Читать книгу To Catch a Killer - Kimberly Van Meter - Страница 11

Kara’s head ached and her skin itched.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked from above the rim of his coffee cup. “You look like shit.”

She ignored him for the moment and took a bracing swallow of her own coffee—black without sugar—before attempting an answer. The hot brew burnt the crap out of her tastebuds but oddly the flash of pain was more welcome than the uneasy thoughts making soup of her brain. “Just because you say that with an accent doesn’t make it any less insulting.”

Dillon made a face. “Someone’s gone into mommy-mode. Next are you going to tell me that if I’ve got nothing nice to say I should—”

“Shut the hell up?” she provided with a false smile.

“Something like that. I seem to remember that saying being a little less acerbic and more polite but that certainly gets the point across. So, what’s with the nerves? You’re drumming your thumbs,” he pointed out, which immediately made her slide her hands under the table away from view. “Something’s got you strung pretty tight. What is it?”

She could try and pass it off as extreme fatigue—hell, she’d been trying to do that since 4:00 a.m.—but it was no use. Someone had whispered in her ear. She’s here. And yet, her room had been empty. How the hell was she supposed to say that without looking as if she’d just spilled her crackers? “I didn’t sleep well,” she said, leaving it at that.

“Not me. I slept like a baby. This motel sure doesn’t look like much from the outside—in fact, it looks like the kind of place where the crazed proprietor slits your throat in your sleep—but in all, the beds are quite adequate.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” she said wryly, choking down another hot swallow as she started to feel the caffeine working its way into her body, clearing away the cobwebs of sleep until she felt somewhat back to herself. It was a dream, she rationalized with a great deal of relief. A very lucid, very vivid dream. Not uncommon for people who are extremely fatigued. Now she felt just a little ridiculous for wasting so much of her precious sleep time shaking in her bed over something that was clearly not real.

Just in time. The rest of the CARD Team came into the small breakfast joint and Kara was grateful for the need to focus on the job.

D’Marcus Jones, the high-tech computer specialist who looked as far from a geek as one could get, slid into the seat beside her while Tana Miller and Zane Harris took the seats flanking Dillon. Everyone except Tana signaled for coffee. Tana preferred green tea and always brought her own. All she required was a mug of steaming hot water.

“Does it always rain like this here?” D’Marcus asked, eyeing the dismal weather with something of a scowl. “I feel like I’m gonna mold or something. Even the sheets felt damp.”

“I think it’s invigorating,” Tana said, her cheeks still pink from the early-morning run she’d taken on the black-sand beach a short walk from their motel. “I could live here.”

Kara withheld comment. The beaches here were savagely beautiful with sharp, craggy cliffs that accepted the ocean’s constant battering with stoic dignity, eroding with time until deep fissures ran with seawater as the spray erupted with a violent explosion against the rocks. Many a tourist, inexperienced with the nature of Northern California’s coastal beaches, sank to a watery grave when they turned their back to the ocean.

And it wasn’t warm. Not even in the summer. The water remained a chilly temperature and dive suits were necessary if prolonged exposure was planned. But Kara never went into the ocean. Not after her dad took a fishing boat into a squall after a bender and never came back. It’d been her senior year. Neal’s family had taken her in so she could graduate.

“Didn’t you grow up here?” D’Marcus asked, pouring two creams into his white ceramic mug.

“Yes.” How many times had she wished she’d been born somewhere other than the Emerald Triangle, the place where marijuana grows as freely as the foxglove? More times than she could count. She’d never truly fit in with the locals—but she was one. “Let’s get this meeting started,” she said briskly, ending the invitation for story hour or trips down Memory Lane. “The weather is likely to get worse before it gets better and if you don’t want to spend the entire day wet and puking your guts out, we’d better get a move on.”

“What’s this puking part?” D’Marcus asked, his dark brows drawn in a troubled line. “I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“You know the road from Willits to Westport?” Kara asked, and D’Marcus nodded warily. “Well, the roads we’re going on will put that road to shame. Ten-mile-an-hour switchbacks, seven percent grade … you might want to take some Dramamine before we head out. We’re going deep into the redwoods today.”

“We who? I thought we’re staying here to set up the command center while you and that police chief guy are going out to the backwoods?”

Kara startled. “What? Who said that?“ She shot a look at Dillon, who returned her hard stare with a nonchalant one that made her want to strangle the shit out of him. She’d enjoy watching his eyeballs pop out like little marbles and roll around on the floor. Then she’d stomp on them. Little sneaky Brit.

