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  “How do you know?”

  “Because it’s someone you know. Someone you spoke with recently. Black…Jane Seymour has been murdered.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Avery wished, at the very least, they could move the car. As it was, it was parked facing the street and the afternoon sun was beating directly down on her, the car, and the dead woman inside. But moving the car would risk contaminating the crime scene so they had to make do with what they had.

  Jane Seymour’s car was parked to the far side of the Seymour and Fitch lot. The only other cars in the lot belonged to one of the other attorneys and the young receptionist Avery had spoken to not even seven hours ago. That receptionist, a woman by the name of Amy Wright, was inside with Finley as he took her statement. Avery had already spoken to her and learned how she had seen Jane come back from her late lunch, watching as she parked her car out of sight of the front doors. When ten minutes passed and Jane had not come inside, Amy had gone out to see if she needed anything.

  What she had found was Jane tied to her front seat with bailing wire. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear, the blood from which had coated the windshield, dashboard, and front seat. There were also two stab wounds in her chest, one of which Avery was pretty sure had landed directly in her heart.

  The loss of Jane hurt. Even though working for her seemed like it had been just a blip on the radar years ago, Avery could not ignore the fact that it had been her first real job. And it had done wonders for her financially and professionally. Jane had taken a chance by hiring her and had become a mentor and friend.

  And now Avery was having to view her as just another dead body—another victim. All the blood, the dead eyes, her mouth just slightly agape and her eyes wide open in shock, seeing absolutely nothing.

  It was starting to feel personal now. Maybe even more dangerous than it had earlier in the day.

  Avery and O’Malley had gathered all the information there was to have—and it wasn’t much at all.

  The other attorney had seen nothing. He had gone running outside to see what was wrong with Amy when she had started screaming. He’d not been able to look at more than the dark red stains on the windshield and had not come back out of the building since.

  “The psycho is dedicated as hell, I’ll give him that much,” O’Malley said. “So give the rundown. When were you here?”

  “Right around nine o’clock,” Avery said. “No later than nine thirty.”

  “And Amy Wright says she’s pretty sure Jane left for lunch sometime around twelve thirty. She wasn’t sure when she saw Amy’s car pull back in, but she’s pretty sure it couldn’t have been later than one forty-five. I checked with dispatch and that all lines up; the call came in at one fifty-one. So let’s round that up to two o’clock. We’re talking five hours—five hours from the time you met with Jane to the moment she died. He was watching you the whole time, Avery.”

  She was pretty sure she detected a hint of annoyance in his voice. He seemed to be asking her how she’d not noticed someone following her or spying on her. She supposed he had a point but at the same time, it pissed her off.

  “The question remains, though,” Avery said. “Did he kill Jane because she was connected to his prison sentence or did he kill her because he wants to prove a point to me?”

  “What kind of a point?” O’Malley asked.

  “That he knows where I’ve been. That he can strike anyone at any time. He proved it in Ramirez’s apartment at some point this morning and he proved it with Amy. It feels like he’s teasing me. Like he could take me whenever he wanted.”

  “It’s pretty clear that he’s out for vengeance,” O’Malley said.

  “You think this is proof enough for Connelly to drop the Howard Randall thing?”

  “Maybe. But the fact the idiot actually had the nerve to jump you yesterday is not sitting well with him.”

  There was another unspoken accusation there, one she felt quite personally. I was jumped by Howard yesterday and never saw it coming. Biel is apparently stalking me, knowing where I’ve been and where I’m headed. Maybe I am off of my game. Am I being too distracted by Ramirez?

  She shook the thought away.

  To hell with that, she thought. This bastard is mine.

  “So let’s say Biel is closing in on you,” O’Malley said. “We’ve got Rose under constant surveillance. Three officers are on her at all times now, as you know. She’s at the station right now as Connelly is trying to figure out where to put you.”

  “I’m not homeless,” she said, a little resentfully.

  “Sorry, Avery. But for right now, you sort of are. Anyway…he won’t get to Rose. So who else from that time in your life, back when you were an attorney, would he go after next?”

  She thought hard about it. Rose came to mind, of course, but she was safe and under police protection. She ran through the memories of the trial and thought of a moment when Biel had been coming into the courtroom. He had sat down and leaned in close to Avery, whispering something.

  Jack had been there. Sitting behind them, there to cheer her on during this huge case that could really put her on the map. And when Biel had whispered to her, just a jeering sort of comment about the trial, Jack had stepped forward. She couldn’t remember what he had said but it had caused Biel to stare him down with those evil eyes of his.

  He’d said nothing—just started whistling that damned song.

  The answer unfolded like this in her head. And although it seemed like a long shot, Biel was showing them that he was not holding back.

  “Jack,” she finally answered.

  “Who’s that?” O’Malley asked.

  “My ex-husband,” she said. And now that she had said his name and had had a few seconds to think it over, it did seem like a logical step somewhere in Biel’s sick progression. She pulled out her phone, turned away from the grisly scene in Jane Seymour’s front seat, and placed a call to Jack. She was pretty sure it was the first time she had called him in at least nine months—and even then, it had been to share information about Rose.

