Cold Hearted (Cold Justice Book 6) Read online

  “I’m too scared to watch World War Z,” Erin admitted.

  “Me, too.” Darsh drew up his shoulders in a mock shudder. “I don’t do zombies.”

  Rachel laughed despite herself, and some of the tension eased out of the room. After a few moments she swallowed. “I must have dropped off. I woke up to the feeling of a needle stabbing into my backside. But before I could struggle or shout for help, he was on top of me, pressing my face into the pillow so no one could hear me scream.” Her gaze became vacant. “He just lay there for ages not saying a word, and then my head started to spin. I thought I was going to suffocate. I went all limp and floppy, and then he let go. He stuffed a gag in my mouth.” She stuck out her tongue. “I can still taste it.”

  “What kind of gag?”

  “Rubber. One of those ball-gag things that some people think is sexy.” She looked like she wanted to throw up.

  Erin avoided looking at Darsh. She couldn’t remember if that detail came out during the trial or not. She needed to look at the transcripts.

  “It was dark?” Darsh asked.

  “Yes, but there was faint light from my alarm clock and some from the streetlights outside the window near Jenny’s bed. He turned me over and undressed me. I couldn’t move, even though I wanted to. Then he tied me up, but I was so out of it I didn’t have a clue…I mean, I know what happened,” she said defensively. “There were flashes of clarity when I must have regained consciousness.” Embarrassment made her avoid Darsh’s gaze, but she looked at Erin. “I know all the things he did and made me do—although he might have done other things I don’t know about. But it was like I was a rag doll and totally at his mercy.” Tears welled in the girl’s blue eyes. Erin’s heart broke for her.

  “Would you mind standing up?” Darsh asked.

  Rachel got cautiously to her feet. Darsh moved a little closer, and Erin watched Rachel’s eyes widen and breath hitch as he stood. Terror flickered in her eyes.

  “What size did he seem to you, compared to me? Bigger? Smaller?”

  Rachel blinked rapidly and inched a little closer until she almost touched him. She frowned in confusion. “Smaller than you, I think. But it’s all so blurry. He seemed kind of huge sometimes and small at others.” Special-K could do that. So could fear and panic. Rachel scooted quickly away and curled back into her chair.

  “And you are positive you saw Drew Hawke?”

  “I saw his face really clearly. He had these staring eyes, but his expression never changed. Just those horrible eyes staring at me as he, well,” she swallowed, “you know, raped me. I passed out, and when I came to he was gone.”

  “The ropes were still attached to your limbs?” asked Darsh.

  Rachel nodded. “But they’d come really loose I assume when he took the sheet from beneath me.” Her glance darted up. “I did remember something the other night,” she admitted almost guiltily. “Something I hadn’t remembered before.”

  “What?” Erin asked gently even though a spurt of excitement moved through her.

  “He combed my hair.”

  Erin’s gaze shot to Rachel’s head, but the girl blushed fiery red. “Not this hair.” She brushed a hand over her head. “My pubic hair. I had this weird flashback to him doing that.” She drew her knees to her chest again. “God, what a creep.”

  Erin didn’t like that. She didn’t like it at all. It showed a degree of forensic countermeasures on par with dipping fingertips in bleach. She pulled out her photographs of the knots in the blue rope. “Can you remember if this is what the knots he tied you up with looked like?”

  Rachel looked at the photos, but her skin lost all color when she realized the rope was probably attached to a body. She held a hand to her mouth and started sobbing. “Oh, God. I don’t know. I really don’t know. How many monsters are out there?”

  “Too many,” Darsh said quietly.

  Her eyes just got bigger. “I thought I’d beaten the bastard. I actually felt free for a while. You told me it was over.” The words held a bite of accusation as she looked at Erin.

  The door opened, and her mother came in. She must have been listening at the door. “Please go now.”

  Erin stopped beside Rachel’s chair and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Rachel.”

  Darsh thanked her, and Erin followed him out. Her mother opened the front door.

