Desperate Measures (Harlequin Intrigue) Read online

  There had been shadows in his deep green eyes that had whispered of secrets, secrets she definitely wanted him to share with her.

  Had she worn her royal blue cold-shoulder blouse tonight because she’d had several people tell her she looked sexy in it? Had she decided to wear her black skinny jeans because she knew they hugged her thin but shapely legs? Was it all in an effort to use her womanly wiles on him?

  Maybe, but she had to admit part of it was for him to see Monica Wright not just as a sharp investigative reporter, but also as a desirable woman.

  Which was completely ridiculous. The very last thing she wanted in her life was a relationship that would suck time and energy away from her work, but there were times she was lonely. It was really rather silly, but something about talking to Jake the evening before had made her think about her loneliness.

  Maybe it was because from the moment she had met him, butterflies had danced in her stomach. And she hadn’t felt butterflies about any man in a very long time.

  She raised a finger to her mouth and then dropped her hand back to the steering wheel. She was desperately trying to stop chewing her nails. It was hard to have pretty nails when you gnawed them ragged. Instead she now clicked them against her steering wheel as her thoughts continued to cascade in her head.

  It’s about the story, stupid. This had been her mantra for the last five years, when she had really gotten serious about what she wanted to do. The advertising on her podcast paid her bills, but she wanted more than just financial security. She wanted respect. And identifying the Vigilante Killer and being responsible for his arrest would gain her that respect.

  This was the first case where she didn’t just want to report the facts; rather, she wanted to make the facts. She wanted to hunt the killer.

  It was definitely interesting to her that Jake had wanted nothing more than to kick her off his property until she’d mentioned the three other men and the Northland Survivor Group. He had suddenly become quite amenable after that.

  He’d started out just being a possible human-interest story. Janet McCall’s phone call had changed all that. Talking to him last night had also changed that. He was so much more than a human-interest story. She had a feeling he might be the key to discovering the identity of the killer.

  Her clicking fingernails stopped and she sat up straighter in her seat as Jake’s car pulled into a parking space on the opposite side of the street.

  The butterflies took flight again in her stomach as he got out of the car and headed inside the restaurant. His black slacks fit perfectly on his slim hips and long legs, and he also wore a dark green short-sleeved shirt she knew would perfectly match his eyes.

  She waited five minutes and then, ignoring the dancing butterflies, she got out of her car and headed for the restaurant’s front door.

  It was cool and semi-dark inside. Scents of garlic and onion and rich Italian spices filled the air, and soft music played overhead. A pretty, young hostess greeted her. “Hi, is there just one this evening?”

  “No, I’m meeting somebody here. Jake Lamont?”

  The hostess smiled again. “Oh yes, if you’ll follow me.”

  The hostess guided her through the main dining room and into a smaller private room with a table for two.

  Jake stood as they entered, and for just a brief moment she wondered what it would be like if he had gotten the private room because he wanted to know her hopes and dreams...because he wanted to spend time gazing into her eyes and whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

  Of course nothing could be further from the truth. He’d gotten the private dining room because they had things to discuss, things like murder and a serial killer working in her hometown.

  “This is nice,” she said once the hostess was gone and the two of them were seated at the table.

  “I figured it would be good to meet in a neutral place to have this discussion,” he replied. “But how about we eat first and then talk about the main issue.”

  “That works for me,” she agreed.

  He gestured toward the menu. “I’ve already decided what I want,” he said.

  She opened the menu but as she read the offerings, she was acutely aware of his gaze on her. She made her decision, closed the menu and met his gaze.

  He looked away and for a moment an awkward silence ensued. Thankfully a waitress entered the room and broke the silence.

  She served them water and a mini loaf of garlic bread and whipped butter. She took both their drink and meal orders, and then left the room once again.

  “How was your day?” he asked when they were alone again.

  She looked at him in surprise. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had inquired about her day. “Do you really want to know or are you just being polite?” she asked.

  “I’d really like to know,” he replied.

  “My morning was rough. Most of them are rough. I’m not a morning person and everything that can go wrong in a day usually happens then. Yesterday my coffee machine quit working. I bought a new one and this morning I went to make coffee and realized I was out of pods.”

  A corner of his mouth lifted. “Sounds disastrous.”

  “Oh, trust me. It was. I am not a happy camper without my morning coffee. Anyway, the rest of my day was good. I’m working on several stories right now and things are coming together nicely on them. How did your day go?”

  “It was quiet. I watched a little television and then sketched for a while. I hate Sundays, when the job site is closed down and there’s nothing much for me to do.”

  “Do you have family here in town?”

  “I don’t have family anywhere,” he replied. “My parents are gone and it was just Suzanna and me. What about you? Do you have family here?”

  “My mother died when I was eight, but I have my father and two older, overachieving sisters. Addie and Elizabeth are the apples of his eyes.”

