Relief burned in.
"Is everything all right?"
"Absolutely." What was she supposed to do? Admit what she'd begun to suspect? It would only add to his hell. "I called this morning. Twice. You didn't answer. And you didn't call back."
"I'm sorry. It's been a lousy day. I woke to that article in the paper. They didn't name you, but I knew it had to be your case. I wasn't sure if you could talk about it and, well, I was in shock. I knew both victims. Jason Dunne and I served together in Iraq. He started at Fort Leaves six months ago. He'd joined Manning's group and swore it helped, convinced me to give it a shot. I suppose I needed to make sure he was really gone, so I went to his place. That's where I got your call—right after I hung up with Dad's nurse. He'd had a bad night and I wasn't in the mood to talk."
"And Kusić?"
Grant shrugged. "Not much to tell there. Ian and I had been having our own private sessions, usually over lunch. He knew my brother from Afghanistan, but I didn't particularly like him. Out of respect for Dan, I tried to get him to join the group. But...Ian had bigger issues."
"Oxycontin?"
Another nod. "And Xanax. It's a nasty combination to withdraw from. That's why I took vacation. Ian was supposed to take leave with his girlfriend. I tried to convince him to stay behind and get cleaned up instead. I have privileges at a local, non-VA clinic. With an IV and meds, I could've had him off the oxy and Xanax by the end of his leave. When he refused, I decided to spend it with my dad."
"Did Ian and Jason know each other?"
"I don't know."
"What about Liz Vogel? Why didn't you tell me you'd seen her?"
That one caused Grant's neck and cheeks to turn red. "We ran into each other a couple weeks ago outside Manning's office after a group session. I knew if you discovered the particulars of our reunion...let's just say, you haven't exactly been open to the idea of therapy."
No, she hadn't.
But she wasn't fond of lies either, even those of omission. Especially from a lover.
Unfortunately, that was the least of their problems. His tire treads might not match, but she'd looked.
That said it all, didn't it?
She held up the phone. This time, Grant took it.
"Thanks."
"Don't thank me yet. Your day's about to get worse. We're not just dealing with two murders. We've got three. We found Andrea Silva today. Same sick slice-and-dice. Same row of bags strung out along a little-used gravel road. And I hate to tell you this, but you were my best connection."
Grant stood motionless, staring at her.
At first, she thought he was pissed. That he'd felt she was being flip, or even accusatory. Until she heard him draw a slow, tortured breath into his lungs. Then another. That was all he did. All he appeared capable of doing.
"Grant?"
"I...I knew her too. I've worked with her. Andrea is—was—one of the best OR nurses at my facility. I haven't seen her lately, but she was good people."
Kate waited for him to add more, but he just drew another labored breath and stared at...nothing. When he finally spoke, she swore it was more to himself than to her.
"It's true, isn't it? Someone's killing us off."
"I'm afraid so. Can you think of anyone who might be capable of going after VA staff in so heinous a manner? A disgruntled or emotionally tortured patient, or perhaps a relative of a patient?"
He shook his head. But he was still caught up in his own thoughts, obviously not focused on her.
"Grant, why would someone steal blood?"
That caused his attention to lock in. "What?"
"Blood. Why would someone steal it? Not units intended for transfusion, mind you. A smaller amount, as in a few vials."
It was long shot, especially with his current mood. But he was a doctor. Surely, if anyone would know, he would?
"Kate, I don't understand. What does a vial of blood have to do with those murders?"
"Probably nothing. But a patient claims Ian Kusić had been drawing more blood than ordered by physicians at Fort Leaves. But only from certain patients. Can you think of a reason why?"
He raked his fingers through his hair. "Hell, I can think of a thousand. Everything from DNA research to leukemia testing. But nothing that would get the man killed. Did you ask his co-workers? Maybe he was assisting with an unauthorized research project."
"I haven't had a chance." His ex-girlfriend had fallen into a drug-induced slumber and she'd been too busy returning to Braxton to assist with the third crime scene to question anyone else.
"I'll do it."
