Gill was coming up the stairs carrying his evidence kit. He must’ve left the bathroom when they walked across the hall to the bedroom. Surprise widened his eyes, then judgment narrowed them.
While Gill recorded and cataloged the eye and the vomit, Lathan threw her clothes in the washer and then spent the next three hours walking the perimeter of his property with Little Man, searching for the scent of a corpse or blood, or anything that might indicate someone hurt nearby. Nothing. He returned to the house and found Gill waiting for him at the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.
Lathan sat across from him. “She really believed she dreamed about the eye. She wasn’t lying. I would’ve smelled it.” How much should he tell Gill about tonight? Enough to give an explanation. Not enough to embarrass her. “She was attacked tonight. The asshole was going to rape her. She was in shock. I brought her here. I figure she’ll have a more rational explanation after she gets some sleep.”
Gill dipped his head once, acknowledging Lathan’s words. “She’s still a suspect.”
“You don’t even know if a crime’s been committed.” Even as he said the words, he knew how weak they sounded. Human eyes weren’t something you’d accidentally run across on a nature walk.
“I called Eric to update him on your situation. The team’s caught a case in West Virginia.” Gill’s eyes were colder than a glacier. “It’s more than an odd coincidence that they’re working the murder of an eight-year-old girl. Blond hair. Wearing pink. Left eye missing.”
Chapter 4
Lathan shoved away from the table, turned his back on Gill, delaying the rest of the conversation until he figured out how to assimilate what he just learned with what his soul told him about Honey. He got a mug from the cupboard and sloshed coffee into it. The liquid seared his tongue and scalded a trail of fire down his throat to his belly. He gulped two more mouthfuls. The burn centered him, cleared his thoughts, and calmed his spirit.
He finally faced Gill. “The team is at the scene of a child’s murder. The girl sounds like the one from Honey’s dream. Logic points toward her involvement. But I don’t believe it.”
“This isn’t about belief or faith or you being horny. It’s about solving a murder. Following the evidence no matter where it leads. And right now a big, fat fucking arrow is pointing directly at her.”
Lathan ignored the horny remark. Didn’t want to acknowledge it. Couldn’t argue effectively against it. “When she first saw the eye, I smelled her terror, saw it on her face. Killers—child killers—don’t react that way to their own work.” He wasn’t a profiler, but he was reasonably certain of his assertion.
“What do you really know about her?”
What he didn’t know could’ve filled an entire database, so he told Gill everything he did know. He left out the details of Junior’s SM.
“If she wasn’t involved in the murder of the girl in West Virginia, we need to consider a range of possibilities. She might be an accomplice. Trying to taint evidence. Trying to influence your work.”
“Impossible.” Anyone trying to find Lathaniel Montgomery would find nothing. Lathaniel Montgomery owned no property, had no credit, no address. Nothing existed out there in the world that could ever lead to the actual man. That had been the biggest condition of his accepting employment with the FBI—that his total and absolute privacy would be enforced.
“At this point we can’t rule anything out.” Gill raised his hands in a don’t-shoot-me-for-telling-you-the-truth gesture. “My job is to watch out for you and keep the Bureau’s interests safe. More importantly, I’m telling you as your friend that you need to watch your back. All of this could be a setup. The damsel-in-distress is one of the oldest tricks in the book.”
“I left the presentation early. No one would’ve known what time I’d come down the road. Meeting her was chance.”
“You left?” Disappointment scented the air.
“If you wanted me to stay, you shouldn’t have hired an interpreter.”
“I didn’t.” Gill leaned forward in his seat, the scent of his lie absent from the air.
“One was there. For me.”
“Who the fuck hired one? I didn’t. You didn’t. No one but Eric and I know about your hearing problems.” Gill’s eyes shifted toward the ceiling—blaming her. “She’s involved. Her prints aren’t in the system so I don’t have anything to go on yet.”
“How do you know?”
“I scanned her fingerprint while she was sleeping.”
Lathan’s blood churned and doubled in volume, filling every organ with excruciating pressure. Gill had touched her while she lay helpless and vulnerable. “You touched her? While she was asleep?” The words clawed through him, burning his throat with a rush of acid rage.
Gill shoved back his chair, toppling it over as he stood. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you acting like a jealous asshole? You just met her.”
“No one touches her.” No one touches her. No one touches her. The words vibrated through him, thrumming a deep tempo with each thump of his heart.
“I was taking a goddamned fingerprint, not molesting her. If she says otherwise, she’s a liar.” Gill was face-to-face with him. A hurricane of burning cinnamon-scented rage swirled around them.
From across the living room, Lathan saw her standing at the bottom of the stairs, sleepy confusion and concern marring the soft planes of her face. They must’ve been loud. Woken her up.
The fury he’d felt no more than two seconds ago vanished. Gone. What was wrong with him? He’d been on the verge of giving Gill a fist of five. Gill—his best and longest and only friend.
He’d changed. Turned homicidally protective of her right not to be touched by anyone. Seeing Junior’s SM, witnessing her trying to save herself, watching her pain, and knowing how the SM probably ended. He would never let another person harm her. She deserved a life of sunshine, rainbows, and happiness.
“Everything’s all right.” Lathan tried to sound reassuring.