Nicholas James, the serial expert who’d caught Seattle’s most notorious killer on his first assignment for the BAU. She hadn’t interacted with him more than a few times when he’d been present for the autopsies of the X Marks the Spot Killer’s victims, but he’d made one hell of an impression. If anyone could give her answers about the details of Kara’s case, it would be him.
“The FBI just arrived, ma’am.” He lifted the crime scene tape for her to pass, and she ducked underneath without hesitation. Pointing behind him, he set the perimeter back into place. “Agents James and Striker are setting up the command center across the street. The King County ME already claimed the body, though. They must’ve sent you by accident.”
Not by accident. Aubrey’s office wouldn’t take responsibility for this case due to the conflict of interest, but she wasn’t going to sit this one out, either. Kara had been disposed of for Aubrey to find. Like so many others before her. She nodded. “Thank you.”
The command center was nothing more than a generic shade canopy with two folding tables, a few chairs and boxes of equipment the forensics team relied on to collect their evidence. Only there wouldn’t be any. No DNA. No particulates they’d be able to identify on or around the bench. Nothing. If her sister’s death had anything to do with the X Marks the Spot Killer, the attacker would’ve been too careful for that. Her heart jerked in her chest as she walked toward the tent. She forced herself to keep her attention forward, not on the spot where she’d found Kara this morning.
Sea-salted air grazed against her face and neck as she caught sight of the federal agent she hadn’t been able to forget. Nicholas James. Gull calls pierced through the hard beat of her pulse behind her ears. Sweat that had nothing to do with the rising temperatures of July in the Pacific Northwest beaded along her collarbone and slid beneath her shirt. Green-blue eyes—the same color as Puget Sound behind her—locked on her as though he’d sensed her approach, and a buzzing filled her head. His mouth parted, highlighting the thick, dirty-blond beard growth along his jaw and upper lip. Styled, equally low-lit hair protested the breeze coming off the water as he maneuvered around the table under the canopy. A perfectly sculpted nose with a dent at the bridge—presumably from a childhood injury—divided symmetrical features and deep laugh lines she’d never had the pleasure of seeing firsthand, but she imagined smiles were few and far between in his line of work. Just as they were in hers.
Aubrey extended her hand. “Special Agent James, you might not remember me, but I’m—”
“Dr. Flood.” He took her hand, rough calluses tugging the oversensitized skin of her palms. His voice, smooth as one-hundred-year-old whiskey, slid through her and battled to calm the jagged edges of anxiety and grief tearing through her. “How could I forget? If it wasn’t for you, Cole Presley would still be out there.”
Her neck and face heated. He remembered her from their short interactions during the X Marks the Spot case, even with the added impersonal environment of her morgue in the basement of Harborview Medical downtown. She ducked her head to cut off eye contact long enough to get her head on straight and released his hand. This wasn’t a social visit. This was a death scene, and it was taking every ounce of her being not to break down in the middle of it or in front of him. Swallowing the thickness in her mouth, she cleared her throat. “I gave you the specifics about the lacerations in the victims’ cheeks and the blend of steel. You’re the one who recognized the blade the killer used.”
Warmth seeped from her hand as Nicholas pulled back. “Dr. Flood—”
“Aubrey.” She folded her arms across her chest as if one simple action could deflect what he was about to say to her. “You can call me Aubrey, and I know I’m not supposed to be here. I just...” Her gaze wandered to that spot, the bench where she’d found Kara staring out across the street as though her sister had been sitting there waiting for her to arrive. Her clothes had been pristine, probably the same outfit she’d worn to teach her kindergarten class yesterday. Not a single wrinkle or an askew fold. Her face had been flawlessly made up apart from the deep laceration in her cheek. The lack of blood in the wound indicated she’d already been dead when the killer had taken the blade—or whatever he’d used—to her sister’s beautiful face.
