“Damn you, Jack.”
Lacey swore as she rooted through the folders on her desk at the dental school, searching for the student status reports she needed to finish. After leaving the police station, she’d convinced Jack to drop her off. He’d protested but relented when she demonstrated the tight security system, showing how she had to swipe her key card to get into the building and pointing at the nearby security vehicles. He needed to stop at his office and had made her promise to be at the school’s parking-garage elevator in a half hour. “Exactly thirty minutes,” he’d growled.
Jack had kept urging her to leave town, but she’d refused. She’d compromised and had agreed to check into a local hotel. He insisted on driving her to the dental school and then back to her house to pack. It’s just a hotel. Just for a few days. Lacey wasn’t leaving Portland, and she wasn’t about to abandon her job. Jack had muttered that she needed a bodyguard. She inferred he’d hired himself for the job.
We’ll see about that.
She yanked open her bottom desk drawer. There they were. Now she remembered quickly dropping the files in the drawer yesterday and slamming it shut, as a student had stopped by to question her about his grade. She blew out a breath. She couldn’t concentrate. What she really needed was some space from all that testosterone. Between Jack and the detectives, she’d had her quota for the month.
She grabbed her lab coat off the back of her chair and headed for the women’s locker room. The dental lab at the school was silent as Lacey passed through. She was surprised no students were using the evening hours to finish lab projects. God knows she and Amelia had spent enough stressful late nights in the dreary place. They’d get loopy after a while, guzzling caffeine and popping chocolate, trying not to break down and cry over a crown they’d spent hours creating and totally screwed up.
Sometimes someone had sneaked in a six-pack. That’s when most of Lacey’s dental mistakes were made. She’d quickly learned not to cast crowns and drink beer at the same time. But tonight the lab was empty. Apparently, the current students were caught up on their projects or deep in procrastination.
She tossed her lab coat into the locker room laundry hamper with the rest of the dental gowns and scrubs. She glanced at her watch. She had five minutes to get to the garage and meet Jack.
Lacey sped down the silent hall then slammed to a stop. “Oh, crap.” She reversed direction back to the locker room. She’d forgotten to check her lab coat pockets. One time she’d accidentally left lab keys in a pocket. The laundry company claimed they never found them. Grabbing her coat out of the hamper, she squeezed each pocket. She felt a small, hard lump in the breast pocket, slid her hand in, pulled out a ring and stared.
“What the...”
She’d always kept the ring at home, tucked away in an old jewelry box in a deep dresser drawer. Lacey turned the ring over in her hand, deep lines crossing her forehead, an odd spinning starting in the center of her stomach. The single red stone was set in gold with inscriptions on the thick band. It was one of her NCAA championship rings. She’d never worn either of them. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d looked at them.
How did it get in her pocket?
She held the ring up to one of the lights, turning it to see the year of the championship and the school’s logo, and suddenly brought it closer to squint at the initials engraved on the inside of the band.
This wasn’t her ring. It was Suzanne’s.
Her stomach seized. Her lungs froze.
Get out.
She dashed out of the locker room and down the hall to the elevator, anxiety ripping up her spine. She waited for three long seconds in front of the closed metal doors before whirling about for the stairs and tearing up the stairwell. While she was running down the fourth-floor hallway, her mind chanted over and over in time with her footsteps. Not my ring. Not my ring.
Her brain wouldn’t think beyond that.
The dental school felt dangerous, too deserted. Ice gripped her stomach as she ran by each classroom and office door. Glassed-in displays of extracted teeth caught her reflection, causing startling movements out of the corner of her eye, making her sprint faster. Someone had been at her desk. In her things.
What if he was still in the building?
Who’d do this?
Twenty feet away the double fire doors of the long, enclosed skybridge crossed from the dental school to the parking garage. Her panic dropped a degree and her steps slowed. She’d make it to the garage. Jack would be there and everything would be OK. At this second, Jack Harper was synonymous with safety in her mind.
She hit one of the heavy double doors with both hands, flinging it open. The long stretch of windowed hall was empty; the garage elevator was at the other end. With a sigh of relief, she took three steps down the hall and caught a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. Spinning around on clumsy feet, she faced a man leaning against the fire door she hadn’t pushed open.
