“I don’t have anything to prove.”
“Bullshit. You’re constantly trying to prove how tough you are.
Tough enough to be a cop. Tough enough not to need me or any man.”
“I don’t need you, Jase. I don’t need anyone. And it looks like
you, just like Pete and every other man I’ve ever met, have a problem with that.
Good to finally get it out in the open.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a sniper?”
Carrie blinked and raised her brows. “Like I told you before.
It wasn’t a secret. Why do you keep going back to that?”
“Because being a sniper is pretty damn badass, but it wasn’t
enough for you. You left SWAT, but you say it wasn’t because you were forced out
by Pete or anyone else. So, why? I’m beginning to think even being a sniper
wasn’t enough for you. Why? Because you had the protection of your rifle?
Distance? It wasn’t risky enough for you?”
Carrie’s face immediately tightened, and she narrowed her eyes.
“I’m trying to find a killer. And I know my limits.”
“Obviously not. We don’t need to do this. We haven’t even had a
chance to go back to Steam and determine whether Brad Turner is the man you
think you saw at McGill’s. You’re jumping the gun. Trying to prove something,
just like you have your whole damn life.”
“Of course we’ll still follow up with that, but I can’t be
certain I saw him at McGill’s. And what the hell do you mean I’ve been trying to
prove something my whole life?”
“I mean you chose a profession based on some crock-of-shit
theory that the only thing you had going for you was your strength. And God
forbid that anyone forget that.”
“That’s not true. I’m good at what I do. I’m a good cop.”
“But that’s all you allow yourself to be, and as such you’re
also a lonely cop.”
“You are full of shit!” She tried to push past him, but he
blocked her with his body.
“Oh, come on, Carrie. A cop, sure. But a cop in the army? The
SWAT team? How much more of a male-dominated job could you have picked? And you
did it because you’d be good at it. But you also did it because it was easier.
By being one of the guys, you didn’t need to worry about being a woman.”
She reeled back at his accusations, but only because they hit
so close to home. She hated the knowledge that he saw through her that easily.
That he knew deep down inside her most private self, the thing she feared most
wasn’t failing as a cop, but failing as a woman. And yet she’d allowed herself
to be more of a woman with him than she’d let herself be with anyone else….
Not good enough. Never good enough.
She shoved hard this time, so hard that he retreated a few
steps. She took a breath and held up her palm, trying to stop the stream of
words with that and a shaky laugh. “Look, Jase. I don’t need your pop
psychology. You’re wrong. I’m completely satisfied with…”
“I can give you what you want, Carrie. I can see you as both a
woman and a cop and never forget either one. But I can’t let you endanger
yourself because you have something to prove.”
“Listen to me. This is a good plan. What are the chances that I
really saw Brad Turner at Steam and McGill’s? Last night, the bartender told me
I was describing a lot of guys she’s seen, including her fellow bartender, Lance
Reynolds. Remember him? Remember how similar he and Brad looked? It’s far more
likely I simply got them mixed up. Besides, we agreed Darwin is killing
good-looking people because he has a physical defect he’s ashamed of. Lana
agrees with us and she supports my plan.”
His head jerked back in surprise. “Lana?”
“She’s going to do the spot with me.”
He laughed with no trace of humor, only bitterness. “Of course.
If Darwin doesn’t take the bait with you, why not try your polar opposite?
You’re a tough cop and have red hair. She’s blonde and a whole helluva lot
softer. Bad cop, good cop, right? Interesting since I’m the one that’s actually
your partner.”
“You don’t have to agree with the plan. You don’t have to come
with me. I don’t need your permission. Remember that, Jase? Sleeping with me
doesn’t give you any right to protect me or tell me you know better.”
“No, I thought being your partner gave me that right, Carrie.
But I guess that doesn’t matter jack to you, now, does it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
C
ARRIE
, C
OMMANDER
S
TEVENS
and Lana met at the SIG
building to film the television spot. The TV crew wired each of them for sound
with a microphone that had its own transmitter. Commander Stevens was the first
person to be interviewed. He gave a brief statement about The Embalmer’s initial
crimes. Next, the TV anchor, Liza Montoya, introduced Carrie by giving a rundown
of her credentials, heralding her as one of the best detectives on the SIG team.
Carrie gave a brief statement in which she deliberately named Kelly Sorenson,
Tammy Ryan and Tony Higgs as The Embalmer’s latest victims. She mentioned that
the killer’s M.O. had changed, becoming decidedly less sophisticated, but that
they believed it was a deliberate ruse to throw off the police. She asked anyone
with any information about her to call the police at a special number.
Finally, Lana spoke. Her voice was calm. Soothing. Her message
brief but sincere. Although she pretended she was speaking to The Embalmer, her
words were meant for Darwin.
