Praise for the Harbinger series…
“Wickedly macabre and blisteringly paced, PLAIN JANE marks the debut of a thriller for the new millennium.
Brash, funny, terrifying, and shocking, here is a story best enjoyed with all the lights on…Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”
NYT Top Ten Best Seller
James Rollins
Bloodline
“This book is so creepy. I made the mistake of starting in one night before bed. Not only did the story line keep me turning pages, it freaked me out to the point that I didn’t want to turn off my light.”
The Book Goddess
Book Reviewer
“This one had me flipping pages until 2 in the morning. I knew when I saw the quote from James Rollins (one of my favorites) that I would get at least my money’s worth out of the book, but I had NO idea what laid in store for me.”
Mimi - Novel Ideas
“When I read on the author’s blog that Plain Jane was a “Patterson-style thriller with a dash of Hannibal” I knew right away that I wanted to read it. I was not disappointed and in my honest opinion this book is incredible!”
A. Harris
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Other Works by Carolyn McCray
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Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
Dean Henderson clipped his identification badge onto his shirt pocket. After working twenty-three years at the plant, you would think the guards could recognize him, but no. Each morning he had to put on a tie and this stupid badge.
“Roxy!” he heard his wife, Kerri, call up the stairs to their daughter.
He could smell bacon and, hopefully, hash browns. Yep, the best days of the week were when Roxy had late morning classes at the community college. You think his wife would make him a full breakfast? No such luck. Dean was lucky to get a cup of coffee and a burnt bagel when Roxy had an early class and caught breakfast at the school.
Straightening his tie, Dean stepped out of the master bedroom to find his wife now at the base of the stairs, craning her neck to see up to the second floor. “Roxy, honey, breakfast is ready!”
“Great,” Dean said as he attempted to kiss his wife on the cheek, but her frown, now ever present, warned him away. “I’ll just go serve myself.”
“No,” Kerri said. “We all eat together.”
Which really meant Roxy got her pick of the crispiest bacon.
“Let her sleep in,” Dean suggested. “If she wants to slide into class as it is starting, that’s her call.”
Kerri glared at him. “Did you even hear what time she came in last night?”
“No, but again, she’s over eighteen. We told her if she lived at home we would let her keep her own hours.”
His wife guffed like an offered lion. “We also discussed having a reasonable bedtime on school nights.”
He would never win. Not when it came to Kerri and her helicopter-Mom mentality. Maybe he could sneak into the kitchen while she was distracted and snag some bacon. But even that hope was crushed as Kerri mounted the stairs one at a time.
“Roxy, up and at ‘em!”
Sighing, Dean followed his wife up the steps. If Roxy was home and hung over, she would need him to run interference. If his daughter had stayed out all night? Well, he would need to get Kerri a Valium or something.
But even he became mildly worried when Roxy didn’t answer the fourth, fifth, or sixth time Kerri shouted out to her. He pulled out his phone. No text from Roxy. Usually, if she was going to stay out late enough to freak out her mom, Roxy would give him a heads up.
Could something actually be wrong?
You could hear the concern in Kerri’s voice, as well. Urgency replaced playfulness as she reached a hand out and knocked on the door.
“Roxy?”
When there was still no answer, Kerri cracked the door open. “Baby, are you alright?”
Dean stood on his tiptoes to peer over his wife. Sure enough, Roxy was in her bed, the covers pulled over her face to block out the morning sun. Had she forgotten what day it was? Did she forget her physics lab?
Kerri crossed the room and opened the curtains wider, the chipper, cheerleader Mom tone back in her voice. “That’s it, sleepy-head. Time to get up.”
Dean was ready to head back downstairs when Kerri pulled back the covers and screamed. “She’s dead!”
The body was ashen, and the clouded eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.
He rushed over and hugged his wife as she screamed an anguished scream only a mother could produce. He, on the other hand, felt more shocked and confused.
This girl might be dead, but where was Roxy?
CHAPTER 1
Detective Nicole Usher’s feet pounded against the treadmill as she checked her pulse. A nice steady one hundred fifteen. She made sure to regulate her breathing—nice and slow, to optimize her workout. It turned out crackheads didn’t need the gym. Chemically induced, they ran like the wind.
Not that she had been chasing any petty thieves or junkies lately. No, the predators she stalked were more about stealth and surprise. More than likely, she didn’t need to keep in shape to chase after a serial killer, but to run the hell away from one.
Nicole glanced down to her phone, which she had propped up on the treadmill’s computerized screen. No new calls or texts. But what had she expected? She knew Kent couldn’t tell her where he was going or how long he would be gone. It was part of the deal when you were a consultant for the CIA, DOD, and half a dozen other three-initial agencies. Though technically Kent was still a Special Agent with the FBI, he seldom found himself in an office. His skills were better put to use out in the field.
So this was what it was like to have a partner that wasn’t really a partner… in more ways then one. Lord knew he tried, but Kent just wasn’t cut out to be the “bring home flowers” kind of lover. He was more the “Hey, I picked up a cadaver arm so that we could practice dissecting the ulna nerve,” kind of guy.
