Mirror Me Page 7

She supposed that’s why Abby became a marshal. Maybe Abby Daniels wasn’t even her real name.

  She had questions, but she wasn’t about to call back and ask Abby, who probably thought she’d told too much already.

  Chapter Eleven

  Abby tried to ignore the conversation with Kayla that repeated in her head over and over again.

  Boundaries, Daniels. Learn them and live by them.

  Like father, like daughter.

  Hoss would’ve told her that she saw herself in Kayla, but that wasn’t completely true.

  Even if it was…

  Ah, what the hell was she doing, beating herself up? She could do more productive things like search the database for new crimes.

  Sometimes, putting the pieces together on a serial killer was a long haul. Today, law enforcement was, for the most part, savvy enough to enter crimes in a database for the FBI to draw upon. The Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico would contact them if there were connections to be made. Sometimes, local law enforcement would contact the BAU with questions as well.

  But she also had the resources to search local crimes, for obvious reasons. Keeping a witness safe wasn’t only about placing them. It was constantly checking the environment around them for safety. Once Mara was caught, Kayla could have a more permanent placement.

  She did a string search, inputting the word fire, and of course there were more hits than she cared to count, many of which turned her stomach.

  She tapped the closed folder next to her on the desk again. Thought about Teige, who was just home from a job according to his most recent text. He always checked in with her like that, both when he left and when he returned, but never gave her any further information. Don’t ask, don’t tell was the military’s motto in more ways than one. Most men’s as well.

  Frustrated, she paged state by state for recent crimes. Kayla had never been wrong, according to Hoss. Even the night he’d died, Kayla said she’d felt it, just had no idea how close to home it was.

  She stared at the Skype icon on the iPad. It had been six-months-plus since she’d had any contact with Ethan. She’d logged in a few times recently, desperately hoping he’d see it.

  Nothing.

  She wanted to hate him for that, but it was what they signed on for. Ethan Graves was a CIA spook. It was like dating a ghost, but for Abby it worked. No normal boyfriend would deal well with the demands of her job or its secrecy.

  Ethan had more than enough of his own secrets and she’d long ago realized that secrets didn’t kill. People did.

  But even for him, it had been a long time. Didn’t necessarily mean something bad had happened. She’d learned that from Teige’s job.

  But he was away and she was alone and pissed, the same way Kayla was.

  “Come on, Ethan. Please,” she said through clenched teeth. But she wouldn’t say she needed him. Could never bring herself to do that.

  Like magic, the screen flashed under her fingers. Ethan’s face came up—dark in the background, sounds of gunfire pattering through the speakers.

  “You okay, Abs?”

  “I’m not the one being shot at. Are you in a moving car?”

  “A fast one,” he agreed. “Might cut out any minute.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Be careful, Abs. I hate to do this shit to you, but I can’t not tell you.”

  She knew what he was talking about. Ethan had what his mother had called “the sight.” Abby hadn’t believed it at first. Not until he’d made her a believer, and then he’d stopped telling her anything. Didn’t want her to depend on it. Didn’t want to freak her out.

  Except for tonight.

  Her father despised psychics. Scoffed at them, called them con men. They’d screwed up a lot of cases, hurt a lot of families.

  Ethan hadn’t admitted anything to her about himself until she’d known him for five years. It slipped out, bit by bit, until he’d been forced to admit it.

  He hated it. Hid it from everyone.

  “I’m fine,” she assured him now. I just miss you. Want you.

  He gave a wry smile, his tanned face lighting up a little, like he’d read her thoughts. The bastard. “Just watch yourself.”

  The screen cut out before she could tell him the same thing.

  She shrugged her shirtsleeves up. Her jacket had been abandoned the minute she’d come into the office.

  Her old partner retired last year. With budget cuts, she’d been working alone, expecting nothing in that regard to change. But an email did just that.

