Fatal Fiction (Harbour Bay Book 5) Read online

  “The news mentioned blood but that isn’t the official COD is it? She was raped and strangled too, and the word ‘bitch’ was carved into her stomach?”

  Her eyes pleaded with him as if silently asking him to refute her.

  Nick stilled. It was common knowledge thanks to the Harbour Bay Tribute that Brittany Hudson had been found in a pool of blood. What hadn’t been reported yet, though probably would soon was Brittany had died from asphyxiation due to strangulation—the direct result of her injuries caused by person or persons unknown. They were keeping the rape quiet for now, though it too would be made public in time. One thing the police and prosecutor had agreed early on was the word cut into her stomach would never be revealed. Not only didn’t they want a copycat complicating matters, but it was also bad enough Brittany’s murder had been sensationalised in the news. Her parents, family, and friends needn’t know every detail. So why did Riley? He stared at her. His gaze ran over her face. Tears glistened in her bright blue eyes and a look of defeat wiped out her hopeful expression.

  “Oh, God.” She turned her back to him, probably in an effort to hide her face from his too knowing gaze. “He held a knife to her throat while he raped her. To control her.”

  Stepping forward, he placed his hands on Riley’s shoulders, feeling her tense beneath his palms. He turned her body around so he could look in her beautiful blue eyes.

  Her hand rested over her throat as if she could feel the blade pressed against her skin.

  “How do you know that?”

  Riley eased from his grasp and moved over to her desk, taking a key from her purse, she unlocked the drawers and opened the bottom one, knocking over a discarded coffee cup, spilling stale cold coffee onto her skirt.

  “Damn.”

  She picked up the recyclable cup that lay on its side and threw it in the bin beneath her desk, before blotting at the ugly stain setting into the fabric. As she looked up, she smiled at him. “Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed, does it?”

  Nick’s eyes widened as she turned her attention from her ruined skirt and back to the matter at hand, retrieving a stack of alligator clipped paper. Riley had always surprised him when it came to her clothes. Everything she wore had a hefty price tag but he had seen Heather spit up all over all her, or a jagged nail tear at the delicate seams and was amazed at her lack of regard. He knew his sisters would die from a coronary if they ever saw Riley’s wardrobe but to her, they might as well be jeans and an old T-shirt.

  She handed him a manuscript. He glanced down at the open page several chapters in and frowned. He looked to Riley who was slowly backing away as if scared of the hundred-page stack he held in his hand.

  “What—”

  “Just read. Please.” He frowned at her voice, barely above a whisper. She turned her back on him again and stared at what he assumed to be sightlessly out her office window.

  A seagull flew past, soaring dangerously close to the glass.

  Nick turned his focus to the novel and quickly read, his face hardening as bile rose in his throat. He didn’t finish the chapter. He’d read more than enough to know why he was here. He swallowed, the need to hit something his uppermost thought. He could hardly be mistaken by what he had just read. The victim’s house had been described perfectly down to books on the coffee table and overturned lamp. His hands clenched into fists.

  Son-of-a-Goddamn-bitch.

  His gaze flicked to Riley, her spine stiff and straight. Her arms were wrapped tight around her waist. Why had someone deliberately sent the manuscript to her? When he found this sadistic prick, he was going to show him what pain really was. He took a deep calming breath.

  “Does he describe the—”

  Riley shuddered. “Vividly.”

  She turned her body slightly, her profile highlighted by the sun streaming through her window. He sucked in a deep breath at her silhouette. Riley’s gaze locked with his over her shoulder.

  “There’s something more you need to know.” Nick raised an eyebrow. “There are two victims in that novel. Brittany Hudson was the first. A beautiful blonde with long thick curls is the second.”

  Chapter 5

  He paced back and forth in the hospital hallway, ignoring the hard looks the nurses sent his way. Had she gotten his novel? He had spent his nights and days pouring his heart and soul into it, blood mixed with sweat and finally, it had been done. A masterpiece. His best so far.

