Chasing the Violet Killer Read online

  “Sloppy,” Hwang expressed, pleased, while presenting an evidence bag for Dylan to drop the casing into.

  He did just that, while imagining the horrific moment of impact for Roger. “Either that, or the perp just didn’t give a damn, figuring we wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

  Hwang sneered. “Let him keep thinking that.”

  “We need to know who’s come in and out of this building in the past hour,” Dylan told the detective. “Hopefully, there are security cameras that can help us pinpoint Lincoln’s killer, giving us the tools to fill in the blanks of identifying the perp.”

  Hwang concurred. “I spotted at least one surveillance camera when I came in. Apart from that, there seemed to be plenty of other people entering and exiting the building during the lunch hour, besides the killer. Chances are one or more saw something...or someone suspicious...”

  “Maybe,” Dylan said, having reservations about just how quickly they could solve this case. Most people simply weren’t that observant when it came to paying attention to those around them. A clever perp could practically introduce him or herself to unsuspecting passersby and still not stand out. Dylan hoped that wasn’t the case here, but he wasn’t holding his breath on that front. He looked at an empty spot in the center of the desk where Roger’s laptop had been, judging by the dust that formed a perfect rectangle. Had the killer stolen the computer? If so, why? Was something incriminating on it that might lead right to the perp’s proverbial front door?

  “Yeah, I noticed the laptop was missing, too,” Hwang said, jutting his chin. “Looks like Roger’s cell phone has also vanished. Pretty suspicious, huh?”

  “It’s much more than that,” Dylan told him regrettably. “Roger was apparently video chatting on the laptop with Naomi when he was shot—”

  “Seriously?” Hwang’s jaw dropped with disbelief. “Sorry about that, man.” He paused. “Have you talked to her about it?” Hwang was aware of his history with Roger’s niece and that she was the adored child Roger never had, as well as someone who had worked with the police department in her former capacity.

  “Not yet.” Dylan drew a ragged breath. “I wanted to get more information before I called her.” It wasn’t a conversation he was particularly looking forward to, no matter the way things ended between them, but one that had to be done.

  “Do what you need to do,” Hwang said understandingly, “difficult as it will be. I can handle things here till the medical examiner and forensic team arrive.”

  “Thanks.” Dylan shifted the weight of his tall, firm frame from one foot to the other, while pondering the possibility that Naomi may have critical information on the shooting, beyond the lethal act itself. Did Roger say anything to her that could have led to his death? Did she see or hear the shooter? Did the perp see her on the laptop screen? Whichever scenario Dylan played in his mind, it rattled him. The last thing he wanted was for Naomi to not only be a witness to murder but also be in potential danger herself. Though she was presumably still safely away in Miami, something told him that wouldn’t be for long. Even if it was too late to save Roger, she would undoubtedly be returning to Pebble Creek to bury her uncle. Dylan was pretty sure there was nothing he could do or say to make Naomi stay put while the investigation into his death was underway, whether he wanted that or not.

  He peered at Roger’s disfigured face, or more specifically, at his lips that had turned wickedly purple. They were slightly open with blood spilling out of a corner. There seemed to be something inside the mouth. Still wearing the nitrile gloves, Dylan carefully parted Roger’s lips and pulled out a saliva-moistened and bloodied violet.

  * * *

  “I’VE GOT A rock-solid lead on the so-called Violet Killer that has dogged me since retirement...” were the last words Secret Service Special Agent Naomi Lincoln’s uncle, Roger Lincoln, uttered before she heard what sounded like a gunshot. Aghast, she watched him keel over as blood gushed from a gaping wound on the side of his head. A shadowy figure moved behind him, staying just out of view on the small screen of her laptop, before it went totally black.

  In spite of being overwhelmed with emotion, while feeling utterly helpless to the moment at hand, Naomi had immediately called 911 to report the crime. Though she prayed that her uncle could somehow survive the atrocious and cowardly attack, she feared it was too late to save him. Before her very horror-struck, bold hazel eyes, someone—maybe this Violet Killer—had attacked the man who had raised her alone since she was ten years old after losing his brother, Milton, who was Naomi’s father, and her mother, Paula, in a terrible head-on car collision. That was twenty years ago. Now, at thirty and an only child, Naomi was faced with the real possibility of having no more family she could lean on and give the same solid support in return.

  It was this frightening prospect that weighed heavily on her mind as Naomi stood barefoot on the cold cherry micro-beveled hardwood flooring in the sunken living room of her downtown Miami, Florida, apartment. She shared the place with fellow Secret Service agent Sophia Menendez, currently on assignment out of state. Naomi turned her thoughts back to the serial killer who had terrorized Pebble Creek over the last two years. She hadn’t kept up much with the case, other than knowing that a madman in the vein of the Boston or Hillside Stranglers was strangling to death local women and leaving a violet behind, while apparently taunting the authorities and daring them to stop him. When her uncle had retired, Dylan Hester had been assigned as lead investigator of the case. Last she knew, the killer was still very much at large. Had he changed his MO and gone after the man who was the closest thing she had to a father for two decades?

