Clutching Snickerdoodle’s leash tightly in one hand and the gift bag Betsy had prepared in the other, Kit approached the corner café. A kaleidoscope of butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she didn’t like the feeling.
She was thirty minutes late. She wondered if he’d still be waiting.
Who was she kidding? Of course he’d be there.
Sam Reeves had promised to meet her for brunch in the café near his apartment. He wouldn’t break that promise.
Betsy would be so upset if she’d known that Kit had kept the man waiting, but once she’d parked her Subaru, she’d simply sat there, staring at the passersby.
What am I doing?
She was meeting Sam Reeves for brunch, which was insane. She’d started so many times to break the date but couldn’t make herself do it.
He didn’t deserve a brush-off. But this was complicated.
I let him hold me. In front of everyone. Everyone in the world because the photo had gone viral. It was a disaster.
But he made you feel safe when you needed it most.
She didn’t need anyone to make her feel safe. Well, maybe Harlan and Betsy and Akiko and Baz. But that was all.
Somehow Harlan and Betsy had found out about the date and prepared gifts for the man. She couldn’t back out now.
But this was insane. She didn’t do relationships.
You hadn’t met Sam Reeves yet.
Shut up.
So she’d come up with a plan for this morning. She’d use the time to bring him up to speed on what they now knew about John Scott and Colton Driscoll. Then she’d bid him a cordial goodbye.
And that would be that.
She’d even brought Snickerdoodle with her to be her excuse to leave. Rita was waiting for them to come back. The girl had slept with Snickerdoodle every night since they’d rescued her from John Scott.
They. Kit and Sam. Together.
The butterflies in her stomach became lead weights. There was no they.
And then she saw him. He was watching her approach, slowly standing at the table he’d snagged at the very edge of the outdoor eating area, shielded on two sides by a wooden fence. They’d have privacy there.
His expression was serious, his eyes intense behind his dark-framed glasses.
She really liked those glasses. She liked a lot of things about him. That was the problem.
The butterflies were back, dammit.
She forced a smile as she came up on the table. “Dr. Reeves.”
He lifted dark brows, one corner of his mouth bending down in a frown. “Kit.”
A blush heated her cheeks. He knew exactly what he was doing. She was trying to push him into the friend/colleague zone, and he wasn’t having it.
He’d have to deal.
This wasn’t a date.
She looked down and noticed the Lab mix at his feet. “Siggy.”
The dog had been looking adoringly at Sam but turned his gaze on Kit. Or, more correctly, on Snickerdoodle. The two nosed each other, and then Snickerdoodle flopped to the ground beside Siggy with a big doggy sigh.
Sam came around the table to hold her chair and she barely resisted the urge to glare as she sat down. She held the bag out to him. “From my mom. She made you one of her coffee cakes.”
Sam took the bag with a wary smile. “It’s awfully heavy for a coffee cake.”
“There’s an apple pie in there, too. And some cinnamon rolls.”
“Wow. I’ll have to thank her.” He set the bag on the extra chair and studied her. “You look . . . rested.”
She’d been holding her breath, expecting him to say nice or pretty. Rested was better.
Liar.
He smirked a little while pouring her a cup of coffee.
He was smug. She hated that she liked it.
She liked a lot of things about Sam Reeves.
Friends. They could be friends. Couldn’t they?
“How’s Rita?” he asked, yanking her out of her mental negotiation.
“Peppy when we’re watching, withdrawn when she thinks we’re not. Pop’s already got her scheduled for therapy.”
“I figured as much. Harlan called and asked me for a recommendation.”
Which must have been how he and Betsy had known Kit was meeting Sam this morning. “Rita’s been through so much,” she murmured. “I hope this person can help her.”
“My boss is good. If anyone can help Rita, she can.”
“Dr. Carlisle?” Kit asked in surprise.
“She specializes in counseling victims of crime.”
There was something he wasn’t saying, and she suddenly knew what it was. “She talked to you after what happened to you and your girlfriend.”
His girlfriend, who’d been murdered in front of his eyes.
