The Kill (13 page)

She frowned.

“What?” he prompted.

“Well, I’ve a feeling there’s something about these first victims that’s different than the others. But I don’t see what.”

Zack looked at the dates on the wall. “Let’s talk this out. The guy moves from state to state. Why? To avoid detection. How? Is he independently wealthy? In a job that moves around a lot? Sales maybe?”

Olivia shook her head. “I agree with the why, but the how? I’m thinking he doesn’t need a lot of money to live on. He’s single. Disciplined. Probably doesn’t indulge in a lot of luxuries.”

“But he’s not living on the street.”

“No. He’s clean. Probably meticulous in his appearance. Has an honest face. That’s why Jenny Benedict walked off with him. He doesn’t look like he’d harm a fly.”

“Maybe some sort of retail job? In a mall? Lots of kids hang out at the mall, shop there with parents. Perfect hunting ground.”

Olivia wrote notes on the board.
Occupation: Retail? Possibly mall
. “He’d be good with people, particularly women. Conversational. Probably sounds educated, can talk about a variety of subjects. Manipulative, but not obviously so.”

Zack said, “If he moves every couple of years, he’s probably not in a career where he’d need an established client base, like a lawyer or doctor. What about something with kids? Like a teacher?”

“Teacher. Maybe.” She wrote it next to
Occupation
on the board. “Except . . .” She stopped. She didn’t have any facts to back up her feelings. Maybe she was saying too much. Leading Zack down the wrong path. What if she made a mistake? What if they focused on a part of the investigation that gave them no results? What if they wasted precious time because of her feelings?

“Olivia?” Zack prompted.

“Teacher’s a good idea. Kansas was the last place we know for sure he was. We can contact all the schools in Seattle, see if anyone transferred from Kansas.”

“Not a bad idea, except you don’t think he’s a teacher.”

“But maybe he is. We can’t ignore your instincts.”

“I’ll get Boyd on it, but I want to know what you’re thinking.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. “I’m not a profiler, I don’t know for sure—”

“Dammit, Olivia, I’m not a damn profiler either.” He ran a hand through his hair and stared at the ceiling. She’d obviously said the wrong thing, but what?

“Look, stop second-guessing yourself.” Zack said. “Just spill it. If it’s a stupid thought, I’ll forget you said it, okay? I thought we had this conversation already.”

Olivia mentally slapped herself. She had to start acting like the seasoned FBI agent she’d led Zack into believing she was.

“No, I don’t think he’s a teacher,” she said with conviction.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t think he would be able to stop himself from touching the girls if he was surrounded by them every day.”

Zack nodded. “Good point.”

“But I think we should look into it.”

“I will.”

Olivia stared at the board. It was obvious now that the first victim was killed long before the remaining victims in the same city, but why?

“You might be on to something,” Zack said a moment later.

“What?”

“Why he doesn’t work with kids. You said it’s because he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off the girls. He’d be discovered very quickly. So part of his discipline is to stay away from temptation.”

“Makes sense.”

“The first victim in each town is separated by time . . . what if his first kill is spontaneous? He’s afraid he’s made a mistake, and goes into hiding. Waits, makes sure the police don’t know enough to find him. Also, look here . . .” Zack got up and grabbed the dry-erase marker from Olivia’s hand. He did some math under each grouping of victims. By the time he reached Texas, Olivia saw what he saw.

“The bodies of the first victims took longer to find.” All the other victims were discovered within days. The first victims were discovered in weeks.

“He didn’t hide them exactly, but he must have dumped the bodies in low-traffic areas,” Zack said.

“Is there any way to get information from the other cities? Some of these cases are so old . . .”

“I’ll get it.” He glanced at his watch. “I didn’t realize it was so late. I need to call Nashville about the tattoo—they were supposed to fax over the report.” He picked up the phone.

“Can you get the entire file sent over?”

“I’ll ask, but it might take a couple of days. It’s been ten years.”

