My Soul to Keep

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Afterword

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

About the Author

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Copyright

Table of
Contents

Dean Henderson clipped his identification badge onto his shirt pocket. After working twenty-three years at the plant, you would think the guards could recognize him, but no. Each morning he had to put on a tie and this stupid badge.

“
Roxy!” he heard his wife, Kerri, call up the stairs to their daughter.

He could smell bacon and
, hopefully, hash browns. Yep, the best days of the week were when Roxy had late morning classes at the community college. You think his wife would make him a full breakfast? No such luck. Dean was lucky to get a cup of coffee and a burnt bagel when Roxy had an early class and caught breakfast at the school.

Straightening his tie, Dean stepped out of the master bedroom to find his wife now at the base of the stairs, craning her neck to see
up to the second floor. “Roxy, honey, breakfast is ready!”

“
Great,” Dean said as he attempted to kiss his wife on the cheek, but her frown, now ever present, warned him away. “I’ll just go serve myself.”

“
No,” Kerri said. “We all eat together.”

Which really meant
Roxy got her pick of the crispiest bacon.

“
Let her sleep in,” Dean suggested. “If she wants to slide into class as it is starting, that’s her call.”

Kerri
glared at him. “Did you even hear what time she came in last night?”

“
No, but again, she’s over eighteen. We told her if she lived at home we would let her keep her own hours.”

His wife
guffed like an offered lion. “We
also
discussed having a reasonable bedtime on school nights.”

He would never win. Not when it came to Kerri and her helicopter-Mom mentality. Maybe he could sneak into the kitchen while she was distracted and snag some bacon. But even that hope was crushed as Kerri mounted the stairs one at a time.

“Roxy, up and at ‘em!”

Sighing
, Dean followed his wife up the steps. If Roxy was home and hung over, she would need him to run interference. If his daughter had stayed out all night? Well, he would need to get Kerri a Valium or something.

But e
ven he became mildly worried when Roxy didn’t answer the fourth, fifth, or sixth time Kerri shouted out to her. He pulled out his phone. No text from Roxy. Usually, if she was going to stay out late enough to freak out her mom, Roxy would give him a heads up.

Could something actually be wrong?

You could hear the concern in Kerri’s voice, as well. Urgency replaced playfulness as she reached a hand out and knocked on the door.

“
Roxy?”

When there was still no answer, Kerri cracked the door open.
“Baby, are you alright?”

Dean stood on his tiptoes to peer over his wife. Sure enough
, Roxy was in her bed, the covers pulled over her face to block out the morning sun. Had she forgotten what day it was? Did she forget her physics lab?

Kerri crossed the room and opened the curtains wider, the chipper, cheerleader Mom tone back in her voice.
“That’s it, sleepy-head. Time to get up.”

Dean
was ready to head back downstairs when Kerri pulled back the covers and screamed. “She’s dead!”

The body was ashen, and the clouded eyes stared blankly at the ceiling.

He rushed over and hugged his wife as she screamed an anguished scream only a mother could produce. He, on the other hand, felt more shocked and confused.

This girl mig
ht be dead, but where was Roxy?

Detective Nicole Usher’s feet pounded against the treadmill as she checked her pulse. A nice steady one hundred fifteen. She made sure to regulate her breathing—nice and slow, to optimize her workout. It turned out crackheads didn’t need the gym. Chemically induced, they ran like the wind.

Not that she had been chasing any petty thieves or junkies lately. No, the predators she stalked were more about stealth and surprise. More than likely
, she didn’t need to keep in shape to chase after a serial killer, but to run the hell away from one.

Nicole glanced down to her phone
, which she had propped up on the treadmill’s computerized screen. No new calls or texts. But what had she expected? She knew Kent couldn’t tell her where he was going or how long he would be gone. It was part of the deal when you were a consultant for the CIA, DOD, and half a dozen other three-initial agencies. Though technically Kent was still a Special Agent with the FBI, he seldom found himself in an office. His skills were better put to use out in the field.

So this was what it was like to have a partner that wasn
’t really a partner… in more ways then one. Lord knew he tried, but Kent just wasn’t cut out to be the “bring home flowers” kind of lover. He was more the “Hey, I picked up a cadaver arm so that we could practice dissecting the ulna nerve,” kind of guy.

After having a dozen or so
“flowers” kind of boyfriends, Kent was actually refreshing. Disturbing, but refreshing.

The treadmill beeped as it started the
cooldown cycle. As her pace slowed, Nicole glanced around the nearly empty gym. It was late in the morning, so the “before work” rush had already bled from the exercise area. Since she was going over cold cases while Kent was gone, there really wasn’t much reason to fight the “before work” crowds. She might as well go in late and get home late if there was no one home to miss her.

Across the room
, a woman about Nicole’s age worked on a “lat” machine. She smiled at Nicole. Before thinking, Nicole smiled back, then realized she didn’t think that smile was just a friendly one, as the woman winked.

Crap. W
hat had she gotten herself into? Glancing away, Nicole tried to pretend the exchange didn’t happen. Not that she was homophobic, she just wasn’t interested.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Are you really going to pass up this opportunity?

She heard the memory of Kent’s whisper. He wouldn’t want her to take the woman up on the offer, but he certainly
would
want her to use this experience to fine-tune her seduction skills. Who knew that seduction was one of the most powerful ways to crack a suspect?

Nicole took a deep breath. Not from fatigue
, but to work up the nerve. Non-verbal cues were not her forte. Which is exactly why Kent would want her to practice.

Glancing up, she f
ound the woman concentrating on the proper form of her repetitions. Thank goodness. But then the woman looked up and a slow grin spread across her lips. The edge of one lip tugged up more than the other. Nicole knew that indicated interest, but could she replicate it?

Not replicate…
she heard Kent correct in her head.

Respond
.

What had Kent taught her? Channel her own experiences into the exchange. Forget that she was in love with the profiler. Forget that she was heterosexual. Forget that she would
never
pick up anyone at the gym.

Remember only desire. W
ant. With Kent gone for two months, that wasn’t much of a stretch of the imagination. What would her response be if Kent flashed her that patented “I’m only arrogant because I know I am that good in bed” smile?

Well, she
’d flash him her “And I am one of the few who can keep up with you,” grins.

Keeping her eyelids hooded and letting the workout weigh down her features, Nicole smiled back hoping to emulate bedroom eyes. It appeared to work
, as the woman’s smile grew and she worked the machine harder and harder. Clearly she wasn’t having to fake anything on her end.

Nicole
’s phone vibrated on the handlebars as she worked up the nerve to walk over and talk to the woman.

Saved by the bell, so to speak.

She snapped the phone from its case and hit the “accept” button. Her fingers, slick with sweat, nearly dropped the phone. As she scrambled to catch hold of it, she could hear her partner’s tinny voice.

“
Nicole? Nicole?”

Finally
, her fingers got traction on the rubber backing and she brought the phone up to her ear. But not before noticing the woman’s stare. Her smile widened to show her pearly whites. She probably thought that Nicole fumbled the phone because of her. Nicole would let her keep that one. No reason to burst the woman’s ego.

“
Yes, Ruben, I’m here.”

“
Was starting to worry something was wrong.”

Most women would appreciate that a man was worried for them. That he cared and wanted to be there. To Nicole
, though, it just annoyed her. Made her feel boxed in. That Ruben didn’t trust that she could take care of herself. For better or worse, Kent didn’t check in on her. He trusted that if she needed help, she would reach out.