Hold on to Me (4 page)

“Wearing only the bottom to her itsy-bitsy bikini and a great big smile,” Cookie added for him, earning an inarticulate growl of frustration from his colleague.

“Like Tick said, no big deal. Amy lived for being outrageous.” Jeff’s calm tone soothed the rising tension in the room. “She’s hit on just about every guy in the county over twenty-five and under fifty. She wasn’t into guys her age.”

Which meant a huge field of possible suspects, and maybe the possibility that her death wasn’t related to the others.

Caitlin flipped to the next page in the file, a missing person’s report, Tick’s slashing signature at the bottom. “What were the circumstances of her death?”

“She didn’t come home Tuesday night.” Tick cleared his throat. “Her daddy had half the law enforcement agencies in this end of the state looking for her. We found her car that night in the parking lot of the local football stadium. Like Sharon, a farmer found her body Wednesday afternoon in thick underbrush. He was cutting a fire break.”

She frowned over the folder. Having all of this would have been helpful before she’d come down here, if ADIC Frazier hadn’t been in such a rush for her to head out, to soothe Tommy Gillabeaux’s political screaming. “There’s no autopsy report.”

“Hasn’t been done yet.” Cookie shrugged. “Backlog at the crime lab. We don’t have Sharon Ingler’s, either.”

She looked up. “How much of a backlog?”

“Williams is talking about a week on the short side before she even gets to the preliminary.”

“A week?” She should have brought Ransome, the medical examiner and resident lab geek on her team, with her. “Any idea on the cause of death for both girls? Same as your Jane Doe?”

“Looks like strangulation.” Tick turned to scatter crime scene photos across the table. He arranged close-up pictures of the girls’ torsos side-by-side.

Caitlin examined the bruising on each victim. “But not garroted.”

“No, and not manual strangulation either. No finger marks. He used his forearm against the windpipe.” Tick laid his wrist lightly against her throat to demonstrate.

Caitlin jerked away. His eyes widened and she swallowed, sure the memories and horror lingered on her face. “Thanks but I don’t need the visual.”

She attempted a nonchalant smile and an ironic tone, but her voice quivered.

“Sorry.” Tick frowned, his gaze thoughtful, piercing, assessing. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No problem.” She gave a scoffing laugh, aware they had captured Cookie and Jeff’s rapt attention. She ran a finger over the round mark on Sharon’s throat, darker than the other contusions. “They all have the same bruise pattern.”

“Probably his watch.” Something indefinable, a soft questioning perhaps, remained in Tick’s voice, but she refused to look at him.

She tilted her head, still eyeing the bruise. “Maybe he’s left handed.”

“They weren’t quick deaths.” Anger colored Cookie’s quiet statement. “He toyed with them.”

Caitlin nodded. Bruises scattered over the bodies. Small round burns on breasts and thighs, probably a lit cigarette pressed against the tender skin. Thin cuts on the arms and abdomen, enough to bleed, enough to cause pain and terror, but not death.

Except for Amy.

Caitlin picked up the photos depicting Amy’s body. Her killing had been more violent, with bruising to her face absent from the other girls.

And the stab wounds.

She counted the jagged gashes. Seven in the abdominal area, three more on her upper torso.

A vicious, brutal death.

A personal murder.

She’d known her killer and he’d known her.

Why had he wanted her dead? To cut her out of his life? To keep her from belonging to someone else?

The ultimate control, maybe.

Darkness hovered at the edges of Caitlin’s mind, trying to steal her breath. She forced it back, focusing on the process of getting oxygen in and out of her lungs. She couldn’t fall prey to the panic, not here, not now.

Not in front of Tick.

She diverted her attention from the mutilation of Amy’s body, studied the pictorial record as a whole again. The bodies were too clean, the scenes too clean. “You didn’t find trace evidence on them, did you.”

“No hairs, no fibers, no fluids. Bagged their hands, but I doubt Williams can pull anything.” Tick nudged a picture with a long finger. “I think he washed them before dumping them.”

“So no clues as to the whereabouts of his kill site. And no DNA.”

“Right.”

“He thinks he’s smarter than us.” Jeff’s words held a note of annoyed offense.

“What else do you have?”

“Not much.” Frustration darkened Tick’s voice. “Witness statements from the night Sharon disappeared, preliminary interviews with the girls’ friends and families. Some items pulled from Amy’s apartment this morning—her address book, her laptop.”

