“An Iceman?” she offered.
He just blew out a breath.
In the dining room he showed her what to do and look for, what to take note of, what might be important later. As expected, there was a chair missing from around the dining table.
Unable to shake Mick from her mind, she followed Bobby to the kitchen and started her inspection. “He watched his father kill his mother when he was ten,” she said, and saw him nod. So he knew. “Right there in front of him.”
Bobby opened a drawer, checking the contents. “And he's blamed himself ever since.”
She glanced up. “Why?”
Bobby shrugged as he perused a wooden block on the counter containing kitchen knives and made note of an empty slot. “The usual reasons. Kids'll take on the burdens of the world if you let them.”
“And nobody told him otherwise?”
“Not until it was too late. Why do you think he's so driven in his work?”
She stood there, letting Bobby's words sink in. “Relieving his conscience, you mean?”
“Or sublimating his desire for vengeance. I understand he was very attached to his mother, undeserving as she was.”
“The sole angel in a world of biker devils,” Caro murmured, shaking her head. “Poor Mick. It's a wonder he turned out as well as he did.”
She forced herself to concentrate on the job, not wanting to miss a single detail that might be important to the case. Yet, her thoughts kept returning to the man in the bedroom. Apparently Bobby's did, too.
“So, you were with him when I called?”
She studied the inside of the refrigerator extra carefully. “Uh-huh.”
“Reviewing strategy for tonight?”
“You think we'll still be going?” she evaded. “After this?”
“Two more bodies just makes it more important to catch the sick-o.”
“Any luck tracing Rodney Smythe?”
“Several solid leads. We're getting close.”
The fridge's yellow interior light suddenly took on an orange glow and just like that her body was engulfed in the memory of Mick's powerful arms around her, bright silky flames dancing before her eyes.
“And the two fibers?” she asked, hanging onto the fridge door as she slammed it shut.
“Reed’s team has come up with seven stores that sell orange silk, so far.”
“They should concentrate on the ones that sell ready-made scarves.”
He straightened. “Why's that?”
“Unfinished edges would drop a lot more stray fibers. And I can't see this guy having a sewing machine.” She looked over and Bobby was grinning at her. “Come on, that's a no-brainer.”
“No wonder Mick wanted you.”
Her cheeks heated instantly and she busied herself inspecting the cooking range. He didn't mean it that way. “Please.”
“Smart and sexy. An unbeatable combination.”
Okay, so maybe he did. She made a face at him. “Are you hitting on me, Bobby Staunton?”
“Maybe. Would it do me any good?”
She returned his grin. “What do you think?”
“I think McGraw always has all the luck,” he grumbled good-naturedly.
“And don't forget it,” Mick said from the doorway. “You two better take a look at the victims while I call Agent Woodruff. He probably needs to see this.”
***
It was the maggots that finally got to her.
The scene in the bedroom was so ghastly the whole thing took on an unreal, horror-movie quality. Which allowed her to follow Mick's discussion with Tim fairly impassively. Bobby's steadying hands on her shoulders helped, too. She'd really thought she could make it through this one without puking.
There were a lot of differences between this crime scene and the subsequent ones. Classic first kill, with clear evidence the murders hadn't been planned: signs of surprise, struggle, and improvisation. And yet the basic elements of the killer's signature were the same. The woman tied and posed post-mortem with a white nightie draped over her, the man in the chair stabbed and nearly eviscerated. Though it was all much sloppier than at the later scenes. He'd even left a flogger lying on the end of the bed.
Intellectually, Caro was fascinated. But the maggots had been grim reminders that these people and this situation were all too earthly real.
When one of them had crawled across the woman's eyes, Caro had to flee or shame herself. She spun from the bedroom and ran all the way back to Mick's apartment, fighting down the revulsion. Thank God his key was still in her jacket pocket.
