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Chapter 3

It was late and the storm that had started when they were down in the ravine was pelting the earth with fat, angry raindrops, creating a staccato against the tiled roof of the single-story motel. She’d declined to go out with the team for a bite to eat, preferring to go over case notes and forensic reports, though as she glanced at her watch and her stomach growled in complaint she wondered if maybe she should’ve chosen differently. Sighing, she fished a can of salted almonds from her bag and popped the top. Voila, dinner.

Tossing a few into her mouth, she’d just settled into the chair with her pad and pencil when a short rap at the door had her tensing. The team hadn’t returned yet, which made whoever was on the other side of that door, suspect. Moving softly and grabbing her gun, she called out, “Who is it?”

There was a pause and then she heard Matthew answer. “Me. I, uh, brought you something.”

Puzzled, she holstered her gun and opened the door a crack. Matthew stood there with a bag of Chinese takeout, his expression hard to read. Glancing down at her wardrobe, she grimaced at the tight, long-sleeved sleep shirt and soft flannel pants she was wearing. Well, it’d been a long time but Matthew had certainly seen her in less, so she reluctantly opened the door wider. “For me?”

He lifted the plastic bag from Mr. Choy’s. “Mu shu chicken. Used to be your favorite. I ran into your team as I was picking up my order and McIntyre told me you’d stayed behind. Figured you ought to eat something,” he added a bit gruffly as if he were just as surprised as she was at his actions. He reached into the bag and pulled out the mu shu, thrusting it at her. “So here. Take it or leave it. Hell, I don’t even know if you even like this stuff anymore.”

She accepted the container and the sweet, tangy smell teased her senses, kicking her suppressed appetite awake with a vengeance. “I do. Thanks. Do you … want to come in?” she asked, unsure.

Matthew hesitated, then stepped over the threshold as she closed the door behind him. She took a seat at the small table where her notes were strewn about in a haphazard mess that belied her generally organized nature. Moving a few of her piles, she cleared a space for him to join her. “I can’t believe Mr. Choy’s is still in business after all these years,” she said, making small talk as she dug into the still-warm order. She chewed slowly, enjoying the pleasure of a once-favorite food. “He was old when I left.”

Matthew opened his own container of sweet-and-sour pork and, before digging in, said, “His boy took over. Does a pretty good job of picking up where his old man left off. Mr. Choy, from what I hear, is loving retirement and has taken a shine to golf, despite being near to ninety years old.”

“At least he’s staying active,” she murmured, taking another bite. She gestured with her fork to the food. “It’s great. You’re right. Tastes as good as I remember, so his son must be doing a bang-up job.”

They ate in silence but Kara knew they were both thinking the same thing: in what universe was it possible that she and Matthew were sitting at the same table, eating dinner like old friends? She swallowed and glanced at him surreptitiously, her practiced eye noting every detail about his appearance that was different and yet the same.

Solid Matthew. Always the practical one. The phantom of a smile threatened to play on her lips as she thought of the numerous scrapes and binds they’d narrowly escaped as kids simply because they’d had the sense to at least listen to Matthew when things had gone too far. It was a miracle nothing had ever managed to make it to her permanent record, a boon she no doubt owed to Matthew, not Neal. Often Neal had been as headstrong and reckless as she in their teens. Her daughter, Briana, had inherited that quiet wisdom Matthew had come by so naturally. For that, Kara was grateful.

Finished, she pushed her container away and sighed at her full belly. She didn’t often get the opportunity to just sit and eat without feeling pressured to finish so she could return to the task she’d set aside.

“Thanks. That hit the spot,” she said, her gaze roaming his face as she looked for clues into his motivation. For as much as she wanted to enjoy this unexpected gesture of kindness, she didn’t trust it for a minute.

He shrugged. “Can’t think on an empty stomach, right? I remember you used to get light-headed when you didn’t eat. Wouldn’t want you to keel over at an inopportune moment.” His gaze met hers in a speculative manner as he cocked his head. “Looks to me that you don’t eat enough these days. You’ve gotten skinny.”

“And you’ve bulked up,” she countered, although she refrained from adding that his bulk came from muscle not fat and that it made his six-foot-plus frame all the more impressive.

