“How old is the kid?”
“Twenty-four,” Ric said. “He’s a grad student out in California.”
“What about knives?” Mia tried. “Kelsey said the bones she examined showed signs of trauma consistent with a small serrated knife, like maybe a steak knife.”
“We looked,” Ric said. “Nothing. Just your typical silverware set, twenty-four place settings.”
“They do dinners for twenty-four but don’t have steak knives? That’s pretty unusual.”
“No kidding. This guy’s got a four-thousand-square-foot lake house, only one sharp knife in the place, and it’s an eight-inch butcher knife in the kitchen drawer, smooth blade.”
“Did you—”
“We collected it anyway. Lot of good it’ll do us.”
“Well, just the absence of knives seems suspicious.”
“I can’t collar this guy for something he doesn’t have in his possession. Any other ideas?”
Mia glanced over her shoulder at the house, wishing for a bolt of inspiration. She probably couldn’t add to the expertise of the CSIs already combing the place, but Ric needed her help, and she wanted to give it.
“What about a boat?”
“Two small boats, stored down by the water. A Sunfish and a kayak. We checked.”
“Clothing? Shoes?”
“Three pairs of duck boots, downstairs hall closet. His, hers, and the kid’s, judging by the sizes. Crime-scene tech went over them already, couldn’t find anything.”
Mia shook her head. “What doesn’t make sense to me is the carpet. These killings would have involved a lot of blood. It’s almost impossible to hide that completely. Even if you wash everything down with bleach, it would still show up with luminol. And the bleach itself is usually a telltale sign that someone’s trying to hide something. Did you try sink drains? Bathtubs? Shower tile grout?”
“Check, check, and check. Nothing.” Ric rubbed the bridge of his nose. “As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think we’ve found our crime scene. Maybe the carpet thing was a coincidence.”
“Big coincidence.”
He glanced at his watch and cursed.
“Bring us the butcher knife,” Mia said. “Our tool expert is a genius. He’ll take it apart, maybe find something in the crevice between the handle and the blade.”
Ric looked deflated, and Mia ached for him. She hated to bring up the next point, but there was no getting around it.
“Mark got the DNA results back,” she said.
“Profile lifted from the shoe isn’t in the database,” Ric recited.
Mia waited for him to add the rest. “Did he tell you about the contact lens?”
“No.” Hope flared in his eyes, then instantly faded when he read her expression.
“The DNA from the contact lens doesn’t match the blood drop,” she said. “So, assuming that the blood came from Laura Thorne’s killer, it’s not a match with Jeff Lane.”
Ric squeezed his eyes shut and looked pained. “I am so fucking out of a job. How did I get so off track on this thing?”
She didn’t say anything. She’d seen cases where a mountain of circumstantial evidence pointed to one person, and then DNA proved something different. The DNA won almost every time.
Unable to hold back anymore, she reached out and touched his arm. It was just a friendly touch. That’s what she told herself, anyway.
“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” she said. “I’ll keep thinking about it and call you if I get any ideas.”
Ric stared glumly out the window, oblivious to her hand on his arm and everything else, it seemed.
Mia cleared her throat. “I know now’s not a great time to ask, but how’s it coming on the other front? The shooter?”
He looked at her, and his expression clouded. “We’re working on it. I thought we’d have an arrest today, be able to put the squeeze on Lane for a name. Hell, I was ready to waterboard him.” Ric shook his head. “That’s not happening, obviously. But we’re working some other leads.”
He glanced up, and his expression looked cool. “Black still driving you to work?”
“Yeah. That’s not the problem.”
His brow furrowed. “There’s a problem?”
“Vivian’s vacation ends this Sunday. That’s in two days. I was kind of hoping I could tell her that she and Sam were clear to come home.”
Ric looked away. She didn’t want to rub his nose in the fact, but this investigation was dragging, and the security precautions were getting harder and harder to keep up.
“Tell your sister to stay away.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “Not much longer, I hope. But I don’t feel safe about you yet. In fact, I’d feel better if you’d agree to stay with me. It would make a lot more sense.”
Mia searched his face, looking for something new, some glimmer of tenderness, some indication that this was going somewhere. Once again, she didn’t find it. His invitation was based on logistics.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Ric.”
He watched her silently, but his face was impossible to read. He reached over and took the edge of her lab coat in his masculine fingers. Mia held her breath. He started to say something.
A rap on the window. Ric turned and pushed open the door.
“We need you out here, man,” Jonah told him.
“What happened?”
“Delmonico called. The plane just landed. Sounds like the shit’s about to hit the fan.”
After spending his afternoon with the rest of the task force getting his ass chewed up and spit out by practically everyone above him with a badge, Jonah had thought he was done with yelling for the day.
He’d been wrong.
Mia had worked up a head full of steam and was busy unleashing it at Ric as Jonah watched silently from his place beside her front door.
“I am not staying with you!”
“I didn’t like this arrangement before, and I like it even less now,” Ric said. “Pack up. We’re leaving.”