"No."
"Why not? I don't mean to be insulting, but if a co-worker did notice Ian drawing extra blood and figured out why, it's not as though you'd understand what he was working on."
Wow. Intentions aside, that was insulting.
"Thanks, but I'll risk my stupidity. After all, there's a guy out there stalking VA employees, stringing them up and hacking them into tidy sections after they've been bled dry. I might not understand ninety percent of what comes out of your mouth in an operating room, but I doubt you could take this bastard down with a single shot from a 9mm at over a hundred meters, let alone track him down to get him in your sights."
"You're right—and I'm sorry." He shoved the sleeves of his sweater up his forearms as he scowled. "Christ, what a mess."
Excellent assessment.
Kate stared at the blood dripping from the impaled heart that had been inked into his arm during his first tour over there. Fellow fucked-up vet or not, he'd also reminded her of why the two of them were at the end of their run.
Hell, she was beginning to wonder why they'd begun. Lonely or not, they should've stayed "just friends".
Grant stepped closer, reached out. "Kate—"
Ruger's growl stopped him short. His words, and that hand. The Shepherd's third vocalization since the Bronco's appearance. And this growl was still reverberating deep inside the dog's throat. And it was getting louder.
Deadlier.
Lord, Ruger was pissed today. To the extent that she was beginning to wonder if this man had been inside the house earlier, despite that absolving tread.
"Grant—"
His phone rang.
"Just a sec." He retrieved his smartphone and stepped back as he glanced at the screen. "It's dad's nurse. I'm late for dinner and she needs to leave. I know you're swamped, but if you joined me—even for an hour—we could finish this."
She had every intention of doing precisely that, just not how he assumed. But dumping the man in front of his father—a man whose cancer had not only returned, but progressed to terminal—was not her idea of the right time. She'd visit Abel soon, but not with his remaining son in tow. "I can't. We're setting up a task force. I've got an FBI agent sifting through evidence at the state morgue as we speak so he can work up a psychological profile, and a fellow investigator from my CID days burning pizza in my kitchen while he waits for a briefing."
"The Army already sent someone in? Anyone I know?"
She had no idea. Nor was she in the mood to facilitate an introduction. "Joe Cordoba. We worked together a lot, most recently during my last tour in Afghanistan. He caught the flash traffic that came through and volunteered to fly in."
"Doesn't ring a bell. I'd best be going anyway. Dad's mood can turn dour by dinner. By his own admission, too much time alone with his thoughts."
She didn't wish Grant goodbye, much less feign disappointment as he climbed into his Bronco. She glanced down at Ruger as he drove off. She'd been in her drive for half an hour, and the Shepherd hadn't budged from her side.
Ruger's steady stare tracked the SUV's fading taillights, then swung up to hers.
"Okay, so you were right about the guy." In her defense, she could count on three fingers the human males Ruger did like.
A noise suspiciously close to a human snort emanated from his snout.
"Very funny." She scratched his ears to show her appreciation for his h
aving had her back. Again. "What do you say, buddy? I smell pizza. You ready to eat?"
Ruger took off like a shot, beating her up the walk and onto the porch. He sniffed at the tantalizing air, chuffing and groaning in anticipation as she opened the door.
Joe greeted them from the kitchen's arch, one of her striped dishtowels hooked over his forearm. "I see you've still got that internal Holland food timer. And—surprise, surprise—your drooling dog inherited it. Unfortunately, the pizza's still got a couple minutes left in the oven."
"Mind if I grab a shower? Five minutes, tops." She could still feel the sweat from that panic attack stiffening her clothes. And there was the dust and grime from that last scene.
That stone cross.
"Sure thing. It has to cool anyway."
Ruger plopped his massive form across the hall's entrance as she continued to her room. She peeled off her Braxton PD jacket and backup piece and dumped them on the foot of the bed. Fresh undergarments and navy blue sweats in hand, Kate entered the bath. She shut the door and let the water heat as she stripped off her uniform. Laying her 9mm beside the sink, she groaned as she stepped beneath the blissful spray.
