Lisa Gardner - The killing hour

“No,” Kimberly said flatly.

And then Lucy was gone.

She should sleep. Supervisor Watson was right. Her nerves were frayed, the adrenaline rush gone and leaving her feeling empty. She wanted to tip over on the narrow bed. Slip into the blessed numbness of sleep.

She’d dream about Mandy. She’d dream about her mother. She wasn’t sure which dream would hurt her worse.

She could find her father over at the Jefferson Dormitory. He would talk to her, he always did. But she knew already the look she’d see on his face. Slightly distracted, slightly puzzled. A man who had just started a terribly important assignment, and even as he listened to his daughter lament, the other half of his brain would be reshuffling crime-scene photos, murder books, investigator logs. Her father loved her. But she and Mandy had come to understand early on that he mostly belonged to the dead.

She couldn’t stand the empty room. She couldn’t stand the sound of footsteps in the hall. People meeting friends, sharing laughs, swapping stories, having a good time. Only Kimberly sat alone, the island she’d worked so hard to become.

She left the room, too. She took her knife and disappeared down the hall.

Outside it was hot. The dark, oppressive heat greeted her like a wall. Ten P.M. and still this unbearably sticky. Tomorrow would be punishing for sure.

She slogged forward, feeling blotches of dark gray sweat bloom across the front of her T-shirt, while more moisture began trailing down the small of her back. Her breath came out in shallow pants, her lungs laboring to find oxygen in air that was 90 percent water.

She could still hear fading laughter. She turned away from it and headed toward the welcoming dark of the firing range. No one came out here this time of night. Well, almost no one.

The thought came only briefly, and then she knew just how much trouble she was in.

“Been waitin’ for you,” Special Agent Mac McCormack drawled softly, pushing away from the entrance to the range.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I don’t like to disappoint a pretty girl.”

“Did you bring a shotgun? Well then, too bad.”

He merely grinned at her, his teeth a flash of white in the dark. “I thought you’d spend more time with your father.”

“Can’t. He’s working the case and I’m not allowed.”

“Being family doesn’t entitle you to some perks?”

“You mean like a sneak peek of homicide photos? I think not. My father is a professional. He takes his job seriously.”

“Now, how many years of therapy has it taken you to say that in such a calm, clear voice?”

“More than most suspect,” she admitted grudgingly.

“Come on, sugar. Let’s take a seat.” He headed out into the green field of the range without looking back. It amazed her how easy it was to follow him.

The grass was nice. Soft beneath her battered body. Cool against her bare, sweat-slicked legs. She lay back, with her knees pointed at the sky and her short, serrated hunting knife snug against the inside of her left leg. Mac lay down beside her. Close. His shoulder brushing hers. She found his proximity faintly shocking, but she didn’t move away.

He’d showered since their meeting with Kaplan and Watson. He smelled like soap and some kind of spicy men’s aftershave. She imagined that his hair was probably still damp. For that matter, his cheeks had appeared freshly shaven when he’d walked through the glow cast by the streetlight. Had he cleaned up for her? Would it matter if he had?

She liked the smell of his soap, she decided, and left it at that.

“Stars are out,” he said conversationally.

“They do that at night.”

“You noticed? Here I thought you driven new agent types were too busy for those kinds of things.”

“In personal combat training, we get to spend a lot of time on our backs. It helps.”

He reached over and brushed her cheek. The contact was so unexpected, she flinched.

“A blade of grass,” he said calmly. “Stuck to your cheek. Don’t worry, honey. I’m not gonna attack you. I know you’re armed.”

“And if I wasn’t?”

“Why then, I’d roll you right here and now, of course. Being a testosterone-bound male who’s prone to that kind of brutish behavior.”

“I don’t mean it that way.”

“You don’t like touching much, do you? I mean, biting, flipping and beating the bejesus out of me aside.”

“I’m not… used to it. My family was never very demonstrative.”

He seemed to consider that. “If you don’t mind me saying, your father seems wound a bit tight.”

“My father is wound way tight. And my mother came from an upper-class family. As you can imagine, holidays were a gay, frolicking time in our home. You wouldn’t believe the boisterous outbreaks.”

“My family’s loud,” he volunteered casually. “Not big, but definitely demonstrative. My father still grabs my mother around the waist and tries to lure her into dark corners. As an adult, I appreciate their relationship. As a kid… Hell, we were scared to death not to announce ourselves before walking down a darkened hall.”

Kimberly smiled faintly. “You got an education?”

“Heavens, yes. It’s sweet, though, I suppose. My father’s a civil engineer who designs roads for the state. My mother teaches high school English. Who would’ve thought they’d be so happy?”

“Siblings?”

“One sister. Younger, of course. I terrorized her for most of our childhood. On the other hand, every time I fell asleep in the family room, she put makeup on my face and took pictures. So I guess it evens itself out. Plus, I’m the only man you’ll ever meet who understands just how hard it is to remove waterproof mascara. And I guess I’ll never run for political office. The photos alone would ruin me.”

“What does she do now?”

“Marybeth’s a kindergarten teacher, so in other words, she’s tougher than most cops. Has gotta be to keep all those little critters in line. Maybe when they fall asleep, she puts makeup on their faces, too. I’m too scared to ask.”

“You’re the only police officer in your family.”

“I have a cuz who’s a fireman. That’s pretty close.”

She smiled again. “They sound like fun.”

“They are,” he agreed, and she heard the genuine affection in his voice. “I mean, they could still use some good training and all. But as families go, they’re keepers. Do you miss your mother and sister?” he asked abruptly.

“Yes.”

“Should I shut up?”

“Would you obey me if I said yes?”

“No. I suppose I need some training, too. Besides, the stars are out. You should always talk when you’re lying beneath the stars.”

“I hadn’t heard that before,” Kimberly said, but she turned her face up toward the night sky, feeling the hot air against her face, and it did make it easier. “My family wasn’t happy. Not in the typical way. But we tried. I give us credit for that. We wanted to be happy, so we tried. I guess you could say we were earnest.”

“Your parents divorced?”

“Eventually. When we were teens. But the problems were way before that. The usual cop stuff. My father had a demanding job, worked long hours. And my mom… She’d been raised expecting something different. She would’ve done well with a banker, I think. Or even a doctor; the hours would’ve been just as bad, but at least her husband would’ve held a title with a certain level of decorum. My father, on the other hand, was an FBI profiler. He dealt in death, extreme violent death each and every day. I don’t think she ever got used to that. I don’t think she ever stopped finding it distasteful.”

“It’s a good job,” Mac said quietly.