by Virna DePaul
The events of the night and her own confession of jealousy had wiped Carrie’s mind free of worry. Jase knew how she felt about him and she was incapable of hiding it anymore. Being exposed emotionally made it only fair she expose herself physically, as well. Unembarrassed, Carrie stripped off her clothes. With each article of clothing she removed, she grew stronger in her belief that she was gifting Jase something precious, something she’d never given anyone before. When she was done, he stripped just as precisely. Just as slowly. Until they were both naked and basking in each other’s admiration.
She led him to the bed and asked him to lie down. She took her time reacquainting herself with every inch of his body. The rounded, bulging muscles of his shoulders. The hard, ripped planes of his torso. The long, elegant framework of his legs and feet. She kissed and stroked and licked him from head to toe, then turned him over and did it all over again. And the whole time, she gave his hands and mouth free access to any part of her he wanted.
He sucked and molded her breasts. He dipped his fingers into the warm wet heat between her legs. He buried his face there and feasted on her.
There was no hurrying this time. There was no desperation.
There was only the night. Their bodies. United and inseparable.
And when they climaxed, they climaxed together, then remained wrapped tightly in each other’s arms until sleep claimed them.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, Carrie heard Jase come out of the bathroom and finished up her phone call with Commander Stevens. After what Bo had said about killers being competitive, an idea had formed in her head. She’d left Jase and the woman who’d approached him to call Stevens. Commander Stevens had been open to her suggestion from the start, but he’d become even more receptive after Carrie had talked to Lana earlier that morning and told Stevens what Lana had offered.
“What time do the cameras start rolling?” she asked.
“Ten sharp.”
“And that’ll give them enough time to air it tonight?”
“That’s what I’ve been told,” Stevens said. “They’re going to play the spot on all their sister channels. Please don’t be late. I hate reporters.”
“We’ll be there.”
Carrie closed her cell phone and thought of Jase.
He wasn’t going to like what was about to go down, and she understood why. But as wonderful as their intimacy last night had been, its magic had disappeared with the light of morning. It hadn’t changed who she was. She was a cop first and she always would be. As such, she needed to do whatever she could to get the job done. What she and Lana had come up with might be a long shot, but right now it was the only avenue they had.
Turning, she jumped guiltily when she saw Jase standing behind her. He was bare-chested and wearing flannel pajama bottoms. He looked so good she smiled and stepped closer to kiss him.
But he frowned and evaded her touch. “What cameras, Carrie? What’s going on?”
Carrie sighed. There was no denying it. She felt guilty. She should have run her idea by him, and she’d been going to, but then that woman at the bar had approached him and she’d been too rattled from seeing Pete and she’d known Jase would try to talk her out of her plan....
He probably still would, but he was her partner. He had a right to know. “Bo said something last night and it gave me an idea. Serial killers are proud. They think they’re smarter than the cops. Probably think they’re smarter than each other, right? The Embalmer was methodical. Patient. Unlike Darwin, who seems to be escalating his murders without any clear plan. We’ve been keeping the details of both cases under wraps, but maybe that’s not how we should play it. The Embalmer’s dead. Darwin might be responsible or he might not be. But what if we pretend we don’t know? That we think The Embalmer’s alive? That we think it’s The Embalmer who’s been committing these latest murders, not Darwin?”
“What do you think Darwin would do with that information? Besides move against another victim to make a better impression on us?
“That’s definitely a risk. But he’s going to move against another victim anyway. This way, we play the odds and swing them a little in our favor. Hope that Darwin will contact us directly to set the record straight. Do something to poke his head above water, and give us a chance to catch sight of him.”
“And the way to do this is to put your face on national television?”
“We’re a team, Jase. I’d be addressing him myself, but as to what I’d be saying? I’d want your input on that, of course.”
“I actually play a role in this grand plan? Good to know. So how come I’m just now learning about it? Why did you go to Stevens without discussing this with me first?”
“You know why. It involves a certain amount of risk. I’m the lead on the case and I’m willing to take the risk. But I was afraid if I told you that you’d try to talk me out of it. Because you—because you—”
“Because I care about you, Carrie,” he said quietly.
“Yes, Jase,” she said. “Because you care about me.”
“But you won’t let that stop you.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. This may be a long shot, but it’s something. It gives us a chance, if nothing else.”
“Yeah, well, the last long shot you played led us to The Embalmer, so I’d say you have a pretty good track record. But that’s no surprise. Gambling isn’t anything new to you. You gamble with your life all the time.”
“We gamble with our lives, Jase. You were right beside me when we entered Bowers’s home.”
“That was different. We had no choice. This television spot will paint a target on you. But maybe that’s exactly what you want? Let me ask you something. When did you phone Stevens about this plan? Was it when you left me sitting with Bo and the rest of the SWAT team? After that woman came up to talk to me at McGill’s? Did you come up with this plan in part to prove how not my type you are?”
“I don’t have anything to prove.”
“Bullshit. You’re constantly trying to prove how tough you are. Tough enough to be a cop. Tough enough not to need me or any man.”
