Kimberly Meter - To Catch a Killer

And now the most recent victim, Hannah Linney, the daughter of an assistant district attorney in San Francisco, had disappeared last week when she was last seen walking home from school with her nanny. The nanny’s body had been discovered in an alley by the school and all trace of Hannah was gone. Kara flipped through the crime scene photos. Hannah had been a fighter. There was evidence that she’d scratched and clawed her assailant, although no DNA was found under her nails. They’d been scraped clean postmortem. Whoever had taken these children knew enough to leave nothing behind other than what they wanted found.

Aside from the first case, the other two were snatched in California. There was nothing to tie them together. At least nothing she could see. But she was sure there was something. The Babysitter fancied himself clever. Her lip curled. She hated that term, which had been coined by the media. Now she was using it, as well. Her stomach growled and she tossed back a few stale almonds left over from last night. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep any weight on, she thought, recalling Matthew’s comment about her figure. This kind of work would kill anyone’s appetite.

A knock at the door drew her attention and she instinctively knew it was Matthew, but she approached the door with caution just the same.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Her stomach tensed as anxiety twisted her nerves but she’d die before she’d let Matthew know just how much he put her on edge.

The low rumble of Matthew’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, and with a silent prayer for resilience, she opened it with her best I’m-a-professional smile. Perfunctory is what she was trying for but for all the attention he gave her, the effort was moot.

“Ready?”

No hello, how are you, good morning—just all business. Perfect, just the way it should be, she told herself, as she gathered her maps and notebook and stuffed them into her hiking backpack. “Just waiting for you.”

“Let’s get going then,” he said, and turned on his heel. “The roads are going to be slop by the time we get up the mountain.”

“You don’t have to go … if you have other things you need to do,” she said, hurrying after him, the rain pelting her hat as if it were trying to pummel her brain. “It’s not exactly great weather. I’d understand if you wanted to find someone else to take me out to the mine.”

“You want someone else to take you? I could get Oren or Dinky to take you up there.”

He turned to face her and she stared at him, wavering on taking him up on his offer, but then she pictured the stone-faced Oren and the doofus Dinky and she knew her best option—if not her favorite—would be with Matthew. “No. You’re already here. Let’s go.”

“All right then,” he said and climbed into the older model Jeep Cherokee. “Fasten your seat belt,” he instructed, and she sent him an irritated look. I’m not a kid. He shrugged. “The Kara I remember liked to break the rules,” he said by way of explanation, if that’s what you could call it.

She huffed and jerked the belt across her chest. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

Matthew’s hand rested on the gearshift and he briefly assessed her with those killer blue eyes. Kara forced herself to hold his stare without flinching or giving away any indication that his presence knocked her sidewise.

Finally, Matthew put the car into Drive as he said, “No, I guess you’re not. Sorry.”

“Fine,” she said, accepting the apology, yet her chest felt tight and it seemed hard to breathe around whatever was sitting on her chest. How could she have not realized just how much Briana and Matthew looked alike? She was his carbon copy, down to the serious light in her ocean-blue eyes, to the quiet intelligence that she showed with everything she did. Kara thought of the small picture she had on the motel nightstand beside her bed and sweat broke out on her brow. If Matthew saw that picture, he’d know. There’d be no wondering. Knowledge would be immediate and the careful world she’d built for Briana and herself would shatter.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

Matthew knew she was lying. Kara’s palms began to sweat. She rubbed her thighs and looked out the window, eager to focus on anything but the close proximity of the man beside her.

“It’s hard to be around each other,” he acknowledged quietly. “I think we can admit that without hurting each other’s feelings.”

She looked at him sharply. “Matthew, the case has me on edge. Not you.”

He stiffened and she could nearly feel him physically shutting her out, slamming the door on any fledgling attempt at civility, and she was alternately relieved and horrified. Shame. That’s the feeling that was crushing her. God, she was ashamed for not having the courage to tell him that he had a daughter. Ashamed to realize that she may have been wrong to keep them apart. She’d been reacting to the situation at the time and figured this was best, but perhaps it had only been best for her. But what the hell could she do about it now? Nothing. So it would remain the same. She’d deal. She had to.

“How far to Wilkin’s Mine?” she asked, keeping her voice professional, businesslike.

“An hour.”

An hour. Fabulous. She imagined having a Brazilian bikini wax would be less painful than sitting in a car with Matthew suffering through stilted, awkward conversation as they each navigated around the emotional land mines that could blow them both to bits. “Music?” she asked, moving to turn the stereo on.

“Not interested in catching up?” he asked as she turned the volume up. His mouth twisted knowingly with just a touch of mocking cruelty. “Guess not.”

She shot him a dark look and then returned to the scenery outside her window. In spite of the rain that continued to fall from the gray skies, the melancholy beauty of the coastal forests was something that tugged at her emotional center. It was hard to ignore that her roots were here, even as much as she tried. It was probably why she’d requested the San Francisco office. She needed to hear the ocean and smell the briny perfume of the sea. Her family had always been attached to the water. Her father had been a fisherman just like his father before him. Some of her best memories included the sea. In spite of herself, Kara wondered if Matthew still enjoyed abalone diving, or if he had ever bought that sailboat he’d been wanting when they were kids. Probably not. Neal had been the impulsive, spontaneous one. Matthew always weighed the pros and cons of everything six ways from Sunday before he did something. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nostalgia plucking memories from her mental chest that she’d locked away long ago.

Regret tasted metallic on her tongue. She risked a glance at his profile. Strong, stubborn jaw, lips compressed to a tight line, betraying some kind of inner conflict as did the pull of his dark brows shadowing his eyes. Likely, if she’d told Matthew about their daughter, he would’ve taught her to dive, to enjoy and respect the ocean. He would’ve taught Briana to play guitar. She swallowed as she recalled Briana’s most recent request.

“Why didn’t you have kids?” she asked, glancing at him curiously. “When you were married, I mean.”

“Back to catching up?” he asked, the mild tone deceptive.

She shrugged. “It’s a long drive. You don’t have to answer of course. I was just wondering.”

The frown eased as he considered his answer. Finally, he admitted, “I did want kids. She didn’t. Takes two to make that happen. Seeing as how things turned out, it was for the best. How about you?”