Edge of Midnight. Leslie Tentler

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СКАЧАТЬ Eric stood in place for several moments, letting the conversation sink in. He’d had the reprimand coming. Eric’s father had warned him of as much but he’d still made the necessary phone calls for him within the U.S. Department of Justice.

       His father had understood.

       Eric held a master’s degree in Criminology from the University of Pennsylvania. He’d graduated top of his class at the FBI training academy in Quantico and worked hard to join the ranks of the elite Violent Crimes Unit, where he’d been for the past five years. Despite his lineage, he had never once expected or asked for favors. Still, he believed he was doing the right thing this time. He owed as much to Rebecca, to see this through. He’d disappointed her as a husband but at least he could try to make things up to her in death.

       The Collector had taken Rebecca as a way to get to him, to inflict hurt and prove his superiority. He’d been especially brutal with her, as her mutilated corpse had evidenced. At the memory, a lump formed inside his throat. Eric burned with the need to find him, to put him down like the rabid animal he was. This time, he took his cell phone with him as he locked and left the beach bungalow, needing the run more than ever.

       “I’d like you to see a counselor,” Grayson said, serious, as he leaned against the granite counter in Mia’s kitchen. In his late forties, he was tall, with salt-and-pepper hair and wire-framed bifocals that made some of the newspaper staff think he looked a little like Richard Gere. “After what happened, it can’t hurt to talk to someone. Your insurance would cover it. When someone experiences something like this, there can be residual effects.”

       Mia gave him a look as she placed leftover cartons of pad woon sen, shrimp curry and basil chicken in the refrigerator. She thought of the military psychiatrist Agent Macfarlane had told her about—in fact, she’d been thinking about it for hours—but she was pretty sure it wasn’t the type of therapy Grayson had in mind. “I don’t need to see anyone. I’m fine.”

       “What if I make it a condition of your coming back to work?”

       Mia walked to where he stood. She took his wineglass from him and had a sip of the rich merlot before handing it back. “Grayson. I’m not traumatized because I don’t remember anything.”

       “How long have I known you, Mia?”

       She sighed, knowing he expected her to recount the story. “Six years. I was a kid fresh out of journalism school and you gave me my first job.”

       “That’s right.”

       “If I recall, I got your coffee and picked up your dry cleaning for the first nine months.”

       He crossed his arms over his chest, chuckling. “You worked your way up. I had to see if you had the drive to back up that raw talent. I didn’t plan on training you as a real journalist to have you run off to write for some gardening magazine.”

       “That wouldn’t happen. I’ve never met a plant I couldn’t kill within a week.” She opened the refrigerator door again, frowning as she studied its contents. “Are you sure you don’t want to take some of this food with you? Honestly, you brought enough to feed a small village—”

       “Mia.”

       She turned around. He’d moved closer, and the levity that had been in his eyes earlier was gone.

       “My point is that I know you, kiddo. I know how you grew up, how tough you had to be. It’s okay if you want to be scared for a little while.”

       Mia considered his words. It would be so easy to cave in to all of this. Despite her earlier assurances, the real truth was that she felt like a spastic ball of nerves on the inside. But Grayson had a point; he knew her history, he was one of the few who did outside of Will and Justin. Where she’d come from, her difficult past—it had embodied her with a fighting instinct. From ages six to fifteen Mia had been bounced around the foster care system, and yet she’d remained strong. Giving in to her fears now wasn’t something she wanted to do.

       “I want to come back to work soon, Grayson. And I want to cover the missing-person cases. I want them back from Walt.”

       He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. On a whole lot of levels.”

       “Just think about it, all right?” Deciding she needed more than a sip of his merlot, she poured her own glass and took it into the living room. Outside the balcony’s French doors it was completely dark. Grayson had been late arriving due to a breaking news story, and they hadn’t sat down to eat until nearly 8:00 p.m.

       “An agent from the FBI’s Violent Crimes Unit came to see me this afternoon,” she mentioned as he entered the room behind her, glass in hand.

       He gave her a look of interest. “Did you find out anything?”

       Mia thought of what she and Agent Macfarlane had discussed—namely, the possibility of a serial killer from Maryland resurfacing in Jacksonville. She pressed her lips together, reminding herself that what she’d been told was off the record, a condition she herself had imposed. The juxtaposition of being a victim and a reporter was difficult, and she felt guilty for not sharing the information. But doing so would raise the likelihood of seeing it in tomorrow’s paper. Mia understood the FBI’s need to keep the speculation down.

       She shrugged. “He mostly asked me the same questions as everyone else.”

       “What’s the agent’s name?”

       “Eric Macfarlane.”

       Grayson raised his eyebrows. “No kidding? If I was a betting man, I’d lay a grand on that being Richard Macfarlane’s son.”

       The name didn’t register with Mia.

       “Macfarlane’s an associate attorney general for the Department of Justice—he’s way up in the ranks. I read a profile piece on him in Newsweek last month related to the Ambruzzi hearings,” he said, referring to a recent, widely covered political scandal involving the governor of New Jersey. “The guy’s a real bulldog. The article mentioned he had a son serving in one of the Bureau’s specialized units. Either way, I’ll pass the name along to Walt, make sure he gets in touch with him.”

       He settled onto the couch for a time, catching Mia up on the daily travails at the newspaper before announcing he should get going. Twice divorced, Grayson lived alone and had a widely known practice of going to bed with the proverbial chickens in order to make it into the paper by his customary 6:00 a.m.

       “Thanks for coming by,” she said, walking him to the door. “But you really didn’t have to.”

       “That’s where you’re wrong, Mia. I did.” Grayson closed the scant distance between them, his expression solemn as he gazed at her. He swallowed nervously.

       “I had to, for me,” he said softly. Reaching out, he tucked a few strands of her newly shortened hair behind one ear.

       Feeling her stomach give an awkward little flip, Mia whispered his name, uncertain as to what he was about to do. But he pressed a chaste, almost fatherly kiss against her forehead.

       “I just feel fortunate to have you back, that’s all. Almost losing you…it’s given me a lot to think about.”

       She recalled what Will СКАЧАТЬ