Why did that make him feel good?
“Even though you didn’t do an even secret exchange,” she added.
Maybe he’d make that up to her.
“Tom can hire bodyguards, I know that. I can hire my own guards. But right now, I’m where I want to be.” She paused. “But I do want a favor.”
A favor?
“In return for agreeing to stay in federal custody a bit longer, in return for the solid I did you by interviewing Anderson, I want you to take me back to the scene of the crime.”
He braked hard at the red light. “What?”
“I need to go back,” she said. “I think if I go back, I might remember something. It’s a technique I’ve had psychologists use with victims on my show before. I want to try. I want to go back to my hotel room, and then I want you to take me back to the beach house.”
Someone honked behind him. He didn’t move. “You know you can only get access to those locations if you’re with me...or with another federal agent.” Was that the real reason why she’d agreed to stay with him? “You realized that all along, though, didn’t you?”
She gave a disappointed sigh. “Do you always see the bad in people first? Or do you—sometimes—stop to see any good?”
There wasn’t always a lot of good in the world. The car behind him honked again, and Josh slowly accelerated.
“Come on, you know it’s in your best interest for me to remember more, too. So why not just take me to the scene? I’ll still be in protective custody. Your custody. And maybe I’ll see something that jars my memory. Maybe I’ll be able to find some clue that was overlooked before. There is nothing to lose by trying.”
No, there wasn’t. And while he took her back to the hotel and to the crime scene, he knew Tucker and the sheriff would be hunting Kurt Anderson. Soon, the case could be over. The killer could be caught.
And Casey would be free to go back to her old life.
The thought should have made him feel better. Oddly, it didn’t.
* * *
“I DON’T LIKE that agent.” Tom Warren stood with his hands on his hips, glaring after the SUV. “He’s acting like he’s in control of Casey.”
Right. Katrina barely controlled an eye roll. That was why the guy didn’t like Agent Duvane. “He is in control of her, right? I mean, the guy has her in protective custody.”
Tom marched toward his car—not just any rental. A Benz. Nothing but the best for Tom. Always. “Protective custody is a joke. I’ll make some calls and get the best bodyguards in the business down here for her. You think I’m going to lose my star to the FBI?”
His star? Did the guy even realize how possessive he sounded when he talked about Casey? Not that she was jealous. Katrina didn’t care enough to be jealous. Tom was fun—every now and then, anyway—but the guy could also be a Grade A jerk.
“I made Casey,” Tom continued grimly. “I’m not about to lose her this way.” He stopped by the car and pulled out his phone. His finger swiped across the screen and a slow smile stretched across his face. “Got you.”
Unease coiled through her. Just who did the guy have?
“Come on. Get in the car.” Now his words were clipped. “I’ll drop you off in town and then take care of business.” Impatience gritted beneath each word.
“You don’t want me to get some scene shots of this place? For the show later?”
He huffed out a breath. “Yeah, yeah, just hurry, okay?”
She took out her equipment from the backseat. She turned away so that she could eye the buildings and the guards—
“Do you think they’re sleeping together?”
Katrina almost dropped her bag. “What?”
“Casey and the agent. I noticed the way he touched her—and the way she touched him. Casey doesn’t touch anyone, not as a rule.”
No, she didn’t. Katrina was just surprised that Tom had noticed that. Casey was always very careful with everyone. She kept them all at the same distance.
“She just met him,” Katrina replied, trying to choose the right words. “Casey never gets involved with anyone that way—not right after they meet.” Not the other woman’s style. But then—Casey’s style wasn’t for attachments. She lived for her work. The woman was dedicated, tireless, and Katrina actually admired the hell out of her. Casey didn’t take crap from anyone.
Good for her.
“You’re right.” He gave her an absent smile. “Still, it would have made for a good angle, right? The victim falling for the FBI agent.”
She stiffened. “Casey’s more than just a victim.”
“Not right now, she isn’t.” He waved a hand toward her bag. “Get the shots. I don’t have long.” He looked back down at his phone. “I can’t let her go.”
That whisper of unease blew through her again as she turned back to the prison. So many guards—and such big, thick walls. No escape. And the idea of being locked away in a place like that...it chilled Katrina’s blood.
Chapter Eight
Josh shut the hotel room door with a soft click. He looked around the darkened room, his body tense. Getting Casey into her old room had been easy enough. He’d just flashed his badge and gotten a personal escort up from the manager on duty. A manager who’d spent the whole elevator ride apologizing to Casey.
The security cameras at the hotel had mysteriously gone down the night she’d been taken. A glitch, or so the manager said. Josh wasn’t ready to buy that line. Knowing the killer they were after, the way the guy left nothing to chance, Josh figured the perp had made sure the security feed wasn’t working. The guy’s bit of sabotage had protected him.
“Walk me back through the night,” Josh instructed. Casey was standing in front of the balcony door. She looked hesitant, so uncertain. Not at all the way he was coming to view her.
Casey looked over her shoulder at him. “I was on the balcony, getting some air—”
“How long were you out there?” Josh asked.