“Not immediately after. I was in Scottsdale then. But she guest lectured in one of my classes at UCLA. I had follow-up questions and we hit it off. I did an internship with her when I was going for my doctorate and she offered me a place in her practice once I was finished. I think you and I have this in common. We both work with our mentors. Me with Vivian and you with Detective Constantine.”
Kit’s heart squeezed painfully at the reminder. “Not anymore.”
He frowned. “Is Baz okay?”
She nodded. “But he’s retiring. The heart attack scared him. He said it made him see what was important. His wife and daughter and granddaughter.” Not me. Which was selfish and awful, but there it was.
“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly. “And now you have to break in a new partner.”
“Already did. Connor Robinson.”
“I thought that was just temporary.”
“It was. His partner decided to retire and move out east with his girlfriend.” But she didn’t want to think about the upcoming changes, so she looked down at the dogs and remembered the other gift. “Pop made you something.” She pulled it from her pocket, bringing the cat-bird with it. She separated the two carvings, holding Sam’s out to him cupped in her palm.
So that he’ll have to touch you to claim it. Just once.
He did, sliding one of his fingers over her palm before bringing the carving closer to his face. He broke into a delighted smile. “It’s Siggy.”
She tried to ignore the shiver that danced across her skin at his touch. “Pop found a picture of him on Facebook. He and Mom are so grateful to you for your help in bringing Rita home.” She drew a breath that hurt. “I don’t think we could have made it through that again.”
He looked at the cat-bird she held in her other hand. “Did he make that, too?”
She nodded. “Every year he makes me a wren.”
“For your sister.”
“Yes. This year he made this one, too.”
Sam gently gripped her wrist, bringing her palm closer so that he could study the carving she held. “A cat and a bird?” Then recognition filled his eyes. “Because he calls you Kitty-Cat.”
This man was far too observant. Get it done and get out of here.
“Yes.” She tugged her wrist and he immediately let her go. She slid the cat-bird back into her pocket. “I thought you might like some of the blanks filled in.”
Sam leaned back, seemingly at ease with her subject change. “That would be nice.”
“First, your phone.” She pulled the evidence bag with his phone from her jacket pocket. “The special master finally confirmed it was in Joshua Tree.”
He gave her a wry look as he set the phone aside. “Thank you. And the park ranger?”
“He finally got back to us Thursday afternoon, confirming that he’d seen you. I’m sorry it took so long.” He didn’t say That’s okay, but she hadn’t expected him to, because it wasn’t. Folding her hands on the table, she pressed forward. “Dr. Scott isn’t talking about the victims.”
He lifted his coffee cup to his lips, his gaze fixed to hers. “Not surprising. You want him to tell you where his victims are all buried, but he’ll want something for the information. It’s like a dance and, when he thinks he’s leading, he’ll talk.”
“I agree, but we’re matching the photos of the grave sites in his living room to the local parks. It would be easier if he told us, but eventually we’ll figure out his burial places. Connor found cell phone videos on Driscoll’s laptop of Scott burying some of the victims, so that should help us narrow down at least a few of the locations.”
“I figured that Colton had followed Scott—at least with Jaelyn—since he knew where she was buried. It’s good to know for sure, though.”
She sighed. “We’re going to be looking for bodies for a long time.”
“Three dozen bodies.”
She nodded grimly. “He’s been killing for twenty years, two victims a year for most of that time. He likes order and patterns. And gardening, apparently. He was on the board of several private parks and gardens in San Diego County and volunteers with them. He helps them plant in the spring and fall. That’s how he knew about which parks he could bury bodies in without raising suspicion. He also knew about the employee-only gates, which was probably how he was able to get the bodies to wherever he buried them. We’ve heard from parks all over town saying how they were fooled. He was a very charming liar.”
“He’s also a narcissist and needed to have the evidence posted on his wall for anyone to see. Made him feel smarter than the rest of us. Did you find out how he was connected to Orion School?”
“He was on their board when they developed the scholarship. He did a bit of community theater in college and acting, along with gardening, were his hobbies.” Along with killing, she thought bitterly. “He was on Orion’s first admissions committee.”
“T’s crossed, i’s dotted.”
“Exactly. We’ve gotten a lot of information from Colton Driscoll’s laptop, too. CSU found it in Scott’s apartment. Driscoll had been recording Scott for five years.”
