Secret Sanctuary Read online

  “That may be what some are saying,” Cullen said grimly. “The other half is certain David Bryson is the killer. We’ve even heard rumblings of a vigilante group forming.” He could picture it now. A mob of outraged citizens traipsing up Old Mountain Road with torches and ropes, maybe a few crosses thrown in for good measure. A scene straight from a horror flick. Just what they needed.

  Brie leaned slightly toward him. “I don’t think the killer is Leary or David Bryson.”

  Cullen lifted a brow. “You have a theory?”

  She angled her head ever so slightly toward the counter, where Marley Glasglow sat hunched over his coffee. “If I were you, I’d find out where he went after he left here last night.”

  Actually, Cullen had already checked, and, as it turned out, Glasglow didn’t have an alibi. But there wasn’t any physical evidence or eyewitness accounts tying him to the murder, either. Not yet, at least.

  Cullen thought about Elizabeth’s “flash of yellow” on the terrace outside the solarium, and he remembered that Glasglow had been wearing a yellow rain slicker last night. So had Shamus McManus for that matter, but for the life of him, Cullen couldn’t picture that old geezer a killer.

  Although…Shamus had made some rather strange claims. What the hell had he been rambling on about? Something about Leary rising from his grave to look for his offspring and the offspring of their offspring?

  Was it possible Shamus knew something, perhaps inadvertently, about the murder?

  Now you’re grasping at straws, Cullen warned himself. That’s what exhaustion and lack of any real leads will do for you.

  He doubted Shamus could be of much help, and as strongly as Cullen believed Glasglow capable of such a heinous crime, the man wasn’t going to be convicted because he owned a yellow rain slicker. If that were the case, three-quarters of the town would end up behind bars.

  But even as that thought entered his head, Glasglow slowly swiveled on his stool until he was facing Cullen. And for just a moment, for that one split second when their gazes met, Cullen could have sworn he was staring into the eyes of a killer.

  Chapter Ten

  On Monday afternoon, Cullen found himself once again at Heathrow College, looking for Elizabeth. It was becoming a habit, and probably not a very smart one. She wasn’t at all the type of woman he needed to get involved with. For one thing, he still had a hard time thinking of her as a woman. At twenty, she wasn’t much more than a kid.

  She’s only four years younger than you.

  And she has a body that won’t quit.

  Okay, granted she wasn’t that much younger than he was, and granted she’d done a lot of maturing since he’d left town six years ago. The way she’d looked in that sexy costume the other night had been evidence of that. The low-cut neckline had revealed plenty of her…maturity. Cullen’s testosterone levels had shot through the roof when he’d seen her. He hadn’t felt an attraction that intense in a long time.

  But the problem was, he also still had images of the way she’d been in high school, a brainy, snooty little geek whose air of superiority had rubbed people the wrong way. To be fair, her attitude had probably been a defense against the way the older kids picked on her, but she’d still been as annoying as hell back then.

  Even so, Cullen had always found himself coming to her rescue, which, come to think of it, really hadn’t been that much of a hardship, considering how he’d liked a good fight. But there’d been something about her even then that had touched a chord inside him, that had made him want to defend her. Made him want to be her hero.

  Which was stupid. The two of them couldn’t have been more unalike. They came from two very different worlds. But even more of a chasm than their social status was Elizabeth’s intelligence. She was a Ph.D. at the age of twenty; he’d quit school his senior year and hitchhiked out of town. He’d later earned his diploma and had distinguished himself at the police academy. But the stigma of being a dropout still clung to him, especially in Moriah’s Landing.

  All his life, Cullen had been ashamed of something—his mother running off the way she had, his father’s drinking, Cullen’s own weaknesses and temptations. He’d gotten into a lot of trouble as a kid because of those temptations. He’d hung out with thugs until he’d become one himself, and he still wore that stigma, too. He was a product of his parents, but that was no excuse. There was a time when he’d been no better than they.

  Being a cop was the first thing in his life he’d ever had to be proud of. What if he lost that?

  Are you afraid to let me see the body, Cullen?

  Why would I be afraid?

  Maybe you think I’ll find something you didn’t.

  He drew a breath, remembering his conversation with Elizabeth. What if she had seen something on the body that he hadn’t? What if she could solve this case when he couldn’t? What if she were to take away the only thing in his life he’d ever been any good at?

  And that, he knew, was one of the reasons for his initial reluctance about using her on this case.

  But he wasn’t proud of the way he’d acted with her. He didn’t want to be like some of the cops he’d known in Boston—or like Chief Redfern, for that matter—who were willing to jeopardize investigations because of their petty squabbles and insufferable egos. A young woman was dead, and the killer was still out there somewhere. Cullen would do whatever it took to stop that maniac before he could kill again, and if his own pride got stepped on in the process, then so be it.

  He located the classroom where Elizabeth was conducting a lecture, and he slipped in quietly so as not to create a stir. Only a few students seated at the back turned to stare at him, and they probably hadn’t been paying attention in the first place, he decided.

