Egan said slowly. “A very nice one.”
“Send her down.” He hung up and pocketed his phone, then retrieved the small green case labeled CSI. Inside he found a disposable digital camera and a small stack of fingerprint paper.
He stood in front of her. In bare feet she seemed a lot smaller than she had at Kimmie’s funeral and Zelke’s arraignment. Those high heels she always wore added a lot.
“Sir?”
“Yeah,” he answered the female voice without turning around. “You’re Officer…”
“Martin. Sheila.”
“Good. Thanks for coming down.” He got the camera ready, then spoke to Victoria.
“Can you lift your hair out of the way?”
She twisted her hair up, holding it with one hand, exposing her slender neck. Ugly black and purple ovals stood out against her creamy skin.
Rage against the bastard who’d attacked her clenched at Brody’s insides. He had to quell the urge to touch her marred skin, to soothe it.
What the hell was going on in his head? He didn’t soothe victims. His approach was to treat them with respect and detachment. The last thing they needed was to be treated like victims.
It was Kimmie’s death. For the past eight months his emotions had been all upside down and backward. Things were getting to him that never had in the past.
In any case, Victoria Kirkland was the last person on earth he should be tempted to comfort. He ignored the supple curve of her neck and concentrated on the bruises.
Moving quickly and efficiently, he snapped several pictures from various angles, instructing her to turn this way and that.
There were obvious similarities between her injuries and those of Zelke and Briggs. The theory that he’d been forming clicked. Their deaths weren’t random and neither were the break-ins of unoccupied apartments.
He needed to bounce this off his team. He’d known them both since childhood, but he’d never figured either one of them would amount to much. Egan had always been too bitter about his unfeeling father, and Hayes’s home life had better prepared him to be on the other side of the law.
But they’d both grown up to be fine men and fine Rangers. Egan’s practical if surly outlook on life and Hayes’s sense of irony had kept Brody grounded these past months. They’d tell him in a heartbeat if his suspicions were off base.
“Officer Martin, how long have you been on the force?” he asked.
“Seven months, sir.”
“Ever seen a strangling victim?”
Victoria Kirkland turned her head at the question. What was Lieutenant McQuade doing? “I’d rather not be made a spectacle,” she muttered.
“Just stay still. This won’t take long.”
Victoria closed her eyes and took a long breath. “I don’t see the relevance.”
He didn’t answer her. “Get three or four small fingerprint sheets from the kit,” he said to Officer Martin.
“Yes, sir.”
“See these markings? They’re the same as on the two previous victims. All three were strangled from behind.” Brody’s voice was detached, his attitude one hundred percent business. But Victoria could feel his finger hovering a millimeter above her skin as he traced the bruises on her neck.
“Yes, sir.”
From her voice, Victoria could tell that the young officer was as awestruck as a teenager meeting her favorite rock star.
Not that Victoria blamed her. Brody McQuade was one big hunk of eye candy. All rugged and brooding and intense. The Texas Ranger badge and the in-charge attitude only upped his sex appeal.
At that very instant, his hand slid to her shoulder. His touch was warm and reassuring, until she realized all he was doing was turning her so that her back was to him.
“Hand me the sheets and pull back the neck of her robe please.”
So that was why he’d called for the officer. Victoria should have known. He hadn’t needed any help, and he wasn’t going to let the female officer do the fingerprinting. He was insuring himself against any chance of a later accusation of impropriety. The thought made her ears burn. As if she’d stoop to lying.
“He turned her onto her stomach and wrapped both hands around her neck. Do I have that right, Ms. Kirkland?”
Victoria shuddered. His words brought back the terror, the helplessness, the dreadful certainty that she was going to die. Was he doing that on purpose? Taunting her? Forcing her to relive those awful seconds that she’d thought were her last?
She heard the sound of paper being peeled off its backing. She was expecting him to press the sticky film against her neck, but she still jumped when he did.
“Try to stand still,” he said, his voice kinder than it had been so far, “and keep your hair out of the way.”
He gently wrapped his fingers around the right side of her neck, pressing the paper firmly against her skin. Chills skittered down her spine. She stiffened. There was a vast difference between his firm hands and her attacker’s thick, punishing fingers, yet the fear was still there.
He peeled the tape off, and after a couple of seconds he pressed a second strip onto the left side of her neck, against the worst bruise. She jerked away and bit off a gasp of pain.
The pressure eased immediately. “Sorry. It won’t be much longer.” He cradled the right side of her head in his right hand as he pressed the tape down with his left.
The warmth of his palm cradling her head sent a surprising tingle of awareness through her. She must be more rattled than she’d thought if she was reacting to this overbearing Texas Ranger who’d made it clear how much he detested her.
And she understood why. She’d believed in Gary Zelke’s innocence or she wouldn’t have given in to his plea to represent him. And although the expert she’d hired had found evidence the police had missed—evidence that proved another car had rammed Caroline’s Corvette prior to Gary’s—Brody McQuade still resented her.
He peeled the tape off her neck. “Okay. You can let your hair down.”
She let go of her hair and massaged her cramped shoulder.
“Label those if you would,” Brody said to Officer Martin. “Left side, right side. You know the drill. And take them upstairs to Sergeant Caldwell.”
Victoria turned around and her kimono slipped down one arm. She grabbed it and pulled it back up, but not before Brody’s dark, intense eyes zeroed in on her bare shoulder and nearly exposed breast.
She stared at him, daring him to look her in the eye.
He did.
“Why
