SVU Surveillance Page 6

He turned back to her stove, stirring the contents of a small pot. “You still like tomato soup,” he said, before pouring the smooth scarlet mixture into a bowl. “You’ve got a shelfful in your pantry.”

  “It’s warm food on cold nights,” she said. Plus, it reminded her of home. “My mom still makes and cans her own. Once upon a time a grilled cheese and tomato soup combo was the cure for all that ailed me.” In fact, the soup reminded her so much of her mother, and how badly she missed her, that she had a hard time leaving the grocery without buying a can. And an even harder time making it for the same reason. Tears did nothing to enhance the flavor.

  “Do your folks get up this way much?” Lucas asked, slipping a spoon and bowl before her.

  “A few times a year.” She smiled at the food. “I visit them for Christmas. How’s your family?”

  “Crazy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Blaze is still pining away for the woman he helped put into witness protection. It would be comical if it wasn’t so sad. Derek’s cocky as ever. Isaac’s trying to heal the world, one patient at a time, and Mom is still trying to marry us all off. So far, we’re sorely disappointing her.” His expression flattened. “Same old.”

  Gwen turned her attention to the soup, stroking a spoon through the bowl’s creamy contents. “Thanks for taking care of me today,” she said, the words coming more softly than intended. “Part of me wants to be sorry I dragged you into this, because honestly, I was hoping you’d look at that flyer and tell me I was being completely paranoid. But I’m glad I asked.”

  “Because I was already familiar with the case?” His keen blue eyes flicked to hers, something like hurt flashing in them.

  “Because you’re the only person I trust to not treat me as if I’m broken,” she said. “Because you know what this monster has done to me and what he’s taken from me. You’ve seen the scars.” She stopped, pressing her lips tight and forcing her hands into her lap. Her fingers ached to reach for the scars on instinct. To be sure they were still there. And that the wounds were healed. Because sometimes she was sure the memories and phantom pains would kill her yet.

  She’d needed dozens of stitches where her attacker had dug a blade into her side, and where he’d curled his fingers into her hair then banged her head repeatedly against the ground. Where doctors had painstakingly removed pebbles from her punctured skin and lacerated scalp. “I came to you because you know,” she repeated, her throat clamping down on the final word.

  “I do,” he said, looking ashamed and guilty. He set a hand on hers in her lap, and she flinched. “Sorry,” he said, pulling quickly away, expression horrified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

  Shock turned to humiliation in her heart and soul as she realized her mistake and his. It had been so long since anyone had reached for her hand. Since anyone had touched her outside her parents’ hugs. The move had startled her, and she’d flinched. That was on her.

  He’d forgotten she was broken. That was on him.

  Regardless of what she wanted, her attacker had taken something from her that she’d never get back, and Lucas deserved more than a few pieces of someone who’d never again be whole. Her stomach rolled, and her hunger vanished. “Um.” She slid to her feet, emotions spiking and churning in her core. “I need to lie down. Do you mind if we stay here one more night?” she said, backing away. “We can go to your place tomorrow. I won’t argue.”

  “Gwen.” Lucas stood, eyes pleading and hands rising uselessly between them.

  “I’ll clean the kitchen tomorrow,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve done too much already.” A small sob burst from her lips, and she pressed a palm to her mouth. “Good night.”

  And she turned for her bed at a jog.

  Chapter Eight

  Early the next morning, Gwen watched the familiar streets pass by in a town she’d avoided for five long years. She’d foregone her run and eaten toast with her coffee, all in an attempt to leave home before the sun rose. Now, it was just after breakfast time for everyone else, and she was back in her old college town, West Liberty. Flags in the school’s colors hung from streetlamps, and banners proclaiming Bellemont pride clung to shop windows and storefronts. The rolling green hills of campus ebbed and flowed in the distance, beyond quaint, historic neighborhoods and rows of rental homes filled with students

  There was an undeniable energy in the air. Contagious and wild. Rosy-cheeked students with backpacks and steaming cups laughed on street corners and held hands on sidewalks. It was surreal and otherworldly. A movie set come to life. The picture of Midwestern collegiate perfection, where all days were good ones and monsters didn’t lurk.

  Nostalgia twitched and stretched in her core, calling on her good memories in this town. Of shared coffees and jokes between friends. But she shut it down, unable to recall the good without the bad, and unwilling to relive the bad.

  “What did your boss say when you called in this morning?” Lucas asked, turning to her at a red light.

  Gwen glanced his way, relieved for the distraction. “She understood. I asked for a week of vacation, but I don’t see how that will be enough.”

  “I’ll do everything I can to end this as soon as possible,” he said. “If you need more time at the end of the week, we’ll figure it out together. But let’s take the days as they come for now.”

  The light changed, and they motored ahead, making turns down streets she remembered and others she couldn’t recall.

  Gwen didn’t doubt his intent or motivation, but she suspected they needed more than a handful of days to find a man they hadn’t been able to identify in six years. Assuming the current stalker was her old attacker, and she hadn’t managed to attract a second lunatic.

