Profiling a Killer

by Nichole Severn

  “You must be Agent West. Please, excuse the mess.” The King County medical examiner set his instrument on the steel tray beside the slab then rushed to pull the sheet at Paige Cress’s hips higher. Tugging his latex gloves from his hands, he tossed them into the hazardous materials bin near the lockers.

  Dr. Archer Caldwell extended his hand. “I don’t usually get much company down here other than my assistant.”

  Dash shook the doc’s hand, and the dull pain at the back of his head pulsed. He and Striker had been taken out of the game almost immediately after they’d split up at the waterfront, leaving Nicholas and Dr. Flood to survive a sadistic serial killer on their own. Wouldn’t happen again. “You said over the phone you had something to show us from both sets of autopsies on the victims.”

  “Yes. Although I assumed it’d be Agent James who’d want to see what I’ve found firsthand, but please.” Dr. Caldwell motioned toward the two slabs where each woman rested. “I’ve confirmed cause of death for the first victim, Kara Flood, as strangulation. You can see here from the dark contusions around her throat, the killer used an object about two inches in width. I was able to pull a few fibers from where the edge of the murder weapon dug into her skin.”

  Dash studied the line of deep black and blue bruising around the victim’s throat, his chest tight. Kara Flood had been an exquisite woman before she’d died, committed to education and learning, with an understated beauty. The forensics tests from her dog had come back inconclusive. They needed something to nail the bastard before he struck again. “Fibers? The murder weapon shed fibers while he strangled her?”

  Dr. Caldwell nodded. “Yes. Blue nylon. I had the forensics lab test the fibers against the leash you and your partner recovered with the dog from the scene. It was an exact match, but that’s not what I wanted to show you. Do you see these two darker bruises between the edges of where the leash stopped? They’re thumbprints. I believe the killer used his hands to strangle the victim first then wrapped the leash around her throat and tightened it in an effort to hide the outline of his hands, but the lacerations to the victim’s face—”

  “Kara. Her name is Kara,” Dash said.

  The killer might have wanted to erase these women’s identities by trying to hide them within MOs from two separate killers, but Dash wouldn’t. He remembered them. He remembered all of them.

  “Yes, Agent West, of course. I apologize. It’s just that in my line of work, in order for me to do my job proficiently, I have to be able to detach from the person I’m cutting open. Sometimes that’s the only way I don’t take the victims home with me.” The pathologist bent over Kara again, tracing the pattern of deep cuts across the victim’s face with his pinkie finger hovering above her skin.

  “As I was saying, the lacerations to the victim’s face are consistent with the injuries Dr. Flood noted while she was performing the autopsies during the X Marks the Spot Killer case, as we expected given the killer’s testing of MOs. But instead of a hunting knife, whoever attacked this victim used a scalpel to carve the X into her masseter muscle.”

  “A scalpel. Dr. Flood’s statement said the killer nicked one of the arteries in her neck with a scalpel, that he had a whole collection of surgical tools on a nearby table.” Dash’s focus shifted to the spread of stainless steel tools Dr. Caldwell had laid out to perform both autopsies on the victims. “Are you able to determine the killer’s hand size based off the bruising around Kara’s neck?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” Dr. Caldwell said. “Given the fact there are no foreign epithelial cells around the victim’s neck, I concluded the killer wore gloves when he strangled her, which changes the shape and size of the attacker’s hands. Add in the element of the leash to hide the bruising altogether, whoever killed Ms. Flood ensured we wouldn’t be able to narrow down any identifying features.”

  Damn. This guy had been careful. “What about the injuries on Paige Cress’s body? You said you were able to recover something even after the ocean water cleaned the remains.”

