“He has . . . standards? How do we reconcile a man who’s kind to dogs and babies with a monster who could do that to Trish? It’s so different. How can he be so different?”
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I only know he’s never getting his hands on you.”
She shuddered. “Or you.”
He kissed her head. “Or me.”
“You need to tell Agent Molina.”
“I know,” he said glumly. “She’s going to be pissed off.”
The clearing of a throat had Gideon glancing up at the door to see Rafe grinning at them. Daisy wriggled like she was going to slide off, but Gideon pressed his hand into her back, ignoring the sharp pull of the needle in his hand. “It’s just Rafe,” he murmured. “Stay. Please.”
She relaxed again, earning another kiss to the top of her head. He didn’t care if Rafe saw or not.
“Why is your boss pissed off at you?” Rafe asked, crossing the room in two strides. He took the chair Daisy had slept in and put his feet up. “What did you do now?”
Gideon told him about the man at the pet store and Rafe instantly straightened, lowering the recliner footrest and leaning forward in the chair. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish,” Gideon muttered. “Now I have to tell my boss.”
“He wasn’t supposed to be working on the case,” Daisy said. “He disobeyed a direct order.”
“Which I’d do again in a heartbeat,” Gideon inserted.
Daisy lifted her head, talking to Rafe even though her gaze remained locked to Gideon’s. “But now he’s worried about facing the consequences.”
“Yes,” Gideon had to admit. “I am.”
“Don’t tell her,” Rafe said. “I’ll tell Agent Schumacher when I meet her at the airport for our flight to Portland. She can tell your boss that she found it.”
“She’ll go for that?” Daisy asked.
“Why not?” Rafe said with a shrug. “I get the impression that she likes Gideon and that she’s ambitious enough to use the information for her own benefit.”
Daisy grew stiff in Gideon’s arms. “She likes him? Exactly how?”
Rafe laughed. “Withdraw your claws, DD. She’s married.”
“That doesn’t stop some people,” Daisy said darkly.
Gideon was working very hard to keep a stupid grin from his face. “It takes two to tango, Daisy. I’d have to want to be caught for her to have any chance of success. And I don’t. I’ve worked with her on a few cases. She’s good at her job and she does love her husband, so chill.” He met Rafe’s gaze straight on. “I heard about the nurse.”
That Daisy didn’t react at all made Gideon wonder exactly how long she had been awake when he and his boss had been talking.
Rafe sighed. “Yeah. Her body hasn’t turned up yet. We know now that he drove the truck he stole from the rest area near Macdoel to Chico and stole the minivan from a grocery store employee there. The woman had just gone on shift, so she didn’t even know the vehicle was gone.”
“He’s smart,” Gideon muttered. “He waited for her for just that reason.”
“I agree.”
“Talk to area vets,” Daisy said suddenly. “Veterinarians, I mean.” She sat up, shifting to sit cross-legged near Gideon’s knee. “He had a dog with him on Saturday. The dog had tags. I didn’t examine them, but I remember that they clinked when I petted him. Maybe someone will recognize the dog from whenever he got his shots.”
“And his owner,” Gideon said. “Nice.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Something was nagging at the corner of his memory. Had been, he realized, since Daisy had mentioned the dog a few minutes before Rafe arrived. He frowned, thinking hard. Then tried to snap his finger, wincing when the IV needle reminded him of its continued presence. “The dog. Have Schumacher check out one of the victims. She was walking her dog in the park. Maybe he was, too.”
Daisy’s eyes widened. “Or maybe that’s her dog. He takes souvenirs, Gideon.”
“Shit.” That, Gideon thought, was cold. And very much in line with this killer. “Maybe he did.”
“Will do,” Rafe promised, then checked his watch. “Gotta go. Have to be at the airport soon. If you think of anything else while you’re not working, give me a shout. You guys stay safe today, y’hear?”
“Will do,” Daisy promised, scrambling off the bed to give Rafe a hard hug. “You too.”
When Rafe closed the door behind him, she returned to the chair next to the bed. “What now?”
He pointed to Brutus, who lay on his chest, quietly snoring. “Now I want you to take your dog and give me back my laptop.”
