Speak No Evil

by Allison Brennan

  Damn. Nick would make it up the stairs alone. Struggling the entire way. Making the situation worse, which would mean paying for it in the morning.

  “Thanks,” he managed to grunt out, taking the old man’s hand.

  Wrapping an arm around the colonel’s shoulders while the colonel supported his back, Nick made it up the stairs without incident. He unlocked the door with the key he’d been given, and faced the colonel, embarrassed.

  “Thank you,” he said clearly.

  “Anytime, son.” He clapped Nick on the back.

  Son.

  His own father had rarely called him son.

  For the second time in as many days, he’d felt more affection from a man he’d just met than he’d felt in a lifetime with his father.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  THE BRISK KNOCKING on the door woke Nick from a deep sleep. He sat up, trying to get his bearings. The Kincaid apartment. Right. Carina’s father had helped him up the stairs after their conversation.

  He ran a hand through his damp hair. He’d slept rough, the memories and nightmares weaving in and out, deserting him finally to give him two hours of heavy sleep. The clock read 8:30. He never slept that late. But after the colonel helped him up the stairs, they’d shared a couple shots of good whiskey, talked some more. Nick didn’t know if it was the colonel’s way of sizing him up for his daughter, or just because he was a guest at their house. But he’d enjoyed the company.

  Expecting to find Carina on the doorstep, he couldn’t hide his surprise when Dillon Kincaid stood outside with two tall mugs of coffee. He handed one to Nick. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” Nick stepped aside, sipped the coffee. “I guess I slept in. Did we have a meeting scheduled?”

  “No.”

  “Any word from Patrick about the MyJournal information?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “You know he’s going to kill again.” Nick pulled on a T-shirt and sat on a chair at the small table. He sipped the coffee; it was rich and spicy, and hit the spot.

  “If we don’t find him. Third time’s the charm—separates the standard killer from the serial killer. Angie, Becca, Jodi. I wish we had more evidence, but it looks like you and the rest of the team have been working virtually around the clock.” Dillon sat down across from him, sipped his own coffee.

  “I’d say yes, except you caught me sleeping in.” Nick played with the mug. “Why Becca?” he asked. “She doesn’t fit the profile.”

  “There’s definitely a connection, even if she doesn’t fit what we think is the profile. Becca didn’t have a MyJournal page, didn’t spend any time online that wasn’t related to school or e-mailing friends. But there is a connection between Becca and the killer, probably through the library. My biggest question right now is, why? Why did he go after Becca now? When we knew he had targeted Jodi.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Nick said.

  “You have a theory?”

  Nick paused to put together his thoughts. “You heard about the webcam in Jodi’s apartment, right?”

  Dillon nodded.

  “Patrick said it was installed Wednesday, late morning or afternoon. Which makes sense because we determined that the girls were out of the apartment at that time. Jodi’s window was unlocked. Whether she did it or the killer did it, we don’t know.”

  “Becca was abducted Wednesday night, not Jodi.”

  “Right. Why?”

  Dillon thought, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe he couldn’t get to Jodi.”

  “Exactly. Because she didn’t drink the right beverage. He drugged every open container. There were a couple of beer bottles and water bottles in the refrigerator, too. Untampered. Because if you pull out a beer bottle, open it, and it doesn’t make that whoosh sound of carbonation being released, you think there’s something wrong with it and you toss it, right?”

  “Sounds logical.”

  Nick leaned forward, on a roll. “So what if he’s watching her, sees that she takes the wrong drink? What’s his reaction?”

  “Anger. Frustration. She’s not playing along.”

  “Right. His first instinct?”

  “To prove he’s still in control.”

  “Which means that he takes the first girl he sees, someone he’s familiar with, at least on the surface.”

  “That’s reckless, and he’s been anything but reckless.”

  “Yes, but remember what you said the other day?” Nick asked. “That the killer was young? Immature was your exact word. When someone acts immaturely, they’re reckless. Make mistakes. Lash out. He’s an amateur. So he’s mad that Jodi didn’t drink a tainted beverage, and he looks up and sees Becca. He tells her about his dead cat.”

  “Matching the MO of Scout online.”

  “Exactly. Scout was at the library Wednesday night and because Jodi didn’t do what she was supposed to do, he took the first woman he could.”

  “Becca Harrison.”

  “The librarian said she’d been talking to him, friendly. He tells her about the cat, she feels sorry for him. Maybe looks at him and smiles, further egging him on. She doesn’t know it, she thinks she’s being nice and sympathetic. He leaves first, waits for her.”

  “But any number of things could have happened. Someone could have walked out with her. The library is on a busy street, anyone could have walked past.”

  “Yes, but Becca was in the parking lot in the back. More secluded. And if she wasn’t alone, he could have followed her, learned where she lived.”

  “Abducted her from her home, just like he did Angie and Jodi.” Dillon nodded. “I see what you’re getting at.

  “Crime of opportunity.”

  “But why watch the webcam from the library? That’s more dangerous than going home.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the thrill of being in public. Maybe he was working or going to work or school—”

  “And couldn’t get home between wherever he was and where he had to be,” Dillon suggested.

  “Any number of reasons.”