  “Yes.” Dr. Caldwell motioned him toward the next table, where Paige Cress rested as though she were asleep—apart from the Y incision stitched with dark thread over her collarbone and down the center of her chest. “There’s evidence of rapid decomposition due to rising temperatures in the shed where the remains were discovered, which made it difficult to determine time of death. With the addition of salt water washing the remains, there wasn’t much to go off. But I can definitively tell you this victim was killed eighteen to twenty hours before she was placed in that maintenance shed on the waterfront. And you’ll be happy to know, I found this between the victim’s teeth.”

  The pathologist handed Dash what looked like a petri dish without the colored goo in the bottom he’d used in science class in high school. “My assistant recovered human tissue, but I’ve so far been unable to match it to a wound on the victim, and given it was found between her teeth, I suspect it came from whoever suffocated her. I’ll know for certain once the forensic lab processes the evidence.”

  “She took a bite out of her attacker.” Dash studied the tissue through the clear container. He handed back the petri dish. Dr. Flood had insisted whoever’d abducted her and hung her upside down by her ankles in that slaughterhouse had to have had medical training. Not only to keep the scalpel steady but to know where and how deep to cut her to keep her from bleeding out too quickly. “This is good. Have you worked a serial case before, Dr. Caldwell?”

  “What an odd question, Agent West. No. I haven’t.” Dr. Caldwell replaced the tissue evidence on the same cart as his surgical tools. “I’d hoped at the time my work would’ve spoken for itself. I have years of experience in homicide investigations and have taught forensic pathology at the university for close to a decade.” The pathologist’s expression neutralized as he studied the victim on his slab. “But the spotlight shines on Dr. Flood.”

  Chapter Ten

  He could still feel the warmth of her mouth pressed against his.

  Nicholas listened to the doc’s steady breathing as she slept wrapped in his arms. Exhausted from the trauma sustained during her abduction, her escape from a cold-blooded killer and the emotional implications of almost dying, Aubrey had fallen asleep in his arms the minute she’d kissed him. Hints of her light perfume clung to her ratty T-shirt, and he filled his lungs as much as possible.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep. Not with the updates filtering in from his team. Kara Flood’s dog hadn’t given up any viable evidence other than Koko’s leash had been used in the attack, which didn’t quite fit with the profile Nicholas had built so far. The killer had targeted the victim. Why then had he only brought the scalpel to use during the attack and not something to replicate the strangulation patterns on the X Marks the Spot Killer’s victims? Cole Presley had used his favored belt on his victims. This killer had used his hands, making Kara Flood’s death personal.

  They had no suspect.

  According to Agent West, the King County medical examiner—Dr. Archer Caldwell—had recovered a possible DNA sample from Paige Cress’s teeth during her autopsy. She’d bitten her assailant before she’d died, but without someone to compare it to, they were back at square one. The clock was ticking down to the killer striking again, but he couldn’t deny the sense of calm washing through him now.

  “How many of your extremities are numb from staying in one position all night?” Her sleep-addled voice pricked awareness down his arms and legs, every inch of the right side of his body pressed against hers. Aubrey notched her chin higher. An upturn of her mouth countered the blood, violence and anger cascading in unending flashes of memory and cleared his head.

  “Approximately fifty percent, I imagine, but it was worth it to be able to get you to slow down.” Damn, she was beautiful. Even more so than he remembered from the first time he’d met her three years prior.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep
on you. You could’ve extracted yourself if you wanted to get into your own bed. I probably wouldn’t have noticed.” Pressing her uninjured palm to his chest, she struggled to sit up without the use of her right side and failed. She tried again and fell against him. “This is embarrassing, but could you please push me off the bed?”

  “Sure thing, Doc.” His laugh erupted easily as he straightened. Sliding his hands under her right hip, careful of her higher injuries, he rolled her onto her other side and pushed her legs over the edge of the mattress. “Nothing to it.”

  “Thank you.” Aubrey hesitated to stand, her back to him. “I appreciate you staying with me last night. It probably doesn’t seem like much to you, but I haven’t let someone else take care of me in a long time. All my energy, everything I do, has been to help the people I care about and the families of the deceased who come in my morgue. I forgot how good it feels to put myself first for once.”

