by Tee O'Fallon
After getting into the SUV, he took in Kat’s somber expression and swore inwardly. He needed to keep his shit together and not get sidetracked. If he allowed that to happen, he wouldn’t be able to do his job, and there could be another family minus a loved one.
The Vandenburg family.
Chapter Nine
Kat stole occasional glances at Dayne as they drove back down the Palisades Parkway to the Orangetown Police Department. Since leaving Amy’s house, he hadn’t said a single word, not even to give her another bossy FBI directive.
“Is anything wrong?” she asked.
He frowned. “You mean, aside from the fact that Tommy and Luke’s mother was murdered by some motherfu—homicidal maniac? No.” His thick forearms bunched and rippled as he gripped the wheel tighter.
Contrary to his words, he wasn’t great. That much was clear, even if he wouldn’t admit it. As if sensing his mood, Remy rested her muzzle on the ledge.
There’d been a moment back at the house, albeit a fleeting one, when the emotions on his face and in his body language had given him away. He was grieving, but he was so strong and confident it was easy to forget that, like her, he’d also lost a close friend. “Don’t you want to say something bossy and controlling?” She smiled, hoping to crack through that thick armor shell he wore like a second skin.
Dayne snorted. “Maybe later.” He rewarded her with the slight upturn of his mouth.
She hated seeing anyone in pain. Cops and federal agents were always portrayed on TV and in movies as a tough breed that never confessed their inner feelings. Not to a virtual stranger, anyway. She didn’t want them to be strangers. Quite the opposite.
“I know I said I wouldn’t pry into your personal life again, but—”
“Go for it.” He slowed the vehicle as he took the exit for Orangeburg.
That was easier than she’d expected. “You said you didn’t know your father, and your mother died when you were just a boy. Who took care of you?”
“When I was twelve, a great family adopted me. I was the luckiest kid on the planet.” He guided the SUV into the police station, a large two-story brick building with an American flag whipping back and forth on a pole.
“Wait, you said your mother died when you were ten. Where were you for the two years before you were adopted?”
He parked in the lot reserved for police personnel. “Some of that time I spent in the system. Mostly, I lived on the street.”
She widened her eyes. “You lived on the street? As a ten-year-old?” How was that possible in this day and age? Her heart went out to the little boy Dayne used to be. She couldn’t imagine being so young and so alone in a big city. “How did you survive?”
He shoved the gearshift into park and stared straight ahead. “I wasn’t alone. I—” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “We need to get inside.”
She pressed her lips together, wishing he wouldn’t shut her out and wondering why she cared so much that he had.
After cranking on the AC, he shoved open the driver side door then came around to her side. Remy uttered a mournful whimper as Dayne clicked the locks shut.
“Will she be okay in there?” Kat glanced over her shoulder to see Remy’s nose pressed to the window, leaving a wet rosette on the glass.
“As long as the AC’s on.” He hustled her to the station steps, looking in all directions and casting one last glance behind them before they went inside.
The reception desk, if one could call it that, was encased by tinted glass on all sides and was higher than the lobby floor, enabling the officer behind the glass to look down on anyone entering the station. She’d bet the glass was bulletproof.
Dayne tugged a black wallet from his back pocket, flipped it open, and held it up for the officer. “Special Agent Andrews and Katrina Vandenburg to see Detective Paulson. He’s expecting us.”
“Yes, sir. He’s been waiting for you. Stand by.” The officer, whom she could barely see through the tinted glass, picked up the desk phone and said something she couldn’t hear. “He’s coming right out.”
Less than half a minute later, a door on the far wall opened.
“C’mon in,” Detective Paulson said. “Your sketch artist got here a few minutes ago. He’s setting up his laptop.”
They hadn’t taken two steps when the lobby door opened, and several people entered the building. Dayne inserted himself between her and the new arrivals, eyeing them cautiously.
Would the killer really come for her inside a police station? The thought seemed ludicrous, but she appreciated Dayne’s protectiveness. Around him, her sense of safety was a solid ten out of ten.
The heavy door clunked shut behind them and they followed Paulson down a long, gray-walled corridor. They passed several uniformed officers and another man wearing a suit and tie. They all stared at her as if she were a leper. To Dayne, they offered curt greetings with quick nods.
Paulson led them into the last room on the right. Two other men in dark suits, detectives, she assumed, sat behind desks. Another man dressed more casually, in khakis and a blue polo shirt, sat at another.
“Guys,” Paulson said, “this is FBI agent Dayne Andrews and Katrina Vandenburg, the witness. She’ll be working with the sketch artist this morning.” The other detectives rose from their chairs. Both were tall and fit and could have been poster boys for police recruitment ads, but neither was as tall as Dayne or, by her estimation, as fit. “Detectives Toby Jacobs and Ron Ganelli. They’re assisting on this case.”
“Ma’am.” Detective Jacobs nodded to her then held out his hand for Dayne to shake.
Ma’am. She still hated that. Was it something they taught at police academies? It might be worth calling in a favor in Albany to change that.
