Page 6

Chapter 6

After Bart Olsen was moved to a holding cell, the team of investigators convened in the war room. Brenna riffled through the file of statements the police officers had gathered so far. There had to be something there, a clue they’d overlooked.

“So, do you think he did it?” Paul asked.

“Hard to tell,” Nick said. “He’s guilty of violating his parole, but I’m not convinced he killed Dr. Drummond.”

Chief Burkholder stepped into the room, his face looking older than his fifty-nine years, his skin tinged gray. “Brenna.” This was the first time since he’d introduced her to the FBI agents that he’d called her by her first name.

Brenna broke out in a cold sweat, dropping the papers in her hands to join the chief by the door. “What is it?”

He drew in a deep breath and held out his hand. He wore surgical gloves, and dangling from his fingers was a plastic bag with a simple white envelope inside.

Brenna looked down at the envelope addressed to her, in care of the Riverton Police Department. She frowned. “Who would send me mail here?” As soon as the words slipped from her lips, the answer clicked in her brain. “Him.”

Chief Burkholder nodded. “That would be my guess.”

“What’s this?” Melissa walked up next to her. “Is it another letter from the killer?”

“Let me get some gloves and a mask, and we’ll see.” She didn’t try to take the letter from the chief.

“Shouldn’t we let the forensics folks open it?” Melissa asked.

“Later.” Brenna moved toward the door, speaking over her shoulder. “I think we need to read it as soon as possible.”

She left the room, her heart pounding against her eardrums and her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

He’d sent her another letter.

As if in a fog, she walked down the hallway to the supply cabinet and removed a pair of rubber gloves and a mask from boxes inside. As she stood with her back to the war room, she breathed in and out, fighting to stop the rise of panic, her heart fluttering ineffectively in her chest.

How had he known she was here so soon?

“You all right?” The deep voice jolted her from the daze.

Brenna jumped and spun around.

Agent Tarver stood inches from her, his forehead creased.

“I’m fine,” she lied, trying to breathe normally.

“You don’t look fine,” Nick said, his frown deepening between sooty brows. “You look a little pale.” He reached around her for a pair of the rubber gloves, his chest brushing against her shoulder.

The shock of connection blasted through Brenna, an intense reminder of his kiss beside the pool. She gasped and stepped away from his shoulder and the smell of leather and aftershave.

“Want me to open the letter?” he asked.

For a full three seconds, Brenna couldn’t make her brain function to process his question. Finally, she answered, “No, I can do it.” She ducked her chin, knowing she couldn’t let him see how affected she was. She wouldn’t let him see any of the confusion she felt for him or fear for the job she had to do.

He leaned toward her and pushed a strand of her hair back behind her ear. “You don’t have to be strong twenty-four/seven, Jensen.”

“Yes, I do.” A sudden urge to press her face into his palm nearly overwhelmed her. She jerked her head to the side to avoid the touch of his fingers against her neck. “I’m a cop. I don’t have time to be scared.” Not of killers or tall, gorgeous FBI agents. Although she could honestly say she wasn’t afraid of Tarver—more her physical reaction to his nearness.

“Being the target of a killer is nothing to take lightly.” His voice rumbled low and warm in the silence surrounding them.

“True. And I’m not taking it lightly.” She held the gloves in her hand, pulling at the rubber and letting it pop against her skin. The small amount of pain reminded her she was alive, this situation was real and she wasn’t attracted to this man. “I can handle this.”

Ha!

Who was she trying to fool when she was quickly sinking beneath the surface? Before long, she wouldn’t be able to come up for air. “What bothers me is why.”

“Why what?”

She turned her back to him and slammed the metal doors of the supply cabinet closed, tears welling in her eyes. “Why Riverton, why the women he’s chosen and why me?”

“If we knew the answer to that question, we’d probably already have our killer.”

“I’m the one this guy wants, not those other women.” She leaned her head against the cabinet, willing her tears to dry, the metal cooling her heated skin. “He’s killing them because of me.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Jensen.”

“No?” She pushed back and shoved her hands into the rubber gloves, blinking back the moisture in her eyes. When she turned, she had her emotions under tenuous control. “Why not? I’m the one he wants.”

“He’s using you.” Nick breathed out a long steady breath. “Look, the guy is psychotic and would probably kill even if you weren’t a convenient excuse.”