  Would she be as equally impressed? He hoped so. She was after all his audience. Like a symphony plays their instruments for their audience, he played—wrote for Riley O’Neill.

  He smiled as he imagined her reading his novel, her pale skin becoming translucent in fear. Would she immediately make the connection with his book to the recent murder? Would she realise what it was—a warning? Fucking bitch. He would first make her suffer before he went to her. He was going to make her pay. Damn her for rejecting him.

  An old man shuffled past, his gnarled hand grasping the IV pole. He reminded him of his grandfather who’d still be asleep in his bed as his grandson terrorised their small city.

  In a few minutes, Olivia would arrive. She too would be a part of his masterpiece, the final act as they say. But he was a patient man, had been since his years in prison—there had been nothing else to do but count down the days until his release.

  He blinked the vision inside his head away, the fluorescence lights above his head hurtling him back to those harsh days. A piercing ring echoed inside his head as he fought to surface from the memories. The system had failed him. Made him into the beast he was now.

  Olivia called out to him as she jogged towards him, despite the strict hospital rules. Her blonde curls were pulled back into a severe ponytail, cascading down her back. Her eyes sparkled as she drew closer, her mouth stretching into a huge smile revealing white teeth.

  He waited until she joined him, then did something he wouldn’t normally do—reached out and hugged her slim form. She smelled of coconut. “I was starting to worry.”

  It was nothing short of the truth. He had been worried she had finally come to her senses and realised just how bad a guy he was.

  They’d met here at the Harbour Bay hospital when his grandfather had contracted pneumonia and she’d been visiting her grandmother who remained in the ward, her health failing. It excited him watching the woman fight for every breath knowing death was not long off. He hoped to be there the moment she took her last one.

  She gripped the strap of her purse tight. “I’m sorry. I never meant to worry you. I ran into some car trouble.”

  “Maybe I can take a look for you?” Of course, he could. He was, after all the one who’d tinkered with it in the first place.

  “That would be great. You don’t mind, do you?” Her feelings shined clearly in her blue eyes.

  He had her now. Short of growing horns and a forked tail, nothing would convince her he was less than the knight in shining armour she imagined him. “Not at all, soon as we’re done here I’ll see what I can do. I’m not a professional mind you but I could probably save you a couple hundred bucks.”

  She covered her mouth with her hands as though he’d just presented her with a diamond ring.

  He took her hand in his, brought it to his lips and kissed the palm. Olivia almost swooned then and there. Silly female. She deserved what he was going to do to her. They all did. The fairer of the sex were all teases. Batting their eyelashes and promising just about anything to get what they wanted. Women always had power over men. Even the toughest, meanest bastard in the world was putty to a woman with tears in her eyes.

  He hated the lot of them. If it hadn’t been for her he wouldn’t have wasted five years of his life. If it wasn’t for her he could’ve been anything right now but she had destroyed him. Only he had come back bigger, and stronger, and better than before. He had lain awake at night, staring up at the ceiling from the top bunk of his cell and fantasised how he would kill her. But nothing was ever good enough for him
. She deserved to die a traitor’s death. In the Middle Ages being hung, drawn, and quartered was the punishment. He wanted something more, something worthy of the bitch who had fucked him over.

  That was when the Plan had come into being. He enticed, seduced, and beckoned women to him. Had them trust in him before he killed them. The pleasure at seeing the look in their eyes when they realised they had taken an active part of their own deaths was the sweetest thing in the world. He would never forget those looks for as long as he would live.

  He had thought to perfect his technique, learning how long it took for them to die, how to inflict the most pain possible without them passing out. All for her. So, when he took her, she would learn just how much she had hurt him. How she had ripped out his still beating heart and walked all over it.

  But somewhere along the way, the Plan had changed, evolved into something more. Something fun and exciting. Bringing danger into the fray. Writing his novel had been that danger—after all, what fun was it to wreak havoc when no one realised what he was doing? But someone knew now. He pictured her terrified face. He had meant to frighten her, knowing her death would be sweeter having allowed time for the fear to marinate. She was about to see what he was capable of and then all she would be able to do is sit and wait for him.

