Atonement (10 page)

“Is there any way around this? DCI won't be here for another hour or so.”

What did Rivers honestly think she would find? Discounting the Walker deaths, there hadn't been any signs of someone else with Seth Moore at the time of his death. They had gone over the barn and the house at least three times.

“Listen.” She sighed. “Why don't you check her over? If you find something suspicious, then we know we're right, and Hamilton won't blow his top if it comes from you. Don't find anything? Well, no harm no foul.”

“Pushing your luck there.”

“And I repeat: you know I'm right about this.”

If she was, and if Con found something to back her claims, there would be no getting rid of her from these cases. PTSD be damned.

Sliding his hand over his head, he stared at her. As she stared back one of her eyebrows twitched upward, like she was daring him to say no.

“If you're right—and that's a big if—and in a few days I think you're not fit for duty, you back out of these cases without argument and take a long vacation.”

Rivers sucked her left check inside her mouth and seemed to gnaw on it. After a few seconds of doing that, she blew out a frustrated breath. “How long of a vacation?”

“Long enough to settle things with your sister and get some help.”

She stiffened at his statement. He'd let the cat out of the bag on that one, admitting he knew about her sister, but it was time she was made aware of how deep his involvement went.

“Fine,” she spat out.

With that, he returned to the bathroom. He heard her follow him as far as the doorway, where she stopped. Probably to keep her nose clean if Shane were to ever question her participation in this.

Taking care to avoid the puddles and to keep from disturbing anything on the floor around the tub, Con examined Giselle's body. He couldn't see much through the blood-stained water. When her mother had pulled Giselle from the water, she'd left the body partially draped over the side. Con squatted two feet away, bringing his eyes level with the exposed wrist. Slitting her wrists was a measure that ensured if she wasn't able to drown herself she'd die from blood loss. The wound was deep and, from the angle, self-inflicted.

Con rose and moved around to the end of the tub. Giselle's knees were exposed above the water, but there were no signs of anyone having touched her outside of her mother. From what he could see without draining the tub and examining her body more closely, Giselle had been drinking some of the same whacked-out Kool-Aid as the two other men and went over the line.

He turned to relay the bad news to Rivers and froze when he saw her wide-eyed expression. She was pointing at a spot under the bathtub.

“I see something flashing under there.”

Bloody hell, he was going to have to get on his knees to see under it. So much for not disturbing the scene any more. Assuming the position, he peered under the tub and spotted what Rivers had seen. Thank the saints, he already had the gloves on. Reaching under the tub, he picked up a small bead, making sure not to smudge any prints that might be on it, and climbed to his feet.

He squinted at the tiny object and felt his blood thickening in his veins as he realized what he held.

“What is it?” Rivers asked.

“It's a rosary bead.”

Nic shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it inside the Jeep. Bracing against the frame of the vehicle, she stared at the driver's seat, not really seeing the black leather and seams. Three days. Four deaths, three of them attributed to suicide and one by a bullet from her rifle. She'd come here to get away from the constant parade of death. In the end, Eider, Iowa, had become like any other place in the world she had lived.

Closing the door, she turned around and sank to the ground, leaning against the dusty tire to watch the forensic team from DCI process the Tomberlin house. On the opposite side of the driveway, Hamilton and O'Hanlon were speaking with Giselle's family.

The sheriff reacted to her and O'Hanlon's discovery with more restraint than Nic expected. Maybe having some of the DCI crew on site at the time of their reveal had something to do with it. Hamilton did help them search for Giselle's rosary, which they never found. At that point, DCI took over, with the assurance they'd look for the missing item. In turn, Hamilton dismissed Nic but not O'Hanlon. Guess the boss man figured out she was the one who made the push to break orders and had to get her out of sight before he lost his cool.

Nic massaged the back of her neck. She should just pack it up and go home. Besides, her shift was about up. Hamilton told her that Walker was pulling a double, so she had no reason to stick around town. Except for one huge problem—Cassy was still in her house.