“I’d like to address The Embalmer and offer my help. I’ve read
your thoughts about your victims. I know why you’re killing. Not out of hatred.
You’ve felt powerless. Rejected by the world. And for something that wasn’t your
fault at all, but simply a twist of fate.” She raised her hand and touched her
own cheek. “Some marks on your face. But those marks don’t make you a monster.
And you can control what you do. I’ll see you for who you really are. I’ll help
others see that person. Let me help you. You can contact me, Doctor Lana Hudson,
at the California Department of Justice.”
When Lana finished, she turned and caught Carrie’s eye. Her
compassionate words made Carrie feel uncomfortable. Jase’s words about her and
Lana playing bad cop and good cop suddenly came back to her.
Lana was the good cop. The one who played to the criminal’s
humanity.
And Carrie was the bad cop. The one who played to the
criminal’s darkness and depravity. What did that say about her place in the
world? she wondered.
When someone functioned best in the dark, didn’t they
eventually reject the light?
* * *
S
IMON
FOUND
OUT
about the television interview about forty-five
minutes after the fact. He was so angry at being kept out of the loop—and he was
betting that had been deliberate—he knew he should avoid Lana until he cooled
down. But that didn’t stop him from looking for her an hour after the shoot. He
found her in the department conference room, talking to a group of rookies from
SFPD. He took a seat toward the side of the room, noting how she straightened
her back and avoided looking at him.
She walked in a circle around the room, trying to make eye
contact with the half-dozen recruits as she discussed hostage negotiation
strategies. “Remember,” she said, “any language that stimulates conflict is
unprofessional.”
One recruit interrupted her. “So, what, we need to be polite
when we ask a suspect to put down his gun? Seems like that puts us in a position
of weakness. Aren’t we supposed to project power and authority?”
Simon wanted to smack the cocky young recruit for challenging
Lana, but she didn’t seem to take offense to the question. Eventually, she
finished up her training, and Simon waited while she answered a few more
questions. When the last rookie left and she was gathering her papers, Simon
shut the door with an audible click. Lana walked toward him and stopped several
feet short.
He cut to the chase. “What the hell did you think you were
doing, Lana?”
She didn’t even try to pretend that she didn’t know what he was
talking about. “I’ve reviewed his blogs, Simon. I know why he’s killing. He’s
acting out of pain. I can help him. He’s been scarred....”
Simon stalked toward her and thrust his face close to hers,
speaking through clenched teeth. “I don’t care how he looks, his ethnic
background, his religious preference, if he came from a broken home or if his
dog got run over when he was kid. I want him to stop killing.”
Lana looked at him impassively, not flinching at his
aggressively physical behavior. “That’s what I want, too.”
“And how are you going to accomplish that? By appealing to his
better nature? The guy’s a murderous psychopath.”
She shook her head. “We have the same goal, Simon. But you
admitted it yourself. You don’t care what brought him to this. I do. Because in
understanding that, we can prevent other people from becoming the same thing.
Maybe help him to change.”
“He can’t change. He’s a fucking monster.”
She hitched her bag higher on her arm. “He has that element,
yes. I wrote that in my profile.” She quoted from it: “‘Well-educated,
manipulative, self-centered sociopath; Likes being looked at, thinks he’s
unique, wants people to study him. He probably wouldn’t mind being caught. He
wants attention because he’s never had the attention he needs.’”
He snorted. “Please, stop. You’re making me sick.”
“Almost four percent of the population are functioning
sociopaths. Did you know that? They don’t have a conscience, and I don’t believe
they were just born that way.”
Simon stepped away, pacing in front of the door, still blocking
her way out. “Oh, please. Not that old song and dance. Nature versus nurture.
The average person knows right from wrong.”
His sarcastic tone finally got a reaction from her. “Oh,
really? How many Americans watched the televised replays of Sadam Hussein’s
execution, and reveled in his death? Somehow, conscience no longer applied. He
was no longer a human being, but evil personified. And he isn’t the first person
the American public has vilified: gays were to blame for the AIDS epidemic,
blacks were so inferior the Constitution refers to them as three-fifths of a
person, and prisoners deserve to be raped in prison. Even the government trains
its soldiers to ignore their own moral conscience, to follow orders in wartime,
to kill without thought to who they’re killing or why.”
Simon stopped pacing, understanding hitting him like a freight
train. “So that’s what this is about. You think by helping Darwin, you’ll
somehow be one step closer to your antiwar sentiments.”
Lana frowned and shook her head. “No, Simon, that’s not what I
think. But it’s easy to demonize someone to the exclusion of anything else. He’s
doing horrible things. He needs to be stopped. But something caused him to stray
off the path of moral conscience, and maybe something can help him get
back.”
“So you want to save him? Since you couldn’t save your husband,
Johnny?”
Lana took in a deep breath and looked as if he’d spit in her
face. He could almost see her distance herself from him. “This has nothing to do
with Johnny. Nothing.”
