Secrets and Sins:Raphael(24)

       
           



       

She scanned the sheet. A list of names. She clenched her jaw, her  fingers gripping the paper as she spied the name topping the column.  Count to ten. One. Two. Three …  Nope, not going to work.

"Noah?" she asked, placing the list on the table and silently  congratulating herself on maintaining her calm. "Why is his name on  here?"

"Because he has possible motive," he returned, just as cool.

Forget calm. "Like what?" she snapped. "There is no way he is  responsible for any of this. He's my best friend." Just the thought of  him being involved in the letters, doll, and-God!-bomb was ridiculous.  He was one of the very few people she trusted not to betray her-who  hadn't betrayed her.

"Uh-huh," Raphael drawled. "If ‘friend' is a euphemism for ‘wanna smash,' then yes, he feels very friendly toward you."

She drew her face up in a disgusted moue. "That's so crude."

In a move that sucked the air from her lungs, he leaned forward until  their noses almost bumped, and she tasted the peppermint scent on his  breath. "He is in love with you, and love has made more than a fair  share of men lose their damn minds." She scoffed, leaning back so she  didn't taste him with every breath she took. "Maybe he sent the letters  hoping you would run to him for protection? And when you holed up at  your brother's house instead, he could've upped the ante to make you  even more scared for yourself, the baby, and Ethan," he gritted out.

"Not. A. Chance," she bit back, glaring at him.

"Why?" He cocked his head. "Because he's your friend? Because of his zip  code? Because he looks sane? I have news for you, princess, stranger  shit has happened." He jabbed the paper. "Noah stays on the list. Now  what about Gregory and Karen Wells, Gavin's parents?"

Because of his zip code. Where the hell had that come from? She wanted  to argue with him, convince him he was being paranoid and just damn  rude. But she swallowed the sharp retort and concentrated on his next  possible suspects.

"They blame me for Gavin's death. Like the police, they  didn't-don't-believe I can't remember what happened that night. It's  been several weeks, but for a while, Karen would call and leave  hysterical messages on my voicemail. They were heart-wrenching … and  terrifying. She'd vacillate between begging me to confess and give them  peace and closure, and screaming that I'd burn in hell for what I did to  her son. The rants were one of the reasons why I shut that phone off  and requested a new number."

"When?" he asked, frowning.

"When what?"

"When did you change your number?"

She shrugged. What did that have to do with anything? "Days after the  murder. Between the reporters, the Wellses, and others just seeking out  the latest piece of gossip, it rang constantly. I had to change it."

"Hmm." His frown deepened, and he rubbed a knuckle across his eyebrow.  Then his expression cleared, his arm dropping to his side. "Damn, I  added the Wellses to the list because it made sense-revenge is an  excellent motive, almost cliché. But the screaming, threatening  messages … " He shook his head. "I'll check into them."

"Really, I can't imagine Karen or Gregory going around busting out windows or building bombs," she mumbled, exasperated.

"They could hire someone to terrorize you. Believe me, no one is beneath  doing some sick shit if their motive is strong enough. All kinds of  reasons-revenge, love, hate, justice-could drive a person to commit the  most unspeakable acts. The Wellses stay on the list, too."

She didn't argue. Not with the memory of Karen Wells's high-pitched  screech echoing in her ear. She glanced down at the paper again. The  next name ricocheted through her.

"Aubrey Chandler," she murmured.

"What? No reason why she couldn't do it?"

She smiled, knew the gesture was bitter, but couldn't help or conceal  it. Aubrey had been a friend since high school; Greer had trusted her,  would've never believed her capable of cheating with Gavin. She'd tried  to apologize, called Greer nonstop the week after, begging her to talk  to her. But what did a person say in that situation? Sorry I fucked the  man you intended to marry. I accidently stripped off my clothes and fell  on his dick. My bad. Even Hallmark hadn't made a card for that occasion  yet.

"I'm the wrong person to ask. If you'd asked me months ago if she  would've been capable of screwing my fiancé behind my back, I would've  said no then, too." She loosed a humorless, sharp crack of laughter.  "I've had an appallingly skewed sense of judgment lately."                       
       
           



       

He snorted. "I don't know whether to be offended or ask for a do-over."

Jerking her head up, she flinched as her words bounced against her  skull, growing louder with each pass. "No," she said, shaking her head.  "I didn't mean-"

"Uh-uh, princess," he drawled, a cynical half smile curving his lips.  "No need to backtrack. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that,  right?"

"Raphael-"

"Do you think Aubrey could possibly be behind this?"

She briefly closed her eyes. Let it go. He's not hearing you. "If I had  to answer, I would say no. She's called me since the night I found them  together, trying to apologize. Besides, there's one thing I think you're  forgetting in all these scenarios."

"And that is?"

"Whoever is behind this knows I'm pregnant. The Wellses, Aubrey-they  don't know. Hell, my own mother didn't know until a couple of nights  ago. I've only been aware of the pregnancy for two weeks myself, and the  news hasn't been leaked to the press. Because believe me, if the media  had wind of this, it would be splattered all over the papers. Just  another salacious tidbit to add to the ‘murderous love triangle.'" She  scrunched her fingers in air quotes. Damn vultures. They'd made her life  a living hell for months.

"If that's true, then you just x-ed off all but one person on the list."  She clenched her teeth, already knowing where he was headed. Not this  again. "Noah."

She surged to her feet and stalked across the room, needing space.  Needing distance between him and his remote analysis of the  relationships in her life. While he listed why the people she knew had  reason to hurt her, she felt lonelier. And lonelier. They were more than  suspects, damn it. They were people she loved or at one time had a  connection with. Each word out of his mouth reminded her that she was  alone. Cut off. Except for him. And he couldn't stop resenting her long  enough to show compassion. Because right now, she didn't need his  investigative skills as much as she needed … him. Just a touch to beat  back the cold.

Coming to a halt in front of the fireplace, she stared into the dormant  grate as if the stacked logs were the Dalai Lama, able to answer all the  universe's questions.

"Your amnesia," Raphael said. "You remember absolutely nothing about that night?"

"Nothing after you dropped me off and before waking up in the hospital.  It's a complete blank." A scary, terrible, complete blank. "It's like  someone took an eraser and wiped those hours clean." Except for the  nightmares that faded as soon as she awoke.

"Gavin was found inside your apartment. And from what I've read, the  wounds were up close and personal. That means he knew his killer; had to  in order to let them that close. And since you two were in a long-term  relationship, it's very possible you know his killer, too. Just because  you don't remember what happened in that apartment doesn't mean the  murderer doesn't." He paused. "It could be your stalker and the killer  are one and the same. Maybe if we catch the one, we catch the other."

Of course she'd exhausted herself about what information and events her  mind blocked. The amnesia, in a way, was both a curse and a blessing. A  curse because she felt so damn lost and vulnerable. But a blessing  because … what if the amnesia was her brain's way of protecting her from  the truth?

What if the truth was more horrible than not knowing?

"What if it's a random crazy person who fixated on me? Someone who  considers me another privileged person getting away with murder? Why are  you not considering that option?" She detected the desperation in her  own voice-detested it. But she was grasping at rapidly shrinking straws  here.

"It's possible-I haven't ruled out anyone. But the letters, the doll,  and now the bomb? It appears personal. Smacks of it. We can't afford to  rule out anyone because you have a relationship with them."