Chapter Four

 

Adam had expected the cops to show up at some point, but certainly not this soon. "Why don't you come in and tell us what this is about?" He gestured for them to come in. No reason to give in to their demands without probable cause.

The detectives exchanged a glance, then one of them nodded and they walked inside. Once in the door, they hesitated, their stance and manner guarded and suspicious as they eyed the gun on Adam's hip.

"Can I see your badges?" Adam knew they were who they said they were, but no reason to let them think they could come in here and not follow protocol.

McCloskey, the shorter of the two, flashed his ID, then quickly put it away. He was older, stockier, and comfortable taking the lead.

The taller one stepped forward, holding the badge out in one hand, and reaching forward to shake Adam's hand with the other. "Detective Kent. You're with the Phoenix Agency?" he asked, nodding at the emblem on Adam's shirt.

"Yes. You know of them?"

"I've worked with your group before. Good guys."

"Thanks. I'm Adam LaSalle—as Ms. Barnes said, her bodyguard."

"Why does she need a bodyguard?" McCloskey asked, not warming up to Adam as much as his partner was.

"You have a killer on the loose, don't you? And from what I can see…" Adam gestured toward the photo of the logo in McCloskey's hand. It was zoomed out, but Adam had seen enough pics of dead people to see the logo had been drawn on skin. "Ms. Barnes might be his next target."

McCloskey rolled back on his heels and frowned. "Maybe." He held up the picture. "What can you tell me about this dragonfly drawing?" he asked Jessica, handing it to her.

"Like I said, it's my logo." Though she was trying to be strong, the color drained from her face and she wobbled a little on her feet.

"Why don't you sit down?" Adam suggested, taking the picture from her and handing it back to the detective.

She folded herself into the couch.

Adam glared at the detective, then went into the kitchen and got her a glass of water.

"What can you tell me about your work?" McCloskey began again, ignoring Adam and sitting on the sofa next to her.

She looked up at Adam as he handed her the glass, and smiled her appreciation. Right then, she looked so small and vulnerable that it triggered a protective instinct in him. He wasn't about to let anything happen to her. From the killer or from the police.

"She's an ink artist. Black-and-white images." He gestured to the painting of Charleston's row homes over the fireplace.

"Nice work," McCloskey said.

"Thank you," she said. "I don't sign my name on my work, just my logo."

"This image?" He pointed to the picture again.

"Yes," she answered without looking at it.

"You found that at a murder scene?" Adam asked, trying to divert the detective's questions away from her.

McCloskey didn't answer.

"I don't know why it would be there," Jessica said, but even to Adam's ears, she didn't sound very convincing.

"Then maybe you can explain this?" Detective Kent stood in the corner of the room next to the artist's table. The sheet that had been draped over it was pulled back. He held up a large canvas of an ink painting. The image was the face of a woman, eyes closed, her expression peaceful, as if she were sleeping. Except for the thin black line across her neck and the black ink logo drawn on her forehead—the same image that was in the photograph clutched in McCloskey's hand.

Jessica's blue eyes blazed, and she jumped to her feet. "You had no right to look under there."

McCloskey stood and held up the photo of the logo next to the painting. They were identical. "Are you sure you have nothing to say about this?" he asked.

Jessica made a little sound of protest, her eyes wide.

"Anything at all?" Kent prompted.

"You must have an explanation," McCloskey said. "Were you at the crime scene?"

"You must have been," Kent added. "How else could you have painted the victim with such accurate detail?"

"Unless you are the killer. Did you kill her?" McCloskey demanded, drawing closer to her with each hateful word.

"That's enough," Adam said, edging between them.

"I have dreams," Jessica finally admitted, her voice cracking.

Kent, who was propped up against the wall, his eyes glued to Jessica, made a disbelieving grunt. He wasn't buying her story any more than McCloskey. He pulled out a piece of spearmint gum and made a big show of taking it out of the wrapper, balling it up, and shoving it in his mouth.

"So, you saw this image in a dream?" Kent asked, studying the picture he'd propped up on a table next to the fireplace.

"Yes," she answered.

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"Do you always dream in this kind of detail?" He was running his finger over the trails of vines and flowers in the garden.

Adam stopped his mind from wandering to another police photo of another dead girl lying in a garden with her arms crossed against her chest.

"Please don't touch it," Jessica said, her sharp voice pulling Adam from thoughts of his sister.

Kent pulled his hand back and grinned. "Sorry."

"Do you always paint your dreams?" McCloskey asked.

She looked away, her hands trembling, and didn't answer. Smart girl.

"So you were here all night?" he said. "Alone."

"Yes."

"Can anyone verify that?" Kent asked.

"No. I live alone."

"What does this logo mean?" Kent pointed to the image of a dragonfly trapped within a circle.

"It's just the signature I put on my paintings. Like I said, I don't sign my name."

"Why not?"

She glanced from one detective to the other. "Because I'm a very private person."