  Tomorrow, she’d have a new partner. A man named Jacoby Razwell. Twenty-eight. New to the marshals’ office and the rest of his background was buried, which signified he’d either had a major fuck up at his last job and knew the right people to cover his ass, or else he’d done major undercover work with the military or an agency.

  She might never know which one.

  She sighed, touched the screen again like she hoped Ethan’s face would pop up but it remained frustratingly blank.

  Six months and finally.

  Quiet for six months and now…

  She leaned forward as a crime listing in Arizona caught her eye. Originally thought to be part of a brushfire. Body found. Buried.

  Shit. She called the local PD and got on the phone with the chief, even before calling the FBI.

  “It’s US Marshal Abby Daniels. I think your Jane Doe killed in the fire has a connection to one of my witnesses. After we finish, I’ll make sure the FBI contacts you. Do you have an ID?”

  They did. And the name was familiar to Abby. She thanked the cop, hung up the phone and put her forehead down on the desk.

  When the sick feeling passed, she typed the name in and stared at the results with unblinking eyes.

  There was some kind of pattern now, and that might make things so much worse.

  After waiting to hear confirmation from the FBI, which came in ten minutes later, she did the last thing in the world she wanted to do. She picked up the phone to let Kayla know she’d been right. Again.

  *

  Two more days passed before Teige came by with the same routine—grab Hanny for a middle of the night run. But this time when he returned, with Hanny in tow, he waited by her back door. He still looked vacant. All he said was, “I’m leaving again in a few days.”

  “I’ll keep her again—no problem,” she said. He nodded and she bit her tongue to stop herself from telling him not to go anywhere.

  It was none of her business. Maybe it was always like this for him, for all of the soldiers.

  She hadn’t needed to hear from Abby to know a body would turn up, so when Abby called, she’d let it go straight to voice mail. Now, she was supposed to go to some annual block party and none of it seemed right.

  Judging by the way Teige acted, she doubted he would be there.

  “Does this town ever do things quietly?” she asked as she walked through the four residential streets that separated her small street from the party with Penny, and Hanny on a leash, toward the blasting music and general craziness.

  “This time of year’s always crazy. We see less of each other in the winter,” Penny assured her with a grin. “So, what’s up with you and your neighbor?”

  “Oh, stop.” She smiled, but inside she was all curled in the fetal position and as they got up close and personal to the party, she knew for sure she shouldn’t have come. She wasn’t good at making small talk to begin with.

  To distract herself, she took pictures of the kids. They always posed, goofily, laughing, for her.

  She wound the leash around her belt—not that it mattered, since Hanny stuck to her like glue anyway—and took a few steps back to get a shot of them hitting the piñata hanging on a nearby tree and ended up walking into Diane.

  Shit. The tall, cool blond with the southern drawl was no doubt hoping Teige would be here.

  Join the club, sweetheart. Kayla wished the same of the man who she’d barely seen or spoken to since he’d returned h
ome. They certainly hadn’t discussed the kiss and he hadn’t seemed like he wanted to do it again.

  “Sorry,” she said quickly, took a few shots until Diane walked away, but not before looking on both her and Hanny with extreme distaste. Diane’s jeans fit perfectly—Kayla felt dumpy next to her. No matter how thin she got, she’d never look like that. Normally it wouldn’t bother her, but the history with Teige made things so much worse. And that shouldn’t matter.

  You’re just friends. You knew that’s all there was.

  Because a man like Teige would always want to only be friends with her.

  The kiss was a mistake. Maybe she’d been the one to initiate it, even, and he’d just gone along with it.

  “This should be interesting,” Penny murmured, then clarified, “Whenever Teige and his ex are in the same place, there’s always some kind of fireworks. Especially after they’ve broken up.”

  Kayla’s heart jumped—she turned to see Teige talking with a group of men—and together she and Penny watched Diane approach him, and then hug him. “Doesn’t look so ex to me.”

  “I thought you didn’t care.”

