Authors: Allison Brennan
SEVENTEEN
B
ECAUSE KILLERS OFTEN ATTEND
or observe the memorial services of their victims, the chief gave Will and Carina additional resources to cover the event. It took them an hour to debrief the team and formulate a plan for Angie’s memorial service. Then they went upstairs to talk to Patrick.
Carina introduced Nick to her brother. “The Kincaid family seems to run San Diego,” Nick said with a smile.
“You haven’t even met half of them,” Carina said. “But Patrick’s my favorite.”
The young cop smirked. “She only says that when she wants something.” He rolled his chair across his small office and picked up a printout. “But maybe I really will be your favorite now. I got details on all three banned members. I printed out their MyJournal pages. No personal information—they didn’t use their real names. One has an e-mail address, and I ran it through the database and hit on a name and physical address.” He handed them another page. “Damon Bader lives in Detroit, Michigan.”
“What are the chances he came to San Diego to track down Angie and kill her?” Carina asked half-seriously.
“Next to none. I called the e-crimes unit and they did some preliminary work. The guy has a record, all misdemeanors, and works as a sanitation engineer. Twice divorced, two kids, and he’s fifty-six.”
Didn’t fit the profile, but they had to cover their bases. “We should check the airlines just in case he’s been out here recently,” Carina said. “And talk to his employer about any recent time off.”
“Consider it done,” Patrick said.
“The other two?”
“The first has the screen name ‘Bondage,’ and I read some of his comments on other pages. Probably the world’s biggest liar, but he claims to have done some wild stuff. If he’s for real, he’s a major contender for us. The other screen name is ‘Scout.’ Again, checked him out. Some heavy stuff, but nothing that popped as threatening. Both were banned on the eighteenth by Angie.”
“This is great,” Carina said, “but can’t we find out where they live?”
Patrick shook his head. “MyJournal is a free site. There’s no verification process. Just create a login and password and you have a profile page. Bondage lists his hometown as USA, and Scout doesn’t list a hometown. The only way I can narrow them down is to trace their comments through the MyJournal server to a local Internet service provider. Then, with a warrant, we can get the payment information from the ISP and locate them that way. But the MyJournal attornies are sticklers about privacy law. I’ve already put a call in to their security chief. It’s going to take some time.”
E-crimes were exploding, and the police department was still catching up with the twenty-first century. When they thought they’d gotten a handle on the casework, another cyberscam hit and they were scrambling for more computer resources.
“The answer is here somewhere.” Carina flipped through the pages of printed material from the MyJournal site. “But we need a hundred people and a thousand hours to find it.”
“Welcome to my life,” Patrick said. “I have some other ideas I’m working on, but I’ll talk to you about them tonight.”
“Tonight?” Carina hit her forehead. “Lucy’s birthday party!”
“You
have
to be there,” Patrick said. “Or she’ll give you the cold shoulder for the rest of your life.”
“I’ll be there, but late. It’s Angie’s memorial service tonight.”
Patrick nodded solemnly. “I’ll cover for you. But I get your slice of cake.”
“Deal.”
They went back downstairs and while Will filled in the team covering the memorial service, Carina looked at Bondage’s page on her computer and Nick looked at Scout’s on Will’s.
“Bondage says he’s twenty-two,” she said as she investigated the site. “This is awful. I don’t believe in censorship, but I still don’t think this stuff should be allowed. Hey, look at this.”
Nick leaned over to see her screen. When his shoulder brushed hers, a jolt ran down her spine, leaving her with tingles and goose bumps. She licked her lips, then hoped Nick didn’t notice.
“What?” he asked, his voice low as he looked at the screen. “White nylon rope.”
On Bondage’s main page was a picture of a partially clothed woman bound by white nylon rope around her wrists and ankles. The woman didn’t look in distress; she was posed with her lips open and her tongue out, her face heavily made up.
The caption read:
I love a woman who likes to be tied up.
“Same kind our killer used.”
“It’s common,” Nick said, “but it’s certainly damning. Any identifying information?”
Carina skimmed the personal profile. “Nothing about where he lives, what he does—wait. Here. ‘I work at a coffeehouse in a college town and the girls here are wild.’ ”
“Did Angie frequent any coffeehouse?”
