A Killer Among Us

by Lynette Eason

  He nodded. “She said the kid’s life was on the line and she was going in.” A sick look crossed his face. “I had a bad feeling about the tip. It just . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know what triggered my internal alarm, still don’t know, but I knew if we went in that building . . . anyway, I told her we needed to wait on backup.”

  “And she ignored you.”

  “Yeah. She took off and I hesitated, trying to decide whether to go after her or hang back and see if I could figure out why I was so spooked. After about three seconds, I decided I couldn’t leave my partner on her own, so I started after her. As soon as she pushed the door open, the whole place exploded.”

  The waitress appeared with their food. Kit stared at it, then back at Noah. “I’m so sorry.”

  His heart thudded at her soft words. “Yeah. I am too.”

  Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, but not wanting to stray from his sincere desire to say grace, Noah folded his hands, rested his forehead against them, and closed his eyes.

  Lord, thank you for this food—and thank you for sparing Kit today.

  “Hey.” She reached out and touched his hand. “Are you all right?”

  He looked up and smiled. “Just thanking God for the food.” He paused. “And that you’re alive to enjoy it.”

  He saw her gape, then snap her mouth shut. “Really?” Clearing her throat, she squeezed ketchup on her hamburger. Then paused. “Thank you. That’s really touching and I appreciate it.”

  He studied her expression. The comment was sincere, and a warmth he hadn’t expected hit him in the vicinity of his heart.

  Then she looked uncomfortable, fidgeting with her napkin, then taking a sip of her drink. He wasn’t surprised when she changed the subject. “The explosion. Is that where you got that scar?”

  The blemish ran from the bottom of his ear to curve under his jaw and disappear into his shirt collar. Absently he traced it, still not used to the feel of it, wondering what she thought about it—then wondered why he cared. “Yep.”

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Three months.”

  She snitched a fry and popped it in her mouth, concern pulling her brows toward the bridge of her nose. “And the kid?”

  “We found him. Alive, thank God. His dad had him stashed away and called in the tip, trying to throw us off the trail and shake us up a bit. He’s now in jail for murder along with various other charges.”

  “And you feel responsible somehow for your partner’s death?”

  “I should have stopped her.”

  “Have you had any other partners besides her?”

  He shrugged. “Sure.”

  “And have any of them ever made a dumb decision while on the job?”

  Noah sighed. “Yeah. And I see where you’re going with this, but—”

  “But nothing. I’m sorry for your loss and I’m sorry that she did that, but you weren’t any more responsible for her decisions than you are for mine. She was a professional, she made a mistake. Unfortunately it’s a mistake no one can undo, but it’s certainly not your fault.” She paused to take a bite of a french fry, but he could see her mind wasn’t on the food.

  “Just like you’re not responsible for Brian pulling that trigger today?”

  She froze, then closed her eyes. “Yeah, just like that.”

  Noah stabbed a bite of lettuce with his fork. “Maybe we’ll both be able to convince ourselves of that one day.” As he chewed, he studied her. Fair skin that glowed with good health, brown eyes with faint circles underneath that indicated she wasn’t sleeping well. He wondered why. She had her blonde curls pulled up in her standard ponytail, and he found himself picturing what they would look like down around her shoulders.

  Blinking, he cleared his throat. “Let’s make a pact.”

  “What kind of pact?”

  He raised his glass of sweet tea. “To no dumb decisions.”

  A faint smile lifted her lips, deepening the dimple in her cheek as she lifted her water bottle. “To smart decisions, staying alive—and catching the bad guys.”

  He pulled out the file to fill her in on the murder she’d been called away from and did his best to ignore the thumping of his heart.

  A loud clanging that said getting to know Kit might be the best thing he never wanted.

  5

  After another restless night, Kit rose earlier than she’d planned and decided to get her run out of the way. Before she changed into her jogging stuff, she texted Jamie, one of the sisters she’d moved to Spartanburg to get to know: “If ur up, going 4 a run. Want 2 come?”

