Hold on to Me (2 page)

Jeff, in full uniform and professional demeanor, tapped the rim of his campaign hat. “Yes, sir.”

Tick jerked a thumb in Caitlin’s direction. “Stan, you remember Agent Falconetti, right?”

Dislike twisted Stanton’s lean face. “I remember her. Come on, let’s go talk to Cookie. He can fill you in. Falconetti? Don’t touch anything.”

“Don’t worry, Reed. I passed crime scene protocol with flying colors. I’ll just stand right here with my hands in my pockets and be a good little girl while you big boys play your whodunit games.”

Tick ignored Stanton’s scowl. Stanton had been his partner during his years with the FBI, and as long as Tick could remember, Stanton and Caitlin had clashed like fire and gasoline, due to a shared and equal need for control. Tick followed his friend up the bank, matching his long stride despite the three-inch difference in height.

Stanton glanced sideways at him. “What the hell is she doing here? Tell me it’s in an official capacity and that she’s not with you.”

Tick shrugged, refusing to let the hostility get to him. He had enough crap to deal with where Caitlin was concerned; he didn’t need Stanton’s, too. “She’s the profiler the bureau sent at Tommy’s request.”

“Shit.” Stanton ran a hand over his mouth. “Fucking fantastic. Four dead bodies, no leads, and Falconetti on top of that.”

“Hey, Lamar Eugene, about time you got here, boy!” Cookie shouted, the earlier tension gone from his voice.

Tick winced at the investigator’s enthusiasm. Unlike Stanton, nothing much bothered Cookie, and not even two bodies in two days could tone him down for long. Stanton shook his head. “Fill him in, Cookie. I’m going to radio and see what’s keeping the coroner.”

“Why do I have nonessential personnel on my scene? Damn rookies act like it’s a freakin’ carnival sideshow.” Cookie stopped at the crime scene tape. His hunter green polo shirt bore impressive sweat stains under muscular arms. He glanced down the rise at the river’s edge and whistled softly. “Hey, who’s the chick?”

“She’s not a chick. That’s Falconetti, the Fed rent-a-goon Tommy Gillabeaux wanted.”

“Hey, I’d rent her anytime.” Cookie examined Caitlin, male appreciation lighting his gray eyes. True to her word, she was standing quite still, looking at the body from a distance, hands tucked under her elbows. “She’s hot. Damn fine pair of legs.”

Frustration jerked along Tick’s skin. Yeah, she was hot, but he’d rather Cookie hadn’t noticed. And he wished the other man would stop looking at her like she was his favorite meal, just waiting to be savored. Besides, what the hell did Tick care who looked at her anymore? She wasn’t his.

“She’s not hot. She’s, oh, hell, I don’t know…she’s professional.”

“Yeah.” Cookie nudged Tick’s shoulder. “That’s what makes her so hot.”

“Damn it, she’s not one of your little playmates, okay? Leave her alone.”

“I haven’t even spoken to her.” Cookie managed to look offended, although a grin twitched at his lips. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re looking at her. Like she’s just another piece of ass.”

“Sounds to me like you’re jealous. I think you want her for yourself.”

He poked Tick in the chest, and Tick brushed his finger away. He wouldn’t kill him. Killing him would be bad for department morale, even if it would make him feel better. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”

They ducked under the tape and navigated the incline again. “Georgia Power guy doing routine maintenance check on the hydraulics found her. She’s young, late teens, maybe early twenties. African American, five-five or so, probably a hundred pounds sopping wet.”

“You’re a sick bastard.”

“Yeah, I know.” Cookie heaved an unrepentant sigh as they reached the water’s edge. “Looks like Vontressa King to me. Anyway, appears she’s been in the water several days.”

That sounded about right. Two days before, Vontressa’s mama had shown up at the sheriff’s department, panic-stricken because her daughter hadn’t called home in two days. Her new apartment had been empty, her car missing, and there was no sign of the girl. Tick’s stomach dropped. He’d really hoped she’d simply taken a spur-of-the-moment trip.

Tick stopped behind Caitlin. The spiced fruit scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils, but couldn’t override the smell of damp riverbank, bedding fish and decomposing flesh.

“She was strangled.” Caitlin glanced at him over her shoulder. “Look at the bruising on her neck.”

Tick squinted at the corpse, but didn’t move closer. They’d need official verification, but he was looking at Vontressa King’s face. Her body was bloated and blue, making it difficult to tell if the marks were bruises or just normal discoloration for a body submerged in the water for an extended time. His attention zeroed in on a distinctive mark among the bruising—a perfectly round contusion, about an inch in diameter.

The same damn thing they’d seen on Jane Doe’s remains, on Amy and Sharon’s bodies.

He didn’t need Caitlin Falconetti to tell him he had a freakin’ serial killer on his hands.

“Well, shit,” Cookie said, stretching the curse into two syllables. “Guess we can’t put it down as an accidental drowning.”

