The Last Move (Criminal Profiler 1)
Inside the shed was the wooden box. Inside the box was Sara Fletcher. Naked and trembling, her pale body was desperately thin and skin raw with sores. Her hair was matted and twisted.
Sara didn’t open her eyes immediately, and her hands covered her face. When Kate touched her, she screamed and jerked away.
“It’s okay, Sara. I’m with the FBI. You’re safe.”
“I’m not safe,” she said. “I’m alive, but really I’m already dead. He killed me. And he’s going to kill you, too.”
Kate startled awake, her gut tight with regret, loss, and shame. Shadows slashed across the unfamiliar room, and for several beats she didn’t know where she was.
She’d not been good enough to save Sara.
Mazur roused. “You okay?”
The sex with Mazur had been great, but it had been a temporary fix to the problems she faced. As soon as they left this house, the hunt for William and Drexler would take over her life again. “Yes, I’m fine.”
He smoothed his hand over her back, and she flinched. He stopped rubbing but didn’t remove his hand from her skin. “Is this your idea of not getting weird?”
The sound of his voice and his touch settled her and chased away the doubts and regrets. “What do you mean?”
“You said you’d not get weird after sex. Withdrawing into yourself might be a little weird.”
She sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. “Sorry. It’s the safest place I know.”
“Is it? Judging by what woke you up, I’d say differently.”
“I can control it.”
“Really? Even nightmares?”
She glanced toward him. The cross on the gold chain around his neck dangled. “You sound like a psychologist.”
“Aren’t all cops part shrink?”
“Yes.”
“What was the nightmare about?”
Absently her fingertips went to the worn toy bracelet around her wrist. She wouldn’t be a coward now. Not in light of what Sara had suffered. “I was dreaming about the day we found Sara. As long as I live I’ll never forget her. She didn’t look human. But I wanted to believe that we had made it in time and that she would be all right.”
“Sometimes victims can’t be put back together again. No matter how hard we try.”
“I’m supposed to be so smart. I wasn’t good enough to find Sara Fletcher faster.”
“You did what no one else could do. You found her.”
“But it wasn’t enough.” She wanted to fly back to the funeral and pay her respects, but right now she felt too ashamed.
He rubbed his hand over her leg. It wasn’t sexual but an absent, familiar thing lovers did. And oddly, more personal than sex. She stiffened, uncomfortable with a touch that felt so intimate.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“It feels too personal.”
“And personal never ends well, does it?” There was a bitter bite to the last word.
“No, it doesn’t.” She looked down at his hand brushing her scar. “People like us don’t get happy endings.”
“Why not?”
“We see too much. It ruins us for the normal people in the world who don’t believe in monsters.”
“Maybe.” He ran his hand up her thigh. “Maybe we should stick to our own kind.”
She glanced toward the digital clock behind him. They’d slept for an hour. Soon they’d have to be back to work, but for now, they still had a pocket of time that was all their own.
She slowly climbed on top of him. This time she straddled him, and just a few strokes of her fingertips against the tip of his penis and he was hard and ready.
The last time he’d teased her. Now it was her turn to taunt him just a little. She lowered her lips to the tip of his erection and then took all of him into her mouth and throat. He hissed in a breath and ran his fingers through her hair.
“Jesus, for someone who comes across as repressed, you sure aren’t.”
She licked her tongue around his shaft, kissing and teasing. “We all have a hidden side.”
She saw his belly twitch and the muscles in his neck strain. She released him and positioned herself on top. Slowly, very slowly, she lowered onto him, filling herself and capturing him.
She moved up and down, cupping her breast.
“One hell of a hidden side,” he groaned.
Rage filled William as he sat by the monitor and watched Kate whore herself out to that cop. “Why are you cheating on me?” he shouted.
He’d not liked Mazur from the moment the cop had set foot on his property. He’d watched from a closed-circuit television as his housekeeper had sent them away. Even then, he’d considered the cop a trespasser.
