To Catch a Killer

Kimberly Van Meter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Copyright

Special thanks go to Lieutenant Vernon Gladney for

putting a gun in my hands. He said I couldn’t write

about an FBI agent without knowing what it feels

like to shoot the guns they use every day. He was right.

Knowledge is power. And guns … are still scary.

To Sally Grigg, the mistress of the Howard Creek Ranch

in Westport, California. Thank you for sharing your

knowledge of local flora and fauna and your delicious

cooking. I’m still pining for more of your fresh

mint tea and homemade biscuits. To “that guy” in Shelter

Cove who filled me in on the “Emerald Triangle” of the

northern California coast. Your candid comments were

priceless. Lastly, to John. My traveling partner, friend,

husband and lover. Every day you help remind me

why love is worth fighting for. Thank you.

About the Author

KIMBERLEY VAN METER wrote her first book at sixteen and finally achieved publication in December 2006. She writes for Mills & Boon Cherish and Mills & Boon Intrigue.

She and her husband of seventeen years have three children, three cats and always a houseful of friends, family and fun.

Dear Reader,

Sometimes a story comes out of nowhere and the characters grab you by the throat, demanding that you put words to paper. That’s what happened with this book. Kara Thistle and Matthew Beauchamp materialised in my mind and wouldn’t let go. Theirs is a dark story, but the light of their love ultimately illuminates the path to happiness and joy.

This is my first M&B Intrigue novel, and I’m proud of the way it turned out, even if the writing of it was incredibly difficult. I shudder at the places I took my characters, but their strength helped me as well as them as they raced to save a child from a killer.

I hope you enjoy this roller coaster of a read as much as I enjoyed writing it. Hearing from readers is one of my greatest joys (aside from really good chocolate), so don’t be shy. Feel free to drop me a line at my website, www.kimberlyvanmeter.com, or through snail mail, PO Box 2210, Oakdale, CA 95361, USA.

Happy Reading,

Kimberly Van Meter

Chapter 1

The morning broke gray and dismal. Cloud cover drifted, creeping among the trees of Wolf’s Tooth ravine, overgrown with hundred-year-old cedars and western red hemlock. It was a place Matthew Beauchamp would normally enjoy hiking to, but today was no ordinary day.

A freelance photographer taking photos of the area had stumbled upon the body of a little girl. Now, looking down at the body, Matthew thought he had not come across a more heart-rending scene in his entire law enforcement career. Having grown up in the sleepy town of Lantern Cove, Matthew, as chief of police, was more accustomed to crimes of opportunity: petty theft, vandalism, the usual pot smokers and growers. Nothing like this.

Mud spattered her short-sleeve “Princess” shirt and pink sweatpants; she was missing a shoe. Her small toes had the remnants of pink polish and her flaxen hair was matted with dirt and underbrush. Someone had tossed this child away as if she were garbage.

“Feds are on their way. Should be here anytime,” Sgt. Oren Lawrence said, coming to stand next to Matthew. Wiping his ruddy nose with the back of his glove, he sucked back the rest of the snot before continuing, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Cold seeping into his bones, Matthew nodded. “It’s that Linney girl. Went missing a week ago in San Francisco.”

“Far from home.”

“Yeah,” Matthew said grimly. “But only someone who’s familiar with this area would’ve known about Wolf’s Tooth. It’s not like this place is popular with tourists. It’s hard to get to and you risk a broken ankle coming down that ridge.” He shook his head.

“How about the shutterbug who found her?” Oren speculated but Matthew shook his head.

“At this point he seems clean. Looked ready to puke. I don’t blame him. Coming across a body like this might make any normal person lose his lunch. But I’ve got Dinky looking into his alibi.”

The sound of cars pulling off the shoulder above them drew their attention and Oren grimaced. “Feds.” Then he clapped Matthew on the shoulder before returning to the team who were canvassing the area. “Remember to play nice,” he said.

Matthew looked up as two agents appeared over the ridge, a man and a woman, and he waved them down.

At first there was nothing extraordinary about the two. They had the look of federal agents, complete with austere coats, serious expressions and an air of arrogance that seemed to come with being affiliated with a government agency. But as they traversed the dangerous, uneven terrain, and walked toward him, Matthew sucked in a sharp breath as recognition hit him in a flash, knocking the wind out of him. He hadn’t seen her in almost ten years but he’d recognize that face anywhere.

Kara Thistle.

She had been the fiancée of his best friend—they had all grown up together. Now she was a special agent for the FBI. Kara was the last person he expected to see walking back into his life, if even only professionally.

Time had treated her well enough, although she’d lost the softness of youth. Her cinnamon hair was scraped back in a no-nonsense ponytail at the base of her neck, and she wore neither earrings nor makeup. Her cheeks glowed from the salty sea air and clear, marble-green eyes stared back at him. A stunning young woman had blossomed into a striking adult, not that Matthew was surprised. Good looks had never been her problem.

“Matthew.” Her voice gave away nothing of what she may have been feeling, but there was something behind her eyes that betrayed her for a split second. To her credit, she recovered quickly. He acknowledged her with a stiff nod, feeling awkward as hell at the unexpected reunion. She’d never show it, but he suspected she was just as uncomfortable, and he wasn’t surprised when she didn’t waste time chewing the fat over old times. That was just fine by him. The less time they had to spend in each other’s company the better. “This is my partner Dillon McIntyre. We’re part of the Child Abduction Rapid Deployment Team—CARD for short—assigned to the Babysitter cases,” she explained as she handed Matthew a business card as a matter of protocol.

“A pleasure,” her partner, Dillon, said, his clipped tone accentuated by the subtle British accent that only made his pretty-boy good looks all the more suspect in Matthew’s opinion. “It’s like tromping around in a meat locker around here. Worse than San Francisco with its infernal fog,” he commented darkly. He pulled the lapels of his black wool topcoat a little closer around his neck before muttering, “I’m going to freeze my bollocks off in this place. If I’d enjoyed this kind of weather I’d have stayed in England.”

Kara spared her partner a look that said shut it, and he stalked off to talk with the officers canvassing the area.

“I apologize for my partner. He’s a little on edge,” she said. Then added, “He quit smoking a few days ago and he feels it’s only fair that everyone around him is suffering as much as he is.”

Matthew offered a curt nod. He couldn’t really care less about her partner. He was too busy wondering why, of all the agents in the bureau, it had to be her assigned to this case. He’d rather eat nails than sit and play nice with Kara. It wasn’t as if she’d left on the best of terms. But even as anger banked over the years started to flare bright again, he knew now was not the time for what he wanted to say to her. Snuffing his feelings until he could talk without snarling, he focused on the case. “What do you mean by Babysitter cases? Are you saying there’s been more than one abduction?”

Kara paused, then answered with caution. “It’s possible there have been other cases connected to this one. Has anyone else been down here since you made the call to the bureau?”

“No. Just my team of investigators.”

“Good. Hold on, guys. I want to take a look,” she said, gesturing to the officers who were preparing the body bag. Matthew was seemingly forgotten for the moment.

Oh, hell no. He didn’t like being dismissed. Not by her, not by anyone. Matthew quickly followed. “What are you looking for?” he asked, noting the way her stare slowly perused the body, missing nothing and stopping for long moments on the garish ligature marks marring the child’s bone-white skin at her neck and wrists.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she met her partner’s stare and said in a grim tone, “Call the CARD Team. Let them know we found the Linney girl. And then call the task force. We need them here ASAP.” She rose. To Matthew she said, “Thanks for making the call. The bureau appreciates your diligence.”

He didn’t need a pat on the head. “Thanks aren’t necessary. Just doing my job.”

