“Blame the parents,” Luke muttered.
“Got to blame someone.”
Luke nodded in agreement. “Why the woods?”
“Isolation. She can scream as loud as she wants, which gets him off. It’s also harder to collect physical evidence. And there’s a river nearby to wash away all his sins. He probably also feels a certain kinship to nature. It takes life at a whim, just like he does. He might live in the woods, or have spent summers with the mother there. He most likely enjoys hunting, too.”
“So we can book him for killing Bambi’s mother as well. Good to know.”
I cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve grown a sense of humor in the past two years.”
“Shut up.”
“Maybe not,” I said under my breath.
“So, he’s a white middle-aged man, likes the woods, is well employed, lives with or dates a submissive woman, is into kinky sex, has mother issues, and has killed four women so far. That it?” he asked impatiently.
“I never said he only killed four women.”
“Fine, enlighten me.” He was getting pissy now. I had that way with men.
“You want to look for women between twenty-five and thirty-five who have died from strangulation across the eastern seaboard in the past ten years.”
“We already did that. We looked at rapes, too. Nothing came up in NCIC, ViCAP, or Europol. Nothing even remotely similar.”
“Did you look at accidental strangulations? Apparent suicides? I’d look for women, especially prostitutes, who were found strangled, ruled a suicide or not. Also, anyone dumped in the water. I’ll bet he’s been killing for years. No way is this his first. Too sophisticated.”
“I’ll widen the search.”
“Concentrate on the New York area. Most first victims—”
“Are known to the killer, and he would want to stay in his comfort zone.” He cleared his throat. “How does he pick them?”
I threw my pen down to rub my weary eyes. “That is the $64,000 question. Besides general similarities, there is nothing to link them. They lived in different states, never met as far as you’ve found, and had entirely different jobs. I don’t see any connection. But when we find it, we find him. And we’d better do it fast because he’s speeding up. He’s got a real taste for it now. He won’t stop until we stop him.”
And on that ominous note, I shut the folder.
—
“Oh, shit.”
The neon light above the mirror in the small bathroom stung my eyes, and the buzzing lights were piercing my brain like an ice pick, which meant only one thing. I was becoming sober. I suppose the fact that I’d been up for close to twenty-four hours also could have explained it. It wasn’t a personal record by any means, but I still felt the weight. The longest I’d been without sleep was four days right after I moved to Grafton. Every sound unnerved me, and living in the woods was very noisy. The hoot of an owl once caused me to drop an entire box of books on my foot. I limped for days.
In the small hotel bathroom I couldn’t help but look in the mirror, something I tried to avoid as much as possible. People told me all my life I was beautiful. I’d then tell them they were nuts. My skin was a pasty white found only on corpses. I’d been avoiding the sun for years and it showed. My light brown hair was tied into a tight French twist. Some days I pulled it so tight I could feel the edges of my face move as if I’d had a face-lift. My hair would have been considered mousy if not for the natural blond highlights that streaked through. I let my hair fall and shook it out. It needed a cut. It fell a few inches past my shoulders, the longest I’d ever had it. I used to have a straight nose, but an accident in high school corrected that. My eyes were bloodshot—not sleeping for two years does that to a person—but the dark circles under them really brought out the green. My cheeks were sunken in and my not-so-high cheekbones poked out like two mounds. The phrase “crack whore” often sprung to mind.
I splashed cold water on my face, hoping it would wake me up, and wiped my face on a damp towel. It smelled of Ivory soap and some perfumed shampoo I couldn’t remember the name of. It smelled like Luke. I hung the towel back up and turned my attention to his toiletry bag on the back of the john. I couldn’t help myself. I had to snoop. You could tell a lot about people by what they bring with them while traveling.
He had everything packed inside the small gray bag he’d carried since the Academy. Inside were the basics: toothbrush, razor, shaving cream, and mouthwash. Nothing out of the ordinary except the condom. One condom at the bottom, ribbed for her pleasure. It was nice to know he still practiced safe sex. I felt a tinge of embarrassment having found this. The idea of Luke having…I stopped myself right there. Not going there. I put everything back quickly and rejoined Luke in the main room.
He was studying Sarah Illes’s file for most likely the hundredth time. I didn’t know what he hoped to find then that he hadn’t found before. Maybe he was considering the medical aspect I presented. It was great to know he was taking me seriously. I walked over and sat across from him on the bed. “You should get a new toiletry bag. You can barely fit all your stuff in there. They do provide soap in hotels, you know.”
“You know it dries my skin out,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the file.
“Well, if you got rid of the soap container, you’d probably have room for more condoms.”
I expected a rise out of him, but he didn’t comply. He just stared at the file. “Thank you for the suggestion. I’ll take it under consideration.”
I lay down on the bed facing him. Even though I was staring at him, he didn’t register my presence. “So, are you married? Have a couple of little Lukes running around?”
“Not yet.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. You aren’t exactly the matrimonial type.”
“I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that.”
I turned onto my back and looked up at the off-white ceiling. It felt nice to lie down. Sleep began creeping up behind my eyes. They desperately wanted to close. I let out a big yawn that wracked my whole body.