  He smiled. More a baring of teeth than anything warm.

  Now the game was on.

  Chapter 6

  A week later, Riley was arguing with herself as to whether or not to call Nick. She hadn’t heard from him since he had left her office, but she knew sooner or later she’d be asked to come down to the LAC to write up a statement. Two nights ago, another woman had been murdered and while the reports were sketchy, Riley had no doubt whatsoever that whoever had sent her the manuscript had killed again.

  Poor Olivia Charles had only been in her mid-twenties with her whole life ahead of her. Riley slammed her fist down on top of her desk with a resounding thud. It wasn’t fair. What the hell had Olivia ever done to deserve what fate had handed to her?

  Spinning her office chair, she faced the floor to ceiling window, a sign of her success. But to what expense? Was she letting life pass her by as Meg suggested? Would she later regret not taking more time for herself? She didn’t think so. Riley loved her life.

  Outside, the grey sky looked ready to bucket down, the dreariness pulling at her own emotions. Riley crossed her legs and picked up her phone, desperate for answers; for Nick to tell her he was closing in on the man.

  No one except for Riley, Nick, Dean, Megan, and she assumed the rest of Harbour Bay’s Detective Unit knew the killer had sent Riley the manuscript. With any luck, she planned to keep it that way. All the case needed was for the media to discover that fact, and she and Nick would end up in the middle of a media shit-storm.

  “Doyle.” Nick’s incredibly sexy voice came to her through the line and she shuddered. She hated and loved the way he made her body react to him. She couldn’t believe how much power he had over her. But only if she let him. She squared her shoulders.

  “It’s Riley. Riley O’Neill, Megan’s—”

  Nick sighed heavily. “How many Rileys do you think I know?”

  Riley leaned back in her chair momentarily unnerved and unsure of herself. Maybe it had been a bad idea to call and interrupt him. Nick had made it clear he didn’t like her. Hadn’t even made the effort to despite their mutual friends and a shared responsibility to their goddaughter. Something which drove her mad. She couldn’t fathom what she’d done to be on the receiving end of his cool attitude. Especially when Nick made a conscious effort to be warm and friendly toward others—especially women. Nick was a consummate flirt. It was his nature. He flirted with every woman regardless of age, race, or body shape. Well, everyone who wasn’t her.

  It shouldn’t hurt, but it was like a knife in her heart every time she watched him smile at another woman. Not that she particularly wanted to be another notch on his belt, Nick notorious for his way with the ladies. But it would be nice for him to acknowledge her in any other way than a bother.

  “Are you still there?” His tone had heat rolling beneath her skin.

  “Of course I’m still here,” she snapped back, hating him for awakening her fiery temper with just four little words.

  A crackle of thunder roared as though she’d angered the gods.

  When he was like this, it was hard to reconcile him with the man she’d been attracted to him from the first.

  She admitted it was his looks which had first drawn her but over the months she had stupidly fallen for his kind heart and smart brain too. He was a decent man.

  Even being a cop hadn’t discouraged her, a vocation she’d promised herself she wouldn’t take on, never fall for someone so easily taken from her. Not just in life but presence. Both her father and brother so consumed by their careers that she’d become invisible in their eyes.

  As did Nick. She’d been willing to push her reservations and old hurts aside yet discouraging so, Nick still didn’t seem interested.

  He was clearly not attracted to her. She had no desire to ask why. She had pride and an ego that could be bruised. Though, it didn’t stop her wondering.

  All year she’d replayed—dissected—their meeting. Only to come away empty, frustration clawing at her. Two years later, she was no more enlightened.

  She drew in a calming breath, her muscles tense and ready to spar. “I’m calling to see if you have any news? Any idea as to who might—”

  “Don’t you think it would’ve been all over the Tribute if there was?”

