Scene of the Crime: Black Creek

“I kind of figured that out about you,” he replied dryly.

“What about you?” She reached out and grabbed the stem of her wineglass. He noticed that her fingernails were short and neat and appeared to be painted with clear polish.

She was definitely low maintenance when it came to personal appearance, so unlike the woman who had stolen his heart and then shattered it years ago.

He shoved away thoughts of Sarah. She had no place in his thoughts anymore. She didn’t deserve to be in his thoughts at all.

“Actually, I joined the academy to escape three older sisters who, when I was young, tried to transform me into another sister and now all think they are my mother.”

She smiled, a quick gesture that lasted only a moment. “Your mother is gone?” she asked.

He nodded. “A long time ago. She died of cancer when I was seven. My dad worked hard to take care of things, but the maternal stuff all came from my sisters. Dad passed away three years ago from a heart attack and since then my sisters have all stepped up their mothering of me. What about you? You have family somewhere?”

“None,” she replied without hesitation. “What do you think about our unsub? Maybe his parents got a divorce when he was young and he blames them for ruining his life so now he’s killing newlywed couples before they can become Mommy and Daddy and screw up another kid’s world.”

Mick didn’t miss how smoothly she’d deflected the conversation away from anything personal about herself and back to a professional topic. “Maybe, who knows? Maybe he just likes what he does and we’ll never know a motive that makes any kind of sense to anyone. Maybe he just does it for the thrill of it.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Those are the hardest kind of killers to catch, but I don’t think that’s what we’re looking at here. The fact that he’s already established a pattern in his victimology tells me there’s a reason for the murders, and we just need to crawl into his head to find it.”

“It’s not our job to get into his head,” Mick reminded her. “Our job is to hope that he gets us into his head and sees us as his next victims.”

“There’s no question that we’re his type. I just hope that there are a lot of brunette women on the streets over the next couple of days. That would definitely make it easier for him to spot me. I want him to make his move on us as quickly as possible.”

Mick reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Trying to get rid of me so fast?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Just remember that the better we play our parts the faster we’ll make it happen and then you won’t have to pretend that you’re in love with me any longer.”

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the waitress with their food. While they ate they kept the conversation neutral, mostly talking about the sights they’d seen earlier while strolling down the streets. Several times Mick tried to learn a little about her past, about her parents and where she’d come from, but she deftly managed to respond to his questions without giving him any real answers.

There was a mystery in the depths of her eyes. He sensed secrets in her past, and as far as Mick was concerned there was nothing so inviting as a woman with many layers.

The next couple of days or so should be very interesting, he thought as he eyed Cassie across the table. He wanted to learn a little more about her, unpeel some of the layers to expose the woman beneath the efficient, anal-retentive agent, and if that wasn’t enough, he had a killer to bring down.

* * *

HE WATCHED THEM from across the street, the dark-haired man and the petite blonde eating dinner at a table near the window of the restaurant.

They were perfect.

They were just what he liked.

And they were FBI agents.

By now, Matt and Janice Campbell, who ran the Sweetheart Suites, would have told half a dozen friends all about the three agents who had checked into the suite next to Mr. and Mrs. Crawford and the audio equipment they’d installed in that cabin. Of course, Matt and Janice would have sworn each and every person they told to secrecy, but there weren’t many secrets in Black Creek.

Three FBI agents holed up in a cottage and two more pretending to be newlyweds, and they all were here because of him.

To catch him.

A thrill swept through him, warming his heart, which had been cold for a long time. FBI agent or not, the woman definitely stirred him. She appeared so fragile, so dainty and small of stature. He could imagine the silky feel of her pale blond hair entwined with his fingers, imagine the horror of her blue eyes as she realized she was about to die.

The very sight of her whirled a rage through him that had been born two years ago and had only been sated twice since then, and that had been when he’d killed those other two couples.

Clenching his hands into fists at his sides he watched as she picked up her wineglass and took a sip. It tickled him that he knew they were playing a part specifically to trap him.

He was sure they’d studied all the facts of the other murders, memorized each and every detail of his handiwork. But he’d been good. He’d been very good. He’d left nothing behind to identify him, no trail for them to follow.

And now they thought they were one step ahead of him, dangling the perfect bait right before his hungry eyes. Yes, that definitely amused him.

He knew they were expecting him to strike in their room, just like he’d taken down the others. They would believe that when danger came it would appear at their cottage door late in the evening.

They would anticipate that he’d established a pattern and would continue to repeat that pattern. That’s why they were here. That’s why there were three agents in the cottage next to theirs, to wait for him to take their bait, to watch for him to make his move.

He turned and headed down the street, leaving the two to their “romantic” meal. What they didn’t know was that he was on to them.

They had no clue that all of their preparations, all their anticipation of his next move was for nothing. Oh, yes, he was on to them and all that meant was that it was time to change his pattern so he could take them down.

The fact that they were FBI agents didn’t matter. What did matter was they were a perfect couple…that she was the perfect woman to take away his rage…at least for a little while.

Chapter Four

Cassie awoke just before dawn, superaware of Mick in the bed next to her. The scent of his spicy cologne lingered faintly in the air and even though he was several inches away from her she imagined she could feel the warmth of his body radiating outward to embrace her.

She’d been awake for most of the night, afraid that somehow in her sleep she’d roll over against Mick or worse, snuggle against him while dreaming.

She’d known it would be awkward and it had been, at least for her. Thankfully, when they’d returned to the cabin after dinner she’d gone directly into the bathroom, where she’d changed into a pair of navy blue short-sleeved cotton pajamas, and when she’d come out Mick had already been in bed wearing a T-shirt and a pair of boxers.

She’d slid beneath the sheets on her side of the bed and had held her breath. She had no idea what to expect from him, was afraid that he might try a repeat of what they had shared months ago.

Instead he’d murmured a good-night and within minutes his light snores had filled the air and Cassie had tried her best to relax.

But “relax” didn’t seem to be in her body’s repertoire of tricks, and sleep seemed out of the question altogether. The day’s events played and replayed in her mind. Had the killer already seen them? Was he at this very moment deciding the right time to somehow attempt to gain entry into their room and commit murder once again?

She knew the door was locked and both she and Mick had their service revolvers on the nightstands on either side of the bed. If somebody came through the door they’d be faced with the business end of two guns and the additional support of the three agents in the next cottage.

Then there was the issue of the physical contact with Mick throughout the afternoon and evening. It had been difficult. Each touch of his hand had evoked memories of what they’d shared that single night six months before.

She didn’t want to think about that night, when for a brief moment in his arms she’d finally felt at home, that she was where she belonged. It had been a feeling meant to fool her, to beckon her to let down her guard. And that would be a huge mistake.