The Intended Victim Page 17

  Remi swallowed a frustrated sigh. June didn’t understand. How could she?

  “But he wouldn’t have been there that night if I hadn’t called to say I thought I was being followed,” Remi reminded her companion.

  June leaned toward her, her features soft with sympathy. “You think your father would have preferred that you hadn’t called, that you’d become another victim?”

  “No, but—”

  “The only one at fault is the Butcher,” the older woman insisted.

  They were the same words Remi had heard over and over again. Until they’d become a yammering chorus that gave her a headache.

  “Logically, I understand that.” She gave a sharp shake of her head. “But my heart still says that my father would be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

  “So you’re punishing yourself by pushing everyone away?”

  Remi’s brows snapped together. “That’s not what I’m doing,” she protested.

  “It’s not?”

  “I just . . .” Remi closed her mind to the accusation. She had too much to process. She was adding to the mess in her mind. Instead, she fell back to her most convenient excuse. “I can’t put anyone else in danger.”

  June’s hand moved to rub over Remi’s shoulder in a soothing motion. “What danger?”

  Remi pushed aside her empty plate, hating the feeling that her stomach was being twisted into knots. She’d struggled for years to get rid of the awful sensation. Now it was back with a vengeance.

  “I’ve always known the Butcher would return.” She glanced toward the kitchen window, as if expecting to see the monster standing in the middle of her yard. Sometimes it felt like he was there even if she couldn’t see him. “And that he would strike again.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I’d already lost my father. I wasn’t going to lose Ash.”

  “But you did.”

  Remi hissed at the soft words, as if she’d been struck by an unseen weapon. Or maybe she’d just been hit by the truth.

  Either way, it was painful.

  “Stop trying to make sense of what was going on in my mind,” she pleaded. “It’s a disaster in there.”

  A deep sorrow darkened June’s eyes before she was briskly grabbing Remi’s empty plate and filling it with another slice of coffee cake.

  “There’s one way to clear the clutter,” she said, returning the plate directly in front of Remi.

  “Don’t say a therapist,” Remi groused, reaching for her fork. She’d take two jogs tonight. Right now, she needed the sweet, ooey goodness. “I know they’re fabulous for some people, but I’m not interested.”

  June shrugged, grabbing her mug of coffee. “Then talk to me.”

  Remi swallowed the large chunk of coffee cake she’d shoved into her mouth. “You?”

  “I’m a pretty good listener.”

  Remi believed her. “You’d have to be, with four boys.”

  June studied her with a somber expression. “Remi, I consider you a part of my family, whether you are engaged to Ash or not,” she assured her. “You can trust me. Whatever you tell me will never leave this room. Let’s start with the night you were attacked.”

  Remi shoved another bite of cake into her mouth. “There’s really nothing to talk about. I don’t remember anything from that night,” she mumbled.

  “Nothing at all?”

  With a sigh, Remi set down her fork. June wasn’t going to be satisfied until she’d heard every detail of the few scraps of memory Remi possessed.

  “I remember that I went to my classes and that I stayed late on campus to attend an open house at the art gallery,” she said, barely able to recall the young coed who’d been filled with a belief that nothing could steal her glorious future.

  “Alone?” June asked.

  “Yep. It was worth extra credit in my art appreciation class. And Ash was working.” Remi wrinkled her nose. At the time, she’d been more resigned than annoyed when Ash had called her to say he wouldn’t be able to join her for the event. Being a detective meant his schedule was always crazy, but with a serial killer on the loose, he’d practically disappeared from her life. “As usual.”

  June heaved a small sigh. “A Marcel trait, I’m afraid. Only Nate has learned there’s more to life than his job.”

  Remi shook herself out of her dark memories, offering her companion a small smile. “I haven’t told you how happy I am to hear Nate is getting married,” she said. She hadn’t known Nate as well as the other brothers. His job with the FBI had kept him away from home most of the time. But she’d always enjoyed his lighthearted teasing when they’d been together. “I hope his fiancée appreciates what a great guy she’s going to have as a husband.”

