Jamie Hill Triple Threat (65 page)

"God no!" She moved away. "Here, let me help you with your shoes."

He sat on the edge of the bed and she tugged off his expensive leather Bruno Magli's.

"Bathroom's right across the hall. Don't do much more wandering than that. Remember, I now have two loaded guns."

He raised his hands. "Not going anywhere."

Mel leaned against the doorjamb. "You're not going to remember this tomorrow, either, so I'll tell you. Cappie's my father."

Nate's eyes widened. "Your father? No shit!" He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Now I need to remember if I said anything inappropriate to him."

She laughed. "Live in fear. And sleep tight."

He looked up at her and smiled, an expression so endearing she found it nearly impossible to leave the room.

"G'night Mel. Thanks for everything. I'm sorry about … you know."

"Go to sleep." She waved him off, and closed the door behind her. Walking down the hall to her room, she wondered exactly what he was sorry about.
The Cappie business, or kissing me?
Maybe he was sorry about getting drunk his first night in town. She pondered that for a moment, then realized she didn't know him at all. Perhaps the drinking wasn't a new thing for him. She knew lots of cops with alcohol problems. In their line of work, with the things they saw on a daily basis, it was sometimes an effort to stay sober.

Mel tossed one last look at the guest room door.
I have no idea what he's sorry about
. She wondered again if he'd remember any of it in the morning.

She peeled out of her clothes, scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth. As she passed her bedroom door for the final time she locked it. With his gun tucked securely in her nightstand, she crawled into bed and tried to sleep.

Knowing Nate was right down the hall, she tossed and turned and fidgeted until exhaustion finally took hold and she closed her eyes.

* * * *

Nate opened his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His tongue felt thick and dry. The pounding in his head thrummed louder than a drum solo at a Metallica concert. It hurt to move, but the need to pee surpassed all others. He crawled out of bed, stumbled across the hall to the bathroom, and took care of business. He washed his hands, scrubbed some water over his face, then used his finger and some toothpaste he found in the drawer to freshen his mouth.

He looked disheveled as hell and could use a shower, but he had no idea where his suitcase was. At some point during the night he'd lost his holster and unbuttoned his shirt. He tried for a moment to fasten some buttons, but his fingers didn't want to cooperate. Leaving the shirt hanging open, he padded down the hall in stocking feet and peered around the corner into the kitchen.

Mel stood in front of the counter making delicious-smelling coffee and what appeared to be toast.
Damn, she looks good
. Her long hair hung loose around her shoulders. She wore dark blue jeans, a long-sleeved white shirt with thin blue pinstripes, and a crisp navy vest. Admiring the view for a minute, he finally entered the room and announced his presence. "You always look this good in the morning?"

She glanced up and smiled. "Good morning." Her gaze ran down his body then back up again. "I could ask you the same thing."

He laughed. "Wrinkled trousers and an open shirt? My dry cleaner's going to wonder what the devil I've been up to."

She took a sip of whatever was in her mug. "That's good. Always make them wonder."

He eyed her drink. "Don't suppose you'd have a cup of that for me?"

"Absolutely. Take anything in it?"

"Black is fine." He watched her pour coffee into another tall mug.

"Toast? Or I could whip you up something more to eat. I have eggs and bacon, there might even be some pancake mix."

Nate accepted the coffee and raised his other hand to stop her. "Please, no. The mere mention of food is more than I can handle. I'm good."

She chuckled. "How did you sleep?"

He tasted the warm brew then nodded. "Good. Wouldn't have thought I moved a muscle except my holster is gone, so at some point I must have yanked it off."

Mel nodded toward the counter. "When you find it, your gun is right there."

Nate spotted it, then looked at her. "Thanks. Mel, I'm sorry about—"

"You don't owe me any apologies." She set her cup down and pulled her hair back into a ponytail, fastening it with a band from around her wrist. "We probably should get moving, though. Stone's going to meet us at the office at nine." She brushed past him. "Hope you don't mind, I made it a little later than usual. Figured you might want to sleep in."

Nate glanced down at his slept-in attire, and back up at her.

Mel extended a hand. "Give me your keys. While you shower, I'll run to the office, grab your bag from your car, and bring it here."

"I couldn't ask you to do that."

She snapped her fingers. "Keys. The office is close. Besides, you didn't ask, I'm offering."

He patted his pockets and pulled out the lone key to the FBI's SUV.

"Thanks. Fresh towels hanging in the bathroom. Help yourself to whatever you need. I'll return in a flash with your stuff."

"Thank you," he called after her, but she was already out the door.

Nate drank a few more sips of his coffee, then headed to the shower.
Whatever I need?
He suspected what he needed had just walked out the door.

He was towel-drying his hair when she tapped on the bathroom door.

"Bag's out here," she said loudly.

"Thanks." Nate opened the door but she was nowhere in sight, just his wheeled travel bag. He pulled it into the bathroom and chose the most casual outfit he'd brought, black slacks, white open collar button-down shirt, and a black sport coat. He thought about shaving but knew Mel waited on him, so he slapped on some after-shave and called it good.

He repacked his bag and wheeled it to the kitchen where she was just finishing her coffee.

"Feel better?" Her amused expression mocked him.

"Mostly. Some aspirin wouldn't kill me."

"Ask and you shall receive." She removed a bottle from the cabinet and poured him a short glass of water. With one raised brow she asked, "Anything else I can get you?"