  Almost immediately, Kit received a response. “Be right there. Wait on me!”

  As she took her time getting dressed, she thought about her sisters.

  Samantha Cash Wolfe, who was a former FBI computer forensics expert, now a stay-at-home mom to her almost six-month-old little boy.

  And Jamie Cash Richards, a contract forensic anthropologist for the Spartanburg County police department.

  Two sisters she’d only known for about ten months because their birth mother had given her up for adoption. Sisters who’d been drawn into law enforcement because of extreme personal experiences.

  Just the same as she.

  How ironic.

  “Aw, Dad, you sure threw a monkey wrench into my life when you told me I was adopted.”

  On his deathbed, he’d confessed that Kit wasn’t his biological daughter. Stunned, she’d stared at him. With tears running down his face, he said, “You have the right to know. Your mother never wanted to tell you, but you should know.”

  Shoving aside those memories and the emotions they invoked, she thought about her sisters’ husbands. Dedicated men, one also a detective and the other an FBI agent. Admirable men who worked hard to make this world a better place for their family and friends.

  Like her partner, Noah Lambert. Her “very good-looking in a rugged macho sort of way” partner with his reddish blond hair and perceptive green eyes, broad shoulders, and . . .

  Get off that track, Kit. That train’s not going anywhere. She was to meet with the subject of her thoughts in an hour to go over Walter Davis’s murder. She needed to have a clear head, which meant she needed coffee. And lots of it.

  Only it would have to wait until after her run.

  Rats.

  The doorbell rang and she grabbed her cell phone to clip it on the side of her shorts. She opened the door and looked into a mirror. Curly blonde ponytail in a black scrunchy, slight freckles, and chocolate brown eyes.

  Kit blinked and Jamie laughed. “I know. It freaks me out every time too.”

  Shaking her head, Kit joined in the laughter. “I’ll get used to it one day. You ready?”

  “Ready.”

  Jamie tugged at the sleeves on her long-sleeved T-shirt.

  “You don’t have to be self-conscious about your scars with me.” Kit dared to speak the words she’d been thinking for months now.

  Her sister froze, then gave a half laugh. “I’m not so self-conscious anymore. I think I simply do a lot of things out of habit now.”

  And yet she still wore her long sleeves no matter the season or temperature.

  Jamie had shared her horrific story of abduction and torture at the hands of a psychopathic killer, one that had Kit sick for Jamie’s sake. But one that piled blocks of respect one on top of the other for the woman.

  “All right then,” she smiled, “let’s go.”

  Jamie set the pace. She’d only started jogging after Kit had asked her to go along. Now she was as much an addict as Kit. “So, how are things going with the new partner?”

  Kit felt the flush start. Glad she was jogging as she needed an excuse for the heat in her face, she gave a nonchalant shrug. “He’s a good detective. Probably one of the best that I’ve worked with. I like him.”

  “Uh-huh. I hear he’s not too hard to look at either.” Jamie smirked.

  “You know, you’re not going fast enough
if you can jog and talk at the same time.”

  Jamie shot her a teasing look and picked up the pace a bit. “I’m just kidding with you, but word also has it that not only is he a great detective, he’s a super nice guy.”

  “Who’s your source?”

  “Dakota and Connor.”

  “Of course,” Kit muttered.

  “I heard about the hostage thing yesterday.”

  Not a subject she really wanted to talk about. “Hmm.”

  “Don’t blame yourself, Kit. You’re good at your job and already well-respected in the department.”

  Kit shot her a look and raised a brow.

  “And that came straight from the captain. I overheard him talking to the mayor.”

  “Eavesdropping, Jamie? You should be ashamed.”

  Jamie shot her an innocent look and pursed her lips. “Hey, if people want to discuss stuff like that while I’m working on a body, it’s not my fault.” Jamie worked in the morgue and did contract work for the police department.

