“Zia and Quinn match Dr. Fear’s MO. Diagnoses found where they were taken from. DC Metro-based couple killed in the DC Metro area after being held captive seventy-two hours. Relatives confirm the deaths were connected to known fears. No evidence at either scene. That set reads like Dr. Fear.”
“Aside from the connection to Kirk, so do Ruby and Chase.”
“Except that connection is a huge fucking deviation. Do you think it was at random? The killer just happened to abduct the daughter of the former FBI agent who tracked them?”
“I don’t. And you’re right, it doesn’t make sense for Dr. Fear.”
One thing was for sure, Lincoln was going to make him work for everything on this case. Same as he had in class, even when Carter had delighted in throwing him off course at every opportunity. The professor was just so damn attractive when ruffled.
“So,” Carter said, “if we posit that Zia and Quinn were Dr. Fear’s victims, and we attribute Ruby and Chase to the copycat, then the copycat interrupted Dr. Fear’s cycle. That is not going to sit well with a highly organized, methodical serial killer who is likely protective of their work. Even if the copycat means to flatter, Dr. Fear is likely to be angered that someone hijacked their routine, which might lead them to change things up. To escalate or make a mark somewhere else.”
“Here,” Lincoln said, drawing the conclusion Carter had led him to. “What makes you think they’re in Apex?”
“Ah.” Carter moved past Lincoln toward the table. “This is the part where you tell me I’m not an expert.”
If looks could kill, Carter would be laid out on the table.
Which was not a bad mental picture in another context. He pressed pause on the fantasy before it went too far in favor of keeping Lincoln’s attention.
“You’re right,” Carter conceded. “I’m not the expert, which is why you’re also here.”
Lincoln sat at the head of the table, to Carter’s right. “Why were you here in Apex?”
“Personal reasons.” Answering Lincoln’s cocked brow, he explained, “I’m looking for someone and that search led me here.” Chasing his past, following up on one of those far-fetched rationalizations. “As I was looking through the county hospital records, I noticed two names—Zia Powell and Anthony Becker.”
Lincoln lurched forward. “A present and past victim. Any names from the other two sets of victims in between?”
“Hadn’t gotten that far in my search yet.”
“Fuck, Zia and Anthony were both in the hospital here.”
“Only an exit up on the freeway.” Carter reached behind him, into the bottom part of the china cabinet where he’d stashed the work folders he’d barely unpacked before being descended upon by nosy neighbors. He opened the top folder and unfolded the two sheets of tabloid-size paper inside. Charts of the sort Professor Monroe had taught him how to make. He pointed at the single box on each chronological line graph. “Zia was in the county hospital three months before she was killed, Anthony a year before. So this is the activity window for each.”
Lincoln drew the graphs closer. “Dr. Fear got more efficient.”
“Appears so.”
“Were Zia and Anthony just passing through? Their licenses listed home addresses in the DC area.”
“Maybe passing through, or they could have had some connection to Apex U. I’m waiting on the full hospital records. Didn’t have time to dig much further yet. In any event, I found this connection, called Beverley, and that’s when he told me about the letter that had just arrived for Kirk.”
“A letter sent from the same county as the hospital where two victims passed through.” Lincoln looked up from the graphs, a begrudging smile on his lips. “Not bad, Agent Warren.”
“I had a good teacher.”
Pink streaked across Lincoln’s cheeks, and Carter was glad for the table that hid his body’s reaction. Compliments also brought about that attractive blush, maybe even a deeper one than ruffling Lincoln’s feathers. Noted. Carter went for another, seeing as his interested dick was so helpfully hidden. “But I won’t spot everything you can. If you can do that much, I can take care of the rest.”
Lincoln shifted back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other toward Carter—did he even realize what he was doing?—and glanced around the room meaningfully. “Our cover.”
“I wasn’t lying before,” Carter said. “I was planning to talk to you about it first, except I got here, picked up the keys from the realtor because I figured you’d be late due to the weather, started to unpack, and not ten minutes later, Susanne and the welcoming committee arrived.”
“And you decided to throw a spontaneous housewarming party?”
“Not that hard.”
Lincoln tipped back his head, resting it atop the chair back. “Spoken like a true frat boy.”
“I wasn’t.”
