I’m Watching You

Chapter Ten

Friday, February 20,

2:15 P.M.

Kristen and Jack watched Julia pull the linen string from Ross King’s torso. Her appointment completed, she’d come down to watch Julia autopsy King. Hell, if an autopsy couldn’t clear her mind, nothing could. She’d met Jack on the way in, his face grim. He’d found nothing new on the clothes or crates or dirt from the gravesites. He was there to find anything to point him toward another lab test that might turn up something.

And because he has a thing for Julia, Kristen thought. Too bad everybody knows it but Julia.

„Whoever did this sure as hell knew what they were doing,“ Julia said. „Nice, neat stitches, even placement, no tearing.“ She looked up and met Kristen’s gaze, her eyes distorted by the goggles she wore. „He’s either a doctor or queen of the quilting bee.“

„Or a hunter,“ Jack added from where he stood on Kristen’s right. He shrugged when Kristen and Julia looked at him in surprise. „I used to hunt with my uncle. Lots of deer and ducks. He could dress a duck with nicer stitches than a surgeon.“

„It explains the clean incision,“ Julia remarked, looking back down at the body.

Kristen moved closer, watching Julia’s gloved hands. „What do you mean?“

Julia pulled back a flap of King’s skin. „There aren’t any indications of hesitation.“

„No jagged edges,“ Jack said and Julia nodded.

„Exactly. The incision only goes as deep as it has to.“

She pulled both flaps back, exposing the anatomy beneath. „There’s no damage to the organs… from the knife anyway. Here’s where the bullet went in. Whoever did this was damn good with a knife. I wouldn’t have thought of a hunter, but you could be right.“

„It’s a possibility.“ The deep voice behind her set off warning bells in her head, and she had barely a moment to compose herself before turning to find Reagan standing in the doorway. Filling the doorway, Mia barely visible behind him. Awareness buzzed between them and the morning memory still burning, Kristen looked away.

„Detective Reagan,“ Julia said. „Did your mother bring lunch?“ she asked hopefully.

Reagan moved into the room and it suddenly became that much smaller. „Maybe next time,“ he returned. „So our boy’s a sharpshooter with a quick needle. Did the autopsy turn up anything else?“

„Not yet.“ Briskly, Julia bent back down to the body.

„What did you find out about the white van?“ Kristen asked and Reagan turned, his eyes narrowed in reproach and for a moment he said nothing. She knew he knew about her call to Spinnelli and that she’d offended him by not calling him first. Possibly even hurt him.

But she hadn’t been able to call him. The wounds she herself had raked open that morning were still raw, the humiliation still too fresh. He thought he knew, but he didn’t. And even if he did, there was no way he’d ever understand.

„It was a flower delivery van,“ he finally said, just as quietly. „Spinnelli’s got a few men canvassing the Arboretum area where King’s body was found to see if anyone saw a similar van. Hopefully it hasn’t been so long that the trail’s gone cold.“

One of Julia’s techs came in with a clipboard. „Well, this is something you don’t see every day,“ Julia said. „Two of your Blade vies have evidence of cellular damage. From the look of these slides, I’d say your gang boys at one time were frozen solid.“

Mia tsked. „Freezer burn. Shoulda’ used Saran Wrap.“

Reagan shot Mia an amused look before turning back to Julia. „That makes sense.“

Julia raised a brow. „It does?“

Mia nodded. „The three Blades were in the photo together, but they were last seen at different times. We wondered what our humble servant did with the first bodies while he killed all three. He wanted them all in the photo together, since they did the crime together.“

Reagan crossed his arms over his chest. „This could mean that he’s storing them in a place where he can’t risk detection. If he hadn’t frozen them, the first two bodies would have started to stink before he bagged all three.“

Mia scrunched her mouth. „Or he could just be the fastidious type.“

„This could also support his being a hunter,“ Jack said. „A hunter would have a big freezer for his game, especially if he went for deer.“

Reagan nodded slowly. „You’ve got something there,“ he said, then looked over at Mia. „After the press conference, let’s pay a visit to the local target range. I’ll bet they have a club for hunters or know where we can find one.“

„Ask for members that go for deer and fowl,“ Jack advised. „You don’t sew up deer after they’re dressed, but you might stitch up a bird. I’ve got to get back now. Bye, Julia.“

Julia looked up from King’s body with an absent-minded smile. „Bye.“

Mia rolled her eyes as Jack left with a backward wave. „Idiot,“ she muttered, but Kristen wasn’t sure if she meant Jack or Julia and frankly was in no mood to care. All she was looking for right now was escape from Reagan’s eyes that seemed to follow her every move. She’d pulled on her own coat and was two steps from the door when Mia stopped her with a lifted hand. „Wait. We actually came to talk to you about that database you keep. The one of all your cases. Did you keep track of whether or not the victim was satisfied with the outcome of the case?“ Mia asked.

