Deadly Bonds (4 page)

“I doubt you
get
anything.” Toxin felt better already. The guy was a joke.

“Why don’t you clear things up, then?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. Since you’re so smart and all... But start calling me Toxin, because I deserve some measure of respect.”

“Okay,
Toxin
, tell me why you’ve taken up killing as a hobby.”

“Cleaning up the streets of Chicago is a tough job, but somebody’s got to do it.”

“You killed a CEO, a pediatric oncologist, and a state senator. I hardly call that cleaning up.”

“Then you have no clue what’s really going on.” Toxin hung up, satisfied he had nothing to fear from this fuck-up. “See you around
Doctor
Patterson.”

* * *

Damian Manchester looked across the table at Holt and Max. Antagonizing a murderer hadn’t been his strategy of choice, but he trusted the people he’d hired at SSAM.

“It was beautiful.” Max grinned. “Too bad it didn’t work.”

“Not entirely, maybe,” Holt conceded. “But I got some valuable information.”

“You did your job,” Damian told Holt. “And now we know your profile was on the right track. We’re dealing with a smart individual. Smart enough to use a throwaway phone.” Einstein hadn’t been able to trace it.

Holt pulled his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “
Toxin.
The fact that he calls himself that confirms he’s egocentric. That’s something we can use again.”

“How?” Max asked.

“You were the one who said that the guy could be a drama queen. You may have been more right than we knew. He responded to my tactics, he believes he’s doing what’s right. He’s delusional, but not in a clinical way because he’s clearly functional too. He repeatedly indicated that he believed his victims guilty of something, as vermin he had to clean off the streets.”

“But they’re not,” Max said. “They served the city in valuable roles.”

“But not to Toxin. For whatever reasons, he saw a CEO, a doctor and a politician as threats, as polluting society. What’s more, he sees himself as someone whose job it is to clean things up.”

Damian nodded. “It’s our job to figure out what those reasons are.”

Understanding what drove people to murder wasn’t simple. And understanding the mind—and predicting the next move—of a repeat violent offender such as a serial killer was even more difficult. Sometimes the murder spree continued until a group of people with a unique skillset teamed up to take the killer down. Bringing those professionals together was the reason Damian had started SSAM years ago. The reason he woke up every morning. To find the devils who got their kicks from killing. To find the monster who’d taken his daughter from him. At age thirteen, Sam had been the victim of a serial killer who’d never been caught. Never been brought to justice.

Never.

The word weighed heavy on his heart, but he maintained hope that
never
would become
someday.
But even if...
when
...the killer was found and made to pay, it would never bring back Sam. There was no
someday
where she was concerned.

Chapter Four

September

The breeze stirred a stray hair from its clip and sent it dancing against Sara’s neck, tickling her skin. The barest chill in the air indicated fall wasn’t far away. That, combined with the giddy feeling of success, had her smiling as she surveyed the grounds at the Academy. A winding strip of road led from the gothic architecture of the school perched on top of the hill to the main road a quarter mile away. Tall oaks cast growing shadows across the sloping green lawn where picnic tables covered with red-and-white-checked cloths had been cleared of the luncheon—a Labor Day weekend barbecue with all the trimmings.

Cheryl came over with two red plastic cups of lemonade and handed her one. “Looks like all those months of planning were worth it.”

“As were the arguments with the board of directors.” Sara took a sip that puckered her lips. Still, it was cool and refreshing. Before long, they’d be trading in iced tea and lemonade for hot apple cider. “Maybe they’ll listen to me when I suggest the next change.”

Cheryl raised a silver eyebrow. Her matronly appearance was compromised by the twinkle of mischief that was never far from her eyes. “And that would be?”

“You’ll see.” Visions of shaping the old mansion that had become the Academy decades ago—and hadn’t changed much since—got Sara’s creative juices flowing.

“I’m not sure the board knew what they were in for when they hired you.” Cheryl chuckled, then gestured to a group of people seated at one of the picnic tables, watching the action in play on the football field they’d put in last summer. “But they seem to be enjoying themselves.”

Several shouts of excitement rose from the direction of the field, where the students were engaged in a game of flag football. Sara tried to make out Theo. Her heart jumped into her throat as the ball came hurtling toward his face. He caught it, but lost his balance and landed face-first in the grass as he fought to hold onto the ball. She relaxed as he jumped up with a grin and held up the ball. He pulled a blade of grass from his bottom lip.

Her eyes sought out Holt, to no avail. She’d hoped he’d make it here for Theo’s sake but his anger toward her was just too large to overcome. Apparently pinky swears didn’t mean what they used to.

Cheryl clucked at Sara like a mother hen. “I’ve watched you talking with the parents, but your wheels are always spinning. Relax. Go play some of the games. Enjoy the kids. I think I’ll try the dunk tank.”

“I should have canceled that. It’s a bit chilly, don’t you think?”

“Nah. Lockhart has it comin’.” With a wink, Cheryl headed across the lawn toward the booth where the science teacher was perched precariously on a slim wooden board, his khakis and polo shirt totally dry. Sara suspected Cheryl was about to rectify that. She grinned.

