Have You Seen Her? (31 page)

“Steven?” she yawned.

“Yes, Jenna.” His voice rumbled in the darkness.

“You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.”

“I know. I want to stay for me.” His hand stroked her hair. “I almost lost you tonight,” he murmured. “Before I ever got to have you.”

“Umm.” His hand on her hair felt wonderful. “Steven, can you call the hospital to see if Casey’s all right?” She listened as he called, listened, then hung up.

His hand stroked her hair again. “She’s stable, Jenna. Now go to sleep.”

Friday, October 7, 6:00
A.M.

Steven expected to wake with a stiff neck from sleeping in the chair next to Jenna’s bed. Instead he felt more refreshed than he had in days. So why wasn’t his neck stiff and why didn’t his back hurt? And why wasn’t he in the chair next to Jenna’s bed? He bolted upright, sending the frothy blanket to his waist, baring his shirtless chest. Because he was
in
Jenna’s bed.

His heart caught. She was asleep in the chair. He reached over to shake her awake. “Jenna.”

Her eyes opened. “Oh.” She blinked hard and scrambled to sit up straight. “You’re awake.”

“I am. Why am I here and you there?”

Her lips curved. “I woke up in the night to check on Casey and you looked so uncomfortable in the chair. I pulled you onto the bed, thinking you’d just sleep. But, when I woke up again, your hands were . . . occupied. I didn’t mind, but I thought you would so I bunked in the chair.” Her eyes smiled as his face heated and she leaned over to trail the backs of her fingers against his cheek. “What time do you have to be to work?”

He captured her fingers and pressed them to his cheek, not wanting to let her go. Protectiveness welled from deep within and he didn’t want to let her out of his sight. A group of crazed, angry teenagers had tried to kill her. It was difficult to keep the fury from his voice. “Seven-thirty.”

“Then I should make you breakfast.”

“And coffee?”

“If you’re willing, I’ll try.”

Her eyes had grown smoky in the morning light. “Are we talking about coffee, Jenna?”

She gently pulled her fingers from his face. “We’re talking about whatever you want. But right now, it’s coffee.” She stood up and covered his mouth with hers and it felt so right it hurt.

He watched her walk from the bedroom, then rolled to his stomach. He could smell her on the pillow and thought about what it would be like to see her face every morning for the rest of his life.

It would be heaven. Sheer heaven.

Breathing her perfume once again, he wondered exactly what more he needed to know before trusting her with his sons.
Nothing
, he decided. Absolutely nothing.

T
WENTY
-
TWO

Friday, October 7, 8:00
A.M.

“G
OOD MORNING
,
EVERYONE
.” S
TEVEN
looked at his team.

There were no cheery responses. “Please take a look at the new pictures on the board.”

His team looked, their faces quietly contemplative. “Alev Rahrooh is missing. We can assume he has her and he’ll kill her, unless we find him first. Okay, Harry, what have you found out about the sign he left next to Samantha’s body?”

Harry blew his nose. He was allergic to pine trees. “Good quality plywood, paint available ad any hardware store. Dothing, Steven.” He shook his head. “Doh fingerprints, doh dothing.”

“Here.” Meg slid a white pill across the table. “These work on my allergies.”

“Pushing, Meg?” Sandra asked with a smile. “And in front of law enforcement officers?”

“I have connections,” Meg said dryly. “I think I’m safe. So, our boy murders Samantha, then erects a sign next to the body with an arrow and the word ‘Body.’”

“Deatly stenciled,” Harry said. “Will this make me sleepy?” he asked, looking at the pill.

“No,” said Meg. “Just take it. So we have a note, taunting you, Steven, and now a sign. It seems like our boy doesn’t think too much of you.”

“I figured that out,” Steven said. “I don’t think too much of him either. I’ll have another press conference today. Should I taunt back?”

Meg chewed at her lower lip. “I think so, but carefully. He thinks he’s smart, and he is. I think the only way we’ll catch him is to force him to make a sloppy mistake.”

“Good. I hope you’ve all read the file Davies assembled on Parker. We need to find anything to help Liz get a court order so that we can get a sample of Rudy’s DNA.” He gave each team member a hard stare. “We need to be careful. William Parker’s juvenile record is sealed. We aren’t even supposed to know it exists. In no way do we do anything that will compromise this case once we catch the little bastard. I’ve got two unmarked cars watching the Lutz place on shifts. We’ll know when Rudy leaves, where he goes, when he returns.

