Chapter 1
1
RAE
I might puke.
The crappy police station sludge they called coffee plus the herd of elephants stomping inside my brain made the nausea unbearable. A loud grumble erupted in my gut, in desperate need of greasy food and something bubbly. But not champagne. Bile rose in my throat at the mere thought of ingesting another ounce of alcohol.
Why did I open that third bottle? Or was it a fourth?
Groaning, I pitched forward. “Fuck me,” I whispered, my lips brushing against the cool metal table, not caring who watched from the other side of the two-way mirror. Eyes closed and pressed into my forearm, I fought against the urge to eradicate my stomach of the wine and popcorn I consumed for dinner the night before.
I knew better than to open the damn shoebox that worked as a time capsule for the past while listening to Delilah reruns on the radio. Yet I did, again. It’d been a while since I broke down, allowing the hurtful memories to overwhelm every thought. I blamed it on that damn article in the local paper, triggering the emotional overdrinking, snack food fest, and self-torture by reading through our old handwritten notes.
Not only did I know better than to open that third bottle of cheap white wine, but I also knew better than to allow myself to fall into the memories and dwell on disappointment in the life I wanted but never had. Even the simple action of reading his name sparked a swell of emotions I’d long forgotten about, or at least tried to.
Alec Bronson, now Texas Ranger Alec Bronson, the man I once loved and then hated, and now… well, that was complicated. Then that picture of him didn’t help at all with yesterday’s downward spiral. All that prompted the tiny stalking mission where I dug up everything I could about him via Google.
I was a damn mess over that man. Ever since he walked out with a simple “Dear John” note left in my locker, I’d been a pining fool.
Not that everything terrible in my life was his fault.
No. That bitch fate dealt my life’s horrific events.
Fate drove me to the minimal existence I now lived. Trapped in a cycle of monotony, making every day my personal hell. Work, home, drink, and repeat. No friends, no family, 100 percent alone in every way.
I saved lives this way.
I didn’t become the local recluse and hide any glimpse of happy away for my well-being. No, I did it for others. A curse surrounded me, one that left those I loved or who befriended me dead. Since that day I morphed into a shell of my former self, no one had died because of me.
Before those first murders, I was happy, friendly to anyone who needed a smiling face. But now I’m this. A lonely, drunken mid-thirties woman who deep down still pined for the boy who broke her heart in high school.
Pathetic.
And that wasn’t the worst part of my sad existence.
The worst part was the reason I now sat in an interrogation room instead of at work.
A faint click sent me bolting upright. The door swung open, bringing with it muffled shouts and laughter from other areas of the police station. My lids slid open and shut several times to clear away the dryness blurring my vision. As my surroundings sharpened, a heavyset man in a cheap brown suit waddled into the interrogation room, his accusing glower locked on me.
If I didn’t think it would hurt, I would’ve rolled my eyes at his attempt at the intimidating stance and glare. It wouldn’t work considering I was innocent of whatever they wanted to accuse me of today. Not succumbing to standard interrogation tactics must have been in my extensive file, right?
A low hum vibrated in his thick throat, like he’d just figured something out about me. Metal legs scraped along the tile as he dragged the only other chair in the room out from under the table and plopped down. I kept my dark eyes on him, matching his intensity even though all my bravado was fake.
My attention slipped to the buttons straining to hold his dingy white dress shirt together. Each of his wheezing breaths threatened to pop one off and assault me. A laugh bubbled in my chest at that thought, but I kept the practiced blank mask in place.
He cleared his throat and slapped a manila folder onto the table between us, its contents at least an inch thick.
“Rae Chapin,” the detective said, his voice gravelly, probably from years of smoking based on the thick scent that followed him into the tiny room.
“That’s me,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest, tugging the edges of my black cardigan closer. It was freezing in here, a small win for my hungover state.
“Welcome back,” he mocked.
Oh, this ass has jokes.
Shifting on the hard metal seat, I failed to stop my wince. In their typical “sweat them out” tactic, I’d sat in this chair for an hour now. Half my wide ass was now numb from the uncomfortable seat and lack of movement.
“Funny. What happened?” I asked, straight to the point.
After being dragged out of the library by two uniformed officers plus the killer hangover, I wasn’t in the mood to beat around the bush with this guy. I knew how all this would go down considering this routine wasn’t new for me, unfortunately.
His bushy dark brows rose along his forehead. “You tell me, Rae. What happened?”
