Kirk wiped a hand down his weary face. “Let us go back with this. Maybe it’s enough for a deal.”
“No.” Carter stood and braced his hands on the desk, looming over the laptop. “If O’Shea and Drake find bodies out there, this guy is probably going away for multiple life sentences. No deal is going to change that, and he’ll know that. But I can bait him.”
“Agent Warren,” Beverley said, a note of warning in his voice.
“I want to be the one, sir. I’m the one here in Apex. I’m the one on the clock now, trying to save a couple who’s important to the town here.” And to him. He liked Barry and Trudy and would do his damnedest to save them.
Kirk nodded. “He helped rescue my daughter, Bev. Give him what he wants. He and L have got the best shot at this now.”
Beverley seemed less convinced, but he conceded, telling Carter to hold while they retrieved Baxter. Fifteen agonizing minutes later, the screen flickered to life again, now broadcasting an interrogation room. Baxter was handcuffed to the table and a suited man—attorney, Carter assumed—sat beside him.
“What’s going on?” the suit asked, glancing between Carter on the screen and Beverley and Kirk across the table from them.
“This is Agent Carter Warren,” Beverley said. “He’s on the ground in Apex. Agent Warren, Attorney Ford and Jeff Baxter.”
“My client isn’t talking.”
“That’s fine,” Carter said. “I’ll talk. We found your property outside of Apex, Mr. Baxter. Located right in the middle of a meth hot spot. We have agents headed there now. I wonder what they’ll find there. How much practice did it take to transform yourself into your favorite serial killer? How many times did you try to impress your idol, and they still rejected you?”
Baxter lunged at the bait. “He didn’t reject me,” he snarled. “He rejected himself.”
He. Confirmed by Baxter himself. Carter struck Lydia off the list for good. “Who is he?”
“Jeff,” the attorney chided.
Carter tossed out more bait, leading Baxter after the hook. “You’re one to talk, dyeing your hair gray to look like him, pretending to have the same MO as him.”
Baxter scoffed.
“How many times did you mimic Dr. Fear before you actively interfered? Before you stole from him? Before you aimed too high and went after Senator Kirk’s kid?”
And hooked. “You can’t steal something that someone is willing to give away.”
“And you can’t get away with mimicking a killer you don’t understand. It’s not about taking for Dr. Fear. It’s about getting the fuck out of this place.”
Baxter smiled, maniacal and unhinged, and chomped at the boat Carter was steering. “Exactly.”
Sixteen
A giant thermos of coffee and a bag of what smelled like apple cinnamon muffins landed on the table next to Lincoln. Whiffs of Ivory soap and leather followed, and Lincoln smiled—at the special deliveries and at the man who’d delivered them. “I take back every evil thought I ever had about you.”
“That many, huh?” Carter said, removing his coat.
Lincoln held up his hand, thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Just a few.”
“I feel like this”—Carter spread his arms wide—“is closer to the truth.”
“You said it.” Lincoln removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. How else was he supposed to avoid ogling all those muscles encased in today’s green Henley?
Chuckling, Carter claimed the chair next to him. “When I left you here last night, you said you were right behind me. I would have panicked if I hadn’t fallen asleep at the kitchen table.”
“I left you a voicemail not to wait up.”
“Which I listened to this morning when I woke up with a crick in my neck from sleeping at the kitchen table.” Eyes closed, Carter stretched his torso and neck this way and that.
Lincoln could no longer avoid ogling—the corded muscles of Carter’s throat on display, as was the hickey Lincoln had left there yesterday, exposed by Carter’s shifting collar. Fire crept up Lincoln’s neck while the rest of his blood raced south, his dick hardening at the memory of their kiss in the elevator and how Carter’s skin had tickled his tongue and taste buds. It had been the only heated moment yesterday, besides the almost moment at Barry and Trudy’s place. They’d both lost themselves in work, but here, now, Lincoln wished they could replay that minute in the elevator, wished he could act on the still churning sensations and desires the not-so-insufferable Carter Warren had reawakened.
“What kept you here?”
