“He’s not going to get that close to her.”

“How do you—”

Reese’s phone rang. She looked at the readout and took the call.

“Conlon.”

• 163 •

RAdCLY fFe

“Sheriff?” a woman said with a hint of irritation.

“That’s right.”

“This is Supervisory Special Agent Marilyn Allen. You have some sort of problem that can’t wait for proper channels?”

“Is Agent Robert Lloyd under your command?”

“Sheriff, I realize that in little towns like yours protocol is, shall we say, not really all that necessary,” Agent Allen said without bothering to hide her condescension, “but we don’t discuss Bureau affairs with just anyone who happens to call.”

“Agent Lloyd was murdered in my town last night. I thought you might like to know. But I certainly don’t want to interfere with your protocol, so when I find out who did it, I’ll be sure to call during business hours.” Reese disconnected.

“Did you just hang up on the FBI?” Bri tried to stifle a grin.

Reese glanced at her and half smiled. “I’d prefer you pretend you didn’t hear that, Officer.”

“Yes ma’am. I mean, no ma’am, I didn’t hear a thing.”

Reese’s phone rang.

“That will be the supervisory special agent calling back, I imagine,”

Reese said. “Conlon.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” Marilyn Allen snapped. “And I’ll expect a full report upon my arrival.”

“Give me a call when you land,” Reese said. “I’ll brief you.”

“Where’s the body?”

“With our coroner.”

“I know something of your reputation, Sheriff,” Marilyn Allen said. “You may have made a name for yourself busting drug dealers and arsonists, but you don’t want to get in the Bureau’s way on one of our operations.”

“Agent Allen,” Reese said quietly, “my town, my case. Call me when you arrive.” Then she disconnected and put the phone back on her belt. “Well. This is going to be an interesting day.”

“Can I stay and watch?”

Reese laughed. “Don’t worry, we’ll be crawling with feds before we’re done. You won’t miss anything. When you’ve finished reports, check that Carter doesn’t need you. Then go collect your girlfriend, take her home, and get some sleep.”

“Do you know this FBI agent?”

“Not half as well as Carter does,” Reese said softly.

• 164 •

RetuRning tides

chapteR eighteen

Reese let herself into the clinic with her key. The reception area was dark. The first time she’d entered the clinic, it had been dark too. She’d been answering a call from Tory, who had come upon a burglary in progress. That was the first time she’d seen Tory, and at that moment, everything in her life had changed.

She threaded her way through the rows of chairs and walked down the hall to the one room with a light shining under the door. She tapped on it and pushed through. Tory, wearing scrubs, gloves, and a mask, glanced over at her. Deep shadows underscored her eyes. The body on the table beneath the round surgical light was nude, skin tinted the faint bluish gray of death. His clothes rested in plastic evidence bags on the counter behind Tory. His holstered weapon sat in the center of metal tray on a stand next to her. Apparently he’d had nothing else in his pockets, which wasn’t unusual if he was on the job. Loose change could rattle. A wallet was unnecessary. A badge and a gun were all that was needed, and Reese had his badge in her pocket.

“Hi, love,” Reese said softly. “How’s it going?”

“I’ve just started the external exam. We need to make a decision about whether I do a full post. Ordinarily I would, but considering the circumstances…”

“Is there any doubt as to cause of death?” Reese walked to the opposite side of the table as Tory went back to work.

Tory shook her head. “None whatsoever.”

“Can you get everything you need without cutting him open?”

“If he’d been shot and we needed the bullet to identify the weapon, or there were any question as to COD, I’d insist on doing the internal

• 165 •

RAdCLY fFe

part myself—jurisdictional issues be damned. But that’s really not the case here.” Tory tipped her head toward the counter where a row of blood-filled test tubes sat next to a line of small plastic containers, each labeled and filled with a clear solution. Pieces of tissue floated inside.

“I’ve taken blood and tissue samples for tox. I already have specimens from his hands and under his nails for possible foreign DNA, but I’m doubtful you’ll find anything. I’d want to have his clothes checked independently for trace anyhow—the FBI should handle that.”

“If we turn over the body to the feds without a fuss, that might buy me some leverage in keeping them at arm’s length in the investigation.

At least for a little while,” Reese said. “But that’s totally your call.”

“I’ll have everything I need if I can have another hour with him, without opening him up,” Tory said.

“You’ll have it. Can you tell anything more about the manner of death?”

“Your assailant was right-handed. No help there, I’m afraid.

A single cut, almost exactly as deep on the left as the right, which tells me that he’s not only ruthless, he’s trained. He understands the importance of severing both carotids and the trachea to produce nearly instantaneous death.” Tory looked up. “I’m thinking military—special forces probably. Or a terrorist-trained assassin. Or just your garden variety home-grown hitman who’s had lots of practice. Whoever he is, he kills for a living.”

“That narrows it down some.” Reese slid her hands into her pockets, thinking about all the men in prison who learned to be highly effective killers with only homemade shivs to work with. Knives made from toothbrushes, razor blades, and rubber bands. Food utensils honed on the chipped edges of bathroom tile until they were sharper than any conventional blade. Once released, with real weapons in their hands, these men were proficient and deadly. “Type of weapon?”

“A relatively short, thin blade. Probably a switchblade.”

“Double edged?” Reese asked, thinking a special forces member would more likely carry a standard single-edged combat knife.

“Possible. The slice in the trachea, which is in the deepest part of the wound, appears to be the same width as that in the skin. Nothing distinguishing, however.”

“Could it be a garrote?”