Even a scalding shower couldn't wash the stink from her hair and skin. And there was no way in hell she'd put on those clothes again as long as she lived. Heading to Mick's bedroom, she opened the closet, looking for something else to wear.
His closet was as perfectly organized as everything else about him. Immaculate blue, black and gray suits were lined up on their hangers like policemen at a funeral, snowy white shirts hung next to them like sailors standing at attention. Other than dark blue, there wasn't a splash of color anywhere, or a piece of clothing out of place. The only thing that struck her as remotely out of order was a row of video tapes that marched along the closet shelf, each with a different label.
Porno flicks.
After an initial start, Caro figured it made perfect sense for Mick to enjoy such fare. Despite his cold outward façade at work, she knew better. At heart, Mick McGraw was totally, completely a sexual being. He walked sex, he breathed sex, he oozed sex. He loved sex and everything about sex. No surprise he liked to watch it, too.
Her brow lifted a bit at some of the handwritten titles, but, hey. To each his own.
She selected a clone from the pool of identical white dress shirts and took particular pleasure in rolling it into a ball and smushing it to a wrinkled mess, then slipped it on. The arms were too long and shoulders miles too wide, but otherwise it fit all right. She studied herself in the mirrored closet door, turning up the sleeves, and smiled weakly. Not bad. Nice legs. She felt almost...human again.
She sighed. And wondered if he had any jeans around. In case he brought Bobby with him when he returned home.
Wandering to the massive highboy dresser, she hesitated before opening a drawer. Invading someone's closet was one thing, but dresser drawers often held secrets they didn't want discovered. What would she find that he didn't intend to share?
Nonsense.
What secrets could Mick possibly have that she didn’t already guess?
She yanked open the drawer and found...underwear and socks. Feeling ridiculous, she let out a nervous laugh, scolding her overactive imagination. And pulled out the next one. T-shirts and polo shirts, white, all neatly folded and stacked with precision.
Did the man not own any jeans? He did, though. He'd worn a pair that first night, and some black ones when they'd gone shopping for leather.
Dragging out the third drawer, she hit paydirt. Several pairs of jeans and some stylish khaki shorts.
“Oooh, a walk on the wild side,” she muttered, and leafed through the stack of denims. Most could have been brand new, for all the wear they showed. She wrinkled her nose and reached for the top pair, only to halt at the sight of a framed black and white photo tucked under them. She sucked on her bottom lip for a second before easing it out and taking a look.
The photograph was many years old, of a thirty-ish woman lying on her back on a towel at the beach. She was wearing a white, old-fashioned one-piece bathing suit and had her hands folded over her abdomen. Her eyes were closed in restful repose, a smile on her pretty face, her pale hair blowing in a light breeze. Around her neck was tied a scarf. A scarf someone had later colored in orange crayon.
Caro stared. A wash of goosebumps ran down her arms. If she didn’t know better...
Quickly she stuffed the frame back into its hiding place, not wanting to be caught with her discovery. Who was the woman? And why was Mick hiding her picture?
Carefully she repl
aced the jeans. She'd seen sweats in his overnight bag. Better to try and find them so he wouldn’t ask questions.
She opened the last drawer, smiling in relief when it was filled with gray running sweats. “Yes.” But then she spotted one pair of soft, faded jeans stuck in at the very bottom. Bingo.
She grabbed them and held them up for inspection. Suddenly another photo, this one unframed, dropped to the floor from between the folded fabric.
She gasped. It was...
A photo of her.
Chapter 16
“Find what you're looking for?” Mick's deep rumble sounded from the doorway.
She whirled, badly startled. “Yeah.” She hefted the faded jeans in her hand, her heart pounding.
He glared at her, and caught sight of the photo on the floor.
Angrily, she stooped to pluck it up and glared back at him. “But perhaps you can tell me what, exactly, this is doing here?”
His gaze turned impassive and he began stripping off his suit. “There are more.”
