Mia forked up a bite of eggs. “Where’d you learn to cook?”
“Breakfast I learned at the deer lease.” He drizzled ketchup over his food, and she stifled a shudder. “Everything else I learned at BUD/S,” he said, referring to the SEAL training he’d been through years ago.
“They teach you to cook there?”
“How to open MREs. That’s about my limit in terms of cooking. You want dinner tonight, it’s either eggs or carryout.”
She knew this was his roundabout way of asking her how long she’d be staying. Scott had a polite streak. He opened doors for people, called women “ma’am,” and would consider it rude to ask a houseguest when she planned to leave.
Mia nibbled her bacon. “Well, I might not be here tonight. If the investigation goes smoothly, I’m hoping they’ll have a suspect identified and in custody soon, and everything will get back to normal.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Kind of optimistic, don’t you think?”
“They’re running some fingerprint evidence right now. I’m hoping that will go somewhere.”
“Hoping.” Scott shook his head. “I’ve seen the ballistics related to your case, though.”
This was news to Mia.
“Sounds like this perp’s been at it a while. Not sure it’s going to be that easy to get enough for an arrest. What does your detective think?”
Mia doubted Ric considered himself “her” anything, but she let it slide. “He thinks they’ve got some good leads. But I need to be careful.”
“You got any protection?”
She wrinkled her nose.
“Lemme guess. A tube of pepper spray in your night-stand, right?”
“I hate guns.”
He shook his head. “You’re afraid of something you don’t understand. If you’d learn what to do with one, you wouldn’t have to feel that way.”
Mia doubted that schlepping a gun around in her purse was going to make her feel better about anything. More likely, it would send her stress level through the ceiling.
“You’ve got a clean record,” Scott said. “Be a snap to get you a concealed-carry permit.” He paused. “Or I could lend you something. Show you how to use it.”
His tone told her that the offer wasn’t necessarily aboveboard. He must be pretty concerned, and she felt touched.
“Thanks. But like I said, I think this will be over soon.”
He looked skeptical, and she cast about for a change of subject.
“I have another favor to ask, though. I was hoping you might be able to swing by my place on the way into work. I could really use a change of clothes.”
“Sabbatical’s over, huh? That was short.”
Calling it a sabbatical had been Snyder’s idea of a PR move. After getting an earful from the DA last week, he’d needed a way to discipline Mia for “misplacing” evidence without making it look as though the lab was admitting any wrongdoing. But Mia was tired of lying to people. She’d decided she was going to own up to what she’d done, take her lumps, and get it over with. She wasn’t sure what that would mean for her career, but it was time to take back control of her life.
“It wasn’t really a sabbatical,” she confessed.
“No kidding.”
“What does that mean?”
He got up and carried his plate to the sink. “Means the rumors are flying, honey. It’ll be good for you to put in an appearance, straighten a few things out.”
“What are the rumors?”
“Well, let’s see.” The amused look on his face told her she wasn’t going to like this. “There’s the one that you had a falling out with Snyder and decided to quit, but the director begged you to take a sabbatical while you reconsider.”
“That’s not so bad.”
“There’s the one that you eloped to Vegas with a cop, which I’m guessing isn’t true, since you spent the night under my roof ’stead of his.”
“Good guess.”
“There’s the one that you shot Frank Hannigan.”
“That I did?”
“And then you skipped town when SMPD figured it out.”
“Oh, my Lord.”
“And then there’s my personal favorite.” A wicked smile spread across his face.
“What?”
“I doubt you want to hear it.”
“What?”
He held up his hands. “Okay, but don’t Mace the messenger. I have no idea who started this. I think it has to do with some closed-door meetings you’ve been having with your boss lately.”
Dread pooled in Mia’s stomach. “Just tell me.”
“There’s a rumor you’ve been doing the horizontal lambada with Snyder—”
“What?”
“—and when he dumped you for someone else, you got pissed off and left.” Scott grinned. “If it makes you feel any better, I never bought into that. Fact, I was ninety-nine percent sure you’d run off to Vegas.”
Ric took one look at the crowd gathered in Rachel’s office and knew his case was about to get ripped away from him.
“I knew this would happen,” Jonah muttered as they stepped into the room. “Who gave her the heads up? You?”
“Nope.” Ric had wanted to. He’d called her yesterday afternoon and requested a meeting on the Meyer case, but she’d put him off until this morning.
“Ric, Jonah. You know Tony Delmonico and Laranya Singh.”
Ric nodded at the two FBI agents, both in navy suits. Standing behind them was a silver-haired Texas Ranger. Ric didn’t recognize him, and Rachel introduced him as Bob Jessup.
“Agents Delmonico and Singh are here to brief us on something they’re working on.” Rachel gestured to some black plastic chairs that had been dragged in from a conference room. “Let’s all have a seat.”
Ric leaned a shoulder against the wall and waited to hear who was running this show. The feds would be his guess, although there was no telling with a Ranger in the room.
To Ric’s surprise, Singh stepped up to the plate. “We’ll get straight to the point.” She made eye contact with him and Jonah. “Your investigation into the death of Ashley Meyer has caught our attention.”
