Hold on to Me (5 page)

Caitlin’s running shoes hit the packed clay path in a steady, soothing rhythm. After checking into her room, she’d forgone the idea of food, her stomach twisted in tight knots. A park with a large pond and jogging path lay across the street from the hotel, and seeking to calm the adrenaline-inspired energy making her nerves tingle, she’d donned shorts and a T-shirt, clipped her holster and cell phone in place, slid her Bluetooth headpiece over her ear and set out.

The close-to-setting sun glared red and gold through the pine trees surrounding the pond, casting long shadows on the path, glimmering on the water in gilded wavelets. On the patch of grass to the north, a family gathered around a picnic table and a group of teenage boys played a game of pickup football. A twang of country music drifted from a truck parked in the gravel lot, a young couple leaning against the hood in a soft embrace.

The exercise and the peaceful setting weren’t helping. Her entire body still jangled with tension. From the moment she’d learned she’d be working with Tick, she’d known this was going to be bad.

It had turned out to be worse than she ever expected.

Her control, the quality that had made her the Fed she was, had been shot all to hell for months now. She struggled with separating herself from the victims, and being with Tick didn’t help.

The image of him in faded jeans and that damp, worn T-shirt rose in her mind. Even with him sweaty and smelly, she’d been hard put not to throw herself at him when she’d stepped out of the car. The intensity of that desire to be close to him, the bubbling of joy at being in his presence again, sent fear scrambling through her. He remained a dangerous distraction and she needed her focus. Only single-minded concentration would get her through this.

The headpiece pinged at her ear. “Falconetti.”

“Well?” Concerned curiosity suffused Gina Bocaccio’s voice and Caitlin sighed, surprised her partner hadn’t called sooner, like five minutes after her estimated arrival time in Georgia.

“Well, what?” she asked, starting her second lap.

“Girl, don’t even try that. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” To her left, a duck gave a squawk and slid into the water, diving at June bugs skimming over the surface. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“God, you’re such a bad liar. A bad liar with denial issues.”

Silence hummed between them.

“Cait?”

“I’m here.”

“You know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You spend too much time trying to be perfect and too little time trying to be human. You are, you know. Things happen. Bad things, but it wasn’t your fault and—”

“Gina. Stop.” She skidded to a halt, bending over against the sudden sharp pain knifing through her chest and side. It wasn’t all physical, she knew that, but she rested her elbows on her knees and tried to breathe through it. Black dots danced at the edges of her vision, the panic trying to get a hold on her mind. She dragged in a lungful of oxygen, staring at a lone pebble in the middle of the path. Focusing. “I can’t do this. Not now.”

“You need to tell him.”

Caitlin recoiled from the bald statement. She straightened and swept a loose hank of hair from her face. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades, sending an icy little frisson down her spine. “No.”

“Cait—”

“I can’t.” She’d tried, didn’t Gina get that? She’d always planned to tell him. God, she’d thought about it for
months
, waiting for him to come home from Mississippi. She’d practiced the damn words an infinite number of ways.

When he’d walked into her office that rainy morning, his dark gaze alight with joy and hunger, she hadn’t been able to do it. Somehow, killing that joy by sending him away seemed more right than telling the truth, watching the hunger be replaced by duty.

If she’d told him, he’d have stayed and she’d never have known why. She wasn’t doing that to either of them. At least this way, he didn’t have to live with it every day. He could move on.

“This is going to blow up in your face, Cait. I know it and so do you.”

“Look, Gina. He’s the poster boy for the perfect family man. Loves his mom, loves kids, wants a house full of them one day.” She choked over the words, over the lump of tears pushing up in her throat, and swallowed a curse. “I’m here to assist on a case. Do the job, get out, don’t get involved. Just like always. Nothing’s going to happen because I’m not going to let it.”

She turned back toward the hotel, retracing her steps. A Chandler County sheriff’s car pulled into the gravel lot, its tinted windows hiding the driver. It paused behind the pickup truck, brake lights flaring, before it purred onto the street again.

