The older rubbed a hand over his mustache, his eyes trained on the woman kneeling next to the body. “That’s so? Who’s the lady?”
“That’s Dr. Julia Bellows. She’s the FBI’s leading forensic pathologist. She’ll be taking the body from here.”
“Now how do you even know this is your case?” The younger, more belligerent local asked, as he crowded Julia where she leaned over the victim.
Malachi had seen his type before. Most of the police officers they dealt with were happy for the help, but every once in a while one would be territorial. They didn’t need this now.
“Malachi...” He turned toward Julia, momentarily ignoring the locals. “Look.”
She pointed to the street sign behind him. The crossroads with the address they’d been given. Alexandra Avenue.
His blood chilled, and he glared at first the sign then the locals. “This is our guy. Be thankful he’s not yours.”
Chapter Forty-Three
* * *
Jules prepped the victim for transport then sent him to her lab, under strict instructions that he was to take top priority. She’d worked a twelve hour shift already, and knew she couldn’t give the victim the attention he needed. Mia had agreed to come back in and handle the preliminaries so that Jules could start on the victim first thing in the morning.
Alexandra Avenue. Meredith Drive. Who was next? And what did it mean? Was the chessmaster jerk taunting Malachi, telling him that sooner or later one of the victims would be someone Malachi loved?
Playing on Malachi’s biggest fears.
Malachi was a protector down to the very bone marrow that held up that toned, muscled body of his—especially of the women in his life. That was just the way he was. He did it to her all the time. Tightening her scarf, pulling her hat down on her head, putting his body between hers and the locals when they’d walked to the scene. He did it automatically—to her, to Georgia, Ana, Al. He just did it. He wasn’t sexist—he had more women on his team than any other in PAVAD and he had no sexist attitudes that she’d ever seen—but those women closest to him he protected. With everything he had.
Did the UNSUB know that? Was that why it had been the names of his mother and sister as street names? What kind of UNSUB would have gotten close enough to Malachi to know just how to push those buttons?
Malachi had called Sebastian Lorcan once they were back in the SUV; requesting that a detail be added to Al, as well. Just as a precaution. Jules was certain his sister didn’t like the idea, but she understood why he’d do it.
Family was something you protected.
And her family was a child.
But what could she do to protect Ruthie? And would the little girl even be a target? She’d reviewed the files—none of the UNSUB’s victims had been children. It probably didn’t make much difference, but she had needed to know. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change, and go after a child close to Malachi or Malachi’s family. And that would be Ruthie, simply because Meredith watched Ruthie while Jules worked.
How long would this last? How long must they be triply vigilant? Weeks, months? Until Malachi—or someone—caught the chessmaster. If they ever did.
How was she supposed to protect Ruthie in the meantime?
***
Malachi was in the center of the bullpen, orchestrating the agents who had still been in the building when they’d arrived with the body.
His sister, Paige—both of them could work the case, but not be forerunners. It was a sticky kind of point legally to have victims and relatives of victims working the cases. Jules got around this by having Mia present to back up any findings she made.
Malachi was using Hell as the official lead on the case.
Iffy, but it was what they had to do.
The rest of the crew included Georgia and Hell, Sebastian and Carrie Lorcan, Dan Reynolds...and Evan Stephenson.
Jules forced herself not to flinch.
From what rumor had it, Evan was ten times better at his job—and one hundred times saner—than his father had been.
Now was not the time for her chickenshit hang-ups where Evan was concerned.
She hopped up on the desk farthest from the action—Georgia’s—and watched the people around her work. Watched Malachi. She knew almost down to the second when he realized she was in the bullpen. His attention was pulled toward her, and he looked at her a lot.
Had anyone else noticed?
Sudden self-consciousness hit her. She didn’t want paired off with him in anyone’s mind, but it had already happened. She just knew it. Now she had to decide what to do about it.
Chapter Forty-Four
* * *
He was settled at his desk with a glass of wine and his laptop open before him. The screen light was the only light in the dim room. Dr. Julia Bellows was outlined on the monitor as she relaxed in a nice hot bath. The girl child was settled into her bed after her foster mother had fed her dinner.
No, Julia was alone now. And relaxing. He relaxed in his desk chair, preparing to study the woman who had captured the lust and possible love of one Malachi P. Brockman.
She’d slipped the blouse from her shoulders, her back to the camera as she did so. He found his breath catching in his throat as he waited for her to turn around. For him to finally see what it was that had so captivated Malachi. As if they were somehow connected, she turned. Faced him fully, wearing nothing but her trousers and bra.
The bra was next to go, and he took his time enjoying the sight of her. Her breasts were smallish but high and round. He zoomed the camera in closer, surprised and pleased to see the tiny butterfly tattoo on her skin. It spoke of a hidden wild side that he would admit fascinated him. She was exquisite. Perfect. There was no spare ounce of fat on the woman’s body, and he found that infinitely attractive. He admired perfection.
He wanted his hands on those breasts, his mouth on them.
