Body Count (8 page)

“I'd have to agree with you. Is he retired?”

“Not yet. He keeps promising Mom ‘next year,' but next year never comes.”

“Is your mom patient?”

“She has to be to put up with him.”

I smile. “And you never thought about politics?”

“Not really. I've seen what my folks have been through.”

“He's governor somewhere, right?”

“Uh-huh. Governor of Massachusetts at the moment, but he had high hopes.”

“Top office?”

“You got it. And when it was obvious he wasn't going to make it, I was his second chance.” Marco takes a sip of wine. “Like I said, no pleasing parents.”

“There's time for you yet.”

“You and my folks could be a team.”

I laugh. “No, I think I'd have to take your side on this one.”

Marco changes the topic. “Hawaii's nice.”

“You've been there?”

“Yeah.”

“For work or pleasure?”

“Work.”

“Bureau? Air force?”

“Air force. I was stationed at Hickam Air Force Base for a few months.”

“Which island is it on?”

“Oahu. Right next door to the Honolulu Airport.”

“Nice.”

“It's not a bad work location.” He smiles.

I imagine kissing Marco. Kissing Josh Marco. But the spell is broken when the waiter puts down our meals.

The first few mouthfuls are eaten in silence, and hurriedly. We're both starving after the workout. But it's more than that.

I keep eating, keep my head down, afraid to look up. Afraid of Josh. Why am I so nervous? I'm being ridiculous.

I look up. “How's your risotto?”

Josh maintains eye contact and smiles. “Good. Do you want some?” He pushes his plate slightly toward me and I take a forkful.

I return the gesture. “Gnocchi?”

“Sure.”

He pierces one piece of gnocchi with his fork, pops it into his mouth and follows it with some wine, all the while holding my gaze.

“So, what did you do in Honolulu?” I say, trying to hide my nervousness.

“Nothing much. Training missions mostly. And some real missions too.” He pauses.

“Oh, right. This is the ‘if I tell you any more I'll have to kill you' moment.”

He takes a sip of wine. “Something like that.”

I narrow my eyes, unable to tell whether Josh is dramatizing or if perhaps he really was involved in some top-secret missions when he was in the air force.

“Nothing more to say on the subject?” I pursue it.

“Not much more to tell.” He takes some more risotto, grinning in between chewing.

Bastard is enjoying the secrecy. I won't give him the satisfaction of asking him about it again. My stubborn streak takes over.

He breaks the silence. “So, run me through the D.C. case.”

I'm reluctant to fill our first date with shoptalk, but I'm too nervous to think of a better topic. We spend the rest of the meal talking about the D.C. murders and trying to come up with something new. But there's nothing new to be found. Not yet. We're still waiting on forensics from the park, of course. Maybe Marty will find something.

We're drinking coffee when another moment of awkwardness interrupts our conversation. Looking at Marco, silent, I'm suddenly acutely aware of the fact that it's been over seven months since I've had sex and every inch of me is tingling in anticipation of what might happen tonight. My resistance is falling by the wayside. My
feelings for Josh are undeniably powerful. And Sam's right—I've always felt this way about him.

We pay the bill, with only scattered conversation. No plans are verbalized and out in the cold air my defensive wall starts to rebuild itself. But Josh is too quick, and he grabs my hand, holding it gently. The wall crumbles.

“Josh?” But instead of voicing my concerns, silence falls and once again our bodies move closer. I smell the familiar scent of Josh's aftershave, Acqua de Gio, and I like it. He presses his hand into the small of my back and leans down until our lips meet. It's gentle, hesitant at first. I move myself closer into him and put my arms around his neck as we kiss again, this time parting our mouths. Again, it's gentle, tentative, hesitant on both our parts. Then the third kiss is more intense and overtly sexual. Our bodies are pushed close against one another as we kiss again.

“Wow,” Josh says.

I nod, happy that we're both feeling the same thing. I'd forgotten how wonderful first kisses are—I was with Matt for seven years, after all.

“Want a ride home?” Josh says.

But we both know that isn't the real question. My car's around the corner, just like his.

I hesitate, my head fighting my heart and sex drive. “Sure, why not.”

The car ride is filled with silence and sexual tension. The first kiss has whetted my appetite and I want more. But will it only be a one-night stand with awkward moments at work, and our professional relationship, not to mention our friendship, ruined? Maybe that's what
Josh is into. But I don't want that. Not from Josh. I'd go outside of work if all I wanted was sex.

We get to my place and I hesitate again. Josh doesn't push the matter.

I press my lips together, unsure. “You want to come up?”

