Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Frankie

"Thought you could use a little pick-me-up, Ames," I say, walking into the office of Amelia Novak, the department's top criminal psychologist. I paste a goofy grin on my face as I hold up the green and white paper bag holding her favorite breakfast.

"I know how engrossed you get in your work, trying to unravel the twisted minds of those psychos we send to you."

She chuckles, her eyes meeting mine. "You know me too well, Frankie. But seriously, you didn't have to go out of your way. I'm always here for you, whether you come bearing gifts or not."

I shrug, handing over the bag and then setting down two steaming cups of coffee, one for each of us. "What can I say? I like to keep my favorite criminal psychologist well-fed and happy. Never know when I might need that brilliant, slightly unhinged brain of yours. And I figured we could use the caffeine hit."

I flop into the chair across from her desk, ignoring the plush sofa against the wall. "I think we got a serial this time," I sigh. "At least I'm pretty sure it's the same creep flaying all three vics, but Jay says we don't have enough evidence. He's right, of course."

She nods, digging into the bag and dropping back into her desk chair. She spreads a thick layer of cream cheese on each side of the bagel and takes a large bite, savoring it with a satisfied groan. "Okay, what do you know so far?"

I take a sip of my coffee. "Two nights ago, I was called to a crime scene for this guy, Beaumont. I'm fairly certain it's DB number three from this psycho, which technically makes it a serial."

"But?" she asks, raising an eyebrow as she takes another bite of bagel.

I smile and grab the other half of the bagel, taking a bite. "But the kill methods differ. Similar tools, eerily similar M.O."

"And that's where you're stuck? The method of killing?"

I nod, swallowing another sip of coffee. "Yeah. I'm sure it's the same guy, but I can't prove it. Yet."

I feel like I'm spinning my wheels, and it's infuriating to have Jay slow me down with his follow-the-rules approach. That's why I've come to talk to Amelia.

She narrows her eyes. "I know you don't want to hear this, but have you considered the possibility of two killers, like the Hillside Stranglers? That could explain the similar but not identical kills."

"That's possible," I say, though I don't believe it. "But it feels like it's the same guy and I'm just missing something."

She wipes crumbs from her mouth and says, "No offense, but there's a lot you're missing, right? No solid link between the victims, and no link between the crimes except it's eerily similar, right? That makes it damn near impossible to ID a killer, especially without enough evidence."

"Gee, thanks." I scowl at her. She sounds like Jay. I take another bite of my bagel. "You're no help."

"Seriously. This is your first serial, right?"

"Yeah. Spree killers, mass shootings, but first serial. Your point?"

She sips her coffee, musing. "My point is, it's hard to know so early. You said it yourself; you can't be sure it's a serial yet, so you need more information. More evidence."

"Yeah, yeah." I wave a hand. "More dead bodies. Jay's already given me that speech. Doesn't sound any better coming from you."

"Sorry, not sorry. What else have you found?"

"Not much. Dug into the latest victim's past. Other than a clear alcohol problem, no link yet. But I know there's a link. There has to be."

Amelia's gaze feels a little heavy. She's studying me and ending up on this side of the scrutiny is weird. "You don't have to be the one who finds the link, Frankie. As long as it's found. Right?" She takes another bite.

"Save the shrinking for the perps, Ames. Not me." I did my time at the shrink after Dad's death and then Mom's suicide. Mandatory department sessions don't count.

She tosses her red hair back, laughing in a way that fills her office, which looks nothing like a police precinct with its flowers, plants, diplomas, and photos. She's done her best to make this grungy corner her own.

"You're as interesting, if not more, than the perps you make me study. Your need for justice combined with your trauma is a case study on its own. The only reason it's not one is because you're a cop, not a serial killer."

I roll my eyes and sigh. "Can we get back to the dick-decimating serial killer, please?"

Amelia's lips twitch. " Possible serial killer," she corrects with a gleam in her eyes. "And yes, but it doesn't sound like you have much to share."

"True," I admit. "But I was hoping you had some insight." I share my thoughts on the sexual assault angle.

"Possible, but you'd find some allegations in their past, right?"

