Authors: Leslie Tentler
She understood the danger. But if she’d been allowed to continue, both Penney and Karen Diambro might be alive right now.
33
“I
f the Bureau doesn’t work out, you might have a future in television,” Eric quipped to the rookie agent who’d posed as a reporter during the news conference—a way to make sure the right question was asked at the right time. He went past her, heading toward the elevator bay as journalists continued filing from the building’s lobby.
“Do you think he saw it?” Cameron asked as he caught up to him in the corridor.
“If I know this guy, he continually scans the media for any mention of himself.”
“Well, if you wanted to piss him off, calling him an ‘asexual underachiever’ in front of the entire city should do it.”
Arriving at the elevator, Eric pushed the up button. Normally, psychological profiles remained internal to the team. But if the unsub could maintain his current state of anger, he might continue to take flagrant risks and make a mistake that would get him caught. Goaded or not, Eric felt certain he would attempt to take another woman soon. With the frustration of the foiled abduction, he wouldn’t be able to go for long with no one in captivity.
“We’re putting extra men on surveillance in Ms. Hale’s neighborhood tonight,” Cameron said as the elevator doors slid open and they entered. “Just in case your press conference got him riled up enough to try to visit her again.”
Eric checked his wristwatch. Mia would be back at the bungalow soon and under the watch of two armed deputies. If anything
did
go down in San Marco tonight, at least she wouldn’t be there. He’d been second-guessing himself about allowing her to go into work, but he figured it was better than her pacing a hole in the beach house’s floor. She’d left him a voice mail earlier, unhappy about his call to Grayson Miller, which she had asked him not to do. He would deal with the consequences of that later. Eric had wanted to be sure Miller understood the situation and didn’t send her out to cover a story. Keeping her alive was more important than keeping her job.
“What about the security camera on the building next to the tire store?” he asked as they entered Cameron’s office.
“I had Hatcher go through the footage from the dry cleaners. The camera angle is off. The perp drove in through the side entrance, not through the parking lot. We’ve got a shadow entering at just past midnight, but you can’t get a make on the vehicle. It’s out of range. With our unsub, it might’ve been stolen, anyway.” Cameron went to his desk and sat in front of his computer. “We did get the employee paperwork from the temp agency a little while ago. It came through while you were preparing for the press conference.”
“Any red flags?”
“I’ll print it out for you. As I suspected, the agency’s records are sloppy. The guy basically emailed digital images of approved job applications for anyone they sent out for small electronics repair over the last several years. He’s unsure which workers were used to service the security firm’s clients, though—he says that information was part of the computer files they recently lost.”
Which meant there would be a larger number of workers to look at, Eric thought. “Did they do background checks?”
Cameron gave a sardonic grunt as the printer in the corner of the room rumbled to life. “His idea of security clearance is asking applicants to check a box if they’ve ever been convicted of a felony.”
Eric went to the printer and began leafing through the pages being pushed out.
“I already ran through them on-screen. No one has previous work history for companies in Bethesda or the surrounding areas. At least no one claimed to. But it might be worth the time to cross-reference the names with the Maryland and Virginia DMVs. See if anyone ever had a driver’s license up there.” Cameron glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s nearly six. They’re closed now but I can do it first thing in the morning.”
“You should get going,” Eric said. He took the printed sheets and put them in his briefcase. “Don’t you and Lanie have an appointment?”
“Yeah, and traffic’s hell getting back to St. Augustine this time of day.” Heading to the door, he retrieved his suit jacket that hung from a peg on its back. Sliding into it, he said, “What about you?”
“The hotline’s been lit up like a pinball machine. Every other civilian in the metro area thinks they’ve seen the unsub now that we’ve recirculated the sketch.” False sightings were common whenever the media put out a photo or artist rendering of a suspect, even when it had been shown before. “I’m going to stick around and see if any of the calls are worth looking into.”
“We’ve got field agents for that.”
