Still Life

  So that explained the tank top, shorts, and shoe choice.

  “Would you like me to carry you? We’ve still got a lot of ground to cover.” He indicated the looming remains of the parking lot with a nudge of his chin.

  “Nope. I’m fine.” She shuffled her feet. “Let’s just move faster.”

  “Sorry to ruin your beach plans.” He wondered who the friend was and if it was a he or she, but that was none of his business.

  “I’m glad you called,” she said. “Seriously. It meant a lot.”

  He arched a brow. “It did?”

  “Yes. That you trusted me to help.”

  Right. Help. As she burned her own feet.

  This was ridiculous.

  He reached over and swooped her up in his arms.

  She wriggled. “What are you doing?”

  “Saving your feet.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Stop being so stubborn and enjoy the ride.” He winked.

  She rolled her eyes.

  He chuckled. “I’m just messing with you.”

  “So Mr. Serious has a sense of humor after all.”

  “So that’s how you see me? Mr. Serious?” Ouch.

  She finally relaxed into his hold as they covered the remaining stretch of parking lot. “Well, yeah.”

  Good to know.

  “I mean, it’s not a bad thing. We’re just different,” she said.

  Different as could be, and yet there was something about her. Like a magnet pulling another to it or repelling it. He still hadn’t figured out which of the two they were, but he suspected the former, which confused him to no end.

  “Lexi here?” she asked, something he didn’t understand lingering in her eyes. She liked Lexi, liked everyone, but there was something there. No way was she jealous of Lexi. That would mean . . . Now he was just being foolish.

  “Yep,” he said. “Up on the bridge. I’ll take you to the refugees.” He set her to her feet on the boat, missing the feel of her in his arms, the sweet scent of coconut tickling his nose.

  “Thanks for saving my feet.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They entered the hold where the refugees were being held, and Tanner rushed for them.

  A Customs agent blocked her path.

  Declan showed his ID. “She’s with me. She’s a crisis counselor.”

  The Customs official nodded and stepped aside. “Great. We can definitely use her. They’re terrified.”

  Declan took in their dazed and frightened expressions. Their hair matted, their clothes tattered. What had they been forced to endure? “I don’t blame them.” He prayed God would work through Tanner to provide some comfort to the poor souls so far from their homeland, just looking for a better way of life.

  He needed to call Parker. Needed another sweep. They had to catch whoever was responsible not only for the murders, but for this atrocity, and he had a strong suspicion the captain knew far more than what he claimed.

  17

  Parker and Avery snapped several pictures of Skylar’s photograph from Charm City Investigation, their headquarters for the case, and climbed back into the car for the trek back to Megan Kent’s. Unfortunately, no one else had been at CCI while they were at Megan’s, so they’d had to lose time making the ride in, but at least Megan had promised to talk.

  A few minutes into the drive, Parker’s phone rang. He clicked it on. “Mitchell?”

  “Hey, Park,” Declan said, the sound of squawking seagulls in the background.

  “Where are you?”

  “Down at the port. Terminal Six.”

  “Okay. Why?”

  “I’ve got a merchant vessel with a dead first mate, a dead federal agent, and two dozen smuggled refugees in the cargo hold. The CGIS is finishing up their sweep. When they are done, I’d really love to have you do a second one, just to be extra thorough.”

  “Okay. Call me when they’re done. Avery and I are on our way to an important stop in Skylar’s case.”

  “Will do. Thanks.”

  “Thanks for going to Megan’s with me,” Avery said as Parker disconnected the call.

  “This is important, and like Declan said, CGIS isn’t finished yet.”

  “After we’re done at Megan’s, you can drop me back at CCI and I’ll head to Sebastian’s location.”

  “Even if she can tell us where he is, I don’t want you going without me.”

  “What? We’re finally making progress on finding Skylar, or at least in finding Sebastian.”

