do.” She placed her camera and the scrap of fabric into her case. “A second murder in two days rattled me a bit. I’m focused now.”
“It was the poem, not the dead body that threw you off kilter.”
“Think what you want.”
She sure was a prickly woman. As beautiful as the landscape of Scotland and as sharp as a thorn bush. He’d break through her defenses, eventually. He had to. They had to be able to trust each other. But, he had a feeling his partner trusted very few people.
He gave the area another quick scan, hoping they hadn’t missed anything else. When the killer struck again, and Colin knew he, or she, would, he’d keep a sharp eye on their surroundings. If he showed up at one crime scene, he’d show up at another.
What was he looking for? Why hadn’t he taken a shot at the officers? Did he get off on watching reactions to his deed? Possibly, but Colin thought it might be deeper than that. After the poem Cassidy received, he had a sinking feeling that the women might be some kind of sick, twisted gift for his partner.
4
C assidy tossed her keys in the bowl on the foyer table and headed to the kitchen. Nothing ended a day on the job more than a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn. She sipped her Moscato while she waited for the microwave to signal her meal was ready.
She’d messed up. When they’d examined the body that morning, and she’d felt eyes watching her, she should have investigated then, and not chalked it up to nerves and an over-active imagination. They’d lost valuable time. If she had taken her feeling to heart, the killer might be behind bars right that moment.
The microwave dinged, and she withdrew her supper. Maybe not the most nutritious meal, but it was her favorite. Popcorn and a drink was what she needed after the last two days.
She moved to the living room and turned on the television. Agent Weston stood behind a podium, alerting the town and surrounding areas to the possibility of a serial killer in their midst. She was good, telling them what they needed to know, but not giving so much information that she jeopardized the investigation.
Cassidy sat on the sofa and balanced the bowl of popcorn on her lap. Colin could have been one of the agents in charge. Why be content to work for a small town police force? Cassidy would give her eye teeth for an FBI offer. Her partner was definitely an enigma. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her. It seemed Colin MacKenzie might be more than a handsome face and a killer smile. Too bad she only wanted to know enough about him to work with him.
Popcorn and glass of wine finished, she turned off the television and climbed the stairs to her room. She placed her holster and gun on the bed, then whipped off her shirt. She froze. The closet door was open about two inches. Meticulous to a fault, Cassidy had a place for everything in her house and never left doors open that were meant to be closed.
She slowly slid her weapon from its holster. Mouth as dry as desert sand, she soft-footed her way to the closet and whipped the door open. Empty, except for jeans, tee shirts, and her few dressier items of clothing. She turned a slow circle in her room. Nothing seemed out of place. Her few pieces of jewelry rested in a crystal candy dish on the dresser. The latest crime novel she was reading sat on the nightstand.
She moved to the bathroom. Towels hung straight, hygiene products in place. Had she been so preoccupied with yesterday’s murder that she hadn’t noticed her open closet? There was a first time for everything, her old partner used to say. Still, the fact that something seemed off wouldn’t leave her. She wouldn’t brush it off as she had that morning. Instead, she did a thorough sweep of her home…and found nothing amiss.
There was no other explanation. She was getting sloppy.
Back in her room, she flopped across the bed and stared at the ceiling. She had to have left the closet door open. Her
“It was the poem, not the dead body that threw you off kilter.”
“Think what you want.”
She sure was a prickly woman. As beautiful as the landscape of Scotland and as sharp as a thorn bush. He’d break through her defenses, eventually. He had to. They had to be able to trust each other. But, he had a feeling his partner trusted very few people.
He gave the area another quick scan, hoping they hadn’t missed anything else. When the killer struck again, and Colin knew he, or she, would, he’d keep a sharp eye on their surroundings. If he showed up at one crime scene, he’d show up at another.
What was he looking for? Why hadn’t he taken a shot at the officers? Did he get off on watching reactions to his deed? Possibly, but Colin thought it might be deeper than that. After the poem Cassidy received, he had a sinking feeling that the women might be some kind of sick, twisted gift for his partner.
4
C assidy tossed her keys in the bowl on the foyer table and headed to the kitchen. Nothing ended a day on the job more than a glass of wine and a bowl of popcorn. She sipped her Moscato while she waited for the microwave to signal her meal was ready.
She’d messed up. When they’d examined the body that morning, and she’d felt eyes watching her, she should have investigated then, and not chalked it up to nerves and an over-active imagination. They’d lost valuable time. If she had taken her feeling to heart, the killer might be behind bars right that moment.
The microwave dinged, and she withdrew her supper. Maybe not the most nutritious meal, but it was her favorite. Popcorn and a drink was what she needed after the last two days.
She moved to the living room and turned on the television. Agent Weston stood behind a podium, alerting the town and surrounding areas to the possibility of a serial killer in their midst. She was good, telling them what they needed to know, but not giving so much information that she jeopardized the investigation.
Cassidy sat on the sofa and balanced the bowl of popcorn on her lap. Colin could have been one of the agents in charge. Why be content to work for a small town police force? Cassidy would give her eye teeth for an FBI offer. Her partner was definitely an enigma. Just when she thought she had him figured out, he surprised her. It seemed Colin MacKenzie might be more than a handsome face and a killer smile. Too bad she only wanted to know enough about him to work with him.
Popcorn and glass of wine finished, she turned off the television and climbed the stairs to her room. She placed her holster and gun on the bed, then whipped off her shirt. She froze. The closet door was open about two inches. Meticulous to a fault, Cassidy had a place for everything in her house and never left doors open that were meant to be closed.
She slowly slid her weapon from its holster. Mouth as dry as desert sand, she soft-footed her way to the closet and whipped the door open. Empty, except for jeans, tee shirts, and her few dressier items of clothing. She turned a slow circle in her room. Nothing seemed out of place. Her few pieces of jewelry rested in a crystal candy dish on the dresser. The latest crime novel she was reading sat on the nightstand.
She moved to the bathroom. Towels hung straight, hygiene products in place. Had she been so preoccupied with yesterday’s murder that she hadn’t noticed her open closet? There was a first time for everything, her old partner used to say. Still, the fact that something seemed off wouldn’t leave her. She wouldn’t brush it off as she had that morning. Instead, she did a thorough sweep of her home…and found nothing amiss.
There was no other explanation. She was getting sloppy.
Back in her room, she flopped across the bed and stared at the ceiling. She had to have left the closet door open. Her
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