“Thanks for seeing us,” Victory said.
Derrick heard her smoky, smooth voice. He turned, slow and deliberate, not wanting to appear anxious. She was even more stunning in person. “What can I do for you?”
He knew he was staring but couldn’t help himself. Her features weren’t fuzzy and distorted like he’d witnessed while etheric traveling. He’d seen her on TV, of course, but that still didn’t do her justice. In a glance, he took in her sculptured cheekbones, soft full mouth, and fiery red hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, hanging past her shoulders.
Good-looking or not, Derrick had no illusions as to what he was. Something Agent McClane could never discover.
✽ ✽ ✽
Victory was so distracted by the man’s looks, she couldn’t stop staring, entranced by his intense blue eyes and hair the color of burnt hot chocolate, with slivers of silver at his temples. He was distinguished-looking, and gorgeous. Then he smiled. Spikes of warmth surged through her body, and her breath caught, as if air was unable to make it to her lungs. She’d never experienced such raw and primitive attraction to a man before. Not even when she had met Josh.
Ryan cleared his throat and gave her a gentle snap-out-of-it-nudge in the ribs with his elbow.
What was she thinking? She mentally slapped herself and forced herself to focus on the business at hand.
Derrick moved from the window and leaned against the front of his desk. He was dressed in jeans and a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms.
She knew he was looking at her even though she tried to keep her gaze glued toward the desk.
“What can I do for you?” Derrick asked.
“We need to ask you a few questions, Mr. Lynn,” Ryan said.
He was watching her, probably grinning by the way she was acting. Thank God, Ryan decided to take the lead because her mouth wasn’t working.
Victory remained standing and caught the scent of Derrick’s aftershave: spicy musk and sandalwood. He smelled as good as he looked. She wasn’t going to get any closer to the man. Two feet away was plenty close enough. Focus, McClane.
No matter how attracted she was to Derrick, her gaze instinctively traveled to his face. She needed to witness his reaction, decipher, read between the lines.
His eyebrows rose. “Sure. Questions about what?”
“One of your employees. Nicole Henderson,” Ryan said.
“Nicole? Is everything alright?”
“She was found dead last night.”
Derrick gasped. “Dead? My God. What happened?”
Victory slid her hands into her coat pockets and studied him. He appeared puzzled as if he had been waiting to hear something different. Interesting. She made a mental note. His eyes were wide, and he had a glazed look of shock on his face. Was his reaction genuine? It was too early to tell. She wasn’t about to get into details about Nicole’s death. He’d learn enough through the media. Everyone would.
Victory finally found her voice. “I’m sorry. We can’t discuss particulars of an ongoing investigation. When did you last see Nicole?”
He paused for a second before answering. “I think it was yesterday afternoon during my meeting with the design department.” Derrick shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Her mother must be devastated.”
Ryan’s cell phone buzzed. He yanked it out of his coat pocket and looked at the screen. “I need to take this.” He glanced at her, then rushed out of the office.
The worse timing in the world. She was alone with Derrick. Her eyes shifted to the leather couch situated to her left, then to the black and glass coffee table that matched Derrick’s desk. As if he was sensing her discomfort, Derrick motioned to the chair in front of him.
“Please. Have a seat, Agent McClane.”
“I’m fine, thank you.” Victory fiddled with the zipper on her coat. You’re a professional. Act like one. "How well did you know Nicole?”
“She had an integral spot here. We worked together a lot.”
“Always just business?”
His jaw tightened then he laughed. “Of course. Are you implying something? I’m twice her age.”
“And how old is that?” She wanted to kick herself for asking.
“Forty-five and old enough to know better. If anything, you’re actually more my type.”
He smiled again, his teeth ridiculously white. Victory had the sudden urge to flee the room. But she had a job to do. She needed answers if she was going to stop The Wrapper.
“That’s hardly appropriate, Mr. Lynn. Would you be willing to take a DNA test?”
“Sure.”
Agreeing to the test had surprised her. He hadn’t hesitated for even a second to think about it. Victory felt confident he wasn’t the father of Nicole’s baby. If Derrick wasn’t, then who was?
She drew a relieved breath, confused as to why she was relieved. “Where were you last night, Mr. Lynn?”
“Here, till about nine. I grabbed some takeout sushi on the way home. Got there about ten. I’m happy to provide access to any camera or anything else that verifies that.”
“Was Nicole dating anyone at work?”
“Not that I know of. She did get on quite well with Jason Williams, one of our animators. He’ll be on the second floor, in the animation studio. Listen, I’d like to cover the funeral expenses for Mrs. Henderson. Anything I can do to help.”
“That’s very nice of you, Mr. Lynn.” Was the man offering out of the goodness of his heart, or out of guilt because he was hiding something? He was making her very nervous and she didn’t like it.
“I hope it’s not too insensitive, considering the timing, but...have dinner with me.”
Victory was totally caught off guard. Heat flushed her cheeks. She didn’t answer, couldn’t, for what seemed like minutes. “Yes, that’s totally insensitive.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just—"
She pulled a business card from her coat pocket and handed it to him. “Call us if you think of anything that might help the investigation.”
