“Kidnappers and killers like to stalk their prey, learn their habits and routines. They like to collect trophies, too.” Striker leveled her attention on him, and an understanding passed between them. “I’ll call in a forensic unit to run through the scene. Until then, you should search the apartment to see if anything might be missing.” She headed into the hallway, careful not to touch the doorknob on her way out, with Dyson on her heels.
“Seattle PD hasn’t reported any sightings of Kara’s dog hanging around the scene. Officers are still knocking on doors to see if somebody saw something last night, but there’s a chance he hasn’t gone far. Is there anywhere you can think of Koko might go if he felt threatened? A neighbor he might’ve warmed up to over the past few months?” It was a long shot, but one they couldn’t ignore.
“You want to see if he might have any evidence of the attack on him.” She swiped her hand beneath her nose then pushed thick, dark brown hair out of her face. Another defense tactic meant to distract herself from the brutal images the doc would never be able to forget, he was sure. She extracted her phone. “Yeah, there’s someone in the building who walks him when Kara’s working. They have my phone number in case they can’t reach Kara. I’ll send you the information.”
He gave her his number, and his phone pinged a moment later.
“Whoever did this—whoever killed Kara last night—it’s a copycat, right?” Desperation combined with exhaustion in her expression, and his gut clenched. “Tell me we put the right man behind bars when you arrested Cole Presley, that I didn’t make a mistake.”
Heat burned down the length of his spine. The medical examiner was one of the most intelligent, compassionate, emotionally aware people he’d ever met, and he’d hate the day when her drive to find justice for the deceased ebbed. “You didn’t make a mistake, Aubrey. I did.”
* * *
“WHAT IN THE sweet potato fries do you mean?” This case had just started. How had Agent James already made a mistake? Aubrey battled against the pressure seemingly closing in from every wall of her sister’s apartment and tried to take a full breath.
She shouldn’t have come up here. She should’ve handed off the key to Kara’s apartment and stayed downstairs like the good witness she was supposed to be. But some internal drive she didn’t understand had urged her to insert herself in the case, to find out who’d done this to her family. Every book on those shelves stared out at her as though she were an impostor, someone who didn’t belong here. She’d always watched out for Kara. Now it seemed as though her sister’s apartment was accusing her of not being there when she’d needed Aubrey the most. Why Kara? If the killer was out to punish Aubrey for her role in the X Marks the Spot Killer case, why had he gone after Kara?
“What’d you say?” Confusion deepened the lines between the agent’s dark blond eyebrows.
“What do you mean, you made a mistake?” Stress had an array of physical, emotional and mental effects on the body, but odd cartoon sayings had always had the ability to alleviate her stress levels. She shook her head and folded her arms across her chest. But no matter how many different sayings ran through her head right then, none of them would help soothe the grief bubbling under her skin. Muscle tension strained the joints at her elbows and shoulders. She’d found her sister dead this morning, had been within fifty feet of the killer when he’d taped the map to her door. “The King County Medical Examiner’s Office hasn’t even performed my sister’s autopsy. There haven’t been any chances for you to make a mistake on this case.”
The muscles in his jaw ticked under the pressure of his back teeth. He stared at her as though trying to read her mind—profile her—but she’d developed an equal detachment from the deceased as he had with the living over the years. Nicholas James had been the case lead when they’d worked together three years ago. Despite his secretive, isolated demeanor, there was a vulnerability in his eyes, a need to prove himself. He’d spent his life studying the most minute psychological details that made up a person where she’d spent her career uncovering what made a person physically. They’d chosen different career paths, but in the end, they weren’t so different. They both wanted to find whoever had strangled Kara. “I knew Cole Presley personally.”
Aubrey stepped back. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. “I... I don’t understand.”
“My father left our family when I was five. Cole Presley was there for us when we needed him. He helped me with my homework after school. He babysat me and my sister when my mom needed to go back to school. He taught me how to throw a damn baseball and coached my Little League team.” Disbelief wove through each word, his voice getting heavier and heavier. “I had no idea who he really was. Not until you described the kind of blade that’d been used on the X Marks the Spot victims. You’d found slivers of western hemlock in one of the women’s wounds. What you’d described—Damascus steel with a nick about a quarter inch down the blade and an intricate design pressed into the metal—I could see it right in front of me. Because I’d seen that knife before. He used it to carve figurines from chunks of wood whenever we’d go camping together. I’d held it over a dozen times in my own hands without knowing how much blood had collected in the handle over the years.”
Thirty years, to be exact. Thirty victims, every year on the same day.
Air caught in her throat. She wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. Swiping her tongue over her increasingly dry lips, Aubrey countered her retreat, her feet heavier than when she’d watched him search Kara’s apartment. Her pulse rocketed into her throat. A hint of soap and salt dived into her lungs. “When you said you made a mistake, you mean because you didn’t see him for what he really was before. You feel personally responsible for what happened to all those women.”
“Aren’t I?” he asked. “The X Marks the Spot case was what inspired me to join the FBI, you know. I’d see the yearly newspaper article detailing how he’d strangled and mutilated another woman, how police were baffled he kept getting away with it.”