“How so?” Rachel asked from her desk chair, which she was using as a throne at the moment. The DA obviously had put this meeting in her office to remind everyone whose turf they were on. As if any of these people cared.
“At the moment,” Singh said, “we’re not at liberty to disclose all of the details.”
“What are you at liberty to disclose?” Rachel’s tone was carefully loaded with politeness.
“I can tell you that Ashley Meyer’s phone number came up during the course of a federal investigation.”
“Came up?” Jonah asked.
“A subject who has been under investigation made a call to her in the week before her death.”
“Who?” Ric asked.
“At this time, we can’t disclose the names of those we’re investigating or even the nature of the investigations.”
Ric’s gaze moved over the faces. Delmonico, Singh, Jessup—two federal investigators and a Texas Ranger. It was pretty clear to him what this was about.
“If you can’t disclose information, perhaps you can tell us the purpose of your visit?” Rachel’s voice had taken on an edge.
“We’d like to review your case notes, interview the detectives.” This from Delmonico, who acknowledged Ric and Jonah with a nod. “We’re interested to see if you’ve developed any suspects in the case.”
Ric traded looks with Jonah.
“Let me see if I’m understanding you,” Ric said to the suits. “Ashley Meyer was working for an escort service, and your guy called her. You don’t really have the goods on him, though, so you need our help?”
The answer was obvious from the look on Singh’s face.
“Now we hand over our case,” Ric continued, “you guys make a few collars, and everyone goes home happy, right?”
Singh cleared her throat. “I think we
all have the same objectives here—”
“I don’t.”
She tipped her head to the side. “What are you so defensive about, Detective? I would think you’d welcome new avenues for investigation.”
“You would, huh? All right, why is he here?” Ric nodded at the Ranger, who had yet to open his mouth.
Everyone looked startled. Jessup straightened in his chair, clearly offended.
Singh folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not sure I understand your point.”
“Neither do I.” This from Rachel, who was now glaring at him. He was embarrassing her in front of the big shots she’d been trying to impress two minutes ago.
“I’ll tell you my point. I’m looking at three unsolved murder cases with links to the lieutenant governor.” Ric turned to the Ranger. “Last I checked, you work for the guy. I’m not interested in having every bit of information we’ve developed leaked to the suspect.”
Singh held up a hand. “Whoa. Wait. I don’t think we’re ready to call Lieutenant Governor Lane a suspect in anything. Least of all a murder.”
Delmonico shot her an impatient look, and Ric instantly knew which agent he needed to be dealing with here. “Detective Santos, you sound fairly up to speed on some of the things we’re looking at here. We’d very much like to get your take on the case.” He glanced at Jonah. “Yours, too.”
Rachel continued to appear calm, but the flush in her cheeks gave her away. A political grenade had just landed in her lap, and she wanted Ric to disarm it. She shot him a look that said, Whatever the hell this is, I want nothing to do with it!
“I’d like to say something,” the Ranger said, and a hush fell over the room. “I’ve been on the job twenty-three years. That’s five governors, all different stripes. I don’t give a rat’s ass about the politics. Someone in the State House is guilty of a crime, they’re going down.”
Ric absorbed the words. He seemed sincere, but that didn’t mean anything. Looking sincere while lying was the hallmark of a skilled politician, and Jessup had just said he’d spent the last two decades learning from the pros.
“Let’s get back to the case,” Delmonico said. “And let’s be realistic. This is a federal probe. We can’t share everything, but what we can share, we will. I think we can help each other.”
“How about you start by helping us?” Jonah countered. “Can you confirm what Ric said? That Ashley Meyer was working for an escort service?”
“We can.”
Ric looked at his partner, who knew damn well that had been nothing but a hunch.
“Firm out of Fort Worth?” Jonah added. “It’s called Night Angels?”
“Her photo was on their Web site,” Singh said, getting onboard. “We can confirm that a call was made to the victim from our subject’s home phone. However, we still aren’t at liberty to disclose who that is.” A stern look at Delmonico.
“But we’d be very interested to hear your theory,” Delmonico added. “You said three murders, right?”
“Maybe more.” Ric glanced at Rachel. The DA looked to be in shock, but that was her fault for being unwilling to get her butt in on a Sunday to meet with him. He’d told her it was important, and she’d blown him off.
She leaned forward on her elbows now, and Ric knew she was engaged in some intensive wishful thinking. She and the lieutenant governor shared the same political party. This was going to be a shitstorm.
“Ric, come on,” she said. “Are you really trying to tell us you think Jeff Lane might have killed three people?”
Every pair of eyes in the room settled on Ric.
“Not Lane,” he said. “At least, I doubt it.”
Rachel’s eyebrows arched. “Then what did you mean when—”
“Someone who works for him,” Ric told her. “I think he has a fixer.”
CHAPTER 18
Mia had been gone only a few days, but for someone who spent pretty much every waking moment at work, it was a noticeable absence. She ignored the curious looks as she walked through the lab and approached her favorite DNA tracer.
“Hey there.”
