Say You're Sorry (Romantic Suspense, #22; Sacramento, #1)

Daisy frowned. “You can’t go. You’re still in recovery. If anyone goes, it should be me. I’m a better shot.”

Gideon saw Frederick’s mouth open, the word “no” already on his lips, but he stayed the older man by lifting his hand. “You are a better shot,” Gideon agreed. “Even when I have two functioning hands. But if he can get to you, he’ll use you to force our hand. He could get away. With you.”

Daisy took a deep breath. “And I would end up like Trish,” she said quietly. “And the others.”

Frederick visibly paled and Mercy watched them all, clearly confused. I’ll explain to her later, he thought. Paramount now was keeping Daisy safe.

“And the others,” Gideon repeated soberly. He cupped Daisy’s cheek. “So you’ll stay here? You’ll get to the ER faster this way,” he added when she didn’t respond. “And you did promise Zandra you’d be there.”

The side-eye she gave him said he needed to shut up now. So he did.

“Yes,” she finally said. “I’ll stay. But if he starts shooting, you let Hunter shoot back.”

Frederick relaxed, shooting him a grateful glance.

Gideon managed to hide his own relief. “I’ll let Hunter do all the heavy lifting,” he said. If I can, he added silently, and once again he saw he hadn’t fooled her. “Thank you. For now, stay together and we’ll figure out logistics later. Is that okay, Mercy?”

Mercy nodded. “Although I am getting tired. I pulled an all-nighter before I flew out this afternoon. I’m on Central Time. Maybe I can crash in a waiting room.”

She was being very accommodating. It made Gideon a little nervous, if he was honest with himself. “You won’t leave?”

Her smile was faint. “I promised. I won’t leave until we get a chance to talk.”

Ned returned with a collar and leash. “Here you go. It’s an extra, so no hurry in getting it back to me.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hunter said. He put the leash on the killer’s dog and handed it to Gideon. “Let me do a sweep of Miss Dawson’s house before they go in,” he said.

“I’ll call Molina,” Gideon said, “and ask for backup.” Gideon waited on the sidewalk, watching as Daisy, Mercy, and Frederick followed Hunter up to the house, then turned to Ned. “Thank you,” he said gruffly. “I appreciate you keeping watch over the house and letting Rafe know there was a car outside. And thank you for watching over her to make sure she didn’t leave. I . . . I haven’t seen my sister in a long time.”

Ned smiled. “My pleasure.” His smile faded. “That guy I talked to, the one with the dog? He’s the killer they’ve been talking about on the news? The one that killed Daisy’s friend Trish?”

“It’s likely,” Gideon said. “If you see anyone with that description again, can you call Rafe right away?” He had to fight his own wince, because telling the man to call someone else with information stung. But he was on medical leave and he wasn’t going to do anything to jeopardize this case. Not when Daisy’s safety was involved. When they caught the bastard, he wanted him put in prison forever and wasn’t about to give some defense attorney reason to get the fucker off. “I’m not on the case anymore.” He pointed to his sling when Ned looked confused. “He shot me over the weekend.”

“I read about that, too. Wow.” Ned looked partly horrified and partly fascinated. “I’ve never stood next to a killer before. I’m not sure how to think about it.” He shook himself. “I’m going to have a stiff drink and try to sleep. You have a good night, Agent Reynolds.”

“You too.”

Gideon stood on the sidewalk, scanning his surroundings for any movement as he phoned Molina. She answered on the first ring.

“Agent Reynolds,” she said crisply. “I was just briefed by Agent Hunter. I was about to call him back, actually. I got a hit on Zandra Jones. She disappeared from Vail on Friday afternoon. She’d been in the bar, got into an altercation with a man there, another patron. She was, reportedly, very drunk at the time. Another patron said the man left for a little while, said he was going to call Miss Jones a cab. He came back after a few minutes, saying he’d sent the woman to the airport.”

“Airport,” Gideon said quietly. “He’s not a truck driver like we thought. He works on a plane. A flight attendant maybe. Or maybe even a pilot. That’s how he could take victims from so many different places.”

