Love Inspired Suspense July 2015 #2 (4 page)

“There you go,” the man said with a polite smile.

“Thank you,” Sami murmured, and slipped into her seat. Drew nodded his thanks to the stranger, then settled into his seat beside Sami. His knees hit the fold-down table attached to the back of the seat in front of him.

In the cramped space, his shoulder and upper arm bumped against Sami. The little sparks each connection created unnerved him. It was hard to stay professional when she set his blood on fire. He shifted away, but short of sitting in the aisle, there was nowhere to go.

As she fiddled with her seat belt, he took in her appearance. She wore a flowery blouse and light-colored cargo pants. She carried no purse today. Her ID and gun were stashed in the deep pockets of her pants, and the knife she'd used to free herself was hidden away. Most likely in a boot. Big and clunky, they were in stark contrast to the feminine top. Yet the ensemble worked for her. Very Portlandian.

Her blond hair was held back by a barrette at the nape of her slender neck and smelled like his shampoo. He could tell she'd applied a touch of mascara to the black lashes framing her pretty eyes, and her lips shone with gloss.

She looked so different from the woman dressed like a ninja last night. However, both sides of the lady appealed to him, despite his need to stay detached emotionally. She was brave and spunky when she needed to be but didn't flaunt those traits as if needing to prove her toughness.

He waited until after takeoff to ask, “Tell me how you became involved in this case. You said your friend was a victim?”

Her lips pressed together for a moment. She nodded. “Lisa and I were like sisters. The Westovers lived next door. Seaside isn't a big community. At least not for those who live there year-round. Our families became close.”

“When was Lisa killed?”

“Six months ago. Her case went cold quickly.” She told him in graphic detail how similar Lisa's murder was to the crime scene from last night. “Birdman is clever and knows how to not leave behind trace evidence.”

“Except for bird drawings and writing on the wall,” he remarked drily.

“Done without leaving fibers or DNA.”

“How did you connect this Birdman to Lisa's murder?”

She frowned. “I didn't at first. I searched for similar crimes in the metro Portland area and came up empty. Then I spread out from there via the FBI's ViCAP.”

The Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, a searchable database to collect and analyze crime, was the model that the Canadian government followed for their own version, ViCLAS—Violent Crime Linkage System. Both automated systems were invaluable to IBETs and all law enforcement in both countries. “We have something similar.”

She gripped the armrests as the plane bounced through turbulence. “I found comparable crimes across the US but never in the same city. By then my boss realized what I was doing and wasn't pleased, despite the fact I was investigating on my own time.”

She shrugged. “There wasn't much he could say, though. He definitely wasn't okay with me leaving Portland to investigate crimes outside our field office assignments. But I couldn't stop. I had to know. I had to see if there were any connections to Lisa's murder.”

“So this trip to Vancouver...?”

“Technically I'm on vacation. The special agent in charge has given me some rope.” Her mouth tipped up at the corners. “Probably enough to hang myself with.”

Not if he could help it. She'd been targeted twice now. She obviously wasn't safe alone. Not that he saw her as a damsel in distress. Far from it. She'd shown bravery and smarts. And the drive to do what was necessary to stop a criminal. “Your dedication is admirable.”

“Thanks.” She shrugged. “I made a promise to Lisa's parents that I'd find her killer. I always keep my promises.”

The flight attendant stopped to offer them drinks and the opportunity to purchase a snack from the cart.

They each ordered a drink and a snack plate of fruit, cheese and nuts. While the attendant poured their drinks and handed over their plates, Drew contemplated Sami's statement.

Did she truly honor her promises? Or were her words just that—words?

Gretchen had made promises to love and honor and cherish him. But she'd broken those promises so easily. Drew was wary of any woman's promises.

Once the flight attendant had moved on and they'd opened their refreshments, he said, “I don't know many people who would go to such lengths to pursue justice for their friend.”

“I don't know many people who would leave their country to help a stranger pursue justice for her friend.”

He mirrored her earlier shrug and collected a small handful of cashews and almonds. “It became my business when we discovered the man we're going to see is Canadian.”

