Hunting (22 page)

“
So did you follow me here,
too? Or is it just coincidence?”

“
Pure coincidence.” He
leaned closer, then tightened her blue knit scarf—a present from
his mother—around her neck and chin. “I’m here to tell my parents
I’m adding a detail to them, as well.”

Her breath caught. She
hadn’t thought…they
could
be targets of this madman, too.
“Do you think it’s that necessary? Or are you just being overly
cautious?”

“
Meredith
Drive.
That woman this morning was found on Meredith Drive as a body dump.
The location was significant.” He walked her to her car, then
opened it for her. “I know the UNSUB is sending me a
message.”

Jules shivered, and it
wasn’t from the January cold. “He’s coming after you, isn’t he?
Through everyone else. Keeping you guessing so you’ll never know
who to protect or where to focus.” Because he knew Malachi well
enough to know where to strike to hurt him the most.

“
I don’t know what he’s
planning to do. But he’s making the game much more personal than I
am willing to risk.”

His mother opened the front
door and called to him. Jules waited until he responded to his
mother then turned back to her before speaking. “I need to get
Ruthie home. I have my weapon; I can start carrying.” Jules had
been one of the top in her class at Quantico. She and Georgia had
first met when they were roommates during training. But just
because Jules had the training didn’t mean she wanted to have to
use
it. She was a forensic pathologist first, agent far, far
second. But the fact that she knew how to defend herself had her
breathing a little easier. But not too easy. She’d seen far too
many women as victims to take it lightly. Especially for herself.
And Ruthie.

“
Carry it. Watch your back,
and call me if you suspect anything out of the ordinary,
understand?” He surprised her by tugging her knit hat down around
her ears. She couldn’t miss the worry in his words, on his
face.

Of course she would. She
wasn’t stupid. And she told him that. He started to say something
back, when both their phones started ringing.

Hazel eyes met blue. They
both knew what it most likely meant.

Three minutes later Jules
handed a not-very-happy little girl back over to Malachi’s mother.
Ruthie cried and reached for her, but Meredith reassured the little
girl over and over until Jules was in Malachi’s SUV. None of them
liked it, but there was no real choice in the matter.

Jules sat in the SUV,
shaking and upset. Was it fair, what she was doing to Ruthie?
Getting her, and then leaving her with strangers while she
worked?

Millions of children had
mothers who worked. Millions.

Was it always this hard to
leave them?

Malachi’s hand covered her
knee as he drove to the address Mia had given her via telephone.
“Ruthie will be ok. Mom can handle anything any child can dish out.
She survived Al and Mick, after all. And they were horrible
children.”

“
I know. And she loves it
at your parents. But I still feel like I’m abandoning her. Did you
see her face?” Jules felt her own eyes tear up like Ruthie’s
had.

“
Yeah. I did. And I also
know she’ll be ok, Mommy. Are you sure you will?”

“
Don’t you worry, lughead.
I can handle myself.”

His warm hand on her leg
was nice. But Jules still sniffled.

Julia took charge of the
scene the minute she arrived, not giving the local LEOs a chance to
insist it was theirs by right. Which technically, it was. At this
point. This victim was not a federal case, yet. Malachi watched her
accomplish the feat and he fought another surge of admiration—and
irritation. She was silently stubborn, able to get her way in all
things without any outward appearance of dominating
obstinacy.

In this case, her ability
worked for him, but he knew that wouldn’t always be the way it was
in the future. Maybe he should just plan on giving Julia her way in
the little things? Would that make their lives a little bit
smoother?

Possibly. But then again,
he enjoyed seeing her eyes spark at him with temper, loved watching
her lips press together in her irritation, loved how her body
nearly vibrated with energy when she was angry with him. Why would
he want to deny himself those things?

“
We really shouldn’t be
here yet,” she said after they first flashed their IDs at the
deputies surrounding the scene. “Locals have
jurisdiction.”

“
At times, it’s better to
ask forgiveness than permission.” He quoted as they walked across
the pavement, flashing badges at rookie local officers in their
path.

“
Yeh. I’ve heard that one
before. Do you think this is him?”

“
Yes. I’ve seen this scene
before. Stay close to me, sweetheart.” He fought the natural
inclination he had to pull her to his side and keep her there, with
his own body between her and any possible threat. When had this
need started to consume him?

Was this how Hellbrook had
felt about Georgia? He was finally starting to understand all the
nuances and burning emotions his friend had possessed for Julia’s
best friend—and he understood how Hell must have felt knowing
Georgia was a possible target of Travis Byrum so many months
ago.

He’d make damned certain no
one harmed Julia again. No one.

The body was a man—they
could see that from where they were walking. Malachi knew what
they’d find when they got close enough. The victim would resemble
all the other male victims. White. Mid-to-late thirties.
Well-groomed, expensive suit, and clean hands. Professional hands,
not those of blue collar employment.

This man would be
identified sooner rather than later—ID most likely made by a spouse
or girlfriend after only a day or two of being missing. Men like
this were always identified, and quickly. It was another piece of
the victimology puzzle. The killer always chose men of a certain
socioeconomic status—businessmen who were successful in their
fields. Men who had attractive wives or girlfriends, men who were
loved. Men who would be missed by their women, their parents, their
children.

She ignored the locals and
approached the victim, stopping beside a young male leaning over
the body. Malachi vaguely recognized him as an intern with the
county M.E. He’d met the intern before. And so, apparently, had
Julia. She and the younger man spoke a moment, then he stepped
back, clearing the way for Julia. So there would be no issue from
that department. He’d noticed it before, everyone in the forensic
pathology field they ran into respected Dr. Julia Bellows and her
work. And stepped aside for her easily. Exceptionally
easy.