McCloskey stepped toward her again.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

Adam had to stop himself from pulling her next to him. "Okay, I don't think Ms. Barnes is going to answer any more questions without a lawyer present."

McCloskey's eyes flashed. "Why do you think she needs a lawyer?"

"I don't." Her chin lifted, her eyes challenging.

Adam admired her spunk, but the way these questions were heading, she did need a lawyer, even if she didn't want to admit it.

"This isn't the first murder you've had like this near the waterfront," Adam said. "The cases are similar. And your perp is a man. So we've answered enough of your questions."

"How would you know any of that?" McCloskey demanded.

"I also know Ms. Barnes doesn't have the strength to strangle someone with her bare hands," Adam continued, remembering the details from the first murder.

McCloskey's eyes narrowed again.

Adam hoped he was the only one to hear Jessica's quick intake of breath at his words. He knew the games these cops were playing, sending her in circles, trying to keep her off balance. Hell, he'd played them himself, once upon a time. But the time for games was over.

"Like I said before," McCloskey continued, "I think maybe you need to come downtown with us."

She didn't move.

Adam touched her back. "Why don't you go get your purse?" She looked up at him, fear in her eyes. He felt a jolt at the sight of them. "Don't worry. Nothing is going to happen. It will be all right. I'm coming with you."

She nodded, walked to the hall closet and pulled out a sweater, then grabbed her bag off a table by the door.

"I don't think your coming is a good idea," McCloskey said as they walked toward the door.

"I'm coming," Adam said. "In fact, we'll be riding in my car behind you. If you need verification on that, call Chief Armani. He's expecting me at two."

Disbelief flashed in McCloskey's eyes so fast that Adam would have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it. He had to admit, it felt good to see it.

***

Jessica admired Adam's face as they followed the detectives to the police station—the strength in his jaw and the way his high cheekbones caused his face to narrow to soft full, lips. He was a truly gorgeous man, and yet he was so approachable. His eyes, almost a crystallized green mixed with amber, were hypnotic. He turned and caught her staring.

Her cheeks warmed. "Thank you for being here. I…I don't know—" She broke off.

He smiled, and her heart skipped a beat. She would never have believed it could happen, but she was so thankful he was here with her, and that she didn't have to face the police alone. But more than that, she liked being with him. He exuded a certain warmth he probably wasn't even aware of. When he touched her, she felt it everywhere—a slow-moving feeling of overall wellbeing. It was so hard to resist, in fact, that she had to stop herself from reaching over and taking his hand.

She didn't want to scare him away—the nutty, clingy woman who was clawing at him. So she kept firmly on her side of the car. The fact was that they'd just met, and yet she'd never felt more comfortable with anyone. Perhaps it was because he was so authentic and easy for her to read. She felt like she knew him and could trust what he said. She smiled to herself. Obviously, it had been too long since she'd gone out with anyone. Actually seen anyone, for that matter. She'd have to call and thank Vivi after all.

They arrived at the police station quicker than she'd thought it would take, and her stomach did a backflip just from staring at the large, historic building that might look beautiful on any other day.

"You okay?" he asked.

She nodded. "I just don't like police departments."

"Don't worry. I'm going to handle this. In fact, let me do most of the talking. Don't say anything unless they ask you something directly."

"Okay." She smiled at him. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"I'm not worried."

She laughed softly. At least one of them wasn't. They got out of the car and walked side by side into the department where the detectives were waiting for them. They followed the detectives through the lobby and into the inner sanctum of the boys in blue. Several officers turned to watch their progression, their faces stoic, suspicious, or just curious. She remembered expressions like that when she'd been young enough to believe that if she told them everything she knew about her friend's death, they would protect her. That they'd want her help to catch a killer. What a mistake. She hadn't helped them nab the killer, and they'd put her life under the microscope and smeared it. She wouldn't let that happen again.

She took a deep breath and tried to quash her growing panic, but couldn't. She was becoming more agitated with each step. She could do this, she told herself, and focused on her breathing. The trick was to not give anything away. Don't trust them, and don't let them see when they were getting to her. She knew the drill: they would tell her they were only there to help her, to find this guy before he killed anyone else. But that wasn't true. All they cared about was closing cases, no matter what it took.

She just had to make sure they didn't find out about the other paintings. Hopefully, Adam would keep her confidence. She looked up at him, and he took her hand. She clung to it. Already she felt like she could lean on him, that he wouldn't betray her. She hoped she wasn't wrong.

The detectives led them into a small room with pale blue walls. A single table and four chairs were the only furnishings. She and Adam took two of the chairs, while McCloskey took one across from them. The tall guy, Detective Kent, leaned against the wall. Before anyone could say a word, the door opened and a man in suit came in.

"Ms. Barnes, Mr. LaSalle, I'm Chief Armani." He held out his hand to them.

Adam immediately stood and shook his hand. Jessica stayed seated. She just didn't have the will or the energy for pleasantries.

"Thank you for talking to us," Adam said, as if they had called this meeting. As if they hadn't been torn from her home. "I understand Dan Romeo from the Phoenix Agency talked to you?"

