“Captain Rivers,” Laurel said, sitting straighter in her chair and once again regretting the fact that she’d attended college during her early teens, when she should’ve been learning how to navigate social situations and deal with the opposite sex. “What can I do for you?”
“Huck. The formality is irritating considering we’ve seen each other naked.” He stood in the doorway, filling the entire space, his body long and lean with a barrel of muscular chest.
She schooled her expression. What was the appropriate reaction? Irritation, embarrassment, humor? She didn’t know. “Why are you here?”
Stubble from a couple of days covered his jaw, snow dotted the black hair that curled beneath his ears, and nothing dimmed the topaz glint of his deep brown eyes. A pair of black gloves peeked out from his jacket pocket. “Monty passed this case to me, so I thought we’d get a handle on it fast. Is it going to go south?”
“Yes.” She gestured to one of the white chairs on the other side of the desk.
One of his dark eyebrows rose and he walked to take the chair, his bulk more than filling it. He wore faded jeans, a black shirt, and a F&W green jacket. “Dr. Ortega promised to prioritize the autopsy and should have preliminary findings to us by tomorrow morning. I don’t think that man sleeps.”
“Good.” Laurel turned the laptop so they could both see it. “If we don’t find this killer quickly, none of us are going to sleep for quite some time.” The words rang through her and she shivered. “This video is from the security cameras around Dr. Abigail Caine’s home.”
Huck frowned. “What does this have to do with our case?”
Laurel pushed play.
The screen filled with a night scene captured by a camera that must’ve been mounted near Abigail’s garage, pointed toward the walkway and lawn. Snow drizzled down, mixing with rain. A figure moved smoothly along the walk and then onto the snowy grass, a dark backpack over one shoulder.
“Not a great picture,” Huck muttered.
The infrared wasn’t bad but the snow made the video blurry. “Broad shoulders,” Laurel said, squinting to see better. “About five foot ten or eleven, maybe?” A stocking mask covered the figure’s head and face, and bulky clothing, gloves, and thick boots shielded the rest of the body.
“Could be a woman,” Huck said, watching closely. “Best guess is male though.”
“Agreed.” Laurel sat back as the figure took objects out of the pack and placed them around the front lawn, almost gleefully throwing them in every direction.
Huck breathed out loudly. “Don’t tell me. Those are black dahlias?”
“Yes. This video was taken three nights ago, and the flowers are still visible beneath the snow and ice on her lawn.” The video ended with the figure finishing up and walking out of camera range. “Would you have your team search all CCTV in the area to see if we can catch sight of him again?”
Huck nodded. “No problem. This is a coincidence I don’t like.”
“Me either.” She tapped her fingers on the old door and studied him. “Do you mind walking me through the facts? Sometimes it helps to hear facts instead of writing them down.”
He flattened his broad hands on his jean-clad thighs. “Two women, both gifted with black dahlia flowers. One after death and one before. I don’t like that to start with, and I really don’t like that your recently discovered sister is one of the women. You’re the new profiler in town, your sister is involved in your second case after also being very involved in your first? What are the chances?”
Laurel shook her head. “I don’t know. Much of this depends on the identity of the victim we found. Did she know my sister? If so, it’s more likely that Abigail also knows the killer. If not, then what? Could Abigail have killed this other woman and made herself a victim to . . . what?”
“To get your attention?” Huck asked. “She’s a malignant narcissist, or a psychopath, or a sociopath, or one of those many labels that just don’t make any sense anyway. Is she that nuts?”
“I can’t answer that question,” Laurel said, her mind spinning and her stomach cramping. “She might suffer from one, none, or all of those conditions. I don’t know her.” It would take years to counsel and study a person to make that determination, and with somebody as brilliant as Abigail, even longer. Abigail would know how to answer test questions to fit any condition or label she wanted. Including perfectly sane. “I don’t see her as having killed the woman in the woods merely to gain my attention.”
“Why not?”
Laurel breathed deep. “Because there was so much . . . rage. The way the victim’s face was obliterated. That was ferocious.”
“It also prevented us from identifying the body easily. That was strategic.” Huck scratched the stubble over his chin.
“No.” Laurel shook her head. “It was more than that. To keep hitting a face, a body, after death . . . that’s pure fury. Primal hatred.”
Huck looked at the worn door serving as a desk. “Do you mind working with me on this?”
She stilled. “No. Why would I?” It was an important case and he’d be very helpful.
His smile was slightly lopsided and unintentionally charming. “Why would you? Okay. I forgot that about you.”
Curiosity had her head tilting. “What about me?”