“Listen.” Affectionate worry softened Gina’s tone. “If you need anything—”

“I won’t.” She glanced at her watch. Long enough to shower, get herself together before she headed into the lion’s den once more. “I have to go.”

For long moments after she broke the connection, she concentrated on steadying her breathing, fighting back another wave of stupid, hopeless tears.

The squad room lay quiet and deserted. A subdued rumble of activity drifted up the stairs from the dispatch area, mixing with the scent of stale coffee lingering in the air.

The few bites of chile relleno Tick had forced himself to eat formed a lump in his stomach. He tucked his cigarettes in his pocket, the two he’d smoked back-to-back on the way over here not really settling him down.

He paused in the doorway to the conference room. Jeff and Cookie were nowhere in sight. Caitlin sat, reading the red leather-bound journal they’d taken from Amy’s room, a cup from the local java joint at her elbow. He watched her, the thick black silk of her hair pulled into a loose knot, the Fibbie suit traded for jeans and a simple white T-shirt under a neat seersucker jacket. One loafer-clad foot tapped the floor, a frown of concentration wrinkling her brow.

Damn, she was beautiful.

Beautiful and scarred. Not visibly damaged, but
something
had stolen her away from him.

Damned if he wasn’t going to find out what. If he was trapped into this working arrangement, so was she. This time, he’d make it a hell of a lot harder for her to dodge the issue.

“Find anything interesting?”

She startled like a scalded cat. The diary slid to the floor and one flailing hand collided with her coffee, sending the dark liquid across the table.

“Oh, hell!” She jumped to her feet and righted the cup. He grabbed a handful of napkins from the shelf by the door and began mopping up the mess. She glared, her eyes big and dark with fury in her pale face. “Don’t sneak up on me like that, Calvert.”

“Who’s sneaking?” He dropped the sopping mass of napkins in the trash. “I just walked into my own department and asked a simple question.”

She leaned down to retrieve the book, but he reached it first. They straightened and he proffered it, merely the length of the volume between them. She took it from him with ill grace. “A little advance warning would be nice.”

“You’re awful jumpy.” He studied her as she sank into the chair again. The color didn’t return to her face and tiny tremors shook her slender fingers. A warning flag waved in his mind.

“I was reading.”

He pulled out the chair cater-cornered and closest to hers, an old interrogator’s trick. She flicked a glance at him and shifted to the farthest edge of her seat.

“So how’ve you been?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Busy?” He leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. He stretched his legs, crowding hers a little, forcing himself into a semblance of casual relaxation. “Probably had to drop a lot of things to come down here.”

“Not really.” She scratched a note on a legal pad, her knuckles white. “I’ve been out of the field.”

That surprised him. She lived for the damn job. At one time, he’d been fully prepared to take a backseat to that drive of hers, as long as they could be together. “Why?”

Her Montblanc pen faltered, ink smearing on the paper. She dropped it and looked up, her eyes cool and shuttered. “Did I miss something, Calvert? When did we agree to play twenty questions?”

He smiled, the “aw-shucks-good-ol’-boy” one he used whenever he had to worm his way under the defenses of a local suspect. “You said it, Falconetti, we have to work together. I’m just playing nice, making conversation.”

“Try selling that line of bull to someone who’ll buy it.” Her hands were in her lap now, but he’d bet his next pack of smokes her fingers were wound into fists. The whole line of her body screamed with tension and the need for escape. How many times had he seen that posture on a perp? “You’re digging.”

“That implies you’re hiding something.”

She pushed her chair back, obviously preparing to flee. “Hiding something? You’re deluded—”

“What is it, Cait?” He grasped her wrist, holding her in the chair with a light touch. “What the hell happened while I was in Mississippi?”

“Let go.”

“Tell me.”

“Don’t touch me.” They stared at one another, the power struggle pulsing to life, growing and twisting between them. “I mean it, Tick, let go or—”

“Or what? You’ll slap a sexual harassment suit on me? Ruin my career?” He leaned forward, ready to call her bluff. “Go for it, precious.”