After having a dozen or so “flowers” kind of boyfriends, Kent was actually refreshing. Disturbing, but refreshing.
The treadmill beeped as it started the cooldown cycle. As her pace slowed, Nicole glanced around the nearly empty gym. It was late in the morning, so the “before work” rush had already bled from the exercise area. Since she was going over cold cases while Kent was gone, there really wasn’t much reason to fight the “before work” crowds. She might as well go in late and get home late if there was no one home to miss her.
Across the room, a woman about Nicole’s age worked on a “lat” machine. She smiled at Nicole. Before thinking, Nicole smiled back, then realized she didn’t think that smile was just a friendly one, as the woman winked.
Crap. What had she gotten herself into? Glancing away, Nicole tried to pretend the exchange didn’t happen. Not that she was homophobic, she just wasn’t interested.
Tsk, tsk, tsk. Are you really going to pass up this opportunity?
She heard the memory of Kent’s whisper. He wouldn’t want her to take the woman up on the offer, but he certainly would want her to use this experience to fine-tune her seduction skills. Who knew that seduction was one of the most powerful ways to crack a suspect?
Nicole took a deep breath. Not from fatigue, but to work up the nerve. Non-verbal cues were not her forte. Which is exactly why Kent would want her to practice.
Glancing up, she found the woman concentrating on the proper form of her repetitions. Thank goodness. But then the woman looked up and a slow grin spread across her lips. The edge of one lip tugged up more than the other. Nicole knew that indicated interest, but could
she replicate it?
Not replicate… she heard Kent correct in her head.
Respond.
What had Kent taught her? Channel her own experiences into the exchange. Forget that she was in love with the profiler. Forget that she was heterosexual. Forget that she would never pick up anyone at the gym.
Remember only desire. Want. With Kent gone for two months, that wasn’t much of a stretch of the imagination. What would her response be if Kent flashed her that patented “I’m only arrogant because I know I am that good in bed” smile?
Well, she’d flash him her “And I am one of the few who can keep up with you,” grins.
Keeping her eyelids hooded and letting the workout weigh down her features, Nicole smiled back hoping to emulate bedroom eyes. It appeared to work, as the woman’s smile grew and she worked the machine harder and harder. Clearly she wasn’t having to fake anything on her end.
Nicole’s phone vibrated on the handlebars as she worked up the nerve to walk over and talk to the woman.
Saved by the bell, so to speak.
She snapped the phone from its case and hit the “accept” button. Her fingers, slick with sweat, nearly dropped the phone. As she scrambled to catch hold of it, she could hear her partner’s tinny voice.
“Nicole? Nicole?”
Finally, her fingers got traction on the rubber backing and she brought the phone up to her ear. But not before noticing the woman’s stare. Her smile widened to show her pearly whites. She probably thought that Nicole fumbled the phone because of her. Nicole would let her keep that one. No reason to burst the woman’s ego.
“Yes, Ruben, I’m here.”
“Was starting to worry something was wrong.”
Most women would appreciate that a man was worried for them. That he cared and wanted to be there. To Nicole, though, it just annoyed her. Made her feel boxed in. That Ruben didn’t trust that she could take care of herself. For better or worse, Kent didn’t check in on her. He trusted that if she needed help, she would reach out.
“I’m fine, Ruben. What’s up?”
“We’ve got a weird one. I am texting you the address.”
The phone vibrated in her hand while a thin strip at the top of the screen showed the text. The address wasn’t far from the gym.
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
While the address was close, everyone would appreciate it if she took a shower first.
“And are you arriving solo or…?”
Nicole rolled her eyes. Ruben was never very subtle when it came to the subject of Kent. “Solo. He’s not back yet.” There was no reason to clarify who the “he” was in that sentence.
An audible sigh of relief came from the other end of the line.
“See you in a few,” Nicole said as she clicked off the connection. At the same time, the treadmill beeped, indicating that she was done with her workout.
She looked over to the woman, who had moved on to the bicep bar. Nicole nodded to her phone then shrugged, tilting her head to the locker room, indicating that she had to leave.
The woman, unfortunately, took that as an invitation. She got up from the weight machine and trotted over.
“Let me join you,” the blond said.
Crap, what had she gotten herself into?
* * *
Ruben walked around the mass of techs in Roxy’s room and headed for the hallway. Nicole should be here any second. He’d been at the crime scene for over an hour, yet he would have little to tell her.
Beyond the fact that Roxy was missing and an unidentified girl was found dead in her bed. He hated the weird ones, whereas his partner quickened to them. Would she be so eager for this one without the help of Kent? Maybe, if they could solve this case without the profiling prodigy, she would realize that good old-fashioned police work was still effective. Maybe Ruben could help break the spell she was under.
Even Ruben knew, though, that he could never get her back. Once you fell in love with that amount of crazy, you seldom went back to a sane, stable relationship, but Ruben still cared for Nicole and wanted to see her free of the danger Kent represented to her career and even to her life.
“Ruben!” Nicole shouted from the bottom of the stairs. She couldn’t get up, with the EMTs, CSIs and uniformed police loitering around.
