As the heater finally began to deliver hot air, she pulled out and drove slowly past the crowd of onlookers who lingered despite the hour and frigid temperature. She tapped her brakes just to make sure they still worked. Not that she was paranoid or anything.
Headlights pulled into the street behind her, and her shoulders slumped. Agent Singh was following her to the police station.
Why had her boss requested FBI assistance? Of course she knew. She was just trying to ignore the elephant in the room until it trampled her into a bloody pulp. The boss was worried Hawke might be innocent, and she’d arrested the wrong guy.
The fact she was a small cog in the criminal justice system wouldn’t matter if they needed a scapegoat. She’d been the face of the investigation. It was her head on the chopping block. While her career wasn’t much compared to the lives of those two women, it was all she had.
Had the high profile trial attracted a serial rapist to their affluent little town? Or had she been wrong about Hawke, and the real rapist had been free all this time and had now escalated from rape to murder? But the evidence against Hawke was solid. She hadn’t pulled him out of thin air as a suspect, and the rapes had stopped after he’d been arrested. This didn’t make any sense.
Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel as she thought about what had happened to Cassie and Mandy. She knew monsters were out there, and that her chance of crossing paths with them was higher than the average citizen. She knew they hid amongst the honest and polite, the good looking and earnest. Insidious evil lurking beneath seemingly normal veneers. She knew it all too well.
Her phone rang, and she used her hands-free unit to answer it. “Donovan.”
“Are you all right, love?” her mother asked.
Erin checked the clock. Of course her mother would have heard the news and been worried. “Yeah, Mom, of course I’m fine. You unpacked yet?”
She’d taken her parents with her to Hawaii for their fortieth wedding anniversary. It seemed like a grand gesture, but the family wasn’t fooled. She was still avoiding going home to NYC.
“We’re fine. I just saw the news and wanted to check you were safe.”
A pang of guilt hit her. Brigit Donovan’s nerves were probably shot from worrying about all her offspring, not to mention her husband. Maybe that’s one of the reasons Erin had become a cop. It was easier not to worry from this side of the blue line. “I’ve been up all night, Mom, working the case. I can’t talk right now.”
Erin heard the eye-roll in her mother’s voice. “Of course you can’t. Stay safe, Erin. Get some rest and lock your doors. The idea of you all alone in that farmhouse—”
“Thanks for freaking me out, Mom. I’ll call you when I get time.” Which would be after they solved the case.
“Love you, Erin.” It was how her mom ended every conversation. That and a quick prayer to St. Michael and a kiss of the rosary.
“Love you, too, Mom. Go back to bed.” Another call came through as soon as she hung up.
“Erin.” She recognized the voice. Professor Roman Huxley. “I just heard about the murders. If I can help in any way, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Huxley was a leading expert on criminology. He was based at the university here and was an invaluable resource. She’d sat in on a few of his classes and even given a guest lecture in one of his courses before the Hawke case last year.
“Thanks—”
“I don’t know if you know this, but one of the victims was in my sophomore class. Mandy Wochikowski. She was a bright kid. Did some work for me over the summer. I feel terrible.”
“Anything you can tell me about her?” Erin asked quickly. She didn’t know much about Mandy. Any information would be useful.
“She was a straight-A student who always attended lectures and handed in her projects on time. Those students are rarer than you think.”
“Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”
“Not that I noticed.”
So probably not. The professor was a bit of a player and had hit on her when they’d first met, and several times since. Erin got hit on a lot—not because she was some raving beauty. But the more she said “no,” the more of a challenge she became. Apparently being unattainable was attractive to a lot of men. It took some guys multiple knock-backs to get the message across that she wasn’t dating anyone. Ever.
Thoughts of the sexy fed tried to intrude. He was an unwelcome reminder of the last time she’d said “yes.”
“She ever mention the Hawke case to you?” she asked.
“You think the two crimes are related?” His surprise seemed genuine.
“Not necessarily,” she said carefully. She didn’t want to be the source of rumors that could jeopardize her career, but it wouldn’t take the press long to start screaming the same questions. “The other victim was Cassandra Bressinger. I can’t ignore the possibility of there being some sort of connection.”
“Christ, I didn’t know the other girl was Cassie. I’d forgotten they lived together.”
Erin heard the change in his tone. “You knew her, too?”
“She sought me out during the trial. Wanted to know the recommended reading on serial rapists and if I could suggest any current research papers concerning their psychology.”
Erin wasn’t surprised. Cassie had been driven to exonerate her boyfriend.
“I’m very sorry to hear she was involved,” the professor said softly. “She seemed genuinely convinced Hawke was innocent despite the compelling evidence to the contrary.” There was a long pause. “As to your other question, Mandy and I discussed the Hawke case on several occasions in class. It was an incredible teaching opportunity as you can imagine.”
She rolled her eyes because it was so much more than that.
“I used it as a demonstration about criminal behavior and how criminals are often viewed as a consequence of their social standing. Needless to say the discussion degenerated into a fight between how the quarterback of the Blackcombe Ravens could have any girl he wanted and didn’t need to rape to get sex versus football players are brainless meatheads too stupid and overindulged to understand a one-syllable, two letter word. I actually begin teaching material about serial rape next week. I expect the information will open some students’ eyes to aspects of the crime they assume they understand. If it doesn’t, they’re going to flunk.”