  The phone rang. Then it rang again and again and a fourth time before Jack’s voice mail picked up. Sure, he could simply be dodging her calls (it wouldn’t be the first time) but given the circumstances, that wasn’t a risk she was going to take.

  “No answer,” she said, ending the call.

  “You going to go over there?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “It’ll take about half an hour. Do me a favor and make absolutely certain that Rose stays at the precinct until I get back there. I want you personally in charge of that.”

  O’Malley gave a reluctant nod. He clearly didn’t want to be held liable for such a responsibility but he also knew that Avery would not take no for an answer. Satisfied that he would hold his word, Avery hurried to her car. Before she got in, she took one final look back at Jane. The reality of her death had not quite sunk in. She’d just seen her five hours ago and there were so many memories of working with her floating through her head.

  She felt sorrow welling up in her heart but she pushed it away. She pushed it aside into another part of her heart, a place where she could already feel it festering into something that had the familiar barbs and bruises of anger.

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Avery had only ever been to Jack’s house out in Waltham a single time before, and that had only been to give Rose a ride over. She had not stepped inside, nor had she had any desire to do so. The neighborhood was quiet, especially at 3:00 in the afternoon. It was a cute place to live, with thin clean sidewalks for kids to learn to drive their bikes, small yards with just enough space for cute landscaping. The houses were nice yet modest. It was just the kind of place she’d expected Jack to move to after the divorce. He’d stayed in the city up until a year and a half ago, moving out here to a smaller place to live as a forty-something bachelor who had just started to learn to make a real living working from home as a copy editor for a few online magazines.
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br />   She parked in front of his house, already rolling her eyes at what she expected to find. She knew the place would be clean; Jack was nothing if not a neat freak. But she also knew that he was quite lazy and still something of a child. She walked up the porch steps, fully expecting to find him sitting at some pretentious desk, typing away with a beer at his side. She wondered if he still started drinking at one in the afternoon when it was an option.

  Good for him, she thought as she approached the door. I truly hope he’s finally happy.

  She knocked on the door but got no answer. She looked along the edge of the doorframe and saw where there should be a doorbell. But the slot was empty. She shook her head. Of course it was. If the one that was here before broke, Jack would put it off for as long as he could—forever if at all possible.

  “Jack?” she asked, not quite shouting but raising her voice.

  She knocked on the door again, starting to worry. She knocked harder this time, hard enough to sting her knuckles. As she waited for an answer, she thought of the scene at Mitch Brennan’s house and of what Jane Seymour’s call had looked like. Both of those murders had occurred within at least twelve hours of each other.

  Biel’s not fucking around, she thought. He could have easily been out here to visit Jack between killing Brennan and Jane.

  “Jack?” she said. She tried to be louder than last time, but it came out in a croak of sorts.

  To hell with it, she thought.

  She drew her Glock, took a step back, and then threw her leg up. Her follow-thorough was nice and fluid. She connected squarely with the door, just beneath the door knob, and the door buckled a bit before finally swinging in. The lock in the frame busted, but it would be easy to repair—as easy as the missing doorbell, she thought with scared humor.

  The place was quiet. Eerily so. Right away, she knew she was right. Biel had already been here. She’d find Jack dead. She knew he was home because she’d seen his car in the driveway, parked outside of the garage and not in it because he thought the idea of garages was stupid and overly American.

  “A little house for a car,” he’d joked one time. “How spoiled are we as a country anyway?”

  “Jack?”

  She got no answer again but this time she did hear something. There was the thumping of some sort of bass from music being played upstairs. At first, she felt relief at this sound but then remembered seeing the television on at the Brennan residence.

  The music was pretty loud. If Biel had managed to get into the house and the music had been that loud, Jack would have never heard him.

  She hurried through the living room, not allowing herself the time or freedom to look at the place. All she could tell was that it was indeed very clean and well cared for. As she went through the living room and into a small hallway between the living room and kitchen, she saw two rooms at the end of the hall and a stairway that came before either of them.

  Gun still drawn, she slowly made her way up the stairs. The music was louder than she’d first thought, the bass driving and consistent. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, she recognized it as a Massive Attack song. She couldn’t help but think that of course Jack still listened to that type of music. She’d loved it at one time, too, but age had kicked in and she now settled for whatever was on the radio.

  She came up to the hallway, again making herself ignore the rest of the place. No time to take in how well Jack was doing these days. She had to get to the bedroom to be sure—to see if her fear (which was now becoming a certainty) was true.

  The music was blasting from the last room along the hallway. The door was cracked open. As she quietly hurried toward the door, her palms sweating and the Glock still gripped tightly in her hands, the song reached a quiet moment, a drop between chorus and bridge, and she heard a groan.

  A man, and he sounded like he was in pain.

  Hurt, she thought, but at least he’s still alive…

  She came to the door, reached out, and eased it open. The music seeped out, like the soundtrack to a past with the man she was sure she’d find injured and bleeding on the floor.

