Hold on to Me (13 page)

“She got rid of your ass again, didn’t she? You let her. Now, you’re pissed at me. Probably spent the whole damn night picturing what you thought was going on between us.” Cookie shook his head. “Damn, but I wish you’d wise up and use that legendary intelligence of yours where she’s concerned. This is getting old.”

Shit
. He hated when Cookie was right. She had done it again; he’d
let
her do it again. And hell, he was no closer to figuring out why she kept pushing him away.

He slanted a look at Cookie’s patient expression. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

“Oh, no, Lamar Eugene, you have to say it.”

“Fine, I’m an idiot and I let her do it to me again.”

“You’re whipped already, man, and—”

The newly installed department door slammed open, the glass rattling in the frame. His and Cookie’s heads jerked toward the tiny lobby. A pair of teenagers stood inside, their faces pale and frightened. Tick’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t going to be good.

“Mr. Calvert! I’m so glad you’re here.” The blonde, one of his nephew’s friends he was sure, stepped forward, her blue eyes big and shocked. “You’re not going to believe what we just found.”

Rain fell, sheets of water blowing in a wild wind, rattling the windows on the long corridor. She’d been here before and it never ceased to terrify her. Horrible things sought her in the shadows, breathing, pulsing, lurking.

You cold-hearted bitch.

God, he was here, hiding, waiting for her.

You think I’m letting you have this baby, letting you have
his
baby? Do you?

I’ll kill you first.

The pain tore through her and she ran, the dark surrounding her, unseen hands pulling at her ankles, making her stumble. Somewhere, beyond the inky black, a baby cried.

Her baby. Tick’s son.

No matter how many times the dark invaded her dreams, how many times she’d searched for him here, she’d never been able to find him.

He was lost to her.

A noise shrilled, drowning out the baby’s cries, and she frowned, the sound louder and louder, filling her consciousness, pulling her from the fear, the pain, the loss.

Her phone. Without opening her eyes, she grabbed the vibrating square from the nightstand.

“Falconetti.” Her voice came out even huskier than usual, her throat aching from last night’s tears.

“It’s Tick.” Tension dripped from the words.

She opened her eyes. The lights blazed around her. Thirty-three years old and she slept with the lights on away from home. That would kill her reputation in a heartbeat if her colleagues ever found out.

“It’s barely six. What do you want?”

A pause hummed over the line. “We just found number five.”

Not again. “Oh, God. Give me directions, and I’ll meet you there.”

“You’d never find it. I’ll pick you up. Be ready in fifteen minutes.”

It didn’t.

Tick’s truck bounced over a rut in the red clay dirt road and Caitlin clung to the armrest. He slowed to navigate around a large gully, the remnant of a long-ago torrential rain. Erosion had taken its toll on the area and clay walls rose on either side of them, three or four feet above the wide ditches, with exposed tree roots snaking down through the dirt.

The sun lay just above the horizon, throwing golden and crimson light over everything. Caitlin stared out at fields and trees, trying to resist the urge to study him. He wouldn’t even look at her, and guilt coiled in her chest like an angry rattlesnake. He looked awful, his face pale, jaw tight, red-rimmed eyes heavy with lack of sleep.

Braking, he swung the truck into an overgrown driveway, almost hidden by low-hanging branches. Evidence of tire tracks showed that the trail was not as abandoned as it first appeared. Within a few yards, the trees opened up, revealing a wide path that circled a chasm almost a half-mile in diameter. Tick stopped the truck behind a county unit and killed the engine. Caitlin stared at the miniature canyon, marveling at the colors revealed in the layers of rock.

“This is it.” The words came from between clenched teeth, and he shoved the door open and stalked over to speak to the deputy leaning against the patrol car. The sudden absence of his habitual courtesy stung, but she pushed the emotion away. She stepped from the truck and trailed behind him across the pocked, gravel drive.

Tick tugged his department cap lower over his eyes as she approached. “Ready?”

“When you are.” She followed him down into the pit. He moved on the narrow path with easy familiarity, but she picked her way with caution, every loose rock skidding over the edge making her nervous. The steep sides cut off the budding sunlight and brought an eerie, unnatural dimness to the morning. Despite the muggy humidity, she shivered, glad she’d donned her black duty jacket with her T-shirt, jeans and sturdy hiking boots.

At the bottom of the rocky trail, a young deputy stood at the edge of the taped-off scene. This was the true middle of nowhere—a hell of a place to hide a corpse. “Who found her?”

“Couple of teenage kids camping out up on the ridge. They were planning to go for a sunrise swim in the pond.” Tick ducked under the tape after a brief word with the deputy.

“Hell of a walk for a swim.”

“Privacy. It’s a local make-out hot spot. I doubt swimming was all they had in mind.”

