Hold on to Me (6 page)

During the minutes before the seven a.m. shift change, quiet permeated the sheriff’s office, and in the makeshift war room, Caitlin buried herself in the materials related to the case, free from the distraction of Tick’s presence. The hours they’d spent after dinner the night before, interviewing Vontressa King’s friends, had seemed a special kind of torture. After midnight and countless unsuccessful interviews, they’d parted with a polite distance between them.

That hadn’t stopped her from dreaming of him.

She rubbed at her eyes, gritty and dry from lack of sleep. With Amy’s diary and address book open before her, she jotted notes on a legal pad, adding to the twelve pages she’d already written since her arrival at the obscene hour of four a.m. She lifted her cup of coffee. The lukewarm liquid left an acidic aftertaste, much like the aftermath of her dreams, first the nightmares that left her smothering screams, later the dreams about Tick that always left her breathless and wanting.

Grimacing, she leaned back in the rickety chair and surveyed the photos on the bulletin board again. No matter what path she took, she returned to Amy Gillabeaux. Amy had to be the key to finding this killer—her death was different enough to provide a lead the others wouldn’t. Before he’d gone home to catch a couple hours of sleep, Cookie had given her the folders organized for each victim, and she pulled Amy’s forward, lifting her senior photo to study it. Amy stared at her with a cool smile and mischievous eyes.

Caitlin tilted her head, still studying the photo. She recognized that smile—she’d hidden behind one just like it most of her life. A persona to hide the fear and insecurity inside.

“What happened to you, Amy?” she whispered. “Who wanted you dead?”

The instinctive knowledge that Amy’s killer had been someone she’d known well remained. The other three women seemed to be victims of opportunity, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amy’s death…this death had been one of purpose, of planning. She alone carried bruises on her face; she alone bore stab wounds. The others didn’t. They still hadn’t located Vontressa King’s missing car. The doors had been unlocked on Sharon Ingler’s car, the contents of her purse spread across the passenger seat. Amy’s car had been discovered in a local parking lot, doors locked, her purse gone—as if she’d left to go with someone else.

Willingly.

“Agent Falconetti. You’re up early.” Jeff Schaefer’s deep voice interrupted her reverie. He leaned in the doorway, alert and professional, two cups of coffee in hand. The fluorescent light glinted off his brown hair. “Brought you some fresh caffeine.”

“Good morning, Investigator.” She accepted the coffee and he dropped into the chair closest to her. A hint of sports deodorant wafted over her, and she shifted away. “Thanks.”

“Call me Jeff.” He glanced at the legal pad on the table. “Looks like you’ve been busy. What have you got?”

She shrugged and took a cautious sip of the hot, fresh brew. “Not much more than we talked about last night. I’m just organizing my thoughts. Tick’s obviously right about his cleansing the bodies.”

Schaefer nodded. “He doesn’t want us to have any DNA or other trace evidence we can use to nail him.”

“And he’s dumping the bodies at a secondary location, so we can’t analyze the actual kill site. He’s an organized personality—thinks things through, is prepared for the kill, even if the women seem to be victims of opportunity.”

“Like I said, he thinks he’s smarter than us.”

“Probably. We’re going to prove him wrong. We’ll start with our victimology, focusing on Amy Gillabeaux.”

“Why Amy?”

“Rule of twenty-four. She’s your most recent victim, even if she was found before Vontressa King. It’ll be easier to backtrack the forty-eight hours before and after her death.”

“So basically we’re going to delve into Amy’s secrets, huh? Figure her level of risk.”

She studied him. Younger than Tick and Cookie, he nevertheless exuded quiet professionalism, from his appearance to his demeanor. He not only talked the talk, he seemed to walk the walk as well. “You have profiling experience?”

“Just watch a lot of that courtroom cable channel.”

“Sure you do.” Good training wasn’t hard to see, and he had it. His earnest attitude reminded her of Tick as a young Quantico recruit.

“Hey, I was a road cop for nine years before I got this job. I’ve picked some things up along the way. I read a lot, and I took a course on forensic profiling last summer.” He chuckled, levering himself out of the chair. “Where do we start?”

He vibrated with eagerness. Caitlin hesitated; given a choice, she’d rather do this with Tick. She trusted him, despite everything, and they’d always worked well together. “Shouldn’t we wait for Tick or Cook?”

Schaefer shook his head. “Tick called into dispatch a few minutes ago. Power outage at his place last night—his clock didn’t go off and he overslept. He’s running late. And Cook works a split shift today—he won’t be in until twelve.”

Well, she didn’t have a choice, did she? “Then let’s go talk to the parents.”