“I don’t remember her friends talking about a specific place other than the Sand Shack. But I’ll ask them tonight at the memorial service.”
Nick said, “Steve’s neighbor Ava said something about how a lot of their friends hung out at the Starbucks near campus.”
“We’ll check it out. We might have time before the service tonight.”
Nick went back to his own screen and Carina felt distinctly colder with him several feet away. She glanced at his broad back, the muscles defined under his white polo shirt. He wore jeans, and wore them very well.
Her heart was beating too fast and she swallowed, turned back to her computer. It took her a moment to focus, all her senses attuned to Nick Thomas and his hot body, his low drawl, his piercing blue eyes.
Get over it, Kincaid. He’s a cop. You don’t date cops.
But he lives in Montana. He’s going home. You know you want to see how he kisses.
Stop it! You don’t do things like that. No one-night stands, remember?
But he’s special.
Was he? Carina wondered as she debated silently with herself. She snuck another quick glance at him. Yeah, there was definitely something about Nick that had all her female hormones working overtime.
“Look at this.” Nick scooted his chair to the side so she could bring hers over.
She read what was on the screen. “What?”
“This is old. He set it up nearly two years ago, but there’s only this one post.”
“So what does that mean?”
“I don’t know. He obviously comments on other people’s pages, but he doesn’t draw people to his page.”
Heads together, they read the sole post on Scout’s MyJournal page.
Hello. I’m Scout. Why? Because I’m always looking around, you know, scouting things out. Ha.
I just got my own computer and the first thing I did was set up this MyJournal account. Everyone talks about what a great place this is and I’ve already visited a lot of the people here and they’re great.
About me? There’s really not much to tell. My life is actually boring. Not much of a life, really. But I’m going to change that. My dad always told me if I wanted to make my mark on the world, I needed to be in control and not take shit from anyone. I know I’m destined to do great things. Everyone will know my name. I won’t be a nobody forever.
“He sounds young,” Nick said thoughtfully.
“Too young. Like he’s in high school.”
“He posted this two years ago. He may be in college now.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t do anything with this information,” Carina said, discouraged. “I’d really hoped I’d see something like, ‘I killed a woman last weekend and dumped her body on the beach.’ ”
“Too neat.”
“You’re telling me.” She paused. “How long did it take you to catch the Bozeman Butcher?”
Nick tensed and she wished she hadn’t asked. “He killed twenty-two women in thirteen years. I was sheriff for the last three years of his reign. Under my watch, four women died.”
“But you caught him.”
“I didn’t have much to do with his capture,” he said cryptically.
“But—”
Will approached, interrupting the conversation. “Okay, I have eight guys in place as we discussed earlier, and two more checking everyone’s names and ID when they enter. We’ll have a list. Might not do us any good, but I’ll never forget the Fremont case.”
“What was that?” Nick asked.
“A year ago,” Carina said, “a nurse was killed in the parking lot of the hospital. We caught the case—my first as detective—staked out the memorial service, which was in the hospital chapel. The killer was cocky enough to use a stolen hospital ID and sit right up in front. We had a team of men in the next room verifying every ID and we found him, arrested him as he left.”
“Very neat and tidy.”
“Wish this case was,” Will said. He glanced at his watch. “We need to talk to the chief.”
“I’ll meet you outside,” Nick said.
“Actually, we need you to be there,” Carina said. “Will talked to Chief Causey earlier today and he wants to meet you and get a copy of your credentials.”
“Sure,” Nick said, sounding cautious. “Is there a problem?”
“No, but since the press has started making calls, Causey wants to make sure all
i
s are dotted and
t
s crossed. I’m also making another push for a task force, using Dillon’s informal profile to back it up.”
“Because he’s going to kill again.”
“Seems likely. But maybe if we get the manpower we need we can stop him before he becomes the textbook definition of a serial killer.”
Soundlessly, she cried as he washed her body.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you like that,” he told Becca as he washed the streaks of blood from between her legs. The water was tepid, neither hot nor cold, but her body trembled, making the water ripple.
He stroked her hair, kissed her cheek, ran a hand over her breasts. Scrubbed her body with a rag and soap, lots of soap. Rinsed her well.
