The knowledge that a young woman had been violated, the thought that it could have been Kit, hell, it could have been her, made her feel sick. Killing for pleasure was the antithesis of all she believed in. She’d do anything in her power to help catch the guy, but she also prayed he was long gone, and they’d never hear from him again.
She finished updating patient notes at the nurses’ desk, and turned. She jumped as she realized someone was standing right next to her.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Chief Tyson.” She held on to the desk to keep her balance and tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. It had been a while.
The man’s face was haggard. Deep grooves cut into his forehead, and his eyes were reddened and puffy from fatigue. Normally he was a good-looking guy, but the events of the day had taken their toll. She doubted she looked much better. “How’s Jesse?” she asked.
“He woke up and is talking. Knows who we are and who he is,” said Tyson.
“No dizziness or pain?”
Tyson shook his head.
A thousand pound weight lifted from her shoulders. “That’s great news. I’m so glad.”
Lee Tyson scrubbed his face. “I feel like I should be out there, investigating this thing, finding whoever attacked them.” The tortured expression on his face tore at her usual reserve.
“The FBI is here. They’ll find who did this,” she said. “You need to look after your son.”
He nodded. “I guess. Dr. Bengali thinks he’s gonna pull through. I needed a break, and I wanted to thank you for what you did this morning.”
Uncomfortable with gratitude, she brushed it off. “I was just doing my job, Chief. Same as you do yours every day. I’m glad he’s recovering. Did he say anything about the attack?”
Tyson shook his head. “He doesn’t remember anything about last night—short term memory loss is what the doc says.”
Dissociative amnesia was common after a traumatic incident like this, especially those that involved head injury. She’d seen it a lot in combat troops. “It might come back.” Or not. She grimaced. Poor kid.
He checked his shoulder. “ASAC Frazer suggested we might try hypnosis on Jesse in the morning, see if he can pull any memories that way—assuming there’s no issues with Jesse’s medical condition.”
Izzy’s eyes widened. “Hypnotism?” Frazer didn’t look the type. “Well, I suppose it can’t hurt. Except…”
Tyson’s eyes went bleak. “Except for when my son finds out Helena was murdered on their first date.”
Hell.
“ASAC Frazer is one of the Bureau’s top criminal behavioral analysts. I’m gonna have to assume he knows what he’s doing.”
Izzy wasn’t surprised. Frazer had analyzed her from the get go. The guy didn’t miss a thing and was sharp as a number ten scalpel blade.
Tyson rested his hands on his hips. “I’m spending the night here, but now we know Jesse’s going to be okay I want Charlene to go home and be with Ricky, our youngest. Her mother is staying at the house.” He paused, watching her intently. “I could get one of the patrolmen to run her home, but they’re either on duty or need to be up at the butt-crack of dawn to conduct the search of the beach. One of the nurses mentioned you were about to go off duty.” He cleared his throat.
She finally understood what he was asking.
“You want me to drop Charlene home?” she asked. The Tysons lived at the other end of Rosetown so she literally passed their door. “No problem.” She checked her watch. “I’m done as of one minute ago. Let me sign out, grab my coat, and I’ll come down to Jesse’s room and pick up Charlene before I leave.”
“I appreciate it.”
It was the least she could do. Ten minutes later she found herself outside Jesse’s room. His vitals were good from what she could see on the monitors. The worry now was coning—when sneaky intracranial bleeds caused blood to accumulate, and the brainstem to swell and press down on the spinal cord. Izzy figured if he made it through the night he’d be fine. Compared to how she’d found him that morning, what she was seeing right now was a miracle. She leaned against the doorjamb to keep out of the way. Jesse’s bandaged head rested against the pillows, but his skin color was good, and he was actually smiling at something his father said. Would he be still able to smile when he remembered what happened last night? It was important they try and shield him for as long as possible, but the police needed answers.
Frazer, the good-looking Fed with arctic eyes, stood behind the police chief, taking everything in. The image of him holding Kit in his arms on the beach earlier made her chest hurt. She wanted to be there for Kit but didn’t know if she’d be able to give her sister the support she needed. Frazer glanced her way and, for one long uncomfortable moment, they stared at one another. Something unexpected passed between them. A sharp ache that she could tell from the look in his eyes he didn’t want to explore any more than she did, but they both had to acknowledge.
Her skin felt tight, and she held her breath.
Charlene Tyson diffused the tension by scraping back her chair to stand. She kissed her son on the forehead. “You’re sure you don’t want me to stay, too?”
Her husband stood and took her hands in his and kissed her fingers. “He’s gonna be fine, love, but the staff will only allow one person to stay overnight and that’s gonna be me.”
The chief’s hand rested momentarily on his weapon. Izzy’s gaze shot to Frazer’s. He was watching her, almost waiting to see if she caught on. The killer hadn’t meant for Jesse to survive. His dad was staying partly as a parent, but also as a bodyguard.
Apprehension rippled through her blood and her pulse jumped. The threat was still out there. The danger very real. She straightened away from the wall. She needed to get home and make sure Kit was all right.
The chief and his wife headed out of the room, and ASAC Frazer followed them.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?” Frazer said to her.