  Kit shook her head, even as grateful appreciation slid through her. She was good at her job, and she couldn’t deny the pat on the back felt good.

  Her cell phone rang and she pulled to a stop. Jamie jogged in place beside her. She glanced at the ID.

  Noah.

  She couldn’t stop the little flutter in the pit of her stomach. And why did her knees feel shaky all of a sudden? She blamed her breathlessness on the run. “Kit here.”

  “Morning. You up?”

  “Yep. On a run with my sister.” She loved using that word in relation to herself.

  “When you get here, will you want some coffee?”

  “You’ll be my new BFF.”

  That produced a laugh. “I’ll be at the office in thirty. See you there.” He hung up.

  Thirty minutes? Did the man never sleep? Determined to beat him there, she grinned at Jamie. “Think I can get to the office in thirty minutes?”

  “If you’ve suddenly developed the ability to move faster than light speed.”

  “It’s worth a try. Come on.”

  All conversation ceased as the jog turned into a full-out run. By the time they arrived back on Kit’s front porch, they were both breathless and laughing. Kit raced through her shower, yanked her hair back into its customary ponytail, and snapped her sunglasses on top of her head.

  “I’ll lock up.” Jamie grinned at her.

  “Thanks, it was fun. See you later!”

  She flew out the door.

  “Hey Kit!”

  She paused, hand on the handle of her car, and looked over her shoulder. The twentysomething young woman who lived in the other side of the duplex stood on the porch, her fingers wrapped around the end of a leash.

  “Good morning, Alena. How are you?”

  “I’m great. Roscoe’s ready for his early morning run before I have to get to class. I was getting ready to knock on your door to see if you were interested in joining us.”

  Kit smiled. She and Alena, a student at Wofford Law College, often jogged in the mornings when Jamie wasn’t able to make it. Roscoe, Alena’s German shepherd, usually accompanied them. “I’ve already been this morning. Let’s try for tomorrow. Deal?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Kit hopped in her car and headed for the office, her mind on Alena. She wondered if her neighbor knew Walter Davis. Walter had been on the verge of graduating law school. Alena had just started. With a mental note to ask the next time she saw Alena, Kit pulled into her parking spot in front of the police department.

  Noah’s car was already in his spot.

  Rats. She’d had too many delays this morning. Oh well, there was always tomorrow.

  Hurrying up the steps, she wound her way around the roomful of desks to find hers. Noah was seated at his. His desk was crammed right next to hers, their ends nearly touching. File cabinets lined the area behind them, and the copy machine made getting to her desk a tight squeeze.

  She made it in just under thirty minutes. Barely. When she plopped into her chair, the light breeze she stirred blew several papers from Noah’s desk to the floor next to her chair.

  She threw her purse into her bottom drawer, grabbed the steaming cup of coffee from the pile of files, and took a greedy sip.

  She gasped as the liquid burned her tongue on its way down her throat, then sighed as the caffeine hit her system.

  He smirked. “That was fast.”

  Kit took another scalding sip, then set the cup back down. Bending to retrieve the scattered papers, she said over her shoulder, “You said you had coffee and would be in the office in thirty minutes.” Papers in one hand, she reached for the cup again. She took another sip and deadpanned, “I hate cold coffee.”

  He grinned and it was all she could do not to blink at how his face crinkled into attractive lines and crevices. Clearing her throat, she said, “I appreciate it. That was really thoughtful.”

  His smile faded. “I’m not always the jerk I appeared to be the first day we met.”

  “Hmm. That’s good to know.” Inwardly she admitted she’d already figured that out. She took another sip of the coffee and handed him the papers. As he took them, his fingers brushed hers and she jerked. An envelope fell to the desk. While she fought the flush she could feel creeping up into her cheeks, she looked at the envelope.

  “What’s this?”

  He leaned over. “Oh, that’s from the boys’ home across town.”

  “Boys’ home? How are you involved there?”

