Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 by Carol Ericson (bill gates best books TXT) 📕

in touch. Back then none of them were all that surprised that he’d just cleared out of his apartment. Fitz has been checking for signs of him over the years, even got a warrant to watch his credit report to see if he popped up somewhere else in the country. But there’s been nothing.”

“So you think he killed Celia Harris and your husband, too?”

“It’s pretty suspicious timing to disappear.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“And now there’s a bomb here with the same symbol. But...” She frowned, shook her head.

“You’re thinking the same thing the FBI is,” Jax concluded.

Her eyes narrowed at him, but she held off on saying anything as the waitress dropped off their coffees, and Patches started greedily chewing on her dog biscuit.

After the woman was gone, Keara demanded, “What do they think?”

“They don’t know about your husband. No one from Houston mentioned that angle. And I’m guessing Rodney Brown’s name is in the file, but he didn’t stand out. The main thing is that—”

“A violent killer—someone who obviously enjoys the kill itself—is unlikely to become a bomber?”

“Pretty much,” Jax confirmed. “You’re right that the symbols are eerily similar. But if it’s the same person, why a bomb? And why here? Why now, so many years after the murder in Texas?”

FITZ WAS RIGHT. Rodney Brown was a ghost.

Keara leaned back on her couch and took a sip of red wine. It had been another long day, full of questions from her citizens that she couldn’t answer, full of worry about a case she wasn’t even supposed to be investigating. She wasn’t usually much of a drinker, especially while she was pondering a case, but tonight she was on her second glass.

Maybe that was why she reached for her wedding album, instead of returning to her laptop. In those first months after Juan’s death, she’d sobbed over the pages. But since moving to Alaska, she’d tucked it into the corner of her bookshelf and hadn’t opened it again.

Now she ran her finger over the shape of Juan’s face, frozen in a slightly nervous smile as he waited at the altar for her. When she’d first met him in that Houston roll call, seen the way his shoulders slumped and his mouth tightened at hearing he’d be partnered with her, she’d been sure they’d never be friends. But after a year of tough calls, patrolling a dangerous area together, they’d developed a mutual respect that had slowly blossomed into more.

Now he was gone. The constant, overwhelming grief she’d felt in that first year after he died had slowly dulled into something she could push to the back of her mind. But with each day that passed since she’d seen that blasted symbol, the gnawing ache was returning, along with the certainty that she’d failed Juan.

Fitz was right. She’d played by the rules in Houston, let her fellow detectives handle the case because she’d been sure they’d find justice for one of their own. And because it had been hard enough to function at all during those early days and months, let alone constantly look at pictures and details of what had happened to Juan. When the case had gone cold, she should have taken it up herself and damn the rules, damn the consequences. Instead, she’d run away.

Since coming to Alaska, she’d followed the rules, too. She’d tried to be a by-the-book chief. But not anymore.

She took another long sip of wine and closed the album, pushed it away from her. Tipping back the rest of her glass, she yanked the laptop into her lap and stared at the notes she’d compiled on Rodney Brown.

The guy was a loser. He’d had a handful of arrests as a minor for getting into fights. More of the same as an adult, usually bar fights. Plus a single sexual assault charge that had later been dropped. From what Keara could tell, it was more because the victim didn’t want to go through a trial than for lack of evidence.

Serial killers were often sexually motivated. But Celia Harris hadn’t been sexually assaulted. Fitz’s investigation had never turned up any similar kills. Although Rodney Brown clearly had a violent streak and a problem with women, there were no signs he’d ever crossed paths with Celia Harris. And he didn’t seem sophisticated enough to have pulled off the risky abduction and then committed such a violent murder without leaving behind useful evidence.

Juan’s murder had been almost professional. A quick hit and then the killer had disappeared. No one in her neighborhood had noticed anyone who didn’t belong or seen anyone running away at the time of the murder. Yes, it made sense that a violent killer of women who thought the police were onto him might try and take out the detective who’d questioned him.

But Rodney Brown had only been questioned once. After a few weeks of silence, would he seek Juan out and murder him? The closer she looked at the details of the case, the more unlikely that idea seemed. Taking all of the pieces together, she understood why Fitz had decided the two weren’t connected.

Except the timing was pretty hard to ignore. And the fact that Rodney Brown had so completely dropped off the map suggested a sophistication that perhaps he’d hidden in the rest of his life.

As for the bomb, sure, anyone could dig up the basics on the internet. But pulling it off was another thing. And no matter how she looked at it, the long gap in time and the change in MO made it pretty unlikely that all three crimes were connected.

Cursing, she tossed her laptop onto the couch beside her. Tears of frustration blurred her vision, but she blinked them back.

Yes, cold cases were harder than fresh investigations. The adage of the “first forty-eight hours” was true. Over time, memories faded, witnesses forgot, evidence that had been missed the first time often disappeared for good. But that didn’t make them impossible.

Keara pictured the symbol from Anderson’s phone, with the series