His mouth twitched as he laced his fingers across his solid abdominal region, which she imagined sported a full six-pack underneath that dark thermal Henley. “True. I like to eat so I have to work out.”

No ring. Her gaze bounced from his bare fingers, and she hoped he didn’t notice, but such luck was too much to ask for.

“Just ask.”

She started to give him her best blank stare, as if she didn’t know what he was saying, but dropped the ruse when curiosity won out over prudence. “Married?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Kara chuckled, yet an odd pain punched her in the side, suspiciously close to her heart. “What happened?”

The blue in his eyes darkened but the casual lift of his shoulders told a different story. “Just didn’t work out. Sort of like you and Neal, I guess. Except, my ex-wife is still alive and living quite comfortably on the alimony I pay her.”

“Neal and I never actually made it to the altar,” she reminded him quietly.

“Yes, I remember. I was supposed to be his best man.”

She refused to wince at his statement and instead quietly tucked away the fact that he hadn’t mentioned child support. And she was inordinately happy. Dangerous thinking, she silently reprimanded herself even as she pulled away and started to clean up the food containers. “Well, everything happens for a reason, right?”

“That’s what some people say.” He handed her his trash. “How about you?”

She dropped the trash into the canister, making a mental note to put the can outside of the room for the cleaning staff to empty first thing tomorrow. She didn’t allow them to clean due to the sensitive nature of her stay. The busy work made for an easy excuse to stall but Matthew knew her well, even if years stood between them.

“What have you been doing with your life all these years? I don’t see a ring on your finger, either.”

She pushed a lock of hair behind her ears. “I’m married to the job.”

“I can see that. Top of your field, the go-to person in high-profile cases … you’ve done well for yourself. But there’s more to life than the job, right?”

Kara bit the inside of her cheek, her daughter’s beloved little face jumping to mind, and she had to stop the smile that would’ve followed. Briana was the light in her universe, the one bright spot in an otherwise depressing world. But Matthew was the last person she wanted to know about Briana—even if she was his daughter.

Somehow she didn’t think he’d understand. Matthew had never been the type to forgive and forget. He’d still not forgiven her for leaving Lantern Cove and breaking Neal’s heart in the process.

No, she thought sadly, Matthew would never know that the one night they both betrayed Neal had resulted in a wonderful little girl. And that was for the best—for everyone.

Breaking her reflective silence, she met Matthew’s stare with a short smile. “The job is enough for me.”

His own smile turned wintry. “Well, we both know you sacrificed a lot to get where you’re at.”

“Yes, I have.” More than you know. “And on that note … I’m going to have to say good night. Thanks for the food.”

Matthew went to the door. “Don’t mention it,” he murmured. And then he was gone.

Kara brushed her teeth and finally climbed into bed, her eyelids feeling weighted with cement, which was a welcome feeling. Working herself to exhaustion was the only way she ever got any sleep, especially when she was under the gun to catch the bad guy.

She couldn’t have been asleep long before something jerked her awake with the certainty that she wasn’t alone.

Pitch-black filled the room. Without adjusting her position, she peered into the darkness, managing to keep her breathing slow and steady as if she were still asleep, but she could discern nothing. Confused, she slowly sat up in the bed, and flicked on the bedside lamp.

Nothing. Her room was exactly as it was when she went to sleep. Rubbing the grit from her eyes, she sighed and chalked it up to extreme fatigue. Snapping off the light, she fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes, determined to catch more zzzz’s before her alarm went off at 6:00 a.m. Just then, a soft voice whispered in her ear and nearly stopped her heart.

“She’s here.”

Chapter 4

Kara’s head ached and her skin itched.

“What’s wrong?” Dillon asked from above the rim of his coffee cup. “You look like shit.”

She ignored him for the moment and took a bracing swallow of her own coffee—black without sugar—before attempting an answer. The hot brew burnt the crap out of her tastebuds but oddly the flash of pain was more welcome than the uneasy thoughts making soup of her brain. “Just because you say that with an accent doesn’t make it any less insulting.”

Dillon made a face. “Someone’s gone into mommy-mode. Next are you going to tell me that if I’ve got nothing nice to say I should—”

“Shut the hell up?” she provided with a false smile.

