The Perfect Facade (A Jessie Hunt Psychological Suspense Thriller—Book Twelve) Read online

  “He’s getting there,” Jessie said. “We got rid of the night nurse this week and it seems to be going okay so far. He doesn’t need help getting to the bathroom anymore. We still keep the day nurse since he’s alone in the house while I’m here and Hannah’s at school. But therapy’s going well. He’s getting stronger and has put some weight back on. He still uses the walker most of the time but he can walk several dozen feet unassisted. We’re going to try some stairs this weekend.”

  “That’s awesome,” Kat said. “And you and Hannah are good?”

  That was a loaded question. But even before Jessie could start to answer it, her attention was distracted by a tall, skinny young man in his early twenties walking briskly toward them. He was easily six-foot-four with bouncy, wiry legs and thin glasses. By the way Kat stiffened next to her, Jessie knew she’d noticed him as well.

  The guy was about twenty feet away from them when he slid his backpack off and reached into the open top for something. Both women stopped walking and reached for their weapon holsters, though neither made any additional move.

  Jessie reminded herself to breathe. She hadn’t had any kind of physical confrontation in months and her body was tingling with an unusual amount of adrenaline. The man pulled his hand out of the backpack and she involuntarily knelt down on one knee behind a flowering bush and unholstered her gun.

  “I was hoping you could si…” the guy started to say, looking up as he extended what looked like a newspaper. “What?”

  He looked across the courtyard to see two women pointing guns at him. Jessie watched his eyes widen and his grip on the newspaper falter. As it fell to the ground, she reholstered her gun and stood up.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “My name’s Mark Haddonfield,” he said shakily. “I’m a student here.”

  “What were you holding there, Mark?” Kat asked, her voice even.

  He swallowed hard and seemed to regroup slightly.

  “I couldn’t make your seminar but I was hoping to catch you to ask you to sign this newspaper from when you killed Bolton Crutchfield. I’m kind of a fan boy.”

  Jessie allowed herself a deep breath, even as she silently chastised herself.

  Good job, Jessie, almost shooting a student. That’s a surefire way to make certain no college ever hires you again.

  “Come over here,” she said, her tone less intense than before.

  Mark picked up the newspaper and gingerly moved in their direction.

  “You don’t mind if I take a peek in your backpack, do you?” Kat asked.

  He shook his head and handed it over.

  “Sorry for pulling guns on you, Mark,” Jessie said. “But if you’re such a fan boy, you should probably have guessed that I wouldn’t react super well to some random guy pulling something out of his bag as he approached me.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, red-faced. “I guess I wasn’t really thinking. I was just so excited to have found you. So could you sign the newspaper?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not comfortable signing this like it’s some program from a baseball game. I get the significance. But it feels wrong, no matter how much of a bastard Crutchfield was. But if you come by my office during office hours, I’m happy to give you a priority pass to my next seminar.”

  That seemed to buck him up and he nodded enthusiastically.

  “That’d be great,” he said, scurrying off before she could change her mind.

  “Interesting collection of fans you have,” Kat noted as they continued through the courtyard to the parking garage.

  “Frankly, I’d be happy not to have any.”

  Kat shrugged as they approached her car.

  “Better he be a fan of yours than a fan of Crutchfield’s,” she noted.

  Jessie couldn’t disagree with that. Kat popped her trunk and tossed in her own backpack. Jessie noticed that the space was filled with a huge jug of water, several flares, and a first-aid kit. She wasn’t surprised. Kat, a former Army Ranger in Afghanistan, was not the type to be found unprepared in any situation. It had happened to her once, which explained the long vertical scar running down her face from her left eye.

  “So what’s up with you the rest of the day?” Jessie asked, changing subjects.

  “I actually have a non-infidelity case,” Kat said. “A girl’s gone missing and her parents have me backstopping the cops. I’m retracing her steps the day she disappeared. That’ll consume most of my day.”

