As for Roger, he wouldn’t be getting an article for tomorrow’s paper, which was something that she would have to deal with later today. He wouldn’t be too happy with her, but she only had a standard agreement for three articles a week.
It didn’t take long for Quinn to clean up the two cups they’d used this morning and toss the paper plates that had come with the box of bear claws. She utilized the time to think about the fact that The Widow Taker hadn’t reached out to her all weekend, ever since he’d sent that text to her Friday night. He’d questioned her on whether or not she’d found true happiness.
Would The Widow Taker see a change in the way she looked at Linc?
Would the killer notice the difference in the way they interacted?
Only time would tell, and she would once again be on pins and needles waiting to receive another text message. Considering his recent silence, the ruse she and Linc had set in place seemed to have worked, but what did that mean for the next widow on his list?
Only time would tell.
Chapter Nineteen
“It’s zero three hundred,” Linc murmured, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He’d thrown on a pair of jeans and then used the glow of Quinn’s monitor as a beacon from the bottom of the stairs. He waited to ask his question until reached the bottom step. “Do I even need to guess as to what you’re researching at this hour?”
Over a week had gone by since they had connected Olivia Harper to three of the victims, but they wouldn’t act until they discovered a link with the other two. Linc had already known that patience wasn’t one of the Quinn’s strongest attributes unless she was able to see the progress. The last two days had been all but a standstill.
At least, when it came to the case.
As for what had transpired between them, they hadn’t really had time to come up for air. He was now sleeping in her bed, spending every waking moment with her, and there hadn’t come a moment when either spoke of the future. He’d already stipulated that this wouldn’t be a casual relationship, and she’d gone along with his sentiment in the beginning.
Linc could still sense the emotional barrier between them, though.
He’d hoped that she would lower it a little bit at a time, but there was still a part of herself that was far too wary to do so. She’d spent years building it. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy to get close to her.
Once again, she had him at a loss.
He’d tread carefully until the time came when all their cards would need to be laid out on the table. Ultimately, it would have to be her decision to reach out to him. He just had to convince her that he could be there for her when she needed an anchor.
“I’m persistent,” Quinn murmured in determination, not taking her gaze off the screen. Her chin was resting in the palm of her hand. She’d softened the lighting so the brightness wouldn’t hurt her eyes. “I also had to RSVP to Roger’s staff party. Remember, he didn’t have one around the holidays.”
“Is that your way of asking me to be your date?”
“Will you be my escort, Agent Roche?”
“It would be my honor,” Linc replied with a slight bow. “You having to attend a party isn’t what is causing you to frown like that, though.”
“I still don’t understand why you can’t bring Olivia in for questioning. I mean, I know she spoke with the sheriff, but there’s got to be more there.”
“You’re absolutely right. That is why Chaz spoke to her on Thursday.”
Linc reached out for Quinn’s wrist, pulling her up out of the chair to only draw her down onto his lap after he’d reclaimed her seat. Without a shirt, the chill in the air was noticeable.
“We already knew that Olivia was close with Tamara. Chaz followed up on the initial statement, asking if she’d known the other victims. She mentioned working for Governor Compton on his campaign, but that she’d only met Meghan Vance once. As for Brenda Reinhardt, Olivia purchased a wreath from her, but they didn’t know one another personally. You said yourself that this town is small enough for everyone to know everyone in some context, so we might simply be chasing another dead end.”
“You don’t believe that,” Quinn responded, lifting her legs over his so that she was sitting sideways. He supported her back even though she’d wrapped an arm around the back of him. The sweet fragrance of vanilla was stronger than usual, which told him that she’d put some lotion on recently. “You believe Olivia is somehow connected to The Widow Taker. I don’t understand why you can’t force the issue.”
Linc couldn’t argue with her assessment. He did believe that Olivia was somehow connected to the unsub, but his gut was telling him that she had no idea that she was in such close contact with a killer.
Little by little, they would unravel the answer.
Until then, it was to their advantage to take one cautious step at a time.
“You’d think after a week and a half that you’d stop calling him that,” Linc surmised, laying his other arm across her upper thighs and pulling her closer. She had stopped calling the killer by his moniker for a time, but she’d started back up for some reason. He studied the search results on her screen, noticing a list of members from one of the local churches. “We already know that Olivia’s parents attended the same church as Pamela Griffith, but the two of them had no other connection. It’s slim at best.”
“You do your job, and I’ll do mine,” Quinn said, defending her search of churches. She yawned before resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t like that he’s gone silent.”
He referred to the unsub, but she didn’t seem to understand that the radio silence had been the goal of their so-called ruse. It technically wasn’t a ploy, anymore. Anyone with eyes could see the change in their demeanor with one another. They shared a familiarity that was hard to miss in any environment. The bottom line was that they’d kept Quinn out of the unsub’s crosshairs.