„Or more importantly,“ Reagan’s voice rumbled softly, „with you. We’re looking for someone who didn’t blame you for losing.“

Kristen swallowed, the sound of his voice sending prickly tingles up and down her spine. He was too close, way too close, but there was no room to back away. So she drew a deep, steadying breath instead, unwillingly drawing in the smell of him. Soap… and gyros. He’d had gyros for lunch. „They all blame me, one way or another. But I’ll go through my list and try to remember everything I can.“ She glanced at her watch and felt the tension already throbbing in her neck spike, this time at the thought of Zoe Richardson’s planned conversion of Spinnelli’s press conference into a three-ring circus. „It’s showtime, people.“

Friday, February 20,

3:00 p.m.

This is better than sex. The thought struck Zoe as funny, even as she acknowledged the truth of it, but she didn’t smile. Cameras were poised, the stage set with microphones and two straight-backed chairs. A door on the left opened and two men walked to the podium. One was John Alden, Kristen Mayhew’s boss, the other Lieutenant Marc Spinnelli.

And speaking of the devil… As Alden and Spinnelli took their places on the stage, Mayhew entered, flanked by Mitchell and Reagan. Zoe frowned inside her head at the sight of Reagan who thought he was pretty hot stuff, giving them the slip this morning. Still surrounded by her honor guard, Mayhew moved to the sidelines, her face devoid of any signs of their earlier altercation until she spied Zoe sitting in the front row. Mayhew’s response was quickly masked, but not before Zoe saw her green eyes flash.

Spinnelli stepped up to the microphone and the vague murmurs ceased.

„You’ve heard we are investigating a string of connected murders,“ Spinnelli announced without preamble and Zoe felt more than saw the heads turning her direction.

Thank you, thank you, Zoe thought.

„Yesterday we recovered five bodies. All were declared homicides. As you know, all the victims had within the past three years passed through the justice system, but were either acquitted or released by way of plea. The investigation is being led by Detectives Mia Mitchell and Abe Reagan of my office and supported by the State’s Attorney’s Office. We currently have no statement on the status of the investigation other than to say we are applying all urgency to its resolution.“ He paused and cameras flashed.

Next to her a man from a competing station popped to his feet. „What can you tell us about the letters that were received by the victims of the five dead men?“

„We are not commenting on that at this time.“

Zoe rose to her feet and pretended not to listen to the rustling murmurs of her peers. „Lieutenant, can you comment on the personal letters received by ASA Mayhew dedicating the murders to her and declaring himself her humble servant?“

She’d guessed the part about the murders being dedicated to Mayhew, but quickly saw she’d guessed right.

Murmurs became mutters and exclamations and from her plum spot on the first row she could see Spinnelli’s jaw clench hard in anger, if not in surprise. Showing her hand to Mayhew this morning had been necessary to confirm her lead, but unfortunately it had also given Spinnelli time to mentally prepare. It was still a direct hit and she let herself bask in the thrill of the scoop.

„We have no comments at this time,“ Spinnelli said evenly, but the deed was still done. Zoe looked at Mayhew from the corner of her eye. Mayhew stood straight and tall, her face perfectly composed as the flashes now aimed at her face. Damn, but Zoe had to respect her for keeping her cool when it was important. It was probably why Mayhew was Alden’s top prosecutor. She knew when the public was watching and played it well.

„But all the victims had been defendants unsuccessfully prosecuted by ASA Mayhew,“ Zoe pressed. „Do you have any words for the other men and women who are out on the street because Mayhew was unable to get a conviction?“

One of the men behind her said, „Duck!“ which sent skitters of laughter through the press, but it was obvious neither Alden nor Spinnelli was amused.

