“What?” Brian growled, at the intrusion.
“Have you found Polly yet?” she asked, her anxiety increasing with his appearance on her doorstep. Why was he there?
He didn’t respond. “Can we go inside, please?”
She nodded and pushed the already unlocked door open.
Once in her apartment, he ordered them to sit down. He took the chair opposite them, his expression grim.
Her heart leapt to her throat. It must be bad news. “Polly?”
Dunning cleared his throat. “I told you we’ve been following a spree of child abductions across the country that appeared to match the current M.O.”
“Yes,” Brian said, his impatience obvious.
“You said ‘appeared.’ What does that mean?” she asked.
“We’ve been able to gather DNA results from previous cases including the one in San Diego. However, we’re still working on the guy’s identity. We now know it’s not the same person who’s involved in the current kidnapping.”
“What are you saying?” Brian asked.
“The kidnapper from the previous cases including the one in San Diego is dead.”
“What?” she exclaimed, feeling like the rug had been pulled out from under her. “The current guy isn’t the same one who killed Tucker’s son.”
“That’s correct.”
Brian’s shocked expression mirrored her own.
“How do you know he’s dead?” he asked.
“A San Diego fisherman recently hooked more than he bargained for in a back country lake. The dead man’s DNA matched that of the serial killer in the previous cases including the one in San Diego. Before you ask, no, it wasn’t an accidental drowning. Someone stabbed the man before dumping him in the water. The weighted down body worked its way loose and floated to the surface.”
The man went on to explain how a decomposing body created gases causing the corpse to float to the surface if it wasn’t weighted down properly.” Only half listening to his explanation, she thought about her drowning vision. “When did the man die?”
“From the state of decomposition, they think about a week.”
Since the drowning happened over a week ago, why had she experienced the water vision just days ago? It made no sense, but nothing in this case did.
“The guy we’re now dealing with is a copycat. That’s why his M.O. doesn’t quite match the one in the San Diego case,” Brian said.
“That explains it, yes,” Dunning replied.
“Do you think the current kidnapper killed the other guy?” she asked.
“It’s a possibility. We’re not ruling it out, but we’re not sure of his motive. Copycats don’t usually kill the people they are trying to imitate.”
“So that’s why this guy’s signature, his M.O., is slightly different?” Brian said.
Dunning nodded. “We’ll figure out who he is as soon as we identify his DNA. Hopefully one of the pieces of evidence you tampered with will yield something. He’s too professional not to have a criminal record.”
“Unless he’s very good,” Brian pointed out.
“No one’s that good,” Dunning replied.
“I think this guy is,” she said, shifting uneasily on the couch. “Please don’t pooh-pooh what I’m about to tell you.”
The special agent got up. “Ms. Martin, I don’t have time for your psychic mumbo jumbo.”
“Please sit back down and hear me out.” Surprisingly, he did. “I was much more in tune with the abductor’s mind in the San Diego case. Psychics sometimes are.”
He looked at her skeptically. “Please, no Vegas show stuff like seeing a twenty dollar bill in my pocket.”
“No, I don’t play parlor games.”
He didn’t answer. She felt Brian’s eyes on her, but didn’t look in his direction.
“In this case, I can’t read what he’s thinking. Therefore, the fact that he’s not the same person as the one in the San Diego case doesn’t surprise me. I think this guy is playing some kind of mind control game.”
Dunning leaned forward. “Go on.”
“There’s not much more to tell. I can sense his presence sometimes, but not always like I did in the San Diego case.”
“I’ve heard of cases where the military uses mind control, but I doubt if that’s what’s happening here.” He stood up and started for the door, turning when he reached it.
“Ms. Martin, we know that the San Diego kidnapper threatened to harm you, but never did. We don’t know what this guy might do, so please be vigilant.”
“Agent Dunning,” she called out.
He was already out the door and about to go down the stairs.
“Did you tell Tony Martinelli I now live in Vegas?”
“Tony?” He looked puzzled.
“Your fraternity brother. The man I was once married to.”
He thought about it for a minute. “We had dinner the other night, caught up on things. Yes, I did. I got the impression that he wanted to make amends.”
Shit, she thought.
“Is there a problem?”
“No.” Tony probably charmed the man into thinking their divorce was amicable.
Closing the door and locking it, she fought the fear caused by this latest news.
“You should tell him, Angie,” he said joining her at the doorway.
“Tell him what? His fraternity brother, one of his best friends from college, is a stalker who wants to harm me. He’d never believe it.”
“Maybe you’re right, but you still should tell him,” he said.
“Things have gone from bad to worse, haven’t they? We only have until tomorrow to find Polly, and we’ve no idea what kind of nutcase we’re dealing with. And now there’s my ex-husband with sick plans of his own.”
“I’ll protect you from that bastard and we’ll find your grandchild.” He stroked her cheek and she leaned into his caress. It felt good for someone to care about her, but could she trust him? She really wanted to, but could she?
“You’re staying with me tonight, and I don’t want you arguing about it.”
“But...” Part of her wanted to agree with his plan. It had been a rough day and the shelter he offered sounded inviting. She knew it could lead to something more if she wanted it to. But was that a good idea? There were enough problems on her plate already.
“Between a serial killer we know nothing about, and an ex-husband who wants to cart you away, you aren’t safe here and you know it. You take the bedroom at my place and I’ll sleep on the couch.”
She stopped protesting because he was right. “I’ll call Rita and ask her to keep Clancy for a few more days.”
“Good,” he said. “I’ll even feed you.”
“You cook?”
Smiling, he shook his head. “No, but there’s a great Italian restaurant in the casino that does a bang-up job on take-out lasagna.”