His hand landed on her lower back as he went to draw her away from the others. She jumped when he touched her. His pupils widened, and his mouth tightened for a fraction of a second before he let her go.
Good to know she wasn’t the only one affected.
“Your sister wasn’t big on home security.”
She didn’t know what she’d expected him to say, but it wasn’t this. “I don’t think she even knows how to lock a door.”
“Teach her.” Those bright blue eyes burned with intensity.
“You think the killer is still out there, don’t you?” A wave of ice encrusted her spine. She’d lived with fear of one sort or another for years—fear for her mother, fear someone would discover their secret, fear for her patients, fear of what the next war might bring. This felt different. It was visceral and life-threatening.
His expression shut down. “You need to start locking your doors.”
She nodded. “Okay. I’ll tell her.” And pray she listened.
Charlene Tyson had her coat on and turned to wait for her near the nurses’ desk.
“I have to go.”
“One more thing,” said Frazer.
She waited silently.
“I’d like all the spare keys to the beach house.”
She kept her expression neutral. “You don’t trust me?”
“Why would I?” His voice was honey smooth and raised gooseflesh on her arms.
She huffed out a little laugh. “Good point. So how do you know I won’t hold back a key?”
“Because if you did and I caught you, I’d arrest you for interfering with a federal investigation.”
She eyed him with amusement. But she wanted him to do his job and catch the killer. Nothing else mattered. “I’ll get them to you tonight. What time will you be back?”
“The morning will be fine. You’re obviously exhausted.”
Because she looked like crap. She grinned. Nice. “There might be time to get them to you tonight, depending when
you get there. I don’t want you worrying that I might come snooping when you’re asleep. I need to eat and unwind for a few hours anyway.”
The light in his eyes changed from detached interest at the idea of her snooping, to hunger—not the sexual kind. “What are you eating?”
“Chinese takeout. I called in an order before I came down here.”
He checked his watch. “Call them and triple the order. I’ll be another fifteen minutes talking to Chief Tyson, then I’m picking up Randall from the police station, and we’re heading back for a few hours’ sleep before the search starts at first light.”
She raised an expectant brow.
He cleared his throat. “Please?” he added, looking suddenly uncomfortable as if he’d just remembered she didn’t actually work for him.
She was used to alpha personalities, but she’d been a captain in the Army, a physician, and owned a certain amount of alpha herself. Still, the request was practical and Izzy was the queen of practical. “Fine. What’s your buddy up to?”
Frazer looked amused at her use of the term “buddy.” “He’s knee deep in teen angst.”
She gave a mock shudder and held up her hand, palm out. “Give me the ER any day. See you back at the cottage. I’ll add the total to your bill.”
She went to turn away, but he caught her wrist, pulled her close. Her heart pounded so fast she felt like a rabbit trapped in a snare. He spoke softly into her ear, and she knew he’d be able to hypnotize the pants off anyone if he set his mind to it.
“I know you carry a gun,” he said very quietly, “but be careful anyway.”
She shook herself out of her surprise. She couldn’t afford to let him unsettle her. His concern wasn’t personal. He was just doing his job. And maybe he knew she had something to hide. She walked away with his eyes on her back, but refused to turn around to acknowledge his stare. She got to the end of the corridor and smiled at Charlene Tyson, who stood waiting patiently.
“Sorry that took a while. Are you okay?” she asked gently. The woman nodded, though she looked more drained than Izzy felt. She glanced over her shoulder and caught Frazer’s gaze still on her. He grinned slowly and, dammit, he looked hot.
Heat rose in her cheeks for the second time that day. Just because she was attracted did not mean she was going anywhere near the guy. The aesthetics were fine, but the guy himself? Bossy and authoritative. No freaking way. He was way too smart to tangle with, even though she had a horrible suspicion the tangling would be amazing. But she’d been with other guys who looked good on the outside and who’d known as much about pleasing a woman as a fish knew about riding a bicycle.
And she had something in common with the fish on the bike—they could both get off without any help. No handsome FBI agent required.
Chapter Seven
FRAZER LOOKED UP as Lucas Randall opened the door, balancing his overnight bag on one arm, bag of takeout in the other. He sniffed the air. “You’ve been smoking pot?”
“Yep, that was me.” Frazer stretched out his shoulders until the bones clicked.
Randall came inside. “Reminds me of my college dorm.”
Pine scented cleaner competed with cannabis in a not unpleasant combination. Frazer had opened all the windows and turned up the heat. Fresh air cleared away the cobwebs in his brain, and failing a drug test because of secondhand inhalation wasn’t something he intended to let happen. “I suspect Dr. Campbell’s sister had her own party here last night, which explains why she didn’t miss her friend this morning and wasn’t forthcoming about her activities after she left the party.”
“How old is she exactly?” Randall tossed a bunch of spare keys on a shelf beside the door.
“Seventeen,” Frazer replied, looking at the keys and hoping that was all of them.
The other agent dumped the bag of takeout on the big glass coffee table. Then went through and ditched his pack in the second bedroom. The smell of the Chinese food made Frazer’s mouth water.
“Kids at the party said she left with a kid named Damien Ridgeway at around two. You think she came back here?”
