Книга - Man Of Action

Man Of Action
Janie Crouch


He was a man of action—especially when it came to protecting his new undercover partner…At ninenteen, Andrea Gordon's life was forever changed. After proving herself instrumental in a bank hostage crisis, she became one of Omega Sector's top agents. Four years later, her skill at reading people is unrivaled—until she meets fellow profiler Brandon Han. Paired together to track a serial killer who has been targeting at-risk women, the two become entangled beyond the case. Their mutual attraction deepens as they get closer to the truth. But when Andrea's own sordid past surfaces, they will both be forced to question everything about the assignment…and each other.







He walked up to Andrea, careful to come at her slowly and from the side so he didn’t sneak up on her in any way.

“Hi.” He kept his voice even, calm. “What are you doing out here? Everything okay?”

She looked at him, then back at the parking lot. Without being obvious about it, Brandon withdrew his weapon from the holster at his side. Had she seen something to do with the case?

“Andrea.” His voice was a little stronger now. “What’s going on? Is it something to do with the murders? Did you see something or did someone threaten you?”

She kept staring.

“Andrea, look at me.”

She finally turned to him, hair plastered to her head from the rain, makeup beginning to smear on her face.

“I need you to tell me what’s happening so I can do something about it.”




Man of Action

Janie Crouch







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


JANIE CROUCH has loved to read romance her whole life. She cut her teeth on Mills & Boon Romance novels as a preteen, then moved on to a passion for romantic suspense as an adult. Janie lives with her husband and four children overseas. She enjoys traveling, long-distance running, movie watching, knitting and adventure/obstacle racing. You can find out more about her at www.janiecrouch.com (http://www.janiecrouch.com).


To Anu-Riikka, because you talk me down from the ledge with almost every single book. Thank you for listening to me for hours on end and for offering a fresh perspective when I can’t see clearly any longer. You’re the greatest buddy a writer could have.


Contents

Cover (#u2e4c2a30-e009-5918-a81a-4ad2cd9b15c0)

Introduction (#u146c33ba-b499-5568-99b7-42cd06951486)

Title Page (#u15f106ab-59a7-5eed-8397-b23d2c63427c)

About the Author (#ua0a1f6c2-efdb-57a1-ae06-a3bca29db216)

Dedication (#ua9ba3aa1-e3ff-58aa-8c8a-7590429f715f)

Prologue (#ulink_7b944e7f-bd9b-5151-a66d-a2b63b630083)

Chapter One (#ulink_173992a7-779d-52a2-b932-a096ba131524)

Chapter Two (#ulink_a92a9f51-bc19-55c6-8ad7-8a06a757114e)

Chapter Three (#ulink_ab64e999-5ba8-58fe-afb9-d31aacbaf6a6)

Chapter Four (#ulink_ff3be241-2249-5d21-b6ae-9d269acb89e5)

Chapter Five (#ulink_e6f3dba9-7d12-5585-8023-278c5d102581)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Prologue (#ulink_6ab4d96b-c7ab-5639-b473-30070a83660c)

Andrea Gordon huddled inside her car in the bank parking lot as pandemonium reigned all around her. Cops, SWAT, ambulances and other emergency vehicles she didn’t even recognize flooded the area. Blue and red lights flashed in a rhythm that drummed brutally against her eyes. Officers pointed assault rifles toward the building. People ran back and forth.

Just behind the roped-off section, news crews formed the next layer of people, their lights and cords and equipment adding to the chaos.

Beyond that were the witnesses, the gawkers, hoping to catch something exciting. Andrea wasn’t sure what would pacify them. A chase? Bullets? A dead body? Smartphones recorded the scene from every angle.

Three men had taken sixteen people hostage after an attempted robbery had gone wrong in a bank just outside Phoenix, Arizona. Andrea would’ve been one of those sixteen, but she had seen the signs on the robbers’ faces when they’d first walked in.

Danger. Violence.

Andrea was only nineteen years old, but she was an expert at spotting the approach of danger. Maybe she should be thankful for all the times she’d had to discern it in her uncle to avoid his fists. Either way, it had gotten her out of that bank before the trouble went down.

The men hadn’t come in together, but they were definitely working as a team; Andrea had immediately seen that. It was obvious to her that they weren’t afraid to hurt, even to kill. Simmering violence was a vibe she was very attuned to.

Two of the men fairly buzzed with it. Excited about taking money that wasn’t theirs and maybe taking a life, too. But it was the third man, who stood completely still and broadcast almost no outward emotions at all, that scared her the most.

She’d waited a minute longer, studying them while pretending to fill in a deposit slip, in case she was wrong. The two hyped-up guys were making their way back toward the bank manager’s office. The other man, the scary one, stood against a side wall, a briefcase in his hand. He caressed it with a lover’s touch.

He felt her eyes and turned to her, giving a smile so dark, so full of violence, Andrea had turned and nearly run out of the bank. She’d felt his eyes follow her as she left.

She’d been the last one out. Not two minutes after her exit, shots had been fired inside. The robbery soon turned into a hostage situation. Once out, Andrea had hidden in her car, parked in the back of the bank lot, and watched as the police arrived minutes later, then observers, then press.

Andrea would’ve been escorted back with the observers if anyone had known she was in her car. She’d been so scared at the third man’s evil smile, she had literally melted herself into the driver’s seat of her vehicle, curling into a ball and protecting her head and face with her arms.

She’d learned long ago that position didn’t stop pain, but at least this time it had kept her away from anyone’s view. The uniformed officer who had been in charge of security and taping off the parking lot had walked right by Andrea’s car without even seeing her in the dimming hours of twilight.

Unfortunately, now she was trapped here since the lot was blocked off by police vehicles. There was no telling how long the showdown could continue with the three men inside. She would need to go find someone who could let her out if she wanted to leave this evening.

Andrea exited her car, kept her head down and walked toward the action, planning to talk to the first relatively nice cop she could find. She didn’t want to draw any attention to herself, just wanted to get the help she needed and get out.

When she got to the front line of police officers, Andrea started looking around more. There was a lot of excitement in most of these cops. Some were nervous, a few downright fearful. A couple were bored.

She was easily able to spot the man in charge. He exuded self-confidence and self-importance, even without a radio in each hand and people constantly asking him questions. When he gave orders he expected them to be followed, and he was definitely the one giving orders in this situation. Another man and woman were standing with him. Everything about their faces and body language also suggested confidence, but they were respectful, caring—not power hungry. They stood back slightly, observing.

Drawn by the situation even though she didn’t want to be, Andrea made her way toward those people in charge. She was careful not to get in anybody’s way or do anything to draw someone’s scrutiny, although she expected to be stopped at any moment. When she got close enough to hear the leaders, she stood beside an unmarked sedan, watching them studying and discussing the bank.

She heard the man and woman—the observers—arguing with the man in charge.

“Lionel, deadly force isn’t necessary yet,” the man stated, quiet but emphatic. “Plus we don’t know the exact situation. We have no inside intel.”

“This isn’t your operation, Drackett,” the man named Lionel snapped. He wasn’t interested in anyone else’s opinions. “Omega isn’t in charge here—the Bureau is.”

“We’re not even sure how many perps are in there, nor how many hostages,” the woman said, her voice as calm as Drackett’s had been.

“We’ve got eyes on the building. There’s obviously two gunmen holding a room of seventeen people. They’ve got everyone in one location to keep them in line.”

Lionel was wrong. There were three men involved. But Andrea imagined the third one with the evil smile just looked like one of the hostages if he hadn’t made any obvious threatening moves. With his briefcase and suit he’d blend right in.

And he meant to kill everyone in the building. Everything in his body language and his emotions had screamed violence.

“Neither of those guys have hurt anyone yet. Let us get our hostage negotiator down here to talk to them. Matarazzo is a whiz in this type of situation—you know that.” Drackett again. “He can be here within the hour.”

Lionel shook his head. “No, I don’t need your rich wonder boy. I will handle this the way I see fit. The two gunmen have left the back of the building ripe for our entry. They are obviously camped in the front. They’re nervous. I’m not going to wait until they kill someone before I make my move.”

Although their expressions changed for only the briefest moment, Andrea could feel the waves of frustration coming off Drackett and the woman he was with. Whatever was going on, it was personal. Lionel all but hated Drackett.

That disdain was going to get everyone in the building killed. She could hear Lionel getting a SWAT team ready to breach the back door.

She was afraid when they did, the third man would make his move. She had to tell the police leaders what she knew. She didn’t know if it would make a difference, if they would listen to her at all, but she had to try.