  Naomi looked at the cell phone chiming in her hand. The caller ID identified the person requesting a video chat as none other than Dylan himself. A quiver shot through her as thoughts about him flooded her head. He was once the love and lover of her life and someone she’d envisioned a real future with, where the commitment to each other stood the test of time and with it came children to cement their bond. But something happened that threw her fantasies entirely out of whack. Or at least those pertaining to Dylan. A remarkable opportunity arose two years ago to join the United States Secret Service. All things considered, professionally speaking, it was an opportunity she could not turn her back on, hard as it was on her personal and romantic life. It would enable her to take a few giant steps toward using her knowledge on crime victims to foster a career in which she was able to go after those who would seek to victimize others through money laundering, counterfeiting and financial institution fraud, among other serious crimes. Now she had to wonder if she could do it over, would she? Naomi closed her eyes for a moment while considering this, before opening them. The answer was yes, even though with a heavy heart. The truth was that while her uncle Roger took Dylan under his wing, allowing his life in law enforcement to take off, her own career choices were limited at best had she stayed in Pebble Creek. Her uncle wisely recognized this and—though he understood it would likely mean an end to her involvement with Dylan, given the long-distance relationship neither she nor Dylan wanted—encouraged Naomi to pursue other paths to the success she deserved and her parents would have approved of, which she did. The painful trade-off was that it meant sacrificing her love life, not knowing if she would ever meet the likes of a Dylan Hester again. Or if she would even try.

  Naomi hesitated to answer the phone, knowing what came next would rock her world, one way or another. She wiped tears from her golden-complexioned high cheeks, courtesy of the genetics of a white mother and African American father. Accepting the call, she saw Dylan’s face appear. “Hey...” she uttered nervously.

  “Hey.” The timbre of his voice was still as richly deep and soothing as Naomi remembered. Her ex-boyfriend’s ruggedly handsome, well-defined features had also changed little since she last saw him. His raven hair was in a newer square cut bordering an oblong face that was clean-shaven, but the gray eyes with flecks of brown and gold were just as intense as before.

  Naomi trained her eyes on him, eager for information, knowing the nature of the first direct communication between them in over a year. Her heart raced. “Is my uncle Roger—” Her voice broke, unable to complete the question.

  Dylan’s forehead furrowed. “Roger didn’t make it,” he voiced sadly, while being direct. “I’m so sorry, Naomi.”

  Even suspecting as much before hearing the words, the pain of confirming her worst fears wasn’t any less throbbing. Her knees wobbled, but she resisted sitting down. “Did you get the person responsible?” The query made it clear that she knew this was cold-blooded murder and not a self-inflicted gunshot fatality. Her uncle—who had never married, choosing his career over being in a committed relationship—loved life as much as he could. Even in retirement, with a bad back and a little crankiness, he would never have considered taking such a terrible course of action, to leave her to remember him in that awful way.

  Dylan’s eyes lowered lamentably. “As yet, we have no one in custody in connection with Roger’s death.”

  Naomi wrinkled her dainty nose with disappointment. “Why would someone kill Uncle Roger...?” She had her thoughts about the matter, but would hold on to those for now, till she got the official read on the investigation.

  “I was hoping you could shed more light on that,” Dylan said tentatively. “I realize that this is a bad time—the absolute worst—but the more we know and the quicker we know it, the more we have to work with in apprehending the killer as soon as possible.” He paused. “I understand that you were video chatting with Roger when the incident occurred...?”

  Incident? That almost made it sound like a slight disagreement between neighbors. Or perhaps a confrontati
on at school that went nowhere. This was no incident, but rather a horrid act of brutality.

  Naomi nodded with a heavy sigh, then ran a small hand through her long brunette hair, styled in a shaggy fringe. “We talked mostly about me,” she admitted, before the hard part came. “He was always checking up on me, seeing what I was up to. If I needed anything. It was our way of staying connected...” She swallowed and her lower lip shook. “Then he started to talk about the Violet Killer and a lead he’d developed on the person.”

  Devon pursed his lips. “Did he give you the name of a suspect?”

  “Never got the chance before...” The words stuck in her throat like a chicken bone and Naomi forced herself to keep from crying again, needing to be strong to get through this.

  “Did Roger happen to send you any information he’d gathered on the case?”

  “No. He said he wanted to keep me out of it for the most part.” Naomi now wished he had been more forthcoming and she had pressed for more—maybe it might have made a difference—before it was too late. She peered at Dylan’s face on the small screen, sensing he was holding something back. What was he not saying? “Why do you ask?”

  Dylan scratched his jaw. “Roger’s laptop is missing. We think that whoever killed him took it, along with any possible damaging evidence it may have held.”

  She batted her curly lashes before narrowing her eyes at him. “So, you believe my uncle was the victim of the Violet Killer?”

  “Too early to say,” Dylan contended ambiguously. “At this point, we’re keeping all options on the table as we investigate what happened.”

  Reading between the not-so-thick lines, Naomi concluded in her own mind that this serial killer was the key suspect—if not the only one. Especially when coupled with her uncle’s cryptic final words. It sent a chill down her spine.

