Allison Brennan - The Hunt

Evil lurks beneath the surface.

“Miranda?”

She jumped out of her seat and reached for her gun at the same time.

It was Deputy Booker.

“Shit, Lance.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I wasn’t scared.” She’d been terrified. Sitting here alone, thinking about the Butcher and David Larsen and Sharon… “What can I do for you?”

“Agent Peterson asked me to stick by you today. You know, since they can’t find Larsen and all.”

Last week, she would have been furious at Quinn’s protectiveness. She would have sworn she was capable of defending not only herself, but everyone else, from the Butcher and any other evil that stepped foot in her state.

But while she had been trained in self-defense, taught it to the women at the University, and kept in shape, and knew she could find her way in any part of the county, the thought of facing David Larsen in person paralyzed her.

“Thanks, Lance,” she said.

She crossed over to the wall map and stared, gathering up courage to get through this day. If they found Larsen, would he lead them to Ashley? Would he tell them where Nick was? Whether he was dead or alive?

What had Nick been looking for at the Recorder’s Office? He’d pulled the property records of every landowner in the region. Including her dad, she’d noticed when she and Quinn were looking through them. Nothing jumped out at her; what had so caught Nick’s attention that he would risk his life to investigate it? He must have thought it wasn’t dangerous, otherwise he wouldn’t have gone in alone.

She missed Nick. She wished she could have told him she was sorry things hadn’t worked out between them. She’d never wanted to hurt him; he’d been so good to her. He’d given her space and let her do her job and supported her in everything she did. The problem was she hadn’t loved Nick the way he loved her.

The way she loved Quinn.

She warmed, remembering last night and how he had touched her. Gently. Slowly. He hadn’t forgotten where she liked to be touched. He hadn’t forgotten her sensitivity about her breasts, her preferring to be on top, all her little idiosyncrasies that had been forged by one madman and one week of terror.

With Quinn, she relaxed and gave herself, willingly, happily. They were partners when they made love.

It had been on the tip of her tongue to tell him she loved him. She had wanted to. But the words wouldn’t come. Some part of her held back and she didn’t know why.

Quinn said he knew her. How could he know her so well when she was scrambling to discover herself? So she had held back and said nothing, even when his words rang true and she wanted to ask him to never leave.

Maybe, ultimately, that was her greatest fear: that he would leave her again. She wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, she knew that, and maybe sometimes she deliberately became difficult so people wouldn’t get too close. It was easier to keep people at arm’s length than to let yourself be vulnerable.

People died violent deaths. Her mother’s painful bout with cancer. Sharon’s murder. And now, probably, Nick. All gone.

What would she do if anything happened to Quinn?

Quinn called his office in Seattle and spoke with Bonnie Blair, a pro in background research. If there was anything to find on David Larsen, Bonnie’d find it.

“Hi, Bonnie. I got your report. Not much there. Do you think you can work a little of your magic and come up with something else?”

There was a long pause. “What more do you want?”

She sounded ticked off.

“Well, to start I’d be interested in his parents’ names, his sister, where he was born-”

Bonnie interrupted him. “That was all there. I sent sixteen pages.”

“Sixteen? I got one.” Sam Harris. He must have taken them. But why?

Had there been something in the faxed pages Harris had wanted to hide? Or someone he wanted to protect?

“I’m sorry, Bonnie. Would you mind faxing it again? I’m sitting right by the fax machine.”

“For you, yes. But don’t think I’m not going to expect some chocolate on my desk when you get back.”

“You got it.”

He opened the door and motioned for the desk sergeant to come to Nick’s office. “Sergeant, please contact Sam Harris and tell him to return to the station immediately .”

The sergeant raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything as he went back to the main desk and picked up the phone.

Quinn was back in Nick’s office when the first page came through. It was the one he’d already seen.

Fifteen followed. As they emerged from the fax, Quinn saw the life of a serial killer in the making.

Born and raised in Portland, Oregon. Father, Kyle Larsen, deserted the family when David was three and apparently had no further contact with the family. He was killed in a drug deal gone bad nine years later.

Abusive mother… David had been removed from the home twice by Child Protective Services as a minor, but each time he’d been returned. Bonnie noted that they would have to petition the courts for the files.

Two sealed juvenile crimes. Again, they’d have to petition for the files.

One arrest for rape when he was eighteen. Interesting. He’d been a freshman at Lewis and Clark College in Oregon. He’d been arrested for rape, but the victim recanted her statement. He stuck with his alibi-that he was at his sister’s house all night, which his sister supported. Had the victim been so traumatized she didn’t want to go through the justice system?

One point caught Quinn’s eye: the victim’s breasts had been permanently scarred with a knife.

It made perfect sense. Fatherless home, abusive mother-probably sexually abusive. He’d need to see the CPS records to be sure. Grows up in a female-dominated environment. Mother molests him. Breasts are both sexual and maternal. He damages the breasts of his victims as he wished he could do to his mother.

His older sister became his guardian when he was fourteen after the death of their mother. Cause of death was simply listed as “accidental.” His sister had been his alibi for the rape charges. Either she was protecting him or terrified of him. Or both.

Sister, sister… Quinn flipped through the pages.

Delilah Larsen.

Delilah. Where had he heard that name recently? Richard Parker. His wife was Delilah. The name was so unusual, it had to be her. Delilah Parker certainly hadn’t seemed like a victim to Quinn, but he knew appearances could be deceiving, and he’d only met her that one time. He would have appraised her as meticulous, organized, and intelligent.

But even the most distinguished woman could be abused and manipulated by a person she loved or feared. Quinn would have to proceed with caution with the Parkers.

If Delilah Parker didn’t suspect that her brother was dangerous, she could be in denial and attempt to warn him. Quinn had seen it happen in several cases where a close relative, friend, or lover didn’t believe someone they trusted could kill.

On the other hand, if she did know what David Larsen did to those women, a whole other dynamic was going on. She obviously hadn’t gone to the police with any suspicions. She could be abused and manipulated by him, essentially brainwashed into protecting him. Or, she could be complicit in his activities.

Delilah Parker needed to be watched closely.

Quinn read the remainder of the report and found the confirmation he needed:

After the rape charges were dropped, David Larsen transferred to MSU and lived with his sister, who took a job as a secretary in the Board of Supervisor’s office.

Richard Parker had been a supervisor during the time she worked there.

Sam Harris had taken the report to give Parker a heads-up about his brother-in-law. Parker was an influential judge-but what was Harris thinking? Jeopardizing the entire investigation in order to save someone’s political ass?