  “I thought my daughter could get on with her life again after the trial, but it’s not over, is it?”

  Erin wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, but she was a lousy liar.

  “We’re doing everything we can to catch this killer, ma’am.” Darsh spoke for her. “We’ll keep you in the loop.”

  Erin said goodbye and strode to her truck, feeling like someone had just kicked the crap out of her. She started the engine and tried to find her inner cop. “Well, that sucked.”

  “She’s a strong kid, but she’s gonna need more counseling.”

  “What she needs,” Erin commented angrily, “is for us to arrest this new attacker.” She paused and looked at him as he buckled up beside her. “I didn’t know you were a sniper.”

  “It never came up in the conversation.”

  Because they’d been too busy figuring out how fast they could get each other naked. She didn’t appreciate the reminder, no matter how subtle. She eyed him narrowly. “And now you chase serial killers.”

  His dark eyes were once again unreadable. “I got a taste for hunting humans.” He shrugged. “After that it’s hard to hunt anything else.”

  A shiver whispered over her spine. She was pretty sure serial killers felt the same way.

  Chapter Eleven

  Darsh hadn’t eaten more than a sandwich and half of Erin’s Twix in two days. His stomach growled so loudly it was like someone inside was trying to get out.

  “Hungry?” Erin raised her brows at him as they strode past a stuffed elk that guarded the store doors.

  “If I don’t eat real food in the next ten minutes, I’m probably going to gnaw off my own hand,” he admitted.

  “It’s almost noon.” She checked her watch. It was an expensive dive number that Darsh flashed back to seeing on her wrist that night in Quantico. That, a pair of silver earrings, and a smile that had brought him to his knees. Not realizing his thoughts had once again sunk lower than the Earth’s core, she gave him a sympathetic smile. “We can grab a quick lunch. Next team meeting isn’t until three, and I could eat.”

  He grunted, hiding the fact he was finding it harder and harder not to wonder if her lips tasted the same, or remember the sound of her gasping his name when she came.

  Not what he needed to think about right now.

  Instead, he thought about Brennan and Frazer and the other members of the BAU and how much he didn’t want to let the team down. They all pulled their weight, even Mallory who was barely out of FOA—first office agent—status. She’d bagged a serial killer, helped thwart an assassination attempt on the president, and played a major role in exonerating a wrongly convicted FBI agent and uncovering a Russian spy. And she wasn’t just a rookie, she was a pregnant rookie, and if that wasn’t overachieving, he didn’t know what was. He wasn’t a slacker, but he had to admit it would be nice to take one of these fuckers down for a change—except the person he might also take down was walking beside him to her truck.

  The idea left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Erin appeared to be a solid cop. He’d be shocked if she’d messed up the Hawke investigation, but these crimes were so similar in nature they automatically suggested linkage. He had to be impartial. He had to look at the facts and not just what he hoped to be true.

  His father took great pleasure suggesting Darsh was the token minority hire for the BAU, but Darsh was good at his job. His only real problem was the constant need to prove it.

  They climbed into the huge truck without speaking, each lost in their own thoughts. They’d talked to a salesman in the outdoors shop. The good news was Darsh was
now the proud owner of a black down jacket, hat, gloves, and boots. He had a fighting chance of making it through the next few days without anything important snapping off. The bad news was that although the rope was good quality climbing rope, it was relatively common, and you could order it off the internet. He was going to ask Agent Chen to investigate that aspect. See if anyone around here had ordered any, someone who maybe didn’t need it for climbing.

  Erin pulled up outside a low-slung A-frame building constructed of dark gray slate and big wooden beams. The Belmont Inn. The parking lot was almost full. A classy place—not where he’d expected to go for lunch. Good thing he was wearing a suit.

  “Belongs to a friend of my dad’s,” she told him, unbuckling her seatbelt. “It’s pretty much the only place in town where I’m reasonably optimistic they won’t spit in my food.”

