shuddered.
He shuffled through the papers until he reached the sketch. He whistled, long and low, while taking in the delicate shading and precision that someone used to create almost an exact copy of Olivia’s face. “Do you know anyone who specializes in this type of art?”
“It’s hard to tell. I know a lot of people in the art community. Most artists specialize in one medium but are skilled in many.”
He threw the picture back in the box. “What about Edward? He obviously appreciates art. Does he create his own?”
Olivia bit into her bottom lip and nodded. “He mostly focuses on photography. Black and whites. He has a few hanging in the gallery.”
“Who’s Edward?” Mason finally dropped his hand to the arm of the chair.
“That’s none of your concern,” Jack said.
Olivia quirked a brow, berating him without saying a single word. “He owns the gallery next to my apartment.”
“Where your art hangs?” Mason asked.
“Yes. The gallery was broken into last night.”
“Well, shit.” Mason widened his eyes.
Jack kept his mouth shut. If Olivia wanted to give out details to an ongoing investigation, that was her business. But he wouldn’t tell Mason anything he didn’t need to know. Which, at this point, was jack shit.
A low rumble vibrated, and Mason shifted to glance at his smartwatch. “I’m sorry. I need to step out and take this call.”
“Yes. Please. Go,” Olivia said.
Jack couldn’t have said it better himself. Except maybe to add and stay the hell away, but he kept quiet and waited until Mason left the room before addressing Olivia. “You trust him?”
She rolled her eyes. “I already told you I don’t think Edward is the guy we’re after.”
“Not Edward. Mason.” He was self-aware enough to admit he couldn’t trust his gut reaction to her friend. His dislike of Mason had more to do with hating the way the guy looked at Olivia than having a reason to assume he was capable of murder.
She nodded. “I’ve known Mason for years. He worked with Dave—the two of them were good friends—and has been nothing but kind and respectful of me since Dave’s death. Yes, I trust him.”
He rubbed at the tension tightening the muscles at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. This guy shows up out of the blue with a package that contains mail from what looks like an obsessed fan. I have to make sure he didn’t orchestrate the whole thing.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “He planned for me to show up at that very moment and catch him holding a package he brought with crazy mail?”
Jack shrugged. “The package has no address. He’s found carrying the box. You don’t remember seeing it when you left, although you admit you could have missed it. Now he’s with you at the police station and volunteers to give us his fingerprints. Prints that we all expect to find on the box because he conveniently carried the damn thing around.”
Sighing, she stood. “It must be sad to always be forced to see the bad in everything. Even when it’s not there.”
Her statement knocked against him with the force of a hurricane. Is that what she saw when she looked at him? A sad man who just looked at the negative? Is that what he’d become?
If it was, then he had good reasons for it. “I don’t have a choice. When I don’t open my eyes to what’s in front of me, people die. I can’t let anyone hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself if I let that happen.”
Pity pooled in her eyes. “Sometimes what’s in front of you is good. You just have to be open to the possibility.”
Mason popped his head in. “I need to get to the office. Do you want a ride back home?”
“That’d be great.” She aimed a smile back at Jack. “Thanks for seeing us.”
A flurry of words lodged in his throat. So he set his mouth in a firm line and watched her walk out the door.
* * *
Olivia opted to pay a visit to Edward at the gallery instead of heading up to her empty apartment. Mason had wanted to walk her to her door, but the idea of just sitting alone with her thoughts and questions made her skin itch.
With her head down, she hustled through the sheets of rain and entered the gallery. A thin piece of plywood had been stretched across the shattered door. The yellow crime-scene tape was gone. The destroyed paintings had been taken off the wall, leaving them bare. A sight that was somehow more jarring than the bright colored tape that had greeted her that morning.
“Edward?” She called his name, not wanting to startle him. After the morning he’d had, she didn’t need to give him another shock. “It’s Olivia.”
Edward stepped out of his office with an exhausted set to his shoulders and a deep frown. “What are you doing here?”
“Just checking on you,” she said, brushing away a droplet of rain from her cheek.
He sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “What a mess. After speaking with the police, I’ve been on the phone with the insurance company all day. They won’t make it easy, but I’ll get what’s owed.”
She wanted to ask if the amount the artwork was insured for matched the sales prices, but it didn’t seem like the right time. “And what about the buyer? Did you give his name and information to Detective Green?”
He crossed his arms over his chest and snorted. “I did, for what good it was.”
The hairs on her arm stood at attention. “What do you mean by that?”