• 166 •

RetuRning tides

“Not as likely. Even the sharpest garrote requires some amount of sawing—and back-and-forth movement tears up the edges of the skin.

I don’t see that here.”

“Okay,” Reese mused. “So our suspect probably didn’t go out hunting, but killed on impulse. You don’t set out to kill someone with a switchblade. That’s usually a defensive weapon. Something about this guy set him off.”

“It could be random,” Tory suggested. “Maybe your suspect is just psychotic and he didn’t like the color of this man’s jacket.”

“Anything is possible, but once a cop is involved, we have to assume a link. I have to believe this agent was murdered because our suspect made him or the agent stumbled into something he wasn’t prepared for.”

“Still, killing a cop.” Tory forced herself to think through the problem dispassionately. Ultimately, Reese’s life or the life of any other member of the department could be in the balance. “Even if your suspect recognized this man, why kill him? Why call attention to himself that way? Wouldn’t he be more likely to want to keep a low profile?”

Reese nodded. “Ordinarily, yes. And that worries me. Because a cop killer who’s also crazy is going to be completely unpredictable.”

“You keep saying he—couldn’t this be the work of a woman?”

“Possible. Women can be trained to kill with the same efficiency as men—the hardest hitmen to track down are female, precisely because they aren’t on most people’s radar. A female soldier could do this, sure.” Reese stared at the gaping wound in the neck. “She’d have to be tall, and damn fast to kill up close and personal like this. Most female assassins prefer guns—the great equalizer.”

“True.” Tory examined the wound through a dinner plate–sized magnifying glass that she swung over the table. “When do you expect the FBI?”

“Unfortunately, in about fifteen minutes. I won’t be able to put off briefing them, but I’ll try to keep them out of your hair as long as I can.”

Tory smiled over at her. “Thank you. I’m not feeling particularly diplomatic at the moment.”

“We had another incident just before I came over here.” At Tory’s look of alarm, Reese hastened to add, “Everything’s okay now. But

• 167 •

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someone tried to break into Bri and Caroline’s place. Caroline heard him working on the door and called us. He was gone by the time we got there.”

Tory straightened. “Oh, damn. Is she all right?”

“She seemed to be. A little scared, the way you’d expect. But she kept her head. Bri and I took her over to Rica’s.”

“Darling, what’s going on? Our house, Rica’s car, now Caroline?

Can these really all be coincidences?”

“I’ll admit, I don’t like it. But I don’t have anything at the moment that ties them all together.” Reese frowned, frustrated that she couldn’t get a handle on what was happening. She hated feeling that she was missing some critical piece of the puzzle, and if she could just find it, everything would make sense. What worried her was that she wouldn’t find it in time and someone she cared about would pay the price. She clenched her fists. Impotence was not a feeling she was familiar with.

“Talk it out, darling,” Tory said gently.

“I wish I could. It makes sense Everly would go after Caroline—

classic stalker behavior. I can even see him going after Bri first, not only to get her out of the way, but to make Caroline suffer. He has reason to be angry at me too, which would explain him breaking into our house. That would tie two of the three together.”

“And Rica’s car would just be coincidence?”

“That could easily be simple vandalism. Or Everly again, targeting Caroline’s friends.”

“But you don’t like it.”

“Not with this too,” Reese said, indicating the body on the table.

Tory handed Reese a pair of gloves. “Help me turn him.”

Reese pulled on the gloves and, together, they slid the body to the edge of the table with Reese supporting most of the weight, then tilted him up on his side and finally over onto his abdomen. Tory resumed her microscopic examination, starting with his hair. She sifted through it with a wide-toothed stainless steel comb, then visually examined his scalp for tears, blunt injury, or lacerations.

“Nothing here,” Tory murmured. “And if it’s not Everly?”

“Then we have a much bigger problem,” Reese said grimly.

v

• 168 •

RetuRning tides

When Reese arrived back at the station, Carter was waiting for her. She motioned Carter into the office and closed the door.

“Sit down. Long night and it’s not over yet.” Reese settled behind her desk and Carter sprawled in a chair in front of it. “Where are we?”

“In a nutshell?” Carter said. “Nowhere. No wits to speak of, no suspects. Anything from the post?”

“Not much more than we already knew. The guy’s a pro.” Reese sighed and leaned back in her chair. “The one thing we have going for us is that nothing goes unnoticed in a place like this for very long.

We’ll ask around—check with shopkeepers and bartenders. See if we can put together a victim profile, since we don’t know anything about the suspect. If we know where the FBI agent was right before he was killed, we might have some idea what he was doing or who he might’ve gotten tangled up with.”

“A lot of legwork and a lot of luck.”

“That’s about it,” Reese agreed.

“Rica called me about what happened with Caroline. Any ideas about that?”

“If I was betting the odds, I’d have Everly at the top of my list.”

Carter nodded. “Mine too. But it doesn’t set completely right with me.”

“No,” Reese said. “Me neither. Unless he’s changed, he likes to ambush girls outdoors away from people. He’s a coward. Breaking into someone’s apartment, running the risk of their being able to get a call out—doesn’t feel like him.”

“Anything I can do to help there, let me know.”

“With Tremont out on sick leave today, I may need you to run some known associates down later.”

“No problem.” Carter leaned forward, her shoulders tense. “What about the feds?”

Reese looked at her watch. “I expect they’ll be here any—”

Someone knocked sharply on the door to her office. When Reese had arrived, the outer room had been empty except for one officer manning the phones and handling dispatch. Everyone else was out in the field. It was still too early for Gladys to arrive. Reese stood up as the knock was repeated with an impatient cadence.