She complied, glancing at the door. “If I get into trouble from the nurse, I’m going to say you coerced me.”
“If she comes back in, I’ll be playing solitaire,” he promised. He clicked on his e-mail, nodding when he saw the one he’d been waiting for. “Dabney answered. My colleague in San Diego,” he added when she looked confused.
“Oh, yeah. Did he find the swimmer with the almost-Eden tattoo?”
He scanned the e-mail and let out a relieved breath. “He did.”
“What will you do?”
“Schedule a meet.” He started a reply, hunting and pecking at the keys with one finger.
Daisy lifted his laptop from his lap with a sigh. “Let me type it. You’ll take all day with one finger.”
The brush of her hand against his stomach as she took his computer made his body wake up. He inhaled, the scent of her shampoo nearly gone, but enough remained to remind him of the shower they’d taken Saturday night after the best sex he’d ever had.
“I can do a lot with one finger,” he whispered.
She froze, color flooding her face, and he knew she was remembering, too. “Oh,” she breathed. “Yes. Yes, you can.”
“When I get out of here,” he promised. “As soon as you take me home with you.”
She drew a deep breath. “You are a dangerous man, Gideon Reynolds.”
He grinned up at her. “That’s not a no.”
She laughed breathlessly. “Definitely not a no. But we’re not going to talk about that now, because it’s almost visiting hours and Irina promised she’d be back.” She glanced at his lap where the sheet was definitely tented. “So think unsexy thoughts.” She sat in the chair, his computer on her lap. “Like how you want me to answer your friend about meeting the swimmer.”
That did the trick. His erection abruptly gone, he settled back into the pillows and closed his eyes. “‘Dabney, thanks for the quick reply.’” He paused to give Daisy a chance to keep up. “‘I was shot yesterday and am still in the hospital, but should be out later today. I could fly down to meet you tomorrow or the next day. Let me know.’ Sign it: G. Reynolds.”
She read it back to him and he noted she’d eliminated “tomorrow,” amending the message to read “Wednesday or later in the week.” That was probably best. He nodded, sudden fatigue smacking him like a ton of bricks. “Send it, please,” he said, then let himself drift off.
SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 7:40 A.M.
“Good morning.”
He nodded to the woman walking a corgi, forcing his lips to curve. “Morning.”
It was a nice enough morning, although a bit chilly for his tastes. Seemed that folks in the neighborhood didn’t agree because he’d passed at least a dozen people walking their dogs. At least there was no danger of sweating through his facial prosthetics. And the chill gave him an excuse to wear a form-hiding bulky coat.
He approached Daisy’s house, slowing his step so that he could see if she was home. He stopped a house away, letting Mutt sniff around on the grass. Surreptitiously he studied the windows of her apartment. All dark.
She could still be asleep.
Or she might have gone elsewhere. Like the house in Granite Bay, where she’d gone Saturday after finding her friend’s body. He’d take a drive out there later.
He frowned. But he needed another car. At this point he wasn’t driving his own car anywhere. He didn’t want any activities traced back to him. The Chevy was a burned-out, bullet-riddled mess, probably in some evidence garage somewhere getting picked over by forensics experts.
He snapped to attention when the garage door opened, then sighed with disappointment when he saw it was the tall blonde who’d come home so late Friday night, drunkenly singing Queen at the top of her lungs.
He nudged Mutt a little closer to the driveway as the blonde dragged the trash cans down from the garage to the street. She was muttering something about lazy brothers and lazier landlords.
The home was owned by Raphael Sokolov, the same detective that was on the case, so this was probably his sister, Sasha. A simple Google search had yielded information about all of the Sokolovs. If this was Sasha, she was a social worker. She wore her hair up in a loose twist, her slacks were tailored, and her shoes were comfortable-looking flats. Comfortable enough to allow her to jog back to the garage with athletic grace.
She’d look nice on the bed in my guest room.
“Woof,” he muttered to Mutt, who took the hint and barked happily.
The woman turned toward the noise and he made a show of hushing Mutt. “Chill out, boy. She doesn’t have time to play.”