and police departments have budgets that television cop shows don’t have to worry about. We couldn’t prove that Gibson had any kind of contact with any of the victims. No sightings, no meetings. No forensic evidence. Nothing.” Heath looked at her. “Not until that picture of him with your sister. That’s the first concrete clue we’ve had. And it’s down here in this place where I have no jurisdiction.”
“What are you going to do?”
Heath shook his head as if to clear it and stood. “No more questions, Miss Cooper. I shouldn’t have told you as much as I have, but I felt I owed that to you.” He folded his arms over that broad chest, and she could still see the lost hurt shining in his eyes.
“You came down here before Megan died.” Lauren kept her voice level. “You had a plan then.”
“I still do.” Heath walked to the door and opened it. “Time for you to go.”
Lauren wanted to stay and argue, but she also wanted to stay and comfort him, and be comforted. Detective Heath Sawyer was the only person she knew in Jamaica. She didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to have to go back to the hotel room and talk to her mother, but she knew she had to do that. She was already late in doing it.
And she had to make arrangements for taking Megan home.
She nodded and walked to the door, pausing only a moment to look at Heath. “Thank you for being honest with me. It… helps.”
He winced at that but didn’t say anything about his earlier duplicity. “Have a safe trip home, Miss Cooper.”
She turned and walked toward the elevator.
Downstairs and out of the building, Lauren slid behind the steering wheel and set her purse in the passenger seat. She felt the vibration of her phone inside while she was reaching for the keys to the car. She checked the caller ID.
Mom.
She hesitated only a moment, then put the phone back in her purse. She knew her mom would be worried, but Lauren didn’t want to try to talk to her until she was in her hotel room. There, at least, she would have some privacy.
After sliding the phone back into her purse, she glanced back at the hotel room where Heath Sawyer was staying. The curtain was pulled slightly to one side, and his profile shadowed the light.
Resolutely, Lauren put the car into gear and pulled away, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Gibson. Imagining him as a serial killer seemed like some kind of fantasy.
So was the idea of never seeing Megan again, but that one was dark and terrifying.
Chapter 4
At the window, Heath watched Lauren Cooper drive away and vanish into the dark streets, only realizing then how late it had gotten. Only a few blocks over, a neon fog pooled above an area near a beach where the tourists gathered. Over there the music would be too loud, college kids and twentysomethings just out in the world would be dancing and celebrating summer, beer and liquor would flow, and no one would know that the White Rabbit Killer had taken another victim.
Maybe knowing wouldn’t even slow them down. They were there to party.
Pensive and irritated, Heath thought about grabbing his jacket and heading out into the cool night, just blowing through an evening by trying to sink into the magic of the island. That would have been wasted effort, though, and he knew it. If things went well, he’d only end up more restless than ever. If things went badly, he could end up in a fight. He knew himself, and he knew the dark mood he was in.
It had been years since he’d exhibited that kind of behavior, but he knew he was next door to it now. He could feel the techno trance of the club music in his veins. That was where he would gravitate to. Trance, industrial heavy metal, something that would bang through him, something that would amp him up even more.
Country music would be worse. Those songs were loaded with pain, and he’d do his best to drown it. He’d done it before. The only reason he’d become a cop was because he hadn’t known what else to do after four years with the Marines right out of high school. He hadn’t wanted the military life his father still enjoyed, but he’d wanted something physical, something where he’d make a difference. He’d taken the police exams, thinking that if the cops didn’t want him, he’d re-up with the military.
Atlanta P.D. had taken him, though, and he’d found work that he could do that wasn’t the same thing day in and day out. He didn’t see himself as a hero. He was a guy who helped paint that thin blue line between the civilians and the savages. He’d liked busting heads, maybe a little too much.
Detective Janet Hutchins had taken an interest in him. She’d seen that he had an eye for investigation, didn’t just take the first answer he was given, and that he checked the facts. She’d gotten Heath groomed for his detective’s shield, then partnered with him for three years till he made Detective 2nd and got a junior partner of his own.
That was two years ago. The junior partner had been Jackson Portman.
Heath turned away from the window and pulled out his cell phone. He pulled Jackson up on speed dial, then punched the call through. It rang only once before the connection was made.
“There you are.” Jackson sounded relieved.
“Here I am.”
“Thought you were gonna leave me hanging just when things were getting interesting.”
“No.”
“You still got company?”
“No. I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. First, tell me about Lauren Cooper. That’s how this favor thing works. You do something for me, I do something for you. How did that woman know so much about you?”
“She read my mind.”
Jackson snorted derisively. “Bro, the stuff she knew, even you don’t know without checking. What’s your gym membership number?”
Heath didn’t say anything because he didn’t know it. Case numbers he knew, phone numbers of snitches he knew, but not so much numbers involving his personal life.
“Well? Time’s ticking.” Jackson whistled, an off-key version of Final Jeopardy!
Heath grimaced, knowing that once Jackson was armed with the facts of what had happened, his partner would never let it go. “Back at the hospital when I was checking out the murder down here, I bumped into Lauren Cooper. She’s the dead woman’s sister. While we were in a heated discussion, she lifted my wallet.”
“Lifted your wallet.” Jackson sounded hollow, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Yeah, it means she picked my pocket.”
“I know what it means. Just surprised you’d slip up like that. It ain’t like you, bro.” Some of the colloquial accent was gone from Jackson’s words. He was deadly earnest now. “You really don’t have your game, Heath. You should come back home. Let’s sit down and sort this out. We still own one of the White Rabbit murders.”
“Two.
