If Looks Could Kill

A moment later, Jassy dived over the side of the boat.

“What’s going on, Mommy?” Carrie Anne asked.

She hesitated. “Somebody had an accident. We’re going to have to go back to shore, honey.”

Carrie Anne slipped her arms around Madison’s waist as they stared at the water. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

She glanced at her daughter, surprised. “Hey, sweetie, I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Carrie Anne said, and hugged her tighter.

Watching the surface of the water, Madison wondered uneasily if the man in her sister’s life could be Kyle. They’d both looked so comfortable that morning, sitting at the table with her father.

Kyle had just arrived in south Florida, she reminded herself. But then, Jassy had said that her affair was just beginning. And most of their pseudofamily had visited Kyle through the years, including Jassy.

Madison fought back a wave of sick jealousy, trying to tell herself again that Kyle was no longer a part of her life.

Still…

Jassy had talked about keeping things quiet. About having “reasons.” Madison felt a knot in her stomach.

A few minutes later, the two broke the surface.

“Got it!” Jassy called cheerfully. “Radio in, Madison. We’ve got to get the law out here.”

Jassy. Cute as a button. Smart as they came. Perfect for Kyle? There wasn’t a squeamish bone in her body. Where Madison had nearly panicked at the sight of the severed arm, Jassy found the discovery intriguing.

Madison radioed in, then took Carrie Anne with her to the galley to make coffee.

A Coast Guard cutter arrived. Madison got her first chance to see Mr. FBI in action when a loudmouthed lieutenant started in on Jassy and Kyle for having picked up the arm. In a cool, polite tone, Kyle informed the man of who he was and why he was in Florida. Then he introduced Jassy and informed the man of her position. All very politely. But by the time he was done, he was receiving ingratiating apologies, and he and Jassy were being invited for a dive down to see if any more body parts might be found.

They both declined. Jassy, however, was upset to realize that the arm wasn’t actually hers to investigate. She was Dade County, and this was Monroe. However, the lieutenant assured her consolingly that since the facilities in Dade were so excellent, the Monroe authorities would likely be glad to allow Dade a look at the specimen. Especially considering the recent occurrences in Dade.

Madison didn’t have anything to say on the way back in, and when they reached her father’s house, she immediately took Carrie Anne in for a shower. Once her daughter had, surprisingly and obligingly, slipped into bed for a nap, Madison closed the door softly on her room and hurried down the corridors of the house.

Her father’s office door was locked. When he was busy and no one was to interrupt him unless death threatened or the sky was falling, he taped a picture of a growling bear on the door.

The picture was in place.

Madison glanced outside and saw that Kyle was stretched out on one of the pool lounges, facedown. His bathing suit was wet, so he’d been in the pool. She slipped out the glass doors and went to his side, taking a seat on the lounge beside his.

He turned over immediately.

Shades in place.

He sat up, as she was doing, looking at her. “Carrie Anne okay?”

“Of course.”

“Does she have any idea what we found?”

“I’m sure she does, but she hasn’t really said anything. I told her that there had probably been an accident of some kind.”

Kyle looked down, nodding. “Yeah, an accident, all right.”

“Kyle, what are you doing down here? In the last year or so, Miami has had its share of bizarre killings. There was the guy who went after the prostitutes on Eighth Street, and the man who murdered the poor homeless people and set them on fire. And—”

“And the cops worked those killings,” he told her. “But they were heavily patterned, easier to profile, and the cops had a better handle on the type of killer they were after.” He hesitated. “Plus, it’s sad but true. Who worries about the homeless except for the rest of the homeless—and some guys who actually work the streets and remember that they’re people, just like the rest of us. And prostitutes…” He lifted his hands. “People have a tendency to think that pimps and prostitutes get what they deserve.”

“No one deserves to be murdered,” Madison said indignantly.

He arched a brow. “Even by the law?”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.”

He shook his head with sudden disgust. “I guess I’m just at that stage of life where I’m not sure what’s right and wrong all the time. The last time I was called out, it was up to Massachusetts. This particular perpetrator had already been convicted of child molestation and murder, but because of the laws, he was given two simultaneous fifteen-year sentences. His behavior in prison was outstanding. He chiseled away at his time, was put into special programs…. He was let out of prison on a weekend pass. In two days, he killed two boys and a little girl. How could such a man ever be let out of jail?”

“So you’re saying there should have been a death penalty and it wouldn’t have happened again?”

He shook his head, looking out at the setting sun for a minute. “What happens when one innocent man or woman is executed? You can’t dig them back up and say you’re sorry. Then again, take a Ted Bundy. Who’s going to say that a man like that doesn’t deserve to die? The parents of his victims must have thought that electrocution wasn’t nearly cruel enough.”

“You’re not answering me,” Madison reminded him softly. “What are you doing down here?”

“Oh…”

She spoke slowly. “Those other killings were solved. And I haven’t heard anything about another suspected serial killer in the news.”

He shrugged. “Because no one quite knows what’s going on yet, except that certain evidence is pointing toward a serial killer.”

“What evidence?”

“Madison, you don’t really want—”

“Kyle!” she said, then hesitated, still not willing to tell him about her latest dream. “I can’t get as excited about a severed arm as Jassy, but I’d like to know what’s going on,” she said firmly. “I live alone with a five-year-old and a housekeeper. I’d like to keep my child as safe as possible.”

“Well, this man isn’t after children.”

“You’re certain it’s a man?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Others aren’t, but you are?”

He smiled. A crooked smile. “I’m a profiler. It’s what I do. And I know it’s a man.”

Madison found herself smiling, as well, shaking her head. “I thought you weren’t even starting until Monday?”

“I got all the paperwork right before coming down. And I think I have a good picture of what we’re looking for.” He hesitated, looking at her through his dark lenses, then shrugged. “First month, right around the fifteenth, a young woman is reported missing. Beautiful young woman, a Debra Miller. She’d talked to her co-workers about a special date she was going on, no name given. She goes home. Goes out. No one knows where. The neighbors remember seeing her jump into her car and wave goodbye.”