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  “What can you tell us?” a female reporter, sounding very frustrated, asked Aaron, holding a microphone inches in front of his face.

  With the camera lights shining at him, Brianna saw the tightness of his facial muscles. He stood ramrod straight, nothing relaxed.

  With her phone pressed against her ear and the video recording ap turned on, she moved in a counterclockwise motion one inch every five seconds or so to record closer images of the reporters, camera personnel and onlookers in the small crowd beyond.

  “At this time,” Aaron said, his voice tight with authority, “all we can confirm is that a man was found inside this building by a passerby. We don’t know who he is or how he was killed.”

  All true, in an evasive sort of way.

  He held up his hand as another reporter opened their mouth to ask a question. “When we have more details, we’ll release them to you. Until then, you know the drill. Direct your questions to the Public Information officer.”

  Finished, he stepped away and motioned for Brianna, who turned off the recorder, to follow him. Jaylon stepped in behind her to buffer her from the curious reporters. They didn’t speak until they’d cleared the perimeter set by the patrol cars and were nearly where they’d left her car parked down the block from the old brick building.

  “What now?” Brianna asked.

  Aaron stopped and turned back to study the crowd they’d just left. The news people were busy packing up their equipment. Most of the bystanders seemed to be drifting away, although a few really rough and ragged—probably homeless who’d used the building as shelter like Art—seemed to be contemplating if they should go inside or try to find another spot to finish the night.

  “Nothing much more we can do here,” he finally said. “Jay, you got Art’s fingerprints?”

  “Yeah,” the younger man said. “Want me to run them in the system tonight?”

  Aaron shook his head. “No, it can wait ’til morning. We’re all exhausted. We’ll get some sleep and start again first thing in the morning.” He checked his watch. “It’s nearly three. How about I meet you at the precinct about ten?”

  Jaylon gave him a nod, then turned to her. “Night, Ms. Matthews.” He reached over and scratched Stanley on the head a moment. “You too, pup.”

  “You okay to drive?” Aaron asked her once they were alone.

  “Sure. Why?” she asked, wondering if he was too tired to do so, but heading to the driver’s side.

  He climbed in the passenger seat, took Stanley from her and deposited him in the backseat. “I need to make a couple of calls,” he said, pulling out his phone.

  “Okay. Where am I heading? Taking you back to the precinct for your car?” she asked, starting the car and slowly doing a U-turn away from the remnants of the crowd near the crime scene and the two patrol cars and crime scene van still in the area.

  “Your place,” he said, concentrating on his phone.

  “My place? Why my place?” she asked, bristling. They might’ve spent the evening together and years ago, that would’ve meant an intimate conclusion to a date for her, but she’d changed. She no longer believed she owed men a night of sex just because they paid attention to her. And other than Kirk F, who was like a kid brother to her, no man had set foot in her apartment since she’d come home from the hospital.

  “Because my place doesn’t allow pets.”

  Surprised at his answer, she opened her mouth to ask what that had to do with him thinking he was sleeping with her tonight, only to have him hold up a hand to stop her mid thought.

  “Castello?”

  Castello? As in former Deputy U.S. Marshal Frank Castello? A friend of Abby’s? Why was Aaron calling him? And why at this hour of the morning? And what did he have to do with Art’s murder?

  * * *

  They’d found his calling card.

  A surge of triumph shot through him. He stopped, grabbed hold of the door handle to his van and took a slow breath. Once he had the thrill under control, he climbed inside and watched the scene in front of him. News crews and police doing their jobs, while the busybodies tried to see what was going on.

  It had been risky. He’d almost given in to his fear of being caught and stored the newest specimen with the others. But it was time to make a statement. Time to call attention to his work.

  He put the van in gear and turned onto the street, slowly driving past the spectacle where the policeman was talking to the media. Just as he glanced their way—like any gawker would—a tall blonde woman moved into view, holding a dog and talking on the phone.

  He stared at the dog. It looked a lot like that mongrel the old man had. But it couldn’t be. He’d left it on the highway. It had to have been hit by traffic.

  He hated dogs. Cats. Rats. All were good for one thing. Perfecting his skills for killing.

  Now, he needed another donor. It was time to go on the hunt.

  9

  Yeah, I know it’s the middle of the night,” Aaron said into the phone, aware that Brianna was shifting her attention from him back to the road.

  He knew she wanted to refuse him spending the night at her place. Too damn bad. She wasn’t getting a choice in the matter. If he was right and they’d stumbled onto a serial killer—either at the beginning of his spree, which he doubted by the pristine crime scene that spoke of experience, or one who was evolving—he wasn’t taking any chances with her safety.

  “What you need, Jeffers?” The former Deputy Marshal’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. A man of few words, Castello always cut to the heart of a matter.

  “You still keeping that safehouse up here in Cleveland?”

  “Why?” With one word, Castello’s voice changed from grumpy-sleepy to hard and intense.

  “I have a couple of witnesses I need to get out of the regular population for their safety.”

  “You need it now?”

  “Sometime tomorrow. One of them is currently in the hospital. I can keep the other with me until I can move them both into your place.” He wasn’t about to tell him one of his witnesses was a four-legged mutt. Sometimes you just needed to beg forgiveness rather than ask permission.

