04 A Killing Touch

by Nikki Duncan

  “Can we go back to the hallway file? Just before the person he bumped into fell?”

  The owner switched the files back and got it to where she wanted. As if a journalist god was smiling down on her a fight broke out in the kitchen commanding the owner’s attention.

  Alone, Lana watched the video. The moment the person touched Lance’s arm Lana hit the space bar to pause. The quality wasn’t great, and blunt, slim fingers with short, clipped nails made it tough to determine if the hand belonged to a man or woman. What would narrow things down was the dark spot, maybe a birthmark, on the L part of the hand. It covered the knuckle above the thumb leading to one above the index finger.

  Before the owner could return, Lana quickly snapped a picture of the screen with her phone and restarted the video. The image she now had was less than great quality, but clear enough that she could compare the image to a real hand if she met the person.

  When the owner returned, she almost told him the FBI might be stopping by for a copy of the footage. She didn’t. Honesty was important to her. She didn’t like to blindside people when she could keep from it, but neither did she want to run the risk, however minimal, that he’d know who was in the hall and warn them. Instead, she thanked him for his time and left.

  As the restaurant door closed behind Lana, Liam and Kieralyn pulled up. Satisfaction curled through her. She was on the same track as Aidan’s team, but she’d gotten there faster. And she’d already decided where to head next.

  “Lana.” Liam’s voice rolled like Aidan’s, but unlike his twin, Liam spoke with humor and respect. “I keep underestimating how good you are.”

  “I keep telling you guys.” Kieralyn rolled her eyes, essentially shrugging off a point she had yet to convince her team of. “You find anything?”

  Lana emailed the picture from her phone to Kieralyn and Liam while she caught them up on the video footage and the things she’d learned about Lance without revealing who she’d gotten the information from. Keeping Darla’s identity secret meant she had to omit a few details because some of what Lance had shared with her he wouldn’t have shared with a casual acquaintance or co-worker.

  A few minutes later Lana waved as Liam and Kieralyn headed in to speak with the owner themselves and likely request a copy of the tape.

  While they chased that lead, Lana was going after a new one.

  Chapter Seven

  Confident he’d severed the open information sharing between Nigel and Lana, Aidan dropped Ava off at the courthouse for her court date. A quick phone call to Tyler revealed progress in the algorithm. It was written and processing, but so far any similarities between the victims were surface thin and useless. A call to Liam netted him an update on Lana’s movements. She’d learned a lot about Lance and uncovered a possible identifier of his killer.

  Then she’d shared the information with his teammates instead of sending it to him. Everyone on the team worked independently, updating each other regularly so there were no surprises and everyone’s back was always covered. Information always flowed up to him and Breck at rapid intervals, but not from Lana.

  He tightened his hands on the steering wheel like he could wring frustration out of it.

  She wanted to be included in what they learned, yet when she uncovered case-changing news she didn’t send it straight to him. Maybe he didn’t expect her to send him messages while she was talking to people, but she’d held on to the picture until she happened to run into his team. And he had no doubt she’d have held back the information if she hadn’t bumped into Liam and Kieralyn.

  Aidan’s right eye pounded painfully.

  Lana claimed to want to help. Claimed to be interested in more than just a story. Claimed to not be like every other glory-hungry journalist but she included others only when it suited her. He shouldn’t have believed anything she claimed. Her recent behavior was another reason why. She just wouldn’t back off and she kept secrets.

  She’d tracked down Lance, which meant she’d go after information on Natasha Lambert, the woman left in the alley, or Danielle Johnson, the first woman who’d died in assisted living.

  He considered the information and Lana again. No. That’s what she would think he’d think she would so. Which meant she would wait on the women. With the confirmation that Lance had uncovered suspicious files from the doctor’s office, she’d go back to Dr. Grayson. Aidan changed directions and headed to the doctor’s offices. Like last time, she’d have to get past him first.

  When he got to the doctor’s office building he was reminded that the doctor didn’t have office hours on Thursday or Friday. He would have remembered that if he hadn’t been trying to outthink Lana.

  “Damn it.” Aidan fisted his hand. The urge to shoot it into the wall burned like flames licking along his temper. Instead he dug his knuckles into his throbbing temple.

  Lana.

  She drove him past distraction until he misstepped. In an attempt to predict her he’d forgotten a detail he’d already known. A detail Lana had no doubt known and remembered. A detail that seemed small when there were no small details in a murder investigation.

  Exhaling slowly, he relaxed his fist, knuckle by knuckle and finger by finger, until tension no longer stretched from palm to wrist.

  Having found out that prior to his death Lance had likely tried to talk with the doctor made Lana’s next logical move the doctor. No office hours meant she’d track him to wherever he spent his off days.

  Aidan pulled his cell out and dialed Tyler. He answered on the second ring.

  “What’s up?”

  “I need you to run Dr. Grayson.” Aidan got to the point as quickly as Tyler and headed back to his car. “I need his home address and any place he spends his days off.”

  Tyler’s key tapping sounded clearly through the phone and a moment later he rattled off a few addresses. With as quickly as he’d accessed the information, Lana had to already have it. She had an annoying knack of finding information. She’d shown on the Valentine killer case how much information she could gather through unofficial channels. Even information she shouldn’t be able to find.

