“Yes.”
Josie wrapped her arms around herself, feeling chilled to the bone. “Who is she?”
Zach paused. “We don’t have a positive ID yet, but she’s young.”
“What’s this guy’s point?” she asked, her voice breaking on the last word. “Why would he be copying Marshall Landish?”
Zach leaned back against the opposite counter, crossing his own arms across his chest. “Well, from what we know about copycat killers, a desire for media attention is usually a strong motivating factor.”
“My crime received plenty of media attention, but that was eight years ago.”
“Doesn’t matter. The killer made sure we wouldn’t miss the similarities. As much as no one at my department wants to sensationalize this, we have to warn the public.” He paused again. “Like I said, we don’t have a positive ID on the second victim yet, but we think she may have attended UC. The first victim attended classes there too, though she’d dropped them several months before her abduction. We’re not sure of the significance of the link, but the campus needs to know.”
“He’s targeting UC students?” Like her. Like she’d been. Even if that had nothing to do with the reasons Marshall Landish had abducted and tortured her in the first place. It was a similarity this new psycho could copy. Was copying. Disbelief rolled through her. She couldn’t believe this was happening.
“Maybe.”
“What are the other reasons for copycat killings?”
Zach scratched at the back of his neck. “It’s a form of depersonalization. The killer adopts a persona and it makes committing the crime easier because it’s not him, it’s a character. It’s like a warrior painting his face before war so he can assume a new identity prior to riding into battle. It helps separate the real him from the persona and makes acts of aggression easier.”
“It’s why Marshall kept wearing the mask too,” Josie murmured, a slow shiver moving down her spine as she pictured his masked face. “It not only hid him from me, but in that way, he was able to achieve depersonalization. I was able to ID him based on other tells, but by wearing the mask, he could hide from himself.”
“As a general profile, I’d say that’s probably accurate. We never got the opportunity to interview Landish.”
Josie looked up, meeting Zach’s eyes and then looking quickly away. “No,” she murmured, pushing herself away from the sink where she was leaning. Marshall Landish had taken all his secrets to the grave, including the whereabouts of their child. “You must be tired,” she said as she walked toward the kitchen doorway. “I can set you up in one of the guest rooms upstairs if you’d like?”
“Couch is good. I don’t want to wake you when I get up to do one of my checks.”
Josie thought of the couch where he’d slept the night before. “Will you be able to get some actual sleep?”
“I’ll drift at least,” he said, following her from the room.
She glanced over her shoulder and saw that he was watching her body as she moved away, and that the expression on his face was decidedly . . . appreciative. Heat infused her skin and she glanced quickly forward again. Strangely, that look hadn’t made her feel skittish as similar looks had done over the years, even if those other looks had been given in very public places like the grocery store or the library.
It didn’t mean anything. Men were visual. But she would chalk it up to another win as far as her healing. Sure, she felt safe with him in general—her guardian—but he was still bigger than her, stronger. And still a man. The fact that she welcomed his attention felt . . . good. Positive.
“There’s, uh, only one working shower in the house right now,” she said, turning when she reached the bottom of the staircase. “I’m actually re-tiling the other two. They should be done next week, but for now . . .” She waved her hand in the air. She was babbling. “Anyway, if you want to take a shower, you’re welcome to. It’s upstairs. The second door on the left.”
“I showered at home before I came over. But thank you.” He smiled, tilting his head slightly so he looked boyish and charming. Her stomach fluttered and she self-consciously brought a hand to it as though butterflies might explode through her skin in a mad flapping of tiny wings. Of course he’d showered. When he’d stepped close to her, he’d smelled so good. She took her bottom lip between her teeth and his gaze shot to her mouth. The air filled with . . . something . . . and she stepped backward up the stairs, her hand still holding those butterflies in, nerves vibrating, but not unpleasantly so.
She gave a small embarrassed laugh, which she cut off immediately. It seemed inappropriate. Why was she laughing? God, she could be so awkward sometimes. “See you in the morning,” she murmured. “Oh, I, um, told my mother I’d visit her tomorrow.”
“What time?”
“Early. Seven-ish? I want to get back here and work on that re-tiling.”
Zach nodded. “I’ll go with you. Jimmy won’t be here until ten or so.”
Josie hesitated. She hardly wanted to bring this man to see where she’d come from or to meet the old crone that was her mother, but she supposed she had to get used to the fact that—temporarily—she had armed security. She still had to live her life. And when they got there, she’d ask that he wait in the car. “Okay. Goodnight, Zach.”
“Sleep well.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Josie?” Zach called softly at her door. He’d waited downstairs until seven fifteen, and when he still didn’t hear anything from above, he went upstairs to make sure she was okay.
He heard scuffling from within the room, the sounds of locks turning—was that three?—and then the door was pulled open. Josie stood there blinking, mussed from sleep, wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. “God, I’m so sorry.” She looked behind her, grabbing her robe from the end of her bed. “I overslept. I never do that,” she murmured.