“The unsub is very calculated,” Linc reminded her, resting his cheek against the top of her head. Her body heat was welcome against his bare chest. “People automatically assume the unsub is someone with a demeanor like Benjamin Henry—awkward, timid. One could even describe him as mildly disturbing. But what we’re dealing with is a sociopath who can blend in with his surroundings. He’s learned to imitate what he perceives as appropriate behavior. Most likely, he’s gotten quite good at it from the time he was a child.”
“Yet we were able to manipulate him.”
“Yes, in a manner of speaking. The unsub has his own set of established values. He’s explained to you the way he sees taking the life of a widow—he’s bringing her peace. Anything else would be cold-blooded murder, and he can’t allow that to happen. It would invalidate his value system as he understands it.” Linc paused, once again feeling as if he were coming across a blank space. There was something missing in his profile, yet he couldn’t pinpoint the area. “We don’t want him to feel threatened if he somehow suspects we know how he is getting his information. Olivia is nothing more than a pawn to him. She frequents the pub, is embedded in the community, and is basically an unwitting accomplice who he uses to tap for inside information.”
“What is it?” Quinn asked, sitting up a bit when she sensed that he’d gone still. He had been rubbing her arm, but that blank space in his profile began to fill with jumbled letters that only needed to be sorted into words. “Linc?”
“The unsub doesn’t really know the residents,” Linc said more to himself than her as he began to stand. He made sure that she was steady on her feet before he made his way into the living room. She was close behind, and she’d even turned on the side lamp so that he could locate his laptop. “I had it backward, Quinn. I assumed that the unsub was acting on his own personal interactions, meaning that he was coming into contact with these women at some point. He’s using Olivia Harper, maybe even some of the other locals, which could mean that he hasn’t lived here most of his life. He’s new to the area, but he’s maintained contact somehow.”
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“New? Do you mean new, as in not born here or do you mean that he was born here and only recently returned? Like Bright?” Quinn asked, not completely on the right track yet.
“No.” It hadn’t taken long for Linc to access the working profile he’d saved before bed. He had three up at all times—the first draft, the document he altered as new information came in, and a shortened profile that contained facts he would use in future cases. “I believe the unsub was born in Winter Heights, but his mother packed their belongings and left town after the father died. He didn’t choose to move away on his own. It must have been a matter of circumstances.”
Linc let himself fall into the mindset of the unsub, envisioning events unfold throughout his life. He usually went over the scene in his mind, but he spoke the words aloud for Quinn to understand how he was amending a crucial part of the profile.
“A young boy around the age of seven or eight years old, watching from the sidelines as family and friends extended their help to his mother…possibly the father’s family. The boy would have wanted to stay in the only home he’d ever known with his late father’s presence surrounding him.” Linc let his fingers fly over the keyboard to document the change in personality. “The boy most likely saw all the help extended to his mother, and yet she chose to leave. Why? To be near her family or had she discovered something about her husband that caused a desire to leave everything behind?”
Quinn remained silent as she drew a soft brown throw over her bare legs. She settled back into the arm of the chair as he continued to work.
“Some type of trauma occurred after that to cause him to believe that his mother would have been better off dead. Crass as it sounds, it’s the way the unsub thought of his mother from that moment forward. Was it physical abuse by her or a new suitor? Was it verbal?” Linc structured the paragraph so that it would be better understood by those on the task force. “The strain to the unsub’s psyche has him wanting to bring peace to those widows still residing in Winter Heights. He wouldn’t have acted upon that urge unless something life-altering spurred on his decision. It had to have been more than a conversation with Olivia Harper, but she just happened to be there at the exact moment the unsub began to spiral out of control.”
Linc continued to modify the existing profile, satisfied that he’d been able to broaden the picture and give the task force something else to go on. Dwight would be able to start researching families who left Winter Heights, not necessarily having returned to town under the same surname. The task force had already determined the pub as being the primary source, and that included his link to Olivia Harper. Deputy Evans would be able to focus on her when he was at the bar, making note of who she spoke to, even in passing.
It wasn’t until he closed his laptop that he found Quinn studying him intently. It was a wonder she hadn’t fallen asleep. Her hair was mussed, she was wearing his t-shirt from earlier, and he didn’t think she’d ever looked more beautiful. The fact that he was getting used to her being there at all hours was a bit disconcerting, but he enjoyed every minute he spent with her.
Would she finally lower that wall surrounding her heart to see the potential of what could be?
“You want to be a non-fiction crime writer.”
Linc shifted so that he could face her better, laying his arm across the back of the couch. Both of her eyebrows shot up at his observation. He held up a hand when she muttered about him being from another planet. She was joking, of course, but the caution she always dangled in front of her was waving proudly in the air.
“I saw your notes on the Cromley family murder that took place in Utah.”
“You were in my bedroom drawer,” Quinn said, though she did so without accusation. “You saw the notebook when you were looking for condoms.”
