“Seriously?” She shakes her head, but her arms hold me tightly. “How can you focus on sex now?”
“With you in the room? Easily.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MATTHEW
“Let’s go from the top.” Nico turns to the whiteboard where all the information we’ve gathered since the body of Andrea Porter was found ten days ago is displayed. “Our victim is on a road trip. She makes random stops, one of which turns out to be Bluebonnet Creek. She walks around, sends some pictures to her parents, which is the norm, and then continues on her way.”
“She stops at the car wash around one in the afternoon,” Paul supplies, since he’s the one who washed her van.
“And then she goes to Reading Nook to grab some coffee, where she spoke to Rebecca Fernandez and Jessica Richards. She tells them about her travels and asks for recommendations in town.” Nico turns to Mary. “Did you manage to talk to Mick yet?”
Mary nods. “Yes. He doesn’t remember her, but one of his waitresses said she served her that night. She had a burger and fries, and she thinks she remembers Andrea was chatting with a guy at one point, but she’s not sure who it was. Dark-haired potentially. It was Thursday, which is always busy at The Hut, so I wouldn’t say it’s that out of the norm.”
“That narrows it down,” somebody comments dryly.
“The other girl who worked that night is out-of-town visiting family, but she should be home next week. I left a message on her voicemail, so I’ll check in with her if I don’t hear from her soon.”
“Do that.” Nico nods, turning to me. “Any news from the coroner?”
“Cause of death is strangulation. She had multiple lacerations and significant bruising on her body, as well as signs of sexual and physical assault. But whoever it was, they’re good, because the coroner couldn’t find any fingerprints or DNA of the killer on our victim.”
Nothing about this adds up. The killer was organized enough not to leave any evidence, and yet he was clearly out for blood. Quite literally. Everything about this abduction and murder screams rushed. So what gives? Did she fight him too much? Or are there maybe two suspects working together?
Nico purses his lips, his eyes growing distant as he thinks. “Was any new evidence found at the dump site?”
“She wasn’t there long. Based on the coroner’s report, we’re assuming eight to ten hours,” Paul comments. “There was a partial footprint, but that’s it. Still trying to figure out the size and brand of the shoe so we can potentially get the size of our killer.”
“The guy who found her is a hunter, and he mentioned there are cottages in the surrounding area. Some belong to the hunting organization and others are privately owned. Try to find the exact addresses and see if there is anybody who might have seen or heard something. Let me know if you find anything.”
Soft murmuring spreads through the room as people start collecting their things and getting to work.
“What do you think?” I ask Nico.
He shakes his head. “Something about this whole thing just seems off, but I can’t quite pin?—”
“Williams! Rivera!” Jenkins barks, stopping in the doorway. His eyes are narrowed into tiny slits, cheeks red.
He’s pissed.
The most pissed off he’s been in a while.
“My office,” he grinds out. “Now.”
Without waiting for an answer, he spins on his heel and marches out of the door. Nico and I exchange a look before we follow him. Some of our colleagues give us wary looks, but none of them dare to interfere or say anything.
We slip into Jenkins’s office, and Nico closes the door behind us, the softclickechoing louder than if a bomb exploded.
Jenkins is standing behind his desk, his fingers gripping the back of his chair as he glares at us, the silence stretching as he fumes.
“What did I tell you two at the very beginning of this thing, huh?” He glances from me to Nico and back but doesn’t wait for us to answer before he continues. “One of you screws up, and it reflects on both of you. Didn’t I specifically say that?”
“Yes, Sheriff,” we say in unison, our gazes trained in front of us.
“I didn’t expect much from Williams.” He shakes his head as he starts pacing behind his desk. “I’ve always known he’s a hothead. A troublemaker. Good cops don’t let their emotions guide them, and he’s always thought he’s above the law. But I’d hoped that at least you, Rivera, were smarter than that. Turns out I was wrong.”
Jenkins whirls around suddenly and slams his palms against the back of his chair. “Damien Morris was just here.”