  His gut clenched. Nicholas pushed to his feet, studying the curve of her spine down her back. Her obsession with being needed had nothing to do with ensuring the people she cared about were happy or that their lives were made easier because of her. Demanding to be part of her sister’s murder investigation didn’t benefit anyone. No. To Aubrey, being needed equated to being loved. Being valuable and worthy to the investigation fulfilled her, but the consequences of giving herself completely to external sources had taken a vicious toll. He’d held her last night because he’d recognized the exhaustion and pain in her eyes. He’d held her because of her drive to be close to others. He’d held her... Damn it, he’d held her because he wanted to be the one to help her forget what she’d been through.

  At no point in his career—in his life—had he felt more protective toward another person than he had the moment he’d found her on those docks. She’d been vulnerable, delirious from blood loss, physically weak. He’d sustained injuries of his own during the fight between him and the killer, but the minute he’d pried her desperate grip from the hand railing, he’d felt nothing but the need to care for her.

  Nicholas maneuvered around the end of the bed. He crouched in front of her. Hands leveraged on either side of her hips, he memorized the angles of her jawline, the smooth skin of her neck. Every cell in his body tuned to every cell in hers, and the defensive guard he’d used to protect himself from trusting her crumbled. “You’ve spent your entire personal and professional life in the service of others, Doc. You took care of Kara. You take care of your parents. Hell, you even try to comfort the families of the people who come across your slab. I’ve never met someone so sincere, compassionate and patient, but there’s only so much you can give before there’s nothing left. It’s your turn. Tell me what you need.”

  “You’ve done enough. You said I’m the one who saved your life, but you saved mine, too. You held me last night when I’m sure that’s the last way you wanted to spend your time on this case.” She shook her head, refusing to look up at him, and swiped at her cheeks. “I promise, you don’t have to do this—”

  “Yes, I do.” He intertwined his hand in hers. Her tears streaked across his fingers. “Tell me what you need from me.”

  Her shaky inhale reached his ears, and a sense of emotional awareness entered her expression. “I need a shower and chocolate doughnuts with rainbow sprinkles and to watch some cartoons. I need my sweatpants, because these scrubs are too itchy, and to scream as loud as I can because of what happened, and I need...” She visibly worked to catch her breath, and she squeezed his hand. “I need you to put your arms around me again, so I don’t feel like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces right here in the middle of this room.”

  Horror and a hint of embarrassment entered her expression, and she tried to pull back.

  “All right then,” he said. “Let’s start with the shower.”

  “What?” she asked. “You were serious?”

  “Serious as soggy underwear in the springtime.” Nicholas straightened, offering his hand to help her stand.

  Her laugh punctured through the low ringing in his ears and worked to destroy the defenses he’d been holding on to since learning who Cole Presley really was. Aubrey slipped her hand into his, the bruises on the backs of her knuckles a small testament of what she’d been through in the past few days. But more than that, proof she’d survived, that she was as strong as anyone could be in her situation, and a swelling of admiration and attraction heated under his skin. “That was...”

  “Worthy of a Dr. Flood favorite?” He pulled her to her feet, and she stumbled into him, her mouth level with his. A few centimeters. That was all that was left between them as she struggled to gain her balance.

  “I was going to say graphic, but yes. Definitely worthy of making it into my top five sayings. I might have to use that one myself someday.” Her smile accentuated the laugh lines around her nose, and he homed in on her lips. “Not sure of the context quite yet, though. I’ll have to work on that.”

  She’d tasted of honey and vanilla last night before she’d passed out on his chest—a figment of his imagination, he was sure. Because the truth was, trauma affected people in a lot of different ways. It’d broken down Aubrey’s obsession to be needed in less than forty-eight hours. Maybe his own trauma response triggered hallucinations, but the combination of her perfume and something inside told him he hadn’t imagined that kiss at all. Sweet as honey, addictive as vanilla.

