by Lyn Horner
She glanced up in obvious surprise. Taking a sip of Cuban style coffee, she replied, “I was recruited during my last year of college and started training at Quantico right after graduation. That was sixteen years ago.”
“Why’d the feds recruit you? Must have been something special about you.”
She set the rest of her sandwich down on the plate, pushed it aside and folded her hands on the table. “You’re very curious about my background, Maguire. Does this mean you now believe I’m an FBI agent?”
He grinned. “Call me Nate. Everyone else does. As for believing you, I’m leaning in that direction. Haven’t quite made up my mind yet. Why don’t you answer my question? Maybe that will convince me.”
She sat back in her chair, gaze locked with his. “Very well. I carried a double major, psychology and criminal justice. I’d planned to go on to law school until the FBI came calling. They saw me as a good candidate for the Bureau.” She smiled. “It helped that I was at the top of my class.”
“Smart girl.” Smiling, he tipped his head to her. “But how come you chose a badge instead of law school?”
She shrugged. “In a word, excitement. The idea of tracking down vicious criminals appealed to me more than prosecuting them. Plus, the recruiter thought I would make a good profiler eventually.” She pursed her tempting coral lips and arched honey-colored eyebrows. “Any more questions?”
He chuckled. “Not now. Maybe later.”
“Then I have a question for you?”
“Yeah? Go ahead, ask.”
“Earlier, you made it perfectly clear that you didn’t believe anything I told you. What brought about this sudden, at least partial change of heart?”
His mouth twitched. “It was your reaction to that goon Ortiz. Some women would have screeched like a banshee at his insults. Not you. You just reached into your purse as cool as you please, for your badge I’m guessing. Or maybe a gun? That told me a lot about you.”
“Really? Then why didn’t you allow me to handle the situation?”
Nate braced his elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “Because you being a fed, or pretending to be one, wouldn’t matter to Ortiz. He’d never allow you, a woman, to show him up in front of his homies.” Watching her mouth set in a tight line, he added, “Besides, the bastard was after me, and I’m not about to hide behind a woman’s skirt, or pants in your case.”
She bristled, cheeks reddening and silver eyes flashing. “You’re as big a chauvinist as those three young punks,” she shot back, leaning forward, practically in his face.
He tsked and shook his head. “Calling names? Not nice, Talia,” he said, watching her head jerk back at his use of her first name. He grinned and waggled his eyebrows.
“Oh, you! I … .” She snapped her mouth shut and stared at the TV mounted on the wall across from their table, above the lunch counter. A newsman was reporting on another woman’s murder in Ybor over night.
“Damn!” Nate muttered, watching the screen as the slick looking dude went on to remind viewers of two other murders in the area over the past two months.
“Is the location of the killing near your shop?” Talia asked.
“A few blocks away.” He returned his attention to her. “Don’t be scared. The killer isn’t likely to be on the prowl in broad daylight.”
“I’m not scared. I was merely curious,” she said in a starchy tone.
“Well, don’t get too curious. Remember curiosity killed the cat.”
She stared hard at him. “Not funny, Maguire. And for your information, I’m not returning to D.C. until I know you’ve called and left a message for Dev.”
Nate frowned in irritation. “Okay, okay, I’ll do it, but not now. I don’t have time. I’m already over an hour late opening for business. But my assistant comes in around half past five. If you stop by then, you can listen to me call the old guy back.”
She curtly agreed. He insisted on picking up the bill after which they parted ways.
*
The trolleys were now running, allowing Talia to ride one back to her hotel. She admired the brightly painted reproduction of the city’s original trolleys, but she didn’t enjoy the short trip as much as she might have if she wasn’t brooding over Tampa’s rash of murders and Nate Maguire’s attitude toward women. At least he had agreed to call the number Dev had provided again and leave a message for him. That came as a relief.
Once in her hotel room, she set aside her annoyance at Maguire, deciding to call her boss once again. “Dave, it’s Talia,” she said when he picked up. “Have you heard about the murder in Tampa last night?”