“Sure.” Brenna moved to brush by him, but Nick grabbed her upper arms and held her still.

“It’s not your fault. I won’t have you blaming yourself for a crazy man’s actions.”

“Why should you care? You’re Nick Tarver, the FBI agent. The man who is all about the case and nothing else.” Her voice broke, and the tears she’d been holding in check slid silently down her cheeks. “Why do you give a flying flip whether or not I blame myself? You didn’t know any of those women. I did! Why do you care?”

“Because it’s my job, and because I see a lot of me in you.” He dropped his hands from her arms and stepped aside. “I used to blame myself when another victim was killed while I was still looking for the person responsible.”

Brenna swallowed the lump in her throat. “You did?” The tough FBI agent blamed himself.

“Yes. Not only was it a drain on me, but also on those around me.” His voice dropped, and he looked through her as if seeing into his past. “Including those you should care most about...”

That look and the way his voice trailed off caught Brenna unaware, and she opened her mouth before thinking. “Is that why you’re divorced?”

That faraway look turned into a hard, level stare right into her eyes.

Brenna held her breath, afraid she’d stepped over the line by prying into the team leader’s personal life.

Then his gaze shifted to her gloved hands. “That was only part of the reason.”

He didn’t elaborate. Instead, he turned and walked back toward the war room, pushing his hands into rubber gloves.

When Brenna didn’t immediately follow, he looked back over his shoulder. “Are you going to open the letter, or do you want to wait and let the crime lab do it?”

Brenna brushed the tears from her cheeks and squared her shoulders. “Let’s do it.” Her feet propelled her forward until she was standing in the middle of a circle of FBI agents and Riverton police personnel. Paul handed her a pocketknife.

“Maybe you guys should leave the room.” Nick stared around at the assembled group. “We don’t know if this guy poisoned the envelope or dusted it with something toxic like anthrax.”

Paul looked to Melissa. “You going anywhere?”

She shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Me either,” Chief Burkholder said.

“That goes for me too.” Nick held up his hand. “But hold that thought.”

He left the room and returned moments later with masks for the rest of the team. After they’d all pulled them over their noses, he took the baggie from the chief and handed it to Brenna.

“Here goes.” Brenna slid the envelope out of the baggie. Then she sliced a letter opener through the end, spilling the single, folded sheet of computer paper onto her gloved hand. Carefully, she spread the sheet open and read aloud.

The first could see inside my head, but now she can’t because she’s dead .

And you can’t find my number two. Guess who’s smarter—me or you?

Cold slithered over her body like someone had left the front door open during a blizzard. This man hates me . What had she done to garner that much hatred? Her gaze rose to lock with Nick Tarver’s.

“This guy is going down.” His words were low and dangerous.

“I’m with you,” Paul said.

Nick walked over to Chief Burkholder. “Can you get on the phone with the judge and get us a warrant to search Dr. Drummond’s office? Based on the wording of that letter, we have probable cause to believe he could have been one of her patients.”

“Will do,” Chief Burkholder said.

“The sooner the better,” Nick said. “Lives could depend on those files.”

“I’m on it.” The chief left the room, his face more animated than when he’d entered.

While Nick issued orders, Brenna stood with the letter dangling from her fingers. “He’s baiting me.”

“Yes, he is.” Nick touched a hand to her elbow.

Warmth spread from his hand up her arm and helped to dispel the chill settling over her.

He leaned close and said in a dangerous voice, “But we’re going to spear this fish, not the other way around. Are you with us?”

“Yes.” She carefully replaced the envelope and letter in the plastic bag and handed it to Paul. “This goes to the crime lab.”

“Gotcha.” He left the room at a jog, returning in less than a minute.

“So, is Bart Olsen no longer a suspect?” Melissa asked.

“Since the letter came through the mail, we can’t be sure it wasn’t him.” Nick paced a few steps and turned. “My gut says no. But we’ll hold him for the legal limit just to make sure.”

“Good.” Paul’s mouth formed a grim line. “I’ll go talk to the university and do a little nosing around to see if I can come up with something. Based on the note, I’d bet my favorite jogging shoes the professor is already dead.”

“And I’ll bet I’m the one he really wants,” Brenna whispered.

