Chapter 19
Two Weeks Later A cherub flanked either side of the tombstone. Engraved in the granite were the words, ‘Our precious Katie, taken from us much too soon. Rest in peace, our little angel.’
Dusk was approaching, nearly swallowing the other headstones in its darkness. Cool wind whipped around my legs and I drew the leather coat more tightly around my body, thinking I should have worn something warmer. Kneeling, I placed a bouquet of tulips and baby’s breath on Katie’s grave. Today was her birthday. I hadn’t been to visit her in a while. The least I could do was be with her on her birthday.
Since I’d been back on the crime desk, I’d started a series of articles about unsolved murders. Particularly those of young girls. Particularly, Katie’s, Cassie Carthage’s and Maya Pittman’s. I was hoping that by bringing attention to them, something new would surface. Even though the police didn’t believe the murders were related—and they might not have been—they were at least related in that none were solved.
“I’m sorry, Katie,” I said aloud. “I promise I’ll never stop trying to find out who did this. Never stop trying to help you finally rest.”
My eyes grew wet and my visions blurred. Tears spilled in warm rivulets that quickly chilled on my cheeks.
I heard a cracking sound behind me, like someone stepping on a twig. Whirling, I spotted a man materializing from the fog and I gasped. “Lane? What are you doing here?”
He moved toward me, not speaking. I hadn’t seen him since that day in the hospital. Since the kiss. I didn’t realize until now how hungry I was for the sight of him. I stood, silently drinking him in while I waited for him to reach me. He wore jeans and a brown bomber jacket. His hair was ruffled by the wind, his eyes an intense glitter in the murky gloom.
“I was looking for you. Asia said you were here.” He studied me with an unfathomable expression. “How are you?”
“Still a little sore, but healing. You?”
He shrugged. “Not bad. How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Fine. You know, the whole crazy family thing.” I rolled my eyes. “Oodles of fun. Yours?” I regretted the question as soon as it was out of my mouth. Lane didn’t really have family, at least, not any close by.
“Quiet,” he said, smiling briefly. “Tried to keep busy during the holiday.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve read the articles you’ve written on the unsolved murders. You’re a good writer. I had no idea.”
I shrugged. “Kind of hard to flex your writing muscles on an obituary paragraph.”
He grinned. “I suppose so. Your articles certainly bring out your talent. Pretty detailed. You’ve done your homework.”
“I keep hoping something will trigger a memory, a clue. A way to find the killer.”
He tucked his hands in the pockets of his jeans and said, “I convinced the cold case squad to open the case and I’ve been helping.”
“Have you?” I asked hopefully.
“Yeah. And I’ve found nothing. Not likely that we will. The best suspect from back then, Cameron Cooper, is dead. He died five years ago in prison where he was serving time for assault. We have no DNA. There are similarities between Katie’s killing and the other girls’, but distinct differences, too.” He shrugged. “It’s likely you’ll just have to accept the fact that her killer might not ever be found. A lot of murder cases are never solved.” He let out a long, weary sigh. “Too damn many.”
I shook my head, clenching my jaw. “I’m not sure I can accept that.”
His voice was gentle, sympathetic. “I’m not sure you have a choice.”
I stayed silent, not wanting to believe him, but knowing he was probably right.
Lane took his hands from his pockets and hooked his finger under my chin, lifting until I was looking up at him. He cupped a hand to the side of my face and brushed a tear away with his thumb. I let my eyes drift shut and for a moment, savored his touch, fighting against the urge to nestle into his warmth.
“Katie is resting, you know.”
“What?” I said, my eyes slowly opening to meet the electric blue of his.
“The dead are at peace. She doesn’t know her killer might still be out there. She doesn’t know how the people left behind are suffering. How they mourn her. It’s the ones left behind who can’t rest.”
“You think so?”
“I know so,” he said. His gaze roamed over my face with a yearning intensity. “I’ve missed you.” The admission was an agonized whisper, almost an entreaty and I steeled myself against the jolt it sent through my body. “You’ve been living in the past for twenty-five years,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time to look toward the future?”
The future.
I had the job I’d always wanted, the job I deserved. Adam had been properly repentant, almost groveling, since my return. Josie was clean, for now. The man I cared deeply about—maybe loved—was here and would soon be free.
The future.
I met his eyes again and shivered. He must have thought it was from the cold because he pulled me into a hug, warming me everywhere his body touched mine. A deep wave of contentment moved through me as we stood silently, together, in the shadow of Katie’s headstone.
The future was starting to look pretty good.
THE END
A word about the author…
Alicia Dean began writing stories as a child. At age 10, she wrote her first ever romance (featuring a hero who looked just like Elvis Presley, and who shared the name of Elvis’ character in the movie, Tickle Me), and she still has the tattered, pencil-written copy. Alicia is from Moore, Oklahoma and now lives in Edmond. She has three grown children and a huge network of supportive friends and family. She writes mostly contemporary suspense and paranormal, but has also written in other genres, including a few vintage historicals.
Other than reading and writing, her passions are Elvis Presley (she almost always works in a mention of him into her stories) and watching (and rewatching) her favorite televisions shows like Ozark, Dexter, Justified, Breaking Bad, Sons of Anarchy, and Vampire Diaries. Some of her favorite authors are Michael Connelly, Dennis Lehane, Stephen King, Lee Child, Lisa Gardner, Ridley Pearson, Joseph Finder, and Jonathan Kellerman…to name a few.
Email: Alicia at AliciaDean.com Website: aliciadean.com