by Debra Webb
“Then let me prove that theory is a bust. You take me to this appointment and I guarantee I’ll walk away knowing whether or not Gill is involved in Marija’s disappearance.”
He cast her a doubting looking. “You can’t make a guarantee like that.”
Alex smiled. “Just sit back and watch, Sheriff.”
Two hours later Mitch and Agent Talkington, the TBI agent in charge of Gill’s investigation, watched in amazement as Alex conversed with Waylon Gill on the other side of the two-way mirror.
“She’s good,” Talkington remarked.
“Yeah.” She was that. I guarantee I’ll walk away knowing whether or not Gill is involved…reverberated in Mitch’s mind.
Though Gill was fully shackled, Mitch still felt uneasy about him being alone in an interview room with Alex. But she had insisted that she needed one-on-one with the monster. The guy gave Mitch the creeps.
Gill was reed thin and gangly. His face was average, not particularly handsome or ugly. Brown hair, brown eyes and no distinguishing marks. He smiled a lot, had good teeth and a quiet voice. There was nothing noticeably frightening or unusual about the thirty-five-year-old man. Like most serial killers, he was above average in intelligence and could talk his way into a convent even if he was wearing a tail and horns and waving a pitchfork. But the man was a sociopath Mitch could have gone the rest of his life without meeting.
Gill had brutally raped and murdered at least six young female college students. His M.O. was a sick ritual that prolonged the agony of his victims. His trial was still months away, but he had already confessed to the six counts of premeditated murder. He just wasn’t owning up to any others. The profiler from Quantico who’d worked with the TBI on the case felt certain there were more victims that might never be found. Since Gill had only lived in the area for a couple of years, it was expected that more bodies would turn up in the towns where he’d lived previously. Mitch wasn’t sure he bought that scenario.
And Gill wasn’t talking. Well, except in riddles. Talkington had indicated that the man loved crossword puzzles and riddles. Most of the clues he dropped were coded in his own warped personal encryption. He dared the investigators working his case to try and solve the mystery of him. But Mitch had the guy’s number already—he was a frigging psycho, end of story.
“I’ve heard about the Colby Agency,” Talkington said after a few minutes. “Top-notch group. If she’s any indication of the caliber of investigators they employ, I can see why.”
“Is that why you agreed to allow her to interview him?”
Talkington nodded. “Partly.” He shrugged. “And partly because I wanted to see how Gill would react to a new face.”
Mitch didn’t say anything. He didn’t like Talkington’s motivation. But Mitch was already far too taken with this particular P.I., he didn’t need to demonstrate it further by making some protective remark. It was bad enough that he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was smart, gutsy and gorgeous. She’d gained his respect in record time, which wasn’t an easy feat. This little party only added to his growing awe. The last thing he needed was to start trusting her. It was definitely too soon for that. Especially considering the way she had fooled him before.
“Hell,” Talkington went on, “Gill’s said more to her in the past twenty minutes than he did to us after hours of interrogation. ’Course that profiler the Feds sent me didn’t look anything like this pretty young thing.” He chuckled wryly. “Shoot, Gill’s probably enjoying this little tête-à-tête.”
“You find that thought humorous, Talkington?”
The man squirmed beneath Mitch’s drop-dead glare. “Well, you have to admit, he does look happy.”
The hell of it was, Talkington was right. Mitch glared at the man seated across the table from Alex. Gill was smiling widely, probably getting off right there in the room uncaring of who was watching. Alex was charming him the same way she’d charmed Mitch that first night they’d met. Ire twisted inside him. He wanted this over. But Alex appeared in no hurry.
“YOU’RE AWFULLY PRETTY for a cop,” Gill said in a slightly shy tone that had likely won him the trust of too many unwary young girls.
“Thank you.” Alex studied him for a moment. She was always amazed at just how normal a man who murdered for pleasure and without conscience could appear. “I have a friend I think you’ll find even more attractive.” Alex opened the folder she’d brought with her. She’d laid it on the desk when she entered the room then rested her clasped hands on top of it so that he would know she had something to show him before she mentioned it.