She had bigger things to worry about than narrow minds or failed grades. “Thanks for your help, Professor.”
“I keep telling you, call me Roman.”
The familiarity felt wrong, like calling the family priest by his first name. “Right. Well, if you think of anything else, feel free to give me a call.”
“It would help if I could review the case notes…”
Erin checked her rear view mirror. “I’ll talk to the FBI to see if we can consult with you on this one.”
“The FBI is involved? Already?” The professor sounded intrigued.
“Yeah.”
“That’s what happens when you have lots of wealthy parents and murdered co-eds.”
And an elite college whose enrollment was going to suffer as a consequence. She understood the stakes could be measured in dollars and lives—only the lives concerned her right now.
“I’ll get back to you.” Erin said goodbye and hung up.
She turned into the police station, Agent Singh following closely in his black rental SUV. She had a feeling he was going to be her own personal shadow until the powers that be decided whether or not to make her the sacrificial goat. Erin growled with frustration as she pulled into a parking space and turned off the engine. She got out and leaned against the warm hood of her truck as she waited for the fed to join her. He walked toward her, all muscled grace and professional cool. Her mouth went dry.
Get a grip, Erin. He thinks you’re a cheating slut and is probably gonna get you fired.
He caught her gaze and raised a brow in question. She tried to keep her expression blank. The guy was gorgeo
us and looked more like an actor playing a role than a law enforcement officer with powers of arrest, but she didn’t let it fool her. People often dismissed her because she was young and blonde. It made getting the cuffs around those thick wrists that much more satisfying.
She led the way, grateful there were no reporters yet. They’d arrive soon enough like a plague of flies.
“It’s a long drive from Virginia,” she noted, walking up the stairs toward the red brick building.
“Flew in from Boston.”
“Murder case?”
He glanced at her sideways. “Suspected white slave ring.”
“You shut it down?”
“It’s ongoing.” He carefully avoided her gaze.
So he’d been pulled off that case to come here. Damn. Her mood soured further as she held open the door for him. “Well, we sure do appreciate you dropping everything and rushing here to help.” She didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.
His glance flicked over her again as he held the inner door for her this time. She’d made her point. Bottom line was she was stuck with the guy for a few days, and she was going to make good use of him. The Bureau had access to resources that their small PD could only dream of. And if this BAU profiler could help catch their killer, she’d put up with all the associated politics and bullshit from the rest of her department and city hall. She’d even put up with all the snide inferences from Agent Singh regarding her loose morals—as if she’d been the only one naked in that bed.
Protecting the people of this town was her main priority, even if they hated her for it.
She led him into police headquarters, which occupied the lower levels of the north side of the building. Courthouse was above. This corridor was lined with age-darkened oak panels and a gloomy atmosphere. Agent Singh seemed to be cataloguing every detail, and Erin had never liked being judged by anything except the work she did. The guy may have seen her naked, but he’d never seen her working. They headed into the squad room, which buzzed with activity. Every available body was manning phones, or out canvassing for information and running leads.
“You want a coffee?” she asked him. “It comes with a health warning.” Law enforcement wasn’t known for its baristas in the break room.
“Please.” He nodded.
“I’ll get you one. Wait here.” She left him near the bullpen and went over to the coffee room that housed a couple of padded chairs, a fridge, a sink, coffeepot, and tea kettle. Hopes of finding a clean mug were futile, so she got out the scouring pad and did her best to make a spare one less of a biohazard.
Ully Mason walked into the room behind her. The ten-year veteran stood close to her shoulder.
“What’s with the fed?” he asked in a low, urgent whisper. “He looks like a fucking terrorist.”
She rinsed out the mug and grabbed a paper towel. “Spew that bullshit again, Ully, and I’ll report you myself.”
His cheeks reddened at the rebuke.
“He’s a profiler from the BAU. Here to help us figure out who did this before the town erupts.” Even though she didn’t trust the FBI agent, she was not about to badmouth him to other people in the department. Her father had taught her to respect her peers, whatever badge they wore.
“Hey, don’t get your panties in a twist.” She rolled her eyes and wondered how much trouble she’d get into if she smacked him around the back of the head. Ully cleared his throat and leaned close enough his breath brushed her ear. “I need a favor. Can you keep quiet about the fact I stopped to give out a traffic ticket on the way over?”
She frowned at him. “You were doing your job. No one is going to think the worst of you for that.”
He shifted, his equipment belt creaking like an old saddle. “Yeah, but I pulled over what turned out to be a very hot blonde in a very shiny sports car and let her off with a verbal warning after she ran a red. I was in a hurry to get to you, but it isn’t going to look good in any report.” He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Especially when you got her number.” Dammit. Aside from the occasional unexpected bout of assholishness, Ully was a good officer. But he liked the ladies, and his uniform and good looks meant they liked him right back. “You didn’t have sex with her, did you?” she asked quietly.
