More Than A Lawman

Chapter 6

“Your talents do not extend to sarcasm.” Eden took a small bite of toast to ease her queasy stomach as she carried her plate to the breakfast bar and claimed a stool. Diving into the ice cream face-first hadn’t been her best idea, but she’d made a promise to herself. “This is my job, Cole. It’s what I do.”

“Taunting serial killers isn’t exactly on the Fortune 500 list. Any normal person, even a reporter, would take being abducted as a sign to back off or at the very least ask for assistance. If for no other reason than to do what you have to in order to stay alive.”

“I haven’t been normal since I was nine years old.” No matter how much time passed, the pain never diminished. She hated the familiar silence that followed as Cole no doubt tried to find the words that would make things right. But those words didn’t exist.

“Not everything in your life has to circle around to Chloe, Eden. Nothing you or Simone or Allie do will ever bring her back.”

From anyone else she’d loathe the sympathy, even challenge it. No one, save the people left behind, could ever understand or contemplate the emotions the murder of a nine-year-old conjured. Those left behind included Chloe’s parents, her siblings and the three friends who had to go on without her. But this was Cole; the same Cole who had tugged on Chloe’s pigtails to pry a gap-toothed smile out of her when the classroom bully taunted her on the playground. After he’d given the bully a taste of his own medicine. He’d also witnessed the aftermath of Chloe’s murder, stood silently behind Eden along with Logan, Simone and Allie when they’d been told their friend was no more. Even still, he’d never truly gotten what that night—and ensuing days—had done to them. Done to her.

How could he when Eden hadn’t been honest with anyone, not even Simone or Allie, when it came to that night. Eden’s shame, the guilt, the insurmountable grief had become a part of her, settling inside her as her constant companion.

Instead of admitting the truth, of accepting responsibility for her part in the tragedy, Eden had refused to spend her life being afraid of whatever—and whoever—lurked in the shadows.

Whoever she was supposed to be before Chloe’s death would forever remain a mystery. She didn’t possess Simone’s patience or logic to venture into law. Eden lacked the compassion and curiosity Allie exemplified to spend her life exploring behavior and treating the aftereffects.

Instead Eden had found solace in true-crime books, in crime journals and newspapers, in blogs with a leaning toward justice for victims. Words became her weapon of choice. Pushing for answers, speaking for those who had lost their voice, demanding justice through whatever media she had available to her had become as essential to her life as the oxygen she breathed. If Cole didn’t understand that...

“I’m well aware Chloe’s gone, Cole.” She chose her words with care. “I see them lowering her casket into the ground every night before I go to sleep.” When she did sleep. She flipped chunks of spinach free from the cooling eggs, clenching her fist around the fork when her hand shook. “The fact her killer is still out there drives me every moment of every day. Cases like hers shouldn’t be cold. They shouldn’t be forgotten. As far as your precious law enforcement is concerned, her case and dozens of others are as dead as the victims. And yes, it’s a gamble whether I learn anything new, but sometimes, like last night, sometimes I hit the jackpot.”

“You winning the jackpot shouldn’t include me having to identify your body in the morgue.”

“Wow.” She swallowed hard and dipped her chin to hide her cringe. “Melodramatic much?”

“Only when it comes to you. Now eat.” He tapped his fork against her plate.

“It’s cold.”

“Then you should have stopped running your mouth. These people, these killers, they aren’t worth your life, Eden.”

“Maybe not.” Or maybe they were. “But it’s not your decision, is it?” She forced herself to stare into the handsome face that had been a presence in her life for longer than she could remember. “It’s my choice. This is my life, and as far as I’m concerned, catching this guy is worth any price I have to pay. The sooner you accept that, the better. I’m going to take this upstairs with me. I need a shower.” And about ten hours of sleep to kick the sluggish feeling still swamping her head. “And then tomorrow I’m getting back to work.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond. Anything he said would only continue the circular argument they’d been having for the better part of a decade. The one that had started when she’d announced her plans to double major in journalism and criminal psychology months before she’d even graduated from high school. About the time Cole had entered the police academy. How long ago that all seemed now.

Eden headed upstairs to her bedroom, dashing the final steps into the bathroom before she slammed and locked the door. She rested her forehead against the wood, reaching to set the plate on the sink, but she missed. As she turned, she watched—as if in slow motion—the plate drop and shatter, splattering eggs and bits of spinach on the black-and-white-checkered tile.

She clenched her fists and pounded them against her thighs, the little she’d eaten swirling in her stomach like a sickening cyclone.

She stumbled to the shower and wrenched open the faucet, setting the water to hot as the first sob erupted from her lips.