  But that’s not what she saw. Not even close. It took her a full two seconds to understand what she was seeing, but by then things had already taken a turn for the worst.

  Jack was standing up, completely naked beside his desk. Between Jack and the desk there was a woman with long blonde hair, bent over with her backside to Jack. She was also naked. They were in perfect sync, working in rhythm together. The woman moaned and it was drowned out by the music. Jack groaned again in response.

  The woman tossed her head to the side to get her gorgeous hair out of her face.

  And that’s when she spotted Avery standing in the doorway.

  “What the fuck?” she yelled as she pulled away from Jack.

  Jack was too dazed and still lustfully lost in the moment to gather what was going on right away. Yet as he took in his partner, spooked, angry, and embarrassed, he also turned to the doorway.

  “Avery? What the hell…?”

  “Jesus…” Avery said, stepping out of the doorway. “Jack, I’m so sorry. But trust me…I have a good explanation!”

  The woman was yelling again, mostly drowned out by the music. The music was then cut off and it was all too clear. The woman was apparently not mad at Jack for the sudden appearance of his ex-wife; she was mad at his ex-wife for interrupting their afternoon delight.

  It took a full minute or so before the woman came storming out of the room. She was fully dressed and got in Avery’s face. She was clearly livid but as she looked into Avery’s eyes, something in her fury dropped. The woman, who was easily no older than thirty, could see in Avery’s eyes that this was not a fight she wanted to start.

  Avery smiled at her and nodded. “You’ll have him back in ten minutes,” she said. “You can wait downstairs for all I care.”

  The girl looked away and walked down the stairs slowly, as if confused and maybe even a little scared.

  Avery turned back into the room just in time to see Jack pulling on his shirt. When it was over his head, he looked at her with a mix of anger and amusement.

  “So what the hell is going on?” Jack said. “My first thought was that maybe something was wrong with Rose. But…Avery…you had your gun out. What gives?”

  “I had to talk to you.”

  “Then use the phone.”

  “I did. I called and you didn’t answer. I also knocked on the door and called out your name. Clearly, you were too preoccupied to hear either.”

  “Are you seriously going to give me shit for having sex in my house in the middle of the afternoon?”

  “No,” she said. She had to bite back a remark that was dancing on her tongue: How old is she, anyway? At least fifteen years younger than you, right?

  “Rose is okay?” Jack asked.

  “Rose is fine. There’s something else…some trouble, I think. And I had to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m not in any trouble,” Jack said. “Things are going good, actually. Work is going well, I’ve been with Tricia for about three months now,” he said, nodding toward the door.

  “That’s great,” she said. “But I really didn’t come by to catch up, Jack. Look…do you remember me working a case with a guy named Ronald Biel?”

  He didn’t have to think for long before he nodded. “Yeah. The mob guy. Sick piece of shit, right? He whispered something in your ear at the trial and I got in his face a little.”

  It’s eerie how well he remembers things like that, she thought. Then again, he did always put me first. He supported me when I put work over him…

  No need to go there, some other, wiser part of her spoke up.

  “Right,” she said. “Well, he was released three weeks ago. And we’re pretty sure he’s killed at least three people so far. One was his probation officer from back then. Another was an attorney I worked with—Jane Seymour.”

  “Shit,” he said. “I remember Jane. My G
od. When did this happen?”

  “Jane was killed about three hours ago as far as we can tell. But beyond that, Biel is also threatening me. There have been letters, vandalism, maybe stalking. I don’t know. He wrecked an apartment that Rose and I were hiding out in and—”

  “Rose is caught up in this? What the hell have you done, Avery?”

  “I’ve done nothing.”

  “She needs to be with me if this psycho is after you,” Jack said. “She’d be safer.”

  It’s not a wrong thought, she said. But I’ll be damned if he’s going to try to blame this on me.

  “Not right now.”

  “Um, hell yes right now. Avery, you can’t just…”

  He trailed off here, not sure where to go with it.

  “I thought of that…of bringing her here,” Avery admitted. “But honestly, I don’t know if she would be safer here. He’s made it clear that he’s going to come after me and the people I love. He’s also killing people that were close to the case and close to me back during the case. We were married then, Jack. And I think he might have you on his list. If he does, then Rose is much safer with me, under police protection.”

  “This is ridiculous,” he said. “You really mean to tell me that there’s a killer out there that might be gunning for me because I used to be involved with you?”

  “Potentially, yes.”

  “That’s just perfect,” Jack said. “You’re managing to screw up my life even when you’re not a part of it.”

  And there’s another typical Jack response. Focusing on a past hurt and how it defined him rather than how he can make things better right now, in the moment. A little selfish, but given the circumstances, it’s understandable.

  “I don’t care how you feel about me, Jack. But I do care about Rose having a father. I care about her well-being. So I need to ask that you go somewhere else. Get a hotel room. You and Tricia can finish what I interrupted.”

  It was immature and she knew it, but it felt rather good to let the remark out. Jack, on the other hand, didn’t even seem to notice. He was too irritated that Avery had the audacity to think that she could give him orders.