Deadly Past. Kris Rafferty

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СКАЧАТЬ We’ll figure this out.” He blamed her reaction on her head injury, and told himself not to worry about her behavior, but then she wiped a stray tear and brought his attention to her bloodstained fingertips.

      He was beyond worried. He was afraid for her.

      “Benton needs to know,” she said, lowering her head to his chest, releasing a short groan. “Why didn’t I call him last night?” she whispered. “Or any one of the team?”

      “You called me.” He gave her a little squeeze, prompting her to look at him again.

      “You’re right.” She forced a little smile. “And you’re practically an honorary FBI agent. You’re definitely one of the team.” When he shook his head, dismissing her words, her expression grew earnest. “No, really, Charlie. You’ve helped the task force for nearly a year now. You might not be FBI, but without you, we wouldn’t have taken down the Coppola syndicate. Dante Coppola, arguably the most powerful crime lord on the east coast, is now behind bars because of your willingness to step up and be our forensic expert witness.” She was referring to the time Dante Coppola’s attorneys were granted a change of venue for his racketeering trial, and it was moved from New Jersey to Boston. She sighed, threading her fingers through her hair and grimacing. “I’m a mess.”

      “It doesn’t matter. We need to get you checked out,” he said. “Take a shower after we run the tests.”

      Cynthia stepped out of his arms, smoothing her suit jacket with little success. “I said I would. Didn’t I? I really need to call Benton, first, though. He’ll be worried.” She gingerly dabbed at the back of her head with her fingers, and then pivoted back to the living room. “As far as he’s concerned, you’re not involved, though. Okay?”

      No. It was not okay. He turned to argue and knocked a photo off the wall, catching it before it hit the floor. Suddenly, he was staring at a picture of Cynthia’s long-dead childhood cat, Darth Vader. He replaced it on its nail, and then hurried after her. He caught up with her in the living room, reaching for her phone attached to the wall charger.

      “You’re not thinking straight.” He grabbed her, tossed her over his shoulder, and she landed with a whoosh as air left her lungs. She didn’t regain her breath until he was back in the hall, walking to the front door again. “We’re going to the ER. Benton can wait, and I am involved, Cynthia. There’s evidence in my trunk that links me to these murders.”

      “Evidence I most likely put there!” She slapped his back hard. “Put me down.”

      “Doesn’t mean you’re a killer. Give me a general profile on a person who’d execute six bound, hooded men, all begging for mercy.” He reached for the doorknob as Cynthia hit his kidneys with two mid-knuckle strikes. “Oomph.” He put her down, grabbing where it hurt.

      “I don’t feel guilty about hitting you, Charlie!” Her expression told Charlie she did, so he took it as apology enough. “You deserved it.”

      “Let’s go.” He opened the front door. She pressed her palm to the door, and he allowed her to slam it shut again, because forcing the issue might have landed her on her ass.

      “Stop it!” she snapped. “I have to call Benton and tell him what happened last night.”

      They both knew Cynthia had no idea what happened. That was the problem. And earlier, Charlie had been speaking rhetorically about the profile, but now realized Cynthia needed to work through it herself. Her priority would be a call to Benton, instead of medical attention, until she believed she hadn’t gone insane and become a mass murderer.

      “A profile. Do it.” He folded his arms over his chest, standing in front of her, glowering.

      She poked his chest. “Six rounds are missing from my magazine, Charlie. Six dead and my gun is the murder weapon.”

      “You don’t know that.” He took a step closer, pinning her against the door. “Humor me. Profile the unsub.” Then they could get the hell out of there. She leaned against the front door, frowning up at him.

      “It’s not that easy. The stats are all over the place, because a mass murderer is… They usually don’t commit mass murder more than once.” Whatever she saw on his face had her grimacing, but she finally complied. “They’re angry, dissatisfied, have poor social skills or few friends, and then they’re triggered.” He could see she was irritated rather than relieved that she didn’t fit a profile for the unsub, and that made no sense to Charlie. No surprise, Cynthia rarely did. “Ninety-six point five percent of mass murderers are male, and a majority suffer from paranoia and often acute behavioral or personality disorders.”

      “So, not you.”

      “No,” she admitted, grudgingly. “Not me.”

      “And this wasn’t just any mass murder.”

      “No.” Her eyes lost focus. “The victims… It was a hit, done for money, not excitement.” He grabbed the doorknob again, leaning closer. Close enough to feel her heat.

      “Can we dispense with your worries now?” He purposefully lowered his tone, attempting to ratchet down the intensity. “You did not execute those men.” His whispered words seemed to jolt Cynthia from her thoughts. Now, she noticed his closeness, but made no attempt to scoot away. Instead, she studied him as if logging his reactions. She was a profiler, and he knew reading people was what she did, but her searching gaze felt peculiar nonetheless. As a forensic pathologist, Charlie wasn’t used to his patients studying him back.

      “No,” she said. “I don’t think I killed them, but it sure as shit looks like I did.” She sniffed, then sniffed her sleeve, grimacing. “I smell.”

      He nodded. She did, indeed. His gaze roamed over her ruined suit, and up close and personal he could see all the dirt and abrasion tears in the cloth. Charlie did his best to appear clinical in his appraisal, but he was unabashedly admiring her body. “You look as if you were thrown from a moving vehicle.”

      She blinked a few times before stepping to the side, careful not to touch him as she moved away from the door. “Thanks.” She didn’t sound thankful.

      “Did you want me to lie?” He rested his head on the door, doing his best to rein in his frustration. Then he turned and leaned against the door as he contemplated her.

      “No.” Cynthia kept her gaze averted. “I forgot my pocketbook and phone. I’ll get them, and then we can go.” She hurried back to the living room and came back with her pink pocketbook, dropping her iPhone into her suit jacket pocket.

      “Don’t tell Benton anything until we know more,” he said. Her look of horror had him shaking his head. “It’s only obstruction if you’re guilty. And, anyway, the Fifth Amendment protects you. I’m just saying.” He shrugged. “Wait.”

      “Failure-to-report laws, Charlie.” She shook her head. “You can’t pick and choose which laws to follow.”

      “We’re in Massachusetts. It’s not against the law to fail to report a felony here. Just wait to tell Benton anything.”

      “For what?” Her eyes narrowed, and now it was her reaching for the doorknob, and Charlie keeping his hand on the door. “To be charged with accessory after the fact?”

      “We’re not concealing anything, least of all a crime. It’s СКАЧАТЬ