“Sounds right,” she said. “The woman couldn’t have walked far. You say the dog brought her?”

“It looks like it. Daisy’s neighbor says he’s seen a man walking the dog around here.”

“Smart dog.”

“Hunter and I were going to see if it knows its way home.”

“And Miss Dawson?”

“She’s with her father. And my sister.”

“Oh? That’s . . . very nice,” she said, a little stiffly, but not unkindly. “I think Daisy’s father can protect them until I get backup to transport them. He and Daisy came recommended by the Baltimore field office.”

“Yeah. We had to let Hunter talk to Agent Carter before he’d let Frederick in the car with us.”

“Are you able to drive?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said immediately, suspecting where she was going with this and not wanting to miss out. “I haven’t taken pain pills since this morning.”

“I want you to drive Agent Hunter’s vehicle, tailing him while he sees if the dog knows his way home, providing backup if necessary. I’ll get you new backup as soon as I can. In the meantime, I’m going to get the addresses of any pilots who live in a five-block radius of Miss Dawson’s home.”

Gideon remembered Trish’s body. “SY.” “Cross-reference the name ‘Sydney.’”

“Just did it,” she said, “but thank you. I’ve requested SacPD backup. They’ll be there within three minutes. It’ll take a little longer for Bureau backup, but I’ll let you know who’s coming. If you find the house, inform me immediately. I’ll have someone draft a warrant right away.”

“Will do. Hunter’s coming back. I’ll brief him and we’ll see what the dog can show us.”

“Be careful, Gideon.”

“I will be. Thank you.” He ended the call as Agent Hunter joined him. He told Hunter what Molina had said and Hunter traded him the keys for the dog’s leash.

Hunter crouched in front of the dog, affectionately petting his head. “He’s in good shape. Clean, groomed. Good weight. Someone’s been caring for him.” He leaned in, letting the dog lick his face. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you? Let’s see how good.” He rose, lightly tugged on the leash. “Let’s go home.”


SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 11:10 P.M.

He looked around, trying to stay calm as he hurried. He didn’t have much time. Zandra had been talking to the FBI. To Reynolds. Of all people.

The last of the gas poured from the can and he shook it before setting it aside. He took a final look at the house that had been the first thing that had been his.

But it had to go. He wasn’t going to leave them any evidence to use against him.

Damn forensics.

The fire would destroy everything—his DNA, fingerprints, the Jeep he’d moved to the garage. The souvenirs in the basement. Sydney’s body. And good riddance to her. Without evidence, it was just his word against Zandra’s.

He fumbled with the match, damning his bandaged hand. Damning Daisy Dawson. Ever since she’d fought him off in the alley, everything had gone to shit.

I should have shot her that night. And that yappy dog of hers, too.

But he hadn’t and now he was trying—and failing—to light the match to incinerate his own home. He looked over his shoulder, listening for the wail of sirens.

He’d used precious minutes dousing the stairs leading to the basement and the back exterior wall, running out of gasoline before he could soak the rest of the perimeter. But this wall was closest to his guest room. Hopefully he hadn’t taken too much time.

But there were no sirens. Not yet. All he heard was silence. So far, so good.

Breathe. Just breathe. He flexed his good hand, trying to control the trembling. Gripping the matchbox between his palm and his three working fingers, he gripped the match in his right hand. Now, light the damn match.

Finally. The match flared to life and he dropped it onto the gas-soaked ground at the back of the house. Picking up the gas can, he ran to the front of the house, threw it in the garage, then pulled his duffel from the back of his Jeep. It had emergency supplies like water and money. And at least one disguise. He closed the garage door, then hurried to Sydney’s Mercedes. Hopefully no one would be able to identify her body for a while. He needed time to get away.

Climbing behind the wheel, he put it in reverse and calmly backed out of his driveway. Then he changed gears and drove.

To where, he wasn’t yet sure. But he knew how he’d get there.


SACRAMENTO, CALIFORNIA

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 11:15 P.M.

Gideon drove Hunter’s SUV slowly, staying even with the man, who was following a very happy dog. The dog didn’t seem to have been abused. It was almost too friendly.