  “Mitch isn’t coming down?” Jessie asked, referring to Kat’s long-distance boyfriend, who was a sheriff’s deputy up in the mountain town of Lake Arrowhead.

  “No. He’s on call this weekend so it’s all work and no play for Kitty Kat.”

  “Is that what he calls you?” Jessie asked, stunned.

  “Maybe,” Kat said defensively before turning the tables. “What about you—anything exciting on the agenda?”

  “I hesitate to jinx it, but this should be a quiet Saturday. Maybe I’ll pretend to care while Ryan watches a football game.”

  “Ah, domestic life,” Kat teased.

  Jessie smiled as they said their goodbyes and parted ways. She was more than happy to live that cliché.

  *

  When Jessie got home, Hannah was in her room and Ryan was doing his morning rehab with the physical therapist, so she went to the bedroom to change into more casual attire.

  As she pulled on sweats, she glanced at herself in the full-length mirror on the wall. Despite the dozens of scars on her body, she thought she looked pretty good. Having a regular routine the last few months had allowed her to work out consistently.

  Her athletic, five-foot-ten frame had regained some of the muscle tone she lost after multiple injuries over the summer. She’d even taken a refresher self-defense course to brush up on what she’d learned when she attended the FBI Academy’s ten-week training program for local law enforcement the previous year. To her surprise and delight, Hannah had asked to come along, and had proven to be a natural.

  Jessie’s good health even extended to the little things. Her skin glowed. Her shoulder-length brown hair was actually styled rather than pulled back in her standard ponytail. And her green eyes had none of the redness associated with constant sleep deprivation.

  Even the scars looked less angry. The burns on her lower back weren’t as red as they’d been even weeks ago. The knife cuts on her legs were mostly white now, though the one that extended clear across her collarbone, a gift from her father when she was six, was still prominent. Luckily her boyfriend, who had more than his fair share of scars too, seemed not to care.

  Once she’d changed, she went out to the backyard and looked out at the leaf-strewn grass. There were enough on the ground that if she raked them into a pile, she thought she could dive in safely. It was tempting. The array of yellows, golds, browns, and even a few reds made her feel warm, despite the chill in the air.

  It was early December, and for the first time in years, she was excited about the holidays. Thanksgiving had gone well. They’d hosted it and invited Kat, Detective Alan Trembley, who lived alone, Ryan’s old buddy from West L.A. division, Detective Brady Bowen, and even FBI agent Jack Dolan, who claimed to despise such gatherings.

  Hannah, a talented cook, had presided over the kitchen. Jessie watched her beam with pride at all the compliments she got on the meal. Watching her sister, who’d been through so much in the last year, look and behave like something close to a normal, healthy teenager was more of a gift than any wrapped item she might get this Christmas.

  And seeing Ryan doing squats, planks, and bicep curls gave her even more hope. She knew he was focused on returning to the force as a detective. She also knew he was secretly determined to regain his old physique. Though he’d never admit it, Ryan was clearly proud of his once-ripped torso. But since the stabbing and coma, the formerly six-foot, 200-pound mound of muscle had dropped closer to a gaunt 160 pounds before slowly
gaining back about fifteen of them.

  Sometimes he still looked like Ryan, with his short black hair and warm brown eyes. But other times he looked like a ghostly imitation. It was at those times that simple activities like raking leaves in the yard and walking down the block unassisted seemed like major triumphs. It was slow going, but at least it was going.

  She was just debating whether to grab the rake herself when she heard Ryan call out to her from the living room. When she walked in, he was stretching on the floor.

  “The therapist already left?” she asked.

  “Yup,” he said. “His next session is in Beverly Hills so he couldn’t dawdle.”

  He was still speaking slower and more methodically than he used to, a result of the lingering twinge of pain in his chest where he’d been stabbed. But the words were no longer halting or difficult to decipher.

  “How did it go?” she asked, plopping down on the floor beside him.

  “Pretty good,” he said, his brow beaded with sweat. “He’s really starting to push me. He thinks I should be able to do a 5K by January.”

