Cut and Run (Criminal Profiler 2)

“Maxwell’s is a local diner. Looks like he ate out there a lot.”

“I’ve been guilty of eating at the same pizza place for years,” Hayden said.

“And you’re telling me they know something about you?” Brogan asked.

“Maybe not me personally, but they have an idea of my schedule and if I ever ate with anyone. Same might hold true for Crow,” Hayden said.

Brogan nodded. “Worth a shot.”

“What about Crow’s phone records?”

“He called Macy two weeks ago, and they spoke for about half an hour. And he called Dirk five or six times in the same time period, but they never connected. He called a few local auto parts stores, but that’s about it,” Brogan said.

“Not a sociable guy.”

“Nope.”

“If he was into something, then he was smart enough to operate in cash. Ledbetter said he bought two phones,” Hayden said.

“He didn’t use a credit card when he bought them,” Brogan said. “I also did a background search on Crow. He joined the army when he was eighteen and stayed in a dozen years. That’s when his first wife divorced him. When he got out, he hooked up with Brenda Hamlin, married, and opened the salvage yard. He and his second wife never filed for divorce.”

“No jail time for Dirk?”

“None.”

“Double-check with Ledbetter about where he bought those phones. I want to see the footage from that store as well.”

Brogan grinned as he nodded. “‘Be a Texas Ranger,’ they said. ‘There’ll be nonstop action,’ they said.”

Hayden laughed, rose, crossed to a coffee machine, and refilled his cup. “Ninety-nine percent of the time, you’ll be bored off your ass. It’s during that one percent when all hell breaks loose that you can get your head blown off. What a rush.”

He looked at the list of neatly typed names. Jack Crow’s name was crossed out. Macy Crow’s name had not been crossed out, but circled. As tempted as he was to strike her name, he could not. He’d hit her hard with the truck, and he’d heard the bones crunching as her body careened off the metal bumper and sailed through the air. She’d struck the ground with tremendous force, and he’d seen blood everywhere when he glanced back in his side-view mirror.

The chances of her surviving last night were slim, but he’d yet to see the body. Death could be a fickle bitch sometimes.

He circled Macy’s name over and over, his pencil darkening the stark-white paper and then wearing it away. He should have squeezed her for information, but what was done was done.

Five names. Dirk Crow had also returned to town. Chances of him knowing much were slim, but he would leave nothing to chance.

After Dirk, that left three names, including Faith McIntyre. By rights she shouldn’t know anything. The first time she’d met Jack Crow, he was dead. But the old man might have known about her, and if he did, he might have tried to reach out. Their possible contact meant she had to remain on the list.

She was also on that Ranger’s radar, which meant he needed to be smart and bide his time. The Ranger was sharp and driven and could easily be trouble if not neutralized.

Faith was shaken and distracted when she arrived back at the medical examiner’s office. Her mind swirled with so many unanswered questions about herself, her parents, and how she was linked to the battered woman lying unconscious in the hospital bed.

She dropped her purse in the chair behind her desk and tossed her jacket over the back. She sat, pressed her palms to her cheeks, which now felt as if they were on fire.

The halls were quiet, the daily hum of activity gone, and five pink message slips lay in the middle of her desk. Her phone’s message light was blinking. It never stopped.

But more questions cascaded into her thoughts. Had Macy simply been dealing with her father’s death when she got that drink at the bar? Or had Crow told her something that had put her on a dangerous quest?

Dirk’s spotty knowledge of Macy’s adoption reminded her of all the information swept under the carpet or just plain hidden by her parents. Why don’t I look like my cousins? What was it like the day I was born? Was I a difficult delivery? Her mother had not come clean about the adoption until Faith was eleven. She remembered how stunned and then angry she’d been. Her mother had assured her it made no difference. Faith had wanted to believe that, but she realized now she had never fully released her anger.

Her phone buzzed, and she answered it absently. “Dr. McIntyre.”