Not to mention, Drew had decided to take it upon himself to be Sami's protector. Twice now she could have been killed. Silently he vowed he wasn't going to let that happen. The woman needed help whether she wanted it or not.

“Promise me you'll be careful,” she said, her tone intense.

He gave her a half smile. “Careful is my middle name.”

He popped a chunk of cheese and an apple slice into his mouth.

“I'm serious. I have enough to contend with bringing down Birdman. I don't need you being a hotshot and taking unnecessary chances.”

“Where's this anxious fretting coming from? I'll be careful.”

She breathed in and slowly exhaled. “Sorry. I haven't worked with a partner on this.” She dropped her gaze and concentrated on her food.

“I see.” She was a lone wolf taking down a predator. But not anymore. “Tell me about the bird symbol.”

She visibly collected herself, took a drink of her pop. “When I was digging through the various case files I noticed bagged evidence that was incongruent with the crime scenes. Things that had appeared irrelevant or unimportant at the time. No fingerprints, no DNA showed up, so the clues lay dormant in musty files of cold cases. A playing card here. A postcard there.”

She drummed her fingers on her knee. “At Lisa's murder scene a business card was found tucked into her handbag. Nothing unusual about that, since she was in sales. Which was why she was staying at the hotel by the airport the night she was killed. She had an early morning flight.” Sami's voice broke. “I would have driven her in the morning if she'd only asked.”

He covered her hand with his, stilling the nervous drumming. She turned her hand over so their palms met. Her fingers laced through his. He refused to read anything romantic in the gesture. Talking about her friend upset her. He was merely offering the only comfort he could. Holding her hand meant nothing, even if her small hand fit snugly within his as if they were made for each other.

“There was a little stamp on the back corner of the business card,” she continued, apparently unaware of the turmoil going on inside him. “I didn't think much of it at first. But then I noticed the bird on other pieces of evidence and realized he was leaving his signature.”

Keeping his voice low so as not to disturb the other passengers, he said, “And all the women were strangled, and then their bodies were mutilated.”

“Yes.” She lowered her voice, as well. “He used his hands to crush their larynxes and then desecrated them. He never uses the same knife. Different styles of cutting instruments. No discernible pattern. But there's one thing all the deaths do have in common. The women met their attacker at a hotel or airport bar and restaurant.”

“Sexual assault?”

“No. There's no apparent motive for the deaths that I can tell. Only the killer knows what drives him.”

“And you're sure it's a male perpetrator?”

“Yes.”

“He was caught on camera?”

She gave a mirthless laugh. “Not in any discernible way. He's too savvy for that. Knows where surveillance cameras are located or, like at my hotel, knocks out the system. He never looks the same in what footage I do have. And witness statements run the gamut of short and round to tall and muscular. Blond, dark, ginger. Large nose, crooked nose. Eye color is all over the board.”

“So it could be a woman in disguise.”

Her keen eyes lit up with a hint of success. “The one thing he didn't think to hide was his hands. Big knuckles, strong hands.” She lifted their joined hands between them. “A man's hands.”

The guy who'd been in her hotel room had had on black gloves. “But if he didn't hide his hands then, why were there no prints?”

Her lip curled. “That's the million-dollar question.” She shrugged. “I have a few theories. He could have worn thin flesh-colored gloves. He could have dipped his hand in sealant or glue, for that matter.” The frustration in her voice was unmistakable.

She extracted her hand from his and turned to stare at the passing clouds outside the window. She was something special, this FBI special agent. He'd never met anyone like her. Courageous and assertive, yet he'd caught glimpses of vulnerability.

Funny how life turned out sometimes. God's sense of humor at work?

Drew had been content with his life after the turmoil of his divorce. He'd made inspector by thirty. He'd been asked to join and then lead an IBETs team. He shared a bachelor pad with his dad and had no plans to change that anytime soon.

He hadn't been looking for a cause or a partner, yet here he was flying south over the United States with a woman on a mission—to stop a serial killer before he struck again.

