Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (18 page)

And sometimes monsters shared the same bed. “Is that why you know so much self-defense? I mean, you took down a guy twice your size without blinking.”

She held his gaze with a flat stare, giving nothing away. “Yeah, that’s why.”

He wanted to call her on her words. Tell her he knew about the hospital visits buried in the system. But it wasn’t his business. His business was finding this killer and making sure that perpetrator wasn’t also responsible for last year’s rapes. The fact he couldn’t acknowledge the truth about what happened to her made him angry. Angry that he wasn’t allowed to have an opinion or comment on what she’d been through or on how much it must have sucked. And, how, if she was his, she’d never have to worry about some abusive asshole messing with her again. But she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t supposed to know what she’d been through.

He had the feeling Erin would close down faster than a trapdoor if she ever found out he did.

A waitress brought them each a glass of water, and he took a drink, grateful for the interruption. He turned his mind back to the case and something he’d wondered about while listening to Rachel. “Why d’you think no one ever saw him on his way to and from the victims’ rooms?”

“I wondered the same thing.” She leaned closer, and he met her halfway. They didn’t want anyone overhearing their conversation, but it brought him dangerously close to her mouth. “Drew Hawke was part of the student community, but it’s kind of hard to miss the star quarterback skulking around the corridors.”

“What was the theory?” he asked.

She shrugged. “The attacks happened in the early hours when it was quiet and no one was around. Maybe he wore a hat and a hoodie. The girls he attacked were always alone—most of them were in single dorms except for Rachel Knight.” Her pink lips twisted. “Some of the girls documented their lives on social media like it was a college course. Every time they left their dorm, who they met, who was going to what party, when, and they kept their location apps turned on.” Her gaze met his briefly. “I’m not saying that makes it their fault, but it makes it easier for the predators.”

“How many girls in all?”

Erin’s eyes clouded. “Four came forward. DA refused to prosecute two of the cases because the girls had…reputations.”

He frowned. “Remind me which century we’re in?”

“Yeah, I know. It sucked. Trust me, it sucked.” She leaned back against the booth. “The DA’s position was they felt they could secure a conviction using just Rachel’s and Mary’s testimonies whereas if they charged him with all four rapes, the defense might be able to muddy the waters. Persuading a jury is a lot easier if we can prove he’s a serial offender, obviously, but the DA figured two victims were enough. The families of the other girls were livid.” She frowned. “Think this could be some sort of act of revenge by a victim’s family member?”

Darsh grimaced. “I hate to say it’s possible, but it is possible. I have an analyst already running all the football players and staff for priors. I’ll ask her to add the victims’ male relatives to the list. Can you email me the names?”

She fiddled with the saltshaker then looked up at him with heat in her cheeks. “I, er, don’t actually have your email address, or your cell number…”

And all the air was immediately sucked out of the room. The subtext was clear and made him feel like a jackass. They’d had wild and crazy sex, but she didn’t know a damn thing about him. Why the hell would she confide in him? He hadn’t made this situation easy for her.

He pulled out his card and slid it over the table. “My name is Darsh Singh. Thirty-five years old. Served in the US Marine Corps after 9/11. Got out, finished my degree in criminal psychology, and applied to the FBI. The rest, as they say, is history.”

Erin smiled reluctantly, fingering the card before slipping it into her pocket. “You’re obviously not married. Significant other?”

Not knowing how to interpret that question and afraid of all the reasons he wanted to, he held her gaze as he shook his head.

“What about the rest of the family? What do they do?”

“My dad’s a pharmaceutical engineer, and my two sisters are website designers.”

“Your mom?”

“She died.” He took a drink of water, relieved when the arrival of their food interrupted that line of questioning.

Erin waited for the waitress to leave before saying, “I’m sorry.”

He nodded, hoping she’d leave it at that. “It was a long time ago.”

“How did she die?” Erin asked, because cops never left a damn thing alone.

