again. They fell onto the couch, tongues probing, hands exploring—
Suddenly, Vail stopped. She rested her head on Robby’s chest, a hand on his shoulder.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t want anything to ruin the moment. Can we just lie here for a few minutes?”
“Of course.”
Seconds passed. She asked, “Do you mind if we slow it down a bit? I just need some time. I’m not sure what I want. I mean, I know what I want. It’s just that with so much going on right now, maybe it’s best to wait—”
Robby pressed fingers to her lips. “You want to wait, we’ll wait. I think I can withstand a few more cold showers.” They smiled.
“Thanks.”
“We’ll grab some dinner. A movie, too, while we’re out. I think we could both use a good escape.”
She nodded against his chest. “In a little while. For the moment, I just want to stay right where I am.”
“So teach me more.” Robby grabbed his rolled burrito and held an end of it in front of his mouth. “About profiling.”
Vail unwrapped the foil that cocooned her food. “Not exactly the sort of conversation made for dinner. But if it doesn’t bother you, I’m game.” She sighed, eyes down, searching the table between them but seeing nothing. “Typing the offender is an important consideration. With Dead Eyes, it’s a question I’ve grappled with over and over again. What type of offender is this guy?”
“I thought he was organized.”
“He is, yes. But there’s more to it than just organized or disorganized. Kim Rossmo—the guy who I asked to do a geographic profile, talks about classifying offenders by the way they search for their victims, and the way they go about attacking them. He classifies them as
“Okay, so he’s an organized hunter or poacher.”
She held up a hand. “It’s not quite that simple.”
“Somehow I knew it wouldn’t be.”
Vail smiled. “If it was simple, you guys wouldn’t need people like us.” She took a sip of her ice tea, then continued: “There are three victim attack methods. A
Robby swallowed. “Then he’s an organized hunting or poaching stalker. How does this help us?”
“First of all, it’s another tool in establishing linkage. Linkage is an issue for vic three—we know that—but also with Linwood. At first glance, she appears to be the work of the same offender, but in some respects not. Aside from linkage, a geographic profile uses the search and attack classifications to create a distribution of where the offender has already struck, and where he might strike next. If we overlay this analysis on top of a map, we can make certain inferences. And if he’s not a poacher, it might even give us an idea where he lives.”
“When will this geographic profile be done?”
“Hopefully soon.”
Robby took another bite of his burrito, then nodded.
THE CLOUDS HAD RETURNED. Gray skies and the threat of rain hovered like salt in sea air. After dinner, Robby and Vail went to a movie and made out like pimply-faced high school kids. Their next stop was Davina’s Creamery for dessert, before ending up at Robby’s place. They fell asleep on the couch in each other’s arms, their empty dishes of ice cream resting on the coffee table. The next morning, Robby drove her home on his way to the task force op center.
Upon pulling up to the curb by Vail’s house, he nodded at the open front door. “Please tell me you’re expecting someone.”
She followed his gaze. “What?” Her eyes narrowed as they found the door. She reached for her Glock and got out of the car in one motion.
Robby drew his weapon and followed her oblique path across the lawn. Using hand signals, Vail indicated she’d go right and he should go left. She rested her back against the brick; Robby ducked below eye level and scrambled across the front of the house.
She nodded to him, then turned the screen door’s knob and pulled it open. He held it in place with the toe of his shoe as she entered in a crouch, gun tip out in front of her. She moved through the hallway, Robby at her heels.
She motioned him into the kitchen, while she went left, into the living room. They converged in the hallway and continued on toward the bedrooms.
Vail toed open the door to her study and peered in. She cleared the room, then took in the mess of documents scattered across the floor. Her copy of the Dead Eyes file, rifled through. At first glance, with such a blizzard of papers, it was impossible to determine what was missing.
They finished clearing the house, then returned to Vail’s study. She sat on the futon, her face resting in her hands.
Robby sat beside her. “Looks like you had a visitor.”
Without looking up, she nodded. “He got my profile. All my notes.”
“Who did?”
Vail turned her head slightly, nodded at the wall behind them. Written in lipstick were the words they’d seen so many times before: “It’s in the.”
“Holy shit.”
Robby couldn’t help himself; the words just tumbled from his lips. “He was here, in your place. He went through your stuff—”
“And saw the profile. He now knows everything we know about him.”
“Holy shit.”
“So you said.”
“I gotta call Bledsoe,” he murmured, then rooted out his cell phone. “We gotta get crime scene here, have them comb through this place.”
“Call Bledsoe, but we can’t have any techies here. I wasn’t supposed to have the file. We’d all be canned faster than the Jolly Green Giant.”
“Just don’t touch anything. Let’s get out of here, wait out front.”
She followed him out of the house, the Glock still in her right hand, dangling at her side. She was off in another dimension, thoughts swimming in her head, gurgling up to the surface before she could push them back down.
Robby pressed END and dropped the phone back in his pocket. “He’s on his way. Should be here in fifteen, he’s at the op center.”
“He’ll make it in ten.” Her voice was flat, her mind numb. She sat down on the cement steps of the porch and cradled her head in her hands. The hard, rough surface of the Glock dug into her face. She didn’t care.
“I can’t believe it. He was in my goddamn house. Why me?”
“That’s the question, Karen. Why you?”
