booted up his computer. Scanning in the picture he’d taken of the dead man, he input the name Jim Logger and sipped his drink while the computer program searched its databases.
Brenda’s face kept flashing in his head, making his body tighten with agitation…and something else. Lust.
He could not be attracted to that woman. She was infuriating and nosy and…her scent had invaded his pores.
Fuck.
He took another sip of his whiskey and stood, needed to expel his frustration. His phone beeped. Jake.
“Hey, brother, what’s up?”
“Logger drove a ’ninety-six black Jeep. My deputy found it abandoned out on Bogger Hollow Road.”
Nick perked up. “Anything in the Jeep?”
“I’ve gone over it myself. Just an old coat of Logger’s, pair of work gloves, tool kit. Nothing that looked as if it belonged to a woman.”
“How about prints?”
“The Jeep was wiped clean.”
Nick cursed. “She’s covering her tracks.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” Jake paused. “Oh, and I talked to the crime lab about that piano wire. Apparently you can order it online through dozens of websites. And Home Depot carries an almost identical wire that’s cheaper. I checked with the stores in Nashville and Knoxville, but they had no big orders for it.”
“Our unsub probably paid cash for it anyway.”
Nick rubbed the back of his neck where it was stiff as he hung up. A second later, the computer dinged, and he glanced at the screen and saw Jim Logger’s name appear, along with a photograph.
Logger’s military photo. He slid into the chair and scrolled down. Logger had spent four years in the marines before receiving a medical discharge.
After his release, he went to rehab for a gunshot wound and physical therapy for an injury to his leg. Notations also indicated he suffered from PTSD.
Logger hadn’t worked for two years, but a few months back he’d taken a job at a security agency.
Questions mounted in Nick’s mind.
How could a tough marine, a man adept at security measures, have ended up dead in a cheap motel?
Several scenarios raced through his mind.
One—the killer had lured Logger into trusting her because he knew her. She’d obviously seduced him, so he didn’t sense the impending danger.
Two—he’d been forced at gunpoint to submit to being tied up.
Three—the killer had an accomplice who aided in restraining Logger.
But the most likely scenario was that Logger had met up with a lover, expecting a hot night of sex. After all, Logger had checked into the motel and paid for the room. No one had been seen with him, not a woman or a gunman, when he’d reserved it.
He studied Logger’s profile. Six-four, 230 pounds.
A big guy with military training would be difficult to subdue.
“Who killed you, Logger?” he murmured.
He skimmed the man’s personal information, searching for family. According to records, he had married five years ago and divorced six months ago. No other living family.
It was too late to visit the wife tonight, or search Logger’s apartment, but tomorrow he would. Besides, he wanted the ME’s report before he questioned the ex.
Tracking down the victim’s actions and behavior the last few months might lead him to the killer.
A journal entry, March 4
Now I know the truth. The Commander lied to us at the hospital. What other lies did he tell?
Was any of what he’d said true?
The school where he sent me, the teachers, the caretakers…had they helped him continue his experiment on us once we left the Slaughter Creek Sanitarium?
Memories fought their way through the fog in my brain. Just as the news story said he’d done to Amelia, he’d stolen my mind, and I’d left the memories of what was real behind.
But suddenly one memory broke through the wall.
When I was four years old, I saw one of the other girls in the hospital with a pretty lady with silky blond hair and eyes that glittered like stars when she looked at her daughter.
The little girl had to get a shot,
Brenda’s face kept flashing in his head, making his body tighten with agitation…and something else. Lust.
He could not be attracted to that woman. She was infuriating and nosy and…her scent had invaded his pores.
Fuck.
He took another sip of his whiskey and stood, needed to expel his frustration. His phone beeped. Jake.
“Hey, brother, what’s up?”
“Logger drove a ’ninety-six black Jeep. My deputy found it abandoned out on Bogger Hollow Road.”
Nick perked up. “Anything in the Jeep?”
“I’ve gone over it myself. Just an old coat of Logger’s, pair of work gloves, tool kit. Nothing that looked as if it belonged to a woman.”
“How about prints?”
“The Jeep was wiped clean.”
Nick cursed. “She’s covering her tracks.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” Jake paused. “Oh, and I talked to the crime lab about that piano wire. Apparently you can order it online through dozens of websites. And Home Depot carries an almost identical wire that’s cheaper. I checked with the stores in Nashville and Knoxville, but they had no big orders for it.”
“Our unsub probably paid cash for it anyway.”
Nick rubbed the back of his neck where it was stiff as he hung up. A second later, the computer dinged, and he glanced at the screen and saw Jim Logger’s name appear, along with a photograph.
Logger’s military photo. He slid into the chair and scrolled down. Logger had spent four years in the marines before receiving a medical discharge.
After his release, he went to rehab for a gunshot wound and physical therapy for an injury to his leg. Notations also indicated he suffered from PTSD.
Logger hadn’t worked for two years, but a few months back he’d taken a job at a security agency.
Questions mounted in Nick’s mind.
How could a tough marine, a man adept at security measures, have ended up dead in a cheap motel?
Several scenarios raced through his mind.
One—the killer had lured Logger into trusting her because he knew her. She’d obviously seduced him, so he didn’t sense the impending danger.
Two—he’d been forced at gunpoint to submit to being tied up.
Three—the killer had an accomplice who aided in restraining Logger.
But the most likely scenario was that Logger had met up with a lover, expecting a hot night of sex. After all, Logger had checked into the motel and paid for the room. No one had been seen with him, not a woman or a gunman, when he’d reserved it.
He studied Logger’s profile. Six-four, 230 pounds.
A big guy with military training would be difficult to subdue.
“Who killed you, Logger?” he murmured.
He skimmed the man’s personal information, searching for family. According to records, he had married five years ago and divorced six months ago. No other living family.
It was too late to visit the wife tonight, or search Logger’s apartment, but tomorrow he would. Besides, he wanted the ME’s report before he questioned the ex.
Tracking down the victim’s actions and behavior the last few months might lead him to the killer.
A journal entry, March 4
Now I know the truth. The Commander lied to us at the hospital. What other lies did he tell?
Was any of what he’d said true?
The school where he sent me, the teachers, the caretakers…had they helped him continue his experiment on us once we left the Slaughter Creek Sanitarium?
Memories fought their way through the fog in my brain. Just as the news story said he’d done to Amelia, he’d stolen my mind, and I’d left the memories of what was real behind.
But suddenly one memory broke through the wall.
When I was four years old, I saw one of the other girls in the hospital with a pretty lady with silky blond hair and eyes that glittered like stars when she looked at her daughter.
The little girl had to get a shot,
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