“But we can’t take the symbol out of it,” Jax reminded her.
She let out a frustrated laugh. “No kidding. But the victims don’t fit. Jax, we’ve got a rec center that was empty and set on fire. The murder victims were a female baker in her thirties who was a pillar of the community, a nineteen-year-old college boy with a couple of sexual assault charges on his record, a fiftyish man who used to run marathons, a popular middle school teacher in her forties and a sixtyish man with a really polarizing platform who was just elected as mayor. Then we’ve got the bombings, where we haven’t identified the target. What ties all of these people together?”
Leaning back against the vinyl seat, Jax contemplated the list Keara had just given him. She was right. They didn’t make sense as targets of the same person. They didn’t even make sense as targets of two people.
The explosions in Luna and Desparre weren’t the first bombings he’d assisted on. And he’d worked with two victims of a serial killer that the FBI had managed to rescue, helping them through the legal process for almost a year. He wasn’t a profiler, but he’d learned way more about how serial killers worked during that case than he’d ever wanted to know.
Most serial killers had a specific type. Even when there wasn’t specifically a sexual component to the crime itself, many of them were sexually motivated. Such a wide range of victims wasn’t unheard of, but it was unusual. And when it happened, there was almost always a specific method of killing that was most important to the killer.
Still, the symbol... It felt almost like a signature to him, a specific thing the killer felt compelled to do, something that marked the crime as theirs. They might be able to change their MO, but a signature would remain.
But was drawing a series of loops on or near the bodies really a compulsive behavior? Or was it being used by a group of criminals, maybe individuals who’d found each other somehow and made a pact to leave behind the symbols to confuse authorities?
Except if that was the case, then why hadn’t they seen additional matching crimes in each jurisdiction?
Rubbing his head, Jax admitted, “It doesn’t make sense to me. I talked to Ben a bit about it today. He had a quick look at the cases we pulled. He admitted that if we’d found a series of bombs with the symbol, they’d be chasing that lead full-throttle. But across singular killings like this, he thinks it’s far less likely to be connected.”
“The FBI is still looking into it?” Keara pressed.
“Yeah. But obviously, the bombs are the first priority. Two so close together are a pattern that can’t be ignored. And then there’s the psychology of a bomber versus a killer.”
“Bombers like chaos,” Keara said. “They like to create fear and destruction.”
“Yeah,” Jax agreed. “And a serial killer who murders his victims up close probably isn’t going to want to watch from a distance, like with arson or a bomb. It seems like two different personality types to me.”
“And unless our murderer is also just determined to try out every method of killing possible, the single murders in each state don’t really seem connected, either,” Keara said.
Jax sighed. He’d initiated the call feeling hopeful, almost nervous. He’d been planning to suggest they get dinner and distract themselves from the stress and horror of the case. He’d been hoping dinner might lead to an offer for him and Patches to stay on her couch again, even though he’d confirmed that the Royal Desparre allowed dogs. He didn’t expect her to join him on the couch this time, but right now being close to her was enough.
Now he felt exhausted and discouraged. Even Patches, catching his mood, let out a whine and lay on the ground.
“Where do we go from here?” Keara prompted when he didn’t speak for a minute.
Jax rubbed his head, pushing aside his sandwich, no longer hungry. “I have no idea.” And that was true of more than just the case. Equally frustrating was his inability to help her personally, help her move forward. Without that, there was no chance of this attraction between them going anywhere.
* * *
KEARA HADN’T BEEN back to Texas in over a year. Even then, so many years after her husband’s murder, being in Houston had given her anxiety, brought back all of her anger and frustration over Juan’s case having gone cold. But maybe it was time to return. The thoughts ran through her mind the next morning as she lay in bed.
Once the bombing was solved, she could take some personal time. If she could convince the Houston PD to reopen the case, if she could work it unofficially, maybe she could finally get some closure.
Seven years was long enough. She needed to be able to move forward. And for the first time, she wanted to truly move forward, to start living her life fully again.
It wasn’t hard to identify the reason. She’d never known a man like Jax Diallo, never connected so quickly to anyone.
He lived on the other side of the state, but that might actually be a good thing. It would keep any relationship from moving too quickly, from getting too serious before she was ready. Because wanting to move forward wasn’t the same as wanting to dive headfirst into a serious relationship. Still, she didn’t want to say goodbye when the bombings were solved.
She was pretty sure he was interested. Best of all, although he worked for the FBI, he wasn’t a law-enforcement officer. He wasn’t constantly running into danger. He was helping victims, but he wasn’t interacting with the suspects.
Sure, there were no guarantees. Everyone faced some level of risk just walking around in the world. Being a cop for so many years had definitely taught her that. But Jax was a much safer man to love than Juan had ever been.
The unexpected thought made anxiety and guilt bubble up and Keara shoved off her covers, stepped onto the cold wood floor in her bedroom. Love. That was an emotion way off in the future, if ever. Right now she had much bigger things to worry about.
Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, Keara groaned. Almost 8 a.m. It might have been Saturday, but she still had a long day ahead of her and she had planned to get an early start.
So much for that plan. Debating whether to jump into a fast shower or just start making phone calls, Keara opted for the phone. She started with the hospital, heart pounding faster as she waited for news on Nate and Talise.
“Both of their conditions are the same,” the nurse who finally came on the line told her.
She tried to quell the disappointment. At least they weren’t deteriorating. Both had faced serious injuries. Talise had gone through emergency surgery for her leg and Nate had gotten his head stitched up, only for doctors to open it up again a few hours later to release intracranial pressure.
Hanging up with the hospital, Keara sighed and headed to the kitchen. She couldn’t stop herself from glancing at the couch where she’d slept—much less fitfully—the night before last. Couldn’t stop herself from wishing Jax and Patches were sitting there to greet her again this morning.
When she’d spoken to Jax late last night, he’d been at a diner on the outskirts of Desparre. They’d talked about the case and then he’d had to let her go, to take a call from one of the agents. Even though she’d gone through everything she’d needed to tell him about the cases, she’d half expected him to call back. When she hadn’t heard from him, she’d heated up a frozen dinner, done a little kickboxing to combat her frustration, then headed to bed.
As she turned on her coffeepot, Keara pulled up Jax’s number. Before she could hit Call, her phone rang. It was a number she didn’t recognize.
“Chief Hernandez,” she answered.
“This is Ben Nez.”
The last of Keara’s sleepiness cleared away. Was there a break in the case? “Agent Nez. What’s happening?”
“We’ve been running down all of the victims in the two bombings, trying to nail down a potential target.”
From the beginning, she’d heard the FBI
theorizing that a specific target was likely, since the bombs could have easily been placed in more populated areas or spots that would have gotten more publicity. Although the bombs had definitely made the news in and around Desparre and Luna, they hadn’t been large or spectacular enough to make much of a blip on the national news.
“Any luck?” she asked when he paused.
“Well, I wanted your take on something. We just discovered that one of the people who was killed at the Luna bombing is actually related to a victim in Desparre.”
“Who is it?” Keara asked, frowning. The connection was news to her.
“Aiden DeMarco was the victim in Luna. He posted the idea about the soccer game on the chat room, so the bomber would have definitely known he’d be there. He was eighteen, planned to leave Alaska to go to college in California. We looked into him early on, didn’t see any reason for him to be targeted, but we could have missed something. His aunt on his mom’s side, Gina Metner, was injured in Desparre.”
“I know Gina,” Keara said. The woman was a transplant from the lower forty-eight. She’d moved up to Alaska to be near her sister and escape from a violent ex. But the ex had since died and Gina had decided she wanted even more solitude than Luna offered, so she’d found herself a home in Desparre. She worked part-time at the library in Luna and part-time at the grocery store with Talise.
“Gina talked about her sister and her nephew, but I didn’t know his name,” Keara told Ben. “I didn’t realize he’d been killed in the bombing.”
“Can you think of anyone with a grudge against Gina?”
“No one living.” Keara explained about the violent ex, then added, “Gina and I got to talking a year ago, when she first decided to move to Desparre. She gave me a bit of a rundown on her life. But otherwise, she’s pretty quiet. She’s got a couple of friends here we can talk to, but I can’t imagine her having made a ton of enemies since she moved to Alaska two years ago.”
“We spoke to Gina already,” Ben said. “She said the same thing. It could be a coincidence.” He sighed. “But I was hoping we might have stumbled across the connection we’ve been trying to find.”
“Gina wasn’t badly hurt in the bombing,” Keara said. “She was leaving the park when the bomb went off. She got checked out since the blast initially impacted her hearing, but she got the all clear to go home the same day. The only thing she needed was a couple of stitches and not even directly from the blast. It was when the explosion knocked her down and she hit the pavement.”
“Right. So if the bomber was targeting her and he was nearby, maybe the couple who spotted him and called the police over threw him off. Maybe he was distracted and ducked into the woods to hide, didn’t get farther away quickly enough. He wouldn’t have wanted to be that close when the bomb went off. Assuming the bomber is the same person Imani and Wesley saw near the tree with the carving on it,” Ben added.
“Luna and Desparre are pretty small towns. It’s not really surprising that two of the victims would be related.”
“Yeah, well, you know what they say about all the bases,” Ben said.
Keara mumbled an agreement, trying not to let him hear how disheartened she felt. This kind of investigation was more like a marathon than a sprint. A bomber savvy enough to have set off the bomb in Luna—which hadn’t yielded any significant leads more than a week later—probably wasn’t going to be easy to find.
“What about the sketch of the suspect?” Keara asked.
She hadn’t recognized him. Neither had anyone on her force. That was a little bit surprising if he lived around here, since they were a small town. Then again, Desparre was known for being the sort of place where you could come to disappear. They had a lot of land to get lost in and if you wanted to stay off everyone’s radar, there was a whole mountain to hide on. If the bomber was hiding here, it wouldn’t be the first time the town had a criminal in their midst.