Nate bit his tongue. He had a whole list of things on his mind but this didn't seem the time. She seemed all business this morning, a no-nonsense detective, and he felt ashamed of himself for drinking too much the night before.
What kind of a first impression did that make?
She probably wanted nothing more to do with him, and he couldn't blame her.
What an idiot I am.
"This is good, thanks." He popped a couple of aspirin and washed them down. "Guess I'm ready."

"Let's hit it." She led the way to the garage.

Nate grabbed his bag and followed her out.

On the drive to the office, he tried again. "Mel, can we talk about last night, please? I really need to—"

She whipped in to a parking space and stopped, looking over at him. "We're here. I told you, I only live a couple blocks away. I think we need to focus on the case, maybe try to figure out the significance of the cheerleading uniforms. They have to mean something."

He sighed, and nodded. "You're right. I'll just put my things back into my car."

Mel got out and pointed to the next row over. "Down that way. Biggest shiny black SUV in the row. Can't miss it."

Nate smiled. "I remember. Besides, if you've seen one FBI SUV, you've seen them all." He wheeled his bag to his vehicle and loaded it in the rear.

Mel had gone as far as the front door, where she paused and waited for him. He hurried to catch up, once again admiring the view of her shapely physique in jeans.
Focus on the case,
he internally scolded himself, but when he found himself behind her climbing a set of stairs, his mind was lost.

He allowed himself the pleasure of ogling her for a few minutes, until they drew nearer the homicide department where he grew serious and focused his attention where it needed to be.

Stone was already in the war room, making notes on a pad when they walked in. "Morning," he said, glancing from one to the other of them. "Notice I didn't say 'good' morning. That's because it's a Saturday, and we're
here
."

"Hey little dude." Mel slipped into the seat next to him. "One Saturday isn't going to kill you."

Nate's heart sunk. He'd assumed they'd been planning to work today. Mel hadn't told him differently.
Of course, they couldn't work seven days a week
. Just because he was here, he shouldn't have expected them to shift their routines.
But they had
,
without saying a word.

She glanced at Stone's notes. "What are you working on?"

"The cheerleader angle. Why does he dress them in the old-time uniforms? Based on the amount of blood, the women are wearing them when they're murdered. And by the way, forensics confirmed that the slasher is a lefty, determined by the direction of the slash marks."

"Sure." Nate sat a couple chairs down, where he had the best view of the bulletin board. "You could see that from the photos."

Stone nodded. "Obvious, right?" He tossed Mel a glance but she didn't look at him, and didn't say a word.

Nate watched the exchange but didn't understand, and didn't figure he'd better try. "Mel just said she wanted to work on the cheerleader angle today. You two really are in sync."

"We are." Stone nodded, grinning.

Mel rolled her eyes. "Or, we could have talked about it on the phone this morning. But if you want to go with the 'in sync' thing, that's cool." She glanced up when Samantha Becker entered the room. "Hey Sam. Thanks for coming in."

"Good morning everyone." The detective sounded just as chipper as ever, and looked even perkier than the day before wearing a pink blouse, jeans, and pink pony-tail holder. "It's a beautiful day out there."

Nate's head had been feeling better, but the sound of her cheery, almost squeaky voice caused a dull ache to return to the base of his neck.

"Morning Agent Willis." Becker sat next to him, but not too close. She seemed ready to work like the others, and Nate thought that was a very good thing.

"Hey." He didn't dare say too much, even small talk might make it seem that he wanted to carry on a conversation with her.

"So where are we at?" Becker glanced around the room.

Mel tapped her pencil on the table. "Why cheerleader uniforms? Why fifty-year old women? We have some questions to answer."

Nate studied the victims' photos as he spoke. "Our guy could have been spurned by a cheerleader in high school. Maybe he's paying them back for the way they treated him."

Stone piped up. "The uniforms are from the seventies. A woman in her fifties would have been in high school at that time. Does that make our perpetrator also that age?"

Becker scribbled on her notepad. "If he was spurned by these particular women it does."

Mel shook her head. "It's doubtful he went to school with these specific women. Two of them didn't grow up in
Wichita
and Donna Leonard didn't even graduate from high school."

Nate nodded. "She was bipolar. They probably didn't know what that meant in those days. She would have had trouble in school."

"Besides," Mel screwed up her face. "I can't see our guy being in his fifties. None of the women were murdered where they were found, so he's had to kill then move them. They've all been slender, but still we're talking about this guy lifting a hundred pounds of dead weight, pardon the pun."

Nate couldn't resist. "Are you suggesting a fifty-year old man wouldn't be up to that task? Pardon me while I go get fitted for my truss."

She chuckled. "You are nowhere near fifty. You're nowhere near forty, are you?"

He waved her off. "I'll never tell. But seriously, I was just giving you the business. I agree with you. Statistically, the perp in cases like these is generally in the twenty-five to forty age range. Which gives us another angle to consider. We could be looking at a guy who had some issues with his mother."

"His mother?" Stone blinked a couple times and looked at the photos. "Who would do such a thing to his mother?"

"Probably not a good little Asian boy." Nate waved his pencil in the air. "Which allows us to add 'most likely Caucasian' to our profile."

They all studied the photos in silence. Nate's comment about the perp having issues with his mother had obviously thrown them for a loop, and they were taking time to digest it.

"Interesting theory." Mel nodded. "But at this point it's just that—a theory. I think we have to keep all our options open."

"Of course we do," Nate agreed.
But just wait and see when this case is solved, I bet I'm proved right.
He smiled, keeping his thoughts to himself. He remembered something else and asked, "The vice cop one of the girls mentioned, Marshall somebody?"