“Just a few minutes. I was—I was thinking about everything that had happened that day.”
Her voice had stumbled, just a bit. “Now who’s lying?”
“Fine.” She rolled back her shoulders. “I was out there, thinking about you, okay?”
His brows climbed. “Okay.” She’d surprised him, again.
“I could hear the waves crashing, but I didn’t hear anything from the hotel room. So when I turned around and the light was off, I had no idea that anyone was in here.” She walked toward the phone that waited on the bedside table. “I was going to call the front desk, but he caught me from behind.”
His gaze scanned the room. There weren’t a whole lot of places for someone to hide in there, but if the room had been in total darkness, the perp would have just needed to find a corner, to stay still, to wait for her to come back... He walked toward her. The thick carpet swallowed his footsteps. “You turned on the lights before you left. No one was here?”
She turned to face him. “I didn’t see anyone. Didn’t hear anyone.”
He stopped right in front of her. He hated that she’d been hurt. To think of that creep slamming her head into the wall, carrying her out of there... “I noticed the emergency exit is just one door down from your room. It would have been easy for him to take you out that way—no one would see you. The stairs there lead straight down to the parking lot below.”
She swallowed. “And it’s not like I was able to call out for help. I mean, Katrina was in the adjoining room—” Casey motioned to the door that connected the two rooms. “But I never even had a chance to scream for her.”
He looked back at that door. He’d already known that Katrina had been in the room beside hers. The sheriff had interviewed the camerawoman—she hadn’t been in her room that night. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you had
screamed for her,” he said. “Katrina wasn’t there.”
“She—Oh. Right. Staying with Tom?”
“No. She said she was at a club down the road. Just dancing. I don’t think she even realized you were gone until the next day.” At least, that was what Katrina had told Hayden.
Casey tucked her hair behind her ear.
“But if Katrina wasn’t here,” Josh continued as he tilted his head. “Then maybe the perp used her room. Maybe he was in there, waiting for you to get back. He could have come straight in through the connecting door.” He headed for that door now, wanting to test the lock. It was still secure but...if the guy had been on the other side, it would have been easy enough to gain entrance to Casey’s room. And a perp who knew what he was doing? He wouldn’t have left so much as a scratch on any of the doors.
“Is that what the FBI thinks happened? I mean, I’m sure you’ve gotten together with your team and talked about it.” There was an edge to her voice that had him glancing back. “Why don’t you walk me through things and show me what happened. You be the perp. Show me what he did. Help me to re-create it all.”
He locked his jaw. Yeah, the FBI had theories—and that was one of them. But for him to re-create things with her... I don’t want to scare Casey. “Are you certain about that?”
She nodded once. “It’s getting late. The sun is setting. It’s dark enough in here that...it will be the same.”
“It won’t be the same.” She needed to understand that. “You’re safe with me. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“So...you do think he was in Katrina’s room? That’s what the FBI is going with?”
Treading carefully he said, “We believe the perp had been watching you for a few days. The night he attacked you, the guy knew that your camerawoman hadn’t come back here. So, yes, we think it’s possible that he was able to come inside, and he just waited...he could have even been out on the balcony next door, listening to see what you were doing while you stared down at the ocean. He could have been right there. Making sure you were alone.”
“Then I guess you should have come up with me.” Her words were said flippantly, and her tone was too brittle. “Then I wouldn’t have been alone.”
She turned away from him, but Josh grabbed her wrist. “I sure as hell wish I’d come up with you.”
“I—I didn’t mean that. You know, I—”
“I wish I’d been here. I wish I’d stopped the bastard.”
She looked down at his hand as it gripped her wrist. Her wrist felt so small and fragile in his grasp. He wanted to pull her closer. Wanted to take her mouth beneath his once again. Would the need explode like wildfire in his veins when he kissed her once more? Had it been a fluke before?
Would it be even better this time?
The job. The case. Don’t do this. Don’t cross that line. He let her go. “You want to re-create the scene, then we’ll recreate it.” He motioned toward the balcony. “Go out and come back inside. I’ll turn out the lights and we’ll see if anything jars your memory.” He paused. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” But she licked her lips, a quick giveaway of her nerves. “Will you...will you come up behind me like he did?”
“Is that what you want?”
“I want to learn something new. I want to remember something else that can help us.” She squared her shoulders. “Come up behind me. Grab me, just like he did. But, ah, don’t do anything else, okay?”
“I won’t.” He kept his voice gentle for her. “If you get scared, just say stop and I will.”
Casey gave a jerky nod. “Right. Got it.” With brisk steps, she headed for the balcony. She opened the door and stepped outside.
Josh turned off the lights.
* * *
THEY’D LOCATED KURT ANDERSON.
Tucker Frost jumped onto the coast guard vessel with Hayden Black. As soon as Theodore Anderson had identified his son as a suspect, Tucker had been on the phone and getting an APB out on the guy. Then Tucker had gotten lucky. A deputy at the marina remembered seeing Kurt head out on a boat.