“Anything from those?”

“I’m still trying to access her files.” Cookie slumped in his chair. “She password protected a lot of things. Checked out her MySpace page online, her little blog, that kind of stuff. Thousands of damn comments on her MySpace. I’m working through all of those.”

“My partner might be able to help with that. She’s a computer expert…she’s amazing.” Caitlin’s concentration strayed to the photos once more and she traced a finger over the bruises at Amy’s neck, down to the stab wounds. The girl had to have been terrified. Caitlin made herself shrug off the remembrances clamoring in her head. “I’ll get you her number.”

Jeff leaned forward, steepling his fingers together. “Where do you suggest we go from here?”

“Equivocal—”

“Forensic analysis,” Tick finished for her in his deep drawl.

“Exactly.”

“Mind repeating that in English?” Cookie chuckled.

“It means we’re starting over,” Tick said.

“Going through all the evidence.” Caitlin avoided the urge to rub at her tired, burning eyes. The nightmares and periodic insomnia were bad enough; plunging back into the field with this case, working with Tick Calvert was even worse.

“Sharon didn’t keep an address book.” Cookie’s musing brought her attention around to him. “We should see if Vontressa did. We could set up a database and cross-reference the people they all knew. Since most murder victims know their killers, it makes sense that the three local girls may have known this guy.”

Caitlin flicked a glance at him, admiration stirring to life in her. Brilliance lurked beneath the flippant façade. She smiled, the first real one all day, hell, probably the first one in weeks, maybe even months, if she was honest. “Good idea.”

“I have lots of those.” He grinned, a hint of salaciousness in the expression. “You and I should explore one or two.”

Jeff groaned. “Oh, God, here we go.”

“What we’re going to explore is the rule of twenty-four.” Tick’s words held a steely warning. “We’ll start with Amy, since she’s our most recent victim, and Vontressa, since she’s our most recent discovery.”

“And delve into their lives.” Distaste shivered down Caitlin’s spine. Funny how her approach had changed once she’d walked on the other side. She’d hoped that once she was back in the field, she’d enjoy the chase again. She picked up one of the photos of Vontressa and looked at those staring, lifeless eyes.

No. She’d never find enjoyment in this again.

Tick eyed her bent head, unease slithering through him. He’d seen some of the changes back in March, when he’d come back from Mississippi and she’d summarily dumped his ass. He’d been too all-fired mad and hurt then to really think about how she’d changed, too busy afterward, with his grandmother’s death, that mess with his brother Del’s boy, and setting up the department from the ground up. He’d been grateful for the distractions, trying to use them to get her out of his mind.

His Caitlin, first his friend and later his lover, was bright and talented, intuitive and caring, with her emotions reflected in the deep green of her eyes. This woman was someone else. This woman, who rarely smiled and went through professional motions, couldn’t be real.

Something about this Caitlin’s eyes niggled at him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on yet.

His stomach, ignored since breakfast, chose that moment to gnaw at his spine with an audible growl.

Jeff snorted a laugh. Cookie snickered. Tick glared at both of them. God, he needed to get out of here.

What he
really
needed was a cigarette.

He ran a hand through his hair. A shower would be nice, too. “Why don’t we take a dinner break, meet back here around eight thirty.”

Cookie looked askance. “A dinner break? You’re letting us out of the dungeon?”

Tick swallowed a biting reply. “Yeah. Get something to eat, take a walk, whatever. Just be ready to work when you get back.”

Caitlin lifted her head, her expression unhappy. “We left my rental car—”

“At Ash’s.” Shit. Just what he needed—another little ride cooped up with her.

“I can take you.” Cookie pushed up from his chair, the springs squeaking. Caitlin stiffened visibly, her gaze darting over the breadth of his shoulders. She shifted almost a full step backward, away from him.

What was that all about? Tick frowned and pulled his keys from his pocket. “I’ll drive her.”

“I’ll do it.” Cookie waved him away with a negligent gesture. “Go home. Take a shower.”

“I said I’d take her.” Tick stared him down, tired of the other man playing him. Jeff watched them and the surprised curiosity on his face sent a crawling itch down Tick’s back.

With a deep chuckle, Cookie lifted both hands in surrender. “Sure thing, man.”