Spinnelli pointed at a reporter from WGN. „Next question.“

Zoe sat, pleased. Sometimes a blatant dismissal said more than a direct response.

„Are you looking for a single killer or a group?“ asked WGN.

„No comment,“ Spinnelli said. „Next?“

„You only have two detectives assigned to this case when you’ve put teams of four or more on other serial murder cases.“ The observation came from a Trib correspondent and brought more murmurs. „Should the public assume you’ve placed less significance on the murders of these men because they were accused criminals?“

Spinnelli’s jaw clenched harder and Zoe could see a muscle twitching in his cheek. The Trib had struck a chord. That would be an interesting angle, she thought, the conflict of interest in this case. How many cops really wanted this vigilante caught?

And how scared were Mayhew’s lost cases likely to be right now? She thought about Mayhew’s most recent loss. Angelo Conti would be sure to have a response, especially if she caught him coming out of a bar. It wouldn’t be real news, but it would be great copy. And sometimes great copy created great news. What a deal.

Amid the mutters and flashes, Spinnelli said evenly, „We have assigned Detectives Reagan and Mitchell to this case. Both are experienced and well-qualified. They are backed up by the full resources of CPD. This case is staffed appropriately.“

John Alden rose to his feet. Spinnelli moved to one side to allow Alden to speak.

„Lieutenant Spinnelli and I are in full agreement on the staffing and plans for this investigation. We have no further comments at this time.“

Together the two men left the podium and Zoe had to admit they were both fine, fine specimens of pure American male, Spinnelli in his dress uniform, Alden in his expensive suit. But now was not the time for idle wandering.

She had a report to prepare before six o’clock. She hoped Angelo Conti was drunk.

Friday, February 20,

4:15 p.m.

The guy behind the glass counter was built like a Sherman tank, which was a good thing because under the glass was a most formidable display of firearms.

„Guy’s almost as well stocked as that Dorsey idiot,“ Mia muttered behind him and Abe chuckled. She was right. Unfortunately both the Dorsey idiot and his wife had rock-solid alibis for the nights King and Ramey disappeared and for the hours they believed their humble servant delivered his notes early Thursday morning.

The tank behind the counter narrowed his eyes. „Can I help you?“

Abe flashed his shield, Mia following suit. „I’m Detective Reagan and this is Detective Mitchell.“ The man’s eyes flickered in recognition, his mouth bent in a sneer.

„Only a matter of time,“ he declared bitterly.

„Why do you say that, sir?“ Mia asked.

„Some guy pops a few and suddenly the cops are crawling all over legitimate gun owners.“ He shook his head in disgust.

„Actually, we’re here to ask your help,“ Abe said and the man scoffed.

„Right. So what?“

Abe leaned his hip against the counter, lifted his shoulder in a shrug. „So, you obviously know why we’re here. We’re looking for the guy who popped a few and who’s getting ready to pop a few more. We picked your store because you host a marksmanship competition and we’re hoping you’ll cooperate and give us the list of entries without making us go to all the trouble of getting a warrant.“

The Sherman tank got smug. „Get a warrant.“

Abe sighed. „I was hoping you’d be reasonable.“

„He will be. Give the man the list, Ernie.“ A tiny old woman appeared from the back of the store, her arm in a sling. „I’m Diana Givens, the owner of this store. This is Ernie, my nephew. He’s been helping me run things while I was laid up.“ She extended her uninjured hand and Abe shook it. „I saw the press conference, Detective. I know who you are and why you’re here.“ She turned to Ernie. „Get the folder from the upright cabinet in the office. Now, Ernie,“ she snapped and Ernie did her bidding, slouching and muttering all the way. „Damn boy thinks he’s the next president of the NRA,“ Givens muttered. „I run a clean place here, Detectives. I obey gun sale laws and run all buyers through the system. I don’t think it does a damn to stop crime, but I obey the law. I’ll cooperate with you however I can.“

„Then maybe you can help us a little more,“ Mia said, staring at a display case on the wall. „You’ve got a great collection here. My dad’s a collector. He’s got a LeMat, mint.“

Diana Givens visibly softened, her eyes taking on a possessive light. „Mint?“

„Um-hmm.“

„If he wants to sell it, I’m interested.“

Mia turned with a half smile. „He’s leaving it to me someday. I don’t plan to part with it, but thanks. We’re looking for a marksman who hunts.“

The old woman stuck her tongue in her cheek. „That narrows it down, honey.“

Mia smiled. „I know. He likely hunts duck and deer. Do you keep track of ammo sales by customer? We’ll look for someone who buys both kinds.“

„You hunt?“ Diana Givens asked her.

