The Isolated Widow (The Widow Taker Book 2)

by Kennedy Layne

  Agent Roche went about pulling his sleeves higher up his forearms as he finally responded to her question. He was always so careful with his words.

  “I think we’re past titles, as you suggested earlier. Call me Linc. This afternoon wasn’t a test, and neither is this invitation to eat with me. Although, I could say that the offer was made in kindness due to the fact that you probably haven’t eaten dinner yet,” Linc replied, taking his seat. “But I won’t. I’ll tell you the truth, and you can either stay or leave afterward. I’ll even allow you to load your own plate first to give you a choice at the selections, because I’m that generous.”

  Quinn fought back a smile at his attempt to lighten the mood, which was really hard to do in a room full of pictures of murder victims. These widows had lost their lives, and they deserved respect. Linc was working hard to see that they got the justice they deserved, and it appeared that he believed there was a good chance that she was impeding his progress.

  “Did you just chastise yourself for wanting to accept my invitation?” Linc asked, tearing the thin paper off the chopsticks. He crumbled the wrapper before focusing solely on her, his dark eyes missing nothing. “Quinn, we’re still alive. We have the opportunity to apprehend a serial killer and put him behind bars. It’s okay to take a moment and appreciate the gift of life and satisfy our need to eat.”

  Linc.

  The name certainly suited him.

  It came across as strong and decisive, much like his personality. There was a confidence in him that was inherent. If she was to be honest, it was that confidence that set her on edge.

  It was like he was always one step ahead of everyone else in the room.

  Calling him by his first name also denoted an intimacy that had her itching to walk out of the station before she broke down with a confession, but she’d never been one to back down from a challenge.

  “What is the truth?” Quinn asked, still standing next to one of the vacant chairs. She’d wait until she heard his so-called truth before deciding whether or not to stay.

  “You have something in your past that the unsub might or might not know every detail about. Whatever that something is could potentially mean that you know of his identity or pertinent facts that could lead to his identity. It’s the reason that you’ve been researching old high school classmates while you’ve been enjoying your lunch every day at the pub. Unfortunately, something is preventing you from disclosing that information with law enforcement.”

  Linc casually reached out for the container of orange chicken, apparently not waiting for her any longer. On top of that, he acted as if he hadn’t just revealed her predicament. He didn’t seem to be judging her either, let alone threatening her with some sort of court order to reveal everything she knew…or in this case didn’t know.

  “The invitation to join me for dinner is so that you get to know me a little better and see that I’m not a threat to whatever or whoever you are trying to protect.” Linc flashed her another smile. “I’d like it if you trusted me.”

  “Do you do this with all individuals associated with a case?” Quinn asked, already deciding that she couldn’t pass up what she basically chalked up to as a challenge. It was an unspoken one, but it was there all the same. She unzipped her jacket and took it off before hanging it on the back of the chair in front of her. “I mean, isn’t there supposed to be some professionalism involved, keeping those concerned with the case at arm’s length?”

  “What can I say?” Linc said with a shrug. “I’m a bit unorthodox. A rule breaker.”

  Quinn highly doubted that he was much of a rule breaker. She’d been quite wild back in her day, which was part of the reason she now found herself somehow involved with a serial killer. If she could only figure out where the line of secrecy was broken, she’d be able to know if her theory had any validity.

  She stopped herself short of picking up one of the boxes, wanting to prove to herself that he wasn’t as good at his job as she was beginning to suspect he truly was.

  “What food am I going to choose?” Quinn asked, picking up a set of chopsticks to buy her some time. For the first time in days, she found herself somewhat relaxed. “And my staying to eat doesn’t mean that I’m going to answer any or all of your questions.”

  “Chow mein.” Linc answered without hesitation before taking a bite of his own food. He hadn’t waited for her to choose first, but then again, she’d taken a long time to decide whether or not she was going to play his game. She would have sworn there was a glisten of conviction in his dark eyes. “Over fried rice.”

  She came very close to purposefully choosing the honey walnut shrimp, which was clearly labeled, but she loved chow mein too much to pass it up. She ignored that charming smile of his when she opened the lid to the fried rice first.

  “Well?” Linc asked after she had time to enjoy a few bites of dinner. “Am I close to the truth?”

  “Does Agent Malone ever get tired of telling you that you’re right?” Quinn reached for a napkin to wipe her mouth. “Not that I’m saying that’s the case here, but in general. With you constantly profiling people around you, it must get exhausting.”

  “Habit,” Linc replied with another shrug. He continued eating for a bit, most likely waiting for her to answer his question. She’d let him stew for a bit, because she wasn’t sure that she wanted to play her hand quite yet. She never in a million years thought that he would reveal something personal about himself. “Both of my parents are psychologists. They still share a practice outside of Manhattan. I suppose listening to them discuss their patients rubbed off on me.”

  “Let me guess.” Quinn set down her plate and reached for one of the unopened bottles of water that was conveniently in the middle of the table. “You were a straight A student, on the debate team, and graduated as the valedictorian of your class.”

