McCall might be his new partner, but she was an outsider. Linc had no intention of discussing this with her. What he did plan to do was find out what the hell was going on. And who was behind it. And if he was some bastard’s intended patsy.
A sick, seething anger swirled in his gut.
“Work of a pro,” he repeated, a slash of the anger sounding in his voice. “You gain that expertise watching Mafia movies?”
Her eyes went as cold as winter. “I’m not some green rookie, so spare me the attitude. I’ve snagged calls to enough homicide crime scenes to know how to spot the work of a pro.”
“Maybe you should have transferred to Homicide.”
“No.” Now her eyes were as deep and dark and potent as her voice. “I’m right where I should be.”
“I need to return this call, then go by Quintana’s office.”
“Fine.”
Rising, Linc scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. He wasn’t exactly sure what was going on, but he now felt its dark, menacing presence aimed directly at him. His new partner, however, wasn’t to blame for whatever problems he had, he reminded himself.
“Sorry about the attitude, McCall. Didn’t mean anything by it.”
“No problem.” She shrugged. “I’ve got a tough hide.”
He skimmed his gaze down her face, her throat, elegant and thin. Her hide didn’t look so tough to him, he thought as he headed out the door. It looked like cool, creamy silk.
Two hours later Carrie had a headache that was almost off the chart. She knew it was partly due to the stacks of printouts, mug shots and reports piled on the table in front of her. Her brain had simply overloaded on the names and images of people who frequented The Hideaway. Then there was the stress that came from spending time in close proximity to the man presently seated across the table.
She cast him a quick glance. Linc sat in silence, studying a report, his jaw set, the look in those intriguing golden eyes disturbingly detached.
After returning, he had not alluded to what the Tulsa detective told him about the homicide. Nor mentioned why he’d swung by Quintana’s office after that. Carrie hadn’t asked. Couldn’t ask. The last thing she dared do was show too much interest in what might be another killing of a do-wrong whom an SEU cop had handled. Linc specifically.
Just then he laid the report aside and met her gaze. She sought out the man behind those dark eyes, eager to determine his level of involvement in the murders, but saw nothing revealed.
“We’ve put in a full day,” he said. “Let’s meet here tomorrow afternoon and review things. After that, we make our first visit to The Hideaway.”
“Sounds good.” Before she could rise, he placed a hand over her wrist.
“Sorry about that spurt of attitude earlier.”
Carrie stared at his strong, firm hand while ordering herself to ignore her jittery stomach. “You already apologized.”
“So I did. See you tomorrow.”
The November sky hung like a curtain of gray velvet as Carrie made her way to the parking lot where the biting wind swirled paper and leaves into small cyclones. Her teeth chattering from the cold, she steered her sporty little lipstick-red MG out of the lot, drove five blocks, then stopped at a pay phone.
At home she downed extra-strength aspirin, showered, ate dinner, then climbed back into the MG and headed to Penn Square Mall. The digital clock on the dash glowed an eerie green eight when she pulled behind a black van that sat idling in the lot’s shadowy perimeter.
She shoved open the door and stepped out into wind so cold it felt like a razor slashing against her face. The van’s passenger door swung open just as she reached it.
“Slide in here, Sergeant, before you catch your death.”
Shadow obscured the face of the woman sitting in the driver’s seat. From their previous meetings, Carrie knew Captain Patricia Scott habitually wore her salt-and-pepper hair twisted into a severe topknot. She had a strong, intelligent face with a network of lines pulling at the flesh around her eyes. Scott had been a cop for twenty-five years, the last three spent as commander over the OCPD’s Internal Affairs Division.
“So, McCall, how’d your first day in the SEU go?”
Carrie lifted a shoulder, the gesture masked beneath her thick sweater and heavy coat. “I’m there under false pretenses, investigating another cop…”
“No one said it would be easy.”
Carrie stared out the windshield at the sea of cars parked beneath the mall’s security lights. Working Internal Affairs was not an assignment she would have picked. It had been thrust on her when the rookie’s wife made her accusations about Carrie and her husband to the chief. At the same time, IA had needed a female cop to go undercover. The rat squad had been a convenient place for Carrie to get transferred.
“We went over this, McCall,” Scott continued. “If a cop turns vigilante and starts killing people, we have to stop him.”
Nodding, Carrie remet the captain’s gaze. “Did you have time to find out about the Tulsa homicide after I called?”
Scott plucked a file from between the bucket seats. “All I had to do was mention the specifics of the shooting—two shots to the heart, one to the head, and they knew what homicide I was calling about. Arlee Dell is the victim’s name.”
“Does his murder match the others?”
“Yes. Dell has a rap sheet thick enough to use as a booster seat for a kid. Priors for seven felony convictions, including rape, attempted rape, assault and stalking.”
“Nice guy. What’s his connection to Linc Reilly?”
“He hauled Dell in for questioning about home invasions, but didn’t have enough evidence to hold him. A similar invasion occurred two weeks ago where an elderly couple was tortured and strangled. Dell is—was—Reilly’s prime suspect.”
“Sounds like Dell’s life’s work was harming people.”
Scott gazed at Carrie through the inky shadows. “Dell is the seventh person to die over the past year and a half who’s been handled by an SEU detective. This isn’t a coincidence. The shootings are too efficient. Never any witnesses. No collateral damage. Never any cops close by—at one incident, patrol units were decoyed away from the area by a bogus call to 911. Clearly, the shooter preplans his getaways. All that’s left at each scene is a dead scumbag, shot at least once in the head.”
“Scumbags who would continue to pull maybe forty or fifty bad crimes a year,” Carrie added, mentally reviewing the rap sheets in the file IA had given her. “I can’t work up remorse over the Avenger’s choice of victims.”
When Scott tilted her head, a shadow fell across her face like a veil. “The Avenger?”
Carrie nodded. “That’s what I’ve pegged him. Or them. It could be two cops capping the bad guys. A team.”
“Either way, your Avenger handle is a good one,” Scott stated. “McCall, no one expects you to feel remorse over evil people dying. I don’t. It’s how they’re dying that’s the problem. IA’s job is to make sure cops don’t step over the line. If we don’t keep a lid on things, you can bet some citizen board will get formed to do it for us. Most cops prefer IA watching over them than civilians who have no idea what it’s like dealing with human garbage. It’s when a cop breaks the law while dealing with the garbage that we step in. We have to.”
Carrie massaged her right temple. Talking about her covert assignment had stirred her headache back to life. “You’re right. I just don’t like lying about what I’m doing.”
“Hopefully you won’t