Splintered (11 page)

H
UTCH
AND
Granite sat in their rented sedan, positioned at the perfect vantage point for both the coffee shop and McKinley Hall. Hutch wanted the chance to either observe his suspect when he arrived or be in a position to follow him from the campus if he tried to elude them.

“I think you hurt Byte’s feelings,” Granite commented around a large mouthful of food.

Hutch looked over at his partner. Liquid cheese ran down his chin and stained his shirt as he chewed and smacked loudly on his chili-cheese hotdog. “Jesus Christ, have some fucking manners,” Hutch grumbled and tossed a napkin at Granite. “And did you have to pick the stinkiest thing on the menu? Roll down the window!”

“If you would feed me once in a while, I wouldn’t have to resort to scavenging food from sidewalk vendors,” Granite tossed back unapologetically. He did, however, roll his window down.

Hutch resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and instead he pulled out his pack of smokes and tapped one out, slid it between his lips, and lit up.

“Talk about stinking,” Granite commented and waved away the stream of smoke Hutch blew at him.

“Serves you right.” The scent of onions was so strong in the car it made Hutch’s eyes water, but he didn’t blow any more smoke Granite’s way, instead holding his cigarette out his open window as he rolled it in his fingers. “What did you mean you think I hurt Byte’s feelings?”

“He keeps asking if you want him to come with and you keep denying him,” Granite pointed out.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but I can tell it bothers him sometimes.”

Hutch took another hit from his cigarette and blew it out slowly as he watched the swirl of smoke. It hadn’t dawned on him that he would have hurt Byte’s feelings. Even if he had, he would have expected Byte to tell him. They had always worked well together, like a well-oiled machine, each of them knowing what their priorities were and what was expected of them. They rarely ever questioned the other’s motives or abilities. Hutch tried to remember the last time he and Byte had been on a stakeout, the last time he’d asked Byte to join him at a scene or interrogate a suspect with him, and he couldn’t recall it.

Byte did their little team more good when he was tapping away at his keyboard, his skills best utilized with data and stalking their prey through cyberspace. “I don’t want him thinking that. I’ll talk to him,” Hutch assured Granite. He then lifted a brow at his smelly occupant. “In fact, I think I’d prefer his pampered skin scents and expensive colognes over your stench.”

Granite’s response was to take another big, sloppy bite and chomp on it noisily.

The teasing subsided as Hutch stared out the window, finishing his smoke, and Granite finished filling his belly. Most outsiders who witnessed their antics, like the ribbing he gave Granite and Byte about their attire, the sexual innuendos Granite was always throwing at Hutch, and the barrage of “fuck yous” they threw at each other, would think they either didn’t like each other or weren’t taking their jobs seriously. Far from it.

The three of them worked well together because they had the utmost respect for each other’s abilities as well as for the men they were. The teasing was as necessary as their other skills. Without something to ease the stress of what they dealt with on a daily basis, they would have lost their minds a long time ago.

Speaking of losing my mind
. Hutch tossed his butt out the window and turned to Granite. “Byte’s just going to have to deal with it again tonight,” he informed Granite. “I want you to come with me to check out a few more dump sites.”

“Why? If you think this Noah guy is our killer, won’t you be able to get in his head better sitting across the table from him than you will standing out in a field?”

Granite had a point, and the fact that Hutch was even thinking about it told him a lot. While he agreed Noah was a good suspect, met a lot of the points on his profile list, it just wasn’t settling right on his gut. Instead of committing to Noah’s guilt or innocence in any way, Hutch simply shrugged.

“I highly doubt Noah is going to give up too much during our little meet and greet. He’s highly educated, been studying forensics and the criminal mind for a very long time, and while I may be able to get a read on him sitting across from him, I won’t get shit to prove it either way.”

Granite blew out a huffed breath. “I hate watching what it does to you,” he admitted.

“It’s fine,” Hutch deadpanned.

“No, I don’t think it is,” Granite insisted. “What I don’t get is why you don’t want to talk about it.”

Hutch stared out the side window toward the campus, watching for Noah, but also wanting to avoid Granite’s gaze. “Because there’s nothing to talk about.”