  “Ellie is wonderful,” June said with genuine satisfaction, holding Remi’s gaze. “My boys have shown excellent taste in women.”

  Color rushed to Remi’s cheeks. There was no mistaking the older woman was referring to her. “I wouldn’t say that.”

  “I would,” June insisted. Then, with a grimace, she returned the conversation to the past. “What happened after you left the art gallery?”

  Remi swallowed a sigh. The sooner she was done with the story, the sooner she could try to tuck it into the back of her mind.

  “I was supposed to meet Ash after he was done with his shift,” she continued with a pang of wry amusement. She’d been eager to show off a new outfit she’d bought the day before. A rare display of vanity. “So I decided to go home and have a quick shower and change my clothes before I went to his apartment.”

  “Is that when you noticed you were being followed?”

  “Yes.” Remi’s amusement abruptly vanished. Her skin prickled with unease, as if she was back in her car on that fateful night. “I’d been edgy ever since Ash admitted they were looking for a serial killer. That’s the reason I looked in my rearview mirror when I pulled out of the parking lot.”

  “What did you see?”

  “Headlights behind me,” Remi said.

  “You couldn’t see the vehicle?”

  “No.” She’d tried, but the darkness of the night and the blinding brightness of the headlights reflecting from the rearview mirror had made it impossible. “At first, I told myself it was meaningless that a car was pulling out of the parking lot at the same time as me. There were lots of people coming and going from the campus no matter what time it was.”

  “When did you get worried?”

  It’d been a slow, steady process from unease to downright terror.

  “I usually drove home through the side streets. It could take longer, but I avoided the traffic.” She didn’t have to add that the streets in the wealthier neighborhoods were wide and impeccably maintained. They were also clear of traffic jams. “After the third or fourth turn, I knew it couldn’t be a coincidence that the headlights were still right behind me.”

  “Is that when you called your father?”

  Regret sliced through Remi. It’d been sheer impulse that had her digging in her purse for her phone and calling her father. At the time, she’d simply wanted the reassurance of his voice. No one could offer a sense of security like Gage Walsh.

  “Yes. I didn’t know what else to do,” she said, her voice thick with pain.

  June wrapped her arm around Remi’s shoulders, giving her a tight squeeze. “That’s exactly what you should have done.”

  “If I could go back in time . . .” Remi whispered.

  “What happened next?” June demanded, clearly eager to distract Remi from her raw sense of guilt.

  Remi lifted her hand, pressing her fingers to her temple. Recalling that night always gave her a headache. The doctors said it was psychosomatic. She didn’t care. It hurt like hell.

  “It’s all fuzzy. The doctors think the drugs affected my memories.” Remi shrugged. “All I know is that they found my car parked in the garage. And when I woke up, I was lying on the kitchen floor.”

  “My poor dear,” June breathed. “You must have been so afraid.”<
br />
  Yes, she’d been afraid. And confused. And desperate to get help. But at the time, she hadn’t realized just how horrifying the night was about to become.

  “I managed to clear the fog enough to call 911, but then I blacked out again. When I regained consciousness, I was in the hospital.” She was forced to halt and clear her throat. “That’s when I was told that the cops had found my father’s blood in the living room.”

  “Oh, Remi.” June gave her another squeeze before she was pulling away to study Remi with a stern expression. “It was a horrible thing. But there was nothing you could have done to change what happened.”

  Remi shuddered. “I think that’s what terrifies me the most.”

  “Why?”

  “We like to believe we have control over our lives.” Remi shook her head. “It’s scary to know how little we really do.”

  Expecting the older woman to try to convince her that the world wasn’t totally random, Remi was caught off guard when June released a sharp laugh.

  “No crap,” she agreed. “With four boys, I’ve accepted that life is crazy and messy and sometimes so scary I can barely breathe.”

