by Whitley Gray
“Nope. Been living out of a suitcase for too long. I shipped the rest. It’ll be here by the end of the week.” Zach gave a tired smile.
“Then let’s go home.” Beck led the way out of the terminal to the west parking area.
“You have to go back to work?”
“I took the afternoon off. What’d you have in mind?”
Zach grabbed his biceps, leaned in, and spoke into his ear. “I hear there’s a king-size bed at your place that comes equipped with a hot guy. Want to show me?”
“Oh, yeah.” Beck walked faster.
Chapter Four
Bzzz…
Zach ascended from sleep. Fuzzy light leaked into the bedroom from the wrong direction, and the mattress was pillowy and soft. Not the FBI apartment. Denver. And next to him, Beck slept on.
Bzzz…
Phone? Zach squinted at the clock. Five forty a.m., Tuesday. Christ. Who called this early? Zach rolled toward the nightstand, snatched the phone, and checked the number. Shit. A Nebraska area code could only mean one thing.
Bzzz…
There was no reason to answer. Ruskin had the files; Zach was out of the profiling biz. The FBI didn’t own him. But if the case was one of Zach’s previous ones, Sands would be on the phone in a heartbeat, attempting to enlist Zach’s help.
Bzzz…
Avoidance was futile. He’d set Omaha straight, hang up, and refuse to be dragged in when Sands called. He hit Talk.
“Zach Littman.”
“Dr. Littman? Clay Hogan here.”
“Yes, Detective.” Zach slid out of bed, grabbed his sweatpants off a box, and padded to the living room.
At least it wasn’t one of the assholes calling. Hogan had been the one Omaha officer who’d been receptive to Zach’s help on the Crossroads Killer case the past September.
“We’ve got a break on a case from last fall.” Hogan’s tone was at odds with the information. No intensity, no excitement. Weary, as if he’d trudged miles through mud.
What Zach meant to say was, Call Ruskin. Instead, the wrong words tumbled out. “The Crossroads case?”
“Sort of. It’s…complicated.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. It was always complicated. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t want details. Didn’t want to get sucked into a case he’d left behind. He was done. All he had to do was enunciate, Contact Ruskin at the Minneapolis Regional Behavioral Sciences Unit.
“—never found it,” Hogan was saying.
“Sorry, I missed that. Never found what?”
“The heart of Jane Doe 114, that girl from last fall. Now we’ve got a second body missing the heart.”
Cold prickled down his spine. Two weeks after they’d pulled the sixth victim from the ground last September, someone—not Omaha’s Crossroads Killer, in Zach’s opinion—had left a body, a female, minus the heart at the Crossroads burial ground, so called because of its proximity to a rural intersection of the same name. There had been none of the trademarks of the Crossroads Killer. It had been bizarre, one murderer using the graveyard of another.
The cardiac-excision aspect had forced Zach to face imprisoned Valentine Killer, Xavier Darling, the monster who had almost killed him during a previous interview. Last October, when Zach had interviewed Xav-D about the girl missing her heart, Xav had claimed there would be more. Four more. This could be number two. Xav-D had also taken the hearts of his victims. The claim of what he’d done with those hearts echoed in Zach’s head: “Battered and deep-fried. I ate they love.”
Ate.
Last fall, as soon as the Colorado authorities had recognized the possibility Xav was manipulating a killer on the outside, they’d transferred him to the Administrative Supermax prison—the Alcatraz of the Rockies. Xav couldn’t shepherd a killer from that fortress.
Zach took a shaky breath. “Do you have a suspect?”
“Not for Jane Doe 114,” Hogan said, “and it’s been seven months. I’d pretty much concluded that you were right, that it wasn’t the Crossroads Killer and we wouldn’t see any others.”
“But now you have a second one.”
“We do.”
It made no sense. Another body missing the heart? Zach was still sure the Crossroads Killer hadn’t done Jane Doe 114. Or Hogan’s new one. In Zach’s experience, organized killers didn’t devolve in that manner. So what was this?
