Karen Rose - Have You Seen Her?

"What are you doing here?" he asked slowly, carefully.

She blinked those violet eyes, moistened her full red lips, tucked a stray lock of black hair behind her ear. "To be honest, I'm not really sure. But your aunt and your priest believe I have some influence over your logic, which at the moment seems very flawed."

His aunt. He should have known.

His priest. Who Sandra was investigating at this very moment for possible murder.

God, his life really, truly sucked.

He shifted, stretching out his arm along the top of the steering wheel so he could see her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, the smoothness of his voice at odds with the temper he felt simmering inside, "but I have every confidence you will fill me in."

Jenna sighed. "Steven, when did you see your first dead body. On the job, that is?"

It was his turn to blink. It was not the question he'd expected. "My second day. It was a suicide. Guy ate his gun."

She winced. "And you still can see the picture in your mind," she said softly.

He could, as clearly as if it were before him at that moment. He could see it and smell it and taste it. Death. The terrible sight, stench, taste of death. He'd woken in a cold sweat for weeks.

"How you discipline your son is nobody's business but your own," she said and gingerly laid her fingertips on his arm. His muscles clenched and quivered at her touch. "But what would happen if Brad actually stumbles on that young girl's body? The first girl was stabbed, wasn't she?"

Steven nodded, the idiocy of his actions closing in. "Viciously."

Jenna swallowed hard. "Do you expect to find this girl stabbed as well?"

"Yes."

"Then is that an image you want in your son's mind for the rest of his life?"

Steven looked away. Dammit, she was right. He'd been totally wrong. He hated to be wrong.

"I'll go now," she murmured. "Should I take Brad with me?"

He jerked a nod and watched as she gracefully slipped from the seat and nodded to Mike, who'd been standing in the shadows. She hesitated, then leaned into the opening of the door. The dome lamp threw her face into shadow, but even in the muted light he could see the concern in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Steven."

Once he'd welcomed her concern, but tonight it was a bitter pill.

"Just go," he said, his voice raspy. "Please, just leave me alone."

When she was gone, when she'd climbed into the car with Mike and Brad, he pulled himself out of the Volvo and approached Harry who'd been silently watching the entire exchange. "Well," Steven asked, silently daring Harry to say anything remotely funny or personal, "where are we?"

Harry looked subdued. "Same place as before. Nothing. We did chase away a reporter."

Steven's hackles went up. "Big guy? Dark hair, late thirties, denim jacket, teal Dodge Neon?"

Harry's eyes widened. "That's him."

"I don't suppose you got his license number."

"Actually, I did." Harry rattled it off. "I'll have Nancy run a check. Who is he?"

"I don't know," Steven said. "But I have a feeling that sooner or later I'm going to find out."

Thursday, October 6, 1:30 AM.

It was getting cold. He hated that about winters here. Too damn cold. He jacked up the heat in his car. His clock said it was one-thirty. She should be here any minute. Little miss rah-rah.

Her name was Alev Rahrooh. She was Indian, from India. He normally liked white girls, but he'd been attracted by all that long, dark hair. It would look good in his collection. Besides, she was the only one available tonight. Available and willing to sneak out of her house and meet him.

Here . He looked across the street at the golden arches gleaming in the night. Thatcher hadn't found anything behind the McDonald's, just like he'd known. He'd been careful. He'd been smart.

So here he sat not a hundred feet from where he'd nabbed pretty Samantha. If Thatcher ever figured it out he'd be kicking himself. Right under his fucking nose.

His pulse jumped at the shadow approaching. Oh, goodie. Here she came. Alev walked. No bike. That was good. Meant he didn't have to dispose of the bike afterward. He smoothed back his hair and pulled his collar up around his face, then leaned over and opened the door.

"Hi," he said. "Hop on in."

She slid in and pulled the door shut behind her. "I can't stay long," she said. Shyly. How cute. "My mom and dad can't know I'm gone."

They might have a cow, he thought, then laughed inside his head at his own joke. Hindus. Cow. Good one. Outwardly, though, he was silent. Waiting, saying nothing, just waiting for the moment she'd figure it out. That was one of the best parts. When they figured it out. And then, of course, it was way too late.

Alev was a lot slower on the draw than Sammie had been. Finally she peered closer into the darkness on his side of the car. "What-?"

Bingo! Her eyes grew wide and he could easily see the whites of her eyes against the darkness of her skin. "No! You're not-" He had to hand it to her. She tried to struggle. Actually tried to scratch his face with her fingernails, but pretty little Alev was no match for his strength. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and with the other covered her nose and mouth with the surgical mask he'd prepared with such care.

She continued to struggle, her head pitching back and forth, trying to escape the mask. He simply pressed harder against her face, patiently waiting until she drew a desperate breath.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…

Then she crumpled, gasping. Then she was still.

He pulled the surgical mask away and carefully folded it to keep the powder she hadn't inhaled from going all over his car seat. Wouldn't want to make a mess, after all.

He drove away. The night was still very, very young. He patted Alev's cheek. So was she.

Thursday, October 6, 5:45 A.M.

Sheriff Rogers put a large brown bag and a thermos on the hood of Steven's car. "My wife made nut bread," he said. "And coffee. Help yourself."

Steven looked at the burly man with as much of a smile as he could muster on the fifteen minutes' sleep he'd had the night before. "Thanks, Sheriff," he said. "It smells great."

Rogers settled himself against the car and looked toward the horizon where the sun would start peeking up sometime in the next fifteen minutes. "Your boy get home all right last night?"

Steven felt his face heat and busied himself by pouring coffee into one of the foam cups provided by the thoughtful Mrs. Rogers. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I got a kid that age," Rogers said, still studying the horizon intently. "Pain in the ass."

"I know the feeling," Steven returned dryly.

"Wife keeps tellin' me he'll come around." Rogers's tone said he was clearly unconvinced.

"Women are optimistic souls," Steven said.

Rogers glanced over at him with a grimace. "Good thing they make good nut bread."

Steven's mouth quirked up. "How long have the two of you been married?"

"Twenty-five years next summer. And yourself?"

Steven took a large gulp of coffee, wincing as it scalded his throat. "I'm not married."

Rogers's brows went up in surprise. "Then who-" He looked away. "Sorry, not my business."

It really wasn't, but for some reason Steven didn't seem to mind. "It's okay. Truth is, I'm really not sure myself."

Rogers looked as if he were digesting this information along with his nut bread. "She seemed like a nice woman."

Steven took another gulp of coffee, this time knowing full well how much it would burn on its way down. Maybe it was a form of self-punishment, Mike's hair shirt and flogging strap, as it were. "Yes, she is. She really is."

Rogers chewed his nut bread contemplatively. "Nice women who look that good in Wall Street business suits don't come along every day."