Man Of Action. Janie Crouch

Andrea had looked at him when they shook hands, but then glanced away.

      Andrea recognized Kendrick.

      That wasn’t impossible or even improbable. Andrea had lived here her whole life. She probably would’ve run into members of the sheriff’s office from time to time. “Have we met before?” Kendrick asked Andrea.

      Her expression remained smooth although she shifted just slightly in her chair. “Maybe.” She smiled at him. “Omega works a lot of cases.”

      A very nice side step. She wasn’t offering up that she used to live here or that she recognized Kendrick, so Brandon didn’t, either. Her comment seemed to pacify the sheriff’s deputy, although Brandon knew that wasn’t where they knew each other.

      “We have three victims so far,” Kendrick said, tone bordering on bored. “All Caucasian females between the ages of twenty to twenty-five. Cause of death was strangulation with a thin rope. The ligature marks were quite clear. All had been restrained—marks on their wrists were obvious, but there was no sign of any other assault, sexual or otherwise. And they all were found outside a church. Different one each time.”

      Putting the victims outside a church corresponded well with the purity theme he and Andrea had batted around yesterday.

      “Any known connection between the victims?” he asked.

      “They didn’t seem to know each other, as far as we can tell. All lived in Maricopa County, but different parts.”

      “But two had been arrested for something in the last year or two,” Andrea interjected.

      Brandon glanced at her discreetly. So she had studied the files.

      Kendrick nodded. “Different charges, but yes. Brought here for holding, actually. One was arrested for solicitation, one for underage drinking. Neither of them were ever booked or went to trial.”

      If Brandon hadn’t been looking over at Andrea, he would’ve missed her slight flinch. Had there been some trouble with the law in her past? Was that what made her nervous about this building?

      “Occupations were not exactly upstanding, either. Two of them worked at exotic dance clubs somewhere in Phoenix or the surrounding areas. One worked at a diner that is known to be a hot area for solicitation.” Jennison grinned slyly at Kendrick.

      Kendrick chuckled. “Yeah, I offered to do some undercover work at the clubs, but somehow couldn’t clear it with my boss, much less my wife.”

      Brandon ignored the jokes. He wasn’t surprised about the women’s occupations. Quite often an arrest record accompanied such jobs.

      “What exactly have you done concerning the investigation?” Brandon could hear the tightness in Andrea’s tone.

      “We’ve done our due diligence.” Kendrick sat up a little straighter in his chair. “We interviewed employers, canvassed the area for witnesses, ran DNA and searched for any prints.”

      Jennison interjected. “Look, we appreciate Omega sending you down here, and if you come up with any insight we’d love to hear it. We don’t want a killer wandering around loose. But the fact is, none of these women seem to have anyone who cares about them, two have an arrest record and all have employment that is a bit questionable.”

      Kendrick shrugged. “So basically, we’ll do all we can—like Jennison said, nobody wants to let a killer go free—but we’re not getting any pressure from the higher-ups to put major resources into this investigation. Unfortunately, these women were pretty much nobodies.”

Chapter Four

      These women were pretty much nobodies.

      No family who cared. Arrest records. Questionable employment.

      If the killer had been around four years ago, Andrea might have been one of the victims. Every part of that account described her when she was nineteen, before changing her life at Omega.

      She wanted to, but she could hardly blame the cops. Law-enforcement funding was limited. Unfortunately, without family demanding justice, these murders, if not easily solved, would just get pushed to the side.

      The only reason Omega had been called at all was because it was obvious the three kills had been performed by the same person. Otherwise Andrea didn’t know if the locals would’ve put any true effort into finding the killer.

      They were on their way now to The Boar’s Nest, one of three bars here in Buckeye, where the latest victim—Noelle Brumby—had been known to frequent. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, but evidently Noelle had hung out here in the afternoons since she worked nights.

      Andrea’s weariness pressed against her—reviewing the case files had taken her most of the night—but she pushed it aside. She had made it through talking to Lance Kendrick, who had thankfully not remembered her from her brief run-in with the sheriff’s office for underage drinking years ago. She could make it through this.

      Walking inside, she thought The Boar’s Nest looked just the way someone would expect a small-town bar to look in the middle of the afternoon: dingy, run-down, pathetic. Night hid a lot of sins of this place that sunlight brought out.

      The Tuesday afternoon crowd wasn’t the most upstanding. Anybody who had a white-collar job, and even most of the blue-collar ones, would not be in this place at this time. The people patronizing The Boar’s Nest now worked nights or didn’t work at all.

      Andrea heard a low whistle as they walked in, but didn’t know if it was for her looks or because they were obviously law enforcement. Nobody ran for the exit or stopped any activities suddenly, so at least it didn’t appear that anything illegal was happening.

      She felt Brandon step closer to her and could see him looking around, obviously checking for any danger. Cops were sometimes not welcome in places like this, although that would not stop her and Brandon from their questioning. Brandon had a weapon, but Andrea didn’t. Hopefully he wouldn’t need to use it.

      Two pool tables lined the far end of the room, with three guys playing on one. A bartender unpacked boxes and put glasses away behind the bar, and a couple sat at a table sipping beers in the corner.

      All of them were looking at Brandon and Andrea.

      Brandon touched her gently on the back—she knew it was an unconscious habit more than anything else but it still sent a slight shiver through her—and they headed toward the bar.

      The bartender looked at them without halting his motions. “Lost or cops?”

      Brandon chuckled. “Can’t be thirsty?”

      “Yeah, you can. And I’ll gladly get you something, but I’m still pretty sure you’re one of the other two, also.”

      “You’re right—the latter. We’re investigating the death of Noelle Brumby.”

      The bartender stopped putting away the glasses. “Yeah, that was a damn shame. She was a nice girl. Friendly. I’m Phil. I own this bar.”

      Andrea studied Phil while he talked. He seemed very sincere about liking Noelle.

      “Can you tell us anything else about her?” Brandon asked.

      “She worked at a...er, gentleman’s club closer in to Phoenix.”

      Allure. They already knew that and would be interviewing people there soon, even though Kendrick and Jennison had also spoken with them.

      “Why didn’t she work at Jaguar’s, do you know?” Andrea was hesitant to bring up her former place of employment in front of Brandon, but understanding why Noelle would drive farther to work at a club rather than work at the strip club here in town might have some bearing.

      Both the bartender and Brandon looked a little surprised at her question.

      “You from around here?”