by Cassie Miles
“About what?”
“You call him the Judge. Because he passes out judgment, and he’s right to do so. Some people aren’t worthy. They don’t deserve to live.”
Dash opened his eyes and really looked at William Graff. He remembered Cara’s impression that someone else had been with Russell when he’d held her captive. “What about you, Mr. Graff? Are you a judge?”
“Every day of my life I have to make judgments. Deciding who to trust, who to hire, who to fire.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.” And he knew it. “Tell me about the women in your life.”
“I have never been unfaithful to my wife, Adele.”
“Never found any other woman worthy?”
William Graff pivoted on his heel and walked away, leaving Dash with unanswered questions. Had Graff come here to set up his son’s insanity plea? Was he trying to protect himself and his wife? Or was he taunting Dash?
William Graff was a bully. That much Dash knew for sure. And his adopted son, Russell, must have struggled to fulfill his father’s expectations—a goal he would inevitably fail to achieve. Possible motive, for Russell. Unless they were working together. Father and son serial killers.
Chapter Twelve
Flush with excitement after the presentation of her report at the tribal council, Cara had actually forgotten about the investigation for a few minutes. As soon as she got into the car with Dash, that respite was over. They were on their way to the Indian Hospital in nearby Fort Defiance where Dr. Sterling was using the morgue to process the exhumed remains of the murdered girl.
This time, Cara hoped to avoid seeing the body. She didn’t need another reminder of Russell’s brutality. Nor did she want to ask the question that had been simmering in the back of her mind all day. Was there another victim?
By the time they reached the hospital parking lot, she couldn’t put it off any longer. She adjusted her captain’s chair until she was facing Dash. It was almost dark, but he’d parked under a light. She could see him clearly. “It’s been almost another full day,” she said. “Has he punished anyone else?”
“A woman,” he said. “A blonde.”
“God, no.” Horror pulsed through her. The drumbeat of the dead. She didn’t want to know what had happened to this blonde, but she couldn’t hide from the terrible truth.
“I’m sorry, Cara.” He swiveled his captain’s chair toward her. Their knees were almost touching.
“Is she…”
“Dead. Her throat was slashed.”
“That doesn’t sound like Russell.” She shook her head in desperate denial. “And the woman was blond. He always attacks brunettes. Maybe this murder is unrelated.”
“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Your name was written in the dirt beside the body.”
Another murder placed at her doorstep. Her hands covered her face, hiding from the sudden wash of guilt. This blond woman had died because of Cara. She was responsible. Russell had promised to continue his reign of terror until he had her.
If she truly believed that her own death would end this madness, she might have offered herself as the next victim. Would that stop him? Would that end the madness?
As she lowered her hands, her fingers clenched. There was no guarantee that her own sacrifice would cause Russell to change. He was a stone-cold murderer.
Anger cut through her guilt and her sorrow for the blond victim. “We have to find him, Dash. To stop him.”
“I know.” He reached over and placed his hand on her thigh. A gesture of comfort? Or something else? “We will stop him.”
“But how? His behavior is all over the place. He’s shooting cops. Murdering women who don’t fit the profile.”
“There’s only one consistent part,” Dash said. “You.”
“I’ll do anything to help the investigation,” she said. “You understand that, don’t you?”
“It’s my job to keep you safe.”
When she looked into his eyes, she saw something more than a Fed doing his job. He cared about her on a deeper level. In spite of everything—her guilt, her horror and her rage—her heart jumped inside her rib cage. She couldn’t help responding to this attraction.
Why couldn’t this be happening in a different time? In a different place?
“Damn it, I want to go back to the way my life was before Russell. Calm. Predictable. And blessedly boring.”
“I doubt it was all that dull.”
“You don’t know me, Dash. My idea of high excitement is a Vivaldi CD, a double shot of espresso and a good book.”
“Sounds pretty exciting to me.”
“You’re a firecracker with a lit fuse. I can’t imagine you sitting still to read a book.”
“I like to read naked.” His hand inched up her thigh. His fingers exerted a subtle pressure. “We’d be side by side on the bed. I’d turn the pages for you. One by one.”
She swallowed with a gulp, realizing that they weren’t at the safe house anymore. No surveillance. No one was watching. “I can turn pages by myself, thank you.”
“It’s more fun my way.”
“Nude?”
“That’s right. And we could act out the scenes. The sexy parts.”
“What happened to you while I was in that meeting?” She could feel her heartbeat accelerate. “A few hours ago, you were all business. Mr. Fed. Now you’re…Casanova.”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t be talking like this.”
But when he lifted his hand from her leg, she caught his wrist and firmly guided his palm back to her thigh. With her other hand, she reached up and touched his cheek. His incredibly blue eyes glowed, hot and penetrating. Meeting his gaze, she whispered, “I like Casanova.”
“I like you, Cara. And I hate that you’re in danger. After we talk to Dr. Sterling, I’m taking you back to the safe house.”
She didn’t want to go back. “You need me, Dash. Russell won’t come out of hiding unless he thinks he’s getting close to me.”
“I’m the only one who gets to be close to you.”
