"He's not the one," Jack said flatly.
"How do you know?" Olivia protested.
"No way in hell you're releasing him," Slater objected. "You want to explain why you're so sure Burrows isn't your suspect?"
"I just know." At the incredulous look on their faces, Jack added, "In a nutshell, he's too panicky. The UNSUB is cold and calculating. He'd never sweat like that." He stepped into the observation room and Olivia followed, Slater close behind.
Jack pointed through the two-way mirror as Burrows pushed out of his chair and paced the perimeter of the small room. "The killer wouldn't pace like that. He's not our guy. Ted Burrows is a depraved rapist, but he didn't kill anyone."
Slater sighed heavily. "I guess you know what you're doing."
"What about those girls? What about the tapes?" Olivia felt panic rise in her throat, followed quickly by the acrid burn of bile. God, she hoped she didn't vomit again.
"Don't worry, Livvie. He'll pay for that." Slater touched her arm briefly before he called a deputy to guard the interview door.
Drained, Olivia slumped against the wall. Irrationally, she wanted to blame Ted for the way her ex-husband had terrorized her. She wanted to blame him for all of it. That's the only way she'd feel safe again.
Chapter Twenty-three
Jack peered at Olivia, examined the pallor of her skin. He took her arm. "Let's get out of here."
"What about Ted?" she asked, tugging away from him.
"You've had enough," he snapped. He'd never have let her watch the interview in the first place except for her damned stubbornness.
"Don't worry," Slater told Olivia. "We've got plenty of charges to hold him on." He glanced Jack's way. "Could be you're wrong about him."
Jack shrugged.
"We could find physical evidence in the house to tie him to one of your victims," Slater speculated.
"He's not the guy," Jack insisted.
"We'll book him and put him in a holding cell, let him stew a while." Slater peered through the glass window into the interview room where Burrows had buried his head in his arms, face down on the table. "I have to let him call an attorney. I can't stall any longer."
"We're done here," Jack said. "I'm taking Olivia home." When he felt her body turn rigid against his side and sensed a protest rising to her lips, he insisted. "No argument." Her lips thinned in mutiny.
"Just this once, Livvie, don't be so goddamn stubborn."
Her face collapsed and she suddenly looked exhausted. She nodded once and let him take her arm. They'd just started toward the exit doors when Harris appeared.
"Bill Gant just crossed the Canadian border," the deputy said.
"He's got family there," Olivia said.
"Of course he does," Jack answered wearily.
Slater sent Harris to the interview room to escort Ted Burrows to the main jail where by law he could make the first of his three phone calls.
"After he makes the call, put him in holding cell three," Slater said.
Harris frowned. "Three, sir? Are you sure? In the Norteños holding?"
Jack knew most jails separated gang members to minimize the inevitable fights. He didn't need to ask why Slater wanted to put an upper-class, white guy in a Mexican gang holding cell. He wanted to put pressure on the detainee so he'd be more than eager to talk.
All Slater said was, "I think Burrows needs to experience a little cultural exchange."
Harris escorted Burrows toward the two phones for inmate use, but when Ted saw Olivia, the teaching assistant glared at her, twisting his lips in an ugly grimace. Harris restrained him with a firm hold on the man's left arm and twisted him away from her, but the cuffs didn't thwart his ugly words.
"You bitch," Ted snarled. "You sicced the cops on me, didn't you?"
As Harris dragged him down the hall, Ted continued shouting. "This isn't over. You haven't heard the last of me. You'll be sorry."
Jack leapt in front of Olivia, breaking him loose from Harris's grip, and gave Burrows a shove. He pushed him against the wall, his forearm tight against the man's throat. "Not a good idea to make a threat like that, Teddy."
"Holt," Slater warned.
Jack threw off the restraining arm. "This scum-bag isn't in a position to make threats." He scowled at Burrows and pressed harder on the man's Adam's apple. "You even think of coming near Dr. Gant, you little prick, and I'll hunt you down and rip your heart out."
Fear swept across Ted's face as he lapsed into a coughing fit. Slater pulled Jack off. "Go on now," he ordered. "Take Livvie home."
Minutes later, Jack sat with Olivia in the car, still shaking with rage. He glanced at her pale face and his trembling hands. What a pair they were.
Starting the engine, he drove her home.
By the time they arrived at the Sacramento house, a cooling wind had whipped up and Olivia's scent was strong in Jack's nostrils. She shivered and turned the heat on while he offered to build a fire. In the living room he knelt and stuffed starter chips and newspapers beneath an almond log, while Olivia prepared tea in the kitchen.
She was stalling, he thought, stalling because she wanted him to stay. Her scent wafted to him from the kitchen – the scent of nascent sexual interest – and the sound of her skittering heart echoed like thunder in his ears. With his heightened senses, he also felt her anxiety and indecision, but under both, her arousal pulsed stronger with each passing moment.
Minutes later she lounged on the sofa, her fingers wrapped around a steaming cup of tea while he adjusted the log with a poker that leaned against the brick of the hearth.
"I want to talk about the notes and the case." Olivia's tone was soft and musing, not at all like the objective words she spoke.
"You've had a rough time," he said over his shoulder. "We can talk in the morning."
"No, I need to solve this damn case as fast as I can and move on with my life."
He smiled. "You're going to solve the case all by yourself?"
"You know what I mean," she snapped. "I want this experience behind me."
Her bulldog retort amused him, but he picked up her empty cup, and went to the kitchen for a beer. He retrieved one for himself and another for Olivia and when he returned, he shoved her gently into a reclining position on the sofa. Handing her a beer, he sat beside her and pulled off her shoes. He began to massage her feet.
She eyed him suspiciously. "Why are you treating me like I'll break?"
He ignored her question and worked his thumbs into the delicate flesh beneath the arch of her feet, kneading the heels and toes. Like everything else about her, her feet were small and delicate and very smooth. He felt her relax beneath his touch.
"Thanks," she murmured after a moment, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the sofa arm. He reached across her calves to take the beer from her loose fingers and set it on the end table.
Because he thought she'd fallen asleep, her words surprised him. "He terrified me," she admitted. "And then I was furious that I allowed him to terrify me."
He looked up from caressing her bare legs beneath the hem of her jeans. "Why'd you marry a man like that?"
She grimaced. "I was young and stupid and… lonely. And Bill was very charming." She reached for her drink and took a deep swallow. "He was jealous of my success from the start. I knew after six months that it wasn't going to work."
"But you stuck it out." He smiled, thinking how typical that was of her.
"Yeah, for eighteen god-awful months." She frowned. "I didn't figure he'd retaliate like that. I didn't see it coming."
His hand worked upward, massaging her legs through the denim of her jeans, feeling the muscles quiver under his touch. As she propped one arm behind her head, her sweater rode up to expose a tempting slice of bare flesh. Abruptly, he pushed her legs aside, stood up, and reached for the fireplace poker, jabbing at a log that didn't need tending.
He came back to her, but didn't sit down. "Okay, let's work on the case then."