FAMILY MASSACRED
GUNMEN KILL FAMILY
POLICE ACTION INVESTIGATED
The headlines and photos of his childhood terror filled his eyes and blurred them with tears. Disturbing as these articles were, those set alongside them made his mind reel with even more questions. A chill shivered through him and exposed his heart with the precision of a surgeon.
CHARLES DUNHILL MURDERED
SNIPER KILLS PROMINENT LOCAL
What connection did the murder of Charles Dunhill have to his family's horror? Whoever killed Mickey Blair knew the answers. Suddenly, the sign pinned to Mick's chest invaded his confusion. Seek the truth, Christian.
The truth about what? His eyes zeroed in on the newspaper clippings, blocking out the rest of the world—a world that had ceased to exist for him in that instant. He felt entrenched in his past. Sinking to one knee, he picked up one of the articles with trembling fingers. A tear lost its hold and trailed down his cheek.
Reality hit hard. His past had been nothing more than an illusion—devoid of substance. Fiona must have known. Yet she had chosen to leave him floundering in ignorance. The only person he trusted had left him behind, to discover the truth on his own. But why?
Who the hell was he? And why was he connected to so much death?
Christian slumped to the cement floor, stunned. Raven knew he shouldn't be touching the evidence, but she couldn't deny the man his shocking disbelief. He looked dazed. Her heart ached for him.
"Scott. We're gonna need a team here." Tony's voice droned in the background. Her partner served as a stark reminder of her duty. Despite her feelings to the contrary, she'd come to do a job. And Christian was not officially part of it. Kneeling by his side, she clasped his hand and squeezed it. She found defeat in his eyes.
"Christian, come with me."
She felt sure he hadn't heard her at first. Then he stood and let her lead him through the maze, toward the doorway. Although he stared straight ahead, he looked completely lost. Only a small part of him remained. With the sun low in the sky, a chill captured the intruding night air, hurling a gust at their feet. Standing by the entrance, she broke the silence.
"I'll make sure you get copies of the articles," she offered. In reply, he merely lowered his head. "What do you think they mean? Obviously, the killer staged it all."
By the pained expression on his face, she knew the question already had occurred to him. He just shook his head. For a long while, she wasn't sure he'd speak.
"Seek the truth, Christian. I wish I knew . . ." His thought trailed off, vanquished by his overwhelming ordeal. He didn't hide the emotion, nor had he wiped the drying path of a tear. Her attraction deepened. But she had a job to do.
"What do you know about the murder of Charles Dunhill?" The accusation was absent from her voice. He'd been only a boy when Dunhill had been murdered. "I want to help you find the truth, Christian. Please let me do that."
"I'm afraid of what I'm gonna find, Raven." The honesty caught in his throat. "I thought I knew who I was, but now—"
"You told me that Mickey might have supplemented his income with a sniper rifle. And Charles Dunhill was killed by a sniper."
Her words hung in the air like a malevolent cloud, judging by his reaction. She knew it wasn't directed at her. Yet his fierce green eyes absorbed her insinuation without a word, eventually softening to his shattered acceptance of her rationale.
"Do you think that's the connection to Mickey? Could he have killed Dunhill? Maybe that's the truth the killer wants you to find."
"I don't know. It was so long ago. But I think the killer assumes there's a link. Maybe the bigger question is why Dunhill was killed. That's the truth I need to find. That reason could shed some light on my past." He closed his eyes and lowered his chin. His shoulders slumped with the weight of his only reasonable course of action. "Look, I know I have no right to ask this, but can you locate the old police files for the Dunhill murder investigation? Maybe we can find a lead there."
"We?" she questioned. "Now we're a team?"
"I deserved that."
By the look of him, Christian knew how tenuous his status was in their investigation. But it didn't stop him from trying. She understood completely. If their roles had been reversed, it wouldn't have stopped her, either.
"I'm asking you. Please. You said you wanted to help. I need you, Raven. I can't do this on my own."
She searched his eyes. God, how she wanted to trust him. And as much as he needed help from the police, she and Tony could certainly benefit from his complete cooperation. Obviously, the case dealt with his past. Still, she had an active investigation to conduct—in the here and now. As if she were walking a tight wire, she balanced between personal desire and duty. No safety net.
"Let me talk it over with Tony. But if we share the old case file, I have to know you're completely with us. No more hidden agendas."
"I understand. And for me, there's more at stake here than just my past. Not sure I can make any promises until I talk to someone. Can you accept that?"
Raven had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. She expected a show of relief on his face. But instead, his usual somber expression returned, tinged with a seductive vulnerability. All he had to do was play ball, but he warned her that he couldn't make promises. Someone was in harm's way. And he'd forgo his own motives to protect whoever it was. Things just got complicated.
"You're stretching my patience, Delacorte." She furrowed her brow, unsure how to proceed. Another tack occurred to her. "Can you think of anyplace else that Mickey might have kept some kind of locker? I found a key in his desk that seemed out of place."
He thought for a moment. "Nothing comes to mind. But give me time to think on that."
"I need a show of good faith, Christian. You're not giving me anything to work with here."
"I know," he muttered. "But I will. It's just that there's something I have to do first."
An undercurrent of anxiety contradicted his usually stoic nature. Completely understandable. But it also looked like he struggled to confide in her—throwing her off-balance. How could she rely on him?
With a new resolve, he affirmed her notion. "I want you to trust me, but I haven't given you much reason to do that."
Somewhere in his words, she searched for honesty— needed to find it. Christian gazed upon her as if seeing her for the first time. He brushed back a strand of her hair. The act of tenderness implied an affection he hadn't communicated before now. It seduced the very breath from her lips. And by the restrained desire in his eyes, the move even caught him by surprise.
"Have dinner with me. Tonight." He pulled from her and threw out his invitation as he stepped through the door, safely distancing himself. "We need to talk."
"My house. Eight sharp. I'll cook." Her mouth promised what she couldn't deliver. For her, cooking was anything stuck in the microwave, ready in five minutes—or a heaping bowl of cereal. After giving him her address, she added, "You bring the wine." Despite a lack of competence in the kitchen, she promised a home-cooked meal, like they'd done this a thousand times.
A faint smile touched his lips, like he read her mind. It had been so subtle, she might have missed it altogether.
"Thanks," he replied. Picking up his pace, he headed for his car just as her team of CSI pulled onto the street.
What the hell had just happened?
Tony stepped beside her. "So you got a hot date tonight—and dinner, no less." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Is this a subtle interrogation technique, plying him with an overload of carbs and Pinot Noir?"