Tick snatched his cap off the chair where he’d tossed it earlier. He didn’t look at Caitlin. “Ready?”

Outside, Tick slid his sunglasses on against the onslaught of the evening sun. As he put the truck in gear and backed out of his parking space, he glanced sideways at Caitlin, her posture tense and tight.

He wanted to reach out, rub at her nape and shoulders, ease the visible tautness. Instead, he gripped the wheel harder. What in holy hell was wrong with him? “Hungry?”

“No.” Her husky voice was quiet, stiff.

She had to be lying. He’d never known her not to be hungry. Her appetite had been legendary among their classmates at Quantico, but her high metabolism and penchant for exercise kept her body lean and toned. An image of her flat stomach quivering under his urgent touch flashed through his mind, and he pressed the brake down hard as he prepared to shift into drive. The truck jerked. Caitlin turned an odd look on him and he shook his head, face hot.

“Sorry.”

He pulled out of the parking lot onto the two-lane highway and hooked a finger over the steering wheel. Eight miles. Ten minutes if he didn’t get caught by both traffic lights or behind a slow-ass chicken truck.

Ten minutes. He could handle that.

His cell phone vibrated to life, offering a welcome distraction to the pulsing silence.

“Excuse me.” He flipped it open. “Calvert.”

“Where are you?” His younger brother Del greeted him.

“Headed north on Highway 3.” He slowed for the first traffic light as it flared red. Damn it. Make that twelve minutes. “Why?”

“Thought I’d see if you’d had supper yet and wanted to meet me at Old Mexico.”

“Sounds good.” He knew Del was at loose ends with his wife and kids out of town, and maybe the company would keep his own mind off the woman occupying his passenger seat. “I have to run out to Ash’s and I need a shower. Give me thirty minutes.”

“Right. See you there.”

Neither he nor Caitlin spoke until they reached Ash’s and she asked for directions to her hotel. He rattled them off by rote, itching to get away. Once she’d pulled out on the highway and he headed in the opposite direction toward home, he released a slow, relieved breath.

A hot shower and quick shave did little to lessen the jumpy tension and make him feel more human. He pulled into the Old Mexico parking lot five minutes earlier than he’d told Del to expect him. He wasn’t surprised that his ever-punctual brother stood outside, cell phone pressed to his ear, a wide grin on his face.

“I miss you, too, honey. Tick’s here; I have to go. Love you.” Del ended the call and clipped the phone on his belt as Tick approached. The brisk breeze toyed with his brother’s tie, the pyramid pattern in green and brown echoing the apple green of his fine cotton shirt, tucked into a pair of khaki slacks. The bright lantern lights under the awning glimmered over his wedding ring. “Hey. You look like hell.”

“Feel like it, too.” Tick yanked the door open.

“Well, that’s a new one.” Del grabbed the knob and let Tick precede him. “Usually you’re snarling at me to mind my own damn business.”

“Yeah.” Inside, cheerful mariachi music blended with the tinkle of a large fountain in the middle of the dining room. The noise crawled over him, making his jittery feeling worse. The scents of spices and cooked meat hovered in the air, but despite his physical hunger, the desire to eat just wasn’t there. With a wave at the sole waitress, busy with another customer, Tick lifted two menus and headed for the corner booth he and his brother usually occupied.

Del waited until they’d ordered and their drinks had been delivered to speak again. He rested an arm along the back of the booth and twirled his beer bottle with his other hand. “Something you want to talk about?”

“No.” Tick squeezed lemon into his iced tea. Maybe spilling his guts to someone he could trust would help take the edge off. “Yeah.”

Del waited, silent.

“You lousy son of a bitch.” Cookie shoved Tick’s shoulder and dropped into the booth next to him. He grinned at the waitress. “Hey, Lola, honey, bring me an unsweet tea and a number twelve.”

“Oh, Lord.” Tick rested both elbows on the table and pressed the heels of his hands against his gritty eyes. Could it get any worse?

Cookie jabbed him, hard. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

“Go away.”

“Man, you are not going to tell me you didn’t hit that.” Cookie’s very male laugh shredded Tick’s already skinned nerves. His head jerked up and he gripped his knees hard instead of curling his hands into fists.

“Shut up, Mark. Don’t talk about—” He swallowed the words, forcing them down with the urge to take a swing at his partner.

