Killer christmas evidenc.., p.1
Killer Christmas Evidence, page 1
Breathing filled her ear.
Not the creepy heavy kind like in a horror movie, but disturbing all the same. The person wanted her to know he was on the line. But to what end?
“I know you’re there.”
“Hello, Detective Bowman.”
The hairs stood on the back of her neck. “What do you want?”
“You. Your time is coming to an end.” The whispered words sent the sensation of icy fingers creeping up her spine and onto her scalp.
Her mind spun to last night. Bits of memory flashed like short video clips. Sitting in her chair. Taking the sleeping medication. Hearing a noise. The shadowy figure. The pain in her head. The smell of smoke. The words sweet dreams.
She jolted upright and slammed the phone down.
Someone had done this to her, and he knew where to find her.
“What’s wrong?”
Cassidy jerked her gaze to Kyle, who stood in the doorway. “He tried to kill me.”
Two-time Genesis Award-winner Sami A. Abrams and her husband live in Northern California, but she’ll always be a Kansas girl at heart. She enjoys visiting her two grown children and spoiling their sweet fur babies. Most evenings, if Sami’s not watching sports, you’ll find her engrossed in a romantic suspense novel. She thinks a crime plus a little romance is the recipe for a great story. Visit her at www.samiaabrams.com.
Books by Sami A. Abrams
Love Inspired Suspense
Deputies of Anderson County
Buried Cold Case Secrets
Twin Murder Mix-Up
Detecting Secrets
Killer Christmas Evidence
Visit the Author Profile page at LoveInspired.com.
Killer Christmas Evidence
Sami A. Abrams
And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.
—Romans 8:28
This book is dedicated to my Crime Scene Crew. You ladies are awesome! Thank you so much for joining me on this journey and helping me tell the world about my books.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Thee
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter TEN
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Dear Reader
Excerpt from Marked to Die by Kathleen Tailer
ONE
The police report burned in Detective Cassidy Bowman’s hand. Accidental death due to drunk driving. No way. She knew her cousin better than that.
Laura didn’t drink, and neither did Cassidy after a close friend from high school died in a drunk driving accident. Cassidy didn’t care that the lab had found alcohol in Laura’s bloodstream and an empty bottle in her car. The report had it wrong.
Cassidy intended to find evidence to support that fact—one of the reasons she’d temporarily moved to Valley Springs, thirty miles from her home in Brentwood, Indiana. The second reason? Killings throughout the surrounding counties that her boss refused to recognize as the result of a serial killer on the loose.
“Talk to me, Laura. What really happened to you?” Cassidy sank deeper into the brown overstuffed leather recliner provided by her rental apartment. Twisting a strand of her hair, she flipped the page and continued to read. The end table lamp beside her illuminated the papers. And the blazing fire in the fireplace on the far wall added to the glow in the room. A cozy atmosphere, if not for the confusing conclusions in the document.
A witness to her cousin’s accident had her scratching her head. Cassidy studied the statement. What bothered her about it?
She tapped her phone. “Remind me to reinterview the man who saw Laura’s accident and witnessed someone helping her.” After setting a reminder for the morning, she returned the device to her pocket.
Her attention drifted to the twinkling multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room. The crackling fire added warmth to the cold evening, and the scent of burning wood comforted her.
Christmas was coming, and she had no desire to celebrate, but the pine smell of the tree and sparkling lights had lifted the weight of depression—at least a little. The past year she’d spiraled toward a dark abyss, and she struggled not to let it take her under.
Her landlord, Mr. Webster, had gone all out on decorations at the main house and guilted her into a tree for the front window of the garage-turned-apartment. Saying no—not an option.
The older man had taken her in and made her feel special. More than her father had ever done. Colonel Trevor Bowman treated her like a soldier and not a young girl who’d lost her mother to cancer. Cassidy had never felt like enough, constantly striving and falling short. Others thought of her as driven. Ha! More like self-preservation in her father’s world of perfection.
Until this year, Cassidy had always seen Christmas as a time for hope, thanks to Meredith, the older neighbor lady who’d taken her to church and helped her through her teenage years. Well, too bad Cassidy didn’t have hope anymore. Being alone in the world did that to a person.
But she’d had that pity party earlier, and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere, so she pushed the loneliness aside and concentrated on the investigation. Her father had demanded excellence and hadn’t allowed emotions to interfere. He’d died years ago but left his mark on her life.
She tucked her black-and-red-plaid pajama–clad legs under her, wrapped her hand around the mug of hot tea and perused the document for the second time. She’d switched from coffee to decaffeinated tea weeks ago, hoping not to use the sleeping pills that sat next to her on the small square table. She’d only had mild success, but with the way her evening had gone, she hadn’t held out hope of avoiding the prescription.