  Maybe it was time to put her home on the market and start over somewhere else. Farther away this time. Maybe Florida, near her folks. Though, she’d want to keep a little distance, just in case. She wouldn’t want to put her parents in danger. Maybe she could buy a place a few towns over. Or not in Florida at all. A neighboring state.

  “Gwen?” Lucas asked.

  He’d been talking, she realized, and she’d missed whatever he’d said completely. “Sorry. What?”

  He pressed his lips and shook his head. “You’ve barely spoken since we left this morning. I asked, what are you thinking?”

  She’d been thinking about how much she’d hate having to sell her home and give up her life again. How had it come to this when she’d worked so hard and been so careful? “I knew something wasn’t right,” she said, the thought flying from her mouth the moment it entered her head. “My instincts told me something was wrong, and I ignored them. And he’d been there. Did you see all those photos? He’d been everywhere. I was never alone. My carefully constructed life was all just a lie he’d allowed me to believe.”

  And she was a fool for having believed it.

  “This is not your fault,” Lucas said, pulling his truck into a narrow driveway. “There’s no accounting for psychopathy. You’re a sane person who made a sane decision based on a logical review of the evidence. Intuition can’t trump facts when the facts were six years deep. No one this side of an asylum would have believed a man who’d nearly killed you once would be back now, quietly following you around.” He cut the engine with a curse and climbed out of the cab.

  Gwen blinked, mildly stupefied by his uncharacteristic loss of composure.

  He opened her door looking chagrinned.

  She slid onto her feet outside the truck. “Sorry. I guess I was feeling sorry for myself.”

  “You were blaming yourself. That’s different.” He pulled her bags onto his shoulders and shut her door. “The only one at fault here is the one committing the crimes.” He smiled, dragging his gaze to the home beside them. “Welcome to my place. It’s a work in progress.”

  Gwen turned to the house, finally seeing where he’d brought her. She su
cked in a sharp breath and stared. “You bought the house?” she asked, nonsensically, the answer immediately in front of her.

  “Yeah.”

  Lucas had bought the house she’d fallen in love with junior year. One they’d stood outside of a hundred times on their ways to and from local events and admired. One he’d vowed to buy her someday on the night he’d proposed.

  “When?” she asked, thrilled for him and at the prospect of finally stepping inside.

  The 1870 Gothic-revival home had caught her eye the first time she saw it. The stately brick structure was set back from the road and circled by an aged wrought iron fence. The arched windows and doorways were lined in ornate details and scrolling woodwork that had called to her. It was always on the market, overpriced for the amount of work that had to be done, but worth it, she’d thought, to own such a beautiful piece of history. The realty site had claimed it to be more than four thousand square feet of living space with five large bedrooms and a study. She’d imagined her children growing up there, running wild down halls and corridors, where children had played for nearly one hundred and fifty years before them.

  “Last year,” he said, answering her question.

  He carried her bags onto the wide front porch and slid a key into the lock. “It took me longer to save the money on a cop’s salary than it would have on an architect’s, but I got it done.” He pressed the door open and motioned her inside.

  “But why?” she asked, hurrying to gape at the perfection around her. If the Realtor’s website was a decent resource, the home had likely set him back by five times his annual salary, and it would take one full-time cop a lifetime to restore.

  The grand entryway boasted high ceilings, hardwood floors and a chandelier. The staircase began at the back of the space and climbed to the next floor, its lacquered handrail gleaming from a recent polish.

  She turned to him, desperate to know his reasoning. Senselessly hoping she’d been some small part of the decision, or at least the memory of her.

  “I guess I’m still an architect at heart,” he said. “My life might’ve taken an unexpected turn, but my dreams have never changed.”

  Her heart swelled at the implication left floating between them, and her body warmed with need for his touch.

  “Come on. I’ll show you the guest room.” He started up the steps, and she followed.

  Gwen trailed her fingertips along the banister and over fifty-year-old wallpaper as they climbed, admiring the refinished tread under her feet. The upstairs hallway was decorated the same. Perfect restored wooden floors and elaborate gilded paper. Crown moldings lined the ceilings and thick trim-rimmed doors and windows.

  She peeked into the rooms as they passed, awed by the doors’ original white porcelain knobs and craftsmanship. One bedroom acted as a home gym with a treadmill, weight set and mirror in place. Another posed as storage. A third seemed to be a home office. There was a desk and chair, but the boxes were also plentiful.

  “This is the only other room with a bed,” he said, stopping at the final door on his right, just past a bathroom. “I’ll make it up for you. No one’s ever actually needed it.” He latched a hand on his hip and rubbed his forehead with the other. “You know what? Why don’t you take my room instead? I’ll figure this one out later.”

  He moved across the hall and pushed the door wide before Gwen could respond.

  The room was huge with a massive four-poster bed at the center and evidence of Lucas’s busy life everywhere. Toppled boots by the closet. Cast-off clothing on a chair. The scent of him trapped in every scrap of fabric and carpeting.

  He dropped her bags on the bed, his gaze darting. “It’s a mess, but at least there are sheets on the bed.”

  “It’s great,” she said, nodding to punctuate the words. “Thank you.”