  Aidan went to the doctor’s home, the greenhouse where he grew some of his own herbs, and the marina where he docked a boat. The home and greenhouse were empty. The boat was docked and empty. According to a neighboring boater, the doctor had left with an attractive woman fifteen minutes earlier.

  The only description he’d been able to get was that she’d had a firm ass, a nice rack and long legs that gave her a seductive stride. She’d carried a large messenger-type bag. Clearly the man’s attraction had been to her body. And the description fit Lana. Though it fit other women too.

  She may be able to slip by him during the day, but eventually she had to go home. He headed to her apartment, ready to re-establish his expectations. Though it was well after quitting time for most companies, Aidan sat for an hour outside Lana’s home before she finally pulled into a slot a few cars down. Blissfully ignorant that she was being watched, she headed to the mailboxes with a plant in her hand and her oversized messenger bag slapping her hip with each sauntering step.

  She was investigating a killer and talking to people she thought could be connected. The danger may not be on her doorstep, but this case, just like her others, invited danger. She needed to be more aware of it and he’d prove it.

  He got out and closed his car door quietly so the click of the latch was barely heard. Walking with his weight on the balls of his feet, he closed the distance between them. Less than a foot separated them. She never shifted her head or altered her stride in a way that would indicate she even sensed another person was in her space.

  Aidan reached out to grab her.

  “You’ll be flipped to the pavement, Aidan.” She spoke with a confidence so quiet his hand froze an inch from touching her. Still without turning, she took a few more steps and opened her mailbox. “And I’d hate to drop my new plant.”

  “How’d you know?” That he was ther
e? That he was about to touch her?

  “I sensed you.” She turned with a handful of mail and smiled with the certainty of a strong woman’s power. “And I saw you in your car.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, Aidan. I’m more aware of my surroundings than you think. My dad required it of me.” She locked her mailbox and nodded behind her. “You wanna come in or were you only here to see if I’d notice you?”

  “I’m coming in. We need to talk.” He said nothing else while he followed her to her first-level apartment. Unlike the neighbors living on the second or third levels she had a bricked patio with landscaping that flowed smoothly into the common courtyard with a view of the pool and hot tub.

  “You moved.”

  “Home wasn’t the same after Valentine’s Day.”

  “Right.” It would make sense that she’d struggled to stay where she’d helped trap a serial killer she’d known personally.

  Following her through the double door of the patio into her living room, Aidan found himself more at home than he’d have expected. Keeping with the vibrant colors used in the landscaping, her apartment was painted and decorated in shades of blues and greens with red accents. It was nothing like her last place. This one was much more welcoming and friendly when he’d have expected white and modern lines.

  Intrigued by what else he could learn about her, Aidan walked through her living room and kitchen when she headed into her bedroom. She had framed photographs everywhere, with few people repeated. She’d been in a few weddings and there was a picture of her sitting in Nigel’s lap, laughing as he nuzzled her neck. The pictures that captured Aidan’s attention sat beside the coffee maker in her kitchen. It was a place of honor where she’d see them every day. In one, she lay on a picnic blanket with her head in a man’s lap. He looked foreign and about her age at the time. They stared at each other without caring they were being captured on film. Whoever the man was, she’d obviously adored him.

  The next picture was a gut punch. She was smiling up at an older man who held her lovingly with thick arms locked at her lower back.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “What?” Lana asked as she stepped into the kitchen.

  He turned with the picture in his hand and shook his head. He should have put it together. The last name. The fact that she had contacts everywhere and in every field. Her familiarity with legal processes. She was a pain in the ass, but he had to admit her evidence was always valid in court. “I should have known. Should have put it together.”

  She smiled. “Most people don’t.”

  “My living relies on my ability to put things together.” Aidan looked between the picture and her. “You look just like him.”

  “So I’m told.” She took the picture and leaned past Aidan to put it back. Her hand lingered momentarily over the man’s smile. Her father’s smile.

  “You never mentioned him. Never used his name to get your way with us.” And damn if he didn’t respect her for it. She’d said she didn’t do easy. She apparently meant it on more than one level.

  “No.” She shrugged. “So what? My dad is the director of the FBI. I don’t need to flaunt his name to achieve my goals.”

  “Does Kieralyn know?”

  “We’ve been friends since college. She’s spent holidays with us.” Lana turned the oven to broil. “Are you eating?”

  “Sure.” He still had questions to ask about today. He was more curious about why she didn’t use her father as leverage. And why Kieralyn never used him as leverage. Or even mentioned who he was.

  “Why didn’t she ever mention it? Especially when you were taken during that kidnapping case.” Even when the team had been unwilling to listen to Kieralyn’s demands that Lana had been on to something. Even when she’d gone outside the FBI and pulled in the expert listener from the NSA—Ian—to help her. “And why did you send that recording to her instead of him?”

