There was a smile she couldn’t begin to fathom or untangle playing on his lips. A smile that nonetheless made her stomach flutter.
Krys inclined her head. “I bow to your superior wisdom.”
“Well, I think I can safely say that’s probably the last time I’ll ever hear anything even remotely like that again,” Morgan told her with a genuine laugh.
They were in the squad room, which meant that this really wasn’t the time to let herself react to Morgan and that sexy laugh of his. It was a lot safer if she just changed the subject—which she did.
“Since you haven’t said anything, I assume there’s been no progress in locating that woman who Bluebeard had taken hostage and was in the car when he had that accident?” Krys asked.
From the information that had been available, they had come to the final conclusion that the woman had to have been the serial killer’s next intended victim. There was nothing to point to any other reason she had been in the vehicle with him.
“None whatsoever,” Morgan answered. He was nothing if not persistent and said as much to her. “But we haven’t given up trying to find her. It’s just looking pretty slim at the moment.” He saw the frustration in her eyes and tried to get her to redirect her focus on something else. “How about you? Have you been given any new assignments or is your editor letting you relax for the time being?” he asked.
The word “relax” was not as appealing to her as he might have thought. “A writer needs to write,” she told him. “As a matter of fact, my editor said she would be interested in seeing an article from me about what it feels like to be stalked by someone I know is looking to kill me.”
His smile faded. “I think that’s a bad idea,” he told her flatly. “That’s like waving a red flag in front of a charging bull.”
“Well, right now, according to you, there might not actually be a charging bull, remember?”
“That’s just one theory,” he told her. “And all things considered, I don’t think it’s all that smart to tempt fate.”
He could see that stubborn look in her eyes. “Are you telling me that you don’t want me to write the article?” Krys asked him.
Morgan knew if he said he didn’t want her doing it, that would accomplish the exact opposite. So, although it killed him, he said, “No, I’m just asking you to be careful and to think about what you’re doing—before you do it.”
“All right,” she said, “I’ll think about it.” She said the right words, but he doubted that she really meant them. He knew her well enough by now to realize that when she wanted to do something, she went right ahead and did it. He had to find some way to get her to refrain from doing this insane piece.
“Look, since Walker is out on medical leave,” he said, referring to one of the members of his team, “why don’t you stay here and use his desk to write that article—once you think over the pros and cons?”
Morgan made it sound as if she was actually going to consider whether or not to write the article, even though they both knew that in the end, she was going to do it.
She looked at the empty desk. “Wouldn’t someone frown on me doing that now that it looks like the case might be wrapped up? Like maybe the head of the Major Crimes Division?” she suggested. Having her here had been acceptable while the case was ongoing, but now that Jacobs’s supposed reason for killing her had been eliminated and the other major suspect was dead, there was no longer a reason to keep such a close eye on her.
“Don’t worry about it. The lieutenant is a pretty easygoing guy. He’ll be okay with it,” Morgan told her. “You just sit there and do your thing.”
Krys cocked an eyebrow and looked at him. “My ‘thing,’ huh?”
He caught the inflection in her voice. “You know, I get the feeling that you’re spoiling for a fight.”
Krys realized that maybe she had sounded a bit defensive. “I’m just frustrated, that’s all,” she told him. Every theory so far had fallen through, and every path had wound up being a dead end. “I don’t like not getting answers.”
“You get used to that,” he said philosophically, thinking of his own work. “A lot of life doesn’t have answers.”
That might be true, but she had never allowed it to stop her. “I usually keep after something until I can find some sort of an answer—or wind up wrapping that ‘something’ up.”
Just then the phone on Morgan’s desk rang. He looked as if he was going to ignore it and continue to try to talk some sense into her.
“Better get that,” she told him. “It might be another case. One with an actual resolution going for it,” she said, waving her hand at the phone as it rang again.
Morgan shot her a dubious look. He would have preferred making her his primary—and only—focus until he either actually resolved the case once and for all, or was convinced that there was no longer anything to resolve. But he knew he didn’t have that luxury. He had to get back to his job, and his job was solving cases, sometimes juggling several open ones at a time.
“Cavanaugh,” he announced into the receiver, then turned his chair away from Krys so he could talk to whoever was calling privately.
She needed to get back to work, Krys thought. Maybe she could focus on another article for the time being. Agonizing over the unresolved details of these two previous cases was going to drive her crazy. There was something else she had been meaning to write about, she remembered—now that there was no one actively trying to run her over with their car or shoot her.
She just needed to focus—
Krys felt her cell phone vibrating in her pocket. Glancing toward Morgan, she saw that he was still busy talking to whoever had called him. Covertly, she pulled the cell phone out of her pocket and glanced down at the screen. There was a name and number on it she didn’t recognize.
Miranda Wilson.
Most likely it was a robocall. When it rang for a third time, she decided to take it. But not here in the squad room. The noise level would necessitate that she raise her voice, and that would direct Morgan’s attention over to her.