While Zack talked to the cops in Nashville, Olivia studied the map. Jillian Reynolds’s body was discovered within three miles of where she was last seen. According to Sheriff Rodgers, her mother and the police believed the girl had drowned and focused their attention on the beach areas, with only a secondary effort made to search the rest of the island. Olivia had read the report last night. The ferry videos had been monitored, with the thought that she might have run away, or just wanted to ride the ferry and maybe got lost, or that if there had been foul play, they would see her with a stranger.

None of that came to fruition, but by the next day they concluded she had likely drowned. The undertow was strong on that side of the island, and therefore she could have been dragged out to sea and her body would follow the current until she was washed ashore, miles away, or caught in a fishing net.

But the killer was methodical. He hadn’t removed her from the island. He’d known about the video surveillance on the ferries and at the docks. Taking her in a private boat would have been dangerous. Especially since he’d abducted her in the morning.

“Zack,” she said.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled into the phone. “What?”

She shook her head. “I forgot you were on the phone.”

“What?” he repeated.

“Jillian was abducted on the island and found on the island. It stands to reason she was killed on the island. It’s not a big place. We need to find out if she was stabbed to death there in the woods. If not . . .”

“The killer had a place to keep her.”

She nodded.

Zack finished up his conversation with Nashville and hung up the phone. “They’re still looking for all the records, but will send what they have. They’re faxing the reports and sending a copy of the entire file. Now let me call Doug Cohn and get him on the soil analysis ASAP. I’m going to owe him big-time when this case is over.”

Jenny Benedict had lived in Sahalee, an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Ten years ago, the area was little more than open space and gentlemen’s ranches; now young families seeking safety for their children and a quiet environment had built up dozens of home developments.

Olivia watched lawn after perfect lawn roll by, all identical green rectangles. Grand, two-story homes indistinguishable but for their alternating faces of brick, stone, or wood. Children rode bikes, though Olivia noted parents stood in attendance. A child had been abducted and killed from this very neighborhood that should have been safe. Parents were more vigilant. For a while, at least.

But one thing was certain: A stranger would stand out in this neighborhood. This killer didn’t. He looked like one of them. Watching for the perfect opportunity to act out his sick fantasies. Waiting for the perfect opportunity to kill.

“You okay?” he asked.

Olivia glanced at him. He didn’t look comfortable, but she didn’t know if it was because he was too large to be comfortable in the midsized sedan or because he had to face Jenny Benedict’s friends and parents.

“Olivia?” he asked again.

“I’m fine,” she said.

“Really.” He glanced pointedly at her hands, then back at the road.

She quickly unclasped her hands, which had been clenched together as she internalized the rage over what had happened to Jenny Benedict. She smoothed down her skirt and stared straight ahead, consciously remembering to keep her hands apart.

Zack parked in front of one of the larger homes in the subdivision, its brick-and-stucco exterior similar to that of the other houses.

“I asked that the two witnesses meet here to make it easier on the girls,” he said. “I already took their statements separately, but I want to see if they remember anything else. They were both emotional at the time. After this I need to check in with Michelle Davidson’s parents. They’ve been calling the station for updates.” He ran a hand over the thick dark stubble on his face. “I don’t know what to tell them. We’re following up on every lead we can find, but each one is a thin thread.”

Olivia reached out and lightly touched his arm with her fingertips. The gesture felt awkward. She’d never been good at consoling anyone. “You’re doing everything you can. They’ll see it in your eyes.”

His dark eyes held hers. An unusual, strange feeling crept into her stomach. A fluttering. She swallowed involuntarily as she realized she was attracted to Zack. She’d easily put romance and sex at the bottom of her priority list. Bottom? Were they even on the list? After her amicable divorce from Greg, she no longer cared. The divorce had been a relief.

She still recognized this rare feeling. It went deeper than physical attraction. She’d noted when she first met him that Zack Travis was sexy in that dark, arrogant cop kind of way. He filled any room with the power of his personality, his mere presence, which had little to do with his build and everything to do with his raw appeal.