Eric gave a faint nod. “I know.”
“Hey.” Cameron hesitated, serious. He stood just outside the office’s threshold. “Start watching your back, Eric, all right? You don’t know how this guy’s going to react to what you said about him today.”
Cam was a good friend—they’d been close during their years at the Bureau. It felt like decades ago and yesterday all at the same time.
“Go drive your wife to Lamaze class.”
Once he was gone, Eric moved to the window. Looking out over the building’s plaza, he released a breath, feeling the stress he carried in his shoulders. At the parking lot’s perimeter, a line of tall palm trees swayed in the early-evening breeze. Cars exited onto the main road, workers heading home to families and loved ones. It was unsettling to know this lunatic was out there among them. Waiting for another chance to strike.
Walt Rudner’s question about his personal ties to the investigation had been harder to answer on camera than he’d expected. Maybe it was having his emotional laundry aired in a public forum, but it had hit Eric like a fist, reminding him all over again how much he wanted justice for Rebecca’s murder. How responsible he still felt for her death.
He thought of Mia. He wouldn’t let someone else he cared about end up like that.
It had been a long and frustrating Monday. Mia sat in the backseat of the squad car as it pulled discreetly from the newspaper’s parking garage, heading in the direction of the Fuller Warren Bridge.
The sun had begun to settle over the St. Johns, and she caught glimpses of its dappled waters as the vehicle traveled along Riverside Avenue, heading past Memorial Park with its massive live oaks and the renowned bronze sculpture that served as its focal point. Inside the park, people on blankets and folding chairs dotted the expanse of green lawn. Musicians were setting up for an outdoor evening concert. Mia longed for the time when she could have attended such an event freely, without concern for her safety or the need to be escorted by armed deputies. She’d taken her former world for granted.
If you believe you’ve seen the man in this sketch, or know his whereabouts, I urge you to call the task force hotline…
Eric’s request at the press conference that afternoon had been so earnest. He’d appeared tired, and she realized there were limits to endurance, even for someone as strong and capable as him. She closed her eyes, trying to diffuse the image of The Collector that was still inside her head.
In the front seat, the two deputies had been engaged in enthusiastic conversation about Florida pro football teams, but the one in the passenger-side seat turned to her. He had a square, chiseled face and blond hair in a bristled crew cut.
“It’s a no-go on the grocery store detour, Ms. Hale,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Agent Macfarlane doesn’t want you out, not even with us. Once we get you back to the beach house, you can make a list and we’ll send someone to pick up whatever you need.”
Mia nodded, unsurprised. “Did Agent Macfarlane say when he might be back tonight to take over?”
“No, ma’am. I figure he’s going to be tied up for a while—the press conference today and the appeal made to the public probably brought out all the crazies.”
Feeling a wave of anxiety, she wondered about the likelihood of a particular
crazy
being among them.
The squad car traveled onto the traffic-congested bridge. Mia stared out over the water. She’d made this trip back and forth to the downtown for years. When they reached the other side, however, she knew there would be a deviation. They’d be taking a different path—not into San Marco but heading east on Beach Boulevard until they reached the Atlantic Ocean. She’d be tucked away in a weathered beach house not unlike the hundreds of others nestled near the shore. With a sigh of resignation, she rested her head on the back of the seat. In the front, the two deputies had lapsed back into their trash talk, one-upping each other with increasingly disparaging comments about the athletic prowess of the Jacksonville Jaguars and Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
Neither noticed the dented black van that remained several cars back on the congested road. The one that had been lagging behind them since leaving the newspaper’s parking garage.
When the squad car turned onto the dead-end street leading to the bungalow, the van continued on its path on the A1A, heading southward along the coast.
34
I
t seemed strange how some things became so quickly familiar, like the crunch of shells on the driveway outside. Mia lay in the bungalow’s single bedroom when the sound caused her head to lift from the pillow. Pushing back the sheets, she moved to the living room. Headlights at the property’s border were visible through a small gap in the closed curtains. She watched as the squad car that had been on duty pulled onto the road and drove away.