This guy is a joke.
Instead of responding, I interlaced my fingers and rested both hands back on the table. The cool surface soothed my warm skin and offered a smidge of relief to the rolling in my stomach. My calm facade was just that. Inside, my rattled nerves made sweat build beneath my armpits and collect down my spine, while my breaths grew quicker with each passing second the detective stared down his long thin nose with that condemning sneer.
I hated this. Every time it was the same, which was why I asked what happened. Because all this—dragging me from work, interrogation room, salty detective—meant one thing.
Something bad happened, and they thought I did it. Which I didn’t. Unless they wanted to arrest me for being a pathetic human who drank too much and loved listening to sappy eighties’ love songs. That I would be guilty of.
Nothing like being assumed guilty of heinous crimes to make a woman with already low self-esteem feel special.
When I didn’t respond in the timeframe of his liking, he leaned forward, placing an elbow on the table. “Not feeling very chatty today, Rae?” he asked.
“Can I get a Coke or maybe a few Twinkies?” I deadpanned. If he asked stupid questions and avoided answering me, then I would do the same. Plus a Coke sounded glorious. I licked my dry lips just thinking about the miracle concoction that would settle my stomach and give me a boost to help survive this interrogation.
A deep red flush sprouted along his sagging cheeks. “This isn’t a game, girl.” Girl? Really? “You know why you’re here.”
“Really, I don’t, but please enlighten me. What happened?”
“Tell us what we need to know and I’ll tell the DA you cooperated.” I sealed my lips together to stop myself from mouthing off. That only pissed him off more. “You say you don’t know why you’re here, but you automatically assumed something happened. Why?”
An agonizing groan of metal vibrated through the room as the detective leaned back in the chair and balanced on the two rear legs.
“Why? Seriously? This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this room. You’ve seen my file,” I said with a flick of my wrist toward the manila folder. “Every time I’m in here it’s because someone died and you guys seem to think I’m involved.”
“It is an extensive file.” He patted the top of the folder. “The suspicions surrounding you?—”
“With no proof,” I snapped, interrupting him. “Five times now you or some other detective has dragged me to the station because of circumstantial evidence. Each time it’s been for nothing. You could’ve spent your time searching for the actual suspect instead of trying to pin me with a crime I didn’t commit.”
His humorless laugh grated on my frayed nerves. “Those are some big words, Rae. Seems someone has been reading too much in the reference section at the library.”
My fingers curled into tight fists, my short nails digging into my callus-free palms. “I’ve read every damn book, article, document, and archive in that damn building. It’s not like I have anything else to do.” I hoped he didn’t notice the way my voice hitched with the swell of emotion those truthful words spurred.
“Rae, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He leaned in close, sending a heavy waft of stale smoke my way. “You’re no smarter than us, and this time we caught you red-handed.”
I arched a dark brow, which only made his anger-fueled flush deepen. “No you haven’t, because I haven’t done a damn thing wrong. I’ve told you guys this every time you’ve dragged me down here. It’s not me. It’s never been me. I’m cursed,” I whispered, knowing full well those words might get me tossed into the looney bin. “Want to test my theory? Be my friend. Hang out with me a few times, make me laugh or smile. I give you two weeks’ tops before you’re dead too, and not by my hands.”
“Is that why you killed him?”
“Killed who?” I shouted, wincing when the echo sliced through my ears into my pounding head.
“Gregory Basin.” The damn bastard had shifted from angry to smug, like he caught me in something.
Annoyance flooded my veins, wiping away any semblance of patience I had left. This had gone on long enough. It was time for me to get out of here and go home.
To no one.
“Listen here, jackwagon. I’ll tell you this again. I have hurt no one—ever. Hell, I even brake for squirrels. I don’t even know a Gregory Basin, so why would I kill him?”
The weight of those words hit me in the chest. I didn’t even know a Gregory Basin. I didn’t have any friends or family left, so why would they suspect me of killing some guy I’d never met?
Unease grew, making my heart race.
Ignoring my demand for answers, again, he rapped his fingertips along the top of the folder. “Where were you last night?”
“The same place I am every Tuesday night. Jones’s downtown,” I grumbled, wrapping my arms around my chest in a motion the detective noted with a raise of both bushy brows.