“Listen, don’t get your panties in a twist. I called the police station, looking for a trail guide, so’s we don’t get lost in the heathen beauty of this place you used to call home and get our heads shot off by one of the hippie locals because we stumbled on their retirement plan. Lucky for us, the chief volunteered.”

“We don’t need him,” she said, brushing off Dillon’s idea quickly. She was not spending all day tromping around the forest with Matthew. She suppressed a shiver that wasn’t entirely born of distaste and ignored Dillon’s expression. “D’Marcus, you can come with me. Chief Beauchamp can worry about his own investigations. I’m sure he has plenty to do without horning in on ours.”

“Actually, I agree with Dillon,” D’Marcus interrupted. “He knows the area, he’s got the authority to squelch any problems with the locals and I’m betting he doesn’t get carsick. Dramamine makes me tired. You know I can’t take that stuff and use my brain at the same time. It’s better if I stay behind at the command center. Besides, that new equipment is coming in and I need to be here to get it set up.”

“So it’s settled, then?” Dillon said casually. “You and the chief will go. Great. I’m starved. What’s good here?”

“It’s not settled,” she snapped, startling the team with her tone. Count to ten. Get a grip. Stop letting Matthew get under your damn skin! Mentally giving herself a slap upside the head, she forced a shrug. “Fine.” But then she offered Dillon a mean smile as she said, “But you get to interview the locals while I’m gone.” She rose from the table, her appetite all but gone. “I’d suggest you start with Tally’s at the Pier, and if you order anything, try the catch of the day. It’s … delicious.”

If Dillon knew her at all, her tone was saying the opposite.

“Not much of a fish guy,” Dillon said. He knew her well. “But thanks anyway.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kara said sweetly, and after everyone was clear on their assignments, she left the diner.

Acid churning in her stomach, she tried to keep focused but with the lack of sleep and her nerves stretched taut as piano wire, it was a futile effort. Returning to her room, she closed the door behind her and sagged against it. Flipping her cell phone, she hit the speed dial for home and waited for the familiar voice of Mai, Briana’s Vietnamese nanny, to pick up. After four rings, it went to voice mail. Only mildly troubled, for there were multiple reasons why Mai or Briana might not pick up, she sighed and pocketed her cell phone without leaving a message. She’d try again tonight when she’d be more likely to catch them.

She walked to the table where her notes were strewn and studied the case files of each victim with a slow and methodical style, going over every detail as if they weren’t already etched into her memory. A soft, distressed sound escaped her lips. So young. The nightmare started with Jason Garvin, son of an architectural drafting professor at Washington University. At that point they had no idea there’d be more. It had seemed a random abduction by a stranger—a crime of opportunity. But then, not long after, Drake Nobles, the son of California senator Peter Nobles was taken and found, mere days later, with the same ligature marks as the previous victim. Kara had known then with an uncomfortable certainty that they had a serial killer on the loose. Unfortunately, that was also the point when the case had been catapulted into the public eye and she’d been tapped as the official spokesperson for the CARD Team. Kara hated the spotlight, preferring to work in the shadows, quietly and efficiently getting things done, but Director Colfax had wanted her front and center for reasons that chafed.

And now the most recent victim, Hannah Linney, the daughter of an assistant district attorney in San Francisco, had disappeared last week when she was last seen walking home from school with her nanny. The nanny’s body had been discovered in an alley by the school and all trace of Hannah was gone. Kara flipped through the crime scene photos. Hannah had been a fighter. There was evidence that she’d scratched and clawed her assailant, although no DNA was found under her nails. They’d been scraped clean postmortem. Whoever had taken these children knew enough to leave nothing behind other than what they wanted found.

Aside from the first case, the other two were snatched in California. There was nothing to tie them together. At least nothing she could see. But she was sure there was something. The Babysitter fancied himself clever. Her lip curled. She hated that term, which had been coined by the media. Now she was using it, as well. Her stomach growled and she tossed back a few stale almonds left over from last night. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep any weight on, she thought, recalling Matthew’s comment about her figure. This kind of work would kill anyone’s appetite.

A knock at the door drew her attention and she instinctively knew it was Matthew, but she approached the door with caution just the same.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Her stomach tensed as anxiety twisted her nerves but she’d die before she’d let Matthew know just how much he put her on edge.