Darsh bit down on the anger the question brought. He didn’t want to talk about his mother, but if he wanted Erin to open up? He needed to play fair. “She was murdered.” He popped a fry in his mouth.

“They ever catch who did it?”

He shook his head.

“Did you ever look?”

Sure, he’d looked. “There was no evidence.”

“So you looked.”

He wanted her to drop it. He shrugged and said nothing.

“I hear that sort of trauma drives a lot of people into law enforcement. Either you’re born into it like I was, or you’re dragged into it by the compelling need to serve, or to fight for justice. I’m not sure what I’d do if I wasn’t a cop.” Her expression clouded, and he wanted her to stop talking. “I don’t remember a time when this wasn’t the only thing I wanted to do.”

Jesus. He couldn’t respond or meet her gaze, he just stuffed his face with lasagna so hot it burned the roof of his mouth and wished he’d ordered a beer. Alcohol would be great right about now, but last time he’d had a drink in this woman’s company things had gotten a hell of a lot hotter than his lasagna They ate silently for a few minutes, both hungry and needing to refuel. Both avoiding talking about personal things.

“You know,” she said, wiping her mouth with her napkin and pushing a nearly empty plate away. “I never said sorry for not telling you I was married when we first met. That was wrong of me and put you in a difficult position. At the time I never considered your feelings. I’m sorry.”

He stared at the table, and a thick wedge of emotion stuck in his throat. He’d acted like a dick and now he was stuck with that reality. If he said he knew she’d filed for divorce before they’d hooked up, she’d know he’d been digging into her background. It wouldn’t take long for her to figure out that he also knew her ex was an abusive fuck.

“I was an ass. I owe you an apology.” Some stupid part of his brain wanted her to trust him. To confide in him of her own free will.

A small group settled into the booth behind them. An older guy of about forty, another two guys in their mid-twenties and two younger women. Academics and students.

“Rachel Knight is a brave young woman,” he said thoughtfully. “I get the feeling more things might come back to her the way that other new detail did.”

Erin nodded. “I’m not sure how it will help us, though. Rachel was adamant it was Drew Hawke who raped her, and he’s locked up.”

“There’s a connection between the cases. You know it, too.”

She didn’t look happy, but truth was truth. The forensic countermeasures told him that while he wasn’t sure it was the same perp, he was singing from the same playbook. This was one smart UNSUB.

“Erin, is that you?” One of the guys who’d settled into the booth behind them stood and leaned over the divider toward them. He wore skinny jeans, a roll neck sweater, and a tweed jacket.

“Professor Huxley,” she exclaimed, twisting in her seat. Darsh didn’t miss the slight note of dismay in her voice.

“Roman,” the professor corrected. The guy’s eyes roved Erin’s cleavage from his vantage point, but she didn’t seem to notice.

Or maybe she did. She slid out of the booth to stand. Darsh folded his napkin and climbed to his feet, having inhaled his meal in record time.

“FBI Agent Singh. This is Professor Roman Huxley, a world-renowned expert in criminal psychology at Blackcombe. And this is Linus and Rick, his research assistants, and Rena and Kelsey, two of his other students.”

“We had a lab meeting, but I decided to treat everyone to lunch.” Huxley’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re trying to escape the rather maudlin atmosphere on campus.”

“Murder will do that to a place,” Darsh said sardonically.

“You’re with the BAU?” Huxley asked him. The easy tone belied the intensity of the man’s gaze.

“That’s correct.”

“Perhaps you’d consider coming in and giving a guest lecture while you’re here?”

Darsh wasn’t about to be interrogated about his job by a bunch of students when he was busy investigating a crime on campus. He threw enough money on the table to cover his and Erin’s meal. “I doubt I’ll be here long enough, Professor, and my priority is the investigation. You could submit a request through the public relations liaison at the FBI, though.”

The professor’s expression tightened. “Well, maybe if you come to me for help on the case I can twist your arm?”

Darsh shrugged and smiled. Yeah, not even if the man held a gun to his head. “Maybe.”

