Page 17 of Craving Vengeance
He looked past Jackson to find Walker and Marsh staring back at him, their jaws nearly on the floor.
Spinelli and Walker drove to the crime scene. Marsh continued frantically analyzing the records of the murdered cupids. He needed to find something, anything, because four dead cupids on Valentine’s Day, and their lack of finding the killer and preventing a fifth murder, made for an unwanted major news story. They didn’t need any more bad press.
Walker drove toward the downtown Hyatt. He shifted lanes and glanced toward Spinelli. “Well, are you going to tell me why you were such a prick to Shannon?”
Spinelli stared out the window debating what to say if anything. Walker filled the silence, “In case you hadn’t figured it out yet, she’s a keeper, and keepers don’t come around that often.”
Just this morning Spinelli would have agreed with Walker. The ring in his pocket was proof. But now he didn’t know what to think. He loved her, and even though they’d gotten off to a rocky start, he knew from the first moment he laid eyes on her, he had to make her his. He hadn’t told her he loved her yet. They’d only been dating for slightly over two months. He’d planned on using the “L” word tonight. He thought she loved him as well, but seeing her kissing another man earlier in the day indicated he was mistaken.
His chest tightened around his aching heart. His shoulders slumped under the weight he carried. Perhaps he should unload his burden and tell Walker what had happened. Maybe Walker would know what to do. He had experience when it came to commitment. He and his wife Jeana had been married for nearly ten years.
Spinelli’s head spun to put his thoughts in order. He couldn’t seem to find the proper words, even just for Walker. He normally liked to take the direct approach, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to say the words aloud. The thought of actually saying them made it seem more real.
He stared out the windshield. Puffy snowflakes, the kind you get with a common Great Lakes-effect snowstorm, fell to the ground making the ground look pure and clean. He once thought of Shannon as pure. In fact, in the beginning, he thought maybe she was too pure and good for someone like him, but that all seemed to change about four hours ago. The windshield started to frost over. A moment ago he could see the streets of Milwaukee clearly, now he struggled to focus on them.
Walker pushed the defrost button. The windshield cleared. Maybe Walker had some sort of ‘defrost’ button he could use to help him see and understand Shannon’s actions more clearly.
“Well, are you going to tell me or just sit there stewing on it?”
“I saw Shannon kissing another man who called himself her fiancé,” Spinelli blurted before he turned to look at Walker who kept his gaze on the road. His expression didn’t change. Walker was good at that. Even in crisis, Walker always looked the same.
“I see.”
Spinelli’s fists clenched. He sucked in a breath and expelled it. “When I went upstairs to see if she wanted to get some lunch, I saw her in the hallway outside her office with a man, Caucasian, dark hair, 5’10”, about 170 pounds.”
“Get a good look at him, did you?” Walker asked, his eyes unwavering from the road.
“It’s not funny.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
A few beats of silence passed. “Are you sure?” Walker asked.
“Jesus Christ, I think I would know for sure if I saw my girlfriend kissing some other guy.”
Walker inhaled and expelled a breath. “What I meant was, are you sure he said, fiancé? Maybe it was just some old boyfriend bugging her on Valentine’s Day.”
“They were pressed together so tight I would have needed a crowbar to separate them. I’d say she was pretty happy to see him, and I know what I heard. He said, ‘Aren’t you happy to see your fiancé?”
“The question indicates he wasn’t so sure she was happy to see him. Maybe she wasn’t. I take it she didn’t see you.”
“No. She was too busy.”
Walker turned his head in Spinelli’s direction. His look was sober. “You know you’re going to have to talk to her about this, right? This doesn’t sound like her. I’m sure there is a reasonable explanation.”
Spinelli stared out the windshield.
“I mean it, Spinelli. Don’t rule her out yet. Women like her are hard to come by.”
Walker parked the car in one of the transient spots near the front door of the Hyatt. He flashed his badge at the valet. The young man nodded. They continued toward the elevators and rode up to the sixth floor.
Yellow tape already cordoned off the crime scene. Debra poked her head out of the doorway of room 602. They ducked under the tape and entered the room. There he was, their fourth dead cupid of the day, spread-eagle on top of the bed, naked as a jaybird. His thin, pillowed, satin wings trimmed with gold garland were sprawled around him. His bow lay next to him on the bed, and his quiver of arrows leaned up against the nightstand.
“Can you believe this shit?” the ME questioned as she pointed at cupid number four. Her eyes focused on Spinelli. “What in the hell? How many cupids are left in the city?”
Spinelli and Walker stepped up to the bedside. A small round serving tray, two wine glasses—one broken—and a single long-stemmed red rose lay on the floor several feet from the bed. Next to the mess stood a shiny metal champagne chiller on a stand. Only the stem of the champagne bottle stuck out above the ice.
Spinelli shifted his gaze to the dead man sprawled out on the bed. His heart pounded against his ribs, his cheeks burned, and the air drained from his lungs. His throat constricted. He fought for a breath. None came. He tried again. He caught some air on the second go around.
