Blind: Killer Instincts (18 page)

“Another letter?” Jacob asked Brooks.

“Yeah, they’re gathering all the security camera feeds now. Someone must have gotten a shot of this guy.” Brooks handed the radio off to Mullins. “We’re going to get him. Hey Mullins, call Lali and get her on this footage, now.”

“What color is it?” Jacob asked before Brooks could walk away.

“They didn’t say. Why? Got another theory, Detective?” It was a little unnerving to have the agent listen to what Jacob said so intently. Miller usually had one ear on the phone or hands on his keyboard when Jacob spitballed theories at him.

Jacob licked his lips and pressed on. “The letters I received were red. The second victim’s were orange and the third yellow.”

“It’s a god damned color wheel.” Brooks slapped Jacob on the shoulder like he did his agents. “Good eye.”

Brooks called to two of his people and headed back toward the conference rooms, no doubt to work the new angles.

Stevenson turned toward him, the shuttered expression not boding well.

“Sir, I can—”

“I don’t have time for excuses.” Stevenson held up his hand. “You’re off the case, but you already knew that.”

“Officially, yeah. I understand. I want permission to take a few days off so I can watch Emma. I really think she’s going to be a target.”

“Then put her in—”

“She won’t go. Plus, if I’m there, and we make sure a patrol comes by every half hour, maybe we’ll catch him. I can put this time to good use, going over what she knows of the first victims. We can profile them. I think this is an idea with merit.”

Stevenson’s lips were tightly compressed. “Is being with her in your best interest, son?”

Jacob shrugged. “You have a problem with her?”

Stevenson glanced away and sighed. “Your dad and I kept an eye on the Ration boy. He was never right after what happened to his parents.”

“She’s different.”

“I hope she is. For your sake. Let me know if you find a connection, but you’re doing this on your own time. I’m putting you on leave immediately. Have you heard from Freeman?”

“No, why?” Jacob wasn’t all that close with his new partner, but he would have expected the man to be back soon.

“While Miller is on administrative leave, I’m handling Homicide personally. Freeman should have been back this morning, but he hasn’t reported for duty.”

“Want me to swing by his place? Check on him? I thought he was going to be out longer.”

“He was, but plans changed. Now I can’t get hold of him, and we need everyone we can get here. I’ll have patrol check on him. Maybe plans changed again.” He slapped Jacob on the shoulder. “Keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir.”

Now, to protect a woman who wouldn’t want to be protected.

Jade shook her head and repeated herself for at least the tenth time. “She’s not our suspect.”

“You don’t know that.” Mullins paced the room, back and forth.

Why was it he always second-guessed her? Mullins was a damn good agent, but he could be an obnoxious prick sometimes. She gritted her teeth and waited for one of the other men to chime in and validate her theory, since that was the only way Mullins would ever believe her.

Brooks had warned her before joining the BAU that it was the ultimate men’s club. Besides support staff like their tech, Lali, there were only two female field agents. Half the other agents took her as a joke, what with her history, despite her resumé and exemplary marks at the academy.

“What if they’re doing this all together? Payton and Ration?” Mullins wheeled around. The man was really grasping at straws if he was even thinking about suggesting Detective Payton as a suspect. “They’re each other’s alibi.”

“Connor,” Brooks barked at Mullins. “Knock it off.”

Jade opened her mouth to point out the obvious, but thought better of it. Connor Mullins’ track record with questionable women was long and legendary. It was no wonder the man was a jaded jerk. He was a good agent, but even he had his flaws.

“It makes for good fiction, man, but Payton and the girl, this ain’t them.” Dmitri Abraham rose and stretched, tossing a wink her way when no one was looking.

Jade frowned, but he only smiled wider at her. She’d asked him to stop doing that. Flirting, even if it was for fun, was highly unprofessional, and it was hard enough for the boys in the club to take her seriously. She didn’t need rumors that she was dating one of her unit members to complicate things further.

“Perez, take us through the profile, please,” Brooks asked.

