Leslie Parrish - Pitch Black

“Well, it is your birthday. I suppose you should decide who you want to spend it with.”

Magnanimous. “She is so looking forward to seeing you, too.”

Her mother harrumphed. “There’s no need for sarcasm.”

Sarcasm had been her go-to defense for a year now, but she usually didn’t target it at her normally easy-to-get-along-with mother, who was only a pain in the ass in the way that all mothers were a pain in the ass. And because she was a little lacking in the commonsense department. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right, and I’m sorry, too. I know how close you two are. I’m sure Tricia can be on her best behavior for one lunch. She does know better than to do anything inappropriate, doesn’t she? Nathan cannot afford to be seen in the midst of a scandal.”

“Uncle Nate is a big boy,” Sam replied. Big and tough, with a reputation as one of the strictest judges in town. Scrupulously honest, but open to no bullshit, as criminals like Jimmy Flynt had learned. Nate had presided over Flynt’s state trial and had tried to dissuade Sam from talking to the man, being very protective of her. He might be a hanging judge on the bench, but she knew him as a quiet, loving pseudo-uncle.

“I told him to meet us at eleven forty and no later. I know it’s early, but it’s such a popular spot, that was the only lunch reservation available. Tell Tricia the same thing, will you?”

Sam had wondered more than once why Nate still put up with being bossed around by his late partner’s widow. There was only one explanation: She suspected he had feelings for her mother. The hope that she’d someday see him in that light and return the sentiment had to have been what kept the man coming around all these years, through other men, other marriages.

He must truly love her. But her mother was too flighty to see him as anything more than the stodgy, reliable big-brother figure who’d hovered in the background for so very long.

“I must run. Can’t wait to see you, honey!”

“Me, too, Mom.”

On most occasions, she didn’t mind seeing her family. Hers had always been a small one. Her grandmother’s death had made it even smaller, as had Sam’s divorce. So Nate’s and Tricia’s presence had become even more important, and she usually wanted nothing more than to share holidays and special events with them.

Frankly, though, she’d rather skip today. Tomorrow, too. What was so great about turning thirty-one? Last year’s birthday-thirty, and two weeks divorced-had been bad enough. Now a whole year had gone by and she was no closer to being “back to normal” than she had been when hitting the big three-oh. She had begun to wonder if “back to normal” was overrated.

It’s not.

Hearing that voice in her head, she paused, gave it some thought, and suddenly realized her attitude had begun to change. Maybe because of Alec, who was certainly not overrated. Thinking about him, and about those unexpected moments they’d shared last night, she knew he was anything but.

The nearly imperceptible quake in his voice when he’d told her about the shooting, the tenderness in his eyes when she’d told him about her marriage-they had done something to her, made something begin to thaw. So had their single kiss, which had left her more aware of herself as a woman than she’d been in a long time.

It wasn’t just sex. She’d almost felt as if she could start coming to life again, begin the process of moving on.

Sam smiled, letting the truth of it flood her. A return to warmth and vibrancy and sensuality was not overrated. In fact, for the first time in what seemed like forever, she was starting to look forward to rejoining the land of the living. Not fully yet, not with this awful investigation looming and a psycho talking to her. But beyond that, into the future. The long-term one that meant a return to the world she’d shut out.

Moving on . What a simple concept. And what an exciting one.

Throwing back the covers with a laugh, she greeted the day a lot more pleasantly than she had in a long time. After a quick shower, she picked out something to wear that would meet her mother’s conservative standards and Tricia’s outrageous ones.

Venturing to the kitchen, she made some coffee, then sat at the table to jot some notes for the new book. By hand. It wasn’t until she had filled a page that she acknowledged what she had been doing: avoiding the living room, avoiding her desk. All so she could avoid the computer on her desk. Contrary to her daily routine, she had never even flipped the thing on, even though she’d hooked it back up last night.

Within a half hour, she had the shakes, Internet withdrawal setting in so badly she was almost sweating. But she remained torn, wanting to check in, wanting just as much to stay checked out of the awful situation in which she had found herself.

Coward. Just get it over with .

Alec had called and left her a message while she was in the shower, saying Darwin had not posted to her message board overnight. But there was still that twinge of concern. Not to mention the awful possibility the psychopath would decide to try educating her by personal e-mail, rather than posting publicly.

Yet she couldn’t steer clear of the cyber world forever. Bad enough the need to check her site, her regular blogs, and her e-mails; she also needed to look up the damn address of the restaurant. She hadn’t seen an actual hard copy of a phone book in a couple of years.

So, with her heart somewhere in the vicinity of her larynx, she sat at her desk and flipped on her connection to the rest of the world, hoping one particularly vile part of it had not once again reached out and connected to her first.

The team had caravanned up to Baltimore in three cars. Unfortunately, sometime during morning rush hour a tractor trailer had devoured a MINI Cooper on the beltway. Two northbound lanes and the shoulder were blocked, and a ride that had taken about an hour yesterday took almost three this morning.

When they arrived at the scene, Alec noted the chaos. Uniformed officers from the city’s police department guarded the entrance. Somebody had gone through a whole lot of crime scene tape circling the fenced lot. Onlookers ranging from suit-wearing businessmen to dock-workers milled around on the street. Guys in hard hats clustered in small circles, wondering when they could return to work. Also wondering what she had looked like, you know, afterward.

He could almost hear them.

Stokes swung their car directly behind Wyatt’s, getting out quickly, her badge already in her hand. Alec followed suit, but moved more slowly.

“Well?” she asked, impatience evident in her inflection.

“Go ahead,” he said, waving her forward. He wasn’t really paying attention, already completely focused on following the path the victim-and possibly her killer-must have taken.

He hadn’t circumnavigated the site, but judging by the severed chain on the ground and the residual fingerprint powder on the post, this was where the detectives believed the suspect and/or the victim had entered. He walked through, his gait slow. His footsteps crunched on the frozen dirt as he stepped past shards of woods and masonry nails. With every step, he pictured the scene, thinking the victim’s thoughts, thinking the unsub’s.

He doubted the Professor had incapacitated the woman and brought her here against her will. Even late at night, anybody could have driven by; a late worker could have left one of the nearby businesses. This wasn’t like the woods or an enclosed warehouse, where he could knock out his victims and then position them.

Lured her here, somehow. Fraudulent investment?

No, she wasn’t the type. Nor would she have come here late at night for a job interview, like the warehouse victim.