by Gina LaManna
“You didn’t help him out?”
Jack gave me a quizzical look. “He’s an FBI agent. He can handle himself. Plus, I had somewhere far more important to be than showing Brody around.”
“In that case,” I said, “let’s get inside and have some pizza.”
“I had other plans.”
I unlocked the door, feeling Jack press closely against me as we made our way inside. The second we stumbled through the door, I tossed the salad on the table in the entryway. The pizza followed a similar fate, and I was pretty sure the breadsticks ended up on the shoe rack.
Jack wrapped his arms around me as I disentangled myself from my gun and locked the door behind us.
“I missed you,” he said. “How long’s it been?”
“A couple of weeks,” I said as his mouth connected with mine. “It did seem like a long time.”
Jack and I fumbled our way into the living room, but that was as far as we made it. A trail of my clothes led from the doorway to the couch, and Jack’s shirt had been flung in the direction of the television. It wasn’t long before we both lay on the couch under a blanket, hosting a heated argument over who should be the one to get up and get the pizza.
Jack finally caved, pushing himself off the couch with an exaggerated huff of exertion. Even though I was the sort of woman to look at men as potential murderers instead of eye candy, there was something very appealing about watching Jack as he moved across the room.
He moved with a grace and poise that told a careful observer about the many years he’d spent perfecting his physical fitness. With no shirt in the way, it was easy to admire the contours of his arms. Even his back was muscular in the way that could only happen when someone took exceptionally great care of their physical fitness.
Jack slipped on a pair of jeans over his boxers. I heard a few curse words as he hunted around in the entryway for any edible remnants of our dinner.
“The salad fell off the table,” he said apologetically. “And there’s only one breadstick left in the box.”
“No loss there,” I said. “The pizza?”
“Perfect.”
“Perfect,” I said. “I was just getting the salad because I was feeling fancy.”
“Trying to impress me, Detective?”
“Did it work?”
Jack raised his eyebrows. He turned to glance at his T-shirt, which hung from the television.
“Right,” I said, feeling my cheeks blush. “I’m glad. You know, I did have plans to come home and shower, maybe change out of my work clothes. I was even debating stealing a spritz of Jane’s perfume.”
Jack pressed a hand over his heart. “No. You wouldn’t.”
“On the flip side, I’m glad to know none of that’s necessary to get you in the mood.”
“I wouldn’t have complained.” Jack sat on the couch next to me and popped open the pizza. “But this’ll do just fine too. I was excited to see you—work clothes or not.”
“Same.”
“So.” Russo sat back, eating his pizza. “Dare I switch our conversation to the case?”
I sighed. “If we must. Have you given Agent Brody the files to review? What does he think?”
“Let me put it this way. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t think the connection was a distinct possibility.”
“I don’t understand, though,” I said, frowning as I took the time to have a bite of pizza and swallow it. “There are definite differences in the cases. The style of the marking, the location of it, and the fact that the killer from the first time around was caught and is still in prison.”
“Let’s call it a gut feeling. Brody was saying on the flight here that this was one of those cases that continues to bug him to this day.”
“Is he worried the wrong guy is in prison?”
“No, not really. He’s definitely convinced Clint Flystone is guilty. There was a full confession, plus Flystone knew information that had never been disclosed to the media.”
“It sounds like a pretty open-and-shut case. So why does it still bother Agent Brody?”
“Brody says the confession came a little too easily.”
“Was it accompanied by some sort of plea bargain?”
“No death penalty.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Well, that’s incentive.”
“It is. I’m not saying I know much about it. I remember Brody talking about it when he was hunting Flystone, but that’s about all. I didn’t get involved much. I was on my own case at the time.”
“Does he think there was an accomplice?”
“There was never any evidence of an accomplice,” Jack said. “I just think Brody’s unsettled by Flystone and the way the case came to a close. Like it tied up a little too neatly, but also didn’t at the same time.”
“Let’s say there is a connection. Why is this killer starting up here? Why now? Does Brody think this is some sort of copycat killer?”
“I don’t have the answer to that.”
“You said on the phone that one of the things bothering Brody was that it was never explained how Flystone picked his victims.”
Russo nodded. “I admit it’s odd. Even after the confession, Flystone wanted to keep some of the details to himself. Just zipped his lips. He gave us enough information to more than confirm that he was involved, at least somehow. He confessed the exact locations of the remains, locations of the actual murders, timelines, and the rest of it. There’s no doubt he had insider information, even if he didn’t do the killings himself.”
“Were there any connections between the victims?”
“None that we could find,” Russo said. “He killed six people before he was caught. Brody worked on the case on his own time for a year after Flystone was arrested. Just for his own sake, trying to understand how the guy worked. What made him tick. How he picked his victims.”
“Sometimes you just can’t understand these people,” I said softly. “Why they do what they do just remains a mystery.”
“Maybe.”
“Russo, you and I have both seen a lot of stuff in our careers. Don’t you think that some people are just born bad apples?”
Jack heaved a sigh. “I never wanted to turn cynical because of the job. I’ve always believed people can change.”