“Huh?” She glanced down at the floor and saw the corner of another photo sticking out from under the dresser where it had apparently dropped as well. Actually, there were two more. She picked them up, taking a good look. And practically fell over.
All three photos were sizzlingly provocative. The top one had been taken at the local supermarket in front of the glass door to the ice cream case. Caro’s finger was in her mouth and she was studying the different flavors with lustful anticipation. The second was out on Colorado Blvd. Dressed as a hooker, her expression one of sinful temptation, she was on one of her stings for SIS coming on to a john. A john that—
“Hey, this guy looks just like you!” she exclaimed in disbelief. How was that possible? She would have remembered if he'd been out on the Boulevard.
“He does, doesn't he?” Mick replied, stepping out of his boxer briefs and putting the whole stack of crime-scene soiled clothes, including her own, into a large plastic trash bag.
But it was the third photo that really caught her attention. She was lying on the beach, in a pose that was practically identical to the picture she’d put back in the jeans drawer, down to her one-piece bathing suit. The look on her face was nearly the same. Only the scarf was missing.
Caro swallowed down a flutter of some emotion she dared not name. “Where did you get these?” she asked, waving the photos shakily at him as he disappeared into the bathroom.
“I took them myself.”
She followed. “But I haven't been to the beach since last summer!”
He opened the shower door and turned on the spray. “And your point is?”
“Mick! What the hell is going on? Were you stalking me?”
He turned on her, face stormy. She took a step back, suddenly unsure of their relationship.
“Me stalking you? Do I have to remind you that a year ago, you arrived from Traffic and immediately started coming on to me? Yeah, I stalked you. I wanted to find out who you were and what your agenda was.”
“Any conclusions? This I'm dying to hear.”
He stepped into the shower. “I decided you were harmless,” he said, raising his voice above the water. “Besides, you stopped flirting. Which was good because I wasn't interested in playing games with a rookie from SIS.”
“Oh, really?” She practically choked on her indignation, fuming her way out of the bathroom to tap her foot in the master bedroom until he emerged again. “So what changed your mind?”
He stopped rubbing his hair with a towel long enough to pin her with a furious gaze. “Pure, total insanity,” he spat out. “I should have listened to myself. Followed my own rules. If I had, I wouldn't be standing here expecting a call any minute from Chief Trujillo, watching my career go up in flames for the second fucking time!”
With that, he grabbed the photos from her hand and flung them onto the bed. “I know better than to become emotionally involved with a woman. I know better!”
Her jaw fell so far it was in danger of dragging on the carpet. She didn't have a clue how to respond, or even what to think about first—his career going up in flames, the call from the chief, or the fact that he'd actually said out loud he was emotionally involved with her.
“What on earth are you talking about?” She figured he could take his pick.
“What am I talking about?” He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the living room window where they'd made love. He ripped up the blinds. “That is what I'm talking about,” he said, pointing to the clutch of police vehicles lining the street below, then at the office building across the street.
“I don't—”
“As we speak, they're interviewing everyone over there with a view of this complex. How many minutes do you suppose it'll take them to figure out just who it was fucking each other in this window?”
“But that has nothing to do with the case!”
“Don't be naive! How long do you think it'll take the press to get hold of that juicy little tidbit? Lead Detective on Teddie Case Caught in Kinky Sex with Junior Officer.” He set her firmly aside. “It doesn't matter that it has nothing to do with the case.”
The phone rang.
“McGraw,” he said curtly into the receiver, was silent for a moment, then, “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
He turned to her, his face transformed once again to the cool mien of the Iceman.
“We're fucked, baby. Plain and simple.”
***
His father should have gone ahead and killed him when he was ten and had the chance. Would have saved Mick a lot of useless years hoping he could change the course of fate. Along with all the agony of the past two months.
He and Caro stood at attention in front of both Chief Trujillo and Lieutenant Fredrickson. They'd been summoned to the commander's office on the third floor. Behind the desk, the Chief studied a sheaf of papers while the L.T. looked anywhere but at them. The silence was deafening.
