Dead Drift

by Dani Pettrey

  He wondered what, if anything, Katie had gleaned from her time with Tanya. Hank’s wife was a talker and liked to boast about her and Hank’s possessions, so Kate had probably learned something. But if she had learned something significant, she probably would have filled him in the moment they got in the car. Since they were approaching the mall, he decided to wait until after his meeting with Mack to ask her about it.

  Weaving his way up the parking garage ramps at Towson Town Center was an adventure, with traffic flowing the opposite direction along the winding and narrow path. Finally locating a spot, he pulled in and took a moment to survey the garage.

  “You better come in,” he said to Kate, slipping on his Orioles baseball hat.

  She frowned. “But I thought . . . ?”

  “It’s not safe for you to stay out here alone. Pick a shop to browse in while I meet my contact. It’s safer than having you alone out in the car. I won’t be long, and if you need me press nine on this phone.” He handed her a burner cell.

  She took it from him, curiosity dancing across her delicate brow.

  “Meetings like this last two minutes, max.” The shorter, the safer for all involved.

  “Okay.” She nodded, slipping the phone in her pocket.

  He followed her into the mall, where she chose a store called Anthropologie to hang in. A glance about showed him it was the kind of shop where she could get into some serious trouble, a place her mother would no doubt frown upon but that suited Kate perfectly. Kate was free-spirited and eclectic, while her mom was prim and proper, vastly different from Kate in just about every way possible other than her looks. Kate had her mom’s blond hair and blue eyes.

  The thought of parents—his own in particular—made him waver. He’d lost so many years with them, caused so much damage in so many lives. The only thing that brought an inkling of solace was the certainty that he’d been serving his country, thereby protecting those he loved from men like Ebeid.

  After leaving Kate in Anthropologie, he made his way to the food court down one level and off to his left.

  Mack sat in the second-to-last booth.

  Luke ambled over, scanning his surroundings. Finding them clear, he slid into the last booth, his back to Mack’s.

  He remained silent, waiting for Mack to begin, as he always did.

  “How’d it go with Hank?” Mack inquired.

  “It took a couple drinks at the pub next door to his tattoo parlor to wriggle my way in, but I mentioned I was looking for a job, being new in the area.

  “He asked what I did. I told him I had my CDL, and he said he might know of something. Asked me to meet him tonight at a place called Jiffers. I’m sure he’s running my legend now. Checking me out before he invites me any further in.”

  “No worries. Garrett Beck’s legend is perfectly in place.”

  He knew it would be. Mack always had his back. In more ways than one. “We’ve got one hiccup.”

  “Oh?”

  “He expects Katie—aka my girlfriend, Jasmine—to be there.”

  “So bring her along.”

  “I don’t want her in the middle of all this.”

  “Too late for that.”

  He swallowed, knowing Mack was right, and it was his fault.

  “Check in again after tonight’s meeting,” Mack said.

  “Okay.” Luke stood to go.

  “One more thing . . .”

  Nervousness tracked through Luke, immediate concern for Katie filling him. “Yeah?”

  “Malcolm’s incensed.”

  “I don’t care.” Especially now that he was home and surrounded by those he’d walked away from. It had been his choice, and he had to take full responsibility for that, but looking back, it was obvious Malcolm had been grooming him, manipulating him throughout his college years. The mentor Luke and his friends had admired so much had been molding Luke into the agent he wanted him to be since his first day in Malcolm’s criminal justice class. Luke had looked up to Malcolm, respected every word that came out of his mouth. So when the invitation came . . .

  “I’ll be in touch.” Without a glance in Mack’s direction, he walked away as quickly as he’d come.

  15

  Would you mind grabbing my bag off the back seat?” Griffin asked as they pulled out of the lot. “The profile’s in it.”

  “Sure,” Finley said, leaning back. But it was just out of reach, so she unbuckled. Making him nervous as all get-out, she rustled around and grabbed the bag. Thankfully she quickly returned to her seat, clicked the buckle back in place, and set his bag on her lap.