The others watched them with rapt attention.

“Linus said you were all friends with Mandy Wochikowski?” Erin asked the group.

Darsh’s gaze sharpened on the students.

“She did an honors project with us over the summer so we knew her quite well,” one of the girls told them quietly. “It’s hard to believe she was murdered. We all liked her.”

“She was a bright student,” the professor stated.

“Was she seeing anyone romantically?” Darsh asked.

The two girls shook their heads.

The blond male grad student, Linus, spoke up. “Like I told Erin.” The young man’s eyes watched the detective with a hint of reverence. “I don’t think so. We’d go for coffee sometimes during the summer, and she never mentioned she was seeing anyone.”

“She fancied Linus,” the dark-haired young man, Rick, gave his pal an arched look.

“She had a bit of a crush on me, but I was dating another girl at the time,” Linus admitted quickly, because they all knew romance was the quickest route to becoming a suspect. “We were just friends.”

“Know any of her other buddies?” Erin asked them.

“I knew she hung out with some of the sorority girls, but they weren’t really my scene,” Kelsey said.

“There was a guy in computing she mentioned a couple of times in the summer,” Rick said, his eyes lingering on Erin in a way Darsh recognized. The woman herself was oblivious. “She was pretty serious about her studies, not really a party animal.”

“If you remember anything you think might be useful, please get in touch. You know how to reach me,” Erin told them. She turned to the professor and nodded. “We’ll be in touch, Professor.”

“Look forward to it, Erin, Agent Singh.” The guy grinned like he’d won a minor victory, but Darsh didn’t know what the hell that might be.

He walked out of the restaurant feeling full for the first time in days. But the contentment didn’t extend beyond his stomach. “Quite the fan club you have back there.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve discovered the easiest way to make yourself more appealing to the opposite sex is to say you’re not interested. The world is apparently full of masochists.”

Darsh didn’t quite know how to respond. She had a lot more going for her than that, but her ex had done a real number on her psyche. “He helped out on the last case?”

“Huxley?” Erin nodded. “He’s assisted numerous police departments and has done some really great studies.”

“I don’t like him.”

“Because…”

“Because he wears skinny jeans and hair gel.” And looked at Erin like he wanted to undo her shirt buttons.

“
That’s
how the FBI forms opinions? Very scientific.” She climbed into her truck cab.

He walked around the front and got in the passenger side. “Never ignore your lizard brain. They teach you that in the Marines.”

“I’ll try and remember that next time my lizard brain decides to chat.” She started the engine and pulled out of the parking space. “I owe you for lunch.”

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the padded headrest. “You can get it next time.”

Considering where his thoughts strayed whenever he spent more than five minutes in her company, he owed her more than lunch. If he were a Catholic he’d be on his knees begging forgiveness and
that
picture conjured a whole new array of sins, so he tried to distract himself by pretending to sleep while she drove back to the station. The sound of something smacking against the glass jerked him back into awareness.

“What the fuck was that?” Something gooey slid down the front of her windshield. He turned and saw a crowd of demonstrators on the front steps of the courthouse.

“That would be the sound of someone egging my truck.” She squirted wiper fluid over the glass and eventually the screen cleared. The resigned tremor of anger in her voice told him she was pissed.

Fury curdled in his stomach. “Don’t you ever get tired of it, Erin? The bullshit, the hatred?”

The corners of her mouth tightened as her chin came up. “I guess I’m used to it.”

“Why would you ever want to be used to it? Is it some form of penance? Because of you and me and your dead husband?”

She pulled up outside the station, her expression studiously blank. “Well, like you, I have a lifetime of regrets to choose from.” Her eyes held his for a moment—long enough for him to know he was one of those regrets.

He gritted his teeth together to stop from telling her that he had no regrets about that night, none at all. It had been one of the best nights of his life. But Erin did what she always did when he said something she didn’t like. She got out and walked away, and he sat there like a damn fool.