“But—”
“But sometimes people are just evil.” Russo turned a gaze on me that was harsher than anything I’d ever seen before.
As if he was so totally convinced, so 100 percent certain that what he stated was fact, it made me shiver. I’d seen my fair share of dastardly criminals in my day, but the deadened look in Russo’s eyes made me wonder what he’d come across to make his conviction so unwavering.
I nodded. “I agree. I think it’s rare, but I think it happens.”
The look seemed to pass from Russo’s face as he gathered himself. “Right. I agree. The question is whether Flystone is one of those cases.”
“He could just be a twisted sort of guy who gets off on hurting others,” I said. “I’ve seen it before. Do you think the victims could’ve just been random, easy-to-grab targets?”
“Random? Possibly, but doubtful.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Everything Flystone did was calculated. Brody’s a great agent, and it took him over a year and six bodies to catch up with this guy. He’s careful. If he just wanted easy targets, well, there were easier targets out there. But Brody could never figure out how the victims were selected. Flystone was very careful to cover his tracks.”
“Careful chaos?” I asked. “Maybe they were random choices—chosen for the very reason that they were random. It could create the appearance that Flystone wasn’t being careful. Or he could’ve been trying to lead Agent Brody on a wild-goose chase. How much time did Brody spend trying to maneuver a connection between these victims? Maybe the very connection was that there was none. Maybe Flystone just wanted it to seem like there was one.”
“It’s possible.”
“I mean, if he wanted easy targets, Flystone could’ve just picked up high-risk individuals—prostitutes, homeless, the like. But then Agent Brody wouldn’t have focused on the victims themselves. If Flystone’s as clever as you say, I think it’s definitely possible.”
“This is the sort of conversation that’s better had with Brody,” Russo said. “The nuances of the case and Flystone’s thinking are where I get lost and he steps in. Tomorrow, on the ride down to the prison, you’ll have plenty of time to ask him questions.”
“Sure. Sorry. My mind just got carried away.”
“Hey, I get it.” Russo set his plate down on the table and brushed his hands off. He gave me a mischievous smile. “Well, now that I’m satiated, I could use a shower and a good night of sleep. Or a little sleep, and a little...” He trailed off, reaching to tug the blanket off me.
“I could use a shower,” I said. “Race you?”
Without waiting for Jack’s response, I leapt off the couch and raced for the stairs. The sound of footsteps pounded behind me, and when I reached the bathroom, out of breath, Russo was there, pinning me to the door.
“When are you going to let up on us, huh, Rosetti?”
His face was inches from mine, and it was hard to think. “What are you talking about?”
“When are you going to admit that you can’t live without me?”
Before I could answer, Russo’s lips dipped to mine, and I forgot the question completely.
Chapter 13
THE NEXT MORNING I woke slowly, feeling groggy but happy. Sunlight burst through the window, and I was surprised to see it was only seven o’clock in the morning. I felt like I’d gotten a full night of rest, even though I’d gone to bed late, and sleep had been interrupted at best, thanks to Russo.
The space on the bed next to me was empty. Indented and still warm, and there was something nice about it. The sheets were all rustled up and twisted. The bed wasn’t neatly half-made like it usually was when I slept alone.
I rolled onto my back, stretching leisurely in the oversized FBI shirt I’d slipped on from the floor at some point. My legs were bare, and as I rolled over and pulled the blankets up to my chin, I could almost imagine I was on vacation in Hawaii. If, of course, I pretended there were palm trees outside of my window instead of the browning leaves and colorful fall plumage of Minnesota.
Soft footsteps made their way up the stairs. The smell of coffee and cinnamon drifted through the open door. I inched up in bed, feeling a smile creeping onto my face as Jack appeared, holding a coffee in one hand and a plate of food in the other.
Kicking the door shut behind him, he made his way to the bed and deposited the food on the nightstand. He’d whipped up a quick omelet and some buttered cinnamon toast. Steam curled up from a cup of black coffee with just a splash of milk to lighten it up.
“Wow,” I said. “What exquisite service. Seven stars.”
“Is it working?”
“Which part?” I leaned toward Jack and gave him a kiss on the lips.
“The food, the sex, the helpful case advice...” Jack grinned handsomely at me. He was dressed in gym shorts and a plain white tee, and he looked better than any person should be allowed to look at seven in the morning. “Are you convinced that living with me is better than living without me?”
For the first time in a long while, I didn’t shiver when Jack mentioned the idea of moving in together. I glanced at the rumpled bed and thought of how nice it’d been to have company at night, in the morning, and the entire time in between. When I told Jack that, he gave a playful eye roll.
“And you expect me to be happy about that?”
I laughed, a little uncomfortable with the conversation. Especially before I had my coffee. I reached for the cup from the nightstand and pulled it toward me, taking a sip of the hot beverage. I closed my eyes and savored the taste. Jack, hands down, made coffee better than I ever could.
“So?” Jack asked. “Are you convinced yet?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “You’d better hand me a fork and that plate of food while I think about it.”