“Something like that. I seem to remember that saying being a little less acerbic and more polite but that certainly gets the point across. So, what’s with the nerves? You’re drumming your thumbs,” he pointed out, which immediately made her slide her hands under the table away from view. “Something’s got you strung pretty tight. What is it?”

She could try and pass it off as extreme fatigue—hell, she’d been trying to do that since 4:00 a.m.—but it was no use. Someone had whispered in her ear. She’s here. And yet, her room had been empty. How the hell was she supposed to say that without looking as if she’d just spilled her crackers? “I didn’t sleep well,” she said, leaving it at that.

“Not me. I slept like a baby. This motel sure doesn’t look like much from the outside—in fact, it looks like the kind of place where the crazed proprietor slits your throat in your sleep—but in all, the beds are quite adequate.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” she said wryly, choking down another hot swallow as she started to feel the caffeine working its way into her body, clearing away the cobwebs of sleep until she felt somewhat back to herself. It was a dream, she rationalized with a great deal of relief. A very lucid, very vivid dream. Not uncommon for people who are extremely fatigued. Now she felt just a little ridiculous for wasting so much of her precious sleep time shaking in her bed over something that was clearly not real.

Just in time. The rest of the CARD Team came into the small breakfast joint and Kara was grateful for the need to focus on the job.

D’Marcus Jones, the high-tech computer specialist who looked as far from a geek as one could get, slid into the seat beside her while Tana Miller and Zane Harris took the seats flanking Dillon. Everyone except Tana signaled for coffee. Tana preferred green tea and always brought her own. All she required was a mug of steaming hot water.

“Does it always rain like this here?” D’Marcus asked, eyeing the dismal weather with something of a scowl. “I feel like I’m gonna mold or something. Even the sheets felt damp.”

“I think it’s invigorating,” Tana said, her cheeks still pink from the early-morning run she’d taken on the black-sand beach a short walk from their motel. “I could live here.”

Kara withheld comment. The beaches here were savagely beautiful with sharp, craggy cliffs that accepted the ocean’s constant battering with stoic dignity, eroding with time until deep fissures ran with seawater as the spray erupted with a violent explosion against the rocks. Many a tourist, inexperienced with the nature of Northern California’s coastal beaches, sank to a watery grave when they turned their back to the ocean.

And it wasn’t warm. Not even in the summer. The water remained a chilly temperature and dive suits were necessary if prolonged exposure was planned. But Kara never went into the ocean. Not after her dad took a fishing boat into a squall after a bender and never came back. It’d been her senior year. Neal’s family had taken her in so she could graduate.

“Didn’t you grow up here?” D’Marcus asked, pouring two creams into his white ceramic mug.

“Yes.” How many times had she wished she’d been born somewhere other than the Emerald Triangle, the place where marijuana grows as freely as the foxglove? More times than she could count. She’d never truly fit in with the locals—but she was one. “Let’s get this meeting started,” she said briskly, ending the invitation for story hour or trips down Memory Lane. “The weather is likely to get worse before it gets better and if you don’t want to spend the entire day wet and puking your guts out, we’d better get a move on.”

“What’s this puking part?” D’Marcus asked, his dark brows drawn in a troubled line. “I don’t like the sounds of that.”

“You know the road from Willits to Westport?” Kara asked, and D’Marcus nodded warily. “Well, the roads we’re going on will put that road to shame. Ten-mile-an-hour switchbacks, seven percent grade … you might want to take some Dramamine before we head out. We’re going deep into the redwoods today.”

“We who? I thought we’re staying here to set up the command center while you and that police chief guy are going out to the backwoods?”

Kara startled. “What? Who said that?“ She shot a look at Dillon, who returned her hard stare with a nonchalant one that made her want to strangle the shit out of him. She’d enjoy watching his eyeballs pop out like little marbles and roll around on the floor. Then she’d stomp on them. Little sneaky Brit.

“Listen, don’t get your panties in a twist. I called the police station, looking for a trail guide, so’s we don’t get lost in the heathen beauty of this place you used to call home and get our heads shot off by one of the hippie locals because we stumbled on their retirement plan. Lucky for us, the chief volunteered.”

