Page 84 of Lovely Wicked Things

17

MOTH TO A FLAME

HALEN

Obsessions die hard.

For the past three months, I’ve been meticulously linking the Harbinger’s victims to Percy Wellington. The connections between the Harbinger killer and his victims weren’t obvious, unless you knew where the first domino toppled, then the rest of the tiles started to fall into place.

It took time to uncover Wellington’s dealings with the victims, but there is always a rational, logical explanation for the unexplained.

The first Harbinger crime scene: Oxford, Maine casino location. The victim was a loan shark who had a reputation to “do away” with his defaulted clients. A deep dive into Wellington’s financials uncovered that he owed the victim a substantial amount of money for a gambling debt.

The second Harbinger crime scene: New Haven, Connecticut recovery center location. The center owner was notorious for extorting patients. During Wellington’s private stint at this facility for his alcohol and gambling addiction, the owner blackmailed Wellington with a threat to ruin his reputation with the university.

The third Harbinger crime scene: Medford, Massachusetts university location. The victim turned out to be a high-end drug dealer Wellington played poker with, and who’d had an affair with Wellington’s wife.

Notably, Wellington’s victims were not the best of society. But without a prime suspect to investigate, none of these connections could be linked. The Harbinger letters left behind at the scenes offered no clues to the suspect. The foreshadowed “doomsday” now appears to be little more than Wellington ridding himself of the people who posed a threat to his life, his career, even his marriage.

The solved mystery, oftentimes, is less enthralling and fascinating.

The case will never officially be closed. Not without a suitable scapegoat to take the fall for Wellington’s murder. There may still be a way to offer some form of closure, but to do that, I need to enlist the expertise of a particular professor.

I stand outside the entrance of the Graystone Institute, my arms tucked close to my chest, shivering despite my thick coat and gloves. It’s been ninety days since Kallum and I parted at Pal’s Tavern and he refused visitation, adamant that we’d never again meet inside an “asylum,” though the mental health and wellness hospital is more of a country club compared to Briar.

When the glass door slides open and Kallum emerges, I realize the reason I’m shivering has nothing to do with the frigid Massachusetts weather.

Dressed in a heavy wool overcoat, his sophisticated suit beneath clashing strategically with his combat boots, Kallum is smoldering desire wrapped in designer attire. Immediately, I’m rendered defenseless against his devastating smile. As his striking blue-and-green eyes sweep over me, I feel him all over, igniting a hot ache between my thighs.

“Dammit.” While we have spoken over the phone during the length of his stay, it’s easy to forget how affecting Kallum is in person. How when his long strides close the distance between us and he drops his bags to bracket either side of my face, I’m lost to him all over again.

He says nothing at first, choosing instead to touch his lips to mine in a tender, familiarizing kiss. His mouth coaxes mine into a more demanding caress before his tongue glides over my bottom lip, tasting me, owning me.

His soft lips track across my jawline, where he nuzzles his face into my hair and breathes me in. “Just as sweet,” he says, the baritone of his voice sparking an electric current beneath my skin.

I swallow hard against the pressure of his palms. “I still don’t understand why you refused to see me.”

He straightens to his full height, forcing me to crane my neck as he locks me in his sure gaze. “Having you right in front of me and being unable to touch you… That’s a torment I choose to no longer bear, Halen.” He flashes me a crooked smile. “Come on. You’re freezing, and I’m anxious to get the stench of this place off me.”

We load his bags into the back of my Rav4, which I specifically acquired to make the climb up the Berkshires. I click the fob to close the rear lift-gate, my gaze lingering on the boxes wedged between my luggage.

The drive to Great Barrington takes just under two hours. As I turn off the highway, I can feel the press of Kallum’s stare. “Did you decide if you’re going back?”

The president of the university offered Kallum his previous position. As he was never found guilty of murder, and he did aide in an investigation that helped save a whole town, I suppose Professor Locke is just too much of an academic commodity, making his time served in a mental institution easily overlooked.

“No,” he says evenly. “Not sure I want to return to a lecture hall.”

I nod knowingly. After watching Kallum work a case, I find it difficult to picture him in a classroom setting. Especially now that he’s had a taste of danger.

“Are you working a current scene?” he asks, angling his body my way.

I shake my head and glance over at him in the passenger seat. “I just wrapped one up two days ago. I’m kind of between places.”

“What case?”

Since the news out of Hollow’s Row, I’ve been contacted by police departments, the feds, private investigators, and even one psychic medium to help solve cases.

“A cold case, actually.” I grip the steering wheel tighter. “I find I like helping to solve the cases that would otherwise languish without answers, being able to give closure.”

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