“Doc, this is Tina. Just confirming you’re taking Kat to her appointment today. You’re always early, and she’s convinced you’ve forgotten.”

She glanced at the clock on the wall. She had. “I was held up. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you let the doctor’s office know we’re on the way?”

“Will do.”

The walk down the hallway, touching base with Nancy, and the drive to the shelter were a blur. She wasn’t even truly processing when she walked up to the shelter and pushed through the front door.

Faith wove through the shelter’s cobbled rooms searching for Kat, who had promised to be in the lobby waiting. She had to have the girl at the ob-gyn by six forty-five. She’d wanted to leave extra time so she could talk to Kat’s doctor.

She found the girl sitting in the game room, a beanbag chair molded around her body as she frowned into the screen of the two-year-old laptop Faith had given her. It was now covered in dozens of stickers, including ones that read THINK DIFFERENT, GIRL POWER, and DO NOT DISTURB.

Kat lumbered up from the beanbag chair and closed her laptop. “Where have you been?”

“Dead people run my life.” The words could have passed as a dry quip, but no truer words were spoken. What she would give right now for five minutes of living, breathing parents willing to answer questions.

Kat picked up her backpack and shoved her computer inside. “That’s the best excuse I’ve ever had when someone flakes on me.”

As they walked to the car, Faith cut her eyes to the kid who was acting like her tardiness was no big deal, when it was a big deal. “I didn’t flake.”

“Whatever.”

“Ready to see your doctor?”

“No.” Kat had had no prenatal care until her twenty-fourth week, when her foster mother had realized the kid wasn’t getting fat but was pregnant. Her foster mother had no desire to deal with the pregnancy, so she’d turned Kat over to the shelter. Almost as soon as Kat had arrived, Faith had had her figured out. Though the kid seemed hell-bent on screwing up her life, Faith had taken her under her wing.

In the car, Kat buckled her seat belt and began immediately fiddling with the radio. She selected another station that made Faith’s ears hurt and reminded her that as young as Kat still thought Faith was, Faith had aged out of the latest music playlist.

“So I’ve been doing a little detective work,” Kat said.

“Looking into colleges?”

“God, no. Might as well be chasing unicorns.”

More glibness. Had she been this difficult as a teenager? Faith found herself struggling to stay

positive in the face of so much hormonal negativity and understood now why her father had sent her on so many lavish excursions during her high school summer vacations. “That’s not true, Kat. I’ve told you that there are options if you want it.”

The girl held up her hand with flair to silence Faith as with the other hand she rummaged in her pocket for a rumpled piece of paper. “I looked up your Josie Jones.”

Faith was completely derailed by Kat’s comment and swiveled her head around toward the kid, staring until she heard, “Watch out!”

Faith hit her brakes and stopped seconds before she rear-ended the car in front of her. She pulled into a gas station parking lot. It was several deep breaths before she attempted to speak.

“You did what?” Faith asked.

“I did a search for Josie Jones while I was killing time this afternoon.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Faith said. “It’s really personal.”

“You’re always up in my face about superpersonal things. Turnabout is fair play.”

“It’s different.”

Kat looked ahead carefully, making a show of folding her piece of paper. “So you don’t want to hear about what I found?”

Faith tapped her hands on the wheel. She was supposed to be the adult in this situation. She should remind Kat to mind her own business, but she knew the kid could find things on the Web that most could not, and her curiosity was stronger than her indignation. “I want to know.”

Kat waved the piece of paper in front of her face like a fan. “Maybe I don’t want to tell you now.”

“You’re killing me, kid.”

The girl’s laugh rang with a genuine brightness she’d never heard before. Carefully, Kat unfolded her paper. “I found out that Josie wasn’t much different than me.”

“What do you mean?”

“She had been in foster care on and off for several years before the system cut her loose when she turned eighteen. A couple of days before her nineteenth birthday, she was arrested for shoplifting, but the charges were dropped. Do you want to see a picture of her?”

“I’ve seen her mug shot.”