Authors: Leslie Tentler
“I’m going to make a few phone calls. I need to check in with Agent Vartran. But I’m not leaving, Mia.” He looked into her eyes. “Not until I think you won’t end up facedown on the floor if you try to get up on your own.”
Her fingers clung to his. Eric didn’t pull away. They had been touching one another a lot, and he’d rationalized that it was due to necessity and the sheer emotion of the situation. Their shared need to find and stop a killer. But he also knew himself well enough to understand how drawn he was to her. He hadn’t felt anything like it in a long time. The realization was unsettling.
“If you need some privacy to talk, you can use my office,” she said. “It’s down the hallway, the first room on the left.”
Eric nodded. Withdrawing his fingers from hers, he stood. He watched as she placed one of the sofa cushions on her lap and with a sigh, hugged it to herself. The slanting, dying sunlight that came in through the balcony doors made her appear even more fragile to him.
Her office was efficient and tidy—a laptop sat on the desk, a comfortable-looking love seat, shelves filled with neatly lined books and a police scanner with the volume turned low. There was also a framed degree on the wall from the University of Florida, indicating she’d graduated with honors, as well as several framed photos. In them, he recognized a younger version of Mia, performing in a graceful dance troupe. A small brass plaque underneath one of the photos read Jacksonville Inner-City Ballet.
She was full of surprises.
Lingering among her personal possessions, he moved to a more recent, candid snapshot that sat on the desk. In it, Mia had much longer hair, nearly halfway down her back. Wearing a bathing suit top and denim shorts that revealed her slender, tanned legs, she stood on a pier with Will Dvorak, dazzling blue water and a setting sun behind them. Eric scanned the rest of the room. He noticed that none of the displayed photographs had anyone in them who looked like family—no smiling images of proud parents or siblings with similar dark hair and pale olive skin.
Again, no obvious boyfriend, either. Strange, considering her beauty.
Figuring he’d done enough snooping, Eric made his phone calls.
Fifteen minutes later, he reentered the living room. Mia remained seated where he’d left her. He had half expected her to have fallen back asleep.
“Is there anything new on Anna Lynn Gomez?” she asked.
Eric shook his head. “I spoke to Agent Vartran. The Florida Bureau and JSO have a task force meeting set up for tomorrow morning to restrategize.”
“On a Sunday,” she noted, looking up at him. “No rest for the wicked, so no rest for law enforcement, either.”
“Something like that.” He came closer. “How’s the dizziness?”
“A little better.”
“Are you hungry?”
“Not really.”
Eric suspected she hadn’t eaten in a while, her nerves deadening her appetite. Having an empty stomach probably wasn’t helping with the light-headedness. He sat back down on the couch, broaching the topic that had been on his mind. “How long were you in foster care?”
“A while,” she replied quietly.
“What about your parents?”
“My father left when I was four years old. He was in the military. He met my mother overseas and brought her back to the States. I don’t really remember him.” She shrugged, smoothing her fingers over the cushion she still held. “My mother, Luri, wasn’t much of a mom. She had some mental issues—bipolar disorder that she wouldn’t take medication for—as well as a drinking problem. Child Services to the rescue…”
Eric heard the cynical edge to her voice. He knew enough about the system to suspect where Mia had ended up—bounced between group homes and private residences, a new place every few months. Probably not feeling very wanted anywhere.
“You hot-wired the car you escaped in, didn’t you?”
“It’s possible,” she admitted. “A guy in one of the homes I was in had a history of car theft. We hung out and he taught me some things. I know how to.”
He now understood why she’d evaded the question when he had asked her the first time—she didn’t want to reveal that part of herself. But the therapy sessions had forced it into the open. Eric wondered how Mia had managed to come through such a tough, grim childhood. She’d graduated from college, she held down a demanding job. He wanted to know more about who she was, but didn’t want her to feel he was prying.
“Depending on what’s in your pantry, I’m going to make you dinner. Or we’ll order takeout, but you need to eat.”
She gazed at him, her brown eyes soft. Unable to help himself, he touched her face.
“It’s going to be okay, Mia,” he murmured.
To his surprise, she settled her head against his chest. Eric wondered if she could hear the heavy thudding of his heart.
10
T
he reclaimed memories had overwhelmed her. Leaning against Eric’s chest, Mia felt safe and protected. She closed her eyes, reveling in the feel of his big hands stroking her back. The gun on his hip cut into her side but she ignored it, giving in to the indulgence of being close to him, if only for a little while.
