He trusted Lucy.
He didn’t trust Noah. Not when it came to Lucy’s heart.
“Would you like some spaghetti?” Lucy offered.
“I just stopped by to brief you on a couple things.”
“Did you eat?”
“No, but I’ll get a sandwich—”
Lucy shook her head. “Sit. Sean made plenty.”
Lucy went to the kitchen and dished Noah a plate. Sean came up behind her and kissed her behind the ear. “So much for our quiet night.”
She glanced at him, and he saw she was worried about something. She was still concerned about their relationship, so he winked. The last thing he wanted to do was upset Lucy. He’d work through this jealousy thing on his own.
“Beer?” Sean called out to Noah.
“Sounds good.”
Sean opened a couple bottles of imported beer, put one in front of Noah, and sat across from him.
Noah nodded his thanks and drank, then dug into the spaghetti.
“So, do you always stop by Lucy’s house in the middle of the night?” Sean said.
“If it’s important,” Noah said between bites. He glanced at Sean. “And it’s only ten thirty.”
Lucy wished the sniping between Noah and Sean would stop. It had gotten better since New York, but Sean liked their time alone, and she had to admit they didn’t have enough of it.
“It’s fine,” Lucy said to Noah. “Any big break? Did the killer walk into the police station and turn himself in?”
“No,” he said, “but since I was on my way home, I thought I’d swing by and fill you in on the Wendy James homicide.”
Lucy was secretly pleased. “Thank you.”
“Thank you?” Sean asked. “For keeping you informed about your own case?”
Lucy had fallen asleep before she told Sean about Josh Stein. “I got pulled from the case.”
“Pulled?”
Noah put up his hand. “The SSA has his own way of doing things, and considering the high-profile nature of the case, having Lucy publicly involved was problematic.”
“That sounds like a load of bureaucratic bullshit.”
“It’s fine, Sean,” Lucy intervened.
“Like hell.”
“I overstepped. I’ve been doing that a lot lately.” She caught Noah’s eye, but couldn’t tell whether he’d truly forgiven her or not. He had too stoic a poker face.
“Crowley’s alibi checked out—he was in committee during the window Wendy James was murdered.”
“And his finances?”
“Still being reviewed, but on the surface, nothing odd. Our techs confirmed there had been video and audio equipment in the hidden room, but they can’t tell when it was removed or by whom. We’re going over both apartments meticulously for trace evidence, but the consensus is someone tried to blackmail Crowley, and either he didn’t play and the affair was exposed, or he exposed the affair himself to take the pressure off.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t—not enough information. It could be random, or a stalker—she drew a lot of attention when the affair broke. But in light of the hidden room, I think that’s the reason she was killed.”
“It also opens a whole new roomful of suspects,” Lucy said.
“And no way of knowing who was there.”
“What about security cams?”
“The management only keeps them for thirty days. We’ve already got a warrant for the last thirty days, and Cyber Crimes is going over them.”
“No archive?” Sean said. “Where are the tapes stored? Digital or analog? Wireless or hardwired? Stored on-site or off-site? Virtual or physical? Even if they only officially keep thirty days, they may have months of data that hasn’t been overwritten. And, depending on the system, even overwritten data might be recoverable.”
Noah stared at Sean. “I’m sure Cyber Crimes is covering all avenues, but I’ll pass on your questions.”
Sean shook his head. “This is my job. It’s what I do. I can consult for you, help out—”
“No,” Noah said. Then, grudgingly, “Thanks for the offer, but we’re keeping the case in-house. It’s one of the reasons Lucy was pulled. Media is an issue, we can’t give the killer anything to use to get the case thrown out of court when and if we find him.”
“I have clearance,” Sean said.
Lucy took Sean’s hand under the table. She really didn’t want him to push this. He was good, but so was the FBI Cyber Crimes unit.
“On the Nicole Bellows murder,” Lucy said, changing the subject, “Genie sent me a message that they got the warrant for the virtual phone company. It might take a couple of days, but we should have the registered owner, a record of numbers, and where they are forwarded.”
“Virtual numbers? There are a half dozen ways to get around that,” Sean said. “Buy a prepaid credit card with cash, use that credit card to get the number.”
“Why am I not surprised you know this?” Noah said.
“It’s a no-brainer,” Sean said. “But not everyone uses virtual numbers for illegal activity. There are legitimate and important business uses.”
“It’ll definitely take a few days,” Noah said. “I’ve dealt with these companies before, and the warrant has to be airtight. Privacy laws and all that.”
“And you’re against privacy laws?” Sean snapped.
“When they protect criminals.”
Lucy intervened. “It’s a lead, and the system works in this case. Protecting privacy and getting us the information we need to find Nicole’s killer. We don’t know that the number will lead to her killer, but it may give us another piece of the puzzle.”
Noah put his fork down; he’d cleaned his plate. “More?” she offered.
“No, thanks. I have an early morning tomorrow. Keep me in the loop on your case.”
Lucy walked him to the door. “Of course.”