“I talked to the guy who owns the boat rental company,” Hayden said as the vessel shot away from the dock. “Apparently, Kurt has been taking out a rental a few days each week...and heading out into the Gulf of Mexico. Every time, he goes out alone.”
Interesting, especially considering that the Sandy Shore Killer had a habit of heading into the Gulf, too...and dumping bodies. “He’s sure Kurt goes out alone?”
“Yeah, Chaz—that’s the guy’s name, Chaz Fontel—Chaz said that Kurt told him that he needed time away.”
Time away—or time to get rid of his victims?
The boat flew across the water. “Kurt almost killed his father.” Hayden’s voice was pitched to carry over the roar of the waves and the engine. “You probably read that in the files but...”
Tucker had. “But there are some details that don’t make it into the files,” Tucker finished. He knew that truth firsthand.
“I saw the grief in his eyes. He was broken. Kurt loved his little sister, and to find out that his own father killed her—that shattered something in him.” Hayden stared out at the water. “He was filled with anger and pain, but the grief was stronger than anything else. Jill and I—we stopped him before he could kill Theodore. We convinced Kurt that he wasn’t like his old man. He wasn’t a killer.”
“He may not be,” Tucker said. Blood didn’t always tell. He was living proof of that. Or at least, he hoped he was. “We’re just going by his father’s words. Just following up with some questions. We don’t have any evidence that directly ties him to the crimes.” Not yet, they didn’t.
Hayden’s laugh was bitter. “We don’t marshal a hunt like this just to ask a guy some questions. You and I are both thinking the same thing—he fits.”
Kurt Anderson did match the profile that Tucker had been working up. He’d been building that profile slowly, not wanting to make any mistakes. Once upon a time, he’d been dead set on getting into the minds of killers. Into proving that I wasn’t one of them. But then he’d backed off... Tucker had gotten more involved in the Violent Crimes Section at the Bureau. He’d worked Violent Crimes for a few years, but, recently, things had changed for him.
A new opportunity had developed at the Bureau, one that had come courtesy of the best damn behavioral analysis specialist he’d ever met... Samantha Dark.
This case, the Sandy Shore Killer, was Tucker’s chance to prove that he could get back into the work. His chance to prove that he could belong on the elite team that Samantha Dark was leading.
He wouldn’t screw up. And he would investigate every viable suspect. Right then, Kurt Anderson appeared very, very viable.
“Why would he want to go out at night?” Tucker mused. The sun had sunk beneath the sky. “Seems to me that a person only does that if he has something to hide.”
“I hope to God he isn’t dumping a body.” Hayden exhaled then he glanced over at the man steering the vessel. “Can you go faster?”
They were already going awfully fast.
“Kurt might not realize that the Chaz has a GPS tracking device on every boat that he rents out. The guy wasn’t about to risk someone stealing his vessels.”
Tucker considered that. “Does Kurt always take the same boat out?”
“Always, according to Chaz. Kurt requests the exact same one.”
“Then when we get him, we can check his log—we can check his GPS and see exactly where he’s been going each time.”
And if the guy had been going to the same locations where the bodies had been found... We’ve got you.
* * *
CASEY COULD HEAR the crash of the waves. She could smell the salty breeze. And she could feel her knees shaking. It was ridiculous to be so afraid but...
She was.
It’s Josh. He won’t hurt me. It’s just Josh.
She opened the balcony door. Darkness waited inside. Josh had turned out the lights. Just like the perp had done. She took a step forward and hesitated.
It’s Josh.
She should go toward the bedside table. That was what she’d done before. She’d gone to the table and reached for the phone. Casey tiptoed inside. But then she stilled. Where was Josh? She glanced around, but it was so dark. The light from the balcony just spilled inside a small bit, pooling near the sliding glass door. It was darkest in the room near the door that led to the hallway and...near the connecting door. The shadows were actually the thickest there. “Josh?” His name slipped from her.
“I’m here.”
Her heart drummed too fast. His voice had come from those thick shadows near the connecting door.
She moved toward the phone. She reached for it—
His arms closed around her, holding her tightly. Fear stole her breath even as she opened her mouth to scream.
“It’s okay.” His whisper filled her ear. “I’ve got you.” His lips brushed lightly against the shell of her ear. His scent hit her—the rich, masculine scent that seemed to surround him. It wasn’t the bitter odor of oil that had tinted the air before and—
“I remember!” She spun in his arms. Grabbed his shoulders. “I remember...he smelled like oil! It was a bitter scent, and I caught it right before he...he shoved my head into that wall.”
Darkness still surrounded them.
“You’re sure it was oil?” Josh pressed.
“Absolutely! My dad—he used to have an old ’66 Chevy that he restored on the weekends. I helped him, and nearly every Saturday we’d come back into the house with our hands stained with oil. I know that smell. I remember it.” Joy filled her. It had worked. She’d remembered something new. Maybe something else would come to her. She was so excited that she pulled Josh toward her. She rose onto her toes, and her mouth pressed to his.