Josh answers quickly. “Okay.” He puts the car in Park.

We walk briskly up the stairs, eager to be in each other's arms. I fumble with the lock and pick up the large envelope that's underneath my door.

“Sam,” I say, placing the envelope on the dining table as we move inside. “It's her D.C. profile.”

Josh comes in, and we both look at each other, uncertain.

“Josh, I don't want things to be awkward. At work, I mean.” I finally manage to voice my biggest concern.

“They needn't be.”

I pull away and move into the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?” My eyes dart around the room, anywhere but at Josh.

“If you're having one I will.”

I don't really want anything else…except Josh. I walk back to him and wrap my arms around him. We kiss. A deep, lustful kiss. We don't stop as we fumble our way to the bedroom, losing items of clothing on the way. By the time we reach the bed, Josh's shirt and belt are off and both my jacket and top are off too. I'm surprised to see and feel a hairless chest, especially given his Italian heritage. I run my fingers over his smooth skin and squeeze my hands down his biceps.

He slows things down, running his hands up my spine and then down and across to my stomach. He kisses my
neck. Gentle wet kisses intermingled with the heat of his breath. I breathe heavily in response, kick my shoes off and undo his pants. He runs one hand through my hair and unzips my skirt. I step out of it as Josh steps out of his trousers. We're both down to our underwear. I push him onto the bed.

“It's going to be like that, is it?” he says, half joking but obviously excited.

With seven months of celibacy and sexual tension…you bet it is.

I
peel my eyes open and am greeted by Josh's face. He's propped up on his arm, watching me.

He kisses me gently on the shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Morning.”

“You were having a bad dream.”

“Was I?” I ask a little too quickly. “What was I doing?”

“You were tossing and turning and talking, but I couldn't make out the words.”

“Mmm.” I don't remember it. Not last night's.

“You often have nightmares?”

“Yeah,” I say, hesitant to reveal this fact to Josh.

“The cases?”

“I think so. I usually can't remember the dreams. You sleep okay?”

“I got a bit of shut-eye in there somewhere.”

I smile. We both woke up a couple of times for repeat
performances, not being able to get enough of each other. I roll onto my back and splay my arms out. “I'm exhausted.”

“Me too.” Josh's free hand runs over my stomach. Perhaps I haven't tired him out enough. But the touch turns into a cuddle and he draws my body close to his and gently kisses my neck.

“What time is it?” I ask.

“A quarter after seven.”

I sit up. “Shit, I was supposed to go over that profile for Sam. I told Rivers it would be on his desk this morning.”

“Do it at the office.”

“I'm supposed to be doing it after hours. In fact, Rivers pulled Sam off the case and he thinks I'm doing the whole thing.”

“Really? I didn't pick you for a rebel.”

“I'm just helping out a friend.”

“Why don't I drive us in, you can go over the profile in the car.”

“That still won't be enough time.”

“At least you can have a quick look at it.”

It's my only option. Besides, my car's still in Dumfries.

The car ride is filled with silence as I read then reread the profile, making notes in my diary. There's more. More to the killer.

My first stop at Quantico is Sam's office. I've got a lot to talk to her about, personal and professional. I'm going to tell her I dreamt of Jean and Susan, and what happened to them. I wonder what she will make of it.

I wind my way through the corridors. The building is still quiet and my heels clip the linoleum floor loudly.
About half the offices I pass are dark and unopened, while the other half show signs of people just settling in. Sam's office is dark and locked.

I was counting on her being here so I could spill my guts. She must be running late. A huge pressure is building inside me and I need to release it. Where the hell is she?

Once in my office, I ring and leave a message for Sam and send her an e-mail.

I try desperately to refocus my mind on my cases. I try not to think of Josh, to replay the events over and over in my mind. Him touching me…me touching him… The only way to get my mind off last night is to absorb myself in a profile. I pick up my files and choose my next case. The Whistler case in Canada.

I've only just read the coroner's report when Sam drops by.

“You rang, honey?”

I smile, beckoning her into my office.

“That's a big smile,” she says, obviously already guessing or hoping something's happened between Josh and I.

I nod and smile again, confirming her suspicions. Sam closes my office door.

“So, what happened?” she asks with glee.

“We trained. We had dinner. And we wound up back at my place.”

“It's about time. How was it?”

“Great. Really great.”

“So Marco showed you a good time?” she says with a wink.

“Yes,” I say and feel myself blush.

If Sam was Australian, within a couple of minutes she'd have me giving her a blow-by-blow reconstruction of the whole evening's events. An Australian woman wouldn't be satisfied with yes as a response.