He had not had such strong feelings of physical lust for a woman in years. Her hands were graceful as she finished undressing and he wondered briefly if she’d taken a few years of dance lessons. She was quite elegant in her naked state, and he found that fascinating. He could watch her indefinitely.
Maybe he would.
Her legs were toned and her buttocks the perfect heart-shape that many men favored. Pity she hid it under those bulky trousers.
Dr. Julia Bellows also favored stockings and garter belts beneath her clothes.
He straightened in his chair, hand going to his zipper to readjust himself when the scraps of fabrics were revealed.
She wore the tiniest pair of dark panties that he suspected were black to match the garters. Had she worn them for Malachi? Or for herself? Did they make her feel sexy and wanton? She removed the garters in the sexiest striptease he’d ever been privileged to witness.
He was quite disappointed when she climbed into her tub and slid beneath the frothy bubble bath.
A woman like her, with a body like that, was meant to be revealed to only a privileged man.
Malachi Brockman should not be that man.
No, that privilege should be all his.
He leaned back in his chair and stroked himself as he imagined what he would do once he had her.
But first, he would toy with Malachi a bit…
Chapter Forty-Five
* * *
The file was waiting on Malachi’s desk when he arrived at PAVAD the next day. Inside it was every detail about the Jane and John Doe brought in the previous day.
He’d speculated that the male victim would be reported missing by his female love interest. That wasn’t the case in this instance.
Because the man’s wife was the female victim.
He’d never taken two victims together before. But then again, he’d never killed in the same manner twice, either.
A chess piece—black pawn—had been found in the man’s underwear when Mia Ripley had removed the victim’s clothing.
The white pawn and a black pawn, the woman f
ound on Meredith Drive, the man Alexandra Avenue. The woman dark haired, small-statured. The man, Malachi’s size and general build and coloring. They had one child, a five-year-old blonde girl. The woman was a physician, the man a psychiatrist with a private practice in Chesterfield.
The similarities between the victims and him and Julia were forefront in his mind.
Where was she today? Was it her day off? He sent her a quick text. Her reply came two minutes later, and was full of irritation. No, it was still early for Julia to be in. She normally came in by ten, and it was only nine. She was probably just getting Ruthie dressed...
He could almost imagine the scene. Julia fixing breakfast while dressed in a frilly pink robe—the same one he’d seen hanging in her bathroom—and Ruthie slurping back cereal milk. The only thing missing from that picture was...
Him.
He felt a longing so deep it actually hurt him.
He knew where he wanted to be.
His phone pinged, indicating an email. He glanced at it, not recognizing the return address. But he recognized the attachment. The woman in the attachment was half-naked, turned toward the camera, hand at her waist to remove the trousers she wore. His gaze latched on to the tiny tattoo he’d seen one time in South Dakota.
The pink frilly robe hung on the door behind her.
He cursed, and grabbed his desk phone, dialing the number he’d just texted.
“Julia? Stay home. I’ll be right there. And make sure your doors are locked.”
Chapter Forty-Six
* * *
She put the phone down on the counter, and grabbed her keys. The tiniest key fit the gun safe by her bed. It was there she headed next. Ruthie was absorbed in her morning PBS show—one of the few shows she was allowed to watch—and wasn’t paying too much attention to what Jules was doing.
Just as well.
She checked the weapon, making sure it was loaded properly, and in safety. She wasn’t taking any chances, not with her little girl around.
But she felt better with the weapon strapped to her waist.
What had happened that had him so tense? She flicked back the kitchen curtain; her security detail was still camped out on the street corner—probably pretty darned cold. But they were there.
The rest of the house was undisturbed.
Had something happened to Al or Paige? Ed or...Georgia and Matthew?
She couldn’t sit and relax, instead pacing up and down the small hallway that connected the kitchen to the bathroom.
How long was it going to take him to get there anyway? How long was she supposed to wait until she got some answers? Jules sucked at waiting; didn’t he know that?
Finally, she heard a vehicle in the driveway. She checked at the curtain.
He met her at the door. He came in with purpose, pulling his hat and gloves—probably made by his mother—off and tossing them on her counter as he did so. “Inside.”
“I’m inside. What’s going on?” She closed the door behind him.
“Ruthie, baby, I’m going to take your Momma into the other room and have some grown-up talk, ok? There’s going to be a red-haired lady come inside to sit with you for a few minutes, ok? She’s been out in the snow for a long time, and I bet she’d love to sit inside and drink chocolate milk with you for a little while, don’t you?”
Whatever had happened, he was bringing Agent Edmond to sit with Ruthie. Something had happened, then. Jules’ breath caught. “Georgia? Mattie?”
He held up a hand. “They’re fine, sweetheart.”
They went to her bedroom. With her home’s open floor plan, there was no place else she felt there was good enough privacy. “What in hell is going on?”
“This.” He was looking for something, and Jules took the phone he handed to her. Looked at the screen. She squealed when she saw the image.
“How? When? Oh my god, he’s been in my house!”
“Yes, he has.” His words were grim as he poked in every corner of her bedroom. It was the one room she’d decorated fully, and that she retreated to when she just needed to be with her own thoughts.