  “Kirk F has the keys. Need me to call him?”

  Aaron grinned inwardly. Of course Kirk F had the keys to the safehouse. “Nah, I have the kid’s number. He’s already helping me on this.”

  “Details?”

  “Not yet. It’s still early on.”

  “Place is yours.”

  The phone ended without a goodbye. But that was Castello.

  “You’re going to put Paula up in a safehouse?”

  “Paula and Stanley,” he said, thumbing through his contact list until he found the other name he needed to talk to, not mentioning he wanted her to stay there, too. He knew when to avoid an argument.

  The phone rang several times before being answered.

  “This better be good, Jeffers,” Jake Carlisle grumbled at him.

  “Sorry to wake you so early, Jake, but I need to know if you still have a profiler contact with the FBI?”

  Jake Carlisle was a former FBI special agent who retired to start his own private security firm—Edgars Security and Investigations Group named for his wife’s family. He was also married to Brianna’s friend Abby’s sister-in-law, Samantha.

  “What do you need a profiler for?” Jake asked, his voice all business now. Aaron imagined the guy had gone from horizontal between the sheets to sitting on the edge of his bed, feet flat on the floor, ready for action. Everyone in that family seemed to be built that way. Relaxed one moment, intense and focused the next. It was one of the reasons he liked and respected them.

  “We found a dead body tonight,” he began, filling Jake in on what transpired inside the warehouse, how Art was not only posed but had been almost ritualistically cleaned.

  “And you’ve only found one body?”

  “So far.”

  “But you suspect there will be or are more?”

  Where Castello was b
rusque and to the point, Jake worked more methodically—one question, one step at a time. Which was good, as it made him focus his own thoughts.

  “That’s what I’m afraid of. If this is his first, he’s got a taste for the theatrics, maybe a need for recognition. But the way the body was posed and cleaned…it feels rehearsed.”

  “As if he’s done it before and now is ready to show off his work?” Jake said, echoing his own thoughts. “You’re wanting to keep this quiet?”

  Aaron tilted his neck until it cracked, almost feeling Brianna shaking her head at his action. “The media picked up the call for the coroner, so there is some word on the news, but no details. I doubt we’ll get much traction until another body is found, but I’d like some insights on what we might be looking for before that happens.”

  “Understood. I have a guy in mind who can help you, if he’s not on an active case. Carson Smith. Guy’s a genius but can only focus on one unsub at a time. You might call him intense.” There was a pause on the other end of the phone, then Aaron heard some rustling of papers. “I’ll text him to find out if he’s available, then get back to you.”

  “I’d appreciate it. We’re about to go crash for a few hours.”

  “We?”

  “Brianna is with me,” was all he said. Carlisle could read into it all he wanted.

  “I’ll have information for you by morning.”

  They disconnected just as Brianna pulled into her driveway. He had to give her credit. She managed to park the car in the garage and turn off the engine before going on the offensive.

  “Jake’s going to think we’re dating.”

  “He could. Or he could just assume that since I told him you brought this case to my attention, you are involved in it somehow.” He climbed out of the car and stood with the door open as she did the same.

  “But you told him we were going to sleep,” she said, glaring at him over the hood of her car. Even in the florescent lights of the garage her blue eyes lit with anger. “He’ll think we’re sleeping together, which, by the way, we are not.”

  “What I told him was, we were going to crash. Which we are. We’ve both been up nearly twenty-four hours.” He closed his door, opened the back passenger one for Stanley.

  “And you think you’re going to crash here?” she asked, standing with one hand on her hip, the other on her open car door, one brow arched his direction.

  “Stanley is a witness. He can’t stay at my place and leaving him here alone with you could be dangerous,” he said, waiting for her reaction to him implied slight.

  Her brows shot up and she slammed the car door, stomping around to stand just a few inches from him. “You think I can’t take care of him?”

  God, she was a glorious sight when she was pissed. In the three years he’d known her, she’d never gotten angry like this. Since the day he rescued her from the mansion, she’d been subdued. Her emotions suppressed as if she were afraid to show her true self, to give in to her passion. Seeing her like this? It was magnificent.

  He hated to temper it, but she needed to understand Paula and Stanley weren’t the only ones in danger of the killer coming after them. She’d been seen tonight, too.

  “I think you can take care of him. But I need to keep him safe.” He took a step closer. “And you safe, too.”

  “Me?” Her brows slammed down in confusion.

  “Yes, you. If the murderer was outside the building tonight, he could’ve seen you with Stanley. If he recognizes Stanley as Art’s dog, he might come after him…and you.”

  The overhead light in the garage went out, leaving them standing in darkness.

  Aaron inhaled, getting a mixture of the slight floral of her perfume and the feminine scent that always made him want to reach out to touch her, although he knew she wasn’t ready for more. A low growl sounded from the bundle of fur in his hands.

  Brianna made an exasperated snort. “Oh, hell. This is ridiculous. I’m not going to stand in the dark and argue with you. Come inside,” she said, moving away toward the door to the house.