And Drew couldn't think of anywhere else he'd rather be.

FOUR

C
onsulting the map app on her phone, Sami read the directions to the spa resort to Drew rather than having the annoying voice of the system direct them. Though if truth be told, Sami liked to be in control and not leave her fate to some technological device. She could look at the map and gauge for herself the most direct route.

She wished she had equal control of the car. Drew drove the rental through the fast and furious Phoenix traffic as if he'd been doing so his whole life, causing her to grasp the door handle more than a few times.

“So, Royal Canadian Mounted Police don't ride horses anymore or wear red-and-black uniforms?” she teased.

He'd be handsome in his uniform. Not that he wasn't handsome in cotton slacks, a white dress shirt and polished Allen Edmonds shoes. He looked more like a banker than a cop. Except for the holster at his waist and the gold badge attached to his belt.

He'd rolled up his shirtsleeves the moment they'd stepped off the plane. She didn't blame him. Over a hundred degrees, the Arizona heat sucked the moisture from her lungs while a sweat broke out on her back and brow.

“The RCMP discontinued using mounted patrol for regular duty in the 1930s,” Drew explained. “There is a yearly Musical Ride tour and we wear our uniforms for parades and special events.”

“Have you been in the Musical Ride?” She'd like to see him on horseback. There was something about a man on a horse that appealed to her—and every other female. The mystique of the cowboy, she supposed. Or a Mountie, as the case may be.

“No. Horses and I don't mesh well.”

She raised an eyebrow, curious if he meant what she thought he meant. “Afraid?”

“Horses are big unpredictable creatures. I'd rather stay on the ground and watch.”

“If we have to head out in the desert, you're hoofing it on foot?”

The color drained from his face. “That's not even funny. I can barely tolerate this heat in an air-conditioned car. I don't want to think about the desert.”

She laughed, liking that he wasn't afraid to admit to a foible. Not for the first time, she found herself realizing how much she liked this man. He didn't have that macho chip on his shoulder the way so many men did when they discovered she was in law enforcement.

Women's equality might be alive and well; however, she'd faced her fair share of discrimination moving up the ranks of the Bureau. But Drew seemed to genuinely respect her, which she appreciated and in return respected.

Being with him was easy. She didn't have to force conversation or feel as if she needed to prove something to him. He accepted her.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd met someone and felt an immediate connection.

The thought sent agitated shivers over her sweat-drenched flesh. She wasn't going down any road that led her to losing control of her emotions. Connection or not, she had a job to do. She could appreciate Drew as another professional; she could even appreciate him as a good-looking, charming man. She could handle attraction but nothing else.

He made a left turn into the Majestic Palms Resort parking lot. Desert hills, towering palms and spiky cacti surrounded the elegant sprawling salmon-colored mansion-turned-hotel. The grounds of the resort were stunning, with flowering bushes heavy with red blooms, various-sized palm trees with wide and variegated fronds. A beautiful splashing water fountain drew her gaze. She couldn't help but wish this visit were for a more pleasant purpose.

She stepped out of the car. Waves of heat bouncing off the pavement hit her in the face like a wake-up slap. There was a purpose to this visit and it wasn't to allow herself to bond with the man at her side. They might be working together for now, but as soon as they found his fellow countryman, dead or alive, she'd send Drew on his way.

Then she could breathe again, because despite his assertion that their combined resources would make quick work of capturing Birdman, as long as they were together, she'd feel responsible for Drew's welfare. She wasn't going to let him get hurt on her watch. She carried enough guilt for what had happened to Ian, her last partner, to last a lifetime.

They wound their way on a cobblestone path through wide arches to the resort lobby.

Drew gestured to the two Phoenix police officers waiting discreetly off to the side. Sami squared her shoulders and walked to the office the resort employees directed them to. She'd called the city's chief of police, giving him the pertinent details of their investigation and asking for the local LEOs'—law enforcement officers'—cooperation.

Sami and Drew showed their badges.