She flinched at the manner in which he addressed the killer’s MO—so insensitively—and severed eye contact as fast as she could.
“I’d tell myself I’d be the one to catch him someday. Come to find out, the killer was less than thirty feet from my own family.” A humorless laugh burst from his mouth. “Guess I got my wish in the end. Maybe if I’d seen him for what he really was, so many people wouldn’t have died. But I...”
“You trusted him.” The same unsteady guilt in his voice clawed up her throat. She reached out, gripping his arm in a comforting squeeze despite the fact he’d bowled over the way her sister had died without a hint of regret. Then again, she’d always put others’ needs first without acknowledging her own. Instant heat shot up through her hand, and she fought to chase back the weight crushing her from inside. “You gave me credit for bringing the X Marks the Spot Killer down, but the truth is, if it wasn’t for you, Cole Presley would still be out there, hurting women. You recognized the blade he used to cut Xs into his victims’ cheeks. That’s why I requested you to work my sister’s case. You’re one of the most focused, insightful and realistic investigators I’ve ever worked with, and I need you to find out who did this to her.”
“I’ll find your sister’s killer, Aubrey. I give you my word.” Sincerity laced his voice, and a shiver chased down her spine. “But what do sweet potato fries have to do with anything?”
Heat climbed up her neck, and she withdrew her hand. She pressed her palm against her throat in an attempt to stop the embarrassment from taking over her face, but it was a battle she’d never won in the past. “I tend to repeat odd Southern sayings, mostly food or animal related, from a popular children’s cartoon character when I’m under stress.”
“A children’s cartoon character?” Agent James stepped back, turning his focus to the wall of bookshelves. Historical romances, nonfiction educational resources, science fiction. Her sister
never had been one to conform to the traditional sense of a kindergarten teacher. “I wasn’t aware you had kids.”
Was that shock in his expression? Satisfaction exploded from behind her sternum. Considering he’d had more than enough time to profile her from head to toe and inside out, she hadn’t been sure it was possible to surprise him, and she stood a little taller. “I don’t, but considering what I do for a living, I’d rather not indulge in crime dramas, hospital comedies or true crime documentaries. I’m sure it’s the same for you with cop shows and profiling entertainment.”
“You’re right.” A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Her fingers tingled as she studied Kara’s apartment a second time, and a hollowness set up residence in her chest. She curled her keys into her palm and forced the edge of steel deeper. The oversensitive skin along the back of her neck heated. Agent James—Nicholas—had promised to find her sister’s killer, but how many more family members would have to stand in the middle of their loved one’s home to try to give the BAU a lead to follow? How many more victims would have to cross Dr. Caldwell’s slab before this new evolution of killer was found? No. She wasn’t going to let that happen. “It doesn’t seem real. Kara not being here.” Denial burned through her. She cleared her throat in an effort to bring herself back to the present and away from the growing familiarity between them. “I haven’t noticed anything missing so far. Everything looks just like it did the last time I visited. Do you need to look at anything else while you’re here?”
“No, I think we’ve got everything we need.” He craned his chin over his shoulder, giving her a glimpse of the thick tendons running the length of his neck, as he took in one last study of the space.
“Good.” Straightening, she gave in to the spread of confidence and headed toward the door. “Then we should check with Kara’s dog walker to see if Koko has shown up.”
His footsteps echoed off the laminate a split second before a strong hand threaded through the space between her rib cage and arm and twisted her into a solid wall of muscle. The color of his eyes deepened—physically impossible but evident in the intensity in which he stared down at her all the same. “I know it can’t be easy for you to be here, Aubrey, especially given what you’ve already been through today, but I need you to let the BAU do their jobs without getting involved.”
“I’ve spent my entire life bowing down to the needs of others, Agent James. I’ve dedicated my entire life to giving family members answers they needed as to how their loved ones passed. I’ve taken care of my parents physically and financially for years, even when I had nothing left to give. I’ve made the Seattle police, the FBI and, yes, even your unit my priority since I took over as chief medical examiner and have lost friendships and relationships in the process, but today, your needs don’t concern me.”
She tugged her arm from his grasp. Her elbow burned from the friction emanating from his touch, and she notched her chin higher, more defiant than she’d ever felt before. Her scalp tightened as she pressed her hand against his chest for room to breathe. Running her thumb over the notches in her sister’s key, Aubrey stepped back. The rush of her pulse behind her ears died as logic returned. “Dr. Caldwell is a fine physician, but he’s not me. He doesn’t have serial experience, and you won’t find another ME within four hundred miles who does. You want to find out who did this to my sister and keep more women from becoming victims? You’re not going to be able to do that without me.”
Nicholas steadied his gaze on hers. She could practically see the wheels spinning in his head as he considered the chances he had without her. His strong exhale deflated his shoulders as he stalked past her toward the door. “Then we’re going to need some coffee.”