Noah hesitated in the doorway. He said, “Hans Vigo came to our briefing tonight. I talked to him about the Bellows homicide. He agrees that the killer is going to strike again. He also said the killer isn’t a psychopath. Honestly, I don’t know how he can tell.”
“I know what he means.”
“You do?”
“Because he’s violent and shows no remorse, some may categorize him as a psychopath, but a true psychopath has a mental disorder that compels him to commit his crimes. Violent psychopaths may show remorse for their crimes, they may have human empathy but their need to kill or hurt others overshadows that empathy. A sociopath may not be violent, but they have complete lack of remorse. Take a con artist who steals the life savings of an eighty-year-old woman. No guilt at destroying that life, even if that woman dies destitute on the streets. But that same con artist wouldn’t, for example, shoot the woman in cold blood. Sociopaths aren’t always violent.
“But when you have a violent sociopath, he’s more unpredictable than a psychopath whose disorder makes him easier to identify once the MO is established. I think Hans realizes that the killer wanted Nicole Bellows dead, so he killed her. The reason wasn’t because killing her was satisfying to him in any deep or meaningful way. A psychopath would likely wait a few days, possibly weeks or months before killing again. This killer doesn’t need a cooling-off period. He’s going to complete whatever plan he has, then he may never kill again.”
Noah said, “If there’s another homicide, call me immediately.”
“Of course.” Lucy wanted to ask Noah what he’d said to Hans, if anything, about their conversation this morning. She wanted to know if Noah had put anything in her record. But he didn’t say anything, and she didn’t ask.
“Night.”
He left without resolving this odd tension between them. But he did come by and he didn’t have to—maybe that was his way of letting her know everything was okay.
She turned around and walked back to the family room. Sean was standing there, the vein in his jaw throbbing.
“What was with him ton
ight?”
“You always ask that.”
“But there was something else.”
“I told you what I said to him this morning. I was out of line.”
“Hardly. He’s not perfect.”
“Sean—” She hesitated.
“What?”
“Matt Slater, the SSA, talked to me earlier. What I did yesterday really made waves, and Noah took the heat for me. Any mistakes I make are his responsibility. I don’t want to sit around the house for the next three weeks, but I don’t want Noah to get into trouble if I screw something up. Slater said I have special privileges, and people know it.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Sean said. “You’ve earned your spot.”
“Maybe,” Lucy said.
“No maybe. The FBI isn’t a charity; they wouldn’t have put you in as an analyst unless you were qualified and they knew you’d be an asset.”
Lucy sat down on the couch. “I don’t want special privileges, Sean.”
He sat next to her and pulled her head to his chest. “You can’t stop people thinking what they want, right or wrong. But you earned everything you have.”
She hoped Sean was right. The last seven years of her life had been such a roller coaster sometimes she didn’t know what to think about her dreams and goals. Were they really hers? Who might she have been had she not been raped, live on the Internet, seven years ago?
“Luce?” Sean turned her head so he could look her in the eyes. She squeezed back tears. She wanted no pity from Sean. From anyone. Especially herself. “Talk to me.”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you last night,” he said.
“I’m okay.” Saying it almost made it true.
“If you ever need to talk, about anything, you know you can talk to me. Right?”
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. “Most of the time, my mind convinces me that it all happened to someone else. That I was an observer, like the camera that recorded those god-awful days. And then I see something and I’m right back there again. My head knows I’m not, but my body reacts and I can’t stop the panic.”
Sean’s grip tightened around her, and she leaned her head back on his shoulder. “Having you here makes all the difference,” she whispered.
“I’m not going anywhere, you know that.”
“When Matt Slater said I had special privileges, I think I knew it had to be true. What if I shouldn’t be in the FBI? What if I lose control over these panic attacks? I was turned down from the Academy once, what if I should have just let that dream die? There are other dreams out there.” As she said it, she believed it—except she didn’t want any other career. Seven years, obsessed with joining the FBI and fighting crime, had changed her. Irrevocably.
“You listen to me.”
She tilted her head to look at Sean. His blue eyes were so intense she couldn’t turn away.
“The FBI is damn lucky to have you, Lucy Kincaid. This Matt Slater is an ass to think that anyone is just handing you the career you want. You earned it. You are a damn good cop now, even without a badge. You’re going to be a great agent. I know it, you know it. No more doubts, Princess. Okay?”
She smiled. “Thank you for having so much faith in me.”
“It’s easy.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Besides, I could have helped, too.”
Lucy realized he wanted to help. He liked puzzles and needed something to keep his intellect challenged.
“You could have gotten the information faster,” Lucy said, playing up to his ego. “But Cyber Crimes is good. The FBI hires the best computer people.”
Sean cocked his head to the side. “The best? I’m hurt.”
She grinned and shook her head. She loved Sean so much. He could release the tension with one well-placed comment.
She kissed him. “The second best.”
“You’re going to have to make up that insult. My ego needs stroking. Maybe a massage, too.”
“Oh really?”