  “I understand, but it’s not safe.” He had a very bad feeling about Sebastian Chadwyck. “I know you can hold your own, but if he’s the one who took that picture, there’s something dark inside of him.”

  This time, with the photos on Avery’s phone, Megan actually allowed them inside. She led them the few steps from the front door to the living room.

  A brown leather sectional took up the majority of the floor space, and a flat-screen TV filled much of one wall, but it was the images of death surrounding them that jarred the breath from Parker’s lungs. Images of women, the majority of them Megan, posed in a variety of ways, but all appearing postmortem, alongside cemetery markers, dead flowers, and rotting leaves.

  “Sebastian has a gift for finding the beauty in death,” Megan said.

  “Is that what this was?” Avery asked, holding up her cell with the first image of Skylar’s portrait on the screen.

  Megan stared at it, bewildered, hot angry tears tumbling down her freckled cheeks. “I can’t believe he actually did it.”

  “Killed her?” Avery said, anger and concern heightening her tone.

  Megan looked up in shocked confusion. “Killed her? What are you talking about?”

  “What were you talking about? What can’t you believe he did?”

  “Photographed her. Why on earth would you think Sebastian killed Skylar Pierce?”

  “Because Skylar has been missing since before the showing, and as far as we can tell the last person to see her was Sebastian. Not to mention in that photograph she looks like she’s already dead.”

  “Duh,” Megan said. “That’s kind of the point. He must have gotten a slot in the Black Dahlia display after all. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me.” She looked at the portrait image, squinting. “I know why he didn’t tell me. Because it was of her.”

  “Can I show you what we’re concerned about in the portrait?” Parker asked.

  She nodded.

  Avery handed him her phone, and he zoomed in on the details that led to their concern that Skylar was already dead when the portrait was taken.

  Megan’s coloring paled, and she raked a hand through her mousy brown hair. “That’s why he was acting so strange.”

  “Sebastian was acting strange?”

  Megan nodded.

  “When was this?” Avery asked.

  “Yesterday.”

  “When you say he was acting strange . . . ?” Parker nudged.

  “He was buzzed but edgy. Said he had to take off. When I pressed where, he said he was going to scout some locations, but he had this weird energy about him. Way more restless than usual, and for Sebastian that’s really saying something. I thought it was just because he was upset he wasn’t in the show, but obviously he was.”

  “Not legitimately.” Avery explained the swap.

  “Oh.” Megan bit her bottom lip. “Maybe that explains his edginess.”

  “Did he give any indication of what area he was planning to scout locations in?” Avery pressed, praying for an answer, a lead, any lead to where they could find Sebastian.

  Megan shook her head. “No. He didn’t say.”

  “And you didn’t ask?” Avery pressed.

  “No. I knew better. Sebastian is very proprietorial when it comes to his work. I admire it, and completely left him to it, except when it came to her.”

  Avery’s eyes narrowed. “Her? You mean Skylar?”

  Megan’s jaw tightened. Clearly there was no lov
e lost between Megan and Skylar. Avery had hit a tender spot. Time to prod.

  “How’d Sebastian meet Skylar?” Parker asked.

  Megan’s dry, cracked, pale pink lips thinned. “He saw Skylar around. For some reason he just became obsessed with photographing her. But he’s a peon in the art scene. Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant, but there’s a pecking order and he’s on the bottom of it, so naturally, a girl like her—she wouldn’t give him the time of day.”

  “That must have made Sebastian frustrated, angry?”

  “Angry? Ha! It only enthralled him more. The elusive model he had to win over. I can’t believe she finally let him shoot her.” Megan glanced back at the image, her brown eyes narrowing. “You really think she was dead? I mean for real?”

  “We fear so,” Parker said.

  “Sebastian may have a penchant for morbid photos or an obsession with the beauty of death, as he says, but he wouldn’t kill anybody.”

  “Just photograph her after she’s dead?” Parker asked.

  Megan didn’t respond.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said.

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t say otherwise.”