“Sandra, I want you to start really looking at all the high school boys. Anybody with a prior. Anybody who’s fast with the girls. Get these kids to talk. They’ll know who the big scorers are.”

“High school locker rooms.” Sandra shuddered. “I can hardly wait.”

Steven smiled. “I know. Now you’ll know how my bathroom at home smells. Just get a big enough group that will naturally net Rudy. I don’t want anybody saying we only looked at him. Kent, where are you with the crime-scene analysis?”

Kent pulled out photos of Samantha Eggleston’s body. “The ME got me the prelim last night. Cause of death was stab wounds. Heart, kidneys, lungs. He stabbed her fifteen times.”

“That’s how many times he stabbed the Seattle girls,” Davies said. “We thought it was because he was fifteen years old before. He’s a creature of habit.”

“I’ll buy the creature part,” Kent muttered. “There was an important difference versus Lorraine. Samantha was not killed in the clearing. She was killed somewhere else and transported.” He paused and stared at his notes. He swallowed hard, and Steven remembered this was Kent’s first sexual homicide. “Samantha was sexually assaulted. No semen found. Multiple recent needle punctures on her inner arms. ME’s testing for ketamine, but won’t have results till later today.”

“I have dews on the ketamine,” Harry said, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “I found this in my box this morning. It’s from one of the veterinary supply houses I’d inquired on ketamine sales. They’ve invoiced more than a hundred vets and farmers within a fifty-bile radius of the city in the last three months. They took a while to get back to me because they found an issue with one of their customers.” He tossed the letter across the table to Steven. “George Richards ordered a twelve-vial box last August. He ordered adother twelve-vial box last week.” Harry sniffled. “His dame came up when the supply house did an audit of unpaid invoices. Mr. Richards hadn’t paid the August invoice, but because his account was in good standing they went ahead and filled the new order and enclosed a friendly reminder. Two days ago, they get an angry phone call.”

“From?” Steven asked.

“From,” Harry said, “an indignant Mrs. Richards. Her husband passed away six months ago.”

“Interesting.” Steven picked up the letter and scanned it. “Where was the ketamine delivered?”

“To the Richards’s farmhouse. Mrs. Richards insisted she dever saw it.”

“Pay her a visit today,” Steven said thoughtfully. “Find out who knew her husband had an account with the vet supply company. And,
discreetly,
find out if her husband knew Rudy Lutz.”

“Okay.” Harry blew his nose again. “Anything to stay away from pine trees.”

“Good work, Harry,” Steven said. “Anything else, Kent?” Kent was staring at the photo of Samantha Eggleston’s body. “Just that she was bald, like Lorraine. And she had the same tattoo, just like I thought.”

Davies got up and walked to the bulletin board, staring with a frown at the Eggleston photo, identical to the one Kent held. “I’ve been trying to remember where I’ve seen that tattoo before.”

“You’ve seen it before?” Steven asked, more than a little annoyed. “Why didn’t you say anything when we were looking at the body yesterday?”

“Because I couldn’t remember then and I can’t remember now,” Davies snapped. “He didn’t tattoo our girls—that’s a new little trick. But I’ve seen it before. I know I have. Do you have a tracing?”

Nancy pulled a sheet of paper from her folder, holding an enlargement of the symbol. “I’ve run this through every database I’ve got,” she said. “Nothing.”

Davies took the paper with a polite nod. “I’ll send this to my old partner. He can pass it around, see if any of the other guys recognize it.”

Steven raised his brows. “Discreetly.”

Davies scowled. “Got it, Thatcher. I will be the soul of discretion.”

“Good. Hit the road, guys, and remember the word of the day. Everybody, all together.”

“Discretion,” they all mumbled, grumbled, and muttered.

Friday October 7, 1:15
P.M.

Jenna was in the ICU waiting room when the press conference came on. Jumping to her feet, she rushed to stand in front of the murmuring television and strained to hear what Steven had to say.

He looked strong. Confident. And very tired.

“We must confirm reports of a third missing girl,” he said when the media had become quiet. “We’re withholding the name of the victim. All I can say is she is a sixteen-year-old female.”

“Have all the girls been cheerleaders?” a reporter asked. “Yes,” Steven replied. “But all young women must be cautious. The danger is very real.”

Jenna’s stomach rolled over. Those poor girls. Poor Steven, having to watch it all happen.