Frazer nodded. “Looks that way. You talk to Ridgeway?”
“Nope. Not yet. What’s the deal with Izzy and her sister? Where are the parents?” Randall was asking in a professional capacity, but the guy couldn’t mask the personal interest. The shot of desire that had hit Frazer when he’d touched Isadora Campbell at the hospital earlier was enough to make him back the hell off. Which was why he’d sent Randall for the food.
“The mother died last May of pancreatic cancer. Captain Campbell resigned her commission from the Army Medical Corps and came home to take care of her sister. Kit told me her father died before she was born but I haven’t checked into it.” Frazer looked through the offerings and pulled out a carton of beef and black bean sauce. He dug in using the chopsticks provided, starving because he hadn’t eaten in well over twenty-four hours and had forgotten the fact until Isadora mentioned food.
Isadora. Ridiculously beautiful name. He’d always been a sucker for pretty names and beauty spots.
“Big age gap between siblings,” Randall commented from the open-plan kitchen.
“Seventeen years—the doc is exactly twice Kit’s age. Makes me wonder if maybe they have different fathers. Or even if Isadora could be Kit’s mother.”
“Why’d they hide it?” asked Randall.
Frazer shrugged. It was a little Victorian, but he was just playing with ideas.
Randall had taken off his tie and suit jacket and grabbed one of the other takeout cartons. “Accidents happen, even in happy marriages.” He spoke around a mouthful of food. “I’m a lot younger than my eldest sister and was definitely not planned. Dad blamed me on a good bottle of gin.”
“Nice.” Frazer found it hard not to like the guy. And since Alex Parker had called a few minutes ago, the terrible tension inside him had finally eased up a notch. The medical situation had stabilized, but the doctors were insisting on keeping Rooney in for a few days. Rooney and the baby were both doing okay. Parker was staying there, too. It would take a SEAL Team to get the former CIA operative to leave Rooney’s side. Frazer wasn’t foolish enough to try, nor did he want to.
He respected love and devotion as much as the next man, even though it hadn’t worked out for him.
He and his ex had both been obdurately independent.
Frazer found the thought of spending every hour of every day with another human being cloying and claustrophobic. Constant company made his brain ache. Regular sex might make up for some of it, but Frazer liked his space, mental and physical. Now he was thinking about sex, after trying not to think about it ever since Isadora Campbell had turned back to look at him and blushed so prettily when he’d caught her.
The good news was she didn’t want to be interested in him any more than he wanted to be interested in her. Or maybe that was the bad news, considering they both seemed to be losing the fight against basic physical attraction.
Thankfully he was an expert at ignoring not only his own wants and needs, but also the wants and needs of others.
He nodded to the murder board he’d borrowed from the police department and set against the dining room wall. On it he’d put pictures of Helena, Jesse, the dunes, Helena’s father, the shovel, and the bracelet, which represented all sorts of complications he didn’t want to write down but had to. “What did you learn from the other teens at the party?”
Randall coughed up a noodle. “Let’s just say I don’t remember things being that…advanced…when I was in high school. Or maybe I was a lot more innocent than I realized.”
“Drugs?” asked Frazer.
“Drugs, sex, and rock ’n roll. A couple of the kids admitted there were uppers flying around the party, but nothing ‘major’.” He placed air quotes around the word and went back to inhaling his food. He chewed for another moment. “The alcohol was flowing and the Cirencester kid is going to be lucky not to get strung up if his parents lose their liq
uor license over this.” He pointed chopsticks at Frazer. “What really blew me away—pun intended—is a game they played where the guys all threw their cell phones into a bowl and whoever got picked out won a blowjob from one of the girls.”
“Happy New Year,” Frazer said wryly. “Who won?”
“Damien Ridgeway.”
He winced. “Was Kit the one delivering the prize?”
Randall gave a shrug. “Apparently. They disappeared together.”
“To the pool?”
Randall nodded.
Frazer had told Kit he wouldn’t tell her sister her secrets, but that didn’t mean others would keep quiet. It wasn’t his problem, but he couldn’t help feeling sorry for Isadora, and pissed that her sister was running wild. A lot of people might blame the guardian, but if he could take control of his life at fifteen, there was no excuse at seventeen.
Not his business. “What was the general feeling toward Helena?”
“Nice kid—maybe a little too nice. Not into drugs or screwing around. Top student, hard worker. A dancer. Overprotective parents, especially the father.”
Frazer thought of her narrow feet and long toes. It seemed to fit that she’d been a dancer.
The “overprotective parents” raised red flags, but parents were suspects in every murder investigation. “I’ll need to interview the family tomorrow. Chief Tyson told me both parents had to be sedated, and he had a female officer staying with them in the house tonight. She’s a family friend.” Which was useful as long as her loyalty lay with discovering the truth. “What about Jesse? What was the general feeling about him?”
“Didn’t find anyone with a bad thing to say about the young man. Ace student, captain of the football team, but not an asshole. Girls wanted to date him. Guys wanted to hang out with him.” Randall shrugged. “What’s the next move? My boss wants a report. I can’t stall her forever.”
Cold Fear Page 8