She walked over to Drackett and the woman before she could let herself chicken out. She didn’t try to talk to Lionel; she already knew he wouldn’t listen to her.

“Excuse me, Mr. Drackett? There’s a third man inside that bank. Someone more deadly than the other two you can see.”

Drackett immediately turned his focus to her, as did the woman. It was a little overwhelming. Andrea wasn’t used to people actually listening to her that intently.

“How do you know?” His voice was clipped but she knew it was because they were running out of time, not because he didn’t believe her.

“I was in there. I saw them come in. I’m—I’m pretty good at reading people, their expressions. I could tell something was not right with the three of them. Those two guys.” She pointed at the bank doors where the two men could be seen. “And another one you don’t know about.”

Drackett and the woman met eyes and stepped closer to Andrea. She could tell they had Lionel’s attention also, although he didn’t turn toward them.

“I’m Grace. Tell us everything, as quickly as you can.” The woman touched her on the arm. Andrea fought the urge to flinch even though she knew the woman meant her no harm.

“The two men, the ones with guns, are excited, a little shaky. They’re thrilled about a big payoff and perhaps about having to shoot their way out of the situation. They will kill if they have to, but that’s not their primary intent.”

“And the third man?”

“Evil.” Even in the Phoenix evening heat, Andrea felt cold permeate her bones. “He’ll kill everyone. Wants to kill everyone. I think he wants to take as many people as possible down with him.”

Drackett whispered something to Grace and she eased back and disappeared into the crowds of law enforcement. She was gone too quickly for Andrea to get a read on whether she believed Andrea or not.

“So help me God, Drackett, if you tell me we need to listen to what this child is telling us...”

“This young woman has more actual intel than anyone else here. I’m not asking you to stand down, Lionel, just to listen and make sure you have all the facts before making any big move.”

“I’m not going to wait for these gunmen to kill someone before we move in. SWAT will be ready to storm the back door in three minutes. We go then.”

Everything about Lionel screamed determination. Andrea didn’t even try to convince him; he wasn’t going to listen to her.

She took a step back. She had done all she could do. Things inside the bank would play out the way they would play out.

She was about to fade back even more when Drackett looked down at a message on his phone. He turned and walked the three steps so he was standing directly in front of her.

“You. Name. First and last.”

“Andrea Gordon.” He wasn’t angry with her but the abrupt statement had her giving her real name rather than a fake.

“Just wanted to know the name of the person who’s going to cost me my career if you’re wrong,” he whispered. “Go stand back there with that uniformed officer. All hell is about to break loose.” He motioned for the officer to come get her.

Andrea walked back with the cop, but when he became distracted with something else, she slipped away. She eased into the crowds. She’d come back for her car another time.

She heard and felt the chaos behind her a few moments later. A shot fired then a bunch of people yelling. She just kept walking, not looking back.

* * *

ANDREA WASN’T SURE what had happened in the bank that evening. She’d watched the news the next day and it seemed as if the men had been stopped without any problems. One of the gunmen had been wounded in the raid; the other had surrendered without a fight. All the hostages had left the bank unharmed.

The third man was never mentioned or shown by the media. Andrea accepted that maybe she had been wrong; maybe he hadn’t had anything to do with it. But then she thought of that evil smile the man had given her in the bank. Even now it had the ability to make her stomach turn.

Andrea hoped Mr. Drackett and Grace hadn’t gotten in trouble because of what she had told them. She’d probably never have any way of knowing, so she put it out of her mind.

Until they both walked in to Jaguar’s a couple of hours later.

Andrea was immediately self-conscious. She wasn’t onstage dancing—thank God—but she was serving drinks, and even though the waitress outfits were more concealing than whatever the dancer was wearing, it still left very little to the imagination.

They were obviously here for her. Jaguar’s rarely got customers in business suits. Especially suits that screamed law enforcement.

It was too dark for Andrea to read their expressions and body language as well as she would like, but anger radiated off them. This had to be about the bank. They must have gotten in trouble. And now they were here to let Andrea know. She wondered if she was about to be arrested.

“Harry, I need a break. I’ll be back in fifteen,” she said to her manager.

Harry leered at her the way he always did. “Any more than that and I’ll dock your pay.” He stepped closer, grasping her chin. “Or we can work out our own way of you paying me back.”

He didn’t see that Drackett and Grace had made their way up behind him, overhearing his words. Drackett cleared his throat.

Harry pegged them as cops as soon as he turned around. “And by paying me back, I mean working extra shifts,” he muttered, going to stand farther behind the bar, glaring at the suits.

“Andrea, could we talk to you outside for a few minutes?” Grace said over the thump of the music.

“Am I about to be arrested?”

Drackett’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that?”

Andrea shrugged, very aware of how much her clothes revealed. Her skimpy bra was clearly noticeable through the mesh of her top. The short pleated skirt she wore barely covered her bottom, and men often took it as an invitation to run their hand up her thigh.

Andrea had stopped slapping their hands away once Harry threatened to fire her.

She was used to men gawking at her body, but Mr. Drackett’s eyes hadn’t so much as left her face once since he’d arrived.

“You’re angry,” she said. It wasn’t terribly noticeable in his expression, but she could tell.

Grace was surprised. “I don’t think Steve is angry, Andrea.” She turned to him. “Maybe we’re wrong about her.”

Steve shook his head once. “No, she’s spot-on. I’m pissed as hell that she’s working in a place like this.” He stepped closer to Andrea and she couldn’t help but take a step back. He froze. “I’m not angry at you, I promise.”

Andrea believed him. “Okay.”

“But do you mind coming outside with us? This will only take a few minutes.”

Andrea grabbed her lightweight jacket and followed them out the side door. “I can’t stay out here very long. I’ll get fired if I do. I need this job,” she said in the quieter, cooler air of outside. Finally she felt as if she could breathe again.

“You were right about the third man in the bank.” Grace smiled at her. “You probably saved a lot of lives yesterday. He had a briefcase full of explosives and was just waiting to use them. Was waiting for SWAT so he could take them down, too.”

Andrea closed her eyes in relief. At least no one had gotten hurt and these two people hadn’t gotten fired.

“Andrea, I’m going to cut right to the chase.” Mr. Drackett kept his distance so she wouldn’t feel uncomfortable. “We believe you have a gift at reading people’s emotions and microexpressions, even when they’re only available for a split second.”

Andrea wasn’t exactly sure what microexpressions were, but she knew she was good at reading people.

“Maybe.” She shrugged, clutching her jacket to her chest. “So?”

“I’m Steve Drackett. Grace and I work for Omega Sector: Critical Response Division. We’re law enforcement, sort of like the FBI, but without as much red tape.”

“And smarter and better looking,” Grace chimed in, smiling again. “We’re based out of Colorado Springs.”

That was all fine and good, but what did it have to do with her? “Okay.”

Drackett crossed his arms over his chest. “We’d like you to come work for us.”

“What?” Andrea wasn’t sure she was hearing right. “Doing what?”

“What you did at the bank. What you seem to be a natural at doing, if we’re not mistaken. Reading people.”

Andrea’s gaze darted over to Grace then back to Drackett. “You don’t even know me. Maybe I just got lucky at the bank.”

Steve tilted his head to the side. “Maybe, but I don’t think so. There are some tests that can help us know for sure. We’ll pay for you to fly to Colorado Springs and for all your expenses during testing.”

Andrea grimaced. Tests, books, schooling were not her strengths. The opposite, in fact. She looked down at her feet. “I’m not too good at tests. Didn’t finish high school.”

“It won’t be like math or English tests you took in school,” Grace said gently. “It’s called ‘behavioral and nonverbal communication diagnostic testing.’”

Now Andrea was even more confused. “I don’t know what that means.”

Grace smiled. “Don’t worry about the name. The testing will involve a lot of pictures, or live people, and we’ll see how accurately you can pick up their emotions and expressions.”

Okay, only reading emotions, not words. Maybe she could handle it, but she still wasn’t sure. What if she failed?

“Andrea!” Harry yelled from the door. “Time’s up.”

Steve looked at Harry then back to Andrea. “There are no strings in this offer,” Steve said, his voice still calm and even. “You can check us out before you get on the plane, make sure we’re legit. Read up about Omega, so you feel safe.”

Andrea studied them both. There was no malice in either of them as they looked back at her, just respect, concern and a hopefulness. They legitimately seemed to want her to join them.

“What if I can’t do what you want? If I’m not as good as you think?” she whispered.

“Then you’ll be paid handsomely for the time you’ve spent doing the testing,” Grace said. “And we’ll fly you anywhere you want to go. It doesn’t have to be in Arizona.”