“We don’t need him,” she said, brushing off Dillon’s idea quickly. She was not spending all day tromping around the forest with Matthew. She suppressed a shiver that wasn’t entirely born of distaste and ignored Dillon’s expression. “D’Marcus, you can come with me. Chief Beauchamp can worry about his own investigations. I’m sure he has plenty to do without horning in on ours.”

“Actually, I agree with Dillon,” D’Marcus interrupted. “He knows the area, he’s got the authority to squelch any problems with the locals and I’m betting he doesn’t get carsick. Dramamine makes me tired. You know I can’t take that stuff and use my brain at the same time. It’s better if I stay behind at the command center. Besides, that new equipment is coming in and I need to be here to get it set up.”

“So it’s settled, then?” Dillon said casually. “You and the chief will go. Great. I’m starved. What’s good here?”

“It’s not settled,” she snapped, startling the team with her tone. Count to ten. Get a grip. Stop letting Matthew get under your damn skin! Mentally giving herself a slap upside the head, she forced a shrug. “Fine.” But then she offered Dillon a mean smile as she said, “But you get to interview the locals while I’m gone.” She rose from the table, her appetite all but gone. “I’d suggest you start with Tally’s at the Pier, and if you order anything, try the catch of the day. It’s … delicious.”

If Dillon knew her at all, her tone was saying the opposite.

“Not much of a fish guy,” Dillon said. He knew her well. “But thanks anyway.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kara said sweetly, and after everyone was clear on their assignments, she left the diner.

Acid churning in her stomach, she tried to keep focused but with the lack of sleep and her nerves stretched taut as piano wire, it was a futile effort. Returning to her room, she closed the door behind her and sagged against it. Flipping her cell phone, she hit the speed dial for home and waited for the familiar voice of Mai, Briana’s Vietnamese nanny, to pick up. After four rings, it went to voice mail. Only mildly troubled, for there were multiple reasons why Mai or Briana might not pick up, she sighed and pocketed her cell phone without leaving a message. She’d try again tonight when she’d be more likely to catch them.

She walked to the table where her notes were strewn and studied the case files of each victim with a slow and methodical style, going over every detail as if they weren’t already etched into her memory. A soft, distressed sound escaped her lips. So young. The nightmare started with Jason Garvin, son of an architectural drafting professor at Washington University. At that point they had no idea there’d be more. It had seemed a random abduction by a stranger—a crime of opportunity. But then, not long after, Drake Nobles, the son of California senator Peter Nobles was taken and found, mere days later, with the same ligature marks as the previous victim. Kara had known then with an uncomfortable certainty that they had a serial killer on the loose. Unfortunately, that was also the point when the case had been catapulted into the public eye and she’d been tapped as the official spokesperson for the CARD Team. Kara hated the spotlight, preferring to work in the shadows, quietly and efficiently getting things done, but Director Colfax had wanted her front and center for reasons that chafed.

And now the most recent victim, Hannah Linney, the daughter of an assistant district attorney in San Francisco, had disappeared last week when she was last seen walking home from school with her nanny. The nanny’s body had been discovered in an alley by the school and all trace of Hannah was gone. Kara flipped through the crime scene photos. Hannah had been a fighter. There was evidence that she’d scratched and clawed her assailant, although no DNA was found under her nails. They’d been scraped clean postmortem. Whoever had taken these children knew enough to leave nothing behind other than what they wanted found.

Aside from the first case, the other two were snatched in California. There was nothing to tie them together. At least nothing she could see. But she was sure there was something. The Babysitter fancied himself clever. Her lip curled. She hated that term, which had been coined by the media. Now she was using it, as well. Her stomach growled and she tossed back a few stale almonds left over from last night. It’s no wonder she couldn’t keep any weight on, she thought, recalling Matthew’s comment about her figure. This kind of work would kill anyone’s appetite.

A knock at the door drew her attention and she instinctively knew it was Matthew, but she approached the door with caution just the same.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

Her stomach tensed as anxiety twisted her nerves but she’d die before she’d let Matthew know just how much he put her on edge.

Chapter 5

The low rumble of Matthew’s voice sounded from the other side of the door, and with a silent prayer for resilience, she opened it with her best I’m-a-professional smile. Perfunctory is what she was trying for but for all the attention he gave her, the effort was moot.

