Cutting Edge

friends again as they plan to ‘rescue’ the ducks. But Maggie has murder in mind, and gets her boyfriend Scott to help her.”

“And genetic testing is Professor Cole’s big voodoo doll,” Duke said. “It makes the entire situation high- profile.”

“But it still doesn’t explain why she felt the need for the big show, other than for the platform.”

“Maybe we won’t know until we find her. Or maybe it was to get you on the case.”

Duke stared at her, worry wrinkling his forehead. She understood why he and Dr. Vigo thought that Maggie O’Dell had some personal issue with her, but Nora wasn’t quite ready to buy into that idea. It could be, but the woman was on the edge. She could have fixated on Nora simply because she’d put domestic terrorists in prison.

“I want to follow up with Leif Cole, show him this letter, and see if he has any idea of who Maggie O’Dell is or where she lives. Maybe something came to him overnight.” She turned, but Duke didn’t follow. “I thought you were my personal bodyguard.” She didn’t mean for it to sound so snide. She tried to smile, but it wasn’t natural.

He tensed. Maybe this was better, she thought. After last night … she didn’t know what to think. This situation was foreign to her. When she did have a relationship, it was always on her terms, at her pace, and someone not connected to law enforcement. Someone not connected to her. She didn’t like the intermingling of her personal and professional life.

Maybe that’s why it had never worked out with anyone. Nora only had a professional life.

“I know what you’re doing, Nora.”

He stepped toward her. The way he looked at her, with such intensity, made her nervous and jittery. Butterflies fluttered and she remembered how amazing she felt making love to Duke. She didn’t want these feelings. She didn’t want to care about anyone this much.

Her voice cracked as she said, “I’m not doing anything, Duke. I’m tired, I have a lot of work to do, and I don’t like being watched.”

“Get used to it.”

She bristled. He sounded so confident, as if he had a right to her. Maybe after last night she’d given him that impression. Maybe last night she’d wanted him to have that impression. But today, she didn’t know anymore. She was confused, upset about Dr. Vigo’s analysis, worried about her job, her team, and now a pending relationship. Something had to give.

“Duke, about last night-”

“Don’t. I’m not going to believe you.”

“You don’t know what I’m going to say.”

“I do. You’re trying to backpedal. You’re trying to ignore your feelings so that you can do your job and not think about yourself. I’m here, I’m staying, and you are going to have to address your feelings and think about yourself for a change.”

That Duke understood her so well unnerved her, so she steeled herself and snapped, “I can’t believe how arrogant you are!”

He smiled, as if he found her anger amusing. “It runs in the Rogan blood.”

It was really hard to stay mad at Duke when he revealed that solitary dimple.

“I need space,” she pleaded.

“I don’t give space.”

“But I need it.” She was panicking. She’d never been the sole and complete focus of anyone in her life, but the way Duke Rogan’s blue eyes pinned her, she seemed to be the only thing in his sight.

“I’m sorry,” he said without sounding one bit sorry. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. She wanted to turn away, this was inappropriate, especially here. But she couldn’t. He was a powerful magnet, and she was helplessly drawn to him.

He kissed her lightly, then stepped back. “You do all the thinking you need to do, but in the end, I’m not walking away, no matter how hard you push. Not only are Rogans arrogant, but we’re stubborn.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Nora had never seen so much blood at a single-victim crime scene.

Blood coated Leif Cole as if he’d bathed in it. The beige carpet under the chair where he was strapped down was soaked, as blood from multiple shallow wounds from his wrists to his shoulders had dribbled down his arms and onto the floor. The chair was slick with it, where he sat soaked, the brown denim material nearly black where the blood had seeped for more than eight hours, according to the coroner.

Cole was naked. Evidence showed he might have been getting out of the shower when confronted by his attacker. What small areas of skin weren’t coated in blood were extremely pale. His wrists had been crudely but efficiently duct-taped to the chair. His feet were unrestrained. How anyone could have incapacitated him without a struggle, Nora didn’t know-unless he’d been drugged.

“Any sign of him being drugged?” she asked.

“He had whiskey last night-there’s an empty glass in the bathroom that smells of it,” Sanger said. “It’s bagged into evidence. He told me he wouldn’t drink.”

“Excuse me?”

Sanger turned his red-rimmed eyes from Cole to her. “I should have stayed.”

“You couldn’t have known he was a target. Leif Cole doesn’t fit-” Then she realized she had no idea why or how the killer was selecting his-or her-victims.

All the evidence pointed to the mysterious Maggie O’Dell. No driver’s license, no records, no photo.

Nora and Duke had found Cole’s body after Nora couldn’t reach him on any phone-house, cell, or the college. She called Sheriff Sanger and confirmed that Cole had gone home the night before, leaving his car at Rose College. At first she wasn’t concerned-he could be sleeping late, a common sign of grief. But when he didn’t respond to knocking or the doorbell, she’d searched the property and discovered the garage door unlocked.

Cole had given them Maggie’s name, but Nora didn’t see how Maggie could have found out. Did she fear he would lead them to her? Did Cole know more about Maggie O’Dell than he said last night?

She looked back at Cole, and the wall that separated her cop mind from her emotions faded. She’d known Cole. She’d talked to him just last night. Seeing him like this … it was more than a tragedy. Nora wasn’t going to forget.

Duke put a hand on the small of her back. Subtly and discreetly, but the simple gesture supported her and helped keep her focus on the crime scene.

There was very little blood spatter on Cole’s body, the chair, or the wall, as far as she could tell. Each cut seemed to have been made slowly, carefully-at least four dozen incisions. There was some cast off from the knife on the carpet and the side table, suggesting the killer was right-handed.

Keith Coffey was grim. “I think he bled to death. There’s little or no clotting. Someone check his medicine cabinet for warfarin or another anticoagulant. In fact, grab all medicines.”

“These cuts look the same as Payne’s. Can you run tests on heparin?”

Keith looked at Nora. “I was thinking the same thing, but Payne’s body was clean.”

“Clean?”

“There wasn’t blood like this.”

“Would the fire have taken care of that?”

“Not necessarily. And his back would have been stained. There would have been smearing and his unexposed skin-under his arms and back-would have had dried blood. Since he’d been dead for several hours, even brief exposure to water from the fire hose wouldn’t have cleaned him so effectively.”

“On the surface, it looks too similar to discount a connection to Jonah Payne’s death,” said Nora. “We’re going to assume it is until proven otherwise. I just don’t know why.”

“A college professor seems an unlikely target for this killer.”