What happened to Nic's nice, neat, less complicated existence?

To make matters worse—her gaze lingered on O'Hanlon—she couldn't shake this stupid attraction to the Irishman. She couldn't and wouldn't be attached to a man. Each time she'd done so before, she'd been burned either by rejection or death. Every emotion, every thought about Con O'Hanlon had to be iced out and blocked, because she didn't have the strength to recover if she was hurt again.

A shadow fell over her legs. Squinting, she peered up at the owner.

Deputy Jennings squatted, resting his arms on his thighs. “Mind if I join ya?”

While the seasoned cops had gone over the house, Jennings stayed behind the scenes not really contributing much. Nic figured with his fresh-out-of-the-academy training, he'd be all over this like an eager pup. That wasn't the case with this one. Why did Hamilton bring the kid on if he wasn't going to get into the trenches with the rest of the crew?

Why did she even give a damn? Second-guessing her command was what got her kicked out of the marines.

“Sure, why not?” She gestured for him to sit.

Jennings made himself comfortable, keeping a good foot-and-a-half gap between them, which was still too close for Nic's preferences. Thankfully, the kid kept his attention on the activity in front of them.

“I've never seen anything like that before,” he muttered.

“You were at the Moore place and saw him.”

Jennings shook his head. “Sheriff kept me out of the barn.”

Nic resisted the urge to touch Jennings's arm or shoulder. She wasn't a touchy-feely person. “Why'd you want to be a cop if you couldn't stomach death?”

“I just figured I'd be making traffic stops and arresting people.” He removed his ball cap and scratched the top of his head with the same hand that held the cap. “This kinda stuff ain't normal.”

He could say that again. All that nonsense about sin atonement and cleansing themselves of their sins … it was enough to give her the creeps.

Aiden had never spewed that nonsense. Bookending her head with her hands, she buried her fingers in her hair behind the ponytail. No, he had suffered in silence, hiding his pain from everyone close to him, including her. She, on the other hand, had fought back, turned into a raging thorn in the sides of all who ruined her and Aiden's careers. He had begged her to let it go, insisted they move on with their lives. But she couldn't do it, and in the end, she paid for her stubbornness. She lost Aiden.

“Why do you think they did it?” Jennings asked.

Dropping her hands from her head, Nic looked at him. “I don't know.”

At the clatter of the gurney coming out of the house, her attention switched to Doc Drummond with one of the DCI medical examiners as they wheeled the gurney to a dark van. A black body bag hid Giselle Tomberlin from prying eyes. Nic heard the victim's mother begin to wail, again. Unwelcomed memories bubbled to the surface.

Time to leave.

She stood, dusting off her jeans. “I'm going home.”

Jennings scrambled to his feet and danced back from the Jeep's door. “You want me to follow you home?”

Scowling, she stared at him over her shoulder. “Why would you need to do that?”

The kid's Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped. “I just thought … you know … with this being an emotional time and all … ”

“Kid, I don't need a babysitter. You go home yourself and don't worry about me.” She yanked the door open and slid inside. “I've got enough people breathing down my neck.”

• • •

The sight of her sister on the back of Nic's favored jumper greeted her when she pulled into the drive. Anger at Cassy for riding her horse without permission briefly flared through her then the anger dissipated as Nic observed Cassy's form while the bay sailed over the jumping standard.

Little sister was magnificent.

Exiting the Jeep, Nic quietly made her way over to the grassy riding area. Cassy hadn't noticed her yet, and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as she could.

The bay, Firewhiskey, knew the steps, had his timing down to perfection, and loved jumping. Whiskey's intelligence had drawn Nic into purchasing him. She couldn't decide if the bay was making Cassy look good, or if her sister was a better rider than she expected.

As they rounded the last set of jumping standards, Nic couldn't stop herself from critiquing her sister's ride. Nic couldn't think of a single time she'd seen or heard Cassy express interest in horses or jumping after Nic gave it all up. The day that happened, Nic had learned the bitter truth about The General's honest feelings for his eldest daughter. And those were thoughts she tried hard to never dwell on.