“Ready?”

No hello, how are you, good morning—just all business. Perfect, just the way it should be, she told herself, as she gathered her maps and notebook and stuffed them into her hiking backpack. “Just waiting for you.”

“Let’s get going then,” he said, and turned on his heel. “The roads are going to be slop by the time we get up the mountain.”

“You don’t have to go … if you have other things you need to do,” she said, hurrying after him, the rain pelting her hat as if it were trying to pummel her brain. “It’s not exactly great weather. I’d understand if you wanted to find someone else to take me out to the mine.”

“You want someone else to take you? I could get Oren or Dinky to take you up there.”

He turned to face her and she stared at him, wavering on taking him up on his offer, but then she pictured the stone-faced Oren and the doofus Dinky and she knew her best option—if not her favorite—would be with Matthew. “No. You’re already here. Let’s go.”

“All right then,” he said and climbed into the older model Jeep Cherokee. “Fasten your seat belt,” he instructed, and she sent him an irritated look. I’m not a kid. He shrugged. “The Kara I remember liked to break the rules,” he said by way of explanation, if that’s what you could call it.

She huffed and jerked the belt across her chest. “I’m not that girl anymore.”

Matthew’s hand rested on the gearshift and he briefly assessed her with those killer blue eyes. Kara forced herself to hold his stare without flinching or giving away any indication that his presence knocked her sidewise.

Finally, Matthew put the car into Drive as he said, “No, I guess you’re not. Sorry.”

“Fine,” she said, accepting the apology, yet her chest felt tight and it seemed hard to breathe around whatever was sitting on her chest. How could she have not realized just how much Briana and Matthew looked alike? She was his carbon copy, down to the serious light in her ocean-blue eyes, to the quiet intelligence that she showed with everything she did. Kara thought of the small picture she had on the motel nightstand beside her bed and sweat broke out on her brow. If Matthew saw that picture, he’d know. There’d be no wondering. Knowledge would be immediate and the careful world she’d built for Briana and herself would shatter.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“No.”

Matthew knew she was lying. Kara’s palms began to sweat. She rubbed her thighs and looked out the window, eager to focus on anything but the close proximity of the man beside her.

“It’s hard to be around each other,” he acknowledged quietly. “I think we can admit that without hurting each other’s feelings.”

She looked at him sharply. “Matthew, the case has me on edge. Not you.”

He stiffened and she could nearly feel him physically shutting her out, slamming the door on any fledgling attempt at civility, and she was alternately relieved and horrified. Shame. That’s the feeling that was crushing her. God, she was ashamed for not having the courage to tell him that he had a daughter. Ashamed to realize that she may have been wrong to keep them apart. She’d been reacting to the situation at the time and figured this was best, but perhaps it had only been best for her. But what the hell could she do about it now? Nothing. So it would remain the same. She’d deal. She had to.

“How far to Wilkin’s Mine?” she asked, keeping her voice professional, businesslike.

“An hour.”

An hour. Fabulous. She imagined having a Brazilian bikini wax would be less painful than sitting in a car with Matthew suffering through stilted, awkward conversation as they each navigated around the emotional land mines that could blow them both to bits. “Music?” she asked, moving to turn the stereo on.

“Not interested in catching up?” he asked as she turned the volume up. His mouth twisted knowingly with just a touch of mocking cruelty. “Guess not.”

She shot him a dark look and then returned to the scenery outside her window. In spite of the rain that continued to fall from the gray skies, the melancholy beauty of the coastal forests was something that tugged at her emotional center. It was hard to ignore that her roots were here, even as much as she tried. It was probably why she’d requested the San Francisco office. She needed to hear the ocean and smell the briny perfume of the sea. Her family had always been attached to the water. Her father had been a fisherman just like his father before him. Some of her best memories included the sea. In spite of herself, Kara wondered if Matthew still enjoyed abalone diving, or if he had ever bought that sailboat he’d been wanting when they were kids. Probably not. Neal had been the impulsive, spontaneous one. Matthew always weighed the pros and cons of everything six ways from Sunday before he did something. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the nostalgia plucking memories from her mental chest that she’d locked away long ago.