His next move was so fast that she didn’t quite comprehend what was happening. His free hand tangled in her hair. He pulled her face toward his. His mouth joined with hers in a hard, demanding kiss. Unexpected. Startling.
At the same time, this was exactly what she wanted and needed. Years of sensible repression fell away as her tongue slid through her lips. Hungrily, she welcomed him. His taste. His scent. She wanted everything he could give her.
She scooted to the edge of her chair, needing to be closer to him. Her knees were trapped between his spread thighs in a strangely erotic position. She directed his hand inside her suit jacket to her breast. He squeezed. His thumb flicked her nipple. Wild sensations unfurled inside her. More. She wanted more.
But he broke away from her and swiveled his chair so he was facing forward, staring through the windshield. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Wrong.” She was gasping. “You made exactly the right move.”
He whispered a low curse. “Following my instincts could put you in danger.”
She had a bad feeling. “We’re not talking about sex, are we?”
“I want you, Cara. That goes without saying.”
But she wouldn’t mind hearing it, listening to him tell her that she was desirable and fantastic. “What are you talking about?”
He lightly smacked the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this plan.”
“What plan?”
“Using you as bait.”
This time when he looked at her she saw concern and doubt instead of desire. “Dash, I’ll do anything to help. Anything. I can’t stand thinking that Russell is still hurting people because of me.”
“His actions aren’t your fault.”
“I know, but it feels like…” Both hands flew to her breast, holding in the pain of regret that mounted with every victim. The burned remains in Mesa Verde. The deputy who
was shot. The woman who was tied up. “Use me any way that you need to.”
“We should go into the hospital now,” he said. “Russell was seen on the reservation, so we need to be on high alert. I’m your bodyguard, and I want you to pay attention.”
He was back in control. Mr. Fed in his sports coat. She much preferred Casanova. “Fine.”
“You need to do exactly what I say. No questions. No second-guessing. Just action. If I say hit the ground, you do it. If I say run, you sprint.”
“And if you say kiss me, should I jump on you and rip open your shirt?”
“This isn’t a joke, Cara.”
“I’m not laughing.” She shoved open her door.
“Stop.” He caught hold of her arm before she could get out. “I’ll open the door for you after I’ve made sure you’re not stepping into Russell’s waiting arms.”
She sank back into her seat. This bodyguard business wasn’t going to be any fun at all.
As they walked to the hospital entrance, Dash rested his hand on the small of her back. When she looked up at him, she noticed the small movements of his head. His eyes were in constant motion, scanning for danger.
Even as they were escorted through the corridor of the two-story hospital, he kept watch. In the basement level, far from the normal hospital activity, they found Lieutenant Perry Longhand leaning against the wall with his arms folded across his broad chest. His face was serious as he greeted them.
“Dr. Sterling is in there.” Longhand nodded toward a pair of swinging doors, wide enough for a gurney. Though the doors weren’t labeled, Cara assumed this was the morgue.
Nervously, she toyed with the turquoise beads around her throat. “How is the elder’s family?”
“Troubled. They’ll do a Blessingway ceremony tonight.” He pushed open the door to the morgue. “I’ll tell Dr. Sterling you’re here.”
When she glanced over her shoulder at Dash, she caught a glimpse of his former passion. Good. He hadn’t completely turned into RoboCop.
The door from the morgue swung open, and Dr. Sterling came through. He wore a protective gown over his shirt, jeans and boots. While working with the body, he would have been wearing protective gloves, but he’d already removed them. He clasped her hand. His hazel eyes confronted her with a disconcerting directness. “I’m pleased to see you again, Cara.”
“Thank you for agreeing to this examination.”
“I was rather pleased to be summoned away from the dig site. Dr. Petty seems to have lost control of his students with this news. They’re moping all day and chattering all night about Russell Graff.”
She could easily imagine. The teams working at archaeological sites often took on the characteristics of bickering siblings. “And what is your opinion of Russell?”
“A very good student.” He released her hand. “That young man knows how to follow instructions, and he has the patience of a true scientist.”
This was a high compliment from Dr. Sterling, whose conclusions were always meticulous and detailed. He was, possibly, the most intelligent person she’d ever known.
She guessed that his age was somewhere in his forties, but it was hard to tell. His face was unlined, a result of seldom revealing emotion with either a smile or a frown. His hair was thinning on top, making his forehead seem too large. A big head for a big brain.
When Dash stepped up beside him, the contrast between the two men was obvious. Dash—a man of action—was lean and quick, bursting with vital energy. Beside him, Dr. Sterling appeared almost bloodless.
Dash introduced himself, shook hands and got right to the point. “Have you reached any conclusion about these remains?”
“Several,” he said.
Cara suggested, “Perhaps we could go upstairs to the cafeteria and get a cup of coffee.”
Dr. Sterling glanced back toward the swinging doors. “I can’t leave her alone.”
“I’ll stay,” Longhand volunteered. “Bring me back an orange soda.”
THOUGH THE HOSPITAL CAFETERIA offered the usual selection of chips and sandwiches, Dash chose a fried bread taco and another dish that looked like hominy. Cara called it posole. He avoided the watery-looking coffee.