She ripped the clothes from her body and shoved them into the trash, boots, underwear and all, before she stood underneath the water. Eden slid down the wall to the tiled floor as her body revolted, endless hours of pent-up fear and rage bubbling to the surface. The harder she fought, the more painfully her muscles contracted. Curling her knees into her chest, she closed her eyes and tried to focus on the sound and heat of the water coursing over her. Instead all she felt was that jab of the needle followed by the darkness.

Even in the steam of the shower, she could feel the dry, icy air of the meat locker coating her skin, the stinging pain rocketing through her extremities. The image of dead eyes staring at her, lifeless gazes, parchment-thin discolored faces and mouths contorted in a silent shriek only she could hear.

She jumped at the sharp knock on the door.

“Eden?” Cole called. “Are you all right? I heard a crash.”

Eden squeezed her eyes shut as tears leaked from the corners. She cleared her throat and swallowed. “I’m fine.” The two words scratched her throat raw. “Just dropped the plate. I’ll be out in a bit.” Her body drained with the effort it took to call to him.

“Okay.” A moment of silence. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Doubt clung to his voice. He didn’t believe her. She didn’t believe herself. Cole was right. Simone and Allie were right. She’d been reckless, stupid even, drawing attention to herself by taunting a killer. She’d been pushing boundaries for months—years. With one killer after another. How could she be surprised she’d eventually have to answer for it?

Reality had shifted in the last twenty-four hours. This killer was different. The Iceman wasn’t someone who had murdered out of passion or revenge or even for money or power. He didn’t have any motive except whatever cause sat in his psyche. This one was...smart. He knew where she lived, knew her routine, one she’d become lazy in varying. He’d been to her house. Her stomach dropped. He’d touched her things, her purse, her phone, her car...stood in her yard.

She scooted forward on the shower floor, placed her head under the steaming spray and forced herself to keep calm. “Control,” she repeated. Control was all that mattered; it was what kept her sane. She’d had it, she’d maintained it, hanging in the locker, trapped in that hospital bed and even for those terrifying few seconds it had taken to make herself walk through her front door less than an hour ago.

She’d done it all until...

Eden shoved her fingers into her wet hair. Until Cole had kissed her. No. She couldn’t deal with this now. Didn’t need to or want to and yet...

“Stop it! Just stop it!” She struggled to her feet, turned down the hot water and braced her hands on the wall of the shower. She’d deal with this—the consequences of her actions—as well as she could. If that meant checking every lock in the house a hundred times, if it meant installing a security system or even digging her brother Logan’s old service pistol out of its lockbox from the guest room closet, so be it.

Serial killers, criminals, the darkness of the human mind? Those she could deal with.

But Cole Delaney kissing her?

That was something else entirely.

* * *

“I’ll be done in a minute.” Eden’s fingers had gone numb from clutching the pen so hard.

When whoever opened the door to the interview room at the police station didn’t respond, Eden glanced up and found a tall, older, distinguished man watching her.

She caught a slight hint of irritation on the man’s face. His solid jaw was clenched, his posture forcibly relaxed as he leaned against the door frame and slipped a hand into the pocket of his well-tailored navy suit pants. “Let me guess.” She ducked her chin, noting the power-red tie. “Agent Simmons? I’m just finishing my statement now. Would have taken me half the time if they’d let me type it.” Cole and his addiction to procedure. One day if he didn’t bend, he’d snap. “Not to mention it would have saved me from carpal tunnel. Cole said you wanted to question me?”

“Feeling better, Ms. St. Claire?”

Ah, passive-aggressive. Check. “As well as one can after having her blood drained before waking up hanging in a meat locker.” She scribbled her signature, dated the bottom of the yellow lined paper and clicked the pen shut. “Cole said the FBI was taking an interest in the case. Now.” She pushed to her feet. As much as she appreciated Cole’s desire to give her some privacy as she relived her ordeal, being on this side of the two-way mirror didn’t exactly calm her nerves. “Coffee?”

She didn’t wait for an answer before she walked out of the interview room. “Here you go, Bowie.” Eden handed over the yellow tablet to the uniformed officer at the desk next to Cole’s. The young man had been assigned to the major case division a few months back. He still had that whiff of youth and eagerness, his nickname a tribute to the British rock star his father idolized. But even with that blue-eyed baby face of his, she picked up on his determination to make a difference. Much like most of the officers Cole worked with. She’d never admit it out loud, but she felt at home here, in the bustle of law enforcement. It reminded her of the hours she spent working at the Tribune, where the energetic buzz of discovery and revelation was contagious. “Is Cole around?”

“Said he had an errand to run.” Bowie eyed Agent Simmons over her shoulder. “He asked that you wait for him.”

“As I’m stuck without my car for the time being, that’s a given. Thanks.” She jerked her chin toward the pink bakery box she’d deposited on Jack’s desk on her way in, making the other cops in the division swarm like bees to honey. “Better get your maple bar before it’s gone.”