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Fine, I’ll do it.” Ric moved for the bedroom, and she caught his arm.
“Would you just listen a minute? I want to be at my house. Mine. Why is that so difficult all of a sudden?”
Ric rested his hands on his hips and shot an impatient glance at the ceiling. “How many times do I have to say it, Mia? The task force has been ‘redirected.’ That means shaken up. Blown apart. As in the surveillance team has packed up and gone. What is it you don’t get about that?”
“But why can’t someone just guard me here, like they have been?” She shot a hopeful look at Jonah, and he glanced away. He had no desire to get dragged into this.
“Jonah’s not available. Rey’s not available. And I’m fresh out of favors to call in, so your luck’s run out, babe. It’s down to me. Got it? Now, are you going to do the packing, or am I?”
Silence settled over the room, and Jonah wasn’t quite sure what to make of Mia’s open-mouthed expression.
“What did you just say?”
“What?” Ric, like Jonah, was clueless.
“You said you’re fresh out of favors?”
“That’s right.”
“Are you trying to tell me that Jonah and Rey have been staying here all week as a favor to you?” She shot Jonah a disbelieving look. “Jonah?”
He cleared his throat. “What’s that?”
“All this time, you haven’t been on the clock?” She looked at Ric, clearly horrified. “They aren’t even getting paid for this?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything! It was bad enough when I thought they were here as part of their job! You told me they were working. Why did you do that?”
Ric didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. It was obvious why he’d done it. She never would have agreed to let them stay otherwise. She might have even—
“All this time, I could have been at Scot
t’s!”
—gone back to the SEAL’s place.
“You never told me you forced them into this as some kind of favor!”
The front door opened, and Sophie slipped in, although Jonah was the only one to notice. She wore black jeans, black boots, and a low-cut black shirt that made his heart stutter. In her hand was a dry-cleaning bag.
She looked at Jonah. “You can hear them on the street, you know.” She eased the door shut and settled back beside him to watch. “So, what’d I miss?”
He focused his attention on the confrontation in the hallway. “Ric wants her at his place, she doesn’t want to go,” he said.
“Mia, I’m done arguing about this. The arrangement’s changed. Get over it.”
“I can’t believe you lied to me. Do you know how much that pisses me off?”
“No, and I don’t give a damn. Go get packed.”
Sophie clucked her tongue. “He’s gonna pay for that tonight.”
“Unbelievable! You can’t just come into my house and start telling me what to do. I live here. I’m staying here.”
“What the hell is wrong with you? I had no idea you could be so fucking childish.”
“I’m childish?”
“You’re acting like a spoiled brat. Do you have any idea the effort I’ve put into protecting you this week? Do you know why I did that? Do you have a goddamn clue?”
Mia stared at him, not answering.
“Carlos Garza, forty-two years old. Do you even know who that is?”
She looked confused.
“Franklin Michael Hannigan, sixty-one. How about him, Mia?”
She stepped back as if she’d been slapped.
“You remember him, right?”
“What are you trying to—”
“That’s two innocent people who have been in the wrong place at the wrong time who got taken out by this unidentified subject. Two. They were killed with the same gun”—he grabbed her arm and shook it—“that did this to you.”
Mia tried to pull away, but he didn’t let go.
“You think I want to find you in a ditch somewhere? Huh? Watch you get hauled away to the morgue? You think that wouldn’t cut me off at the knees, Mia? You think that wouldn’t ruin my fucking life?”
She stared up at him now, wide-eyed and shocked. Jonah and Sophie didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even breathe.
Ric dropped her arm and stepped back. He raked a hand through his hair, then glanced over his shoulder and seemed to realize he had an audience.
He turned back to Mia and took a deep breath. “Pack your things.” His voice was resolute. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
Mia stood paralyzed, staring at him. Finally, she murmured something and disappeared down the hall.
Evidently, Jonah could read minds, because after the scene at Mia’s, he invited Sophie out for a drink. She agreed to meet him at—where else?—El Patio.
“They didn’t have MGD Sixty-four, so I got you a Mich Ultra.” Jonah returned to their table and set the bottle in front of her.
“That works fine, thanks.”
“You know, they do have actual beer back there.” He jerked his head toward the bar. “I’m happy to go back if you get tired of carbonated water.”
She didn’t answer the jab but instead waited for him to sit down and get comfortable. She wasn’t sure it was possible, given that the chairs at their table were so very average-size, while he was so very not. But the Friday night crowd had already arrived, leaving them without a lot of seating options.
“How long have you known Ric?” Sophie asked him above the noise as she took a sip.
“’Bout two years, I guess. Since I joined the force.”
“Where were you before that?”
“Army,” he said. “Joined up straight out of school.”
Sophie looked him over. She should have guessed the military background. He kept his brown hair cut pretty short, and he had that certain way of carrying himself— not only the posture but also the confidence that went with it. Something in the plus column. He had some work to do, though, before he’d make up for all of the minuses he’d received from the incident with Mia’s panty drawer. He didn’t seem like a psycho-pervert, but you never knew. She’d learned years ago—when she’d first started performing, actually—to be very careful when it came to men. Even the normal-looking ones had their freakish sides.
