CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Hatcher cleared his throat. “I’m calling an evidence team to process your house again. If I were you, I’d have a security system installed as soon as possible.”
Korine winced. “It’s a rental. I’ll have to talk with the owner.”
Hatcher stepped into the living room to make the call, and she checked the bathroom, closet, and her office to see whether anything else had been disturbed. The family picture she’d hung in the hallway had been removed.
She hurried back to her bedroom and found the picture lying on the floor on the far side of the bed, the frame shattered. The photograph that had been inside was torn into pieces and scattered on the floor.
Kenny.
She’d seen him smash one of her dolls before. But she’d never thought he’d break in and destroy family pictures . . . or leave broken dolls on her bed.
Hatcher inched up behind her, and gently gripped her arms with his hands. “Are you okay?”
She nodded and told herself to pull away from him. But it felt so comforting to have him stroking her arms that she couldn’t bring herself to move. “I didn’t realize Kenny’s resentment ran so deep. He really needs psychological help.”
Hatcher rubbed her back. “We’ll find him, Korine, and we’ll make sure he gets help.”
When they did, she was going to insist they talk about the family. If she had to attend therapy with him, they’d get to the bottom of his anger. Neither one of them could go on this way.
Two hours later, the evidence team finally finished. Korine had grown quiet, withdrawing into herself.
It was painful to watch.
She didn’t deserve this.
“We’ll let you know if anything turns up forensics-wise,” Drummond said.
“Thank you.” Korine forced a smile, but Hatcher knew her well enough by now to realize that she was more upset than she wanted to reveal.
“Did you find the instrument the unsub used to break the dolls?” Hatcher asked.
“No,” Drummond said. “He or she must have smashed the dolls somewhere else, then brought them here.”
Hatcher grimaced. First those creepy doll heads with the lights glowing in their eyes. Now shattered doll heads. Their eyes were broken, leaving gaping holes, and their limbs were ripped—an arm here, a leg there.
Could it possibly be an indication of what this intruder wanted to do to Korine?
Just like the knife in the doll at Kenny’s . . .
The team left with bags of the shattered porcelain dolls and the shredded picture and frame.
Korine stared out the front window. She looked so damn lost that he couldn’t leave her alone.
Hatcher made a snap decision. “Pack an overnight bag. You’re going to stay at my place tonight.”
Korine pivoted, arms folded, eyebrows raised. “That’s not necessary, Hatcher. I’m not afraid to be alone.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t like this situation. Whoever did this is leaving a message. Next time, it might not be dolls he takes a hammer to.”
“Kenny wouldn’t hurt me,” Korine said in a low voice.
Hatcher hated the uncertainty in her voice. He couldn’t imagine a family member turning on someone like this. And what if it wasn’t Kenny?
“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly.
She glanced around the living area, her face strained. “I know. I don’t understand, but I’m going to keep pushing until I do.”
She disappeared into her bedroom, and he walked to the back door and looked out at the woods. Kenny might be hiding out there somewhere, waiting for Korine to be left alone.
That wasn’t going to happen.
Korine threw a change of clothes and pajamas in her overnight bag, then grabbed her toiletries. She packed her running shoes and extra ammo for her gun, then checked her phone.
A text from Bellows, wanting to know how Hatcher was doing, if he was drinking.
Hatcher called her name. She’d respond to Bellows later.
She was hoping the rehab center would call and say Kenny had returned, but there was no word. She punched his number and left a message, although she didn’t know whether he had his phone with him. He had turned it in to the therapist when he’d first checked into rehab, so he might be without one.
Hatcher was waiting for her in the living room and grabbed her bag.
“I can carry it,” Korine snapped.
“I realize you don’t like to accept help,” Hatcher said, swinging the bag to his side so she couldn’t reach it. “But we’re partners and you’re stuck with me.”
Korine’s instinct was to argue, but she was too tired to fight back at the moment. She needed to pick her battles, and this wasn’t the one she wanted to tackle.
She followed Hatcher to the car in silence. Fifteen minutes later, Hatcher parked at a cabin on the marsh.
“It’s not fancy,” he said, “but your brother won’t find you here.”
That could be good or bad.
Her emotions were running high tonight, something a night’s sleep could help. When she confronted Kenny, she wanted to be calm and logical.
More dark clouds hovered on the horizon, casting a grayness over the land that made it look eerie and isolated.
The wind ruffled the dried marsh grass and brought the scent of loamy earth, shrimp, and the ocean.
“You like living alone out here?” she asked as he unlocked the door and gestured for her to enter.
He grunted, a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes. “Yeah.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “We never talked about the loss of your wife. I—”
“Do not want to talk about her either,” Hatcher barked.
Korine froze, her own guilt kicking in. “Maybe not, but I am sorry for your loss. I’ve felt guilty about that night.”
He dropped her bag on the wood floor, then gripped her arms with his hands. “I know you think I lied to you that night, but I didn’t. My wife and I . . . we were separated.” His eyes darkened. “I’d asked her for a divorce. I’d already moved out and contacted a lawyer.”
“But technically you were still married,” Korine said. “And I don’t sleep with married men.”
His expression darkened. “I know you regret it, and so do I. If I’d answered Felicia’s phone call that night, she might not be dead.”
“But you didn’t answer. Why? Because we were together?”
Anger heated his eyes. “It’s more complicated than that.”
He started to turn away, but this time Korine caught his arm and forced him to look at her. “Tell me.”
“She was needy,” he said. “Clingy. I . . . at first I thought her constant attention was nice, flattering, but then she became obsessive. She started making up things to keep me close by.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’d pretend she was sick so I’d leave work. One night she called to tell me that she’d swallowed some pills and was going to kill herself. But when I got home, I realized she hadn’t taken pills. It was just a ploy to get me to drop what I was doing and rush back to her.”