“I'm Officer Jensen. This is Officer Grant.” The older of the two men made the introductions. “Chief says you need a wellness check on a guest.”

“Yes. A James Clark.” Drew handed over the fax he'd brought with them. The image showed an average-looking older man of average height with dark hair and dark eyes. “His credit card was found at a crime scene last night. The last charge on the account was here at the bar. A call to Hotel Registration confirmed he was a guest through the weekend. We need you to do a wellness check.”

“We have his room number and card key,” Officer Grant said. “He has a terrace room on the fourth floor. Room four-oh-six, at the end of the hall.”

Adrenaline rushed through Sami's veins. Could Mr. Clark be the killer? Or would they find Mr. Clark's mutilated body?

She and Drew followed the two officers along another cobblestone path to a wing of the resort that stacked to six levels. Each room had a private balcony. The inner rooms overlooked the beautiful courtyard and the reflecting pool that beckoned with its sun-dappled water. The outer rooms, such as James Clark's, had stunning views of the Camelback Mountain in the distance.

They took the stairs to the fourth floor. The hallway was carpeted with swirling greens and rust-colored patterns. The smell of cinnamon overpowered the fragrant scents of the courtyard they'd left behind. The aroma grew stronger as they approached room 406. Though not necessarily an unpleasant smell, it was certainly surprising. Candles? Incense?

A Do Not Disturb sign hung from the doorknob.

Officer Jensen rapped his knuckles on the door. “Mr. Clark? Police. Open up.”

No noise emanated from inside the room.

Officer Grant stepped up, knocked again and then slid the key card into the slot. When the green light flashed, he pushed open the door. An intense wave of the spice burned her nose. But beneath the cinnamon scent she detected a foul odor.

All four of them shared ominous glances.

With his hand on his holster, Officer Jensen entered first. “Uh, you guys better get in here.”

The officer's dire tone made Sami's heart sink. Most likely Mr. Clark was dead. The certainty took up residence in her chest, squeezing her lungs tight. Steeling herself against the inevitable, she filed into the room behind the men.

She put a finger under her nose but it didn't help quell the nauseating smell. The room was stifling hot. The curtains had been drawn, allowing the sun to bake the inside like a sauna.

Officer Grant clamped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room. Sami sympathized with the guy. She suffered with a strong gag reflex and only by sheer force of will was she able to keep from dry-heaving.

Sami's gaze landed on the dead Caucasian woman lying on the edge of the bedspread. She was coated in a white chalky substance that covered her like a dusting of snow. It was hard to determine age. Her dark hair fanned out around her head like a peacock's tail.

“Lime,” Drew murmured. A hydrated lime used on farms and in gardens as a soil modifier. When used on a corpse, it delayed the decaying process as well as minimized the stench.

She nodded even as her stomach revolted. She clamped her teeth together to keep from throwing up. Stupid gag reflex. Her personal Achilles' heel.

Give me strength, God
, she silently prayed.

On the dresser was an empty bottle of cinnamon oil. The floor was soaked with the liquid spice.

“I take it this is not James Clark,” Officer Jensen said. He cleared his throat. “Any chance this Clark fella could be your killer?”

Sami snorted. “No way would it be that easy.”

“Too bad.” Officer Jensen walked to the open door. “Hey, Grant, call in a missing-person alert on James Clark.”

They needed to find Mr. Clark before he turned up dead. Time was not his friend. Sami gestured toward the bed. “How quickly can you identify the victim?”

She ached for the family of the deceased woman. Their loved one wouldn't be coming home.

Drew moved to Sami's side. “See any similarities?”

She tore her gaze from the horrific scene before her to search the room, but she didn't see anything on the desk, the dresser, near the television. She moved into the bathroom. Nothing there either. She didn't understand. Birdman had led her here but now went silent?

When she reentered the bedroom, her gaze fell to the bed. Something stuck out between the mattresses and beneath the body of the unknown woman. The sick madman wanted her close to his handiwork. Fury erupted deep inside her, searing in its intensity. She grabbed a set of thin gloves from her pants pocket and snapped them on.