“Yes, I just got a sketchy report and I don’t like the sound of it. Do you know this is the third such killing in barely two months?”
“I’m aware. Looks like we have a serial killer down here.”
“Agreed, and I was about to call you. I want you to reach out to the TPD and offer your services. Sorry to take you away from your folks but this is urgent. I hope they’ll understand.”
“I-I’m sure they will.” She felt guilty for lying to him about her reason for remaining in Tampa. As soon as Dave let her go, she called TPD headquarters and asked to speak with the detective in charge of the murder investigation. The phone clicked a few times as her call was transferred to the right extension. At last, someone picked up.
“Lovett,” a man’s voice barked.
“Detective Lovett?”
“That’s me. Can I help you?”
“Hello. This is Special Agent Talia Werner. I’m an FBI profiler down here from D.C. on, uh, business.”
“Yeah, and?” he said warily.
“And my boss ordered me to contact you and offer my assistance with your investigation into the recent murders.”
“Is that so? What makes your boss think we need your help?” Lovett’s words rang with resentment. He obviously didn’t want a fed invading his territory.
“Perhaps it has to do with the fact that last night’s murder comes so soon after the murders of two other young women. I and my superiors think these events point to a serial killer, and we’d like to help you catch the perp. I hope you won’t turn down the offer.”
Silence reigned for a moment. Then Lovett sighed tiredly. “When do you want to come and look over the evidence?”
She smiled at his resigned tone. “As soon as I can get there.”
“Fine. I’m located at the District Three sub station.” He gave her the address and directions for finding the place.
Thirty minutes later, Talia presented her credentials to Detective Lovett.
“Agent Werner,” he said, offering his hand and a quick smile. Maybe two inches taller than her, he had a pot belly and jowls beneath a square jaw that made him resemble a bulldog. Shrewd blue eyes appraised her from under bushy brows a few shades darker than his thick crop of wavy gray hair.
“Detective Lovett.” She smiled in return and shook his hand.
“Come with me,” he said curtly. Turning away, he led her to a gray metal desk at the far side of the room, under a window. Scattered across the desk – his, Talia assumed – were case folders and a grisly collection of photos.
She caught her breath. “My God! He’s a butcher.”
“He’s a piece of work alright. We’re trying to keep the worst of it from the media in order not to scare people too much. But I’ve already heard rumors of a new Jack the Ripper being on the hunt.”
“I can see why.” Staring at the slashed and mangled bodies in the photos, she wondered what drove the killer to mutilate these women so horribly. She’d seen the results of vicious knife attacks before but nothing this gruesome.
“Have the autopsies turned up anything useful?” she inquired.
“The first two revealed the killer is right-handed and apparently uses a long, narrow blade, possibly a stiletto switchblade. Our medical examiner is still working on last night’s victim, but I doubt the results will be any different.”
“No traces of
blood or hair other than the women’s?”
“Nada. The bastard’s careful. And we haven’t found any connection between the women. They didn’t work at the same place and weren’t acquainted with each other as far as their family and friends know. About the only thing they have in common are some tattoos, but that’s almost a given these days among young folks.”
“Mmm.” Immediately thinking of Nate Maguire, Talia said, “I’d like to read through the files.”
Lovett shrugged. “Go ahead. Maybe you’ll spot something I missed.”
“Maybe. Do you have somewhere I can work? I don’t want to take your desk.”
“It’s not my desk. Belongs to my partner and he’s on vacation. Make yourself at home.” He pointed to another desk several feet away. “I’ll be right there if you’ve got questions. Let me know if anything new jumps out at you.”
“Thanks. I will.” Parking herself in his partner’s swivel desk chair, Talia went through the files on the first two victims, re-reading some sections and studying photos of the crime scenes, looking for any clue to the killer’s identity or motive. She kept at it all afternoon, barely pausing to thank Lovett when he brought her a mug of coffee.