  “See? You’re not so bad at this profiling stuff, either.”

  Quinn laughed, clearly taking him by surprise.

  It was nice to be safely enclosed inside a police station with a federal agent, away from her listeners and readers wanting an update every ten minutes about The Widow Taker. More importantly, away from the specter of the serial killer himself, who was only using her to reach the public. She hadn’t fully comprehended how stressed she’d been over the last month until just this moment.

  “You’re not as close to finding him as you’d like to be at this point, are you?” Quinn asked softly, steering the conversation in the exact direction that he’d wanted to take all along.

  “Now you’re sounding like Sheriff Hopkins.” Linc continued to eat his fill until he was somewhat satisfied. He finally set his own plate and chopsticks down on the table before focusing on her as he used his napkin. “We’re still looking for a Caucasian male between the ages of thirty and thirty-five. His parents most likely had a traditional marriage, where the father worked outside the house while the mother tended to the home and family. I believe the father died before the unsub fully reached puberty, leaving the mother to rely on other family members, friends, and neighbors.”

  Quinn hadn’t realized that she’d leaned forward in attentiveness. He held her completely captivated by his insight into The Widow Taker. She’d guessed at some of it herself, but some of the details were just common sense. Serial killers always seemed to have suffered significant trauma when they were younger, usually physical or mental abuse. Linc hadn’t tied that in yet, but she didn’t doubt that it was somewhere in his profile.

  “If you noticed, the widows who are being targeted have no new significant support network,” Linc pointed out, nodding toward one of the whiteboards. “Grief is handled in many different ways, as well as different grieving periods. The victims claimed were still in that grieving stage, whether it be months or years. They hadn’t fully moved on with their lives.”

  Quinn switched her attention to the second whiteboard. There were pictures and names associated with numerous suspects, although the majority had be
en crossed out. She assumed they were no longer viable suspects.

  “I know where you’re going with this, and I’m not aware of any men who fit that description.” Quin focused on a name that she recognized from her childhood. “Well, maybe I do—Benjamin Henry. His mother used to substitute teach in my high school, though her son is older than me by at least four years. I think I was entering high school when he graduated.”

  “Does he have anything to do with this secret of yours?” Linc asked, not really changing the tone of the conversation, as if it was a mundane request. He’d managed to keep things somewhat nonchalant, as if they were merely discussing the weather. “Or did you have no contact with him?”

  “No contact at all.” She thought back to her high school classes. “And didn’t you say that the killer’s mother didn’t work?”

  “That’s what I believe, but I’ve been known to make a mistake a time or two over the course of my career. She also started back to work after her loss, meaning that she stayed home with her son for the majority of his childhood.”

  “You? Wrong? Were you off by one year or something?” Quinn flashed him another smile when she realized that she was right. “That’s what I thought.”

  “Eat. This stuff is nasty cold.”

  Linc added more fried rice to his plate before sliding the open container her way for another refill if she so desired. She was still working on the first serving while studying the board. He didn’t seem to mind that she was privy to sensitive information.

  “It’s because I know you’d never put anyone in harm’s way,” Linc offered up, doing that annoying thing where he read her mind. “Saying or printing a name could have serious consequences if you get the facts messed up. You don’t like to be wrong.”

  “You are certainly sure of yourself,” Quinn muttered, wanting whatever this was between them to be on more level ground. “I can only assume that you conducted a background check on me. You already know that I attended high school here, went away to college, and returned after my mother’s death. My story is pretty boring, Linc.”

  The chopsticks in his hand came to a complete standstill upon hearing his name fall from her lips. She’d done it intentionally, more to see if he extended that courtesy to other people involved in his cases. She came away with a resounding no, and she wasn’t so sure why that made her happy.

  “The unsub doesn’t seem to think so,” Linc said quietly before resuming his meal.

  “Touché.” Quinn sighed and set down her plate, no longer hungry. There wasn’t a way to involve him without bringing in the entire federal government. Well, specifically Agent Malone. There was one thing she needed to do before potentially revealing a secret that could ruin the lives of two very decent and kindhearted people. “I know what my reputation is around the station, Linc. I also know you’re not quite sure if you should believe me when I say that I’ve never been married before. I haven’t. Give me one day and meet me at my house tomorrow evening, about the same time. I’ll supply dinner since I seem to owe you now.”

  Quinn reached behind for her jacket, pulling it across her so that she could reach into the right pocket. She retrieved the USB and set it on the table so that he would know she’d kept her word on handing over evidence. She was a good person, regardless of what most of the deputies inside the station thought of her.

  “Seven o’clock tomorrow night,” Quinn reiterated, sensing the weight of his stare. He might have been attempting to charm her this past week by keeping his distance. He’d given her the space she needed to come up with a solution to her problem, and he was basically being downright likeable when what she really wanted to do was shut herself off from the world. “I’ll see you then. Don’t be late.”

