Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [115]
“I don’t like strange motel rooms, either,” she said abruptly, and could almost see his grin against her hair. Then in another minute, she could tell he had drifted off.
Kimberly closed her eyes. She curled her fingers around Mac’s arms. She slept the best she had in years.
CHAPTER 32
Front Royal, Virginia
6:19 A.M.
Temperature: 88 degrees
MAC WOKE FIRST, the tinny bleat of his cell phone penetrating his deep slumber. He had a moment of disorientation, trying to place the dimly lit room with its sagging bed and stale-smelling air. Then he registered Kimberly, still curled up soft and snug in the crook of his arm, and the rest of the evening came back to him.
He moved quickly now, not wanting to wake her. He slid his right arm from beneath her head, felt the resulting tingle shoot up from his elbow as various nerve endings fired to life, and swallowed a rueful curse. He shook out his hand, realizing now he didn’t know where his phone was. He had a vague memory of throwing it across the room during the night. Frankly, given his recent treatment of his phone, it was a miracle it was working at all.
He dropped to the floor, scrambling on all fours until he finally came up with the palm-sized object. He flipped it open, just as it was ringing for the fourth time.
“Special Agent McCormack here.” He glanced at the bed. Kimberly still hadn’t stirred.
“Took you long enough,” a distinctly male voice said.
Mac relaxed immediately. No more distorted voices to mess with his head. This was simply his boss, Special Agent in Charge Lee Grogen. “Been a long night,” Mac replied.
“Successful?”
“Not especially.” Mac filled in the details of the past twelve hours. Grogen listened without interruption.
“It’s definitely him then?”
“No doubt in my mind. Of course, for an official opinion you’d have to consult the Feds. They probably think it’s a terrorist act.”
“You sound bitter, Mac.”
“Three hours of sleep will do that to a guy. Now, best we can tell, we got two more girls out there. Pardon my French, but fuck the Feds. I have some leads, and I’m goin’ after them.”
“And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. In fact, I’m going to pretend we’re talking about fishing.” Grogen sighed. “Officially speaking, Mac, there’s nothing I can offer you. My boss can press their boss for cooperation, but given that it’s the feebies . . .”
“We’re frozen out.”
“Probably. At least they’ll refer to us one day—at the press conference when they announce their big catch, we’ll be the local yokels who had a shot at the guy the first time around and couldn’t get the job done. You know the drill.”
“I can’t give up,” Mac said quietly.
“Don’t let me come between a man and some fishing,” Grogen said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“We have another complication.”
“Uh oh.” Mac rubbed his hand over his face. He was already tired again and so far he’d only been awake ten minutes. “What’s up?”
“Nora Ray Watts.”
“Huh?”
“She called me in the middle of the night. She wants to talk to you. She claims she has information about the case and she’ll only give it to you, in person. Mac, she knew two girls were dead.”
“Has there been something in the papers?”
“Not a peep. Mac, I didn’t even know two girls were dead until ten minutes ago when I called you. Frankly, I’m a little freaked out.”
“He’s contacted her,” Mac murmured.
“It’s possible.”
“It’s the only thing that makes sense. Writing his letters isn’t enough anymore. Calling me is probably just frustrating him. Hell, I hope so. So now he’s contacting a past victim . . . Son of a bitch!”
“What do you want to do?”
“I can’t go back to Atlanta. I don’t have time.”
“I told Nora Ray you were out of town.”
“And?”
“And she said she would come to you. In all honesty, Mac, I think that’s what she wants.”
Mac blinked his eyes, dumbfounded.