Chapter 3

3

I t’s different this time. It feels personal. Almost…” She stopped, not sure whether to say what was really bothering her or make up something to satisfy her grandmother. Unfortunately, or maybe it was fortunately, Nona took the decision away from her.

“You’re seeing the victims through his eyes, right? But not while he’s doing, but rather afterward when he’s reliving it?”

Nodding because her mouth was suddenly so dry she couldn’t speak, Nat’s eyes met Nona’s as she took a huge drink of her iced coffee. It wasn’t surprising that the older woman knew what was going on in her granddaughter’s mind, but instead an uneasiness of what she might uncover.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Child. These are not your feelings,” Nona snapped, having already known what Nat was trying to hide. “This man is sick, deviant, and absolutely perverted. Death, love, lust, flesh, and oh yes, parts of the body feed his deviance.”

Reaching across the table, she laid her thin, wrinkled hand over Nat’s. “He is also very smart and incredibly cunning. To catch him, you will have to follow where your gift takes you – no matter how gruesome.”

Mesmerized by Nona’s words, Nat jumped when the alarm on her phone beeped. Grabbing it from her pocket, she looked at the time and jumped to her feet. Rounding the table in three strides, she kissed her grandma on the cheek. “Thank you, Nona. I’ll be back on Wednesday for dinner.”

“See that you do, Donatella,” the older woman called out. “Don’t be late and don’t forget the wine.”

Chuckling as she shut and locked the front door, Nat repeated her grandmother’s words, “And don’t forget the wine,” before scoffing, “How could I forget the wine? Drunk is the only way I can deal with Beth and Bert.”

Just the thought of her cousin and her cousin’s husband set Nat’s teeth to grinding. Not only were they overly cutesy and always rubbing noses and giggling at one another, but heaven help them all, they were expecting their first child.

Not one dinner, holiday, or family get together had passed since Betsy found out she was pregnant that Nat had not been subjected to talk of morning sickness, back aches, constipation, and a menagerie of paint swatches in every pastel color that had ever been created. It was sickening and there was no other way to look at it.

Once in her car, she maneuvered through the old neighborhoods and the historic district before coming up behind the precinct and pulling into her parking spot. Walking towards the back doors, something akin to an anvil falling on her head like always happened to Wile E. Coyote in her favorite cartoons made her stop and turn to the left.

Unable to move, barely able to breathe, Nat’s eyes were glued to the biggest, broadest man she’d ever laid eyes on. If he wasn’t a football player, he should be and if he wasn’t there for her, well, she’d find a way to get in front of him.

Watching until he disappeared behind the brick and mortar of the front of the building, she shook her head and blew out the breath she’d been holding before heading into the station. Throwing her empty Starbucks cup in the trash and grabbing a bottle of water, she walked straight to the Incident Room and stood before the row of white boards and cork boards.

Looking at the smiling faces of the serial killer the media were calling the Yellow Ribbon Ripper, Nat sat her butt on the edge of the table and let her mind wander. It was the only way she could conjure up the images from her dreams and sort them in such a way that she would make sense out of them.

Six girls, different body types and hair colors, all between twenty and twenty-two years of age, all killed in the same brutal manner, all missing their heart and liver. The yellow bow was a clue, but to what?

The immediate connection was made between the yellow ribbon and the military and the DOD had been very cooperative in giving them access to all the records, past and present, that they needed. Nothing had come of it. Every person with even the slightest blip on their psych evaluation had been interviewed. No one stood out or even made her raise an eyebrow.

It seemed as if every ‘normal’ avenue had been checked. Now, it was up to Nat to check the not-so normal ones. Thank the Goddess Fitz knew about her ‘gift’ and whole-heartedly supported her using it. He’d even kept a level head when they’d raided a coven of Witches and had even broken a sweat when he witnessed Werewolves up close and personally.

He was old school, there was no doubt about it, but he’d also grown up with a rather eclectic bunch of foster parents and had experienced firsthand that things are not always as they seem. It was one of the hundreds of reasons that Nat loved and trusted her partner. He had her back no matter what.