  “Which implies that you aren’t?” He raised a dark brow.

  “I’ve been his disappointment for years,” she replied, and fought against a hurtful hitch in her heart.

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their meals. He’d ordered the spaghetti and meatballs while she had opted for cheese ravioli. “Oh my gosh, this looks yummy.”

  “Can I cut you off some bread?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He cut her a piece. “Butter?”

  “Definitely,” she replied.

  He slathered the bread with butter and then handed it to her. As their fingertips touched, the butterflies in her stomach flew once again. Good Lord, what was wrong with her?

  “I think Italian food is my favorite type of food,” he said as he cut himself a piece of the bread.

  “Italian is good, but Mexican is my very favorite,” she replied. “There’s nothing better than chips and salsa and cheese enchiladas.”

  For a few minutes they were quiet as they focused on their meal. On the one hand, Monica wanted to hurry up and eat so they could get to the conversation she wanted to have with him. On the other hand, there was a small part of her that wanted the meal to go slow so she could somehow pretend this was a normal first date between a man and a woman who were interested in each other.

  Jeez, once again she wondered what was wrong with her. All she wanted from Jake Lamont was any information he might have about the Vigilante Killer. She wanted her big story, and that was it.

  She had to stay focused and not get caught up in his beautiful green eyes with their thick dark lashes and the sexy slide of his lips curving into a smile. Okay, she found him vastly attractive, but she needed to maintain her emotional distance from him. She had to remember that he was nothing more than a means to an end.

  “So, why news?” he asked as they continued to eat.

  She shrugged. “Why architecture?”

 
; “I loved the way buildings looked. I always knew I wanted to design amazing buildings.”

  “And I was always fascinated with the women reporters on the news. I studied them and tried to figure out what made them popular. I always knew I wanted to be an investigative reporter and really dig into the stories I thought impacted the Kansas City area.”

  “Why not work for one of the big networks?” He cut himself off another piece of the bread.

  “It’s a whole new world. More and more people are getting their news from alternative sources and I wanted to be one of those alternative sources.” She offered him a smile. “Besides, I like being my own boss. I don’t always play well with others.”

  He raised a dark brow once again. “Ah, good to know, especially when you want to partner up with me.”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret about me...if you’re working with me, then I’ll be the most loyal person in the whole world to you.”

  “Now all I have to do is believe you.”

  “Trust me, you can believe me,” she said fervently. Their gazes locked for a long moment. She couldn’t tell if he believed her or not, but what she’d told him was the honest-to-goodness truth.

  It was she who broke the gaze, finding it suddenly too probing...too intimate. “I’d go to prison before I’d ever give up the name of a source. Despite my ambition, I like to think I have a big streak of integrity inside me.”

  “Integrity is a good thing to have,” he replied.

  They finished their meals and he pushed his empty plate aside. “How about some dessert with coffee? I never miss a chance to have something sweet to finish off a meal.”

  She flashed him a cheeky grin. “Nothing I like better than chocolate and murder. Let’s get to it then.”

  * * *

  HE HAD TAKEN the last twenty-four hours to think about what he was going to tell Monica. Could he trust her? Even though he had absolutely no reason to, his gut instinct was that he could. After all, they both wanted the same thing.

  Or maybe it was because he desperately wanted to trust her. He needed somebody like her to know what had taken place in the woods that night...in case something happened to him. If she ran directly to the cops with what he told her and he was arrested, well, maybe that was okay as well. Maybe it was exactly what he deserved.

  He ordered tiramisu and she opted for chocolate lava cake. They both ordered coffee, and once they’d been served and were alone again, he studied her closely.

  Was he deciding to trust her because she looked amazing in the sexy blue blouse that bared her slender shoulders and matched her eyes? Was he weakened by the fact that when she smiled at him a crazy warmth filled him? No, he wasn’t that stupid. This was far too important to make that kind of a mistake.

  It was the directness of her gaze and the honesty, and yes, integrity he sensed in her that finally made up his mind to confide what he could to her. Besides, he needed an insurance policy so that if something did happen to him she could take the information he gave her to the police and hopefully get the killer behind bars.

  “Let’s just assume there were six angry men,” he began. “They had all suffered the loss of a loved one by bad men. Not only that, but due to jury nullification and technical glitches and other problems in the judicial system, those bad men all got away with their crimes.”

  He stared down into his coffee as he remembered the killing rage and grief that had made him half-crazed after Suzanna’s murder. His rage had been further fired by the fact that Max Clinton walked away a free man.

  He gazed back at her. “Anyway, these six men all found themselves at the Northland Survivor Group. They were all looking for ways to deal with their emotions. They were hoping to learn some new coping skills or something to help them with their overwhelming pain.”

  “And did they find what they needed?” she asked softly.

