Dead Don't Lie. Lynell Nicolello
FOCUSED ON the mark one hundred yards in front of her, Evelyn pulled the trigger. Anticipating the buck of cold metal in her hand, her body absorbed the kickback as three short bursts echoed in her ears. Her lips twitched into a tight smile. She couldn’t have been more accurate if she’d been at point-blank range.
Evelyn holstered her piece, pushed her protective glasses up and smirked at the man standing next to her. Detective Ryan O’Neil pressed the green button to their right, refusing to meet her gleeful stare, and watched as the tethered paper target danced its way down the shooting lane closer and closer into view.
Her partner sighed ruefully. “Two to the chest, one to the head. Not bad, little Miss Evelyn Davis, not bad.”
Evelyn flinched slightly. Most of the time, she wasn’t bothered by the new name she’d adopted fifteen years ago. But every so often, hearing “Davis” instead of “Maslin” still shocked her a bit. It seemed like today was going to be one of those days.
Ryan pulled the target sheet from the hanger and waved it in Evelyn’s face. He grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. Standing at six foot one and a solid 190 pounds of pure muscle, Ryan had the eye of every passing woman. His easygoing smile and casual mannerisms perfectly balanced out her sometimes cool, detached approach to their work. They were the perfect pair, and in looks, they could easily pass as siblings.
The paper fluttered from Ryan’s fingers to the shell-covered, dirty concrete floor. He ran his hand through his thick mass of dark curls, sapphire eyes twinkling as he said, “But can you do that with your left hand?”
They both knew she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, refuse his challenge.
“That’s ‘Detective’ to you, sir. And you know I can.”
She’d needed the release of the gun range after closing the Langdon case. Seeing those broken and battered little girls had taken its toll on her—physically and emotionally. It had been a long time since she’d needed to go that deep into the psyche of a monster, but someone had to do it—no one else on the force had seen past Adam Langdon’s stellar résumé, perfect face and solid alibi.
Evelyn had.
Going on nothing more than a hunch, she’d followed Langdon after work one day. After being detained and released due to lack of evidence the bastard had gotten cocky, not bothering to cover his tracks. He’d led Evelyn straight to his lair—off the grid and hidden—where, unbeknownst to her at the time, his newest victim lay bound and gagged. That sixth sense she’d grown to trust had pushed at her, demanding attention. So she’d done the only thing she could: called for backup and went in alone. Though he was bigger, she was running on righteous anger and quickly got the drop on him. By the time Ryan and the backup arrived, Langdon was in cuffs and the kidnapped little boy sat huddled in Evelyn’s lap, crying softly. Old VCR tapes lined the closest shelves, some dating back fifteen years, of his previous victims.
She’d craved Wild West justice for Langdon. Instead, they’d shipped him to Clallam Bay Corrections Center just southeast of Neah Bay. She wanted him out of Washington State altogether, but knew he wouldn’t last long at CBCC. That gave her some sense of justice served. Even the cruelest killers wouldn’t accept some things—and a murdering child molester was one of them. But he wouldn’t be able to touch another child. He likely wouldn’t be able to do much of anything soon. Her lips tugged up as the dark, primal thought passed through her mind.
“Okay.” Ryan’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Let’s see you prove it.”
He pulled out a worn leather wallet, grabbed a crumbled twenty and slapped it onto the counter in front of them. He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket, then clipped another paper target to the hanger. “Right now.”
“I hate to take your money, O’Neil. But if you insist....” Evelyn shook her head. All thoughts of Landgon vanished.
She was in her element, and Ryan was toast.
She turned, pushed her protective eyepiece back into place and picked up her department-issued 9mm. She flicked off the Glock’s safety and raised her left hand. Focusing her breath, she concentrated on the flimsy target swaying from its ride down the shooting range. With each controlled breath, she slowed her heartbeat. She locked onto the bull’s-eye. Her mind morphed the thin target into the still-nameless face that tormented her dreamless nights: her family’s killer.
Without hesitation, her pointer finger squeezed the trigger...and blew a hole through the target’s middle.
“And that, O’Neil—” she holstered her piece, pivoted and grinned at her partner’s blank face “—is how it’s done in the big leagues.”
“Impressive.” He sank against the wooden stall, hand rubbing the stubble on his chin as he studied Evelyn’s obliterated target.
Evelyn picked up and tossed the empty shell casings into the trash. Ryan crossed his arms across his barrel of a chest and kicked a few casings her way. “So, Kate and the kids want you to come over for dinner tonight.”
Evelyn stopped short and glanced up. Ryan smiled.
She didn’t want to disappoint the kids, but what she really needed was a bottle of Malbec and a bubble bath. She shook her head. “Ryan, that smile of yours isn’t going to help you.”
“My killer smile may not have worked on you. But I have one better.”
Evelyn groaned and leaned back on her heels.
“Kate said she won’t take no for an answer. Be there at six o’clock, Davis.”
There was no arguing with Kate O’Neil. Evelyn knew it. Ryan knew it. Hell, even Kate knew it. Evelyn sighed. She’d clearly lost this battle.
“I guess I’ll see you at six, then.” She threw a shell casing at Ryan’s head, but he ducked without so much as a blink. “But I’m bringing a date.”
“Oh, yeah?” Ryan’s eyebrows arched together. “Who’s the lucky man?”
She fluttered her lashes. “His name is Mr. Malbec. Ever heard of him?”
Ryan’s deep laugh bounced off the wooden walls of their shooting stall. “Nice one, Davis, real nice.”
Evelyn picked up her gear and made her way toward the exit. She pushed open the door, turned and winked at her partner. “Thought you’d like that.”
“Six o’clock, Davis. And don’t be late,” Ryan shouted after her.
* * *
EVELYN STEPPED OUT of Starbucks, nursing her double-short, no-foam, soy latte as she crossed the cobblestoned street and walked to her favorite spot in Seattle—Pike Place Market. Heading straight to the end of the market, past the infamous fish-throwing stand, she turned right. She let the heavenly scent of lavender lead her, its invisible tether reeling her in. The soft aroma invaded her senses and melted the stress of the preceding weeks. She filled her lungs with the delicate fragrance. Tonight, after dinner at Kate and Ryan’s, she’d sit in a hot lavender bath and let the rest of the stress seep out of her pores.
Arriving at the stall she sought, she smiled at Josie’s familiar face. Pixie-like with her petite figure and a voice to match it, the vendor’s eyes crinkled as she grinned at Evelyn.
“How are you this evening, Detective?”
Evelyn shook her head, still smiling. “Just Evelyn tonight. I’m officially off the clock and desperately need some lavender oil and bath salts.”
She swung her small black bag to her front and riffled through its contents. Where was her wallet? She carried the smallest purse possible, yet always managed to misplace things. Would wonders never cease? Finally locating the item she was searching for, Evelyn looked up. Josie’s head was down as she leaned over the counter that overflowed with lavender and stretched to reach the bath salts.
“Are you ever truly off the clock, Evelyn?” the tiny woman