  “So, Jodi didn’t work out, and he kidnapped Becca instead.”

  “And he escalated, brought her closer to him so he could feel her die.”

  “And kidnapped Jodi at the first opportunity.”

  “Because she was his first choice.”

  Dillon and Nick realized they’d hit on something important, the reason Becca didn’t fit the victim profile. She was a spontaneous abduction.

  “Who’s next?” Nick asked.

  “I should be asking you. You could do my job.”

  “I don’t envy you. I had enough of serial killers in Montana to last a lifetime. We should bring Carina in, tell her our theory. We need to get back to the library, track down everyone who was there Wednesday night, or any other night Scout was there. Maybe between all the potential witnesses we can get a good physical description.”

  Dillon nodded. “I agree, but I didn’t come up here to talk about the case.”

  Nick raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “I had breakfast with my dad. He said your knee is giving you some trouble.”

  Embarrassment and a touch of anger washed over Nick. He didn’t like talking about his physical problems, and he hadn’t expected the colonel to talk about them, either.

  Dillon went on. “What happened?”

  “It’s nothing. I have medication, but I don’t like to take it.”

  “Medication is to mask the pain, not fix the problem.”

  “The problem isn’t fixable.”

  “I find that hard to believe.”

  “I didn’t know shrinks were also surgeons.” Damn, he sounded defensive. He didn’t mean to, he just didn’t feel comfortable talking to Carina’s brother about his limitations.

  “I was in sports medicine before Justin was murdered. I’d already finished med school at the time, so yeah, I guess you could say I have some experience with injuries, especially joints and muscles.”

  Nick didn�
��t say anything for a long minute. “I had surgery. It didn’t work the first time. I’m scheduled to go back next month, but I’m not holding out hope that it’ll work.”

  Dillon looked at his knees, nodded. Nick resisted the urge to cover his scars. And while he’d done everything he could to regain the weight he’d lost the past year, he was still twenty pounds short of his goal. His legs looked too skinny and damaged.

  “Surgery on both knees. I can see they went in aggressively.”

  “I had an infection, among other things, that weakened my joints. I now have septic arthritis.” He tried to laugh and make a joke. “Thought arthritis was only for old people.”

  “Septic arthritis is usually caused by physical damage that results in severely reduced blood flow for an extended period of time.” He paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.”

  Dillon nodded. “Well, if you ever want me to take a look, I’m still up to speed on sports injuries. Patrick played ball in college and considered me his personal physician.”

  “It’s not a sports injury.”

  “Same joints, same muscles. And you are human.”

  “That I’m well aware of.” Nick shifted in his seat. “Thank you for the offer. I probably won’t be around long enough, but I’ll let you know how the surgery goes.”

  Dillon stood, looked at him. “I hope you’ll keep in touch when this is all over.” He nodded at Nick’s empty mug. “My mom cooked enough to feed an army. I think she’s expecting you.”

  “I don’t want to put her out.”

  “She’d probably be more upset if you didn’t show up. Wouldn’t want her to think you didn’t like her cooking.”

  Dillon left and Nick buried his face in his hands. The upcoming surgery worried him. He wanted it to be a success, but the doctor had told him not to get his hopes up, that there was no guarantee his knees would ever get better.

  “Just do it, Doc. The earliest you can.”

  “March is the soonest. Don’t expect a miracle.”

  “It can’t get any worse.”

  “Don’t be so sure, Sheriff.”

  March first was two weeks away, the week before the filing deadline. He wanted to know the outcome of the surgery before he made a decision on running for sheriff again.

  It wasn’t fair to the people of Gallatin County if he couldn’t do the job.

  Jim woke Carina Saturday morning with a phone call. “Dr. Chen is coming in to handle Jodi Carmichael’s autopsy at eleven. Can you make it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Bringing the country sheriff with you?”

  “You have a problem with Nick?” She slid out of bed and went into the kitchen to start coffee.

  “No.” He paused. “He’s out of his jurisdiction. Don’t you think that’s a problem?”

  “He’s a sworn officer of the court, Jim. Why’s it a problem if he wants to spend his vacation helping us on this case? We have three dead girls, and he has experience with these types of cases.”

  “I know. I did a little research on him last night.”

  That irritated Carina. “What? You did a background check on him?”

  “Nothing that intensive. And I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “I did check into him.” While her coffee brewed, she opened the French doors that led to her wraparound deck.

  “How deep?”

  “I know about the serial killer in Bozeman. My partner and I discussed this already and decided to use Sheriff Thomas’s help. Why do you care? I’m not compromising the investigation.”

  “But what do you really know about him?”

  “He’s a good cop who caught a serial killer.”

  “Well, the FBI caught the serial killer. Your sheriff was kidnapped by him. Doesn’t sound like a competent cop to me.”

  “You don’t know what happened.”

  “It was all over the papers, Carina. Read between the lines.”

  “I don’t need to. I know what I need to know. Thanks for the heads-up on the autopsy. I’ll be there.” She hung up, frowning.

  She didn’t want to listen to Jim. She knew what she needed to know about Nick Thomas, and she was confident in her judgment. A little tickle in the back of her mind: why was Nick still here? His brother had been cleared of Angie’s murder; there was really no reason for him to stay.