Caitlin glanced at him, and moving to her side, Tick read the beginnings of active dislike in her eyes before she lowered her gaze. He cleared his throat and gave Cookie a non-verbal warning sure to be ignored. “Cait, this is Investigator Mark Cook. Cookie, Agent Caitlin Falconetti.”

Caitlin stared at the girl in the water. “Tell me more about the others.”

Cookie exchanged a look with Tick. At Tick’s nod, he shrugged. “Sure thing. Let’s get this one tagged and bagged, and I’ll go over my notes with you.”

Still eyeing the body, Caitlin tilted her head. “Do you process your own scenes?”

“We’re capable, but the GBI has a crime scene unit out of Moultrie. They’re on the way.” Cookie jerked a thumb in Tick’s direction. “Bureau Boy here likes to have a specialist on his murder scenes.”

“It keeps the chain of evidence clear,” Tick explained.

“Good,” Caitlin said, and the unexpected approval in her face warmed Tick more than he wanted to admit. That was the Caitlin he remembered, the one who made him forget everything but her.

Oh, Lord. He was in major trouble.

“Cait.” Tick’s deep voice slid over her, and Caitlin glanced up from the rough diagram she’d sketched in her notebook. The crime scene unit had come and gone, the coroner had removed the deceased, and all of the deputies but the K-9 officer had returned to duty.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and tried to ignore the fine trickle of sweat between her breasts. “Yes?”

“I know you wanted to go over everything with us, but I have to notify the family.” He looked like hell, tired, worn out, the faint lines by his eyes deeper than she remembered. He’d lost weight, a fact his jeans and shirt camouflaged, except she’d seen the changes in his waist and torso when he’d stripped the faded T-shirt off earlier. “I can get Cookie or Jeff to run you to the station.”

Atop the incline, the two investigators stood on the other side of the crime scene tape. The thought of getting in a car with either of them, with any unknown man, cop or not, sent unease running down her spine. “I’d rather go with you.”

He lifted a brow, his eyes dark and serious, a little mocking. “Really.”

Heat touched her face and neck. She knew what he was remembering, the desperate way she’d used the only weapon she had left to get him out of her office, out of her life. “Yes. Really.”

“So you’re okay being alone in a vehicle with me? Not afraid I’ll make any unwanted advances?”

The barb hit home, her cheeks burning hotter. She turned her attention to the river, watching the slow slide of the brown water in the wide channel. Anything to keep from having to meet the censure in his deep gaze.

“Falconetti.” Exasperation saturated his rough exhale. “I need to go. I’m not looking forward to this.”

Although her job usually involved dealing with the victims in an abstract sense, weeks, months or even years after the crime, she could imagine. She closed the notebook with a small snap. “I’m ready.”

He had an easier time navigating the slope than she did, the mud sucking at her sturdy heels. She sighed. Just being with him made her feel discombobulated. Focused on him, she’d left the flats she kept just for these types of situations in her rental car. Damn it, these had been her favorite pair of Ferragamos, too.

As he moved ahead to lift the crime scene tape for her, she glowered at the back of his head. If she could just drum up enough anger, even over a pair of shoes, she’d stop being so aware of him. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for him as he prepared to tell a family their daughter was dead. She didn’t want to feel anything where he was concerned.

Cold-hearted bitch.

She shivered under the hot sun as the ever-present, unwanted voice slithered through her brain. She sucked in a deep breath, trying to keep the sudden memories and the edge of panic at bay.

Damn it, she’d known coming down here was a bad idea.

The familiar chill set in around her heart. She could do this. Get in, do the job, get out, just like always.

Except “always” had been her life before. “Always” had never involved an angry Tick Calvert either.

Ducking under the tape, she didn’t look at him. A faint trace of clean, male sweat tickled her nose, and sensory memories flashed through her. Hot, bare skin sliding against hers, the rasp of stubble on her breasts and stomach, his dark whisper in her ear. Heat flushed her face, a sharp ache piercing low in her belly.

More memories followed, the loss and emptiness that had come later. The bite of remembered desire disappeared, washed away by another icy chill.

Her heel caught on an exposed root, and she faltered. His hand closed around her upper arm, every finger imprinted on her skin through her silk blouse.

“Thanks.” She stepped away, still unable to look at him. She glanced up and straight into Cookie’s keen gray eyes. He shifted his gaze from her to Tick and back again, then ran a finger over his mouth, eyebrows raised. She kept her face carefully schooled, shoving down the irritation and embarrassment.

Tick let the tape fall back into place. “We’re going to the Kings’, then we’ll meet y’all at the office.”

Cookie’s smirk widened to a grin. “Don’t get lost, now.”

She sensed the stiffening of Tick’s entire body. Schaefer turned his head, mouth pinched in a disgusted expression.

“Let’s go.” His voice tight, Tick gestured toward his truck.

As they moved away, Schaefer’s words carried to them. “Cookie, do you just not think before you open your big mouth or what?”

