by Cassie Miles
“What does it say about you?”
“Puller didn’t know my name, of course. He only had the random numbers for identification.”
He sensed that she was dancing around instead of giving him the answer. “Let’s hear it, Eve. Are you a potential…” he tried to think of what would be the most incongruous fate for her—something illogical and nonscientific “…poet?”
“I wouldn’t mind that at all. Poetry requires an understanding of stanza and tempo. Numbers.”
“Maybe you’re a potential palm reader.”
“Yuck. No.”
He teased, “A stripper?”
“You wish.” She left the desk and joined him at the window. “I’m an introvert. No surprise there. I’m also logical and judgmental with a strong sense of right and wrong.”
It didn’t take a psychological profile to make that analysis. Two minutes of conversation with her would lead to the same result. “What else?”
Her wide mouth pulled into a frown. “I’m patient, nurturing and empathetic. Apparently, I have all the traits of a good mother.”
She looked so disappointed that he almost laughed. “Is that a problem?”
“Well, it’s convenient since I’m pregnant. But I never thought of myself that way. Me? A mom?”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. Puller’s conclusion didn’t shock him in the least. From the time he’d seen her caring for the feral cats in her alley, he’d known that she had a nurturing personality. “It’s not so bad. Madame Curie was a mother.”
“When I was growing up and all the other girls played with baby dolls, I never had an interest. My favorite toys were geometric. Like building blocks.”
“No reason why you can’t do both. Play with babies and build skyscrapers with solar panels.”
She tilted her head up and grinned at him. “Now let’s talk about you.”
“Let me guess.” He remembered all his dad’s lectures. “I’m too reckless.”
“Correct,” she said. “You’re also decisive and goal-oriented. According to Puller, once you set your mind to something, you won’t rest until you’ve achieved it. You deal well with trauma, which is lucky considering your line of work.”
He was waiting for the downside. “What else?”
“A lot of your decisions are based on emotion. As much as you’re a fighter, you’re a lover, too.”
As soon as she spoke, he recognized an important part of himself. “That’s my dad’s influence.”
Throughout Blake’s life, his dad had shown him—through words and by example—that emotion was important. No matter what course had been charted by his genetics, his upbringing taught him to care about other people and made him a better man.
Eve rested her head on his chest. “We were lucky, you and me. We had good parents.”
“What about the other subjects?”
“Problems. Nasty problems.” She stepped away from his embrace and returned to the computer screen. “Latimer is selfish and demanding with a huge ego.”
“What about Pyro and Vargas?”
She winced. “Both show sociopathic tendencies.”
“Meaning?”
“High potential for violence.”
EVE WASN’T SURE IF breakfast in the hotel coffee shop counted as a first date. Blake had invited her, chosen the place and he paid for the food. But the meal was more about expedience than enjoying each other’s company.
The shopping trip that followed breakfast definitely wasn’t a date. They’d gone to a trendy little boutique in Larimer Square—not the kind of place she usually shopped. Blake kept pushing her toward sexy satin things and plunging necklines. She settled on a formfitting black cashmere sweater with short sleeves. It wasn’t her first choice, but she liked the way he looked at her when she was wearing it. He insisted on buying the long, belted sweater that went with it because it might get chilly later, and they didn’t have time to go back to the house.
Their visit to the police station definitely wasn’t a date. Nor was it useful. Detective Gable informed them that the two men in custody had lawyers and refused to say who had hired them. When it came to investigating Vargas, Gable’s hands were tied. Vargas might be a raging psycho, but he was also a wealthy and powerful member of the community. Gable needed more than a psychological profile to get a warrant. Pyro was another story. The police were on the lookout for him, but he hadn’t surfaced.
At six o’clock—two hours before they were scheduled to meet Prentice—Blake took her to a Mexican restaurant in west Denver. He chose the place because he thought she’d like it. And there was candlelight. When they were shown to their table, he held her chair as she sat.
“This is a date,” she said.
“If you say so.”
“Have you brought other women here?”
“Once or twice.” He sat across the table. “None of them were as beautiful as you.”
“Thank you.” She’d been trained to politely accept compliments, even if they were blatant exaggerations.
“I mean it. That black cashmere sweater makes your skin glisten like a pearl.”
His flattery reinforced her sense of being on a date. “Why this restaurant?”
“I know the family who owns the place. The food’s great. Later on, there’s a mariachi band.”
“The possibility of dancing,” she said. “That seals the deal. This is definitely a date.”
“Courtship rituals aren’t important. You know how I feel about you, Eve.”
In point of fact, she didn’t know. He hadn’t actually stated his feelings. Though they’d made love four times, including that dreamy passion in the hotel last night, there had been no declarations. “I like going out, being wined and dined—visiting different places, seeing different views, tasting different foods.”
“Do you take many vacations?”
“Not really.” Usually, she used her time off to visit family. “I enjoy traveling, but making all the arrangements isn’t my thing.”
“I’d take care of the arrangements.”
She wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “It almost sounds like you’re offering to sweep me away to some exotic locale.”
“Have you ever wanted to see the pyramids? I know a guy who charters boat trips on the Nile.”
“I’ll bet you do.” When they’d walked through the door of the restaurant, he was greeted like a long lost son. Blake was the kind of guy who made friends easily.
“The Middle East is incredible. Have you been there?”
“No.” Her dad had been stationed in Germany when she was very young, but his other postings had been stateside.
“When my leave is up, I want to take you back with me.”
That was a bit more of a date than she’d been hoping for. “You want to take me where?”
“To wherever I’m posted.” He reached across the table and took her hand. His manner was calm, as though he was suggesting a walk about the park instead of a trip to the other side of the world.
She shook her head. “I can’t.”
“This morning, you told me that you could do your work anywhere. All you need is a computer and a cell phone.”
That was true. There was a strong likelihood that she could arrange a consulting position with Sun Wave that didn’t require her to be in the office. She could communicate via video feed and… Her imaginings came to an abrupt halt. What am I thinking? I can’t run off to faraway places with Blake. She hardly knew him. “Have you forgotten that I’m pregnant?”
“Medical care isn’t a problem. Some of the best hospitals in the world—”
“It’s not that,” she said. “When I have my baby, I want to be with family, with my mother.”
“You’d be with me,” he said.
Her gaze met his, and her resistance faded. Every beat of her heart said, Go with him. Follow this perfect man to the ends of the earth.
This isn’t happening! Every decision she’d
ever made was based on logic. She needed to make charts and graphs and figure the statistical probability of forming a successful relationship under these circumstances.
His cell phone rang. Without releasing her hand, he took it from his pocket and checked the screen. “It’s Gable. I need to answer.”
Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the flickering candle on the table, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Nothing made sense. And yet, everything was clear.
He ended his call. “Gable finished running the DNA from all the biological parents through CODIS. He got a hit.”
A momentary panic rushed through her. What if the hit was one of her parents? What if the criminal database showed that her DNA came from a felon? “Who was it?”
“Pyro.” His jaw tightened. “Pyro’s biological father is a convicted serial killer.”
Chapter Nineteen
The match from CODIS sapped Blake’s appetite. His carne asada burrito was made the way he liked it with the chili hot and the cheese smooth, but he could barely make a dent in his extra-large portion.
Eve had looked up information on Pyro’s father using a phone app. It had taken the FBI twelve years to track this bastard down. With over forty kills in seven different states attributed to him, he was a Ted Bundy–type serial killer—charming, intelligent and grotesque in his cruelty. And they were dealing with his son.
“Just because Pyro shares his DNA,” Eve said, “it doesn’t mean he’ll turn out the same way.”
“What about the psychological profile?”
“It’s not proof.” Her voice was firm. “Detective Gable told you that he had no evidence against Pyro.”
“Until now, he hasn’t been looking. That’s changed. Gable is checking Pyro’s schedule for his on-the-road concerts to see if it coincides with any unsolved murders in those towns.”
“It isn’t right to condemn him because of his DNA.” She bit into her fish taco, chewed and swallowed. Apparently, a dinner-table chat about a serial killer didn’t turn her stomach. “If we start making judgments because of genetics, then—”
“We aren’t talking about a scientific theory, Eve. Pyro could have killed my father. Possibly others. When he does his disappearing act after his concerts, where does he go? What does he do?”
She leaned across the table and stared into his eyes. “He’s not a case study. He’s Peter Gregory, and you’ve known him since you both were teenagers. Your father has been observing him since he was born. Do you really think Dr. Ray would have misdiagnosed a serial killer?”
She had a point. If his father thought there was a possibility of Peter doing violence to himself or anyone else, he would have contacted the police. “Do you think Prentice knew?”
“We’ll find out tonight.” She checked her wristwatch. “In less than an hour.”
He forced himself to eat. Eve was correct. Making assumptions about Pyro based on his DNA was ignorant; it went against everything his father believed. A person’s fate wasn’t predestined by their genetics.
“If Pyro is the murderer,” Eve said, “what’s his motive?”
“If my dad’s research became public, a lot of people would condemn him.”
“Not his fans. He breathes fire onstage. The extra element of danger would be a plus for Pyro’s concerts.”
Earlier, he’d drawn much the same conclusion. The negative publicity related to having a serial killer for a father would be a problem for their other two suspects, Vargas and Latimer. Pyro wouldn’t give a damn.
“Okay, let’s look at his onstage performance. In his song ‘The Twenty-Four,’ he talks about building a heritage from the original subjects of the study. That gives him a reason to want you to be pregnant.”
“Yuck. As if I’m some kind of breeder?”
“You tell me. You’re the science-fiction expert.”
Her brow pulled into a scowl. “It fits with the whole ‘take over the world’ mentality.”
“The threats to you started when you suggested that you might give the baby up for adoption. Pyro might lose track of the child.”
“But I only talked to Prentice.”
