"Violet?" The concern in Jake’s question almost pushed her over the edge.
"I’m sorry," she managed, her voice sounding choked to her own ears. She took another drink and Jake refilled the glass.
"Do you want to talk about her?" he asked softly.
God, did she want to…it had been so long since she had talked to anyone about Daisy. She could hardly remember her face anymore and that terrified her. Grandma June knew better than to bring her up. Todd asked her once about family and Violet had simply told him that she had none. It was easier than explaining what happened all those years ago.
She lifted her eyes to Jake, a look of seriousness and true interest in his face. It would be so easy to spill her past, lean on his ample shoulders. She'd been alone for so long. Grandma June offered much-needed support, but for the last few years, she'd been so frail, it was Violet who held her up.
"I-it’s…nothing. I’d rather not talk about it." There went the protective shield, locking into place, not letting anyone in. Not letting anyone close. Jake accepted her response without question. Paulo delivered their meals and left after making sure they had all they needed.
Violet pushed her food around the plate, lost in thoughts of the past. After watching her for a while, Jake placed his fork on the table and grasped her hand.
"Why don’t you tell me about her?" he asked softly.
It was almost her undoing. She stared at their entwined hands. Finally, "I’d like to, but not now. Not here."
"Okay." They finished dinner and passed on dessert. Jake paid the bill and they stepped out into the frosty night.
"You’ve had a rough couple of days. I probably pushed it asking you to dinner. I’m sorry."
Violet faced him and realized he was concerned about her. She'd become silent after admitting she wanted to talk about her sister. He must think her silence meant she was still upset over the murders—and she was, no question about it. But she'd been trying to decide what to tell him about her sister.
"I’m the one who's sorry. I’ve been a terrible companion tonight. Maybe you should just take me home." She fought the surge of disappointment at his nod. He remembered the way to her house without asking directions and the drive passed in silence. He parked in her driveway and walked her to the door. She turned to him.
"Would you like to come in for coffee?"
Jake studied Violet for a moment and slowly nodded in response to her question. "I’d love coffee."
She didn’t even realize she had been holding her breath.
"I also want to check all your locks," he added. He followed her in and paused as she hugged Zeus. The dog started to bark when he saw a large shape behind her but quickly recognized Jake and his growl turned into a whine. He loped over and jumped up to be petted.
Jake ruffled his ears. "Hey there, boy. You are one handsome dog." Jake glanced at Violet. "Not supposed to tell a dog he is handsome?"
"No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…Zeus has never reacted that way to a stranger."
"We’re not strangers, are we, buddy?" Jake continued scratching the dog’s ears. Zeus’ tongue lolled out the side of his mouth. He was clearly in doggy Heaven.
"He responded the same way to you the first time he met you. He never warms up to any man. He might put up with them, eventually, but he has never acted the way he does with you." Violet watched Zeus leap and clamor for Jake’s attention. Then he flopped to the ground and rolled over, his arms and legs flaying, begging to have his tummy rubbed. Jake complied.
Violet believed dogs had a sixth sense about people. Mama wouldn’t let them have pets growing up but Violet used to play with other dogs in whatever neighborhood they were in at the time. She loved Grandma June’s poodle, Max. Dogs seemed to like her and she thought maybe they could sense that she was a good person. From the beginning, her own sixth sense told her Jake was different. She just knew it, felt from the first time she saw him. Zeus must have picked up on it too.
Jake smiled and Violet realized she just stood there with her coat on, staring. Shaking her head to clear her wayward thoughts, she shrugged out of her parka and deposited it in the closet by the door. "How do you like your coffee?"
"Black."
Violet retreated to the kitchen to gather the beverages and control her overwhelming emotions. She collected mugs and a tray while the French roast brewed and opened a package of her favorite: Oreos. Arranging a handful on a small plate, she added the coffee when it finished brewing. Entering the living room, she noticed Jake had turned on the gas fireplace and Zeus was curled up with his head in Jake’s lap. Jake was absently stroking him.