Krys slowly rose from her desk. She saw that the simple movement had caught Fredericks’s eye, but Morgan still had his back to her.
An ounce of prevention, she thought. “If he asks,” she said to Morgan’s partner, “tell him I went to the ladies’ room.”
Hiding her cell phone, Krys moved swiftly and left the squad room.
The second she was in the hall, she took out her cell phone and held it up to her ear. “Are you still there?” she asked the caller.
A quiet woman’s voice answered her. “Yes, I’m still here.”
“Hold on a second longer while I find somewhere quiet where we can talk,” Krys requested.
Not waiting for an answer, she quickly marched down the hall to the ladies’ room.
Once inside, Krys carefully looked around. The stalls were all empty. She had her privacy, she thought, hoping that all this effort turned out to be worth it.
“Hello, are you still there?” she asked the party on the other end again, afraid the person had hung up.
“Yes, I’m still here,” the woman told her a little impatiently.
Krys thought she detected a slight accent, but she couldn’t place it. Moving ahead, she asked, “So, what can I do for you?”
Many of her conversations with her sources started this way, she thought. With any luck, this would be another one of those.
“I hear you’re looking for me.”
A little electric shock traveled through her, but she wasn’t going to get carried away. Not yet.
“That all depends,” Krys replied in a calm voice. “Who are you?”
“I thought you would have figured that out already. I’m the woman who was in the car with the man you called ‘Bluebeard.’”
Every fiber of Krys’s body came to attention as she
replayed the words she had just heard. Still, she was well aware that this could all just turn out to be a hoax. There were a lot of strange people out there and it never ceased to amaze her just what some people were capable of, the kind of lies certain people could tell in hopes of being able to secure their fleeting moment in the sun.
“The woman who was taken to the hospital after the accident,” Krys guessed.
“Yes, that was me,” the woman acknowledged.
“They said it was a miracle that you survived the accident,” Krys said, still wondering if this was a hoax, or if the woman who had been in the car was actually calling her.
“I guess I’ve always been lucky like that in my own way,” the woman on the other end of the call told her.
“Why are you calling me?” Krys asked. She knew she could very well be chasing the woman away, but in order to make sure the woman was who she said she was, she needed to have this question answered.
“Because my story needs to be heard,” the woman said simply.
“All right.” For the time being, she was willing to go along with this. She could get more proof later. “Tell me this. If you were hurt, why did you flee from the hospital?”
“Because I was afraid,” the woman admitted.
“Afraid?” She didn’t understand. “Of who? The police? The doctors?” If this woman was telling the truth and she was who she claimed she was, it didn’t make any sense to Krys why she would suddenly vanish the way she had. Why didn’t she remain to be treated properly?
“I was afraid of Alan,” the woman answered, her voice sounding almost breathless.
“Of Alan?” Krys repeated. The name rang a bell. It had been one of aliases that Bluebeard had used. “You mean Bluebeard?”
She heard the woman make a dismissive noise. “That really is such an awful name,” she said with feeling. “Yes, I was afraid of him. Of Alan,” she repeated.
“But why were you afraid of him? He was killed in the accident,” Krys told her. “You must have known that. The police had to have told you he was dead.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the call, and then the woman said, “Yes, they told me. But I didn’t believe them. I thought he made them lie to me. He was capable of something like that, of getting people to do what he wanted them to do. You have no idea how charming Alan could be when he wanted to.”
“So you took off,” Krys concluded, prodding the woman to go on talking.
“I had to,” the woman told her.
Krys felt her head filling up with questions she wanted to ask. She needed to meet with this woman face-to-face, to look into the woman’s eyes as Bluebeard’s last victim told her story.
“Look, is there anywhere that we could meet?” Krys asked. “I’ve got a lot of questions I want to ask you.”
She heard the woman hesitating, and then she said, “I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“You called me, so some part of you has to feel that you can trust me,” Krys pointed out, trying not to push, but to make the woman feel secure enough to tell her things.
She heard the woman sigh. Gotcha, Krys thought.
“All right,” the woman on the other end agreed reluctantly. “I’ll meet you right inside William Mason Park,” the woman said, then added, “Come alone. If I see you bringing someone—if I even think that you’ve got someone with you—this is over and I’m out of there. Do you understand?”
Krys thought of Morgan. He was going to want to be there with her. There was no way he would let her do this on her own, but she had to if she wanted this interview.
This was going to take some work on her part. Therein lay the challenge, she thought, anticipation growing within her.
She wanted this interview so badly, she could taste it.
“I understand,” Krys answered.
Chapter 23
Hurrying out of the ladies’ room, Krys narrowly avoided colliding with Morgan.
He caught hold of her shoulders to steady her as he scrutinized her face. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You were in there a long time. I was just about to get one of the female officers to go in there and look for you.”
