I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(95)

“Did you hear that he also recanted and is out?” Vaughan replied. “He’s still maintaining there was a masked intruder.”

“I hope you don’t believe his bullshit,” Jason said.

“I don’t believe anyone at this point unless it’s substantiated,” Vaughan countered.

Jason eyed them warily. “How’s Skylar?”

“She’s staying with friends,” Zoe said. “She’s holding up as well as can be expected.”

“Probably at her boyfriend’s house. She’s got a lot of her mother in her. She likes having a man in tow.”

“Tell me more about Hadley and her sister, Marsha,” Vaughan said.

“What does Marsha have to do with any of this?”

“You knew her pretty well, didn’t you?” Zoe asked.

Jason walked over to the soda machine, fed in four quarters, and made a selection. The can rattled through its insides and dropped down the chute with a clunk. He grabbed the can, popped the top, and took a long drink. “Sure, I knew her. She wasn’t around as much as Hadley.”

“But you were sleeping with her.” Zoe couldn’t confirm this yet, but she let the statement sit.

“Who says?” Jason demanded.

“Marsha. It turns out she kept a journal about you.”

“I hope she said nice things.” Jason shrugged and then grinned. “Sure, we slept together once. We had fun, but I was smart enough to know that we were going in separate directions.”

“You were sleeping with both sisters,” Zoe said.

“Why not?” Jason said. “We were young and having fun. I gave as good as I got.”

“Which sister did you sleep with first?” Zoe asked.

“Does it matter?” Jason asked.

“I think it does,” Zoe said. “I think you slept with Hadley, and she saw something in you that spooked her. She keeps it secret because she didn’t want to lose Mark. She gets wind that Marsha is falling for your charms, and Hadley, knowing what’s in store for Marsha, puts in a good word for you. Maybe she just wanted to rattle her sister. I don’t think she planned on her sister dying.”

“You keep forgetting that I was gone by the time Marsha went missing,” Jason said.

“You had quit your job at Prince Paving,” she said. “But there’s no proof you weren’t in Northern Virginia.”

“I was in Florida,” he said, his grin widening.

“Did you know Hadley was pregnant with your child when she married Mark?” she asked.

His grin faltered. “Look, young love ain’t the kind of love that really stands the test of time,” Jason said. “I moved on. And she sure did.”

“With your kid,” Zoe pressed. “That must have really stung when you realized she’d taken your kid. I bet when you realized you’d been cheated out of your kid’s life, you were pissed.”

He dropped his gaze to his calloused palm. “Sure, I was mad. But remember, I was here at the shop under a 2000 Ford pickup truck when she was murdered. You must have looked at the footage; otherwise, I’d be wearing cuffs by now.” His eyes narrowed as he regarded them. “I see what’s going on now. You can’t pin Hadley’s murder on me, so you’re going to blame me for Marsha’s death.”

“Did you kill her?”

His gaze locked on hers, and his body stilled as if he was struggling for control. “Doesn’t matter what I say. You’re going to manufacture evidence and pin it on me.”

Sometimes people communicated more without even realizing it. And Jason had done just that.



Nikki was sitting on the floor of her living room, staring at the images she had made of Marsha Prince’s diary. It had been one thing to see images of the girl and another to hear what others said. But to read her own words brought the girl to life. It stirred a sadness in Nikki she had not expected.

Her phone dinged with a text. She glanced toward it, and when she saw Mark Foster’s name, she sat taller, imagining herself at her desk.

If you want the real story, meet me at my house.

As her mind spun with possible scenarios, she typed quickly. The real story?

About Marsha. Hadley. All of it.

She unfolded her legs, her knees groaning slightly as she straightened. When?

Now. I won’t be here much longer.

Give me fifteen minutes.

She dashed toward her front door, sliding her feet into sandals and shoving her cameras and keys into her purse. Her apartment front door slammed behind her, and she rushed to the elevator, hitting the down button a half dozen times. The elevator car creaked up the shaft and finally arrived. With the door open, she dashed inside and pounded the first floor button while the doors slowly closed.

The next few minutes were a race to her car and out of the lot. When she pulled up in front of the Fosters’ house, her heart was pounding. It had taken her twenty minutes to get there.

“Shit.” She hurried up the front walk and stopped at the yellow tape blocking the entrance. She knocked several times and rang the bell. When she heard no sounds of life inside, she had the vague notion that she had been played.

She then moved around the side of the house, through the privacy fence gate, and up the back stairs to the door. She twisted the handle, and it turned.