Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) (15 page)

Her phone buzzed against her side. She reached down and checked the number and remembered she’d missed another call last night, too. Rachel Knight. Damn.

Erin wanted to smack herself. How could she have not called Rachel yesterday? But no matter how urgent, she couldn’t talk to her where someone might overhear. She’d call her back from the police station.

Her breathing and heart rate began to return to normal, and she stretched out her muscles. Slowly, she became aware of the sensation of eyes crawling over her body. It was particularly creepy standing outside the house where Mandy and Cassie had been brutally slain.

Erin never discounted her instincts—unless she counted her disastrous marriage. But Graham had never seemed anything except devoted during their courtship—maybe too devoted, she thought, looking back now. She searched her peripheral vision, but couldn’t see anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Crap. She stretched a leg against the truck, then straightened and climbed inside, giving it time to warm up, using those precious minutes to check out nearby cars and houses.

Had the killer come back? Did he live nearby? Was he watching?

Nothing stirred. Not a soul was visible. After five minutes of nothing, she told herself she was being stupid. Paranoid. She couldn’t sit here all day looking like a damn fool. She put the car in gear and headed off to work.

*     *     *

Darsh grabbed a
quick shower in the station then set off in search of Erin. He found her in the opposite corner of the building behind two room dividers, talking on the phone. She looked at him without comment and jammed the handset between her shoulder and her ear, rummaging through the stack of papers on her desk before pulling out a pen and a piece of paper. They hadn’t spoken since he’d muscled in on the Brady interview yesterday, but after his conversation with Mallory last night, he now understood the woman a million times better—not that he could admit that. If she found out he’d been snooping, she’d be more pissed than ever.

Her blonde hair was tied up in a thick, wet braid that left a damp streak down the back of her blue cotton shirt. The subtle sweetness of her soap and shampoo caught him off guard. She’d obviously just showered, and he did not want to think about her being naked anywhere on the entire contiguous landmass of North America, let alone a handful of feet away from his office.

The shadows beneath her eyes were disguised with makeup, but at least she looked like she’d gotten some rest.

“What time?” She wrote something down. “Okay. See you then.” She hung up and let out a long breath before glancing up to meet his gaze. “Find anything last night? Any blinding omissions or flashes of inspiration as to how we catch this guy?”

He grunted. Police work was rarely easy or speedy, and last night was no exception. He’d spent hours trawling through witness statements and trial transcripts. He rubbed the back of his neck. At least she was talking to him again. “Still working my way through the evidence and reports.”

Those pretty eyes of hers weighed him silently, and he wanted to ask if her husband had ever hit her. He wanted to apologize for being such a judgmental asshole after they’d slept together. But this wasn’t the place. And it wasn’t the time.

“How’d you sleep?” She frowned then turned away, looking for something else amongst the mess of her desk.

His back felt like someone had hammered nails into it. “Let’s just say it’s a good thing the chair in my office is better than this piece of shit.” He tapped the leg of the crappy chair she was using.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You slept here?”

“All the motels are full.” He grimaced because they were going to be full for a while. “You need a better office chair.”

She laughed. It was the first time he’d heard that sound in three long years. It soaked into his skin like sunshine.

“No kidding.”

“I’m going to have to find a couch somewhere or sleep in my car,” he admitted, twisting his shoulders.

“Press are gonna love that. Homeless FBI profiler working case at elite college.”

“No such job title as FBI ‘profiler’ as you well know.”

She waved his comment away. They both knew the press would say whatever the hell they wanted regardless of the veracity of the statement. She gave a triumphant cry when she pulled out a candy bar from under some file folders. “Hallelujah.” She tore it open and bit into one of the Twix bars, munching happily. “There’s always the conference room after the boss goes home,” she said between mouthfuls.

His stomach growled, and he hoped to hell she didn’t hear it. “I’ve slept in worse places. Armored vehicles during a sand storm. Flat rooftops under the blazing Arabian sun.”

“I’m more of a bed girl myself.”

Images of her naked on white cotton sheets flashed through his brain. His blood rushed through his body like steam. Oblivious, she nibbled the candy and didn’t notice the way he shifted his stance.

This attraction was going to be a pain in the ass because he was still investigating her work on the Hawke case, something that could get her fired. For the first time, he thought about asking Brennan to send someone to replace him. But their unit was stretched to breaking point, and he didn’t intend to be the weak link.

And so what if he actually enjoyed working with Erin and found her ridiculously alluring? He wasn’t going to compromise his ethics because they’d once slept together. If she’d screwed up, he’d put it in his report.

She licked her lips.

Right. Great.

His stomach growled again, and he leaned over to snatch the second piece of the candy bar out of her hand to steal a bite before handing it back.

“Hungry?” The sparkle in her eyes sent shockwaves of lust rushing through his system.

She had no idea.

She handed him the remainder of the chocolate, and he consumed it in one gulp. “Thanks.”

“I timed the run from Cassie’s house to the frat houses this morning,” she began, wiping her lips.

“What? When?” He glanced out the window. The sun wasn’t even up yet.

“Before I came in. About six.”

“You went alone?” He tried not to sound like her big brother. His feelings weren’t even remotely brotherly.

Her spine stiffened. “Yeah. Why?”

Because most people on campus wanted to lynch her. “Next time you do something at the college, let me know. I’ll come with you.”

Her brows rose skeptically. “I can look after myself. And you won’t be around that long.”

“Jeez, you’re stubborn. Just pick up the damn phone.”

“Seriously?” She smiled, but the way her eyes narrowed held a warning. “You’re gonna do what? Ride to my rescue every time some asshole wants to take a potshot at me? I’m not a florist, Darsh. I’m a cop. And I don’t need some fed to save me.”