“You have our appreciation, just the same.” Kara flashed a brief smile, devoid of anything aside from professional courtesy and Matthew had to suppress a shiver that didn’t come from the weather. Then, for a moment, he could have sworn he’d seen disappointment cross her features when she said with a sigh, “We were hoping for a different outcome this time.” But it was gone in a heartbeat when she spoke again. “This is a sensitive case. High profile. The press is all over it. It won’t be long before they catch wind that another body has been found. You might want to brief your Public Information Officer on what is acceptable to release and what is not—which is just about everything. My partner will go over the protocol with you, if you’re unsure.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Matthew said, annoyed at what he perceived was implied incompetence on their part. “We know how to play with the press.”

“This isn’t a game.” She looked at him sharply. “I’d prefer if you didn’t use analogies that belittle the situation.”

“Calm down,” he said gruffly. “I’m not belittling anything. I’m just saying we’re not idiots and I don’t appreciate you coming here and implying that we are just because we’re not overpaid government employees.”

She stiffened and looked to her partner, who had pulled his North Face beanie down low to cover his ears and flipped the collar of his jacket up to ward off the wind. “I’m heading back to the car. Call in the troops. You coming?” McIntyre asked, the look in his eyes plainly communicating it was time to stop nettling the locals.

“In a minute,” she said.

“Suit yourself,” McIntyre replied, and wasted little time in returning to the heat of the car. But Matthew distinctly heard him say something about someone being a stubborn ass and he wondered if he was referring to him or Kara.

Kara turned, her eyes sparking with contained irritation but before she could say whatever was on her mind, Oren walked over.

“Doc wants to know if we can move her yet,” Oren said, giving Kara a short acknowledgment. “Kara. Been a long time.”

Kara nodded. “Good to see you, Oren,” she said quietly.

“Go ahead and wrap things up,” Matthew said to Oren without waiting for Kara’s permission. The older man said little and went to convey Matthew’s instructions.

Under most circumstances, he didn’t mind working with other agencies, feds included, but the idea of working under Kara—well, it just rubbed him the wrong way. And the fact that he knew he shouldn’t let private matters intrude on a case only frustrated him more. Needing to put some space between them so he could clear his head, he started to walk away, but she grabbed him by the arm, her grip strong and unyielding.

“We need to get something straight, right now,” she said, low and firm. “We have to work together even if neither of us like the idea. There is something bigger than our problem with each other at stake here. A little girl is dead. And she’s not the first child to die. Two boys, Jason Garvin and Drake Nobles, have died in similar circumstances. If we don’t find a way to stop this murderer, there will be more dead little girls and boys. Do you hear me? So drop the attitude or I will have you replaced with someone else in your department who isn’t handicapped by personal history. Are we clear?”

Matthew slowly pulled his arm free, his gaze hardening on the woman he’d once thought he was falling in love with, and said, “Don’t do that again.”

“Don’t make this more difficult than it already is.”

“I’d say it’s too late for that, wouldn’t you?”

She straightened as if realigning her attitude. “Of course not. I can treat you with professional courtesy. The question is, can you do the same?”

Not to be outdone, Matthew smirked. “I’m just following your lead, Agent Thistle.”

Kara smiled thinly. “If that’s the case, let’s start over,” she said, taking a deep breath for emphasis. “I’ll want to speak to your medical examiner as soon as he’s had a chance to look at the body. We’ll be setting up temporary lodging at the Jackson Creek Motel in town but you can call my cell when the M.E. is ready for me to come down.”

“Fine.”

She started to leave but stopped and turned. “And Matthew, one more thing … I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the private details of my past here in Lantern Cove exactly that. In the past.”

She didn’t wait for his reply, which was probably a good thing. Matthew wasn’t in the mood to agree with anything Kara had to say. And that wasn’t professional.

Biting back the hot words dancing on his tongue, he dialed back the response and turned on his heel in the opposite direction, putting his mind back in gear when seeing Kara had made him feel spun out.

They weren’t kids anymore. Kara was never the person he’d grown up thinking she was and damn it, no matter what she had to say, when this was all through, Matthew had a few things to say to her. Whether she liked it or not.

“You have a way with the locals,” Dillon remarked with his signature wry humor, but Kara didn’t find anything amusing about coming face-to-face with Matthew Beauchamp after all these years. It was all she could do to cling to her training. Seeing him had rattled her cage in the worst way. “Care to share what that was all about?” he asked.

“No.”

He shivered and turned the heater on full blast. “Why not?”

Kara shot him a dark look. “This isn’t story hour. I want to stay focused on the case. I got another call from Senator Nobles on my voice mail. How the hell did he know another body was found?”

“Politicians have their fingers in all sorts of pies. No telling where he got the information. Does it matter he knows?”

“Yeah, and he’s all over my ass about it.”

Dillon shrugged. “He’s acting like any father who’s lost his son. He just has more clout than most. And considerably more influential friends.”

“I know, but he’s squeezing pretty hard. My head feels ready to pop.”

“That’s why they pay you the big bucks.”

She refrained from commenting. Pulling onto the main road, she headed for town. She’d known there was a possibility that she’d come into contact with Matthew when she learned they were going to Lantern Cove, but she never would’ve guessed that it would be ten times harder on her than she imagined it would be. Physically, he was different. Bigger. More muscle. But he still had that silent brooding thing going on that had always intrigued her when they were kids. Whereas Neal had been the joker in their group, Matthew had been the quiet yet guiding force that had kept them from carrying out some of the stupider ideas they’d hatched up as daredevil teens. Those startling blue eyes hadn’t lost their brilliance and his thick black hair, although cut shorter than before, was only starting to gray at the temple. Handsome. That’s the word other women might use to describe him. It was several moments before she realized Dillon was talking to her. Shaking her head, she apologized. “What were you saying? I zoned out for a minute.”

“I noticed. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on between you and this local chief. Get it off your chest so you can focus. You know I’m always up for a story, one with plenty of juicy details, so don’t skimp on the good stuff.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Look, blank-faced girl. Don’t forget, before I was assigned to this unit I was in interrogation. I know when someone is lying. Even you.”

The corner of her mouth tipped up and Dillon’s brow lifted in encouragement. She shook her head and said with a shrug, “I grew up here. It’s a small town. It’s inevitable that I’d run into someone from my childhood. Matthew and I were friends growing up.”

“He didn’t seem all that friendly to me. In fact, when he saw it was you, he looked downright pissed off. What’d you do to earn a look like that?”

“Nothing happened. I moved away. He stayed.”

“You two ever an item?”

She kept her eyes on the road. “No.” Partially true. One night did not constitute a relationship. Bad judgment was more like it but no matter what, she couldn’t regret that night.

Dillon regarded her with a silent, assessing stare that anyone else might’ve squirmed under but Kara allowed a tiny smile to play on her lips despite her growing fatigue. She’d definitely need more sleep if she was going to deal with Matthew on a regular basis. Finally, Dillon shook his head. “More bullshit. All right, just answer me this. Is he going to be a problem?”

“Of course not.” Hoped not. No, she absolutely knew not. “Are you questioning my ability to do my job, Dillon?”

“Only if need be. I’ve never had to in the past but this guy has you jumpy … on edge. It’s not like you. This case is too important to let anything cloud your judgment. I know I don’t have to tell you that.”

“So don’t.” She flashed him a bright smile that she didn’t feel. “I’m fine. I’d tell you if I wasn’t. I know what’s at stake.”

“So we’re good, then?” Dillon asked.

“We’re golden.”

“Good. You’re the best in your field. We need your ‘A’ game.”

“Don’t start with the sports analogies. They sound weird coming out of your mouth. Everything’s under control.”

Perhaps if she told herself that enough times, it would make it true. Her cell phone buzzed at her hip and she pulled it free to glance at the number. Director Colfax. Their boss. Damn it. She didn’t want to talk to him just yet. Dillon read her expression easily.