“There’s nothing I want more than to spend the next three weeks basking under your undivided attention,” Sean said. “But you’re not a quitter.”
“I know, but—”
“There is no but. You love this work. You need it. You’d go crazy being around the house all day, and I’d want to entertain you twenty-four–seven and then I’d get no work done. My brother and your brother would be livid at me for slacking off and not bringing in the big bucks.”
“I just—” She stopped. What did she want? Sometimes she didn’t know.
Sean tapped her chin and looked directly in her eyes.
“Stop doubting yourself. I don’t care how much experience the other cops have, your instincts are as good as theirs.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t think I would like this Stein jerk.”
She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “You wouldn’t. But he’s good at what he does. And he has more experience than me.”
“He took you off your case.”
“It’s his case, and Noah’s. I’m an analyst.”
“A damn good analyst.”
She pursed her lips. “You’re good for my ego.”
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. “I’m good for a lot of things.”
The cat wound around their feet.
“You should name this cat,” Sean said. “So when he annoys me, I know what to call him.”
“I can’t keep it.”
“Why not? You like him.”
“Yes, but I’m going to the Academy in three weeks. I can’t ask Kate and Dillon to take care of my pet.”
“I’ll keep him for you.”
“I didn’t know you liked cats.”
“I like this one.”
“Then you name it.”
“All right.” He picked up the cat and stared into his face. The cat meowed.
She grinned. “Did he just tell you his name?”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I need to get to know him first. It’ll come to me.”
They sat down on the couch and Sean wrapped one arm around Lucy and petted the cat with the other.
“Thank you for listening.”
“Anytime, Princess.” He kissed the top of her head. “I love you. And I think you’ll crack this case wide open and Noah had better rub it in this Josh Stein’s face, otherwise I’ll do it. I, for one, can hardly wait.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ivy watched the news with growing horror.
This is not happening.
She glanced over to the door of the adjoining room where Sara and Maddie were sleeping. They’d been sleeping too much, but Ivy didn’t have the heart to wake them up. She definitely didn’t want them hearing the news yet.
* * *
The jogger found strangled in Rock Creek Park has been positively identified as the mistress of powerful Judiciary Chair, Congressman Alan Crowley.
Wendy James, a receptionist for lobbying firm Devon Sullivan and Associates, was found dead Tuesday morning. DC police had no comment, but sources indicate that the FBI has taken over the investigation.
Last month, Ms. James was exposed as the mistress of Congressman Crowley. At first the congressman from Los Angeles denied the accusation that he was having an affair, but after compromising pictures surfaced on the Internet, he admitted to the accusations.
Repeated calls to the congressman’s office have not been returned. His chief of staff issued a statement that said Congressman Crowley is fully cooperating with the authorities. The FBI is not commenting, but sources indicate that agents don’t believe the crime was random. A source in the Capitol said Congressman Crowley canceled a scheduled trip to California last Friday.
We’ll keep you informed of any new developments in this stunning case.
* * *
Ivy stared at the television screen. She flipped through all the stations, trying to learn more about Wendy’s murder, but the reporters had nothing ne
w.
Wendy was dead.
She paced the hotel room, trying to convince herself that Wendy’s murder wasn’t connected to her or the fire, but she was only lying to herself. Of course it was connected.
Someone had found out that she’d taped Wendy with that congressman, and others. Now Wendy was dead and someone had tried to kill Ivy and the other girls. Except the tapes had been destroyed in the fire.
Sergio? Was it the guy who bought the tapes? But why? He could easily have killed Ivy after she turned them over, but she hadn’t had a chance, unless he stole them then set the fire. But why?
He rescued your sister. He gave you ten thousand dollars. He was going to give you ten thousand more before your house burned down. What’s his motive for killing you?
Wendy was smart, but eventually the police would find out that Wendy and Ivy had been in business together.
She tried calling Kerry again; no answer. Dammit, why hadn’t she checked in? She dialed Nicole, panic making her misdial twice. Nicole was supposed to have been here this morning. Ivy hadn’t thought about her absence. She dry-heaved, realizing that she’d put Nicole out of her mind while trying to plan how to keep Sara safe.
Someone picked up the phone, but didn’t say anything.
Ivy listened. Breathing. Was it Nicole?
She didn’t speak, but she didn’t hang up.
“Are you looking for Nicole?”
The voice was male, mocking. At first Ivy thought Nicole had picked up a john, but even as the thought entered her mind, she knew Nicole was dead.
Just like Wendy.
“Where is she?” Ivy said. Her voice too weak to talk to a killer. She was scared and it showed.
He chuckled. “The morgue. You’re next. I’m closer than you think.”
She hung up. Her phone rang and she ran to the bathroom and dropped it in the sink, running water over it. She bent over the toilet and threw up violently, until acid burned her throat. She collapsed on the floor, her head on her arm, her stomach full of sharp knives.
“Ivy?” Maddie stood in the doorway. “Are you okay.”
Does it look like I’m okay?
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