“You can't wipe that grin off your face, can you?”

I laugh.

“And you're an official double agent now.”

“I guess so. But I presume I'll only be hearing that term from you. I certainly won't be telling anyone else about this yet.”

“When's your next date?”

“I don't know.” I furrow my brow. “We didn't talk about that.”

“Don't worry! He's sweet on you.”

“I hope so. The last thing I want is a one-night stand with a fellow agent.”

“Stop being so serious. Besides, it ain't gonna go that way.”

“God, could I do with a dose of your confidence.”

She laughs, her loud, raucous laugh. “You certainly don't have any reason not to be confident. Especially with men. You're smart, tall, blond, gorgeous and thin, not to mention good-hearted. Too good-hearted.”

“Stop, you're embarrassing me. Besides, you're forgetting stubborn, untrusting, shy and defensive.”

“You? Stubborn?”

“Very funny.” I pause, seeing a way to introduce the other topic I desperately need to speak to Sam about—another one of my “traits,” these dreams and nightmares. Hopefully Sam can come up with a rational explanation. But I stop myself. It'll sound too crazy.

“The bad news is I didn't get much of a chance to look over your profile,” I say instead.

“You mean
your
profile.”

“Yeah, right. My profile. I had a quick read, that's all.”

“Any thoughts?”

“There's something missing. There's more to him.”

“I agree. But what?”

“I'm not sure yet. We can hand it to Rivers now, or we can work on it some more tonight.”

“Well, you're going to have to deal with Rivers because I'm officially off this case.”

I'm worried about missing my deadline, but the profile's not right yet. “Let's hold off for a day. I want to get this perfect.”

“Up to you, honey.”

“I'm going to take the wimp's way out though. I'm sending him an e-mail.” I type a quick message. “Done.” I click the send button.

I was so excited about telling Sam about Josh, I've totally forgotten about the killer and his note. Sam was unnerved yesterday.

“Any sign of him. The killer?” I ask.

“No.” She speaks softly. “All's quiet.”

“You are being careful?”

“Of course. I checked the apartment as soon as I got home last night. Then checked all my locks before I went to bed. I've also been wary about being followed.”

“Good. And the boys in blue?”

“Cops did two drive-bys that I saw and probably a few more in the middle of the night.”

“Good,” I repeat. “So how are you feeling about the note?”

She pauses. “To be honest, I'm still a little bothered by it, but I'm off the case now…kind of.”

“But does the killer know that?”

She shrugs. “I'll be extra careful for the next week or so.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“Okay, until we nail the guy.”

“That's better.”

“I don't think I'm a target. He'd be stupid to take an FBI agent.”

“True.”

“Anyways, you'll be there to protect me tonight.” She smiles.

“Together, we're indestructible.” We both laugh.

 

It's eight at night and Sam is serving up bean burritos at her place. She lives in Key Towers, a sixteen-story apartment block in Alexandria, which is less than ten miles from the heart of D.C. It's a really nice apartment complex and we've even talked about moving into a larger apartment in the complex together when our leases run out. Sam would be a great roommate. Her apartment is modern, with cream carpet, thin Venetian blinds and the safety of white decor in the bathroom and kitchen. She has livened the place up with splashes of color, including two bright red sofas.

Sam plonks down my plate and a bottle of beer in front of me.

“It's like having a husband,” she says.

“I thought it was only Australian men who liked to have beer served to them.”

“A universal male thing, I'd say.”

I laugh.

Sam dishes up her own burrito and keeps talking. “I had a case once when I was working homicide…a poisoning case,” she says, slopping some guacamole and sour cream on top of the bean mix. “A woman poisoned her husband. I interviewed her and she looked me in the eye and said she just got sick of cooking his dinner and serving him beer every night.” Sam rolls her burrito, sits down and takes a swig of beer. “So one day she's cooking their evening meal and decides, ‘Hell, I don't want to do this tomorrow, or ever again.' So she gets some rat poison from the shed and mixes it in with his meal.”

“Nice.”

“It gets better. She wanted to go for justifiable homicide.”

I laugh. “That would open up a floodgate.”

“The law didn't see it as justifiable, but I bet there'd be a lot of women who would argue for it.”

“You think you'll ever get married?” I ask.

“Me? I don't think I'm cut out to be a wife. Besides, I've got other plans for my life.”

“Such as?”

“I want to be the first female director of the FBI.”

“You
have
got plans,” I say, not sure how serious she is.

“Well, I don't know about director, but I do want to get somewhere with my career in the Bureau. And I want to travel. What about you? Do you think you'll ever get hitched?”