  It was an issue for law enforcement in general, but he imagined for Erin in particular. They walked in the front door and were greeted by a balding guy in his sixties wearing a blue suit.

  “Erin!” He enveloped her in a big hug and kissed her on the cheek. “How’s the finest detective in town?”

  Her laugh was warm as she greeted the man. “I bet you say that to Harry when he comes here, too.”

  “Nah, I say how’s the best male detective in town to him. I’m not a putz.”

  “Nice distinction.” She grinned, and the strain and worry around her eyes were temporarily replaced by humor. “Jerry, this is Agent Singh of the FBI.”

  Darsh shook the guy’s hand and almost had his fingers crushed. “Cop?” he guessed.

  “Retired from the NYPD with twenty-five years on the job. Feels like yesterday. Me and Erin’s dad were partners in the bad old days.”

  “Miss it?” Darsh was curious. He often wondered how people eased back into civilian life. It was the same when leaving the military, which was why he’d had his eye on a federal law enforcement position from the get-go.

  “Every day, but I also enjoy not dealing with crazies and people not taking random potshots at me.”

  “Not to mention owning the nicest family restaurant in town. His son’s the head chef. Daughter manages the place.”

  Jerry shrugged. “I help out. I had a bit of a windfall and decided to give my kids a head start in their chosen careers. Me and the wife always liked it around here.”

  “He retired and a week later got run-over by some rich guy in a Ferrari,” Erin said bluntly.

  “Best day of my life,” Jerry said cheerfully.

  “Luckily the driver couldn’t get out of first gear.”

  Jerry grinned. “If you’re going to get run-over make sure it’s by an Arab sheikh lost in Manhattan.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” said Darsh.

  “I’m assuming you’re here to eat?” Jerry asked them both.

  The smells out of the kitchen were making Darsh drool. They both nodded and Jerry grabbed menus. “Come on. I’ll find you a good spot.”

  They passed an older couple dining. The guy turned to openly stare at him and Erin.

  Darsh moved his jacket aside so the gold shield he’d attached to his belt, and his gun, were both clearly visible. The man’s gaze rose to meet his, and a flush worked its way over his cheekbones. Those people who didn’t believe bigotry was rife in the world should walk around as part of a mixed race couple for a day.

  Not that they were a couple.

  Jerry led them to a corner booth near the back of the restaurant. Darsh grabbed the seat facing the door before Erin could get there. She shot him a glare.

  “I’ll take whatever’s on special,” Erin said, not even looking at the menu.

  “Me, too. With a side of fries and coffee.”

  Jerry nodded knowingly. Cops ate on the run. Speed was key. He tapped the menus against his palm. “I won’t ask how the investigation’s going, but I will tell you if this dickwad breaks into my home, he’ll get my forty-five shoved up his ass, bullet first. Food won’t be long. I’ll make sure your order goes straight to the front of the queue.” He walked away to the next customer.

  “Nice guy.”

  Erin nodded. “He was a good cop, too. He’s the one who suggested I come work up here.”

  “After your husband shot himself?”

  Her mouth dropped open, and she looked away. “Yeah,” she murmured. “After he shot himself.”

  He stared at her, willing her to say more, to talk about it, but she refused to even look at him. “You go home much?” He tried a different direction.

  She shook her head. “I’ve been pretty busy. With the rape cases last year, and the farmhouse I’m renovating. It’s taking a lot longer than I expected.” She grimaced. “I must have suffered a blow to the head before I bought it.”

  “Needs work?”

  She snorted. “And then some. But I’m getting there. I need my family to come up for another long weekend, and I might get the worst of it finished.” She shrugged. “Should have bought an apartment in town but after growing up in the city, I liked the idea of being in the country and owning some land.”

  “Don’t you ever get scared living out there alone?” Crap, he didn’t know if she lived alone, but if this was a fishing expedition, he may as well make it deep and oceanic.