Korine sighed. “My God, I’m sorry.”
He ground his teeth. “The afternoon before she died, she called and said someone was stalking her.”
Korine inhaled sharply. “You didn’t believe her?”
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. When he opened them, emotions darkened his face.
“But this time she wasn’t lying,” he said in a hoarse voice. “The Skull . . . there were two of them. And one of them was watching her.”
The guilt that had nagged at Korine surfaced again, raw and harsh. Hatcher’s pain bled into her. The need to comfort him made her reach for him.
“I’m sorry, Hatcher. But under the circumstances, it’s understandable that you didn’t believe her.”
His gaze met hers, turmoil darkening his eyes. “Maybe so, but it’s still my fault she was murdered.”
Grief and self-disgust ate at Hatcher as an image of Felicia dangling from that tree with blood running down her neck taunted him.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Korine said. “You obviously had reason to doubt her story, and when you discovered it was true, you did everything you could to save her, didn’t you?”
Hatcher pinched the bridge of his nose. “I was too late. He had her tied up and he . . . she bled to death right in front of my eyes.”
Korine cupped his face between her hands. “She knows you tried to save her. We may be federal agents, but we’re also human.”
“But if I hadn’t been investigating in the first place, he wouldn’t have targeted her.” Guilt edged his voice. “He took her to get to me.”
“He took her because he was a sadistic monster who preyed on women,” Korine said softly. “Our jobs put us and anyone we care about in danger. Felicia knew that when she married you.”
“I shouldn’t have gotten that close to her.” Or anyone else.
“Just because you chase bad guys doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to have love.” She cradled his hands between hers. “Your job is part of you. If she didn’t understand that and love you for it, then you weren’t right for each other.”
Her softly spoken words got to him. She’d had a hell of a day and was being tormented by her brother. Yet she was comforting him when he should be the one consoling her.
She stroked his palm with her finger, and his breath caught. The memory of her lips and hands on him teased him. Korine was nothing like his wife. Her strength aroused his admiration. Even mired in her own problems, she wasn’t clingy or needy.
He wanted her again. Wanted her now.
The heat in her eyes seared him and stirred his hunger, and he couldn’t resist. He pulled her up against him.
Her body felt warm and inviting. His cock hardened. She pressed one hand against his cheek and traced the other along his chest.
He sucked in a sharp breath. Desire heated his blood. She licked her lips, and he lowered his head and kissed her.
One touch of her lips set him on fire. She curled against him, rubbing her body against his.
Their weapons were in the way.
He removed his jacket, holster, and gun, and laid them on the side table, and she did the same.
Then he reached for her. She went into his arms, her breath puffing out. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and tasted her desire, a sweet, fiery need that unleashed his own primitive, raw passion. She met his tongue thrust for thrust.
Pleasure shot through him, and he dragged his mouth from her lips to nibble at her neck. She moaned as his lips and teeth played havoc with the sensitive nub of her ear and her slender throat.
Hunger speared him, and he lowered his hand and cupped her breast in his palm. Her shirt stood between them.
He wanted to touch bare skin. Wanted to tease her nipple with his tongue, draw it into his mouth.
She slid the top button of his shirt open and trailed her fingers across his bare chest. His skin ached for more.
He wanted to be skin to skin. Naked and hot and pumping himself inside her.
Need raging through him, he lifted her shirt over her head and tossed it aside. Her breathing grew rapid. Voluptuous breasts spilled over her lace bra, begging for his hands, and he complied.
She moaned and pushed at his shirt, and he shucked it and threw it to the floor. Then he swept her up in his arms and carried her to his bedroom.
As he eased her onto the bed, she reached for his jeans. Her finger teased his cock as she pushed the jeans over his hips. He kicked them off and removed hers, his pulse clamoring at the sight of those tiny lace panties.
He remembered that about her—she was no-nonsense on the job. Dressed conservatively. Except for her underwear. It was the one area where she was all woman.
With a groan, he pressed his mouth to her heat and nuzzled her through the lace. She lifted her body in invitation, and he kissed her again.
He teased and tasted her, then trailed his lips over her breasts. Her sharp intake of breath drove him mad, and he stripped her bra and looked his fill.
She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Ivory skin, with luscious coral nipples that stood erect, begging for his mouth.
He’d wanted her every night since they’d parted. Even when he was mourning his wife’s death, he’d craved Korine’s touch.
It was wrong.
But he couldn’t help himself. He was weak.
“Don’t think,” she whispered as she closed her hand over his cock. “Just feel.”
He shut that damn voice of guilt off and did as she said. Then he drew one nipple into his mouth, and pleasure filled him. She urged him closer, her whispered pleas driving him mad with passion.
He lowered his body above her to peel away her panties.
A noise jolted him. His cell phone.
Fuck. He didn’t want to stop now, not when Korine was on fire in his arms.
Korine leaned on her elbows, her breath panting out. “You have to answer it, Hatcher.”
He gritted his teeth. She was right. He’d lost control again.
What the hell was wrong with him? The last time he’d ignored a call because they were in bed together, his wife had been brutally murdered.
Silently cursing, he eased away from her, then retrieved his phone from his jeans and checked the number. Cat.
He connected the call. “Hatcher.”
“I think something’s going down.”
He slid to the edge of the bed and sat up. “What are you talking about?”
“Is Davenport with you?”
“Why?”
“Go to the Facebook page I’m about to send you. It’s gone live.” Her breath rasped out. “I think a man is about to be murdered on-screen.”