  Remi blinked at her blunt honesty. “I don’t know how you stand it.”

  June sipped her coffee before answering. “A lot of sleepless nights. An occasional bottle of wine. And faith that I have the strength to endure what fate has in store for me.”

  The words made perfect sense. Deep inside, Remi knew she had the power to overcome the past. Her parents had raised her with the belief that she could achieve anything, no matter what the hurdles. But the grief and continuing fear that her torment wasn’t over had stolen her confidence.

  “I’ve lost my faith,” she breathed.

  June reached out to place her fingers beneath Remi’s chin, tilting it up as if she was encouraging her to go into battle. And maybe she was. A battle not only against the Butcher but her own sense of worth.

  “I believe in you, Remi. I know my son believes in you,” June told her in fierce tones. “Accept our strength until you find your own again.”

  Remi wrinkled her nose. She wanted to reassure the older woman, but it was easier said than done. “I don’t know if I can.”

  With brisk motions, June was climbing off the stool and grabbing her coat. “Promise that you’ll at least think about what I said.”

  Remi gave a nod. “I promise.”

  “Good.” June grabbed the plates and carried them to the sink. “I have to go, but I’m having a dinner for Nate and Ellie on Sunday.” She turned back to send Remi a stern glance. “I expect you to be there.”

  Remi felt a warmth spread through her, suddenly realizing just how much she’d missed this woman. She wasn’t just Ash’s mother, she was a friend.

  “Yes, ma’am,” she promised.

  “Good girl.” June turned to head out of the kitchen, thankfully leaving the coffee cake behind. “Call if you need anything.”

  * * *

  Wrong. It was all wrong.

  I’d been so certain that the effort to create a perfect replica of my obsession would cure the sickness that was spreading with alarming speed. Or at least offer a few months of respite. Instead, it seemed to be making everything worse.

  Clenching my hands, I watch my creation walk from one end of the room to another. I have her perch on the edge of the bed. I have her braid her hair. She has been practicing hard and her natural ability to mimic others has given her a talent the last one lacked. I try to convince myself this will be my salvation.

  It doesn’t work.

  Against my will, I remember my fingers warm and sticky with blood. The feeling had banished the darkness, easing the gnawing pain in the center of my soul.

  The malignancy doesn’t care that it has been fed only days ago. Or that its hunger threatens to expose my secrets.

  No. The disease is crawling through my veins and invading my mind. It has to be cut away before the madness consumes me.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The front door was pulled open as Ash stepped onto the porch. He conjured up his most charming smile as he studied Remi’s face in the light that spilled from the house.

  “I’m home.”

  “Hmm.”

  She turned to walk back into the living room, and Ash took a selfish second to appreciate the fine shape of her backside, which was shown to advantage in her soft jeans. Then, giving a shake of his head, he was hurriedly stepping inside and closing the door. It was freezing outside. Plus, he knew Remi well enough to sense she was pissed.

  “I recognize that ‘hmm,’” he said. “You’re mad.”

  Coming to a halt in the center of the living room, she turned to face him. “You don’t have to sneak away while I’m in the shower. If you have to go somewhere without me, you can just walk out the door.”

  He winced at her frosty tone. “Ouch.”

  She shrugged. “I just mean that you’re free to come and go as you want.”

  “Stop.” Ash stepped forward, cupping her face in his hands. He felt a genuine remorse for his childish flight that morning. “I’m sorry. I left without telling you where I was going because I didn’t want to worry you. I won’t do it again.” Lowering his head, he brushed an impulsive kiss over her lips. “I promise.”

  Remi blushed, but she thankfully didn’t pull away from his touch. “Why would I be worried?”

  “Because I went to your mother’s estate to check out the Mustang,” he confessed.

  He felt her stiffen. “You said it was a coincidence.”

  “I had to know for sure.”

  “And?”

  Ash grimaced. “I have more questions than answers.”