Mia looked amused. „I have. Not a lot, but I know my way around the forest. Bagged a three-point buck once with my dad. Mom made venison stew for a month.“

„Why didn’t you say anything back at the morgue when Jack suggested hunters to Julia?“ Abe asked.

Mia grimaced. „Because I wanted Jack to have his moment in the sun in front of Julia. She barely notices his existence and he’s been practically tripping over his damn tongue for the last year.“ Mia leaned on the counter, eye to eye with the diminutive Givens. „Can we check your records, Miss Givens?“

Givens hesitated, then nodded. „I kind of hate to say yes, you know? Your boy took down some very bad players. I hate to see him stopped.“

„But we have to stop him, ma’am,“ Abe said quietly and Givens sighed heavily.

„I know. But I don’t have to dance a jig over it. Records are in the back.“

Friday, February 20,

4:30 p.m.

„The Myers girl is here with her father, Kristen.“

Kristen looked up from her paperwork. The headache from hell was brewing behind her eyes. Lois was looking over her shoulder toward the waiting area with a frown.

The Myers girl was her newest sexual assault case, the one where the father was insisting they press charges. All she needed to make this day perfect was to have that young girl break down in her office again. „I don’t suppose they’ll come back later.“

Lois snorted her displeasure. „No, I don’t suppose. Kristen, that dad makes me nervous. He’s twitchy. You want me to call Security?“

„Yeah. Just tell them to be ready. Tell Myers I’ll see them in five minutes. I want to finish this first.“ Hell, she just wanted to finish something today. Her phone had been ringing off the hook since the press conference, every reporter in town wanting a comment.

„Okay, Kristen. Oh, here.“ Lois dropped a thick stack of paper bound with a big black clip on her desk. „E-mails from all over. Some want information, most are rooting for him.“ She sighed. „Don’t leave by yourself tonight. Call Security to walk you down to your car. I’m going home soon. I have a headache.“

Join the club, Kristen thought, staring at the bound stack of paper. There wasn’t a news service that hadn’t picked up the story since the press conference this afternoon. They’d been on CNN every half hour, and even the Yahoo! home page had a photo of Spinnelli and Alden at the podium. She massaged her temples wearily.

She’d see Myers and then she’d go home. After all, who needed an overworked prosecutor when they had a humble servant? Maybe she should just let him mop up the cases she lost, she thought sarcastically. She could work fewer hours.

Hell, she might even take a vacation.

Her mouth twisted at the image of herself on a sandy beach in a bathing suit, sunglasses on her eyes and an unread book on her lap. Like she’d ever take a vacation. Alden was always urging her to take one, but the few times she’d asked he’d always found a reason she had to stay in the office. She’d covered for him enough times when he’d gone on vacation, she thought, resentment making her head throb harder. So she drew a deep breath and let her mind drift, trying to let the image of crashing waves and crying seagulls relax her. It’s what the therapists recommended. She ought to know, she’d seen it on late-night cable when she was refinishing the hardwood floor a few months back.

Find your happy place and all your worries will just slip away…

So she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Then in her imagination opened them and rolled her head to one side to the lounge chair beside her.

Where Reagan lay, his body tanned, muscled… and perfect. As if sensing her stare, he turned those intense blue eyes her way and flashed a white smile. And covered her hand with his.

Kristen sat back up with a hard jerk that sent new waves of pain coursing from her head down her neck. Dammit. The man wouldn’t leave her alone, checking her closets, buying her dinner, ruining a perfectly good autopsy viewing. Now he was invading her mind. She rubbed her hand hard, trying to still the tingles caused even by an imagined touch. She cursed the hard beating of her heart and pushed away the feelings she’d be foolish to label anything but futile longing.

It wouldn’t do to long for things she’d never have. If she ever let Reagan close enough, he’d run so fast… He would.

But damn, he looked good lying there on the beach.

