She haltingly obeyed, starting with Buckland and the photos, ending with Rachel. David’s face had darkened through her story. “Does the fact that this Buckland asshole pops up at the same time as a serial killer bother anyone but me?”
“No, it bothers Noah, too. Buckland’s officially on the radar. But Buckland’s been reporting for a couple years. Local color, obituaries. That he’d suddenly start killing people…” She shrugged. “I’m too tired to think.”
“Then go to bed, honey. I’ll take the couch.”
“No, I can’t sleep. I can’t stop thinking about Rachel and the others.”
“Not your fault,” he said softly, tilting her chin up. “What happened with Webster?”
“Nothing.”
He sat back, brows lifted. “So… did he kiss you yet?”
His tone was so engagingly nosy, she might have smiled. But the thought of that kiss in the bar, so… proprietary. So necessary. So impossible. Her eyes stung. “Stop.”
“Stop what, Evie? Stop trying to keep you from making a big mistake? I have seen you through too much to let you hide again.”
Misery stepped aside for blessed anger. “I am not hiding. Not anymore.”
“You think just because you’re not holed up in Dana’s shelter anymore that you’re not hiding? Give me one good reason you’ve written Webster off. And don’t tell me it’s because he’s too old, because he’s my age and I’ll have to hurt you.”
She let out a long, quiet breath. “You know why.”
He stared at her in contrary confusion, and then his expression changed again to one of devastated understanding. “Oh, Evie. You can’t possibly…”
“No, I can’t,” she said, twisting his meaning.
“That’s not fair to Webster, or to any other man who might care about you. He might not even want kids. Especially at his age.”
“I thought you were his age,” she said quietly.
“I am. And I want kids. But I would be furious if a woman I cared for didn’t give me a chance because she assumed she knew what I wanted. You think you know people.”
His words had rattled her, but pride ran deeper than anything else. “I do.”
“Because you study them? Watch them? You don’t know shit, kid. You have been standing back and watching the world go by ever since Winters sliced you up.”
She flinched. “You cross the line, David.”
“Well, it’s about time somebody did.”
She stood, vibrating with ire. “Like you’re the expert? You, who stood back and watched the woman you loved marry somebody else? You, who’re still standing back and watching as she has baby after baby, building a family with somebody else?”
David jerked, his face going pale beneath his winter tan.
“Yeah,” she said bitterly. “I noticed. Did you ever think about telling Dana how you felt all those years? Or did you assume you knew how she felt? What she wanted?”
The silence hung between them for what seemed like endless minutes. “I knew how she felt,” he finally said. “She didn’t love me. She never did. She lived her life saving other people, doing crazy dangerous things, with never a thought for herself. She didn’t think about herself until she met…”
Eve felt a sharp stab of regret for the words she’d let fly so heedlessly. “Ethan.”
He nodded unsteadily. “Then her life became precious to her, because she could see what it would do to him to have lost her. Because she loves him.”
She felt lower than dirt. “David, I’m sorry.”
“No. You were right. I did watch her marry somebody else, because I did love her. Still do, I guess. But if Dana had ever given me one indication she felt the same way, I promise you, nothing would have held me back. And if she couldn’t have kids, I would have been sad, but it wouldn’t have mattered. Maybe Webster is just a bump in the road. A practice love, if you want. But just maybe he’s your chance to be happy.
“Evie, don’t stand back and watch it pass by. You never know if another chance will come. It’s time to trust your instincts. I’m going back to bed. Don’t burn any more pots.”
She watched him go, hurting. For both of them. But he was wrong. When it came to men, she had lousy instincts. And it wasn’t just kids. It was everything.
For now, she’d go back to what she’d been doing. Spread across her table were the stacks of usage logs and graphs she and Noah had been reviewing. There had to be something to tell them who the next target would be before it was too late to save her.
Wednesday, February 24, 4:25 a.m.
“You should have told me Jack didn’t answer his phone,” Abbott said calmly, his eyes on Rachel’s small house where a small army of CSU and MEs had swarmed.
Noah leaned against his car, watching the neighbors who’d gathered, wondering if their killer ever came back to the scene to watch. To gloat. “I’m sorry. I should have.”
He’d called his boss with the discovery of a fourth murder, and it hadn’t taken Abbott long to realize his staffing had been shaken up a little. Abbott had been most displeased.
“Next time you call out one of my detectives without my explicit permission, I’m going to kick your ass into next week,” Abbott continued in the same calm tone.
“Fine. Just don’t blame Olivia. She was only trying to help.”
“I won’t. I’m blaming you. When were you going to tell me that Jack’s been late to scenes for three weeks? Or has it been longer?”
“Off and on, longer. Depends on the woman in his bed. The women go their own way, and then Jack is back.” Noah shrugged uneasily. “Tonight, with him not showing up at all… That’s abnormal.”
“He’s on his way. He claims you didn’t call him.”
Noah blinked. “What?”
“That’s what he says,” Abbott said.
“He’s pulled that one before, too. ‘Oh, my cell phone has bad reception,’ ” Noah mimicked. He brought up his cell outgoing call log. “I called his cell and his home line.”
Abbott scanned his phone’s screen. “Your fingers did a lot of walking tonight, Noah.”
Noah snapped his phone shut, annoyed. “It’s been an eventful day,” he said tightly.
“That it has. I want you to brief me, then go home and sleep. It’s going to take CSU the better part of the night to process the scene. Tell me what happened.”
So Noah did, starting with Eve’s discovery that her red-zone, Rachel Ward, was not where she was supposed to be, finishing with his and Olivia’s grisly discovery. At this point he was reciting facts, his voice flat and expressionless from fatigue.
“We found his setup in the basement. He’d covered the windows so no one would see the flames. Smoke detectors, disabled. He let the fire lick up the stool he’d tied her to. She’s got third-degree burns, feet and legs. Micki called the fire investigators.”
“Okay,” Abbott said. “I’m up to speed. Go home, Noah. You look like hell.”
“Okay.” It was testament to his exhaustion that he obeyed without argument. He started for his car, then stopped as Jack’s car coasted to a stop in front of his.
Noah waited with Abbott as Jack approached, his cover-boy face haggard. And hung over. Noah recognized the look. He’d seen it in his own mirror enough times.
“Abbott said you called me,” Jack said with no trace of humor. “I never got the call.”
“I called you six fucking times.” Ignoring the guilt in his partner’s eyes, Noah went on. “The first call went out at 2:25. Rachel Ward may have still been alive then.”
Jack shook his head in denial. “I swear to God I never got your call. I fell asleep.”
Noah stepped closer, dropped his voice to a whisper. “After you drank how much?”
The guilt in his eyes gave way to anger. “One. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“No, not my business. But Rachel might think it was hers. She was busy dying while you were sleeping off your one drink.”
Jack’s cheeks grew dark. “You sonofabitch.”
Behind them Abbott cleared his throat harshly and Noah stowed his temper. “Olivia spotted a car leaving this neighborhood at 3:15,” Noah said. “The license plates were registered to Axel Girard’s wife.”