“Andrea.” Harry’s voice was even louder. “Get your ass back in here. Now.”

“And we’ll help get you started in another career. It may not be with Omega, but it doesn’t have to be here. This is not the place for you. Why don’t you leave with us tonight?” The compassion in Steve’s face was her undoing.

She looked back at Harry. He was livid, wanted to hurt her physically, emotionally, any way he could. It seemed as if there had been someone wanting to hurt her all her life.

But Steve and Grace didn’t. They wanted to help. She just hoped she didn’t disappoint them.

Andrea slipped her jacket all the way onto her body. “Okay, I’ll come with you.”

There was nothing worth keeping her here.


Chapter One (#ulink_3adc3ef3-8c78-58d3-835d-c1f063852cd2)

Four years later, Andrea stood in front of a bathroom mirror inside Omega Sector headquarters. She smoothed her straight black skirt and made sure—again—that her blouse was tucked in neatly before checking her reflection in the bathroom mirror one last time. Blond hair, cut in a sleek bob—the most professional haircut she’d been able to think of—was perfectly in place. Makeup tastefully applied and nothing that would draw attention to herself.

She was about to be fired from her job as a behavioral analyst at Omega Sector’s Critical Response Division.

Why else would Steve Drackett be calling her into his office at ten thirty on a Monday morning?

Actually, she could think of a half dozen reasons why he would be calling her in: a new case, a new test, some assignment he needed her to work on or a video briefing where her analysis was needed. But her brain wasn’t interested in focusing on any of the logical reasons he wanted to meet with her.

“Steve and Grace both know your background and still want you here,” she told her reflection. The scared look didn’t leave her eyes. She forced herself to vacate the bathroom and head down the hall. If Steve was going to fire her, there was nothing she could do about it.

No one said hello to her as she walked through the corridors and Andrea didn’t engage anyone. She’d utilized this keep-to-herself plan ever since she had realized exactly how important Omega was and the caliber of people they had working here in the Critical Response Division. Ever since Steve and Grace had officially offered her a job four years ago after six weeks of testing.

She may have a gift of reading people, but Andrea didn’t think for one minute that she was the sort of person Omega normally hired.

She’d known from the beginning she needed to keep her past a secret. Announcing to her colleagues that she was a runaway, dyslexic high school dropout who—oh yeah—used to be an exotic dancer would not inspire much confidence in her. So she’d made it a point not to tell anyone. Not to ever discuss her past or personal life at all. If it didn’t involve a case, Andrea didn’t talk about it.

Her plan hadn’t won her any friends, but it had successfully worked at keeping her secrets. She could live without friends.

Andrea pushed on the door that led to the outer realm where Steve’s assistants worked. One of them stood, welcoming and walking her to Steve’s office door and opening it. The clicks of Andrea’s three-inch heels on the tiled floor sounded more like clanging chimes of doom in her head as she stepped through.

“Hey, Andrea, good to see you,” Steve said from behind his desk, looking up from a stack of papers.

She supposed he was handsome, with his brown hair graying slightly at the temples and his sharp blue eyes, but since he was nearly twenty years older than her, she’d never even thought of him in that way. She respected him with every fiber of her being. Not only for getting her out of a dead-end life back at Jaguar’s in Buckeye, Arizona, but because of how fair and respectful he acted toward all the people who worked at Omega.

But he was tired. Andrea could tell. “You need a vacation, boss. Some time away from this circus.”

Steve put his elbows on his desk and bridged his fingers together, grimacing just the slightest bit. “You know why I don’t invite you in here very often? Because you see too much.” But his words held no fire. He knew what she said was right.

Andrea nodded.

“Sit down, Andrea. I’m afraid what I have to say might be a little difficult to hear.”

Oh my God, he is going to fire me.

Andrea took a breath through her nose and tried not to let her panic show. She had known this was a possibility from the beginning. Not just a possibility, a probability.

She tried to mentally regroup. Okay, she wasn’t the same girl who had left with Steve and Grace from Buckeye. She had managed to successfully complete her high school equivalency degree and even had two years of college under her belt. Yes, her dyslexia made some classes difficult, and she had to take them at a slower pace than most people, but she was making progress.

She could get some other job now. She had money in savings. She didn’t have to go back to Jaguar’s and let those people paw at her again.

“Andrea.”

Steve’s tone made her realize it wasn’t the first time he’d said her name. She finally forced herself to focus on what he was saying.

“I don’t need to have your gift to see that you’re panicking. What the hell is going on in that brain of yours?” She could feel waves of concern flowing from him, and it was easily readable on his face.

She rubbed her skirt again. “Steve, I understand if you need to let me go. I’ve always known that was a possibility—”

“Andrea, I’m not firing you.”

“But you said this may be difficult.”

“And it probably will be, but why don’t you let me finish before you jump to conclusions.”

Now Andrea felt the reprimand. She sank back a little in her chair. “Yes, sir.”

“I need you for a case.”

He really wasn’t firing her. “Okay.”

“It involves a serial killer. He’s been striking in the Phoenix area, with the last woman found dead just outside of Buckeye.”

Her hometown. Now his concern made sense.

“And you want me to go there.” It wasn’t a question.

“I think your ability as a behavioral analyst, plus your knowledge of and history with the area, makes you one of our best chances of stopping this guy as quickly as possible.”

She was glad she wasn’t being fired, but Steve was right—this was hard. She didn’t want to go back to Buckeye. When she’d left there that night with Steve and Grace, she’d never returned. She’d gone back inside Jaguar’s to collect her personal belongings and her tips and had told Harry she wasn’t coming back.

She’d been glad to have Grace, obviously a cop and obviously carrying a weapon, standing behind her as she did it, because she didn’t think Harry would’ve taken it so well otherwise. As it was, his face had turned a molten red, small eyes narrowed even further. But he hadn’t stopped her.

She’d never really explained it all to Steve, but Jaguar’s was really just the tip of her iceberg of bad memories when it came to Buckeye. The situation she’d lived through the years before she’d run away from her aunt and uncle’s home had been much worse. She still bore a few scars to prove that.

“I know this is hard for you.” Steve was studying her carefully from behind his desk.

“Buckeye is not somewhere I’d choose to visit.” The understatement of the century.

Steve came around to sit on his desk, closer to her. “Andrea, you’re not the same person Grace and I met in Buckeye four years ago. You’re stronger, more confident, able to handle the stress of this job, which isn’t a light matter.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I know you feel like you don’t have the same educational background or experience of most of the people actively working cases at Omega. But you have a natural talent at reading people that continues to be honed.”

“But—”

Steve wasn’t really interested in her arguments. “I can think of a dozen cases, just off the top of my head, where your assistance provided the primary components needed to allow us to make an arrest.”

Andrea took a breath. She knew that. Intellectually, she knew all that Steve spoke was the truth. But it was so hard.

“You’ve got to stop thinking I’m about to fire you every time I call you to my office. I’m not, trust me. I can’t afford to lose such a valuable member of the Omega team.”

Steve radiated sincerity. Of course, he always had. And she did believe she was part of the team. A noneducated, ex-stripper part of the team, but part of the team.

Okay, she could handle this. She could handle going back to Buckeye.

“Of course, we won’t be sending you alone. You and Brandon Han will be working together.”

Andrea smiled through gritted teeth, glad that Steve wasn’t as skilled at reading people as she was. Brandon Han, as in Dr. Brandon Han, with something like two PhDs and an IQ higher than Einstein. They called him “the machine.” He was considered the best and most brilliant profiler at Omega.

Not to mention he was hotter than sin. Tall, black hair, with a prominent Asian heritage.

“Do you know Brandon?”

Besides when she’d fantasized about him? “Um, I’ve never worked any cases with him, but I’ve met him a couple of times, briefly.”

She wasn’t sure he would even remember meeting her.

“Great. He’ll be here any minute. Then we can go over details and get you guys going today.”

* * *

BRANDON HAN WAS running a little late for his meeting with Steve but knew his boss would understand. Brandon had just come from visiting the widow and kids of his ex-partner.

Brandon didn’t get by to see them as much as he liked, but he knew there were other Omega people checking in on them, also. David Vickars had been a well-liked and respected member of the team. He’d had the backs of many agents over the years, and the Omega family didn’t forget their own.

David had died a year ago from a foe even Omega couldn’t fight: cancer. He’d worked active duty until a month before he died from an inoperable tumor, then spent his last weeks with his wife and kids.

Brandon and David had been partners for seven years and had been friends for long before that. Brandon hadn’t been interested in working with a partner since David died.