  “It’s in the zippered, middle compartment.”

  She nodded, and metal teeth rasped as she slid the zipper open and pulled out the document. “Got it.” She set his bag on the floor to the left of her feet.

  “Don’t set it on your left, love. You’ll block the heating vent, and I want your feet staying warm.”

  Finley had an autoimmune disorder known as Raynaud’s, which affected her circulatory system and restricted blood flow to her extremities. When she got cold, which happened to her far easier than to the average person, her feet and hands turned purple. He knew it was painful, and the last thing he wanted was his wife in pain.

  “It’s in the upper fifties. I’m okay, but I appreciate your concern.”

  “It doesn’t take much to give you a chill.” He smiled softly at her. “Humor me?”

  “Okay.” She moved the bag over to her right. “But only because you’re looking out for me and because you humor me as well.”

  At the red light, he leaned over and brushed his lips across her soft cheek before planting a kiss on it. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Now focus on the road, Mr. McCray.”

  “Yes, Dr. Scott-McCray.”

  “It really is a mouthful, isn’t it?”

  “A beautiful mouthful, if you ask me.”

  “You’re still not focusing on the road.” She smirked.

  “It’s hard to focus on anything besides you when you’re present, love.”

  Her gorgeous smile, which lit up a room, widened. He couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and curl up with his wife—she was the greatest blessing in his life.

  “Okay, flirty, let’s get back to it.” She indicated the document.

  “Right.” He exhaled, knowing he needed to hear it, but tensing at the thought of what he might learn about his sister’s killer.

  “Would you like me to read the full report or summarize it?”

  “I’m anxious to hear what Agent Evans came up with, so I’d like to hear the full report. But feel free to summarize or interpret as you see fit.”

  Finley cleared her throat, her eyes tracking across the page.

  “Adult male. Caucasian. Comes from money. Feels entitled. Single or divorced. No children. Early thirties to early forties. Athletic, as he’s able to move women’s bodies to the dumping sites.”

  Finley winced. “Sorry for the cold term.”

  “It’s okay, babe. You’re just reading what he wrote.” Besides, he already knew the cruel truth that his sister had been “disposed of.”

  “He’s got above-average intelligence. Works in a job that suits his needed façade of a certain lifestyle and most likely provides him with either access to victims or the ability to hide behind it. However, his profession hardly stimulates him intellectually.

  “He has limited family and limited contact with them. Most likely an only child. Very possibly had an overbearing mother or woman figure in his life.

  “He methodically plans his abductions and murders. He stalks and studies his victims ahead of time. They aren’t chosen at random, nor are they abducted at random. The killing fulfills a hunger inside him.

  “It is possible having the bodies wash up on shore is his attempt at sending a statement. Perhaps that the victim was . . .” She hesitated, biting her bottom lip.

  “It’s okay, babe. Go on.”

  “That the victim was garbage
or waste to be dumped. Or perhaps the water holds a far deeper significance.”

  Griffin sharply inhaled his anger, then slowly exhaled. Listening to the report was painful, but he knew what he was getting into when he vowed to find Jenna’s killer. He’d suffer through the pain, anger, and helpless feelings if it meant finally putting her killer behind bars.

  “The profiler believes that the killer avoids detection by moving about the areas he’s in, and moving often, but now he clearly feels untouchable in the Houston area, as he’s been killing there for five years. The question is why? What is making him feel so comfortable despite the rising body count?”

  Griffin was thankful for the information. He needed to understand Jenna’s killer to catch him, but in no way did he want to live in the sicko’s twisted mind. He’d heard enough. “I definitely believe we’ve missed other victims who haven’t surfaced. I hate to think how many there could be.”

  “Should I call Kate? She’s the best at tracking missing people.”

  Luke included, Griffin thought. “She is the best, but I’m sure she’s got her hands full with the terrorist case. I’ll give Jason a call.” His partner would be happy to run the search, and he’d planned to call him anyway. A partner should know everything, even if Griffin had taken personal leave to work this case and it wasn’t officially theirs.

