“Not to mention, your department probably frowns upon you sleeping with a suspected criminal.”
He gave her a half smile. “True. Although you weren’t a suspected criminal at the time we slept together. But that probably wouldn’t have mattered much to my direct supervisor. He’s looking for any reason to get me out.”
“Brett, I swear I didn’t know her until I saw her picture in Sunday’s paper. And that was this morning. I didn’t even look at the paper until then.”
Brett nodded. “I know. I was out of the media loop all weekend too or I would’ve recognized Teresa Cavasos when you drew her.”
“Am I a suspected criminal now? Are you going to get in any trouble if someone was to find out you’re here?”
“No, your alibi checked out. Hard to be part of a murder plot when you’re working fifteen hour days with a dozen other people. Not to mention the fact that you have 24/7 security who can vouch for your whereabouts.”
“I just wanted to help them find that woman, Brett. I really thought the details in the background might be some sort of clue. I couldn’t have lived with myself if there was something I could’ve done, but didn’t just because I was too chicken to go to the police station.”
Just once, out of all those pictures she’d drawn over the last three years —all those dead and bruised women— faces she didn’t know, she wanted one good thing to come of it. All the exhaustion, the nose bleeds, the muscle spasms, if just this one time she’d been able to help, then maybe it would’ve been worth it.
But she hadn’t.
“I know seeing that dead woman was jarring for you. I’m so sorry,” Brett told her. “The reason they were so suspect of you is because the blouse Teresa was wearing in your drawing was the same one she was found dead in. She was actually found Friday, although her body wasn’t identified until today.”
“It was difficult to see her dead, especially since I was hoping otherwise. And I knew the shirt had something to do with it because Detective Schliesman kept coming back to that.”
It was time to show him, Paige knew. Not all the pictures, because she wouldn’t wish that on anyone. But it was time to show him the other picture of Teresa Cavasos she’d drawn. The one just like the police photo where she was dead.
“But the reason I had such an extreme reaction,” she told him, touching him on his arm, “with the vomiting and everything, wasn’t just because of the shock of seeing her dead.”
“What was it?”
She took a deep breath and got down from the stool. This probably wasn’t going to go well.
“I have to show you.”
That wasn’t what Brett had expected Paige to say. She wrapped her robe tighter around her and led him out of the kitchen and down the hall.
He was glad she had listened to him, had understood why he had acted the way he had today at the station. The crisis seemed to have passed, the aloofness he’d felt from her that had been so intolerable to him was now gone.
His relief was all but palpable. He had no idea why someone who’d been in his life such a short time meant so much to him, he only knew it was true. She wasn’t shutting him out, physically or emotionally. Nothing else was as important as that.
But as they walked down the hall he realized that although she wasn’t distant any more, wasn’t holding herself apart from him, there was another type of tension. And it had to do with whatever she was about to show him.
When he realized which room she was taking him to, tension filled him too.
The room with the easel.
She stopped in front of the closed door and turned to him.
“I don’t know exactly when I drew this. I don’t date them. But it was months ago.”
Brett didn’t know what he was about to see, but he knew it wasn’t going to be good. They both took a breath as she opened the door and turned on the lights.
On the easel was a drawing of one of the crime scene photos of Teresa Cavasos. The exact replica of one of the photos Schliesman had shown Paige today. The crime scene photo after Teresa’s body was found.
Thoughts flew through Brett’s head as he studied the picture.
“Did you draw it in your sleep?”
Paige nodded.
Brett just stared at the picture. Now he was officially at a decision point. Knew that whatever he said next, how he reacted to this picture, was going to choose the path for their relationship.
Because seriously. What. In. The. Hell. Another one? Another picture, the exact replica of a crime scene photo?
He could either choose logic: she’d drawn the picture this evening after Schliesman showed it to her this afternoon. Paige was an artist, she could remember details normal people wouldn’t remember, even after only seeing the photo for a few minutes.
Logic dictated she was telling him she drew it months ago as an attempt to get attention. That there was something in her that needed people —maybe law enforcement personnel specifically— to provide her succor. To make her feel important, visible, not forgotten.
It wouldn’t be unheard of, and would even be understandable, given her attack. Logic would argue that it was natural for her to want to keep law enforcement focused on her, to make her feel safe, since her attacker had never been apprehended.
It was even logical that she could’ve faked sleeping while drawing the other picture of Cavasos Saturday night, just to draw Brett closer. Or maybe her mind even believed she was sleeping.
Perhaps this was all a desperate cry for help. One Brett needed to take seriously.
Logic was one option.
Or he could completely ditch logic and believe the almost impossible: that Paige really had drawn this picture months ago, before Teresa Cavasos was dead or missing or even in danger.
Just like Paige had drawn the picture of herself before the attack.
Brett was in conflict. Because in order to believe that Paige was of sound mind and emotional stability he had believe that she was somehow psychically connected to hideous violence.
Which was, ironically, crazy.
Or in order to believe this picture had been drawn in any sort of reasonable way, of conscious mind and at a logical date and time, he had to believe that Paige —who was watching him so calmly from the side, not saying anything— was just a stop short of the loony bin.
Brett felt like the oxygen was being systematically extracted from the room. Breathing was becoming harder and harder. He had to get out of here. Clear his head, think things through. He couldn’t do that with Paige’s big blue eyes watching him so intently.
He turned to her. “I’ve got to go. Just for a while. I’ve got to figure out…” What? If he needed to find someone who could provide psychiatric help for her? If he could go against ten years of police detective methods and suspend everything he’d ever held true?
She nodded. “But Brett, there’s really something else I should show—“
He held out a hand to stop her. Whatever she wanted to say or show him, it would have to wait. Right now he just had to figure out his own mind.
He grabbed her gently by both her upper arms and brought her close. He kissed her forehead breathing in her scent.
“Whatever it is you need to show me, it has to wait, okay? It’s all I can do to process this.”
He finally felt her nod against his lips.
“I just need some time to sort things out. I’ve got to go,” he said again. He released her and took a step back. “No matter what, you do not show that picture to anyone, do you understand me?”
Brett had no doubt, alibi or not, Paige would be arrested if she showed up at the station with that picture claiming she’d drawn it months ago.
He could tell she was about to say something more but stopped and just nodded. Her features were pinched and she had her arms wrapped around herself as if she was expecting a blow.
To think he’d put that damned expression on her face twice in one day crushed him.
She was confused. Was hurt. But he couldn’t do or say anything to help her right now.
Not until he figured out in his head what the hell was going on.
Chapter Twenty
Brett drove away from Paige's house, not exactly sure where he was going to go. It was nearly midnight and there wasn't really anyone else he wanted to see.
The person he wanted to be with was back in the house probably wondering if he was driving away forever. Brett scrubbed a hand across his face. He had to admit he was also wondering if he was driving away forever.
He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. The dichotomy of his feelings were tearing him apart. And it all came down to the question, could he believe that Paige really drew that picture in her sleep.
He could call Chief Pickett and ask him his opinion. The chief was his friend, had known Brett all his life, but Brett didn't want to do that. For one, he didn't want to run to the chief every time he had a problem. And for another, Brett wasn't sure exactly how to explain all this.
It was crazy to him and he'd seen it actually happening. How could he explain it to someone else?
And once the chief was involved there was no going back. Friend or no friend, the chief would not be able to just turn a blind eye to this once he was aware of the full scope of Paige’s involvement.
Brett turned on his hands-free phone system and called Alex. He cringed just slightly as the phone rang for the first time. He didn't really know much about his new partner. Alex might not be the type to want to discuss case related matters outside of office hours.