After several long moments, she pulled away and uncertainly met his gaze. His eyes had darkened. He swallowed hard.
“I’m going to see about that food,” he said hoarsely.
Sliding his fingers over the soft skin of her forearm, Eric got up and went into the kitchen, leaving her on the couch. Mia curled onto her side. She drifted in and out of sleep, lulled by the sound of running water and the occasional rattle of a pan or the close of the refrigerator door. She felt overly emotional, and having his presence in her apartment was like a soothing balm on her frayed nerves.
“Mia?”
She awoke sometime later to the sound of his voice and realized her catnapping had turned into a full-on slumber. He leaned over her, and she wondered how long she’d been out. How long he’d been watching her sleep.
“How are you feeling now?”
“Better, I think. No more dizziness,” she said as she slowly moved to a sitting position.
“That’s good. Do you want to eat?”
She got to her feet, testing her steadiness. Much of the light coming in from outside had died away, but Eric had turned on a few lamps and there was a warm glow emanating from her breakfast nook. Mia wandered into the cozy eating area and saw he was true to his word. He’d prepared a pasta carbona with linguine, bacon, some fading parsley from the refrigerator’s vegetable drawer, and cream. The scent was heavenly. He’d also put out a beer for himself and a goblet filled with ice water for her. As Eric pulled out her chair, she noticed he’d abandoned his tie somewhere as well as his holstered gun. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, the top buttons of his dress shirt open, and she could see the white cotton of his T-shirt at his throat. He sat across from her and dished pasta onto her plate.
“I can’t believe you made a meal out of the pathetic scraps in my kitchen. This looks really good.”
“I like to cook—it relaxes me.” He added quietly, “I used to do it for my wife.”
At his words, she felt a pang of compassion. One of the online articles had included Rebecca Macfarlane’s photo. She’d been blonde and fashion-model pretty—an interior designer by trade, according to the piece. Mia figured they had made a striking couple.
“How long were you married?” she asked tentatively.
“Five years.”
Then you know why stopping this psychopath is so important to me.
Mia recalled the intensity of his statement the day before.
As they ate, they moved to easier subjects, including Mia’s pending return to the
Courier
the following week. They also talked about the next session with Dr. Wilhelm that had been scheduled for Tuesday, the earliest the psychiatrist would agree to another round of the catalyzing drug. The prospect of going back under hypnosis caused a ripple of anxiety to run through her, but she was determined to return to that room and remain there long enough to see her abductor’s face.
Eric had stressed to her that he believed Cissy Cox was dead. But in her memory, she’d been alive and breathing, squirming against the ropes that bound her to a hook in the cinder-block wall. Was it possible Mia herself had escaped, but left the other captive woman behind? She couldn’t imagine doing something so terrible.
“You all right?”
She nodded, shoving down her thoughts.
Once they were done with dinner, he stood and began clearing the table. “I’ve got this. You should rest.”
“I’ll help. With everything going on, you couldn’t have gotten more than a few hours’ sleep last night.” She picked up her plate but he reached for it, bringing the two of them face-to-face.
“Eric…I appreciate dinner, and you staying with me.”
“It’s the least I can do,” he said, serious. “I’m the one asking you to relive a nightmare.”
“May I ask you a question?” She set the plate back on the table and searched his eyes. “What frightens you? I mean, these psychotic, sadistic men you pursue—”
“You write about them,” he pointed out.
“Most of the time I report on drug-related shootings and bank robberies. Domestic violence that ended up as a homicide. They’re bad things but they’re not like this.” She felt a rush of nerves just talking about it. “What you chase at the VCU is
pure evil,
Eric. These men are monsters that live for the thrill of torture, of having someone under their total control. It’s not about money or a crime of passion. These animals have a sadistic need to inflict pain and fear. They live for it.”
His gaze was sincere. “I
am
afraid sometimes. I’d be a fool not to be. But I’m more afraid of letting them continue to roam free so they can keep killing. Keep taking other people’s loved ones.”
He was thinking of his wife. For a brief moment, Mia wondered what it must have been like to be loved by him. She thought of the solidness of his body as he held her a short time earlier.
Eric moved closer to her, his voice low. “I understand if you’re scared, Mia. And I’ve told you, we’re in this together.”
Her throat dried with need as she gazed up at him. She craved more of his hands on her, she realized. Unable to help herself, Mia touched his shirtfront. The air seemed charged around them as they stared at one another. But a hard knock at the door shattered their connection. Eric clasped the back of his neck with one hand and stepped away. She went to the foyer, her face hot. Looking out through the peephole, she swallowed a sigh and opened the door.