At a rectangular table, he sat beside Cara with his back to the wall so he could observe the entrances and exits. Sterling sat opposite them.
Cara had also loaded her tray with food. Lamb stew and fried bread.
Sterling had only a mug of tea without sugar. His manner was austere, as if he couldn’t be bothered with such mundane things as food. He opened the folder of material that Dash had arranged to be faxed—prior autopsies on the Judge’s victims. Sterling slipped on a pair of reading glasses and skimmed through the pages.
Dash asked, “Is there any possibility of DNA testing on these remains?”
“I found tissue, highly degraded but viable. However, I can’t allow any part of that young woman to be separated from her remains. I promised her parents that she would be returned intact to her grave.”
“Don’t you think they’d want to know for certain that the victim is their daughter?”
“I concur with the prior identification,” he said. “Her skull structure is typical of the Pueblo tribes. Her height is correct. At one time, she had a broken arm that matches the records from this very hospital. Besides which, her parents seem satisfied that this is their child. That’s the most salient factor.”
Dash tasted the posole. An interesting combination of peppers and spices mingled with corn. “Have you reached any preliminary conclusions on the comparison with other cases?”
“Normally, I prefer waiting until my examination is complete, but I understand your urgency.”
Again, Sterling studied the notes and photographs. His silence was irritating, but Dash had no choice but to wait.
If Sterling verified that this killing could be attributed to the Judge, it created a pattern that pointed more directly to Russell. The timing of this murder suggested that he’d never stopped, that he was the same man who’d murdered seven women in San Francisco. Not a copycat.
Russell had a ritual and he followed it. Until Cara.
Dash glanced toward her as she dipped her fried bread into the stew and took a bite.
She looked back at him and winked. Behind her supposedly innocent smile, he saw a teasing glimmer of sensuality—a reminder of the passion that had overwhelmed him in the parking lot. What the hell had he been thinking? The answer to that question was pretty damned obvious. He wanted her.
He’d been constantly in her presence since the moment he’d rescued her from that field beside the flaming house. He’d watched her transformation from a terrified creature to a self-assured, powerful woman. A sexually confident woman.
His gaze fell on the turquoise beads that rested at the delicate hollow below her throat. Her skin was so smooth and fine.
“I’ve noticed several common elements,” Sterling said. “My preliminary opinion is that the woman in the morgue was almost certainly a victim of the San Francisco killer. The Judge.”
“What about the victim found recently in Santa Fe and the other at Mesa Verde?”
“There’s some deviation.”
“Such as?”
“I’ll need further microscopic analysis to be certain, but in the earlier murders there appears to be more damage to the bone. Indications of severe incisions and even fractures.”
Dash wasn’t following Dr. Sterling’s analysis. “What does that mean?”
“In the earlier murders, he spent more time playing with the bodies postmortem.”
This was an aspect of the crime that Dash had read in the reports but hadn’t focused on. “Playing?”
“After his victims were dead, the killer performed clumsy dissections. Cutting away pieces of flesh and organs. Possibly to make incineration more efficient.” Sterling’s gaze was unwavering. “There’s less postmortem damage in the more recent victims.”
Dash set his fork on the tray, gla
d that he wasn’t eating meat. “But it’s the same killer, right?”
“Possibly.” Sterling raised his mug to his lips and glanced over the rim at Cara. “What does this variance suggest to you, Dr. Messinger?”
“He’s lost interest in cutting.” She shook her head. “But that doesn’t seem right. According to the profilers, serial killers are supposed to escalate their behavior.”
“I’m a scientist.” Sterling’s voice held a note of disdain. “Not a psychologist.”
“Possibly,” Cara said, “there’s less skeletal damage because he’s gotten better at what he’s doing.”
“That would be my hypothesis,” Sterling said. “If, in fact, Russell is your killer, his postmortem dissection technique has improved. He’s neater, with less gouging. If it is Russell…in my working with this young man, I have noticed a marked improvement in his abilities.”
“Do you believe Russell is the killer?” Dash asked.
“I draw no final conclusions.” A thin smile touched his lips. “That’s your job, Agent Adams.”
As if he needed reminding.
Sterling turned toward Cara again. “I had a message for you from Joanne Jones.”
“Russell’s girlfriend?”
“I couldn’t say. I have better things to do than keep up with the many romances at the dig site.”
“The message?” Cara asked.
“She wanted me to say hello and to mention that she was looking forward to seeing you at the dig site. And there was something else. She was very specific about these words. I should tell you that she would ‘catch you later.’”
Catch you later. The words Russell used to sign his e-mails to Cara. It was no coincidence that his girlfriend had used that phrase while inviting Cara to the dig site.
Dash had to go there, had to follow up on this clue. More importantly, he had to take Cara with him.
Chapter Thirteen
Waiting inside the camper, Cara fidgeted in the passenger seat. Dash’s new plan to keep her protected was to lock her up in here like a bird in a cage, a sardine in a can. Through the windshield, she glared at him as he talked to two other agents.