Remembering she was supposed to be back at Maguire’s around 5:30, she glanced at her wristwatch. It read ten minutes past five. She needed to go. Rising, she stretched her back, stiff from sitting bent over for hours, and retrieved her bag from the floor.
“You leaving?” Detective Lovett asked. Sport coat off and shirt sleeves rolled up, he sat at his desk, where he’d been making phone calls and taking notes about another case he was working.
She nodded. “I have an appointment. Can’t say how long it will take, but I’d like to return later. Would you make sure I’m permitted in if you’re gone for the day?”
He pursed his lips and nodded. “Sure, if you want to keep at it, I’ve got no objection. I’ll be heading home in an hour or so, but I’ll leave word with the desk sergeant to expect you.”
“Sounds good.” With that, she strode from the office and out of the building. Hopping onto a city bus, she headed back to Ybor City. When she arrived at Maguire’s place, she was greeted at the small reception desk by a girl who looked to be in her late teens or early twenties. She had pink hair and tattoos stretching up her arms, around her throat and down her cleavage, displayed by a sleeveless, low cut black tank top.
“Can I help you?” she asked with a wide smile, rising from a stool and looking Talia up and down.
“Yes. I’m here to speak with Mr. Maguire.” Hearing a low hum of voices, his and a woman’s, coming from farther back in the shop, she guessed he was working.
The girl’s smile faltered slightly. “He’s with a client. Nate,” she called over her shoulder, “you’ve got a visitor.”
Within seconds, Maguire stuck his head out from one of the tattooing cubicles. “Hey, Talia.” He grinned at her. “I’ll be with you in a few minutes. Take a seat in the waiting area.” Not giving her time to reply, he ducked back behind the cubicle partition.
Meeting the tattooed receptionist’s watchful gaze, Talia smiled. “You must be Misty. Nate mentioned you would be here.”
“Yeah? He didn’t say a word about you. You here to get inked?”
“No, I … I have personal business with your boss.”
“Mmm.” After a silence, Misty pointed at three chairs grouped near the door. “You might as well sit down like he said.” There was a barely perceptible edge to her voice that Talia almost missed.
She nodded. Adjusting the shoulder strap of her bag, she sat in one of the molded plastic seats, wondering why the girl had cooled toward her. Or had she imagined the hint of sharpness in her tone?
She chose a magazine from a table between the chairs and paged through it, glancing at pictures but not reading any articles. She’d scanned three magazines before Maguire finally emerged from the cubicle accompanied by a chatty middle-aged woman dressed in black leather pants and a black t-shirt with Motorcycle Mama emblazoned across it. One sleeve was rolled up to her shoulder.
Maguire escorted her to the front desk, winked at Talia, and instructed the woman on how to keep the new tattoo of a green dragon on her upper arm clean. Promising to do as he said, she gushed over his work while paying Misty. Once she left, Nate turned to Talia, hands resting on his slim hips.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. Let’s go upstairs and talk. Misty, you’re in charge until I return. If somebody shows up asking for a tat you can’t handle, tell ’em they’ll have to wait or come back.”
“Sure, Nate.” Misty gave him a big smile but her mouth tightened and her dark eyes gleamed coldly when she looked at Talia, confirming her earlier suspicion that the girl had taken a dislike to her. But why?
Shifting her gaze to Maguire as he sauntered toward the back door, she hesitated, glanced at Misty again and caught her glaring daggers at her. Talia inhaled sharply and it struck her that the girl was jealous because Maguire had asked her to come up to his quarters. Ridiculous! She had no interest in the man beyond making sure he made the call to Dev.
“You coming?” Maguire called.
“Yes. Right away.” Breaking eye contact with Misty, Talia strode outside with Maguire and followed him up a flight of wooden stairs. She stood next to him on the landing while he unlocked the door, reached in to flip a light switch and motioned her inside.
Stepping past him, she paused to glance around the small living area. It was bare-bones. To the right stood a rather threadbare sofa, one upholstered, equally worn chair and a banged up coffee table. To the left, the kitchen consisted of an apartment-size stove and refrigerator crammed between a few cupboards in need of painting, with a small round table and a pair of chairs at the far end.