Detective Ganelli gave her a polite nod, staring a bit longer than necessary and ramping up her discomfort even more. Neither man had made a move to shake her hand. Was it because she was a witness? Either way, she hadn’t been this nervous since her first cotillion.
“Jim, good to see you.” Dayne went to the third man at the desk in the corner, who stood.
“You, too, Dayne.” The two men shook hands. “Sorry to hear about Becca.”
“Thanks.” His gave a tight nod. “Kat, this is Jim Snow, the best composite sketch artist in the agency.”
Jim laughed. “Well, I don’t know about that, but hopefully I can earn that distinction today. Nice to meet you.” Mercifully, he held out his hand, giving her a genuine smile and putting her instantly at ease. “Have a seat and we’ll get started.” He pulled out the chair he’d been sitting in, waiting for her to sit before rolling over another chair next to hers.
“I’ll fill you in on what we’ve learned since yesterday,” Paulson said, walking off and indicating Dayne should follow.
“Where are you going?” Her voice was unintentionally high-pitched. She sounded like a scared rabbit.
“I’ll be right over there.” He canted his head to the fourth desk in the room where Paulson was seating himself. “I’ll check in on you.”
She nodded. It wasn’t that she didn’t think these other men who also wore guns the size of small cannons wouldn’t protect her if the killer appeared out of thin air. Around Dayne she felt safer. Maybe it was because she knew him. But she didn’t, not really. So what is it about him? She honestly couldn’t say.
“Dayne already filled me in on the generalities.” Jim’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and the screen filled with individual boxes containing blank head shapes with varying hairlines. “This app has hundreds of variables to choose from. Face shape, hair, nose, lips, scars, facial hair. This little baby has it all.” He gave the top of the laptop an affectionate pat.
Across the room, Dayne sat in a chair opposite Paulson’s desk and accepted a handful of documents the detective handed him. The skin between his brows and just over hi
s nose crinkled.
She turned to see Jim’s lips quirk. “Dayne’s a good guy and an outstanding agent. He and Remy are the best K-9 team in the business. So don’t worry. They’ve got your back.” Jim refocused his attention on the screen. “Let’s get started. Take a look at these face shapes. When you see one that resembles the guy from last night, touch your finger to the screen over the same box. You can also scroll down to find more shapes.”
“There are so many. I don’t know if I can remember all that detail.” After all, she’d only seen his face for a few seconds, and the mask still covered the top of his head.
“That’s okay.” His tone was gentle and patient. “Pick the best one you can to start, and then keep going with the other features. We can always come back and change it. Usually, what happens is, you select all the features, look at the image, then things start coming back to you. Like his nose is too long. Or his eyes aren’t set deep enough. Take your time. We’ll get there.”
Overwhelmed. That was the word that came to mind as she scrolled through the options. Finally, she stopped at a face that was neither oval nor angular. It was just plain average. When she touched her finger to one of the options, the face shape filled the screen. The left margin populated with different-shaped ears.
“Now choose the ears. Did they stick out or lie flat against the sides of his head?”
“A little of both. Somewhere in between.” Again, average. She dragged her fingers on the screen then tapped one of the images. Ears appeared on the sides of the face.
“Did you see his hair?”
“Only for a moment. He was wearing a mask that I pulled up for a few seconds. It was short, but not crew cut.”
“Color?”
“Brown.”
“Eyebrows. Were they thick or thin? Arched or straight?”
“Brown. No, maybe black. I’m not sure.” She tapped her finger on the desk as the image began drifting away.
Jim took over and quickly added some features. “Eye color?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she struggled to recall his face. A shudder ran through her as she remembered his hands wrapped around her throat, cutting off her airway.
“Easy.” Gentle hands rested on her shoulders, and she flinched. “You’re safe here.” She released a tight breath. For such a big man, Dayne moved with the stealth and silence of a cougar. “Keep your eyes closed and try to remember.”
She might be having difficulty remembering the man who tried to end her life, but she distinctly recalled Dayne’s familiar touch from last night while he’d been inspecting her injuries.
Warm breath skimmed across her ear as he leaned down to view the screen. She trembled again, not from fear this time. All Dayne had to do was stand behind her, and her nerve endings went haywire. “Think back to last night and tell me what you saw.”
With his big hands keeping her grounded, she let herself drift back to that awful moment. Her attacker’s eyes were indeed brown but with a glint of deadly intent she would never forget. “Brown eyes. Dark brown hair. Straight brows.”
“That’s it.” His low, soothing voice kept her in the moment. “What else do you see?”
“A beard and a mustache. Not thick and bushy. Trimmed neat and close to his face.” Still keeping her eyes closed, she heard Jim’s movements as he adjusted the image on his laptop. “His nose was a bit rounded on the bottom, but not too much. His lips were pressed together, so it’s hard to know if they were really that thin. His chin was slightly pointed, but not too much and definitely not a cleft chin.”
“Open your eyes,” Dayne said. “Does that look like him?”
She twisted her lips. “Almost. There was more space between his eyebrows and eyes.”