  “I don’t,” she said, trying to convince herself. Hanny rubbed her head against Kayla’s thigh, like she understood the headache Kayla was getting. In the past few minutes, the left side of her head began to throb, threatened to blossom into full-blown pain.

  She couldn’t take any precautionary meds, because the only things that truly worked tended to make her tired and goofy, and that wasn’t the impression she wanted to make. She left Hanny with Penny for a moment, headed to the big cooler that held the drinks, dug for something with caffeine.

  She came up with a Coke in her hand and Diane in front of her. In an effort not to appear irritated, she stuck out her hand, said, “Hi, I’m Kayla.”

  Diane sipped her glass of wine. “You’re Teige’s dog sitter, he says.” Diane, with her long tapered fingers holding the elegant wine glass, and looking equally so.

  Kayla forced herself not to tip the glass to spill it down her perfect white dress. “Something like that.”

  “That’s cute. You could have a business or something, besides your little taking-pictures thing.” Diane waved her free hand and Kayla had to get the hell out of here. She held the soda so hard the can crunched a little and she knew she couldn’t risk opening it. Disgusted, she threw it in the trash, but Diane wasn’t done. “We’ve been together for years, you know.”

  “Good for you.”

  Diane’s smile was slippery. Fake as hell. “Teige has special…requirements in bed. Certain needs, you know? He’s not a nice guy under the sheets. No one else has ever been able to handle him like I have, and he knows it.”

  Kayla thought about the way Teige held her wrists and her face heated as Diane smirked.

  “Right—he held you down a little and it’s hot at first. He starts out like that and then he gets rough.” She showed Kayla near-healed bruises on her wrists. Weeks old, but they belied the violence of what had happened.

  Except Diane’s eyes glowed at the memory. She’d liked it. Asked for it. Kayla saw that clearly.

  She continued, “There’s no way you can give him what he wants. He feels sorry for you—that’s the only reason he kissed you. Trust me, he comes back to me every single time. This one’s no different.”

  “You were watching me?” she blurted out. “Don’t you ever spy on me again.” Her voice raised and people turned to look.

  “Oh, honey, you haven’t been in town long enough to know the pecking order of this place, but you are low woman on the totem pole.” Diane smiled. “You don’t want to mess with me.”

  Kayla watched her face—the smugness was what got her. “Maybe I do.”

  Diane lifted a brow. “What are you going to do? Give me flash burn?”

  She was still laughing when Kayla clocked her across her left cheek. Diane cried out, stumbled backward then came forward to jab at her, a hand still on her jaw. Kayla pushed her back on one shoulder, not wanting this to escalate further.

  “You don’t want to come after me,” she warned, but Diane lunged. Instinct, bred by years of street fighting like this, took over. Kayla had her by the hair, got in a punch to Diane’s stomach and other cheek before they were pulled apart.

  Kayla’s lip bled from Diane’s scratching. She had nail marks down her forearm as well. And she jerked out of Penny’s grasp, walked toward the yelling woman. Lowered her voice, heard herself hiss, “You’ll be sorry if you ever spy on me again.”

  As she pushed back past Penny, she grabbed Hanny’s leash and heard Diane saying, “You heard her threaten me, didn’t you?”

  She kept walking, heard light footsteps behind her but didn’t slow down. Penny was practically running to keep up with her, asking, “What the hell?”

  “She’s a bitch and a troublemaker.”

  “Well, yeah. And she probably deserved the punch,” Penny told her, kept her voice down. “I’m sure most of the women in town will shake your hand when Diane isn’t looking. But honey, you just bought yourself a mess of trouble.”

  “I already had it,” she muttered, then stopped. “I’m heading home before I cause any more chaos at the party. You stay—make me look good.”

  She walked away, heard Diane yelling, “She thinks I offended her by asking about her job. It’s not like she’s a professional photographer or anything,” to save face and Kayla decided that she hated small towns.

  Dog sitter. Is that how Teige described her?