But he knew the minute he walked into Steve Drackett’s office and saw beautiful, blonde Andrea Gordon sitting in a chair, body language screaming nervousness, that he was about to get partnered again.

Damn it.

Brandon had become quite adept at working alone. He liked the quiet. He liked being able to work at his own pace, which—no conceit intended—was often quite a bit faster than everyone else’s.

“Hey, Steve,” he greeted his boss. He nodded at Andrea, but she’d looked away. Par for the course for her. She’d looked away every time he’d ever been in the same room with her.

Drackett stood from behind his desk and shook Brandon’s hand. “Let’s go over to the conference table to talk about a case.”

Steve was moving them to neutral ground, not wanting to pull rank from behind his desk if he didn’t have to. He wanted Brandon to agree to whatever was about to be asked without having to force him. If Brandon wasn’t mistaken, his boss’s friendliness had to do with Andrea. A protectiveness maybe.

“Sure,” Brandon agreed amicably. He might as well let this play out.

Andrea stood and joined them. Brandon held out a chair for her, waiting to see if she was one of those women who got offended by the gesture. That would tell him a lot about her.

But she just looked surprised for a moment before taking the chair he held out. He helped slide it in as she sat.

Okay, not afraid of her own femininity and didn’t feel that every situation needed to be a struggle of power.

“You’ve met Andrea Gordon?” Steve asked, glancing at them.

“Yes, a couple of times. Good to see you again.”

“Yes, you too,” she murmured, voice soft. Sweet, even.

“We’ve got a serial killer working in the Phoenix area. Three dead so far.” Steve handed them both a file.

“Confirmed serial?” Brandon asked, glancing through the file.

“Pretty much as confirmed as these things can get. All three were women in their early twenties. All were found covered in some sort of white cloth and holding a lotus flower.”

“Purity,” Andrea muttered.

“What?” Steve asked.

Andrea shrugged. “Lotus flowers are the symbol of purity in some cultures.”

“She’s right,” Brandon said. “And so is the white cloth. Almost like a cleansing ritual.”

“Okay, that’s something to go on. I’ll need you two to leave tonight. The local police department is expecting you.”

“Steve, since David...” Died. Brandon found it difficult to say the word even now a year later, so he just didn’t. “Since David, I’ve been working alone. That’s been going pretty well for me. I think I’m more productive that way.”

Brandon turned to Andrea. “I mean that as no offense to you whatsoever.”

Some emotion passed across her face but was gone before he—even with all his training—could read it. Frustrating.

“I understand,” she said, nodding.

“Brandon, the last murder took place inside the town limits of Buckeye, on the outskirts of Phoenix. That’s where Andrea is from. With ritual killings like this, we both know it’s usually someone from the area.”

Brandon grimaced. He couldn’t deny that. Having someone familiar with the area—especially someone with a stellar skill set like Andrea’s—would be invaluable.

But still, Brandon didn’t want to work with her. Didn’t want to be in forced proximity with her for an extended length of time. He glanced over at her but she wasn’t looking at him, again. She was studying the pictures in the file, as if she couldn’t care less about the conversation going on around her.

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. No, he did not want to partner with this woman for a case. He’d discovered over the past year that he liked working alone, but it was more than that.

He didn’t trust Andrea. The woman had secrets. Secrets tended to blow up in everyone’s faces at the most inopportune moments.

David had kept his illness a secret from everyone for as long as he could. Brandon didn’t want to be around secrets anymore.

He especially didn’t want to be around a stunningly beautiful woman with secrets. The kind of woman who made him want to toss out his never-mix-business-with-pleasure rule. The kind that made him want to find out all her secrets.

He didn’t trust her and she was distracting. She damn well had distracted him every time he’d seen her the past few months. Including today. Her perfect legs in her perfect suit with her perfect hair and makeup. It all distracted him.

He was not a man who liked to be distracted.

Brandon could kill a man a dozen ways with his bare hands, but it wasn’t his strength or speed he relied on to get ahead of criminals. He relied on his intellect, his education, his experience to stop the worst of the worst bad guys.

Having Andrea Gordon’s distracting presence around him during a serial-killer case was just not going to work.

He leaned back in his chair and feigned a casualness he didn’t have. “I just think it’s better for me to work alone on this case.”

Because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to work at all otherwise.


Chapter Two (#ulink_e3589790-e20c-5139-856c-230c151929c6)

“She has secrets, Steve. Something she’s not telling people.”

Steve had already excused Andrea from his office and had told her—much to Brandon’s vexation—to go pack for the trip to Buckeye.

“We all have secrets.” Steve had moved himself back behind his desk. Evidently time for neutral ground was over. Steve was reaffirming that he was in charge.

“Do you know what they call her around here?”

Steve raised one eyebrow.

“‘The ice queen.’ She never talks to anyone, never engages anyone. Nobody knows anything about her.”

“Just because she’s not the life of the party makes her an ice queen? I thought better of you, Han.”

Brandon didn’t know why he felt the need to so quickly defend himself, but he did. “Not me. I didn’t say that or think it, nor any of our inner group. It’s just what I’ve heard some other people say.”

“She’s damn good at what she does. Next time someone wants to talk trash about her because she’s not all touchy-feely, you be sure to tell them that.”

“We all know she’s good. She’s a natural reader. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Brandon held a PhD in interpersonal communication and still couldn’t read people’s expressions and body language to the extent Andrea could.

“But?”

“No buts about that. All I’m saying is she has secrets.”

“She has a past, Brandon. We all do. Hers is a little more bleak than most of ours. If she’s got secrets it’s because she wants to not live in that past.”

Brandon had to admit there was nothing wrong with that.

“I know it hurt you when David didn’t tell you about his cancer. To find out then lose him so quickly was tough. It was for all of us.”

Brandon got up out of his chair and walked over to the window. “I want to say this isn’t about David, but of course that’s not true.”

“I know he was your best friend too, Brandon.”

Brandon nodded without turning around. David had been his best friend since long before they worked together at Omega. David had been his anchor when the darkness of wandering inside the minds of killers had become too much.

“Andrea’s the top person for this case, just like you’re the top person for this case. There’s somebody out there murdering young women and he needs to be stopped before he kills again.”

Brandon knew Steve was right.

“Andrea’s young, only twenty-three,” Steve continued. “She’s unsure about her abilities and where she fits in here.”

Twenty-three? Something inside Brandon eased. She was young. Brandon was only thirty-one, but twenty-three seemed like a lifetime ago. He’d been more unsure about himself then too, so he couldn’t blame her.

“You know me, Steve. I like having all the facts going into anything. She’s an unknown variable and it gets my hackles up.”

“I know some of what she keeps to herself, and although I am not at liberty to share, what I know about her makes me respect her more, not less. But some of her secrets she’s never shared with me. May not have shared them with anyone. That’s her choice.”

Brandon nodded. As Steve said, everyone had secrets.

“She’s damn good at her job and she’ll help you find that killer.”

Brandon ran a hand over his face. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll go pack.”

“Han, thank you,” Steve said as Brandon turned for the door. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“Like you said, the important thing is getting the killer off the street.”

“Going back to that town is not going to be easy for her. I’d appreciate if you’d just keep an eye out for her emotional well-being.”

“Anything in particular I should know about?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s where she grew up. Faster than most, I would venture.”

Somehow Brandon got the feeling there was a huge chunk of information Steve was leaving out, but he let it slide. “Okay, I’ll keep an eye out for her as best I can. Is that it?”

“Actually, no.”

Brandon didn’t even try to refrain from rolling his eyes. “There’s more?”

“It’s probably nothing, but I wanted to make you aware of it.” Steve’s tone had turned from concerned to downright serious.

Brandon walked back toward his desk. “Okay.”

“Damian Freihof escaped from federal custody thirty-six hours ago.”

Brandon filtered his mind for the information, finding it. “He was the guy who planned to blow up those people in that bank in Phoenix, right? What, three years ago?”

“Four. We also think he was responsible for two other bombings, but we weren’t able to prove it.”

“Do you suspect he’s in Buckeye?”

“No. But like you said, the bank he tried to blow up was in Phoenix, pretty close by. He blames Andrea for his arrest.”

“Why? Was she even there?”

“She was there, and she was the one who led to his capture, although she was not in law enforcement at the time.”

Yeah, because at the time she would’ve been nineteen years old, if Brandon’s math was correct.

“Did you tell Andrea about his escape?”

Steve’s hesitation was minuscule, fleeting. Brandon would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been trained to see it. “No, we chose not to tell her. When Freihof went to prison, Andrea was not yet working for us. Plus with two life sentences we didn’t figure he would be getting out until he was at least eighty. He escaped during a transfer.”

