doing up here?” Robert Spiro demanded. “It's a good way to get shot. We've got this area staked out.”
“The FBI? I thought you were here in an advisory capacity.”
“We were, but we've taken over the investigation. Sheriff Bosworth didn't argue. He wanted out.”
“You think the murderer is going to come back? Is that why you're staking out the graves?” Eve asked.
Spiro glanced at her. “And who are you?”
“Eve Duncan, this is Agent Robert Spiro,” Joe said.
“Oh, how do you do, Ms. Duncan.” Spiro shoved the gun in his underarm holster and lifted the lantern higher to look at her. “Sorry to scare you, but Quinn should have let me know you were coming.”
Spiro was in his late forties with deep-set dark eyes and brown hair that sharply receded from a broad forehead. Lines bracketed both sides of his mouth, and the expression on his face was more world-weary than anything Eve had ever seen. She repeated, “You think he's going to come back? I know it's not uncommon for a serial murderer to return to the graves of his victims.”
“Yeah, even the very smart ones can't resist that last thrill.” He turned to Joe. “We haven't found anything yet. You're sure this is a solid tip?”
“It's solid,” Joe said. “Are you stopping to wait until daylight?”
“No. Sheriff Bosworth said his men know the gorge like the backs of their hands.” He looked at Eve. “It's cold near these falls. You need to get out of here.”
“I'll wait until you find the boys.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. It may be a long time.” To Joe he said, “I need to talk to you about that ‘solid' tip. Care to take a walk?”
“I won't leave Eve alone.”
“Charlie!” Spiro called over his shoulder, and a man with a flashlight appeared. “Joe Quinn, Eve Duncan, this is Agent Charles Cather. Take Ms. Duncan to her car and stay with her until Quinn comes back, Charlie.”
Charles Cather nodded. “Come with me, Ms. Duncan.”
“I won't be long, Eve.” Joe turned to Spiro. “If we're going to walk, let's go to the command center.”
“Whatever.” Spiro started back along the cliff edge.
Eve watched them. They were closing her out and she was tempted to go after them.
“Ms. Duncan?” Charles Cather said politely. “You'll be more comfortable in your car. You must be cold.”
She looked down at the grave. Yes, she was cold. Cold and tired and empty. The sight of that grave had nearly torn her apart, and she needed a little time to recover. Besides, Joe would not let her be closed out for long. She started down the cliff. “Come on, I have some hot coffee in the Jeep.”
“ COULD I HAVE another cup?” Charlie Cather leaned back in the passenger seat. “I'm really feeling this cold. Spiro says I need to toughen up, but I tell him it's from living in South Georgia all my life.”
She poured him more coffee. “Where in South Georgia?”
“Valdosta. Do you know it?”
“I've never been through there, but I've heard about the university. Have you ever gone to Pensacola? I used to take my daughter there on vacation.”
“Every spring break. Nice beach.”
“Yes. Where's Agent Spiro from?”
“New Jersey, I think. He doesn't talk much.” He grimaced. “Well, not to me. I'm new at the Bureau, and Spiro's been there forever.”
“Joe seems to respect him.”
“Oh, so do I. Spiro's a great agent.”
“But you don't like him?”
“I didn't say that.” He hesitated. “Spiro's done profiling for nearly a decade. It does something to a man.”
“What?”
“It . . . burns him out. Profilers usually socialize only with other profilers. I guess when you're a man who stares at monsters every day, it's hard to talk to someone who doesn't do that too.”
“You're not a profiler?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. They just accepted me into the unit and I'm still training. I'm here to tote and fetch for Spiro.” He took a sip of coffee and then said quietly, “I've
“The FBI? I thought you were here in an advisory capacity.”
“We were, but we've taken over the investigation. Sheriff Bosworth didn't argue. He wanted out.”
“You think the murderer is going to come back? Is that why you're staking out the graves?” Eve asked.
Spiro glanced at her. “And who are you?”
“Eve Duncan, this is Agent Robert Spiro,” Joe said.
“Oh, how do you do, Ms. Duncan.” Spiro shoved the gun in his underarm holster and lifted the lantern higher to look at her. “Sorry to scare you, but Quinn should have let me know you were coming.”
Spiro was in his late forties with deep-set dark eyes and brown hair that sharply receded from a broad forehead. Lines bracketed both sides of his mouth, and the expression on his face was more world-weary than anything Eve had ever seen. She repeated, “You think he's going to come back? I know it's not uncommon for a serial murderer to return to the graves of his victims.”
“Yeah, even the very smart ones can't resist that last thrill.” He turned to Joe. “We haven't found anything yet. You're sure this is a solid tip?”
“It's solid,” Joe said. “Are you stopping to wait until daylight?”
“No. Sheriff Bosworth said his men know the gorge like the backs of their hands.” He looked at Eve. “It's cold near these falls. You need to get out of here.”
“I'll wait until you find the boys.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. It may be a long time.” To Joe he said, “I need to talk to you about that ‘solid' tip. Care to take a walk?”
“I won't leave Eve alone.”
“Charlie!” Spiro called over his shoulder, and a man with a flashlight appeared. “Joe Quinn, Eve Duncan, this is Agent Charles Cather. Take Ms. Duncan to her car and stay with her until Quinn comes back, Charlie.”
Charles Cather nodded. “Come with me, Ms. Duncan.”
“I won't be long, Eve.” Joe turned to Spiro. “If we're going to walk, let's go to the command center.”
“Whatever.” Spiro started back along the cliff edge.
Eve watched them. They were closing her out and she was tempted to go after them.
“Ms. Duncan?” Charles Cather said politely. “You'll be more comfortable in your car. You must be cold.”
She looked down at the grave. Yes, she was cold. Cold and tired and empty. The sight of that grave had nearly torn her apart, and she needed a little time to recover. Besides, Joe would not let her be closed out for long. She started down the cliff. “Come on, I have some hot coffee in the Jeep.”
“ COULD I HAVE another cup?” Charlie Cather leaned back in the passenger seat. “I'm really feeling this cold. Spiro says I need to toughen up, but I tell him it's from living in South Georgia all my life.”
She poured him more coffee. “Where in South Georgia?”
“Valdosta. Do you know it?”
“I've never been through there, but I've heard about the university. Have you ever gone to Pensacola? I used to take my daughter there on vacation.”
“Every spring break. Nice beach.”
“Yes. Where's Agent Spiro from?”
“New Jersey, I think. He doesn't talk much.” He grimaced. “Well, not to me. I'm new at the Bureau, and Spiro's been there forever.”
“Joe seems to respect him.”
“Oh, so do I. Spiro's a great agent.”
“But you don't like him?”
“I didn't say that.” He hesitated. “Spiro's done profiling for nearly a decade. It does something to a man.”
“What?”
“It . . . burns him out. Profilers usually socialize only with other profilers. I guess when you're a man who stares at monsters every day, it's hard to talk to someone who doesn't do that too.”
“You're not a profiler?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. They just accepted me into the unit and I'm still training. I'm here to tote and fetch for Spiro.” He took a sip of coffee and then said quietly, “I've
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