“It’ll wait. I’m the only one who likes them,” Bowie said with a wistful look on his face. The transplant from Vermont may as well have had a bottle of syrup branded on his arm.

“Sure about that?” Eden arched a brow.

“You like maple?”

“I like doughnuts. Save me from myself, will you?” She glanced at Agent Simmons, who was watching the exchange with more interest than she thought necessary. “I’ll be in the break room.” Being interrogated by a federal agent. This day was shaping up to be great.

As she and Simmons sauntered inside, the few detectives and officers parted like the Red Sea, giving Simmons a wide berth while murmuring words of welcome and relief to her as they passed. Somehow the break room had been neglected in the recent remodel of the station. With its mismatched chairs, chipped tabletops and crooked blinds covering the windows, the space reminded Eden of an out-of-date coffee shop. The air was saturated with the smell of overpopped popcorn and continuously brewing coffee. Funny how the familiarity relaxed her.

“Odd,” Agent Simmons said as she handed him a chipped mug. He motioned to the officers who had just left. “They like you.”

“Odd because I’m a reporter?” She added a good dash of cinnamon to her cup before taking a seat by the window. “Or because I’m me?”

“In my experience reporters and cops don’t tend to get along.”

“It’s my charm.” Her friendship with Cole went a long way to bridging those professional gaps. “They know I want the same things they do. Doesn’t mean I’m their favorite person.” She’d spent plenty of time being frozen out of investigations. Eden cringed and added more sugar to her coffee. Great choice of words. Personally, she accepted their trepidation as a badge of honor.

“They circled the wagons for you.” Agent Simmons took a seat across from her, cupping his hands around the mug. “That tells me a lot about them. And you. It’s funny. I was led to believe Detective Delaney was keeping me away from you because you were...”

Eden sipped, looked at him over the rim of her cup and silently dared him to finish his thought.

The strained smile that stretched his lips caught her by surprise. “Not important.”

“Cole can be a bit—”

“Overprotective?”

“Determined.” And yes, overprotective, thanks to that oath he’d sworn to her brother. An oath she felt certain hadn’t included kissing. She shifted on her chair and veered off that track with a ferocity that could leave skid marks. “Cole’s radar goes up if he thinks I’m in trouble, which I often am, according to him. He also gets testy when he thinks someone’s trying to home in on his case.”

“I’m here to advise, that’s all.”

“Why? I didn’t think the Iceman case was even on the Feds’ radar.”

“On the contrary, it’s a case we’ve been following for some time.” He drew his gaze around the room. “As I told the lieutenant and Detective Delaney, I’m here to lend any assistance you might need.”

“So that wasn’t you raising a ruckus when you thought he’d— What was the phrase he used?” Eden kept her eyes on his face. She found Agent Simmons difficult to read. He didn’t give much away, barely a twitch or a flicker of his dark eyes. This was a man who was used to being in control. And getting what he wanted. If what he wanted was to steal this case from Cole—from her—she certainly wasn’t going to help him do it.

“I don’t like being lied to. And I don’t like the idea that this case might have stalled thanks to your—” he paused and inclined his head “—excessive interest.”

“This department’s had its fair share of disappointing interactions with your agency,” Eden felt compelled to explain, or maybe defend. “And the last thing a case does with me is stall.”

“I’m not the agency,” Simmons said. “But I took the lieutenant’s advice and did a little research while I was waiting. On Detective Delaney’s record with this case. And on you.”

Here we go. “Find anything interesting?”

“Aside from a couple of misdemeanor arrests—”

“A girl has to have a hobby.” She’d learned the most important lesson when it came to breaking and entering a good decade ago: don’t get caught.

“You’ve done good work, Ms. St. Claire. You’ve helped reopen at least three cold cases both here and in Oregon, all murders, in the last few years. Cases law enforcement had given up on.” His temper didn’t catch, not even with her baiting him. Interesting. “Worthy of a badge, some might say.”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Not a fan?”

“Of them?” She glanced through the blinds and chose her words carefully. “Absolutely. I admire them. I just prefer not having the...restrictions they do.” Cole needed those boundaries to stay sane. Eden fought them for the exact same reason.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t need some. Calling out a killer the way you did has consequences. Which brings us to last night. Did you see him? The Iceman?”

Ah. There it was. Put the witness at ease with small talk before you hit her with what you really want to know. “I did not.” Anger bubbled in her blood, not at Agent Simmons’s curiosity but at her own carelessness. Not checking her surroundings, not parking under a light. “One second I was getting out of my car and the next...” She rubbed a hand over her bandaged wrist where the pain had subsided to a dull ache as ghostly footsteps echoed in her memory. “I woke up in an air-conditioned igloo with a third of my blood missing.” Her ears buzzed as the fear crawled back into her throat.