It was just a matter of
time until she was at the very top of her field. He felt pride for
her and admiration at her accomplishments.

Malachi hoped the
approaching detectives felt the same. He sized them up quickly. He
put himself between them and Julia, and nodded. “Detectives. Sorry
you got called out on this one.” He flashed his badge at the two
men, then passed each a business card with his contact information
printed on it next to the Bureau emblem. “This is part of an
ongoing investigation for us.”

The older rubbed a hand
over his mustache, his eyes trained on the woman kneeling next to
the body. “That’s so? Who’s the lady?”

“
That’s Dr. Julia Bellows.
She’s the FBI’s leading forensic pathologist. She’ll be taking the
body from here.”

“
Now how do you even know
this is your case?” The younger, more belligerent local asked, as
he crowded Julia where she leaned over the victim.

Malachi had seen his type
before. Most of the police officers they dealt with were happy for
the help, but every once in a while one would be territorial. They
didn’t need this now.

“
Malachi...” He turned
toward Julia, momentarily ignoring the locals. “Look.”

She pointed to the street
sign behind him. The crossroads with the address they’d been given.
Alexandra Avenue.

His blood chilled, and he
glared at first the sign then the locals. “This is our guy. Be
thankful he’s not yours.”

Jules prepped the victim
for transport then sent him to her lab, under strict instructions
that he was to take top priority. She’d worked a twelve hour shift
already, and knew she couldn’t give the victim the attention he
needed. Mia had agreed to come back in and handle the preliminaries
so that Jules could start on the victim first thing in the
morning.

Alexandra Avenue. Meredith
Drive. Who was next? And what did it mean? Was the chessmaster jerk
taunting Malachi, telling him that sooner or later one of the
victims would be someone Malachi loved?

Playing on Malachi’s
biggest fears.

Malachi was a protector
down to the very bone marrow that held up that toned, muscled body
of his—especially of the women in his life. That was just the way
he was. He did it to her all the time. Tightening her scarf,
pulling her hat down on her head, putting his body between hers and
the locals when they’d walked to the scene. He did it
automatically—to her, to Georgia, Ana, Al. He just did it. He
wasn’t sexist—he had more women on his team than any other in PAVAD
and he had no sexist attitudes that she’d ever seen—but those women
closest to him he protected. With everything he had.

Did the UNSUB know that?
Was that why it had been the names of his mother and sister as
street names? What kind of UNSUB would have gotten close enough to
Malachi to know just how to push
those
buttons?

Malachi had called
Sebastian Lorcan once they were back in the SUV; requesting that a
detail be added to Al, as well. Just as a precaution. Jules was
certain his sister didn’t like the idea, but she understood why
he’d do it.

Family was something you
protected.

And her family was a
child.

But what could she do to
protect Ruthie? And would the little girl even be a target? She’d
reviewed the files—none of the UNSUB’s victims had been children.
It probably didn’t make much difference, but she had needed to
know.  But that didn’t mean he couldn’t change, and go after a
child close to Malachi or Malachi’s family. And that would be
Ruthie, simply because Meredith watched Ruthie while Jules
worked.

How long would this last?
How long must they be triply vigilant? Weeks, months? Until
Malachi—or someone—caught the chessmaster. If they ever
did.

How was she supposed to
protect Ruthie in the meantime?

***

Malachi was in the center
of the bullpen, orchestrating the agents who had still been in the
building when they’d arrived with the body.

His sister, Paige—both of
them could work the case, but not be forerunners. It was a sticky
kind of point legally to have victims and relatives of victims
working the cases. Jules got around this by having Mia present to
back up any findings she made.

Malachi was using Hell as
the official lead on the case.

Iffy, but it was what they
had to do.

The rest of the crew
included Georgia and Hell, Sebastian and Carrie Lorcan, Dan
Reynolds...and Evan Stephenson.

Jules forced herself not to
flinch.

From what rumor had it,
Evan was ten times better at his job—and one hundred times
saner—than his father had been.

Now was not the time for
her chickenshit hang-ups where Evan was concerned.

She hopped up on the desk
farthest from the action—Georgia’s—and watched the people around
her work. Watched Malachi. She knew almost down to the second when
he realized she was in the bullpen. His attention was pulled toward
her, and he looked at her a lot.

Had anyone else
noticed?

Sudden self-consciousness
hit her. She didn’t want paired off with him in anyone’s mind, but
it had already happened. She just knew it. Now she had to decide
what to do about it.

He was settled at his desk
with a glass of wine and his laptop open before him. The screen
light was the only light in the dim room. Dr. Julia Bellows was
outlined on the monitor as she relaxed in a nice hot bath. The girl
child was settled into her bed after her foster mother had fed her
dinner.

No, Julia was alone now.
And relaxing.
He
relaxed in his desk chair, preparing to
study the woman who had captured the lust and possible love of one
Malachi P. Brockman.

She’d slipped the blouse
from her shoulders, her back to the camera as she did so. He found
his breath catching in his throat as he waited for her to turn
around. For him to finally see what it was that had so captivated
Malachi. As if they were somehow connected, she turned. Faced him
fully, wearing nothing but her trousers and bra.

The bra was next to go, and
he took his time enjoying the sight of her. Her breasts were
smallish but high and round. He zoomed the camera in closer,
surprised and pleased to see the tiny butterfly tattoo on her skin.
It spoke of a hidden wild side that he would admit fascinated him.
She was exquisite. Perfect. There was no spare ounce of fat on the
woman’s body, and he found that infinitely attractive. He admired
perfection.