Derrick took the card. His fingers brushed hers.
Her pulse pounded erratically. His touch seemed familiar, but she’d never met the man before today. Very odd. She snapped her hand away and left the room feeling a little disoriented, her mind hazy, foggy.
In the hallway, she almost bumped into Ryan.
“Hey, that was Sean. Nothing worthwhile turned up at Nicole’s house and no sign of a struggle.”
Just as Victory had expected. “He wouldn’t kill her there. He needs somewhere he can feel safe and comfortable.”
“But where?”
Victory shrugged.
“What happened in there, Vic?”
Victory wasn’t going to tell her partner that Derrick had asked her out for dinner. She’d already made herself look like a drooling idiot. “I don’t think he’s the father or has anything to do with her death. There are a few things we need to check out, though. It felt as if he were hiding something.”
“I’m not talking about that, Vic. Nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, but it came close to affecting your professionalism.”
She felt a surge of guilt. She had no right being attracted to Derrick or any man. It was far too soon. She was on an emotional roller-coaster ride and sex was not part of the mix, but twenty-one years of marriage had spoiled her. She missed her husband—wanted him back. Damn it. She was lonely.
“I don’t want to talk about it, and I wonder if you know how insulting that was.”
“Sorry, but—”
She held up one hand. “How about we focus on the two serial killers out there.”
One thing was certain. Derrick came off too cool and had all the right answers. What was he hiding?
CHAPTER SEVEN
After Victory left, Derrick paced his office and cursed under his breath. He had asked an FBI agent out for dinner. His gut tightened. He'd spent twenty years staying under the radar. What had gotten into him
? There was something about Victory, something he couldn't shake. A vulnerability poking through a rough and confident exterior.
She was dangerous. The enemy. He eliminated enemies.
He didn't like using the words kill or murder. He protected humanity. Eliminated threats and helped to defend the security of the United States. It’s what his grandfather had done, what his father had done. He was no different than a CIA-hired contractor, part of a secret government program used to locate and assassinate enemies during Nazi Germany or Vietnam.
Derrick stopped behind his desk and looked out the window as the sun made a brief appearance before disappearing for the day.
He had made two critical errors within twenty-four hours involving a woman, the same woman who could put him behind bars for the rest of his life if she discovered his secret. He had to fix the problem, make his mistakes work to his advantage. If he kept a close eye on Victory, he’d know what she was up to and if she had anything on him. The plan sounded simple but he knew it wouldn’t be. Then his thoughts shifted to Nicole. He needed to get all the employees together and let them know what had happened. He couldn't imagine the pain Nicole's mother must be feeling. A very sad situation.
Derrick was about to buzz his secretary when his cell phone rang. He plucked the phone off the desk and checked the caller ID. It was his father. He answered, confident the DoD had employed their technology to guarantee a secure line. "Hi, Dad."
“Son, I'll be in town in a few hours. Meet me at your house."
His father’s tone was abrupt and rushed—the usual, from a man who'd spent most of his life in the United States Air Force before working for the Department of Defense.
Again, Derrick wondered why his father was making the lengthy drive instead of contacting him by email. “What’s going on?”
There was a long beat of silence on the other end before his father said, “It’s urgent.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Victory wanted to be anywhere but here. The FBI press conference room was hot and cramped, much like the rest of the office space. Rows of chairs extended the width of the room overcrowded with reporters. There was no surprise when she spotted Melissa Mann, sitting front and center dressed in a tailored navy jacket, matching short skirt, and thigh-high black leather boots. The reporter had already left three messages and, so far, Victory had been able to duck the pesky woman. But luck would run out eventually. It always did.
While she waited for the press conference to begin, Victory couldn’t get Derrick out of her head. She was still angry at herself for acting unprofessionally in front of her partner. She'd acted like a complete idiot. What was wrong with her?
Between the stress of two ongoing unsolved cases and still, often, the loss of her husband, it felt as if she were teetering on the edge of the sanity cliff. Maybe she should see the Bureau’s shrink again. She groaned inwardly. He’d just want to get into the emotional nitty-gritty. No. She was just lonely. Her body and soul were craving male companionship, parts of her that hadn't accepted that Josh was gone and was never coming back.
Ryan's voice slashed through her thoughts. "Ready to go?"
She looked at him. His forehead shone with sweat. He hated press conferences as much as she did.
She eyed the crowd and forced a smile. “Not really. But, yeah.”
Before leaving Omicron, they'd questioned Jason Williams about his relationship with Nicole Henderson. They’d learned Jason and Nicole had become good friends after spending hundreds of hours working together on The Homecoming. Victory had also discovered Jason had been in a relationship with the same man for six years. Victory doubted he was the father of Nicole’s child and she was reasonably sure a DNA test would confirm that fact. The Wrapper investigation had hit another dead end. Hopefully, the press conference would generate some much-needed new leads. One solid lead. That's all she needed to get onto the killer’s trail.
Angie stepped up to the podium. “Can I have your attention, please? We’re ready to begin.”
