Chapter Forty-Five DAWSON

Chapter Forty-Five

D AWSON

Wednesday, July 24, 2024

10:00 a.m.

Luke, good to his word, had pulled a few major strings, and the techs in Richmond had moved his samples to the top of the pile. Answers would arrive any day. Dawson realized he needed the DNA to exonerate Margo, likely just as much as Kane wanted to clear Scarlett.

Dawson arrived at the hospital to check Margo out. She’d been ordering the doctor to release her for days, but they’d insisted she remain in the hospital. He found her dressed in sweats and a loose button-down shirt. She’d washed her hair and applied red lipstick and was sitting in a wheelchair but didn’t look happy about it.

“It’s a quick ride to the front door,” he said.

She arched a brow. “I considered arguing with the nurse, but she looked tired, and she’s young. However, I’m perfectly capable of walking out of here. By the way, you look stressed,” Margo said.

“I’m always stressed.”

“More than usual.”

“Maybe.”

A nurse arrived and pushed her wheelchair out of the room. They checked out at the nurses’ station, and then he angled the chair into the elevator.

Outside, she tipped her face to the sun, soaking in the light. “You have a thing for sunshine,” he said.

“Most people do as long as they aren’t vampires.”

“True.”

His car was parked by the entrance, and he opened the passenger-side door. The nurse edged the wheelchair close to the car. Margo lifted herself out of the chair and lowered into his car.

“Good?” the nurse asked.

“Never better.”

“Call if you start bleeding or have pain,” the nurse said.

“Will do.”

As the nurse pushed the wheelchair back into the hospital, Dawson closed the door and came around to the driver’s side. Behind the wheel, he started the engine.

She shifted in her seat and rested a hand on his thigh. “How about you stay over? You said you could do wonders on an air mattress.”

He shook his head. “You just got out of the hospital.”

“I’m fitter than I look.”

That prompted a smile. “No doubt.”

“Then stay.”

“Give it a day or two.”

She pouted in a charming way. “You’re too good. I need to corrupt you more.”

He refused to think about her naked and willing under him. “In a day or two.”

When they arrived at her place, he parked out front. She’d not asked once about Scarlett, and as he helped her out of her car, she didn’t glance toward the warehouse. Victims of attack generally showed some change in behavior. False bravado, reserved to the point of shutting down, or skittish and weepy. She was none of these. She was who she always was.

As he came around to her side of the car, she’d already opened her door and started to rise. He reached for her elbow, but she brushed him away.

“I told you. I’m fine. Stop fussing.”

He stood back, and as she moved around the car, he shut the door. Some might have felt like Judas in his position, but he didn’t. Still, he needed to prove to himself more than anyone that he’d not made a mistake with her.

As they rode up the elevator, the soft scent of hand lotion floated around him. She’d left three buttons of her top undone, drawing his attention to the slight side curve of her breast.

The doors opened and he followed her to her apartment. When they stepped inside, the naked floor plan was still stripped of furniture and had a stark, unwelcoming feel. Immediately, his gaze was drawn to the portrait hanging on the wall. Della. He was getting to know that face well.

“Interesting choice of art,” he said.

“From my new best friend, Scarlett.” She dropped her purse on the kitchen counter.

“Want me to take it down?” He couldn’t pull his eyes from the portrait.

“No. I kind of like it.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “It offers me insight into Scarlett. Maybe even myself.”

“How so?”

“Della is Scarlett’s obsession. If you can identify a person’s fixation, you’ll understand them better.”

“What are you fixated on?”

She laughed. “We don’t have enough hours in the day.”

Damn, but he liked her. “Are you sure you want to stay here?”

“Of course.” A smile flickered on her lips. “Good to be home.”

As she moved toward the window that faced the street, she stopped. She sucked in a quick breath and stared down at Scarlett’s warehouse.

“Assault charges have been filed against Scarlett,” he said.

As if he’d not spoken, Margo pressed her hand to her side as if it hurt. “Why did she choose Lynn Yeats as a victim?”

“Scarlett wanted to know if Lynn was aware of Tanner’s activities.”

