Raising her tear-streaked face, black rivulets from her eyeliner trailing down her cheeks, Rachel’s voice cracked when she said, “I—I don’t know what happened. I felt okay yesterday, a little creeped out but more mad than anything else. Then today when I came into work, it hit me. Some serial killer stole my phone. He saw my contacts, he knows my number, maybe he still has it.”
Jake said, “If he does have it, he turned it off. More likely, he won’t want to be caught with your phone in his possession so he tossed it.”
“If it makes you feel any better, what you’re experiencing is totally normal.” Kyra patted Rachel’s shoulder. “You were mad yesterday, maybe a little shocked. Today you’ve had time to digest what happened, and it is scary. But this guy stole your phone to use it, not to target or terrorize you. He’s not interested in that and may not even know or remember who you are.”
“You think so?” Rachel hiccupped.
“I do, but all that logic doesn’t mean you still can’t feel rattled.” Kyra glanced around the back room, which obviously functioned as the piercing area. “Do you have a few minutes to talk right now, or do you have to go back to work?”
“I can talk for a few. Gustavo has me covered.”
Kyra flicked her fingers at Jake. “Detective McAllister has some canvassing to do in this area.”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Jake coughed and smacked his hand against the back of the chair. “I’m going to be retracing Rachel’s steps from the other day if you want to catch up.”
“I’ll find you.” Kyra scooted her chair closer to Rachel, their knees almost touching.
“Detective McAllister?” Rachel dabbed her face with the tissue Kyra handed to her. “Is this going to affect your recommendation for me as a dispatcher?”
“This?” Jake’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline. “You mean your reaction to having a close encounter with a serial killer?”
Rachel nodded, shredding the tissue between her black-tipped fingernails.
“Absolutely not. We do like humans working in Dispatch.” He winked and plunged through the beaded curtain, leaving it clacking and swaying behind him.
Rachel sat up straight and squared her shoulders. “I like Detective McAllister.”
“So do I.” Kyra plucked another tissue from the package in her purse and waved it at Rachel. “Now, tell me what you’re feeling.”
About fifteen minutes later, at the end of their mini-session, Rachel’s cheeks were dry and she even managed a laugh. The haunted look in her eyes had disappeared, and a fiery light had replaced it. She’d definitely swung back to anger, and Kyra got a glimpse of the young woman who had so impressed Jake yesterday.
Kyra held out one of her cards between her fingers. “Call me anytime you like. My office is in Santa Monica, but I can meet you anywhere.”
“Thank you.” Rachel plucked the card from her fingers and dropped it in the front pocket of her polka-dot blouse, tied at the waist. She tugged on her earlobe. “If you want another piercing for your ears, it’s on the house.”
“Thanks, Rachel.” Kyra rose to her feet and smoothed her hands over her skirt. “I’m going to catch up with Detective McAllister. You let him know if you remember anything else, and you let me know if you’re starting to feel panicked again.”
“The sooner they catch this guy, the better.” Rachel rubbed her arms. “Have the police identified that body from the Malibu fire?”
“Not yet.”
“So, she’s not like the other two, nobody reporting her missing. Nobody noticing her absence.” Rachel launched from her seat and swept aside the curtain. “That’s sad.”
“Not yet. I’m sure law enforcement will get a hit soon.”
“You know,” Rachel said, aiming her gaze at the window across the store, “there are call girls on this block. They aren’t as obvious as the ones on Hollywood Boulevard or Sunset, but they work it here. Maybe she was someone like that.”
“Detective McAllister was right. You do have good instincts. I’m sure the task force is looking into all of that.” She held out her hand. “You take care and don’t hesitate to call me.”
Rachel gripped her hand in a professional manner and dipped her chin. “I won’t.”
Kyra navigated her way through the cluttered store, stepped onto the sidewalk and looked both ways. What were they missing? Kelsey had gotten her nose pierced in this very store, and Rachel’s phone had been stolen on this block. What was Marissa’s connection to this area?
On her way to Uncommon Grounds, Kyra poked her head in at the pita place, looking for Jake’s tall frame. He’d stand out, for his height and also the suit he wore on a warm, sunny Southern California afternoon.
Jake didn’t dress to the nines like his partner did, but he had his own style that emphasized a casual masculinity. He didn’t try too hard, but his clothes were well made and fit his muscular build to a T.
She puffed out a breath and made a beeline to the coffee place. When had she found the time to make such a detailed study of J-Mac and his sartorial splendor? Was it when he was waving her off crime scenes? Trying to get her kicked off task forces? Or when he was confronting her with truths about her past he’d ferreted out with snooping?
She barged through the front door of the coffee shop and nearly bowled over a woman carrying an Uncommon Grounds cardboard tray with four frothy drinks inserted in it.
“Sorry.” Kyra held the door wide for the woman, who scowled at her anyway.
She spied Jake talking to an employee who looked like the manager. Jake was pointing to the corners of the store, probably trying to find more footage.
She waved, and he nodded. Then he shook the manager’s hand and loped toward her.
“How’s Rachel doing?”
“She’s