Every hetero male eye in the room was transfixed by the shapely blonde. The crowd obeyed and took their seats. Once the room quieted, she gave Victory a nod.
Victory forced her feet to move and headed to the podium, determined not to make eye contact with Melissa Mann. Her squad supervisor, Curtis Stafford followed, and Ryan brought up the rear.
Microphones rose.
She sucked in an unsteady breath, and then let it out. “Good afternoon. For those who don't know me, I'm Agent Victory McClane. M-C-C-L-A-N-E, case-agent-in-charge of The Wrapper investigation. To my right, are Agent Ryan Slater, and Squad Supervisor Curtis Stafford.”
Camera shutters clicked, and bulbs flashed.
After a brief pause, she continued. “Early this morning, our office received a call from the Cincinnati Homicide Unit regarding the body of a young woman found in Daniel Drake Park. The victim has been identified as Nicole Lorene Henderson, age twenty-four, of Cincinnati.” Victory held up a picture of the young woman—the same photograph, minus the wooden frame, that Lorene Henderson had brought to the coroner’s office. “If anyone has any information regarding Ms. Henderson's whereabouts within the forty-eight hours prior, please contact us immediately.” This was the part she hated the most, not knowing what the media had in store for her. “I'll answer a couple of brief questions now.”
Camera flashes continued to go off.
Melissa's hand shot up first. Victory pretended she didn’t see her and signaled to an unfamiliar male reporter.
He stood.
Victory noticed his press badge dangling around his neck: WKKP TV.
“Is it The Wrapper? Could you elaborate more on the killer's profile and how he chooses his victims?”
“I want to make it clear. We're considering whether the murder of Ms. Henderson is related to those of other young women over the past decade. The evidence suggests it could be the same perpetrator. Our original profile has not changed. A single white male, twenty-five to forty, at least six feet tall, and in good physical shape. Regarding the second part of your question, some serial murderers often select their victims based on physical or personal traits, only victimizing those who fit their mold.” She picked up the glass of water next to her and took a drink. “Next question.”
To her left, in the front row, she nodded to Marshall Hines, a veteran reporter for the Cincinnati Enquirer.
He was scribbling something on a small notepad. “Does the FBI have a theory as to why The Wrapper dumps his victims in a park?”
“Again, I want to make it very clear I’m speaking in general terms only.” Her voice was steady and confident, but her stomach was twisting in knots. “Generally, most serial murderers already have an idea where they want to dispose of their victims’ remains, choosing a locale that best suits their needs. Usually, a remote or secluded setting, a place significant to them. One last question.”
Another reporter caught Victory’s attention. She was a young, green-eyed, petite brunette. The Wrapper’s ideal victim.
“Do you have any leads?” The reporter's voice quivered as she spoke.
They had nothing. Victory felt a stab of anger and guilt. Not a single workable lead and she wasn’t going to reveal that fact. They’d eat her alive. “Not anything we can share at this time. We’ll keep you updated.”
Victory stepped back and started heading for the door. Ryan and Curtis followed.
Melissa Mann bounced to her feet and hurled questions in their direction. “Isn’t it true Nicole Henderson was pregnant? Aren’t you worried the killer may now be hunting pregnant women, Agent McClane?”
Victory froze in mid-step.
The crowd gasped. Shutters clicked and clicked...
Public knowledge of Nicole’s pregnancy was the last thing Victory expected to hear. Anger boiled inside her. Shit like this shouldn't happen. Disgusted, Victory left the conference room as someone yelled, “What about Eddie Bullington’s death? Why is the FBI involved?”
In
the hallway, away from the commotion, her squad supervisor’s round face was tight and red. A look Victory had seen many times. Curtis was mad as hell.
His eyes narrowed. “I want to know how the hell she found out about the pregnancy. It better not have been leaked from this office.”
“I can pretty much guarantee it wasn’t. Mann has someone inside the coroner’s office feeding her information. I’m sure that’s it.” Ryan shook his head. “I wonder how much she paid for that tidbit.”
The thought made Victory’s insides roll.
“No more media updates unless absolutely necessary.” Curtis looked at Victory, his face still flaming red.
"Yes, sir." If Victory had her way, she would never have another press conference again.
Her squad supervisor swiped his hand across his now perspiring forehead. “I’ve got to get back and look after this fire before shit hits the fan.”
Victory didn't notice Curtis leave because she too was busy watching Melissa enter the women’s washroom, alone.
A shit storm of her own was about to hit. Victory turned to Ryan. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”
“Behave yourself, Vic.”
“Not this time.”
She rushed down the hallway. Inside the washroom, Victory yanked a metal trash can across the linoleum floor and shoved it in front of the door to stop anyone from entering. This was between her and the reporter. No one else.
Melissa was standing in front of the mirror, fluffing her bleached blonde hair. Her blue eyes widened in surprise. “What the hell are you doing?”
Anger flooded Victory’s veins. “That was totally irresponsible. Don’t you have any consideration for Nicole Henderson’s family? And you may have just put more women in danger.”
Deadly Shadow Page 5
