So there was something else. Probably a very specific mutilation, perhaps a message on or near the body. Something that only the killer would know about.

Nick assessed Carina Kincaid as a competent, focused detective who wanted to catch the killer because that was her job. Maybe if he understood her better, learned why she’d become a cop, if he could get her to trust him. Perhaps they could find a way to work together.

Some cops did it for the job, some for the power, but more often than not, Nick had learned that most people became cops for one of two reasons: family on the job, or because they had a personal reason for seeking justice.

Carina’s partner exited Steve’s apartment and walked over to them.

“We got what we need?” Carina asked.

“More or less,” Hooper said. “Patrick’s in there writing out a tag so we can take the computer.”

Nick’s instincts buzzed. “Why?”

“We need to spend more time on the machine. To verify your brother’s statement.”

They wouldn’t take the machine unless they’d found something either incriminating or that contradicted what Steve had told them earlier.

“You don’t have a warrant,” Nick said cautiously. The best avenue would be to befriend the detectives; barring that, he had to protect his brother.

But so help him, if Steve was guilty…no. He wasn’t a rapist. Not the kid who cried over a dying dog. Not the man who earned two congressional medals during Desert Storm. His brother, who’d always been there for Nick growing up, protected him against bullies because he’d been a runt until he hit puberty.

“Are you going to make this difficult? We can get a warrant,” Carina said. “Your brother is cooperating because he says he wants to help.”

“I want information.”

“You are not only out of your jurisdiction, you are related to our prime-” she caught herself, “a potential witness.”

“I have experience in these types of cases,” Nick said.

“What type would that be?”

“Serial killers.”

Hooper interjected, “I think it’s in the best interest of your brother that we do everything by the book.”

“It’s in the best interest of justice to do everything to stop this killer,” Nick said. “I know my brother and he’s not a rapist.”

They assessed him, skeptical. Neither trusted him, but what did he expect?

“If Steve is guilty,” he said, “I’ll be the one to throw away the key. Blood is thick, but not thick enough to protect a killer.”

Carina said, “I’d suggest that you find out exactly what your brother was doing every minute of Friday night and early Saturday morning, and find out exactly what he read on Angie’s Vance’s not-so-anonymous online journal. Maybe if we get the truth, we can stop wasting time looking at him.

“But,” she continued, “your brother hasn’t been completely honest with us, and that only adds to our suspicions.”

“I’ll find the truth.”

“And if you don’t like it?”

“You can arrest him.”

NINE

NICK FOUND STEVE sitting on the beach watching the waves come in.

It was late afternoon, but it was still warm enough that they didn’t need jackets. Unlike Montana in February, Nick thought. There was snow on the ground, and when he’d left this morning it had been clear and forty degrees, though they were expecting another storm to hit by tomorrow.

Steve had told Nick he hated the snow and rain. He’d settled in San Diego when he went on disability because of the weather and the proximity to other veterans-San Diego County had one of the largest veteran communities in the country. Steve felt more at home here than anywhere else.

There was something sad about that. Nick and Steve had each settled in a place they felt was home, but without a family to make it home.

They sat side by side without talking as the minutes ticked by. Nick hadn’t been to the coast since the last time he’d visited Steve. He found the rhythm of the ocean soothing, comforting. The anger he had walked across the sand with-anger at his brother for the situation and at himself for considering that Steve might be guilty-dissipated.

“What’d they take?”

“Your computer.”

“They were there a long time.”

“You told them they could search your apartment.”

“And see? They didn’t find anything because I’m innocent.”

Steve jumped up and started walking down the beach. Nick followed him.

“She was raped,” he said.

“Shit.” Steve paused in stride. “I didn’t do it, Nick. You have to believe me.”

“I want to help you, Steve. But you need to be completely honest with me.”

“What do you want from me, Nick? I told you everything I know. I didn’t kill Angie.” Steve stomped off again, and Nick trailed at a distance to give his brother time to cool off and think about the situation.

The differences between Nick and his brother didn’t elude him. Steve thrived here among the hordes of people, on the edge of a major city, where he couldn’t possibly know even a small fraction of the population by name. So anonymous, it made Nick uneasy, coming from a town where he could engage in a conversation with a stranger and learn that they had more than one mutual acquaintance.

Even now, in the middle of a murder investigation where he was a suspect, Steve waved to people he recognized, smiled, acknowledged peers. Like he was on stage, always on show. It was the old Steve coupled with a Steve he didn’t really know, and that bothered Nick.

Just how much had Steve changed since he left Montana?

Nick caught up with Steve and asked, “What do they want with your computer?”

“I don’t know. I guess to see where I’ve been, what I’ve done online. It’s actually really easy to track e-mail and Internet traffic. It should be a piece of cake for the police.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do they want to know where you’ve been online, what e-mails you sent? Why is your computer important to them?”

Steve paused. “Angie had an anonymous online journal. It was…irresponsible. I told her to tone it down, but she didn’t listen. I know that journal had something to do with her murder. I guess the police just want to make sure I didn’t say something incriminating online or threaten her or something. Or maybe they are looking for something like that to pin Angie’s murder on me, but I didn’t do it. And they’re not going to find anything that said I did.”

Steve sounded defiant, and Nick’s uneasiness grew. The police had mentioned the website. Nothing in detail. “I need to look at this journal.”

Steve shook his head. “There’s no reason for you to.”

“Dammit Steve!” Nick stopped walking. His brother turned around and glared at him. “You have to take this seriously,” Nick said. “Your ex-girlfriend was murdered. The police are looking at you. You have motive and no real alibi.”

“I had no motive to kill Angie! Whose side are you on?”

“I want to be on your side. I really do. But look at the facts. Angie was eighteen years old. You’re old enough to be her father. That’s-” Nick cut off what he was about to say, something that would be impossible to take back.

Instead, he softened his tone. “What’s going on with you, Steve? You’re not working, you’ve been going to school long enough to earn three degrees, and you’re dating college girls. You’re just shy of forty and your girlfriends can’t even legally drink!”

“Why are you judging me? Don’t you trust me? Don’t you know me?”

“I thought I did.” Nick hated the direction this conversation had taken, but he had no choice. The truth demanded that he push Steve.

“I don’t make it a habit dating girls at the college. Angie was the only one. It-I understand what you’re saying. Really. And you didn’t know Angie. She was different. She needed me. We hit it off.”