Mark glanced up from his microscope, clearly surprised to see her.
“I was hoping you might have finished with that evidence from Fort Worth.”
Mark recovered quickly. “Sure. Yeah. Actually, I have. You want to hear my findings?”
“Absolutely.” Mia couldn’t get near Ashley’s case— not after “losing” the evidence—but she remained committed to nailing her killer. Her goal now was to solve a related cold case and let Ric’s team connect the dots. She was counting on Mark to help her.
He tossed his gloves into a biohazard bin before picking up a file from one of the many desks that lined the sides of the lab. “You want to talk here or—”
“Let’s go to my office.” She led him across the lab, grateful to be away from the interested gazes of her coworkers. Based on the reactions she’d been getting all day, she was pretty sure the rumor about her and Snyder’s little love triangle had infected people’s brains.
Mia left the door open after Mark entered. No sense providing more grist for the rumor mill.
“So, what did you get?” she asked.
“Well, as you’re undoubtedly aware, the techniques originally used to test this evidence aren’t nearly as sophisticated as what we use here.”
“I understand.” Mia had run the original tests herself, which Mark knew from her signature on the evidence tag. “That’s why I requested the evidence again,” she continued. “I was reminded of the case recently, and I knew we could do more than what was possible six years ago. We’re light-years ahead of the lab up there in terms of equipment and expertise.”
Just as she’d done during their first conversation, she made it sound as if all of this was routine—she’d simply remembered some evidence she’d once analyzed and asked Mark to contact the agency handling the case to suggest a reexamination using new techniques. Helping to clear cold cases was part of the Delphi Center’s mission. When possible, they even ran the tests for free.
What Mia had neglected to mention, though, was that this case was personal.
She also hadn’t fully explained to Mark why she’d needed him to conduct the analysis instead of doing it herself. Until Mia dispelled the cloud hanging over her reputation—if she ever did—she didn’t want to jeopardize this case or any other by directly handling evidence that might one day be used at trial. Better to have someone else perform the tests, someone Mia knew and trusted and whose expertise rivaled her own.
Someone like Mark.
But now, she saw the problem with her plan. One of the traits she valued about Mark was his intelligence, which was manifesting itself right now in his steady gaze.
“Interesting to me that this case resembles that San Marcos girl you were working on. The one found in the park?”
Mia raised her eyebrows but didn’t comment.
“It’s been attracting a lot of interest lately. This morning, we had a call about it from the FBI.”
Mia’s stomach dropped. “We did?”
“Special Agent Delmonico. He called straight up to the lab, wanted to talk to the tracer in charge of the case.”
“He went around Snyder.”
“Apparently so.” Mark looked at her for a long moment. “I told him you were on sabbatical.”
Mia couldn’t talk. All she could do was nod. Whatever shot she’d had of working this out with her supervisors and with Rachel was gone. The FBI was involved now. Her professional misconduct would—literally—become a federal case.
Mark seemed to sense that he’d dealt her some sort of blow. “Anyway, let me tell you what I found,” he said, looking at his notes again. “First, the dress. Lots of blood there, all of it from one contributor, unfortunately: the victim. And I reexamined the duct tape. Nothing.” He flipped a page in his file. “Also submitted, black thong underpants. No blood. No semen. I tested for touch DNA on the waistband—”
&nbs
p; “Tape-lift method or scraping?”
“Both,” he said. “Again, only the victim’s profile. She must have removed the garment herself. Maybe he ordered her to do it, or the encounter started out consensual.” He flipped another page. “No bra. No other clothing, except shoes. That’s where it got interesting.”
“It did?”
“Your first round of testing didn’t come up with any usable blood.”
“Usable being the key word,” Mia said. She remembered the tiny blood droplet she’d found on the shoes so many years ago. Back then, because of budgets and equipment, she’d been limited to a technique that required a sample the size of a quarter, at least. Now she could get a profile from a sample the size of a pinhead.
“And?” she asked hopefully.
He peeled off his glasses. “And I came up with a second contributor. Possibly her killer.”
Mia’s breath whooshed out. This was what she’d hoped for.
“Now, I’m no detective,” Mark said humbly, “but my thought is, he probably removed her shoes before the attack. Or she did, and the shoes were somewhere else while the stabbing occurred. They were practically clean, except for some dirt on the soles. Then maybe he picked up the shoes and dumped them with her body so they wouldn’t turn up in his possession if anyone took the trouble to look. He could have been bleeding by that time.”
Point by point, Mark was reciting the scenario playing out in Mia’s head.
“A stabbing attack,” Mia said. “That’s very violent.” Amy flashed into her mind. Mia tried to keep her sister out of her thoughts while she was working, but every now and then, Amy caught her off guard. “Very violent, very intense. And she probably struggled a lot, despite her bindings.”
Mark nodded. Having seen the dress, he knew the kind of emotion that had gone into Laura’s murder. “Fifty-three puncture wounds,” he said. “Be unusual if he didn’t nick himself at least once, either pushing in the blade or pulling it out. I submitted the profile but haven’t heard back yet from Darrell.”
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