  “I’m sure she would have played that card if she hadn’t been able to enlist Ian’s help or track me down on her own.” Lana smiled as she seasoned some steaks she’d pulled from the fridge. She seemed to be enjoying his confusion. “Besides, while I have no doubt the entire FBI would have been looking for me if I’d brought Dad in, I didn’t want that much attention any more than yours or any other Bureau team would want to deal with my dad in that situation.”

  She was right that no one would have wanted to work with the Director but that was a risk of the job. The man was a bulldog and he’d have called every shot on the investigation. That Lana had hesitated to utilize that missile launcher when she’d been in danger was another layer to the confusion she caused. “The attention would have gotten you recognition and any promotion you wanted.”

  The corner of her mouth twitched. After she’d slid the steaks into the oven and allowed the door to slam closed, she turned on him. Her stare swelled with suppressed fury. “I’m not sure what’s more impossible for you to grasp. Maybe it’s the idea that a woman would prefer not having her powerful daddy throw his weight around for her. Or it could be that she finds more pride in herself when she handles things on her own. Or maybe it’s just that I prefer things that way.”

  “Lana.”

  “Something in that thick head of yours is keeping you from seeing it.” Her voice lowered as her rage increased. “You look at me and see a power-hungry journalist who’s willing to sell her own mother for a story, no matter how many times I prove differently.”

  “That’s not—”

  “True?” She nodded. “It’s absolutely true. Somewhere along the way you were burned when you allowed yourself to trust a journalist. I don’t have to know who she is or what she did to know it was…damaging.”

  Damaging didn’t touch what had happened, but he wasn’t going to get into it with Lana. Hell, the last thing he wanted to do was catch her interest in the way of a story. Scandal, even a perceived one, didn’t die. It only got more romanticized and interesting.

  “I’m not like that other reporter, Aidan. I want success. I push hard for it, and yes, I take risks. But damn it, I never risk a case or another person’s integrity.” She flipped the steaks and shut the oven door more calmly than the last time. “When I win awards I want to know I got them through honesty, hard work and on my own merit. I need to know every day that I’ve done nothing to sacrifice my morals.”

  Conviction rose in her voice when anger had lowered it. Under the conviction was what sounded like a layer of pain. As if he had the power to actually hurt her. While part of him saw the truth of her words, another part stood in disbelief and waited for her to let him down. They were the same parts that warred between wanting to be with her and wanting to run from her before doing something to piss off the director.

  The doorbell rang, saving him from having to respond.

  “Watch those.” She waved at the oven and headed to the door. She turned in the doorway and shook her head almost sadly. “I wish you’d stop expecting me to betray you.”

  She turned away and headed to her door. Her voice was muffled, but Aidan heard clearly enough.

  “What the hell?” Lana asked.

  “Should’ve stayed out of it.” Either a woman with a deep voice or a man with a slightly high one spoke. “Now it’s your turn.”

  Chills covered Aidan’s neck. He was running to the door with his gun drawn, yet when he got there Lana stood staring at her wrist. No one was there.

  “Lana.”

  “Aidan.” Her words shook as violently as her hand as she lifted it. A vicious row of welts rose on her wrist, quickly spreading across her arm in bubbling pustules.

  “Shit.” The trembling gun in his hand weighed heavily as he rushed past Lana. The brightly lit hall was empty. He ran to the end, but saw no one.

  Whoever had been at her door could have gotten away, or they could be waiting in hiding to see how quickly the coroner showed up. Killers didn’t tend to strike and then hope their victim died.

  With his heart slamming aga
inst his ribs like a wrecking ball, Aidan returned to Lana. She sagged against the wall, pale and shaky. He holstered his gun, wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her to the couch. “Stay calm. What are you allergic to?”

  “Cats.” She rubbed at her throat. Coughed. “There’s an EpiPen in my purse.”

  Her strangled and weak voice kept him from asking why she had an epinephrine auto-injector in her purse or if she always carried it. Instead he retrieved it quickly and shot it into her outer thigh like he’d been taught in a first aid class. Almost instantly the rash that now covered her arm slowed its growth and her breathing eased. With quaking hands and a worried heart, he brushed Lana’s hair off her forehead and pulled his cell out to call 9-1-1.

  She paled more and began sweating, a side effect of the drug according to the 9-1-1 dispatcher. The man’s calming voice did nothing to ease Aidan’s stress. The director’s daughter had just been attacked by an allergy killer while an agent had been in the next room. The woman he cared for lay before him with a deadly rash moving across her satin skin.

  Lana kept her eyes closed while she listened to the drip of her IV and the hushed sounds of the hospital beyond her door. Her arm itched with the anger of fire ant bites, but the itching stopped just below her shoulder. That had to be a good sign. Not that she wanted to look to see if the pustules so many had died from were still covering her. Too chicken to look, she rolled her head to the opposite side and eased her eyes open.

  Full night had fallen and altered the appearance of the hospital wing opposite of her room. The stark building with reflective glass and giant air conditioners on the roof had been romanticized by the moon’s glimmering light and a few muted lights shining in rooms.

  She’d been put in a private room that had a couch for company rather than the standard, impossibly uncomfortable chair. Half stretched out on that couch, with his head falling back against the top and his legs bent so he didn’t slide off the faux leather cushions was Aidan.