  Her expression tightened with frustration. And something else. Was it fear?

  “I don’t understand,” she rasped. “Was it my father’s car that nearly ran over Roo or not?”

  “It’s really impossible to say yes or no,” he told her. “There was nothing to show that it had been out of the garage since Albert had last driven it.”

  She blinked in confusion. “Albert was driving it?”

  “He takes out all the cars to keep the batteries charged and check for any problems.”

  “Oh.” She wrinkled her nose, her tone rueful. “Sometimes I forget how spoiled I was when I lived with my parents. I just got in my car and assumed it would be ready to go. I never even filled up the gas tank until I moved out.”

  His fingers brushed over her cheeks, fascinated by the soft satin of her skin. He didn’t want to talk. Especially not about the Butcher. He just wanted to savor the feel of her beneath his hands.

  “I didn’t realize food didn’t magically appear on my plate at dinnertime until I got my own place,” he assured her. “Kids are supposed to be spoiled.”

  She trembled at the heat that sparked between them. “Speaking of food,” she hastily tried to distract him, “your mother stopped by this morning.”

  “Ah. That explains why you taste like cinnamon.” His gaze lowered to the lush temptation of her lips. He desperately wanted to kiss her again, but he sensed she was too edgy. One wrong move and she’d be pushing him away. “What did she want?”

  Remi shook her head. “Not until you tell me what you found out.”

  Ash wanted to assure her that he’d found nothing. Why worry her? Then he had a memory of her face when she’d opened the door tonight. If he kept shutting her out, how could he expect her to lower the barriers that kept him at a distance?

  “Like I said, it was impossible to know if it’d been driven or not,” he said.

  “But?” she pressed.

  “But I discovered there could be a dozen former employees who had keys made to the car.”

  She furrowed her brow at his accusation. “Why would anyone want to use my father’s Mustang?”

  It was a question that had plagued him for the entire day. He’d shuffled through dozens of various explanations. None of them had truly satisfied him. But one did stand out as
the most likely.

  “It’s distinctive,” he reminded Remi.

  “Exactly,” she said.

  “What better way to draw attention from yourself than to drive a vehicle that could easily be traced to your father?”

  A hint of frustration rippled over her face. “Why draw attention to himself at all? He could have slipped in and out of the park unnoticed.”

  Ash twisted his lips in a humorless smile. “I have a wacky theory.”

  “Tell me.”

  Ash had to force out the words. “The Butcher isn’t satisfied with killing anymore,” he said. “He needs to punish you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Me?” she breathed in shock. “For what?”

  Ash swallowed as he watched her face pale. This was precisely what he’d wanted to avoid. Unfortunately, he had no choice but to continue. “Surviving.”

  She took a second, as if she was struggling to clear a lump from her throat.

  “So why hasn’t he tried to kill me?”

  Ash didn’t have an easy answer to her legitimate question.

  “It’s possible that right now he’s enjoying the hunt, and it has the added pleasure of tormenting you,” he suggested.

  “By killing other women?”

  “By ensuring the women look exactly like you. And then using your father’s Mustang and deliberately trying to run down a pedestrian so it would be sure to be noticed,” he said. He couldn’t come up with any reason to use that particular vehicle and then commit a hit-and-run except to draw attention to themselves. “The killer didn’t realize Roo wasn’t about to call the cops and report the car that nearly hit him.”

  Horror darkened her eyes. “If you’re right, that would mean the Butcher is someone who worked for my parents.”

  Ash gave a slow nod of his head. “Or someone who visited the house and happened to wander into the kitchen. Albert said that your father would leave his keys in a bowl on the counter.”

  “God.” She stepped away from his clinging touch, biting her lower lip. “Have you told Jax?”

  “Not yet.” In an effort to keep himself from reaching out to pull her close, Ash slid off his coat and tossed it on a nearby chair. “It’s still just a theory, and he has enough real leads to concentrate on. I did my own investigating.”