The putrid smell of decayed flesh swamped her first, and she covered her nose and mouth, choking back the gag reflex. She never got used to the peculiar stench of death, no matter how many times she smelled it.

A nondescript brown blanket lay near a small cove of scraggly long-leaf pines. Remnants of clothing scattered the area and pieces of stained, yellowish bones peeked from among the cloth and pine straw.

Caitlin stepped closer. The remains weren’t intact and drag marks marred the damp earth. She cringed, her gaze tracing over the tracks leading away from the blanket. Whoever she was, the animals had been at her. “God.”

Tick glanced sideways at her, his mouth taut. “Yeah. I know.”

He passed her two pairs of latex gloves and she snapped them on, one over the other, although they wouldn’t touch anything until the scene was catalogued and photographed. A thin T-shirt lay next to the blanket, a wide tear along the shoulder seam. What looked like an arm bone rested beneath the fabric, and a silver bracelet gleamed dully in the early morning sunlight. The jeans, a few feet away, were new, fashionable and bore a designer label.

The torso remained, the skull still attached, a few strands of long blonde hair intact. Not all of the flesh had decayed, and Caitlin eyed the level of decomposition and the insects crawling on the corpse. The maggots present could help determine how long she’d been out here. Weeks. Maybe as long as a month.

Tick hunkered down by the head and pointed to a smudgy area almost indiscernible against the decomposing layers of skin. “Looks like she might have had a tattoo on her shoulder.”

Straightening, she glanced around the canyon. “Doesn’t appear to be any sign of a struggle, either.”

“We had those heavy rains last weekend.” He indicated dried rivulet marks in the dirt. “From the rate of decomposition, she’s been out here at least a couple of weeks, if not longer. Any footprints would have washed away.”

“How is this different from the others?” She knew, but she wanted to hear it from him.

“The blanket for one thing, and her clothes are here. The others were nude.”

“I think she’s the first one he killed here. Maybe not his first ever, but still an early kill. He evolved after her, which is why the others are different. And he’s escalating.” She tilted her head, studying the scene from a different angle. He’d obviously learned since this one—taking the clothes and washing the bodies of trace evidence.

Even the amount of time between her death and the discovery of her body seemed important, weeks instead of the days between the other murders and the discovery of the bodies. He’d gotten away with this murder, and the confidence he’d gained had induced him to leave the later bodies in more obvious places. He’d wanted the other girls to be found. She’d seen it before. The recognition, the notoriety, the heady sense of winning a game against the local police became an addiction.

Tick stood motionless, staring down at the remains. Caitlin watched him, gauging the play of expression over his face. “What is it?”

He glanced away. “The damn blanket. It’s identical to the ones we carry in our patrol cars. Holy hell, I didn’t need this.”

She squashed the sympathy that leapt to life in her. Turning back to the body, she lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “We’ll match the dye, match the lot, find the distributor. It may be a coincidence, and we’ll find it didn’t come out of a Chandler unit at all.”

“Sure.” Resignation colored his voice. He rubbed a wrist over his face and turned toward the deputy standing by the crime scene tape. “Troy Lee, go get the camera and crime scene markers out of your unit.”

Caitlin crouched by the body and looked up at the towering walls. “I don’t think he killed her here. It would be too hard to get her down that path in the dark, especially if she struggled. Too much of a chance that she’d go over the edge and take him with her.”

With a curt nod, he walked a few feet away, staring at the ground. Caitlin remained where she was, watching him. Minutes passed, the silence between them growing deeper with tension. “I think your deputy got lost.”

He didn’t smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I told Stan he was too young. Cookie says—”

She winced at the way he bit the sentence off, the line of his back rigid. “Tick, I’m sorry about—”

“Not now, Cait.” Without looking at her, he held up a hand before he sighed, tugging at the bill of his cap. “I’m going to walk up and wait for Stanton and the coroner.”

Shaken, she watched him go, a sense of loss nagging at her. She wouldn’t even come away from this with his friendship, and the thought sent the hated tears pricking at her eyelids again. With a deep breath, she forced them down. So she’d lost something irreplaceable. It certainly wasn’t the first time.

While the glaring heat of a Georgia summer day set in, the tension grew. A throbbing headache hovered at Caitlin’s temples and radiated through her skull. For once, she sought ironic refuge in an autopsy lab, assuming Tick wouldn’t hang around the cool, quiet room where Jolie Williams worked.

They’d pulled in every favor they had between them to get the latest victim moved to the front of the autopsy schedule. Tick surprised her by returning to the lab after disappearing briefly to run their victim’s statistics through the missing-person database. Arms folded over his chest, he lounged against the long table that ran along one wall. His face closed and expressionless, he watched Williams.