“Frank!” Her shocked breath shot out at the sight of her ex-husband and her spine loosened a notch. He was a creep, but he was a creep she was relieved to see. But...
“How’d you get in here?” Her heart slammed rhythmically.
He gave a glimpse of a key card in his hand. “I still have your card.”
Jesus Christ. She’d given him a card when she was a student. He’d kept it all this time? And it still worked? She needed to have a serious talk with building security.
“You shouldn’t have kept that. You shouldn’t be in here.” Her dismay morphed into anger, and she grabbed at the card he whipped out of reach. Her eyes narrowed at him.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Looking for you.”
“Why? What for?”
He gave that slow smile she’d learned to be wary of. Her palms started to sweat at the sight and her pounding heart skipped two beats. Years ago, that smile meant he had a plan, and it usually wasn’t one she liked.
“I’ve missed you, Lace.” His eyes grew soft, seductive.
“Give me a break, Frank!” Her heart raced as she sniffed at him. “Are you drunk?”
His face grew tight and he stepped closer, sending her scooting backward. He wasn’t tall but he was definitely bigger than her. “No! Is that the first thing you think of?”
“Yeah, because it was usually the reason you used to do stupid things. Like this!” She gestured to include the skybridge and backed up another step, her nerves vibrating. He moved closer. Moisture beaded on her forehead. He was herding her into an alcove.
“What in the hell are you thinking by following me?”
“I just want to talk. I’ve been thinking about you since we ran into each other last night.”
“You called me a sneaky bitch and told me to shut the fuck up. You really think some sleazy charm will make me forget that? Or help me forget all the nasty things you said about me in court? Are you stupid, Frank? Go back to your wife!”
Lacey’s heart was pounding its way out of her chest and she bit her lips closed, feeling the wall against her back. She was cornered.
Don’t piss him off.
He grabbed her upper arms and shook her, his angry face close to hers. “You’re a royal, stuck-up bitch, Lacey. You think you’re too good for me?” She felt his hot breath whip across her cheek.
Her eyes went wide. It’d been forever since he’d laid hands on her. A flashback of his fist to her mouth scalded her brain, and she twisted her face away, thrusting up her knee toward his crotch. He swung his hips out of the way, laughing at her.
A loud crack echoed through the skybridge and Frank’s eyes rolled up and back, showing more of the whites of his eyes than she ever needed to see. He let go of her arms and collapsed onto the concrete floor. Directly behind him stood a janitor, Sean Holmes, with his feet spread wide and holding his mop handle like a baseball bat. He’d unscrewed the thick handle and nailed Frank in the temple.
“Sean...” Lacey couldn’t speak as she stared at the young janitor. She started to step forward but felt her knees dissolve, so she pressed her back into the wall. It seemed a good place to lean. Otherwise, she was going to fall on her ass in three seconds. She dropped her gaze. Frank lay motionless at her feet. Silent in his baggy coveralls, Sean stared at her for a few seconds, then at the body on the floor. His lank hair fell forward into his eyes, blocking her view of his face.
“Call security, Sean.” She gestured to the white phone on the wall and dug in her purse for her pepper spray, twisting the top to release the safety. Some good it did her buried in her purse. Why hadn’t she dug it out the second she found that ring? She clung to it with both hands, pointing it at the body in front of her, trying to slow her breathing. Her legs shook and she fought for balance.
She must have caught Sean’s attention as he was cleaning one of the rooms when she’d dashed down the hall. He’d probably followed her, wondering what on earth was wrong.
“He was hurting you.” Sean’s words were measured and quiet. He raised his gaze to hers, not moving toward the phone. His brown eyes reminded her of a sad springer spaniel.
“Yes, he was.” She took a breath. “You did the right thing, Sean. Thank you for that.” Her legs still wouldn’t move, so she told him again. “Call security now, Sean.” Sean had some sort of mental handicap that made him speak and think slowly. The poor man was frequently the butt of student jokes and generally ignored or dismissed by the staff. Her firm command finally registered, and Sean moved to the phone, casting back apprehensive glances at Frank.
