Mattie needed a break in the Ripper case. Something new, and she wasn’t going to find it hiding out at Greg’s place. Finished gathering her personal items and taking a quick look in his bedroom, she traipsed down the stairs and put her bag by the door. Digging in the outer pocket of her purse, she slid out her phone and dialed a number.
“Mattie, where are you? Are you okay?”
“Hey, Stuart. Can we meet?”
“Where?”
“At the Ross Bay Cemetery on Fairfield.”
“Little odd for a meeting place, isn’t it?”
She didn’t need an interrogation. Losing patience with the male species in general, she asked, “Are you coming or not?”
“Give me an hour.”
“See ya there.”
Mattie wandered into the kitchen to say good-bye.
“Don’t go.” Kayla had Sloane’s little diapered bum perched on the kitchen table while she coaxed her to eat.
“I can’t stay here anymore.” She slid into the chair and folded her hands. Maybe a part of her wanted Kayla to talk her out of leaving, but mostly, she was embarrassed.
Kayla held a spoon filled with green goo while Sloane finished mushing what was in her mouth. Cartoons with animated voices kept Adam’s attention on the couch as he chowed down on a cracker and cheese. Apparently his favorite thing to eat these days.
Mattie darted a look at the kitchen clock. She’d heard Kayla yelling at someone on the phone from upstairs, telling them to get their ass home. No doubt Greg was on the other end of the call.
“Case isn’t solved and neither is your relationship with Greg,” Kayla stated.
“I don’t have a relationship with Greg, so this is good-bye. Thank you for your help on the case, but I have to get back to work and that means putting my mind on the investigation.”
Kayla placed the spoon back in the dish and wiped Sloane’s face, then plopped her on the floor and waited until she had her balance and tottered toward her brother.
“The Ripper could be gone and Greg…” Mattie paused. “He’s definitely off my radar.”
“Men are stupid. You know this,” Kayla said abruptly.
“It’s late. I better go.”
“I need to apologize to my friend Nina.”
Mattie didn’t follow. “Why?”
“Because now I understand why she wanted to throttle me when I kept letting Thane push me away. That man drove me crazy.” She tipped her head and smiled. “And I drove him crazier. We kept upping the ante until there was nothing left. No smoke. No mirrors. No lies between us. All we had left was Thane and Kayla. For better or worse. Every exasperating foible and a mountain of doubt.” Kayla cleared her throat and shifted one chair closer, then covered Mattie’s hand. “Greg does have baggage. It’s dark and sad, but he doesn’t dwell on it when he’s with you.”
Mattie knew what she would dwell on once she walked out the front door. The sour pang in her chest and the tears glazing her eyes would eventually go away, but the memory of Greg wouldn’t.
Kayla seemed to understand and said, “Don’t let his past chase away your future.”
She scrubbed the tear from her cheek. “He’s JTF. I researched them to understand Greg better. He doesn’t even live in Victoria. He’s based out of Ontario.”
“This is home to Greg,” Kayla explained. “I think he’s going to pull the pin soon.”
“From the Forces? Why?”
Kayla squeezed her hand. “Because he’s had enough. He wants a life—with someone. Someone like you.”
The front door opened and Mattie sprang to her feet. She swept the remaining tears from her cheek. “I have to go.”
Greg entered the kitchen with the Admiral close behind. “Where’re you going?”
She stepped around him and walked quickly to the front door. Staying a second longer and having to stare into Greg’s eyes could weaken her resolve. He had been the one to pull away from their budding relationship. She wasn’t a psych nurse. Whatever monsters lay in Greg’s past, she wasn’t going to fix them. Nor did she want to end up like Diana.
“To an interview.”
“Mattie.” He caught up to her. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, thanks. I’m meeting someone.”
“As in Stuart.” The words looked like they tasted bad on his tongue when he spat them out
“As in none of your damn business.” She yanked open the front door and rolled her suitcase across the small cement porch to the walkway.
He shadowed her to the driveway. “At least tell me where you’re going.”
When she reached her car, she popped the trunk, but wouldn’t look at him. Greg covered her hand on the handle and she released her grip.
He paused, then settled the suitcase in the trunk. “I have no problem following you.”