“You going to fall asleep on my bed?” Luke asked.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” I immediately sat up, a little too quickly. The room spun like a top, round and round and round. Residual effect of the booze. I groaned and put my head between my legs.
“Are you okay?” Luke asked. He was quickly beside me on the bed. “Are you having another panic attack?” His strong hands began kneading the tension out of my shoulders as he did in the good old days, and for a second everything but how great that felt fell away. Luke was always better at this than Hayden. Hayden. His smiling face flashed across my mind. Remembering myself, I shrugged Luke’s hands off.
“I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just sat up too fast.”
“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”
“When I was in the hospital, what? Two years ago? I really should get some of what they gave me there.”
“Jesus,” he said under his breath.
“You’re surprised? We both know that insomnia is a symptom of post-traumatic stress. As are panic attacks, loss of appetite, nightmares, and depression. Lucky me—I hit the mother lode.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Why, you asking me out?” I asked cattily. He didn’t smile. “I stopped going. It was useless.”
“Always have to do things on your own,” he said, shaking his head. “You should have called me.”
“We haven’t exactly been close for two years, Luke.”
“Whose fault is that?” he asked.
“You could have picked up the phone.”
“So could you.”
“Yeah, because this is going so well. We’re at each other’s throats already, and it’s been what? A total of twenty minutes?”
“You just bring out the bastard in me, Iris.”
“It’s a gift.” We both smiled. Just like old times. “So, what’s next? What’s our next move?
”
He stood but stayed beside me. “My next move is to take these updated notes back to the team, see if it’s any help. I don’t know what your next move is, but I hope it involves getting help.”
I stood up quick as a flash. “No way you’re cutting me out of this now!”
“You’ve done all you can. Leave the rest to the professionals.” He sidestepped me, walking to the table. He began clearing the files off the table to ignore the look of death I was giving him.
I walked over and jerked the files out of his hands. “In case you forgot, I got the same training you did. I am a professional.”
He snatched the files out of my hand. “You were a professional. You quit.”
I fought the urge to smack him across the face, crossing my arms over my chest and balling my hands into fists. “What? Afraid I’ll steal your thunder? Solve it before you do?”
He jammed the files into his briefcase. I could tell I’d hit a sore spot. “Please. Even at your best you were never better than me.”
“If memory serves, it was me who talked down Bob Wallace from shooting that boy. It was me who figured out Meriwether was the Rosetta Ripper. If you were working alone on that one, that psycho fuck would still be tearing up little girls.”
“I never said you weren’t a good agent.”
“No, that I was just riding your coattails all those years. But if that were true, then what the hell are you doing here begging for my help?” He didn’t say a word. “I’m an asset, and you know that. I can help you catch him. I know how you do fieldwork. I won’t be some tourist trampling on evidence.” I took a step toward him to meet his eyes. “Let me help you.” I bit my lip because I didn’t want to say those words. “I need to help you.”
His clear blue eyes looked into mine, gauging me. They were colder than I remembered. The past two years had changed him. Made him harder. And he wasn’t that soft to begin with. But he still wasn’t a fool and he always did have a soft spot for damsels in distress. Especially this damsel in distress.
“I’ll call Reggie tomorrow morning. I have to run it by him first.”
“But you’re willing to let me come?”
“As long as you can keep it together for the duration. That means no alcohol, no pills, and at the first hint of a panic attack, you walk away.”
“I can live with that.” I held out my hand, which he shook. His flesh was cool and clammy against mine. He was nervous. The handshake lingered a little longer than it should have. When I looked up, his gaze was distant, as if deep in thought. I pulled my hand away, breaking him out of his trance.
“Sorry,” he said, his pale cheeks quickly turning bright red.
“You okay?”
“I’m tired,” he said, turning his back to me.
“Yeah. It’s really late. I should get going. We have a long day ahead of us.” I picked up my bag from the table and slung it on my shoulder. “I’ll be waiting for you.”
“Okay,” he said with his back still to me. I was about to walk out the door when Luke called to me. “Iris?” I turned to face him. “What changed your mind?”
I thought for a moment. “I guess my humanity isn’t completely dead. Don’t tell anyone, okay?”
I finally got a smile. “I won’t.”
“See you tomorrow.”
I stepped into the hallway and shut the door before a smile crossed my face. Just like old times. I didn’t know until that moment how much I missed them.
Chapter 5
“I am going to kick his ass.”
Two hours. I sat in my living room with a packed suitcase next to me for two hours. I was being stood up. The bastard stood me up. I was ready at seven thirty, fully packed, showered, and dressed to kill. I’d even put on my favorite suit to look the part of an agent again, a three-piece black suit with a black silk shirt under the jacket, which fell mid-thigh. I was getting pissed. I set down my knitting, picked up the phone, and dialed Luke for the fourth time. Once again, it rang and nobody picked up. I slammed it down. Patience was never my strong suit. I’d give it another fifteen minutes before I lost my cool and went to the hotel. Then when I found him, even if I had to drive to D.C., I’d kick his ass.
