Gayle Wilson - The Inquisitor

Was this a staff member’s idea of a joke because she’d come across as sympathetic to the killer? Or had it been written in anger by someone else, someone who had taken her research-based explanation about the forces that created such a monster as a defense of his actions.

Someone like Sean Murphy?

However the words had been meant, she could find nothing the least bit amusing about them. “I don’t think that’s the proper avenue for someone seeking pro bono therapy. Or for a co-worker having a laugh at my expense.”

“You think someone here did that?” Gary’s eyes again touched on the scrawl.

“It is a secure lot.”

“Yeah, but…” Realizing she’d been serious, Gary shook his head. His smile had been replaced by a slightly quizzical expression. “You want me to wipe it off?”

Realizing that she was making herself ridiculous, Jenna forced a smile. “I have to get the car washed, anyway. Maybe that was the intent.”

“To get you to wash your car?” His tone had lightened in response to hers. “Think Paul’s been out here nosing around?”

Although Carlisle was a stickler for having the staff present their best faces to the world at all times, the thought of him prowling the parking deck looking for dirty cars was also ridiculous. Pointing that out was obviously Gary’s intent.

“If not Paul, then somebody,” she said. “I get the message.”

Gary laughed. “I’ll let you know tomorrow if I’ve got a similar inscription on mine. You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. I’m going home to a long, hot bath and a tall drink.” Something that was getting to be a habit. “I have no idea why this…” She stopped, refusing to admit how much the writing had bothered her.

“Everybody’s on edge right now. With good reason. God, you weren’t thinking—” He stopped, realizing that was exactly what she’d been thinking. “Look, this is somebody’s idea of a joke. A stupid one, granted, but…You can’t really think he did this.”

“I think maybe someone who was angered or annoyed by what I said in the interview decided to mock what I do.”

“Why would anyone have been angered by your interview?”

“Did you hear it?”

“Just the part about the killer.”

The clip they’d played over and over. The one without her take on holiday depression.

“Did you think I came across as sympathetic?”

“You came across as a professional discussing someone who’s obviously mentally ill. And doing it in a reasoned manner.”

“And if you weren’t a psychologist? How would it have come across to you then?”

His hesitation was slight, but it was enough. “Look, I don’t—”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Jenna said, her words strained and flat. “Thanks for trying, though.”

“You can’t let yourself be held hostage to the morons of the world. If you do, then they win. You said nothing wrong, Jenna. Believe me, nobody here thinks so.”

That at least sounded genuine. It didn’t explain the writing on her car, but it did make her feel marginally better about who might have put it there.

“You want me to follow you home?” Gary asked.

“I appreciate the offer, but I have a couple of things to pick up on the way. I’ll be fine. Really.”

“Everybody’s feeling the pressure. I honestly don’t mind following you, even on your round of errands. We could stop and grab a bite to eat. Or get a head start on that drink you mentioned.”

She was a little surprised by the offer. Although Gary had been a member of the practice for well over a year, she’d gotten no vibes that he found her attractive.

Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was being kind because it was obvious she’d been upset by the message. She was reading more into the gesture than it warranted.

“That’s really very sweet, but…maybe I can get a rain check. Some night when we haven’t both been working late.”

“You got it.”

Jenna couldn’t tell if he was relieved or disappointed. As he made the agreement, he’d stepped forward, reaching for the door handle of the Honda.

She realized that she hadn’t punched the remote. The accompanying beep when she did echoed through the nearly empty deck, just as her footsteps had.

Gary opened her door, and she slipped into the seat, using the excuse of fastening her seat belt to delay looking up at him. When she did, he was peering down into the car, his lips slightly pursed.

“Lock your doors.”

“You think—”

“I think I’d tell any woman in this city the same thing right now. Better safe than sorry.”

Unsure how to respond, she nodded. “I will.”

“Be careful,” he added, closing the door. He put the tips of the fingers of his right hand against the glass for a moment before he straightened, allowing her room to back out.

She inserted the key and started the engine. Then she looked out through the window to smile at him again. Before she put the car into Reverse, she lifted her hand and waved.

He didn’t return the gesture, but he stood watching as she headed toward the exit. When she looked back, just before she began the descent to the lower level, he was still standing in the same spot. And he was still watching her.

Sean came awake with a start, neck muscles straining as his head jerked up off the pillow. His breath rasped in and out of his lungs as if he’d run a race.

He had. One he’d lost a long time ago. One at which he would never get a second chance.

Not unless you counted this.

He stretched his eyes wide in an attempt to wipe away the last of the dream. The motel-beige walls and plastic-backed floral draperies, which he had pulled across the window in order to sleep, helped to orient him.

He remembered where he was. And he knew why he was here.

The nightmare he’d just had was the same one he’d experienced over and over in the years since Makaela’s disappearance. Although he was painfully aware of how his sister had died, the dream never played out to that end. He always awoke before it could, his body drenched in sweat and his heart beating as if it would tear its way out of his chest. Today had been no different.

He closed his eyes again, waiting for the pump of blood to slow. He hadn’t experienced the terror of the dream in a long time, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised it had happened now.

He was closer to Makaela’s murderer than he’d ever been before. He knew that with a certainty for which he could offer no rational explanation. He simply knew it.

Just as he had known outside Jenna Kincaid’s office two nights ago that the man he sought was also there. So near he could feel his evil. Could sense it in the air around him.

This was a smaller city than the ones the killer had chosen before. A limited population spread over a relatively contained geographic area, bound by the narrow valley that ran between the two mountain ridges in which the original settlement had been made.

Not only was the hunting ground here more contained, thanks to the friend Sean had made on the FBI task force, he’d gotten in on this spurt of homicides early. While the bastard was feeling invincible. Maybe this time…

Feeling his expectations rise to a level experience had taught him was premature, Sean released a slow breath, deliberately focusing on his plans for today. One step at a time. He had learned long ago that was the best way to keep the images from the dream, as well as those that represented the fulfillment of his quest, out of his consciousness.

After a moment, he held his wrist up so that despite the artificially darkened room, he could see the hands of his watch. It was 3:30 p.m. Which meant he would have time to shower and shave and maybe get something to eat before Jenna Kincaid left the office.