“Don’t. I’m meeting Stuart at the Ross Bay Cemetery, then I’m going home.” She palmed the trunk and closed it. Giving it a little tug upward to make sure it was secure. “I don’t need an escort. Especially don’t need you on my tail. Besides, your time off must be nearly over. Don’t you have to leave?”
“I have a week left.” For a second he reflected on his next words before speaking. “So you know this is my second home?”
She nodded and strode to the driver’s door. “Yup.” She intended on putting the pedal to the metal, but before making her speedy escape, she faced him. “You know, it doesn’t matter what’s happened in your past. You’re still a hero, whether you want to see yourself that way or not.” She shrugged. “I never told you, I don’t believe in war.”
He watched her, then shook his head.
“But it doesn’t mean, I don’t believe in the men who do their best to keep war away from our borders. It doesn’t mean, I don’t believe in you.” She disguised her heartache behind a smile. “Enjoy your last week off. You deserve it.”
She’d left him speechless as she closed the driver’s door, which was fair since he’d left her heart whimpering like an abandoned puppy.
Tears trickled down her cheeks as she drove away. Navigating the narrow streets, she arrived early and parked in a strip mall across from the cemetery. An Open neon sign in a coffee shop window lured her inside to order a medium black to go, then she returned to the warmth of her vehicle. Signs posted at the cemetery entrance, the last resting place for the dead, warned visitors to leave an hour before dusk. Regardless, she was going to investigate the grave site.
Locals streamed in and out of the grocery store and little shops. With a full parking lot, she couldn’t see if Stuart had arrived.
Ten minutes later, she tossed the empty cup in a garbage can filled to overflowing. She darted between the workman’s traffic and crossed the road. Entering the pedestrian entrance of the cemetery, she veered onto a beaten path through the grave stones toward a site she’d spent the afternoon researching.
She had company, but there wasn’t much to fear as a young buck, his mate and one fawn nibbled on the green shoots covering the gravesites. Mattie found her way to the cemetery’s older area that bordered the sea. Small mausoleums had withstood the test of time with the founders or prominent names of Victoria residents, like Helmcken and Mackenzie.
Earlier in the day, she’d printed a sheet from the Victoria archives site to help locate the small headstone. With just enough daylight to make out the names, she stepped onto the uneven ground, the stubs of winter grass weakened by the cold weather. The bones buried in this part of the cemetery dated back to the late 1800’s, but the small square headstone she was looking for was newer, according to the friendly man at the memorial society.
She compared the rough map in her hands with where she stood. He’d told her to look across from the Mackenzie mausoleum. The marble plaque wasn’t hard to find because someone had left flowers.
Black roses with brilliant red edges lay at the base of the small gravesite. There were two family names engraved on the marble. Schmitt and Bings. Agnes Bings. If you asked someone on the street if they knew who she was, they wouldn’t be able to tell you her story dating back to 1899. She knelt down and took a picture with her phone.
“Someone you know?”
She jumped to her feet to see Stuart looking down at the marker from behind her. He wore a winter jacket and jeans. His blue gaze finally swayed toward her.
“They found her near the base of the Johnson Street Bridge. She’d been murdered in the same place as Aimee Wallace one-hundred and eighteen years ago.” Kayla had called it ground zero.
“Looks like she’s still got an admirer,” he said, his hands stuffed deep in his jacket pockets.
“Black roses. Where would you even find black roses?” The red edges on the velvet blooms seemed like they’d been dipped in blood.
“You think it’s the Ripper, don’t you?”
She took another picture and then dropped her phone back in her purse. “It has to be.”
“Is this why you asked me to meet you?”
Mattie surveyed the headstones in the failing light. “Did you know about Agnes?”
Stuart didn’t agree or disagree but his lips twitched. “It’s pretty cold out here. How about I buy you a drink.”
“Going to dose it again?”
“Maybe, but if I do, it’s to hide you somewhere safe.”
“Like say, a creepy basement or dank, dark spot?”
“You called me, remember?”
“Penning Farthing pub is up the road.” She snaked her hand around Stuart’s arm then stuffed her hands in her pockets to hide them from the cold air nipping at her skin.
“How’s LaPierre? Taking good care of you, I guess.”
“What do you care, Dream Squad member?”