  Elizabeth stood at the front of the classroom, her back to him as she scribbled something on the blackboard. She continued to talk as she wrote. “…relationship between mental illness and criminality, and the implications that psychiatric labeling of deviant behavior has on the criminal offender, both in and out of the courts—”

  She turned then and saw him. Her expression froze. Her body went rigid for just a moment as their gazes clung, and something electric leaped between them.

  Then she regained her composure and nodded briefly before continuing her lecture. She was in her element in the classroom. She seemed small, but perfectly capable. Utterly fearless, and Cullen wondered suddenly why he’d ever felt the need to come to her defense.

  He tried to concentrate on what she was saying. Evidently the topic was abnormal behavior and criminality, but he found his mind and his gaze wandering. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t stop thinking about the other night at her cottage when she’d bent to pour the tea, how her breasts—firm and small and incredibly tempting—had been exposed by the cut of her gown. Before that night, he’d never seen Elizabeth wear anything remotely revealing. He’d never considered her as anything but mildly attractive. Certainly not sexy. Certainly not ravishing.

  But that costume had inspired all kinds of fantasies. If he’d gone to bed that night, Cullen was sure he would have dreamed about that dress. About slowly sliding it down her body, until more than just a tantalizing bit of cleavage was exposed….

  The room was warm, and he realized suddenly that he was sweating beneath his coat.

  When class was finally dismissed, the students pushed past him on their way to the hall. Some of them bumped up against him on purpose while their friends giggled and encouraged them. One slipped a note in his hand, and he glanced down to see a phone number and a smiley face sketched on pink paper. When he looked back up, a shapely blonde winked at him from the doorway.

  Heathrow, with its all-girl student body, was a frat boy’s wildest dream come true. But even though the girls weren’t that much younger than Cullen, certainly not jailbait, he wasn’t the least bit interested in any of them. He told himself it was because he had too much on his mind, but when he glanced up and saw Elizabeth waiting for him at th
e front of the classroom, he realized with a sinking sensation why none of the young women appealed to him.

  They weren’t Elizabeth.

  You can’t let this happen, a little voice warned him as he approached her warily.

  What did he have to offer a woman like her?

  “Hello.” Her smile was tentative, shy. Very appealing.

  Too bad she didn’t still wear braces, Cullen thought. Too bad she wasn’t still scrawny and annoying. Well, she could still be annoying. But she sure as hell wasn’t scrawny, he noted, his gaze traveling over her.

  She was dressed in gray wool slacks and a matching sweater that were not at all suggestive, and yet Cullen couldn’t help noticing the way the fabric clung to her gentle curves. The way her hair, pulled back in a bun, highlighted her smooth complexion. The way her hazel eyes glinted with intelligence.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat. “I came by to see Fortier.”

  Her brows lifted. “Did you talk to him? What did you find out? What did he tell you?”

  Cullen held up a hand. “Whoa. Slow down. No need to get so excited.” He saw her blush a little and thought how unusual in this day and age to see a woman so easily embarrassed. How different she was from the women he’d dated in Boston. She wore no makeup, but there was a natural glow to her complexion. A natural sparkle in her eyes even under such sobering conditions.

  “Fortier didn’t add anything that you hadn’t already told me,” he said. “He even sort of back-tracked on the cult thing. Said he couldn’t swear it had been Bethany he’d heard some of the girls talking about.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Cullen shrugged. “He’s hard to read. I’d swear he’s hiding something, but a lot of people get nervous and evasive when they talk to a cop.” He paused. “I actually stopped by for another reason. The preliminary autopsy report is in. I thought you might be interested in the results. We were right about that incision. Cause of death was exsanguination. The body was severely drained of blood.”

  Elizabeth shuddered. “What about the needle marks on her arm?”

  “The toxicology screen was clean, so it’s not likely she was shooting up. Nor was she injected involuntarily.” Cullen paused, not anxious to get into the more grisly aspects of the report. “According to the medical examiner, the incision was made on the superior border of the sternoclavicular notch, exposing the carotid artery. He thinks a large needle may have been inserted into the artery and was probably joined to a length of tubing connected to a pump. Evidently, it’s a procedure very common in embalming, where fluid is pumped in and the blood is flushed out. The whole procedure wouldn’t have taken long. While she remained alive, the victim’s heart would have helped speed the process.”

  Cullen saw the horror dawn in Elizabeth’s eyes, and he wished suddenly that he hadn’t brought her this news. He needed her help, but it didn’t seem right dragging her into something this gruesome.

  “My God, Cullen,” she said in a hushed tone. “Why would someone take that much blood from her? And what about the needle marks? Did he try to draw blood from her veins first? Did he try to keep her alive while he—” She broke off, her eyes closing briefly. “What are we dealing with here?”

  “A killer,” he said. “A pretty damn sick one.”

  But Elizabeth had already turned away from him and was pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard. She stopped suddenly and glanced up. “What about Ned Krauter? He would know about this procedure.”

  “So would every other undertaker in the county. And every doctor, for that matter. Any hospital or laboratory, as well as funeral homes, would probably have the necessary equipment.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “You’re right. They’d also have the facilities to dispose of the evidence. Still, it is a medical procedure. That could narrow the field.” She paused. “I keep thinking about those murders twenty years ago. Do you remember much about them?”