Aubrey covered her mouth with one hand to hide the fact her lips trembled under the visual. She sniffed to gain her composure and refocused on the agent in front of her. The man who was going to find her sister’s killer. She blinked to clear her head, but there was no amount of emotional detachment that would erase the images behind her eyes. Standing tall, she tried to keep the professionalism she used with decedents’ family members after completing the autopsies assigned in her voice when all she wanted to do was fall apart. “Have you found her dog?”
“The victim owned a dog?” Nicholas hiked his suit jacket behind his hips and leveraged both hands at his belt. A shoulder holster traced the long, lean muscle of his torso and highlighted the strength under the clean white button-down shirt and tie.
“Yes.” Aubrey nodded, for something to do other than sob in the middle of a crime scene. “Kara walked her white shepherd every night at 10:00 p.m. Dr. Caldwell—the King County ME—placed time of death around then. That’s probably what my sister was doing before she was attacked.”
“We didn’t find any evidence of a dog, but we’re waiting to hear from the owner of the victim’s...your sister’s building to gain access to her apartment.” A flash of regret colored his expression. “Is it possible she left her apartment on her own last night?”
“It’s possible, but that wouldn’t explain why Kara was out so late.” She struggled to come up with another reason her sister would’ve been out. “She wrestled with five-and six-year-olds all day at school, and part of her winding-down routine included walking Koko. She said it helped her sleep better.”
“When was the last time you talked with your sister?” Agent James asked.
“We talk every night before she goes to bed, around 10:30 p.m. We never miss a call unless something comes up, but we always let each other know in advance so we don’t assume the worst. Our parents—” She closed her eyes as a wave of dizziness threatened to rip the world straight out from under her. “My parents are retired, and unless we force them, they’re not interested in leaving the house much anymore. We take turns looking in on them. We bring them groceries, take them for walks around the neighborhood, keep them company, and we update each other on any changes or problems we had during the day.”
Her blood pressure spiked. Seattle PD had done their due diligence and reached out to Kara’s next of kin, her parents, after Aubrey had discovered the body and called police, and she hadn’t been there with them. The public relations liaison from the BAU—Caitlyn something—had reassured her mother and father that the investigation was moving in the right direction, but Aubrey should’ve been there. Her eyes burned. This wasn’t another homicide that she’d be able to compartmentalize at the end of the day. This was Kara, and she didn’t know how to process the fact someone she loved—someone she’d been responsible for—would be laid out on a cold examination table and dissected for evidence.
“That’s when you knew something was wrong. When she didn’t pick up the phone?” That brilliant gaze assessed her every move, every change in her expression, and she suddenly felt as though Nicholas James was the only person keeping her anchored to the earth.
“Yes,” she said. “She didn’t answer when I called, and I kept trying to get through to her, but there was no answer. I was getting ready to go by her apartment when I found the note taped to my door.”
“Do you recall hearing anything odd outside your apartment last night between 10:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m.? See anything unusual?” The intensity in his body language slid down to his hands as he reached into his jacket pocket for a notepad and pen.
“No. Nothing like that.” He had to ask. He had to go over the details
multiple times to ensure investigators wouldn’t miss anything. She’d told all this to Seattle PD, but as the lead investigator on Kara’s case, she understood he had to hear it for himself. “Agent James, I worked the X Marks the Spot Killer case, too. I’m familiar with the way Cole Presley killed his victims and left maps for their families to follow the clues to the bodies, and Kara was...”
She cleared her throat to regain some sense of control. “You don’t need to wait for the building’s owner to give you permission to enter Kara’s apartment. I have a key.” She pressed a hand against her neck, rolling her lips between her teeth, and bit down. Unpocketing her key ring from her slacks, Aubrey held it out for him. She couldn’t say it, didn’t want to believe, but the proof had been there on her sister’s body. The truth surfaced as she studied him. “I gave you the evidence you needed to make the arrest three years ago. I think Kara might’ve been targeted because of me.”
