The Intended Victim Page 8

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  Remi sensed he wasn’t willing to jump to any conclusions. Her father had told her that a detective had to keep his mind open to several possibilities, even when the solution to a case seemed obvious. She gave a mental shrug. They had to start somewhere.

  Laying her head against the buttery leather of the seat, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine how a killer might have crossed paths with a convenience store worker in Bailey. She couldn’t think like a detective. Or even a killer. But she did know young girls who were willing to do anything to attract attention. “If our theory is right and the killer is using some mysterious offer to lure women, he might be using social media to find them,” she suggested.

  Ash sucked in an audible breath. “Shit. I never thought about that.”

  “I deal with teens who can barely look away from their phone long enough to do their homework,” she said, reaching into her purse to pull out her own phone. With a couple of swipes across the screen, she was logged into Facebook and searching for Angel’s page. “I found her,” she finally announced.

  Turning the steering wheel, Ash had the car smoothly zooming off the nearest exit. He took another turn, pulling into the lot of a large truck stop before he put the engine in Park and swiveled in his seat.

  “Let me see.”

  Remi handed over her phone, prepared as Ash’s eyes widened as he scrolled down her page. Angel Conway had made a habit of posting provocative pictures of herself. Plus, she had listed “actress” as her occupation. Any lunatic could have seen her profile and known exactly how to bait the perfect trap.

  “Christ,” Ash muttered, handing back the phone. “It would have been easy to target her.”

  Remi nodded, scrolling down the updates. “Here.” She stopped to read the post out loud. “The first of October she says she has exciting news that she’s going to announce in a few weeks.”

  Ash leaned toward her, the crisp smell of his warm male skin teasing at her nose.

  “What’s the last date she posted on her page?” he asked.

  “Six weeks ago. She put up a picture of the Chicago skyline with a heart emoji.”

  Ash was silent as he considered the various possibilities.

  “So either someone else posted for her, or she didn’t feel in any danger after she arrived in the city,” he finally said.

  Remi read through the various reactions to Angel’s post. They were mostly “yay” and “you go, girl.” Then over the past couple of days were questions about when the announcement was coming, but no demands to know if she was okay. “It doesn’t look like any of her friends were worried about her.”

  “Jax will be able to get a warrant to look into her social media accounts,” Ash said. “If someone contacted her with the fabulous offer, he should be able to track the IP address. I also need to tell him about the cash. If it was delivered by mail, Angel might have kept the envelope it came in.”

  “Along with the nondisclosure contract,” Remi added, a shiver racing through her as she considered just how simple it would be for a killer to lure an eager woman into his grasp, and even ensure that she didn’t tell a soul about him.

  “True,” Ash said, his expression distracted.

  Remi lowered her phone and studied him with a curious gaze. “What is it?”

  “Let’s go over what we think might have happened.”

  “Okay. You start.”

  “Angel Conway is a frustrated actress and drug user who feels trapped in her small town,” Ash said. “She regularly posts half-naked pictures of herself in a desperate hope of finding fame.”

  “She catches the attention of the Butcher, who contacts her through her Facebook page and offers her an opportunity to travel to Chicago.”

  He nodded. “We still need to figure out how she got to the city, but once she was there, she has surgery to make her look more like you.”

  Remi stiffened. “We don’t know that for certain. She might have—”

  “Damn.”

  She frowned. Not because he’d interrupted her protest, but because he’d put the car in gear and whipped it out of the parking lot. A minute later, they were humming down the interstate at a speed that made her blood race. “What’s going on, Ash?”

  “Someone had to perform the surgery,” he told her. “I want to know if Jax has managed to track down a doctor. And I need to let him know what we discovered in Bailey.”

  “It’s Saturday,” she reminded him. “Is Jax working today?”

  He nodded. “Yep.”

  Remi swallowed a sudden curse, lifting her arm to glance at the watch strapped around her wrist. Until she’d mentioned the day of the week, she’d completely forgotten her weekly lunch date.