“You were very good. Not like the whore. You were sweet and fresh and new. All for me.” When he’d penetrated her the first time he’d realized she was a virgin. He’d come instantly, the knowledge that he’d be the first and the last man to have her providing such intense excitement he didn’t want to hold back.
She strained against the gag. “Don’t do that. You’ll make it hurt more. You can’t tell anyone what happened.”
She shook her head back and forth, her eyes wide. She tried to say something, guttural sounds rumbling in her throat. He didn’t understand her, but he didn’t have to. She’d just lie to him. All women, even beautiful virgins like Becca, lie. She’d say she wouldn’t tell, but the first thing she would do is go to the police and tell them who he was.
Obviously, he couldn’t allow that to happen.
He washed her hair and poured water over her head. She breathed heavily, tears running from her eyes.
“I’m sorry, it has to be done.” He motioned for her to get up. “Walk back to the bed,” he told her.
Her entire body shook, water dripping off her to the floor. He walked behind her with a towel, one he bought just for her. Brand-new, never been used.
Suddenly, she ran for the door.
“No!” He took three long strides, but she had the door open and ran down the hall.
He was faster. He caught her before she even touched the front door.
He threw her body down on the floor. Her head hit the coffee table and he saw blood on her scalp. He’d have to clean the table later.
She struggled as he picked her up and she scratched his neck. He held her tight, brought her back to his bed. She fought and cried as he tied her up, her hands above her head and her feet to the posts at the end of the bed.
His breathing was rapid, his face flushed with the exertion. And, if he thought about it, the excitement of chasing her. He’d been scared, very scared, for a minute, but he couldn’t ignore the rush when he caught her, subdued her, brought her back to his bed, and tied her up.
He looked at the hand that had scratched him. He couldn’t see anything under her nails, she had barely even broken his skin, but that didn’t mean something wasn’t there. He had to be careful. He took a sharp knife and cleaned under her fingernails. She bled. He then held her hand in a bowl of bleach. A guttural scream reverberated in her chest and he watched her vocal cords and the small, thin bones strain against her neck.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but she
had
tried to escape.
He took the time to flush the bloody bleach down the toilet and carefully wash the bowl.
Then he returned to Becca, plastic wrap in hand.
He started at her feet. Slowly, carefully, wrapping Becca’s body.
First one leg. Then the other. Her butt, everything but her vagina. Her waist. Around and around. Her breasts. Then each arm. And to be safe, he wrapped her again.
His entire body quivered with excitement.
He looked in her eyes and saw fear.
“Good night, Becca.”
He rolled on a condom and pushed himself into her with one stroke. Her body jerked beneath him. He brought the plastic heavy-duty garbage bag from his nightstand, pulled it over her head, and tied it around her neck.
Then he laid on top of her as her body convulsed beneath him.
This time, he was done when she was.
EIGHTEEN
A
NGIE’S MEMORIAL SERVICE
was held at a funeral home near the college in the middle of the business district. More than a hundred people crowded into the chapel waiting for the service to begin. To Carina, it was particularly depressing that so many in attendance were young. And at the front of the room poor Angie lay in her coffin.
Will touched Carina’s arm. “I’m sorry I have to bail on you. My flight leaves in two hours. I’d better high-tail it to the airport.”
She squeezed his shoulder. “Keep that scumbag in prison where he belongs. That’s part of our job, so don’t worry about it.” She glanced over to where Nick and his brother were in a quietly heated conversation. “Nick can fill in for you until you return.”
“Hmmm.”
She jerked her head back to Will and narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“What’s what?” He was grinning.
“That
hmmm.
”
“You’re reading way too much into my noncomment.”
“We’ve been partners for over a year, friends for even longer. I know you.”
“And I know you.” Will looked over her shoulder at Nick. “I don’t make it a habit to check out men, but he seems smart and reasonably good-looking. Not as handsome as yours truly, of course, but men of my attributes are rare.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you have a plane to catch?
Will laughed. “He’s a good cop. The chief was impressed with his background. I like him, too.”
“Ask him out on a date when you get back,” she snapped.
“I think you’re more his type.”
“Go away.”