A discreet housekeeper ushered Caitlin and Schaefer into the Gillabeaux’s elegant living room. Light bounced off gleaming hardwood floors, and tasteful accoutrements gave the room a magazine-photo quality. Caitlin glanced at the portraits hanging in a neat row above the couch. Amy looked down on the room with the same reserved smile and wicked eyes from her senior photo.

Eloise Gillabeaux rose from a tapestry wing chair to greet them, her face ravaged by grief, dark circles under her eyes, deep lines cut into the papery skin around her mouth. “Good morning, Investigator.”

Schaefer nodded. “Mrs. Gillabeaux, this is Special Agent Falconetti, from the FBI.”

Caitlin kept her smile soft, taking the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Gillabeaux, I’m so sorry for your loss. Thank you for agreeing to see us this morning.”

Eloise drew in a shaky breath. She sank into the chair, hands clenched in her lap. “I-I just want you to find the monster who did this to Amy. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

Caitlin took the wing chair nearest the couch. Schaefer remained standing, resting his arm along the fireplace mantel. She balanced her notebook on her knee and smiled again. “Mrs. Gillabeaux, I need to know everything you can tell me about Amy. Her friends, her schedule, even if it doesn’t seem important.”

“She was our baby,” Eloise said, tears glistening on sparse lashes. She swallowed and blinked rapidly. “We had four boys and then Amy. She was always Daddy’s little girl…she was very much like Tommy, too. Strong willed, but she loved people. She was very popular.”

Caitlin nodded. “Did she have close friends? Someone she would confide in?”

Eloise dabbed at her eyes with a crumpled, lace-trimmed handkerchief. “She’d just moved last semester into an apartment near the college. Her roommate was her best friend from high school, Laurie Gold. Laurie is the one who called us when Amy didn’t come home Tuesday night.”

Her voice broke over the words, and Caitlin leaned forward. How awful losing a child was. A cold pain settled around her heart, but she shut it off, tucked it away. Focus. She needed focus. “Take your time, Mrs. Gillabeaux. Whenever you’re ready.”

“This is just so hard to believe,” Eloise sobbed, and Caitlin reached out to touch her clenched hands. “Why would anyone want to hurt her? Amy loved people…she was always wanting to help others. That’s why she volunteered at the center—”

“The center?”

“The women’s crisis center. Amy volunteered there two days a week, when she didn’t have classes.”

Caitlin nodded and jotted the information down. “Did Amy have a boyfriend?”

Eloise shook her head. “Oh, no. She wasn’t ready to settle down yet. Her father used to tell her she had to date at least twenty-five men before she would be ready to make a decision regarding marriage. She would just laugh and tell him no one would compare to her daddy.”

The revelation brought on fresh tears and Caitlin waited for the woman’s composure to be restored before continuing. “Did you see Amy on Monday?”

“No. She went to church with us Sunday and spent the afternoon here. We usually talk on the phone every day, but I didn’t…I didn’t call her Monday.”

Caitlin closed her notebook after removing a business card. “Mrs. Gillabeaux, this is my card. If you remember anything at all, even if it seems unimportant, please call me. My cellular number is there, or you can reach me at the sheriff’s office. And thank you again for seeing us.”

“Please don’t thank me.” Eloise struggled for composure. “Just find the person who killed my daughter.”

The same maid appeared to show them out. “Where is the women’s crisis center?” Caitlin asked as they walked to Schaefer’s unmarked unit.

“It’s in the old high school building,” he said and unlocked the car by remote. He walked directly to the driver’s side and, unlike Tick, he didn’t bother to open the door for her. “Tori Calvert, Tick’s sister, is the director.”

“I know.” She latched her seat belt. During their last phone conversation, when Tori had called with questions about a paper for her graduate courses in psychology, the younger woman had joked that she’d gotten the job because no one else wanted it. Caitlin smiled, aware that had to be as far from the truth as possible.

“That’s right. You worked her case. Tick called in favors to get you to profile Reese.” He adjusted the rearview mirror before backing out of the drive. “So let me guess—our next stop is the center?”

“Exactly.”

She gazed out at the imposing façade of the Gillabeaux home. The house she’d grown up in possessed the same classic red brick, huge white columns and air of stately decorum. Homes like that, displaying the class and status of old money, pressed on their inhabitants, pushing them into socially appropriate roles. Here was one half of Amy’s double life—the good daughter, the good girl, aching for freedom, seeking something this life didn’t give her.

Something in her other life, the one where Amy hadn’t had to be a good girl, had gotten her killed. Caitlin was sure of it.

Caitlin’s shoes clicked against the tile in the women’s center lobby. Despite the institutional flooring, a sense of calm and comfort saturated the room thanks to soft pastels on the walls and even softer music coming from a CD player behind the reception desk.

