Hold on to Me (30 page)

“Why did you think he’d gotten to me?” The muscles under her hands jumped, tensed. He heaved a rough breath and pulled away.

“Butler’s dead.”

Surprise jerked through her. “What?”

“Cookie found him hanging in the holding cell a couple of hours ago.”

No wonder he hadn’t thought to come looking for her. She could imagine the chaos taking place at the jail. “Oh, God. He killed Butler to keep us from talking to him.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

“He’ll do whatever he has to in order to maintain control of the situation.” The realization terrified her with its implications. And he had the ultimate advantage—they didn’t have a clue who he was. “He thinks he’s losing control. Oh, Tick, this is not good.”

“Cait.” She glanced up at him, startled by the stark worry darkening his eyes. “Gina Bocaccio called the department this morning when she couldn’t get in touch with you. She was on her way down here to show you something she’d found.”

“That sounds like Gina. She’s impulsive—”

The words stopped in her throat. He’d thought she was dead. Something had led him to believe that. She stepped away from him, horror’s clammy hand grabbing her spine. “You thought I was dead. Something happened and you thought it was me. But it wasn’t, was it? He—”

“I’m sorry, precious.” He stepped forward, reached for her, but she knocked his hands away.

“It was Gina, wasn’t it? He got to her.” Even the whisper hurt her throat, tight with a sudden rush of tears. Not Gina—not Gina with her laughing brown eyes and wicked sense of humor. Not Gina, who had helped keep her sane, who had bullied and cajoled her back to a semblance of real life.

He nodded, drawing her into his arms. She shook her head, pushing at him, and his hold tightened.

He rested his brow against hers. “I am so sorry—”

“How?”

“Precious, don’t.”

One clenched fist pummeled his chest before she shoved him away. “Damn you, tell me how!”

“She was shot, in her rental car at close range. She died instantly.”

“Oh, God.” An anguished moan clawed its way out of her. She sagged against the vehicle, his arms coming around her again. This time, she clutched at him, seeking protection from the sobs attacking her body. “Oh, God.”

He didn’t lie and whisper that it was all right. He didn’t speak at all. He wrapped her close, rocking her against him.

When the tears finally eased, she pulled away, everything—grief, pain, love—frozen in a hard knot of ice in her stomach. She drew in a deep breath and shored up her defenses. “Is she in Moultrie?”

Brushing her damp hair from her face, he nodded. “The bureau is sending two agents from the Atlanta field office—”

“I want to see her.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. She…I just don’t think you should.”

She straightened her blouse and tucked it in again, easing away from him. Her knees trembled, but she stiffened them. “She’s in that damned morgue because I asked for her help.”

“Don’t.” He gazed at her with dark tortured eyes, concern softening the lines of his face. “This isn’t your fault.”

“Like hell.” Her laugh was harsh, rusty. “I don’t care if you come or not, but I’m going to see her. She’s my
partner
, Tick.”

She walked away, leaving him standing by the unit. His frustrated oath rang in her ears, followed by the crunch of his footsteps on the loose gravel beside the blacktop.

When she reached her car, he laid a gentle hand on her arm, and she turned on him. “Don’t.”

“Of course I’m coming.” He cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t you get it by now, Cait? There is no more going it alone. We’re in this together, all the way.”

Caitlin added the items to Amy Gillabeaux’s section of the dry-erase board. Two new columns occupied the end of the board—Bobby Gene Butler and Gina Bocaccio.

“Getting anywhere?” Tick set a cup of fresh coffee on the table, sipping his own.

She shrugged and continued writing, this time under Kimberly Johnson’s name, filling in the results the GBI lab had faxed. Canine hair—results inconclusive, but most likely German Shepherd or Belgian Malinois. Green fiber—cotton polyester blend, but no luck on matching the manufacturer yet.

With a weary sigh, she capped the marker and dropped it in the tray. Her eyes burned, a combination of fatigue and grief. She lifted the cup, aware of Tick’s concerned gaze, thankful for his steady presence. There was no way she’d have gotten through the horror of viewing Gina’s body without him.

“Frazier has a couple of agents tracing Gina’s research.” Speaking hurt her throat, and the words emerged sounding painful and raw. “It may take a few days, but he thinks they’ll turn up whatever she’d found.”

He leaned a hip against the table. “You and Bocaccio were close.”

Fresh tears burned the backs of her eyes, and she shoved them down ruthlessly. “Yes, we were. After Fuller, when I was ready to go back to work and I just couldn’t face trying to live alone, she showed up and bullied me into moving in with her.”

Not smiling, he smoothed a finger along her cheek. “Somehow, I can’t imagine anyone bullying you into anything.”

“You didn’t know Gina. It was really hard to say no to her. But she’d do anything for someone she cared about.” She wanted to succumb to the tears, to turn into him and let his solid embrace and easy drawl make the hurt fade, at least for a while.

Schaefer rapped on the open door. “Hey, Cookie and I are walking down to the diner. Y’all want to come?”

Tick glanced at her, then turned to Schaefer. “No, you two go on. Take your time.”