She set the tray down quickly so he wouldn’t notice her hands shaking. Handing him a steaming mug with a picture of the Greek god Apollo—fitting she thought—she spooned sugar into her mug before taking a seat in the chair next to the couch. She was so very tempted to push Zeus off the couch and cuddle into his spot next to Jake. But she didn’t know him well enough, even if every cell in her body screamed to just do it.
"You have a solid lock on the front door," he informed her, "but a couple of your window latches are broken and your back door could be picked by any hack."
"I’ve never really needed tight security," she said. "I don’t exactly live in a hot-bed of criminal activity."
"Any single woman living alone needs to take proper security precautions, whether living in New York City or Nowhere, Montana." Violet dropped her gaze, duly chastised. "I’ll have a security system installed tomorrow."
Annoyed at his authoritative tone, Violet snapped, "I can take care of it myself."
"I’m sure you can," he agreed easily. "But I’ll handle it."
Violet wanted to argue, but she just didn’t have the strength. She was still dealing with memories of her sister.
"Let me do this for you, Violet," he said softly. "I’ll sleep easier. And like I said earlier, I'm in the business so I have contacts."
It was the caring tone that did her in and she conceded. "I would appreciate it," she murmured.
They chatted and watched the fire for a while and then Jake said, "You have to be exhausted. You've had an emotional couple of days. I’m going to leave so you can get some sleep. Thank you for a wonderful evening."
"If this was a wonderful evening," she scoffed, following him to the door, "I would hate to see a bad one. I was a horrible companion and I apologize."
Jake wheeled around so fast she let out a little shriek and almost ran right into him. His arms shot out to steady her. "Any time spent in your company is wonderful to me." He bent down to kiss her, his lips searching, warm as they smothered hers with demanding mastery. Spirals of ecstasy shot through her, and she felt her knees weaken. Too quickly, much too quickly, he ended the contact.
Breathing hard, he stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire. She met his gaze, silently conveying her interest. She wanted him to take her in his strong arms again and kiss away all the pain and nightmares. She wanted to forget about everything but his lips on hers, his hands caressing her body.
"Good night, Violet."
#
Jake managed to walk to the car and get in, barely, which was tough to do when his lower body was currently the consistency of granite. What he really wanted to do was march back into the house, pick Violet up like a caveman, carry her into the bedroom and bury himself inside her. If he hadn’t left when he did, that’s exactly what he would've done. From the way she responded to his kiss, he knew she would've been a willing participant. But what kind of man took advantage of a woman weakened by obviously painful memories?
Some men might've taken her invitation to mean more than just a hot beverage, but Violet wasn’t the kind of woman to jump into the sack with a stranger. He knew that about her. As much as he’d love to get her in bed, he would never rush her.
Jake hadn’t felt this way about a woman for a long time: the overwhelming urge to protect her, erase her pain, lose himself inside her. But he needed to be
very careful. He didn’t want to lead her on, promise something he couldn’t deliver.
He thought back to their dinner conversation, focusing on when the evening took a turn for the worse. Siblings. A simple question of brothers and sisters brought that look of desolation, of utter sadness to her face. He wondered if something happened to her sister, if maybe she were dead. He felt horrible for extinguishing the light that shone in her earlier in the evening. He'd racked his brain to come up with something to distract her from her painful memories. He needed to switch the light back on inside her.
Scrubbing a hand over his face, he started the car. He waved at the passing police car patrolling her neighborhood and drove to his hotel. He tried to forget the image of Violet staring up at him, the glow from the soft porch light making her unusual purple-blue eyes shimmer. She'd seemed almost ethereal. Beautiful and delicate.
The windshield wipers swiped at the fat white flakes tumbling carelessly from the sky. Tire tracks marred a thin layer of snow coating the road. He had to get thoughts of Violet off his mind. He was here for a reason, a very serious and deadly reason. They had to stop this maniac before he killed again. He had a backseat full of notes to go over tonight. He’d best forget about Violet Anastasia and concentrate on his purpose for being in Vermont.
