Now what did that mean? She wasn’t one to pry, but the frown on his face needed smoothing. “You want to talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Clipped response that held a lot of hurt.
Liar, liar. Or was he in denial? Hunter was a mass of knots that needed a healing touch, but she wasn’t sure it was her touch he wanted or needed.
Hunter pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, shut off the engine, and jumped out. She raced after him.
“How did your wife die?” she blurted out.
There. She’d asked the burning, and yes rude, question. She couldn’t help herself. Understanding what made him tick would help her know the man better and how to deal with him. They were, after all, a team.
Stop it, Kerry. Don’t lie. You want to know what drives him, what turns his heart to mush, what makes him risk his life for people he doesn’t know. You want to know him.
Hunter always acted as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but no one should believe they were responsible for everyone—even the mighty Hunter Markum.
The protector ducked into the kitchen and snatched a bottle of water from the fridge. “You want something?” He used his elbow to motion to the contents inside.
“Yes, an answer.” She sucked in an audible breath. “I’m sorry. Look, if you don’t want to talk, I understand.”
When he turned to face her, his remarkably blue eyes transformed to dark gray. He let out a breath. “Amy was driving and talking on her cell—to me. She never implied she was in a car.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. “I should have recognized the background noise, but the office can get real loud. I would have made her hang up if I’d known where she was. It was so stupid.”
“What was?”
“The argument. She wanted me to watch Melissa that night but I had a case I was working on. We fought. We should have talked face to face. It’s my fault she died.”
“What happened?”
“She was hit by a train.”
Kerry sucked in a breath. “Wasn’t there a barricade?”
“No. It was out by Odessa, where it is rather rural.”
“Which was way you probably didn’t hear any cars on the road, especially if she had her windows rolled up.”
“Maybe.” His shoulders slumped.
“A lot of people make calls when they drive.” She tried never to do both.
“I bet if she hadn’t been focused on explaining her side of the disagreement, she would have seen the train coming.” His jaw clenched. “I heard the train’s brakes screech and Amy’s screams. The sound of metal collapsing will be etched in my brain for life.”
“Oh, Hunter, I’m so sorry.” What could one say to such trauma? Kerry wanted to hug him, to give him whatever strength she had, but Hunter stepped past her and strode into the living room, his boots smacking against the wooden floor.
“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” he called back. His voice was thick with emotion. “Amy’s gone. I’ve moved on.”
She didn’t believe he’d remained unaffected by her death—especially every time he looked at his daughter, who probably looked a lot like his wife. Mr. I-want-to-protect-everyone must have felt powerless when his wife, the mother of his child, had died.
Her heart tore at his loss. Out of the blue, her mom’s smiling face flashed before her, yanking her heartstrings. Death sucked.
For both their sakes, she decided to let the conversation drop. As much as wanted to get inside his head, now wasn’t the time. Vulnerable men always drew her into dangerous waters. She had a job to do and didn’t need Hunter messing with her mind.
Kerry followed him into the living room. “Is there something else bothering you?” She wanted to give him a chance to change the subject.
He dropped onto the sofa and nearly polished off the rest of the bottle. “Yeah. I recognized the woman in the car.”
Kerry’s knees almost buckled, so she slipped into the chair next to the sofa. “You knew her?”
“I saw her for the first time yesterday at Dr. Dalton’s office. I think her name was Chanel, like Chanel No. 5, the perfume my mom used to wear.” He dragged one hand down his cheek. “The bastard’s guilty, I know it.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Dalton.” He finished his water.
“Then why are we sitting here? We need to go after him.” Her pulse soared.
He reached over and clasped her hand for a moment, most likely to keep her from rushing out the door, and his warmth shot to her heart. Leaning against the sofa back, he released her hand, his gaze jumping from her to the floor. She was so tempted to drag his strong fingers back to hers.
Hunter blew out a breath. “I have no proof he’s guilty of anything.” His jaw clenched. “Don’t worry, I’ll question him when I know more.”
Damn. “Don’t you see? Chanel’s death fits the pattern of the other women.”
“Because she was pregnant and abused?” His voice came out gruff as sandpaper. “The MO is different. If he killed Chanel, why didn’t he bury her?” He grabbed the edge of the sofa cushion and squeezed the life out of it.
When Hunter looked up, she guessed his question wasn’t rhetorical.
“Different circumstances called for different methods?” Not an enlightening thought. Think. “Maybe someone came along the road right after he killed her, and not wanting to be near the scene, he split, taking his chances no one would connect him to the murder.”
“What about our Bay woman, Nancy Donello-Sanchez? That murder was premeditated. He would have had time to bury her. Christ, he tied a cement block around her waist and dumped her in the water. The docks were in plain view of the cruise repair center. That took balls.”
Kerry prayed there was only one person involved. The thought of two sickos churned her stomach. “Premeditation doesn’t mean foolproof. Maybe the killer only wanted the person dead and didn’t realize her gases would cause the body to rise.” Her mind spun with possibilities.
“If the killer was a doctor, he’d know that.”
Damn. “With Chanel, once he’d shot her, perhaps he figured removing the body might leave some trace evidence behind as well as on his clothes.” She snapped her fingers. “Or maybe he used different techniques so the police would be fooled into believing there were different killers.” Kerry sorted through her racing ideas. “If the crime lab can prove the bullet that killed Nancy Donello-Sanchez came from the same gun that killed Chanel Carlitta, we’d be close to connecting all of their deaths.”
“Good luck. I’m still convinced we’re dealing with different killers.” As if something had bitten his butt, he jumped up and made a small circle around the living room. “This killing has to stop. I have to do something.”
“You’re not the only detective on the squad, you know.” His solo attitude wasn’t healthy. It could get him killed.
Her belly soured. Hunter dying would be a terrible loss not only to Melissa, and to Jen, but to her too. The tension vibrating around him nearly choked her.
“Why don’t you call Dr. Dalton and ask where he was last night?” she asked.
He snorted. “You think he’d answer once he saw the caller ID?”
“He would if he has nothing to hide. Didn’t you say he gave you his cell number?”
“Yes. I have it in my notebook, which I left in my truck.”
“Then get it. You won’t know until you try.”
He shrugged. “Be right back.” He jogged toward the door, his step lighter than she’d seen in some time.
The moment Hunter disappeared outside, the coziness in the cabin evaporated. She strained to hear the truck door open and close, but only silence bounced back.
She waited. For an insane second, she pictured someone subduing Hunter. Her fists clenched. That was stupid. No one knew where they were--unless someone had followed her when she and Susan came here the other day. Damn. She should have been more careful.
His truck door slammed and she closed her eyes, thankful for the small blessing.
Hunter sauntered in, skimming through the pages of his notebook. “Got it.”
She let her breath out slowly.