Two serial killers?
By last December, the Crossroads Killer had moved on to North Platte. This one, this follower, might have hung around Omaha. “Did you check ViCAP?”
“ViCAP had no hits. The heart guy hadn’t struck again until now,” Hogan said.
That we know of. But it wasn’t Zach’s problem. “Detective, I’m not profiling anymore.”
“There’s something here you need to know.”
“I can’t help you. If you have questions, I can have Special Agent Ruskin give you a call.”
After a pause, Hogan said, “You’re the only Fed I’ve ever met who didn’t walk around like he had a stick up his ass. That includes Minneapolis. Whether you’re with the FBI or not, this is something you need to know on a personal level.”
Not at this point. Not when he’d finally gotten away and started a life free of killers. “Sorry, but no.”
“Please, Dr. Littman. It’s vital for you to know this.”
Damn. I’m going to regret this. “What is it?”
“Three days ago we got an anonymous tip via e-mail about the Crossroads Killer. It contained a set of GPS coordinates, on wooded public land. Thought it might be a hoax, but with everything that went on last fall, we took a look.”
Zach grimaced. Shit. “And you then found the second body?”
“We did.” Papers rustled in the background. “But this one’s a little different.”
Zach forced back his impatience. “How so, Detective?”
“This one’s a man. And there was a note inside him addressed to you.”
For a moment, the information rendered Zach speechless. A note. From a killer.
“Dr. Littman? You there?”
Zach cleared his throat. “Yes. Here. Go on.”
“It’s a red paper heart. Hand-printed on one side, it says, ‘Dr. Littman, your heart belongs to me.’”
Goose bumps rose along Zach’s arms. He staggered to the couch. This couldn’t be happening. Before Xav had killed his victims, he’d forced them to say five words: My heart belongs to you. This was eerily similar.
“Any idea what it means?” Hogan asked.
“At this point, I’m not sure.” It’s a taunt.
No, it’s not. It’s a threat.
“A few more things you should know.”
Other than the fact that this victim changed everything? Not only was there a second serial killer out there, the assassin wanted to involve Zach.
He paced to the kitchen and stared outside. Dawn drew pink streaks across a leaden sky. He slid open the pane, and a breeze cooled his face. “What else have you got?”
“We have an ID. Guy was left with his driver’s license. He’s not from here. He’s from Denver.”
Zach froze. Was this someone he knew? Someone Beck knew? “What’s the name?”
“Nathan Perny.”
With relief, Zach exhaled. “I don’t know him.”
“I’ll want to coordinate with Denver Homicide about searching the guy’s residence.”
Stay out of it, Littman. “I’m in Denver. I can have one of the homicide detectives at DPD give you a call.”
“That’d be great. A couple more questions before I let you go.”
Zach slumped in a kitchen chair and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I think you’d be better off talking with DPD and behavioral.”
“This stuff is more your area, Dr. Littman.”
“Detective—”
“The guy was castrated. Dick and balls cut off and stuffed up his rear end. Stab wounds all over the chest and abdomen.” Hogan paused. �
�What does that mean?”
The whole thing was getting worse with every word. “It suggests rage. It could be personal.”
Or yet another killer, one who favored men and also happened to remove the heart? Unifying theory, Littman. Connections.
“Does it sound like a signature?”
“Might be.” Zach’s gut screamed, Yes. “I need to see a copy of the note. Please.”
“Sure. You want the autopsy protocol too?”
Say no. “No. You’ll need the bureau for that. I’ll let them know.”
“Appreciate it. Watch your six, Dr. Littman.”
“Absolutely. Expect calls from Denver Homicide and Minneapolis BSU.”
“’Preciate it. Take care.” Hogan was gone.
“What calls from Denver Homicide and BSU?”
Zach looked up. Beck wore button-fly jeans, the top rivet undone, and no shirt. His eyes held a wariness that made Zach’s heart ache. Zach pulled out a kitchen chair for him.