“The cell reception in this place is terrible,” he remarked. “Damn near spotty in some places,” he added, and she agreed.

“I know. It’s the trees. Messes up the line of sight on the cell towers.” She smiled and let the call go to voice mail. She’d call him after she’d had a chance to talk to the M.E. Until then, Colfax would just have to wait.

An hour later while Dillon met with the incoming task force team, Kara went to the morgue. This part of the job was her least favorite, especially when it dealt with kids. She steeled herself for the inevitable sadness that followed when the coroner slid that little body out from its metal locker.

She acknowledged the coroner, a short man with a balding pate, and flashed her credentials. “Cause of death yet?” she asked.

“Petechial hemorrhages combined with the bruising around her neck point to asphyxiation,” he answered, opening the locker and pulling the metal slab forward with the young girl on it. So young. Snuffed out in a blink.

Kara swallowed the lump in her throat and pulled her camera free as she gestured. “May I?”

“You’re the boss.”

She carefully detailed the marks left behind by Hannah Linney’s tormentor and silently promised, just as she had with the other two victims of the Babysitter, to bring him to justice.

“Any sign of sexual trauma?”

“None.”

She nodded and exhaled the breath she’d been holding. So far, neither of the Babysitter’s victims had been sexually assaulted but serial killers sometimes varied their routine for reasons unknown.

Kara was drawn to Hannah’s flaxen hair and couldn’t help but ache for the mother that had given birth with high hopes for her daughter only to have them end in such horrific circumstances. Somewhere a mother wept with a ragged heart, sobbing one word over and over. Why?

She cleared her throat with difficulty. “Was there anything with the body? A small piece of paper, anything at all?”

The coroner frowned in thought, then slowly shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of, but you could ask the chief for sure. He’s heading this case personally. He’d have the crime scene photos.”

In the first two cases the Babysitter left something behind. It was his sick way of letting the cops know that he was one step ahead. Laughing. Kara was certain something had been missed. She made a mental note to return to Wolf’s Tooth first thing tomorrow morning.

Nodding to the coroner, she indicated she was finished and hurried from the room, anxious to get back to the motel and away from the fear that clotted in her heart whenever she thought of how vulnerable children were in the world.

It made her want to call home and talk to her nine-year-old daughter, just so she could hear Briana’s voice and know that she was safe, unlike the poor children who had somehow gotten caught in the Babysitter’s net.

Chapter 2

Matthew caught Kara leaving the morgue. His first instinct was to ignore her and keep walking, but there was something about her drawn expression that slowed his feet before he could form a different directive in his brain.

The minute she realized she was not alone in the hall, her features relaxed into the blank, professional mask that Matthew knew came from training and not from her true feelings. That intimate knowledge of her personally should have given him an edge but it just made him feel as if he’d trespassed somehow.

“Did you get what you needed?” He gestured toward the morgue.

“Yes.” As an afterthought, she added, “Thanks.”

“Enough with the ‘thank yous,’” he said, narrowing his gaze. Tiny lines of fatigue bracketed her eyes—he hadn’t noticed them before. Shake it off. If the woman couldn’t sleep, that was her problem. “Listen, you and I both know I was just being courteous. I don’t need thank-yous. You’re here to do a job and I’m here to help on my end. Everyone has the same goal—to catch this freak—and I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”

She regarded him for a long moment and he wondered what was going through that mercurial mind. “Glad to hear it. Did you find anything unusual at the crime scene?” she asked, switching gears.

“Aside from a dead body?”

“Paper, fabric, wood chips that obviously didn’t come from the area … anything like that?”

“No. Why?”

She shook her head. “I’ll need to be apprised of any trace evidence that was collected. I’ll want to send it to our labs for analysis,” she said.

“Just make sure it makes it back when you’re through.”

“Of course. We don’t do things sloppy.”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. And you didn’t answer my question.”

And she clearly didn’t want to. She looked at him as if he were a nuisance with impertinent questions. She was definitely of the “need to know” camp and it was apparent he didn’t share the same clearance. Finally, she answered briefly. “The killer left something behind in the first murders.”

He shifted. The conversation he most wanted to have with her kept moving to the forefront of his mind, but he managed to keep on topic. “I’ve been following this case in the press—” She made an expression that said who hasn’t? “It’s getting quite the coverage but I don’t remember that bit of information. Can’t hardly open a newspaper without seeing something on the case. The press is having a field day with the grisly Babysitter nickname. How’d they come up with that one?”

She spared him a brief look, irritation in full bloom, but he didn’t know if it was directed at him or the media. “Catch phrases and nicknames sell papers and boost ratings,” she said, disdain just under the surface. “And somehow … the press got a hold of information that was sensitive to the case.”

“Such as?”

“In both cases the person watching over the child, a caregiver of some sort, was killed when the victim was taken. So the press dubbed him the Babysitter Killer, which then was shortened to the Babysitter.”

“Catchy,” he murmured, wondering what kind of sick person did these kinds of things to kids and their caregivers. “I knew when I saw the body it was that Linney girl. What made you think it was the Babysitter involved and not some other nut job with a thing for kids?”

“The evidence. The killer likes to tie them up, which leaves distinct ligature marks on the skin.” She sighed. “Hannah had the same marks as the other two. And when we find something left behind with a message, there will be no doubt.”

“No doubt?”

“No, there’s not.” She met his gaze squarely. “Not one.”

Her confidence was both impressive and bordering on smug. He found both irritating.

“I read that one of the victims, Drake Nobles, was the son of Senator Nobles?” When she jerked a short nod in the affirmative, he shook his head. He wouldn’t want to be in her shoes. “Getting pressure yet?”

She stiffened. “No more than any other case. We don’t place priority that way. Someone’s out there, killing kids. That makes this case move to the top.”

He smiled, knowing full well she was probably getting squeezed by her superior who was no doubt taking it from the senator, but he was amused by her attempt to appear otherwise. “Well, I’m sure it can’t be easy being in your place. Head of the CARD Team assigned to this case. Kids dying on your watch. Must suck. Especially for someone who’s as ambitious as you.”

She swallowed and her eyes registered the veiled reference to her past, even if she didn’t immediately jump back with an acidic retort as he’d hoped. Kara readjusted her camera bag and simply offered a perfunctory smile, one that she might give an annoying reporter, and said, “Well, you know, that’s why they pay me the big bucks. Good night, Matthew.” And then she stalked past him, taking great care not to make contact with him in any way—as if he had the plague or something.

He should’ve followed her lead and continued to his office but his gaze lingered as she walked the long hallway, past rows of plaques and pictures of past chiefs hung on the walls, her shiny black boots clicking softly on the old tiled and dingy floor. Shoulders stiff as hardened plastic, she gave little indication of her mood except for the subtle yet angry twitch and sway of her hips. He suppressed a chuckle for no other reason than he recognized he’d delivered a low blow for selfish reasons and it didn’t feel right to enjoy it so much. But it felt good. Bad as it was. After what she did to Neal … well, it’s a damn miracle he didn’t toss her from the Widow’s Bridge and be done with it.

One could dream … he sighed and walked to his office to finish his paperwork for the night.

Kara got back to the motel, still fuming. What a passive-aggressive prick. Why didn’t he just come out and say what was on his mind? Obviously, it was killing him to hold it back, and instead of getting it off his chest so they could all focus on the job, he kept slipping in little jabs at her expense.

“Must suck,” she mimicked under her breath as she unlocked the motel room door and slammed it behind her. And how did he know all that about her? She placed her camera on the bed and jerked off her overcoat. A light blinked on the phone indicating she had a message waiting. She lifted the receiver and retrieved the message, sighing when it was Colfax again. He’d already left two voice mails on her cell.

