He turned back around, and Carter took that as invitation, circling the island. But once he got a clear view of Lincoln, he still wasn’t quite sure what the professor was doing.
Leaning back against the island, Lincoln lifted one bare foot, then the other, in front of the open stove. “Chucks aren’t exactly snow-proof,” he explained.
Ah. But there was an easier way to get heat and blood flow back into frozen feet. “There’s a fireplace in the living room. Comfy chairs, roaring fire, blankets. Everything you need to defrost.”
“Did you see me get anywhere near that fireplace tonight?”
Carter replayed the many swift introductions he’d made and realized each time he’d started in the direction of the fire, Lincoln had nudged them the opposite direction. Those were the only times Lincoln had leaned into him. “You avoided it.”
Lincoln nodded. “I’m pyrophobic.”
Afraid of fire, and yet . . . “You’re standing in front of an open stove.”
“Electric.”
That didn’t mean it couldn’t still catch fire, but Carter let the professor have that one. The mind often made rationalizations for one’s own well-being, even if it did stretch the bounds of logic doing so. He’d chased enough criminals to know how truly twisted, how very far from reality, those rationalizations could be. And he’d chased his own past, made his own far-fetched rationalizations, long enough too.
He shook off the dark thoughts and rested back against the opposite counter. “How did you get through explosives training at Academy?”
“Very carefully.” One corner of Lincoln’s mouth tipped up. “Second worst week of my life.”
“What was the worst?”
The hint of a smile vanished. “The week my preemie daughter spent in the NICU, struggling to live.”
“She’s okay now, right?” Carter could swear he remembered Lincoln mentioning his kid a time or two in class.
Lincoln’s smile returned, both sides now. “Nowadays it’s more likely she’ll send me to ICU.” At Carter’s raised brow, he added, “Teenager.”
Carter laughed, as much at the thought of a teenager’s typical antics as what Teen Monroe must be putting her very ordered father through. “Oh God, you poor thing.”
“Accurate.” Lincoln bent to pick his socks up off the floor, and Carter admired his firm, round ass in well-worn jeans. He’d never seen Lincoln this dressed down before. Not that the professor wasn’t handsome in slacks, a button-down, and argyle, but jeans, a tee, and said argyle was a look Carter could get behind.
Literally.
That gray tee and pink-and-purple argyle rucked up around his torso, those jeans stretched around lean, muscular thighs, that perfect ass in the air, pale skin flushed for the kisses Carter would like to?—
A sharp clap broke through the fantasy unspooling in Carter’s head. Lincoln was on his way back from the mudroom off the kitchen, exasperation painting his face, as if he could see inside Carter’s head. “Explain this,” he said, using his ring finger to gesture between them. “Beverley said I was going undercover as the new librarian at Apex U and that my partner on this case would be teaching a survival course to Apex PD. He said nothing about living together or pretending to be married.”
“Because I asked him not to,” Carter replied. Lincoln opened his mouth, no doubt to protest, but Carter spoke again first. “It wasn’t only Agent—Senator—Kirk who asked for you on this case. I asked for you too. You are the Bureau’s resident expert on Dr. Fear. But it doesn’t take an expert to know who Dr. Fear targets.”
“Couples.”
Carter nodded and waited for the implication to register.
It took a few seconds but then Lincoln paled and braced a hand on the end of the island. “You want us to be bait?” he squawked.
Carter dipped his chin to hide his grin. When he was sure his face was in order again, he lifted it and said, “If they’re active again, or even if this is a copycat, who better to lead the killer to than to two trained agents instead of to more innocents?”
“But why would Dr. Fear strike at us here, in Apex? They’ve never attacked anyone outside of DC Metro.”
“That we know of,” Carter said. “And they’ve never had to deal with a copycat before either.”
Lincoln crossed his arms. “So you believe it’s a copycat?” Voice level again, he seemed to be regathering his composure as they continued to talk case specifics.
Carter gave him more of what he needed. “Given the letter to Kirk, and that Dr. Fear never had a connection to their victims, yes, I think there is a copycat at work, at least with respect to Ruby and Chase.”
“But not with respect to the first couple in this cycle, Zia and Quinn?”