She frowned at her own idiocy. Face it, Kristen, you’ll never have anyone. You’ll never even get to a vacation on the beach.

Resolutely she picked up the phone. „Lois, send in the Myers girl now.“

Friday, February 20,

4:30 p.m.

The hat with the earflaps hid his face, and given the wind chill, nobody would think twice about it. Now, if he was able to evade the police and keep his work going until spring, he’d have to get a little more creative if he wanted to walk around undetected.

The thought made him smile, as did the brown box left neatly on Kristen’s front porch. The boy had done well. He imagined the surveillance cameras around Kristen’s house would capture the boy’s face clearly. Tracking him would give Reagan and Mitchell something to do for a day or two, but when they found him, the boy wouldn’t be able to give anything more than the most basic of descriptions. Any police artist sketch they got would be able to pass for 10 percent of the men in Chicago, at least.

The news would pick it up and the boy would be linked to, in the hire of, a serial killer. He’d chosen the boy carefully. If there were any negative repercussions to being involved with the „Vigilante Killer“ as the news was calling him, this kid deserved them. If nothing came of it, no harm, no foul. But if the kid got into some trouble, it would be a good thing.

Without slowing, he continued down Kristen’s street and obediently stopped at a stop sign, left blinker flashing. No bad behavior to make him memorable to anyone that happened to notice his white van, which today sported a sign for an electrical contractor. He thought the happy face on the cartoon electrical plug was a cute touch.

Leah would have been amused.

Friday, February 20,

6:50 p.m.

Spinnelli leaned his head back, weariness etched in his face. None of them had had a great day, but Spinnelli’s had been the most publicly bad. „So you’ve got lists of sharpshooters, hunters – duck and deer, florists and tombstone makers.“ He dragged his hands down his face. „Sounds like some kind of rabid children’s rhyme.“

Totally frustrated, Abe stared at the lists covering the conference room table. There were a hell of a lot of hunters in the Chicago area, and they’d only tapped a handful of the ammunition stores. „It will take days to get through all this, even if we had more people. Can the guys in IT help us out? Maybe scan the names in, look for connections?“

Mia stared at Spinnelli. „I heard somebody say today that we have the resources of CPD at our disposal.“

Spinnelli shrugged. „I’ll ask them. They should be able to do something with all those fancy computers up there.“

Abe pushed away from the table and walked to the whiteboard where they continued to note evidence that continued to be unconnected. „We’ve accounted for the whereabouts of all the original victims on the nights our new victims disappeared. The only ones with shakable alibis are Sylvia Whitman and Paulo Siempres, the stepfather of one of the murdered children.“

„Do you think either of them was involved?“

Abe shook her head. „Not Siempres. He wouldn’t have had the strength to strangle Ramey. His right arm is withered. Polio as a kid.“

„And Mrs. Whitman?“

„Nope.“ Mia crossed her ankles on the table’s edge. „She talks a big talk, but I don’t think she’s capable either. She might have paid somebody to off Ramey, but if she did, it was from a source nobody knows about. I’ve checked all their finances. Nobody’s made any large contract-killing-sized payments lately.“

„Besides,“ Abe said, „somebody had to know the names of King’s six victims to sandblast them into the marker, and there’s no reason to suspect Whitman or Siempres had access to that information.“

Spinnelli sighed. „I’ve got Kristen’s list of lawyers and cops associated with all three cases. Here’s the list of marksmen.“

„Poor Marc,“ Mia said sympathetically. „The press and IA.“

„I prefer the damn press,“ Spinnelli muttered. „Anyway, take a look at this list and see if you can find any ties to your florists, hunters, and tombstone makers.“

Abe scanned the list and let out a low whistle. „Check this out, Mia.“

Mia’s eyes widened. „John Alden.“

„Kristen’s boss was in the military, qualifying as a marksman.“ Abe looked up at Spinnelli. „You want us to check this out, or do you want to?“

Spinnelli shrugged. „Get whereabouts for everyone just as a matter of course. I’ll talk to Alden myself.“

„We’ll start first thing Monday,“ Mia said.