Laying the copy of Laura’s file neatly aside, she picked up another. She’d scoured the surrounding areas for unsolved suspicious deaths and accidents where family members had protested the results of the investigation. Because in her mind, that’s what Laura’s death was—murder. She was confident that someone had killed her cousin and made it look like an accident. Cassidy wanted to find the person responsible and clear Laura’s name.
When her boss at Brentwood PD discovered her using police department resources for her personal hunt for the truth, he gave her a sympathetic look, then told her to take time off and not come back until she’d worked out her issues.
Issues? Of course she had issues. Her best friend and partner, Amber Lofton, died during a drug raid Cassidy had commanded. Then three months later, her cousin’s life ended in a tragic accident, leaving her alone in the world. Two deaths that never should have happened.
She lifted her hand and made a fist. The burn scars that wrapped around her lower arm and the top of her hand stretched and turned white. She’d paid a physical price during the raid when the door exploded seconds before they’d planned to breach the house, but the emotional scars had dug in deeper.
When she’d regained consciousness after the explosion, her team lay across the lawn, and someone used a jacket to slap out the flames that threatened to burn more than her arm.
She’d suffered severe second-degree burns, a concussion and lacerations over her back and legs from flying debris. The hospital stay had felt like an eternity, but at least she’d lived. Unlike Amber.
The claws of guilt raked across her heart. Why hadn’t it been her instead of her best friend? Survivor’s guilt. That’s what the therapist had called it. She called it her mistake. If only she’d read the situation faster...
The walk down memory lane left her wallowing in self-pity. Someday the loss wouldn’t hurt so badly. She hoped. Until then, she’d work on finding justice for her cousin and prove her worth as a detective. Failure hadn’t sat well. Replaying the tactical plan and mentally sorting through the intel hadn’t given her a different outcome. It shouldn’t have happened. But she’d missed something, and that was on her.
The new file angled toward the lamp, Cassidy settled deeper into her chair, refusing to give way to the pit of depression that threatened to swallow her whole.
A soft snick came from her right.
Cassidy resisted the urge to grab her gun off the coffee table and froze. She tilted her head and listened.
Nothing.
Great. Now her mind had decided to play tricks on her. Her pulse rate settled.
She flipped open the file on Bradford Technology CEO Tim Raines. Two shots to the chest during an in-home burglary. His wife, adamant she’d set the security alarm. Cassidy’s finger trailed the list of stolen items. A few pieces of jewelry and inexpensive electronics. That didn’t make sense. A house filled with high-priced belongings, and the attacker takes minor things? She continued to read and halted at the words “Peeping Tom multiple nights prior to the crime.” The basics fit her theory, especially the prowler, but the location was the key.
Cassidy checked the address and closed her eyes, visualizing the site. It fit. The crime was one of his. She leaned her head back on the cushion, letting
The guy tended to concentrate on the wealthy in power positions. Beyond that, his victims varied in gender and age. And then there were people, like her cousin, who didn’t fit at all. But Cassidy knew in her gut that Laura’s accident had a connection to the other crimes. She’d never dealt with this kind of killer before. Cassidy knew he’d taken the life of at least thirteen people. But how did she prove her theory?
Exhaustion flooded her system. Her eyes drooped. She debated calling it a night. But if she headed to bed, sleep would refuse to come. And she desperately needed it. She closed the file and added it to the pile.
What choice did she have? Medication, her only answer for rest tonight. She glanced over and spotted the bottle of prescription sleeping pills. Giving in to reality, she dropped one tablet onto her palm and sighed. So much for avoiding the chemical help. She popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed.
When would insomnia cease and her life return to normal? She missed her job and her coworkers. More than anything, she missed the peace in her life. She and God had been close once, but after the year she’d had, He seemed far away.
A clunk came from the kitchen.
That was not her imagination. Someone was in her apartment.
She’d rented the garage apartment from the lovely Mr. Webster, an elderly man who lived in the main house. Maybe her landlord had let himself in. As soon as the idea came, it left. Mr. Webster never entered without knocking. He’d promised her privacy, and so far, he’d kept his word.
No. It couldn’t be him.
She hurried to unfold her legs and reached for her SIG-Sauer on the coffee table where she’d placed it hours ago after coming home from the tiny office that she’d rented to keep her investigations private.
Why hadn’t she trusted her gut instinct about the earlier sound?
A blow to the back of her head sent her sprawling. Her weapon clattered across the wood floor, and white lights streaked across her vision. She lifted her blurry gaze to a figure standing over her.
The shadows and the haze from her head wound refused to give away her attacker’s features. Her eyes closed of their own accord, and she drifted on a dreamlike state.
Hands clutched her wrists. Her assailant pulled her arms above her head and tugged. Her body slid on the floor, the movement making her shoulder muscles burn.
