To Catch a Killer. Kimberly Van Meter

And then she stalked past him, taking great care not to make contact with him in any way—as if he had the plague or something.

      He should’ve followed her lead and continued to his office but his gaze lingered as she walked the long hallway, past rows of plaques and pictures of past chiefs hung on the walls, her shiny black boots clicking softly on the old tiled and dingy floor. Shoulders stiff as hardened plastic, she gave little indication of her mood except for the subtle yet angry twitch and sway of her hips. He suppressed a chuckle for no other reason than he recognized he’d delivered a low blow for selfish reasons and it didn’t feel right to enjoy it so much. But it felt good. Bad as it was. After what she did to Neal … well, it’s a damn miracle he didn’t toss her from the Widow’s Bridge and be done with it.

      One could dream … he sighed and walked to his office to finish his paperwork for the night.

      Kara got back to the motel, still fuming. What a passive-aggressive prick. Why didn’t he just come out and say what was on his mind? Obviously, it was killing him to hold it back, and instead of getting it off his chest so they could all focus on the job, he kept slipping in little jabs at her expense.

      “Must suck,” she mimicked under her breath as she unlocked the motel room door and slammed it behind her. And how did he know all that about her? She placed her camera on the bed and jerked off her overcoat. A light blinked on the phone indicating she had a message waiting. She lifted the receiver and retrieved the message, sighing when it was Colfax again. He’d already left two voice mails on her cell.

      A soft knock at the front door and Dillon walked in a second later. She replaced the receiver. “I could’ve been naked,” she said, pulling her cell phone free from its holster at her hip. “Try waiting until I answer, will you?”

      “And miss a chance to catch you in your birthday suit? Never.” He gestured toward the phone. “That Colfax?”

      “Yeah. He call you?”

      “Yes. I told him you were too busy fighting with the local chief to take his calls but you’d get back to him as soon as you were able.”

      She glared, even though she knew he would never say such a thing to their director. “You’re lucky I know you’re kidding. You know that British humor … it’s a hit and miss thing with Americans. Most of the time we just don’t get it.”

      “No, you don’t get it because you don’t have a sense of humor.”

      “Ha-ha. Are you here to bust my balls or do you have something useful to share?”

      “Actually, I do. The fax came from Dr. Benton, that geologist from Davis University we sent the mineral sample to.”

      That got her attention. “And?”

      “And it seems maybe our killer is from your own backyard. The mineral found on the body of the Garvin boy is called orickite. It’s a sulphide and it’s only found around these parts. Do you know of any active mines close by?”

      “No, but we can certainly find out.” She started for the phone but then remembered Lantern Cove pretty much shut down after five. “Are the rest of the team settled in?”

      Dillon nodded. “Four rooms booked down the hall, all federal agents. You want me to get them rounded up for a meeting? I thought we’d meet first thing in the morning over a spot of breakfast, preferably something hot to keep the hypothermia at bay.”

      “Smart-ass. And, no. Go ahead and bring them over now. You and I are going for a hike tomorrow.”

      “A hike?” Dillon’s brow arched. “What kind of hike? I don’t know if I brought the right wardrobe for that sort of excursion.”

      “We’re going back to the crime scene. In the first two murders, the killer left something behind. Matthew’s team didn’t find anything but I know the killer left his signature calling card. We have to find it.”

      “We haven’t concluded that what you’re thinking of as clues were actually left behind by the killer. There was no DNA on the paper found near the Garvin boy and it was printed on a computer so we can’t even get a handwriting analysis.”

      Kara shook her head. “It wasn’t random. He wants us to think that it is but there’s no reason a child would carry around something like that.” She met his dubious stare. “I’m right about this. I can feel it.”

      “You’re the boss,” Dillon said with a sigh. “What time tomorrow?”

      “At 7:00 a.m.”

      He groaned. “Just because you’re an insomniac doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

      “At 7:00 a.m.,” she repeated. “Not a minute later.” The corner of her mouth twitched. “Now, go call the team. I want to get this briefing underway before everyone starts trying to claim overtime.”

      By the time the briefing was over and everyone had returned to their rooms for the night, Kara felt an all-over body fatigue and actually welcomed the thought of sinking into the motel bed.

      She rose on legs stiff from sitting in one position too long. After washing her face and throwing on some pajamas, she climbed into the bed and gratefully closed her eyes. Perhaps tonight she’d be able to sleep without the details of the case she was working scrolling across her brain in rapid succession, screaming for closure, demanding everything she had and then some.

      But even as she started to drift into slumber, a memory, buried deep, surfaced and she rolled onto her side as if to escape it.

      Summer, 1990. She, Neal and Matthew were driving to the beach … the smell of her coconut suntan lotion filled the truck’s cabin … the sound of their laughter mingled with the music of Aerosmith … she felt safe, flanked by the two boys.

      Then, as dreams often do, the scene changed without warning to the night before she left. The fight. The words that were said that couldn’t be taken back. The heavy weight of regret and guilt that she carried each time she looked into her daughter’s eyes.

      Matthew’s eyes.

      Kara tossed. The dream faded but the feeling that she’d lost something precious remained. Just as it always did.

      Her eyes cracked open a slit but slid closed again. For once sheer exhaustion overruled everything else. And she was grateful.

      The next morning was much like the day Hannah’s body was found, only bleaker as dark storm clouds gathered on the horizon and headed straight for Lantern Cove. Angry waves crashed against the inland rocky shores as the wind picked up and howled through the trees.

      If Kara were the superstitious sort, she’d say there was an uneasy energy coursing through the air. But she certainly didn’t believe in that crap, nor would she admit to the shiver that ricocheted down her spine as she waited for Dillon.

      “Picked a cherry of a day to go hiking,” he said, locking his door and pocketing his key. “If it rains, we’ll lose whatever trace you’re hoping to find.”

      Kara looked to the sky and nodded grimly. “I know. We should get a move on. Maybe we can beat the rain.”

      Dillon shook his head. “I don’t know, but we can try. Oh, by the way, I left a voice mail for Beauchamp to let him know we were going out there,” he said as they climbed into Kara’s Range Rover.

      She looked at him sharply. “Why’d you do that? We don’t need his permission.”

      “No, but it’s a professional courtesy and you know it. Why are you so set on making an enemy of this guy?”

      Too late for that. Kara opened her mouth but snapped it shut, knowing that if she let fly what had popped into her head it would only open the door for more discussion about her past. She wasn’t interested in doing that. “You’re right. Sorry. I need coffee.”

      “No problem. There’s a coffee shop along the way.”

      “Good.”