She nodded and cleared her throat. “We’re looking for a young, white male, approximately six feet in height with an athletic build. He’s artistic, but not as educated as TBK. After evaluating his grammar usage and lack of punctuation, he probably did not graduate high school. He’s picking victims that are similar to those of the original murders, but so far there isn’t a solid enough connection between the four.”

“Except for Emma,” Mullins interjected.

“She spoke with the first victim once. That’s a pretty flimsy connection,” she replied.

“It still counts.”

She sighed.

“Fine, one possible connection is Emma. There’s motive for Emma to be the killer on the last murder, but not on the first two. Besides, she doesn’t fit the victimology. TBK never killed any single, white females. He targeted either family units or people on the fringes of society, and even then those were crimes of opportunity.”

“Enough. Mullins, Abraham, I want you to go back to Harold’s house and talk to his neighbors. See if you can get a better description of the mailman. He’s our best target right now.”

“Yes, sir.” Mullins pivoted and walked out of the room, followed by a more relaxed Abraham.

Jade sighed and let her shoulders fall.

“Don’t let him get under your skin,” Brooks said, though he hadn’t glanced at her once.

“Maybe I should be moved to a different unit.” She didn’t want to, but having Mullins constantly second guessing her was exhausting. It wasn’t enough for her to know the cases forward and backward, she had to anticipate questions or she simply wasn’t pulling her weight.

“I wouldn’t recommend it. You fit here.”

“Do I?” She turned toward the pictures of the victims, but it wasn’t TBK’s she saw.

“It’s not hereditary. You can’t catch it.” Brooks spoke quietly, as if he sensed she wasn’t quite there with him.

“I tell myself that every day, but it doesn’t change the fact that sometimes I wonder if it is.” She shrugged and turned away before she saw too much of her past on those walls. “I’m going to get some air, clear my head.”

She didn’t flee from the homicide department, but she kept her eyes on the ground and didn’t acknowledge anyone else as she headed outside. The sweltering Oklahoma heat wrapped around her lungs, soaking up every bit of moisture in her skin. If she wasn't careful, she’d burn in a few minutes, but she didn’t plan on staying out here long.

Detective Payton had marched into that interrogation room like a badge-wielding knight. Not quite the armor of dreams, but he hadn’t flinched away from going to Emma’s rescue.

Jade sat down on the stairs in a bit of shade cast by a tree and allowed herself to wallow for a moment. No one could love a person with her past. She wasn’t even sure if she was capable of expressing love. It wasn’t as if anyone had ever demonstrated the emotion to her personally. But she knew it when she saw it. Like Jacob and Emma. The signs were all there. As a profiler she picked up on the clues. The way Payton had moved to put himself between Emma and Brooks. How he’d given her his left hand, keeping his dominant right free to ward off a threat. And Emma had bent to Jacob’s direction when Jade didn’t think the woman was used to taking orders at all.

Did they know?

Probably not. Emma was an independent woman who would turn a blind eye on her feelings until she was smacked in the face with reality. Jacob, on the other hand, she was willing to bet was closer to accepting it. He’d given up the case of a lifetime to become her fierce protector. The only person who’d ever tried to protect
her
was a child services representative, and Brooks to a lesser degree.

Jade allowed her attention to turn inward and prodded the cold, dark corners of her mind. Brooks always said that killers chose their path, but was he right? What if her fate was written in her genetics? What if she was born to be like her parents?

Emma pulled up at Amanda’s duplex and stared hard at the little two-toned green house with its red door. She’d been friends with Amanda for years. Once, ages ago, Amanda dated a guy on Emma’s race team. They’d broken up, but Emma and Amanda had clicked. Since it was hard enough to find other women she liked, Emma had gone after that friendship. It had been easy to have fun with Amanda. How had it come to this?

The idea that both Amanda and Derrick were dead made her numb on the inside. She hadn’t been able to process it or think through what that meant. How long had they been together?

A patrol officer knocked on her driver’s side window, startling her.

Emma shook her head and opened the door.

“Yes, officer?” She grabbed her purse and paused, perched on the driver’s seat.

“Chief said you were on your way, ma’am. I’m to escort you inside.”