“Someone want to fill me in?” Del lifted his beer. “I’m completely lost over here.”

Tick decided he’d just ignore Cookie’s presence. It wasn’t like it had worked before, but a guy’s luck had to turn sometime. He exhaled.

“She’s here.”

“She?”

“Cait.” Tick tried to relax into the booth, stretching out his legs. He relived the moment she’d stepped from that car, shivers traveling over him. “She’s here and I have to freakin’ work with her.”

“Cait…” Del scratched his chin, frowning. “Should I know her?”

“Falconetti. The one who helped with Tori’s—”

“Holy shit. The brunette with the legs? And the bedroom voice?”

“Bedroom voice?” Cookie snorted. He smiled as Lola set his tea before him and waited until she was out of earshot. “Fuck-me voice, you mean. Hot damn, she could just talk to me and I’d be happy.”

Cold fury sizzled through Tick’s brain. “I’m going to kill you if you don’t shut the hell up.”

“Wonder if I could get her to record me an MP3?”

Del muffled a laugh. “That’s interesting. She’s the one groveling didn’t work with?”

“Move, Cookie.” He was out of here. Even Del had turned on him.

“Now I’m lost.” Cookie didn’t budge. “
You
groveled? With a woman.”

Hell, he’d done everything but get on his knees. And she hadn’t given a damn. The memory of her cold voice and icy eyes flashed through his mind.

“So you have another chance to beg.” Del pointed his beer in Tick’s direction.

“Hardly.” Holy hell, the idea appealed more than it should. He laughed, a raw, ugly sound. “Last time she threatened me with a sexual harassment suit.”

Cookie sputtered over a mouthful of tea. “What?”

Shock slid over Del’s face. “You’re shittin’ me. You?”

“Yeah, me.” Not that she’d have done it. She’d just wanted to get rid of him and that was a surefire way to do it. At least he didn’t think she would have. Hell, he wasn’t certain of anything where she was concerned anymore. The woman he’d come home to after Mississippi was someone other than the one he’d left behind. He frowned. “She’s changed.”

“Changed?” Del leaned back to give Lola room to set down their plates. Steam drifted up from his platter of sizzling fajitas.

Tick pushed his number-two special aside, appetite gone. “She’s cold, hard. Not that she wasn’t cool before, but…”

How to explain the chilly professionalism Caitlin used like a shield against the bureau’s old boy network? But she’d never turned it on him, at least not until he’d returned. He’d always gotten the real deal and during that week before he’d gone undercover, he’d thought she’d let him in, given him access to the woman who lived under the Betty Bureau façade.

“You know, people don’t change without a reason,” Del said.

“Yeah.” Tick slumped, tracing a droplet of condensation down the side of his glass with a fingertip.

What did it matter why she changed? Knowing that wouldn’t result in her taking him back.

“Wait a second.” Cookie mixed his rice into his refried beans, a frown drawing his heavy brows together. Tick knew that expression well—he’d seen it often enough when they were working a case and Cookie was trying to fit all the pieces together. “We’re talking about the same woman, right?”

“No, her evil twin.”

“The way she watches you?”

“What are you—” Screw it. He was tired, and they were over. All he could hope for was to get through the next few days with his sanity intact.

“How does she watch him?” Del’s quiet voice brought him back to reality. He looked up to meet his brother’s dark eyes, the same chocolate brown as his own. Why the hell did Del have to go and ask that?

“Like a starving dog eyes a juicy T-bone steak.” Cookie forked up a bite of chimichanga. “Man, you didn’t make a move today that she didn’t see, which doesn’t make sense if she kicked your ass to the curb. Why’d she dump you?”

“I don’t know.” All he’d ever been able to get out of her was she didn’t want him anymore.

Like a freakin’ broken record.
Just go, Tick. It’s over. Damn it, Tick, leave me alone. Please go. I don’t want you anymore.
Hell, he’d heard those words in his dreams for weeks. No wonder he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t
want
to sleep.

What had turned Caitlin against him during those months he’d been away? He’d figured she’d simply changed her mind, as she claimed. He’d even wondered if she’d found someone else. But…today, being around her, getting a good close look…

The shuttered blankness of her gaze.

This Caitlin watched the world with the shadowed, expressionless eyes of a soul destroyed. What in holy hell had happened to her? To
them
?