  “Oh, wait,” Finley said, her eyes darting to the bottom edge of the page. “The profiler noted some comments at the end. He suggested the killer’s movements could be related to areas he is comfortable with or areas he received a job promotion to.”

  “Excellent point. Once we narrow down his possible professions, we could search for people transferred between our three states—Maryland, North Carolina, and Texas.”

  “Agent Evans also listed some ways Burke’s key words could point to what’s fueling his need to kill.”

  “Such as?”

  “The binding of the wrists, most often with handcuffs, shows he wants to feel in control of his victims but deep down he doesn’t, and that fuels his anger toward his victims, his need to torture them. He’s punishing them, which suggests there was a significant woman in his life that he felt very inferior to or dominated by.”

  Luke stepped into the store he’d left Kate in and stopped short at the sight of her conversing with Lauren Graham.

  What was she doing with Kate? Had Malcolm sent Lauren to try and insert herself into Luke’s life, or was this one of Lauren’s sick games—the only kind she liked to play?

  “Luke,” Kate said, looking past Lauren at him, “this is . . .”

  Lauren smiled, cold and calculating.

  “I’m sorry,” Kate said, turning to Lauren. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Margaret Anderson.” Her smile widened.

  One of Lauren’s most often-used legends—the one she’d gone by when in charge of him, when she’d tried to seduce him. He’d nearly fallen for it, but it hadn’t taken long for him to realize what kind of twisted woman she was.

  “And Luke and I are well acquainted,” she said, rubbing his shoulder.

  Kate’s eyes widened, and he quickly removed Lauren’s hand from his body.

  “We used to work together,” he said as Kate’s gaze quickly flashed between the two, trying to ascertain just how well they knew each other.

  “Oh, come now,” Lauren said with a laugh. “We did much more than that.”

  “Hardly,” he said, reaching for Kate’s arm. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

  “Leaving so soon?” she said. “Are you sure you don’t want to catch up over a cup of coffee? No cream. Two sugars. Right?”

  Kate looked over at him. She was falling for Lauren’s bit.

  He kept his hand on Kate’s arm and headed for the door.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be around anytime you’re ready to catch up,” Lauren called after him, her voice raking along his nerves.

  Kate swallowed. “So . . . you two . . . ?”

  “Worked together, and that’s it.”

  Kate’s cheeks flushed. “Certainly didn’t get the impression work was all you two did.”

  “You can’t believe a word that comes out of Lauren’s mouth,” he whispered through gritted teeth, his blood on fire.

  “Lauren?” Kate said as they entered Macy’s en route to the parking garage. “She said her name was Margaret.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “Wait.” Kate pulled to a stop.

  He looked over his shoulder, surprised Lauren wasn’t following them, but teasing was more her game. “I’ll explain in the car, I promise, but for now we need to—” He dropped her arm and ducked behind the bedding displays, his heart pounding. Luke’s older brother, Gabe, was standing ten feet down the aisle.

  “Kate!” Gabe called.

  Kate stared at him, her heart racing, and then she scanned the area around her. How had Luke disappeared so fast?

  “Miss Katie!” Trevor, Gabe’s five-year-old son, ran to her.

  Travis, the toddler, waddled behind his brother.

  She bent, giving the boys big hugs. “Hey, kiddos, what’s up?” She tickled them and the boys giggled.

  “Just shopping with Dad.”

  She looked up at Gabe. “Where’s Mara?”

  “I gave her a day off from mommy duty.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “She deserves it with these two always bubbling over with energy.” He swooped his boys up in his arms, pressing zerberts to their cheeks. They wiggled and squirmed, and sweet laughter filled the air.

  She glanced around again, getting back to her feet. Where had Luke gone?

  “How are things with you?” Gabe asked, his gaze a bit too appraising. He shared Luke’s gift for quickly sizing up people and their emotional state.