“You think keeping her out of the loop is wise?”

Steve shrugged. “Freihof was mad at pretty much everyone during his case and sentencing, so we didn’t—and still don’t—give his threats against Andrea much credence. We’re not even sure how he got Andrea’s name since she wasn’t involved in his arrest or trial, but I doubt he’s after her now. All she really did was let us know there was a third man in the bank. I don’t think she had any idea he planned to blow everyone up and that her info thwarted his attempt.”

Another secret. Another potential problem.

“All right.” Brandon nodded. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for any extra psychos while we’re chasing down our current one.”

Steve smiled. “Remember, she’s not an agent, just a full-time consultant. She has some physical training, but not nearly as much as you do.”

“Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Steve shook Brandon’s hand. “Good hunting. Keep me posted.”

Brandon nodded and headed toward the door. This was already more complicated than Brandon liked it. And he knew it was just going to get worse.

* * *

BRANDON’S ARRIVAL AT the Colorado Springs Airport three hours later to discover the flight to Phoenix had been delayed due to mechanical issues did not make him feel any better about the start of this case. They were flying commercial since the two Omega jets were occupied with other missions.

Andrea showed up, still looking chic and cool in her skirt and blouse. The ice queen. Brandon wondered if she ever let herself get rumpled. His fingers literally itched with the desire to be the one who did it.

Rumpling Andrea Gordon was such a bad idea.

Brandon had noticed her around Omega for years—it was difficult not to notice someone who looked like Andrea—but he’d been very careful not to allow himself to study her. Not to try to figure out what made her tick and what made her smile or frown. With two advanced degrees in human behavior and communication, not to mention one in law, figuring people out was what Brandon did.

But with Andrea that had seemed a dangerous path to start down.

Then for the past year he’d been so involved in his own issues—David’s death, learning how to work alone—that his attraction for Andrea had gotten pushed to the back burner. But now it was sitting down next to him in the airport chair, unavoidable.

“Hello.” She smiled briefly at him. “Ready for this?”

Andrea wanted to be professional. Everything about her suggested it, from her prim clothes, to her tasteful makeup, to her perfect hair. Brandon would answer in kind. Professional was better for both of them.

He nodded. “Not quite up to speed yet, but getting there. We’re scheduled to meet with the Phoenix and Buckeye police tomorrow. Evidently Buckeye’s department isn’t equipped to handle a homicide investigation, so Phoenix is helping out.”

“Buckeye is small. They don’t get many serial killers.”

“Let’s hope we can stop this one before he kills again.”

He found her studying him as he took some files out of his briefcase, her expression a little bemused. “What?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head. “You’re just...complicated.”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. Quite the interesting observation. “Why do you say that?”

She shrugged. “Most people only have one or maybe two main emotions transpiring inside them at the same time. You have more.” Her lips pursed. “And they’re complex.”

He did have more. Brandon knew that about himself. Knew that he compartmentalized in order to be able to get more done, to think about different things without actually dwelling on them.

It was part of what made him a good profiler. His subconscious brain was able to continue to work on certain aspects of a case while his conscious brain focused on something entirely different. Part of it was his own natural ability and intelligence. Part of it came from years of training his brain to do what he wanted.

He also had darkness in him. He could admit that, too. A side of him that knew he could use his intellect and training and experience to commit crimes if he really wanted. And would probably never get caught. It was never too far from the surface, although he never shared it with anyone.

Brandon had never had someone—especially someone who didn’t really know him well—sense the complexity of the emotions inside him. It was disconcerting, particularly because he didn’t want her to be able to read him so well.

“Oh.” Andrea looked away from him.

“What?”

“Annoyance just swamped out pretty much everything else.” She folded her hands in her lap and looked at them.

She thought he was annoyed with her, when really his annoyance stemmed from not having as much control over expressing his emotions as he thought he had. That was the problem with naturals, with people who were just gifted behavioral analysts rather than those who had studied human psychology and nonverbal communication to become experts. The naturals could read the emotions but couldn’t always figure out the context.

“Let’s just focus on the case, okay?” He handed her a bundle of files. “We pretty much need to be completely familiar with all of this before we meet with the locals tomorrow.”

Andrea grimaced. “Okay.”

So she didn’t like to do her homework. She wouldn’t get far solving cases without it. No amount of skill reading people could offset having a good understanding of the particulars of a case.

Brandon began reading through the files. He often found that insight came after the third or fourth read-through, rarely the first.

It didn’t take him long to realize Andrea wasn’t reading. She was looking at the photographs—the postmortem shots of the women as well as the crime-scene photos—but not actually reading any of the information that went along with them.

When she slipped on headphones and began listening to music or whatever, Brandon felt his irritation grow. Did she need a sound track to make it more interesting? Was death not enough?

Brandon knew different people processed information different ways. Some of his best friends at Omega often got insight on a case while in a workout room or in the middle of hand-to-hand sparring with someone. He should cut Andrea some slack. If she wanted to listen to music and just study the pictures, that was her prerogative.

But damn if it didn’t piss him off. It didn’t happen often, but she had fooled him. Who would’ve guessed that under the professional clothes and standoffish attitude rested the heart of a slacker. Brandon took a deep breath and centered himself. It wasn’t his fault or his problem if she lacked motivation and self-discipline.

He’d told Steve he preferred to work alone. It looked as if, despite Andrea’s attractive packaging, he’d be getting his wish.


Chapter Three (#ulink_b07d8851-fe81-5b32-8f0b-b894e42ef25f)

This whole thing was a terrible idea. Going back to Buckeye? Terrible. Going back with the likes of Brandon Han? Even worse. The plane hit some turbulence at thirty-five thousand feet, as if nodding in agreement with Andrea’s conclusion.

Brandon didn’t want to work with her on the case. He’d made that abundantly clear in Steve’s office. She wanted to assume it was her fault, that he knew about her shortcomings and lack of education as an Omega consultant, but forced herself to stop. He’d mentioned liking to work alone. She could understand that, too. Andrea liked working alone, but for different reasons.

Brandon’s irritation had been pretty tangible when she’d sat down next to him at the airport. It had just grown as they waited for their flight, first when she’d mentioned him being complicated, then when they were both looking through the case files.

By the time they got on the plane, about an hour after their scheduled departure time, Brandon was hardly even talking to her. He was mad—she had no idea why—and she was awkward—as usual around someone she was so attracted to. Good times.

Andrea tried to pretend she was reading the files when he handed them to her, but she wasn’t. She knew better than to even try. Her dyslexia made reading simple books difficult, although she had learned some exercises to help with that. But reading handwritten notes and case files often written in different fonts and sizes—that pretty much just led to a headache and frustration.

She’d had an extra hour at her apartment, so she’d used the special software on her computer to scan a few pages so they could be converted into audio clips. She’d found that listening worked much better for her than trying to read. Unfortunately, she hadn’t had enough time to scan all the files as she normally would.

Listening to the files on audio clips had just made Brandon more irritated. Andrea had no idea what to do about that, so she ignored it. She would listen to the clips she had, then spend this evening—all night if she had to—reading through the files in her room, when she was alone and it was quiet. She refused to go into that meeting with the local police tomorrow unprepared.

She didn’t want to go back there at all. If it wasn’t for Steve asking her to go, Andrea wouldn’t have done it, serial killer or not.

Maybe they wouldn’t run into anyone she knew. Or maybe the people in Buckeye wouldn’t recognize her. She’d gone to great lengths to look nothing like the girl who had worked at Jaguar’s. Her blond hair was shorter, cut in a flattering bob; her makeup was tasteful. She’d learned how to dress and present herself in a professional manner.

She doubted her own aunt and uncle would recognize her. Not that she planned to drop in on them. She hadn’t seen them since the last time her uncle, in a drunken stupor again, had awakened her with a backhand that had sent her sprawling from her bed to the floor when she was seventeen. Another punch had sent her hurling into a glass table. She’d gotten away from him and hidden that night, wrapping her cut arm in a T-shirt.

The next morning she’d told her aunt, who’d looked the other way again during all the commotion, that she was going to school.

Andrea hadn’t gone to school. And she hadn’t gone back home. Ever again.

She hadn’t gone far, just to the other side of the town she’d only ever known as home, but they hadn’t come looking for her. Had probably been relieved that she’d left.

So yeah, no joyous homecoming in Buckeye.

Andrea withdrew into herself as they landed at Sky Harbor Airport. She let Brandon take the lead as they rented a car and headed west on I-10 out of Phoenix, stopping to get something to eat on the way. The stark, flat lands of Arizona were a huge contrast to the backdrop of the Rocky Mountains in Colorado Springs, where she’d spent the past four years.