  Quinn didn’t even bother to look his way as she stood and opened the conference room door. She went about putting on her jacket while walking, noticing that Deputy Jordan was completely ignoring her as she made her way toward the exit. That was fine by her. If he was green around the gills and made the mistake of speaking to the press, that was on him. Instead of owning up to it, he blamed her and basically everyone in her profession.

  She had some owning up to do, as well.

  First thing in the morning, she would do what should have been done many years ago—cleanse her soul so she had some hope of having a future free of remorse. Guilt was like a bag of bricks. Either one dragged it around endlessly or one simply set it down.

  He should be grateful that Quinn Simmons allowed the imposter to call into her podcast today. He hadn’t been able to listen in due to his prior responsibilities, but he’d overheard that Oliver Stevens was angry that he’d been mistaken for The Widow Taker.

  Could the imposter not see the good that he was doing by helping society deal with their burden of grief?

  Pamela Griffith had looked so peaceful on the couch in her bathrobe. The rose he’d placed in her hands was a symbol of her love to her granddaughter, whom could now rest easy knowing that her grandparents were together in everlasting peace.

  He’d done that.

  No one else had the courage it required.

  It was time for Quinn Simmons to share with the community that his actions were warranted for the greater good. He’d send her another text. She hadn’t responded to his last one, but he’d make sure she understood the consequences if she didn’t follow through with his wishes. She was his partner in this, and partners did what they were told.

  Chapter Six

  “Do you have a minute?” Linc asked Dean quietly after having gotten a pot of water from the station’s kitchenette to fill the coffee maker in the conference room. Normally, the first one to arrive in the morning was responsible for making the first pot of coffee, but today was the first real briefing they’d held since Oliver Stevens’ arrest. Linc unceremoniously took up the reins, needing a jolt to start what he foresaw to be a hectic day. “I need to run something by you.”

  It was a little before seven hundred hours, which was when their morning meeting usually occurred to go over the previous day’s events. Anyone who was so much as a minute late was responsible for providing the donuts. It was an unwritten rule, so that meant that Chaz would be doing the honors this morning.

  They had a lot to cover with the Griffith murder, Oliver Stevens’ release from detention, and basically the fallout from his arrest and subsequent publicized interview. The governor was at least stepping up to the plate and taking most of the heat for the fallout, but that was only due to his desire to keep Dean on his good side. There was nothing like pissing off the lead agent to the point where he completely tossed politics aside, deciding instead to reset the investigation’s tempo and direction.

  Linc had worked with Dean a time or two, and it took a lot to get the man angry enough to react.

  Governor Compton had done that and more.

  “Is what you’re about to tell me going to make my day seem more like a stroll through hell or paradise?” Dean asked, removing his suit jacket and tossing it on his chair in the conference room. “I spent most of last night explaining the bureau’s guidelines to the governor. He doesn’t get to insert his two cents into the investigation anymore, nor does he determine whether or not we decide to move in on a suspect. His sense of urgency is no longer ours. Archer backed me up, but that’s just because he’s busy wiping egg off the bureau’s reputation.”

  Deputy Dwight and Evans were already seated and getting their notes ready to share with the group, though they were clearly tuned in to the private conversation. The past two weeks had seen them back to their regular duties. They were now once again assigned to the investigation fulltime.

  Dwight had seemed completely fine going back to his regular routine, but Grant Evans now had the bug that was seen in most federal agents. He wanted more responsibility than what his current position at a small station could give him, which was why Dean had already given the man an application to the academy, along with a letter of recommendation.

  Linc agree
d with Dean’s assessment, but this wasn’t the type of case that two young deputies should be cutting their teeth on. Every case required brute manpower to run down leads and to do research information, but a serial homicide investigation was an animal of a different set of stripes. Unfortunately, the bureau’s reorganization with an emphasis on counterterrorism had changed the course of the agency.

  “I guess it depends on how you want to view the topic of discussion.” Linc motioned for Dean to grab his coffee. “Chaz said we could use his office.”

  Right on cue, the sheriff entered the conference room with a stack of files and a box of donuts. Linc had specifically asked for all past murder cases in the town of Winter Heights that had ended in a stabbing or a single long-stemmed rose being left at the scene of the crime. He truly believed that Tamara Johnson was the unsub’s first kill, but he wanted to rule out the one percent doubt that had been plaguing him for the last month.

  “My office is free,” Chaz responded, giving half the stack to Dwight and the other to Evans. “Here you go, gentlemen. Today’s assignment after our morning briefing. It’s going to be a long day.”

  Linc wondered if they’d ever had a short one, if one discounted the last two weeks that Oliver Stevens had been sitting in a jail cell. It had been Linc and Dean who had been the ones to keep combing through the files, attempting to figure out what they’d missed along the way.

  How Dean had gotten Archer to agree to let them stay the additional time was something that Linc didn’t even want to know about. The bureau had allowed political pressure to dictate their actions. None of the investigating agents had wanted to act with such haste. Leverage must have been used, and that usually wasn’t in Dean’s arsenal.