“Ever since he lost his job and when Scott cut him loose as a client.”
“Yes,” she said. “You were right about that. Driscoll had purposely gotten a job in that mail room because that’s where Scott’s other office was. Driscoll was the one who installed the cameras in Scott’s office and his house. We found the footage on his laptop.” She sighed. “Rochelle Hamilton, the victim who went missing five years ago, had been in his office. He was her therapist, too.”
Sam flinched. “Oh my God.”
“Yeah. Looking at the date stamps on the videos on Driscoll’s laptop, it appears that Driscoll saw Dr. Scott making advances toward Rochelle in his office. She was a troubled girl and had spent time in juvie. She was receptive to his advances and I guess Driscoll was titillated. The recordings in Scott’s living room started a few days after that appointment, and that’s when Driscoll saw him murder Rochelle.”
Sam looked shaken. “Which was what Colton meant when he told his third wife that he ‘knew things’ about his therapist.”
“Yes. Dr. Scott dropped Driscoll as a client a few days after that, which matches up with when he could no longer pay. I dug into Driscoll’s finances from five years ago and found he’d bounced two checks to Dr. Scott. We only looked at three years of Driscoll’s finances when we first started digging. If we’d gone deeper then, we would have seen the connection to Dr. Scott a lot earlier.” And maybe saved Skyler’s life, at least. But that train of thought was unhealthy.
She’d still think it, though, because it was true.
Sam drew a breath, regaining his composure. “How did he know to frame me?”
“The videos on Driscoll’s laptop show that Scott was actively searching for cameras in his apartment starting the day after you first called me.” She exhaled. “Navarro was so hopeful that we’d had a break on the serial killer case when we found Jaelyn Watts’s body, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He made an appointment with his therapist.”
Sam’s face darkened. “Dr. Scott.”
“Yes. So Scott knew that someone had seen him burying Jaelyn. I think he thought that he’d been followed to the grave site. But he’s also paranoid, so he started checking his house for cameras and listening devices. Driscoll’s cameras caught Scott doing this. CSU found that footage saved to Driscoll’s laptop, too. But Scott had security cameras, as well, and he caught Driscoll lurking outside his living room windows Friday evening.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would Colton go to Scott’s house if he knew that Scott had found his cameras?”
Kit sighed. “Because he saw something in Scott’s living room that he couldn’t resist.”
Sam’s shoulders slumped. “The victim between Cecilia Sheppard and Skyler?”
He was sharp. “Yes.”
“Because the scam happened this past February, so his scholarship lure didn’t work. How did he lure this girl?”
“He had photos of her in a school play. And texts from his phone telling her that he was an agent and asking her to meet him. She did.”
“Her family didn’t know?”
“Another foster kid. His browser history showed that he researched his victims very well before approaching them.”
Sadness filled Sam’s green eyes. “He knew how to pick them, and I guess Colton was addicted to watching Scott kill. Is that why Scott wore a mask when he got to Colton’s house the day he killed him? He expected more cameras?”
“That was our guess. Like I said, Scott’s not talking. But I got sidetracked. You asked how Scott knew about you. We think that Driscoll told him. Scott’s camera shows him holding a gun to Driscoll’s head when he caught him lurking outside. Scott’s browser history shows that he looked you up late Friday night—before he killed Driscoll—and he started cyberstalking you. Your Facebook post from Joshua Tree was a gift.”
“How did he know that I knew Skyler?”
“She tagged Siggy on her Instagram. He’s smart, Sam. He did a search on your dog, on your parents, on Joel. On Dr. Carlisle and her family. Even on Laura Letterman. Anyone who was important to you. He saw Siggy’s name, googled Skyler, and saw that she had a dog-walking business and that she lived in your building. She’d tagged you a few times over the years. Usually thanking you for helping her set up her business or helping her with her college applications.”
“What about Rita? How did he know I’d met her?”
“He’d bugged his office. He was recording everything we said, and his bugs could pick up cell phone calls. Pop called me when I was in Scott’s office and told me you were having apple pie with Rita. Scott figured he’d frame you for her murder, too. That’s why he had your car stolen. We think he’d planned to continue the murders and use the RAV4 he bought to frame you for them.”
