Allison Brennan - Speak No Evil

Nothing that Steve had said made much sense to Nick. His ex-girlfriend got a restraining order against him, then ends up dead. Yeah, if he were investigating the case, Steve would be at the top of the list of suspects. Maybe that’s all this was, the detectives looking at the most likely suspect-ex-boyfriend. As soon as they cleared him, they could track down other ex-boyfriends, friends, colleagues.

Still, Nick really had no choice but to go to San Diego and do everything he could to help Steve. Isn’t that what brothers do? Stand by each other?

These last few years they’d grown apart, living more than a thousand miles from each other, but now Steve had asked for help, and Nick would do anything he could.

He called in Deputy Lance Booker. Last year, during the Butcher investigation, Booker had been an overeager rookie. Today he was a solid cop. Violence and murder did that to you. Proved what you were made of. Or proved what you lacked.

“I have a family emergency,” he told Booker. “I’m authorizing you to take over as acting sheriff until I return.”

Booker looked surprised, but didn’t say anything. Nick was breaking protocol, though he hardly cared at this point.

“If Sam Harris gives you shit, don’t take it. I’m telling everyone you’re in charge. You have my cell phone and pager if you need me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Though as undersheriff, Sam Harris was second in command, the sheriff had the authority to appoint any deputy as acting sheriff in his absence. Harris had taken over when Nick disappeared last year and had played the press and the politicians into thinking that he’d single-handedly stopped the Butcher instead of jeopardizing the investigation.

Nick wasn’t about to give him that control again.

Nine months ago he’d faced a serial killer and lived, no thanks to Sam Harris.

For thirteen years, a killer had terrorized the college town of Bozeman, Montana. The Bozeman Butcher-as the press had dubbed him-kidnapped, raped, and tortured college women. But if that wasn’t enough, he released them naked in the woods to hunt them down like animals. Twenty-two women, dead.

Last year after the Butcher struck again, Nick called in the FBI and together they worked the case, getting closer to identifying the Butcher. But Nick couldn’t claim credit for ending the Butcher’s reign of terror. Instead, he’d made a huge error in judgment and ended up being held captive. He’d needed to be rescued instead of doing the rescuing.

That was all water under the bridge, of course. The Butcher was dead, his victims avenged, and Montana State University, where the depraved killer had found most of his victims, was back to normal. But Nick’s concussion and subsequent infection from being held captive had weakened him to the point where he wondered if he could ever again be an effective cop.

The doctors said it was his joints-the ligaments swelled with use and put pressure on the joints that had been ravaged by infection. A type of arthritis. Surgery might help. Nick had an operation three months after the attack, yet he still wasn’t the man he’d been nine months ago.

Nick didn’t see any other option but going through surgery and rigorous physical therapy again, even against the odds. He couldn’t live like this forever. But his doctor, whom he trusted, insisted that he had to wait at least another month before repeating the surgery. Usually, patience was Nick’s strong suit. Not now, not with the chance of regaining full mobility within reach.

“There are no guarantees, Sheriff,” his doctor had told him during his last check-up.

“There never are,” he’d replied.

But if he wasn’t able to regain his strength, could he hand the reins of the sheriff’s department to a man who had so blatantly abused his power? Harris was dangerous and the last person Nick wanted to see as sheriff, but Nick wasn’t sure he was up for an election battle.

Not only wasn’t he confident of victory, he didn’t know if he wanted to win.

“LET’S CHECK OUT THAT JOURNAL SITE Abby gave us.”

It was almost noon. Carina and Will had spent the entire morning talking again to Angie’s mother and grandmother, then hitting the university and speaking with her academic advisor, stopping by the Sand Shack to interview employees about Angie and her relationship with both Steve Thomas and Doug Masterson, then finally spending two hours unsuccessfully trying to track down Masterson’s current whereabouts.

They learned Angie had a 4.0 GPA, everyone liked her, she worked hard at the Shack, no one had seen her use drugs, and no one admitted knowing about her online journal.

Steve Thomas was seen as a “nice guy.” Doug Masterson elicited stronger reactions. People either liked him a lot, or thought he was creepy.

Now they finally had time to read Angie’s online journal while waiting until Patrick Kincaid in e-crimes and Jim Gage in forensics were able to break free and join them at Steve Thomas’s apartment.

Thomas’s cooperation was definitely a plus at this point, which made Carina wonder if he was really innocent or just playing them. She opted for playing them. If he had killed Angie, it hadn’t been in his apartment. Otherwise he’d never let them inside. If he’d tracked her online, it hadn’t been on his computer, or he wouldn’t be so free to give them access to it. Unless of course he was a total idiot, which Carina didn’t rule out. Many criminals thought the police wouldn’t figure it out. Fortunately, the cops were usually smarter than the criminals. It was just a matter of time, patience, and asking the right questions.

Will sat on the edge of Carina’s desk while she logged onto the Internet and brought up Angie’s MyJournal page.

At first, nothing jumped out at them. On the right was an avatar, a photo icon of something brownish that Carina couldn’t make out. She leaned closer.

“Will, tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re not.”

“Damn.” The avatar, which was Angie’s personal calling card in cyberspace, was a close-up of a nipple.

“Think it’s hers?”

“Read the text.”

They stared at the computer. Carina didn’t consider herself a prude, but the sexual content in Angie’s journal was detailed enough to make a sailor blush. And glancing at Will, she saw that he was equally uncomfortable.

The last entry was dated February 10, the day before she disappeared.

This morning I woke up horny. You know how it is, you have this great sexy dream with a couple guys and then the damn alarm rings and you just know the vibrator isn’t going to satisfy. So I went over to T.S. He’s on my way to class, he always wakes up with a rock-hard dick, and he never says no.

She went on to describe exactly what “T.S.” did to her in great detail.

“Holy shit,” Will muttered. “What was she thinking?”

Carina shook her head.

They skimmed the journal entries. Every entry had dozens, even hundreds of comments. Most from men posting lewd pictures of themselves.

You’re so hot, come over to my place.

I’ll show you what rock hard really means.

I’ll fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.

“Winners, all of them,” Carina said irritably. “And she thought this was fun?”

“Young and stupid,” Will said.

Angie Vance, straight-A student, had been playing a dangerous game that may have gotten her killed. Any number of sexual deviants could have been after her, men who thought she’d be into whatever sick fantasy they had. What if one of these men had tracked her down? What if she’d said no? Would that have set him off, knowing she’d slept with all these other guys, why not him? Would he then have stalked her, kidnapped her, killed her?