Regret tasted metallic on her tongue. She risked a glance at his profile. Strong, stubborn jaw, lips compressed to a tight line, betraying some kind of inner conflict as did the pull of his dark brows shadowing his eyes. Likely, if she’d told Matthew about their daughter, he would’ve taught her to dive, to enjoy and respect the ocean. He would’ve taught Briana to play guitar. She swallowed as she recalled Briana’s most recent request.

“Why didn’t you have kids?” she asked, glancing at him curiously. “When you were married, I mean.”

“Back to catching up?” he asked, the mild tone deceptive.

She shrugged. “It’s a long drive. You don’t have to answer of course. I was just wondering.”

The frown eased as he considered his answer. Finally, he admitted, “I did want kids. She didn’t. Takes two to make that happen. Seeing as how things turned out, it was for the best. How about you?”

“My job.”

He seemed to accept that. Of course he did. It made sense. Her job was chaotic with odd, often-times long hours. Adding a child to the mix would certainly be difficult. And it was. If it weren’t for the treasure that Mai had turned out to be … single parenting wasn’t for wimps.

The shame returned. He’d wanted children. A moment of insanity gripped her and she imagined just blurting out that he had a child. A wonderful, beautiful, smart and amazing kid who looked just like him and even had that same stubborn tilt of the chin. Yeah … that would go over well. The breath hitched in her chest as she discarded the dangerous thought and returned to the case.

“Tell me again about the photographer who found Hannah Linney.”

“He’s already been checked out. His alibi is airtight. There’s no way he dropped that little girl out there. Tell me why we’re heading out to Wilkin’s Mine.”

“We managed to find a very small bit of mineral, orickite, on Drake Nobles’s body. It was an odd find and the first bit of evidence, aside from those damn little nursery-rhyme words from ‘Pop Goes the Weasel', that we’ve managed to get. Oddly enough, orickite is only found in this area.”

“So are you thinking the killer is a geologist or a miner?”

“I’m not thinking anything. I’m just following evidence. I want to see the mine, poke around, talk to the owner and then see what shakes out.”

“You know the owner might not want to chat. He’s not what you’d call friendly.”

“You know him?”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say I know him, per se, but I know of him. I know enough to say I think being down in that mine has pickled his brain a little.”

“Is he dangerous?”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“Have you had run-ins with him before?”

“A time or two. Nothing serious. He’s a crazy old coot, but basically harmless. As long as you don’t try to take his pot. Then, we might have a problem.”

“Great. Another pot grower. You might want to remind people there’s a law against that.”

“Not since Prop 215. Gotta love those liberal California voters. As long as you’ve got a medical card, not much the law around here is going to do about it. I don’t have the resources to chase after every illegal grower. My superiors have a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. You know how it is around here. Nothing much has changed. Besides, they’re harmless. They grow their weed and if they’re left alone, they leave everyone else alone.”

“It’s still against the law,” she said stiffly.

“Yeah. But I’ve learned to pick my battles.”

She met his gaze briefly and looked away, unable to stare too long without fear of falling into those blue eyes and drowning. “I suppose you have a point, but it’s still not right,” she added.

They rode in silence, letting the music fill the car instead of their chatter—not that she could’ve mustered anything resembling frivolous chatter, her nerves were so taut. She had just managed to allow her mind to settle down when Matthew deliberately seemed to poke at a tender spot.

“Why didn’t you come to the funeral?” he asked in a deceptively casual voice, as if that question wasn’t charged with emotional pitfalls. When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “Your name was the last word he ever spoke. Did you know that?”

“No.”

“Of course you didn’t. You weren’t around.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Don’t do what? Talk about the past? Why not? We’ve got a lot of history. Nothing wrong with reminiscing.”

“You’re not reminiscing. You’re dredging up old crap. When did you turn into such a passive-aggressive prick, Matthew? If you’ve got something to say to me, get it out. Say it. Say it or shove it up your ass because I don’t answer to you. I never did and I never will.”

“You need to work on your people skills.”

She shot him a look. “And you need to work on professional civility.”

He drew himself up and then sighed, surprising her with his agreement. “You’re not the first person to tell me that. But then, Neal was always the talker. The one who could smooth everything out and make you wonder what the hell you were mad about in the first place.”