“Let me see,” he urged, impatient for more visual stimuli.
He’d shown avid interest from the moment Alex walked through the door. It sickened her to think that he was probably sitting there with an erection right now. Forcing the thought away and watching Gill closely, she offered him the glossy headshot of Marija Bukovak. The photograph was her graduation picture.
“Isn’t she pretty?”
“Mmm.” He studied the photograph with open interest, but absolutely no outward response. “She sure is. What’s her name?” Instinctively he flipped the picture over and looked at the back.
“Her name is Marija Bukovak. She just graduated from a high school not too far from here.”
“Very, very pretty,” he said as he passed the picture back to her. “But not my type.”
Careful not to show any reaction, Alex tucked the photograph back into the folder. “Why is that, Waylon? She’s a lot prettier than I am.”
That dark, bottomless gaze connected with hers in a way that made her want to run, but she held her ground. In the few seconds that ticked by before he spoke, Alex saw the evil, saw the insatiable appetite for the unspeakable in that wide, frank gaze.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he murmured, leaning across the table, closer to her.
Her heart pounding like a drum, Alex leaned nearer, her gaze never deviating from his, their foreheads almost touching. “You can tell me anything, Waylon. And it’ll be our secret.”
He hunched his shoulders to draw even closer to her. Close enough that she could smell the toothpaste on his breath. She could see the sprinkling of freckles across his nose that, added to his easy smile, made him look like the all-American guy. There was absolutely nothing about Waylon Gill that would give a girl advance notice to run for her life unless he chose to allow her to see it in his eyes. He was almost charming…almost.
“I never, ever touch a woman,” he whispered, “no matter how beautiful, unless she’s really smart. If she’s not in college, you can forget it. If she’s not as smart as me, then there’s no challenge. Anybody can pick up a naive high school girl and fool her.” His perpetual smile widened into a knowing grin. “But I need the challenge. What’s the point otherwise?”
He angled his head still closer to her, drawing in her breath. Blatantly savoring the smell of her. “Now you, you’re a different story.” He made a sound of satisfaction in his throat. “I could do things to you that would shock even the friends you’ve got watching behind that mirror.”
Alex started to pull away. But she couldn’t move fast enough to dodge his intention. His teeth clamped down on her already bruised cheek. She jerked out of his reach, tumbling backward in her chair.
Gill’s laughter echoed around her, filling the now too-small room.
He shoved the table out of his way. She scrambled to put more distance between them.
“Are you scared, Alex?” he demanded, his tone no longer silky with charm, but harsh and frightening. He grabbed his crotch with his shackled hands. “I’ve got something for you, pretty lady.”
Waylon Gill hurled himself at her.
Chapter Five
“I’m telling you he didn’t do it,” Alex insisted, her gaze tracking Mitch as he paced behind his desk.
Mitch stalled midstride and glared at her. He flattened his palms on his desk and leaned forward. She drew back in her chair as if she were afraid of what
he intended. Mitch swore under his breath. The episode with Gill had shaken her more than even she realized. The ice pack had done little to alleviate the redness the son of a bitch had left on her cheek when he attacked her. At least he hadn’t broken the skin, just left his mark. Fury twisted inside Mitch. He wanted to save the taxpayers some money and kill Waylon Gill with his bare hands.
“The guy is a frigging psycho. How can you be sure if anything he says is even remotely related to the truth?”
She lifted her chin a notch, regaining a bit of her self-assurance. “I just know.” She closed her eyes for a second and sighed. “All of his victims were college students. He wouldn’t change his routine.”
“You can’t be sure of that,” Mitch argued, impatience roaring through him.