He chuckled and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I’ll explain what I can without doping your drink. Come on.”
Stuart held her hand as they left the cemetery.
The pub wasn’t half as busy as it used to be. Usually by this time on a Friday night you couldn’t find a seat, but the Ripper had changed everything. Women didn’t walk in parkades at night or even across a well-lit mall parking lot.
Stuart led them to a quiet corner and slid onto the bench seat next to her.
“Think you’d be more comfortable over there,” she said, pointing across the table.
He inhaled deeply and moved across from her. “Okay, so this isn’t a social call. And you holding my hand was just to placate me.”
“No, you held my hand.” She pushed the placard with the drinks of the day out of the way. “I’m trying one final time to ask you what the hell is going on and what the police actually know about the Ripper. Montgomery said he’d fabricated the coroner’s report. He thinks the second void at Diana’s murder is a submissive. The Ripper’s Sub. I want to know whether you’ve hidden the truth about other victims, maybe prostitutes, disappearing. I want the truth before it’s too late.”
Stuart leaned across the table and grasped her hands, pulling them to his mouth and kissing her knuckles. “I swear to you, I am taking care of this. You need to have a little faith that I know what I’m doing. How about that?”
He didn’t let go of her hands when he lowered them to the table.
“Stuart—”
A bubbly young guy swooped in to take their order. “What can I get you?”
Turning her attention to their server, she said, “Something without a date rape drug.”
“She’s kidding. I’ll have the dark IPA and…coffee,” Stuart said before she could answer.
“’Kay.” The waiter trotted off to the next table.
“Do I have to worry about this JTF guy?”
“Worry, how?”
Stuart sat back with a plop. “Fuck, you’ve already slept with him, haven’t you?”
Her cheeks heated, and she glared at him for no other reason than being too observant. She’d learned from a young age, lying to a cop never worked out well. “As if it matters to you?”
Stuart shook his head in disgust and stared out the window where night cast its inky darkness across the small parking lot behind the pub.
His silence bothered her. “We had a—” She shrugged. “He’s a sailor.” As if she needed to explain anything to Stuart. Typical guy. He didn’t get her into bed first and his alpha slash competitive nature reflected with disappointment on his features. At her!
The server returned with their drinks and a couple of cardboard coasters printed with the pub’s logo of a gentlemen in a bowler hat riding a Penny Farthing. “You want me to run a tab?”
Stuart nodded. “And bring her a pint of this.”
Mattie rolled her eyes. “Stuart.”
“You’re having a drink with me. Maybe even two or three.”
“Or none,” came a harsh voice from behind her left shoulder.
Stuart’s expression grew tight. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Although she knew the voice intimately, it was Stuart’s reaction that confirmed who stood behind her.
“Let’s go, Mattie.” With his shoulders taut and immensely huge, Greg plucked her coat hanging on the hook next to her seat.
Stuart slid from the bench and the men faced off. “Maybe you should hit the road before I call in a disturbance.”
Greg took a step closer and looked down at Stuart. “And leave Mattie wide open for the Ripper to take her. Is that the ultimate goal?”
“Get the fuck out of my face, LaPierre.”
“Gentlemen!” A guy approached with an I’m the manager expression. Not to mention a healthy dose of fear because he was a hundred and fifty pounds soaking wet. “If there’s a problem, please take it outside.”
Greg gripped her hand and dragged her from the seat. “I don’t give a shit if she hates me or not but if you want her, you have to come through me.”
“Greg—”
He had that scary intense look in his eyes again when he threw his massive arm around her waist and hustled her to the front door. She didn’t want to make a scene and kept in step with him.
As soon as they were outside, he turned on her, his gaze smoldering green like a cauldron about to explode. “Our relationship is not his business.”
“We don’t have a relationship.” She pivoted on her heel and walked down the sidewalk toward her car, ignoring the fact he remained beside her as if someone had tied their ankles together.
“I didn’t say that.”
“Actions speak louder than words, and you couldn’t wait to get me off the boat this morning. I can take a hint. I hope you can too. Fuck off.”
He blinked and his jaw slackened, but that’s all she saw before hoofing it toward her car.
Greg chased after her, not giving in or taking a hint. “Mattie, I screwed up, all right. I admit it. I’m sorry.”