  Stroking Stanley soothingly, Aaron waited for her to open the door and turn on a light for him to follow. He’d never been inside her home. While she’d been recovering in rehab, Abby and the Edgars had sold her old condo and purchased her a new one, in a new neighborhood, not wanting her to have to return to the trauma of her kidnapping. When she’d come home from the hospital it had been Abby and her sister-in-law Katie who’d accompanied her. Only female law enforcement had been assigned for her protection. The only male allowed entrance had been Kirk F.

  Turning, she punched a code into the alarm keypad. “The security company will call in five minutes if it’s not reset. Sorry the place is such a mess,” she said, moving through into the great room, then took a turn to the right and disappeared.

  Walking inside through a laundry mud room area, he stepped into a large kitchen and great room combo. He paused to take it all in.

  It was a spacious, open room. Very modern in the granite countertops and shaker-style cabinets. In a magazine it would appear clean and neat, maybe even a bit sterile to him, but here it was homey. A large crock full of utensils like tongs and spatulas sat near the stove within easy reach. Next to it was a bottle of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. If he dared open the cupboard above, he’d probably find spices. On the opposite side of the stove was a huge wooden block of knives.

  Dishtowels hung off the oven rack, and a dishrag draped over the back of the faucet. In the sink were two bowels and a spoon, probably from the breakfast she’d had nearly twenty-four hours ago. Cookbooks lined one open shelf and live plants filled the windowsill above the sink.

  “If this is messy, I’d hate to see her idea of clean. You’re in luck, buddy,” Aaron said to Stanley, whose nose was busy taking in the scent of the new place. “Looks like the lady likes to cook.”

  He walked between the kitchen island that had barstools on the opposite side to what appeared to be a dining area consisting of an antique table and six different wooden chairs. On it was a planter with several succulents sitting in the center. A loose pile of mail was on one end and an empty bottle of wine and a used glass sat beside a notebook, pen and laptop. He leaned in to look at the notepad. Numbers and equations filled the thing. Stuff he hadn’t seen since high school Trigonometry class.

  “I tutor math online,” she said from behind him as she laid a pillow and blanket on the back of the sofa.

  A little heat hit his cheeks, embarrassed at being caught snooping. “Thought it looked like the higher math I was all too glad to leave behind at graduation.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Most people are. Abby periodically texts me, Another day without using Algebra, memes.”

  “So, you’re tutoring high school kids?”

  “It varies. Some are college freshmen who didn’t quite get it in high school. A few high schoolers.” With a grin she came over and tapped the paper. “This is Antony. He’s special.”

  “Special? How?”

  “He’s eight.”

  Surprise hit him. “Eight and doing this level math?”

  Brianna laughed as she rounded the table heading back into the kitchen. “Yes. He’s tested out as a genius, with special math aptitude.”

  “So why isn’t he in college?” Aaron asked, following her.

  “Because his parents want him to grow up with as normal a childhood as possible. He takes all the rest of his classes with his classmates. Plays with them, goes to scouts and plays both soccer and little league baseball. Math is with me after school two days a week.” She took out a bowl and filled it with water, then took out a dishtowel and set it on the floor near the door to the laundry. Walking over, she unhooked Stanley’s leash from his collar then took him and set him on the floor near the bowl. “That’s your water, little guy.”

  The pup happily lapped from the bowl.

  “I don’t have anything to feed him,” she said, folding her arms across her chest and leaning
back against her island counter.

  Aaron leaned against the wall, watching her watch the pup. “He’s probably still full from dinner.”

  “You and Kirk F must’ve fed him two entire waffles and nearly half a chicken.” She shook her head at him, but the corners of her mouth had softened into a ghost of a smile. He liked her smiles. She should do it more than she did these days.

  He shrugged. “Well, he looked like he was hungry and really enjoyed the food. Besides when he looked at me with those big brown eyes, I felt guilty eating in front of him.”

  She chuckled. “Good thing he’s going to be living with me for now and not you. You’d feed him nothing but table scraps. He’d weigh twice what he does in a week.” Then the light left her eyes. “I wonder how long he’d been without food before Paula found him? I mean, how long do we think Art was gone?”

  “Paula said she was looking for him since last Thursday.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s Thursday now, so at least a week?”

  “That was when she found Stanley wandering around, so it may have been a few days more.”

  “You’re not trying to figure out how long the pup was hungry, are you?”

  He shook his head. “No, I think we’re going to have to trace Art’s footsteps, establish his routine.”

  “Routine?”

  “Even homeless people have routines. Certain shelters give out meals only so many days a week. Clinics are more open for them on certain days. A favorite restaurant may give away leftovers at the end of a shift.” He yawned, then stretched. “But first I think we all need some sleep. I’d better take our little friend out before we all crash.”

  “I set the blanket and pillow for you on the couch,” she said handing him the dog’s leash. The door next to the one into the garage goes out to the back patio and yard. I’ll set the alarm once you’re back inside.”

  Nodding, he attached the leash to Stanley and led him out into the darkness. He could’ve asked her for the alarm code so she could go on to bed, but knew she wasn’t ready to trust him or anyone with her safety yet. It ate at him, but he totally understood it.