Grayson swept into the apartment like a storm tide. “Jesus, Mia. Don’t you return messages anymore? I’ve called you twice already today. I was starting to worry.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been out.” She hadn’t told Grayson about the sessions at the NAS, mostly due to the strict need for confidentiality. But as her boss, he would need to know eventually, since he would be aware of her comings and goings from the newspaper. She’d have to trust him.
“Where’ve you been? It’s Saturday night. Don’t tell me you had a date—”
He stopped speaking, seeing Eric standing in the entrance to the kitchen. Mia made the introductions.
“Grayson Miller, this is Agent Eric Macfarlane with the FBI. Eric, Grayson is executive editor of the
Jacksonville Courier.
”
Clearly taken by surprise, Grayson stepped forward and the two men shook hands. “You’re here due to the recent abductions and murder, Agent Macfarlane.”
“I am.” He looked at Mia. “And I should probably be going.”
“Anything new on the Anna Lynn Gomez disappearance?”
“Unfortunately, no. Nothing beyond her car being found earlier today, which the news channels are already reporting. Agent Vartran with the Florida Bureau is overseeing an ongoing canvas of the area where it was found. I’m on my way there now.” He walked to the granite pass-through counter and retrieved his holstered gun, clipping it back onto his waist. To Mia he said, “You’re sure you’re all right?”
She nodded. “I’ll take care of the kitchen.”
“Call me if you need anything.” Their eyes held for a bare second before Eric moved to the foyer and let himself out. Mia felt a tingle of disappointment. She turned to Grayson again, his gaze on the table that had obviously been set for two.
“Good-looking guy,” he noted.
Mia pressed her lips together, aware his curiosity was piqued. He noticed Eric’s silk tie that had been left draped over one of the bar stools, and he made a point of folding it neatly before placing it on the counter.
“Did I walk in on something?” His tone remained casual although she noticed a tightness around his mouth, something she’d witnessed before in the newsroom when the pressure got high.
She went to the table, planning to finish clearing the dishes. “We just had dinner.”
Grayson said nothing. He shoved his hands inside his pockets, his eyebrows raising faintly.
“It’s not what you think. And I need to tell you about something confidentially.”
“Confidential as in off the record?”
“I need to talk to you as a friend, not a newsman. I need your discretion.”
She told him about the experimental therapy.
Eric stood outside the apartment building, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He hadn’t yet gotten into his car and as he listened to Cameron, he stared up at the light emanating from Mia’s windows.
“Ms. Gomez used her credit card inside the Bargain-Mart at 11:58 on Thursday night,” Cam told him. “She can be seen leaving on security footage from inside the store’s vestibule, but not outside. Store management concedes there’s a camera blind spot in the parking lot of about fifty feet to the left of the front entrance.”
“That’s the route to her car?”
“You got it.”
Eric pinched the bridge of his nose. “So the guy’s either lucky or he’s familiar with the camera range.”
“We’re running background checks on store personnel now, as well as employees of the company that installed the CCTV system four years ago. I interviewed the store’s security team myself—no red flags. By the way, Ms. Gomez’s purchase was found in a Dumpster behind the building, still in the bag with the receipt.”
“What did she purchase?”
“Chewing gum and tampons. Why?”
“No reason.” The night was humid, and a warm breeze ruffled the fronds of the palm trees lining the property’s front. “I’m on my way there, all right?”
“How did the session with Ms. Hale go?”
Eric briefly filled him in, then disconnected the call as Will Dvorak’s Porsche convertible pulled into the driveway.
“Agent Macfarlane,” Will said in greeting as he got out. An Asian man exited the passenger side, and he introduced him to Eric as his partner, Justin Cho. After a moment, Justin excused himself and went into the ground-floor unit.
“Are you coming or going, Agent?” Will asked.
“Going, actually.”
“I see Mia has a guest.” He indicated the car parked next to Eric’s.
“Grayson Miller—we met upstairs.” The man seemed nice enough, although Eric had detected a territorialism when he’d discovered Mia wasn’t alone. He was pretty sure most editors didn’t check in on reporters at their homes on Saturday nights, and he wondered how far their relationship went outside the workplace. He realized he didn’t like the idea of it being more than a supervisor-employee situation. Miller was too old for her.
“I know you and Mia are close—”
“She’s told me about the mad scientist experiment at the naval base,” Will remarked drily, although his gaze was somber and direct. “As her friend I advised her not to do it.”