“Maybe…one of these days.”

“Marco could be your man,” she says with a wink.

“It's a bit too early for that sort of talk.”

I play with my meal and take another sip of beer.

“Anything wrong, honey?” Sam says. “Worried I'm poisoning you?”

I laugh. “No. If you wanted to kill someone, I reckon you'd be a gun kind of girl.”

“Do you now?”

“Just a shot in the dark.”

“Ha, ha. And what about you?” She studies me through narrowed eyes, moving her head from side to side slowly in an exaggerated gesture. “You'd like to do hand-to-hand combat. You'd want to do it the hard way.”

“Only if I knew I was going to win.”

Sam's eyes are on me, watching my fork circle a mound of refried beans.

“Oh, come on, Sophie.”

I quickly shovel a big forkful of food into my mouth. But it doesn't stop her.

“I know something's up. Is it Marco?”

I finish chewing. “No. Everything's fine. In fact, he paid me a visit and booked our next date.”

“Really?”

“He's going to cook for me. At his place.”

“Really?” repeats Sam. “So things are going well.”

“Yeah. I think so. Like I said, it's early days.” I smile. “But he seems to have a lot of attractive features.”

“I'll say.”

“I'm not just talking about that.”

“No, I know. He's a nice guy. Even if he is a ladies' man.”

I draw a quick intake of breath and open my eyes wider.

“I'm joking. I'm joking,” she says. “Jeez, you
are
sweet on him.”

“Yep.” The truth is, I've been pushing Josh away for so long, and now I've done an about-face. I'm falling for him all right, and hard. I barely want to admit it to myself, let alone Sam.

We finish our first burrito and Sam dishes us both another one. We're halfway through when she broaches the topic again.

“If it isn't Marco, then what's up?” she asks, taking a mouthful.

I take a deep breath, preparing myself. Sam leans in.

“I don't know how to say this without sounding crazy. Totally crazy.”

“Just spit it out, girl. You're amongst friends. Well, friend.”

I still hesitate. Do I really want to do this? Once I tell Sam, there's no going back. But I need to get someone else's opinion, and Sam is the only candidate. I don't think I have a choice. I take the plunge.

“I've been seeing things. About cases.”

“What do you mean?”

I don't respond. How do I say this?

Sam gives me a long hard look.

I stand up, move away from the table and stare into the distance. “It sounds crazy.” I turn around and take a breath. “You know Jean, from your D.C. case file?”

“Yes.” Sam puts her fork down and turns in her seat to face me.

“Remember I recognized her and told you I must have seen the file.”

Sam nods.

“I've never seen that case file before. Hunter never showed it to me, but I've seen her. Twice in fact.”

“What do you mean?”

“I had a dream. A nightmare. And in it I saw Jean, dead, positioned just like she was at the crime scene.”

Sam doesn't respond.

“And then there's the latest victim—Susan,” I say.

“What about her?”

“In the dream I saw her walking to her car.”

Sam's face wrinkles in confusion. “Susan was abducted in a parking lot, just like Teresa.” She stands up.

“Yes, I know. I saw her from the killer's perspective.”

“Okay. Okay. Let's think about this logically.” Sam sits on the sofa and rests her chin on her hand.

“There's one other thing.”

“What?”

“The night Susan was killed, I witnessed her murder.”

“In a dream?” Sam seems unconvinced.

“Not quite. I was dropping off to sleep when it happened. It was after you left my place, at exactly five past midnight. I saw Susan being killed.”

“What do you mean
saw?
”

“It's like seeing a series of still photos or watching a poor-quality video. Images of her flashed into my mind.” A tightness comes across my chest and I fight back the tears and panic.

Sam tries to absorb it all.

“Has this ever happened before? In Australia?”

“I often have bad dreams, but I usually don't remember them.” But as I say it I'm taken back twenty-five years, to John. It
had
happened before. The week
John disappeared I had several nightmares, but the worst one was on the night he was taken. It was so vivid, and when I woke up John was gone. The police decided he was a runaway, but I knew what had really happened to him. He was kidnapped and murdered. I'd seen his murder with my own eyes. I'd felt his killer's emotions. I tried to tell the police, I tried to tell Mom and Dad, but no one believed me. After a few days, I doubted myself—why would I think and say something so horrible? It was just a nightmare. But then weeks passed. Months passed. And still no word from John. By then it was too late. Just over a year after he was taken, John's body was found in the bush, sixty miles from Shepparton, where I grew up. Maybe if I'd made them believe me, I could have stopped it.