She focused that intent amber gaze on his. “He told me the truth. If there are any other victims, they’ll not only be college age, but enrolled.” She touched her cheek, unconsciously tracing the imprint of the bastard’s teeth. “He watches them for days, weeks maybe. The victims he picks have to meet his standards. Beautiful, intelligent—”
“And available,” Mitch interrupted. “I know all that crap. It’s in the profiler’s report.”
She shook her head. “Not necessarily available. If they were seeing someone else that would only add to the challenge of getting close to them.”
Mitch straightened and laughed, a rude, grating sound even to his own ears. “Well, his little killing soiree in Davidson County proved too challenging, because he screwed up and got caught.”
“He didn’t screw up. He wanted to be caught. It isn’t always the case, but sometimes these guys want to be punished.”
“Oh, yeah.” Mitch rolled his eyes. God, he hated all that psychobabble. “How could I forget? It was a cry for help. Attacking you must have been a temporary relapse.”
“He couldn’t resist the challenge I represented, that’s all.”
Renewed fury ignited, sending Mitch’s common sense scurrying for parts unknown. “You really believe all that crap, don’t you?” He skirted his desk and settled on the edge of it directly in front of her. He folded his arms over his chest to keep from doing something totally stupid like grabbing her and shaking her. “He could have hurt you a lot worse than he did and all you can say is that he couldn’t resist?”
Mitch was angrier with himself than he was with her. He should never have allowed her to go into that interview alone with the creep.
When she didn’t respond right away, he added, “He’s killed six women. How can you look at him and see anything other than pure evil that can’t be trusted?”
“You’re wrong,” she said solemnly. “Waylon Gill is thirty-five-years old. He’s killed a great deal more than six. They need to look more closely into his past. Start with his own early college days. I imagine he’s told them, just not in a way they understand yet. He’s playing a game. He wants to make them work for his full story.”
Mitch could only stare at her. How could she possibly know this? Then he remembered what Talkington said. Gill’s said more to her in the past twenty minutes…
“Why do you think so?”
Alex blinked, uncertain how to answer his question. How could she ever explain that she felt things a little more deeply than most? A macho guy like Hayden would never buy into that dog and pony show. She definitely didn’t want to go into it now. Though she would never admit it, Gill had shaken her to the core. Her current physical and mental state obviously didn’t lend itself to wrestling with a violent criminal. A loud rap against the door saved Alex from having to attempt an explanation.
“Sheriff, that conference call you’ve been expecting is on line two.”
Alex was glad for the reprieve, though the call would prove a waste of time. First thing that morning Mitch had called Victoria’s office and asked for a teleconference this afternoon to discuss any past cases that might be involved in Alex’s current situation. Despite the fact that she didn’t know precisely what had taken place three nights ago, she did know that it was related to the Bukovak case. No matter what Mitch thought, Alex could feel it. And she could only hope that he would not mention the episode with Gill to Victoria. The last thing she needed was Zach back down here holding her hand and going head-to-head with the sheriff. He’d put on enough of a territorial show with that kiss he’d laid on her yesterday. She’d been so startled she hadn’t been able to react. The fact that he’d done it just to tick off Hayden had made her want to slap her good friend. Or maybe she needed to slap herself for not taking heed to Zach’s warning.
“Thanks, Peg.” Mitch reached across his desk and pulled the phone toward him. He punched the speaker button. “Hayden.”
“Victoria Colby here, Sheriff. I have Zach Ashton and Ethan Delaney on my end. Is Alex there?”
Alex smiled, glad to hear a friendly voice. “I’m here, Victoria.”
“Hey, Al.” It was Ethan. “When you have a hard drive crash, you really have one. How’s the memory bank?”
Trying her level best to block the macho vibes emanating from the guy standing over her, she focused on answering the question. “I’m still locked out, but I’m making progress.”
The words were no more out of her mouth than she realized her mistake. Mitch eyed her suspiciously, as if she’d been holding out on him. She’d already explained that she hadn’t remembered anything specific, but maybe he didn’t believe her.
“I haven’t remembered anything significant yet,” she clarified quickly.