He tossed the wrapper in the garbage. She was right, but he didn’t have to like it. “At least tell someone where you’re going.”

“I told Ully Mason before I left home.”

Something ugly twisted inside him. “You two seeing each other?”

Erin’s features hardened as she leaned back in her chair and took in his telltale body language. You didn’t need to be a behavioral analyst to recognize jealousy. “Why do you care?”

He blew out a big breath and felt like ten kinds of fool. “I have no idea. But for some crazy reason I do.”

“I
called
Ully at his house from my house. Despite what you might think, Special Agent Singh, I do not sleep with my co-workers.
Ever
.”

And if
that
wasn’t another warning, he was a card-carrying member of the Ku Klux Klan. “What about your ex?” Jesus, his brain had clearly left the building.

“First, I moved precincts when we started dating. Second, I didn’t sleep with another cop”—she held up her left hand and wiggled her bare fingers—“until he put a ring on it.”

He stared into those gorgeous eyes and wondered if she knew how much she’d just given away. She’d been chaste, but she’d slept with
him
. No dating. No rings. Just fast and hard, then slow and sensual, and everything in between. She’d tried to shed her old skin, and the bastard she was divorcing had punished her for her newfound independence by blowing his brains out in front of not only her, but her entire precinct.

And they were the only two people in the world to know about that night, he realized. There’s no way Erin would have told anyone else.

Her expression turned pensive, and she looked away. Maybe she could read whatever he was thinking in his eyes, which made him the worst kind of fool.

She pulled out some photographs of the knots of blue rope from her desk and put them in a yellow file folder. She grabbed her parka off the back of the chair. “I’m going to see Rachel Knight—”

“The first victim?” He pulled his attention away from Erin and back to the case.

She nodded. “The three other rape victims live out of state and didn’t return to Blackcombe this year. If I’m not back in two hours send out a search party—”

“Won’t need to. I’m coming with you.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she bit out.

“I want to talk to her.” The first and last victims always held the most clues.

Erin folded her arms over her chest in an age-old defensive move. “She doesn’t like talking to strange men.”

Dear God, some days life was easier looking down the barrel of a rifle than dealing with stubborn cops. “I’m trained for this sort of situation. And you’ll be there to reassure her.” He turned on his heel to go grab his stuff. He unlocked the door to his office and reached inside for his windbreaker.

A truculent voice followed him. “Fine. We should go in separate vehicles. I’m going to the local outdoors shop afterward to ask about the rope. I’ll be gone until lunch. You’ll miss the morning meeting.”

“They sell outerwear?” he asked, shrugging into the thin layer of Gortex that was currently the only thing protecting him from the insane cold.

“What?” She looked at him like he’d begun speaking Punjabi.

“This outdoor shop. They sell jackets like yours?” he asked.

She raised her hands in what-the-fuck surrender. “Yes. Of course they do.”

“Then I’m coming with you. Let’s go.”

E
rin didn’t know
what had changed, but Darsh seemed less angry and disapproving than he had the day before. She wished he’d go back to being bitter and judgmental because, no matter how good-looking the outer package, the former was an easy combination to resist.

The man in question looked up at the mullioned windows with English ivy creeping up the side of the chimney. “Pretty swank student accommodation.”

Wearing a charcoal suit, blue tie, and crisp white shirt, gold badge on his hip and weapon in its shoulder holster, he didn’t look like a guy who’d slept in a chair. He looked like a professional federal law enforcement officer and just as attractive in a suit as he was in tactical clothes.

Dammit.

Erin knocked on the red front door of the elegant brick house. They were on the west side of town, on a small hill where a lot of faculty and university administration lived. The door opened, and a woman with short, straight, dyed brown hair appeared. Her gaze went from Erin to Darsh and back to Erin. She didn’t look happy.

“You spoke to Rachel?” she asked.

“Yes, Dr. Knight. About an hour ago. She asked if I could come see her today.”

The woman’s hand went to the cross she wore around her throat. “I thought you’d have called yesterday. To reassure her.”

Darsh shifted on his feet.

“I’m sorry I didn’t. I was swamped.” And hoping they could arrest the perp ASAP so she could put this woman’s daughter’s mind at ease. “This is Agent Singh from the FBI’s Behavior Analysis Unit. May we come in?”

Rachel’s mother took a reluctant step back and opened the door. Erin stepped into the hallway with its elegant black and white tiled floor. She wiped her feet on the mat, and Darsh did the same, both on their best behavior. She’d told him to let her do the talking, and so far he was following instructions. She had the feeling he would cooperate for as long as it suited his cause—following the route of least resistance, or spinning her a line to get what he wanted. Like telling her he was a Marine rather than an FBI agent when she was at that training course at the academy. She should resent him for that, but as he’d reminded her on several different occasions, it was trivial in comparison to her deception.

“You can wait in the study. The fire’s lit.” The mother indicated they go on ahead. Erin had been here on several occasions and knew the way.

“Donald went to work. I stayed home for Rachel…just in case.” The woman trailed off as if she didn’t really know what to do. “I’ll fetch her.” She turned abruptly and left them alone in the hallway.

“The dad is a professor in the Physics Department. Mom is a prof in Ancient Languages,” Erin murmured as she led them toward the study.

“But the attack didn’t happen here, right?”

“No. Rachel was assaulted in her dorm on campus. She moved home afterward.” Erin wasn’t sure if he’d read Rachel’s account of the rape yet or not. She assumed he’d at least read the courtroom testimony.