Aim to Kill (16 page)

Olivia pictured the eagle tattoo and involuntarily shivered. There was no doubt in her mind the man Sean saw killed not only Jenny Benedict, but her sister, Missy. He was in Seattle. Readying himself to prey on another unsuspecting victim. Waiting for the right time to come in for the kill.

Stop.
She had to put all her feelings aside. Zack Travis had already proven too perceptive. If he even thought she had another motive for being in Seattle, he’d send her packing. Call up her boss and have her fired. Without her job she had nothing. She’d built her entire adult life around helping other people the best way she knew how—with science. Without it, what could she do? Who would she help? Without her job, she would no longer be fighting for the rights of the victims, fighting for justice for those they left behind. But Olivia was willing to risk everything she had, everything she was, to stop this predator. When and if Zack learned the truth, she would deal with the fallout. Until then she had to keep her wits about her and stop feeling guilty. There was time enough for guilt later.

Zack stopped the car in front of a two-story Victorian-style home with a wraparound porch, complete with hanging swing. He made no move to get out. “I hate this.”

Olivia glanced over at him. He stared straight ahead through the windshield, his jaw tight.

“They can see you care,” Olivia said quietly, chastising herself for worrying about her own plight when there was more than her future at stake. “Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Zack looked at her, and she was surprised that a man of such physical and emotional strength would allow the pain of a troubling investigation to cloud his expression. If she allowed the pain and anger to surface, she’d never be able to put it aside.

She swallowed, determined not to let him see anything but a professional sitting next to him. Inside, the weight of her deception sank her spirits lower. What right did she have to even question Laura Adams? Or Sean Miller? Or to be here outside a house full of grief?

Abruptly, Zack got out of the car before Olivia could even think of voicing her conflict. Good thing.
Focus, Olivia. Focus.
Keep the goal firmly in mind: stopping Missy’s killer before he stole another life.

She would deal with the repercussions—internal and external—later.

Anyone entering the
Davidsons
’ home would instantly think family. Pictures of three children—two girls and a boy—filled every available surface and many of the walls. Shoes in several different sizes were kicked against the wall just inside the door. A coat rack in the hall separating the entry from the kitchen boasted cubbies for lunch boxes, hooks for outerwear, and a corkboard for notes.

Olivia stared at Michelle’s message board.

We love you, Michelle.

Coming here was not a good idea. She should have remained at the station reviewing the evidence logs. Focusing on the facts, the science, that would see this case through. Not talking to child witnesses, and certainly not facing the parents of one of the victims.

You’re in over your head,
Liv
.

“Can I get you coffee?” Tall and slender, Brenda Davidson walked as if each step sent a bolt of pain up her spine.

Zack declined for both of them and Mrs. Davidson nodded, as if the effort exhausted her. Dark circles framed her large blue eyes, eyes bright with thinly concealed pain.

She led them down the hall, through the large open kitchen, and into the family room. Again,
family
was the operative word. Kids’ videos overflowed from bookshelves on either side of a large-screen television. Board games filled another built-in shelving unit. And pictures. Everywhere, pictures.

Olivia picked up a silver frame and stared at a girl who could have been Missy. Same long, curly blonde hair. Same big green eyes. Olivia’s lip quivered. What bastard could hurt such a sweet, innocent child?

“That was taken last year, when Michelle turned ten.”

Olivia jumped, almost dropping the picture. Carefully, she placed it back on the shelf and turned to Mrs. Davidson. “She’s beautiful,” she said, shifting her feet. She clutched her purse with both hands.

Mrs. Davidson’s swollen eyes brimmed with tears, the grief etched in every small crevice of her skin. “Did you find him?”

Zack spoke. Olivia had almost forgotten he was there. “We’re working every lead, ma’am. We have a lot of good people working on the case.”

Lead. What did they have? A teenager who saw an eagle tattoo and a man about fifty in sunglasses. Maybe something would come of it, but before another girl was killed? Before the predator slipped away?

Zack glanced around. “Is Mr. Davidson here?”

“He’s sleeping.” While her voice was a monotone, Olivia detected a hint of anger in her eyes.

Zack shot a glance at Olivia, then said, “We don’t mean to bother you, but it would help us if we could review the day Michelle was kidnapped and see if you remember anything at all about the truck your neighbor saw. If you saw it in the neighborhood. Any little thing might help.”

Mrs. Davidson sank into the sectional sofa and worried an afghan in her hands. “I’ve gone over every minute of that day, every second. Nothing. Nothing. I’ll never forget it.”

“It’s not your fault, Mrs. Davidson,” Zack said.

“I taught Michelle about strangers,” she continued as if Zack hadn’t spoken. “I told her what to do if a strange man approached. What to do if anyone tried to hurt her and, and . . .” She stifled a sob.

Something fluttered out of the corner of Olivia’s eye. She turned her head slightly. A petite blonde child stood just inside the kitchen, about six or seven. She hung back, just outside of her mother’s sight.

“My sweetheart. My perfect little angel,” Mrs. Davidson mumbled into her hands.

“Mommy?” The girl’s voice was a squeak. Brenda Davidson didn’t seem to notice her standing in the threshold, but Olivia couldn’t take her eyes off her. Inside, she was five again, watching her own mother fall apart.

“Michelle was a dancer, you know,” Mrs. Davidson said. “Beautiful dancer. She had the lead in the spring recital. She would have had the lead this fall . . .” Her voice trailed off as she gazed at another picture on the wall.

“Mommy?”

Mommy? Missy isn’t coming back, is she?
Olivia heard her own childlike voice in her mind, the memory of her mother clearer than ever. Her mother hadn’t answered her question. When she looked at Olivia, she didn’t see her. When Olivia spoke, she didn’t hear her.