  Cullen shrugged. “Not really. I was just a kid at the time.”

  “I wasn’t even born when the first killing took place,” Elizabeth said. “It was Kat Ridgemont’s mother. At least, it was assumed she was the first victim. But cause of death was always a bit sketchy. The police refused to release certain details to the public for obvious reasons, one undoubtedly being they were afraid of a copycat killer.” She glanced up at Cullen. “Something tells me you need to get a look at those old case files. Do you think they’re still around?”

  “In the archives, probably. Or in the cold-case file. Let’s go take a look.”

  “Really?” She sounded surprised. “You want me to come with you?”

  “It was your idea.”

  “I know, but…” She hesitated, looking suddenly very young and unsure of herself. “I keep thinking you’ll change your mind. You won’t want my help.”

  He gazed down at her, feeling emotions he had no business feeling. “I came here today, didn’t I?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, I guess you did at that. Does Chief Redfern know you’re consulting with me on this case?”

  Cullen’s expression hardened. “I don’t really give a damn what he knows. I’m not about to let what happened here twenty years ago happen again.”

  “Even if it means you have to collaborate with me?” she asked him shyly.

  “Even if it means I have to collaborate with the devil himself.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said in a completely serious voice.

  ELIZABETH STUDIED Cullen’s profile as they drove toward the police station. She still couldn’t believe he’d changed his mind about using her in the investigation, but she understood his reasoning. He was willing to do whatever was necessary to solve this case, even consult with her.

  But a secret part of Elizabeth still held out hope that it was more than just her expertise he sought. She wanted to believe that he trusted her. Respected her. That he might even be looking for a reason to spend more time with her.

  Then again, maybe he wasn’t, she thought as she contemplated his grim expression. Maybe all that was on his mind was finding a killer, and that’s what she should be concentrating on, too.

  He turned suddenly, catching her gaze, and her heart tilted inside her. There it was again, that flutter of awareness, that tingly thrill that coursed through her body every time Cullen looked her way. Every time he came near her. If this was a schoolgirl crush, she showed no signs of outgrowing it.

  His gray eyes, brooding and sexy, watched her for a moment before he turned his gaze back to the road. “When did Fortier first come to Heathrow?”

  “A few years ago.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Elizabeth thought for a moment. “He came at the beginning of my first full-time semester, so it must have been five years ago.”

  Cullen glanced at her. “Just before Claire Cavendish was abducted.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Do you happen to know if she was in any of his classes?”

  “I’m pretty sure she was. I remember the girls talking about him. Kat, Brie, Tasha and Claire. They were all freshmen that year, and technically I was, too. It was my first year on campus, but I already had enough credits to take senior-level classes, so I didn’t have Fortier. I was only fifteen at the time, and pretty naive. I may have misconstrued some of the innuendo, but I think he may have hit on one of them.”

  “Claire?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I could ask Brie and Kat if they remember.” Although she rarely spoke to her old friends these days. Not that they’d had a falling out or anything. They’d all just drifted apart. She’d heard Brie had started back at school, but Elizabeth never saw her.

  “What about Professor LeCroix?”

  Was it her imagination, or had Cullen’s tone changed slightly? She gave him a sidelong glance. “What about Lucian?”

  The corners of his mouth tightened. “
It’s Lucian, is it?”

  “He is my colleague.”

  “So is Fortier, but I don’t hear you call him by his first name.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I’ve never liked Dr. Fortier.”

  “But you do like LeCroix?”

  “I don’t know him well enough yet to make that determination, but he’s interesting. And charming.” And if Elizabeth didn’t know better, she’d swear Cullen was displaying subtle signs of jealousy, but that was probably hoping for too much.

  He glanced at her, his gaze cool and appraising. “Has it occurred to you yet that you discovered Bethany’s body on the day Lucian LeCroix arrived in town?”

  Elizabeth stared at him in surprise. “You’re not suggesting he had something to do with her death, are you? Bethany died days earlier before I found her.”

  “We don’t know for sure when she died. The M.E. was unable to make that determination.”

  “But…we have a pretty good idea, judging by the condition of the body. And besides, Lucian didn’t even know her.”

  “That’s a fairly broad assumption, Elizabeth. You can’t know that, either.”

  “But you said yourself, he arrived in town on the day her body was found. If she died days earlier—”

  “What makes you think they didn’t know each other from somewhere else? Boston, maybe.”

  “Was Bethany from Boston?”

  “As a matter of fact, she was.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms in an unconsciously defensive gesture. “But that doesn’t mean they knew each other.”

  “It doesn’t mean they didn’t, either. Bethany was from a wealthy family, and so is LeCroix, from what I’ve been able to gather. Who’s to say they didn’t know each other? Who’s to say they weren’t involved?”

  “I don’t think they were,” Elizabeth insisted.

  Cullen gave her a frowning glance. “Why not?”

  “Because he was involved with a married woman before he accepted the job at Heathrow. That’s why he came here. He left a tenured position at a prestigious university because this woman, whoever she is, decided to stay with her husband.”