Carol Ericson - Brody Law

She saluted. “Got it.”

As he covered the steaks on a plate and shoved them into the microwave, Elise ran some cold water over the asparagus spears. “What did they tell you when they dismissed you from the case?”

His fingers paused over the microwave buttons, and then he stabbed them and punched the power. “Said they didn’t like killers communicating with detectives, that the killers fed off the high and it could encourage them to commit more murders.”

“You obviously don’t believe that.”

“When a killer communicates with the detective on the case, it tends to yield more clues. There are more chances that he’ll slip up, reveal some detail.” He grabbed a couple of potatoes from the pantry and slammed the door. “They know that.”

“So, it’s just you.”

“Yeah, it’s me. If the killer had chosen anyone else in the department, they’d be all over it.”

“Do you think he will?” She took a potato from his hands and held it under the running water. “Replace you with another detective?”

He snorted. “Not a chance. He’s fixated on me for some reason—probably because he knows all about my father. He’s not exactly a copycat of that killer, but he’s close enough. Thinks he’s being clever by pulling another Brody into his sick world.”

She bit her lip. “No news on anything happening at the bridge today at those coordinates he sent me?”

“No. Those coordinates were for my edification. Who knows what he has planned next, if anything.”

He snatched the potato from her, which she’d been scrubbing down to the flesh. “I like a little potato skin on my baked potatoes.”

She laughed. “Crime and cooking don’t mix.”

“Crime and a lot of things don’t mix. Let’s drop it.”

They finished preparing the meal by exchanging small talk, and it almost felt like a normal date. But she’d never dated anyone like Sean Brody before. His intensity always simmered beneath the surface. He ran so hot, he could grill those steaks without the heat.

She stole a glance at his backside, snug in a pair of faded jeans he’d pulled on after shedding his suit. What would it feel like to have all that intensity unleashed in the bedroom?

“Rare or well-done?”

“Huh?” She blinked as he shot her a curious glance over his shoulder.

“Your steak—rare, medium or well-done?”

“I grew up on a cattle ranch. I like mine medium rare and juicy.”

His eyes flicked to her chest and back to her face so quickly she might have imagined it. “Juicy, it is.”

She dug into his silverware drawer and grabbed a handful of utensils. Had he read her thoughts? Probably just looked at her face, which would forever preclude her from being a professional poker player.

The microwave beeped and he turned from the sizzling steaks. “That’s your asparagus. I have some butter over here, unless you prefer something fancier.”

“I prefer...butter.” She turned and grabbed the bowl of asparagus from the microwave and felt like replacing it with her head. If that’s the best she could do at seduction, the only beef she’d get tonight would be that medium-rare steak. She giggled. She’d been hanging around Courtney too long.

“Something funny about the asparagus?”

“Well, there is something inherently funny about the vegetable, isn’t there.” She plucked a hot spear from the bowl with her fingertips and held it up. “It even looks like a...”

She bit off the end of the asparagus and practically choked on it.

Sean cleared his throat. “Phallic symbol?”

Popping the rest of the spear in her mouth, she nodded. She should’ve been paying more attention to Courtney over the past year of their friendship. She was pretty sure her friend wouldn’t be using asparagus as a tool of seduction.

Sean stabbed the steaks with a long fork and dropped them onto two plates. “I think I got that medium rare. Let me know your expert opinion.”

“Actually, I’ve probably had one steak since hightailing it out of Montana.”

“Uh-oh. Is this steak going to bring up bad memories and make you head for the hills?”

“I think I can handle it. Steak sauce?”

“In the fridge.”

He stood by his chair until she sat down across from him. “We make a good team...in the kitchen.”

She took a gulp of water. She had to get out of dangerous territory. Clutching her fork and steak knife, she said, “I think we make a pretty good investigative team, too. Is there any way we can unseal Dr. Patrick’s files now that he’s dead?”

Sean didn’t seem to mind the shift in topic, and his brow furrowed as he cut into his steak. “That’s what’s been bothering me, one of many things. If the department knew my father was seeing Dr. Patrick at the time of his...death, I would’ve thought they’d demand his records.”

“Maybe they did.”

“But they left everything as unsolved. Those murders are still cold cases. If Dr. Patrick’s sessions with my father had proved his innocence or guilt, it would’ve come out.”

“Did you ever ask anyone?”

“I wasn’t aware that my father even saw Dr. Patrick until we discussed it this morning.” He put down his fork with a piece of meat stuck to the end, a frown still marring his features.

“What is it?”

“Don’t you think it’s an incredible coincidence that the day I discover Dr. Patrick saw my father, the good doctor winds up dropping dead of a heart attack?”

“Yes, especially since he died at my feet. But what are you saying? A heart attack is a heart attack. Do you think my visit caused his heart attack?” She ran crisscrosses on her plate with her fork.

“Seems like he suffered the attack just before you arrived.”

“What’s your point, Sean?”

“Heart attacks can be induced.”

She dropped her fork. “You think someone killed Dr. Patrick by injecting him with something that caused his heart to fail?”

“It’s too coincidental, Elise. It’s unbelievable that his death occurred the very day we found him.”

“And it’s believable that someone killed him? Why would someone want to kill Dr. Patrick before he could tell you anything about your father?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.” He picked up his fork and took the piece of steak between his teeth.

“If you don’t believe your father had anything to do with those murders twenty years ago and he was never formally charged or convicted, does it really matter anymore? You are secure in your beliefs, aren’t you?”

He chewed, swallowed, took a sip of water and gazed over her shoulder. Then his eyes tracked back to her face, and she saw the doubt in their depths. “Maybe that’s it, Elise.”

She had to hunch forward to catch his words, and she caught his hand at the same time. “It’s okay to have that uncertainty, Sean. It’s not being disloyal. You were a kid at the time.”

“I don’t want to believe it.” He twisted his fingers around hers. “The man who taught me everything, the man I looked up to, couldn’t be a cold-blooded killer. He would’ve had to have been a complete sociopath.” Without losing his hold on her hand, he slumped back in his chair. “That’s the scary part. I know they exist. I know there are people out there who act just like you and me—who love and laugh and feel pain—but it’s all a pretense. They feel nothing at all.”

“It’s more than just proving your father’s innocence to the world. You have to prove it to yourself. I get that.”

“How did we get here?” He loosened his grip on her fingers and traced her knuckles with the pad of one finger. “You have a killer sending you notes, launching sneak attacks and you just had a man die at your feet. And you’re trying to make me feel better.”