“Do you have any suspects?” another reporter shouted. “The investigation is ongoing,” Steven replied. “I will say one thing. This vile perpetrator believes he is smart. I believe he’s becoming a little too smug. He’ll make a mistake and we’ll catch him.” He looked into the camera. “We
will
catch him.” He turned back to the media. “That’s all.”

Needing to do something, Jenna went to Casey’s room where Ned sat, staring at Casey’s pale face. “Go get something to eat, Ned. I’ll stay with her for a little while.”

Ned shook his head. “I’m not hungry. But I could sure use the company.”

So Jenna sat in the chair beside him and together they guarded Casey while Jenna thought about Steven guarding those young girls. And wondered how the world had become so screwed up.

Friday, October 7, 5:30
P.M.

Neil found Thatcher standing at the bulletin board, staring at the pictures of the girls. Grudgingly he admitted the man really cared. “I thought you’d be home by now,” Neil said.

“I’ll leave soon. I was just wondering if our boy has seen the press conference yet.”

“And what he’ll do when he does?” Neil asked. Thatcher nodded. “Yeah. I want to push him, but I don’t want another ‘after’ photo.”

There wasn’t a whole lot to say to that, so Neil left it alone. “Have you arranged for protection for Jenna?” he asked and watched Thatcher’s spine go rigid.

“No need to tonight,” he said. “She’s staying at the hospital with Casey.”

“I know, but what about tomorrow night? Assuming Rudy is Parker, Jenna could be in danger.”

I know?
Steven turned, eyes narrowed and pulse hammering. “I’ve thought of that,” he said tightly. “What I want to know is how you know she’s staying with Casey tonight.”

Davies didn’t look away. Smug bastard. “I dropped by the hospital today, just to see how her friend was doing.” He lifted a brow. “Professional courtesy.”

Steven gritted his teeth. Professional courtesy. Over his dead body. “Did you now?”

Davies nodded. “I did. I was concerned about how she was holding up.”

Sonofabitch. Steven recognized the gleam in Davies’s eye. He saw it every time he looked in the mirror. “So you’re not only the soul of discretion but the
soul
of
beneficence
as well?”

Quick on the draw, Davies’s jaw tightened. “I guess that was an intended slam on my parentage.”

Steven shrugged. “Take it how you want. Just don’t be paying Jenna any more visits.”

Davies’s eyes narrowed and it occurred to Steven that they stood poised for battle like those mountain goats who butted heads over pack leader rights. “Is that a command?” Davies said softly.

“Take it how you want. Just leave her alone.”

“What about tomorrow night? How will you keep her safe?” Davies persisted and Steven thrust his fisted hands in his pockets.

“Don’t trouble yourself about Jenna, Detective,” Steven murmured, very quietly. “I’ll make sure she stays safe without telling her about Rudy Lutz, so at the same time I can ensure the evidence I gather in
this
case isn’t tainted in any way by a premature tipping of our hand.”

Davies’s dark eyes flickered in controlled rage, then he turned on his heel and left.

Friday, October 7, 6:10
P.M.

He switched off the television set with a snarl. He’d spent precious minutes away from pretty Alev in the barn this afternoon to come home and watch the press conference on television. He’d returned, just now, to watch the six o’clock news to see if that idiot Thatcher had anything new. Instead, he’d seen that idiot Thatcher try to make himself look smart. He’d known the police would posture, would try to stir him up, to make him angry, but the words still stung.

Smug.
Thatcher had called him smug. “It’s Thatcher that’s smug,” he muttered. “Arrogant bastard.” Prancing around like he actually had a clue. Like he actually had any of this under control.

He opened his closet door where dozens of faces surrounded by long, dark hair smiled at him.

He focused in on
her
picture with a scowl. He’d thought she was different. More worthy than the others. Showed even a smart man could be fooled by a competent enough actress. He slipped his hand in his jacket pocket and fingered the silver Jaguar he’d carried since Tuesday night. Since he’d sat in the parking lot in front of her apartment and watched through her window as she kissed Thatcher like the slut he now knew her to be. He’d been so angry . . . One minute the hood ornament was on her car and the next, it was in his hand.

He twisted the warm metal in his fingers, wondering how it would feel when it was her warm skin between his fingers. When he held her hair in his hands. And he wondered just how smug Thatcher would be when he himself got the final prize.