Chapter 6
Around ten a.m., Lexie watched from behind dark sunglasses as Nico strode into JoJo’s Café, completely unaware of her presence.
It was a beautiful morning—too beautiful to be spent indoors. Having already ordered her breakfast, she was seated at one of the tables outside, books, pens, and headphones spread out before her, ready for a few hours of study.
Or at least she was until she saw him.
Nico wore his uniform today, the dark navy hugging his muscled form so perfectly that Lexie had to make a conscious effort not to stare as he approached the counter. The man unnerved her in the most wonderful way. Butterflies in her tummy. Pounding heart. More than once after he’d left the other night, Lexie had caught herself staring into space, thinking about him. Remembering how he’d smelled when he held her. How he’d felt. It was like she was back in high school, crushing on someone she barely knew, powerless to stop her mind from lingering over the brief time they’d spent together.
Surreal. That’s exactly how it felt seeing him again. Surreal and oddly healing. Besides the basics, she had never spoken of the accident with anyone else, so in her memory, it had faded, become a distant dream, something from another life. Nico being here reminded her that it had happened, that it was real. He was alive, he was well, and it was all because of what she had done.
He hadn”t mentioned the things he’d said that day while he was barely conscious, and she didn’t ask. Curious as she was, she also knew better than to pry. Asking too many questions was a great way to have them returned, which was something she did not want. If he wanted to tell her about it someday, he would.
Tearing her eyes away from his well-shaped butt, Lexie tried to focus. She had less than two weeks to finish this assignment, and god knew she didn’t need the distraction.
After a heavy exhale, she read the same section of her textbook three times before a shadow came over the table.
“That looks intense.”
She looked up. “Only to the untrained eye.”
Nico smiled. “Touché.”
Silence settled between them. Two seconds. Three.
“So, you’re studying?”
“Uh, yeah. Business and economics,” she replied, removing her sunglasses.
“Impressive.”
“Hardly.” She scoffed. “Most people my age have finished college and have a career by now.”
He shrugged. “So?”
Her lips curved up at his bluntness—his sheer dismissal of something she’d felt insecure about for years. Not to be hurtful, she assumed, but because it truly didn’t matter to him that she was a twenty-seven-year-old waitress working her way through community college. Her father had never been able to afford tuition for her or Jake to go to some big, fancy school. He couldn’t even afford the non-fancy ones. Not like so many others whom she’d watched from the sidelines as they graduated high school then left to complete their various degrees—some never returning. A part of Lexie had always been jealous of that.
“So, how’s your first week going, Lieutenant?” she asked, changing the subject.
As soon as the words left her mouth, something in his demeanor changed. His posture became rigid, his mouth set in a bleak line as he looked anywhere but at her.
“Busy,” was all he said.
Lexie frowned. “Nico, is everything okay?”
He sighed, glancing side to side before leaning closer to quietly say, “Listen, something’s happened. I can’t really talk about it, but . . .” Another sigh. “Are you working tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, mind racing with thoughts of what could have him looking so troubled. “I have the dinner shift.”
“Alright, I’ll come see you then.”
“Why? What’s—”
“I can’t,” he said, cutting her off, an apology written all over his face. “Not yet. But trust me, you’ll hear about it soon enough. In the meantime, just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
Perplexed—and a little frustrated—Lexie lifted her hands. “That covers everything from take your birth control to don’t eat any iffy chicken.”
“Just keep your doors locked when you get home,” he said, killing any possible humor she’d attempted to inject into the conversation.
Before she could object further, his phone rang, and he scowled.
“I’m sorry, I gotta go. I’ll see you later, okay?”
Lexie let out an indignant huff of air as he left with his phone to his ear, the assignment in front of her forgotten. “Okay. Bye.”
He’d been right when he said she’d hear about it soon enough.
In the space of twelve hours, Lexie’s emotional bandwidth had gone from surprised and disappointed, to totally shocked, to sad, to understanding, and finally, to downright frightened.
It was a little after two p.m. when she heard the news of Isabelle’s murder, Annie called her in a tizzy to raise the alarm and make sure she was okay. In the wake of the unprecedented tragedy, gossip was spreading fast, a tidal wave of customers descending on Rusty’s like vultures to a carcass, forcing Wade to call the staff in early. Lexie was the last to arrive, and it had been bedlam ever since. Donning a new apron after her first was covered in spilled soup, she looked out over the gathering crowd. Some locals, some not. Some aware of the situation unfolding in their beloved town, some not. Lexie envied the latter, knowing exactly why the resident-to-tourist ratio had tipped to unusual proportions of familiar faces. It was the same reason she—and everyone else—volunteered to work doubles instead of going home. Safety in numbers. Okay, maybe that was just her. Still, there was a certain undeniable comfort in being around friends at a time like this. And whether they realized it or not, the Mercy Cove residents here tonight had gathered because they were seeking the same solace she was: sanctuary from the monster at their doorstep.