  “If you want to drop me off at home, you can go see him,” she said.

  He sent her a surprised glance. “You don’t want to go?”

  She wrinkled her nose. Of course she wanted to go. Jax had no doubt discovered all sorts of valuable information. Plus, she wanted to hear his response to what they’d learned about Angel. But she had a duty she couldn’t avoid. “I always meet my mother for lunch on Saturday,” she said, her flat tone revealing that her decision wasn’t up for debate.

  Ash slowed the car as they reached the sprawling suburbs. “I suppose I should visit my mother as well,” he said, keeping his tone light. “She’ll hunt me down and whack me with a wooden spoon if she finds out I’m in town and I haven’t come by.”

  Remi smiled. She loved her mother, but Liza Harding-Walsh was a complicated woman who was difficult to please. June Marcel, on the other hand, was exactly what a mother should be: warm, loving, and fiercely loyal. The older woman did, however, expect her boys to obey a few simple rules.

  “Yes. She will,” Remi readily agreed.

  A few minutes later, Ash had pulled into her driveway, and before she could protest, he was out of the car and doing a quick circle around her house, clearly searching for any intruders. Inside, Buddy was barking with excitement. It didn’t matter if she’d been gone for a day or an hour, he always welcomed her home.

  Ash smiled at the sound, meeting her at the front door. “I’ll be back before dinner,” he assured her, his fingers tracing the length of her jaw as his gaze lingered on her lips. “What do you want me to pick up?”

  Remi flushed as she tried to squash the wicked urge to tell him that all she wanted for dinner was a bottle of wine. And him. It didn’t help that the image of a naked Ash spread across her bed formed with perfect clarity.

  He narrowed his gaze almost as if he was able to read her mind and Remi quickly tried to distract him.

  “I’m not that bad of a cook.”

  A mysterious smile curved his lips. “I’ll swing by our favorite Chinese restaurant on the way back.”

  His smile remained as he stepped off the porch and walked toward the car.

  “Jerk,” she called out, but the word didn’t have any sting. Not when they both knew that his lack of confidence in her culinary skills wasn’t the reason for her blush.

  Chapter Seven

  With a shake of her head, Remi unlocked the front door and braced herself as Buddy launched himself toward her. With a laugh, she forgot her list of worries, which was growing longer by the hour, and bent down to give her dog a full-body rub. It was only when Buddy rolled onto his back for her to scratch his belly that she noticed the torn piece of paper that was lying on the linoleum floor of the entryway.

  Fear curled through the pit of her stomach even as Remi told herself that Ash had probably dropped it earlier. They’d been shuffling through the boxes of files. There were dozens of notes that had been written on cocktail napkins, tissues, and other scraps of paper. It would have been easy enough for one to have gone astray.

  Reaching out with a shaking hand, she grabbed the paper and turned it over.

  I need to see you

  That was it. It wasn’t signed. No indication of who might have written it. Just a fe
w words scribbled on a piece of lined notebook paper.

  Remi straightened. Had it come from the files or had someone shoved it under the door? Impossible to know for certain. With a grimace, she tossed the paper on a table next to the front door. She’d show it to Ash when he returned. For now, she had to get Buddy some exercise before jumping in her car and heading across town.

  Unnerved enough to keep her pepper spray in one hand, she braved the cold to walk Buddy to the nearby dog park. He was well-behaved, but if he didn’t have an opportunity to run and play, he would find some other way to release his energy. Usually by eating something she didn’t want eaten. A shoe. A pillow. The corner of her couch.

  Once his tongue was hanging out and he flopped at her feet, Remi took him back to the house and climbed into her car. The drive to the north side of town took nearly half an hour, and Remi’s nerves were stretched tight by the time she drove through the wrought-iron gates and up the long, tree-lined driveway.

  She parked in front of the white, colonial home that had tall windows framed by black shutters and a portico. It was large enough to easily house a dozen people and was surrounded by manicured grounds that included a pool and a pool house, a tennis court, and a six-car garage.