  “What?” she asked, stunned briefly before she realized he was messing with her. “Very funny.”

  “What’s funny?” Hannah asked, coming out of her room.

  “Ryan says he’s running the marathon in March,” Jessie said, deadpan.

  “That’s great,” Hannah said, walking to the kitchen, clearly oblivious.

  “And then he’s starting training for NASA’s first mission to Mars,” she added.

  “Uh-huh,” Hannah muttered, her eyes never leaving her phone.

  Jessie looked over at Ryan, who smiled resignedly.

  “At least she spoke to us,” he said. “That’s better than some days.”

  It was true. Hannah was still moody and intermittently surly, seemingly without rhyme or reason. But in recent months it had settled down a bit. She was doing well in school, an impressive feat considering she’d been dropped into a new high school for her senior year. She had made a few friends. And she was sleeping through the night more often than not. Jessie wasn’t certain of the origin of all this positive change, but she was loath to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  “Agreed,” she said, deciding not to pursue the issue. “So what did the therapist really say about your progress?”

  “He said I should target New Year’s Day to walk all the way around the block. He thinks it’s realistic. You want to join me?”

  “It would be my great honor,” she said, leaning over and kissing him on the forehead, despite the sweat.

  Her phone, on the kitchen counter, began to buzz. Hannah, who was closest, glanced at it.

  “It’s Decker,” she said without enthusiasm.

  Captain Roy Decker, Jessie’s former boss at LAPD Central Station, hadn’t called in weeks. To do so on a weekend was even rarer these days. Despite her inclination to let it go to voicemail, she got up and answered the call.

  “Good morning, Captain,” she said pleasantly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Sorry to call you on a Saturday morning,” he said. “But I’ve got a situation and I could really use your input.”

  “Captain, you know how busy I am these days. I don’t think I can be of much help.”

  “Come on, Hunt. I’m just asking you to hear me out. I know you’ve finished your fancy college seminar for the day. School doesn’t start again until Monday. Are you telling me you can’t spare a few hours to help an old man?”

  “Are you telling me you can’t handle this without the assistance of a sometime-consultant who hasn’t worked a case in months?” she countered, trying to keep the curiosity out of her voice.

  There was longer than expected silence on the other end of the line. When Decker finally responded, he sounded much more serious.

  “Maybe I could,” he told her. “But the detective assigned to the case is in need of your assistance.”

  “Who’s that?” Jessie asked, annoyed at how effectively he was reeling her in.

  “Bray,” he told her.

  Karen Bray was a detective from Hollywood Station. She’d been instrumental in helping Jessie solve the last two cases she’d worked. Though their time together had been limited, Jessie had found her to be a capable, hard-working investigator with little patience for politicking or pretension. Even more impressive, she managed to do that while juggling a marriage and a small child. If she’d asked for Jessie’s help, it made it harder to avoid involvement.

  “Bray asked for me?” she said.

  “She waiting for you at the hotel right now,” Decker replied.

  Jessie glanced over at Ryan, who had heard Decker through the phone and was smiling at her, apparently certain how she’d respond. He silently mouthed the words Go. We’ll be fine. She scowled at him before answering.

  “I’ll give it a few hours, Captain,” she answered. “I’ve got leaves over here that aren’t going to rake themselves. Should I meet you at the station?”

  “No,” he said, surprising her. “I’m texting you an address. Head over there and I’ll brief you over the phone on the way. This one is extremely time sensitive.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  She knew the case was different the second she saw the address.

  Normally, Central Station handled cases in downtown L.A. But she was being directed to the Hollywood Center Hotel in the heart of Hollywood, less than a block from where the Academy Awards were held.

  As she drove there, Decker told her what he knew.

  “A woman has been murdered at the hotel while spending the night in a suite with multiple wealthy female friends. I don’t know much more than that but I would think that those details alone would be enough to spark your interest.”