A few months back, Lacey had noticed Sean was droopy, not his usually cheery self. When she’d spoken to him, he could barely move his jaw. She’d dragged him to an empty dental chair, slipped on a pair of gloves, and ignored his terrified eyes. Doing an impromptu exam, she’d found a blown-out crater of a molar. He’d had to be in incredible pain. Unable to save the hopeless tooth, she’d numbed him up and extracted it on the spot.
He’d been devoted to her ever since. She suspected he had a childlike crush on her. It was sweet. It’d probably saved her from a black eye tonight. Or worse.
Lacey closed her eyes and took deep breaths. Had Frank put the ring in her pocket?
Near midnight, Detective Lusco sat scribbling frantically at his department desk, the phone tucked to his ear. Mason watched as Ray flipped over a page on his notepad and continued to write. The only conversation on Ray’s end was “Uh-huh. Yeah. Where?” The person on the opposite end had plenty to say.
Unable to sit still, Mason pushed out of his chair and paced the quiet room. No one else was working late in the department. No one else had a serial killer file on his desk.
Ray covered the receiver and caught Mason’s eye, waving him back to their desks. “It’s security up at OHSU. Dr. Campbell was nearly assaulted at the dental school.”
Mason froze as a million questions pounded his brain.
“She’s OK. She wasn’t hurt.” Ray’s forehead wrinkled and he gave a disgusted snort. “She says the man is her ex-husband.” He refocused on the call.
“Stevenson.” Same man who’d harassed Dr. Campbell the night before. Mason had planned to contact the man, but it looked like Frank Stevenson would be coming downtown courtesy of the Portland Police Bureau. Good. Mason had some heavy questions for him. He grabbed the binder he’d put together for the case and tore through the pages, looking for the info he’d dug up on the ex-husband. He stopped on a page and stuck a finger on the name at the top.
Frank Stevenson. Married to Dr. Campbell for approximately two years. Originally from Mount Junction. Podiatrist.
A foot doctor?
He checked Frank’s date of licensure. It was only four years old. He’d become a podiatrist after Dr. Campbell graduated dental school. The fact gave Mason a sense of satisfaction and he gave a grim smile. Dr. Campbell had showed up her ex in the professional sense. Could Frankie-boy have issues with that?
“A ring? Whose ring? What? You’re shitting me. She’s positive?” Ray was incredulous. He stopped taking notes, and Mason automatically knew it was something big. Ray recovered and went back to scribbling faster than before.
Reading Ray’s notepad upside down from across the desk, Callahan tightened his lips as he made out a few words. Pocket. Champ-something. Initials. Ray didn’t have the best handwriting. That was an understatement, Ray had crappy handwriting. Only Ray could decipher his overabundance of notes.
Filling out the manual reports usually fell to Mason. He didn’t use handwriting; he printed in perfect capital letters that would make an architect proud.
Ray hung up the phone and shook his head. “You’re not going to fucking believe this.”
“Try me.”
Ray relayed a story about Suzanne Mills’s championship ring, and he was right.
Mason couldn’t fucking believe it.
Jack wanted to kill someone. Specifically Lacey’s ex-husband. He would do it with pleasure, making it long and drawn out, using lots of big sharp pins in sensitive little places. He strode through her house, flipping on every light, checking every closet and hidey-hole while she made coffee in her kitchen. Portland police had already checked the house, finding no sign of a break-in. Her house had been locked up tight. But he was checking again. He threw open a bedroom door and stalked to the center of the room, scattering a cat from her king-sized bed. He paused, staring at the bed, grinding his teeth. How had she talked him into leaving her alone at the dental school?
It wasn’t going to happen again.
He’d nearly blown a gasket when campus security cars flooded the parking garage where he’d been waiting in his truck for Lacey. Four security guards had dashed through the door to the skybridge, and Jack had leaped from his truck and followed.
Seeing Lacey sitting on the floor next to a body had shocked every nerve he had. His hand had moved to his hip even though he hadn’t carried a gun in years. It wasn’t a scene he wanted to experience again. Ever.
