“Damned right,” she said gruffly. “You’re my best friend, and I refuse to do without you.” She released her and turned away. “Now get out of here.”
* * *
KENDRA WALKED UP TO HER third-floor condo, let herself in, and tossed her keys onto the small foyer table. She was about to toss Lynch’s envelope next to them when she stopped.
Olivia was right. No way in hell she wasn’t opening it.
She tore open the envelope and unfolded the small sheaf of papers inside. After less than a minute, she froze. “Shit,” she whispered.
She let the papers and photo printouts fall to the floor.
She stood there for a long moment, trying to process what she had just seen.
What in the holy hell?
After another few seconds, she picked up her mobile phone and punched a number.
Lynch answered immediately. “Hello, Kendra.”
“You son of a bitch. You knew I’d look, and you knew I’d call.”
“Yes. All of the above.”
Kendra realized that her hands were shaking. “I need to meet Griffin and everyone else at the Bureau working on this.”
“I just set up a meeting between you and the entire team. They don’t want to wait until Monday. I told them I’d have you at the FBI field office at nine tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eight thirty.”
Eight thirty in the morning. It could be five o’clock for all she cared. She knew she wasn’t getting much sleep tonight.
“See you then.” She cut the connection.
* * *
AT EIGHT THIRTY THE NEXT MORNING, she was out in front of her condo and waiting when Lynch roared up in his Ferrari. “Good God, are you still driving that ostentatious piece of junk?” she said as she got into the passenger seat. “Did it ever occur to you that most men don’t require that kind of ego building?”
“I don’t either, but I love great pieces of machinery, and I’m willing to pay for them.” He glanced at her. “Bad night?”
“Rotten. But I’d still think this luxury cruiser was unnecessary if I’d slept like a baby.”
“But you wouldn’t be so rude as to tell me so.” He suddenly grinned. “Correction. You probably would. What was I thinking?”
“You’re right.” She sighed wearily. “It was rude. It’s not my business if you need bolstering.”
“Now that really hurt.” His gaze was searching her face. “Angry?”
“I was angry. You were playing with me yesterday. You can’t resist manipulating everyone around you. I don’t appreciate it.”
“I thought you might need time to adjust to the idea. Wrong?”
“You were manipulating,” she repeated.
“Okay, I admit it. It comes so naturally that I don’t know I’m doing it sometimes.”
“Not true. You always know what you’re doing. You’re sharp and calculating and you—” She broke off. “God, I’m dreading this meeting, Lynch.”
“I know you are.” He added quietly, “But if it will help, I want you to know I’ll be there to watch your back.”
“I don’t think it will help. Not with what I’ll be facing when I walk into that office…”
FBI Field Headquarters
San Diego
“DR. MICHAELS, GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN.” Special Agent in Charge Michael Griffin was seated at the head of the long table in the field office’s cramped conference room. He didn’t stand to greet Kendra and Lynch, although the three other agents in the room did.
Bill Santini, a sandy-haired man with a large middle-aged paunch, smiled. “Hello, Kendra. Welcome back.”
It was actually a genuine smile, Kendra thought. She had never been his favorite person. But Santini had become much nicer to her since she’d let him grab an outsized portion of the credit for their last case together.
A slender man in his late twenties stepped forward and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses, which were slightly too small for his face. “Special Agent Roland Metcalf. It’s a true pleasure.”
Kendra shook his hand. “Thank you, Agent Metcalf.”
The remaining agent, a thirtyish woman with short blond hair, approached. “Thanks for helping us, Dr. Michaels. I’m Special Agent Saffron Reade.”
“Agent Reade is why you’re here,” Lynch said as he pulled back a conference table chair for Kendra. “She put together that packet I gave you.”
“So it’s your fault,” Kendra said to Saffron, not entirely joking.
“Afraid so.”
“Sit down, everybody. Let’s get started.” Griffin leaned back and placed his hands behind his head. His silver hair had grown whiter in the year since Kendra had last seen him though his angular face was still unlined for a man of his fifty-or-so years. “I’m sure we all appreciate Dr. Michaels’s coming down here this morning.”
Why the hell didn’t he get down to it and stop all these pleasantries? Kendra thought as she sat down at the other end of the long table. He was being entirely too formal and polite. He always addressed her as Dr. Michaels when he was annoyed at any situation. Griffin had never liked or understood her. And none of these agents really liked her being here. She had never been shy about criticizing their methods and lack of vision, and they didn’t appreciate that she was usually proved right. Patience. It had been a sleepless night as predicted, but she wasn’t tired. The contents of that damned envelope had been an unpleasant jolt of pure adrenaline. She still felt sick to her stomach.
Griffin motioned to Agent Reade. “Please begin.”
“Certainly.” Reade pressed a button on the remote, and a projection screen lowered on the wall behind Griffin. Motorized shades closed over the window. A ceiling-mounted projector whirred to life, and a PowerPoint presentation appeared on the screen. The first image was the accident scene that Kendra had visited only two nights before.
Reade turned toward the group. “As you know, Dr. Michaels, the Cabrillo State Bridge staged-accident scene bore some hallmarks of another case of yours in Texas, the Stanley Veers killings. His victims varied in age and gender, but each was killed in a way that was made to look like an accident.” Using her small remote, Reade quickly displayed shots of Veers’s murder scenes. “But as you’ve seen in the packet we gave you, we believe this new perpetrator has killed at least two other times in the past month. On October 17, a woman in Mission Valley was garroted with piano wire, which was then coiled up and placed in her mouth.” Read displayed the graphic crime-scene photos, some of which Kendra had already seen in the packet. “Then, on October 25, a man in Old Town was stabbed and the Latin phrase Mens Rea—guilty mind—was carved on his chest.” Again, Reade showed crime-scene photos that Kendra had already seen. “San Diego PD initially worked those cases and had no reason to think they were the work of the same person. But when this office was consulted on the Cabrillo Bridge scene, things started to fall into place. We realized there is something that links these cases.”
“Yes.” Although Kendra had the entire night to tussle with it, hearing Reade review the cases still seemed so unreal. “The link between all these cases … is me.”
Everyone in the room was silent, waiting for her to continue.
Kendra stood up and gazed at the last gory crime-scene photo for a long moment before speaking. “The piano wire victim was killed using the M.O. of Martin Stout, who murdered four women exactly the same way in Reno, Nevada. It was one of my first cases.” Kendra looked at Reade. “Your packet didn’t say what kind of piano wire. Do you have any idea—?”
Reade interrupted her. “Size 19 Roslau piano treble wire.”
Kendra nodded. “Imported from Germany. Exactly what Stout always used. And the second victim was killed in the manner of the so-called Latin Killer, Lukas Hendricks, who carved Latin phrases on his victim’s bodies. Another one of my cases. I assume those were holdback facts pending the investigation?”
Reade nodded.
Griffin placed his palms flat on the table. “It appears someone is re-creating your greatest hits, Dr. Michaels.”