Page 27 of View from Above
“I can do that.” Warmth bled into his face as he considered the unlikely event that he’d take the time or put forth the same effort for anyone else. He worked better alone. He’d always believed that, but the thought of demolishing their partnership stung harder than expected. “Wells and CSU have been through the building. They’ve tried lifting prints from your office, the chair the killer used to get you to the roof, the service elevator. We’ve got nothing. She avoided all of the security cameras just as she did at the precinct. Whoever we’re dealing with, she’s not an amateur.” Payton scrubbed a finger under his chin. “Which makes me think she’s part of something bigger.”
“Bigger?” It didn’t take more than a few seconds for understanding to smooth the fine lines around her eyes. “You mean she might be connected to the case you worked with the FBI?”
“I fought her, Mallory. I talked to her. I don’t know how, but she made sure to keep her face just out of my peripheral vision so I couldn’t identify her.” He threaded his fingers through his hair and ignited pain along his scalp where a row of fresh stitches protested. “Didn’t help that she slammed me over the head with a 2x4. I was on the verge of blacking out, but there was something about her that reminded me of the three other serial cases I’ve been studying up on.”
“Like what?” she asked.
Fractured memories and glimpses of blue kaleidoscoped as though he were right back there on that rooftop. “She’s trained to fight, but I didn’t get a sense she’d been in the military. The fact we haven’t recovered any forensics to even tie a third person to that rooftop says a lot, too. Each of the killers the FBI has identified as part of this… ring of serial offenders fit that same profile. No DNA. No obvious connection to the victims they leave behind. Nothing that can tie back to them. They’re intelligent, resourceful, and careful.” He didn’t know how else to explain it. “It’s like someone is taking these ordinary women and turning them into killers, training them to defend themselves and to disappear without leaving evidence behind. Their MOs are strategic and planned down to every last possible element. Most of the killers I’ve investigated enjoy hurting their victims. They want to dominate and get a sexual payoff after they’re finished. But these women… It’s like they’re on a mission.”
Silence descended between them. One second. Two.
“I followed the news on your last serial case. The one where that doctor was harvesting donated organs from recipients because she believed she could put her lover back together.” Mallory’s voice dipped in volume. “You might think someone like that belongs in a psychiatric ward for the rest of her life, but I actually felt for her. She was trying to have one of her most basic human needs met. She just wanted to be loved like the rest of us. Same for the woman who burned those two reporters alive because she’d lost her son and the other one that’d killed the influencers who drove her sister to attempt suicide. The motives have all been deeply personal. I think you’re right. These killers aren’t driven by some sick pleasure or out of mental illness. And this case… Maybe whoever tried to kill me is just trying to find a way to feel in control again. To take back whatever power she’s lost.”
Control. Despite his determination to divide him and the killer into black and white—good and evil, just and unjust—that was something they had in common. That need to plan for the worst and hope for the best, to be able to prepare for any threat or change. To do something that made a difference. “What do you want me to do then, Mallory? Send her a Valentine’s Day card?”
“Couldn’t hurt. Although I’m not sure where you would leave it.” She quirked one side of her mouth higher. “What I’m saying is there might very well be a connection between your previous three serial cases and the woman tossing victims off buildings now. It’s down to motive. Once we know what hers is, we can find her or the next person she intends to target.”
The next person. It wasn’t enough the killer had already taken three lives and tried for a fourth, but he couldn’t discount the possibility of another victim out there. Someone like Mallory’s mother. Connected to Roland Kotite, possibly aware of the same affair that got Angie Green killed. “We don’t have to get into this now. You’ve been through hell and back, and you need to give yourself time to recover.”
“I can’t go back home, can I?” she asked.
“No. Not until we find who’s behind this.” Pressure built behind his sternum at the memory of how close he’d come to giving into his desire for her in his home office less than twenty-four hours ago. “But you’re welcome to crash at my place for a couple more days. I had your mom drop off an overnight bag with a few changes of clothes and some toiletries for you.”
“You called my mom?” Mallory tugged her hand free of his and set it over her eyes. “Tattletale.”
“Standard procedure after something like this happens. She’s your next of kin. We had to let her know. Seems she already knew something was going on after all her calls started going straight to voicemail.” Payton pulled her hand back into his, needing that physical connection more than he needed his next breath. “Should make you happy to know my captain got an earful when your mom found out you were investigating your father’s death. She’s making the entire department rethink using consultants.”
Humor brightened her expression. “Do you fight killers and jump through ten-story windows for all the consultants you take on?”
“Nah.” He leaned in, pressing his mouth to hers. “Just the ones who drive me crazy.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
She couldn’t remember a damn thing.
Midazolam. The hospital’s lab had confirmed it through blood work. They’d done what they could to flush the sedative used for minor surgeries and dental work from her system, but the nausea still twisted through her.
“I left your things in the guest room,” Payton said.
Mallory followed the same path through his home as she had the first time. At least, she was ninety-five percent sure it was the same path. Hard to tell with so many black holes in her memory. Evidence of the breakfast they’d shared the day before still stretched across the counter. The fruit Payton had laid out according to color had sunken in on itself slightly. A thick crust had developed along the French toast remains, and right then she couldn’t see a difference between her and the forgotten meal. Sunken on the inside, hardened on the outside. “Thank you.”
She ran her fingers up her opposite arm, the never-ending ache in her ribcage warning her to slow down. She set her hands against the counter instead. “For letting me stay here, too. Bringing home a target for someone who throws people from buildings probably doesn’t sit well with you.”
“There is an upside though.” He closed the distance between them and slid his hand across her lower back. “If I lose you, I just have to get to the tallest rooftop.” His smile released the pressure squeezing around her heart. “Too soon?”
“A little.” Mallory leaned into the solid feel of his hand and closed her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so… comfortable with a man like this. There’d been casual flings over the years to help her meet her biological needs. A teacher’s assistant in her last semester at school, one of her office’s investors after they’d worked out the lease, even a string of paralegals who’d worked for her father’s company after a particularly nasty fight she and Roland had. None of them had felt like this. None of them had made her feel safe and exposed at the same time. Both in control and out. Not like Payton.
She wasn’t sure how he did it, why him over so many others, but in reality, that could just be her penchant for overthinking. There was a point in her life when she just had to let go, as she’d advised so many of her patients. Not everything needed to have a purpose or happen for a reason. Life would throw enough roadblocks and enemies in her path. She didn’t need to create her own.
Taking position behind her, he brushed her hair away from her neck. The tip of his nose traced the outline of her ear, and a shiver chased down her spine. “Tell you what, I have a massive tub in my bathroom I never use. The lights are on a dimmer. I might have some emergency candles around here and a set of headphones you can use. Why don’t you run a bath and relax while I order some takeout?”
“Depends on the takeout.” She angled to face him, caged by mountainous muscle and sea-blue eyes. She’d kissed him in his home office, and he’d shut it down two nights ago. Would he stop her again? Would he deny her the comfort every inch of her body needed right then? He couldn’t help her forget. The sedative had taken care of that, but there were so many other ways to soothe these wounds.
“You got a preference?” he asked.
“The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Isn’t that what they say?” She clenched a roll of gauze encircling the cut across her hand. “The way to mine is saving me from dying and sushi.”
His smile ratcheted her heart into her throat. “I know a great place that delivers. I’ll take care of it.”