“And what then?” She arched her brow at the man. If they thought they were going to keep her out of the house, then they had another thing coming to them.

“Your safety, ma’am.”

“Fine, whatever, come on.” She rolled her eyes and slid out of the truck, dragging the box after her.

Emma unlocked the house and pushed the door inward. She paused on the stoop, almost expecting to see Amanda pop out from her room, a smile on her face and the scrub set of the day still on. But she’d never be there for Emma again.

“Ma’am, would you like me to check the house first?” the officer asked.

“No, thanks.” She shut the door in his face.

The stillness of the duplex settled around her.

Amanda had asked her before she left to visit family if she wanted the move-in to be official. Emma hadn’t been ready to make a decision, and they’d put it off until next week. She’d shifted so much of her life into Derrick’s crappy trailer, but at least there she had the big backyard lot to work in. Here, she’d have to get a studio space, and that was a whole other set of costs. It was too much to think about, and she’d put it off.

Her mind circled around the fact that Amanda was gone, but refused to accept it. It couldn’t be true. There was no way Amanda could really be gone. This wasn’t happening.

Emma put her purse down next to the door and toed her shoes off, like Amanda would have wanted. Emma sighed, shoving her hands through her hair, and wandered into the living room.

Something was wrong.

She glanced around, sure that something had been moved, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She went to put her cell phone on the coffee table, and that’s when she saw it.

The coffee table was completely cleared of knickknacks. The candles were gone, the bowl of pointless gold balls cleared away. A single sheet of red paper lay on the glass surface.

I did it for you.

She read the single sentence over and over again.

For her?

She’d never have done that to Amanda or Derrick. The idea that their death was in some way a gift to her was ridiculous and offensive. Anger boiled in her stomach, so bitter and vile it burned the back of her throat. She grabbed the paper and ripped it to shreds, a deep, tortured growl rising up out of her as the bits of paper fluttered around her.

“Where are you?” she yelled.

Emma stalked into Amanda’s bedroom, but no one was there. She went into the bathroom they shared, and still no sign of a trespasser. Emma’s room, it was impossible to tell. She hadn’t exactly been keeping things as tidy and neat as Amanda. Emma’s clothes were in a pile on the floor until she got hangers. Most of her things were in boxes or a few suitcases.

“Emma?” Jacob knocked on the front door as it creaked open. “Emma, you okay?”

“Yeah.” She scrubbed at her face.

The letter.

Fuck.

She scurried back into the living room, her heart throbbing in her throat.

Jacob knelt over the shredded mess of the letter, a piece of twisted paper in his hand.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, voice hard.

“It was just there,” she blurted.

“Okay.” He held up his hand and pulled his cell phone out with the other. He snapped a few pictures, no doubt sending those off to his FBI friends, who would now be completely up her ass. Just what she needed. They’d probably say she did it herself.

Jacob got to his feet and closed the distance between them. He cupped her shoulders and peered into her eyes. What did he see in her?

“I should have called you, I know.” She pushed his hands away, needing space. All these people were starting to suffocate her.

“Yes, but that wasn’t what I was going to say.” His expression was unreadable. Solid stone.

“Then what? What do you want to say to me?”

He licked his lips, brow drawn down, and his blue eyes darker than normal.

“I was going to say it’s okay to be angry. Your friend is dead, she might have been cheating with Derrick while you were with your ex, and you got accused of being their murderer all in about half an hour. Now this.” He thumbed at the letter she’d foolishly left lying around.

“I am angry.” She pointed at the letter. “I’m angry at him.”

It was hard to breathe. She gasped and her eyes prickled. Oh fuck, was she crying, too? This TBKiller had killed too close to home, and he thought he was doing it for her? Emma could take care of her own problems. So what if Amanda wanted to fuck Derrick? She could have handled that, or at least ignored it. Her one true friend was now dead.

Her legs gave way and she sat down heavy on the tile floor.

“Go on, cry it out,” Jacob muttered.

He folded his body around hers, pulling her against his chest and rocked her from side to side. She leaned back, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

“I want him dead,” she said between sobs.

“Me, too. Me, too.” He kissed the side of her head.