Tick wrenched the passenger door open and waited for her to climb in before closing the door with more than necessary force. Behind the steering wheel, he blew out a long breath. “I should have warned you that Cookie’s entire purpose in life is to make me miserable. I’m sorry if he embarrassed you.”

She stared at her mud-encrusted shoes and forced a laugh. “I’ve heard worse.”

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. Without another word, he executed a three-point turn and drove back toward town.

She kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, pecan groves and small stands of scrubby oaks flying by. She didn’t watch his long-fingered hands on the steering wheel, afraid of the memories that would arouse. Those memories, and the what-ifs they always dredged up, were the last thing she needed right now. Maintaining her distance and objectivity was crucial.

She cast a quick glance at the tight, set line of his jaw, shadowed with a hint of stubble. Why was he making this notification? It was obvious he didn’t want to, just as obvious he had the authority to delegate it elsewhere.

“Why didn’t you send someone else?” She regretted the words as soon as she uttered them.

He tensed further. “Because it’s my place.”

“How so?”
God, Caitlin, just shut up and leave it alone, would you? Keep it cool and professional.

“Because.” The word sounded as if he were grinding glass between his teeth. “Miss Lauree is like family. She’s a nurse’s aide and she took care of my grandmother for years after the first stroke. I grew up with her oldest boy, David; we played football and baseball together all through school. You don’t send someone else to do a job that belongs to you by rights.”

Honor and duty. He was all about those things, always had been. It was part of what she admired most about him.

But she’d be damned before she’d be his
duty
.

He made a couple of left-hand turns, driving deeper into a neighborhood of small houses, each painted a bright color—robin’s-egg blue, neon seafoam, Pepto-Bismol pink. He parked in front of the sole white house on the street, its shutters a deep hunter green. The fence was plain field wire, but the yard held a riot of blooming plants and every concrete yard decoration imaginable. Red geraniums and lacy ferns marched up the steps to a tiny stoop. Yellow ribbons fluttered on the gate.

Tick dropped his head, taking an audible deep breath. He pushed open his door and she didn’t wait for him to come around the truck. Down the street, music pulsed from a box Chevy, the bass vibrating the air. Three teenagers gathered around the car, washing and polishing. One lifted a hand in greeting and Tick returned the wave. On the porch next door, an elderly woman fanned herself with a funeral home fan and watched with open curiosity.

The gate opened smoothly and Tick let her precede him before he fell in beside her. Tension radiated from him. Caitlin eyed the rigid line of his shoulders and fought a ridiculous urge to take his hand. The wooden front door stood open, the aroma of frying chicken flowing out the screen door. The laugh track of a sitcom filtered out as well. Caitlin stopped on the stoop, Tick one step below. The ordinariness of the scene, the horror of what they were about to do churned in her stomach.

He leaned forward to rap on the doorframe. Caitlin shifted, minimizing their proximity. A small boy appeared at the screen door, his wide eyes a beautiful, luminous ebony. He stared at them a moment and ran down the hall. “Grandma! The po-po’s here!”

Caitlin glanced at Tick. “The po-po?”

A mirthless smile flirted with his mouth and disappeared. “Yeah. I’ve gone from being a Fibbie to being the local po-po. Smart career move, huh?”

He wasn’t sure of himself, of his decision to leave the bureau. The hint of vulnerability increased his appeal and she shored up her defenses. Fine. She found him appealing. She craved Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food, too, but she turned it down when common sense required her to do so. Same concept.

A woman approached the door, her steps slow and measured. She dried her hands on the red apron she wore over a dress patterned with bees and hives. Resigned fear lurked in her eyes and she clutched the edges of her apron. “Lamar?”

“Miss Lauree. Could we come in for a little while?”

Lauree King placed one hand over her heart and reached for the screen door with the other, pushing it open. “You found my Vontressa, didn’t you?”

His lashes fell, and he swallowed, his Adam’s apple moving. He looked up at Miss Lauree. “Yes, ma’am, we did.”

A horrified “oh” rushed out of the older woman, and her hand fanned over her heart. She sagged, aging further in seconds, and Tick stepped forward into the house, reaching to support her. She hung on to him, tears spilling with her harsh sobs. A wail rent the air.

Caitlin eased into the cool dimness of the hallway, guiding the screen door closed. Miss Lauree clutched at Tick, her grief like a horrible, living thing. Caitlin clenched her hands, nails biting her palms, her eyes burning with empathy. Oh, God, how did he do this?

“Where…where is she?” Miss Lauree gasped, her hands grasping his arms like wrinkled talons.

“The crime lab in Moultrie,” Tick said, his voice gentle. “It’ll be a few days before we can release her. I need someone to make an official identification. Do you think David can do that?”

Miss Lauree was shaking her head, mouth working, nothing but rough moans escaping. She crumpled, and Tick went with her, kneeling on the worn linoleum. He murmured reassuring condolences.

His deep voice curled around Caitlin’s heart. She swallowed hard. Oh, damn it, the sooner they found this killer, the better. Or she just might go and do something really stupid, like forget the limitations of her new reality and fall for Tick Calvert all over again.