  “I don’t know, but I do know he’d never kill anyone.”

  “Not even if he were obsessed? Not even if she ignored him one too many times?”

  Megan continued gnawing on her bottom lip, which explained the chapping. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, she said, “I’m done talking.”

  Parker exhaled. “If only it were that easy.”

  She frowned. “I’m not talking anymore about Sebastian.”

  “That’s fine. We need to talk about you,” Avery said.

  Megan frowned. “Me?”

  “Yeah. We’re going to need you to explain why your fingerprints were in Skylar Pierce’s trailer.”

  Megan’s eyes widened. “Wh . . . wh . . . what?”

  “We found your fingerprints in the trailer. Based on our chat here, you two clearly weren’t friends, so why were you in her place?” Avery asked.

  Megan fixated on a loose button on her black short-sleeve blouse, twirling it between her black painted nails.

  “Megan, we need an answer,” Parker said.

  Megan swallowed, lowered her hands to her side, and exhaled. “After Sebastian took off . . .”

  “You mean yesterday?” he asked, needing there to be no confusion.

  Megan nodded. “Yes. Like I said, Sebastian was so buzzed, so antsy, something in my heart said he was going to visit her again.”

  “And did he?” Parker probed at the venom in Megan’s voice. Had she visited Skylar instead? Taken out the competition?

  “No.” Megan shook her head. “But I didn’t know that. I tried following him, keeping up with him, but it’s impossible when he’s on his bike. He just weaves around traffic.”

  “Bike?” Parker asked.

  Megan shook her head. “Motorcycle.”

  “What kind?” Avery asked.

  “Blue.”

  “Sports bike or a Harley style?” Parker tried.

  “Sports bike.” Megan pulled a four-by-six photograph off the mantel and handed it to Parker.

  Parker glanced at the Ninja. Now that they knew what Sebastian was driving, Declan or Griffin could put out an APB.

  “So you went to Skylar’s place, guessing that’s where Sebastian would be?” Avery surmised.

  Megan gnawed on her bottom lip. “Yeah.”

  Avery arched a brow. “How’d you know where Skylar lived?”

  Megan’s cheeks flushed. With embarrassment or anger, Parker wasn’t sure.

  Her shoulders dropped. “Because I’d followed him there before.”

  “To Skylar’s?” Parker asked, just to be 100 percent clear.

  “Yes.”

  “When you say before? When do you mean?”

  “When Sebastian went to her trailer last week to ask if she’d pose for him. He’d brought his portfolio, hoping if she saw his talent she’d change her mind, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day, wouldn’t even let him inside. She was only interested in landing the top guys. Poor Sebastian was heartbroken. I waited until he left and then banged on her door. When she opened it, I barged in and told her to stay away from Sebastian.”

  “And then?” Avery asked.

  “Then she told me she had no intention of posing for an amateur.”

  18

  Avery hardly felt sorry for Sebastian Chadwyck. “Poor” Sebastian had most likely photographed her friend dead—may have even killed her to do so, since she’d made it clear she had no intention of posing for him.

  “It had to make you happy that Skylar refused to work with him,” Parker said.

  “I’ve seen plenty of girls like her,” Megan said. “Contrary to what she said, you put a photographer and a model like her together and stuff happens.”

  “‘Stuff’ happened with Sebastian and other models?” Avery asked, picking up on the resentment in Megan’s tone.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  It didn’t matter. Their focus was on Skylar, and she apparently hadn’t been the least bit interested in Sebastian.

  “When you went back to Skylar’s—last night—was she there?”

  “No.”

  “What time was it?”

  “Maybe eight thirty.”

  So before she arrived and got bowled over.

  “How’d you get in?” Parker asked.

  There’d been no sign of a break-in when they arrived.

  “I found a key under—”

  “The duck,” Avery finished before Megan could. She’d told Skylar that was an awful idea. Maybe that’s how the intruder who’d bowled Avery over had gotten in as well. Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner?