Melissa laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t let it get to you. Won’t do you or the victims any good.”

“She’s right,” Nick said. “We’re in this together. We’ll find him.”

God, she hoped so—before another life was lost.

Chief Burkholder reentered the war room. “Judge Tyler’s with the mayor. It might be morning before we get that warrant. In the meantime, I’ve bumped up the number of patrols for the night shift.” The chief’s lips pressed together in a gray line. “The weatherman predicts further warming.”

The lead lump in Brenna’s belly turned over. “How bad?”

Chief Burkholder breathed in and let it out slowly. “They’re saying it could be like the flood of ’97.”

“Don’t we have enough to worry about?” Brenna asked. “We have a killer on the loose, and we might be faced with a flood?”

She’d been a small child during the last one, but she remembered her parents shoveling sand into sandbags to build a makeshift levy. One that ultimately gave way to the force of the rising river. Many areas of town had been evacuated, people racing for shelters with only the clothes on their backs. All they could do was wait and watch news clips of their homes being washed downriver, taking with them a century of memories.

“Better prepare for the worst,” Chief Burkholder said.

Nick’s eyes narrowed. “No, we better catch him before it gets worse.”

Reverberating through Brenna’s mind was the old saying, It’s gonna get a lot worse before it gets better.

“I have to get a shower and some rest,” Brenna said as she moved to the door. “I’ll be back around nine.”

Nick glanced at the clock. Was it already seven? The day had flown, and they were no closer to catching the killer.

“Wait,” Nick said. “I’ll go with you.”

Brenna’s eyebrow rose. “I don’t think so. A shower is something I can do on my own.”

He withheld a smart-ass remark, deciding she’d had enough for one day. “I realize that. But I’m not letting you out of my sight until this guy is either dead or behind bars. And right now, I’m leaning toward the dead scenario.”

“You and me both. But really, I can manage on my own. The hotel is well lit, and I’ll be carrying a gun.”

“Not good enough.”

For a moment, Nick thought she’d argue, but she shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

“Thanks. I will.”

When they arrived at the hotel, Nick grabbed her arm and stopped her in front of the desk. “Do you have a suite with two rooms available?”

The night clerk closed the textbook he’d been studying and leaned over a computer screen. “Let me check.”

“What are you doing?” Brenna whispered harshly. “My room is perfectly fine.”

“We’ll discuss it later. For now, let me handle this.”

The clerk glanced up. “Yes, sir, we do.”

“Miss Jensen and I will be moving into the suite.”

“I’ll have to charge you for all three rooms tonight since you didn’t check out by eleven.”

“Fine.”

The stubborn look on Brenna’s face let Nick know he was in for an argument. But he didn’t care. How else was he supposed to keep his eye on her if she was in a different room on another floor of the hotel? This killer had already proved resourceful at getting into locked houses. Why wouldn’t he be able to get into a locked hotel room?

“How many keys?” the clerk asked.

“One,” Brenna said.

“Two,” Nick countered.

Behind the counter, the clerk eyed them, his brow rising into a shaggy hairline. “Look, this just doesn’t look right.” He turned to Brenna. “Do you or don’t you want to share a suite with this man?”

“I don’t.”

He turned back to Nick. “I’m sorry, sir. If you don’t back off, I’ll have to call the police.”

“We are the police.” He removed his credentials from his pocket and flipped them open. “FBI to be exact. I’m Agent Nick Tarver, and this is Special Agent Brenna Jensen. She and I are on the same team working a case together, and she will be sharing a suite with me.” He turned toward her. “Is that perfectly clear, Special Agent Jensen?”

“Perfectly,” she said through her clenched teeth. “Two keys, please.”

The clerk looked from one to the other and finally shrugged and handed over two key cards. “It’s your funeral, Agent Tarver. She looks pretty mad about it.”

Nick forced a smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

To limit further argument in front of the hotel staff, Brenna bit her tongue so hard, the taste of copper filled her mouth. I’ll take my chances. The guy had nerve and an ego.

Nick Tarver followed her to her old room and watched as she shoved toiletries and clothing into her suitcase. Then he led the way to the suite on the third floor.

With a few choice words ready to spew, she waited until she could get him alone in the room to vent.

