Feet wide apart, his hand gripped the phone so hard his knuckles whitened. He punched in seven numbers. A quick flash of surprise crossed his face a moment later.
“Dr. Dalton?... Detective Hunter Markum...” He gave Kerry a quick flick of his brow. “I have a quick question for you. Can you tell me where you were last evening from about six to nine?”
With his back turned to her, Hunter dropped his head back, as though we were gazing at the ceiling. With each second that passed, a little piece of her died. She was sure the man was making up some alibi. Hunter straightened. “Sorry to have bothered you.”
Hunter clacked the phone closed and turned around. Defeat raced across his face. “Shit.”
“What did he say?”
“You won’t believe this. The guy was at an award’s banquet with the Mayor!”
“You believe him?”
Hunter stomped over to the sofa and dropped like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake. “I do, because it’s too easy to verify his story.” He punched the sofa seat. “You know what pisses me off?”
“What?”
“It was as if the smug bastard was expecting my call.”
Dalton flipped on the kitchen light, poured a scotch, and then pressed number four on speed dial.
After a good ten rings, the good-for-nothing nephew answered. “Hello?”
Stay calm. “Tell me why you...” Dalton staggered from a sharp chest pain. “Why did you leave Chanel Carlitta on the side of the fucking road. The police called me about her death.”
“What’s the problem? You had an alibi, didn’t you? It’s what you wanted.”
After three long breaths and the pain subsided. “I didn’t expect them to figure anything out this fast. Your incompetence is unacceptable. My alibi is solid, but Detective Markum isn’t ready to exonerate me on all the other cases.”
“Just chill. The cops are too dumb to piece together anything. Look, I gotta go.”
“Wait. I have another job for you.” Dalton tensed, knowing a fight was inevitable.
“No. I told you I was finished with killing. It’s too dangerous. Shit, I didn’t even have time to dispose of Carlitta’s body.”
Breathe deep. Push aside the hatred. “If you refuse to do what I ask, I’ll use the proof I have against you. Don’t think I won’t tell the police how you killed your father.”
“If you turn me in, don’t think I won’t tell the world your little secret.”
“Don’t even go there. Listen to me. We’re a team.” Dalton knew how to play to the jerk’s hatred of the family unit. “You detested the abuse as much I did.”
“True, but—”
“We’re in this together, right?” Dalton’s teeth ground hard against each other.
“I guess so.”
Asshole. “Listen good. My plan involves Kerry Herlihy.”
The weasel hesitated. “If I help you, you gotta promise this will be the last time.”
Sniveling bastard. “Sure. The last time.” Before you die.
Hunter guzzled his second cup of coffee while he arranged his folders on his desk, trying to find a commonality among all the killings. He yawned. Two cups weren’t going to do it. He needed a few more. He’d spent a sleepless night thinking about Amy, about the poor dead woman, Chanel, and thinking about Kerry. Mostly, he thought about Kerry. Every time there was a hint of danger surrounding her, an intense anguish clawed at his gut. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her there until the killer was caught, but that wasn’t going to happen unless he put his ass in gear.
He had work to do, and she had work to do. If he did ever get to hold her, he might not be able to let go. Kerry was all kindness, all-caring, and way too trusting—of everyone but him. He couldn’t figure out why she pulled away every time he got close, though perhaps the old adage of the pot calling the kettle black, was true in this case. Regardless, he wanted to learn who, besides her family, had hurt her.
Phil knocked on Hunter’s desk. “Wake up.”
Hunter lifted his head. “I’m awake.” He yawned and sat up in his chair. “Just thinking with my eyes closed. Whatcha got?” He slugged down more coffee. Crap. The brew was old and bitter. The aroma of hot java from Phil’s cup made him want to want a refill of the good stuff.
“I called the Mayor’s office like you asked. I hate being put on hold. By the time someone answered, I was rerouted—”
Hunter lost his patience. Phil was so long-winded, he could have been a Congressman. “What did you find?”
Phil slipped a hip on the edge of his desk. “Dalton was where he said he was. It was an awards dinner to, get this, award him for his community service.”
“Shit. Then who killed Chanel Carlitta?”
“Ah, the big question.”
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the horror of the woman’s face. He pushed back his chair, and it sent out a loud groan. “I’m going to check something out.”
“What?”
“It’s personal. Kerry needs me to run something down.”
He figured as long as he wasn’t in charge of the Chanel Carlitta case, he could afford to spend an hour with Susan’s boyfriend. The quick in and out might earn him some bonus points with the sisters. Problem was, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to ask the guy.
He needed to stop by the M.E.’s office anyway to see if Kerry could be more specific about Susan’s issues. He convinced himself he wasn’t stopping by simply to see her.
Traffic going north was a bitch for some reason, making him edgier than he’d been all morning. Fortunately, the woman at the Medical Examiner’s front desk was the usual gal and waved him on back, but not before she tossed him a smile that bordered on flirtation. Her offer didn’t interest him.
He knocked on Kerry’s lab, but no one answered. Just as Hunter turned to leave, John Ahern came down the hall.
“She concentrates real hard sometimes,” John said as he punched in the code to Kerry’s space. “Since she’s not dealing with any killer pathogens, she ought to prop open the door.”
Hunter pulled open the heavy steel door and entered. Sure enough, Kerry was bent over the metal gurney, mumbling to herself. No wonder she hadn’t heard his knock.
He refused to address the lightness in his chest as he studied her—tall, limber, and sexy as hell. Not to mention intelligent, soft-hearted, and yes, challenging. The sense of cheer and hope rushing through his veins was like water going over a dam—hard and fast.
“Hello,” he said, as softly as possible, trying not to scare her.
She whirled around, slapped a hand on her heart, and sank onto the chair next to where she was working. “Hey.”
“I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“I was deep in thought. It’s okay.” She ripped off her gloves and tossed them in a bin marked for disposal. “How did you—”
“John let me in.”
“Oh.”
Tears wet her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
Hunter squatted in front of her and took her ice cold hands in his. He rubbed them, willing warmth into her fingers, waiting for her to pull away, but she didn’t. Now he knew she was upset. Kerry didn’t take comfort willingly.
“It’s Baby Doe. I always get like this when I have to work on a child.”
He understood. Depression zapped him when a child died, but Kerry wasn’t the type to let her emotions get the best of her, or so he’d thought. “Tell me.” Hunter sensed there was more to the story.
“Tell you what? I don’t know what happened to Baby Doe.”
“I’m not talking about the child. I want to know why you’re crying.”
“I...” She stopped and sealed her lips closed.
With his thumb, Hunter reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. Her lips parted and a sob bubbled out.
After she composed herself, she sniffled. “It’s a long story.”
Hunter pulled over another chair and sat on the edge of the seat, elbows on knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “I have time.”