“No.” He took a half-step away, his expression affronted. “Shit. I was on duty. I’m not that sort of cop.”
She poured coffee into two mugs and grabbed the milk out of the fridge. It was kind of depressing that she remembered Darsh Singh took a splash of milk in his. “Fine. But I’m not covering it up.”
“I never asked you to lie, just not hang me out to dry.”
“Hang you out to dry?” God. She stood still and forced herself to draw in a slow deep breath before she spoke again. “I’m not that sort of cop, either.”
“Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.”
Low blow. Nausea coiled hot and low in her belly. Her fist clenched around the handle of the milk jug, but she forced herself not to react in any other way.
Through the glass window, she watched Darsh cross the room toward them. Whereas Ully Mason was good-looking in a powerful, blunt, hockey player kind of way, Darsh was the classic tall, dark, and handsome. No wonder she’d been attracted to him all those years ago. He had straight black brows, sharp cheekbones, full bottom lip. His pretty face didn’t diminish his masculinity. The tall broad-shouldered frame and long legs filled out those tactical clothes in a way that made women drool. All the females in the office were casting him covert looks that thanked the world for hot guys.
Maybe that was Ully’s problem. He didn’t like competition.
She, for one, wasn’t interested in either of them. Not even for a no-strings hook up. There were always strings, and they were usually wrapped around her heart or her pride. Either way, they strangled self-esteem.
Darsh’s hair shone blue-black in the artificial light. His jacket rustled as he stood in the doorway.
She introduced him to Ully and held out a mug. “There’s sugar around here somewhere if you need it.” She pointed in the general direction of the countertop.
He shook his head. “This is good. Thank you.” He blew on the top and took a sip. His light brown skin gave him a healthy glow, especially in a land of shockingly white winter skin. Even her tan looked wan less than twenty-four hours back in the land of snow and ice.
Ully’s stare was resentful. “Where you from originally?”
A stillness came over Darsh. The expression in those black eyes so cold it made her nape prickle.
“Quantico,” he said quietly.
Ully’s expression grew mulish.
She hid a smile. Ully was right about one thing. They all made mistakes—he’d clearly underestimated the fed. As much as she enjoyed watching alpha males posture, she needed to get the investigation moving. “Any luck tracking down the other roommate?”
“I found her.” Dispelling the tension, Ully turned and poured himself a coffee, then stood with his back against the sink. “Tanya Whitehouse. She was at a party that was still going strong at a frat house on campus. Had her tongue down Jason Brady’s throat when I got there around eleven-thirty.”
Jason Brady was Drew Hawke’s best friend.
She grunted. “I saw Brady on the street outside his house when I drove to Cassie’s house last night. Around 10:04 PM.” He’d been wearing dark track pants and a zipped hoody. Sneakers. Considering the guy was on the football team he rarely wore anything else except his Ravens’ uniform on game day.
Ully continued. “They hadn’t heard about the murders when I picked Tanya up. Otherwise things might have gotten hairy.”
There could have been a riot.
“She still here?” Erin asked. The hot drink was thawing out her insides. It was the first time she’d felt even vaguely human in hours.
“I dropped her back at the sorority house a few hours ago. Romano took her statement. She was pretty shook up. I told her you’d be in touch today and
to stay available.” Ully looked pointedly at Agent Singh. “You going to reopen the Hawke investigation?”
Erin kept her expression neutral as she watched Darsh’s reaction. People around here weren’t much on subtlety. It was both a blessing and a curse.
“I’m here to help find this killer.” Darsh straightened, and she realized he was taller than Ully.
“The sooner the better,” Ully said grimly.
“As long as we nail the right guy.” The fed took another sip of coffee.
She and Ully exchanged a look.
“What’s your plan of action?” Singh asked her pointedly.
She finished her coffee and quickly washed up her mug. She did not want him hanging over her shoulder, but she needed to keep an eye on him. The fact they’d slept together and that he’d obviously formed an opinion of her based on that encounter made her uncomfortable, but that was the price she’d paid for taking back control of her life. She hadn’t been about to waste that opportunity or let the memory of it derail her career.
“Priority number one, I want to listen to the 911 call. Then speak to the roommate. But first I need to update my boss and see what team has been assigned to work the case and make sure everyone knows what they’re supposed to be doing.” Would she be in charge? She didn’t know.
As if he’d heard her mention him, her boss waved them over to his office.
“Agent Singh, thanks for coming.” Chief Strassen reached out to shake the fed’s hand with big meaty paws. Then he led them into his office and closed the door. “I’m grateful you could start working with us on this straight away. We need the public to know that we’re doing a good job at keeping them safe.”
“Two dead girls tell their own story, Chief,” Singh said. “You know that.”
Her boss nodded, not getting pissed the way he would have if she’d voiced the same opinion.
“We need to catch this person before he hurts anyone else. Everything we have is at your disposal, Agent Singh.”
Which was a joke because the two things the feds brought to the table were toys and funds.
“I appreciate that,” Agent Singh inclined his head, “but all I really need is Detective Donovan’s full cooperation.”
Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Page 5