Tuesday nights were the one night I allowed myself to go out. To sit in the same back corner booth and watch the world go on without me. I never interacted with anyone other than the server, and even those conversations remained brief and impersonal. Keeping to myself ensured those around me stayed safe. Which was why I continued to turn that one guy’s advances down.
The same guy who followed me out….
My eyes widened in realization. A clammy palm slapped to my lips to cover my gaping mouth.
The detective let out an incredulous chuckle. “I see you’ve realized your mistake, considering that was the last place anyone saw Mr. Basin. In fact, we have several witnesses stating they saw you two leave together.” I shook my head, my hand still firmly sealed over my mouth. “Which means you were the last person to see him before he disappeared.”
Disappeared.
A hefty breath whooshed from my burning lungs as my hand fell to the table. Disappeared, not dead. Maybe there was still time to save him.
Guilt clawed in my chest, making each inhale painful. He was harmless, so damn young and innocent. A man who didn’t deserve this because he wanted to buy me a drink, to cheer up a lonely woman.
I squeezed both eyes shut to prevent the tears from spilling over. He’d approached my booth for the past few weeks, each time with a lame pickup line and a smile. Last Tuesday night, he broke through my solid walls somehow, catching me in a weak moment that allowed him to talk for a few minutes before I made him leave.
Too many times I told him I was no good for him, that he should just leave me alone, but he never stopped, never let up on his onslaught of kindness and charm.
“Find him,” I whispered.
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Rae. It’s why you’re here.”
I shook my head, the tip of my ponytail swishing from side to side with the quick movement. “I don’t know where he is. When I drove off, he stood outside Jones’s. It wasn’t me. It’s never me.” Panic added a high pitch to my rising voice. “Someone is doing this to me. Someone has to be following me. It’s happening again,” I half cried, half demanded.
“Sticking with the same story, I see.” His disappointed sigh filled the room. “Tell us where he is, Rae. We won’t let you out of here until we find him. It’ll go a long way with the DA if you cooperate.”
I flung my hands out wide, fingers spread. “How can I cooperate when I know nothing? I didn’t do this.” I searched his hard gaze. “You can’t keep me here without charging me.”
The detective’s lips curled in a knowing smile. “True, but since you were the last person to see Mr. Basin, we can hold you for forty-eight hours. Maybe two days in holding will make you more compliant.” His gaze slipped lower. “What happened, Rae? Did he not return your advances? The bar owner said you two spoke several times before Tuesday night. Did you kill him like the others because this time he turned you down?” His eyes continued their once-over. “I can see why he would. Based on his driver’s license, you would’ve smothered the poor boy.”
My shoulders rounded in an attempt to curl into myself. My heavier weight, full curves, and tall frame were my biggest self-esteem triggers. And this asshole just struck a low blow, knowing full well it would knock me off-kilter.
This was bad. Never had they threatened to hold me as a suspect. Snagging the tip of my ponytail I nervously brushed the end along my dry lips. Prison? I was too soft; I’d be someone’s bitch in no time. Plus, I didn’t know how to make a shank, didn’t have anyone in my life who would come talk to me through that plastic window, offering a small reprieve from the horrors of day-to-day prison life.
The scrape of the chair legs snapped me out of my dark, strange downward spiral. Frantically I stood, mirroring the detective. Fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants, he hiked his belt higher.
“We’ve got you this time, Rae. Soon you’ll be behind bars, unable to hurt anyone else.”
A smidge of truth hid in that statement. If I were in the slammer, I couldn’t hurt anyone else just by my association. I thought this was over, the death. Over ten years with no one dying around me. And now this happened.
“Believe me,” I pleaded. “I didn’t do this. Someone is out there doing this to me, to them.”
Without another word, he shook his head and turned for the door. Panic slammed through me, and my thoughts turned more erratic. Searching the small room, I racked my brain for anything that could help, anything that would get me out of this shit situation.
The only answer to this predicament was simple, yet not.
“Wait,” I shouted just before the door shut, sealing my fate. This was the dumbest idea I’d ever had, but it was my only option. It had to work or I was screwed. This guy could only see what he wanted to with this case. I needed to look out for myself since no one else would.
“Ready to confess?” the detective asked, not bothering to turn from the hallway.
I waited for him to give me his full attention before I responded.
“No, Detective. I won’t confess to something I didn’t do to make your job easier. But I want one thing.”
“And what’s that?” he sneered.
Palms to the metal table, I leaned forward, attempting an intimidating stance as I met his glare.
“My one fucking phone call.”