  “So, I assume you’re coming to the funeral?” Dylan asked, smoothing one of his thick brows.

  “Do you even have to ask?” Her eyes grew hotly. “Uncle Roger was the only family I had left...”

  “I know.” Dylan’s shoulders slumped. “Okay, it was a dumb question. Guess I just figured that maybe with your work schedule, it wouldn’t permit you the time to break away.”

  “Seriously?” Her lower lip hung incredulously as he seemed to be digging himself an even deeper tunnel. Was this his way of knocking the Secret Service? Or her for leaving Pebble Creek and him behind? Neither set well with her at the moment. This wasn’t about her or them. “I think I’m allowed to attend funerals of loved ones,” she said tartly. “Of course I’m coming to Uncle Roger’s funeral!”

  “Understood.” Dylan’s voice dropped an apologetic octave. “Let me know when your flight is scheduled to arrive and I can pick you up at the airport.”

  “Don’t do me any favors,” she tossed at him sarcastically, still feeling insulted by his insinuation regarding her work and ability to get away. “I’ll take an Uber, thank you.”

  He jutted his chin. “Have it your way.”

  “I have to go,” Naomi said hurriedly, before either said anything else they might regret. Or had they already said pretty much all there was to say of consequence?

  “Fine.” He lowered a hard gaze, then looked up again, where it seemed to soften. “See you when you get here, unless we somehow manage to avoid each other until the funeral.”

  She refused to let him bait her into a cynical response. Or did he not want to see her during the trip, as if the memories of what they once had were too painful to separate the man from the detective? If that was the way he felt, far be it for her to object. “Goodbye, Dylan,” she said curtly, and hung up.

  Afterward, Naomi had second thoughts about the way the call had ended. It was unavoidable that they would cross paths, over and beyond his attendance at the funeral as her uncle’s friend and former partner, apart from anything else. In spite of their history, that was then and this was now. Both she and Dylan needed to get past it and act like adults moving forward. At least she intended to, while throwing the ball back squarely into his court.

  Naomi went into the peninsula kitchen and poured herself a calming glass of red wine, taking a sip. Admittedly, no matter how adult-like she wanted to handle things with Dylan, she was not looking forward to coming face-to-face again with the man whose heart she broke for all the right reasons. They were certainly right for her at the time, if not him, and she fully understood this. But she saw little chance of dodging Dylan Hester, since he was investigating her uncle’s murder and she needed to pay her final respects to him. And there was more to it than that. She had to stick around long enough to make sure that her uncle Roger’s killer was brought to justice. Even if that meant bumping heads with her ex. She would just have to deal with any—or all—awkward moments between them as best as possible. Even then, Naomi knew that, where it concerned Dylan, that was much easier said than done.

  Chapter Two

  Having taken a connecting flight from Portland, Oregon, to Pebble Creek’s small but busy airport, Naomi sat in the rear of the Uber, where she took in the sights of the coastal town she grew up in. Not much had changed since her last visit. They passed by cottonwood tree–lined streets with clusters of condominiums, single-family dwellings, small businesses and parks situated throughout. Beyond that were log cabins and farmhouses on rolling hills and forested land. She remembered feeling trapped here, as if the bigger world would somehow pass her by had she not seized the moment when opportunity knocked. How might things have been had she failed to answer the call to improve her life? Would she have forever regretted it? Or gone on a different path where romance and a promising relationship were given a chance to flourish?

  Naomi caught a glimpse of the lake where she and Dylan first made love on his friend’s boat. The moment was forever etched in her mind, set in stone, and was probably when she realized she had fallen in love with him. It was an experience that shook her entire foundation and made all things seem possible. The truth was, she had never fallen out of love with Dylan. How could what they had have been so easily replaced with another? Yes, she had tried to move on in the romance department, but hadn’t had much luck there, not too surprisingly, as Dylan was a hard act to follow. Given the way things ended between them, Naomi was sure Dylan had found someone else to share his life with and couldn’t blame him one bit—even if her uncle had suggested otherwise, giving her hope that there might still be a possibility for them to resume their relationship at some point. But she was a realist. After all, she had never given Dylan any indication that there was any hope of them getting back together. How could she and be fair to him? Or herself?

  Maybe that was her mistake. Or maybe this was the way it was meant to be.

  The car pulled up in front of the two-story Craftsman-style home on Maple Lane that Naomi had grown up in and always saw as a place to come back to. No matter how far away she went.

  “Here we are,” said the friendly male driver, peering through the rearview mirror.

  She acknowledged as much, before getting out. As she stepped into the mid-August sunlight, the hot air hit Naomi in the face like a gentle slap, without the humidity she had grown used to in Miami. After the tall, sandy-haired driver unloaded her bags from the trunk, she thanked him, having tipped in advance.

  “Enjoy your stay,” he said routinely.

  Naomi gave a slight smile, though recognizing that this was anything but a trip to enjoy in returning to her hometown. She carried her travel bags up the cobblestone walkway, almost expecting her beloved uncle Roger to come out and greet her with a big bear hug, as was his custom. The thought that this would never happen again tugged at her heart emotionally.