The blonde working the desk glanced up, smiled at Schaefer and flicked a curious glance at Caitlin. “Hey, Jeff. How are you?”

He leaned against the waist-high desk and tapped his fingers against the white countertop. “I’m good. Is Tori in?”

“She’s in her office, working on the budget, but she’ll be glad to see you. You know the way.”

“Come on.” Schaefer motioned down a long, narrow hall. Caitlin shook her head and followed him. Professional he might be, but he lacked Tick’s ingrained good manners. As much as she’d laughed over Tick’s opening doors for her or rising when she entered a room, she missed the way it made her feel—special and very feminine. Or maybe he just made her feel that way.

And maybe she should simply focus on her job.

“Come here often?” Caitlin asked, and Schaefer chuckled.

“I handle most of our sexual assault cases since we don’t have a female deputy yet,” he explained. “Cookie doesn’t always have the right, er, demeanor for them, and Tick…well, those cases set his teeth on edge, if you know what I mean.”

“I do.” She remembered Stanton having to drag Tick off rapist Billy Reese during the arrest. He’d been icily calm until Reese had started yelling taunts about Tori, then he had lost control. Caitlin had pulled him from the room, forcing him to look at her while she ordered him to calm down. His tortured expression had done her in—all she’d wanted was to make the rage and agony go away.

The whole tangled mess between them had probably started that night. It had simply taken three more years to come to fruition.

Schaefer’s comment about Cookie surprised her, though. Cook had layers and she’d already pegged the sleazy persona as a mask, maybe because she wore her own every day. After dinner, once they’d gotten down to business, the investigator had been quick, articulate and an utmost professional.

“Plus, Tick and I teach a women’s self-defense course here a couple nights a week,” Schaefer said. That comment brought Caitlin back to reality and a smile to her lips. She could imagine Tick doing so and doing a darned good job, too. She didn’t understand why he had doubts about taking this position. He was the kind of guy who was always there when needed, and the community needed him.

He never shirked a responsibility.

Schaefer stopped at an open office door, rapping lightly on the frame. “Ms. Calvert, I’m with the sheriff’s department and I need a word with you, please.”

Her back to the door, Tori Calvert didn’t turn from the computer screen. Long dark hair spilled over her shoulders in a shining fall. “Jeff, unless you’re coming to tell me that you won the lottery and you’re donating the money to the center, I don’t have time.”

“Would you have time for the FBI?” Caitlin asked.

“Oh my gosh, Cait!” Tori jumped from her chair and rushed to embrace her. Caitlin hugged back, affection surging through her. “What are you
doing
here?” She stopped, glancing from Caitlin to Schaefer and back, sobering quickly. “Oh. Of course. Amy and Sharon. And now Vontressa. When did you get here? Why didn’t Tick tell me you were coming? Oh, gosh, it’s good to see you!”

Caitlin smiled. Tori hadn’t changed—happy or upset, she still bubbled over with questions. “I got in yesterday afternoon. I have no clue why Tick didn’t tell you, so you’ll have to ask him. And it’s good to see you, too.”

Tori stepped back. Her eyes, the same chocolate shade as Tick’s, sparkled with excitement. “You look wonderful! But you always do.” She wrapped her arm around Caitlin’s waist and grinned up at Schaefer, who leaned in the doorway and watched them. “Jeff, did I ever tell you that when I was a teenager and first met Cait while she was at Quantico with Tick, I hoped they’d get married? He was so besotted with her it was pitiful. I just knew they’d make a great couple and have beautiful babies together. I even had names picked out.”

Caitlin’s breath stopped in her throat and she struggled to keep her composure.
Good God, Falconetti, she’s only teasing. Pull it together.

“Actually, no, you never shared that with me.” Schaefer laughed. “Maybe we could have dinner Saturday night and you could tell me more.”

Tori grinned. “Mikata’s?”

He nodded, blue eyes glowing with male appreciation. “Sounds good. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

“How about I meet you there instead? We can walk over to the theater afterward.”

Caitlin drew a sharp inhale. “Tori, I hate to interrupt, but I wanted to talk to you about Amy Gillabeaux. Her mother said she volunteered here.”

“I’ll tell you everything I can, but I need to get away from that awful budget for a while. Jeff, you’re dismissed.” She waved him away. “Cait, I can tell you about Amy over lunch.”

Caitlin started to protest, but knew the gesture would be futile, like disagreeing with Tick when he had his mind set on something. Somehow, she’d keep Tori focused on Amy, not on catching up and all the places that could lead. Faking a smile, she gave the younger woman a teasing salute. “Yes, ma’am. Let’s go.”