A few moments later Eric entered, his tie loose around his neck and his briefcase in hand. He locked the door behind him and reset the security system, canceling out its high-pitched beep.
“Did I wake you?” he asked, concerned. “It’s after midnight.”
“I wasn’t really sleeping.” Barefoot, she moved closer, wearing a camisole top and pajama shorts.
“We had a lot of calls come through the hotline after the press conference.” He placed his briefcase on the table. Head bent and brow furrowed, he opened it, shuffling through papers until he found whatever he was looking for. “None of them turned out.”
She wanted to say it was all right, but Mia knew it wasn’t. She was aware of what preoccupied his mind. With Karen Diambro dead, The Collector would be hunting again. Maybe even tonight.
“Are you hungry? Because the deputies had groceries delivered—”
“No,” he admitted. Clasping the back of his neck, he rubbed at the knotted muscles he found there.
“Eric, you need to get some rest.”
He shook his head. “I’m too wired right now.”
“Let me help you, all right?” Taking his hand, Mia led him to the couch. It still had sheets tucked neatly into its cushions, a pillow at one end. The bed he’d made to make it appear they weren’t sleeping together. Eric looked at her, his moss-green eyes inquisitive as she told him to sit. But he removed his holstered gun and did as instructed while she went into the kitchen. She returned with a beer.
“Thanks.” He took a sip from it, stretching out his long legs and putting his feet on the coffee table. Mia walked around behind him. Wordlessly, she began to massage his shoulders and the back of his neck. After several minutes of her ministrations, Mia felt him take a deep breath and release it. She continued her rhythmic pressure, squeezing, feeling the play of firm muscles under his skin.
“You’re good.” His voice was a low rumble in his chest.
“Then maybe I’ll have an alternative career when I’m let go from the paper.” She made the statement without rancor, however.
“I know you asked me not to call Miller—”
“I understand why you did it. I’m not upset.”
“Come here.” Eric turned and looked at her, his soft demand causing her stomach to flip. She released his shoulders and allowed him to slowly draw her down onto his lap. She laid her head on his shoulder.
“Sometimes I feel everything bearing down on me so hard I can’t breathe,” he confessed. “Knowing I was coming here to you tonight…it was the one good thing I kept holding on to all day.”
Mia’s lips brushed his collarbone through his dress shirt. “What if I’d been asleep?”
“Then I would’ve just watched you. It would be enough.”
She thought of the press conference and the pain that had been visible on his features as he spoke of his late wife. What he did was vital, she knew, and yet so draining to the soul. She wondered again how he kept his head above water and didn’t succumb to the strong undertow around him.
He finished his beer.
“I might be ready for bed, after all,” he mused huskily. “But I wasn’t thinking of sleeping just yet.”
Mia looked up at him. Eric’s lips lowered softly to hers. Her fingers grazed his hard jaw, the faint stubble there causing an erotic thrill to travel through her. As their mouths tasted one another, she undid his already loose tie with her fingers, sliding it from his collar.
“We could make love here.” He nibbled at her neck. “At least the couch would look used.”
“I prefer the bed.”
He gave a low grunt. “Me, too.”
They rose from the couch and Mia gazed into his handsome face. She noticed his expression had changed, his eyes more serious. He stroked his thumb over her cheek, appearing to struggle with voicing whatever was on his mind. “I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, Mia…but I want you to know I care about you, deeply.”
“I know,” she whispered.
“I’m going to get a shower, all right?”
She remained in place as he went into the bathroom. In the doorway he turned briefly to look at her, and Mia could see the well-defined lines of his body silhouetted against the hall light. His broad shoulders and hard chest, narrow waist and hips. Emotion mingled with the desire she felt.
I don’t know what’s going to happen with us.
It was an uncertainty they shared.