Too many tours in combat zones had her scrubbed, dried and dressed in under the promised five. She tucked her 9mm in the rear waistband of her string-tied sweats as she made her way back up the hall.
Ruger stood as she reached his side, escorting her to the kitchen table where Joe, a pair of paper plates, two napkins, mugs and an already-sliced deluxe pizza waited. Thankfully, Joe had chosen the spot opposite her dad's. The day she'd had, she'd have been forced to ask him to move.
Joe closed the folder he'd retrieved from Seth's SUV and shoved it aside as she took her seat.
"You weren't exaggerating. That dog of yours takes his guard duties seriously. I tried to lure him to the kitchen with a slice of cheese I found in the fridge, but he wouldn't budge. I was about to walk it to him when he suggested in no uncertain terms that I reconsider."
"Sorry. Ruger had a rough start in life a few deer seasons ago, hence his name. I think he holds that hunter's bullet against most men."
"No worries. He's not as bad as the ball of fluff Elise took in during my last deployment. That poodle has twice as much hair as your guy and is barely the size of his paw."
"It's a teacup?"
"Uh-huh. Yappy thing, too. Especially when I'm forced to drag it and a plastic baggie around the designated dog yard outside our apartment so it can crap."
Kate laughed at the idea of a pained Joe carrying a poop baggie and a tiny, yipping French poodle. She continued laughing simply because it felt so good to let loose. She knew he'd given her that image to diffuse the remaining tension between them, and it made her appreciate him all the more. Nor did she doubt the story.
Joe and Elise had been sweethearts since junior high. They'd met outside the girls' bathroom after Elise tried to make it inside to give herself a shot of insulin. Unfortunately, she'd passed out first. To hear Elise tell it, if Joe hadn't needed to use the facilities in the middle of earth science that day, she'd have been dead before the next bell rang. Joe had been her designated knight in shining armor ever since.
A role he'd taken seriously through six rescued cats, three rabbits, two ferrets, countless fantail goldfish and a sadly mute, haphazardly feathered cockatiel. And now, apparently, a tiny, yapping poodle.
Kate flopped against her chair and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thanks. I needed that."
"Figured as much. That's a rotten scene to process. And to push through three of them in two days? It's a miracle you're not blubbering in the corner, rocking back and forth."
"We've seen worse."
"Yeah, but this one was painfully close to home, literally and figuratively." He reached for a slice of pizza.
"You don't know the half of it."
His hand paused over the crust and waited.
Kate squared off the plate he'd set out for her, then rearranged her napkin. Finally, the cup of coffee he'd poured. "That first scene you visited? The cross at the side of the road? You were right. That's where my dad was hit. Where he died. I...uh...haven't been out there since I got back."
Joe retrieved the slice of pizza beneath his hand and laid it on his plate. "From Afghanistan?"
She nodded.
"Kate, it's going on damned near four years."
Yeah, well, "It's kind of a long story."
"One of those chapters deal with why you didn't take emergency leave and fly back for the funeral?"
Yup.
She kept the confirmation to herself. And Joe, being Joe, knew enough to let it drop. Or maybe he simply remembered her toasted blather from the night he and Max had pulled her out of an underground bar in Kabul a couple hours after she'd received that pithy note from the Red Cross.
She was fairly certain it was the latter when Joe's hand repeated its path to the pizza. He set this slice on her plate and sat back to retrieve his coffee. "So, you going to fill me in on the case, or what?"
With a subtle transition like that, how could she not?
Kate retrieved her laptop from the computer desk in the den. She set it on the table so they could access the files the department had been amassing on all three murders. As she pulled up the first, she passed on Lou's information about Andrea Silva, along with the detail that Kusić had been mixing Xanax with the oxy. Though she and Joe had worked both those mass graves together in Iraq, she held off on the crime scene photos until the bulk of the pizza had been demolished.
Joe toyed with a piece of crust as she finally loaded the photos, only to dump it on his plate.