  “Good. Busy, but good.”

  “We’re headed for the food court and Chik-fil-A. Care to join us? It’s been a while since we’ve caught up.”

  “Thanks,” she said, “but I’ve got to be going. I’m meeting a friend.” She swallowed.

  “No worries. You’ll have to come down for a bonfire dinner soon. It’s been too long.” Gabe and Mara threw the best bonfire cookouts on the Mid-Atlantic coast. She had been so thankful when Luke’s family insisted on keeping in touch after Luke’s disappearance. She supposed it had partially been their way of keeping the hope of his return alive, but she also believed they’d already considered her family—and she felt the same way about them.

  “That would be great,” she said, inching toward the exterior door. Perhaps Luke had darted out to the car.

  “I’ll have Mara call you,” Gabe said, his furrowed brow indicating he knew she wasn’t herself.

  “Great. Thanks,” she said, hurrying outside.

  The cold, exhaust-filled air of the parking structure wafted over her, and she jumped as Luke’s hand clamped on her arm.

  “Where did you go, and how . . . ?”

  He remained silent, striding purposefully for the car. He held her door open, shut it behind her, and jumped in. Starting the engine, he streaked out of the spot.

  Kate caught a glimpse of Margaret or Lauren or whatever her name was as they rounded the bend. The woman stared at them like a cat watching its lunch fluttering around the cage in front of it.

  She turned back to Luke. “What is going on?”

  Luke’s chest constricted, his breaths short and shallow. Why was he so hot? He cranked down his window an inch. He needed some air.

  His brother.

  His nephews.

  Mere feet away.

  And Lauren, not surprisingly, waiting for them around the bend.

  “Like I said, Lauren Graham—which I believe is her real name—is dangerous. You can’t trust her, can’t trust anyone new who enters your life right now. People often aren’t who they seem, at least not in the arena where I live and work.”

  He was truly terrified of what Lauren intended to do to Kate. She’d never taken his rejection we
ll. She’d had it out for him ever since that night in Paris. Ever since he’d walked away from Lauren sprawled on her hotel room bed, beckoning him to join her. He’d been gone long enough to know he wasn’t going home anytime soon. He’d left his old life behind, and Lauren was gorgeous, brilliant, and inviting, but God had given him restraint when he needed it most. And Lauren had never forgiven him for it. Apparently, he was the only one to turn her down, and she clearly didn’t handle rejection well.

  Kate braced her hand on the doorframe as he left tire marks in their wake, screeching down the parking garage ramp. “Is that how you’ve had to live the last seven years? Not trusting anyone?”

  “I trust you,” he said as they skirted another corner, nearly colliding with an oncoming SUV.

  “Luke! Seriously. What’s going on?” she demanded, her voice and posture tense.

  He swerved onto Dulaney Valley Road, heading for Lock Raven Reservoir. The reservoir contained plenty of winding back roads for him to lose Lauren. Roads he’d spent a great deal of time racing around during his college years.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror as he ramped onto the freeway, he spotted Lauren three cars back in a black SUV.

  “Lauren is dangerous. She’s targeted you.” He’d repeat it as often as needed to get his point across.

  “Why? I don’t understand. If you worked together, isn’t she on the same side?”

  “Lauren’s on her own side. Always.” It had nearly gotten him killed, less than a week after he’d turned her down. Either it was a vindictive attempt at payback or a huge coincidence that she’d made her first and only mistake in the field. And that was why she’d been reassigned. They’d crossed paths many times over the years, but they’d never been assigned to the same team since.

  Kate shook her head. “I’m usually so good at reading people. She seemed decent.”

  Decent was the last word to describe Lauren Graham. “She’s an expert at playing roles. Margaret Anderson is her friendliest role. The one she takes on most often.”

  “How can you work with someone like her?”

  “We’re in the same agency, but I most definitely don’t work with her.” The woman was flat-out unstable.

  “Then why is she here, and why are you so upset?” Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Did you two . . . ?”