“I don’t need you, Jase. I don’t need anyone. And it looks like you, just like Pete and every other man I’ve ever met, have a problem with that. Good to finally get it out in the open.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’re a sniper?”
Carrie blinked and raised her brows. “Like I told you before. It wasn’t a secret. Why do you keep going back to that?”
“Because being a sniper is pretty damn badass, but it wasn’t enough for you. You left SWAT, but you say it wasn’t because you were forced out by Pete or anyone else. So, why? I’m beginning to think even being a sniper wasn’t enough for you. Why? Because you had the protection of your rifle? Distance? It wasn’t risky enough for you?”
Carrie’s face immediately tightened, and she narrowed her eyes. “I’m trying to find a killer. And I know my limits.”
“Obviously not. We don’t need to do this. We haven’t even had a chance to go back to Steam and determine whether Brad Turner is the man you think you saw at McGill’s. You’re jumping the gun. Trying to prove something, just like you have your whole damn life.”
“Of course we’ll still follow up with that, but I can’t be certain I saw him at McGill’s. And what the hell do you mean I’ve been trying to prove something my whole life?”
“I mean you chose a profession based on some crock-of-shit theory that the only thing you had going for you was your strength. And God forbid that anyone forget that.”
“That’s not true. I’m good at what I do. I’m a good cop.”
“But that’s all you allow yourself to be, and as such you’re also a lonely cop.”
“You are full of shit!” She tried to push past him, but he blocked her with his body.
“Oh, come on, Carrie. A cop, sure. But a cop in the army? The SWAT team? How much more of a male-dominated job could you have picked? And you did it because you’d be
good at it. But you also did it because it was easier. By being one of the guys, you didn’t need to worry about being a woman.”
She reeled back at his accusations, but only because they hit so close to home. She hated the knowledge that he saw through her that easily. That he knew deep down inside her most private self, the thing she feared most wasn’t failing as a cop, but failing as a woman. And yet she’d allowed herself to be more of a woman with him than she’d let herself be with anyone else….
Not good enough. Never good enough.
She shoved hard this time, so hard that he retreated a few steps. She took a breath and held up her palm, trying to stop the stream of words with that and a shaky laugh. “Look, Jase. I don’t need your pop psychology. You’re wrong. I’m completely satisfied with…”
“I can give you what you want, Carrie. I can see you as both a woman and a cop and never forget either one. But I can’t let you endanger yourself because you have something to prove.”
“Listen to me. This is a good plan. What are the chances that I really saw Brad Turner at Steam and McGill’s? Last night, the bartender told me I was describing a lot of guys she’s seen, including her fellow bartender, Lance Reynolds. Remember him? Remember how similar he and Brad looked? It’s far more likely I simply got them mixed up. Besides, we agreed Darwin is killing good-looking people because he has a physical defect he’s ashamed of. Lana agrees with us and she supports my plan.”
His head jerked back in surprise. “Lana?”
“She’s going to do the spot with me.”
He laughed with no trace of humor, only bitterness. “Of course. If Darwin doesn’t take the bait with you, why not try your polar opposite? You’re a tough cop and have red hair. She’s blonde and a whole helluva lot softer. Bad cop, good cop, right? Interesting since I’m the one that’s actually your partner.”
“You don’t have to agree with the plan. You don’t have to come with me. I don’t need your permission. Remember that, Jase? Sleeping with me doesn’t give you any right to protect me or tell me you know better.”
“No, I thought being your partner gave me that right, Carrie. But I guess that doesn’t matter jack to you, now, does it?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CARRIE, COMMANDER STEVENS and Lana met at the SIG building to film the television spot. The TV crew wired each of them for sound with a microphone that had its own transmitter. Commander Stevens was the first person to be interviewed. He gave a brief statement about The Embalmer’s initial crimes. Next, the TV anchor, Liza Montoya, introduced Carrie by giving a rundown of her credentials, heralding her as one of the best detectives on the SIG team. Carrie gave a brief statement in which she deliberately named Kelly Sorenson, Tammy Ryan and Tony Higgs as The Embalmer’s latest victims. She mentioned that the killer’s M.O. had changed, becoming decidedly less sophisticated, but that they believed it was a deliberate ruse to throw off the police. She asked anyone with any information about her to call the police at a special number.
Finally, Lana spoke. Her voice was calm. Soothing. Her message brief but sincere. Although she pretended she was speaking to The Embalmer, her words were meant for Darwin.
“I’d like to address The Embalmer and offer my help. I’ve read your thoughts about your victims. I know why you’re killing. Not out of hatred. You’ve felt powerless. Rejected by the world. And for something that wasn’t your fault at all, but simply a twist of fate.” She raised her hand and touched her own cheek. “Some marks on your face. But those marks don’t make you a monster. And you can control what you do. I’ll see you for who you really are. I’ll help others see that person. Let me help you. You can contact me, Doctor Lana Hudson, at the California Department of Justice.”
When Lana finished, she turned and caught Carrie’s eye. Her compassionate words made Carrie feel uncomfortable. Jase’s words about her and Lana playing bad cop and good cop suddenly came back to her.