“We’re still showing the sketch around,” Ben told her. “So far no one knows this guy.”
If the bomber was the same person who’d been responsible for the murders and arson in the lower forty-eight, it made sense that no one knew him. He’d be staying far below the radar. But there had been five days between the Luna bombing and the one in her park. It had now been two days since the blast that had been close enough to shake the walls of the Desparre police station.
If he’d gone from a once-a-year, once-a-location killer to a serial bomber, how much time did they have before he struck again?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When Keara walked into the police station half an hour later, the rest of her department, and most of the FBI agents, were already there. Thankfully, it looked like they were just getting started.
She nodded at her officers, who were all working serious overtime. Since they were a small town, they were constantly on call. But the station was typically closed from 9 p.m. until 9 a.m. In the past two days most of them had been there until midnight.
Then her gaze was drawn to Jax. As soon as she made eye contact, he smiled at her. Patches did him one better, letting out a happy woof! and racing across the room, sliding to a slightly uncoordinated stop at her feet.
Keara laughed, grateful for the moment of levity. She wondered if the intelligent therapy dog had done it on purpose. “Hi, Patches.”
Patches wagged her tail, staring up expectantly until Keara pet her.
Then Jax was standing beside her, his presence somehow managing to make her more calm and nervous at the same time.
“Today we’re hoping to get more information on motive and our potential suspect,” Ben announced, his voice carrying over the few conversations and making everyone go quiet.
“Since you know the residents here better than we do, we’re hoping to pair agents and officers,” Ben said. “The goal is twofold. First, to figure out if anyone knows of a reason one of the victims might have been targeted or anyone who’d want to do them harm. Second, to show them the sketch we got from two of the people on the scene. See if anyone recognizes him.”
“What about me and Patches?” Jax piped up.
“We’re hoping you can drive back to Luna, talk to Aiden DeMarco’s family and see if they have any idea why both their son and his aunt might have been targeted.”
Jax nodded, looking unsurprised, and Keara hid her disappointment.
He wasn’t an agent. He wouldn’t have been paired with her anyway. And if he had been, she would have needed to protest. Although talking to residents wasn’t dangerous in theory, it could lead them to a bomber. Hell, they could actually end up knocking on the door of the bomber. Keara didn’t know everyone who lived here, especially those who chose to hide on the mountain, who didn’t want to be known.
Desparre was a small town only in terms of population. When it came to size—and the distance backup had to travel if you needed them—it was definitely large.
“I’ve got a list of pairings,” Ben continued, “and a stack of printed sketches you can show people. That way, anyone with low vision won’t have to squint at your phones. And there’s no chance of anyone trying to snatch that phone away from you.”
He said the last part like he’d experienced it and Keara raised her eyebrows at Jax, who just shrugged in response.
“Does that work for you, Chief Hernandez?” Ben called across the room.
Everyone’s attention swiveled her way and she nodded, appreciating that he wasn’t just trying to railroad over her small department. The FBI had more experience, but her officers knew the area and the people better. “The plan makes sense. Everyone stay safe out there. If you get a lead, call it in on the radio before you pursue it. And make sure you stay in contact. I want everyone checking in with regular status updates.”
Her officers nodded somberly. Normally, she might have gotten a couple of rolled eyes at that request, but not today.
Polici
ng a small town could get tedious, make you let down your guard. You thought you knew the people, thought you knew the dangers. But out here, where it was common to take calls alone, communication was their best defense. It was something she preached on a regular basis.
“I’ve got pairings up here,” Ben announced, and everyone headed his way.
Keara turned to Jax and lowered her voice. “Did you talk to Ben and Anderson any more about the other cases and the inconsistencies?”
“Yeah. They’re as confused as we are. They think our best chance of figuring out what the symbol means is to follow the other leads right now.” Jax’s lips pursed. “I still think there has to be a way to use the symbol to find the killer, but I don’t know how.”
It wasn’t his job to know how. His psychological insight was useful, but he’d already stepped into profiler territory by confirming that the symbol was important, that it linked these crimes somehow. Jax wasn’t an agent or a detective. It was her job—and Ben’s and Anderson’s and all of the other agents and officers—to follow the leads and uncover the bomber.
“You should focus on the victims,” she told him. “I’ve seen the difference you and Patches make.”
Woof!
Keara smiled and pet Patches more, as Jax stared at her pensively, his expression unreadable.
Had he felt insulted that she didn’t think he should run leads? Would he feel the same way if he knew it made her more comfortable pursuing something romantic with him when he was sticking safely on the outskirts of the case?
His lips twitched, like he could read her thoughts.
“Let’s get going,” Ben said and Keara gave Patches one more pet, nodded goodbye to Jax and hurried over to see who she’d be running leads with today.
Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Page 49