She swallowed and kept walking, but his words hooked a claw into her heart. Keep walking Mattie. Don’t stop. You stop, you’ll relinquish your pride and be his Sub for the rest of your life. Just her luck finding the only man who acted like quicksand on her resolve. The man who would drive her crazy, and probably end up turning her into a simpering mess.
“Mattie.” He caught up and blocked the driver’s door.
She backed up a pace and crossed her arms. “Don’t need any guy who yanks my chain. You do it. Stuart’s doing it. Is it something about my face? Do I have sucker written on my back?” She stared at his boots. Angry at herself, she wrapped both hands on his arm and pulled, but he wouldn’t move out of the way, and displacing two hundred plus pounds of raw muscle was impossible.
His warm hand palmed her cheek. “Haven’t you ever screwed up? I mean…I don’t know what to do except say I’m sorry, and I’ll keep saying it until you forgive me.”
She tilted her head to look at him. “I forgive you. Now, can I go home?”
He shifted, but not enough to open her door.
“Mattie, please. Just let me watch over you until this is over. I promise I won’t…I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you really want.”
It’s not what she wanted. Not at all. But she said what every warm-blooded woman with a hot temper would say. “That’s what I want.”
His brow grew taut as he watched a car drive past them. “It’s not what I want.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she barked. “You assholes are all the same. Smooth words. Warm smiles. Sensual touches. But once you’ve been between a woman’s legs, it’s back to business.”
Greg’s jaw tightened to a hard line. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“I don’t have to know. You said it loud and clear with your actions. You reel in a woman, then pull her off your hook and toss her back into the ocean. Get out of my way.”
“Good idea. Get out of her way,” Stuart said, finally catching up to them.
Greg reeled around and nailed Stuart square in the face with a powerhouse punch. Stuart stumbled and landed on his ass.
“Jesus, Greg! What are you doing?” She rushed to Stuart’s side and knelt, waiting for the little birds circling his head to clear.
A couple passing by stopped for a moment and then the guy hustled his girl past the spectacle Greg caused. Stuart would go all cop then Greg would end up in jail. Not what she wanted to happen.
Greg shifted with a stealth movement. His voice harsh. The dangerous undercurrent obvious to her. He had no fear.
“Gonna call the boys in blue?” Greg squatted next to Stuart who leaned back on one hand and gripped his jaw with the other. “Or are you going to explain why every time we turn around, you’re there. Think that’s what you cops call stalking.”
“Fuck you, LaPierre.” Stuart pushed to his feet and squared his shoulders. “I call it being concerned for a friend. A woman who I care about.”
“Care about, huh?”
Mattie’s purse squawked from the hood of her car where she’d dropped it. Her ears tuned into the code the police dispatcher called out.
“Oh, shit!” When the men didn’t stop barking at each other she said it again. “Shit.”
She ran and dug out the scanner. Both men finally paid attention and circled her.
Mattie handed the scanner to Stuart. The dispatcher called for units to respond to a SD. Sudden death wasn’t what drew their attention, but the location was. Fisgard Lighthouse.
“It’s the 16th,” she said. “He’s killed again. Did anyone report a missing person in the last few days?”
Stuart shook his head. “No. No one.” He pulled his cell and called a number.
While Stuart wandered away from them, she took the opportunity to glare at Greg. “I have to do my job. You get that, right? Chasing the story. Finding the Ripper. It’s a team effort, but I’m part of that effort. I have to get over to Esquimalt.” Greg would know where Esquimalt was located. It was the Pacific’s headquarters for the Naval Fleet.
Greg wrapped his muscular arm around her waist. “I’ll drive you.”
She hated to push him away, but she couldn’t let him tug on her emotions or muddle her mind any longer. Gently, she removed his arm. “Greg, I’m not in danger.”
Stuart finished his call. “LaPierre, you have nothing to do with this investigation,” he announced, joining them.
“Yeah, other than getting arrested for being the Ripper. He’s running free, and as long as that’s the situation, Mattie doesn’t leave my sight.”
Stuart ignored him. “Mattie, the task force is responding.”
“But you said you weren’t on it anymore.”
“I am now. I just spoke with Sergeant Montgomery. The woman’s been identified.”