  Because it’d been almost a decade since she’d last used the key beneath that duck. Since Sky first started living there on her own. “So you broke in?” Avery prompted. “And?”

  “And I went in, but no one was there,” Megan said. “The girl was a slob. It looked just like the first time I’d been there—stuff still flung all over the place—but I do know Sebastian was there at some point after that first visit.”

  Now they were getting someplace. “How?” Avery asked.

  “I found this.” Megan strode to the coatrack by the front door and grabbed a lightweight gray-and-red-plaid scarf—the kind one wore as an accessory rather than for warmth. “It’s Sebastian’s favorite. I found it there in her living room in a pile of clothes. He had to have left it there after that first visit, because he wasn’t wearing it last night.” Megan linked her arms across her chest. “Skylar obviously changed her mind about letting Sebastian in the next time he visited her.”

  “Maybe she did. Might they have done the photo shoot at Skylar’s place?”

  “No . . . I can’t imagine Sebastian doing that. He insisted on doing those sorts of portraits at his studio, so he had more control.”

  “Studio?” Avery said, hopeful for a new lead.

  “He recently set up a new one at an old abandoned building he found. He showed it to me soon after he discovered it, all excited about how he was going to transform one of the rooms into his studio. A week or so later he said the place was working great, that he was happy with the lighting, but I’ve never gone back. The place gives me the creeps.”

  Man, it had to be bad if she—who lived surrounded by disturbing photographs and with a guy obsessed with “the beauty of death”—got creeped out by it. “Where’s the building?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Megan, there are already charges that could be leveled against you. You really want to hold out on us?”

  Megan exhaled. “It’s down in Fort Howard.”

  “The abandoned military bunkers?”

  “No. The old VA hospital that shut down a decade ago.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot that was there.”

  “Most people have, which m
akes it perfect for Sebastian—he got a studio rent free.”

  “What floor is the studio on?”

  “Don’t know. I didn’t let him show me the actual room.” She shuddered. “Too creepy.”

  “Can you think of anything else?”

  “No . . . but just for the record, I wasn’t the only one there last night,” Megan quickly said.

  “Last night? At Skylar’s?”

  Megan nodded. “While I was in there this guy and chick came in, so I hid in the shower. They were looking for something. Saying ‘Where’d she stash it?’”

  Okay . . . “Did they find what they were looking for?” Avery asked.

  “No, but not for lack of effort, and they certainly came prepared.”

  Avery’s gaze narrowed. “What do you mean prepared?”

  “I peeked around the shower curtain from where I was hiding and they were both dressed in black, wearing gloves, carrying flashlights even though it wasn’t fully dark out yet, but it was dim enough in the trailer I suppose. Anyway, they were hurrying like they were worried Skylar might return any moment.”

  “So they didn’t know she was missing?”

  “Nuh-uh. Anyway, the dude said she’d figure out he wasn’t going to show soon. Like they’d texted or called her, telling her to meet up with him someplace just to get her out of the house so they could sneak in.”

  “What else did they say?”

  “The girl was ticked. Sounded like her guy had hooked up with Skylar and now Skylar had something on him.”

  “How old were they?”

  “Early twenties. College age. Richies.”

  Avery would have asked how Megan knew they were rich college kids, but the type wasn’t hard to spot.

  “Anything you can tell us about them? Hair color? Height? Build? Did they mention each other’s names?” Parker asked.

  “The chick was little. One of those super-thin types. Long blond hair pulled into a low ponytail beneath her black ski cap. I never saw her full face, but she was pretty.”

  “And the guy?”

  “Tall, lean. I caught a glimpse of his face in her flashlight. Handsome, if you like the yuppie type.”

  They had worn gloves, which meant it was unlikely there was any fingerprint evidence—and therefore would be virtually impossible to identify. And the guy didn’t have the right build for whoever had bowled her over. Man, Sky’s really had been a revolving door that night.