However, when she entered the room, Nick stood at the door and pointed a finger at her. “You stay put until I get back.” With that parting comment, he closed the door and left her standing with her mouth hanging open.

She sputtered a few unintelligible epithets and claimed the bedroom on the right. The one with the larger, more comfortable bed and the better view. A view of the slush-covered parking lot. Still, it was better than a view of the dumpster.

She bounced on the edge of the mattress. No matter how comfortable the bed and the room, she still felt like a prisoner, and she’d be damned if she let Nick do that to her.

With a quick glance at the door, she slid out of her slacks and into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. Although the sun had set an hour earlier, clouds had moved in, helping to retain the heat from the day. The outside temperature should be a balmy forty. A chill snaked down her back. Once she got going on her jog, the T-shirt would be sufficient.

If she hurried, she could slip out before Attila returned. She’d slapped her hair into a loose ponytail and was in the process of tying her shoes in the shared sitting room when she heard a key card slide into the door’s card reader.

Damn.

Purposely refusing to look at him, she continued tying her shoes.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll go with you.” He nudged the door closed with his foot.

“That’s just it. I don’t want you with me.” She needed the space to clear her brain. Nick Tarver had a way of filling every inch of every room with too much testosterone and his broad shoulders. Geez! How did he expect her to get any sleep knowing he was in the next room? Having him so close crowded her.

“I insist.” He carried a black duffel bag into the adjoining room and turned to close the door. With his hand on the knob, he gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “Don’t think of going out without me.”

As the door closed behind him, Brenna’s lungs pinched behind her ribs. Oh, no . The familiar pain lanced across her chest, and her heartbeat sped up so fast she felt dizzy. Get a grip, she told herself. You can’t fall apart now. She’d gone several years since her last full-scale panic attack. Why now?

All she knew was that she needed to get outside. She couldn’t think until she had fresh air against her face and filling her lungs.

She lunged for the door and was twisting the handle when an image of Dr. Drummond floating beneath the ice hit her so hard she staggered backward.

Dr. Drummond had been her salvation through the dark years following the barn fire. Years when she’d thought she’d never quit having dreams of being locked inside a barn where smoke filled her lungs and flames leaped at her clothing. The good doctor had helped her through the fear and panic, helped her past the crippling nightmares. Now she was gone, and her killer was out there somewhere.

The irony struck her. Just when the claustrophobic panic attack consumed her, making her seek the wide-open spaces, she realized she was no safer outside than inside.

Was being out in the open-air worth dying for? Still, she couldn’t stay in this room. Her lungs felt as heavy as when they’d been filled with black smoke. Brenna inhaled a shaky breath and closed her eyes, visualizing an open farm field full of bright gold sunflowers. She dragged in another breath and gasped when hands gripped her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” She could hear Agent Tarver’s voice, but she couldn’t open her eyes. He gripped her upper arms, turned her toward him and shook her gently. “Brenna, look at me.”

She eased open her eyes and fell into his deep green gaze, like the green of summer wheat before it ripens into gold—a bright, open field of summer wheat in the sunshine. Brenna took a deep breath.

“What’s wrong?” His hands still held her arms.

“Nothing,” she said, but her body began to shake. She shook so hard her teeth rattled.

“Nothing, hell.” Nick pulled her against him, and she buried her face in his T-shirt.

She couldn’t stop the tremors racing through her. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” he said against her hair, his hand stroking down the middle of her back.

“For being such a... wimp.” She forced the words past her clenched teeth.

“You’re not a wimp.” His breath stirred the loose tendrils by her ear. Brenna concentrated on that feathery feeling that was so light and free it dispelled the remembered thickness of smoke choking the inner lining of her lungs.

Her hands dug into the front of his shirt, and she held on, feeling the strength of his muscles beneath her fingers. The solid planes of his body grounded her, pulling her out of the smoky barn and back into her hotel room. Slowly, her breathing returned to normal.

When her heart rate slowed to a manageable pace, she inhaled the faint scent of aftershave and leather that was a part of Nick Tarver. What was she doing in his arms? How had she come to lean on him like her life depended on it? He was one of the perfect people, flawless in every way.

Untangling her fingers from the jersey fabric of his shirt, she pushed away.