  “I send them some money occasionally and play big brother to a few of the kids every once in a while.”

  Studying him, she saw he was a little embarrassed, but her admiration for the man just went up a few notches. “That’s really cool, Noah.”

  One side of his mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “Thanks.”

  “What made you get into that?”

  After a brief hesitation, Noah shrugged and said, “The director goes to my church and he asked me if I would be interested in giving back. I said sure.”

  For some reason, she had a feeling he was leaving out pertinent information. Instead of pushing him for more details, she switched gears. “So, tell me about our homicide.”

  “All right.” He read from his notes. “Walter Davis, age twenty-six. Lived on campus in one of the graduate apartment complexes. Was getting ready to graduate with honors from the law school, going to be a defense attorney.”

  “We need a list of acquaintances. Friends, co-workers, family, et cetera.”

  Noah waved his notebook. “Got that covered. He was dating a girl named Heather.” He filled her in on the text message Walter had sent telling her he was waiting for her.

  “Could the killer have known about this text message, knew Walter was alone, and beat Heather there?”

  Noah shrugged. “Could have, I guess. If she sent it in his presence and he asked who she was texting.”

  “Or Walter knew his killer and told him Heather was on her way over.”

  “Or that,” he agreed.

  “Did we get a printout of all of the text messages between his phone and hers?”

  “Right here.” He handed her the sheet.

  She scanned through it. “Nothing much here.”

  “That’s what I thought too. If Walter knew his killer, he didn’t text him. At least not in a way that’s obvious. And there are no threats on here. We’ll still need to question everybody he had contact with over the last few days because, if you ask me, this doesn’t look like a random killing.”

  He told her about the miniature gavel. “I don’t know if it belonged to Walter or the killer. It could have been just something he had on the desk that got knocked off in a struggle—only there wasn’t any sign that Walter struggled. Honestly, it looked like he let his killer in, sat down in the chair, and waited to die.” A pause. “If you discount the bruises around his wrists where it looks like he was restrained in some way.”

  Kit blew out a sigh. “Any video
from the security cameras?”

  “Not really. We requested the video from the time of Walter’s text up until thirty minutes after the security guard called it in. The only thing on it is students coming and going. No one stands out. No one looks suspicious. A lot of students, a lot of baseball caps. You can see some faces, others are hidden. There’s nothing to work with on that end.”

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. She’d studied each picture. “And it’s going to take forever to get any DNA report back.” She paused as her eyes focused on each detail in the picture. “You said the watch is missing.”

  “Right, it wasn’t found in his room. His girlfriend, Heather, said he never took it off, so we’re thinking the killer took it.”

  “What did his family have to say?”

  He snorted. “They were a dead end. Apparently they weren’t close, hadn’t spoken to Walter since the beginning of the semester.”

  Kit slapped the paper down on the desk. “All right, who do you want to question first?”

  Heather Younts, Walter Davis’s girlfriend and fellow law student, still seemed to be stuck in the shock phase of grief. Noah felt for her, but he needed answers. She’d agreed to meet them if they came to her apartment. She didn’t feel like going out.

  Seated on the couch in the tastefully decorated living area, Noah and Kit worked to probe Heather’s mind. Kit leaned forward, forearms on her thighs. Noah tried not to wonder if the nose ring Heather wore was painful. He tried to picture her standing in front of a judge looking professional. He couldn’t do it.

  Focusing on Kit’s words, he ignored the body jewelry. She was saying, “Heather, this is really important. Walter would want you to think clearly and help put his murderer in jail.”

  Tears leaked down the girl’s face, but she made no sound. Then, “How do you know what Walter would want?” The question came out low, angry. Her eyes flashed.

  Kit paused, shot a look at Noah. “Because we’ve questioned quite a few of his friends and know that more than anything he was all about justice. Justice for those who didn’t have the ability to get it themselves.”

  Heather flinched. “Yeah, you’re right.”