Mallory Kane - Double-Edged Detective

“Wait right here under this streetlight,” he told Nicole, then grabbed the kid by an arm and marched him over to his car. He pushed him against the car’s frame.

“Spread your feet,” he commanded.

“Aw, man. I ain’t never been arrested. Gimme a break.”

“Spread ‘em. You lost your chance at a break when you accosted the woman.” He pushed the kid’s head down against the back window. “Stay there.”

Reaching through the open driver’s-side door, he retrieved a flexible strap cuff and quickly secured the kid’s hands behind him. By the time he finished, a car marked St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office pulled up and two uniformed deputies got out.

“Detective Ryker Delancey,” he said. “Got one for you.”

“Sweet,” the younger deputy said, while the older one groaned.

“Another hour and we’d be off duty. Now we got paperwork.”

“Sorry,” Ryker said, grinning. “He’s all yours.”

They marched the kid to the cruiser, settled him in the backseat and then drove away.

Ryker holstered his gun, locked his car and returned to Nicole’s side, ready to console and reassure her.

She glared at him. “You were following me?”

Ryker stared at her. “That’s what you got out of all this? Did you even notice that little jerk behind you? “

“Of course I did. But I’m less than fifty feet from my building.”

“Fifty feet?” Ryker laughed. “Might as well be fifty miles, if your throat is cut.”

Nicole’s head jerked slightly, probably at the image his words conjured.

“No.” She recovered and cut a hand through the air. “You’re just trying to distract me. You were following me. Have you done this for the whole past year?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have been keeping an eye on you, but no. I haven’t been following you home until recently.”

Her eyes widened. “Because it’s the last week in October.” Her throat moved as she swallowed. “You do think that man is going to come back, don’t you?”

“Let’s say I’m afraid he will. I wasn’t supposed to talk about the previous cases, because I can’t convince my chief that they’re all related.”

“Your chief doesn’t think they’re related?” Nicole’s voice rose in hope. “Why do you?”

He pushed his fingers through his short hair, leaving it spiked. “Because of the dates of the attacks. Because of a connection among the victims that hasn’t been released to the public.”

“A connection? What connection?”

Ryker studied her. Would it hurt for her to know the reason he was so sure the same man had committed all the murders and tried to kill her? Hopefully it would convince her of the danger she could be in. He believed that forewarned is forearmed.

“Birthdays,” he said. “All of your birthdays are within about a week of each other. The dates range from the twenty-first of October to the first of November. Mike isn’t convinced the birthdays are important. He’s relying on the MOs, which are all different.”

“MOs. That’s—”

“Modus operandi. Or method of operation. Basically, things that are unique to the killer. What weapon or weapons he uses, similarities in how he gains entrance, who he targets. That kind of thing.” Ryker sighed. “He’s got a point. Normally serial killers don’t change their methods.”

A dark car sped by close to them. Nicole jumped and stepped closer to Ryker. He put his hand on the small of her back. “Are you okay? “

She nodded. “Just a little jumpy.” She looked up at him, and her demeanor changed. “I apologize. I know you’re trying to protect me.”

Ryker stared at her. Suddenly, the hostility that had honed every word she’d said was gone. In its place was a husky softness that slid through him straight to his groin. Surely she wasn’t doing that on purpose.

As if to prove that she wasn’t, she stepped back, putting space between them. “I could make you that cup of coffee,” she said hesitantly.

Ryker swallowed. He’d be a fool to accept her invitation, the way he was feeling right now. His pulse had sped up, and in just a few seconds, if he didn’t get himself under control, he might embarrass himself and her. The best thing to do would be to decline again, and head for his car and get the hell out of there.

“I’d better get going,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure you got home safely.”

“Oh, of course. I need to go, too.” She gestured vaguely behind her, in the direction of her apartment.

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

Glancing back at him, she shook her head. “Please don’t. I walk to and from work every day. I don’t want to be one of those women who’s afraid of going anywhere.”

“Yeah? Well, for what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure you’ll never be one of those women. But do me a favor and take your car to work for the next couple of weeks.”

“Good night,” she called as she walked away.

Ryker stood and watched her until she got to her building and walked up the stairs to the second-floor landing. She looked down at him as she unlocked her door, then she stepped inside and closed it behind her. He waited until he saw lights go on behind her curtains.

“Damn it, Nicole,” he whispered as he got into his car and cranked it. She was no more going to drive to the restaurant than there was a man in the moon. Another light came on in her apartment. Her bedroom, probably.

The thought of her getting undressed, bathing, slipping between the sheets, stirred him again. He gritted his teeth and pulled away from the curb. “Down, boy,” he muttered. “No getting the hots for the pretty victim. That’s stepping over the line.”

Albert Moser entered his house through the garage and headed straight for the photo album. He knew the man who’d come to Nicole Beckham’s rescue tonight. He’d seen him somewhere, he was sure.

The encroaching date on the calendar had sent him out looking for Nicole Beckham. He was ninety-nine percent sure she hadn’t seen his face a year ago. Still, she was unfinished business.

He knew where she worked, so he’d waited outside the restaurant until it closed and she emerged. He was delighted when he saw that she was walking home. He’d figured it would be easy to follow her and force his way into her apartment as she unlocked the door.

But then a small drama had unfolded, and Albert realized Nicole Beckham had a protector. And not just any protector—a cop. He’d grabbed the kid who’d been walking behind Nicole, cuffed him and called a couple of his buddies to take the kid in. Meanwhile, Albert was able to get a good look at his face.

He’d seen him before.

He sat down with the photo album and thumbed through all the newspaper clippings he’d saved from the murders. He’d seen that cop before. It could have been several years ago, during the brief time the police were investigating his daughter’s murder. Or maybe his picture had been in the newspaper.

It didn’t matter where he’d seen him. What mattered was, he was a cop and he was watching out for Nicole. Did that mean the police were finally taking the murder of young women seriously?

If so, then Albert had to be doubly vigilant, and doubly careful. He sorted through the six insurance forms, looking at the birth dates. He narrowed his choice down to two, both of whom had been born on the twenty-fifth day of October, three days after his daughter.

THE NEXT MORNING, Deputy Chief Mike Davis of the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff’s Office satellite office in Chef Voleur leaned back in his desk chair and frowned at Ryker. “I just got off the phone with Lieutenant James Faraday in Mandeville.”