But the real attraction was his deep compassion for victims and dogged belief that good police work would catch the bad guys, that he was doing everything possible to bring justice for the survivors. Watching him think and question and care touched her heart.

She turned away. Unnerved, she reached for the door handle to get out of the suddenly too-small car when he grabbed her arm. She froze. She wanted to jerk away and tell him she didn’t like people touching her, but something stopped her. He held her firmly, then eased up as if he sensed her fear.

His fingers caressed her bare arm, his touch surprisingly soft, sensitive, intimate. A complete contradiction to his gruff demeanor. She resisted the urge to lean into his touch and she shivered.

She didn’t dare look at him, her emotions too close to the surface. He’d see how conflicted she was, how needy. How he jumbled her thoughts and feelings and confused her.

“Look at me,” he said.

She shook her head ever so slightly as she swallowed, gathering every ounce of control he so easily made her lose.

“Olivia.”

Taking a deep breath, she faced him. His expression had loosened somehow, lost the usual hard edge. All she could think about was burying her face in his broad chest and letting him hold her. His presence was so strong, so all-encompassing, for a brief moment she believed he could protect her not only from her nightmares, but from all the evil in the world.

Impossible. But her lip quivered, aching to taste him, and she bit it. What in the world was she thinking?

“What makes you tick?”

Her eyes widened. Where had that question come from? What did he want to know? Why?

“Justice,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. Go back to business. She had to rid herself of these unwelcome thoughts about Zack Travis. He was a cop investigating a murder. That was all.

He moved his head ever so slightly back and forth, holding her gaze. His eyes were bottomless, deep and probing. “I don’t think so.”

She broke eye contact, unsettled by the exchange, and pulled her arm from his grasp. She opened the car door. “I don’t care what you think,” she snapped and jumped out, slamming the door behind her, desperate to put distance between them and regain control.

Zack watched Olivia stride to the mailbox and stop. She wasn’t looking at him, but she was most certainly thinking about him. And he was thinking about her. He’d been so close to kissing her. Kissing? Hell, he would have devoured her. The way she looked at him, it wasn’t simple lust. There was a complexity of feelings buried beneath the controlled posture. He wanted to unwrap her and find out why she was so uptight, why she didn’t share anything about herself, why she didn’t like being touched. He wanted to hold her, thaw her. The cold personality was a façade; he’d seen her wrestle with her emotions. He sensed she burned from within but kept her feelings locked up tight.

He wondered what would happen if he found the key.

He got out of the car and kicked the door shut. Olivia St. Martin was hiding something, and while he found her sexy as hell, his number-one concern was the investigation. What could she possibly be hiding? She’d seemed so forthcoming at the lab, working with him and the evidence, her methodical notes on the white board—not at all like the woman who’d just vacated the car.

When he’d first met Superagent yesterday in Pierson’s office, he thought he had her all figured out. Now he had to admit he didn’t know what was going on with her. He remembered her reaction outside the coroner’s office. At the time he thought it was a personal issue, but while they worked together in the conference room she was all professional.

She was hiding something—but was it personal or professional? Or both?

He caught up with her at the mailbox at the end of the path leading to the house.

“If you’re hiding something about this investigation, I will find out,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t let anyone play games with my cases, especially this one. Take all the glory; I couldn’t give a shit about the press or recognition or credit. But don’t mess with the case.”

A flash of anger reddened her cheeks. “Glory?” Her voice was a mere whisper. “You think I care about
glory
? You bastard.”

She brushed past him, her jaw tight.

He’d made her angry, and he wondered what secrets she would spill if he really pushed her. Secrets. Yes, she had secrets. And he was damn well going to find out what they were.

They walked to the door in tense silence. The house belonged to Will and Dina Adams. Their daughter, Laura, had been Jenny’s best friend and a witness to her abduction.

Mr. Adams opened the door before Zack could knock. “Detective Travis,” he said solemnly as he opened the door for them to enter.