Whiskey's body coming to a stop in front of her startled Nic out of her trance.

“What are you doing?” she snapped.

Cassy's features softened as she smiled. In that second she looked more like the kid sister Nic remembered.

“Testing out your mounts.” Cassy stroked the bay's neck. “He jumps those standards like a pro.”

“Yeah, well, he loves jumping.” Nic crossed her arms. “I never gave you permission to ride.”

“We're not fourteen and six; we don't need to squabble. You weren't home, and I wanted to ride.”

Nic huffed. “I thought for sure you'd be plotting another way to stab me in the back.”

Cassy's bright, young-girl expression faded, replaced by the haggard appearance of a woman who'd seen too much. Gathering the reins, she directed Whiskey's head toward the barn. “I'll take care of him.”

Clenching her fists, Nic turned her back on the pair and stalked to the house.

Silence wrapped around Nic and welcomed her home. She savored the moment, then her gaze fell on her sister's shoulder bag sitting on the table. Inching closer to the table, anticipation filled Nic. From the moment she discovered Cassy in her home, Nic hadn't yet figured out how her sister knew where she was, or where Cassy came from. Tapping her thigh, Nic stared at the front door. She had maybe twenty to thirty minutes before Cassy entered the house; plenty of time to snoop, then shower and mull over where her sister had hidden her guns. Her duty weapon and the rifle weren't enough.

Nic rifled through the pouch and pulled out a simple billfold that contained her sister's driver's license and detective's ID. The address listed was for an apartment in Iowa City. Her badge was for the Coralville City Police Department.

All this time, Cassy had lived close to Nic without her being aware of it. Which then begged the question, had The General learned where his wayward eldest daughter ran off to? Would he come after her?

Nic pushed away from the table and headed for the bathroom, shedding her belt and boots as she went and dropping them wherever was convenient. She should've been furious with Cassy, but about what? Cassy claimed she'd kept her tracks covered so The General couldn't find Nic. Her sister was living in a bubble if she seriously thought that man didn't have means or motive to bypass all of her safeguards. No fool herself, Nic had layered her safeguards inside the Corps and other avenues The General might use to locate her. But money talked, and bullshit walked.

How long did Nic have before he showed up on her front step? In the bathroom, she stripped out of her uniform and underclothing then stepped into the shower. Cranking the faucet to the hottest setting she could tolerate without scalding her skin, she let the water stream down her body. The warmth, along with the added massaging she gave her taut muscles at the juncture of her neck and shoulders, eased the tension. Instead of thinking, she emptied her mind and went on autopilot, shampooing her hair and lathering her body.

Too soon, she was done and drying off. She heard the front door clap shut, announcing Cassy's arrival. Tucking the towel around her body, Nic slipped into her bedroom. A quick rap on the door startled her halfway through dressing.

“Nic, what do you want to do for supper?”

She frowned at the barrier between them. “Why?”

“Because I can't seem to make the right food you'll stay home to eat.”

When she didn't answer, Cassy pressed on. “Is there any place in town we can go that's good?”

And now her sister expected to be seen in public with her? The people in Eider weren't exactly happy with Nic, and the last thing she needed was for Cassy to see the animosity. Or for the people in town to know that Nic had family.

“Come on. One night out with me isn't going to kill you.”

“So you think,” Nic mumbled.

“What?”

After slipping on a snug T-shirt, Nic opened the door and leaned against the wood frame. “I just got home, and I don't want to go into town again.”

Cassy sighed. “Then what—”

“Know what? You go. Go to the Killdeer Pub and ask Maura if Con is there tonight. Maybe the two of you can come up with some way to ruin my life further.” With that, she shut the door in Cassy's face.

• • •

The Priest mingled among the fringes of the crowd gathered around Giselle Tomberlin's home. He caught snippets of the gossip flying between the townspeople morbid enough to gawk.