Evidence Of Marriage. Ann Voss Peterson

“Aren’t you even curious about what she wants?”

      “No.”

      Another sigh.

      Of course Nikki wouldn’t understand. She always had to stick her nose in everything. Especially things that were none of her business. A good characteristic for a detective—especially one as ambitious as Nikki—but not a trait he appreciated when the subject was him. “Go up to the counter and ask for some refills, will you?”

      “Are you kidding? I’m not going to miss this show.” Nikki leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. Picking up her coffee cup, she took a long, leisurely sip.

      So much for keeping his pain to himself.

      “Reed?”

      No matter how braced he thought he was, the sound of Diana’s voice hit him in the gut like a full-fledged ulcer. He kept his eyes riveted to the report in front of him. He didn’t need a close-up view. He still saw her face nearly every night in his dreams. And in his nightmares. “I’m busy here, Diana.”

      “Dryden Kane contacted us.”

      Kane. An extra shot of acid added to his misery. He looked up, searching her face. “When?”

      “He sent Sylvie a wedding gift. A family portrait of us as children.”

      “Nice.”

      “She’s kind of upset.”

      He could imagine. He knew Sylvie wouldn’t want his pity, but he couldn’t help giving it all the same. The poor girl had grown up in foster homes, dreamed of having a family, only to discover her father was notorious serial killer Dryden Kane. To get this “gift” the day after her wedding had to be a blow. “How did the portrait arrive? Delivery service?”

      She shook her head. “It didn’t come in the mail either. The only thing I can figure is that he must have had someone drop it off at the reception last night.” She tensed her shoulders in a protective shiver.

      Reed knew what she was thinking. The same thing he was. That someone who’d delivered the package might very well be the Copycat Killer, the serial murderer who had claimed three women’s lives the past fall using the same techniques as Dryden Kane. The killer they believed was being controlled by Kane himself. “Do you have the portrait with you?”

      Nikki pulled the cup away from her lips. “Fingerprints?”

      He nodded.

      Diana gestured at the street outside the café. “It’s in my car.”

      “Good. Nikki can take it over to the lab. They can lift the prints there. Maybe the frame will tell us something, too.”

      “That’s not all.” She dipped her hand into her purse and pulled out a large plastic bag with a greeting card inside. She extended it to him.

      “A card. I guess he must have read the etiquette books.” He opened the card a crack through the plastic-bag cover. Bold handwriting scrawled at the bottom of a wedding verse. A father should have the privilege of walking his daughter down the aisle. I miss my girls. I look forward to your visit.

      “I’ll bet he does,” Reed muttered under his breath. The opportunity to emotionally torture his two beautiful adult daughters must be a dream come true for a sadist like Kane.

      “There was a newspaper clipping about the Copycat Killer inside, too. It’s tucked in the envelope.”

      Manipulating the bag, he opened the envelope. The slightly yellowed shadow of newsprint peeked from inside. He shook it out into the bag. The headline was more than six months old, originating from around the first time the press had officially named the Copycat Killer. The killer hadn’t killed since, at least not that they’d detected. But with summer here, Reed feared the total would start to rise.

      The pain in his gut hardened to anger. Diana might not want him to take care of her anymore, but she’d have to accept certain precautions. “You and Sylvie need to move to a hotel for a few days. I’ll arrange for protection.” He braced himself for an argument.

      Diana merely nodded. “I’m worried about Sylvie. She’s pregnant.”

      Pregnant. So they couldn’t wait until the actual wedding to start their family. No surprise. Sylvie and Bryce were so in love and wanted a family so badly, he’d been amazed they’d put off marriage and babies for as long as they had.

      The familiar ache bored into his stomach wall. Last October he would have bet the couple married and expecting would be him and Diana. How things had changed. “Aren’t they planning a honeymoon?”

      “She won’t go. She says she doesn’t want to leave me alone with this.”

      “And Bryce?”

      “He wants to get his hands on the man who killed his brother, naturally. But he intends to do what’s best for Sylvie and the baby.”

      “I’ll see what I can do to convince her. And I’ll have an officer assigned to you.” He handed the plastic bag to Nikki. “Have the lab check for prints ASAP, then I want it back. The portrait, too.”

      Nikki set her coffee cup on the table and stood.

      He glanced up at Diana, meeting her eyes for as long as he dared. “Is that all?”

      “All Kane sent? Yes.”

      “Then Nikki will go with you to get the portrait.”

      Diana hesitated, watching him for a moment. “I need to talk to you.”

      “Nikki can handle it.” He nodded to his partner, praying she’d help him out this time. He was at the end of his tolerance. He couldn’t stand looking at Diana one more second and pretend she didn’t mean anything to him, that he was just doing his job, working on a case like any other. “Go ahead.”

      A knowing smile playing at the corner of her lips, Nikki made for the café door, her long, dark ponytail swinging down the middle of her back. “Save my seat.”

      Diana paused a second longer before following. When she finally disappeared through the glass door, Reed lowered his head into his hands.

      Even as an awkward teen with more pimples than confidence, he’d never found being near a woman this difficult. But then, it wasn’t every day he had to face the woman he’d loved for five years, the woman he’d finally convinced to say “I do,” the woman who’d turned around and kicked his guts out.

      Minutes passed as he delved into his stack of reports. He’d just reached the bottom of the first pile when the bell on the café door jingled, and the ache returned in full force. And as much as he wanted to blame it on the battery-acid coffee, he knew without looking up Diana was once again heading for his table.

      “We need to talk.”

      “Didn’t Nikki take care of things for you?”

      “I didn’t come here just to hand over the portrait and card.”

      Of course she didn’t. She couldn’t let him off that easily, after all. “Why did you come?”

      “I want to help.”

      “Help?”

      She pulled out a chair and slid into it, plunking her elbows on the table. “I want to go to the prison. I want to talk to Dryden Kane.”

      “And who is that going to help?”

      She tilted her head and looked at him as if he were an idiot. “In the card, he wrote that he wants to see us, talk to us, then he put in a news clipping about the killer.”

      “So you think he wants to talk to you about the Copycat Killer?”

      “Don’t you?”

      “No.”

      “Then why send the clipping?”

      “You