The endearment he’d only ever used with her slipped out and her eyes widened, darkened. She moistened her lips and tugged against his hold. “You’re hurting me.”

Not physically. He wasn’t holding her tightly enough to do that, but he released her. She had a trapped, hunted air about her now and grim satisfaction curled through him. Oh, yeah, she was hiding something. If he could just find the weak point, break through that damn control of hers…

“I’d never hurt you and you know it.”

“Stop.” Her voice trembled and his chest tightened.

“Not until you—”

“Until nothing. We’re colleagues, Tick,” she said, cold dismissal not quite covering the lingering nervousness in her tone. “That’s all.”

“We used to be friends.”

And lovers.
The words hung in the air, unsaid.

“Well, this looks cozy.”

Damn
. Tick smothered a wave of frustrated anger. Cookie had the worst timing known to man. Tick straightened, making sure his expression was blank before he looked around at the other man. Cookie’s face was a study in smooth guilelessness that didn’t fool Tick for an instant. Jeff stood slightly behind him, a small frown creasing his brow.

Tick crossed his ankle over his knee. “Falconetti’s been looking through Amy’s diary.”

Jeff pulled out a chair at the other end of the table. “Bet that’s a hell of a read.”

Rounding the table to the seat opposite Tick’s, Cookie grinned. “Anything interesting?”

“A record of her sexual conquests.” Caitlin held out the diary. “Look for yourself.”

Cookie leaned forward to take it, his attention dropping to the scooped neckline of her T-shirt and the hint of cleavage exposed. An urge to smack him on the back of the head barreled through Tick. The guy was his friend, a crack investigator, but did he always have to be such a sleaze where women were concerned?

“Cookie, do me a favor, would you?” Tick jerked a thumb toward the door. “Go get my spare lighter out of my desk drawer.”

His partner’s eyebrows lifted, a knowing leer twisting his mouth. “I thought you quit.”

“You thought wrong.” He had quit, for the third time since January. This had been his longest stint so far, a whole three weeks without a smoke, but damn it, he needed another nicotine fix. Even worse, he needed Cookie away from Caitlin. “Are you going after it or not?”

“And contribute to your bad health choices? You’re on your own, man.”

“I’ll get it.” Jeff pushed up from his chair and disappeared through the door. Smiling, Cookie leaned back and opened the diary.

A pulsating silence so thick it was palpable descended, broken only by the soft tap of Caitlin’s loafer on the tile. She folded her arms over her midriff, gaze trained on the book in Cookie’s hands.

“Here you go.” Jeff tossed him the lighter and Tick tugged the pack of menthols out of his pocket.

Caitlin eyed them. “What are you trying to do, commit suicide slowly?”

She didn’t need to go there with him right now.

Cookie didn’t look up from the diary. “You can’t smoke in here anyway. State law.”

Jeff gestured at the book. “So how many are there?”

“Several.” Caitlin lifted a shoulder in that easy elegant shrug of hers. “It spans a six-month period or so. She didn’t write every day. And I like I said, a lot of it is a chronicle of her sexual activities. I think her father was aware of what was going on and it drove him crazy.”

“Knowing Tommy, I imagine so.” Tick creased the front of his jeans along his shin. “He’d be afraid it’d hurt his chances for reelection if it got out his daughter was the local nympho.”

“Cynic.” Cookie continued reading. “Not like the whole damn town didn’t know anyway. Nobody can keep a secret around here.”

Caitlin ignored him. “She doesn’t really name names, although she does describe some men she’s interested in.”

Tick shifted. Ten bucks said Amy had recounted the whole bikini incident. Holy hell, he couldn’t wait for that to be entered into evidence.

“A few weeks ago, the tone of the entries changes. She was involved with someone exclusively and that becomes her focus.”

Jeff tapped his fingers on the scarred tabletop. “I don’t suppose we’re lucky enough to get a name.”