CHAPTER 10
January 11
With a deep breath, Maya lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders and strode into the conference room like she owned it. She refused to let Nick Turner know how much his date with the office whore Lacey Crane affected her. And it had affected her. Too much. In fact, she lost all respect for him that he would fall for Lacey’s overt sexuality. And what really stung is that if Lacey and her fake boobs hadn’t interrupted, he had been about to kiss her again.
She glanced around the room. Jake Kincaid was sipping coffee while he spoke on his cell. Milt and Vic were engrossed in a serious discussion; Arch reviewed a pile of notes. No sign of Nick. Lacey probably wore him out last night, if the gossip regarding her skills were accurate. Maya ruthlessly fought down the jealously that threatened to overwhelm her. She was a cop, dammit. She could handle anything.
Padding over to the coffee maker, she poured a cup and refilled Jake’s when he held his empty mug out to her. He mouthed thank you and continued with his conversation. Maya had just pulled out a chair when Nick strode in and made a beeline for the coffee pot. He didn’t even glance her way.
#
As Jake waited for the entire task force to gather, his cell phone rang.
"Kincaid."
"Jake, it’s Jon Kilter. I’ve worked up a preliminary profile."
"That was quick. Thanks…I know you put a rush on it."
"Yeah, well, the sooner this sick bastard is off the streets, the better."
"Couldn’t agree more."
Jon gave him a quick rundown on the suspect. Jake hung up as the fax rang once and then started spitting out pages.
"That was Jon Kilter, one of our top profilers," he told the assembled crew. "He's compiled a profile from the first two murders and then tweaked it to include the latest."
Turner handed Jake the stack of faxes and he quickly scanned them.
"I’ll start with the basics, which you all probably already know. There are some general characteristics of serial killers. The vast majority, over ninety percent, are male. The typical killer is a white male, between the ages of 25-35. Most tend to be intelligent and come from markedly unstable families. They are commonly abused as children, often by a member of their own family. This abuse is psychological, physical or sexual, or a combination of all three. Most may have attempted suicide at some point in their lives. The killer's victims are usually of the same type or have similar attributes in general age, look, etc. The killer may not even know the victims, or harbor any hatred for them personally, but they are symbolic to him in some way. Most stick to roughly the same modus operandi but may alter it with experience. The motivation for serial killers is the need to kill, fueled by long-building fantasies. Most will keep killing until they are caught, die or are killed themselves. Those are just some broad characteristics."
He flipped a page. "Jon feels our killer is organized, highly intelligent and socially capable. He holds a steady job and interacts normally with his coworkers. He has a fixation on one specific woman and acts out his sexual fantasies on women who resemble her. He was most likely abused as a child by a female close to him: mother, step-mother, sister, cousin. At the time of the abuse, the woman was between the ages of 20-30, with long dark hair." Jake paused as a wave of panic hit. Violet. He forced his thoughts away and continued.
"It's possible the woman wore sexy lingerie, which is why he dresses his victims after the murder. Or it could be that he was made to wear the lingerie, which might explain the brand he marks the women with. He may even have endured the same brand. It's entirely possible he could have been taunted with the word "queer", either from his effeminate looks or mannerisms. He acts out a sex-murder fantasy, possibly one he played over and over in dreams when he was younger, fulfilling it now that he is an adult. From the violence of the murders, the unsub sees himself as dominant and controlling to these women, something he wasn't when he was being abused. He is the one in charge this time."
Jake paused and took a drink from a bottle of water. "Jon feels that judging from the efficiency of the kills and the fact that he leaves absolutely no clues behind, this is definitely not his first spree. It's possible we haven't found any similar crimes with the poem aspect because that is the first time he's used them." Jake suppressed a shudder as he read the next paragraph. "It is possible he's fixated on Ms. Anastasia as the target, and the fact that her name is Violet would explain why he uses poems with her name." He could literally feel his heart pounding but tried to concentrate. "Our killer personalizes the victims and most certainly keeps some kind of souvenir or record of his victims: a photograph, newspaper clipping, something to remember them by."
