me the audio version.”
She smiled ever so slightly. “Don’t like to read?” she guessed.
“Don’t like curves being thrown at me.” And this one, he couldn’t help notice despite the fact that she was wearing a pantsuit, had some wicked curves as well as the straightest, blackest hair he’d ever seen and probably the most exotic face he’d come across in a long time. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” he suggested.
“I’m here because my captain and your chief of detectives seem to think that the body we found in Mission Ridge the other night is the work of your serial killer.”
Frank didn’t particularly like the woman’s inference that the killer was Aurora’s exclusive property. That placed the responsibility for the killing spree squarely on their shoulders—the squad’s and his.
Damn it, they should have been able to find the sick S.O.B. by now.
He was just being edgy, Frank upbraided himself. Edgy and overly tired. Ever since he had put two and two together and realized they had a full-fledged serial killer and had gotten his new stepfather to give him the go-ahead to put a task force together, he’d been working almost around the clock. As far as he was concerned, this was his task force and his killer to bring to justice. The fact that they were getting nowhere fast tended to rob him of his customary good humor.
“And why would they think that, White Bear, Julianne?” Frank asked, echoing the introduction she’d given.
Julianne didn’t even blink as she recited, “Because the woman was found strangled and left in a Dumpster. There was no evidence of any sexual activity.” To underscore what she was saying, she opened the folder he still held and turned toward the crime-scene photos. “That’s where your killer puts them, isn’t it? In a Dumpster?”
Both questions were rhetorical. Ever since Randolph had told her he was loaning her out to Aurora, she’d read everything she could get her hands on about the serial killer’s M.O. Lamentably, there hadn’t been much.
“He’s not my killer,” Frank corrected tersely.
“Sorry,” she apologized quietly. There was no emotion in her voice. “No disrespect intended.”
The blonde she’d first noticed standing by the bulletin board came forward, an easy smile on her lips. The first she’d seen since entering the room, Julianne noted.
“Don’t mind Frank. He gets a little testy if he can’t solve a crime in under forty-eight hours. To him life is one great big Rubik’s Cube, meant to be aligned in record time. I’m Riley McIntyre,” the woman told her, extending her hand. “This is my brother, Frank.” Riley nodded toward the two men she’d been talking with. They were still standing by the large bulletin board. Across the top of the bulletin board were photographs. Each one belonged to a different woman who had fallen victim to the Dumpster killer. There were five photographs, each heading its own column. “That’s Detective John Sanchez and Detective Lou Hill.” Each nodded in turn as Riley introduced them.
Julianne saw the flicker of interest in their eyes. Assessing the new kid.
How many times had that happened in her lifetime? she thought. Enough to make her immune to the process, or so she wanted to believe.
Julianne nodded politely toward the two detectives, then looked back at the smiling, petite blonde. Despite her manner, Julianne had a feeling the woman could handle herself quite well if it came down to that. “And which of you is in charge?” she wanted to know.
“That would be me,” Frank told her.
Of course it would, Julianne thought. She glanced at the folder he held. “Then maybe you’d like me to read that file to you?” she offered.
This one was going to be a handful, Frank thought. Just what he didn’t need right now. “Riley, get your new little playmate up to speed,” he instructed, heading for the door.
“Where are you going?” Riley asked, raising her voice.
Frank paused only to glance at her over his shoulder, giving his sister a look that said she should be bright enough to figure that out.
It was Julianne who was first to pick up on the meaning behind the expression. He was going to the chief of detectives, she would have bet a year’s pay on it—and she wasn’t one who gambled lightly.
“Before you go,” she called out to him, “you should know that I don’t want to be here as much as you don’t want me here.”
“Not possible,” was all he said as he exited the squad room.
“Don’t mind Frank,” Riley told her again. “He hasn’t learned how not to take each case he handles personally.” She led Julianne over to the bulletin board to bring her up to speed. “Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s really not a bad guy once you get to know him. Authority has made him a lot more serious than he usually is,” she explained. “He’s still working things out.”
Julianne had always believed that, up to a point, everyone was responsible for his or her life and the way things turned out. “If he’s not comfortable with it, why did he agree to be in charge?”
“Because Frank was the first one who made the connection between the latest victim and the other bodies.” She gestured toward the bulletin board. “Until then, they were on their way to becoming cold cases,” Riley told her. “C’mon, I’ll get you settled in first. This is a pretty nice place to work,” Riley assured her with feeling, a smile backing up her words.
Julianne glanced over her shoulder toward the doorway where Frank had disappeared. She supposed she couldn’t blame the man for being abrupt. She wasn’t exactly thrilled about all this, either. “I’m willing to be convinced.”
“An open mind,” Riley commented with a wide grin. “Can’t ask for more than that.”
Julianne thought of Mary and all the months she’d spent trying to find her seventeen-year-old cousin—afraid that when she did find her, it might be too late—if it wasn’t already.
“Yeah,” Julianne answered quietly, “actually, you can.”
The blonde spared her a curious look, but made no comment.
Frank knocked on Brian Cavanaugh’s door. “Got a minute?”
He’d waited outside the glass office, curbing his impatience, while his new stepfather had been on the phone. But the moment the chief of detectives had hung up, Frank popped his head in, attempted to snare an island of the man’s time before the phone rang again or someone walked in to interrupt them.
Brian smiled. This was an interruption he welcomed, even though he had a feeling he knew what it was about. He’d known Frank, boy and man, for almost as long as he’d known Lila and was proud of the way Frank and his siblings had turned out. They were all a credit to the department—as well as to their mother.
“For you? Always.” Brian beckoned his stepson in and gestured toward one of the two chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
About to demure, Frank changed his mind and sat down. He looked less confrontational sitting then standing, even
