The Hangman (The Forgotten Files 3)

He grabbed her hand, raised her fingers to his mouth, and kissed the tips. “Do you understand that I’ll never hurt you?”

“Couples say that to each other. We’re not a couple.”

His hand slid under her hair to the back of her neck, and he tugged her closer. He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. “Us a couple? The thought never crossed my mind.”

She opened wider for all of him. “I mean it. Not a couple.”

He pressed inside her. “I thought you didn’t want to talk.”

She didn’t argue as her hand slid back to her core and she whispered, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He captured her hand yet again and halted her race toward orgasm. “We’re in this together.”

She tried to tug her hand free.

“Tell me you understand,” he said.

“Fine. I get it.”

“You get what?”

“What I’ve known all along. You’re a good guy. But that has never been the issue.”

He released her hand and watched as she began to touch herself again. This time when they came, it was together.

Julia dreamed of the pop of gunfire. Bright-red blood splashed on her face and hands. She looked up and saw her father lying in his own blood. The air was sharp with the acrid scent of gunpowder. Behind him stood the monster that vanished when she screamed.

She sat up in bed, swallowing a scream as her heart pounded in her chest. “Shit,” she muttered.

Julia pushed her hair out of her eyes, searching for her bedside clock. It wasn’t there. She wasn’t in her bed. Where the hell . . .

Novak clicked on a light. He was awake, alert. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Sorry to wake you.”

He smoothed his hand over her rigid spine. “You’re shaking.”

She pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to soothe the pounding in her skull. “Just a dream. I can handle it.”

He sat up and put his hand on her back. “Does it have to do with Santiago?”

His touch was gentle and strong. Calming. “No. Ironically, I never dream about him and what happened.”

“Then what?”

“It’s always the same. The day my father died.”

“When did the dreams start?”

A silence settled around her, and she couldn’t find her voice.

“After the rape?” he asked.

She winced. “Yes.”

“What’s in the dream?”

“I hear gunfire and smell the gunpowder. There’s blood under my feet. And then I see the monster recede into the shadows.”

“The monster?”

“No face. No name. Just a shadow. Moving away and vanishing.”

“The police report states your mother found your father’s body.”

“That’s what she told me at first. She kept telling me I didn’t see anything. But the shrink the department chief made me see after Benny suggested I try hypnosis. It must have opened a door, because that night I had the dream.”

“Did you talk to the doctor about the dream?”

“I did. It made no sense to me, but he said Jim’s death was so traumatic that it was logical a new trauma would bring it back to the surface.”

Absently he rubbed a calming hand against the small of her back. Christ, sex with Novak was becoming a habit, and she was telling him all her secrets. These complications were unwise on so many levels.

Her phone rang, giving her a reprieve. She cleared her throat, but didn’t pull away. “Agent Vargas.”

“This is Andrews.”

She glanced at the clock on her phone. 5:02 a.m. “You’re up early, or should I say late?”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all.”

“I’ve traced the sender of the e-mail that contained footage of the original Hangman case.”

“Who?”

The mattress shifted as Novak sat up.

“Elizabeth Monroe.”

“Santiago’s attorney?” she asked, looking at Novak. “That doesn’t sound like a mistake she’d make.”

“It took some digging. She hid the source information behind some very sophisticated firewalls.”

“So why send the video to Carson?” she asked as she tipped the phone so Novak could hear.

“I dug into her past as well as her career. She used to be an attorney at Ricker, Davis & Michaels. That firm defended Alexi Popov in his drug-trafficking trial.”

“What does that have to do with the Hangman?”

“I’ll let you figure that out.” Papers shuffled. “I’ll have DNA work-ups for you today. When can you be here?”

She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “One p.m. I want to have a chat with Monroe first.”

“Tell Novak to join you when you come here.”

She glanced at Novak. “Why do you want Novak?”

“He’s investigating the case of Rita Gallagher, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I might have information for him.”

“We’ll be there in a few hours.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sunday, November 5, 8:00 a.m.

Novak studied Julia’s rigid features. Her face showed no signs of emotion when they arrived at Monroe’s office. Any traces of the emotionally exposed woman he’d seen an hour ago were gone. It was critical to her that the world didn’t see any of the vulnerability she’d shown Novak. But as long as she let him in, he could live with that.

Monroe’s West End office was sleek and modern with neatly manicured landscaping. The guard at the front desk didn’t seem impressed by the badges, and given Monroe’s client list, Novak imagined they looked tame in comparison. After a ten-minute wait, another guard appeared and escorted them up to the top floor, where they were placed in a conference room.

An attractive woman dressed in a designer navy skirt and white blouse materialized at the door. “Ms. Monroe will see you now.”

The pair followed the woman along a carpeted hallway decorated with original works of art that would have cost more than six months’ worth of the entire police department’s payroll. They found themselves in a spacious corner office with a large bank of smoked windows overlooking a lake. The furniture was tasteful, expensive, and antique. Sell that and he could put Bella through college and graduate school.

The woman behind the desk wore black, her blond hair combed back into a smooth ponytail. She looked midforties, but a bio suggested she was at least a decade older.

Elizabeth Monroe stood from behind her desk. “Agent Vargas, what a surprise on a Sunday morning.”

“Ms. Monroe.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you again until I filed Mr. Santiago’s appeal.”

“I thought so, too.”

“And who’s this?” Monroe asked, regarding Novak.

“Detective Novak, Richmond City Police,” he said.

Her handshake was firm, but her skin cold to the touch. She moved to a stylish upholstered chair and crossed her long legs. “Please have a seat.”

Julia glanced at Novak, and he knew she was ready to come out swinging. He moved toward the sofa and sat, hoping Julia would follow his lead. She did.

“What can I do for you two?” Ms. Monroe asked.

“Have you heard about a case called the Hangman?” Novak asked.

“Of course. As part of my preparation for Agent Vargas’s testimony in the Benny Santiago trial, I did extensive research. Her father was the lead detective on the case. Some even argued he was the Hangman.”

Julia was stoic, but tension radiated from all her muscles.

“You have a reputation for being thorough, Ms. Monroe,” Novak said. “You must have viewed some of the original footage taken at the Hangman crime scenes.”

She smiled and brushed imaginary dust from her skirt. “I wouldn’t have had access to that.”

He held her gaze. “You have a few connections in the department.”

“All I can say is that I did my due diligence when it came to deposing Agent Vargas.” She knitted her fingers together. “What is this about? Cut to the chase.”

“Vic Carson, who operates the Hangman fan site, received original footage of the crime scene. He posted it, though it’s since been removed.”

A delicate brow arched. “How does that relate to me?”

“The e-mail sent to him with the video attachment came from your company’s server.”