“Don’t rush things, Al,” Zach urged. “Take it slow.”
“What did you come up with?” Mitch demanded impatiently and smoothly cutting off any response Alex might have made to Zach.
“I’ll let Ethan fill you in,” Victoria told him. “He’s spent the entire day reviewing the cases Alex has worked over the past two years.”
“The only two cases that involved anywhere near the level of emotion to motivate this kind of action,” Ethan began, “were a couple of child custody disputes last year, but I’ve checked on the players and everything’s cool.”
“What about before that?” Mitch wanted to know. “She’s worked at your agency for four years.”
Alex stiffened. “I didn’t start working in the field until two years ago,” she said in hopes of cutting off what Ethan was likely going to say next. She didn’t want Mitch Hayden to know her background. He would only ask questions. Questions she didn’t care to answer.
“That’s right,” Ethan said, to her supreme annoyance. “Al worked in research the first year, and then in case profiling after that. She’s the best. Quantico’s tried to woo her back several times.”
“Thanks, Ethan,” she interjected. “Anything else?”
Quantico? Stunned, Mitch could only stare at the lady seated in front of him. Why hadn’t she told him about that? Better yet, why was he surprised? She’d been keeping secrets right from the beginning. No wonder she knew her way around a crime scene so well. Not to mention how to conduct an interrogation.
“After your interview with Gill, do you still believe he wasn’t involved in Marija’s disappearance?” Victoria wanted to know.
Alex didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
Had she learned something at Quantico that the other profiler hadn’t? Mitch doubted it. “We’re not ruling out that option,” he added, which garnered him a questioning look from Alex. “The agent in charge of the Gill investigation is still leaning in that direction.”
“That’s because it’s the easy way out,” Ashton cut in. “If Alex says Gill didn’t do it, then he didn’t do it. You can take her word to the bank.”
Mitch tamped down his temper. He would not let Ashton get to him today. “I’ll bear that in mind.”
“Alex, keep me posted,” Victoria said. “I want to hear a status report from you every twenty-four hours, especially in light of Jasna’s death.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Colby, we’ll do that,” Mitch replied, steam buildi
ng entirely too fast inside him. “Have a nice day.” He stabbed the off button, then leveled a gaze he hoped relayed the depth of his irritation on Alex. “We have to talk.”
Mitch Hayden didn’t like surprises. That much was clear. Alex mentally counted to ten before she responded. She would not tell him that he was the rudest man she’d ever met. She didn’t even get to say goodbye to her friends. She wouldn’t say how much she despised being treated as if he, and only he, controlled her universe.
“What would you like to talk about?” she asked, feigning innocence.
He stood, a deliberate act of intimidation Alex intended to ignore. To even the playing field, she rose from her chair as well, putting herself toe-to-toe with him, and met his furious gaze.
“It seems you left out a few pertinent points about your background. Like the fact that you’re a Farm graduate.”
To slow her temper’s ascent, Alex took a moment before responding. During that time, she studied the man who currently dominated her existence. The faded jeans, Titans T-shirt, and unbuttoned blue cotton chambray shirt he wore, not to mention the work boots, all served to give Mitch Hayden a very laid-back appearance. But he wasn’t fooling Alex. She knew the kind of man he was. He was focused, ambitious and fiercely loyal to the job. Not bad qualities, just annoying at times.
This was one of those times.
As Alex retraced her visual path up his tall frame, there were a few things she tried her level best not to notice. Like the way his jeans fit his muscular body, or the way the width of his shoulders tested the seams of his shirt. Frames of memory flashed in her mind’s eye. His bare chest, the feel of his skin, the clean masculine scent of him.
Her gaze collided with his then and she suddenly felt at a loss for what she wanted to say. She moistened her lips and dredged up a pathetic excuse for a response. “I didn’t think it would make a difference.”
That cool, analyzing gaze studied her too closely. She resisted the urge to squirm.