A soft knock at the front door and Dillon walked in a second later. She replaced the receiver. “I could’ve been naked,” she said, pulling her cell phone free from its holster at her hip. “Try waiting until I answer, will you?”

“And miss a chance to catch you in your birthday suit? Never.” He gestured toward the phone. “That Colfax?”

“Yeah. He call you?”

“Yes. I told him you were too busy fighting with the local chief to take his calls but you’d get back to him as soon as you were able.”

She glared, even though she knew he would never say such a thing to their director. “You’re lucky I know you’re kidding. You know that British humor … it’s a hit and miss thing with Americans. Most of the time we just don’t get it.”

“No, you don’t get it because you don’t have a sense of humor.”

“Ha-ha. Are you here to bust my balls or do you have something useful to share?”

“Actually, I do. The fax came from Dr. Benton, that geologist from Davis University we sent the mineral sample to.”

That got her attention. “And?”

“And it seems maybe our killer is from your own backyard. The mineral found on the body of the Garvin boy is called orickite. It’s a sulphide and it’s only found around these parts. Do you know of any active mines close by?”

“No, but we can certainly find out.” She started for the phone but then remembered Lantern Cove pretty much shut down after five. “Are the rest of the team settled in?”

Dillon nodded. “Four rooms booked down the hall, all federal agents. You want me to get them rounded up for a meeting? I thought we’d meet first thing in the morning over a spot of breakfast, preferably something hot to keep the hypothermia at bay.”

“Smart-ass. And, no. Go ahead and bring them over now. You and I are going for a hike tomorrow.”

“A hike?” Dillon’s brow arched. “What kind of hike? I don’t know if I brought the right wardrobe for that sort of excursion.”

“We’re going back to the crime scene. In the first two murders, the killer left something behind. Matthew’s team didn’t find anything but I know the killer left his signature calling card. We have to find it.”

“We haven’t concluded that what you’re thinking of as clues were actually left behind by the killer. There was no DNA on the paper found near the Garvin boy and it was printed on a computer so we can’t even get a handwriting analysis.”

Kara shook her head. “It wasn’t random. He wants us to think that it is but there’s no reason a child would carry around something like that.” She met his dubious stare. “I’m right about this. I can feel it.”

“You’re the boss,” Dillon said with a sigh. “What time tomorrow?”

“At 7:00 a.m.”

He groaned. “Just because you’re an insomniac doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

“At 7:00 a.m.,” she repeated. “Not a minute later.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Now, go call the team. I want to get this briefing underway before everyone starts trying to claim overtime.”

By the time the briefing was over and everyone had returned to their rooms for the night, Kara felt an all-over body fatigue and actually welcomed the thought of sinking into the motel bed.

She rose on legs stiff from sitting in one position too long. After washing her face and throwing on some pajamas, she climbed into the bed and gratefully closed her eyes. Perhaps tonight she’d be able to sleep without the details of the case she was working scrolling across her brain in rapid succession, screaming for closure, demanding everything she had and then some.

But even as she started to drift into slumber, a memory, buried deep, surfaced and she rolled onto her side as if to escape it.

Summer, 1990. She, Neal and Matthew were driving to the beach … the smell of her coconut suntan lotion filled the truck’s cabin … the sound of their laughter mingled with the music of Aerosmith … she felt safe, flanked by the two boys.

Then, as dreams often do, the scene changed without warning to the night before she left. The fight. The words that were said that couldn’t be taken back. The heavy weight of regret and guilt that she carried each time she looked into her daughter’s eyes.

Matthew’s eyes.

Kara tossed. The dream faded but the feeling that she’d lost something precious remained. Just as it always did.

Her eyes cracked open a slit but slid closed again. For once sheer exhaustion overruled everything else. And she was grateful.

The next morning was much like the day Hannah’s body was found, only bleaker as dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon and headed straight for Lantern Cove. Angry waves crashed against the inland rocky shores as the wind picked up and howled through the trees.

If Kara were the superstitious sort, she’d say there was an uneasy energy coursing through the air. But she certainly didn’t believe in that crap, nor would she admit to the shiver that ricocheted down her spine as she waited for Dillon.

“Picked a cherry of a day to go hiking,” he said, locking his door and pocketing his key. “If it rains, we’ll lose whatever trace you’re hoping to find.”

Kara looked to the sky and nodded grimly. “I know. We should get a move on. Maybe we can beat the rain.”

Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know, but we can try. Oh, by the way, I left a voice mail for Beauchamp to let him know we were going out there,” he said as they climbed into Kara’s Range Rover.

She looked at him sharply. “Why’d you do that? We don’t need his permission.”

“No, but it’s a professional courtesy and you know it. Why are you so set on making an enemy of this guy?”

Too late for that. Kara opened her mouth but snapped it shut, knowing that if she let fly what had popped into her head it would only open the door for more discussion about her past. She wasn’t interested in doing that. “You’re right. Sorry. I need coffee.”

“No problem. There’s a coffee shop along the way.”

“Good.” She looked to Dillon. “I didn’t mean to snap. This place combined with the case … it’s got me on edge.”

He accepted her answer but then said with a cheerfulness that was unnatural that early in the morning, “Well, since you’re already grouchy, I should let you know that Beauchamp called me back after I left a voice mail. Seems he keeps the same late hours as you, fancy that. He said he’d meet us out there.”

She jerked to face Dillon. “What?”

Dillon shrugged. “Figured another pair of eyes wouldn’t hurt. Besides, he knows the area.”

“I know the area,” Kara said, trying not to grit her teeth. “We don’t need Beauchamp.”

“You used to know the area. You’ve been gone a long time. A lot can change. Honestly, Thistle, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve never gotten so bent about working with the locals before. Besides, it only makes sense to add him to the task force. What’s wrong?”

Kara shoved the gearshift into Drive. “Nothing.”

“There you go lying again. You have the most entertaining tic in your eye—minute, really—when you lie through your teeth. Good fun to watch under most circumstances but this morning I’m not really in the mood—so just get on with it and spill already.”

“We just don’t get along.” That much was obvious. “Why would I want him tagging along?” Kara snapped, then hearing her own shrewish tone, she tried again. “I mean, I don’t want anything to distract me from the job and if I have a surly police chief to deal with, I might miss something crucial.”

“Be that way. There’s more to it. But you’re obviously determined to be a horse’s ass about the whole thing. So piss off with you, then.”

Thank goodness for small favors. The ensuing silence allowed her to shake loose the tight feeling in her chest that constricted her lungs the minute Dillon mentioned Matthew. She worried her bottom lip until she realized she was doing it and quickly stopped. She glanced at Dillon. “I was engaged to his best friend, Neal,” she said, breaking the silence reluctantly.

“You, engaged? Pardon me for a minute while I suspend my disbelief.” He paused a minute as if mentally switching gears and just as she was tempted to throw him out of her car while driving at a high rate of speed, he continued. “So what happened?”

“He died.”

“Before or after you broke off the engagement?”

She startled. “How’d you know it was me that broke it off?”

Dillon’s smile was slow and just smug enough to ride the edge of annoying. “I know you. You’re a heartbreaker, not the heartbroken.”

That’s where Dillon was wrong. Her heart had been broken, she was just adept at shoving the shattered pieces into a dusty corner. “He died after.”

“How’d he die?”

Kara pursed her lips, not quite sure she wanted to share the rest. She worked very hard to keep those details from crowding her on a daily basis. Dillon was prodding her relentlessly, so she relented but kept to the barest of facts, as if she were relating details of a case instead of pieces of her past.

“He wanted me to stay in Lantern Cove. I’d just been accepted into the bureau. I had to go. He didn’t agree. We parted ways and unfortunately, a month later he died in a car accident. Can we drop it now? The memories aren’t pleasant and I try not to go there anymore.”