“Want us to bring anything back?”

She pushed away from the table and turned her back on the younger investigator, looking for the file that held Amy’s phone records. “We’re fine.”

She caught Schaefer’s shrug from the corner of her eye. His and Cookie’s footsteps faded down the hall. Tick tossed his coffee cup toward the trashcan, missed and went to pick it up. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“He’s…arrogant, under that demeanor of his. Given a choice, I’d take Cookie any day.”

He shuddered. “Don’t let him hear you say that. He’d put a spin on that statement that would make my skin crawl.”

She smiled, the humor a welcome, though peculiar experience after the day they’d had. “I said I’d take Cookie over Schaefer, not over you.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” He pulled a chair from the table, spun it around and straddled it. One long finger tapped the phone records. “I thought Jeff finished those after we left.”

“He didn’t.” She examined him. Weariness tugged at his features, but she resisted the wave of tenderness, the urge to reach for him. Time for that later, when they were alone. She rested her chin on her hand. “You did the right thing, you know.”

A tiny frown pulled his brows downward. “What?”

“Leaving the bureau. Taking this job. You belong here. You believe in this.”

“I’d give it up, go back to the bureau, if you wanted me to.” His voice dropped with intensity. “I’d do anything for you.”

And she was too tired to even think of sorting that out right now. Time for that later, too. Frowning, she stretched out to brush at his shoulder, grayish-brown hairs clinging to the fabric of his shirt. “What is that? And where did it come from?”

“I drove Chris’s unit, remember?” He grimaced at his shoulder and blew out an exasperated breath. “That damn dog is still shedding his winter coat, and the hair gets on everything…”

The words died, his gaze locked on hers. They glanced at the board, then back at each other. Tick shook his head. “No.”

She lifted an eyebrow at his adamant tone. “Tell me why not.”

He squinted at the board, still shaking his head. “Chris is…not capable of cruelty.”

“He’s a cop. We’re all capable of cruelty to some extent. It’s part of the personality.”

“Slapping the cuffs on a perp too tight? Sure. But not deliberate cruelty. Not
this
.” He drummed the crime scene photo lying on top of Kimberly Johnson’s file, a shot of Amy Gillabeaux’s battered body, the stab wounds gaping.

“You said you didn’t know him well.”

“I know enough. This is the same guy who cried the night we had to take a five-year-old to the ER after his father raped him. Chris was the first one of us on scene when the mama called it in. He used the dog to calm the boy down, hell, even rode in the ambulance with him. I’m telling you, Cait, it’s not him. Guys like that don’t do shit like this.”

“Then tell me who.” Her voice was quiet as she laid another photo out, and another. “Who
is
capable of this and this…and Gina.”

“I don’t know.” His dark eyes glinted with anger, hurt and frustration. “I just don’t know. You think I don’t walk through this place and look at every guy I work with, wondering if he’s the one? Hell, I’ve even looked at Stanton funny—”

“Somehow, I don’t think it’s Reed.”

“Well, that’s nice to know. I figured I’d be at the top of your list.” Stanton’s tense voice held a wry note. He placed a typewritten list of names in front of Tick. “And we can cross these off the list of suspects in Bobby Gene’s death anyway. GBI checked out their alibis.”

Caitlin scribbled a note next to a highlighted entry on the phone records. “Chris Parker was picking up his unit from Lawson Automotive while I was there. Any particular reason?”

Stanton shrugged, a quizzical expression crossing his face as Tick dropped his head into his hands. “Somebody backed into it. Lawson pulled the dent and repainted the quarter panel. Why?”

Tick lifted his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Department business card. Kimberly Johnson’s body had canine hair on it. White patrol unit with a dent. Keith Lawson repaired a dent to Amy Gillabeaux’s car that had white paint embedded in it.”

“Parker?” Stanton’s tone lowered to a hissed whisper. “You think it’s
Chris
?”

Tick glanced at the patrol records in front of him. “He was scheduled for duty the nights Ingler, Gillabeaux and Johnson disappeared.”

“Who’re we talking about?” Cookie strolled into the room, bearing a grease-stained white paper bag. Schaefer followed, sucking on a milkshake.

Stanton and Tick exchanged a glance. Tick jumped to his feet to pull the door closed. With a weary sigh, Stanton waved the two investigators to empty chairs. “Chris Parker.”

“Can’t see it.” Cookie laughed. “Chris? Come on.”

“He fits Falconetti’s profile.” Schaefer shrugged. “His age is right. He’s smart, socially competent, has a casual girlfriend, lives alone. His mother ran off when he was a kid, so I bet there’s a ton of those maternal issues Falconetti insists our guy has. I say we bring him in and talk to him.”

Tick paced, rubbing the back of his neck. Caitlin watched him. Something didn’t feel right, but she couldn’t pin it down. His shoulders heaved with a sigh. “What if we’re wrong? It gets out in the county that we brought him in, and he’s ruined.”

If Chris Parker was Gina’s murderer, his reputation was the least of her concerns, but she understood Tick’s reservations. Even a taint of suspicion could ruin a man and what they had was circumstantial.