“Sweetheart, everything you do has to do with him. Which is a
shame, being as he’s dead and all.”
She flinched. Simon knew he was acting like a bastard, but her
determination to save Darwin, a cold-blooded killer, poked at the raw wound he’d
been nursing since the night she’d told him she couldn’t see him anymore. That
he believed her to be motivated by the death of her husband only made things
worse. He didn’t like feeling jealous of young Johnny Hudson, but that didn’t
mean he wasn’t.
Lana drew back her shoulders and faced him squarely. “I’m not
talking about him with you, Simon. You have no business talking about him. None
at all.”
Simon kept step with her when she backed away. “Is that right?
Well, let me tell you this, sweetheart. It’s a damn shame when a woman as
beautiful and warm as you spends her life trying to help sick bastards like
Darwin just because her husband chose to blow his brains out rather than deal
with what life dealt him.”
Even before Lana slapped him, Simon knew he’d crossed the line.
Her palm moved swiftly, and he didn’t even try to block the blow. He deserved
it. And maybe, just maybe, part of him was willing to take whatever physical
contact she was willing to dish out.
Her body, her voice, her entire being was shaking, the
vibration causing the tears in her eyes to spill down onto her face. “You macho
bastard! How dare you judge him? You, who’ve never gotten a raw deal in your
life. He fought for his country and what did it get him? He came back half the
man he’d been, literally. With nightmares of killing. Innocent people. Women and
children. Killing he should never have had to do.” Lana’s voice cracked, and she
had to take several breaths before she could continue. “Maybe it’s the same for
Darwin. Maybe he doesn’t want to kill. Maybe he just needs a chance, someone to
see the goodness inside him.”
“Lana…” he began, needing to apologize. Needing to explain that
bringing up Johnny had nothing to do with disrespecting the man but more about
being jealous of him. And wanting the woman he’d foolishly left behind.
She shook her head. “You do your job, Simon, and I’ll do mine.
I’m going to help Darwin, either before he’s brought in or afterward. I’m going
to show you that compassion is just as valuable a weapon as a gun.”
She raced from the room, leaving Simon with an almost
unbearable desire to run after her. But knowing that was the last thing he
should do. For either of them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
B
RAD
WANTED
TO
KILL
that redheaded bitch. How dare she go on
national television and pass off his work as The Embalmer’s?
She had to know better.
The police had found Bowers; his house was surrounded by
crime-scene tape.
Plus, there was the fact Brad’s work was smarter. More
layered.
Hadn’t she read the blogs? Hadn’t she figured out the
connection between the murders and the movies? Obviously not, and her ignorance
and stupidity were being played off as his.
When he’d first seen her at McGill’s he’d thought she was
interested in her good-looking partner, Jase Tyler. He’d thought Jase was
interested in her, as well.
But that couldn’t be right.
Special Agent Carrie Ward was nothing but a weakling posing as
something more. A woman trying to survive in a man’s world when what she should
be doing is popping out babies and cleaning out toilets.
Special Agent Jase Tyler, the name on the other business card
she’d given him at the café, wouldn’t be interested in someone like her. No, he
was too attractive. Too well dressed. If Brad looked like him, he’d go for
someone like Lana Hudson, the cool blonde doctor who’d spoken to Brad with
softness and sympathy, the one who looked a lot like the lady who lived in the
apartment downstairs. Yes, he’d bet Lana would be attracted to Jase, too. Any
woman would be.
Brad had seen the way Kelly Sorenson had wanted Jase Tyler, but
when she’d handed him her card, he’d pocketed it without giving it a second
glance. That was someone with confidence.
Power.
The connection throbbed triumphantly through Brad’s veins.
He’s the key,
Brad thought.
Good-looking. Powerful and strong. A cop but also a playboy.
Someone men wanted to be. Someone women wanted to love.
Even Nora, his sweet Nora, had looked at Jase Tyler with
something akin to worship when he’d talked to her at Steam.
She’d looked at Jase Tyler as if he was a fucking god.
The television interview, as much as it angered him, was
another sign. He needed to look to the cops. Look to the blonde doctor. Look to
them to defeat Jase Tyler, a man who would otherwise be undefeatable. Ideas
began to spin through his mind.
To lay the trap, he needed to be smart. Smarter than the
cops.
But that shouldn’t be too difficult. The fools thought their
little television interview would sway or trap him; instead, it would lead to
their own destruction.
He needed to pay a visit to the college’s Audio Visual
Department. If they didn’t have what he needed, he’d pay for it. And he’d check
out Bowers’s house, too. The doc had had a lot of high-tech stuff there. Stuff
that could help him.
As soon as Brad did what he needed to, as soon as he proved he
was stronger than Jase Tyler, the only god Nora would be worshipping would be
him.