“My nephew,” she whispered. “He was seven.”
Nick’s jaw clenched. “Did they catch the bastard?”
Carina shook her head, turning away as unwanted tears sprang to her eyes.
Nick squeezed her shoulder, briefly, but with strength. She took a deep breath.
“What do you think of that guy over there?”
Nick didn’t point, he barely gestured, but Carina read him like a lifelong partner.
A young man stood alone, separate from the crowd, half-obscured by a potted palm. Just shy of six feet tall, lanky, wearing slacks and a button-down.
As they watched, he approached Angie’s mother, who sat looking shell-shocked in front of the closed casket. They’d spoken to Mrs. Vance earlier in the day, sharing the bare minimum information they could, while still honestly answering her many questions. The pain and anguish in Mrs. Vance’s eyes, learning about her daughter’s sexual activities, had broken Carina’s heart. Already, the chief of police was fielding calls from the press, which had begun to sensationalize the case.
Carina would have given her right arm to protect the Vance family from the media onslaught, but there was nothing to be done. The media seemed to think freedom of the press meant freedom to be callous.
Angie’s mother blinked, then jumped up and wrapped her arms around the man who’d approached.
“Friend, relative of the family?” Nick asked, almost to himself.
“Probably, but it was a good call; solitary male under thirty watching the crowd.”
Carina’s radio beeped and she spoke into it. “I need to check with the team outside. I’ll be back in ten.”
Nick watched Carina briskly exit the room. She was an interesting woman. Full of confidence, drive, intelligence. Driven by her nephew’s death, though it didn’t consume her. She had allowed his sympathy when offered, accepting it without bristling or complaint.
He admired that. It took a strong woman to accept sincere condolences and not go on the attack.
If he was in a better place in his life, if he knew where he was going, what he was doing with his career, Carina would be the type of woman he’d like to get to know. Intimately.
Lord knew he needed a woman who didn’t have baggage that weighed more than his.
Nick watched Steve’s neighbor Ava enter the room, glance around, and make a beeline toward Steve when she spotted him in the corner, surrounded by a large group of girls. Steve’s face lit up when he saw her, and they hugged. Platonic? No. They may not have had sex, but there was an affair of the heart going on.
What did these girls see in Steve? Sure, he was attractive and in shape, he was obviously attentive and liked to have fun. But wouldn’t they be more interested in boys their own age? Nick had been around college students most of his career and had never wanted to date any of them.
But he’d pretty much spent most of the last ten years in love with one woman. A woman who couldn’t return his feelings. A woman he had voluntarily walked away from, hoping she’d follow him.
She hadn’t.
He approached the group, standing aloof, not wanting to become involved, but Ava motioned for him to come over and made a space for him. “We were just talking about who could have done something like this to Angie.”
“We know Steve didn’t do it,” one of the girls said. “I can’t believe the police even talked to him like he was a criminal.”
Another girl squeezed Steve’s arm. “You’re okay, right? They didn’t hurt you, did they?”
“No, no, nothing like that. The police really want to find Angie’s killer. Since I’m her ex-boyfriend, it’s logical they would look at me first. I understand that. But now that they know I didn’t do it, they can focus on finding the real killer.”
Nick watched the interaction, his complex feelings about Steve and his behavior weighing heavily. Steve glared at him, the accusation of distrust in his expression hitting Nick hard.
He said “Excuse me” and went to find Carina.
He needed fresh air.
NINETEEN
CARINA FIDGETED as she drove with Nick from the police station to her parents’ house twenty minutes east in an older, established San Diego neighborhood. It was nine o’clock, and the memorial service had been a bust-at least as far as learning anything about Angie’s killer was concerned.
All the guests had arrived safely and left unharmed; between herself, Nick, and the undercover cops, they’d matched up every guest with a friend or relative in the room. No one looked out of place, no one lurked in the bushes, no one wrote slut on the bathroom wall.
She felt like it had been a complete waste of time. She slammed her fist against the steering wheel.
“What are you frustrated about?” Nick asked.
“Nothing happened!”
“You wanted someone to be abducted?”
“No. I just wanted him to show up so I could nail the bastard to the wall.” She glanced at him, saw the bemused expression on his face, and lost some of her anger. “I’m good at that, you know. Apprehension.”
“Yeah, women cops have all the tricks. They have no qualms about hitting low because they don’t know how much it hurts.”
“Oh yes we do. That’s why it’s so much fun.”
“Our presence at Angie’s funeral could have prevented an abduction.”
“Yeah, but-”
“Seriously. He could have driven by, seen our people-even undercover. Killers have a sixth sense about cops, I’m convinced of it. And even if he only made one cop, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to stay.”
“Or made us and decided to stay and gloat.”
“That’s a possibility, too. If it’s someone close to her.”
“You don’t think so?”
“I think he knew her, but wasn’t close to her. I think he’s going to attack again, when or where I have no idea. The Butcher only killed women in the spring. He sometimes waited two full years between kills.”
“If you think I’m frustrated now, just watch me if I have to wait a year to get this guy. I don’t like unsolved cases.”
“You’ve never had one?”
“A couple. That’s why I hate them.”
“What about the Sand Shack?”
She frowned. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“That deleted e-mail Angie mentioned to Steve. She thought the poster knew her identity because it implied that he knew where she worked.”
“And you’re thinking our perp could be someone connected to the Shack?”
“Connected, maybe, or a regular customer.”
“That makes sense. What if he already knew Angie and then stumbled across her online diary? Because of something he knew about her personally, he was able to make the connection.”
“It’s plausible,” Nick said. “But why kill her?”
“Maybe he hit on her and she rejected him. Because he thought she’d be easy, he had a fit and killed her.”
“Possibly.”
“You don’t sound like you’re buying it.”
“I’m not discounting it as a theory. I agree with your brother Dillon. It was personal in some way, which means I think he knew her or saw her on a regular basis.”
“I feel like we’re working on borrowed time, but I have no idea where else to look.” She stifled a yawn.
“I know that feeling,” Nick said. “On the Butcher investigation, every time we thought we had a lead it was a dead end. We knew he would attack again, we even knew it would happen in the spring. But every time it still shocked the town, almost as if it were unexpected, and we scrambled, searching for a college girl who most certainly had a death sentence.”
“That must have been Hell.”
“I’m just relieved it’s over.” He paused. “What happened to your nephew?”