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Authors: Allison Brennan
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where the depraved killer had found most of his victims, was back to normal. But Nick’s concussion and subsequent infection from being held captive had weakened him to the point where he wondered if he could ever again be an effective cop.
The doctors said it was his joints—the ligaments swelled with use and put pressure on the joints that had been ravaged by infection. A type of arthritis. Surgery might help. Nick had an operation three months after the attack, yet he still wasn’t the man he’d been nine months ago.
Nick didn’t see any other option but going through surgery and rigorous physical therapy again, even against the odds. He couldn’t live like this forever. But his doctor, whom he trusted, insisted that he had to wait at least another month before repeating the surgery. Usually, patience was Nick’s strong suit. Not now, not with the chance of regaining full mobility within reach.
“There are no guarantees, Sheriff,” his doctor had told him during his last check-up.
“There never are,” he’d replied.
But if he wasn’t able to regain his strength, could he hand the reins of the sheriff’s department to a man who had so blatantly abused his power? Harris was dangerous and the last person Nick wanted to see as sheriff, but Nick wasn’t sure he was up for an election battle.
Not only wasn’t he confident of victory, he didn’t know if he wanted to win.
EIGHT
“L ET’S CHECK OUT THAT JOURNAL SITE Abby gave us.”
It was almost noon. Carina and Will had spent the entire morning talking again to Angie’s mother and grandmother, then hitting the university and speaking with her academic advisor, stopping by the Sand Shack to interview employees about Angie and her relationship with both Steve Thomas and Doug Masterson, then finally spending two hours unsuccessfully trying to track down Masterson’s current whereabouts.
They learned Angie had a 4.0 GPA, everyone liked her, she worked hard at the Shack, no one had seen her use drugs, and no one admitted knowing about her online journal.
Steve Thomas was seen as a “nice guy.” Doug Masterson elicited stronger reactions. People either liked him a lot, or thought he was creepy.
Now they finally had time to read Angie’s online journal while waiting until Patrick Kincaid in e-crimes and Jim Gage in forensics were able to break free and join them at Steve Thomas’s apartment.
Thomas’s cooperation was definitely a plus at this point, which made Carina wonder if he was really innocent or just playing them. She opted for playing them. If he had killed Angie, it hadn’t been in his apartment. Otherwise he’d never let them inside. If he’d tracked her online, it hadn’t been on his computer, or he wouldn’t be so free to give them access to it. Unless of course he was a total idiot, which Carina didn’t rule out. Many criminals thought the police wouldn’t figure it out. Fortunately, the cops were usually smarter than the criminals. It was just a matter of time, patience, and asking the right questions.
Will sat on the edge of Carina’s desk while she logged onto the Internet and brought up Angie’s MyJournal page.
At first, nothing jumped out at them. On the right was an avatar, a photo icon of something brownish that Carina couldn’t make out. She leaned closer.
“Will, tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not.”
“Damn.” The avatar, which was Angie’s personal calling card in cyberspace, was a close-up of a nipple.
“Think it’s hers?”
“Read the text.”
They stared at the computer. Carina didn’t consider herself a prude, but the sexual content in Angie’s journal was detailed enough to make a sailor blush. And glancing at Will, she saw that he was equally uncomfortable.
The last entry was dated February 10, the day before she disappeared.
This morning I woke up horny. You know how it is, you have this great sexy dream with a couple guys and then the damn alarm
The doctors said it was his joints—the ligaments swelled with use and put pressure on the joints that had been ravaged by infection. A type of arthritis. Surgery might help. Nick had an operation three months after the attack, yet he still wasn’t the man he’d been nine months ago.
Nick didn’t see any other option but going through surgery and rigorous physical therapy again, even against the odds. He couldn’t live like this forever. But his doctor, whom he trusted, insisted that he had to wait at least another month before repeating the surgery. Usually, patience was Nick’s strong suit. Not now, not with the chance of regaining full mobility within reach.
“There are no guarantees, Sheriff,” his doctor had told him during his last check-up.
“There never are,” he’d replied.
But if he wasn’t able to regain his strength, could he hand the reins of the sheriff’s department to a man who had so blatantly abused his power? Harris was dangerous and the last person Nick wanted to see as sheriff, but Nick wasn’t sure he was up for an election battle.
Not only wasn’t he confident of victory, he didn’t know if he wanted to win.
EIGHT
“L ET’S CHECK OUT THAT JOURNAL SITE Abby gave us.”
It was almost noon. Carina and Will had spent the entire morning talking again to Angie’s mother and grandmother, then hitting the university and speaking with her academic advisor, stopping by the Sand Shack to interview employees about Angie and her relationship with both Steve Thomas and Doug Masterson, then finally spending two hours unsuccessfully trying to track down Masterson’s current whereabouts.
They learned Angie had a 4.0 GPA, everyone liked her, she worked hard at the Shack, no one had seen her use drugs, and no one admitted knowing about her online journal.
Steve Thomas was seen as a “nice guy.” Doug Masterson elicited stronger reactions. People either liked him a lot, or thought he was creepy.
Now they finally had time to read Angie’s online journal while waiting until Patrick Kincaid in e-crimes and Jim Gage in forensics were able to break free and join them at Steve Thomas’s apartment.
Thomas’s cooperation was definitely a plus at this point, which made Carina wonder if he was really innocent or just playing them. She opted for playing them. If he had killed Angie, it hadn’t been in his apartment. Otherwise he’d never let them inside. If he’d tracked her online, it hadn’t been on his computer, or he wouldn’t be so free to give them access to it. Unless of course he was a total idiot, which Carina didn’t rule out. Many criminals thought the police wouldn’t figure it out. Fortunately, the cops were usually smarter than the criminals. It was just a matter of time, patience, and asking the right questions.
Will sat on the edge of Carina’s desk while she logged onto the Internet and brought up Angie’s MyJournal page.
At first, nothing jumped out at them. On the right was an avatar, a photo icon of something brownish that Carina couldn’t make out. She leaned closer.
“Will, tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re not.”
“Damn.” The avatar, which was Angie’s personal calling card in cyberspace, was a close-up of a nipple.
“Think it’s hers?”
“Read the text.”
They stared at the computer. Carina didn’t consider herself a prude, but the sexual content in Angie’s journal was detailed enough to make a sailor blush. And glancing at Will, she saw that he was equally uncomfortable.
The last entry was dated February 10, the day before she disappeared.
This morning I woke up horny. You know how it is, you have this great sexy dream with a couple guys and then the damn alarm
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