“Fair enough.”

She focused on the drive to Wolf’s Tooth and soon they were there.

Matthew was waiting. He stood casually against his Jeep Cherokee, his expression inscrutable, his breath curling in the cold.

They exited the car. Kara nodded to Matthew. “Thanks for meeting us,” she offered, even if she didn’t mean it.

“So what do you think my team missed?”

“Like I mentioned earlier, with both of the past victims, the killer left behind a small clue. Something that in overgrown, wooded terrain might easily get missed if the investigator didn’t know what to look for.”

“Such as?” His expression darkened even as she knew his mind was working quickly.

“Something with a message. With the Garvin boy, it was a slip of paper tucked into a pocket. On Drake Nobles, it was one of those candy hearts with a printed message. At first we thought it was random, some weird little quirk, but I soon realized he was baiting us. Mocking us. He doesn’t think he’s going to get caught.”

Matthew pushed off the vehicle, his tone all business. “Let’s do it. The rain is coming and that bastard is getting caught.”

The three started the climb down into Wolf’s Tooth, for the second time in as many days, the cold biting into her skin while brambles scratched and grabbed, and Kara remembered why she’d never enjoyed hiking.

Kara slid the final few feet and if Matthew hadn’t caught her, his strong grip closing around her waist, she would’ve fallen flat on her butt, or worse, gone tumbling head over heels.

“Watch your step,” he said. Electricity sparked between them with the accidental contact and Kara stopped the immediate gasp that nearly flew from her mouth.

“Thanks,” she muttered, stepping away from him.

His gaze swept over her but he didn’t say anything else, just turned and kept walking. “This way.”

They walked twenty more feet before they reached the area where Hannah’s body was found and Dillon said he was going to canvas the perimeter, leaving Kara and Matthew to search the underbrush.

The foliage, dense and varied shades of green, was damp from the misty weather. A distant crack of thunder heralded the coming storm.

“He kept her alive for a few days,” Matthew said, without breaking his careful search. He looked up. “Did he do that with his other victims?”

It was one of the details that bothered Kara the most. Each time a child went missing, that short window of time seemed to taunt them for they knew it wasn’t long enough to find them. The killer knew it, too. “Yes. He’s a sadist. He wants to enjoy their pain.”

“You keep referring to the killer as a he. Is there something you know that you’re not saying?”

“No. Statistically, serial killers are men. I don’t care if it’s a man or a woman. Either way, he or she is going down. I think it’s just easier sometimes for me to think of him as a man.”

A ghost of a smile crossed his lips but it was gone in a heartbeat. “Why? Because it’s hard to believe a woman would do something so awful to a child?”

She met his gaze and answered truthfully. “Yes.”

“Who knew … Kara Thistle has a soft spot after all.”

She scowled, realizing her mistake. “I’m going to check over there. Holler if you find something.”

Kara made her way carefully through the underbrush, noting every detail of the terrain, looking for some kind of sign that the killer had screwed up and left behind more than just a discarded body. She glanced back at Matthew, his solid form moving through the dense forest ground cover, and wondered if there’d ever come a day when those blue eyes didn’t smolder with hatred when they focused on her.

Not likely. An unexpected burn behind her eyes caught her off guard. She wiped at them with an impatient motion, irritation blooming at her own lack of control just because she was around Matthew again. What was wrong with her?

“Hey, I think I found something.”

Moving briskly, she pulled a glove from her pocket and slipped it on as she went. “What have you got?”

Matthew pointed at a tiny slip of paper, barely noticeable under the wide green fern fronds, as a corner stuck out from under the earth.

“Dillon,” she called out. “Over here!”

Bending down, she gently moved the dirt so she could pull the paper free. Her heartbeat slowed to a painful thud as she scanned the damp slip.

“Mulberry bush,” Kara read, her brow furrowing as she handed it over to Dillon to put into an evidence bag.

“Isn’t that part of a nursery rhyme?” Dillon asked.

“All around the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel,” she answered softly, then looked at Matthew. “What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know but I don’t like it. I’ve always thought there was a certain creep factor to most of the old nursery rhymes,” Matthew said, frowning.

“Why?”

Matthew looked at her. “Because they never mean what they say. They’re too cloak and dagger for my tastes. Besides, haven’t you ever noticed that a lot of those rhymes are kind of violent toward kids?”

Dillon agreed. “I think the chief is right. Perhaps the bastard is using the rhyme as a metaphor.”

“A metaphor for what?” Matthew asked.

“I haven’t a clue,” Dillon answered, shrugging. “But it can’t be literal, now can it? I don’t suspect the killer keeps a pet monkey or weasel for kicks. I suppose we’ll have to do some research on the blasted nursery rhyme.”

“Great. Someone who fancies himself clever. Just what we need,” Kara said, rubbing her temple. “All right, Dillon, see if anything turns up in the origin of the rhyme.”

Matthew’s jaw hardened and Kara knew he was fighting against his urge to grind his teeth. When he spoke again, his tone was ominous. “We haven’t seen the last of this guy. My gut tells me he’s on the prowl for his next victim.”

Kara agreed, shivering and blaming the cold, which was already causing her teeth to chatter. As if on cue, the rain started and Kara was only too happy to get out of that ravine. There was a sadness that clung to the area, as if Hannah’s spirit was lingering, waiting for someone to solve her murder and prevent more from meeting the same fate.

She looked back as they climbed up the steep grade and for a split second she could’ve sworn she’d actually seen someone standing there. Kara blinked. Nothing but hundred-year-old trees and undergrowth remained.

Tricks of the mind, she thought shakily. Tricks of the mind.

Chapter 3

It was late and the storm that had started when they were down in the ravine was pelting the earth with fat, angry raindrops, creating a staccato against the tiled roof of the single-story motel. She’d declined to go out with the team for a bite to eat, preferring to go over case notes and forensic reports, though as she glanced at her watch and her stomach growled in complaint she wondered if maybe she should’ve chosen differently. Sighing, she fished a can of salted almonds from her bag and popped the top. Voila, dinner.

Tossing a few into her mouth, she’d just settled into the chair with her pad and pencil when a short rap at the door had her tensing. The team hadn’t returned yet, which made whoever was on the other side of that door, suspect. Moving softly and grabbing her gun, she called out, “Who is it?”

There was a pause and then she heard Matthew answer. “Me. I, uh, brought you something.”

Puzzled, she holstered her gun and opened the door a crack. Matthew stood there with a bag of Chinese takeout, his expression hard to read. Glancing down at her wardrobe, she grimaced at the tight, long-sleeved sleep shirt and soft flannel pants she was wearing. Well, it’d been a long time but Matthew had certainly seen her in less, so she reluctantly opened the door wider. “For me?”

He lifted the plastic bag from Mr. Choy’s. “Mu shu chicken. Used to be your favorite. I ran into your team as I was picking up my order and McIntyre told me you’d stayed behind. Figured you ought to eat something,” he added a bit gruffly as if he were just as surprised as she was at his actions. He reached into the bag and pulled out the mu shu, thrusting it at her. “So here. Take it or leave it. Hell, I don’t even know if you even like this stuff anymore.”

She accepted the container and the sweet, tangy smell teased her senses, kicking her suppressed appetite awake with a vengeance. “I do. Thanks. Do you … want to come in?” she asked, unsure.

Matthew hesitated, then stepped over the threshold as she closed the door behind him. She took a seat at the small table where her notes were strewn about in a haphazard mess that belied her generally organized nature. Moving a few of her piles, she cleared a space for him to join her. “I can’t believe Mr. Choy’s is still in business after all these years,” she said, making small talk as she dug into the still-warm order. She chewed slowly, enjoying the pleasure of a once-favorite food. “He was old when I left.”