“Lynn’s head was wrapped in plastic. She was on the verge of suffocating. Hard to ask questions of a dead person. Whoever took her wanted her dead.”

“Or maybe it was a tactic to scare the shit out of her,” Dawson said. “Remind her of how Sandra Taylor might have died.”

“So she could reveal her secrets?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Fair enough. But why would Scarlett kill Tiffany? Scarlett’s gone out of her way to help that woman.”

“Manner of death was a blow to the back of the head. Maybe it was a moment of anger and frustration. Tiffany was stalking off and Scarlett lashed out.”

“Has the DNA taken from Sandra’s body come in yet?” she asked.

“Not yet.”

She faced him, looking mildly curious. “When it does, are you afraid it’ll prove I’m Della?”

The worry had stalked him for days. Scarlett was so convinced. “Are you?”

Her smile was small, half-hearted. “If I were Della, then I’d have a long and sad story. My guess is that she was a girl with a broken family and was so bruised, she was easy prey for a charming man who promised a family and stability.” She drew in a breath.

Was she relating to the combined experiences of the victims she’d helped over the years, or was she talking about herself?

“And then, he stopped being so nice. That’s how it goes, right? He became very abusive, making her do terrible things. He locked her in a box under his bed while he ate his breakfast or screwed his girlfriend. Amazing what can be heard from a box under the bed.”

Despite all the legal ramifications of what she could be saying, he heard pain burning under the words, and his heart broke for her. He’d have pulled her into his arms if he thought she’d accept tenderness.

“Who are we talking about?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Any one of a thousand different Dellas I’ve helped in my career. They’re all very much alike. Hard to judge a lost soul.”

“You’ve got a reputation. I asked around. You’ve had a few questionable arrests with human traffickers.”

“You mean a few tripped? That’s not my fault.” She leaned forward. “Do you know one guy who slipped in front of me had just fled from a house where he kept a girl nailed, nailed , to the floor?” Her eyes glistened. “A few bruises don’t compare. And thankfully for men like that, I’m a cop and I can only bend the law so far.”

“You’re a ballbuster.”

An amused brow arched. “Literally, not just figuratively.”

“No judgment here.” He shifted his stance, shoving aside a wave of pity for the girl in the portrait. “What would Tanner have said to a girl like Della to convince her to lure another girl into his world?”

“Acceptance, security, threats. That’s the standard menu for men like Tanner. Scarlett’s no different than Della. She was craving the same things.”

“I understand why love is important,” he said.

“You can, and you can’t. You’re an adult male with experience. But a fifteen-year-old girl ... the world eats them up like candy.”

“Would a guy like Tanner tell Della about Sandra?”

“If he wanted to manipulate her. Threats are more effective sometimes if they are against someone else. But as Scarlett said, Della, if she was real, was smart. Della realized there could be others.”

“Why did Scarlett target Lynn?”

Margo’s expression grew pensive. “Have you dug into Lynn’s past as I asked?”

“Yeah. Lynn dated another guy after Tanner. Five years ago. Gus Green. He was arrested for attempted kidnapping. He’s serving time now.”

“Think Lynn has a type?”

“Or really shitty taste in men.”

“Lynn strikes me as selfish, narrow minded, small. She thought she had a good thing and wasn’t giving it up, even if her boyfriend had a nasty habit of locking girls in the basement.”

“There’s no proof of that.”

“Unless we can get her to talk.”

Sadness rolled through Dawson. He wanted to believe happenstance had brought them together. But the roots of doubt were burrowing deeper. “Are you Della?”

She shook her head, her gaze lingering on his. “Would it matter?”

Vulnerability flashed so quickly in her gaze that he wasn’t sure whether it was real. It would take a lot to turn him away from Margo. Hell, a lot might not even be enough. “Let me take the portrait so you don’t have to look at it.”

“Would it matter?” she asked again.

“No.”

She nodded, her frown softening a fraction. “Leave it. I like it. The painting really is very good.”

“Are you sure?”

She smiled at him. “Very.”