Chapter Two
Nicholas turned the key Dr. Flood—Aubrey—had given him and pushed inside her sister’s apartment. A folding door stood partially open immediately to his right, another door leading into the space’s only bathroom and laundry combination to his left. Sunlight crawled through the ceiling-to-floor window down a long hallway from the main living space. It seemed the bedroom had been sectioned off from the rest of the studio, and he moved inside to get a sense of the space.
Clean. Uncluttered. Warm and airy. He could almost imagine the woman who’d been found strangled on a street bench this morning outside this same building coming home after a long day of being at war with kindergartners to escape. Little noise came through the single window straight ahead, giving the apartment an isolated feel. His shoes echoed off the laminate flooring running lengthwise toward the back of the apartment. No television.
Kara Flood had been a woman dedicated to education, to shaping young minds for the future. He scanned the bookcases along the opposite wall of the kitchen. Tingling in the tips of his fingers urged him to feel the countless spines as he passed, but while the victim hadn’t been killed in her apartment, anything here could be used as evidence during the investigation. He stopped in the middle of the floor, a sliding door cutting off access to the bedroom to his right. One couch, a coffee table. No room for entertaining or company. Kara hadn’t been a host or someone who’d gone out of their way to connect with others socially.
This was a haven, everything in its proper order and place with soft, neutral tones. Turning toward the front door, he faced Agent Madeline Striker and the BAU’s intern, David Dyson. Serial cases had a way of taking years off an agent’s life, but Nicholas had found Dyson smart enough, focused enough and determined enough over the past few months to warrant including him in the investigation.
Both waited patiently for him to make his assessment, but it wasn’t his team or Aubrey Flood he imagined walking down the hallway. Kara Flood’s translucent outline—his interpretation of her—didn’t look his way as she walked past him. He followed her every move as she glided through the space and into the kitchen. Setting her purse on the left end of the kitchen counter, she smiled as she greeted the white shepherd Aubrey had described. Retreating here from reality every day once she was finished teaching class, the victim would’ve been relaxed. At home. Happy.
“You want to work serial cases for the unit, Dyson? Tell me what you see.” Nicholas spotted a photograph—of the victim and the missing canine in a grassy area, a park—and envisioned the sound of the dog’s nails scratching on the laminate, his tail out of control in greeting. The dog’s kennel was clean, filled with drinking water and a handful of dry dog food.
“Yeah, okay.” At only twenty-four, David Dyson had thrived at the top of his class, graduating with his doctorate in psychology long before his peers. As the youngest prospect for the BAU, the intern had proven himself a valuable asset and eager to learn anything he could from Nicholas in the six months he’d been assigned to the unit. Chestnut skin lightened in the rays of sunlight coming through the windows as Dyson scanned the victim’s personal space, took in the layout, how Kara Flood had organized her belongings. “No dirty dishes in the sink, bed made, laundry folded and put away. From a cursory search, I’d peg Kara Flood as routine, someone who would feel off throughout the day if things weren’t done in a specific order by a certain time. According to Dr. Flood, the victim walked the dog every night at ten as part of her evening routine, which raises the question of where is the dog now?”
“Very good.” Nicholas turned back to the space.
“I’m sorry, but how does any of this determine who killed Kara?” Aubrey asked.
“Agent James is a psychological profiler.” The weight of Madeline Striker’s attention weighed between his shoulder blades, but he didn’t have the concentration to confirm. “The best way for him and Dyson to get a sense of a killer is to find out what it was about the victims that attracted them.”
Nicholas’s heart beat hard behind his rib cage. There was something here he was missing. Something Kara Flood wouldn’t have told her sister about. Something that might’ve gotten her killed, but he wasn’t seeing it. Not yet. “Did Kara spend time with friends? A boyfriend? Anyone she might not have wanted you or your parents to know about?”
“What? No. She would’ve told me if she was seeing anyone. We didn’t keep secrets from each other.” Aubrey wrung her hands together, most likely battling a hint of shame she’d let his team inside her sister’s home. But if they were going to find the person who’d killed Kara Flood, they needed to know everything about the victim. “As for friends, she has the occasional meetup for coffee, but for the most part, Kara was an introvert. She taught school, then she came home and read.”