  “No, they didn’t. They met several times for drinks after the meetings, talking about their grief and their rage at the system, but they found no relief until they decided to hatch a plan.”

  Once again he paused, this time to take a drink of his coffee and eat a bite of his dessert. It was tasteless and he knew it was because his mouth was filled with the taste of grief and shame and the enormous bitterness of deep guilt.

  He still couldn’t believe he’d actually been a part of the plot they had all come up with on that crazy night. It had definitely been a moment of temporary insanity.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “the more these men all got together, the greater their anger grew.” A knot expanded and twisted tight in his chest. “And then one night they all met in the woods next to an old abandoned baseball field. It was on that night they came up with a stupid plan.”

  This was the part where he had to get a little inventive in order to protect not only himself but the other men who had come up with what now was a horrendous plot. He definitely believed that one of them was the killer, but that meant he and four others were innocent.

  “A stupid plan?” She put her fork down and stared at him intently.

  He was afraid to tell, but there was also a part of him that wanted to spill his guts to her about everything...a part of him that needed to get this burden off his chest.

  “You have to remember that we were all crazy with grief,” he said, as if that somehow mitigated what they’d planned to get the justice they all wanted.

  “This is a judgement-free zone,” she replied.

  He released a deep sigh. “To be honest, I don’t know for sure who came up with the idea, but it was planned that we would each kill another man’s killer. For instance, I’d kill the man who murdered Nick Simon’s wife. Nick would kill the man who beat Matt Harrison’s mother to death, and so on.”

  He paused and watched her features carefully, seeking a sign of shock and revulsion. But none was there. All he saw was open curiosity.

  “Looking back at that meeting in the woods, it seems like a bad dream, not something that really happened. But it did.” He paused and drew a deep breath. “And we all walked away from that meeting thinking we were going to act on that plan. But when it came right down to it, I would have never been able to kill a man, no matter what heinous crimes he’d committed, and I believe the others were just like me. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of the murder pact was appealing, but I didn’t believe any of it would really happen.”

  The waitress’s entering the room with a coffeepot interrupted the conversation. She topped off their coffee, and he handed her his charge card and then once again she left the room.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “I didn’t believe any of it was really going to happen until the first man was killed.” His chest tightened with tension as he remembered reading about the murder in the paper.

  “Brian McDowell,” she said. “He’s the man who beat Matt Harrison’s mother to death.”

  “Right. Nick Simon was supposed to kill him, but Nick didn’t kill him, and that’s when I believe the Vigilante Killer was born.”

  “So, you believe the Vigilante Killer is one of four men?”

  “I don’t believe that any of the men who got their so-called justice through the Vigilante Killer is guilty. I think the killer is one of the last two men. He’s either Clay Rogers or Adam Kincaid.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” Her eyes were lit with an eagerness that made him second-guess his crazy decision to trust her.

  Still, he figured in for a penny, in for a pound. “I’ve been thinking about it since Max Clinton was murdered.” An idea had been whirling around in his head since the morning he’d read about Max’s death in the paper. “I know all the murders have happened between midnight and two in the morning, so I figure the only way to identify the killer is to watch these two men during those hours until one of them makes a move.”

  “And then what?”

 
; “Once I know for sure who the killer is, then I’ll take him down. Hopefully I can subdue him and then contact the police. I need to get him behind bars.” He frowned. “I think this person likes to kill, Monica. And the carving in the foreheads of his victims speaks of a bloodlust that is absolutely disgusting.”

  “I completely agree. There’s only one thing I ask. Once we identify the killer, I want time to break the story before anyone else gets it,” she replied. Her eyes gleamed brightly.

  He didn’t miss her use of “we” in her sentence. “I can give you that,” he replied. “But this is something I need to do for myself and there’s no reason for you to get involved in this at all. I’ll let you know when I have confirmation on who the killer is and you’ll have your story.”

  “But I am involving myself. I want to be a part of this. Jake, I want to do the surveillance with you,” she protested.

  There was one more interruption by the waitress to bring back his receipt and credit card.

  “Monica, this could be dangerous,” he said once they were alone again. “Whoever the killer is, the last thing he wants is to get caught. He’s ruthless.”

  “I know that, but think about it—two people are better than one. We could do surveillance from your car one night and then from mine the next night to make sure nobody gets suspicious. We can wake each other up if we drift off to sleep.”

  He shook his head. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. One of the reasons I told you all this is that I want somebody else to know in case something happens to me.”

  “Why would something happen to you?”

  “I don’t know, but if this man is as ruthless as I believe him to be, then all the rest of us in the pact are loose ends. If he catches wind that I’m hunting him, then there’s no question he’ll come after me.”

  “I still want to be a part of this. I have the two names of the men you think it might be. I’ll just conduct my own surveillance if I’m not doing it with you.” Her chin shot up a notch and her eyes held a definite challenge.