“My fear here is that she's lying about the whole thing,” Sabin admitted, Edwyn Noble's skepticism having taken root.
Kate tried not to roll her eyes. “We've been over that. It doesn't make any sense. If all she wanted was money, she would have booked it out of that park Sunday night and never said a word until the reward was offered.”
“And if the only thing on her mind was the money,” Quinn added, “then she'd be going out of her way to give us details. In my experience, greed outranks fear.”
“What if she's involved in some way?” Marshall suggested. “To try to throw us off track or to get inside info—”
Kate glared at him. “Don't be absurd. If she was involved with this creep, then she'd be giving us a detailed sketch of a phantom to chase. And she isn't privy to any information the Cremator can't read in the paper.”
Marshall looked down at the table. The rims of his ears turned hot pink.
“She's a scared, screwed-up kid,” Kate said, rising. “And I have to get back to her before she sets my office on fire.”
“Are we done here?” Marshall asked pointedly. “I guess we are. Kate has spoken.”
She looked at him with undisguised dislike and walked out.
Sabin watched her go—his eyes on her ass, Quinn thought—and when she was out the door said, “Was she this headstrong at the Bureau?”
“At least,” Quinn said, and followed her out.
“You're defecting too?” she said as he caught up with her. “You didn't want to stay and let Rob suck up to you? It's what he's best at.”
He flashed her a grin. “You don't think much of your boss. Not that that's anything new.”
“You don't think much of him either.” Kate cast a precautionary glance back over her shoulder. “Rob Marshall is an obsequious, fussy little ass-kissing toad. But, in all fairness, he genuinely cares about the job we do and he tries to do it justice.”
“Yes, well, he is trained in psycholinguistics.”
“He's read your book.”
Quinn raised his brows. “There are people who haven't?”
The reception area outside the secured boundaries of the major prosecution unit was vacant. The receptionist had slipped away from her post behind a sheet of bulletproof glass. Stacks of the new Yellow Pages had been left on the floor. The latest issue of Truth & Justice lay on the end table with half a dozen outdated news magazines.
Kate blew out a breath and turned to face him. “Thank you for backing me up.”
Quinn winced. “Did it really hurt that much? God, Kate.”
“I'm sorry. I'm not like you, John. I hate the game-playing that goes on in a case like this. I didn't want to have to ask for your help at all. But I suppose the least I could do is show some genuine gratitude.”
“Not necessary. All I had to do was tell the truth. Sabin wanted a second opinion and he got it. You were right. That should make you happy,” he said dryly.
“I don't need you to tell me I was right. And as for what would make me happy: nothing much to do with this case.”
“Including my being here.”
“I'm not having this conversation with you,” she said flatly.
She walked out the door into the hall and took a left, going toward the atrium balcony. There wasn't another soul on the floor. Twenty-plus stories filled with people and not one of them convenient for a buffer. She knew Quinn was right behind her. And then he was beside her, his hand on her arm as if he still had some right to touch her.
“Kate, I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I'm not trying to pick a fight. Really.”
He was standing too close, the dark eyes too big, the lashes long and thick and pretty—an almost feminine feature in a face that was quintessentially rugged and male. The kind of face to make the average woman's heart skip. Kate felt something tighten in her chest as she drew a breath. The knuckle of his thumb pressed against the outer swell of her breast. They both became aware of the contact at the same instant.
“Kate, I—”
His pager went off and he swore under his breath and let go of her. Kate stepped away and leaned a hip against the balcony railing, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to ignore the feelings his touch had aroused. She watched him as he checked the display, swore again, and traded the pager for a slim cell phone from the pocket of his suit jacket.
The natural light that poured in through the south end of the atrium brought out the gray in his close-cropped hair. She wondered against her will if there was a woman back in Virginia worrying about his health and the level of stress he shouldered day in and day out.
“Goddammit, McCleary, can't you go two hours on this case without a fucking crisis?” he barked into the phone, then listened for a minute. “There's a lawyer involved. Shit . . . There's nothing you can do about it now. The interview is screwed. . . . Back off and go over the evidence again. See if there's anything you can blow out of proportion. What about the tests on that pad of paper? . . . Well, he doesn't know you haven't got it. For godsake, use it! . . . No, I'm not coming down. I'm tied up here. Handle it.”
Snapping the phone shut, he heaved a sigh and absently rubbed a hand against his stomach.
“I thought you'd be unit chief by now,” Kate said.
“They offered. I declined. I'm no administrator.”
But he was the natural leader for CASKU just the same. He was the resident expert the rest of the team would turn to. He was the control freak who believed no job could be handled as effectively without him being in charge of it. No, Quinn wouldn't relinquish his field duties for the unit chief's post. Instead, he would essentially do both jobs. The perfect answer for the man obsessed with his work and with his need to save humanity from its darker side.
“What kind of caseload are you carrying?” Kate asked.
He shrugged it off. “The usual.”
Which was more than anyone else in the unit. More than any one person could humanly deal with, unless he had no other life. There had been times she had labeled his obsession ambition, and other times she had looked past the obvious and caught a glimpse of him standing at the edge of a deep, dark internal abyss. Dangerous thinking, because her instinctive response was to want to pull him back him from that edge. His life was his own. She didn't even want him here.
“I have to get back to Angie,” she said. “She won't be happy I abandoned her. I don't know why I care so much,” she grumbled.
“You always liked a challenge,” he said, offering her a hint of a smile.
“I ought to have my head examined.”
“Can't help there, but how about dinner?”
Kate almost laughed, out of incredulity rather than humor. Just like that—how about dinner? Two minutes ago they'd been sniping at each other. Five years and a load of emotional baggage between them, and . . . and what? He's over it and I'm not?
“I don't think so. Thanks anyway.”
“We'll talk about the case,” he said, backpedaling. “I've got some ideas I'd like to bounce off you.”
“That's not my job. I'm not with the BSU anymore,” she said, moving toward the door into victim/witness services. The need to escape was so strong, it was embarrassing. “The BCA has an agent who's taken the behavioral analysis course and—”
“—is currently in Quantico for eight weeks at the National Academy.”
“You can bring in another agent if you want. You've got all of CASKU to call on for backup, to say noth-ing of every expert and pioneer in the field. You don't need me.”
With quick fingers she punched the code into the key panel beside the door.