Matthew opened his own container of sweet-and-sour pork and, before digging in, said, “His boy took over. Does a pretty good job of picking up where his old man left off. Mr. Choy, from what I hear, is loving retirement and has taken a shine to golf, despite being near to ninety years old.”

“At least he’s staying active,” she murmured, taking another bite. She gestured with her fork to the food. “It’s great. You’re right. Tastes as good as I remember, so his son must be doing a bang-up job.”

They ate in silence but Kara knew they were both thinking the same thing: in what universe was it possible that she and Matthew were sitting at the same table, eating dinner like old friends? She swallowed and glanced at him surreptitiously, her practiced eye noting every detail about his appearance that was different and yet the same.

Solid Matthew. Always the practical one. The phantom of a smile threatened to play on her lips as she thought of the numerous scrapes and binds they’d narrowly escaped as kids simply because they’d had the sense to at least listen to Matthew when things had gone too far. It was a miracle nothing had ever managed to make it to her permanent record, a boon she no doubt owed to Matthew, not Neal. Often Neal had been as headstrong and reckless as she in their teens. Her daughter, Briana, had inherited that quiet wisdom Matthew had come by so naturally. For that, Kara was grateful.

Finished, she pushed her container away and sighed at her full belly. She didn’t often get the opportunity to just sit and eat without feeling pressured to finish so she could return to the task she’d set aside.

“Thanks. That hit the spot,” she said, her gaze roaming his face as she looked for clues into his motivation. For as much as she wanted to enjoy this unexpected gesture of kindness, she didn’t trust it for a minute.

He shrugged. “Can’t think on an empty stomach, right? I remember you used to get light-headed when you didn’t eat. Wouldn’t want you to keel over at an inopportune moment.” His gaze met hers in a speculative manner as he cocked his head. “Looks to me that you don’t eat enough these days. You’ve gotten skinny.”

“And you’ve bulked up,” she countered, although she refrained from adding that his bulk came from muscle not fat and that it made his six-foot-plus frame all the more impressive.

His mouth twitched as he laced his fingers across his solid abdominal region, which she imagined sported a full six-pack underneath that dark thermal Henley. “True. I like to eat so I have to work out.”

No ring. Her gaze bounced from his bare fingers, and she hoped he didn’t notice, but such luck was too much to ask for.

“Just ask.”

She started to give him her best blank stare, as if she didn’t know what he was saying, but dropped the ruse when curiosity won out over prudence. “Married?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Kara chuckled, yet an odd pain punched her in the side, suspiciously close to her heart. “What happened?”

The blue in his eyes darkened but the casual lift of his shoulders told a different story. “Just didn’t work out. Sort of like you and Neal, I guess. Except, my ex-wife is still alive and living quite comfortably on the alimony I pay her.”

“Neal and I never actually made it to the altar,” she reminded him quietly.

“Yes, I remember. I was supposed to be his best man.”

She refused to wince at his statement and instead quietly tucked away the fact that he hadn’t mentioned child support. And she was inordinately happy. Dangerous thinking, she silently reprimanded herself even as she pulled away and started to clean up the food containers. “Well, everything happens for a reason, right?”

“That’s what some people say.” He handed her his trash. “How about you?”

She dropped the trash into the canister, making a mental note to put the can outside of the room for the cleaning staff to empty first thing tomorrow. She didn’t allow them to clean due to the sensitive nature of her stay. The busy work made for an easy excuse to stall but Matthew knew her well, even if years stood between them.

“What have you been doing with your life all these years? I don’t see a ring on your finger, either.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. “I’m married to the job.”

“I can see that. Top of your field, the go-to person in high-profile cases … you’ve done well for yourself. But there’s more to life than the job, right?”

Kara bit the inside of her cheek, her daughter’s beloved little face jumping to mind, and she had to stop the smile that would’ve followed. Briana was the light in her universe, the one bright spot in an otherwise depressing world. But Matthew was the last person she wanted to know about Briana—even if she was his daughter.

Somehow she didn’t think he’d understand. Matthew had never been the type to forgive and forget. He’d still not forgiven her for leaving Lantern Cove and breaking Neal’s heart in the process.

No, she thought sadly, Matthew would never know that the one night they both betrayed Neal had resulted in a wonderful little girl. And that was for the best—for everyone.

Breaking her reflective silence, she met Matthew’s stare with a short smile. “The job is enough for me.”

His own smile turned wintry. “Well, we both know you sacrificed a lot to get where you’re at.”

“Yes, I have.” More than you know. “And on that note … I’m going to have to say good night. Thanks for the food.”

Matthew went to the door. “Don’t mention it,” he murmured. And then he was gone.

Kara brushed her teeth and finally climbed into bed, her eyelids feeling weighted with cement, which was a welcome feeling. Working herself to exhaustion was the only way she ever got any sleep, especially when she was under the gun to catch the bad guy.

She couldn’t have been asleep long before something jerked her awake with the certainty that she wasn’t alone.

Pitch-black filled the room. Without adjusting her position, she peered into the darkness, managing to keep her breathing slow and steady as if she were still asleep, but she could discern nothing. Confused, she slowly sat up in the bed, and flicked on the bedside lamp.

Nothing. Her room was exactly as it was when she went to sleep. Rubbing the grit from her eyes, she sighed and chalked it up to extreme fatigue. Snapping off the light, she fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes, determined to catch more zzzz’s before her alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. Just then, a soft voice whispered in her ear and nearly stopped her heart.

“She’s here.”

Chapter 4

Kara’s head ached and her skin itched.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked from above the rim of his coffee cup. “You look like shit.”

She ignored him for the moment and took a bracing swallow of her own coffee—black without sugar—before attempting an answer. The hot brew burnt the crap out of her tastebuds but oddly the flash of pain was more welcome than the uneasy thoughts making soup of her brain. “Just because you say that with an accent doesn’t make it any less insulting.”

Dillon made a face. “Someone’s gone into mommy-mode. Next are you going to tell me that if I’ve got nothing nice to say I should—”

“Shut the hell up?” she provided with a false smile.

“Something like that. I seem to remember that saying being a little less acerbic and more polite but that certainly gets the point across. So, what’s with the nerves? You’re drumming your thumbs,” he pointed out, which immediately made her slide her hands under the table away from view. “Something’s got you strung pretty tight. What is it?”

She could try and pass it off as extreme fatigue—hell, she’d been trying to do that since 4:00 a.m.—but it was no use. Someone had whispered in her ear. She’s here. And yet, her room had been empty. How the hell was she supposed to say that without looking as if she’d just spilled her crackers? “I didn’t sleep well,” she said, leaving it at that.

“Not me. I slept like a baby. This motel sure doesn’t look like much from the outside—in fact, it looks like the kind of place where the crazed proprietor slits your throat in your sleep—but in all, the beds are quite adequate.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” she said wryly, choking down another hot swallow as she started to feel the caffeine working its way into her body, clearing away the cobwebs of sleep until she felt somewhat back to herself. It was a dream, she rationalized with a great deal of relief. A very lucid, very vivid dream. Not uncommon for people who are extremely fatigued. Now she felt just a little ridiculous for wasting so much of her precious sleep time shaking in her bed over something that was clearly not real.

Just in time. The rest of the CARD Team came into the small breakfast joint and Kara was grateful for the need to focus on the job.

D’Marcus Jones, the high-tech computer specialist who looked as far from a geek as one could get, slid into the seat beside her while Tana Miller and Zane Harris took the seats flanking Dillon. Everyone except Tana signaled for coffee. Tana preferred green tea and always brought her own. All she required was a mug of steaming hot water.

“Does it always rain like this here?” D’Marcus asked, eyeing the dismal weather with something of a scowl. “I feel like I’m gonna mold or something. Even the sheets felt damp.”