"Jesus. Is it just me, or do you get the feeling you're standing at the meat counter in a grocery store?"
"That's what Lou said."
Knowing Joe would study them later, she clicked through the remaining photos as swiftly as she dared and pushed the laptop aside. As she reached for the folder Seth had provided, she realized Ruger was still sitting beside her chair, patiently waiting for his portion of her dinner.
Kate flipped one of her pizza bones in the air. Ruger dutifully caught it in mid-descent. Joe held out a crust of his own as Ruger finished chewing.
Ruger simply stared.
"Not gonna budge, huh? Buddy, I could tell you stories about how I saved your mistress' hide. She's in my debt, you know."
"Really? Would you like to re-tally that score right now?" He knew full well she'd have to add a mission into her column that involved a certain house they'd cleared in Ramadi as MPs, a house Joe's ass wouldn't have left alive if it hadn't been for her.
"Hell, no. I'm good." He was still chuckling at the mutual memory as her phone rang.
They both sobered.
"It's Tonga, my ME. Grab the coffee. We'll head out back." Kate opened the deck door to let Ruger stretch his legs as she accepted the call. He'd been cooped up all day. "What've you got, doc?"
"Agent Walker and I are at the state lab. Dr. Tolman has the preliminary results from the toxicology tests on Jason Dunne. He was able to confirm Mr. Dunne's steroid abuse; the man was negative for oxycodone. Unfortunately, the samples from Ian Kusić were compromised. Dr. Tolman is retrieving new samples personally. They'll be tested as soon as possible."
"What about Xanax?"
"Mr. Dunne was negative. Were you expecting a different result?"
"Not with Dunne. But I spoke with a VA surgeon who knew Kusić." Kate shook her head as Joe paused near a cushioned lounge chair. It was Ruger's. Sitting there would put him on the dog's poop list for life. "The surgeon says Kusić was using oxy and Xanax."
"I'll let Dr. Tolman know. But first, I have more. We also found traces of doxacurium in Mr. Dunne's tissues. DOX is a surgical paralytic...but there were no traces of anesthesia."
She caught Joe's eye as he set their coffees down on the cedar table. "Are you saying the killer paralyzed Dunne, but deliberately failed to knock him out?"
The bastard had wanted Dunne awake?
The hell with Ruger's feelings. Kate took two stunted steps and dropped into the dog's chair as the implications of Tonga's information reverberated through her gut. "Jesus."
Joe returned his coffee to the table and stood. "Everything okay?"
She waved him back down to his chair. "Is there anything else, doc?"
"I'm afraid so. We also found signs of intubation in the mouths of both male victims, so they were breathing for some minutes following paralysis. How many, we don't know. We haven't begun to examine the third victim, but I suspect similar results. I will, of course, keep you appraised. Also, we still are no closer to the precise cause of death for any of them."
Hell, in light of what they now knew, the victims could've died of terror.
She drew a deep breath and purged it. "Okay. Thanks." Severing the connection, she stared blindly at the phone, unwilling to join Joe at the table to finish her coffee.
Thankfully, they'd already eaten. She wouldn't have been able to stomach pizza either.
"What's wrong?"
"The men." She stood and reluctantly headed for the table. "They were intubated and given a paralytic to keep them breathing and immobile, but that's it. No anesthesia, no pain meds. They had to know what was coming—and probably watched and felt the opening slices."
How long did it take to pass out from pain?
Four years was a long time. She couldn't remember. Or maybe she just didn't want to.
Kate dumped the phone next to her untouched coffee.
"You okay?"
"No." She was fed up and she was tired. Damn, was she tired.
Joe shoved his coffee aside and covered her hand with his. "How much sleep did you log last night? Two hours, three?"
"Sounds about right."
"That's it." He tugged his hand from hers and stood. "Let's go."
"Where?"
"Me, to this mystery cabin of yours. Where I will read until I am sick to my stomach and my heart as I wait for your ME to drop off Agent Walker. And you, Deputy Holland, are going to bed while you can still get there under your own power."
The Garbage Man Page 17