Using his thumb and forefinger on the screen, Jim adjusted the space.
“His nose was a little longer.” She waited for Jim to make more adjustments. When he finished, a chill crept up her spine. The likeness was so startling she could barely breathe.
Because she was staring at the face of the man who’d tried to kill her.
Chapter Ten
“Is that him?” Dayne asked. Kat didn’t look at him, didn’t utter a word. Her body was as unmoving as a marble statue. “Kat?”
Slowly, she nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think so.”
The image depicted a man so generic there was nothing about him that would ever stand out in a crowd. On a scale of one to ten the chances of getting a definitive hit off facial recognition were about zilch because he’d look like half the men in every database. They’d get way too many hits to follow up on.
“Good job.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. To Jim he said, “Can you send the image to me and Detective Paulson?”
Paulson rattled off his department email.
“You got it.” Jim clicked the mouse to save the image.
“Make sure you copy ASAC Barstow and SAC Peters,” Dayne added. “I’ll call them in a minute to have someone run it through NGI.” The FBI’s Next Generation Identification System and many states’ DMVs now used state-of-the-art facial recognition technology. It was a long shot, but still worth a try.
“I’ll print out some color copies and distribute them to everyone in the department. I can also put out a county-wide alert.” Paulson headed back to his desk. A minute later, the printer on a nearby credenza began spewing out copies. The detective retrieved the sheets, handing one to Dayne and one to Kat.
“What is it?” he asked, when she frowned at the image.
“Something about the eyes still isn’t right. They were cloudy.”
“In what way?”
“I once wore green contact lenses to a Halloween charity event. I dressed up as a witch. The contacts made my eyes look green, but also cloudy.”
“So he could be wearing contacts. If that’s the case, his eyes could be any color.”
“Which means,” Paulson interjected, “it will be that much harder to get a positive ID on the guy.”
“We good here?” Jim caught his eye. “I’ve got another appointment downtown.”
“We’re good, man. Thanks for coming.”
A minute later, Jim had packed up his equipment and was out the door. Kat continued staring at the image, gripping the edges of the paper tighter until her knuckles whitened.
“What’s wrong?” Her face had paled considerably.
“I just can’t believe I’m sitting here in a police station, looking at a sketch of the man who murdered two people and tried to kill me, too. It’s surreal.” He glimpsed her pain, and something he hadn’t felt in a very long time pierced his gut.
Like many cops, he’d witnessed so many victims of violent crimes he’d been forced to build walls to protect his sanity. Watching her suffer pounded at those self-imposed boundaries. Not penetrating, just leaving little indentations in his emotional armor. Even more shocking was that he wanted to comfort her. Bad idea. His brain never got the message, and he reached out to rest his hand on her shoulder when both their cell phones dinged.
He cued up the email Emily had sent regarding security company options, quickly scrolling down the screen. Beside him, Kat did the same on her phone.
“I can’t tell one company from the other.” Her brows scrunched as she read the email. “Emily says your friends have completely taken over the castle.”
He chuckled. “Kade’s the best.” He continued scrolling through the list of companies. “Hire All Time Security and make sure they can have people on duty by this afternoon.” He started typing in the manpower and scheduling he wanted. “You’ll need three guards twenty-four seven. One outside the Haven, two outside the castle.”
“You really do like giving orders, don’t you?” Amusement glimmered in her eyes.
“Like I said, it’s an FBI thing.” He couldn’t stop the gri
n forming on his lips, or the idiotic way his heart thumped a little faster.
She gave an utterly feminine snort. “And where will you be stationed during all of this?”
“With you, at all times. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.” The realization of what he’d just committed to had him gripping the phone tighter. Having personal feelings for a witness could turn into a shitstorm.
“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t realized that—”
“That I’d be with you every second of the day? Yep, that’s the plan.” Along with not letting her out of his sight. Except while she slept, of course.
“I see.” She began typing out a reply to Emily.
He gave a mental sigh of relief that she gave in so easily. Protective services weren’t his forte, but he didn’t trust her safety to anyone else. That, and it would have trashed his ego if she’d told him to pound sand.
When she’d finished typing, she dropped her phone back into her purse. Again, she swallowed, only this time it was accompanied by a deep breath and the tip of her tongue darting over her lips. She was worried, and she should be. Hell, he was worried, too.
“Between the security guards, the new alarm system, and me and Remy with you, you’ll be safe. I promise.” This time when he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, the tension in her body seemed to lessen. “Okay?”
Their gazes locked. “Okay.”
Unspoken understanding passed between them, along with something else he wouldn’t—no, shouldn’t—put a label on, let alone give voice to. It was in the way his heart skittered faster and how parts of his body had just gone on red alert. No matter how much he fought it, that something else zinging between them could only be one thing. Desire.
Paulson returned to the office and Dayne yanked his hand away, feeling like a teenage kid caught by his girlfriend’s father. From the smirk plastering the detective’s face, he hadn’t missed a thing.
“If you can spare a few minutes,” Paulson said, “I’ll give you an update.”