Mick awaited his sentence with the detachment of one who'd been preparing to face this moment his entire life.
“Sir—”
Apparently, Caroline didn't share his composure.
The chief held up a hand for quiet. After what seemed an interminable interval, he looked up and slowly inspected them.
“Interesting reports here,” he stated with deadly calm, gazing at Mick.
“Sir—”
Again he held up a hand at Caro's interruption. “Any truth to these reports, Detective McGraw?”
Nothing to be gained from beating around the bush. “No doubt every word, sir.”
Trujillo's brow rose a shade. “Indeed.” He pretended to peruse the top report again. “My ranking detective and his subordinate officer seen...uh—”
“Fucking,” Mick helpfully supplied.
A muscle twitched in the chief's cheek. “As you say, in front of an open window for all the world to watch.”
“Sir—”
“I'm talking to the detective now, Officer Palmer. You’ll get your chance.”
“I take full responsibility,” Mick said. “I should have remembered to close the blinds.”
Fredrickson's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. Fuck. If you're going down anyway, you may as well go down with panache.
“Do the words sexual harassment mean nothing to you, Detective?”
“I didn't mind her harassing me in the least, sir,” Mick said with a studiously straight face. “As it turned out.”
The L.T’s lips twitched.
“Sir!” Caro said insistently. “I need to—”
“Will you please wait your turn, Officer Palmer? I'll be with—”
“No, sir! What I have to say can't wait.” She sliced Mick a withering glare. “The fact is, the whole thing was my idea. I did it on purpose.”
All three men froze for a full second before recovering.
“Your idea.” the chief said distinctly. “To...fornicate...with Detective McGraw in front of a whole office building full o
f people?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“On purpose.”
Mick rolled his eyes. “Don't listen to her, sir, she's—”
Caro jammed her finger in his bicep. “Shut up, McGraw. I don't need you taking the fall for me.” She turned back to the chief. “Offends his gentlemanly sensibilities, you know, letting a lady go down for him.” She pursed her lips. “Well, other than...you know.”
Mick was suddenly so angry he could feel the tips of his ears burn. What the hell was she doing? Both of them getting canned was unnecessary. They only needed one scapegoat.
She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously. “Or maybe you're trying to steal the credit? Thanks, Detective. After all I've done for you on this case.” She hrumphed. “Just like a friggin' man. I shoulda known.”
Whatever the hell she was doing, she deserved an Academy Award for the performance. The audience was entranced.
“Look, I don't know what she's trying to pull, sir, but—”
“Personally, I'd like to hear what she's trying to pull,” Chief Trujillo said, leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled. “Go on, Officer Palmer. Please.”
“It was for the Teddie case, sir.”
Stunned, Mick swallowed a breath of air wrong and started coughing. Trujillo scowled. “Sorry.” In amazement, he turned to watch Caro.
“The Teddie case?”
“Yes, sir. This guy, the Teddie killer, he's a voyeur, right? He sits on a chair and watches the victims make love, for God knows how long, before he kills them. He's also super careful. He seems to know police procedure inside out, and somehow, he's always a jump ahead of us.”
She had definitely gotten the chief's attention. Along with the L.T., Trujillo was bent forward, hanging on her every word. To be honest, so was Mick. But not for the same reason. How had she figured out—
“Detective McGraw and I were pretty sure he hadn't followed us home last night, but...well, we can't really be certain, can we? So I thought—” She glanced down at the floor.
“You thought...?”
“I thought, if he is watching us, he must know by now we're cops. And our cover is blown. But—” she looked up “—if he thought we genuinely fit his victim profile, even though we're cops, he might just go for it anyway. In fact, especially if we're cops. He thinks he's invincible, smarter than we are. It would be an irresistible challenge for a guy like this to fool two cops. But the key is making him believe we're really...like that.”
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