Isabelle had been a sweet girl. A little on the wild side, some might even have called her a hothead, but the rest of her had been full to the brim with kindness. Lexie remembered the first time they met, silver braces covering most of Isabelle’s teeth, her eyes hidden behind thick-lensed glasses as she awkwardly carried her books to class. Being quite the nerd herself, Lexie was glad to have someone to talk to. One day, another girl, Darcy, joined them for lunch, and their friendship circle was complete. Things changed through the years. Isabelle’s braces came off and contacts replaced her glasses, Lexie grew into her features, and Darcy started dating the cutest boy in school. By the time they all turned sixteen, they had standing invitations to all the parties in town, spent their weekends drinking with whoever was willing to buy them alcohol, even sneaking off the island to hang out with guys from the mainland.
It was fun. Until they met Sara and things got way out of hand . . .
Lexie shook herself, forcing the thought away. Today wasn’t about digging up ancient history. It was about Isabelle. Her life and . . . her death. She could only imagine what her parents were going through. To have your only child murdered. And not just murdered but—
A chill slid down Lexie’s spine at the details she’d overheard while flitting from table-to-table all afternoon—“ . . . tied up . . . stabbed over thirty times . . . so much blood . . .”—spoken in hushed whispers from grimly set mouths. The specifics were enough to send Lexie’s stomach churning. Multiple times she’d found herself bursting through the back door and into the alley for a few gulps of fresh air. Though once darkness fell, she didn’t dare step outside.
The clock on the wall told her it was nine p.m., a time when things usually started to wind down on a weeknight. But a glance at Vikki behind the bar, furiously pouring drinks and loading them onto trays, said otherwise. Even the kitchen was still running, plates of steak and mashed potato, lobster with corn on the cob, burgers sided with thick-cut fries, all sliding under the warmers with practiced efficiency. Annie was around somewhere too, taking order after order after order . . .
Nobody wanted to leave. Nobody wanted to be alone. Lexie understood. And even though her feet and back ached, she’d stay—all night if Wade would allow it.
She was about to start clearing more dirty plates when Nico walked through the front door, his eyes zeroing in on her without so much as a glance at anyone else. Lexie swallowed hard as he walked toward her, his police windbreaker damp with the light summer mist coming down outside, his face lined with the fatigue of an undoubtedly long day.
“Hey.”
Lexie gave a small smile. “Hi.”
“I guess you heard.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think everyone has.”
He fiddled with the set of car keys in his hand. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before. I just had to wait until the official—”
“It’s okay. I get it.”
Nico nodded. “Are you okay? Did you know her?”
“I used to. We, uh, haven’t spoken for a long time.”
Lexie couldn’t help the shame and regret that bubbled up inside her at the admission, or the way her gaze couldn’t meet Nico’s as she said it. What had happened when they were kids wasn’t Isabelle’s fault. Or Darcy’s. But after the dust settled and the town finally stopped talking about it, Lexie had decided she needed a change. Distance. A lot of it.
Feeling multiple sets of eyes on her, Lexie folded her arms.
“You’re attracting a lot of attention,” she said, subtly indicating the mass of crowded tables trying to hide the fact that they were staring, no doubt hoping to overhear some morsel of new information.
Nico followed her gaze. “Small town, I guess.”
“They’re frightened.”
“I know.” Nico lowered his voice. “Are you?”
Lexie knew her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m trying not to be,” she whispered.
Despite the onlookers, Nico took her gently by the arm and led her to a quiet corner where he stood close enough for her to smell his cologne. It was deep and bold, with just a hint of spice. The scent was intoxicating. She wanted more. Wanted to lean into it—into him. Let him envelope her in his strength like he had that first night he came here and make her forget about everything else.
“Listen,” he said, taking a card out of his wallet and scribbling a number on the back. “If you need anything, day or night, I want you to call me. Okay?”
“Nico, I can’t—”
“Please,” he said, tucking it into her fingers. “It would make me feel better, knowing you have it.”
Lexie grinned. “You give your private cell number to all the girls who save your life?”
“Nah. Just the ones I can’t stop thinking about.”
She bit her lip and looked away. At least the attraction wasn’t one-sided. Not that anything could come of it. For one thing, he now had a murder to deal with. For another, Kyle.
“I have to go,” he said, interrupting her thoughts.
“Okay.”
The way he looked at her made it seem like he wanted to say—or do—more, but he backed away from her with a quick squeeze of her arm and left.
Lexie stared at the small white card he’d given her. It was a simple design. Professional. Exactly what she’d expect from a man like him. On the front in a no-frills font read the words Detective Nico Dominici, Boston Police—obviously his former details—followed by his work phone number and email.
She touched the black ink on the back, pondering the implications.
Did him giving her his private number mean what she thought it might?