"Nothing yet, I'm still digging."

"Keep at it. My door's always open. For digging into killers' minds or dinner and drinks. Like friends."

"How about tonight?" I could use a few hours of downtime.

"Perfect. Seven work?"

"I'll be here digging unless another body shows up."

"Let's hope it doesn't." She raises an eyebrow. "Do I have to wait until tonight to hear about you and Nate? I heard you gave him shit at the last crime scene."

I shrug. "Nothing is going on. We're over. I yelled at him because he took his sweet ass time getting to a rained-out crime scene."

The whole damn department, it seems, is invested in my relationship with Nate, which is hilarious since none of them bothered to tell me he was fucking every woman who batted her lashes in his direction.

I shove thoughts of Nate and our failed relationship away and spend the day digging deeper into the victims' lives.

So far, I've only learned that Kowalski, Donovan and Beaumont are all from Los Angeles or the surrounding area. They're locals, which means whoever they pissed off is likely to be a local too. I look into their early lives, trying to find a connection.

"I guess dinner has to wait?"

Amelia's voice startles me. "Is it seven o'clock already?" I ask. "How time flies when you're having fun."

"Funny," she says dryly.

I roll my eyes and finish my notes before closing my notebook and turn back to Amelia.

"Dinner won't wait. I'm too damn hungry." I stand and grab my bag. "How about Steak & Bake for dinner?"

"Steak and an enormous glass of red wine."

"And a tall, ice-cold beer." I look at her, daring her to scrunch her nose at my beer order. "Come on. Beat you there," I say.

We walk out together to our cars. We drive separately, so she won't have to bring me back here. Plus, the drive to the restaurant gives me time to think about the cases. Nothing makes sense—yet—but I know it will. Later means more bodies, and that's not good.

The steakhouse is packed, but we snag a table and order drinks immediately. "Have you found anything yet?" Amelia's smile is beaming as she rests her chin in her hand, eyes sparkling with interest.

"I thought you wanted to talk about something other than the case?"

"Of course I do. You and Nate are over. Are you seeing anyone else, yet?"

"Nope." I shake my head and grab my beer greedily, and take a big, unladylike gulp. "No energy for men or dating. Except for the occasional orgasm. And I can do that by myself."

Amelia laughs. "Not pining after Nate?"

"Oh, hell no. He reminded me that I simply don't have time for a relationship, even with someone who works crazy hours. Men require too much attention, and my attention is always directed elsewhere."

She nods. "On victims and their killers?"

"Right." I smile as the server returns to take our orders. Steak and potatoes for me, a grilled shrimp salad for Amelia. "Justice for victims is a much worthier cause than a man-baby."

Her gaze assesses me as if she can read my every thought, which is why I don't hang out with her as much as I would like to. "You know most people would agree with you."

"Because I'm smart," I snap back.

She laughs. "Yes, you are smart. And all relationships eventually fail. Until the one that doesn't." One auburn brow arches, daring me to disagree with her.

"Yeah, yeah." I take another sip of beer. "I don't see you jumping into a relationship."

"Men are intimidated by me, and not just by my intelligence. My fascination with the dark side when I look like this," she motions to her bright red hair and the band of freckles across her face. "It confuses them."

"I call bullshit." I point an accusing finger in her direction. "Who broke your heart or shook your faith in love?"

"Who didn't?" she asks around a laugh, shaking her head. "Absent father, two cheating boyfriends, and one broken engagement. I'm working my way up to dating again. Slowly."

I raise a brow. "But you're giving me shit about it?"

"Damn right I am," she grins. "You're beautiful and lively, and there's no reason you should be single. Nate is a fucking idiot."

I laugh. "He's a child punishing me for working too much, being too successful." He'd resented my career success and how often I appeared in the news and press conferences. "I thought he'd get over it, but I was wrong."

"Completely his loss."

"Thanks, but you don't have to say that. He cheated and there's no going back from that. I'm fine. My break has more to do with me and my focus than with any residual heartbreak. I promise."

She takes a healthy sip of wine. "In that case, I have thoughts on your killer and his victims."

I smile and lean forward. "I'm all ears."