As he passed his assistant, he said, “No interruptions.”
“Can I get the detective a coffee?”
Emerson shook her head and they went into his office.
Behind his closed office door, he leaned his backside against his conference table. Sad eyes stared up at him, then clouded with tears. “Danielle’s sister, Claire-Marie, you met her at Raphael’s.” A tear streamed down her face. “She was murdered by the Wedding Gown Killer.”
He held her while her sobs ripped through her. She was shaking hard and trying to get a handle on herself, but the emotion poured out of her. He cradled her and kissed the top of her head. His heart broke for Danielle and their family, but the rage that lived at the surface burst forth like a volcano spewing white-hot lava.
Emerson dug out a tissue and wiped her eyes, then took a moment to compose herself. “This is personal. I failed. I failed my best friend and her sister. I failed their entire family.”
“Emerson.”
She steeled her spine. “But this isn’t about me. This is about finding the madman and stopping his killing spree. I don’t care if you don’t want to be with me. I don’t care that I’m falling in love with you and you can’t reciprocate. None of that matters because it’s not about us. I need your help. You in?”
He loved her spirit. He loved that she put it out there and wasn’t holding back. He loved her commitment and her humanity. She allowed herself to be vulnerable with him, was strong enough to admit her feelings, but stayed focused on the task.
“I handled last night poorly. Love is complicated for me and I’m sorry I hurt you. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“Thank you. But you don’t have to—”
He dropped one gentle kiss on her lips. “I love you, Emerson. I love you with my entire being. Getting this close to you scares the fuck out of me. I think you deserve better—”
This time, she kissed him like she was unleashing her anger, her sadness, and her fear onto him. And he took it without hesitation. He would walk through fire for this woman. He would protect her and fight for her. And when he told her the truth about himself, she would make up her own mind about how she wanted to proceed. For now, he would enjoy every minute with her, knowing one of them would be his last.
“I love you, too, but I can’t think about us,” she said. “Not until I find this killer.”
Those three little words seeped into his bitter soul and chipped away at the armor surrounding it. “I’m in. Whatever you need.”
They sat side-by-side on his sofa.
“Tell me what happened.” He held her hand and stroked her soft skin while she filled him in.
When she finished, Stryker said, “I’ll let Danielle know she can take as much time as she needs,” he said. “When are you meeting with the club member, Karen Watters?”
“I met with her. She confirmed Casey Quinn is a freelance photographer who asked her to do a photo shoot.”
“We find that photographer, we find the killer,” Stryker said.
“While you’re probably right, Parker’s gone missing.”
“He was scheduled to work this week, but asked for Tuesday and Wednesday off.”
“I’ve gotta let Nikki know.”
After speaking with Nikki, Emerson stood. “Nikki’s putting out a BOLO for Parker. I’ve gotta get back to work. Thank you for….” She trailed off. “Thank you for being my rock.”
He rose. “I will help you find this psychopath.” Clasping her shoulders, he stared into her eyes. “Whatever it takes.”
On the way back to the station, Emerson forced herself to think about the clues, pushing down the grief over Claire-Marie. Parker Sandler had no alibis and was missing. Casey Quinn was stalking women at the club and inviting them on photo shoots.
Are these two men the same guy? Is the killer hiding in plain sight?
18
The Hit
Back at the station, Emerson found Nikki at her desk. “I feel like I’m going in circles,” Nikki said. “Parker’s MIA and this Casey Quinn doesn’t exist.”