Coming here was a mistake. Andrea was convinced of it. If she’d been alone, she might have turned around and gone back home.

Home, Colorado Springs. That was her home now.

“Hey, you doing okay?”

Andrea struggled to hide her shock at Brandon’s hand on her arm. She didn’t think he was going to engage with her for the rest of the trip.

“Yeah. I just... This is hard. I don’t think I want to do this.”

She could feel his annoyance or coolness, or whatever it was he felt toward her, ease.

“Going back to the place where you grew up can be hard. Is there anyone you’d like to see while you’re there? Friends? Family?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think anyone here will remember me.”

He didn’t push it and she was thankful. They drove on in silence from the airport west on I-10 before turning south on smaller Highway 85. A couple of miles down they passed her old high school, Buckeye Union. Before thinking it through, she pointed it out to Brandon.

“What year did you graduate?”

She didn’t want to tell him that she hadn’t graduated, so she told him the year she’d stopped going. Then she realized it might make it sound as if she’d graduated early or something, so she changed it to the next year.

Brandon looked at her with one eyebrow raised, but fortunately, he didn’t say anything else about it.

Before she knew it, before she could stop it, they were in Buckeye. The town hadn’t changed much. They passed the dollar store, one of the town’s grocery stores and Buckeye Auto Repair.

She actually remembered Buckeye Auto Repair pretty fondly. They had quite politely not mentioned that it looked as though everything she’d owned was in her car when she’d had to take it in for repairs when she was seventeen.

That was because everything she’d owned had been in the car. She’d been living in it at the time. Before she got the job at Jaguar’s and made enough money to move into a sparsely furnished, run-down studio apartment.

She was pretty sure the owner of Buckeye Auto Repair hadn’t charged her the full price for the repair.

She and Brandon pulled up to the town’s one decent hotel. There were a couple of others on the rougher side of town—ones that were rented out by the hour, or the opposite, used to house multiple illegal immigrants in one room. This was a much better choice for law enforcement.

Brandon checked them in, getting rooms right next to each other on the first floor. They grabbed their bags and headed through the lobby and down the hall.

“I’m going to call it a night,” Andrea said, slipping the key card into her door. She needed to be alone, away from all her thoughts and feelings about this town. She also needed to begin the painful process of studying the case files before tomorrow’s meeting.

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll leave at eight o’clock.” Brandon turned to his door. “Are you okay?”

Andrea nodded. “Good night.” She shut the door behind her without another word, away from Brandon and his brown eyes that saw too much.

Because she wasn’t all right. Being back here was worse than she’d thought it would be.

This whole thing was a terrible idea.

* * *

THE NEXT MORNING at the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department office, Brandon and Andrea waited in the conference room for the local officers who would serve as their liaisons. The sheriff’s department was just a mile or so on the outskirts of Buckeye.

When Andrea had seen what building they were arriving at, her eyes had nearly bugged out of her head. Her skin had turned a concerning shade of gray. Brandon had reached for her hand, and she had clutched his, almost automatically. Her skin was cold, clammy.

A sure nonverbal tell of fright. This building frightened Andrea.

She’d taken a couple of deep breaths and gotten herself under control, releasing his hand. She’d smiled over at him, an expression nowhere near touching her eyes, so nowhere near real. Something about that fake smile nearly broke his heart.

Maybe the whole idea of bringing her back to Buckeye had been a mistake. Her input would be valuable, sure, but Brandon had solved a lot of cases without having an inside person.

Maybe the price of doing this was too high for Andrea.

Whatever judgments Brandon had made about her began to dissipate a little. Maybe she just wasn’t ready to deal with this.

“Andrea.” He’d turned to her from where they sat in the parking lot. “Perhaps this isn’t a good idea. It’s okay if I need to go in alone.”

“No, I’m fine. I just didn’t realize we’d be coming here, to this building, that’s all.”

What was here that made her so upset? “You have some history here?”

She took a deep breath. “Not really. This whole town just sets me on edge.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He didn’t want her to get inside then panic.

“Yes, I’m fine. I promise.” The smile she gave him was at least a little stronger than the shadow of one she’d given him a few moments ago. He touched her hand. It was closer to normal temperature again.

But she looked tired, despite makeup that carefully covered it, as if she had been up most of the night. Maybe she had if the town had this sort of effect on her.

But except for the telltale signs that he was sure only he would notice, looking at her from across the conference table now, she looked like the consummate professional. Andrea wore sharp trousers and a matching blazer, managing to be attractively feminine and coolly businesslike at the same time. The high heels she wore everywhere were the perfect complement to the outfit. Not a hair was out of place in her chic bob.

She may have been scared out in the parking lot, but she was determined not to show it in here. Brandon’s respect for her ratcheted a notch. If only she was as prepared for the case as she looked, which he knew she wasn’t. Maybe he could help her out if she got stuck, save her any embarrassment.

Two men entered the room, one in his midfifties in a sheriff’s office uniform, one in his early thirties in a suit. Both looked a little tired, frazzled. The older man took the lead. “I’m Lance Kendrick from the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Department. Since all three murders took place—or at least the bodies were found—in Maricopa, I’m taking the lead.”

“I’m Gerardo Jennison with the City of Phoenix Homicide Unit. We’re providing investigative resources for anything which the sheriff’s department may not have.”

“I’m agent Brandon Han from Omega Sector, as you know. This is Ms. Andrea Gordon, one of our behavioral analysts. She’ll be consulting as needed.”

As Jennison shook Andrea’s hand, Brandon could see his appreciation of her as a woman. Lance Kendrick, on the other hand, studied her pretty intently. Andrea had looked at him when they shook hands, but then glanced away.

Andrea recognized Kendrick.

That wasn’t impossible or even improbable. Andrea had lived here her whole life. She probably would’ve run into members of the sheriff’s office from time to time. “Have we met before?” Kendrick asked Andrea.

Her expression remained smooth although she shifted just slightly in her chair. “Maybe.” She smiled at him. “Omega works a lot of cases.”

A very nice side step. She wasn’t offering up that she used to live here or that she recognized Kendrick, so Brandon didn’t, either. Her comment seemed to pacify the sheriff’s deputy, although Brandon knew that wasn’t where they knew each other.

“We have three victims so far,” Kendrick said, tone bordering on bored. “All Caucasian females between the ages of twenty to twenty-five. Cause of death was strangulation with a thin rope. The ligature marks were quite clear. All had been restrained—marks on their wrists were obvious, but there was no sign of any other assault, sexual or otherwise. And they all were found outside a church. Different one each time.”

Putting the victims outside a church corresponded well with the purity theme he and Andrea had batted around yesterday.

“Any known connection between the victims?” he asked.

“They didn’t seem to know each other, as far as we can tell. All lived in Maricopa County, but different parts.”

“But two had been arrested for something in the last year or two,” Andrea interjected.

Brandon glanced at her discreetly. So she had studied the files.

Kendrick nodded. “Different charges, but yes. Brought here for holding, actually. One was arrested for solicitation, one for underage drinking. Neither of them were ever booked or went to trial.”

If Brandon hadn’t been looking over at Andrea, he would’ve missed her slight flinch. Had there been some trouble with the law in her past? Was that what made her nervous about this building?

“Occupations were not exactly upstanding, either. Two of them worked at exotic dance clubs somewhere in Phoenix or the surrounding areas. One worked at a diner that is known to be a hot area for solicitation.” Jennison grinned slyly at Kendrick.

Kendrick chuckled. “Yeah, I offered to do some undercover work at the clubs, but somehow couldn’t clear it with my boss, much less my wife.”

Brandon ignored the jokes. He wasn’t surprised about the women’s occupations. Quite often an arrest record accompanied such jobs.

“What exactly have you done concerning the investigation?” Brandon could hear the tightness in Andrea’s tone.

“We’ve done our due diligence.” Kendrick sat up a little straighter in his chair. “We interviewed employers, canvassed the area for witnesses, ran DNA and searched for any prints.”

Jennison interjected. “Look, we appreciate Omega sending you down here, and if you come up with any insight we’d love to hear it. We don’t want a killer wandering around loose. But the fact is, none of these women seem to have anyone who cares about them, two have an arrest record and all have employment that is a bit questionable.”

Kendrick shrugged. “So basically, we’ll do all we can—like Jennison said, nobody wants to let a killer go free—but we’re not getting any pressure from the higher-ups to put major resources into this investigation. Unfortunately, these women were pretty much nobodies.”


