Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [116]
His supervisor was quiet.
“No way,” Mac said again. “She doesn’t deserve this. He messed with her life once already. Now it’s time for her to be free of him, to heal and be with her family. Hell, to forget this ever happened.”
“I don’t think that’s working for her.”
“I can’t protect her, Lee! I don’t know where this guy is, I don’t know where he’s gonna strike next. It’s a long story, but I’ve been working with a former FBI profiler, and he thinks the killer may be keeping tabs on us.”
“I’ll tell her that.”
“Damn right!”
“And if she still wants to come?”
“She’s a fool!”
“Mac, if she knows something, if she has a lead . . .”
Mac hung his head. He raked his hand through his hair. God, there were times he hated his job. “I can meet her at the airport in Richmond,” he said at last. “Sooner versus later. Day’s young and a lot can happen yet.”
“I’ll be in touch. And Mac—good luck fishing.”
Mac flipped his phone shut. He rested his forehead against the cool silver shape. What a mess. He should go back to bed. Or at the very least, crawl back into a shower. When he got up the second time, maybe this day would make more sense.
But the fuzz was already clearing. He was thinking of water and rice, and obscure clues that had to lead to real and terrible places. They had been lucky to sleep at all last night. God knows when they’d sleep again.
He rose and crossed to the bed. Kimberly’s arms were wrapped around her waist, her body held tightly together, as if she were protecting herself even when asleep. He sat down on the edge of the mattress. He touched the curve of her jaw with his thumb, then feathered back her short, dusty-blond hair. She didn’t stir.
She looked more vulnerable in sleep, her fine features delicate and even a trace fragile. He didn’t let the image fool him. A guy could spend years just working on learning the curve of her smile. And still, one day, she’d walk out the door and never look back. Probably think she’d done him a favor.
In her world, guys like him didn’t fall for girls like her. Funny, ’cause in his world, he was already long gone.
He stroked his fingers down her arm and her eyes finally fluttered open.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.
“Did someone else die?”
“Not if we keep moving.”
Kimberly sat up and, without another word, headed for the bathroom. He lay down on the bed and placed his hand on the spot still warm from the heat of her body. He could hear the sound of running water now, the rattle of old, rusty pipes. He thought again of yesterday, and the sight of Kimberly surrounded by dozens of rattlesnakes.
“I’m going to take better care of you,” he vowed in the quiet of the room.
But he already wondered where the day would lead, and if that promise could be kept.
CHAPTER 33
Richmond, Virginia
8:08 A.M.
Temperature: 88 degrees
“SURE AS HELL LOOKS LIKE WATER TO ME.”
Kimberly sighed with relief, while Mac visibly sagged against the wall of the tiny office. Neither of them had realized just how tensely they’d been awaiting that news until USGS hydrologist Brian Knowles had delivered it.
“Could it be holy water?” Kimberly asked.
Knowles shot her a look. “I don’t exactly have a test for that. I’m just a mere government employee, you know, not the Pope.”
“But can you help them out?” Ray Lee Chee prodded him. He’d personally brought Mac and Kimberly to Knowles’s office just ten minutes earlier. Now he was perched on the edge of a gunmetal-gray filing cabinet, swinging his feet rhythmically.
Mac spoke up. “We’d like to be able to test the sample. Ideally, we need to trace it to a source such as a specific pond or stream or watering hole. Can you do that?”
Knowles yawned, rolled out one sleepy shoulder and seemed to consider it. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, a good-looking guy with a thick head of woolly brown hair and the world’s rattiest jeans. Like Ray Lee Chee, he appeared remarkably fit. Unlike the geographer, however, mornings