“I see it,” Drew said, apparently reading her intent. “Officer Jensen, Special Agent Bennett is going to remove the paper sticking out from between the mattresses. If you'd be so kind as to have an evidence bag ready.”

“Of course.” The officer quickly took a bag from his utility belt and held it open.

Bracing herself to confront Birdman's handiwork at eye level, she tugged on the edge of the paper. She swallowed back the rising bile. A brochure slipped out. Officer Jensen swiftly offered the evidence bag for her to drop the long, thin two-sided brochure in. The officer zipped the bag closed and handed it to Drew.

Once the piece was secure, she stripped off the gloves.

“Here.” Officer Jensen offered her another evidence bag.

She shoved the soiled gloves inside before shifting her focus to the bag Drew held. “What is it?”

He lifted it up for her to inspect and she took it from him to study the contents. A brochure for a theme park hotel in California. On the back side in the upper left corner was a tiny drawing of a bird.

Birdman's calling card. His signature. Which would lead to another death. And to another clue and another death and another clue...

She rubbed her throbbing temples. Would this nightmare ever cease?

Yes, when the killer was ready. Because right now he had the power and she was dancing to his silent tune like a puppet on a string.

She met Drew's gaze. His hazel eyes hardened to stone. He'd no doubt come to the same conclusion. The killer was getting his jollies from teasing and taunting her. But what choice did she have other than to follow his lead?

Somehow she had to gain control. Shift the balance of power so that she was the one calling the shots. “We have to go to California.”

“No.”

She stared at Drew. “There's another victim. If I don't find her or him, who will?”

“We'll contact the local authorities. They will take care of the victim.” He stepped closer and placed his hands on her upper arms. His warm fingers touched her where the shirtsleeves left her skin exposed. “It's time to stop running after Birdman. We need to get ahead of him.”

She wanted that, too. “How do we do that when we don't even know who we're hunting?”

“We start at the beginning.” His thumbs rubbed soothing circles on her biceps. “I want to see all the information you've compiled.”

She blinked back the burn of sudden tears. For so long she'd been chasing this sicko alone, running on adrenaline and fury. All the while telling herself it was better this way. Better to be alone so there was no chance of anyone else she cared about being hurt.

But now the thought of having someone help shoulder the burden, help make the decisions, eased the tension in her tightly strung nerves. She'd asked God for strength and He was providing Drew. Not what she expected or wanted.

Allowing Drew to be fully a part of the investigation meant putting her life and her promise to avenge her friend's death in his hands. Was she willing to relinquish that much control to him?

She couldn't deny how good it felt to have someone to share this load with. Especially a good-looking, conscientious man such as Drew.

No. She stopped that thought in its tracks. She wouldn't go there. She couldn't let this become personal. She couldn't let her heart become attached to this man. He was in the same business as she was; his job required risk, just as hers did. If he was willing to take on this burden, then she had to stay focused on what was important.

This was about bringing justice to women who didn't deserve to die. She needed to stay dedicated to her goal, stay in control of her emotions. Mixing business with pleasure never ended well.

She'd already made that mistake once and wasn't going to do it again.

However, two smart brains had to be better than the one psychopath.

Who was she to argue with God?

“All right. We go to Portland.”

She prayed Birdman wouldn't anticipate that they would return to Portland rather than follow his bread crumbs. Someone else would check the hotel. She didn't envy them the job.

* * *

When they arrived in Portland, Drew was grateful for the more temperate weather. The sky was blue, the sun shining, but the temperature was in the seventies. Sami had parked her small economical car in the airport's three-story parking garage. They left the airport and joined the congested freeway leading into downtown Portland. Drew had never been to the City of Roses before, so he was impressed by the cityscape.

He'd heard of the many bridges crossing the Willamette River, which bisected the city. He counted four before Sami turned off the freeway and wound through a neighborhood she referred to as Hawthorne District, named for the main avenue that ran from the river and traveled east for several blocks. Drew thought the area very avant-garde with trendy shops and coffeehouses. A place he'd like to explore given the chance.