He found something in her copy of A Lot Like a Lady, a Regency she’d not yet had a chance to read, and brought the book to her. “I spoke with Marianna; she’s sending Cody and Kelly Reynolds over to check the entire house—it’s their day off, and Ed authorized the overtime. I thought you’d be more comfortable with keeping this as quiet as possible.”
“So one in my bedroom and one in my bath. Where else? Ruthie’s room? Oh, God.” A madman had been in her home. Possibly in Ruthie’s room. He really was targeting her.
“We’ll check. He had to know we’d find these. This one especially was too easy to find. When were you planning to read that book?”
“This weekend. I have three days off, and was planning on relaxing for once.” So much for that.
“How long has this book been on this shelf right here?” It was right by her door, where she’d sat it the day it had arrived.
“Two weeks or so. It came on a Saturday, but I didn’t open it until late that night. I put it on the shelf with the others I received that day. I order books once a month online, then read them on my days off. So he’s been here sometime between yesterday and the first Sunday I went to church with you.” Almost three weeks ago.
“Yes.” He wrapped strong hands around her shoulders and pulled her to face him. “You’re coming home with me. Between Mick, Al, and your detail, I think that is the safest option. Go pack you and Ruthie some things. We’ll drop them off on our way to my parents.”
She didn’t argue. The picture of her, naked, was still on the screen of his phone. Had she ever felt that violated? “He’s a watcher, isn’t he?”
“Yes. I think so. I never put it together before, but what if he watches his victims for a few days? The victims yesterday? Married couple. With a small blonde daughter. He had to watch them for a while—or at least one of them—in order to find people that resembled what he was looking for. Us.”
“So chances are good he’s been watching you for a long, long time.” She shivered and surprised them both by wrapping her arms around his waist. He held her against him for a long time. “He’s someone close. Close to you. I don’t think this is just some random guy you’ve arrested.”
He stilled, then held her tighter. “What do you mean?”
“I think...this is someone who knows you. And knows you well. Someone who knew you’d make this very move. Someone’s playing you, because he knows just how to do it. Knows exactly how to make you tick. I think he’s someone you’d probably consider a friend...and this city has become the board.”
***
She surprised him with how docilely she followed his orders—for once. The photo had disconcerted her far more than he’d expected, and he shamelessly took advantage of it.
She grabbed her ready bag, and a laundry basket. Threw things in it haphazardly. She grabbed a second one and headed into Ruthie’s room. Emptied the little girl’s dresser drawers into the second basket. The last thing she grabbed was the bedding off the tiny daybed. And the half-dozen stuffed animals that had been on the blanket were piled on top. “I’m ready. Let’s go. I have twenty minutes before I need to be at PAVAD.”
Malachi understood what she wasn’t saying. She was putting her trust in him, and he felt every bit of that weight. He wouldn’t fail them.
He and Agent Richards carried the baskets to the back of the Bureau SUV. He’d be ferrying Julia and Ruthie anywhere they needed to go until they caught the bastard, but he’d have an agent take her car to PAVAD and secure it there.
Forty minutes later they’d safely turned Ruthie over to Malachi’s mother, and he was in the CCU bullpen, catching everyone else up to speed.
Julia had scurried away to her sanctuary in the annex the minute they’d entered the building, and Malachi understood.
She needed normal, and for her, cutting up the dead was normal.
“She ok?” Hellb
rook asked when they had a moment of privacy.
“It terrified her. Violated her. When she’s had a bit more time to think it through, it will piss her off.” Scared, raw, and then angry—that was how she dealt with things.
“Poor Jules. She keeps drawing the short straw, doesn’t she?”
“Not any longer.” He would make damned sure of that.
“So it blows that way, does it?” Hell laughed, tapped against Malachi’s desk. “Kind of suspected back at Thanksgiving.”
“Gloating, my friend?” Hadn’t they had this conversation before?
“Just appreciating. And empathizing. I’ve been there, remember?”
Yes, Hell had. “Right in the middle of chasing a madman, even. I just want to catch this guy, get it over with, then focus on other things.” He thought of how Ruthie had silently accepted the change they’d thrust on her this morning. How much fear she was probably feeling. “Important things.”
“Like your woman and her kid. Strange parallels, my friend.”
And Jules had been a target of Hell’s madman, too. “Any pointers?”
Hell turned serious. “What did you do?”
“Told her how I felt. Showed her how I felt.” It felt awkward talking about Julia with the other man. Malachi wasn’t one to share his feelings freely, even with those he considered his closest friends.
But Hellbrook was one of her friends, too, and was in the unique position of being married to her closest friend—a woman whose background was similar to Julia’s. If anyone could help him figure Julia out, it would be Hell.
“And she’s not interested.”
“Not exactly. I think she is interested. But she’s also remarkably leery about it. And who can blame her? It’s not like now is a good time for anything. I’m trying to catch a serial killer who has targeted me. She’s trying to bond with Ruthie. Neither one of us has the time to even blink at each other in passing. So why?”
HUNTING (PAVAD) Page 16