She hoped so. And yet, she hoped not.
The following morning, Nico tried to ignore the knot in his gut that seemed to tighten as the day went on. Hours ticked by faster than usual. His patience wore thin as every potential witness yielded nothing except troubled and sympathetic looks, accompanied by words like, “She was such a sweet girl. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”
Around four p.m., he returned to his office, sat down at his desk, and rubbed his aching brow. The furrow felt set like cement.
Ever since yesterday, his mind had been ablaze with ridiculous notions of Isabelle Moss’s death somehow being his fault. For hours he’d lain awake last night, forcing himself to believe that his past had not followed him here, that the deaths were completely unrelated, and that it was just his guilt talking, nothing more. Still, the small, stubborn shard of his subconscious that refused to let it go had eventually won out, and after finishing his last dead-end interview with a random resident, he jumped in his car and drove straight back to his office to prove to himself that it wasn’t true.
Nico logged into the national crime database and typed in the case number from memory. Pulling up the old case file, he hesitated for a few seconds before he opened it.
The images did not shock him, not after he’d dreamed about them night after night for longer than he cared to admit. Sara Riley, daughter of George and Esme Riley, stabbed to death in an apartment in Boston. He still remembered the crunch of broken glass under his boots from the shattered mirror and debris surrounding her body. Could still recall her terror-stricken voice over the phone as she whispered for him to come, to help, to hurry . . .
Nico blinked and swallowed hard, exiting the file.
Running a hand through his hair, he sat back in his chair.
Fuck it.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number of the one person he trusted as much as himself.
Detective Rhett Wilde answered on the second ring, his greeting clipped and to the point. “Wilde, here.”
“Miss me yet?”
“Hey, there he is.” Nico could imagine his old partner smiling over the phone. “And here I was thinking I was finally rid of your ass.”
“Here I was thinking you’d be lost without me.”
Wilde barked out a laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“Why not? I outrank you now.”
“Yeah, yeah. Twice the stripes, half the talent.”
The two shared a quiet chuckle before Wilde asked, “So, what’s up? You getting bored out there already?”
“I wish.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
Nico chewed on his lip—stalling—then answered. “Homicide.”
“Shit,” Wilde replied, his tone high enough to indicate his eyebrows were now much closer to his hairline than they were a few seconds ago.
“Yeah, a young woman. It’s—” Nico had trouble getting the words out, afraid of how paranoid it made him sound. Taking a breath, he tried again. “It’s the same, Rhett. The same MO as Sara Riley.”
Silence filled the line. Eventually, Wilde sighed.
“I know how it sounds,” Nico said. “But I’m telling you—”
“Nico,” he stopped him. “You were right there in the courtroom when they convicted Bryan Fowler for what he did to that girl. You know as well as I do, he’s still rotting in prison.”
“I know that. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have a dead woman up here with a good thirty holes in her,” Nick argued.
More silence. Nico got the feeling Wilde didn’t know what to say. Not that he could blame him. Even to his own ears, he sounded like a nutcase.
“Look,” Nico said, more calmly this time. “I’m not saying Bryan Fowler is the one who killed her, because that’s not possible, and despite whatever you might be thinking, I’m not crazy.”
“I never said you were.”
“Good. So, then doesn’t it strike you as odd that the same week I move out to the boondocks, they have their first murder in over twenty years? A murder that’s all but identical to one I’ve worked before?”
“It is . . . interesting,” Wilde conceded after some deliberation. “Look, how about this? I’ll take a drive out to the Ridge, make sure Fowler is still enjoying their excellent facilities, maybe have a chat with him, and see what he has to say?”
Granite Ridge Penitentiary was a medium security prison in Massachusetts housing a myriad of criminally sentenced males, and the place that Bryan Fowler now called home.
Nico’s shoulders relaxed a little. “I’d appreciate it.”
“No problem. Listen, Nico, I know you said you needed change or whatever, but are you sure this is what you want. Doesn’t sound like it’s off to the best start.”
“Truthfully, I don’t know what I want or need anymore,” Nico said, meaning it. “I just know that I can’t come back. Not yet.”
“Alright, I get it,” Wilde said, the words ringing hollow as Nico well-knew his departure hadn’t only been rough on himself, but his partner too. “I’ll, uh, let you know how it goes with Fowler.”
“Thanks.”
“Sure thing. It’s good to talk to you.”
Nico grinned. “I knew you missed me.”
After shifting the conversation to more lighthearted topics, Nico hung up twenty minutes later with a smile on his face.
Frank poked his head in the doorway a minute later. “Hey, guess who finally showed up?”
“The missing neighbor?” Nico guessed.
“Yep. According to Seth, he’s already come and gone from his apartment. I’m heading over to his taxidermy shop now to talk to him.”
“Did you say taxidermy?”
Frank made a face. “Sure did.”
“Creepy. I’ll come with you.”