“Pretty smug, aren’t you?”

Sara spun to face John Rochard, her palm pressed to her chest in surprise. She’d caught sight of him earlier and given him a wide berth. “Excuse me?”

His gaze took a slow trip over her. He smirked when she bristled. “You think you hold all the keys to the futures of these boys. Of
my
boy. Think again. Neil plans to go to an Ivy League college when he graduates. I’ve worked hard to make sure that happens.”

“And earning Cs and Ds in half his classes will undo all of
your
hard work. Is that it?”

After Rochard had confronted Mrs. Robertson, Sara had gone back and reviewed Neil’s grades. They’d sunk like an anchor since January. John’s disdainful glance showed exactly who he thought was responsible for his son’s struggles.
Her
. Unbelievable. There was something deeper going on with Neil.

“Glad we understand each other.” John turned to leave.

“I’m afraid we don’t.” Her words had him swinging back to face her. His face was firm and cold as granite, but she straightened her spine. “I don’t rig grades, if that’s what you’re suggesting. The boys get what they earn. If you want to help, Neil needs to sign up to take the SAT soon. And his teachers are offering to let him retake the classes in which he performed poorly in night school or at the community college, so that he doesn’t fall behind. I’ve already told him this as well as sent the information to you in an email.”

John’s laugh was harsh. “Night school? During football season? And who do you expect will foot yet another bill? I don’t think so.”

“His grades have been in a steady decline for months. Has something changed in his home life?” She suspected that
something
was the Rochards’ ugly divorce. A divorce that was being kept tightly under wraps yet provided grist for the rumor mill in the teachers’ lounge. A divorce that even impacted John’s father, Patrick Rochard, a distinguished military veteran who hoped to win re-election to the senate in November. She wondered if John recognized the role of his personal and family drama in Neil’s problems.

“That’s none of your damn business.” He took a step closer and jabbed a finger at her. “Your business is getting the best opportunities in life for these boys. That’s what we pay you for. See that you remember that. This school has a reputation for excellence and you’re driving it into the ground.”

In her peripheral vision, Sara caught sight of Theo approaching. “Miss Sara, are you okay?”

Hazel eyes laced with gold looked from her to John. Sara’s lips felt like tight rubber bands that refused to curve, but she fought past it. “I’m fine, Theo. Did you get plenty to eat?” He nodded but his eyes, narrowed and untrusting, remained on John. “Why don’t you play some kickball? It looks like they’re forming a team.”

Instead of leaving, Theo moved to her side. The smell of a boy who’d been outside all day—the scents of grass, perspiration, and fresh air that somehow cling to a child’s skin—filled her nose and grounded her.

“Theo, I think you remember Jeremy’s father, Mr. Rochard,” she said. As if he sensed the anger and unwelcome in Rochard, Theo didn’t do anything to greet the man. She nudged him gently with her elbow.

Theo looked up at her. “I’d like you to talk to my dad. He finally came.”

“He did?” She resisted the urge to search for him. The thought of seeing Holt again, face-to-face, did funny, unwelcome things to her insides. “You should be spending time with him, then.”

“Yes, but you should talk to him too.”

She got the feeling he was trying to get her away from John. “I’ll be over in a minute, once I finish my discussion with Mr. Rochard.”

After a moment of staring down John, Theo moved away. He looked over his shoulder, but she waved him on. Soon, he was trudging down the grassy hill toward a stand of large oaks where Holt stood waiting.

Holt’s gaze was on her. She was certain of it, though sunglasses hid his eyes. Tension radiated from his stance. Did he not approve of something? Despite the warm sunshine on her shoulders, she shivered. But as Theo joined him, Holt turned toward his son.

Rochard took a step closer to her and Sara’s attention was immediately on him. His face was white with controlled anger. “Just so we’re clear, Neil’s grades
will
change. There had to be a computation error. Remember, my father is a United States Senator. He has a lot of influence. Neil
will
be getting into Harvard. Anything else would be unacceptable, and, ultimately, detrimental to this school.” He got right in her face as he delivered his threat.

Bully.
Sara bit her tongue and counted to three, tamping down her anger and refusing to back away.

“Then I guess we’ll be seeing Neil in night school this semester.” She forced her lips into a smile and turned to follow Theo. The breeze disguised the hitch in her breath. Walking worked the shakes out of her legs. She’d be damned if she’d let John see just how angry he’d made her.

* * *

Holt stood in the shade and watched his son stand at Sara’s side. Even from fifty yards away, he could see she had wriggled her way into Theo’s heart. A twinge of jealousy was quickly followed by a pull of longing. He used to have that kind of relationship with Theo. Comfortable and easy. Now, the kid rationed smiles as if they were a limited stash of his favorite jelly beans. The red ones.

In the past few weeks, he’d sensed a shift in his son—a rekindling of interest in life. Theo had been spending an increasing amount of time in his room, working on some journal. Theo refused to show it to him, saying he’d already shown it to Miss Sara, and she’d approved. She’d accomplished what he hadn’t, breaking through his son’s defenses.