Chapter Three
Talking with the victim’s dog walker had ended in a dead end. The neighbor hadn’t seen the white shepherd or heard anything unusual leading up to Kara Flood’s death. Uniformed officers had cleared the rest of the building. No sign of the dog or statements anyone had seen the victim last night.
“We’ve got a handful of possible evidence walking around the city, and no one saw a damn thing.” Nicholas shoved his notepad into his back pocket harder than necessary, but he had enough self-awareness and experience to know the missing dog was only a part of the equation that could lead them to the killer.
Apart from the unit discovering his childhood connection to the X Marks the Spot Killer during the investigation and being forced to see the bureau shrink after the arrest, he’d never told anyone about Cole Presley. Yet he’d willingly offered the information to Dr. Aubrey Flood. He hadn’t considered himself manipulatable. In his line of work, that kind of influence could get him or any one of his teammates killed, but apparently, brilliant honey-warm eyes, an IQ notches beyond his and a mouth to die for was all he’d needed to spill his guts.
Both Nicholas and Aubrey pushed through the glass lobby doors of the apartment building and stepped into a thick coating of humidity. “Can you think of anywhere else the dog might go?”
Sorrow smoothed Aubrey’s features as her attention flickered toward the bench where she’d found her sister’s body this morning. She cleared her throat as though to bring herself back into the moment, but there was only so much she could do to distract herself before the pain caught up. As much as she’d claimed she needed to find Kara Flood’s killer upstairs, there would always be a part of her battling to deny her younger sister had been murdered in the first place. That was how the human brain worked. It could only take so much trauma and confrontation before it would snap.
Aubrey recentered her anguished expression on him, and an internal sucker punch to the gut threatened to knock him off his feet. “He’s been to my house a few times, but I wouldn’t think it’d be somewhere he’d automatically go if he was in distress.”
She’d lost her sister, one of the most important people in her world. While Nicholas couldn’t do anything to undo that kind of violence, he’d sure as hell find the son of a bitch to keep her from looking at him like that ever again. “Better safe than sorry.” He unclipped the radio from his belt and pinched the push-to-talk button between his thumb and index finger. “Striker, come in.”
The radio crackled. “Go ahead.”
“CSU is wrapping up down here at the scene, and no one has seen the dog. Where is my other team?” He surveyed the crowd of onlookers beyond the perimeter of the tape, memorizing their faces. Killers had a habit of returning to the scenes of their crimes, especially budding serials who may have just stepped into the violent crimes arena. The serials he’d investigated liked to see the damage caused, revel in the family’s grief, relive the events that led to the life draining from their victim’s eyes at their hand. But worse, some used the opportunity of being able to blend into a crowd to choose a new victim. Revisiting the scene kept them going just as solving the case kept Nicholas going. Any one of these onlookers could be the killer they were looking for.
“The second unit is twenty minutes out,” Striker said. “You want me to wait for them?”
A flash registered from beyond the tape and pulled his attention to a single male, around six feet with dull red hair, a thick beard turning lighter around his temples. The man lowered a camera slowly, steady gaze aware Nicholas had spotted him.
“James, you copy?” Striker asked.
Aubrey followed his gaze toward the man who’d taken the photo.
He lifted the radio back to his mouth. “Dyson can wait for them. I need you and West to help Seattle PD wrap up the scene and oversee getting the evidence they’ve collected so far to the lab,” he said. “I’m going to accompany Dr. Flood to her residence to search there in case Fido is waiting for her to come home and grab a few overnight items before relocating her to the safe house.”
“His name is Koko, Agent James,” Aubrey said. “Not Fido.”
He released the push-to-talk button. Studying
the man beyond the perimeter tape, he brushed off the awareness of the medical examiner’s gaze, determined to burn a hole through his temple. An immediate detachment from the vulnerability she’d resurrected in him took control.
“Confirmed,” Striker said. “I’m still waiting to hear back from the warden at Washington State Corrections on Presley’s location. I’ll keep you apprised of any developments. Striker, out.”
“You’re taking me to a safe house.” Aubrey shook her head. Anger intertwined with the fire burning in her eyes. Medium-length brown hair lifted off her shoulders and caught on her eyelashes. Pointing a finger into his chest, she stepped into him, her voice low. “You had no intention of letting me work this case with you, did you? As long as I’m in a safe house with some other agent from your unit, you’ll be free to investigate my sister’s case on your own, but I can promise you right now, that’s not how this is going to work.”
He met her intimidation technique with one of his own, closing the distance between them until her exhales brushed against his neck. “The killer knows who you are, Dr. Flood. He knows where you live, where you work, how many hours you spend in the hospital, whom you care about, your running route and your favorite places to eat. He knew exactly when you’d be home to leave that map on your door, and he knows you were the medical examiner assigned to the X Marks the Spot case three years ago. He’s done his research, just as I’ve done mine, and if you have any chance of surviving what comes next, it will be because of me.” Nicholas clipped the radio to his belt and extended an arm toward the perimeter tape and his SUV on the other side. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Agree to federal protection and help me find the man who killed your sister, or continue denying you’re in danger and take your chances alone.”
Profiling a Killer Page 3