“Omaha PD has a murder victim who is from Denver.” Zach hesitated. With a possible threat, he owed Beck some sort of an explanation. “The case might be related to the one in October, the one where Sands sent me to talk to Xav-D.”
“That was an FBI deal.” Beck dropped into the seat. “What does that have to do with this homicide in Omaha?”
“Both victims have missing hearts.” And one had a macabre heart-shaped note addressed to me. Zach shuddered. Beck would be worried as soon as he found out about it. Zach could feel the threat in the message; he didn’t want this issue tainting their time at home. We need one more happy morning together. “Do you know a guy named Nathan Perny?”
“No. Should I?”
“Not necessarily. He’s the newest Omaha victim, but he’s from Denver. Probably a coincidence.” Yeah, right. And it’s probably a coincidence that he’s missing his heart. And that his killer left me a note. This was something personal. Something bad.
Beck looked down and clenched his hands together between his knees. “Are you leaving?”
“No. I’m calling Ruskin. I’ll go in with you today and let Captain Fisk know about Omaha’s request to check out the guy’s residence.”
“I can tell her. You’re on vacation. Why don’t you take some time and just relax?”
“I’d rather be doing something.”
Beck’s expression tightened. “On an FBI case?”
“No. I’m not going anywhere.” Zach reached out and squeezed Beck’s knees. “Let’s go back to bed.”
“Don’t think I can sleep.”
“Who said anything about sleep?”
* * * *
Two hours later Zach settled behind a battered desk in a room not much bigger than a walk-in closet. It smelled of fresh paint and shampooed carpet. Besides the desk, he had a computer, two overstuffed chairs, and a coffee table. Anonymous. One window—tiny, but still…a window. Not luxurious, but he’d had worse.
Jay Armentrout, the DPD psychologist, had arranged for Zach to use the room as an office while covering the DPD psych service, and had invited Zach to go ahead and set up shop. Zach sat in the desk chair and spun.
Ruskin had absorbed the information about Perny with gusto. A new killer to add to the database, a new profile. Zach had bristled when Ruskin called him a potential target. “Target” was another word for “victim,” and Zach refused to wear that label. He was an investigator, damn it.
Not anymore.
As a professional courtesy, Ruskin had reluctantly promised to keep him in the loop. But how far in? The lack of control had his stomach tied in a knot.
Outside, a few cottony clouds dotted the sky. On the plaza below, people queued up in front of the coffee vendor for their morning java fix.
At least someone had business. So far, all Jay had given Zach was a list of canceled appointments during his absence. The personnel of the DPD weren’t exactly falling all over themselves to say hello, let alone make appointments to see Zach during Jay’s hiatus. Two weeks of thumb twiddling. Fabulous.
It was like coming into a new place as a profiler—everyone suspicious and avoiding him. Delivering Omaha’s request, along with the information that Hogan had called Zach instead of the DPD watch commander, could make him more of a pariah.
But before he talked with the head of homicide, he had to come clean with Beck. With luck, Beck wouldn’t be irritated after Zach made a full disclosure about the note. Doing it at home would have let the ugliness into the house, somehow. So, here. At work.
Beck strolled in carrying two steaming mugs and handed one to Zach. “So what did you want to talk about before seeing Captain Fisk?”
“Let’s sit over there.” Zach nodded toward the two overstuffed chairs. The news was going to put a damper on the day, but it had to be done.
“Awfully formal, Dr. Littman. I believe I’ve been dismissed from psych visits.” Beck grinned and took a seat.
Zach set his cup on the table, closed and locked the door. “Funny.” But what Zach had to say wasn’t. “I need to give you more details about the call I got this morning from Hogan, the lead detective in Omaha.”
“I thought you said Ruskin would work with them.” Beck sipped his coffee.
“He…will. Hogan called me specifically because the body was also missing the heart.”
“You told me that at home.”
“There’s more. This time the killer left a note addressed to me inside the victim’s chest.”
Beck didn’t move a muscle. Then his eyes narrowed. “What did the note say?”