The victim’s belongings had been recovered with her body. Jewelry, purse—untouched as far as the first responders had been able to tell. Whoever attacked Kara Flood hadn’t carved an X into her cheek out of anger or hatred. They hadn’t been motivated by financial gain. Her death had been methodical, as though killing her had been the first logical step as part of a larger plan.
“Your sister made a kindergarten teacher’s salary, but she lived in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the city.” Nicholas raised his gaze to Aubrey’s, facing her. “From what I understand, medical examiners earn quite a living. Were you assisting her financially so she could be closer to the school, or perhaps your parents helped pay her rent?”
“I... I wasn’t helping her.” Her gaze bounced between Nicholas, Dyson and Striker. Aubrey’s bottom lip peeled from the top, the rise and fall of her shoulders slowing. She lowered both hands to her sides. “I don’t know how she could afford to live here. When I asked, she’d laugh and change the subject.”
“Is it possible she was seeing someone more well-off than she was or working a second job to supplement her income?” Striker asked. “Maybe she borrowed money from someone other than a bank?”
Color drained from the medical examiner’s face as though she hadn’t considered the possibility Kara could keep secrets from her. Seemed Aubrey and her sister weren’t as close as the doc had believed. “No. Like I said, we talked every afternoon after she came home from work, even if I was at the hospital. No exceptions. She would’ve told me if she was in trouble. She would’ve known she could ask me for help.”
“Dr. Flood, your sister was murdered sometime between 10:00 p.m. and 11:00 p.m. last night by a man, presumably in his late thirties, early forties, Caucasian, with extreme control, a hell of a lot of patience and an obsession with past serial cases.” His gut twisted as she blanched, and Nicholas wished like hell there was a way to soften that blow. He closed the distance between them, his footsteps heavy as she straightened to confront his approach head-on. “This wasn’t a random attack. Something about Kara appealed to her killer, and I have reason to believe she isn’t the only one he has his sights set on.”
“The way he replicated the X Marks the Spot Ki
ller’s MO suggests the killer has intimate knowledge of the case and possibly something to prove to Cole Presley,” Dyson said.
The kid was right. “You worked that case, Aubrey. You were able to fill in the blanks when we had no other evidence or leads to follow. Without you, we would still be looking for him. What better way to get your attention than by targeting someone you care about?”
One breath. Two.
Aubrey shifted her weight between both feet then folded her arms across her chest. A defense tactic that had little power to ward off the truth. They weren’t looking for a one-off killer here. She had to know that. She had to see the similarities between her sister’s death and the X Marks the Spot case. “You both think whoever killed my sister is punishing me because I was able to identify Cole Presley. A family member for a family member.”
“You told Agent James you believed that’s why Kara was killed. We’re here to find out if that’s the case.” Striker surveyed the apartment for herself, taking in every detail. “Dr. Flood, I specialize in missing persons cases, but some of the same profile points apply during a homicide investigation. Did Kara mention anything suspicious over the past few days? Someone who was paying more attention to her than usual? Was she visiting places she didn’t normally go or receiving any threats?”
“She didn’t mention anything like that.” Aubrey’s face smoothed, and Nicholas read the change in her demeanor for what it was. Denial. “But she told me Koko started barking in the middle of the night last week.”
His instincts shot into awareness. “That’s unusual?”
“Kara hired a professional trainer a few years ago because Koko was barking at anyone he didn’t know. It took him a full week to get used to seeing me when Kara went out of town the first year she had him.” Aubrey cast her honey-warm gaze to the floor, almost seeming to curl in on herself, and Nicholas drowned the urge to reach out. Emotions couldn’t get involved in a case like this. Not if they were going to find the bastard who’d murdered an innocent woman last night. “She said he hadn’t freaked out like that for months, like he was scared out of his mind. When she got out of bed to see what was bothering him, she found him trying to escape his kennel. He was barking at the door. She thought maybe he’d heard something in the hallway.”
Profiling a Killer Page 2