Now the cop was more than an annoyance. He was a threat. A thief. An intruder who endangered seventeen years of planning.
“Steal from me, and I’ll take twofold from you, Detective Mazur.”
He reached for one of the cells he’d bought with cash from a box store. He dialed the one number he cared about now.
Drexler’s voice was groggy when he answered the phone. “What the fuck do you want?”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“I haven’t been drinking.”
“Don’t lie to me. I cannot save you if you lie.”
“A few. But I didn’t get drunk. Half the case you brought is still unopened.”
He still sounded as if he were drunk. “Make yourself coffee and take a hot shower. We have work to do.”
“What kind of work? You said to lay low. To stay out of sight.”
“I thought you wanted to build another box?”
He hesitated. “I do. But you said I had to wait.”
“Well, time’s up.”
He cleared his throat, and bed springs squeaked. “Why the hell should I trust you?”
“I’m feeding you. And if I’d wanted, I could have called the cops, but I haven’t. I’m the closest person you have to a best friend right now. If you want me to bail and drop a dime on you, say the word. Otherwise, stop acting like a little bitch.”
“Okay. Okay. I get it.”
“Goddamn right, you got it. Right now you need to shower, shave, and change into the clothes I left for you in the room.”
“And then we get to go hunting?”
“Oh yes.” William turned to a stack of photographs he’d taken of Isabella. He traced the line of her jaw in a picture he’d snapped while she was shopping at a local boutique. She was supposed to be next on his list. It was important to stick to the plan, but strategies sometimes required modifications.
He shifted to a computer screen and pulled up a picture he’d taken today. These pictures were of the lovely Alyssa. She was younger than he preferred, but he would make an exception.
He traced his thumb over the outline of her smiling lips. “You’re going to like this one, Mr. Drexler. She’s just your type.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
My must-do list: Gloria. Rebecca. Isabella.
San Antonio, Texas
Friday, December 1, 5:00 a.m.
Mazur woke to the still darkness. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced at the clock and realized he’d slept a few hours. Though he couldn’t really afford the shut-eye, it would ensure his brain clicked on all cylinders for a couple more days. His hand slid to the other side of the bed. It was empty. Cold. Kate was gone.
He checked his phone. Three bars. Enough. And no calls from Alyssa. He never went to sleep without the phone by his bed in case she needed him.
Out of the bed, he switched on a light and went into the bathroom. Afterward he gathered his clothes and dressed. He clipped his gun, cuffs, and badge on his belt. A look back at the rumpled sheets coaxed a smile.
Tie dangling around his neck and his coat slung over his arm, he moved down the hallway and paused at a series of pictures that hung on the wall. He switched on the overhead light and studied the images, not the least bit concerned about sticking his nose into the life of
a woman who didn’t want anyone poking around.
There were several family pictures. The first was Mom and Dad and toddler Mitchell. The next frame captured the addition of the second child. A chubby-faced little girl with curly blond hair and a gap-toothed smile.
There were more pictures of Mitchell, but his interest zeroed in on Kate’s life story. Moments captured during soccer, birthday parties, chess, and graduations showed the progression from a cute toddler to a gawky teenager and then to the serious FBI academy graduate.
Absently he rubbed his fingers together as he remembered the rough skin of the scar on her leg. It was a wonder the bullet hadn’t hit the femoral artery or the second shot hadn’t slammed into her brain. Jesus.
The scent of coffee drifted down the hallway, luring him from the pictures. In the kitchen, he found Kate fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. Beside her was an empty cup.
Scattered before her was a collection of files and crime-scene photos. She didn’t look up. “I made a fresh pot of coffee. Mugs in the cabinet above. Milk in the refrigerator.”
He made himself a cup and poured in a splash of milk. “If your mother left you fresh milk, my guess is there’s food.”
“Bagels in the bread box.”
He kissed her on top of the head. “And good morning to you.”
She looked up. “Good morning.”