  The estate had been built by her mother’s grandfather, or maybe it was her great-grandfather, and she’d inherited it after their deaths when Remi was just a child. Her father had hated the place, but he’d been willing to live there to please his wife.

  Remi swallowed a sigh. They all did things to please Liza.

  Crawling out of her car, she hurried up the stairs to the porch and pressed the bell. The minutes ticked past as she shivered in the frigid air. At last the door was pulled open to reveal her mother.

  Liza Harding-Walsh was a short, curvaceous woman dressed in an expensive, ivory pantsuit and shoes that had four-inch heels. Her black hair was as sleek as satin and pulled from her round face. She had pretty features, but her eyes were her most stunning asset. They were a deep emerald green and thickly lashed. Remi’s father claimed he’d been a goner the first time he’d seen those eyes.

  Liza allowed that stunning gaze to run over her daughter’s disheveled appearance, her lips curving into a meaningless smile. As if she was looking at Remi, but not really seeing her.

  Just once, Remi wished her mother would be mad, or disappointed, or . . . anything.

  “Hello, Mother,” Remi said, swallowing a resigned sigh.

  “Hello, Remi,” the older woman politely murmured, stepping back so Remi could enter the house. “I thought you might have forgotten the time.”

  Remi entered the foyer. It was almost as large as her house, with a marble floor and a vaulted ceiling. On one side, a curved staircase led to the upper floor with a bannister that had once graced an English manor house. Straight ahead was an arched opening that led to the living room. Remi hadn’t been in there since the night her father had been murdered. She didn’t know if it would be worse to see it and realize that everything had been changed or to have it be exactly the same.

  Maybe if Remi could remember what happened that dreadful night it would give her and her mother a sense of closure. Instead, they both tried to pretend they were moving on with their lives.

  With an effort, she thrust away her dark thoughts.

  “Sorry,” Remi automatically apologized. It was something she did a lot when she was in her childhood home. “I had an appointment this morning.”

  Liza nodded, watching Remi as she shrugged out of her coat and hooked it on a coatrack in the corner. In silence, they entered the second arched opening that led to the dining room. In the center of the room was a long, glossy table with a dozen matching chairs. The walls were paneled and decorated with a collection of charcoal etchings that depicted Chicago from the mid-eighteen-hundreds to the nineteen-fifties. They’d been commissioned by her great-grandfather. Remi had heard a friend of her mother’s say that they were worth a fortune, but Remi didn’t care about their value. She just liked them. Overhead was a large chandelier that had been brought over from Italy by some distant ancestor, and beneath her feet was a Persian rug that had been a gift from a diplomat from one of the Middle Eastern countries.

  Her mother moved directly to a heavy sideboard that had a full bar setup. She poured herself a glass of her favorite wine. “I hope your appointment wasn’t at that center,” Liza said. “That neighborhood isn’t safe.”

  It was a familiar argument. Her mother wanted Remi to get a job at a nice private school. Understandable. The youth center was in a dangerous neighborhood.

  “No, I wasn’t at the center,” Remi assured her.

  Liza sipped her wine, waving a hand toward the bottles on the sideboard. “Do you want a drink?”

  Remi shook her head. “No, thank you.”

  “Then I suppose we might as well get started.” Liza moved to take her seat at the head of the table.

  Remi followed to take her place on her mother’s right, unfolding the linen napkin and laying it across her lap as her mother rang a small bell. Instantly, a middle-aged woman appeared with lunch on a silver tray.

  Remi felt a pang of guilt as she caught sight of the beef stroganoff and homemade bread on the delicate china plate. Her mother knew it was her favorite. Sometimes, Remi was so busy looking for her mother’s disappointment in her that she forgot to see the tiny acts of love.

  “How was your gala?” Remi asked between bites of savory noodles and the melt-in-the-mouth bread.

  “Successful.” Liza polished off her wine while barely tasting her lunch. “We raised over twenty-thousand dollars for the Chicago Police Memorial Fund.”