Spinnelli frowned. „What’s wrong with now?“

Mia threw a pointed gaze at the clock. „It’s Friday. I have a date.“

„So?“ Spinnelli retorted. „I haven’t even seen my wife and kids for a week.“

„Then you should go home, too,“ Mia snapped. „Just because – “

Abe’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and one look at the caller ID had him waving his hand for silence. „What’s wrong?“ He listened as Spinnelli and Mia abruptly quieted. „Just stay there with the windows rolled up and the doors locked. I’ll be there in ten minutes.“ He snapped his cell phone closed. „Kristen just got attacked. Somebody ran her car off the road into a pole. Two guys with knives wanted to know the identity of her humble servant.“

Mia paled. „Shit. Sounds like Blades. Damn that Richardson.“

Spinnelli jumped to his feet. „Is she hurt?“

„Where are they now?“ Mia demanded.

„I don’t think she’s hurt,“ Abe said grimly, „but she’s scared.“ And for that some punk would pay. „She pepper-sprayed their faces and locked herself in her car, then leaned on the horn until other drivers started slowing down and the assholes ran away.“ He grabbed his coat. „I’ll take care of it and call you.“

Friday, February 20,

7:10 p.m.

Now that it was over Kristen wanted to scream.

Her shoulder burned from where they’d grabbed her out of the car. Her whole face throbbed from the impact of the deployed airbag and she knew she was lucky not to have a broken nose. The rest of her body ached from holding herself rigid since she’d gotten away and locked herself in the car, but she knew if she let go, she’d start to cry, and that wasn’t an option. Not with Richardson perched outside with her toady cameraman. Rage simmered. If she ever found out Richardson had seen the whole thing and just let the camera roll as she screamed for help… There wouldn’t be a pit deep enough for that bitch to climb out of.

Someone tapped at the window and she muffled a yelp. A uniformed officer stood by her locked door. „Are you all right, Miss Mayhew?“ he said loud enough to be heard through the glass. He was the response to her 9-1-1. The call she’d made after the one to Reagan. She refused to consider the significance of the order of her phone calls for help, instead jerking a nod that made her want to whimper in pain. She kept it in, still in control. „Yes.“

„Do you need me to call an ambulance?“

Wouldn’t that look just great on the ten o’clock news? „No. Did you find them?“

He shook his head. „We’ll keep looking, but I think they took off on foot through the business park across the street.“ He straightened abruptly and Kristen knew without looking that Reagan had arrived. Seven and a half minutes. He must have run a few stop signs along the way. She couldn’t help but be grateful.

His face appeared in her window, anxious and worried. „Open the door, Kristen.“

She did, willing her hand not to shake, biting back the wince at the burning pain in her shoulder. He pulled open the door, frowning at the loud creak it made.

„They hit me on this side,“ she murmured. „I think they bent the frame.“

He crouched down, his face level with hers, his expression grim. „Your airbag deployed.“ He bit out the words, as if somehow that made it worse.

„That normally happens when you hit a telephone pole going forty.“ She lifted a brow, still in control. „I pepper-sprayed them, right in the eyes.“

His mouth curved, and she was suddenly so glad he was there. „Good for you.“

„They ran away.“ She pointed to a spread of bright lights and concrete. „Through the business park. I guess the car they used was stolen.“ They’d abandoned it, its front fender still hooked with hers. „They were Blades. They wanted to know who killed their brothers. When I said I didn’t know, they said it didn’t matter, that they’d keep me until he came for me.“

Reagan’s eyes searched her face. „They didn’t hurt you.“

She shook her head. „Just a little soreness in my shoulder and knee. A few ibuprofen and a hot bath and I’ll be fine in the morning. Please…“ Her voice started to wobble and she swallowed hard. „Please, just take me home.“

He offered his hand and let her pull herself out of the car. For a split second she teetered, held by his eyes, then it was out of her hands. She gave in to a need she couldn’t admit and leaned into him, into the hard strength of his body. She felt him stiffen, then a half beat later his arms were around her, pulling her in, holding her. She shuddered at the sensation of it, of feeling so utterly safe before allowing the sharp pain in her shoulder to intrude. She couldn’t hold back the small moan and his body tightened.