“Who must have communicated with the murderer.” Dr. Prentice had a great deal to answer for. Blake couldn’t wait to get his hands on that old coward.
She finished off her food and dabbed at her lips with the corner of her napkin. “I wish we’d had time for you to give me self-defense lessons.”
“You did okay with your stun gun. All you have to remember is to go for the vulnerable spots.”
“Like what?”
“Eyes, nose, gut, groin, knees. And you have to hit hard. Don’t hold back.”
This meal—their first real date, according to Eve—had started well. When he proposed taking her with him, she’d warmed to the idea. Though she’d objected, he’d seen acceptance in her eyes, and he’d allowed himself to imagine a future with her. For a moment, he’d managed to push the tragedy of his father’s murder from his mind.
The call from Gable re-tuned his focus. Mentally, he dedicated himself to finding the killer and bringing him to justice.
DURING THE DRIVE to Latimer’s office, Eve couldn’t stop thinking about floating down the Nile with Blake, sharing his life in exotic places. She’d been tempted to take that leap, to throw away her life as a singular individual and join him.
In the lights from the dashboard, she studied his profile. His straight nose was so perfect that he should have been on a coin. Was it possible that a man like Blake wanted to live with her? In a few short days, how could he care so much? The word love hadn’t passed his lips. Nor had she made that declaration.
Though inexperienced in matters of the heart, she figured there should be a commitment before she abandoned her life in Boulder and followed him to the ends of the earth. Did he love her?
She had to know.
“Earlier tonight,” she said, “you told me that you wanted me to come along when you returned to active duty.”
“That’s right.” He braked for a stoplight and turned toward her. “We’ll talk later. I need to maintain focus on the task at hand.”
“I just have one question.”
And she knew the answer she needed to hear: Because I love you. That was all he had to say. If he loved her, she could acknowledge all the strange and wonderful feelings that stirred when she looked at him or thought of him or heard his voice. She needed to know if he loved her.
“Okay,” he said. “Shoot.”
“Why? What is the single most important reason you want to take me with you?”
“I told you before,” he said. “My dad’s last wish was that I take care of you.”
Of all the things he could have said, that might have been the most insulting. He made it sound as if she was an obligation, a burden. The hell with him. “You’re officially off the hook, Blake. I can take care of myself.”
“We’ll talk about this later.”
There were so many other things he could have said. He could have told her that he wanted her with him because she was sexy. Or because she was different from the other women he’d known. He could have told her that he couldn’t live without her.
But his offer didn’t have anything to do with her. Being her bodyguard was a job. “There’s no need for discussion.”
Her mind was made up. Thank God, she hadn’t started packing her bags and making plans. She hadn’t made a complete fool of herself.
“Eve, please—”
“No talking.” She held up her hand. “Let’s just get this over with.”
The Mercedes glided into the parking lot outside Latimer’s three-story office building. The last crimson rays of sunset reflected in the rows of windows and gave the square building a more interesting appearance than when they’d been here at night. Vargas’s building, she remembered. Would he designate this structure as one that could be converted to solar energy? She looked away, not really caring. Her future felt bleak. She’d be alone. Pregnant
. At least, I’m not a virgin anymore.
Blake parked beside the Cadillac sedan that Randall used to chauffeur his boss. He peered through the windshield. “Where’s Prentice’s car?”
“He could be running late.”
“I don’t like the way this looks,” he said. “Call Latimer. Find out where Prentice is.”
“Yes, sir.” She snapped a sarcastic salute. He was always giving orders, making demands. Why had she vaguely considered living with him? Her call to Latimer went straight to voice mail. “He’s not answering.”
He pulled his gun. “Let’s check it out.”
Remembering what she’d done at the theater, she left her purse behind, slipping her cell phone in one pocket and the stun gun in another.
As they approached the glass doors at the front of the building, she reminded him, “Latimer’s office is on the third floor.”
“I know. I was here with you the other night.”
“Just trying to be helpful.”
She couldn’t wait until this so-called investigation was finished. They’d talk to Prentice, find out the name of the murderer and call Detective Gable to make the arrest. Then she could say goodbye to Blake. He’d stride off into his perfectly handsome world, and she’d go back to…being herself.
Her fingers stroked the edge of the long cashmere sweater he had insisted on buying for her. She wasn’t meant to wear clothes like this. A Trekkie T-shirt suited her just fine—an extra-large to fit her when she was in the last stages of pregnancy.
The doors at the front pushed open. In a small office building like this, there was no guard at a front desk. The polished floors at the front led to two elevators.
She heard the pop of gunfire. “Damn.”
Blake pulled her into the stairwell. “Stay with me. Just like you did at the theater.”
Assuming there was some tactical reason why they couldn’t use the elevator, she followed him up three flights of stairs. The gunfire continued in sporadic bursts.
When they reached the third floor, Blake positioned her behind the door. Breathing hard, she pressed her back against the concrete wall. Before he could deliver his order, she said, “I know. I should stay. Right here.”