“Then don’t bring him in tonight,” she suggested. “Put someone outside his place. We’ll look at the patrol tapes, go over the dispatch transcripts, and we can talk to him in the morning. We may find something specific you want to ask him about.”

Stanton and Tick exchanged another glance, and Stanton nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Cookie, you’re on call. Jeff, you’re on surveillance. Chris Parker doesn’t make a move that you don’t know about.”

Stanton consulted his watch as Cookie and Schaefer strolled out. “You’re going to be late if you don’t get a move on. It’s ten to six now.”

Tick covered his eyes with one hand and groaned. “Lord, I forgot it was Tuesday.”

Stanton moved to the door. “You’ve had a rough day,” he said, with a sardonic glance at Caitlin. She returned his scornful look with a cool little smile before he walked out.

Tick lowered his hand. “I’ve got to go. Tuesday’s my night to teach the crisis center’s self-defense class, and it’s too late to cancel. You want to come with me? You can hang out with Tori.”

The grief was still close to the surface, and she wasn’t sure she could pull off pleasant socializing tonight. “I think I’ll take the tapes and go to the hotel. I really need a shower.”

He stood, fishing his keys from his pocket and pulling his extra house key from the ring. “I don’t want you alone tonight.”

“I’m a big girl. I’m used to being alone.”

“Yeah, but tonight you don’t have to be. Let me have my way in this. Let me be there for you. Get your stuff for the night, go to my place, make yourself at home. I’ll sleep on the couch if you want me to.”

“Thank you, but no.” She ran a finger over the key’s outline. “I’d much rather be in your arms.”

“That I can arrange.” He nodded, a light glowing in his dark, serious gaze. Leaning forward, he dropped a brief kiss on her lips. “I’ve got to go because if I’m late, my little sister will make my life a living hell. I’ll be home soon.”

Home.
The word shimmered through her with unspoken promises.

She pointed at the cardboard box of videotapes and dispatch transcripts. “Take your time. I have plenty to keep me occupied.”

Tick surveyed the crowd of women packed into the women’s center’s meeting room. The classes were usually full, but since dead women seemed to be turning up every couple of days in Chandler County, the class enrollment was at overload. Women of all ages and backgrounds filled the chairs—girls just out of high school, matrons his mother’s age, clerks, teachers, soccer moms. All there for the same reason.

Fear. The fact they needed to be afraid angered him, renewing his determination to find the son of a bitch menacing his county. He couldn’t picture Chris Parker as that threat. Chris had been with him the night Sharon Ingler disappeared. They’d worked the scene together and searched the nearby woods in the dark, calling Sharon’s name until their voices were hoarse. Could Parker have killed her, dumped the body, and acted as if nothing had happened when he returned?

Not Chris.

Tick just didn’t see it.

Low conversation buzzed around the room, much of it focused on Amy and Sharon. News of Gina Bocaccio’s death made the rounds as well, fueling the anxiety. If even a highly trained FBI agent had become a victim, what chance did they have?

Clearing his throat, he strode to the front of the room. He introduced himself and welcomed the women, all the while trying to exude a competent, reassuring attitude. He launched the class with basic background information and general safety tips. Tonight would be all discussion; Jeff would pick up the physical techniques on Thursday.

When he opened the floor for questions, the class bombarded him. “Most importantly, if you’re in a parking lot, in your driveway, if an attacker is trying to get you into his car or yours, do whatever you have to do to prevent that from happening. If you’re in your car, and you’re approached, stay in the car, doors locked, windows up.”

A petite blonde on the front row raised her hand. “What if it’s someone I know?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Do not exit that car. The moment you do, you’re vulnerable.”

“Yeah, like Sharon.” He recognized the redhead next to the blonde as one of Sharon and Amy’s classmates. She fixed him with a challenging look. “So, what if it’s a cop?”

“Don’t exit the car. Leave your engine running. You can lower the window enough to slide your license and insurance card out to him. Ask him to radio for backup. We can have another unit dispatched anywhere in the county within minutes. If he refuses, you drive away, straight to the sheriff’s office or the nearest business. Again, don’t get out of the car. Lean on the horn until someone comes out.”

With the abundance of questions, the class ran twenty minutes past the scheduled conclusion time. The women drifted out in pairs or small groups, never alone, and several stayed after to ask further questions. Once the room emptied, he walked down the hall to Tori’s office. “You ready?”

She shut down her computer. “I guess.”

A vase, overflowing with pink roses, graced the corner of her desk. He fingered the edge of one blossom. “Who are these from?”

Like he had to ask.

She rummaged in her purse for her keys, a smile playing around her mouth. “Jeff.”

First she brought the guy to Sunday dinner, now he was sending her flowers. And they’d been out, what? Three or four times. Holy hell, Schaefer was moving fast. After the last couple of days, Tick didn’t like it one bit. “You’re serious about him, aren’t you?”

With an impish glint in her eyes, she reached up and tweaked his nose. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Tori.” He reminded himself that she was supposed to be one of his joys.