“Why not just use my RAV4?”
“I think he was afraid it’d be tracked. Your car’s been located, by the way. A few pieces of it, anyway. It was at a chop shop and the owners were quick to ID the guy who sold it to them.”
“The guy in the hoodie who stole it from Joel’s driveway?”
“Yes. He said a guy with gray hair and glasses in a black Mercedes gave him three hundred dollars to steal the RAV4 and get rid of it. He’s lucky, actually. He’s still alive. The body of the boy who found Skyler was discovered in an abandoned warehouse yesterday.”
“Shit,” he whispered.
“I know.” The boy hadn’t known he was making a deal with the devil. “How are Skyler’s parents?”
“Grieving. But they told me that they never believed I had anything to do with her death. Still, it was kind of you to visit them and tell them in person that I wasn’t involved.”
“It was the least I could do.”
They were quiet for a moment, then Sam asked, “What about that guy Brian who helped Colton’s ex-wives? Was he involved?”
“We don’t think so. He helps victims of domestic violence divorce their abusers. He seems to be just a nice guy.” Like you, she wanted to say, but bit it back.
Sam ran his thumb over the carving of Siggy. “How is Lieutenant Navarro? I’ve been worried about him. He’s got to be feeling a lot of guilt.”
“That’s an understatement. I don’t know how he’s doing. He’s gone on leave. That Scott used him for so long, that Scott went out of his way to use those damn pink handcuffs just to taunt him . . . It was cruel.”
“It was a betrayal of Navarro’s trust.”
“All of our trust. Those of us who were Scott’s patients are going to have serious trust issues with any therapist.”
Something flickered in Sam’s eyes. Sadness? Disappointment, maybe? “With me, too?”
Kit opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t lie to this man. “Probably.”
Sam swallowed. “But you trusted me.”
She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. “I did, yes.”
“Do you still?”
She hesitated and his sadness grew even stronger.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. Didn’t tell her that everything was fine.
“If I weren’t a psychologist, would you have called me Sam when you sat down this morning? Would you have wanted this to be a date?”
Once again, she opened her mouth and closed it again, searching for the right words. Because he was waiting patiently.
“I . . .” She reached down to scratch Snick’s head. “Maybe? But I’m not a good bet. For anyone. But especially for you.”
He flinched and the sight hurt her heart. “Because I’m a shrink?”
Yes. “Because you’re nice. And kind. And sincere.”
“I think I hate that word,” he murmured. “ ‘Sincere.’ ”
“Don’t. It makes you . . . you.”
He still didn’t smile. “What happens next?”
“I go back to work tomorrow and fill out reams of paperwork. You go back to work tomorrow and keep doing good. I figure out how to work with Connor because Baz isn’t coming back. Rita goes to therapy.”
And Mom and Pop look at me sadly because I’m telling this nice man to go away.
He was quiet for a long moment. “So this is goodbye?”
No. No. No. The butterflies were now bees and she felt physically ill. But she said what she needed to say. “It’s best that it is.”
He nodded once. “Very well. I won’t bother you anymore.”
She swallowed, her eyes stinging. “You didn’t bother me before.”
“Well, I’m bothering you now, by being who and what I am. Will you do something for me, though?”
“Depends,” she whispered, her throat too tight.
One side of his mouth lifted, as if he’d expected her to say that. “Find another therapist. Ninety-nine percent of us aren’t like Scott. Your job is stressful, but you do good, Kit. You need someone you can trust.”
I trust you. She’d thought that she might be able to tell this man anything, and he’d be her vault. Like Marian was to Baz.
But that wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll try.”
“Okay. Have a good life, Kit. I mean that.”
“I know you do. You do the same. Don’t take any more murderers or cold-blooded liars as clients, okay?”
He didn’t smile at her light teasing. “I’ll try.”
She stood and waved him back down when he started to stand as well. “Thank you, Sam.”
Then she turned and all but ran to her Subaru, Snickerdoodle trotting along beside her.
She stopped when she got to the corner, looking back once. He was still watching her.
She could go back. She could have this. She could have someone.