“Uh-uh.” Nick’s hands on the small of her back stopped her from falling backward. “Not until I’m sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine.” She forced a light laugh, pretending humor she didn’t feel. “Really.”

The tight grip slackened, and Brenna moved away, reaching up to push the hair behind her ears, forgetting at the last moment her hair was up in a ponytail. Her hand dropped to her side.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“No.” She turned her back to him and walked to the center of the sitting room, rubbing chill bumps from her arms. Why did she feel cold now that Nick’s arms weren’t around her?

He stalked her, coming to a halt behind her. “Tell me anyway.”

His body emanated warmth in such a way she was drawn to him, aching to lean against him. But she couldn’t. Her panic attacks were something she had to overcome on her own. She couldn’t rely on anyone but herself to pull her through. Yet, it had been nice—no, it had been a huge relief to rely on Nick’s strength until the attack passed. In Nick’s arms, she hadn’t felt the aloneness that still haunted her from the barn fire.

“Brenna.” Her name rolled off his lips like a feather’s stroke. “If I’m going to protect you, I need to know from what.”

“This has nothing to do with the killer.”

“But if it incapacitates you again like it did now, you’re open to whatever the killer wants to do. I need to know these things. Help me here. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” She faced him, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t even know you!”

“I won’t hurt you.”

“How do I know that? If you were to tell someone on the team about my panic attack, I could be removed from this investigation and possibly from my job.”

“I could remove you from this team, but I won’t. And I’m not telling anyone anything.” He reached out, locking his grip on her wrists. “I promise. But I can’t help if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Sure. You’ve wanted to help me right out the door since day one.” She jerked against his hands, but he didn’t let go. “And I’m supposed to believe you?”

“At least take a chance on me.”

She stopped tugging at her wrists and stared up into his eyes. How could she trust him? She hadn’t trusted anyone except her father and Dr. Drummond. Wrapped up in her picture-perfect marriage, her sister didn’t have time for her. Besides, Alice confided everything to her husband, Stanley, and their mother wasn’t in any condition to guide her.

What did that leave her? An offer to trust a stranger—Nick Tarver—who would be out of her life as soon as they captured the killer. What the hell? She sighed and relaxed her arms.

Nick’s hold loosened on her wrists, but he didn’t let go.

“I haven’t had an attack like that since I was eighteen.” She drew in a deep breath. "Now I have to get outside."

"Okay, but you're not going without me."

"Fine," she yanked the door open and stepped through it without waiting for him.

Nick grabbed his room key and took off after her.

Instead of the elevator, she took the stairs and left the building from a side door.

The streetlights reflected off wet roads and residual snow and bounced off the low-level clouds that had moved in before sunset, giving the city an eerie glow. Without stopping to warm up or stretch, Brenna took off down the road.

Nick let her lead by a couple of car lengths, giving her space while he watched every vehicle coming and going.

What had happened back there in the room?

Something had scared her enough to set her heart racing. The notes and murdered women would be enough to scare anyone, but Brenna wasn't anyone. She’d been a cop at one time, granted, on small town streets, but a cop, nonetheless. She'd witnessed murder scenes and solved several cases in North Dakota. The difference in this case was that she was probably a target, and the murders were happening on her home turf. This guy knew how to hit where it hurt.

Brenna pulled farther away.

Nick picked up his pace to close the distance. He jogged up beside her but didn't talk.

She was in good shape to keep up this pace for so long.

Water splashed up from their shoes, soaking through to his feet. His toes were uncomfortable and cold, and he knew Brenna's were no better. By the time they'd covered two miles, his sweats were drenched up to the knees with cold, nasty water, but he was warm from the exercise and ready to go on.

When they came upon a city park, Brenna slowed until she was walking. She was breathing hard and her face shone with a sheen of perspiration and...was that a trace of tears?

"Mind if we take a break?" he asked, even though he could have gone on for a couple more miles. Nick suspected that whatever she was running to shake loose of had shaken.

Brenna nodded and continued walking, only slowly now. "My father taught me to play baseball in this park."

Nick stared at the field still covered in a layer of half-melted snow and ice. At one end of the park was a backstop; at the other end, boards had been erected for an outdoor skating rink.

"He also taught me how to play hockey, soccer and basketball."

Nick laughed. "Is there anything he didn’t teach you?”

“He didn’t teach me how to lose.”