#
He was getting restless. Once the fever gripped him, he was unstoppable. He couldn’t sit still, he couldn’t focus. His blood pulsed through his veins, his heart pounded. He felt wired, alive. He needed to feed the fever. He had his next victim in sight, her poem constructed. He just had to wait for the right time. Everything had to be perfect.
Did the cops know it would happen tonight? Had they figured out a timeline? Probably not. They were too stupid. None of them came close to his intelligence. Not even that tough former FBI Special Agent who thought he knew everything.
Guess what Jake Kincaid, this is one case you will never solve.
The killer threw back his head and roared with laughter.
#
Jake flipped up his collar and dipped his head against the chilly breeze. The inky sky cast a dark shadow over the evening. Light ricocheted off the snow from the street lights and glowed warmly from the old iron lantern attached to Violet’s house. His feet left imprints in the dusting of snow as he navigated her walkway.
He'd stopped by earlier while the technicians installed the new security system. The model was state of the art and would automatically alert the police if someone tried to break in. Sensors were attached to every window as well. He felt better knowing she would have this added layer of protection from the madman on the loose. He probably didn’t need to see her as often as possible to protect her now that the system was installed, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to be with her. And he did need to be with her tonight…the killer was scheduled to strike again.
He'd called earlier to let her know he was bringing dinner. Zeus’s loud bark penetrated the door as he rang the bell. He hoped the dog had forgiven him for locking him in the mud room while the crew installed the alarm.
He swung his gaze around while he waited, examining the other houses in the area. Most were small but well maintained. When the snow melted, he could picture tidy green lawns lined with bursts of colorful flowers. Down the street a solitary basketball goal stood
silent sentry over a park equipped with swing sets and monkey bars, just waiting for spring to arrive. It was the kind of neighborhood any kid would love to grow up in: a quiet street where you could ride bikes or skateboard, big yards to play baseball or football, stately trees to climb. It reminded him of his childhood and a pang of longing hit him low in the gut. He hadn’t thought of the old hood in years. His parents still lived in the same house, though they now spent several weeks a year travelling in the big motor home they gave each other as a retirement gift.
The door flung open, jarring him from his recollections. Jake turned, almost dropping the boxes. All he could do was stand in the frosty winter air and stare, his heart beating dangerously fast. He's was going to have to get that checked out when he returned home. Violet looked incredibly beautiful, the light behind her outlining her like a halo. With a dazzling smile, she grabbed the pizza from his grip and the only thing going through his mind was that he was in deep trouble here.
#
Violet tried not to ogle Jake as he stepped inside, shook the snow from his coat and stomped his feet on her mat. He toed off his boots, slipped off his jacket and hung it on the hook like he'd been doing it forever. Zeus clamored for his attention, all but knocking him over in his eagerness.
"Any trouble with the alarm?"
So engrossed in her perusal, she almost didn’t hear his question. She shook her head. "Except for the box on the wall, I couldn’t even tell anyone had been here. How much do I owe you?"
"We’ll worry about that later," he said, straightening. "Did you change the code?" Zeus wiggled back and forth, howling with displeasure at losing his tummy massage.
"First thing," she confirmed, reciting the new sequence.
He nodded, committing the number to memory. "Good. Give it to no one else but me. I’ll show you the basics." He moved to the compact box near the door and explained the general features. He punched a sequence of numbers. The screen displayed numerous green dots. "This shows all the devices attached to every door and window on this floor," he punched another, "and upstairs. If one of the units is compromised, the dot will flash red letting you know the point of entry." He went on to explain what to do in several different scenarios. "If the alarm is engaged, it will immediately notify the police department. If it is a false alarm, you need to hit this button within ten seconds or cars will be sent. There is another box just like this one at the top of the stairs, so you should be able to reach one of the devices in that amount of time."
Violets Are Blue Page 10