The man who’d been in conversation with Sara turned a glare on Theo. Even across the distance, Holt could sense the anger. It was evident in the stiff set of the guy’s shoulders, in the way he leaned toward her, his fists clenched at his sides as he got right in her face. Holt was about to intervene when Theo turned and headed toward him. Holt’s gaze, shielded by his prescription sunglasses, met Sara’s. Holt thought he saw her shudder.

The breeze lifted Theo’s hair as he stopped a few feet away from him. No hug, again. Holt swallowed his disappointment.

“Miss Sara said she’d come over in a minute.” Theo’s concerned gaze went back to her. The angry man stepped toward Sara and jabbed a finger in her face. Holt felt Theo stiffen beside him and moved his hand to his son’s shoulder. She held her ground, as still as stone, stubborn determination shimmering off her. She ended their conversation with a taut smile before turning and walking toward Holt. The edge of her filmy skirt blew around her knees, emphasizing nicely shaped calves and slender ankles.

“You know her pretty well, right?” Theo asked. “Not just because of school, but because of Mom?”

“Yeah.” He knew her about as well as he wanted to.
Liar.
At least one part of his body wanted to know her much better.

“But you don’t like her?” Theo’s question surprised Holt.

“What makes you say that?”

“You’re different around her.”

Probably because she made him remember. To feel things he didn’t want to feel—regret, temptation, guilt. Longing. But as astute as his son seemed to be, there was no way he was going to share that with Theo. “Some things happened, a long time ago. Sometimes it’s hard to let go of the past.”

Theo seemed to consider that for a moment. “Mom did. She let go. Miss Sara said she was really happy when Mom and her became friends again. She said it feels good to let go of a grudge.”

Apparently his son had been spending more time with Sara than Holt had realized if they’d talked about all that. Across the distance, the man she’d been speaking to headed in the opposite direction, his brisk gait and long strides indicating he was ticked off. Sara wrapped her arms around her middle as if to protect herself. If he were profiling the scene, he’d say she’d just survived a serious verbal exchange but suspected there was worse to come. The woman was in serious need of a hug. It shocked him that he cared. She’d always been prickly and annoyingly self-sufficient, like a cactus. But he supposed even a cactus needed a little nourishment once in a while.

Maybe that was what had drawn his introverted son to her. They both needed somebody. Elizabeth’s words haunted him.

Theo needs someone who’ll be there for him night and day.
Your world
,
filled with serial killers
,
is no place for kids.
Sara will take good care of him.
And he’ll be good for her.

Sara detoured to pick up a couple of cups from a nearby picnic table, then filled them from the spout on the upright cooler. She headed his way again, her butterscotch hair gleaming in the sunlight as strands of it got caught up in the wind. He tried to ignore the press of fabric against her curves when the breeze stirred again.

Her wide mouth bent into a smile as she reached them, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Because of him, or because of the man she’d been speaking with? She held the cups out to them. “I brought these for you two. Saw Theo playing flag football earlier and thought he might be thirsty.” Her blue eyes were warm like the waters of the Caribbean as they turned to his son.

“Thank you.” Holt accepted the peace offering, then glanced at Theo. “He can’t say enough positive things about you.” He hadn’t believed most of them.

“I’m glad you made it.”

“I promised I’d be here.”

“My faith in pinky-swears is restored.” Her lips twitched. She seemed to recall their preteen audience and returned to formalities. “Theo’s been working hard. I’m proud of him.”

There was no eye-roll from Theo this time. She had him wrapped around her little—pinky—finger. Fooled, just as Holt had been once upon a time. “Well, that and five bucks will buy you a cup of coffee. It’s hard work that’ll pay off, and his teachers don’t seem to think he’s reaching his potential.”

Beside him, Theo buried his face in his cup, attempting to disguise his hurt with a gulp of lemonade.

Shit.
He’d blown it. Again. Trying to communicate with Theo this past year had been like negotiating a labyrinth—every turn felt wrong and led to more complications. He’d put his “dad hat” on when he should have been more encouraging.

Holt could see Sara biting back a scathing response that he probably deserved. But when she met his gaze, he was shocked to find empathy there. “Hard work is important. But so is passion about what you’re working on. Has he shown you his journal?”

“No,” Theo said. “He wouldn’t get it. I gotta go. Have a good Labor Day, Miss Sara.” He jogged toward the boys gathering on the athletic field for some type of game.

Sara’s gaze followed Theo. “Must be tough raising him by yourself.” Once again, her understanding shocked him. She caught his look and smiled. “Yes, I’m capable of understanding. Raising a child isn’t easy. Alone, it must be much harder. I have a lot of respect for parents.”

“Even
that
parent?” Holt tipped his head toward the man she’d been talking to, who was now in deep discussion with a group of starchy people at a picnic table.

Her eyes darkened. “Mr. Rochard?”

“Rochard? As in the U.S. Congressman?”