“Mommy?” the child whispered, her large round eyes so much like her older sister’s, blinking rapidly as she fought against crying. Olivia remembered the feeling all too well, trying to keep her own tears under control because her parents didn’t want to see them and she didn’t want to hurt them.

“Tell me you know who he is,” Mrs. Davidson said, her voice suddenly harsh. “That you’ll find him. That you’ll have him executed for what he did to my baby!”

“We’re working every day and night to see that he’s brought to justice, Mrs. Davidson,” Zack said. He placed a business card on the end table. “If you think of anything, even if it doesn’t seem important, please don’t hesitate to call me, day or night.” He sounded defeated.

Defeated, just like the little girl who took a step back into the kitchen as her lower lip quivered.
Amanda.
Olivia remembered her name from the reports. As Olivia watched, Amanda opened the door of a cabinet and crawled inside. Disappeared. Olivia stared at the cabinet, remembering hiding in her own sanctuary, her bedroom closet. She’d fallen asleep there many nights. Her parents never knew. They never checked on her.

Melissa was so good, so perfect. She didn’t deserve to die.

Her mother’s voice again, speaking as if she were in the room. Olivia shivered, a ghost touching her skin. Olivia loved her sister, but when she died, she’d become a saint in her mother’s eyes. Perfect. An angel.

And Olivia . . . wasn’t.

“Mrs. Davidson,” Olivia said firmly. “Where are your other children?”

The grieving mother blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Do you know where they are?”

“Of course I do. They’re upstairs.”

“Are you sure?”

“
Agent St.
Martin, I think—” Zack attempted to interrupt, but Olivia ignored him.

“Do you care where they are? Are you so wrapped up in your grief that you can’t see that there are two kids who still need you?”

“I assure you, Ms. St. Martin, that we are all thinking about Michelle. Michelle is what matters right now. You should be out finding her killer rather than accusing me of being a bad mother!”

“Let us worry about finding her killer. You have two children who need you to be a mother, not close yourself off in your grief. I’m so very sorry about what happened to Michelle, but Amanda and Peter are still alive and they need you now more than ever.”

“How dare you!”

“Excuse us, Mrs. Davidson.” Zack grabbed Olivia by the arm. She was shaking. She’d gone too far. She knew it, but she couldn’t stop herself.

If she could save one little girl from being neglected, it will have been worth it. She should have found a way to be more professional, more diplomatic, something! But all she could see was little Amanda Davidson crawling into the kitchen cabinet. It was like watching herself.

Zack pulled her outside. “What has gotten into you?” He didn’t wait for her answer, which was good because she didn’t have an answer to give. She didn’t know what had possessed her to jump down the woman’s throat. The way she talked about Michelle? Or the way Olivia remembered her own mother talking about Missy?

“Get in the damn car and wait for me. You’ll be lucky to have your shield when this investigation is over.”

He stormed back into the house.

Olivia stood by the passenger door and rested her forehead on the roof of the car. She couldn’t control the shaking, and focused every molecule in her body to just
stop.
Slowly, she regained control and took a long, hiccupping breath.

Brenda Davidson was not her mother. What had she done? How in the world could she have lost control like that?

Worse, she didn’t regret it. Had she become so callous in her own pain that she couldn’t see the anguish of others?

Her job was already on the line, and she may have just dug her own professional grave. She almost laughed at Zack’s comment about having her shield. What shield?

It would be worth losing everything she had, everything she was, if she could stop Michelle’s little sister from growing up like she had.

Zack didn’t know if he was more angry with Olivia for attacking a grieving mother or himself for watching it unfold and not stopping her before she crossed the line. He hadn’t known Olivia for long, but antagonizing victims was the last thing he expected of her.

He couldn’t speak, couldn’t even look at her, as he drove too fast out of the
Davidsons
’ neighborhood and to a nearby lake he’d frequented as a teenager. He didn’t know why he was drawn there, except that it was where he used to do a lot of thinking when he was torn between going home to an empty house or getting into trouble with his friends.

He braked as soon as he pulled into the gravel parking lot and wished he had his bike. He needed a good hundred-mile-an-hour venting session.

Zack pushed the automatic gearshift into park with his right hand and hit his left on the steering wheel. “What the
fuck
was that about?”

Olivia wouldn’t look at him, and that angered him more. She stared straight ahead, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, like a prim librarian. The only sign that she was even mildly disturbed was the slight tremor in her body, as if she were shaking and doing her utmost to stop.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Too calm. Too composed. “If you would like to file a report with my superior, I’ll—”

“Oh, fuck that!”

He wrenched the car door open and slammed it shut, walking as quickly as possible to the edge of the water.

He stared out at the lone fisherman sitting in a rowboat on the far side of the small lake. The sun was beginning its descent; he’d lost track of time.

He took deep breaths, staring at the still water, regaining his composure.

Something was up with Olivia St. Martin. Everything he’d seen since she arrived yesterday afternoon told him she was a professional through and through. She’d been upfront about the information she had and didn’t have. She shared more than he’d expected. He’d been so impressed with the way she handled the interviews with Laura Adams, Tanya Burgess, and Sean Miller. Everything until that tirade directed toward Mrs. Davidson.

He replayed the scene in his mind, thinking back to what had set her off. There was something, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was it when the little girl walked into the room? But—she hadn’t been there when Olivia was lecturing. Where had she gone?

“Do you know where your children are?”

“Of course I do. They’re upstairs.”

But the little girl wasn’t. Amanda Davidson had come downstairs. And something about her appearance had upset Olivia.