Lana was the good cop. The one who played to the criminal’s humanity.
And Carrie was the bad cop. The one who played to the criminal’s darkness and depravity. What did that say about her place in the world? she wondered.
When someone functioned best in the dark, didn’t they eventually reject the light?
* * *
SIMON FOUND OUT about the television interview about forty-five minutes after the fact. He was so angry at being kept out of the loop—and he was betting that had been deliberate—he knew he should avoid Lana until he cooled down. But that didn’t stop him from looking for her an hour after the shoot. He found her in the department conference room, talking to a group of rookies from SFPD. He took a seat toward the side of the room, noting how she straightened her back and avoided looking at him.
She walked in a circle around the room, trying to make eye contact with the half-dozen recruits as she discussed hostage negotiation strategies. “Remember,” she said, “any language that stimulates conflict is unprofessional.”
One recruit interrupted her. “So, what, we need to be polite when we ask a suspect to put down his gun? Seems like that puts us in a position of weakness. Aren’t we supposed to project power and authority?”
Simon wanted to smack the cocky young recruit for challenging Lana, but she didn’t seem to take offense to the question. Eventually, she finished up her training, and Simon waited while she answered a few more questions. When the last rookie left and she was gathering her papers, Simon shut the door with an audible click. Lana walked toward him and stopped several feet short.
He cut to the chase. “What the hell did you think you were doing, Lana?”
She didn’t even try to pretend that she didn’t know what he was talking about. “I’ve reviewed his blogs, Simon. I know why he’s killing. He’s acting out of pain. I can help him. He’s been scarred....”
Simon stalked toward her and thrust his face close to hers, speaking through clenched teeth. “I don’t care how he looks, his ethnic background, his religious preference, if he came from a broken home or if his dog got run over when he was kid. I want him to stop killing.”
Lana looked at him impassively, not flinching at his aggressively physical behavior. “That’s what I want, too.”
“And how are you going to accomplish that? By appealing to his better nature? The guy’s a murderous psychopath.”
She shook her head. “We have the same goal, Simon. But you admitted it yourself. You don’t care what brought him to this. I do. Because in understanding that, we can prevent other people from becoming the same thing. Maybe help him to change.”
“He can’t change. He’s a fucking monster.”
She hitched her bag higher on her arm. “He has that element, yes. I wrote that in my profile.” She quoted from it: “‘Well-educated, manipulative, self-centered sociopath; Likes being looked at, thinks he’s unique, wants people to study him. He probably wouldn’t mind being caught. He wants attention because he’s never had the attention he needs.’”
He snorted. “Please, stop. You’re making me sick.”
“Almost four percent of the population are functioning sociopaths. Did you know that? They don’t have a conscience, and I don’t believe they were just born that way.”
Simon stepped away, pacing in front of the door, still blocking her way out. “Oh, please. Not that old song and dance. Nature versus nurture. The average person knows right from wrong.”
His sarcastic tone finally got a reaction from her. “Oh, really? How many Americans watched the televised replays of Sadam Hussein’s execution, and reveled in his death? Somehow, conscience no longer applied. He was no longer a human being, but evil personified. And he isn’t the first person the American public has vilified: gays were to blame for the AIDS epidemic, blacks were so inferior the Constitution refers to them as three-fifths of a person, and prisoners deserve to be raped in prison. Even the government trains its soldiers to ignore their own moral conscience, to follow orders in wartime, to kill without thought to who they’r
e killing or why.”
Simon stopped pacing, understanding hitting him like a freight train. “So that’s what this is about. You think by helping Darwin, you’ll somehow be one step closer to your antiwar sentiments.”
Lana frowned and shook her head. “No, Simon, that’s not what I think. But it’s easy to demonize someone to the exclusion of anything else. He’s doing horrible things. He needs to be stopped. But something caused him to stray off the path of moral conscience, and maybe something can help him get back.”
“So you want to save him? Since you couldn’t save your husband, Johnny?”
Lana took in a deep breath and looked as if he’d spit in her face. He could almost see her distance herself from him. “This has nothing to do with Johnny. Nothing.”
“Sweetheart, everything you do has to do with him. Which is a shame, being as he’s dead and all.”
She flinched. Simon knew he was acting like a bastard, but her determination to save Darwin, a cold-blooded killer, poked at the raw wound he’d been nursing since the night she’d told him she couldn’t see him anymore. That he believed her to be motivated by the death of her husband only made things worse. He didn’t like feeling jealous of young Johnny Hudson, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t.
Lana drew back her shoulders and faced him squarely. “I’m not talking about him with you, Simon. You have no business talking about him. None at all.”
Simon kept step with her when she backed away. “Is that right? Well, let me tell you this, sweetheart. It’s a damn shame when a woman as beautiful and warm as you spends her life trying to help sick bastards like Darwin just because her husband chose to blow his brains out rather than deal with what life dealt him.”
Even before Lana slapped him, Simon knew he’d crossed the line. Her palm moved swiftly, and he didn’t even try to block the blow. He deserved it. And maybe, just maybe, part of him was willing to take whatever physical contact she was willing to dish out.