  “Could you grab my sweatpants from off the floor for me?” She pointed to the pile of light gray material pooled at the end of the bed. “As much as I appreciate you helping me change out of my top last night, I think it’s best if I manage this part myself.”

  “Take your time. I’ll start the shower and work on getting one of the interns to deliver some chocolate doughnuts with sprinkles.” He bent and swept her sweats off the floor then handed them off. Heading toward the bathroom positioned between both ends of this particular container-turned-bedroom floor plan, he ran through the list she’d given him over and over until her words ingrained in his brain. I need you to put your arms around me again, so I don’t feel like I’m going to shatter into a million pieces right here in the middle of this room.

  “I kissed you last night,” she said.

  His gut clenched tighter, and Nicholas hesitated halfway to the bathroom door. His boots dragged against the industrial-style carpet as he turned partially toward her. Spreading his hands wide at his sides, he tried to get the feeling back into his fingertips as she stared at him. “What you’ve been through... It can have a lot of different effects on a person. I understand you didn’t mean anything by it. We can forget it happened and move on with our lives.”

  He wouldn’t. No matter how many times he’d tried last night as she pressed herself against him, he’d replayed the feeling of her softness dominating him from the outside in. People weren’t who they said they were. Cole Presley hadn’t been the support system Nicholas had needed growing up. He hadn’t been the father Nicholas wished had stuck around. Not really. He’d been a serial killer who got off on proving his power over innocent women for thirty damn years, and Nicholas had been too blind to see it. He’d taken big measures to ensure he was never fooled again, but Aubrey Flood had barreled into his life and turned his world upside down with that kiss.

  “And if I don’t want to forget it? What then?” She clutched her sweatpants a little too tightly at her side. “What if I meant it?”

  Nicholas faced her. One step. Two. He closed the distance between them. Spearing his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck, he crushed his mouth against hers.

  * * *

  AUBREY DROPPED THE sweatpants and fisted her uninjured hand in his shirt, barely able to hold herself upright as he swept past her lips and explored her mouth with a primal possessiveness. He tasted of salt and man and fed into her rolling need for comfort the longer he refused to let her go.

  It’d been so long since
she’d let someone get this close, afraid as soon as they discovered what she did for a living they’d run in the opposite direction. It’d happened too many times before, the rejection, the hurt. But Nicholas didn’t care about her career. The rough brush of his five-o’clock shadow shot awareness straight through her, and a moan slipped from her lips. He’d been willing to do whatever it took to help her work through the pain and fear clinging to her every thought. When was the last time someone had offered to help her with anything?

  Her lungs struggled to keep up with her racing heartbeat, and Aubrey pulled away to catch her breath. She set her forehead against his, forcing herself to unclench her fist from his shirt. To prove she could. Fortifying herself against dragging him closer, she pressed her hand into his chest. “That was sweeter than apple pie on a Sunday.”

  “You say the most flattering things.” His laugh rumbled up through her palm and straight through her chest. Nicholas circled his hand around hers and brought her fingertips to his lips. He kissed her middle finger, and she swore her knees gave out just a little bit. “I’m going to get that shower ready for you. After that, we can talk about doughnuts and cartoons.” Stepping back, he stole the warmth simmering from his touch and headed for the rectangular-shaped bathroom planted in the middle of the open floor plan. “You’re not alone in this, Aubrey. You still have people who care about you. No matter what happens, I want you to remember that.”

  No matter what happens? A rock materialized in the pit of her stomach. Her scapula and first ribs on her right side ached with the reminder the fractures had the potential to end her career. If she wasn’t able to be part of police investigations as a medical examiner, would she and Nicholas even see each other when this case was closed? More importantly, what was she supposed to do if she couldn’t help those families who needed answers? She nodded as the room started to spin. Whether from Nicholas’s kiss, the physical trauma she’d sustained or the idea of losing everything she’d worked for, she didn’t know. “I know.”