“Going, going. Be careful, okay?”
“I promise.”
Will left and Carina walked over to Nick and Steve.
“I don’t like being treated like a suspect by my own brother,” Carina overheard Steve say to Nick before he saw her. He glared at Carina. “Detective Kincaid,” he snapped.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, but Hooper left and I need to talk to you, Nick.” She eyed Steve suspiciously. She flat-out didn’t like him. Though he’d moved down on the suspect list, his attitude about his affair with Angie and the other college girls left her with a sour taste in her mouth. She certainly wouldn’t want him anywhere around Lucy, though she suspected her sister had a good head on her shoulders and wouldn’t be sweet-talked by a guy twice her age, regardless of how attractive or clean-cut.
Steve opened his mouth to speak, then shut it and walked away. Carina watched as he spotted Angie’s friends Abby, Jodi, and Kayla. The foursome embraced.
Nick tensed beside her.
“I’m sorry,” she began. “Will left and I wanted to point out the undercover team since you’re not familiar with our people.”
“I saw them.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I guess we’re not as discreet as I thought.”
He grinned at her. “Maybe I’m just better than you thought.”
She hadn’t thought of Nick Thomas as much of a joker. She liked the lighter side of him.
But a memorial service was no place for lightness. His humor dissipated as he kept his eye on his brother.
“You know,” she said, “he’s not guilty.”
“I know.”
She watched Steve Thomas closely. Angie’s friends certainly didn’t look scared of him. Kayla was a bit standoffish, but that was her personality. Rough and prickly. Abby and Jodi, on the other hand, constantly touched his arm, his back. Jodi left her hand on his forearm, leaned over and whispered something in his ear, then kissed his cheek.
Dillon’s explanation of why Angie was attracted to older men made sense, even if Carina herself couldn’t relate to the girl. But Abby? Jodi? They were from traditional families, didn’t seem to have the same dysfunctional issues that Angie had dealt with.
As she observed Steve, she realized that it was
him.
He didn’t act like a man nearing forty. There was no difference in the way he acted and dressed than any of the other college guys who’d come to pay their respects. She remembered Dillon pointing out that he would have assumed, based on action and demeanor, that Nick was the older brother.
She’d thought he was, too.
The two brothers couldn’t be more different. Steve was gregarious, friendly, talked to everyone, and fit in with the students, though he was substantially older than most of them.
The sheriff, on the other hand, was aloof. Serious. Focused on his task. Even now, he was scanning the room. Discreet. On the outside he appeared casual, but she felt his rigid posture, his intense, subtle perusal of each person who walked up to the casket.
Carina couldn’t read Nick’s expression, which bugged her. She prided herself on being able to read people. “I guess things are still strained between you and your brother.”
“You could say that.”
“Were you two close before . . . this?”
He shrugged. “Not as close as when we were kids.”
“Why’s that?”
“Living in different states.”
“Why didn’t he return to Montana when he was put on disability?”
“Why does this sound like an interrogation?”
“It’s not. Just a conversation.”
“Hmm.”
He wasn’t answering her questions so she changed focus. She was curious about Nick Thomas, far more curious than simple professional interest. “How long have you been sheriff?”
“Nearly four years.”
“Before that?”
“Deputy.”
“For how long?”
“Eight years.”
Getting Nick to answer questions was like pulling teeth. Either he really didn’t want to talk, or he was truly a man of few words. She’d thought they’d broken through this reticence over the last few days they’d been on the same team.
“You?”
“Eleven years on the force, made detective fifteen months ago. I dropped out of college to join the police academy.”
The corner of his mouth lifted. “I dropped out of law school for the same reason.”
“Law school?” She looked at his profile. Ruggedly handsome, tan from spending a lot of time outdoors. “I don’t picture you as a lawyer.”
He shrugged. “I guess I didn’t, either.” Was that regret in his voice?
“What happened that you changed your mind?”
He didn’t answer right away. Then, “I didn’t like the idea of sitting at a desk all day.” He looked right at her and Carina swallowed. There was something very intense about Sheriff Nick Thomas. It wasn’t the first time she’d felt the brunt of his scrutiny, and it was a little unnerving, a little heady. Sexy. “That, and I wanted to help troubled kids,” he said. “You know the type, good kids in bad situations. One thing led to another and I joined the sheriff’s department.” He gave her a half-grin that made her insides melt. “What about you?” he asked. “Why’d you drop out of college?”
