she’d mentioned once that she had a sister. He’d gotten the impression that the sister was her only family and that they weren’t close.
As inseparable as he and Laura had been in the past, he realized that he didn’t really know her. His fault, since all his focus had been on his career for as far back as he could remember.
The waiting now, though, was killing him.
He started to say something when Laura hesitated on a corner of a photo where a dark-haired young woman stood just beyond the crime-scene tape. He watched Laura spread the three photos on the table, going from one to the next. He could feel the change in her. She’d seen it!
His relief was almost palpable. He couldn’t help the surge of adrenaline that shot through him. If Laura saw it, then he had to be right. He was onto something.
“It’s the same woman, isn’t it?” he said, no longer able to contain himself.
As Laura studied the woman in the three photos, she unconsciously pushed a lock of her blond shoulder-length hair back behind one ear. He realized that she’d let her hair grow out since he’d last seen her and felt a wave of guilt. After she’d been shot and left the Seattle P.D., he’d checked on her often during the first few months. But since taking the job with the U.S. Marshals, he had gotten so busy he couldn’t remember the last time he’d called her.
She handed back the magnifying glass. “Three different neighborhoods? Three different homicides?”
Rourke nodded.
“And these are the best shots you have of her?”
“Unfortunately. But she’s the key to those three murders. I can feel it.”
“She might just be a murder junkie. Probably has a scanner next to her bed and responds whenever she hears the call.” Laura shrugged and pushed the photos back toward him. “Have you been able to identify her?”
“Not yet. I’ve hired a private investigator to canvass the neighborhoods where the murders were committed.”
She raised a brow in surprise as she realized he had been working outside the U.S. Marshals Service and apparently for some time. “Aren’t you taking this a little too personally?”
He’d already gone rogue, and now she knew it. “I just have a feeling about this one. I can’t let it go.” He looked down at the photos spread on the table, his eye going to the dark-haired woman. Her face had been haunting him for weeks. When he closed his eyes at night...
She shook her head. “What are you doing, Rourke?”
He could hear the skepticism in her voice. He wished now that he’d ordered a drink. He could use it. Laura thought he was looking for a lead where there wasn’t one. Unfortunately, his boss thought the same thing.
He’d never been plagued with self-doubt when it came to his instincts. But after almost costing a man his life...
“Rourke, what am I really doing here?” Laura asked.
* * *
“I NEED YOUR HELP,” Rourke said, leaning toward her conspiratorially. “I remembered that your background was psychology and criminology. Did I hear correctly that you’re doing freelance profiling for the Seattle P.D.?”
Laura shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew this, but she was. Just as she shouldn’t have been disappointed that he’d asked her to dinner because he wanted her help on a case.
“I need to know about this woman and the kind of man who would be in her life,” he said.
“Based on three photos?” she asked, thinking he must be kidding.
“This woman is the connection between the three different crime scenes, but I think there’s more. I think she’s working with a serial killer.”
Laura leaned back in her chair in surprise. She studied him for a moment before she looked at the photographs again. She tried to imagine why this woman was at three separate crime scenes in three separate neighborhoods. It could be as simple as morbid curiosity. Or not.
Profiling was a science based on statistics compiled of criminals. Depending on the type of murder, she could paint a fairly accurate picture of the killer once she had all the information. Or, if Rourke was right about the woman, in this case, co-killer.
Of course, it was much more likely that this woman could be just as Laura had said before, someone with a scanner who lived such a dull life that going to crime scenes was her only source of entertainment.
Had it not been Rourke, she would have dismissed this without a thought. But she’d learned a long time ago to trust him. If he felt he had to chase this, even jeopardize his job to do so, then she had to take it seriously.
She motioned for the magnifying glass again. What was funny was that when she’d first noticed the woman, she’d thought she recognized her. Something about the woman’s face... But when she studied the features, she decided the woman merely had one of those sweet, innocent-looking faces. That didn’t make Laura hate her any less.
She knew it was crazy to be jealous of a woman in a crime-scene photo who was possibly involved in at least three murders. But she could see that no woman had ever captivated Rourke like this one had. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her in the photo.
Laura figured he’d be disappointed when he finally came face-to-face with her. That was if he could find her—and didn’t get himself killed in the process.
Pushing the photos away, she was torn between laughter and tears when she thought how excited she’d been after Rourke’s call. What a fool she’d been, taking forever to get dressed. She’d even put on a little makeup, not that Rourke had noticed. And while she was touched that he’d called her to help with this, she wanted him to see her. Not the former cop. Not the former homicide partner. For once, she just wanted him to look at her and see the woman.
“So, what are you planning to do?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
“Laura, I can’t get these three cold cases out of my mind. I have no choice but to try to find this woman. I know you think I’m a fool to chase this.”
She sighed, seeing his disappointment. He’d hoped she would jump on board just like in the old days when he’d bent the rules and she had gone along with it. But the last time she’d bent the rules, she was almost killed. Her world, as she had known it, ended the day she was shot. She still had the scars, both inside and out.
Now, sitting here with him, she found herself battling a growing anger, more at herself than at him. Not that she thought it made any difference. Picking up her glass, she took a sip of her Scotch, hoping the alcohol would steady her.
“I’ve got two weeks,” he said, oblivious to her mounting resentment. “Once I get this woman’s name—”
“You’re really going to risk throwing away your career for some questionable lead in some old cold cases?”
He waved a hand through the air. “You know the ‘career’ part is the least of it for me. Sure, I love what I do and have worked hard to get where I am, but what is the point if I can’t chase a case that’s gotten