  Riley frowned. “Not necessarily. We both know there are several things in each case that the police hold back from the media.”

  Nick’s teeth audibly snapped together. “I appreciate you not running off at the mouth.”

  Riley pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at the object in her hand. Really? Did he think she was the type to call in the media for publicity? Her pride was hurt that he of all people would think that of her. She had never given him or anyone for that matter any reason not to trust her or believe in her. Tears stung her eyes but she refused to let them drop. Nicholas Doyle would not make her cry.

  “Please. Like I would jeopardise your case. I’d think you knew better than that.”

  ***

  Nick rested his head in his hand. He could hear the hurt in Riley’s voice and felt like shit knowing he’d put it there. He was stressed and nowhere near closing the case, and he didn’t need interruptions, and Riley O’Neill was one hell of an interruption. From the moment he had left her office a week ago he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Not that he’d ever had much peace from her. Yet now it seemed intensified. Night and day, she was on his mind and it was driving him crazy. Not to mention wreaking havoc on certain parts of his anatomy.

  If only he were the man she thought he was, he’d ease his ache with a number of willing candidates. But he wasn’t. He alone would suffer.

  Someone from the far end of the floor cursed. He sounded as though he was having the same kind of day as Nick. Least that man didn’t have some woman crushing his balls into a vice.

  “I do. I apologise. I shouldn’t take my frustrations out on you.”

  James glanced over, his attention diverted from his computer as he shamelessly listened into Nick’s conversation.

  He tuned out his partner, the click of keyboard keys, and the murmurs of voices.

  “Surely a man like you can easily find someone willing to alleviate his tension.” Her tone had a distinct bite to it.

  He closed his eyes, hating how her words expanded the gap between them.

  “I’m not what you seem to think I am.”

  He could’ve hit himself. Her impression of him was his only saving grace. He had little willpower when it came to Riley. If she knew just how much he needed her, he didn’t have a chance in hell. Or maybe he did, finally making Riley despise him.

  He’d tried to steer clear of her, putting distance between them a
fter he’d learned who she was, his heart aching. He hadn’t been in a good place, fighting bitterness and the darkness inside him. She wasn’t the woman he should be rebounding with. If he ever hurt her, he had the impression Dean would shoot him, and if not Dean, then Megan with her husband’s pistol.

  If he ever made a play for Riley, he wanted to be in the right frame of mind and even now, years later he still wasn’t whole. Certainly not able to give anyone, least of all Riley, the love he was capable of.

  His heart ached, knowing he was responsible for the hurt in her eyes on those rare occasions when they had been thrust together and he had left her without excuse to talk with any flirty female that he found nearby. Anything to remove himself from the path of temptation. Despite her belief that he was some new aged Lothario. The truth was, his flirting had led to only a few encounters lasting no more than a couple of tumbles, each highlighting the reason they failed. Riley. The chemistry which even to this day arced between them.

  She had to wonder, why her? What was it she had done to deserve his cold shoulder? He could hardly tell her it was because he wanted her too much. That he wanted nothing more to screw her until they were both too exhausted to move. Not when so much rode on the fact they stay apart.

  He was an extremely complicated man, he reflected. As much as he knew he should steer clear, he was also kind of hoping she would take it out his hands and absolve him of responsibility. Nick could hardly be blamed for succumbing to an intelligent, beautiful woman. He shook his head to clear it of the insane thought. He couldn’t allow himself to cave no matter how much he craved Riley. There was too much at stake. Things he wasn’t willing to risk no matter how tempted. It was easier for him to resist her by making her believe he was uninterested.

  Lightening lit up the steel-coloured sky as Riley let out a snort of disbelief. “You’ve done nothing to disprove that fact by me. But I really don’t care what you do, or rather who you do Nick. That’s not why I’m calling. I take from your earlier comment that you’re no closer to finding the bastard who killed Brittany and Olivia—Olivia was the blonde in the novel he sent me, wasn’t she?”