Protective Duty. Jessica R. Patch
“Did he say anything directly to you?”
Bryn cleared her throat and scuffed her toe along the ground. “Besides some nasty name-calling, apparently, I have no business here, and if I don’t watch my back, I might end up like the other four victims.”
Why would the killer follow her? If he’d been on the scene watching all along, what made her his focus? Was it chance? She did go off alone. But why come at her? Here? “That makes you a target, Bryn. Where are you staying?” Eric wasn’t going to risk this guy attacking her again. He couldn’t.
“Holt’s letting me shack up in his rental for a while. At least until I can settle in. Why?” Her tone carried wariness.
“Is he staying there with you?”
“No, but I carry a gun, and I know how to use it.”
What if the attacker got to her before she could get to her gun...again? Her cousin was a DEA agent, and if he was in between cases Eric had full confidence that Bryn would be safe. Holt was pretty hard-core. “Maybe you should have Holt stay with you.”
“Maybe you should get me those case files.”
Hardheaded woman. Some things never changed. Not only did he have to worry about solving this case, which had been nagging him for months, but now keeping Bryn safe nipped his heels. “At least let me follow you home. Make sure no one is tailing you.”
“’Cause I can’t spot a tail?” She glared and whipped her hand into the air, brushing him off.
“Because this guy’s no joke. He’s gutsy. I don’t want him finding you alone again. Do you?”
She raised her chin. Unease darted through her eyes, softening her tough exterior. “I wasn’t prepared for that. I am now. I can take care of myself, Eric.”
He didn’t doubt it. She was strong-minded and strong physically, with a swimmer’s body, but Bryn was in danger.
She matched his stare. Nope. The woman wasn’t going to change her mind. If she wanted to go it alone, fine. He’d tail her without permission. Watch her get inside safely. And pray with extra fervor.
Sleep hadn’t come for Bryn. For those first few moments in the park, she wasn’t sure if she was going to live or die. This was the very reason SAC Towerman had requested she see the bureau therapist. She hadn’t had time to see one in Ohio because of the quick transfer after her surgery and recovery from the gunshot wound.
But she’d fought last night in the park. Just like in Ohio. And she’d survived.
Only because Eric had shown up. What if he hadn’t? She had to believe that she’d have retrieved her complete mental faculties and escaped, taking the attacker down. However, it hadn’t stopped every crack and pop in her house from keeping her wide-awake, adrenaline racing until she broke out into a sweat.
The only thing comforting about the night at all was cuddling with her golden retriever pup. She’d stopped by Sport’s Authority to purchase a new bathing suit after joining a nearby gym with a pool, and she hadn’t been able to resist the puppy. The pet adoption agency had set up in the parking lot, and this fluffy, blond pup had barked his way into her heart.
After consuming half a pot of coffee and walking her new little love, she’d come on in to set up a major case room. Table. Whiteboard. Space to tack maps and charts to the wall. Whatever was necessary to track down this monster, and a monster he was. Bryn had pored over the case files Eric had sent in the middle of the night. Didn’t appear his sleeping habits had changed over time. When they’d been a couple, some nights he’d call her as late as two in the morning. Just awake and bored. Although he’d said it was simply because he’d missed her voice, even if they’d been apart for less than three hours, and it had melted her every single time.
Enough trailing down a path of wilted and dried-up rose-petal memories. Back to the case at hand. Bryn sipped her lukewarm coffee and checked her watch—almost 8:00 a.m. In the past five months, four women had been drowned and left in a public park. Bryn had connected the same few dots Eric had. While the women shared similar features, such as thin noses and lips, blond hair and blue eyes, they didn’t fit age-wise. The youngest victim was midthirties while the oldest and most recent victim—Bridgette Danforth—had been forty-six. Two were married. Two were divorced. The divorced women had no children. The married women did.
Last night’s victim had left her car in the parking lot at the station after the morning taping. Like the other victims, she had seemed to walk away with the killer without a single person noticing. Vanished. Question was, did they know their killer or was he simply a charming man and able to catch his prey off guard, using something to draw their compassion, all the while luring each one into a trap?
The guy who had attacked her held zero charm.
Bryn tapped her pen on the desk and stared at the victim photos she’d tacked to the board. She’d drawn a line to the connections they had, but not a single line joined all four women. What had Eric missed? What was she missing?
“I come bearing coffee.” Eric swung into the case room with two cups in hand. So much better than the burned brew she’d been slurping from the bureau pot. He sat it on the conference table near her, his scent revealing a fresh shower and a man who knew how to wear cologne—the expensive kind. But then he had money. A lot of it. Trust-fund cop. Her pulse betrayed her and rode off at a steady gallop. She refused to admire his full lips—extremely kissable lips, surrounded by scruff that concealed two deep-set dimples.
“Thanks.” She worked to appear professional, to mask the way his presence did a number on her stomach. Last night, when he’d brushed her cheek and showed concern, it had brought up so many things about him she once loved, including their shared faith. Now hers was shaky at best. Had Eric lost his after what happened to his sister? She wouldn’t fault him for it.
This morning, she had to shove the emotions that surfaced back down where they belonged. She didn’t have the heart to get rid of them entirely.
He surveyed the room. “You’ve been busy.”
She sipped the fresh coffee, set it aside and eyed him. “You, too. After tailing me home and sitting outside for an hour, you must have been up half the night sending the files over. But you’ve showered, so I thank you.” She mimicked his raised eyebrows. She’d had half a mind to march out there and blow a gasket on him, but civility won out and a tiny sliver of her had been grateful. “I’m not a damsel in distress.”
“Technically...” He cocked his head and grinned.
Bryn held back an eye roll and opened Bridgette Danforth’s case file. “We’re missing a connection between the victims. I want to go back over the investigation with a fine-tooth comb. Talk to friends and family.”
Eric opened his mouth, no doubt to erupt in protest, but Bryn held her hand up. “I trust your work. But I need to step into their lives. I need them to put me in his head. This is how I do my job.” Not her favorite part—stepping into a killer’s mind—but necessary.
His protest petered out, and his eyes softened. He had the best eyes with long, thick lashes. “I heard through the grapevine you’ve been very successful. And for being so young.”
Young. Old. It was about determination and perseverance. Passion and motivation. She wanted justice for these victims. For all the victims she championed. She’d always been intrigued by Eric’s job as a police officer and Holt’s DEA work. But death and evil hadn’t been real for her. It was something that happened to other people. Until it raised its ugly head in her own home. She’d been almost twenty-one.
“Just so you know, I’ve heard good things about you and your work. Me being here isn’t about you not being capable.”
His eyebrows flashed upward. No, to him it probably felt like a punch to the groin.
“I