Chapter Sixteen
Rochelle’s eyes widened as she studied the screen on Camden’s phone. “The picture at the Laundromat,” she said.
“Asher Foley was born a twin,” Camden said, still trying to digest the news.
“His rap sheet is long,” she said.
“And he has a violent history,” Camden pointed out.
“Kage doesn’t have a doppelg?nger,” she said as her jaw dropped.
“He has a twin,” Camden said, finishing for her.
“What are the odds?” she managed to ask.
“I didn’t believe him,” Camden said. “All this time, he knew something was off and I dismissed him as dodging justice for his crimes.”
“The mail fraud?”
“That was him,” Camden reassured. “But the violence against women, the torture, the murders—those fit with Asher’s background. He haunts Austin but his home address is a trailer park outside the city.”
“I wish there was a way to get a message to Kage that we believe he’s innocent.” She blinked a couple of times. “He doesn’t know about the twin.”
“The baseball caps make more sense to me now, as well.” Something had always been off.
The niggling feeling that had been bothering Camden could finally be explained.
Kage was innocent. No one believed him. “He must have seen the writing on the wall and decided to figure out what was going on for himself.”
“We missed the boat completely,” she said.
“It was impossible to predict a twin considering there’s no evidence of one on Kage’s side,” Camden reflected. Coming up with an explanation did little to ease his guilt for not giving Kage the benefit of the doubt.
“So much about this case makes sense now,” Rochelle said as she handed his cell back. “Like the bartender who said she felt like the person who came in for a second time was nothing like Kage. How he circled the dance floor like a predator.”
Camden nodded his agreement. Many puzzle pieces clicked together with this news. They needed to follow the evidence with this new information and see how much everything changed. “I think we already have the answer as to whether or not Asher knows about Kage’s existence.”
“I don’t have the impression the opposite is true.”
“Same here,” Camden said. “Now, we need to figure out where to find Kage.”
“Do you think stalking his apartment would work?”
Camden glanced at the clock. It was long after dark and Rochelle’s stomach just growled. “We’ll think better on a full stomach.”
“Okay,” she said. “Where to?”
“My house to cook?” he asked. “This seems like a good time to pause to let the new information percolate.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” she said. “I got an agreement from Sabrina to reach out to me if Asher shows up or contacts her.”
“My supervisor has an address on him,” Camden said. “It’s out of the way from my place but we could make a detour.”
“What are the chances he’ll be home?” she asked.
“If it was truly him taking shots at you, then I suspect he has a better hiding spot than his trailer,” he said as he navigated out of the parking lot. “But you never know about people, and we would be remiss to overestimate or underestimate any individual.”
A question struck him. Why would someone hold a grudge against a twin they’d never met? Was this a convenient way to blame someone else for their crimes? Or could that person want revenge for a perceived slight?
Twisted minds worked in ways Camden might never understand. But they had a name now. Asher fit the profile of the kind of person who would kidnap, torture, and murder women. They needed to find the abducted women while they were still alive.
Rochelle mentioned becoming a target because they were getting closer to the killer. Would that drive him to do away with his victims?
“Change of topic?” Rochelle asked, cutting into thoughts that were already turning into a hamster wheel.
“Yes, please,” he said. Overthinking never provided the answer he was looking for. Distraction had a way of clearing the way.
“Fair warning, this is personal,” she said.
“Oh?”
“I accidentally saw a phone call had come through on your phone from your brother,” Rochelle said. “Is that one of the texts you excused yourself to send before?”
“No, I wanted to check up on Asher Foley,” he said. “My brother asked me to call because he’s considering a meeting with our mother and wanted to know how I felt about joining.”
“What did you say?” Rochelle asked without hesitation. He liked that she felt comfortable enough with him to ask personal questions and get him talking about subjects that were normally off-limits.
“That I’m not interested.”
“You aren’t?”
“Should I be?” he asked.
“It’s probably just me, but I would be so curious about her,” she admitted. “You reach a point in life when you want to know more about what made you who you are. Plus, I can’t imagine not knowing my parents.”
“Because they didn’t abandon you at the ripe old age of seven,” he stated.
“True,” she said, biting down on her bottom lip as he pulled into his town-house complex. “Still. I think I’d have even more questions if I didn’t know them.”
“Even if it was her choice to leave?”
“Especially if that were the case,” she said. “Aren’t you curious as to why she did what she did?”
“A little,” he said. “Not enough to want a face-to-face.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?” She leaned her elbow on the console as he pulled into his garage.
“I hadn’t really thought about it in those terms,” he admitted as he cut off the engine and closed the garage door behind them.
“She’s the one who wants the meeting, right?”
“I assume so,” he said. “It sure as hell isn’t me.”
“Which means you can set the terms,” she said. “If you don’t like what you’re hearing in the first few minutes of the conversation, you can get up and walk out.”
Why did the thought of seeing his mother reduce him to that kid who’d cried himself to sleep every night after she disappeared?
“What if she’s a disappointment?” he asked.
“At least you’d know,” she reasoned. “This way, you must have lingering questions about her even if you are able to shove them aside most of the time.”