Chapter Four (#ulink_c8805666-f713-5045-a943-92b91538822d)

These women were pretty much nobodies.

No family who cared. Arrest records. Questionable employment.

If the killer had been around four years ago, Andrea might have been one of the victims. Every part of that account described her when she was nineteen, before changing her life at Omega.

She wanted to, but she could hardly blame the cops. Law-enforcement funding was limited. Unfortunately, without family demanding justice, these murders, if not easily solved, would just get pushed to the side.

The only reason Omega had been called at all was because it was obvious the three kills had been performed by the same person. Otherwise Andrea didn’t know if the locals would’ve put any true effort into finding the killer.

They were on their way now to The Boar’s Nest, one of three bars here in Buckeye, where the latest victim—Noelle Brumby—had been known to frequent. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, but evidently Noelle had hung out here in the afternoons since she worked nights.

Andrea’s weariness pressed against her—reviewing the case files had taken her most of the night—but she pushed it aside. She had made it through talking to Lance Kendrick, who had thankfully not remembered her from her brief run-in with the sheriff’s office for underage drinking years ago. She could make it through this.

Walking inside, she thought The Boar’s Nest looked just the way someone would expect a small-town bar to look in the middle of the afternoon: dingy, run-down, pathetic. Night hid a lot of sins of this place that sunlight brought out.

The Tuesday afternoon crowd wasn’t the most upstanding. Anybody who had a white-collar job, and even most of the blue-collar ones, would not be in this place at this time. The people patronizing The Boar’s Nest now worked nights or didn’t work at all.

Andrea heard a low whistle as they walked in, but didn’t know if it was for her looks or because they were obviously law enforcement. Nobody ran for the exit or stopped any activities suddenly, so at least it didn’t appear that anything illegal was happening.

She felt Brandon step closer to her and could see him looking around, obviously checking for any danger. Cops were sometimes not welcome in places like this, although that would not stop her and Brandon from their questioning. Brandon had a weapon, but Andrea didn’t. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to use it.

Two pool tables lined the far end of the room, with three guys playing on one. A bartender unpacked boxes and put glasses away behind the bar, and a couple sat at a table sipping beers in the corner.

All of them were looking at Brandon and Andrea.

Brandon touched her gently on the back—she knew it was an unconscious habit more than anything else but it still sent a slight shiver through her—and they headed toward the bar.

The bartender looked at them without halting his motions. “Lost or cops?”

Brandon chuckled. “Can’t be thirsty?”

“Yeah, you can. And I’ll gladly get you something, but I’m still pretty sure you’re one of the other two, also.”

“You’re right—the latter. We’re investigating the death of Noelle Brumby.”

The bartender stopped putting away the glasses. “Yeah, that was a damn shame. She was a nice girl. Friendly. I’m Phil. I own this bar.”

Andrea studied Phil while he talked. He seemed very sincere about liking Noelle.

“Can you tell us anything else about her?” Brandon asked.

“She worked at a...er, gentleman’s club closer in to Phoenix.”

Allure. They already knew that and would be interviewing people there soon, even though Kendrick and Jennison had also spoken with them.

“Why didn’t she work at Jaguar’s, do you know?” Andrea was hesitant to bring up her former place of employment in front of Brandon, but understanding why Noelle would drive farther to work at a club rather than work at the strip club here in town might have some bearing.

Both the bartender and Brandon looked a little surprised at her question.

“You from around here?” Phil asked. “You’ve never been in this bar before. I’m pretty sure I’d remember you.”

“I’ve driven through town a few times.” Better to just keep her past out of it.

“Noelle didn’t like the owner over at Jaguar’s. Had heard some bad things about him. Harry Minkley’s his name.”

Yeah, Andrea already knew Harry’s name. And she was glad Noelle had the good sense not to work for him. Although in the long run, it hadn’t helped her.

“Noelle came in here a lot?” Brandon leaned one arm against the bar so he had a better view of the whole place.

“Mostly during the week in the afternoons. Weekends were pretty busy for her, as were a lot of evenings. She hung out with those guys over there. The tall, skinny one’s named Corey. Big one next to him is Luke and the other is Jarrod.” He pointed back to where the three guys were playing pool. “They knew her better than me.”

Brandon and Andrea both turned toward the men. “Thanks for your help,” she said over her shoulder.

“Thank you for trying to find the killer.” Phil turned back to his unpacking. “I wondered if anyone would bother.”

The three younger men—all in their early to midtwenties—continued to play pool as she and Brandon made their way over. But she could tell they were quite aware of her and Brandon as law enforcement and of her as a woman.

“Hey, guys.” Brandon’s tone was friendly but firm. “We’d like to talk to you about Noelle Brumby.”

Andrea tried to watch all three as closely as she could. Two, Luke and Corey, immediately tensed, but she wasn’t sure if that was because of their relationship with Noelle or because they just didn’t like cops. The other one, Jarrod, definitely expressed some guilt at Noelle’s name, but mostly couldn’t seem to get his attention off Andrea.

Andrea tried to classify in her mind the reactions of each man. She wished she could record them and study them multiple times later, but she didn’t have that luxury in this situation.

“What makes you think we even knew her?” Luke asked, now holding the pool cue with white knuckles.

“Phil said she hung out with you three a lot.”

“Yeah, well, maybe Phil should keep his mouth shut,” defensive guy number two—Corey—muttered, not looking up from the shot he was making.

Brandon walked around the pool table so he was standing against the far wall. Andrea understood why he did it, to get a different angle and perspective for reading these guys, but she felt more exposed without him next to her.

“We’re trying to find the killer of someone who was your friend. I’d think you’d want to help with that.” Brandon was watching Luke and Corey as he made the statement—one meant to cause a reaction. Andrea turned her attention to Jarrod, only to find him overtly studying her, so she looked back at the other two men.

“Some sicko killed Noelle,” Luke said. “We don’t know anything about it.”

Corey was looking more and more uncomfortable. “What’s your name?” she asked softly even though she already knew.

“You don’t have to answer that, Corey.” Luke wasn’t too smart.

Jarrod laughed from where he stood against the wall. “You just told her his name, Luke. Dumb ass.” Of course, he’d just done the same thing.

“Corey—” Andrea took a step toward the other man “—do you know something? Anything that could help us find Noelle’s killer?”

“No.” Corey shook his head, not really looking at her. “I don’t know anything.”

Andrea was about to press further with Corey when Jarrod interrupted.

“Oh my gawd, are you Andrea Gordon?” Jarrod all but gushed. “It is you, right? You were in one of my math classes in high school. I’m Jarrod McConnachie.”

Damn it. Andrea knew she might be recognized at some point, but hadn’t thought it would be by some guys in a bar in the middle of the afternoon.

Luke tilted his head to one side. “Oh yeah, I think I remember you. You were pretty quiet. But always hot.” All three men snickered.

Oh God, had they come to see her dance when she worked at Jaguar’s? She’d always worn wigs and enough makeup to give herself an entirely different appearance, but the thought they might recognize her and announce it made her absolutely sick.

“I thought you’d moved away your junior year,” Jarrod said.

She hadn’t moved away, really just to the other side of town. But she’d dropped out of school. “Yeah, something like that.”

“But I still kept seeing your mom and dad around. So then I didn’t know what happened to you. A couple people thought you’d died and they just hadn’t announced it.”

It was good to know a few people noticed she was gone.

“It was my aunt and uncle I lived with, not my mom and dad. But yeah, they stayed here when I left.” They’d never once tried to find her, thank God. That last time when she’d fallen through the table, they had probably been afraid they might go to jail. Looking for her wouldn’t have been in their best interest.

Andrea should’ve gone to the police. She knew that now. Knew there were good officers out there—Omega worked with them all the time—who wanted to help. Who would’ve believed her or at least have thoroughly investigated. But at the time she’d been young and scared and thought all cops were the enemy.

The exact way these guys thought of them, too. She needed to get the questions back on track but had no idea how to do so.

“Well, you sure cleaned up nice,” Jarrod said, moving slightly closer. “And you’re a cop. I’d be happy to let you cuff me to anything you want.”

The other guys chuckled.

“How about if I cuff you and throw you in a cell with a couple of long-term criminals?” Brandon interjected, coming to stand next to Andrea again. “Would that work for you?”

“Look, man—” Jarrod backed off “—I was just trying to say hello to an old friend.”

Brandon’s eyes narrowed. “Instead, why don’t all of you tell us where you were on Friday night between midnight and 4:00 a.m.?”

The body had been found Saturday afternoon, but the coroner put the time of death as late Friday night or early Saturday morning.