“So, what do you think this is? With him and Mia?”
Jonah shifted in his chair, obviously not comfortable with this conversation.
“I mean, he seemed pretty intense back there. Is he always like that, or is it something special about her?”
Jonah shook his head. “You’d have to ask him that.”
“Oh, come on, I’m asking you.” She touched her bottle to his and made a clink. “You’re his friend. You should know these things.”
He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his meaty chest, and she knew she wasn’t going to get anywhere with this. Oh, well. She’d tried. He was clearly one of those guys who dispensed info on a need-to-know basis, and she was just being nosy.
Anyway, Sophie could draw her own conclusions. Her EQ was extremely high, and the emotion back at that house had been off the charts. There was going to be some serious cliff diving going on at Ric’s place tonight.
“How’d it go at the Coyote Lounge?” Jonah asked now.
Sophie smiled. “He changes the subject and shows off his elephant memory, all in one sentence. Very impressive.”
He took a sip of his Budweiser and waited.
“It was great, thanks for asking. We had a good crowd.”
“We?”
“Me and my band. I’ve got a drummer and a guitarist who back me up sometimes.”
“Only sometimes?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes it’s just me with my guitar. Depends on the venue, how intimate everything is.”
He nodded, and she wondered whether he was genuinely interested or just making conversation.
“Do you travel a lot or mostly do stuff around here?” he asked.
“I travel some. When I can get the time, you know? My day job at the Delphi Center is pretty demanding. But I really like singing, so it’s worth the effort to try to juggle both. Maybe someday I won’t have to.” He watched her eyes as she talked, and she got the impression that he was actually listening. That rarely happened to her, especially when she wore something with a low neckline.
“Do you like music?” she asked him.
“Honestly, I don’t know much about it.”
“You should come to a gig sometime. See what you think.” She started to tell him that she was singing tomorrow night, but a phone buzzed under the table.
He pulled out his cell and checked the screen. “Shit.” He glanced up. “Shoot. Sorry. I’ve got to take this. One second.” He stood up and stepped toward the patio, talking to someone as he went. Within minutes, he was back inside, and she could tell by his expression that their little cocktail hour had come to an end.
She stood up and collected her black overcoat. “Work, I’m guessing?”
“Sorry about this.” He helped her into her coat, and she gave him points for manners, even if he did have to leave abruptly. “It’s been one of those days. They need me to come in.”
“I should get home soon. I’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Actually, tomorrow night, but who cared? He wasn’t listening anyway but checking his watch.
“Thanks for the beer.” She started for the door, and he was right behind her, not quite touching her but not quite walking separately, either, as they crossed the bar.
He reached around and pushed the door open for her. A wall of cold hit them.
“Wow. Brrr.” She shivered, and he zipped up his jacket. It was leather, like Ric’s, only his was brown.
They started toward her SUV. “I didn’t get a chance to ask you what you were doing at Mia’s earlier,” he said.
&
nbsp; She shook out her keys. “Just dropping off something I borrowed. Why?”
“You remember what I told you?”
A black Audi pulled out of the lot, and she stopped to watch it.
“Sophie?”
“What?”
He was frowning at her now. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just—” She stared after the car. It had a Phish bumper sticker on it, just like a black Audi she’d noticed in Houston last weekend. It had been one of the few cars left in the lot after her gig.
Jonah glanced back over his shoulder. “What is it?”
“Nothing, it’s just … nothing. What were you saying?”
“I said, do you remember what I told you? About steering clear of Mia’s? You should still do that. Until we get an arrest in this thing.”
“When do you think that will be?” She stopped at her car and turned to look at him.
“Soon, I hope.”
“And what does that mean, exactly? Since I don’t speak cop.”
“It means I’ll let you know. Until then, be careful.” He took her keys from her hand, then popped the locks and opened the door for her.
“Careful, meaning … ?”
“Meaning use your head, Sophie. Don’t go to Mia’s. Don’t go to Ric’s. Until this is over, stay away from her.”
CHAPTER 23
Mia stared out the window of Ric’s truck, struggling to keep her emotions in check as he drove across town. Her mind was reeling—from his words, from their fight, from the undeniable reality that after months of her imagining it, this man was finally taking her home with him.
The reality wasn’t much like the fantasy.
In her fantasy version, they would have been out for a long, quiet dinner together. Over coffee or maybe drinks somewhere, he’d have given her one of his dark, seductive looks and suggested that they go back to his place, where he’d pull her into his arms the second they got inside the door.
But he hadn’t said a word to her since their fight in the hallway. And the hostility inside his truck was so thick she was having trouble imagining him even touching her, much less sweeping her off to bed. The dark looks were there, but they were far more angry than seductive, and she got the distinct impression that any attraction he might have felt for her was buried under a smoldering layer of fury.
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