Forbidden With Me - Leigh Lennon Page 0,63

in the everyday little traces of us, away from this case, I see so much more with this woman in my arms.

The police tape is up, blocking anyone without a badge from entering the house. And as soon as I pull up, after dropping Mal off at the university, I see a few news crews. I’m surprised we’ve gone this long without them all up our asses.

“Detective Shanahan.” Leela Cesarea runs past me, blocking my destination. I attempt to sidestep her, but she knows me too well, too fucking well.

“Leela,” I say to the beautiful Italian newscaster, “you know I can’t say anything.”

She gives me a little wink, and hell, she’s cute. She always has been and spunky as fuck. But she wanted commitment when I was only ready for casual after breaking up with Vanessa. “But I’ll be the first one you come to find if you have something to pass on, right?”

Her dimples and small stature remind me a little of Mal, but I never saw a future with Leela like I do with Malia. But we sure had a fun six months.

“Leela, I trust you’ll leave all my personal stuff out of this story?”

“So it is about the Strickland murders?” she asks, but if I’m going to leak something to the news purposely, it’ll be to the one person who I know can report it and not use what she knows of my past with the victim.

“Leela?” My tone is stern, and she understands the more authoritative part of me.

“Yes, Wells, I can report a story and not throw you under the bus by how well I know you.” She winks again, and I begin to walk around her as her arm connects with mine. “I hope you don’t let her go this time.” Leela is a great woman, but she knew my heart belonged to someone else. And she’d even questioned me once about my feelings for Mal. She stops, calling out to me one last time. “By the way, Detective, if there’s something to share, you know where to find me.”

Leela is a woman who was fun as fuck. I hope she finds her happily ever after one day and soon.

Vanessa is seething on the porch, a porch similar to the Strickland house. “Fuck, tell me you told that Twinkie where she can stick her fake ass boobs.”

I ignore her, walking into the crime scene, and like the other night, a dummy is on the floor positioned like Gracie Strickland, and unlike two nights ago, mannequins sit as a representation for the mom and Malia’s young brother.

“Do we not have any victims?”

Vanessa nods her head, but I’m not sure if she’s answering no to victims or no to the fact we weren’t that lucky.

“Come in the kitchen. This is where it really becomes a mind fuck.” Like Martin Strickland, a man in his forties lies on the floor, and I turn to look for a mannequin to represent Malia, and there’s one, similar to the mannequin from the other night. “There’s another mannequin in the sunroom,” Vanessa continues.

My heart falls. “Does he have a little girl?”

“Her mother had her for the night. The father and mother were divorced, and it was the mother’s weekend.”

I tilt my head upward, looking at the ceiling, as to give my brain a rest for a second. But in this stance, I see something. “What the hell is that?”

I point at a chandelier over the kitchen island. I’m tall enough that I can reach for the envelope as if it had been expertly placed right there for us to find. Pulling the one sheet of paper from it, with my gloves on, Vanessa crowds in next to me. Apparently we’re reading it together.

Dear Detective Shanahan,

I wonder if you’re putting the clues together. I never thought I’d find someone like Annie. Yep, you all got that part right. Annie was the love of my life, but as Malia has grown, she’s become my new obsession. And like Annie, she’ll be mine one day. Smith Turner was too fucking dumb to pull off something like this. Or am I Smith Turner trying to throw you off the scent? Speaking of scents, I love Malia’s. It’s cinnamon with a hint of coconut. Right, Detective Shanahan?

Sincerely,

Your Neighborhood Psychopath

“Wells,” Vanessa begins, “is he right? Is that what she smells like?”

I don’t have to answer, bolting out of the house and to my car. My next destination is the university, where I’ll be one of the