“Hey!” Ruben shouted. “Make way for the detective.”
The crowd parted and Nicole trotted up the steps. He noticed her wet hair was pulled back into a pony tail. More than likely, she’d just come from the gym. There was a time when they would have gone together. When they did everything together. They were so simpatico until, of course, Kent had arrived on the scene. Effer.
But Ruben let none of that show on his face as Nicole joined him at Roxy’s bedroom door.
“So the parents have no idea who the girl is?”
“None.”
Nicole frowned. “Did I hear right, that this girl used their daughter’s toothbrush and even dressed in her nightgown?”
“Like I said, weird.”
“No missing persons report?” Nicole asked.
“No, but it may be too soon. We may have to wait a full forty-eight hours for an official report.”
Nicole stepped up to the bed and looked down at the girl’s face. “She was so pretty.”
One of the female CSIs nodded. “We’re calling her ‘Sleeping Beauty.’”
“Which is inappropriate,” Ruben countered. They did their best not to sensationalize crime in their department. If this was a murder, and how could it not be, they didn’t want to give the killer any press if they could avoid it.
The woman, though, winked at him. “So you don’t want us calling you our ‘Prince Charming?’”
Ruben didn’t quite know how to respond to that. He looked to the woman’s name badge. “No, Mary, I don’t. I would prefer Detective Torres.”
Mary said as she shrugged. “Your loss.”
“If you two are done flirting,” Nicole said, moving forward, out of the way for the Medical Examiner to get into the small room.
That was the last thing Ruben wanted Nicole thinking. “Please, Dr. McGregor.”
The older coroner’s pot belly entered the room before he did. Ruben pushed himself back against the closet door, with the handles poking him in the back. You would think a man who saw the effects of arterial blockage every day would take a little better care of himself.
But no, the man chewed on the butt of a cigar as he entered. “Would we like me to actually examine the body, or am I expected to be a psychic…again?”
Now everyone either moved out of the room or threw themselves back, out of the ME’s way. McGregor was known for the fact that his bite was actually worse than his bark. He’d gotten more people suspended than anyone else in the department’s history, combined.
“Time of death?” Nicole asked.
“Well, aren’t we in a hurry, detective?” McGregor barked. “The liver probe isn’t instantaneous.”
* * *
Well, it kind of was, but Nicole didn’t voice this fact. She was already on McGregor’s bad side this morning.
The ME picked up the girl’s arm, which was pretty stiff. “She’s still in rigor.”
Which meant she had been dead more than four hours, but less than twelve.
“And the liver temp is 88 degrees.”
Nicole did the math in her head. Liver temp fell about a degree to a degree and a half per hour after death. This room was a stable 72 degrees, which should not have accelerated or decelerated that fall.
“So I would say she’s been dead five to six hours.”
Nicole nodded. That was what she had determined, as well.
“Help me turn her over,” McGregor said.
Nicole leaned over and, as gently as she could, helped the coroner get the girl onto her side. He pulled up the nightgown to look at her thighs.
“Lividity is fixed and consistent. Looks like she died here.”
So it wasn’t a body du
mp. Which made sense. Otherwise, this would be the oddest body dump in history. Not that it wasn’t a weird crime already.
“Thank you, Dr. McGregor,” Nicole said, trying to curry any small favor she might get with the man. The man just grunted, chewing at the stub.
“Any guess as to the cause of death?” Ruben asked.
“No peticiation, no bruising, no obvious fatal wounds. So your guess is about as good as mine,” McGregor answered, with his usual helpfulness.
“Any ETA on when you’ll have the autopsy done?” Nicole asked as non-confrontationally as she could.
“There aren’t many bodies in the cooler,” McGregor answered. “I should be able to get to her after lunch.”
“After lunch?” Ruben blurted.
McGregor stood up, absently rubbing his belly. “You have a problem with that?”
“No,” Ruben regrouped quickly. “It’s just it would be helpful to know how she died.”
“Really?” McGregor said. “Because I think you’ve got plenty to do before I have my pulled pork sandwich my wife packed for me. By my eye, you need to identify this poor child and find another missing girl.”
Ruben nodded, because what else could he have done? “Of course.”
There was no challenging McGregor. Not if you wanted to get an autopsy report ever again.
“Whoa, cool.” A voice sounded from the hallway.
Nicole thought she recognized it, but it couldn’t be who she thought it was.
Then the hipster coroner’s assistant sauntered into the room. “Joshua?” she asked.
“You know it, my favorite lady detective.”
“What are you doing here?” Ruben asked.
“Um… I’m a ME’s assistant? And there’s a body? Do I need to connect the dots for you?”
“You should be in prison,” Ruben stated, quite correctly.
Joshua shrugged. “No big thing. A cop decided to give me a tune-up. Broken nose and hematoma to my kidney. I could’ve have taken a boatload of cash from the city, but I told them my job was priceless, so here I am.”
“But you had a set of uteri on your mantelpiece,” Nicole said.
Again, Joshua shrugged. “Reduced to a biohazard misdemeanor. And I get to choose my own cases. How cool is that?”
My Soul to Keep Page 1