But people left. And the good ones who didn’t leave . . . well, they deserved someone better than a woman who worked too many hours because she was running from her own demons.
Huh. I guess I got something from Dr. Scott after all.
Deliberately, she turned the corner, walking away.
San Diego, California
Sunday, April 24, 11:00 a.m.
Sam’s heart sank as she walked away.
He’d been afraid that she’d be afraid of him, even after she’d asked him out for coffee. She wouldn’t agree that she was afraid. She would say that she wasn’t afraid of anyone or anything.
But that wouldn’t be true. She was afraid of opening up. Of leaning on someone. Of depending on someone. On me.
But she had opened up. She had leaned on him. She’d trusted him.
I shouldn’t have called this a date. I should have let her think it was just coffee.
But that wouldn’t have been honest, and Sam wasn’t going to be anything else.
She was interested. Sam could see it. She was denying it, though. Or she’d already decided that it would never work. Probably a little bit of both.
He wouldn’t push her, even though he wanted to.
She’d told Joel that they could be friends. She totally walked away from me.
That was both frustrating and encouraging. If she didn’t care, she would have just said we could be friends, too. But she’d walked away.
And you’re analyzing her, which is probably the last thing she wants.
“Sam?”
Sam looked up to find his noon appointment standing by the table, studying him with a worried expression. Shaking off his frustration over Kit, Sam stood and shook Alvin Levinson’s hand. “Al. You’re really early.”
He’d agreed to see the other psychologist at noon because Kit had said she had Sunday dinner with her family then.
“I’m hungry,” Al said. “Figured I’d get us a table and have breakfast before you got here. But here you are.”
“Yeah. Here I am. Sit, please. It’s been too long.” He hadn’t seen the psychologist since the last board meeting at New Horizons.
Sam liked Al Levinson. He was a good man and an excellent therapist. And he had the job that Sam had always dreamed of—consulting with SDPD. It was the kind of job Sam had wanted the whole time he’d been earning his degrees. Now that he’d had a tiny taste of it, he wished for the job even more.
And, because he was honest, he could admit that working with Kit again was a serious factor. Someday, maybe.
Al sat down, glancing at the full cup of coffee at his place. “For me?”
Sam had poured it for Kit, but she hadn’t touched it. “It’s probably cold by now. Let me get you another cup.” He waved to the server, pointing to the cup. She gave him a nod, holding up one finger. “Elena will be right with us.”
Sam had told her that he’d be seeing a few people this morning and she’d promised to give him privacy. No surprise as Sam was an excellent tipper.
“You must come here often,” Al said.
“Every day. My office isn’t far from here. I usually take my coffee to go, though. It’s nice to sit and not be in a rush.”
Elena slid up to their table, switching the cup of cold coffee for an empty cup and his empty carafe for a full one. “What can I get you boys?”
Sam had lost his appetite after watching Kit walk away, but he should eat something. “Eggs and bacon, please.”
“Same,” Al said, settling into his chair as Elena left them alone. “Was that Kit McKittrick’s coffee?”
Sam frowned. “How did you know?”
“One, I saw her walking on the other side of the street when I was coming to meet you. I waved, but she had her head down.”
“What’s two?” he asked, torn between being sad that Kit was hanging her head and relieved that leaving might have been as difficult for her as it had been watching her do so.
Al pointed to Harlan’s carving of Siggy still sitting next to Sam’s cup. “Harlan McKittrick has been making carvings for years. He donates them to fundraisers. Some of them bring hundreds of dollars. I have two of them at home.”
“He made it to thank me for helping with Rita. It’s my dog, Siggy.”
Al smiled. “Cute name. Cute dog, too.”
Sam didn’t want to be rude, but the small talk was killing him. “What’s this about, Al? You’ve never asked me to meet with you outside the boardroom before.”
“The truth is, your name came up a few days ago when I was meeting with Navarro and McKittrick about a case. Well, you know which one.”
Sam nodded warily. “You know how that ended, right? I’m one of the good guys.”
Al chuckled. “I know. I know you were a suspect for a little while, but don’t feel bad. They suspected me, too.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”
Al shrugged. “Not something I’ll publicize, but I can’t blame them too much. I’m on the board of directors at Orion School.”