„You are hurt. You’re going to the ER.“

„No. Please.“ She dragged in a breath and pulled away, the brief respite over. He reached for her face, but she shook her head. „Not here. She’s here.“

His eyes took on an unholy light, and she saw no further explanation was necessary. „Where?“

Kristen gestured to a small unmarked minivan. „Her minion has us in his sights.“

„Her minion will turn over that goddamned tape,“ Reagan snarled. „Can you stand on your own for a minute?“

„Do I get to see you rough up Richardson?“ Kristen asked with a quirk of her lips, and as Reagan bared his teeth in response Kristen couldn’t help but think of him on the beach. Somehow, he looked a great deal more appealing right now than in her daydream.

„Only if she makes me mad.“

„Then I can stand on my own.“ She watched Reagan take the distance between her car and Richardson’s van in great, ground-eating strides. He threw open the sliding side door and blocked the camera’s shot with his big body. Richardson scrambled out, her hands on her hips, but Reagan didn’t move, and a minute later Kristen saw a black cassette in his hand.

Then he was back, helping Kristen up into his SUV.

„I need a statement, sir.“

Reagan drew a deep breath, visibly restraining himself before he turned to the hapless young uniform who had responded to her 9-1-1.

„Do you know who this is?“

The officer met her eyes over Reagan’s shoulder. „Yes, I do.“

„Then can you meet us at her house in half an hour? She’ll give you her statement then. And, Officer? Can you keep that viper from following us?“

The young man looked over at Richardson’s van with contempt. „It’ll be a pleasure, Detective. Miss Mayhew, are you sure you don’t need medical attention?“

She smiled down at him, relief sinking in. „I’m sure. But thank you.“

He walked away and Reagan looked up and Kristen’s heart caught in her throat at the raw caring she saw in his face. It was so difficult to resist. „My brother Sean’s wife is a pediatrician. You’re bigger than her normal patient, but I bet she’d make a house call.“

„No, but thank you, really. Please, just take me home.“

He slammed her door and swung up into the seat next to her, and for a long moment neither said anything. Then, very gently, „Why didn’t you call me before you left the office? I would have kept you safe.“

To her horror tears burned at her eyes. He saw them, but said nothing, just sat there waiting for her answer.

„Remember the new case I mentioned this morning?“ she finally answered unsteadily, but Reagan’s gaze never flickered.

„The sexual assault who didn’t want to testify but whose father was insisting?“

She nodded. „Yeah. That one. They came to see me this afternoon and the father said…“ Her voice broke and sucking in a panicked breath, she pushed the tears back. „For a minute I thought he wanted a different prosecutor, because of all the media attention his daughter would get right now. But he didn’t.“

Reagan pulled a pack of tissues from the console between their seats and offered it silently. She took the whole pack and clutched it in her hand. „He said that he hoped I lost because then the ‘humble servant’ would take care of the bastard that raped his daughter. Three days ago I was the prosecutor. Now I’m a surrogate gun for a vigilante.“ She released her hold on the poor pack of tissues and tried to restore it to its original shape. „I needed to be alone.“ She looked away from his eyes. „I’m sorry.“

He started the car. „You’re all right and that’s all that’s important now.“ He pulled away from the curb. „I’m going to sleep on your sofa.“

She understood he wasn’t making a request. She watched the mangled rental car disappear from her side mirror and for the first time let it sink in how truly close she’d come to serious harm.

They could have done anything. They could have… Would have…

It was like the lid lifting from Pandora’s box, releasing memories she’d kept locked away for so long. She shuddered. Hard.

„It folds out,“ she murmured, closed her eyes, and tried to dream about beaches and sun and waves. But once released, only one image filled her mind, replaying over and over like a horrific video of someone else’s life. But it wasn’t someone else’s. It was hers.

Friday, February 20,

7:30 p.m.

As Reagan’s vehicle drove away he let out an angry breath. She was safe now, but she might not have been. He’d almost stepped in, but then she’d taken care of the matter herself, spraying their eyes, making them run, tails between their legs like the curs they were.

She wasn’t hurt. But she could have been. Despicable worms. Forcing a woman off the road, planning God-knows-what.

He jumped at the sound of tapping at his window. A police officer stood outside.

„We’re trying to clear this area, sir. Could you please move along?“

He smiled. Just nice and easy, and no suspicions would be aroused. He nodded, saying nothing. He pulled the van away and slipped into traffic. He couldn’t be caught, not yet. He still had work to do. He wasn’t even close to emptying the fishbowl.