Paranoid(87)

He’d just sat in his desk chair and was logging into his computer when Voss showed up. She was wearing her usual black slacks and jacket, with a gray blouse and a cat-who-swallowed-the-canary smile that was a little irritating considering the amount of sleep he’d had. Or, more precisely, the sleep he hadn’t gotten.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty,” she said, needling him a little.

He wasn’t in the mood, but let it pass.

“Guess who was the last person Annessa Cooper texted?” Behind her glasses, Voss’s eyes glinted.

“From your attitude, I’m guessing it wasn’t her husband.”

“Nope.” Voss wagged her head back and forth, her pleased smile never shifting. “I was thinking she might have had a boyfriend she was supposed to meet, and I was right. Check your e-mail,” she said, motioning a finger at his computer monitor. “I just sent you a transcript of the texts we found on her phone. Pretty interesting stuff there.” She arched her graying eyebrows.

Cade turned in his chair to face the screen again, then clicked on an e-mail from Voss and scrolled down.

“This is what’s called sexting,” she said.

He skimmed the lines, long conversations about what one of the texters planned to do to the other. Or, even more graphic, what was happening to their bodies as they communicated. “People really get off on this?”

“All the time,” Voss told him. “It’s like they touch themselves with their free hand or just imagine the other person and, voila, an orgasm. But look at the end of the communication, the last couple of lines.” She rounded his desk and pointed to the screen where the conversation got precise.



Caller: Meet me at St. Augustine’s. You’ve got keys.

Annessa: Why there?

Caller: Old times’ sake. Think about what all those nuns would say.

Annessa: Oooh. They’d want to punish me.

Caller: I want to punish you. You’ve been such a bad, bad girl.

Annessa: Okay. You’ve convinced me. What time?

Caller: Around midnight. The witching hour.

Annessa: That’s weird.

Caller: But you like weird, don’t you? You like things a little kinky. This is making you hot already. Just thinking about it.

Annessa: Clint is coming home. Tomorrow. Early. Possibly tonight.

Caller: Which makes it all the more exciting. Dangerous. And you like danger, don’t you?

Annessa: You know I do.

Caller: I might come just thinking about it.

Annessa: Don’t. Wait for me.

Caller: Oh, I’ll be waiting.





Cade stared at the screen. “So who is the anonymous number? Anyone we know?”

“Oh, yeah,” Voss said, nearly bursting. “That number belongs to Mr. Nathan Moretti. Single. Self-employed. Sells medical equipment in Astoria.”

And one of Rachel’s classmates. Best friend of Luke Hollander and son of Dr. Richard Moretti, the doctor who had pronounced Luke DOA.

“I figure Annessa didn’t tag him with a name or have his picture in her phone just in case good old Clint picked up her phone.” Voss crossed her arms, pleased with her discoveries. “So I assume you want to interview him.”

“Oh, yeah.”

He was already pushing his chair away from the desk, grabbing his sidearm. “Want to come along?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She slid her phone in her slacks pocket and slipped on her shoulder holster. “And by the way, Ryder?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m the lead on this one. You just may be a little too close to the investigation. If it weren’t for the fact that we’re so small, I’m pretty sure the chief would kick your ass off this one.” She was reaching for her jacket. “So mind your p’s and q’s.”

“What the hell does that mean anyway?”

“Hell if I know. My translation: Don’t get in my way.” She slid her arms through the sleeves as they began walking.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, in step with her as they walked through the back door near the lunchroom.

“Yeah, right.”





CHAPTER 27


Harper waited until she was certain her mother was gone, then strode down the hall to Dylan’s room. Now was the time to confront her idiot of a brother. God, what was he doing? She’d lied for him to Mom, covered his ass, but she was worried sick about what he was getting into.

Yesterday at school her worst fears had been confirmed. She’d been coming down the stairs from the theater department with her friend when she’d spied Dylan. And he hadn’t been alone. Julie had peeled off for her next class, but Harper had waited and watched from the landing, still a handful of steps above the area in front of the gym, as the two guys had cornered her brother.

Their body language was menacing. A big, hulking guy in gym shorts and a dark hoody scowled at Dylan, while a second skinnier guy in jeans and a fleece pullover screened him from the rest of the hallway. She didn’t know the kids—probably sophomores. Definitely not Schmidt or Parker.

But it didn’t look good.

God, please don’t make me have to run down there and save the little punk’s sorry butt.

Dylan dug a hand into his backpack. He pulled something out and another guy stood up, watching as Dylan handed something over, a small black sack. The kid looked into the bag, poking around a little, as if inspecting whatever was inside, then quickly slipped something to Dylan.