When he entered the bedroom a short time later, she was already nude and under the sheets. She noticed he had brought both his cell phone and service weapon with him. Although the security system was on, she was aware of the danger that existed outside their safe haven.
She raised herself onto one elbow as he removed his boxers and got into bed, turning to face her. He caressed the gentle curves of her body, cupping one small breast, the brush of his fingers instantly hardening her nipple. For a time they simply stared into one another’s eyes. Then Mia kissed his throat, his collarbone, her fingers threading through the sparse hair on his chest. The nightlight she’d found inside her suitcase, wrapped in one of her T-shirts, cast the bedroom in a soft, bluish glow. Even now, that one simple gesture from him tightened her throat with gratitude.
He readied himself for her, rolling on a condom, and she sighed at the welcome weight of his body over hers. His mouth captured her small gasp as he entered her, his hands tangling in her hair. She blinked hazily up at him as he began to move inside her. Their bodies were still so new to one another. Mia reveled in the way he filled her, in the way his languid strokes brought her to a fever pitch, until she was breathless and whispering pleas against his ear.
She loved his own ragged gasp as he came inside her.
A short time later, she skimmed her fingers through his hair as he slept. She’d become his refuge, she realized, from the lethal shadows he chased.
Mia said a fervent prayer to keep him safe.
It was early morning, the sky still gray outside.
She was already showered and dressed, awaiting the arrival of her deputy escort. Wandering the small living area, a cup of coffee clasped between her palms, Mia could hear the water running behind the closed door of the bathroom.
Eric’s briefcase sat open on the table. She slowed next to it, unable to
not
look. A series of black-and-white photographs peeked out at her from beneath his paperwork. Despite the sense of foreboding that fell over her, she placed her cup on the table and picked them up, feeling her stomach clench at nearly the same time.
She barely recognized Karen Diambro.
In the crime scene images, her nearly nude corpse lay on black asphalt, swaddled in plastic sheeting. Enough of it had been pulled away to reveal the full extent of desecration, however. Mia swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her mind flashed to the same type of sheets that had been strung up inside the cinder-block room where she herself had been held captive only a few weeks ago.
The body was battered. Bruised. Odd burn marks marred the torso, as did the numeral carved into the skin. One hand was splayed over her breasts, its fingers bearing five gruesome holes. Even with Walt’s warning, the sight shook her. She’d heard the police terminology for it before: overkill. The brutality inflicted caused tears of anger and empathy to burn behind her eyes, the images far more personal to her than any she had seen before on the job. She flipped slowly through the rest of the photos. Karen Diambro had been petite, with dark hair and brown eyes like hers.
I was the lucky one. I escaped.
Anna Lynn Gomez and Karen Diambro were substitutes for me.
The images brought the harsh reality home.
She couldn’t let this psychopath continue—she had to do whatever she could to help, didn’t she? The water stopped in the bathroom. Mia buried the photos back underneath the papers.
“Everything all right?” Eric asked a short time later. He’d emerged from the bedroom, wearing suit pants and a blue dress shirt. He struggled with his tie. Mia walked over to help him. As she pulled the silk through and tightened the knot for him, she took care that he didn’t notice the faint tremor in her hands.
“Everything’s fine,” she said.
“You look upset.”
“I
look
like I haven’t finished my morning coffee.” Forcing a smile, she allowed her fingers to glide over the smooth silk that lay against his chest, her job completed. “There. All done.”
“Will’s coming to have lunch with you today?”
“He’s bringing it in. We’re eating in the employee break room, like you suggested. And by suggested, I mean
ordered.
”
Eric sighed. “I know it’s not the private meeting you had in mind, but it’s safer. And I’m already tying up enough resources watching you. We’ve got every available man across the local Bureau and JSO hunting this bastard down.”
She nodded her understanding. Bending his head, he brushed his lips over hers. Mia felt a wave of guilt, knowing how strongly he’d be against it. But her emotions had pushed her to a decision.
No matter the consequences, it was something she had to do.