Jack stomped down her stairs, slightly frustrated he hadn’t found a lurking ex-husband to pound on, knowing full well Frank Stevenson was spending the rest of the night in jail. He stopped at the entry to the kitchen, studying the woman pouring two mugs of coffee. Her hand quivered. She was hanging tough after a shitty day. She’d been interviewed by campus security and then the police. Jack had been glad she wasn’t driving. Lacey hadn’t said a word the entire trip home, staring out the window at the dark, icy streets.
Her head shot up as she felt his presence, her eyes widened briefly then relaxed.
“Sorry. I should’ve said something.” Way to go. Sneak up on the woman.
Her smile was weak as she held out a mug to him. A pile of jewelry sat on her kitchen counter. Necklaces, watches, bracelets, and a silver baby rattle. Police had asked to see the jewelry box where she’d kept the ring. Jack picked up the tarnished rattle and read the engraving. Lacey Joy Campbell. She was four years younger than he was.
Lacey held out a gold ring set with a red gemstone. “I showed this to the police. I’m missing one just like it. The engraved year is different. This is the ring from the previous year’s title.” She ran her hands through the mess again. “I can’t find my other championship ring. The one from the same year as Suzanne’s.”
Her tone was flat, her gaze on the heap of jewelry.
Someone had been in her house. At some point.
“Could you have misplaced it? Or lost it?” His questions were unnecessary.
She shrugged. “Anything is possible. But I haven’t pulled that box out in years. All that stuff is old. I don’t wear any of it.” She blew out a breath and sat heavily on a stool at the island. Jack eased onto the one beside her, his gaze never leaving her face.
Her blue and yellow kitchen was probably a cheery place during the day, but palpable layers of dread and anxiety were ruining the effect. Lacey had made coffee because neither of them knew what else to do at three in the morning. They were both wired. Sleep was out of the question. There’d been no time to check her into a hotel yet. “When did he do it?” she whispered as she wrapped both hands around her mug. “Why would he break in to steal something? I had no clue someone had been in my house.”
“He planted Suzanne’s ring because he wanted you to know he’d been in your home. He knew you’d go look for your own ring and figure out he’s been in your house. Callahan was right. This guy’s got an ego and wants you to know what he’s capable of. He’s trying to shake you up, play with your head.”
“He’s doing a good job.”
Jack fought his instinct to pack her up, throw her in his truck, and simply get out of town.
Instead, they sat sipping their unwanted coffee, heavy silence growing between them.
“Do you think it was Frank?” he asked. “Does he have a key to your house?”
She grimaced and Jack knew she was thinking of Frank and her key card to the school building. Jack and campus security were ticked over that fact.
“He doesn’t have a key. I’m positive.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s not the person who took your ring.”
She had no explanation for the police when they’d asked why Frank would follow her. Frank didn’t volunteer any answers either. He’d shot surly looks at Jack from the backseat of a patrol car as Lacey and the janitor were questioned.
The janitor was a hero in Jack’s eyes. Sean had shrugged, and then he shook his head when questioned why he was working at the school so late. Lacey had theorized he was getting his work done when the place was empty. No one was around to harass him.
Jack swore to find the kid a new job. Surely, Sean could do something at one of his buildings.
“Why do you think Frank was at the school?” Jack asked.
He watched her struggle with the question. After several false starts, she finally blurted out, “I think he needs money.” She buried her nose in her coffee.
He blinked. Not the expected answer.
“Why would he come to you for money?”
Lacey stared at the closed blinds over her kitchen sink. Jack had shut every blind and curtain as he went through the house, aware of how easily someone could see in from the outside. “I’ve given him money before.”
“What? Why on earth would you loan money to your ex?”
“It wasn’t a loan.”
“You just gave him money? What did he do to you to get cash?” Blacken your eye? Break a rib? He didn’t know if he was more pissed with Frank or Lacey at that moment.
“It’s a long story,” she hedged, still avoiding his eyes.
He leaned back in his barstool. “I’m not going anywhere.”