Red clashed against the bronze skin of his cheeks, and he glanced away as if unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know who was behind it, but the whole thing was some sort of scheme. When I called the number I was given, there was no answer. I ran the credit card, and it was rejected. I explained that to the one officer who stayed behind, then gave him everything I had on the guy.”
His words attacked her like physical blows. “You didn’t check any of this out before you told me you’d sold the pieces? This doesn’t make any sense.”
Edward squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so sorry. I’ve never had this happen before. Never been duped so badly.”
She hated the suspicion that crept up the back of her neck. If Jack was right, and she had no reason to doubt him, Edward had found himself in several situations where deals must have gone south. Maybe he’d been tricked and that’s what had forced his previous businesses to close.
Or maybe he’d pulled a stunt or two to collect money that hadn’t been earned. That wasn’t his to collect. And someone had caught on and made him pay the price.
Another thought tensed her muscles. If she was wrong about Edward’s business practices, what else had she been wrong about? Maybe she’d been too hard on Jack earlier. Maybe she needed to start being more of a cynic if she were to ever get to the bottom of this mess.
“Olivia?”
She blinked her way back to the present.
“Can you ever forgive me?” His eyes were wide and pleading.
Not wanting him to realize her image of him and who he was had shifted, she nodded. “You did nothing wrong. You’re as much a victim in some con man’s game as I am. But if you’ll excuse me, I need to rest a bit. I’m afraid everything that’s happened has left me a little overwhelmed.”
He took a step toward her.
She peddled her feet backward, an urgency to get away from him seizing her vocal cords.
“You’re awfully pale. Do you want to have a seat and catch your breath before you leave?”
She held up a palm to stop him. “No thank you. I’ll see you later.”
Fleeing the suddenly suffocating space with as much dignity as she could manage, she welcomed the cool rain on her heated skin. Confusion and a sense of dread tightened her chest. She’d traveled the short distance between her apartment and the gallery countless times, but now her home seemed so far away. The exposed skin on her neck prickled with unease, as if she were being watched. She gritted her teeth and ran. She didn’t care if she looked like an idiot. She needed to escape the maddening sensation that made her feel as if she were falling over the edge of a cliff with nothing to cushion the fall.
Nothing and no one. As life crashed down around her, who could she trust? Who didn’t have an air of suspicion dancing around them, waiting to be dissected?
Jack.
In this upside-down world, he’d come out as the one person who stood beside her and offered comfort. He wanted nothing from her. He didn’t push or demand, pry or come with expectations. Because she was the one who hadn’t opened her eyes to what was right in front of her. And now she wasn’t the only one who was paying the price for her ignorance. Courtney and Priscilla had, too.
Reaching her building, she flung herself inside and sprinted up the steps to her apartment. Her lungs burned as she unlocked the door and rushed inside. She shut the door, turning the locks, when a familiar scent invaded her senses.
Fear hitched her breath. Her normally soft, floral fragrance was thick and pungent in the air, as if someone had doused every fabric in the place. She darted her gaze around the room until she spotted something on top of her colorful comforter. She stayed on high alert as she made her way to the bed. A red card laid on the bed with big, black letters:
“We’ll be together soon.”
Chapter 13
A bell rang in the quiet hallway of the junior high. Doors swung open and a sea of teenagers flooded the scuffed-up linoleum floor. Barn-red lockers opened and shut as kids shoved books in bags and hurried toward the exit.
Jack would rather face down a murderer than be back in middle school. With a face full of acne and a whole host of insecurities. Hell, he’d rather be in front of a handful of killers than be responsible for teaching any of the students rushing around him with irritated eye rolls and muttering under their breaths.
With any luck, he’d be in and out quickly after he and Max spoke with Clara Searing—Olivia’s soon-to-be ex-sister-in-law and current substitute teacher for afternoon classes at the swanky private school.
Max pivoted out of the way of a flock of giggling girls. “We should have waited until all these kids were gone before coming inside.”
Jack snorted in response, strolling toward the classroom at the end of the hall. As much as he wished they could have, Jack hadn’t wanted to give Mrs. Searing a chance to leave before nailing down their interview. A quick call to the principal had assured him the young teacher would be in the classroom in the afternoon until the end of the school day. “Let’s just get this over with.”
At the open door, Jack knocked and waited for the brunette sitting behind the desk to glance up.
Mrs. Searing held up a finger, signaling for them to wait, as she wrote on a piece of paper. After a few seconds, she looked up with a tired smile, which quickly dropped into a confused frown. “Can I help you?”
