Colton's Surprise Heir. Addison Fox
Josie Colton had vanished at the age of seventeen, seemingly into thin air.
So how had her name now become synonymous with the Alphabet Killer?
“That was fun.” Lizzie stood at the opposite end of the hallway, in front of the kitchen, a half-drunk pot of coffee in her hands.
Her words pulled him from his musings, and Ethan closed the short distance down the hall. “I’m sorry if they upset you.”
“Nothing like feeling like a suspect in your own home.”
“Did the detective assigned to your case make you feel that way?”
“No.” She poured the remaining coffee into his cup before turning toward the sink. “He’s been very kind and understanding. I do think he’s doing his best with limited information.”
“If today’s events are any indication, I don’t think he’s doing enough.” Ethan picked up his mug, the events of the past hour swirling through his mind. In addition to the interrogation, McNulty and Warren had called in a field unit to do a quick dusting of the windowsill for prints. When they’d turned up nothing on the sill, Lizzie had opted to avoid ruining the rest of the room with the mess the powder would make.
“You haven’t met him, Ethan. He’s a good guy. And after that Keystone Cops routine, I’m more than tempted to call Detective Bell. How dare those officers come in here and make it look like we’re criminals?”
“Coltons are an easy target. I’m sorry you got dragged in for fun.”
She slammed a dish towel against the kitchen sink and whirled on him. “Oh, that’s a load of BS and you know it.”
“Oh, really?” Ethan heard the spark in her voice and allowed it to roll over the lingering anger he’d carried all afternoon, igniting like a match to gasoline. He hadn’t intended to say another word about his sister, yet the words spilled out before he could even think to draw them back. “How was this anything but an interrogation of Matthew Colton’s son and a fishing expedition to see if his daughter is a killer?”
“Josie didn’t do it.”
“Tell that to the court of public opinion.”
Lizzie stilled. “Do you think your sister’s the one responsible for the murders?”
“I—” His hand trembled against the handle of his mug, and Ethan left the cup on the table. “No, I don’t.”
“So what is it? If you don’t think Josie’s involved in the murders, what has you so upset?”
“How can you ask me that? We’re here because some faceless bastard is trying to hurt you and the baby. Hell, he was here while we were in the house!”
Lizzie moved toward the table, standing near him but not touching. “I’m upset, too, but I don’t see how these situations are related. The officers were wrong to try and make a connection between what’s happening with the Alphabet Killer and some creepy jerk who’s trying to make my life a living hell.”
“Don’t you see it?”
He didn’t want to scare her—that was the furthest thing from his mind—but how was Lizzie unable to see what was so obvious?
“See what? I realize the murders are on the top of everyone’s mind, especially with a twenty-four–seven news cycle, but what does that have to do with some creep who’s been writing me notes?”
Ethan reached out, unable to keep his distance. But as his hand closed over hers, the flesh beneath his palm soft and warm, he regretted the words that came next.
“Your name begins with an E, Lizzie. Elizabeth is your given name.”
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