Mattie clutched her jacket around her and ignored the drops of rain sliding down her cheek. “Who is she?”
Stuart glanced between both of them. “It’s Marlene Summers.”
A chill of disbelief ran across her skin. “What?”
“Who’s that?” Greg interrupted.
Stuart pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll explain in the car. I’ll drive.”
Piling into Stuart’s SUV, Mattie’s heart raced. Uninvited, Greg stepped into the backseat, while she joined Stuart up front. “Are you sure?”
Stuart nodded and his eyes darted to the rear-view mirror. “Marlene is a journalist at the New Times Colonist.”
She pulled at the seatbelt, hating the restriction across her torso. She couldn’t breathe. “Drive faster.”
“Easy, Mattie.” Stuart placed his hand over hers. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“Marlene texted me this morning. She said she had a lead.” This had to be a mistake. If Mattie hadn’t been wallowing in her own man-pity, she would have seen her text earlier.
Stuart drove through the dark, wet neighborhood with large oaks and cherry tree branches stretching their arms across the road until he merged with Highway 17, then turned left onto the connector to Highway One. Twenty minutes later, they passed BC’s oldest pub called the Six Mile, dating back to 1855 when it began its existence as a hotel. An old roadhouse with ghosts and spectres haunting the legendary walls that survived prohibition and changed hands many times.
Police units with their lights flashing overtook them on the narrow road as they drove toward the spit of land where the Fisgard Lighthouse and Fort Rodd Hill was co-located. The sweep of the windshield wipers cleaned the downpour blurring her vision, but it didn’t do a thing to clear her mind.
The barricade to the National Park had been removed, and Stuart turned onto the paved walkway most tourists wandered on foot to see the historic landmark. They parked among ambulances and police cruisers responding to the call in front of the Lower Battery. The night lit by the flashes of red, blue and white. The color of tragedy.
Mattie noticed Montgomery’s black Dodge was already there. As soon as Stuart stopped the vehicle she jumped out, needing air.
She got what she expected.
A cold winter gale blew down Juan de Fuca Strait and bent the limbs of the trees skirting the park. Stuart and Greg joined her, and they rounded the Battery to the dark path leading to sea level, the causeway and at the end stood Fisgard Lighthouse.
She blinked the droplets from her eyes and stared down the long causeway. The lighthouse perched on a rise of rocks at the other end. Floodlights sprayed down the white column, illuminating the structure. Automated in 1929, it still warned mariners and invited the Canadian Navy home at the entrance to Esquimalt harbour.
The wind howled and clawed at her clothes as she measured her approach by the small lights situated every ten feet down the middle of the pitted, uneven pavement. The smell of dying kelp invaded her nose.
Her thoughts sparked with random questions. Had the Ripper met Marlene here or conned her into joining him for the last steps she’d ever take? How many hours ago had she walked on this same ground? Her friend was street smart. Why hadn’t she sensed danger?
Stopping at the base of the lighthouse, she raised her eyes and followed the steps to the landing and entrance to the Keeper’s home. Picturesque, the cedar boards painted with a warm muted red and white shutters bracketing the widows. During the summer, bunches of yellow bloomed flowers grew from the crevices in the rocks. Mattie hadn’t been here since she’d come for a high school field trip. Tonight her fond childhood memory would become a grownup nightmare.
They climbed the steps to the stone-embedded landing. A railing ran along the right side of the narrow passage and kept visitors from inadvertently falling onto the rocks or children from exploring. At the base of the lighthouse, two Vic PD officers blocked their way.
“Stuart Hellman, Ripper Task Force.” He flashed his badge.
“And you two?” The larger cop asked.
“Mattie Bidault and this is Lieutenant Commander LaPierre,” Stuart advised. “They’re with me.”
The cop pulled his cap. “Mattie Bidault, from the Colonist?”
She nodded, finding it pretty damn hard to breathe knowing what leaned against the brilliant white column of the lighthouse around the corner. The crowd of men and women responders blocked her view, but she imagined the grizzly sight and her stomach clenched with nausea.
The cop scratched his head. “Um, yeah. I guess you better go look.”
“Why?” she asked, thinking it was because Marlene was a fellow journalist.
“He left a message this time, and it’s addressed to Mattie.”