He could admit that was true as he exited his side and then rounded the front to open her door for her.
She thanked him and then followed him into his town house.
His cell buzzed again. He checked the screen.
His truck would be dropped off out front in visitor parking in a matter of minutes. Good timing.
“Everything okay?” she asked as she followed him into the kitchen.
Having Rochelle in his home almost convinced him everything would be.
“Yeah,” he said without making eye contact for fear she would be able to read him.
Rochelle set her handbag down and slipped out of her shoulder holster, then fixed it on the back of a chair for easy access. The weight of it normally comforted her but she’d been wearing it for long hours during this case.
Her neck hurt. Her back hurt. Her head hurt.
Being shot at multiple times in a matter of days had a way of jacking up stress levels. Body aches were never far off.
“Can I help with dinner?” she asked.
Camden moved to the fridge, opened it, and stood there for a long moment. “On second thought, there are menus in the drawer.” He motioned toward the top drawer nearest the window.
“Ordering in sounds like a plan,” she said, moving to the drawer and grabbing the ones on top. “What sounds better? Bowls or pizza?”
“Normally, I’d go for something healthier, but pizza sounds damn good to me right now,” he said.
“Excellent choice,” she said. “I hope you like the works.”
“Run it through the garden and then add the meats as far as I’m concerned,” he said.
“This place actually has a meat-and-garden-lovers delight,” she said.
“My favorite.”
“Done,” she said, then grabbed her cell and made the call.
He tried to give her a credit card, but she refused to allow him to pay.
When it came time to give an address, however, she handed over the phone and let him take the lead.
Then she added a salad so they could pretend they were eating healthy.
“Nice touch,” he said with a smile while listening to the salad order.
She winked. Being here with Camden felt like the most natural thing. Rochelle needed to shove the thought down deep. Another time. Another place. Camden was exactly the kind of person she could see herself dating.
Whoa! Dating. This was the first time she’d had a thought about picking up her life and moving on to consider her future since losing her mother.
“What’s next after dinner?” she asked, rubbing her temples.
“We should probably swing by Asher’s trailer to see if he’s home and will answer the door for us,” Camden said.
“I’m tempted to send a uniformed officer instead,” she said, reasoning he might be more inclined to open the door if only to lie. If she was the one standing on the opposite side of the door, he might answer with a shotgun blast before disappearing permanently.
“Understandable, considering the man might be the person who has fired at you twice now,” he admitted.
“True, but my bigger concern is how much time it will take to drive to Asher’s place and back,” she reasoned. “I hate to be away from Austin and from Kage’s house very long. Plus, what if Sabrina calls? What if Asher shows up at her house? We’ll be too far away to make a difference.”
A loud engine pulled up in front of the town house. Rochelle tensed.
“That will be my truck,” Camden said with a smile and a wink.
She exhaled. Since when did every noise make her chest tighten?
Of course, staring at Camden while he winked would send anyone’s pulse racing, but this wasn’t the same thing. This was fear and she had no time for a reaction like that if she wanted to stay in this line of work.
Some fear was good. Fear kept her alive, told her when to panic and when to run. The kind of fear that gripped someone and didn’t let go was the kind that caused mistakes—mistakes that couldn’t happen in a job like hers.
Camden’s town house was unfinished. There were no pictures hanging on the walls.
There were no plants. In fact, there was just enough furniture to survive.
The open-concept floorplan had the kitchen flowing into the dining area into the living room.
There was a stairwell to the right that led to a second story, which would have the bedrooms. The floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room would let in a lot of light being south facing, except that miniblinds were closed.
The kitchen had a granite island with bar chairs on one side.
There was a rectangle-shaped dining table made of glass with black chairs.
In the living room was a black leather sofa, love seat, and console with a flat-screen TV on top.
A pair of running shoes were parked next to the front door.
The living room had a rug underneath a glass coffee table.
She half expected unpacked boxes to line the walls. It would explain the lack of decorations. A stack of mail sat on one end of the table, and that was about it. The granite island had a laptop in front of one of the bar chairs.
There were enough supplies in the kitchen to make coffee and cook a simple meal based on what she’d seen so far.
“Do you want me to put on a pot of coffee?” she asked.
He was old school with an actual Mr. Coffee machine instead of one of the fancier pod-type jobs.
She’d been inside some homes that could run a small coffee shop out of the kitchen for how deluxe their machines were.
Or should she say how extravagant their espresso bars were?
“Would you mind?” he asked as he rounded the white granite island.
“Not at all,” she said, taking the opposite way toward the machine. Being close to Camden in his home felt surprisingly intimate. As much as she might be able to get used to the feeling under different circumstances, these weren’t different circumstances.
Coworker. She chanted the word in her mind as she assembled everything needed to brew a pot of coffee. Turned out, Mr. Coffee machines were a lot like riding a bike.
Camden disappeared out the front door, closing it behind him.
The move shouldn’t cause her stress levels to skyrocket again.
Then again, being shot at not once but twice had a way of getting under your skin. Would it interfere with her ability to conduct the investigation?