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Authors: Laura Griffin
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Internet and what he’d learned from Nathan. But Lucy, he knew. And she was—hands down—the least huggy woman he’d ever been around. She did not squeeze, kiss, cuddle, or do any of that warm-fuzzy shit in public, and especially not with women. Lucy was a loner and a hard ass and, according to many people, a bitch.
Yet obviously Fiona had bonded with her.
Jack steered onto the highway and cast an apprehensive glance in Fiona’s direction. She’d put on his shirt and flipped up the cuffs, but still the thing damn near swallowed her. She sniffled. He didn’t see any tears, but she dabbed her nose with the back of her hand.
Jack popped open the console and retrieved a stack of Dairy Queen napkins. He stuffed them into the cup holder and passed one to her.
“Thanks.” She took the napkin and did one of those dainty nose blows. “Sorry. I’m usually better at this.”
“At what?”
“I don’t know. Compartmentalizing.”
“It’s a rough case,” he offered. Understatement of the century. Lucy’s ordeal was as vicious as he’d ever come across, and it was amazing she’d lived through it. Looking at it now, Jack doubted that had been part of the perp’s plan.
Fiona folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “So…You guys have a motel around here?”
“Sure. What for?”
She looked at him. Her eyes looked emerald green now because she’d been crying. “I need a quiet place to work. I’ve still got to refine the preliminary drawing and do the age progression.”
Holy shit. “You got a drawing?” Jack had pretty much talked himself out of that hope.
“I got something.” She looked at her hands. “The question is whether it’s usable. I don’t really know yet. I’ll have to spend more time on it and make a judgment call.”
Jack focused on the road, trying to seem open-minded. In reality, it wasn’t Fiona’s decision. If he paid her fee, he’d do what he wanted with the picture.
“How long does the age progression take? Maybe you could work at the station house.”
Fiona stared out the window. “I prefer to work without distractions. And this could take a while. Especially if I do another subject.”
Another subject…?
She looked at him. “You were planning to ask me, weren’t you?”
He debated whether to answer that truthfully. He’d misled her about pretty much everything from the get-go, and this was no exception.
“I hadn’t counted on it,” he said. “If you don’t want to—”
“Don’t make excuses. You can’t work a homicide without an ID.”
She was right. The victim’s identity was a critical missing piece in this puzzle. But Fiona looked drained. He hadn’t expected this case to have such an impact on her, and guilt needled at him.
“You want to go to the motel first?” he asked. “Maybe take a nap or something?”
She shook her head, looked away. “I don’t need a nap, ” she said. “Just take me to the morgue.”
CHAPTER 4
S helby Sherwood’s abductor had rented a Chrysler mini-van in Minneapolis yesterday afternoon.
An hour later he’d checked into an Econo Lodge in Bangor, Maine, and at 7:15 this morning he’d been seen buying super-unleaded gasoline at a Shell station in Tucson. The clerk who took his twenty said he looked exactly like that drawing on the news, except maybe heavier and with a ponytail.
Garrett Sullivan downed his last gulp of truck-stop coffee and flipped open the file on the Taurus’s front seat. Since Fiona’s sketch had been released three days ago, leads had been pouring in by the hundreds. The guy’s in Nashville. No, Roanoke. Someone just sold him a set of snow tires in Peoria…
A dedicated team of cops and volunteers had spent hours sifting through all the tips. The promising ones resulted in police visits, and a small handful of those interviews had netted information worth pursuing. It was tedious work, and stressful because one overlooked lead could be the only one that mattered.
Yet obviously Fiona had bonded with her.
Jack steered onto the highway and cast an apprehensive glance in Fiona’s direction. She’d put on his shirt and flipped up the cuffs, but still the thing damn near swallowed her. She sniffled. He didn’t see any tears, but she dabbed her nose with the back of her hand.
Jack popped open the console and retrieved a stack of Dairy Queen napkins. He stuffed them into the cup holder and passed one to her.
“Thanks.” She took the napkin and did one of those dainty nose blows. “Sorry. I’m usually better at this.”
“At what?”
“I don’t know. Compartmentalizing.”
“It’s a rough case,” he offered. Understatement of the century. Lucy’s ordeal was as vicious as he’d ever come across, and it was amazing she’d lived through it. Looking at it now, Jack doubted that had been part of the perp’s plan.
Fiona folded her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “So…You guys have a motel around here?”
“Sure. What for?”
She looked at him. Her eyes looked emerald green now because she’d been crying. “I need a quiet place to work. I’ve still got to refine the preliminary drawing and do the age progression.”
Holy shit. “You got a drawing?” Jack had pretty much talked himself out of that hope.
“I got something.” She looked at her hands. “The question is whether it’s usable. I don’t really know yet. I’ll have to spend more time on it and make a judgment call.”
Jack focused on the road, trying to seem open-minded. In reality, it wasn’t Fiona’s decision. If he paid her fee, he’d do what he wanted with the picture.
“How long does the age progression take? Maybe you could work at the station house.”
Fiona stared out the window. “I prefer to work without distractions. And this could take a while. Especially if I do another subject.”
Another subject…?
She looked at him. “You were planning to ask me, weren’t you?”
He debated whether to answer that truthfully. He’d misled her about pretty much everything from the get-go, and this was no exception.
“I hadn’t counted on it,” he said. “If you don’t want to—”
“Don’t make excuses. You can’t work a homicide without an ID.”
She was right. The victim’s identity was a critical missing piece in this puzzle. But Fiona looked drained. He hadn’t expected this case to have such an impact on her, and guilt needled at him.
“You want to go to the motel first?” he asked. “Maybe take a nap or something?”
She shook her head, looked away. “I don’t need a nap, ” she said. “Just take me to the morgue.”
CHAPTER 4
S helby Sherwood’s abductor had rented a Chrysler mini-van in Minneapolis yesterday afternoon.
An hour later he’d checked into an Econo Lodge in Bangor, Maine, and at 7:15 this morning he’d been seen buying super-unleaded gasoline at a Shell station in Tucson. The clerk who took his twenty said he looked exactly like that drawing on the news, except maybe heavier and with a ponytail.
Garrett Sullivan downed his last gulp of truck-stop coffee and flipped open the file on the Taurus’s front seat. Since Fiona’s sketch had been released three days ago, leads had been pouring in by the hundreds. The guy’s in Nashville. No, Roanoke. Someone just sold him a set of snow tires in Peoria…
A dedicated team of cops and volunteers had spent hours sifting through all the tips. The promising ones resulted in police visits, and a small handful of those interviews had netted information worth pursuing. It was tedious work, and stressful because one overlooked lead could be the only one that mattered.
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