"Yes, we spoke this morning. I have the files you requested right here." Armani took a seat and pushed one across the table.

Adam sat and opened the top file. He flipped through pictures of a crime scene. Jessica noticed McCloskey's stunned gaze as he watched the interplay between the two men, but he didn't say a word. Just pulled out a pen and notepad from his pocket. Jessica glanced down at the file as Adam flipped through crime scene photos of the murder she'd dreamed about last week. She didn't need to see them; she already knew every detail of the scene. She'd already painted it.

The chief dropped another folder onto the table and opened it for them all to see. The photo was of a woman lying in a garden, her throat cut.

"Marissa Johnson," he said, looking directly at Jessica. He nodded to McCloskey, who placed the painting from her apartment on the table. The images matched.

"They are virtually identical," the chief said, a touch of amazement in his voice.

"Yes," she said.

He looked at her, and his gray eyes, set deep under dark brows, bored into hers. "When did you paint this image?"

"Last night. Around two a.m., I'd guess."

"Do you want to tell us how you happened to paint a murder scene before the body had even been discovered?"

She could see the disbelief in his face. Hear it in his voice. She wouldn't let it bother her. "I saw it," she said, wishing she was anywhere but there.

"You saw it?" he repeated, looking at her with tired and suspicious eyes.

"Yes. In a dream."

McCloskey threw down his pen in disgust.

"Ms. Barnes and her dreams are the reason why I'm here," Adam said, ignoring McCloskey. "The reason why the Phoenix Agency has been hired. This killer has formed a…connection with her." He paused, until they were all looking at him. "Has targeted her." He pointed to the drawing on the victim's forehead.

"You really expect us to believe—"

Armani held up his hand, stopping McCloskey's outburst. "Do you have any proof, Ms. Barnes, that what you are saying is true?"

She wasn't sure what to say. How to answer. The truth? The last time she trusted the police with the truth, she'd lost her home. Her whole life.

"I think if you check Ms. Barnes' phone records, you will see she received a phone call last night around the time of the murder," Adam said. "She has nothing to hide. She is here voluntarily—she didn't have to come and she didn't have to bring her painting."

"I find it very interesting that you say she was on the phone around the time of the murder, considering we don't yet know what time the murder occurred," McCloskey said through gritted teeth.

"She got the call on a landline, placing her at home," Adam said, once more dismissing the lead detective. Was he trying to bait him? "Ms. Barnes does not own a cell."

Jessica could see where this was going. She'd really have no choice, now that the killer had found her again. He'd keep killing until he got whatever it was he wanted. She'd have to leave once more, but where would she go this time? Some place far, far away, and hope he wouldn't be able to find her again. But she knew it was a false hope. He'd find her, whoever he was.

He always did.

"If I can also get copies of what you have on Marissa Johnson's murder, I might be able to help you," Adam said.

Jessica tried to pay attention. To focus on what these men were saying about the murders and not on how quickly she could pack up and disappear.

"You've got to be kidding," McCloskey blurted. "You're already sitting here with our number one suspect, and now you want our intel? Hell no."

She felt the other detective shift against the wall, but refused to turn her head to look at him.

"We came here voluntarily to help you with this case in any way we can," Adam said, his voice calm, his expression blank.

"You said Ms. Barnes' dreams are the reason the Phoenix Agency has gotten involved in this case," the chief said.

"Yes," Adam answered.

"And yet you wanted to see the crime scene photos of the first victim." Armani turned his focus on Jessica. "Are you saying you also dreamed of that murder?"

She hesitated, knowing where her answer would lead.

"Ma'am?"

She turned to Adam, and he nodded.

"Yes. I dreamed of the first victim," she admitted.

"Did you paint that dream, too?" Armani asked.

She closed her eyes then opened them again, realizing she had no choice but to answer truthfully. "Yes."

The chief was silent for a moment, watching her, reading her with his all-too-seeing cop eyes. "May we see it?"

What could she say? "Yes, I suppose you can."

The chief shut the file and stood. "Thank you for coming. I will have a copy of the file sent over as soon as we get the forensic reports back."

McCloskey's mouth fell open and he leaned back in disgust, refusing to stand.

"Thank you," Adam said, standing, and shook the chief's hand. "We'll be sure to get the other painting to you."

With his hand on her back, Adam led her out of the room and down the hall. She tried to think about what she was going to do, to make plans, but all she could think about was his touch and how safe it made her feel. She wanted to lean back into him, to step into his arms. To hold him. She bit down on her bottom lip and tried to push back her rising attraction. She had too many other things to worry about, and yet she couldn't think about any of them.

They drove in silence back to her apartment.

"How do you think it went?" she finally asked as he parked the car.

"Good."

She looked up at her door. "Would you mind staying with me a little longer?" She just couldn't bear the thought of going up to those rooms alone.

"Of course." He stared at her for a long moment. "I'm not planning on leaving you alone. Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

She only wished she believed him, but she knew all too well it wasn't true.