  Except that the case had gotten to him. Just like it had her.

  But eventually, sooner rather than later, he’d be going back to Montana. She just didn’t want to think about it. She liked him, liked having him around, liked working with him.

  She went back inside, poured herself a cup of coffee, and took it with her to the shower.

  If she’d had her way, Nick would be in the shower with her right now. What had gone wrong last night?

  She had felt how much he’d wanted her. Maybe she’d pushed too much. And his knees—he’d been in pain half the night and hadn’t said anything. Why hadn’t she thought about that when she’d been thinking about taking him to bed?

  Nick was also a gentleman, and she had suggested they go upstairs. Above her parents’ house. Not smart, Kincaid.

  She’d never once asked any man to bed under her parents’ roof. In fact, when she’d lived in the apartment above the garage she’d never had a man over. It felt wrong, somehow. But that had completely slipped her mind when she’d been kissing Nick in the car. All she’d thought about was him, how much she wanted to make love to him. Common sense had disappeared.

  What was she doing even thinking about becoming involved with a man who wouldn’t be around? He would go back to Montana in a few days, maybe a week. Could she do that to herself? She’d never been able to have sex with someone and just walk away as if it meant nothing. She’d never wanted to have sex with a man she didn’t feel something special for.

  She shivered. The thought of Nick leaving made her uncomfortable. But wouldn’t that be best? Have a great, sexy affair, no strings attached?

  Was that what she wanted?

  She turned the shower off and grabbed her towel. She didn’t know what she wanted anymore, except somehow Nick had become involved in her life and she didn’t want to extract him. One day at a time. Close this case, have sex with Nick, then maybe she’d figure it all out.

  She wrapped the towel around her body and walked toward her bedroom.

  “Hey, sis.”

  She jumped, holding her towel tight, and twirled around. Her brother was standing in the kitchen, looking straight down the hall toward her. “Dillon Kincaid, you’re lucky I don’t have my gun.”

  “And you’re lucky I’m not an intruder. Taking a shower with the door unlocked?”

  She ignored the jibe. She’d forgotten to lock it when she came in from the porch. “Give me five minutes.”

  She dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt with “Beach Bum” stenciled in blue across the front. She wasn’t on duty and had already logged all the overtime hours she was going to get for the week, but since she was going down to the station to put in time on the three homicides and observe another autopsy, she holstered her gun and tossed a blazer over her shoulder.

  She went into the kitchen for a second cup of coffee and to find out why Dillon had stopped by.

  “You make great coffee, sis,” Dillon said, taking a sip. “Too bad it doesn’t extend to your cooking.”

  “Tirón,” she mumbled. Jerk.

  Dillon grinned.

  “Did you stop by just to annoy me?”

  “I had breakfast with Mom and Dad and thought I’d stop by and tell you Andrew and I are petitioning Judge DuBois at noon to obtain a warrant for IP addresses that match the ones on the MyJournal list.”

  “DuBois? That’s good. She’ll give it to you—wait! Are you saying Patrick had a breakthrough? Why didn’t he call me?”

  “Not yet, but he’s close and didn’t want to have to drag a judge out in the middle of the night. He called me because I’m going at it from a psychiatr
ic angle—that the killer is going to strike again based on what we know, and that obtaining the private information of citizens who may not be involved in order to learn the identity of the killer is essential to protecting the public, yada yada. DuBois will give it to us, but we have to jump through the right hoops. If we get the warrant thrown out after an arrest, I don’t have to tell you how screwed we are. We’ll get the warrant, then it’s all up to Patrick.”

  “I owe him one. He’s been pulling all-nighters for me.”

  Dillon drained his coffee and put the mug in the sink. “I saw Sheriff Thomas over at the house. I’m surprised he’s stayed on.”

  “Why?”

  “He’s a sheriff, for one. He has a busy job.”

  What was she supposed to say? She’d been wondering about the same thing just this morning.

  “Have you noticed any physical limitations?”

  “You mean his knees.”

  Dillon nodded. “You know he had surgery.”

  “He told me.”

  “Be careful. He’s not Will.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Will has your back, and he’s capable of covering it. Sheriff Thomas isn’t even officially involved in the case, and he’s not your partner.”

  “I think you’re worrying about nothing.”

  “I hope.”

  “What’s all this dumping on Nick?” She put her own mug in the sink. “I get a call from Jim and he’s all uppity about him.”

  “Jim’s jealous.”

  “He has nothing to be jealous about. We broke up over a year ago.”

  “It’s a guy thing.”

  “Guy thing. Right.” She took a brush from her purse and pulled it through her hair. “Nick has been an asset on this case. You said so yourself.”

  “I agree. He has a sharp mind. He has a theory about the killer that I think is right on the money.”

  “Why’d he share it with you and not me?”

  “Because I was there and we were bouncing ideas back and forth. I hadn’t intended to talk about the case. He thinks the killer planned to kidnap Jodi on Wednesday night, after he planted the webcam in her kitchen, but she didn’t drink the drugged beverages. He grew angry and grabbed someone else.”