“I found the condoms underneath the sink,” Linc replied with laugh. He rubbed his chest, wishing that it weren’t so cold. He had a remedy for that, but he was hoping that the quiet of the night would lure her into talking openly with him. “I was actually surprised to find around four of those notebooks, each labeled with the name of a victim. In this case, victims. The case was never solved, and they’re all puzzles that you like to work on when you can’t sleep. I finally figured out why investigative journalism is so close to your heart, though. You want to give closure to those families the way you weren’t able to do for Aaron’s parents.”
“I hate that you can read me like a dime novel from a secondhand bookstore,” Quinn murmured, running a hand through her long hair in an attempt to tame the wild strands. She didn’t seem upset that he’d made the connection to her career with the Rockwells. “I still have the ability to give Mr. and Mrs. Rockwell closure.”
“They have all the closure they need,” Linc said, playing devil’s advocate. He’d thought long and hard over the realization that Nick had told everything to Todd Acker. “You’ve allowed your secret to steal your happiness throughout the years to the point where you might not see what has been right in front of you all along.”
Quinn tensed, but she didn’t make a move to leave her spot on the couch. He had a vision of how they could sustain their relationship after the case was closed, but their future resided in the palms of her hands. He’d fight like hell to keep her in his life, but either way he hoped that he’d be able to give her some of that closure she was constantly seeking for everyone else.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Quinn said, clearing her throat as she tugged the blanket a little higher around her waist. “I am happy. You make it sound like I don’t have a life outside of work, as if you haven’t spent the last week and a half in my bed.”
Linc realized that it had taken a lot for Quinn not come across as crass. She was getting a bit irritated with him for lifting the blanket she’d hidden under for so long, and she was going on the defensive. She’d almost said that they’d spent the last week and a half fucking like rabbits, and that it should be enough for him. She refrained, though, and he took it as a sign that she was also afraid to push him away.
Linc took her choice to mean that she’d meet him halfway, so he went against his own better judgement to share a scenario that he had no proof actually took place. Unfortunately, if he were right then that scenario would mean she’d wasted years blaming herself for something that had been out of her control.
Linc held out his hand and patiently waited for her to take it, displaying a modicum of trust. Her returning such a simple gesture would mean she was ready to take a step forward, not matter how hesitant she was of the future. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until her fingertips brushed his.
Damn, but she had him tied up in knots.
“You and I both know that Nick wasn’t drunk enough that night to forget the role he played in his younger brother’s death, which means he could remember well enough telling Todd Acker the entire story in a fit of either panic or grief.” Linc held onto her hand tightly as he finished his theory. “Nick would have come clean with his parents, Quinn. From what I’ve gathered, he remained very close to them until his death. As a son who is close with his parents myself, they are the ones I trust the most to love me unconditionally. The guilt would have eaten the man alive, so I can only surmise that the Rockwells know the truth about that night.”
“Why wouldn’t—”
Quinn squeezed his hand as she answered her own question. The Rockwells wouldn’t have wanted to lose their other son should the police not view what happened on the cliffs that night as an accident. It was the sole reason that Quinn had kept quiet herself all these years.
“Oh, my God,” Quinn whispered, releasing his hand and tossing the blanket to the side. She stood quickly before pacing in front of him. “You’re right. You—”
“It’s speculation,” Linc corrected as he turned toward her. He leaned forward and set his elbows on his knees as he tried to get her to see reason. The last thing she should do was to confront them when there was no proof. “Unless you
ask the Rockwells yourself, you’ll never know the truth. I don’t think you want to take that chance, but I wanted you to know my thoughts on the situation. Quinn?”
Linc stood up and then stepped directly in front of her path. It was easy to see that her thoughts were churning a million miles a minute. He cradled her face in his hands, wishing so much that he could take away the remorse that had chipped away at her soul.
“You were a young girl who lost her first love in a tragic accident, and you’ve spent the rest of your life attempting to make up for that loss to a family who most likely came to terms with their loss a long time ago. On top of that, you’ve tried every day since then to give Aaron’s death meaning. You don’t seem to realize that you succeed every single day that you get on the airwaves in an effort to help someone else.” Linc pressed his lips gently against her forehead, praying that he’d given her some closure. “I’m here when you’re ready to take a step toward the future, Quinn.”
Linc honestly hadn’t thought it would be so hard to walk away from her. His hands itched to hold her, and his chest hurt at the thought that she might decide to stay put. She was used to living in the secure bubble that she’d created, and right now he was merely a means to an end.
Who would have thought he’d fall for the one woman who was full of contradictions at every turn, most likely steering him directly past the path to the cliff where she’d left her heart all those years ago?
Chapter Twenty
Quinn wrapped her hands around what the sheriff pronounced was a cup of coffee, though she wasn’t quite sure the black concoction in the mug was what anyone should attempt to consume. Linc made excellent coffee. He used fresh quality grounds and measured everything exactly the same each time.
The Isolated Widow (The Widow Taker Book 2) Page 17
