Unspeakable (10 page)

“What do you think Maynard was doing?” she asked.

“Just what he said. Combing the shore.”

“Yeah, but why’d he race off?”

“He said he didn’t see us.” Troy lifted a brow. “What, you don’t believe him?”

“I just think he acted funny, that’s all. Kind of defensive that we were there. Very territorial.”

“
Ah, that’s just Maynard. Everything’s a big pissing war with him.”

She rubbed her arms and looked out at the surf, lost in thought again. This woman lived in her head. And it was starting to tick him off.

She turned and looked down the beach. “She played volleyball,” she murmured.

“Who?”

“Gina Calvert. I bet she played right on this beach.”

Troy followed her gaze to the abandoned volleyball net that was silhouetted in the moonlight.

“Or maybe she played in the pool, at Coconuts.” Elaina looked at him. “Gina and the women she came down here with were all on the volleyball team at Trinity College. Gina was a setter.”

“How do you know that?”

“It was in the newspaper, back in March.”

She’d been following this thing since March? “Long memory,” he said.

“I played volleyball in high school. It jumped out at me when I read the story.” She looked away again. “It’s a social game. Which is ironic, really, because her friends say she wasn’t social at all, that she was very reserved, particularly with men. She wasn’t comfortable flirting.”

He stepped closer. Even in the dimness, he could see the worry line between her brows.

“You’re identifying with her, Elaina. You’re making it personal. Didn’t they teach you not to do that up at the Academy?”

She shrugged. “I’ll take any advantage I can get.”

“
What the hell does that mean?”

“Law enforcement is a boys’ club,” she said. “I’ve got the training. I keep up with the physical demands. I’m a decent shot, but not great. My advantage is my gender.”

Her words got under his skin, and he wasn’t sure why. “How is your being female an advantage when you’re looking for some wack job who cuts up women?”

“I can put myself in her shoes,” she said matter-of-factly. “I can interview her friends, her loved ones, learn everything I can about her. People tell me things they might not tell some big man with a badge.” She gazed out at the water. “I can retrace her steps. Understanding her helps me figure out how she might have crossed paths with her killer. I can help identify this guy by seeing it from the victim’s perspective.”

Troy crossed his arms, not sure which unsettled him more—the idea of Elaina putting herself in the victim’s shoes, or her letting her emotions get so tangled up in this case. “You make it sound like you’ve got some kind of psychic connection with her.”

“I’m just getting to know her, really. It helps my case.”

“How?”

Another shrug. “I can tell you, for example, that the man people heard in Gina’s room the night of her disappearance—she didn’t invite him home from the bar with her. It would have been totally out of character. He had some other reason for being there, some kind of ruse.”

She gazed up at him, and Troy saw the moon reflected in her somber eyes. “Okay, you’re right. I’m letting it get personal. But I want it personal. I want to know who these women were, not just what I see in their autopsy
photos. Everyone keeps calling them ‘girls’ or ‘victims,’ but these women have names.”

She turned toward the water and shivered again, and Troy’s patience evaporated.

“Elaina? Dry clothes. Come on.” He took her hand and tugged her up the beach. He half expected an argument, but this time she didn’t fight him.

He sent her a sidelong glance as they trudged over the sand. More than dry clothes, she needed to unwind. Her mind and her body needed a break.

“The transportation thing,” she said. “It’s an interesting scenario. I wonder—”

She halted in her tracks and stared at the inn.

“What?” he asked.

“Someone’s in my room.”

CHAPTER 6
 

You probably left the light on.”

“I didn’t.” She moved swiftly over the sand, making a beeline for the ground-floor suite where the lights blazed.

“Hey, wait!” He caught up to her and grabbed her arm. “Someone should check it out.”

“What, like a cop?” The look of scorn she sent him would have turned a lesser man to stone.

“That’s not what I meant. Just… shit, at least tell me you’re armed.”

She slipped a hand under her shirt and pulled out the Glock he’d seen the night before. “Stay here,” she said, and turned around.

Him
stay here? Fuck that.

He moved briskly beside her, looking for any movement behind the gauzy curtains. Every light appeared to be on. The glow spilled out onto the patio and Elaina skirted around it as she neared the door. She reached for the handle—

“Whoa, there, cowgirl.”

Their heads whipped around. The voice came from
the neighboring patio, where a man sat on a chair in the shadows. He stood up.

“Oh my God,” Elaina said. “Is that
you
?”

The man stepped into the light, and Elaina tucked her weapon away.

“You scared the crap out of me!” She threw her arms around him as Troy watched from the shadows. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

Boyfriend? Possibly. Dark hair, trim build, about Elaina’s age and height. He wore slacks and a dress shirt—no tie—with the sleeves rolled up.

And he was giving Troy a definite “what are you doing out with her at this hour” stare.

“Troy, meet Brett Weaver,” Elaina said. “Weaver, this is Troy Stockton.”

Recognition flashed across the guy’s face, then disappeared. He gave a slight nod.

“When did you get here?” Elaina asked. “Did Scarborough send you?”

An agent. That explained the clothes but not the hostility. Maybe she was sleeping with him.

“Just thought I’d check in, that’s all,” he said. “I brought you your laptop. And some clothes from your place.”

Your
place.

Troy couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to wonder if she was in a relationship. It didn’t matter to him, really, but Elaina was a pretty straight arrow.

And on the subject of straight… Troy gave Weaver another once-over. Something about his voice and his body language told Troy that his interest in Elaina wasn’t sexual.

Troy propped a shoulder against the wall and focused his attention back on their conversation.

“—but then we got an arrest this morning,” the agent was saying.

“You’re kidding.”

“Downtown branch, just like we thought. Garcia and I made the collar. It was pretty intense.”

She beamed at him. “Nice going! Your first big arrest! We should celebrate.”

