PROLOGUE
HALF A DOZEN MEN and three women sat around the conference room table. Some had laptops open, others notebooks.
Lieutenant Alec Raynor found his attention kept wandering to the five red pins stabbing a map on a display board propped on an easel. Each pin represented a particularly brutal rape and murder, all similar enough for detectives to have linked them to a single perpetrator. One of those pins was within his jurisdiction, his responsibility, the Los Angeles Police Department. Two belonged to the county sheriff’s department, one to Beverly Hills P.D. and the most recent to Santa Monica P.D.
This killer liked his victims to be upscale.
The task force had been formed after the third murder. Unfortunately for the detectives working the crime, the killer was smart and clearly well educated in the collection of trace evidence. Result: they had next to nothing to go on.
Alec’s phone vibrated and he barely glanced at it, intending to let it go to voice mail. The name displayed, though, had him rising to his feet.
“Excuse me for a minute. I need to take this.”
He answered as he left the room. “Julia?”
Unless it was prearranged, his sister-in-law never called him during normal working hours. Certainly not in the middle of the afternoon like this.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Alec.” The stress in her usually melodic voice ratcheted up the worry that had gripped him the minute he saw her name on the call display. “I should have waited. If you’re tied up—”
“I can take a minute. Something’s wrong.”
She laughed, a sharp sound. “As usual, it’s Matt.”
Both her kids had been named to honor Alec and his brother’s mother and her Italian family. Matteo had recently turned thirteen. Alec kept hearing that girls were hell on wheels at thirteen, but boys had to mature for a couple more years before they were ready to rebel. Not Matt.
Thank God Matt’s sister, Emiliana—Liana for short—was, at not quite eleven, still a little girl.
Alec’s niece and nephew had both been slammed by their father’s death a year and a half ago. Liana’s grief and bewilderment seemed normal, while Matt’s original shock had come to more closely resemble a bomb packed with gunpowder. It was dangerous to handle and had so many explosives tamped down inside, Alec expected the worst when it blew. Some days, he had trouble recognizing the boy he loved in the sneering, foulmouthed shit he’d become.
What bothered him most was that he had no idea what was going on in the kid’s head.
Julia didn’t call after every one of his escapades, and certainly not in the middle of the day.
“What happened?” Alec asked.
“He was caught stealing a bottle of whiskey from the Grove Street store. From Mr. Santana.”
Mr. Santana had to be seventy-five if he was a day. He’d had cataract surgery recently on one eye but the other remained clouded. He’d continued running the store after his son was killed in an armed robbery and he was left to care for his daughter-in-law and her three children. The oldest boy, Javier, was an earnest seventeen-year-old who helped his grandfather every minute he wasn’t in school. Sweet Mr. Santana was known throughout the neighborhood for his kindness to children.
Matt had very likely gone there to shoplift because he knew Mr. Santana’s vision was poor.
“It gets worse,” Julia warned, and now Alec could hear fear along with anger in her voice. “He was already drunk.”
Son of a bitch. His thirteen-year-old nephew had gotten wasted? “Where is he?”
“Oh, his room.” She sounded hopeless. “But you know how much good putting him on restriction does.”
Alec knew.
“I’ve done some thinking today, Alec. I’d...like to talk to you if you can come over whenever you get off. Or—it can wait until tomorrow if you’re tied up.”
“No,” he said roughly. “I’ll be there after dinner sometime.”
“Thank you.” All the grief he’d begun to believe she was letting go of was there again, so heavy he could feel the weight. “Tonight,” she said, and was gone.
* * *
ALEC STOOD IN Julia’s kitchen, leaning one hip against the edge of the tiled counter, and tried to conceal his shock at Julia’s announcement.
He couldn’t help watching her as she busied herself pouring them both cups of coffee. Julia—his brother’s widow—was a beautiful woman. Elegant, but not flashy. He remembered being surprised the first time he met her, because Josh usually went for buxom blondes, and the girl he was suddenly serious about was neither. Petite, no more than five foot three or four, she had the fine-boned build of a dancer. Alec learned later that she actually had taken dance classes for years, without being serious enough to consider it as a career. Her straight brown hair was a rich color with a warm cast, more like maple than mahogany, he had decided. And then there were eyes of a witchy green-gold she had passed on to her daughter but not her son.
When he’d first arrived this evening, he’d spent a few minutes with Liana. Skinny and small for her age, she had darker hair than her mom. He heard about her fascination with the algebra her fifth-grade advanced math group was currently studying.
“There’s this boy who likes me,” she had added shyly, pink tingeing her thin cheeks. “I mean, I guess he does. His name’s Tyler. He told Jose, who told Brooke.” Brooke, Alec knew, was Liana’s best friend. “He wants me to be, like, his girlfriend or something.”
Girlfriend! He’d had damn near as much trouble grappling with the concept of this little girl having some guy after her as he did with the idea of Matt boozing. They were turning into teenagers before his eyes.
They had been at just about the worst possible age to lose their father.
Alec