“Sounds great,” she said. Actually, it did sound good. Susan’s rejection left her feeling very alone. He’d be good company. She’d have to decide if she wanted more. His kisses already told her that he did.
Chapter Sixteen
Thursday night
When he entered the condo carrying bags of food, he noticed the normally closed living room blinds open. Before picking up the restaurant take-out order, he’d dropped Angie off with strict instructions to lock the door and not open it to anyone. She currently stood on the condo’s balcony beyond the open glass door taking in the high-rise view.
Wishing to join her, he put the lasagna in the oven to keep warm and searched the cupboards for tableware. He discovered his author friend possessed excellent, expensive taste in plates, crystal, and flatware. He also found candles and candleholders. Smiling, he cleared his laptop, small printer, and papers from the glass table in front of the window and set it for dinner. As he did, she turned.
“Do you need any help?” she called out.
Glancing her way, his heart skipped a beat. God, she was beautiful. He fought the urge to hurry across the balcony, sweep her up, and carry her to his bed. No, he told himself. He wouldn’t rush things. In spite of or maybe because of what they were going through, he wanted this evening to be special. He poured a glass of red wine for each of them and stepped onto the balcony.
“Thanks for your offer, but I think I’ve the bachelor thing under control.” He handed her a wine glass. As he did, their fingers touched and sparks sizzled. Keeping his desire for her in check wasn’t going to be easy.
He yearned to wrap her in his arms and kiss her senseless, but he restrained himself. She was dealing with so much right now. He wanted to respect the emotional roller coaster she rode, but it wouldn’t be easy.
“Enjoy the view,” he said, excusing himself. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Before he caved in to his lust, he escaped the balcony and returned to the kitchen. Removing the salad from its container, he put it in a bowl and tossed it with the dressing provided. He then removed the lasagna from the oven and slipped it onto a serving platter.
Placing the bottle of Zinfandel on the table, he lit the candles. Perfect, he thought. Returning to the balcony, he fought the urge to grab her. Instead, he nuzzled the side of her neck with a brief kiss breathing in the subtle sweet scent of her perfume. Her resulting shiver matched his own.
“Dinner’s ready,” he whispered. “I hope you’re hungry.” What he hungered for couldn’t be found on a dinner plate. When she glanced over, her deep brown eyes held sadness. There was so much he wanted to find out about this woman. If only she’d open up to him.
“After you,” he said, ushering her inside. Sitting opposite her, he watched the candlelight dance across her face. He’d been waiting for a romantic night like this with her. He just wished for different circumstances.
“It looks and smells delicious.” She picked up her fork.
“I can’t take the credit. The thank-yous go to Mario’s.” He smiled. “But I did set the table.”
“You did a great job,” she said, returning his smile.
Seeing some of her earlier sadness slip away made him happy. “Let’s make a toast.”
“To friendship,” she said, raising her glass.
“Yes, friendship,” he replied. He yearned for much more than that and hoped she did, too.
“And to Mario’s,” she added after taking her first bite of lasagna.
Holding up his glass so the red liquid glowed in the candlelight, he made another toast. “To my beautiful dining companion. I hope for more nights like this one.”
She didn’t say anything. Instead, she returned to eating her meal. Hadn’t she liked the toast? He’d never been short of words, at least not on paper. However, right now he couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He felt like a tongue-tied teenager on his first date, but he wasn’t a teenager. Why did she leave him speechless when there was so much he wanted to say?
She broke the silence. “You’ve never talked about why you decided to choose journalism as a career.”
He set down his fork. He didn’t want to discuss work, but it was better than enduring the rest of the meal in silence. “I enjoyed writing from the time I was a kid, working on student newspapers from junior high school on. I prefer factual articles. I’ll leave the fiction to guys like my friend who owns this condo.”
“He obviously makes a good living at what he does,” she quipped, looking around.
“Yeah, that’s the problem with my kind of work. I’ll never be rich, at least not monetarily. My riches come from what I do, the stories I tell. I love seeking out human interest pieces.”
“But you weren’t always a feature writer.”
“No,” he said. What was she leading up to? “In my younger days, I chose investigative journalism. I thought of myself as a crusader protecting the rights of innocent people. I wanted to correct wrongs inflicted by more powerful individuals.”
He reached for his wine glass. He no longer wanted to talk about himself. He wanted to learn more about her. She’d always been so closemouthed.
“Why did you feel you needed to be a crusader?”
“Something happened near the end of my senior year of college.”
“What?”
“My father died in a lumber mill accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No sorrier than me when I learned his death was due to unsafe mill conditions. The mill had already been cited and fined, but they’d done little about the problem.”
“Oh, Brian, that’s awful.”
He raked his hand through his hair. “When I graduated I wrote a series of articles exposing the company’s continuation of unsafe practices. They were finally forced to change things and pay restitution to the families of the four men killed. It didn’t bring my father back, but hopefully I helped to save other lives.”
He drank more wine. “Enough about me. Tell me more about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked. Her voice held uneasiness.
“If I’m to champion you against that ogre of an ex-husband, I need to know more about him.” Although he attempted to make his tone light, it wasn’t.
“There’s not much to say. I’ve already told you about him.”
“Would he physically harm you, abduct you?”
“I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Now do you understand why I didn’t want my name in the paper?”
“Dunning spilled the beans to his frat buddy, not me.”
She glanced out the window avoiding both his eyes and comment. She changed the subject. “I think a storm is brewing over the mountains.”
“I talked to my cop friend about your ex. He’s going to check him out. Pursue another restraining order to keep the man away from you.”
She shook her head. “It didn’t do any good last time. Why should it now?”
Once more avoiding his gaze, she looked out the window. “The distant lightning is intensifying.”