Grinning, Jack handed both over. I took a couple of bites, then gestured for him to set it back on the nightstand while I sipped my coffee. He ran down, grabbed himself a cup, then returned to bed, and climbed in next to me.
“So?” he repeated.
I stared blankly at him. “So what?”
“Did the eggs do the trick?” Jack asked. “Have you done any more thinking about what it might look like to live together?”
“Jack, we can’t have this conversation every time you come to town. It stresses me out.”
“When do you want to have it? You never want to talk about it on the phone.”
“It’s because it’s a conversation I prefer to have in person,” I said, realizing my argument was weak. “I mean, just not every time we’re in person. It puts a damper on things.”
“It doesn’t have to.” Jack reached over and rested a hand on my knee. He gave it a squeeze. “It could be a simple, happy conversation between two people who care about one another.”
“Two complicated people with complicated lives, careers, and living situations.”
“You’re not wrong. But eventually, we’re going to come to a head, Kate.”
“Why do we have to?” I snuggled deeper under the covers. “I’m happy with how things are now. I love you. You love me. We trust each other. I love it when you stay with me, and—”
“And you love it when I leave,” Jack finished.
“Not true. It’s not that I want you to leave. It’s not even that I need my own space. But for us, it’s not as simple as deciding whose place we want to stay at. It’s deciding whose career is more important. It’s deciding if I move away from my family or you move away from your life. If things don’t work out, it’s not as easy as giving you a few boxes when you move out. One of us will have uprooted our lives to be with the other. It’s a big commitment.”
“One you’re not ready to make?” Jack asked. “Even if I volunteered to move here?”
“You’d do that?”
“Theoretically. Nothing’s been decided. I can’t get you to agree to a week together, so I haven’t exactly put in notice at my job just yet.”
“Would you do it, though?”
“That’s the point, Kate. The point is whether I even need to consider it.” Jack shifted on the bed so that he faced me. “I know you love me. You know I love you. But do you want more out of this? Out of us? Ever?”
“Yes. I mean, of course I do. I just don’t know what. Or when.”
Jack gave a half nod and was clearly only a tiny bit satisfied. “I guess I should take some solace in that.”
“You should take a lot of solace in that. It’s as close to committing to marriage as I’ve ever gotten.”
Jack gave a thin smile. “I’ll leave you be, then. I won’t ask anymore. I know it makes you uncomfortable to be pressed about our relationship status, and that’s not my intention. I only had hoped that by talking about the future more, it might begin to scare you less. That’s all. From now on, I’ll leave it in your hands.”
I glanced into my coffee cup. “I don’t know how I feel about that. What if you get bored before I’m ready for the next step?”
“I’m not going to get bored. I can assure you of that.” Jack sighed and climbed out of bed. “If there’s one thing guaranteed in a relationship with you it’s that life will not be boring.”
As Jack headed out of the room toward the bathroom, I found myself looking after him and thinking that hadn’t sounded like a compliment. It was odd how quickly I’d gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. I’d woken up this morning, pleased that Jack had slept next to me, happy to have someone to eat breakfast beside me, tickled pink that someone besides my sister had made me coffee. So why was it so hard to admit that to Jack?
I threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. One way or another, I was pretty sure that I was go
ing to have to confront my fears about Jack and commitment head-on sooner rather than later. It was clear he was ready to take the next step. I was the one struggling. How long would he wait? I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out. Fortunately, it looked like I was going to have a long, long drive ahead of me with plenty of time to think about it.
“AGENT BRODY’S ON HIS way in.” Jack looked up from his phone. “Should be here in a few minutes.”
Jack and I sat at the table in a conference room at our precinct. In the center sat a plate of doughnuts and a pot of coffee. I’d skipped both, though I had grabbed a second latte from my mother’s café for road trip fuel.
It was just before 8:00 a.m. when Jack and I had arrived at the precinct. After we’d both taken our showers—individually—Jack had acted like our earlier conversation had never happened. He’d been peppy and upbeat, or as upbeat as one could be when working a potential serial murder case. By the time we’d arrived at the precinct, he’d had on his business face, and I’d practically forgotten about any relationship tension between the two of us.
“Good morning, Jack.”
“Chief Sturgeon.” Jack stood and shook the chief’s hand. “Thanks for asking us here to consult. I hope we’re not needed because that would mean something’s up with Clint Flystone, but for what it’s worth, I think it’s best we pool our resources, just in case. Because if they are related, then this murder is just the start.”
“I agree wholeheartedly,” Sturgeon said. “But it’s better safe than sorry.”
A few moments later, Chloe and Asha entered the room together. They had their heads bent over a sheaf of paper Asha held in her hands. It seemed the two women had spent yesterday bonding and were now fast friends. Or at least friendly colleagues. I’d never seen Asha work so closely with another person, and I had to admit it impressed me that Chloe had caught on quickly enough to impress Asha.
Jimmy strolled into the room next and went straight for the doughnuts and coffee. He didn’t say a word until he’d filled his cup and his plate and plopped down. Then, and only then, did he look around and greet the others.