“I was at home with my wife,” Corey said. Brandon marked it down in a notebook.

“I was in Phoenix at a bar with a bunch of friends,” Luke said, giving its name. “We started home after last call.” He glanced down before looking up defiantly at Brandon and Andrea.

There was definitely more to that story. Luke’s emotions weren’t necessarily guilt in a specific sense, but a sort of overall vague sense of shame.

“I was at my house sleeping, after walking home from here. I live off Old Highway 80,” Jarrod said, still staring openly at Andrea.

“You live alone?” Brandon asked.

Both the other men snickered. Brandon raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“No,” Luke said. “He lives with his mother.”

Jarrod turned away, grimacing. “Thanks, Luke.”

Andrea couldn’t help but smile a little at Jarrod’s comeuppance. Especially since his desire to bed her practically oozed from his pores. He wasn’t even trying to hide his craving for Andrea.

“Your mom can vouch that you were at the house?” Brandon asked Jarrod.

“Yeah, man. She’s always at home. Gets so angry at me whenever I go out.”

Probably pretty angry that Jarrod didn’t have a job, either, but Andrea didn’t mention that. Didn’t want to draw the attention back to herself.

She watched all three men as Brandon got their names and contact information. He explained that, at this point, they were eliminating suspects. Telling the truth now would save them from more trouble later. Although none of them were thrilled at giving the info, none of them resisted.

Jarrod tried to talk to her while Brandon spoke with the other men, but she wouldn’t engage with him. She’d had plenty of practice being standoffish over the past few years. Shutting him down was easy.

Plus, she wondered if he wasn’t trying to get on her good side because he was hiding something.

One thing she knew for sure as she and Brandon left the bar, waving to bartender Phil as they went—all three men they’d interviewed today had secrets. All of them had lied or withheld information in some way.


Chapter Five (#ulink_ea3f5aeb-1f06-5b8f-9164-15cb3a344f5c)

They spent the entire next day traveling around Phoenix and Buckeye, checking alibis, talking to the employers and colleagues of the women.

As the detectives had said, none of the victims had family who had spoken up. It didn’t seem as if they had many friends, either. The killer had chosen well: women whose deaths would go relatively unnoticed. Only the ritualistic placement of the bodies and the symbolic items found with each victim even clued in law enforcement that it was the same killer at all.

The killer probably hadn’t been able to stop himself from placing the symbols of purity around the women, even if he’d intellectually recognized that it could lead to his demise. The purity rituals had been just as important to the killer as the kill itself.

The killer was calm, sure of himself—almost definitely a he based on the nature of the crimes and the fact that the victims were all females. These murders hadn’t been done in rage. There had been no mutilation of the bodies, no bruising beyond the restraints on the wrists and the rope marks around the throat.

If he let himself, Brandon could perfectly envision the rope tightening around the victims’ throats. The killer most certainly would’ve had them on their knees—an act of repentance, needed before one could be deemed pure.

The killer hadn’t been interested in the women sexually—or perhaps he had and wouldn’t let himself act on it—only in freeing them from their evil. Cleansing them.

Brandon had been sitting in his hotel room for the past hour, looking blankly ahead. To most people it would’ve seemed as if he was staring out into nothing, but really he was giving his mind a quiet place to sort through all the data he’d been processing for the past forty-eight hours.

Letting his mind get into the head of a killer.

It wasn’t a comfortable place to be, and since David’s death, Brandon didn’t let himself get in that dark place too often.

Brandon was aware of the dark side of his intelligence, of his nature. Was well aware that immersing himself deep into the thoughts of a killer could leave him tainted by that darkness.

And now there was no one to drag him back but himself. No one to warn him when he was getting too close to the abyss. It was one of the things he missed most about having a partner he trusted.

And speaking of partners, it was time to meet his temporary one. When they’d arrived back at the hotel, Andrea had all but fled into her room. She’d said it was because she wanted to look over some notes from today’s interviews, but Brandon knew that couldn’t be it. She hadn’t taken any notes all day.

She was an enigma. Her work ethic seemed impeccable—she was punctual, attentive and focused—but then she’d do something completely unprofessional like refuse to take any notes.

Even Brandon took notes. He realized a long time ago his brain—all brains—were capable of great things, but they were never infallible. Evidently Andrea thought hers was the exception.

He should be thankful for her flaw. For her reminder that he didn’t want someone like her as a partner. Because if he woke up one more time, his body hard and wound up, dreaming about her—about kissing her and removing all the professional clothes she wore like armor—he was afraid he would act on it.

He needed to keep his distance.

Pulling rank and forcing her to have dinner with him was not helping with that plan. She’d wanted to camp out in her own room all evening, grab some crackers, go over what they’d found. He’d told her they needed to eat real food and could discuss the case while doing so. She put up a bit of an argument, but he hadn’t listened, just threatened to bring dinner to her hotel room so they could work there.

That got her agreement.

He moved into the lobby to meet her. They were going to walk a few blocks down the street to the mom-and-pop Italian restaurant. He saw her as she walked in the lobby just moments later. He had changed into jeans and a T-shirt, but she still wore her pants and blazer from the interviews earlier. She looked nice, no doubt about that. But definitely not casual or comfortable. He wondered if she ever looked casual or comfortable, if she ever just let herself relax around anyone.

He couldn’t seem to make himself stop looking at her. Damn, he wanted to peel her out of those clothes. To see if there was any fire underneath and disprove the ice-queen theory. To show her that it was okay to let go with him. To protect her from whatever demons she was fighting. The sudden overwhelming thoughts caught him off guard.

“What?” she asked at his continued stare.

“Nothing. Just hungry. Ready?”

After walking to the restaurant and ordering, Andrea immediately brought up the case, obviously wanting to offset the chance of talking about anything personal. That was fine with Brandon. He hoped to use this time not only to go over the case, but to give her a lesson in law enforcement about the need to take notes. He wanted to point out how many things she missed by not taking notes and trying to keep it all in her head.

“So what do we know about each of the victims? Let’s make sure we haven’t missed any details,” he said as the waitress brought their salads and they began eating.

Andrea nodded. “Victim one, Yvette Tyler, found two weeks ago. Twenty-one years old, brunette, five feet five inches, 115 pounds. No family. Place of employment—Diamond Cabaret Strip Club in Phoenix.”

Her lips pursed the slightest bit with that sentence. Evidently she didn’t approve of that career choice.

Brandon continued. “She was arrested last year for drunk and disorderly, and underage drinking, but since she had no record the charges were dropped.”

“Yes. Victim two, Ashley Judson, found six days ago. Eighteen years old, worked at a diner west of here in Tonopah on I-10.”

“That truck stop is known to be a place for truckers to pick up women, and women to pick up rides, literally and figuratively.”

Andrea smiled a little at that and speared another bite of her salad. “Judson had also been arrested for solicitation, no surprise there. Spent a couple of nights at the Maricopa County lockup, too. Charges were dropped because of some technicality.”

“And we have Noelle Brumby.”

“Yes, twenty-three, blond. Worked at Allure in Phoenix.”

She knew her facts better than he’d thought. Maybe he’d misjudged her at the airport when he’d thought she was just skimming over the files.

The waitress brought their main course. Andrea had ordered chicken Alfredo; Brandon had gotten lasagna. He had to admit, it smelled delicious.

“So give me your opinion of Noelle’s friends, the guys at the bar yesterday. Jarrod and the other two.”

“Luke and Corey,” she murmured, taking a bite.

Hmm. That had been his first attempt to catch her, to use as an example later of why she should take notes. Guess that wouldn’t work.

“They’re all hiding something,” she said.

“Something about Noelle’s death?”

She shrugged. “Tied to it, probably yes, although I don’t think any of them are the killer.”

Interesting. “Okay, tell me what you saw and what you concluded.”

“Corey looks most guilty at first glance. Or at least he feels guilty about something.”

Brandon had noticed that, also. “Go on.”

“I think he was either having an affair with her or was in love with her or both. His guilt probably stems from a lot of things—failure to help Noelle, his feelings about cheating on his wife, not being able to do anything about it now.”

“I agree.”

She nodded. “And he’s scared. That’s what initially made me think he might be the killer, but I think he’s scared that his wife is going to find out. That the investigation will uncover the affair.”

“What about the defensive guy, Luke?” He took a bite of his lasagna. It tasted as good as it smelled. “You think he’s hiding something, too?”

“He definitely has no love for law enforcement.”

Brandon chuckled; that had been clear enough for a blind person to see.

“He also didn’t want us looking into his alibi at the bar.”





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