Caitlin shook her head.

Tick pursed his lips. “Any clues as to who this mystery guy is?”

“She doesn’t describe him, other than his prowess, but what she relates about his personality…” She shrugged again. “She should have run like hell.”

“Why?” Genuine interest flared in Jeff’s eyes. Tick hid a grin behind his hand. The kid was always reading psychology books, tomes on criminal profiling. He had to be eating this up.

“He reads like a narcissistic personality disorder. Throw in what sounds like some shadowy sociopathic tendencies, and I’d bet you my next paycheck the man she’s describing is your killer.”

Jeff frowned. “So why would she get involved with this guy in the first place?”

Ice flickered in Caitlin’s eyes. “A narcissist is all about appearances and illusions. There is no real emotion or concern for others within them. All they see is their own desires and how to manipulate others to achieve those desires. They can make themselves into whatever you want them to be, but only as long as it suits their purposes. Amy probably didn’t realize what she was dealing with until it was too late.”

Cookie looked up, his gaze fixed on her face. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

Jeff groaned. “She’s a criminal profiler, Cookie, for Pete’s sake. Of course it’s the voice of experience.”

“My father,” Caitlin said, her voice quiet. Tick watched the flash of understanding that flared between Caitlin and his partner, and jealousy tingled over him. He couldn’t get her to open up, but Cookie could? “He was a textbook example and my mother couldn’t extricate herself. It made for an interesting childhood.”

Cookie tapped the book. “You see something else in here, don’t you?”

She slanted a cautious glance at Tick. “I think he’s a cop.”

“What?” His stomach took a slow, sickening roll. “Hell, what makes you think that?”

“Probably the stuff like this.” Cookie flipped back a page and began to read. “He’d just gotten off work. I had him leave his clothes on, including the holster and the gun. I love the idea of it, the power. It’s the biggest turn-on ever.”

“It’s southwest Georgia.” Jeff chuckled, a hint of derision in the sound. “Have you seen all the gun racks on pickups? Hell, just about every guy here has a gun and they wear them. All you need is a permit.”

“It’s more than that,” Caitlin said softly. “She mentions the use of handcuffs—don’t look at me like that, Calvert, I know anybody can buy them, but still—it’s the way she talks about him. I simply…damn it, I think he’s a cop.”

Tick tugged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Intuition?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.”

“Yes.” She looked away. “I might be wrong.”

He pushed up to pace. “And when, exactly, was the last time you were wrong about an offender profile?”

“Well…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Great. Just freakin’ great.” He didn’t want to think about it. Now he’d be giving every guy he worked with, from every department in this end of the state, the once-over, wondering which one it could be.

“He could be an ex-cop. Or a wannabe who couldn’t pass the psychological to get into the academy. God knows we see enough of those—”

“You realize this makes all three of us suspects.” He stopped and faced her.

“Everyone’s a suspect. That’s the number one rule. You know that, Calvert. And I’m only theorizing. I don’t know enough yet to say more. Besides, if we start trying to put any unsub offender into a neat little slot, we’re bound to be disappointed.”

“Hey, I’m in here.” Cookie chuckled.

“Why am I not surprised?” Jeff cast a glance heavenward.

The weight of the day’s events settled squarely in the middle of Tick’s back. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

“Nah.” Grinning, Cookie passed him the book. “May twenty-third.”

Not wanting to read the account, but compelled to do so, Tick accepted the journal. He skimmed the entry, relief and disgust tangling in him. “Because you wrote her a flippin’ speeding ticket. When are you going to grow up?”

“You’re grown up enough for both of us. I’ve got to start on that database.” He stood to rummage in the banker’s box for the evidence bag holding Amy’s address book. He tagged Jeff on the arm. “You can help me.”

Rising, Jeff gestured between Tick and Caitlin. “What are you two going to do?”

Caitlin glanced at Tick and away. He cleared his throat. “What colleagues do in an investigation. Follow the rule of twenty-four and delve into Amy and Vontressa’s lives.”