pack.”
“I didn’t know you were leaving tonight.” Mara looked up at her sister.
“I wasn’t aware myself until about three hours ago.” Annie took a sip of tea. “Aidan, I’m grateful that you decided to come.”
“I told you I’d be here,” he said without emotion.
“Well, the timing is excellent, since my leaving frees up the guest room, and you can—”
“What are you talking about?” Mara’s head snapped up.
“I’ve asked Aidan to stay here to keep an eye on things,” Annie said calmly.
“You never said anything about him staying.” Mara’s jaw set.
“Didn’t I?” Annie murmured, sipping her tea. “I was certain that I had.”
“You know you did not.” Mara glared at her sister, then turned to Aidan. “No offense, but I don’t want . . . I don’t need—”
“You do need, Mara,” Annie said before Aidan could open his mouth. “You do need someone here with you. All three of our Mary Douglases were attacked in their home.”
“I’ve been keeping my doors locked.”
“So did Mary Douglas numbers one and two. It didn’t keep him out. I’m sorry, sweetie, but Aidan stays until this is over.”
“The husband of Mary number three was home when the killer arrived, and was, if you recall“—Mara was beginning to steam—”shot in the back of the head, and his body dumped by the side of the road.”
“The husband of Mary number three didn’t carry a Sig Sauer and wasn’t trained by the FBI to use it,” Annie reminded her.
“You have a gun?” Mara turned her attention to Aidan.
He nodded.
“Let me see it.”
“It’s in a bag in the trunk of my car.”
“Fat lot of good it does there.”
“I plan on bringing it in.”
“I don’t mean to insult you, but I don’t think I want”—she paused—“anyone living here.”
“Fine with me.” Not one to pass up a good excuse once it was offered to him, Aidan shrugged and started to stand. He’d passed a small motel on his way into town that looked as if it would suit just fine. “So if it’s all the same to you, Annie, I’ll just—”
“It’s not fine, and it’s not all the same to me, Aidan, so sit down. You’re not leaving.” Annie turned to Mara. “And like it or not, he stays. Do I need to remind you that there’s a man out there who’s killing women—M. Douglases—in order out of the phone book—”
“And I’m next. No.” Mara blew a long breath out of the corner of her mouth. “No, you don’t need to remind me.”
“Then act like it.” Annie turned to Aidan. “And you decide right now, are you going to stay and do the job, or are you going to bolt the first time she gives you an opening?”
“I’ll stay.” His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.
“Fine. I have enough on my plate right now without worrying about my sister being raped and stabbed to death by some wacko, okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Mara reached over to grab one of Annie’s hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister this agitated. “We’re on board, Annie.”
“So, if we’re done with the pleasantries,” Aidan said dryly, “what have you got by way of a profile?”
“Not much,” Annie admitted. “Oh, we know the basics. He’s white—all of his victims have been white. He’s in his thirties, most likely living alone. He’s probably got a job where he works a shift—”
“How do you know those things?” Mara interrupted.
“Well, I don’t know for certain, Mara. Profiling isn’t always exact. It’s merely our best educated guess. Most serial killers choose their victims from within their own ethnic group, so we feel he is white, like his victims. He’s exhibited such proficiency, such meticulousness and attention to detail, I expect it’s taken him several years to perfect such technique. He’s probably been experimenting for a while. And he’s patient. Not an amateur, not a kid.” Annie sipped her tea. “All the murders occurred at the same time of
“I didn’t know you were leaving tonight.” Mara looked up at her sister.
“I wasn’t aware myself until about three hours ago.” Annie took a sip of tea. “Aidan, I’m grateful that you decided to come.”
“I told you I’d be here,” he said without emotion.
“Well, the timing is excellent, since my leaving frees up the guest room, and you can—”
“What are you talking about?” Mara’s head snapped up.
“I’ve asked Aidan to stay here to keep an eye on things,” Annie said calmly.
“You never said anything about him staying.” Mara’s jaw set.
“Didn’t I?” Annie murmured, sipping her tea. “I was certain that I had.”
“You know you did not.” Mara glared at her sister, then turned to Aidan. “No offense, but I don’t want . . . I don’t need—”
“You do need, Mara,” Annie said before Aidan could open his mouth. “You do need someone here with you. All three of our Mary Douglases were attacked in their home.”
“I’ve been keeping my doors locked.”
“So did Mary Douglas numbers one and two. It didn’t keep him out. I’m sorry, sweetie, but Aidan stays until this is over.”
“The husband of Mary number three was home when the killer arrived, and was, if you recall“—Mara was beginning to steam—”shot in the back of the head, and his body dumped by the side of the road.”
“The husband of Mary number three didn’t carry a Sig Sauer and wasn’t trained by the FBI to use it,” Annie reminded her.
“You have a gun?” Mara turned her attention to Aidan.
He nodded.
“Let me see it.”
“It’s in a bag in the trunk of my car.”
“Fat lot of good it does there.”
“I plan on bringing it in.”
“I don’t mean to insult you, but I don’t think I want”—she paused—“anyone living here.”
“Fine with me.” Not one to pass up a good excuse once it was offered to him, Aidan shrugged and started to stand. He’d passed a small motel on his way into town that looked as if it would suit just fine. “So if it’s all the same to you, Annie, I’ll just—”
“It’s not fine, and it’s not all the same to me, Aidan, so sit down. You’re not leaving.” Annie turned to Mara. “And like it or not, he stays. Do I need to remind you that there’s a man out there who’s killing women—M. Douglases—in order out of the phone book—”
“And I’m next. No.” Mara blew a long breath out of the corner of her mouth. “No, you don’t need to remind me.”
“Then act like it.” Annie turned to Aidan. “And you decide right now, are you going to stay and do the job, or are you going to bolt the first time she gives you an opening?”
“I’ll stay.” His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t argue.
“Fine. I have enough on my plate right now without worrying about my sister being raped and stabbed to death by some wacko, okay?”
“Okay, okay.” Mara reached over to grab one of Annie’s hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen her sister this agitated. “We’re on board, Annie.”
“So, if we’re done with the pleasantries,” Aidan said dryly, “what have you got by way of a profile?”
“Not much,” Annie admitted. “Oh, we know the basics. He’s white—all of his victims have been white. He’s in his thirties, most likely living alone. He’s probably got a job where he works a shift—”
“How do you know those things?” Mara interrupted.
“Well, I don’t know for certain, Mara. Profiling isn’t always exact. It’s merely our best educated guess. Most serial killers choose their victims from within their own ethnic group, so we feel he is white, like his victims. He’s exhibited such proficiency, such meticulousness and attention to detail, I expect it’s taken him several years to perfect such technique. He’s probably been experimenting for a while. And he’s patient. Not an amateur, not a kid.” Annie sipped her tea. “All the murders occurred at the same time of
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