The man released his grip, and her head bounced on a hard surface, sending pain slicing through her. The pounding inside her head increased. She struggled to put the pieces of what happened together.
Heat warmed her, and the rough surface beneath signaled her brain that she lay on the brick next to the fireplace. But her mind wouldn’t function beyond that basic awareness, and her body seemed worthless to fight back.
Glass shattered beside her, and the scent of alcohol burned her nose.
The harder she tried, the less clarity she achieved.
Smoke invaded her senses. Pops and crackles sounded next to her. Fear swirled within, but her body refused to move. The heat crawled closer, sending panic climbing up her throat. She couldn’t endure the pain from burns again. She just couldn’t. God, where are You?
Cassidy fought to open her eyes—to get away. But her lids remained closed.
Hot breath flicked across her cheek, and a whisper met her ear. “Sweet dreams.”
She struggled to respond, but the weight of her head and limbs proved it impossible.
The serial killer she’d stumbled upon had targeted her as his next victim. It was the only thing that made sense.
The burning scent of pine and smoke clogged her throat. She gasped for air. A blanket of darkness fell over her and took her under.
I’m sorry, Laura. Your killer will continue to go free.
* * *
Detective Kyle Howard’s gaze traveled around Dennis and Charlotte’s home.
The Christmas tree branches drooped under the weight of the overabundance of ornaments. Garland draped from one window to the next, and decorations filled every corner and flat surface available. It looked like Christmas had thrown up in every room of the house.
No doubt the couple wanted a memorable holiday for their five-year-old girls whom they had met for the first time several months ago. Dennis became a sudden single dad when a social worker had dropped off his daughter, whom he knew nothing about. And Charlotte discovered that her baby hadn’t died, but was a victim of an illegal adoption ring.
Kyle appreciated the efforts for his honorary nieces, but the stark reminder of the loss of his fiancée, Amber, made his heart ache.
Music played in the background, and Kyle’s friends and coworkers chatted while the little girls and their two dogs bounced around, making everyone laugh. Keith and Amy’s little boy, Connor, toddled from one person to another, soaking up the love in the room.
And then there was Melanie. Kyle glanced at his coworker and friend Jason, who had his arms wrapped around his wife and his hands splayed on her nine-month-pregnant belly. The baby, Jason and Melanie’s first, made child number four in their tight work family.
He’d hoped to add to the growing group of little ones, but his dream had evaporated with Amber’s death.
He adored his extended family of friends, but nine months and the first Christmas without Amber left a hole in his life. All he’d ever wanted was what his grandparents had had—a long, strong marriage to someone he considered his best friend. He’d found that match, but his happily ever after ended before it had started.
Except for his partner, Doug, who had his wife ripped away from him, his team had found their helpmates in life, and he should be part of that group—but wasn’t.
God, it hurts so bad.
Joy was beyond his ability tonight, and he couldn’t fake the cheer anymore. Kyle tossed his dessert plate in the garbage and made his rounds with a quick goodbye to his friends.
He hoped to escape before his boss zeroed in on him, but Dennis stopped him on the front porch.
“The ducking out is noticed.” Sheriff Dennis Monroe, his boss and friend, stood blocking his path.
Kyle sighed. So much for a clean getaway.
“I’m not going to push.” Dennis rested his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “Call if you need a listening ear. You know I’m here for you.”
He knew. Dennis had helped him those first few weeks when Kyle thought he’d never survive the heartache.
A smile tried to curve on the corner of his mouth but failed. He had a great boss and appreciated the man’s offer. But right now, he wanted to grieve in private.
“Thanks.” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” Kyle ducked around his boss and headed to his truck.
He maneuvered through Valley Springs, heading home alone, wishing, not for the first time tonight, that he had Amber beside him celebrating her favorite holiday. She loved Christmas and would’ve enjoyed the evening with his friends.
Tears stung his eyes. He blinked away the moisture.
Kyle took the long way home, hoping the Christmas lights would boost his spirits. He wove through the streets known for colorful displays.
He actually smiled as he approached Mr. Webster’s house. Kyle slowed to enjoy the sight. Multicolored lights twinkled under the night sky. A handcrafted wooden nativity scene stood prominent in the front yard. The man had outdone himself this year.
Kyle made a mental note to bring his “nieces and nephew” to see the decorations.
As he eased by the house, smoke swirled from the older man’s garage apartment. Kyle stopped, shifted into reverse and took a second look. Flames flickered in the front window.
What in the world?
Mr. Webster rushed down the front steps of the main house in a robe and slippers, frantically waving his hands.
Kyle slammed his truck into Park and jumped from the vehicle.
“She’s inside!” Mr. Webster pointed to the apartment.
“Who?” As if it mattered, but Kyle wanted to know what name to call out. He hadn’t met the current tenant.