Sam’s eyes widened. “Oh. And you didn’t tell them?”
“I didn’t think about it. I’ve always had a peripheral role, mostly fundraising.”
“You’re really good at that.”
He smiled self-deprecatingly. “I am, aren’t I? I should have told them when we first started talking about the drama connection, but it truly didn’t occur to me. None of the victims went to Orion and . . .” He shrugged. “But you asked why I asked you to meet me.”
“Not to put me on a leave of absence from the board of New Horizons?”
Al blinked at him. “Heavens, no.”
“Good. I was on leave this past week. Mutually agreed upon with Vivian, but it sucked. It’s hard to be a court-ordered therapist when you’ve got a murder charge hanging over your head.” Sam grimaced. “Words I never thought I’d say.”
“And will never say again. So. My business. I’m semi-retired.”
Sam lifted his brows. “I know. You’ve been ‘semi-retired’ for as long as I’ve known you. Which really isn’t all that retired, because you put in more hours than I do with all your charitable work and the SDPD.”
Al’s lips twitched. “That I do. But I want to slow down, so something’s got to give. I don’t want to give up my charity work, so the SDPD’s got to go.”
Sam stared at him. “You’re quitting? For real?”
“Yes, but not right away. I thought I’d bring someone in to start taking over. Maybe mentor him a bit. Hand over existing cases and consult on new ones until he doesn’t need me anymore.”
Sam drew a breath, hardly daring to hope. “Who were you thinking about?”
Al laughed. “Sam, are you interested?”
“Yes,” Sam said, his pulse starting to pound. “But why now? Why me?”
“Why now? Truthfully, Baz’s heart attack got me thinking. I’ll be seventy next month. My wife is seventy-two. We have children and grandchildren. I’ve missed a lot of dinners and even a few birthdays because of my job with the SDPD. I want to enjoy my grandchildren and get back into model railroading. It’s time.”
“So why me?”
“Why not? I’ve always liked you, and Vivian can’t speak highly enough of you. And now you have a relationship with SDPD. They respect that you risked your career to warn them about Driscoll. Even Baz Constantine likes you.”
Sam chuckled. “He definitely didn’t at first, but I think he’s coming around.” Then a thought occurred. “Wait. If you’re seventy, does that mean Vivian is, too? You went to college together, didn’t you?”
He’d met Al through Vivian. His boss had introduced them, and Al had brought him into New Horizons.
Al shook his head. “Oh no. I’m not going there. You want to know how old Vivian is, you ask her yourself.”
Sam recoiled. “I don’t think so.”
“Smart man. You’d work with me at first, but I’d step back when you were comfortable. Doesn’t pay a lot and it’s not full time. You’d want to keep working with Vivian at least part time—so don’t piss her off by asking about her age. Still interested?”
Sam couldn’t stop his grin. “Yes. When do you want me to start?”
“Next week? You and Vivian talk it over. Figure out what makes sense and let me know.”
Sam made himself calm down, think of all the angles. “What if SDPD says no?”
“They might, but I don’t think so. I told Navarro I was going to ask you. He said that he’d asked you if you’d considered being a cop.”
“He was letting off steam. He wasn’t serious.”
“Maybe.” Al tilted his head. “Of course, you’d be working with McKittrick at times.”
Sam drew a deep breath, willing his expression to remain neutral, but Al chuckled.
“If you could see your face,” Al said quietly. “For what it’s worth, I wish you luck. She’s got a good heart.”
“I know,” Sam murmured. “But I’m not going to push her. She might demand a different consulting psychologist.”
Al shrugged. “Then she does. She’s not the only detective in Homicide, though. Unfortunately, there’s lots of work to do, so the others will be knocking on your door. You can think about it if you need to.”
He didn’t need to think about it. This was what he’d wanted to do for seventeen years. He’d be damn good at it. Plus, he was going to work with Kit.
She’d trusted him to keep her safe. To keep Rita safe. Maybe Kit would come to trust him with her heart as well.
Maybe.
He wouldn’t push, and he was willing to wait. She was worth it.
Sam smiled. “No need to think about it. I’m in.”
He couldn’t wait to see what came next.
Game on, Kit.