“You can try and convince yourself all you want, but I know it for the bullshit it is. C’mon, Hutch, talk to me. What happens inside your head that scares you so much?”

Hutch scrabbled for something to say. He thought of turning it into a joke, but tossed the idea almost as quickly as it popped into his head. Granite had witnessed his meltdowns after tapping into a killer’s head. What he didn’t want to admit was his fear that it might not only be the killer’s emotions he was feeling, but his own.

He was still contemplating how much he wanted to reveal when Lady Luck took pity on him in the form of Noah stepping out of McKinley Hall at that moment.

“There he is,” Hutch said with a nod toward the campus.

Granite crumpled up his food wrappings and shoved them in a bag. “We will pick this discussion up later,” Granite assured him and stepped out of the car.

Hutch sighed heavily and followed Granite. He knew Granite wouldn’t let it go. Maybe it was time to reveal at least a little bit of his fear.

N
OAH
HURRIED
across the campus toward the coffee shop. He’d lied to the agents. He hadn’t had a class, but he’d needed time to get his thoughts and himself together. He’d been a huge fan of Special Agent Hutchinson’s work for a number of years, and the last thing he wanted was to embarrass himself in front of one of his heroes. Noah also didn’t want the agents in his home. They would have instantly pegged him for a freak had they gotten a look at his obsession covering his walls.

His hands were literally shaking when he pulled open the door to Books and Brews. Christ, he was a nervous wreck. The time alone doing deep breathing techniques hadn’t done shit to help. A dream come true, he was going to actually sit down and talk to the person at the top of his list of “must meet,” and he was going to blow it. He’d probably sit there with his mouth gaping open, drooling, without asking him a single question. Noah would also be damn lucky if he didn’t cream his jeans. While he’d known Hutchinson was a good-looking man, up close he was fucking gorgeous, and Jesus the man smelled so good. And those eyes…. Gah! Agent Hutchinson was going to think he was a total flake.

He was so lost in his panic, gaze scanning the shop for signs of Hutchinson, that Noah didn’t notice the guy in the aisle come to a stop until it was too late, and he slammed into the unsuspecting man’s back.

“Oh damn! I am so sorry,” Noah apologized, grabbing onto the stranger’s arms to keep them both from ending up on the floor.

“What the hell…?” The stranger kept his feet and then spun around to face Noah. “Oh…. Hey, I know you.”

Noah studied the man—dark brown hair, hazel eyes, average looks—trying to place him, but came up blank. “You do?” Noah asked.

“I’m Kegan,” he said with a smile and held out his hand. “I sat in on your lecture today. I really enjoyed it. Very informative, if not a little creepy.”

Noah shook the offered hand. “Thank you,” Noah replied distractedly as he continued to look for Hutchinson. He didn’t find him, but he did notice an empty table toward the back. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Kegan blocked Noah’s path. “Can I buy you a cup of coffee? I’d really like to ask you a few questions about your presentation. I think it would be a great topic for my abnormal psych class.”

“Sorry, I’m meeting someone. Perhaps another time,” he pacified.

“That would be great!” Once again Kegan shifted and blocked Noah’s path. “Let me give you my number.”

Noah bit down on his irritation. “Uh… yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Great!” Kegan pulled a pen from his shirt pocket and flipped open his notebook. He scribbled his name and number, then tore the paper out and handed it to Noah. “Call anytime, just not too early. I’m kind of a night owl.”

“Okay.” This time Kegan didn’t step in front of him, and Noah sighed in relief, both at being free of Kegan and his table still being available.

He rushed to it, choosing a chair that faced the door and sliding his backpack under it as he sat. He wasn’t normally rude, but he tended to be socially awkward—at least face to face—and he was nervous as hell. Noah did his best to smooth down his wrinkled shirt and ran his hands through his wayward curls. It was the best he could do in an attempt to look presentable. He bounced his knee nervously and thrummed his fingers on the tabletop. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

Noah’s pulse was racing in anticipation, and the urge to pace was strong. He was debating if he had enough time to run to the bathroom, but Hutchinson and his partner pushing through the door made the decision for him. The bouncing quickened, as did his heart rate, as Noah watched the agents make their way toward him.

Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Please don’t embarrass yourself
, he silently begged.

“Mr. Walker,” Special Agent Hutchinson said by way of greeting.

Noah didn’t dare stand. He’d have to forego manners as there was a very real possibility his trembling legs wouldn’t hold him up.

“Have—” Noah’s voice came out like a squeak, and he had to clear it before trying to speak again. “Have a seat. Can I order you two a cup of coffee?”

“None for me, thank you,” the other agent—Noah couldn’t remember his name—replied.

Special Agent Hutchinson shook his head, and Noah was stuck where he was, although he really would have preferred another moment to compose himself or at the very least a glass of water to help soothe his suddenly dry throat.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet us,” Hutchinson said as his amazingly beautiful dark blue eyes scanned the area around them. “I was hoping we could do this in a bit more private setting.”

Noah was confused. He didn’t understand why they would need to be in a private setting. “Why?”

The two agents stared at each other for a moment, and Noah felt a stirring of unease tickle along his spine. He’d assumed they wanted to talk to him about his research, possibly his presentation on being a victim, as Noah was aware Hutchinson had been called in on the most recent murders. Noah had spotted him at the last crime scene. Noah’s unease grew when the other agent gave a curt nod to Hutchinson and left the table.

“Where’s he going?” Noah asked in confusion.

“He’ll be right back,” Hutchinson assured him.

Noah tilted his head and studied the agent. Even with the skittering of unease buzzing along his nerve endings, Noah couldn’t help the way his body responded to Hutchinson. He’d never seen anyone as attractive as the agent, with his nearly black hair, dark midnight blue eyes, and strong jaw. Oh and Lord, the way the man filled out his dark suit was enough to set any man, or woman for that matter, on fire. However, it was the neutral expression on Hutchinson’s face that had Noah perplexed. He’d always been really good at picking up other people’s emotions, yet he couldn’t quite get a reading on what Hutchinson was feeling. His eyes were intense as he looked back at Noah, full of…. Noah wasn’t sure, but the first thought that popped into his head was suspicion.

“I understand you have quite the interest in serial killers,” Hutchinson said casually.

“You could say that. Some might even call it an obsession,” Noah said with a shrug.

“When did it begin?”

“When I was a youngster.”

“Any particular reason for your… obsession?” Hutchinson asked.

He was definitely being interrogated. Noah laid his forearms on the table and entwined his fingers, leaning forward as he met the agent’s eyes. “Look, Special Agent Hutchinson—”

“Call me Hutch,” he said with a charming smile.

“Okay, Hutch, please don’t insult my intelligence. I’m going to assume here that if you want to talk to me about something, you’ve already done your research and more than likely know about my past, what I eat, and my grade point average. With the resources available to you, I wouldn’t doubt if you even know what time of day I shit. So how about we stop playing games and you tell me what you want to know.”

Hutch’s lips curled into a smirk, and he nodded. “All right, no more bullshit,” he said and leaned back in his chair. “Tell me what you know about the Kimura murder.”

That was better. “I know he’s the most recent of a very, very proficient and smart serial killer. My estimates are Akira was his fifteenth victim, but there are a possible two, maybe three, others that fit. I’m about 80 percent certain. Care to prove or disprove my suspicions?”

“Three.” Noah nodded. He had figured as much. “Please, continue,” Hutch encouraged.

“This guy is like no other psycho I have studied. I mean, sure, he’s narcissistic as hell, but it’s almost like he has the right to be. He’s far superior in intelligence. He doesn’t make mistakes, ever. Even his first kill… umm….” Noah drummed his fingers against the table as he searched for the name, and then snapped them when it hit him. “Jared Martin. The cops royally fucked up that case, but I’ve seen the autopsy report and the crime scene photos. This guy is good.”

“I have to say, Mr. Walker. I am quite impressed.”

“Thank you,” Noah said with pride. “And you can call me Noah.”

“Okay, Noah,” Hutch commented while rubbing his hand over his stubbled jaw. “Any suspects?”

“Nope.” Noah sat back in his chair, looking expectant.

“Not a single one? You’ve obviously been doing your research, certainly someone looks suspicious.” Hutch looked at Noah pointedly.