  “Well then, I’ll leave you to it.” He slipped past her in the doorway, then paused in the hall. “I’m going to check in at the station and return some calls this morning. I won’t be long, and we can get some lunch when I get back.”

  “You’re leaving?” She spun on him, ripped back to the moment. “Take me with you. I want to know what’s going on, and I can help.”

  “Gwen,” he started, fixing a perfectly blank cop expression on his face. “I’ll fill you in on everything when I get back. I won’t leave anything out. But I think you should stay inside as much as possible. I don’t want you spotted, and honestly, there’s no reason to drag you through the rehashing of details on this if we don’t have to.”

  She crossed her arms, understanding his reasoning and hating it. “This is happening to me whether I want to deal with it or not, so I’m all in for the rehashing and whatever else it takes to catch him. I don’t want to be left alone here, useless and idle. That’ll only make me crazier.” She stepped into the hall with him and leaned her head back for a look into his contemplative eyes. “Let me help you catch him this time.”

  Lucas clenched and released his jaw, the muscle flexing and jumping.

  “Please?” she tried, taking another approach.

  He groaned and rocked back on his heels, relenting. “All right. This way.”

  She followed him back toward the steps with an internal fist pump and a tiny kick in her step.

  He stopped short at the room with a desk and chair, then flipped on the light. He waved a hand at the piles of boxes. “These are the details and findings from your original case, along with my personal research on the subject, not that I’ve ever gotten anywhere.”

  She inched into the room, surprised by his words. He’d told Detective Anderson that he’d put other monsters behind bars. It made sense for him to seek his justice however he could, and Gwen was glad he had. But knowing he’d kept hunting her attacker all these years was something else entirely. If he’d never given up on bringing her justice, then maybe he’d never given up on her. “Which boxes are the case files and research?” she asked. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

  Lucas frowned. “These are all case files and research. Six years’ worth.”

  “What?” Her heart pinched with appreciation and gratitude. While she’d been hiding, Lucas had been fighting. Her eyes stung, and she faked a yawn to cover the gathering tears.

  She lifted the lid of the nearest box and peered inside. “I can’t believe you have all these.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb, hands stuffed deep into the front pockets of his jeans. “I started bringing them home the day I made detective. I was photocopying pages and carrying them home in my bag before that.” Emotion flickered in his eyes, and he peeled away from the wall, stepping closer, gaze fixed on her. “I go over them on the weekends or when I can’t sleep. I keep thinking that one day something I’ve been missing will stand out.”

  Gwen moved, too, matching his stride, drawn to his goodness and strength. His compassion and perseverance. He’d done this for her. Gave up a future in architecture. Joined the force. Became a detective. And spent his free time in search of justice. For her.

  The toes of their shoes bumped, and they stared at one another, a live wire of energy crackling between them.

  She inhaled the warm, inviting scent of him, allowing it to envelope her. It would be so easy to reach for him. To stroke her hand up the length of his arm. To set a palm on his strong chest. To lean closer and fall into his embrace.

  Lucas towered over her, his shoulders curving in and creating that nook where she’d always fit so perfectly. That place that had seemed carved just for her, where nothing bad could touch her. He lifted a hand slowly toward her cheek, watching carefully for signs the touch was unwanted. Another flinch, perhaps, like the one she’d accidentally given last night.

  She wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  His phone buzzed, breaking the tension, and his hand fell back to his side. He retrieved the phone from his back pocket and pressed it to his ear
without stepping away. “Winchester.”

  Gwen struggled to catch her breath, and her pulse beat between her ears.

  His eyes caught hers once more, and he lowered the phone between them, giving the screen a tap with one thumb. “Gwen’s here now, and you’re on speaker. Go ahead.”

  “Miss Kind.” Detective Anderson’s voice rose from the phone. “We’ve had a chance to examine the full contents of the thumb drive recovered from your office. There were more than two thousand files.”

  Gwen’s head lightened, and she stumbled back a step. How long had she been followed? How many photos had he taken of her each day? How had she not noticed?

  “Two thousand?” Lucas repeated, anger coloring his tone. “How is that possible? Are we talking repeats? Like a photo shoot? Dozen or more photos of the same shot, from every session?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Detective Anderson said. “There were two thousand photos. Taken over the course of eight years.”

  Gwen’s knees weakened, and her heart seized before breaking into a sprint. She was attacked six years ago.

  “That’s impossible,” Lucas demanded, his tone defiant. “There must be some mistake.”

  “I’m sorry, but no,” Detective Anderson answered. “Whoever left this thumb drive at Miss Kind’s office last night has clearly been following her since two years before she was attacked. And leaving this behind suggests he wants her to know.”

  Chapter Nine

  Lucas sat on the floor across from Gwen, take-out containers piled between them. He couldn’t bring himself to leave her after the news Detective Anderson delivered, so he’d ordered her favorite takeout from a Chinese fusion restaurant they’d frequented in college. Then, he’d started sorting facts and photographs alongside her.

  “Find anything?” she asked, a pot sticker captured between her chopsticks. She’d folded her legs into a pretzel and gone straight to work creating multiple piles from the photos Detective Anderson had sent him. Red curls hung over her shoulders, and there was deep concentration in her eyes.