Grabbing the full-body crime scene shots from the board and laying them side-by-side on the long, beat-up, conference table, she zeroed in on each girl’s left wrist. There it was, so small human eyes couldn’t see and a magnifying glass would miss it – an upside-down cross with an additional, longer line through it and the top bisecting an infinity sign.

“But what does it mean?” She murmured.

“It means you’ve got trouble.”

Jumping up and squeaking as she spun around like a top, Nat spat, “What the fu…?” Her words trailed off as her eyes landed on the man she’d been ogling in the parking lot just a few minutes before. Up close and personal he was damn near too much to handle.

Taller, broader, just more of ab-so-lute-ly everything within reach. Dark and wavy, his hair was long enough to touch the collar of his blue cotton shirt, but not so long as to make him look feminine. Icy blue eyes with laser sharp focus, she felt as if he was looking right into her soul as the corner of his perfectly shaped lips curled up at one corner and he snickered, “Sorry about that. I should’ve knocked or cleared my throat to let you know I was here.”

Forcing herself to look away, her hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they moved up then down then finally landed on the crime scene photos. Scooping the enlarged prints into a messy stack, she held them against her chest like a shield as she forced her embarrassment into anger and scowled, “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Oh, sorry. I should’ve introduced myself.” Dropping his bag while reaching behind his back with the other, Nat had to look away before she hyperventilated when the fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his chest, outlining its near perfection.

Whoever this guy is, he sure packs a punch…

Opening his wallet, he held up his government credentials along with a gold badge at the same time that he explained, “Name’s Rafe O’Rhordan. I’m with the DPA. Director Isaacs received a call from your Commander for help with a case.”

His last comment hung in the air, an unasked question he was looking for an answer to. Anger turned to rage as she stomped past Special Agent O’Rhordan and straight into Captain Rogers’ office.

Slamming the door, she ground out through gritted teeth, “What the hell, Cap? The Feds? Really? This is my case and I don’t need some frikkin’ uptight ‘Special Agent’,” she threw up air quotes with her left hand, “gettin’ in my way.” Stepping forward, leaning over his desk the best she could, she added, “And you know how I hate surprises.”

Leaning back in his chair, he tossed his pen on his desk and sighed. “Last time I checked, I was still the Commander of this Unit, Detective Hale.” Propping his right elbow on the wooden arm of his chair, he rested the bottom of his chin on his fist and added, “And as such, it is my case and at my discretion who works on it. My suggestion to you is to calm the fuck down, do an about-face, and welcome the Special Agent to our station.”

“But…”

“But nothing, Hale.” The sting of anger and disappointment in his voice was worse than being kicked in the teeth. She respected Commander Rogers, had followed his career from the time she decided to be a cop when her friend Stacey had disappeared. He’d been a detective then and had questioned all the girls more than once.

“You will play nice, or you will take a mandatory vacation until this case is over.” The old, worn springs of his desk chair squeaked as he leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. Shaking his head and taking a deep breath, his chuckle was forced but the fatherly look in his eyes was what she’d come to expect from him as he cajoled, “Give this guy a chance, Nat. He’s got an exemplary service record the length of both my arms and a leg and during his time with the DPA, he’s got a ninety-five percent close rate.” Shrugging, he went on, “Work with him. Who knows, maybe together you can catch this stupid son of a bitch before he kills again.”

Knowing that was his final word on the subject, she gave a quick nod as she reluctantly agreed, “Yes, Sir.”

Turning around as quickly as she could and striding across his office, her hand had just landed on the doorknob when Rogers added, “Play nice, Hale. I won’t like it, but I will suspend you if I even get a wild idea that you’re running this investigation around him.”

“Yes, Sir,” she muttered before opening the door and all but flying out of the office.

Making a beeline for the ladies’ bathroom, refusing to subject herself to the ‘wham-bam-sexy-vibe’ that Agent O’Rhordan exuded, she raced into the farthest stall from the door and kicked the door shut. Leaning against the side wall, she blew out the breath she’d been holding and let her head fall forward.

With her eyes closed, trying to make sense of her undeniably crazy attraction to a man she’d only just laid eyes on that very day, she groaned under her breath, “Wonder if Nona has a chastity belt, ‘cause whatever this dude’s packin’ is powerful shit.”