“That’s part of the reason I came, actually.” He glanced at Troy. “But it’s getting late. We can catch up tomorrow, so—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Is this you next door?”

“Yeah. And I let myself into your room, put your stuff on the bed.”

“My room was locked.”

“That lock couldn’t keep out a ten-year-old,” the agent said, and Elaina flicked a glance at Troy.

“Well… let’s have a toast,” she said. “I’ve got a bottle of wine in my room. I’ll bring it right over.” She turned to Troy. “You’re welcome to stay, of course.”

Of course. And could the invitation have been delivered with less enthusiasm?

“I’ll catch you later.” He nodded at the agent, who—despite most likely being gay—was still sending out some of that hands-offa-her vibe. “Nice meeting you. You two have fun.”

Elaina lay motionless in bed, but her body still seemed to be moving. The room was dark. Her head was spinning. And each time she closed her eyes, she was back aboard Troy’s
speedboat. She could almost taste the brine on her lips as the Supra skipped over the waves.

He’d wanted to come in tonight. If Weaver hadn’t been here, would she have let him? A week ago, she would have said no. She didn’t sleep with men on a whim.

But something about Troy made her want to bend the rules. Just once in her life, she wanted to be someone besides herself, someone other than responsible Elaina. Serious Elaina. Focused, diligent, ambitious Elaina, who’d forgone a social life to pursue a career with the world’s top law enforcement agency.

Where had this weakness come from?

Maybe Gina Calvert had met someone who brought out a similar weakness. Inviting an unknown man home would have been out of character for her—just like Elaina. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened.

Her cell phone chimed just beside her ear, and she snatched it up.

“McCord.”

“Y’all polish off that wine?”

She sighed. “What is it? I was almost asleep.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Troy said. “You should get a second-floor room. If you plan to be here awhile, that is.”

The phone beeped at her, telling her the battery was low. She kicked the covers off and switched on the lamp.

“Do you?” Troy asked.

“Do I what?” She found the charger on the coffee table and jammed it into the outlet beside the nightstand.

“Plan to be here awhile?”

“Yes.” She paused, charger in hand, as she realized what she’d just said. Where had that come from? She’d
intended to leave Monday. That’s what she’d told Weaver, at least. But she realized now that she had no intention of leaving yet, not until she made progress on this case.

“You need a second-floor room,” he said.

“I specifically requested this suite.”

“Yeah, and you’ve had your look around. Now get a different one.”

The phone on the nightstand rang. Not a chime or a ringtone, but a shrill clanging noise, the likes of which she hadn’t heard in years.

“I’ll think about it,” she told Troy. “Listen, someone’s calling my room. I’ve got to go.”

“Be smart, Elaina,” he said, and hung up.

She plugged her BlackBerry into the charger as the princess phone clanged again. She snatched it up.

“McCord.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Have you found her yet?”

The quiet voice sent a chill through her. “Who is this?” she demanded.

“I’m disappointed,” he said. “You federal agents, I thought you’d raise the level of play.”

Elaina’s chest tightened. This could be a prank. Or it could be real.

Draw him out. Keep him talking. Establish a relationship.

“What’s your name?” she asked. The voice sounded muffled, far-away, and she pictured some shadowy figure at a pay phone, talking through a bandanna.

“She’s waiting for you, Elaina. This one’s special, too. One of my best hides.”

His hides? He was hiding them? Or did he mean hides, like hunting hides?

“Where is she?”

Laughter. “Nice try.”

“Who are you?”

“Keep looking.” The voice was serious again. “Valerie’s waiting.”

Elaina expected a crowd at Dot’s Diner the next morning, but the place was practically empty. She spotted Cinco right away at a red vinyl booth in the back.

“Should I be worried?” she asked, sliding in.

“About?”

“Roaches? Mold? Slime in the ice machine?”

He smiled, his perfect teeth a flash of white against his olive skin.

“We missed the pre-church crowd,” he said.

“You guys have a church?” Elaina hadn’t seen it, and she’d done a full driving tour of Lito Island yesterday after picking up her car at the shop.

“North end of the island. It’s small.”

Elaina pulled a menu out from behind the napkin dispenser. “What’s good here?”

“Depends how hungover you are.”

She glanced up.

“I saw you at Coconuts,” he explained.

Then he’d seen her leave with Troy. She wondered what he thought about that. Maybe nothing. She was pretty sure she’d already become fodder for at least a little island gossip, though. Especially after bumping into everyone out on the bay last night.

Practically in a lip-lock with Troy.

What are you doing, Lainey?
It had taken Weaver all of two minutes to pick up on the sexual tension between her and Troy, and he was concerned, naturally.
Don’t be naive here. The media is
not
your friend.

“I feel fine,” she told Cinco, just as the waitress appeared. Elaina tucked the menu back in its place. “I’ll have an English muffin, please. And black coffee.”

Cinco ordered something in Spanish and then picked up a file from the seat beside him.

“Here’s what I’ve got.” He opened the folder and pulled out a thin stack of papers held together with a binder clip. “Forty-two names, all with violent or sexual offenses dating sometime in the last fifteen years. I put the interesting ones on top.”

He slid the rap sheets across the table, and she started thumbing through them. When the waitress returned with coffee, Elaina dropped her arm over the mug shot to block her view. Small-town grapevine and all that.

“Nine aggravated sexual assaults,” Elaina said after she left. “Six armed robberies. What’s this indecent exposure?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t waste much time on him. He’s kind of a kook. Likes to streak the crowd at the Fourth of July picnic every year.”

Elaina’s coffee was strong and hot, with a hint of cinnamon. She sipped it as she neared the bottom of the stack. She’d reached the second-to-last page when she froze—cup in midair—and stared down at Troy’s mug shot.