Watching her assess his pad, Nate closed the door behind him. “It’s not much to look at,” he said, “but it works for me.” He gestured at the sofa. “Sit down. You want a beer or a cola?”
“No, I’m fine.” She sat at one end of the sofa, stiffly erect, hands clutching her bag on her lap.
He sat at the opposite end of the sofa. Without a word, he leaned over the padded arm and fished the balled up yellow note she’d given him out of the trash. Seeing her scowl as he flattened it out, he shrugged and crooked one corner of his mouth.
“After being told there was no Michaela there and having a grouchy old man slam his phone in my ear, I figured the number was bogus. Either you got it wrong or you were playing some kind of game with me.”
“I’m not playing any game,” she said impatiently. “Are you going to call or not?”
He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment. Then he fished his cell phone out of his pocket. “What’s Dev’s last name again?”
“Medina.” Relaxing slightly, she seemed to breathe easier as he tapped in the number on his phone. After a few rings, a woman answered politely in a soft, elderly voice. It was a nice change from the curmudgeon he’d expected.
“Evening, ma’am. Can I speak to Dev Medina?”
“I’m sorry, young man, my son doesn’t live here. But if you like, I’ll be happy to take a message and pass it on to him when he calls.”
Surprised, Nate glanced sharply at Talia, who sat watching him anxiously. “That’s kind of you, ma’am. I’d appreciate it if you’d let Dev know that Nathan called.”
“Oh, Nathan, of course. We’ve been expecting your call. Dev said to tell you he will be in touch with you soon through his friend Miss Werner. Do you know her?”
“Uh, yes, I do. Thank you, ma’am. I’ll wait to hear from your son.” Bidding her goodbye, he ended the call and turned to Talia. “Alright, you told the truth. Now I’m supposed to wait for your pal Dev to contact you. With further instructions, right?”
She smiled smugly. “I guess we’ll both have to wait and see.”
“Mmm, looks like. Does this mean you’ll be staying in Tampa until he calls you? Aren’t you needed back in D.C.?”
“Actually, my boss
has instructed me to stay on here and assist the police in solving the recent murders. An unpleasant coincidence, that.”
“Yeah, unpleasant,” he muttered, concern for her surging through him. From the rumors he’d heard, the three dead women had been stabbed and mutilated. The thought of Talia going up against a vicious knife-wielding murderer didn’t set well with him.
“Well, I told the police detective I met with earlier that I’d be back to study the evidence. I’d better go.” She rose and straightened her jacket.
Nate ushered her downstairs and walked her to the front door, noticing Misty’s chilly stare as they walked passed. He wondered what her problem was but forgot about her when he stepped outside with Talia. “It’s getting dark,” he said, gripping her elbow. My car’s out back. Let me drive you to the police station.”
“That’s not necessary. I’ll catch a bus at the next corner.”
He frowned. “Alright, but walk where it’s well lit and where there are people.”
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”
“Yeah, yeah, you’re an FBI agent, I know.” He scrubbed at his bristly jaw. “But the guy who murdered those women is still on the loose. I don’t want to hear about you on the news tomorrow.”
She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “Why, Mr. Maguire, I believe you really care about my safety.”
“Of course I do,” he said gruffly. “And call me Nate. Please.”
“Alright. Good night, Nate.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The police station was noisy with cops hauling in belligerent perps, but the desk sergeant calmly ignored the commotion. He politely acknowledged Talia and, having been given the okay by Detective Lovett, waved her back to the investigation squad room. She encountered two on duty detectives.
Flashing her creds at the pair, she informed them why she was there and, not wasting time on small talk, marched to the desk she’d worked at earlier. She shed her jacket, sat and opened the case files. For the next hour-and-a-half she read and re-read every scrap of evidence pertaining to the three murders. Studying the photos, she noted again that the women each sported a number of tattoos. As Detective Lovett had remarked, there was nothing unusual about that in this day and age.