  Had Teige seen the fight? Was he busy comforting Diane?

  Angrily, she wiped tears from her eyes as she cut through Mrs. Mueller’s backyard with Hanny at her heels. With the shepherd, she didn’t feel as worried about approaching her house alone in the dark. She’d left the lights blazing, and the alarm buzzed reassuringly when she went inside. Hanny, of course, followed her, and she locked and alarmed them back in, checked the security cameras and then did her own check with her gun in hand.

  The chair creaked when she walked in.

  “Hello to you too. I’ve had a shitty evening,” was all she said before leaving to go back downstairs. Took her meds, grabbed her ice pack and made some strong espresso, even though she knew it wouldn’t work. Nothing ever did except crying through the pain and coming out the other end.

  She sat with Hanny curled next to her on the couch, lights dimmed slightly in concession. Purposely ignored the damned phone when it started ringing.

  Abby. Again. The marshal wouldn’t leave a message about a body on voicemail, so all Kayla did was text, “I don’t want to know about anything right now. Migraine. Will call later,” because she wanted to avoid a visit from Abby.

  She punched her hurt fist viciously against the couch and welcomed the fresh burst of pain. She only stopped because Hanny moved closer to her, as if sensing Kayla would continue to hurt herself.

  She was never more grateful for this dog’s company.

  Hanny got up half an hour later, tail wagging at the back door. Which meant only one thing—it was Teige, coming to collect his dog from the dog sitter for another run.

  “He could at least pay me,” she muttered and Hanny looked at her. “Sorry. You know what I mean.”

  “Kayla, open up!” he called forcefully and she shot him the finger, even though he couldn’t see it. At least she didn’t think he could, until it was too quiet and she glanced up to see him standing a few feet from her and her upturned middle finger.

  She pulled it down slowly. He wasn’t in running clothes, still dressed in the jeans he’d had on at the block party.

  “I guess you know what happened,” she muttered, moved aside so he could come in. Hanny already made herself comfortable in the living room. Teige set a bag of Chinese takeout down on the coffee table.

  “You never use the front door,” she said finally, because it was easier than talking about punching his on again-off again girlfriend.

  “Don’t like them,” was his answer.<
br />
  “Me neither.”

  “I don’t think of you as the dog sitter.”

  “She’s an ass but that’s not why I left.” It was only a partial lie. She went back to the couch and grabbed the ice packs, one for hand and one for head.

  “Migraine?” he asked. She nodded and he glanced at her hand and said, “Do you need medicine?”

  “I don’t need you, okay? I’ve done this on my own for years.”

  He wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to. At this point, he couldn’t do anything but help her. Because she did need someone. And he might have read the situation wrong, but he didn’t think so, not entirely. “You up for the food or you want me gone?”

  “Won’t Diane mind?”

  “I don’t give a shit about her.” He looked at her. “Food? Or do you want to be alone.”

  “Another peace offering?”

  “Honey, there’s nothing peaceful about you.”

  She snorted, stood. But she was moving slowly. Teige lowered the lights even further and grabbed some plates from the kitchen.

  Her whole house was wired, all three floors, plus the outside. Not a bad job, especially considering he didn’t think she’d had any help doing it.

  There was something going on here, and he forced himself not to think about it. Refused to, actually. He’d come here because he knew he had to apologize for Diane.

  He thought he could handle the party, but he definitely wasn’t ready to be here, with Kayla, feeling the way he did about her. Needed at least another couple of days.

  You always were drawn to the danger.

  She’d followed him into the kitchen, was leaning with a hip against the counter, an insolent look on her face.

  To tell the truth, when he’d heard the commotion and learned she’d punched Diane, he’d almost cheered. He knew the woman had deserved it. And Kayla was the first person in this town to stand up to her.

  She was defending herself…defending him. Bringing the takeout was a peace offering, a way in, but at that moment, he didn’t give a shit about the goddamned food.

  Chapter Twelve