“It was on a red paper heart.” A morbid valentine, like Xav-D had sent on occasion to Zach’s house in Minneapolis. But Beck didn’t know about those. “It read, ‘Dr. Littman, your heart belongs to me.’” Giving voice to the words sent a chill up his spine.
“Isn’t that a version of what Darling made his victims recite before he killed them?”
Zach clenched his hands together. “It is. They were told to say, ‘My heart belongs to you.’”
“So this killer is threatening you?”
“Maybe.” Probably. “I think it’s a taunt. Something meant to throw me off balance. At any rate, Ruskin will manage the situation.”
“Is the note from Darling?” Beck set his cup on the table and leaned forward, forearms on thighs.
“He’s in Supermax. I don’t see how it could be from him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this right away?”
“I… Because I didn’t want this kind of stuff intruding at home. I left it behind when I left the FBI. And I’m telling you now.” Out loud it sounded weak, more like an excuse than the noble sentiment that had made him withhold the news initially.
“If it weren’t for this Perny residence search in Denver, would you have said anything to me?”
The perception in that gave Zach pause. He wanted to believe he would have shared the information with Beck regardless. “Yes. Absolutely.”
The silence bristled with unspoken frustration. Beck looked away, mouth tight.
“Beck. I planned to tell you.” Gnawing guilt churned in his stomach. All he’d wanted was one more untainted morning with Beck. It made Zach sick to think of Beck hurting from the perceived slight. Zach scooted forward and grabbed Beck’s forearm. “Honest to God.”
Beck’s eyes darkened. “If this is going to work between us, we have to be open and truthful with each other.”
“Agreed.”
“And no matter what we are to each other, I’m a cop, not some fragile civilian. I don’t want you withholding information, thinking you’re protecting me.”
The first spark of temper flared to life. “I wasn’t trying to protect you.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me everything right away?”
“I…” There was no way Zach could share the truth without showing vulnerability. Because I don’t want it intruding in our private lives. Because it is a threat. Because it could suck us into something horrible. Because I care so muc
h I couldn’t stand it if someone hurt you.
One more happy morning—that was all Zach had wanted.
Beck shook his head, and Zach wondered if this was about to degenerate into an argument. The clock ticked away the seconds.
Better think of something to say here, Littman. “Sorry. I’m still decompressing from working behavioral for so long.”
Beck slid his arm out from under Zach’s palm and twined their fingers. “I know you’re used to handling things you can’t talk about, and I don’t expect to hear details about your previous FBI cases or what goes on in here. But if it’s something that affects us…please trust me. I’m not going to go off the deep end.”
A reprieve, thank God. It was time to come clean. “Okay. I’ll talk to the captain about Hogan’s request to search this guy Perny’s residence. And I’ll let you know if Ruskin turns up anything related to the note. In other news, my Colorado medical license came through.”
“Yeah?”
“Yep. I can legally see patients. Gainful employment instead of sitting around staring at the walls.”
“Congrats. But you’re on vacation for two weeks before that starts.”
“Well, yeah. But you’re working, and I thought I might as well get situated.” Zach squeezed Beck’s hand. “Maybe you can get away for a couple of days before Jay leaves.”
“Depends on my current case.” Beck glanced at the clock. “I better get upstairs.”
“I’ll walk you. I need to talk to Captain Fisk about DPD assisting with Hogan’s case.” And hope to hell Captain Fisk didn’t assign it to Beck. Zach under threat already posed enough exposure for Beck.
* * * *
“I’m assigning it to Beck,” Captain Fisk said.
Zach held back a wince. There was no way he could give this woman his two cents’ worth—he’d just met her this morning. “Captain—”
“Please, call me SJ.”
Zach nodded. “Okay, SJ. And I’m Zach. I thought Beck was busy with a case.”
“He’s got time. We won’t be working Omaha’s case, and investigating the residence shouldn’t take long.” The captain tilted her head. “Or did you have a different concern, Zach?”