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“I was still trying to talk her into it,” Lila admitted. “The ironic thing about it was that I was going to put her in charge of the remembrance table and now . . . now she’ll be a big part of it.”
“You know what’s more ironic?” Mercedes threw out to the group. “How about this? Violet was murdered on the very date Luke Hollander was killed twenty years ago.”
“Whoa. Wait.” Nate’s gaze drilled into Mercedes. “That’s right, but . . . so what? You’re trying to connect the murders? That’s crazy. It’s been decades.”
Rachel fe
lt her insides begin to shred. She had to get out of here. Fast.
“I don’t know exactly what I’m going to do, but I am going to report on it. Of course. I’ve already got someone tracking down the lead investigator on Violet’s case, Detective O’Meara.”
Kayleigh. The shredding cut deeper. She let out her breath, refusing to think of Kayleigh O’Meara, and how her husband had fallen in love with his smart, redheaded partner.
Water under the damned bridge.
CHAPTER 11
Blam! Blam! Blam, blam, blam!
Kayleigh maintained her stance, protective glasses in place as she aimed and fired at the target, her shoulders jerking with each blast of her pistol, her jaw locked. She was wearing ear protectors that blocked out everything but the satisfaction of hitting her mark, the outline of a man’s torso suspended at the far end of the shooting range. She’d managed to tune out the other shooters in the indoor shooting range and was totally focused on the target positioned near the far wall. Her shots were on target, three a little off center, just where a man’s heart would be hidden under protective ribs.
She fired off several more rounds before she was satisfied that her aim was true. By the time she was finished, most of the tension had drained from her body and she felt reenergized. It had been a long day, and she hadn’t wanted to return to her apartment on a Friday night. Alone.
Camille, a friend she’d known since her freshman year at Washington State, had phoned to say some friends were getting together for drinks and appetizers at O’Callahan’s. Kayleigh was familiar with the Irish pub located on one of the piers. Still, she had declined.
“Why?” Camille had demanded. “Got something better planned?”
“Have you seen the news? I’m working on a homicide.”
“Yeah, and I have a shitty job and a shittier boss who wants me to work late but I told him, ‘Forget it.’ It’s the weekend! Let’s have a few drinks, catch up, and un-freakin’-wind. You’re not going to bring that dead woman back, you know. Dead is dead.”
“That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Okay. Fine. I don’t think a couple of hours with friends will stop you from finding out what happened to her.”
Maybe. Maybe not. The first hours of any investigation were the most critical.
“Come on, Kay!”
She hadn’t let Camille persuade her. Instead she’d worked until after eight and then had come to the indoor range to let off some steam and let the case sink in.
But now as she zipped her jacket and stepped outside, she noticed the fog rolling in from the ocean. She wondered if she should change her mind and see if she could connect with the group, friends from college. Most married. Some with children. But why the hell not?
She could use a break.
She’d spent hours going over interviews and evidence, feeling the clock ticking, the killer getting away.
All the while trying to push aside the impact of seeing Cade again.
Big mistake.
She’d called him because he’d lived in Edgewater most of his life. Also because he was one of the best detectives she’d ever worked with.
And because you wanted to see him again. Be honest, Kayleigh.
Angry with herself, she unlocked her Honda with her remote, slid inside, and started the car. Yeah, she admitted to herself as she drove off, then turned on the radio and cranked it loud. She had used the excuse of Violet Sperry’s murder to contact Cade, to see him, to check her own reaction to him as well as see what his was to her.
And she’d felt crappy about it.