Her answer to that had always been flip:
to spend more time on the waves.
But the truth was that she’d spent more time in the ocean during her three years of college than the last eleven years on the police force.
“Someone I loved was murdered.”
Nick inched closer to her. He didn’t touch her, but she felt the caress in his voice more powerful than any physical connection. “I’m sorry. Violence changes lives. Everyone evil touches is affected.”
She couldn’t pull her eyes from his. The depth of compassion, of pain, of
understanding
. . . Outside of her family, she’d never found anyone who truly understood how she felt, why she’d needed to be a cop. Nick did.
“My nephew,” she whispered. “He was seven.”
Nick’s jaw clenched. “Did they catch the bastard?”
Carina shook her head, turning away as unwanted tears sprang to her eyes.
Nick squeezed her shoulder, briefly, but with strength. She took a deep breath.
“What do you think of that guy over there?”
Nick didn’t point, he barely gestured, but Carina read him like a lifelong partner.
A young man stood alone, separate from the crowd, half-obscured by a potted palm. Just shy of six feet tall, lanky, wearing slacks and a button-down.
As they watched, he approached Angie’s mother, who sat looking shell-shocked in front of the closed casket. They’d spoken to Mrs. Vance earlier in the day, sharing the bare minimum information they could, while still honestly answering her many questions. The pain and anguish in Mrs. Vance’s eyes, learning about her daughter’s sexual activities, had broken Carina’s heart. Already, the chief of police was fielding calls from the press, which had begun to sensationalize the case.
Carina would have given her right arm to protect the Vance family from the media onslaught, but there was nothing to be done. The media seemed to think freedom of the press meant freedom to be callous.
Angie’s mother blinked, then jumped up and wrapped her arms around the man who’d approached.
“Friend, relative of the family?” Nick asked, almost to himself.
“Probably, but it was a good call; solitary male under thirty watching the crowd.”
Carina’s radio beeped and she spoke into it. “I need to check with the team outside. I’ll be back in ten.”
Nick watched Carina briskly exit the room. She was an interesting woman. Full of confidence, drive, intelligence. Driven by her nephew’s death, though it didn’t consume her. She had allowed his sympathy when offered, accepting it without bristling or complaint.
He admired that. It took a strong woman to accept sincere condolences and not go on the attack.
If he was in a better place in his life, if he knew where he was going, what he was doing with his career, Carina would be the type of woman he’d like to get to know. Intimately.
Lord knew he needed a woman who didn’t have baggage that weighed more than his.
Nick watched Steve’s neighbor Ava enter the room, glance around, and make a beeline toward Steve when she spotted him in the corner, surrounded by a large group of girls. Steve’s face lit up when he saw her, and they hugged. Platonic? No. They may not have had sex, but there was an affair of the heart going on.
What did these girls see in Steve? Sure, he was attractive and in shape, he was obviously attentive and liked to have fun. But wouldn’t they be more interested in boys their own age? Nick had been around college students most of his career and had never wanted to date any of them.
But he’d pretty much spent most of the last ten years in love with one woman. A woman who couldn’t return his feelings. A woman he had voluntarily walked away from, hoping she’d follow him.
She hadn’t.
He approached the group, standing aloof, not wanting to become involved, but Ava motioned for him to come over and made a space for him. “We were just talking about who could have done something like this to Angie.”
“We
know
Steve didn’t do it,” one of the girls said. “I can’t
believe
the police even talked to him like he was a
criminal.
”
Another girl squeezed Steve’s arm. “You’re okay, right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No, no, nothing like that. The police really want to find Angie’s killer. Since I’m her ex-boyfriend, it’s logical they would look at me first. I understand that. But now that they know I didn’t do it, they can focus on finding the real killer.”
Nick watched the interaction, his complex feelings about Steve and his behavior weighing heavily. Steve glared at him, the accusation of distrust in his expression hitting Nick hard.
He said “Excuse me” and went to find Carina.
He needed fresh air.