They rocked on her porch swing drinking a glass of wine, watching the shadows and listening to the sounds of night. It almost-
But had it really been her dream? Or had she been running away from something?
Miranda had been positive that being proactive, working in law enforcement-becoming an FBI agent specifically-would give her the strength she needed to conquer her demons. That if she had the badge, the courage would follow. And her nightmares would fade.
Weeks after her attack, Miranda feared the Butcher would come after her. Kill her in her sleep. Take her back to the middle of nowhere and hunt her again. She’d wake up, a scream caught in her throat, her feet kicking as if running.
That nightmare faded, but others replaced it. Calling out for the women who’d disappeared. Yelling until her voice was hoarse and her feet were weary. Then falling into a bottomless grave. Tumbling down, down… until she woke up in a cold sweat.
It wasn’t her physical safety she worried about. It was her state of mind. As long as the Butcher preyed on women, he would control her dreams.
“What if the Butcher isn’t Palmer or Larsen?” she asked Quinn.
“Then we broaden the search. Truck drivers, salesmen-maybe we missed someone in the stack of files from the University. We review every interview, every note, reinterview people. Olivia is working the evidence hard; they’re prioritizing every test. If there’s DNA in a rock, she’ll find it.”
“But we need a suspect’s DNA to compare.”
“I know how hard this is on you.”
“I feel like I should be out there right now. Looking for Ashley. And Nick.”
Her eyes burned and her head ached from staring at the maps and property records, trying to figure out what Nick had seen and where he had gone.
“Honey, I don’t want you getting your hopes up about Nick.” Quinn’s voice cracked; he was as torn up about Nick’s disappearance as she was.
“I can’t help but think he’s alive. Why else would the Butcher plant just his car? If Nick’s dead, why not leave his body, too?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he feared there was evidence that could be gathered from the body. If there was a struggle, some of the assailant’s skin or blood might be found on Nick. Best to dump the body where it can never be found.”
“Then why leave the truck by the side of the road?”
“To distract us. Split our resources. If we’re focusing on finding Nick, we’re not focusing on finding Ashley-and finding Ashley will lead us to the Butcher.” He ran a hand through his hair. “But I’m only guessing. Though the Butcher has never before taunted the police, maybe this is his way of saying he’s smarter than all of us. ‘Look at me, I can kill the sheriff and you can’t catch me.’ ”
Quinn’s phone rang and Miranda tensed. News this late was never good.
He squeezed her hand and didn’t let go. She squeezed back.
“Peterson.”
Miranda was sitting close enough to hear a woman’s voice on the other end.
“It’s Colleen. Toby and I just left Palmer’s place. I’d say there’s a next-to-zero probability that he’s our guy. He drinks his meals. He gets winded walking from the La-Z-Boy to the refrigerator.”
“Shit.”
“I have his employer’s contact info; Palmer says he hasn’t missed a day in weeks. He’s pretty bitter about what happened with his girlfriend, doesn’t like cops, but I think he’s harmless.”
“I trust your instincts. Where are you now?”
“We’re driving to Denver. About two hours to go. In the morning we’re all set to talk to Larsen’s department head. She called me directly, says Larsen is in the field but she can send someone to fetch him.”
“In the field? Doing what?”
“The guy is an expert in-” she paused-“um, falcons, I think. He tracks them, monitors breeding, that sort of thing. The research facility is based in Craig, but Larsen works near the Dinosaur National Monument.”
“Where’s that?”
“I know,” Miranda interrupted.
“Hold on, Colleen.” Quinn turned to her.
“It’s in the northwest corner of Colorado. Less than an eight-hour drive to Bozeman. And fully within the boundaries of Professor Austin’s map.”
Miranda couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned for an hour.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to no one as she tossed off her comforter and pulled on her boots.
Quinn had left at midnight after getting a call from Olivia that the preliminary tests confirmed that the soil found in Nick’s truck matched the soil found in the shack where Rebecca had been held. In addition, they extracted a good shoe print-size eleven-from the truck’s floor mats. Nick wore a size twelve.
Quinn had told her to get some sleep. She needed it, and she wanted it, but her mind was spinning. Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered David Larsen’s small photograph from his University file.
It seemed unreal: putting a face to the Butcher. Could it be Larsen? She didn’t know. She’d now seen his face, but she couldn’t definitively say it was
She’d almost asked Quinn to spend the night. She wondered if he’d been waiting for her to ask. Now she wished she had.
The anger she’d held on to so very long seemed to have dissipated these last few days. When she had first seen Quinn, she’d been so angry, so shocked, so worried that he would see right through her tough facade. She feared he’d question every decision she made, everything she said, every action.
But when she woke up this morning, she didn’t fear what he’d say if he saw she was struggling under the strain of the investigation. Instead, she found herself wanting to see him.
She pulled on her warm coat, pocketed her gun, and left the warmth of her cabin. She paused on the porch, breathing in the cold air, shivering even though she was bundled up. It would be forty-five degrees tonight. Not cold enough to freeze poor Ashley, but cold enough that she’d probably wish she were dead.
Miranda had.
She half ran to the Lodge and let herself in through the employee entrance. She didn’t give herself the opportunity to second-guess her decision. She walked right up the stairs to his room and knocked on the door.
Opening the door, Quinn wore gray sweat pants and nothing else. Miranda sucked in her breath at the sight of his chest. She thought she’d forgotten how handsome he was, but she hadn’t. She remembered every well- defined muscle on his lean body. There wasn’t one extra fat cell.
He was as perfect now as he had been at thirty.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, sounding a tad breathless. Her heart pounded with anticipation. Coming here, she had known what would happen. What she hoped would happen.
She needed him. Quinn would chase away her demons and make her feel warm. Desirable. More a woman, less a victim.
“Miranda-”
She stepped inside and closed the door. Quinn reached out, took her hand, and drew her to him. “I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed you,” she said, her voice unusually husky.
“God, how I’ve missed you, Miranda.”
He kissed her.
There was nothing tentative about this kiss. He held her face and sunk into her. She felt like she was coming home.
She’d never stopped loving him. Quinn had been so patient with her, so incredibly supportive. He’d done everything for her, including recommending her for the Academy when he hadn’t thought she was ready.
Miranda’s feelings of betrayal and fear were washed away in his warm embrace. The heat flared. She wouldn’t be satisfied with just a kiss. She wanted more. Everything.