“I think it’s invigorating,” Tana said, her cheeks still pink from the early-morning run she’d taken on the black-sand beach a short walk from their motel. “I could live here.”

Kara withheld comment. The beaches here were savagely beautiful with sharp, craggy cliffs that accepted the ocean’s constant battering with stoic dignity, eroding with time until deep fissures ran with seawater as the spray erupted with a violent explosion against the rocks. Many a tourist, inexperienced with the nature of Northern California’s coastal beaches, sank to a watery grave when they turned their back to the ocean.

And it wasn’t warm. Not even in the summer. The water remained a chilly temperature and dive suits were necessary if prolonged exposure was planned. But Kara never went into the ocean. Not after her dad took a fishing boat into a squall after a bender and never came back. It’d been her senior year. Neal’s family had taken her in so she could graduate.

“Didn’t you grow up here?” D’Marcus asked, pouring two creams into his white ceramic mug.

“Yes.” How many times had she wished she’d been born somewhere other than the Emerald Triangle, the place where marijuana grows as freely as the foxglove? More times than she could count. She’d never truly fit in with the locals—but she was one. “Let’s get this meeting started,” she said briskly, ending the invitation for story hour or trips down Memory Lane. “The weather is likely to get worse before it gets better and if you don’t want to spend the entire day wet and puking your guts out, we’d better get a move on.”

“What’s this puking part?” D’Marcus asked, his dark brows drawn in a troubled line. “I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“You know the road from Willits to Westport?” Kara asked, and D’Marcus nodded warily. “Well, the roads we’re going on will put that road to shame. Ten-mile-an-hour switchbacks, seven percent grade … you might want to take some Dramamine before we head out. We’re going deep into the redwoods today.”

“We who? I thought we’re staying here to set up the command center while you and that police chief guy are going out to the backwoods?”

Kara startled. “What? Who said that?“ She shot a look at Dillon, who returned her hard stare with a nonchalant one that made her want to strangle the shit out of him. She’d enjoy watching his eyeballs pop out like little marbles and roll around on the floor. Then she’d stomp on them. Little sneaky Brit.

“Listen, don’t get your panties in a twist. I called the police station, looking for a trail guide, so’s we don’t get lost in the heathen beauty of this place you used to call home and get our heads shot off by one of the hippie locals because we stumbled on their retirement plan. Lucky for us, the chief volunteered.”

“We don’t need him,” she said, brushing off Dillon’s idea quickly. She was not spending all day tromping around the forest with Matthew. She suppressed a shiver that wasn’t entirely born of distaste and ignored Dillon’s expression. “D’Marcus, you can come with me. Chief Beauchamp can worry about his own investigations. I’m sure he has plenty to do without horning in on ours.”

“Actually, I agree with Dillon,” D’Marcus interrupted. “He knows the area, he’s got the authority to squelch any problems with the locals and I’m betting he doesn’t get carsick. Dramamine makes me tired. You know I can’t take that stuff and use my brain at the same time. It’s better if I stay behind at the command center. Besides, that new equipment is coming in and I need to be here to get it set up.”

“So it’s settled, then?” Dillon said casually. “You and the chief will go. Great. I’m starved. What’s good here?”

“It’s not settled,” she snapped, startling the team with her tone. Count to ten. Get a grip. Stop letting Matthew get under your damn skin! Mentally giving herself a slap upside the head, she forced a shrug. “Fine.” But then she offered Dillon a mean smile as she said, “But you get to interview the locals while I’m gone.” She rose from the table, her appetite all but gone. “I’d suggest you start with Tally’s at the Pier, and if you order anything, try the catch of the day. It’s … delicious.”

If Dillon knew her at all, her tone was saying the opposite.

“Not much of a fish guy,” Dillon said. He knew her well. “But thanks anyway.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kara said sweetly, and after everyone was clear on their assignments, she left the diner.

Acid churning in her stomach, she tried to keep focused but with the lack of sleep and her nerves stretched taut as piano wire, it was a futile effort. Returning to her room, she closed the door behind her and sagged against it. Flipping her cell phone, she hit the speed dial for home and waited for the familiar voice of Mai, Briana’s Vietnamese nanny, to pick up. After four rings, it went to voice mail. Only mildly troubled, for there were multiple reasons why Mai or Briana might not pick up, she sighed and pocketed her cell phone without leaving a message. She’d try again tonight when she’d be more likely to catch them.

She walked to the table where her notes were strewn and studied the case files of each victim with a slow and methodical style, going over every detail as if they weren’t already etched into her memory. A soft, distressed sound escaped her lips. So young. The nightmare started with Jason Garvin, son of an architectural drafting professor at Washington University. At that point they had no idea there’d be more. It had seemed a random abduction by a stranger—a crime of opportunity. But then, not long after, Drake Nobles, the son of California senator Peter Nobles was taken and found, mere days later, with the same ligature marks as the previous victim. Kara had known then with an uncomfortable certainty that they had a serial killer on the loose. Unfortunately, that was also the point when the case had been catapulted into the public eye and she’d been tapped as the official spokesperson for the CARD Team. Kara hated the spotlight, preferring to work in the shadows, quietly and efficiently getting things done, but Director Colfax had wanted her front and center for reasons that chafed.

And now the most recent victim, Hannah Linney, the daughter of an assistant district attorney in San Francisco, had disappeared last week when she was last seen walking home from school with her nanny. The nanny’s body had been discovered in an alley by the school and all trace of Hannah was gone. Kara flipped through the crime scene photos. Hannah had been a fighter. There was evidence that she’d scratched and clawed her assailant, although no DNA was found under her nails. They’d been scraped clean postmortem. Whoever had taken these children knew enough to leave nothing behind other than what they wanted found.

Aside from the first case, the other two were snatched in California. There was nothing to tie them together. At least nothing she could see. But she was sure there was something. The Babysitter fancied himself clever. Her lip curled. She hated that term, which had been coined by the media. Now she was using it, as well. Her stomach growled and she tossed back a few stale almonds left over from last night. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep any weight on, she thought, recalling Matthew’s comment about her figure. This kind of work would kill anyone’s appetite.

A knock at the door drew her attention and she instinctively knew it was Matthew, but she approached the door with caution just the same.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Her stomach tensed as anxiety twisted her nerves but she’d die before she’d let Matthew know just how much he put her on edge.

Chapter 5

The low rumble of Matthew’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, and with a silent prayer for resilience, she opened it with her best I’m-a-professional smile. Perfunctory is what she was trying for but for all the attention he gave her, the effort was moot.

“Ready?”

No hello, how are you, good morning—just all business. Perfect, just the way it should be, she told herself, as she gathered her maps and notebook and stuffed them into her hiking backpack. “Just waiting for you.”

“Let’s get going then,” he said, and turned on his heel. “The roads are going to be slop by the time we get up the mountain.”

“You don’t have to go … if you have other things you need to do,” she said, hurrying after him, the rain pelting her hat as if it were trying to pummel her brain. “It’s not exactly great weather. I’d understand if you wanted to find someone else to take me out to the mine.”

“You want someone else to take you? I could get Oren or Dinky to take you up there.”

He turned to face her and she stared at him, wavering on taking him up on his offer, but then she pictured the stone-faced Oren and the doofus Dinky and she knew her best option—if not her favorite—would be with Matthew. “No. You’re already here. Let’s go.”

“All right then,” he said and climbed into the older model Jeep Cherokee. “Fasten your seat belt,” he instructed, and she sent him an irritated look. I’m not a kid. He shrugged. “The Kara I remember liked to break the rules,” he said by way of explanation, if that’s what you could call it.

She huffed and jerked the belt across her chest. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

Matthew’s hand rested on the gearshift and he briefly assessed her with those killer blue eyes. Kara forced herself to hold his stare without flinching or giving away any indication that his presence knocked her sidewise.

