No one said anything for a long minute. “You’re not suggesting that he’s a cop or someone with forensic knowledge?” Carina asked.

“Everyone these days is a forensic expert,” Nick said. “Look at the popularity of crime shows on television. I recently read a report about a killer who disposed of a body by feeding it to his neighbor’s pigs. Why? Because he saw it on television.”

“And the husband who put his dead wife in a drum of lye and buried it in the backyard,” Dillon added.

“Today’s criminals know what we look for, and they are doing everything they can to cover their tracks,” Nick said. “It makes our job a hell of a lot more difficult.”

“So who are we looking for?” Carina finally asked. “You said he was immature, but he has the where-withal to clean up after himself.”

Dillon explained. “Immature in that he’s not a seasoned, practiced killer. He will get more proficient.”

“He’s going to do it again,” she said flatly.

Dillon and Nick both nodded. “How old do you think he is?” Nick asked Dillon.

“Under thirty. There’re no definitive studies on the subject, but there’s evidence that most serial killers begin killing in their twenties. Killing is the first end point in a series of escalations, usually started during puberty, and sometimes younger, with bedwetting, killing animals, and setting fires. It sounds cliché, but studies have shown that these three acts are identifiable in known serial killers.”

“If he’s under thirty, he may be new to this,” Carina said.

“Exactly. Angie may be his first, or he may have another under his belt. Or perhaps a failed attempt.”

Dillon said. “He also has a strong sense of survival. He’s abnormally neat in appearance and environment. His house will be immaculate. He’ll have no tolerance for dirt. You won’t see him working in construction, for example, because he can’t stand the thought of getting that dirty. He most likely lives alone. He may date, but he can’t maintain a long-term relationship. He’ll appear safe, innocuous, pleasant, polite. He will not seem like a threat, but he has a vicious temper. He has it under control, but when it gets away from him he can’t easily regain control. Very likely a student or a college dropout. Above-average intelligence, but an underachiever. He won’t take criticism well, probably because he’s so involved in his fantasies that he doesn’t pay enough attention to anything that he doesn’t think is important.”

Nick interrupted and tapped the coroner’s report. “Dr. Kincaid, what do you make of the subdermal bruising on her torso? The coroner indicated that the marks came minutes before death.”

“You noticed that, too? What’s your guess?”

Nick shifted uneasily in his chair. “I hope I’m wrong, but I don’t think so. He laid on top of her while she died.”

Dillon nodded soberly. “I concur.”

Carina stared at the ceiling, anger and frustration building. They had more to go on, but with every comment Dillon and Nick shared, her suspect seemed less and less guilty. “God, why would he do that?”

“It’s part of the fantasy. He wanted to feel her life fade away.”

They parted company with Dillon on the street. He left in a black Lexus, and Nick walked with Carina and Will to the police station. He surmised that their silence was because of the intense, disturbing conversation they’d had at the restaurant, not because they were still uneasy around him as a relative of a suspect.

“I have a proposition,” he said.

Carina stopped outside the main doors of the station and leaned against the base of a statue. Nick couldn’t help but notice her lips. A hint of shiny gloss highlighted full, kissable lips. The rest of her long, lean body and her probing eyes said cop, stand back, but her lips spoke loud and clear: kiss me.

Her brow furrowed. Nick realized he’d been staring at her lips a beat too long. “What?” she prompted.

“I’ll bring Steve down to the police station, with a lawyer present, and you ask him anything. I’ll make sure he answers. I think with the right questions maybe he has some answers we need to find this killer.”

“We?”

“I want to be part of your investigation.”

“Why? Let’s say we clear your brother. He won’t need you here, you can go back to your own job.”

Returning to Montana was the last thing Nick wanted to do. He wasn’t ready to make the decision that would change his life, no matter what choice he made.

But more than his personal problems, Angie had gotten to him. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. “I went to Angie’s journal,” he said tightly, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice. “I read between the lines. She was crying out for help and none of her friends knew or understood. I just-I want to find her killer. She deserves justice, and you know as well as I do that once the press figures out what’s going on, they’ll destroy this girl’s reputation. She doesn’t deserve that, and her grieving family doesn’t deserve it.”

“And if your brother says something you don’t like?”

“I’ve already answered that,” he said, angry. “My credentials are solid.”

He stared at Carina, trying to read her mind. She stared back, her face blank as she considered his suggestion. Without taking her eyes from his, she asked her partner, “Will, do you have a problem with it?”

“No.”

She nodded curtly. “You’re in. But we play by my rules.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nick said, surprised that he was relieved that it hadn’t been more difficult. He smiled. “My mama told me women are always right.”

Carina watched, surprised into silence, as Nick followed Will up the stairs. Women are always right?

After the intense meeting with Dillon, and Nick’s sharp analysis-he’d certainly impressed Dillon, not an easy feat-she knew the easygoing country sheriff act was just that, an act. Nick Thomas wasn’t an ordinary country cop. In fact, he was extraordinary. There was far more depth to Nick Thomas than he wanted anyone to see.

Good thing Carina liked digging.

FOURTEEN

AS SOON AS HE ARRIVED BACK at his brother’s apartment, Nick confronted Steve. “You lied to me.”

Steve frowned, rubbed his chin. “I’ve never lied to you, Nick.”

“Bullshit.” Nick had been harboring anger for the entire drive back from the police station. Partly because of the unnerving information he’d learned about Angie’s torture and death, and partly because his brother wasn’t the man he’d always believed him to be.

“You lied to me about Angie being the only college girl you dated.”

“I think you have it wrong.” But Steve averted his eyes. Lying.

Nick sat down. This wasn’t going like he had planned. He tried to remain as calm as possible. “Steve, sit down. Please.”

Steve stiffly sat in the chair across from Nick. Nick saw the lines framing his brother’s eyes, his tanned skin looking dry and leathery. Too much fun in the sun. Steve still had a full head of hair, but it was starting to recede at the temple, a few silvery strands mixed into the sandy blond.

“Steve, I want to help you. That’s why you asked me to come down here.”

“Not to accuse me of lying.”

“It’s not an accusation, Steve. You did lie to me. You said Angie Vance was the only girl at the college you had a relationship with. I know for a fact that you also slept with Jodi Carmichael.”

Steve shifted uncomfortably. “It was just once. Twice. I know I should have said no, but she’d just broken up with her boyfriend and I was consoling her and one thing led to another…”

Nick glanced around Steve’s apartment, unable to look him in the eye. The medals, newspapers, commendations. Once upon a time Steve had been a hero, on top of the world. After being injured, what had happened to him?

“You haven’t grown up,” Nick said, surprising himself when he heard his voice. He hadn’t meant to voice his fear. Fear that his brother was spiraling down into a fantasy life that only existed in his mind.