  “Why?” she pressed.

  “Bray will fill you in on all the particulars,” he said, pointedly not answering her question. “For now, the case is still under Hollywood Station’s purview. But if you feel like HSS needs to take ownership, let me know.”

  HSS, or Homicide Special Section, was a celebrated unit of the LAPD, tasked with solving cases that had high profiles or intense media scrutiny, often involving multiple victims or serial killers. Decker ran it out of Central Station, and until he was attacked, Ryan Hernandez had been the lead detective for the unit. With him on medical leave and Jessie only consulting on special occasions, HSS had lost a bit of its cachet.

  She knew Decker was anxious to reassert its primacy, and any case that made that more likely was one he hoped to claim. At least based on the initial description, this didn’t sound like it fit the profile. But Jessie kept that to herself, not wanting to irritate Decker, who already had enough to deal with.

  She hung up and focused on finding the parking structure for the hotel. As she circled the block, she thought back to her brief conversation with Ryan just before leaving the house.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she had asked.

  “Of course,” he’d insisted. “I was just going to watch football all day anyway. And Hannah’s doing her own thing. I know she wanted to meet some friends this afternoon.”

  Jessie had smirked at him.

  “You just want everyone out of the house so you can watch your games in peace.”

  “How dare you,” he said, feigning offense even as he smiled.

  That had been less than a half hour ago. Now she was searching for parking on an extremely crowded morning in Hollywood while he lounged on the couch. For a woman who prided herself on teasing out the manipulations of others, she felt like she’d been played. Still, Ryan was right. She would have felt guilty and she was curious. If she really hadn’t wanted to be here, she wouldn’t be.

  She saw the sign for the parking garage and headed that way. As she waited at a red light, she craned her neck to look up at the building. It was twenty stories high, overlooking Hollywood Boulevard. The crosswalk was crowded with tourists wandering among nearby landmarks, including the famed Chinese Theatre, with its collect
ion of handprints out front. Next to it was the Dolby Theatre, home of the Academy Awards, and the rest of the Hollywood & Highland complex, where celebrity impersonators mingled with barkers selling questionable maps for self-tours of stars’ homes. Across the street was the legendary El Capitan movie house.

  The light turned green. Jessie pulled into the garage and the valet handed her a ticket. She took the elevator to the lobby, where several uniformed officers stood discreetly in the corner, blocking access to a hallway. She headed toward them, crossing the shiny floor and passing the glass-encased bar and retro-chic sofas that looked like something out of a 1970s airport lounge. The whole place seemed to be winking at itself. When she got to the collection of cops, she pulled out her ID, indicating her role as a criminal profiling consultant for the LAPD.

  “I’m looking for Detective Bray,” she said to the most senior-looking officer, a guy in his early forties with a name tag that read “Richter,” a slight paunch, graying hair, and an impressive mustache. “I’m consulting on her case.”

  “She’s in the Academy Suite,” he said, his eyes widening as he processed who he was talking to. Jessie knew she still had a reputation in the department. Depending on who she encountered, she was alternately revered and vilified. She couldn’t tell where this guy stood.

  “Can you tell me where that is?”

  “Twentieth floor, end of the hall,” Richter said. “Do you need an escort?”

  “No thanks, I’m good.”

  He nodded.

  “There’s an officer by the elevators who can help you out,” he said.

  “Why would I need help?”

  “Because of all the rowdy visitors in the immediate vicinity, the hotel has taken to assigning dedicated keycards to each guest,” Richter told her. “That way, they can trace the source of any inappropriate entry. Since you don’t have one to get up there, he’ll give you access.”

  She headed to the elevator bay, acting like she didn’t notice the eyes of all the cops watching her go. She silently ordered herself to get back into professional mode. It had been months since she’d investigated a case, much less had to deal with all the intimidated gawking and suspicious side-eye that came from simultaneously stopping multiple serial killers while alienating the department’s old boy network. She was out of practice at pretending she didn’t care.