Maybe another time she might have even been touched by his display of concern, but right now it was interfering with her escape plan. “What did you think happened to me?” she asked. “That I slid down the drain?”
“No, I thought that maybe you weren’t feeling well,” he answered.
She was embarrassed by her flippant retort, and upset that she had to lie to Morgan. But she knew that there was no way he was going to let her go off to meet with this Miranda person by herself and she knew that the woman wasn’t going to say a single word to her if Morgan came with her. She might not even stick around at all.
No, to get this story, she needed to slip away.
She had no choice but to lie to him and hope that he would understand why and eventually forgive her.
“Actually, that’s very perceptive of you,” Krys said. “I hate admitting it because it makes me sound like some sort of a weakling, but I’m really not feeling all that well,” she told him.
Instantly concerned, Morgan asked, “Why, what’s the matter?” Then, before she could answer him, Morgan prompted, “Why don’t we go back into the squad room so that you can sit down while you describe your symptoms.”
She shrugged, afraid that she might have oversold this. She didn’t want him taking her to see a doctor.
“I’m just feeling a little under the weather,” she told him, dialing it back a little as she sat down at the desk opposite his.
For his part, Morgan put his hand to her forehead, checking for a fever.
“It’s nothing serious,” she insisted, pulling her head back. “I just thought maybe I should go home and lie down for a bit. I’ll probably be better in the morning.”
Still looking concerned, Morgan glanced around the squad room as if searching for something. “Let me see if I can get someone to take over what I’m working on today and then—”
“No,” Krys said firmly. He looked at her, confused. “I can’t let you do that. I don’t want to keep disrupting your life like this,” she told him. “And I don’t need to be coddled, either. All I need is a few hours of rest and I’ll be good as new, I promise.” Her tone softened a little. “You’ve already done more than enough for me, Morgan.”
“You still need a ride home,” he pointed out. Then, just in case she was planning on arguing with him about that, he reminded her, “Since you came in with me.”
“No, I know that,” she responded. “But you don’t have to go through all this trouble. I could call a ride service and have one of their drivers take me back to my house.”
Morgan made no comment about her suggestion, but she felt that the expression on his face said it all. She was not going to be calling a ride service.
Seeing one of the police officers assigned to running errands for his lieutenant, Morgan gestured the man over to his desk.
“Riley, I need you to take Ms. Kowalski here to her home. And once you get her there, I want you to stay and keep an eye on her for me. She’s still under protective custody,” Morgan pointed out.
“You can count on me, Detective,” the police officer said with enthusiasm.
“Good. The department doesn’t want anything happening to her,” Morgan added. “Brigham and Malcolm are already in the area, keeping watch, but a little overkill in this case wouldn’t hurt.”
Riley’s dark, slightly shaggy head nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Turning toward Krys, Morgan told her, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You really don’t have to rush on my account,” she told him. “Most likely I’ll probably just fall asleep for a while.”
Morgan nodded as they parted company. “That’s probably the best thing for you,�
� he agreed. He watched her as she put her laptop into its case. His parting words to her were, “Remember to stay put.”
She gave Morgan an innocent smile. “Where would I go?” she asked him as she walked out in front of the police officer.
* * *
Riley was eager to be of service and he wasn’t nearly as hard to get rid of as she’d thought he would be. Once the rookie officer brought her to her door and she had assured him that she would be fine, he retreated into his patrol car, where he proceeded to sit watching over her front door.
The other two officers Morgan had doing stakeout work were still posted in the area, but she already knew where they were. Eluding them as well as Riley should be relatively simple, Krys decided. All three policemen were on the lookout for someone bent on breaking into her house. They weren’t looking for her to break out.
She knew that she couldn’t use her own car, but she wouldn’t have to. Ian’s old car was housed in a nearby storage unit. He had left it to her, among other things, in his will. Since the whole situation with Ian was all so fresh, she hadn’t had an opportunity to figure out what she wanted to do with it yet. It appeared that this would be the perfect time to take the car out for a spin, she thought. Ian would have approved of the use she was putting his car to.
Krys gave her newest bodyguard ten minutes to settle into place. Then she quickly changed her clothes.
Moving quietly, she slipped out of her back door. Then, utilizing a hole in the fence, she cut across a neighbor’s yard. Once on the other side of that yard, she walked to the storage unit where she kept Ian’s car. Excited, she wanted to run all the way there, but she forced herself to move at a normal pace. She didn’t want to attract any undue attention to herself.
When she finally got to the storage unit and slid behind the steering wheel, Ian’s car didn’t start up immediately. It took her several attempts to try to start it before the engine finally rolled over and kicked in.
Letting out a deep breath, Krys glanced at her watch. She was cutting this close, she thought. She had told “Miranda” that she would meet the woman at the park at two thirty. It was already a few minutes after two.
Cavanaugh In Plain Sight (Cavanaugh Justice Book 42) Page 21