Caitlin ignored his presence as much as possible, forcing her mind to focus on the medical examiner’s comments.

“See these fractures here?” Williams asked, pointing at the throat with her scalpel. “Tick, care to have a look?”

“I’ll pass.”

“Her larynx is crushed.” Caitlin twisted her back to relieve the dull pain sitting at the base of her spine.

“What’s left of it anyway. He probably put his forearm across her throat to restrain her.”

The memories deluged her without warning. Caitlin sucked in a sharp breath, tiny dots of ink dancing at the edge of her vision, the room going out of focus. She clutched the edge of the table and concentrated on breathing through her mouth, a slow in-and-out rhythm.

William’s eyes widened. “Okay?”

“I’m fine. The smell got me for a second.”

Tick pushed away from the table. “Do you see anything remotely helpful, Williams?”

She tilted her scalpel toward the lower abdomen, the remaining skin and layers of muscle beneath open along a neat incision. “She had a hysterectomy. In a woman her age, that’s pretty rare.”

Tick peered closer. “Are you sure it wasn’t the animals?”

“I’m sure. Animals don’t cauterize the surrounding tissue when they rip out your organs.”

Caitlin continued to focus on the simple act of getting air in and out of her lungs. Damn it, was there any aspect of this case that wasn’t going to throw the past in her face? She resisted the urge to lay a hand on her own flat stomach, dizziness attacking her head.

With a sharp tug, she pulled the surgical mask from her face. “I’m going out for a second.”

Outside, the damp, heavy air made it hard to breathe, but she dragged in gulps, trying to fill her lungs and settle the nausea churning below her heart. She leaned her forehead against the metal support post beneath the aluminum awning and closed her eyes. It was just stress. Simply stress and exhaustion and lack of food…the last thing she’d eaten had been half of that godawful chili dog with Cookie the night before.

“Hey, I’m supposed to be the one who gets sick in the autopsy room. Are you all right?” Genuine concern colored Tick’s words.

She didn’t open her eyes. He was the last person she wanted to deal with right now. She was too damned weary and heartsick. “Go away, Tick. You’re done, remember?”

“Damn it, would you just talk to me?” His low, rough voice shook with frustration. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Anger vibrated the deep timbre of his drawl, and she felt him move closer. “I’m not taking that bullshit this time. You tell me now, or I’ll have you pulled from this case.”

She opened her eyes, glaring at him. “If I recall correctly, I was ordered down here by an ADIC at the request of your state senator. And you’re going to pull rank, how?”

“Trust me, between me and Stan, we could do it. Spill it, Falconetti.”

“I don’t do ultimatums, Calvert.” She stepped away, moving toward the door.

With a muttered curse, he grabbed her arm, pulling her back to face him, an odd gentleness in the action. Bare inches between them, she stared up at him. His hair stood out in spikes at weird angles, from the cap he’d worn earlier and his habit of running his hands through it. Shadowy stubble darkened his jaw, but the emotion in his eyes claimed her attention. She’d seen that haunted concern before, four years ago when he’d looked at Tori.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice a raw, painful sound.

She shook her head, aware of the strength in the hand still holding her arm, a strength that ran throughout his long, lean frame. A desire to fold herself into him trembled through her, but instead she stiffened.

“I can’t.”

His lashes lowered briefly, and when they lifted, his chocolate gaze burned. “Yes, you can. You mean you won’t.”

“I can’t.” The words, with all of their double meaning, broke on a muffled sob. She couldn’t tell him. Not here. Not now. Not like this. “I just can’t.”

The frustration remained in his eyes, but he nodded. “Tori, then. Let me call her. She’ll meet you—”

“I don’t
want
to talk about it.” The words came in a fierce whisper, and she brushed her hair back, avoiding his gaze. “Talking about it doesn’t change anything. Talking about it doesn’t make it go away.”

He cupped her face, thumbs sliding along her cheekbones in a gentle caress. With subtle pressure, he tilted her head up, forcing her to look at him. “And keeping it locked inside is killing you.”

With a harsh laugh, she pulled away, struggling to regain her equilibrium. She dredged up an icy sarcasm. “Killing me? How dramatic. I’m under a little stress, that’s all. I’m doing my job. You can’t complain there.”

Hands jammed in his pockets, he stared at her. “It’s not your job I’m worried about.”

Smile. Pretend nothing’s wrong
. The commands rang in her mind. “Your concern is touching, Calvert, especially after everything we had to say last night. But I’m fine.”

“Damn it, Cait, why won’t you let me help you?”

He spun. After the door closed behind him, she sagged against the pole and covered her eyes with a shaky hand. Resisting the overwhelming temptation to tell him everything left her wrung out. She took a few moments to gather her flagging inner strength before she followed him inside.