  “Oh.” Another stab of guilt sliced through Remi. “I didn’t realize that was the charity you were promoting. I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

  Liza shrugged. “I didn’t really expect you to attend.”

  Remi ignored the unmistakable lack of interest whether she was there or not. The stress of Ash’s sudden arrival, not to mention the fear the Butcher had returned to Chicago, was making her more irritable than usual. Plus, it’d nearly made her forget that she had a delicate subject she wanted to discuss with her mother.

  Taking another bite of bread, Remi wiped her mouth and considered her words. “Have you made plans for the holidays?” she asked at last.

  Her mother arched a brow. “I assume you’ll be here for Christmas dinner?”

  “Yes,” Remi quickly assured the older woman. “But I thought you might enjoy spending a few days with Uncle Lawrence in Palm Beach. I know he invited you.”

  “How do you know?”

  Remi blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “How do you know Lawrence invited me to Florida.”

  “He called me.”

  With a smooth motion, Liza was on her feet. “So you and my brother have been talking behind my back.”

  Remi watched her mother move to the sideboard to pour herself another glass of wine. Remi wasn’t entirely certain what had happened between Liza and her younger brother, Lawrence Harding, although she suspected it had something to do with their inheritance. Liza had ended up with the lion’s share of the estate, plus a trust fund that ensured she never had to worry about money. But neither of them ever discussed the frosty relationship.

  In fact, Remi couldn’t remember the two of them speaking until her father had been murdered. Lawrence and his wife had traveled from Florida to Chicago to stay with Liza, clearly concerned when Liza had retreated to her bedroom, refusing to attend Gage’s funeral.

  It’d taken months before Liza had shaken off her deep depression and returned to her normal routine. At the time, Remi had been grateful to her uncle for being there to offer her support, but once Liza had decided to crawl out of her bed, the older woman had insisted Lawrence and his wife leave her home.

  “He’s worried,” Remi told her mother. Lawrence had called Remi last week, urging her to convince Liza to spend a few days at their beach house.

  Liza frowned. “
Why would he be worried?”

  “He believes you’re lonely.”

  Liza narrowed her gaze, clearly offended. “I’m not lonely. I have a very full life.”

  “That’s what I told him,” Remi said in soothing tones. “Still, it might be nice to get away from the cold for a week or so.”

  “I have too much to do.” Liza curled her lips as she took a sip of her wine. “Besides, your aunt has that obnoxious dog she treats like a child. I can’t abide being covered in fur and listening to its constant yaps.”

  Remi had to agree with her mother. She loved Buddy, but her aunt’s dog was obnoxious. He’d peed on the carpet, tried to bite Remi when she’d taken him out for a walk, and barked from dusk to dawn. No one had been sad when they’d taken the tiny beast back to Florida.

  “Okay.” Remi sucked in a breath and prepared herself to make the ultimate sacrifice. “If you don’t want to go to visit Uncle Lawrence, I’ll come and stay with you for the holidays.”

  Liza was clearly caught off guard by Remi’s offer. But instead of being pleased, she looked . . . flustered.

  “Don’t be silly.” She abruptly drained the wine before setting aside the empty glass. “You don’t have to drop everything to babysit me. I’m fine.”

  Remi studied her mother. Usually, the older woman was far better at disguising the fact that she had no desire for her daughter to be underfoot.

  What had her rattled? Maybe a new man in her life?

  Remi didn’t know if the thought pleased or horrified her. “Okay.” Feeling strangely off-balance, Remi rose to her feet and grabbed her empty dishes. “If you change your mind—”

  “What are you doing?” her mother interrupted with a frown.

  Remi glanced down at the plates in her hands. “Taking these into the kitchen.”

  Liza clicked her tongue. “How many times must I tell you that there’s no need? I pay my housekeeper an outrageous sum to take care of me and my guests.”

  Remi resisted the urge to continue into the kitchen. Annoying her mother was all too easy and something she was trying to avoid. Wasn’t she? “Okay. Thanks for lunch,” she said, placing the plates back on the table. “I’ll call you later in the week.”