For the third time that morning, I checked to make sure I had everything I needed. I had a hefty supply of candy bars, lipstick, and my recorder. Ah, my recorder. I used it back before everyone had a recorder on their phones. Used it every day I was on the job. It felt weird rooting around my old boxes filled with notes and the old case files I was able to take. I found it next to a box of Hayden’s things I couldn’t bear to part with.
The basement always creeped me out, just four red brick walls with rusty pipes running along them. I had to go through four boxes before I found the small recorder wrapped in an old shirt I first mistook for a rag. When I unwrapped the cloth, my heart gave way. My “Virginia Is for Lovers” shirt. I thought I’d lost it.
Hayden bought it for me on our fateful third date. I was still attending the Academy at Quantico but had a three-day weekend. He met me in front of the gates in a rented convertible. We drove almost eight hours, and no matter how many times I asked, he wouldn’t tell me where we were going. Not that I minded. We spent the time singing along to the radio and talking about nothing and everything. Right before the state line, we had to stop for gas. When he came back out from paying, he had that shirt with him. It was the first thing he ever gave me. Eventually he stole it from me, wearing it to the gym or to work. When I saw it that morning, my breath stopped. I held it up to my nose for a minute. It still smelled like him—coffee and that deodorant he always wore. When I finally regained my composure, I tossed the shirt back in the box, whispering, “I’m sorry, babe.” I grabbed the recorder and ran back upstairs to begin my vigil.
My security system buzzed, bringing me out of the bad thoughts. I got up to push the button to open the gate. “Finally.” I grabbed the suitcases by the door and tossed them onto the porch. I set the alarm, then shut the door before the screeching started. The car pulled up, but instead of Luke’s rental, it was Carol’s Corolla. I couldn’t hide my disappointment as she climbed out. She was dressed for the early heat wave in a yellow sundress, with a matching headband in her curly brown hair. She looked so comfortable, my temperature in the all-black suit went up another 10 degrees. I’d planned to call her after I left to ask her to take care of Gus.
“Hey,” she called from the car with her Southern accent. “What ya doing all gussied up? You look like you’re going to a funeral.” She walked around to the other side of the car to pull her son, Patrick, out of his car seat. He was an adorable kid with blond hair and chubby cheeks who spent most of his time chewing on a Batman action figure you couldn’t pry out of his hand even with the Jaws of Life. Patrick was the only good thing that came out of what was apparently a train wreck of a marriage. The father, who I knew only as “that no-good son of a bitch,” had had nothing to do with them for years. Carol refused to talk about him except when he was late with his child support payments. Then I never heard the end of him. The little I knew I found out from Hayden, who was Carol’s first cousin. That fact made her the only person in town I got along with. She was instrumental in getting me my job after my months of recovery. Carol introduced me to Roger, whom she worked for as an assistant, and helped get me acclimated in Grafton. She showed me around and tried to get me involved in things like book clubs and committees. I usually went only once.
“He gets bigger every time I see him,” I called to her. The jacket came off as sweat ran down my back. It had to be 90 degrees out.
Carol walked the four steps onto the porch with Patrick holding her hand. The second he reached the top, he ran over to me, wrapping his tiny arms around my leg. It was funny: all the adults I knew fled the other way when they were around me, but this kid ran to me. Just me. With everyone else he hid behind his mother’s legs. He looked up at me with those big brown eyes and got the biggest smile on his face. I tousled his hair and s
miled back.
“Don’t change the subject,” she said. “Why are you wearing a suit? You must be dying out here.” She looked down at the suitcases and her mouth dropped. “Oh, God. Did someone really die?”
“No, nobody died. I just have to go up to Washington for a few days.”
“Why on earth do you have to go back there? Did something happen?”
“I’m just going to help out with something up there for a while.”
“With what?”
I sighed. I hated twenty questions. I picked up Patrick, figuring she wouldn’t yell at me with him in the crossfire. Plus he smelled like graham crackers. “The Woodsman.”
Her face fell. “You’re going back to the FBI?”
“No. God no. I’m being hired as a consultant. I’m just going to nose around the scenes, look at the evidence. Give them my two cents’ worth. I’m not rejoining.”
“Well, good. It’s the last thing in the world you should do.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s just…you said so yourself. That job nearly got you killed. And if you go back to chasing psychos, who’s to say it won’t happen again?”
“What happened to me was a fluke. It isn’t something that normally happens to agents. I was just lucky.” I could feel my face getting hot. I didn’t want to yell at Carol, so I took a deep breath to get control. It worked. “I’m grateful you’re worried about me, but there’s no reason to be. I’ll be in the background. Hell, I’ll be lucky to see the outside of the office. I’ll probably just be looking at the personal objects of the victims, talking to people close to them, and muddling through scientific evidence. This guy won’t even know I’m there. I won’t be in any danger.”
“Does this have anything to do with the guy Roger saw leaving your office? Was it who I think it was?” she asked, more pissed than worried.
I looked away from Carol, unable to stand her gaze. “He asked for my help, yes. But me going is my idea, not his.”
Beautiful Maids All in a Row Page 5