  “Only when I watch scary movies,” she admitted with a shudder. “But I’m armed and have good locks on the doors and windows.” She shrugged. “Sure, I get creeped out sometimes and start imagining someone hiding in the closet, but that’s no different from any woman anywhere in the world.”

  And sometimes monsters shared the same bed. “Is that why you know so much self-defense? I mean, you took down a guy twice your size without blinking.”

  She held his gaze with a flat stare, giving nothing away. “Yeah, that’s why.”

  He wanted to call her on her words. Tell her he knew about the hospital visits buried in the system. But it wasn’t his business. His business was finding this killer and making sure that perpetrator wasn’t also responsible for last year’s rapes. The fact he couldn’t acknowledge the truth about what happened to her made him angry. Angry that he wasn’t allowed to have an opinion or comment on what she’d been through or on how much it must have sucked. And, how, if she was his, she’d never have to worry about some abusive asshole messing with her again. But she wasn’t his, and he wasn’t supposed to know what she’d been through.

  He had the feeling Erin would close down faster than a trapdoor if she ever found out he did.

  A waitress brought them each a glass of water, and he took a drink, grateful for the interruption. He turned his mind back to the case and something he’d wondered about while listening to Rachel. “Why d’you think no one ever saw him on his way to and from the victims’ rooms?”

  “I wondered the same thing.” She leaned closer, and he met her halfway. They didn’t want anyone overhearing their conversation, but it brought him dangerously close to her mouth. “Drew Hawke was part of the student community, but it’s kind of hard to miss the star quarterback skulking around the corridors.”

  “What was the theory?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “The attacks happened in the early hours when it was quiet and no one was around. Maybe he wore a hat and a hoodie. The girls he attacked were always alone—most of them were in single dorms except for Rachel Knight.” Her pink lips twisted. “Some of the girls documented their lives on social media like it was a college course. Every time they left their dorm, who they met, who was going to what party, when, and they kept their location apps turned on.” Her gaze met his briefly. “I’m not saying that makes it their fault, but it makes it easier for the predators.”

  “How many girls in all?”

  Erin’s eyes clouded. “Four came forward. DA refused to prosecute two of the cases because the girls had…reputations.”

  He frowned. “Remind me which century we’re in?”

  “Yeah, I know. It sucked. Trust me, it sucked.” She leaned back against the booth.
“The DA’s position was they felt they could secure a conviction using just Rachel’s and Mary’s testimonies whereas if they charged him with all four rapes, the defense might be able to muddy the waters. Persuading a jury is a lot easier if we can prove he’s a serial offender, obviously, but the DA figured two victims were enough. The families of the other girls were livid.” She frowned. “Think this could be some sort of act of revenge by a victim’s family member?”

  Darsh grimaced. “I hate to say it’s possible, but it is possible. I have an analyst already running all the football players and staff for priors. I’ll ask her to add the victims’ male relatives to the list. Can you email me the names?”

  She fiddled with the saltshaker then looked up at him with heat in her cheeks. “I, er, don’t actually have your email address, or your cell number…”

  And all the air was immediately sucked out of the room. The subtext was clear and made him feel like a jackass. They’d had wild and crazy sex, but she didn’t know a damn thing about him. Why the hell would she confide in him? He hadn’t made this situation easy for her.

  He pulled out his card and slid it over the table. “My name is Darsh Singh. Thirty-five years old. Served in the US Marine Corps after 9/11. Got out, finished my degree in criminal psychology, and applied to the FBI. The rest, as they say, is history.”

  Erin smiled reluctantly, fingering the card before slipping it into her pocket. “You’re obviously not married. Significant other?”

  Not knowing how to interpret that question and afraid of all the reasons he wanted to, he held her gaze as he shook his head.

  “What about the rest of the family? What do they do?”

  “My dad’s a pharmaceutical engineer, and my two sisters are website designers.”

  “Your mom?”

  “She died.” He took a drink of water, relieved when the arrival of their food interrupted that line of questioning.

  Erin waited for the waitress to leave before saying, “I’m sorry.”