But you could be, her nagging conscience reminded.
Feeling another wave of nausea, she braced her arms on the sink, spat a couple of times, heart pumping, stomach rollicking. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and the feeling took a couple of minutes to pass. She drew a deep breath and hung her head. Maybe she was just sick, fighting a bug. That had to be it. In any case, Ruth was making her statement today, and she wasn’t going to miss it.
Yep, the flu. A summer bug, she decided. Naomi had been out sick for a few days a couple of weeks ago. Kat hadn’t been paying attention, but the dispatcher had definitely caught something.
Still, now that she thought about it, she’d been feeling weird for a couple of weeks, off and on. She’d put it down to the intensity of the job, the need to find Addie Donovan, the guilt that followed her around from not confessing about Ruth’s rape. She’d nearly upchucked at the sight of Courtney Pearson’s corpse, but then she’d known Courtney. Not friends, but classmates. A part of Kat had admired Courtney’s wildness, the way she thumbed her nose at convention. The same traits that had drawn Kat toward Shiloh. The same traits that had led Kat toward some bad choices of her own.
Odds are you don’t get pregnant from a one-night stand.
She stared at her reflection again, her mouth tightening. She catalogued her wan cheeks and sunken eyes. Since when have the odds been in your favor?
“Don’t be a pessimist,” she muttered. She’d certainly felt enough of that over the years. Her father’s obsession with the missing girls—and your own, Kat. I mean, let’s be honest here—and the sadness that had followed her around since her mother’s death . . . and now Addie’s disappearance, and discovering Courtney. . . it had certainly left her feeling that life was hard.
Well, to hell with it. She was determined to have a better outlook.
She splashed cold water on her face and pinched her cheeks. Then she pulled out the under-eye cream and added more liner and mascara than normal. It was going to be extremely difficult for Ruth to bring up the events of that night, but it would be no picnic for Kat, either. Everyone she worked with—Sheriff Featherstone, Detective Ricki Dillinger, and all her other coworkers—would know about Kat’s continued silence, and though they might not say anything to her directly, judgments would be made. It was a small price to pay for finally getting the information out there, and it was nothing compared to Ruth’s trauma. Nonetheless, it was something Kat had to face—and she already felt like death warmed over.
Walking into the bedroom, she glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty in the morning and hot as blazes. After pulling on her jeans, Kat slipped on a short-sleeved, tan blouse. She only wore a uniform for special duty—like the parade. Most of the time, like the other deputies, she chose street clothes.
But what if you’re pregnant?
She put a hand to her stomach and tried to imagine that future. Her mind was a blank.
The flu, she reminded herself sternly.
Climbing into her Jeep, she drove to the station, pulling into the back lot a few minutes before eight. Naomi Simmons was already at the reception desk when Kat walked in.
“When you were out for a couple days a few weeks ago, was it the flu?” Kat asked the dispatcher. “I was trying to remember.”
“Nah, it was a sinus infection. Complications from my allergies, which were horrible a few weeks ago, and not a whole lot better now.”
“Oh . . . right.”
“If it isn’t the trees, it’s the grass, and if it isn’t the grass, it’s the flowers. Don’t even talk about it because now I feel like I want to sneeze.” And with that, she did.
Kat started to move off. Not the flu, huh.
“Fresh cupcakes from Betty Ann’s in the break room,” Naomi called after her.
Kat’s stomach lurched, and she was forced to inhale a careful breath. “Thanks.”
“They’re just the best, aren’t they?”
“The best.”
She headed into the central squad room, a space shared by most of the officers. Easing herself into her desk chair, Kat forcefully shoved thoughts of her possible condition aside. She didn’t have time to think about it today.
Footsteps sounded behind her, and she looked around to see Detective Ricki Dillinger heading her way, a red velvet cupcake on a plate. “Talked to your dad, and he said these are some of your favorites.” She set the plate on Kat’s desk.
“Thanks. You talked to Dad?” Kat kept her gaze averted from the cupcake, her stomach leaping madly, as if it wanted to catapult from her body. She put one firm hand over it.
“You sent him a copy of one of the pictures you took of Courtney Pearson.”
Kat went cold inside. Yes, she had given her father a copy of the photo she’d taken with her cell phone, and it was against all department rules. “I—I wanted his opinion. When we were all chasing that other killer a few years back, I went to him for advice, even though he wasn’t on the force anymore. You were leading the charge on that one, but Dad’s got great insights and—”
Ricki held up a palm. “Stop right there. I know why you did it, and there’s no denying that Patrick’s a professional. But he’s no longer with the department.”
“I’m sorry.” Hell, Kat, are you going to get fired today?
“You just need to give me a heads up before you go off page.”
“Sure, sure.” Kat’s heart was racing with adrenalin. It wasn’t like her to be a lone ranger, as a rule.
“Sam and I talked it over, and I said I’d talk to you about it. We’re clear, right.”
“Clear. Absolutely.”
“Okay, good.” She grimaced, then smiled a bit sheepishly. “I wouldn’t have known, but Patrick called me, not the other way around. He looked over the photo and had some thoughts. He agrees that the gasoline may have been because the killer planned to burn the body.”
Kat nodded, glad they’d moved on. Was it wrong to feel a teeny bit betrayed that her father had called Ricki first? Probably. She was lucky she’d gotten a reprimand and that’s all. Working to keep her feelings from showing on her face, she nearly missed what Ricki was saying.
“—right about that barbed wire. It’s Dillinger, all right. Old style, though. We don’t use it around the Rocking D anymore.”
“The barbed wire around Courtney’s wrists?” Kat asked, playing catch-up.
She nodded. “Your father zeroed in on it. Told me to do the same, so I did, and I ran a close-up of it. I’m taking that picture to my father this afternoon. If anybody knows anything about Dillinger barbed wire, it’ll be Ira. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”
“Yes,” Kat said immediately.
“Good.”
As Ricki started to move off, Kat said, “Um . . . Ruth Baker’s coming in this morning.”
Ricki turned back to her. “She have an idea about who was lurking outside her house the other night?”