Finally, Matthew put the car into Drive as he said, “No, I guess you’re not. Sorry.”

“Fine,” she said, accepting the apology, yet her chest felt tight and it seemed hard to breathe around whatever was sitting on her chest. How could she have not realized just how much Briana and Matthew looked alike? She was his carbon copy, down to the serious light in her ocean-blue eyes, to the quiet intelligence that she showed with everything she did. Kara thought of the small picture she had on the motel nightstand beside her bed and sweat broke out on her brow. If Matthew saw that picture, he’d know. There’d be no wondering. Knowledge would be immediate and the careful world she’d built for Briana and herself would shatter.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

Matthew knew she was lying. Kara’s palms began to sweat. She rubbed her thighs and looked out the window, eager to focus on anything but the close proximity of the man beside her.

“It’s hard to be around each other,” he acknowledged quietly. “I think we can admit that without hurting each other’s feelings.”

She looked at him sharply. “Matthew, the case has me on edge. Not you.”

He stiffened and she could nearly feel him physically shutting her out, slamming the door on any fledgling attempt at civility, and she was alternately relieved and horrified. Shame. That’s the feeling that was crushing her. God, she was ashamed for not having the courage to tell him that he had a daughter. Ashamed to realize that she may have been wrong to keep them apart. She’d been reacting to the situation at the time and figured this was best, but perhaps it had only been best for her. But what the hell could she do about it now? Nothing. So it would remain the same. She’d deal. She had to.

“How far to Wilkin’s Mine?” she asked, keeping her voice professional, businesslike.

“An hour.”

An hour. Fabulous. She imagined having a Brazilian bikini wax would be less painful than sitting in a car with Matthew suffering through stilted, awkward conversation as they each navigated around the emotional land mines that could blow them both to bits. “Music?” she asked, moving to turn the stereo on.

“Not interested in catching up?” he asked as she turned the volume up. His mouth twisted knowingly with just a touch of mocking cruelty. “Guess not.”

She shot him a dark look and then returned to the scenery outside her window. In spite of the rain that continued to fall from the gray skies, the melancholy beauty of the coastal forests was something that tugged at her emotional center. It was hard to ignore that her roots were here, even as much as she tried. It was probably why she’d requested the San Francisco office. She needed to hear the ocean and smell the briny perfume of the sea. Her family had always been attached to the water. Her father had been a fisherman just like his father before him. Some of her best memories included the sea. In spite of herself, Kara wondered if Matthew still enjoyed abalone diving, or if he had ever bought that sailboat he’d been wanting when they were kids. Probably not. Neal had been the impulsive, spontaneous one. Matthew always weighed the pros and cons of everything six ways from Sunday before he did something. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nostalgia plucking memories from her mental chest that she’d locked away long ago.

Regret tasted metallic on her tongue. She risked a glance at his profile. Strong, stubborn jaw, lips compressed to a tight line, betraying some kind of inner conflict as did the pull of his dark brows shadowing his eyes. Likely, if she’d told Matthew about their daughter, he would’ve taught her to dive, to enjoy and respect the ocean. He would’ve taught Briana to play guitar. She swallowed as she recalled Briana’s most recent request.

“Why didn’t you have kids?” she asked, glancing at him curiously. “When you were married, I mean.”

“Back to catching up?” he asked, the mild tone deceptive.

She shrugged. “It’s a long drive. You don’t have to answer of course. I was just wondering.”

The frown eased as he considered his answer. Finally, he admitted, “I did want kids. She didn’t. Takes two to make that happen. Seeing as how things turned out, it was for the best. How about you?”

“My job.”

He seemed to accept that. Of course he did. It made sense. Her job was chaotic with odd, often-times long hours. Adding a child to the mix would certainly be difficult. And it was. If it weren’t for the treasure that Mai had turned out to be … single parenting wasn’t for wimps.

The shame returned. He’d wanted children. A moment of insanity gripped her and she imagined just blurting out that he had a child. A wonderful, beautiful, smart and amazing kid who looked just like him and even had that same stubborn tilt of the chin. Yeah … that would go over well. The breath hitched in her chest as she discarded the dangerous thought and returned to the case.

“Tell me again about the photographer who found Hannah Linney.”

“He’s already been checked out. His alibi is airtight. There’s no way he dropped that little girl out there. Tell me why we’re heading out to Wilkin’s Mine.”

“We managed to find a very small bit of mineral, orickite, on Drake Nobles’s body. It was an odd find and the first bit of evidence, aside from those damn little nursery-rhyme words from ‘Pop Goes the Weasel', that we’ve managed to get. Oddly enough, orickite is only found in this area.”

“So are you thinking the killer is a geologist or a miner?”

“I’m not thinking anything. I’m just following evidence. I want to see the mine, poke around, talk to the owner and then see what shakes out.”

“You know the owner might not want to chat. He’s not what you’d call friendly.”

“You know him?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I know him, per se, but I know of him. I know enough to say I think being down in that mine has pickled his brain a little.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Have you had run-ins with him before?”

“A time or two. Nothing serious. He’s a crazy old coot, but basically harmless. As long as you don’t try to take his pot. Then, we might have a problem.”

“Great. Another pot grower. You might want to remind people there’s a law against that.”

“Not since Prop 215. Gotta love those liberal California voters. As long as you’ve got a medical card, not much the law around here is going to do about it. I don’t have the resources to chase after every illegal grower. My superiors have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. You know how it is around here. Nothing much has changed. Besides, they’re harmless. They grow their weed and if they’re left alone, they leave everyone else alone.”

“It’s still against the law,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah. But I’ve learned to pick my battles.”

She met his gaze briefly and looked away, unable to stare too long without fear of falling into those blue eyes and drowning. “I suppose you have a point, but it’s still not right,” she added.

They rode in silence, letting the music fill the car instead of their chatter—not that she could’ve mustered anything resembling frivolous chatter, her nerves were so taut. She had just managed to allow her mind to settle down when Matthew deliberately seemed to poke at a tender spot.

“Why didn’t you come to the funeral?” he asked in a deceptively casual voice, as if that question wasn’t charged with emotional pitfalls. When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Your name was the last word he ever spoke. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t around.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Talk about the past? Why not? We’ve got a lot of history. Nothing wrong with reminiscing.”

“You’re not reminiscing. You’re dredging up old crap. When did you turn into such a passive-aggressive prick, Matthew? If you’ve got something to say to me, get it out. Say it. Say it or shove it up your ass because I don’t answer to you. I never did and I never will.”

“You need to work on your people skills.”

She shot him a look. “And you need to work on professional civility.”

He drew himself up and then sighed, surprising her with his agreement. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. But then, Neal was always the talker. The one who could smooth everything out and make you wonder what the hell you were mad about in the first place.”

True. A vision of Neal as she liked to remember him came back to soften the tense muscles in her mouth. He was grinning like the devil, that ridiculously adorable dimple of his flashing as he threw his head back and laughed at something they’d said in their long-ago past. “Yeah, he was quite the charmer when he wanted to be,” she admitted. She had a treasure trove of memories to draw from. She remembered how her heart had broken when she realized Briana was not Neal’s. She couldn’t even pretend. Whereas Neal had been fair-haired and looked the part of the beautiful beach bum, Matthew had always looked the part of … law enforcement. She stifled an inappropriate urge to giggle. Matthew couldn’t look like a bum if he tried. Neal had been adept at making lounging look like art; Matthew had been adept at making lounging look like hard work. A smile born of sweet memories tilted the corners of her mouth until she remembered that Neal was gone. The smile faded and she swallowed the lump in her throat. “I heard his parents moved away,” she said, feeling as if she were listening to the conversation from elsewhere.

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