Psychobyte by Cat Connor Read Free Book Online Page B

gut still said our Unsub was just warming up.
    “Sure,” Troy said. “Did you hear what the PD are calling the Unsub?”
    “I did,” I said.
    I don’t like cute names for killers. It trivializes their actions. A yawn escaped as another thought popped up. “Hey, we’ll need to hold a media conference. I’ll have my people set it up but would like you to join me on camera?”
    “Let me know when and where,” Troy replied.
    “Will do, and thanks, Troy. I’ll be in touch.”
    Hanging up, I scrabbled around in my top drawer until I found the business card from a journalist, Rosanne Lette, who’d been quite helpful to me once. I even liked her somewhat. Not easy: the media and I had a hate-hate relationship. I fired off an email to Rosanne letting her know there would be a media briefing later in the day and that she should contact Sandra for details.
    I checked the rest of my inbox in case I’d missed something during the night. Emails from Lee and Sam: they hadn’t found anything of use from revisiting the neighbors. A vague memory lurked of sending them home about midnight.
    Kurt had left several messages; mostly they were of the “go home” variety.
    Yeah. Nah.
    I didn’t go home. I’d stayed and run every name on the list from Fairfax PD against Facebook and Twitter accounts belonging to our victims.
    Matthew Collins wasn’t the only one who knew both victims. Five Fairfax police officers made it to my list of potential suspects, and Cliff White the paramedic from the four-forty.
    I rang Mitch’s cell.
    “Missed you last night. How’s it going?” Behind his words, I heard the shower.
    “Can you wait for me?” I said, chewing my lip. “I need—”
    “Absolutely. How long will you be?”
    I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Twenty minutes.” Mitch’s place was closer than mine. I could be there in twenty with traffic.
    “See you soon,” Mitch replied.
    I hung up, pocketed my phone, slid my holster back on my belt, and left my office. Sandra came in just as I opened the stairwell door.
    “I’m going home for a little while,” I said, holding the door for her.
    “You’ve been here all night?” Sandra adjusted her handbag on her arm.
    “Yes.”
    “I’ll organize the troops when they come in.”
    “Thanks, Sandra. I’ll be in touch. My phone is off for an hour or so. Kurt is urgent contact until I’m back on deck.”
    Taking time for me was a new thing. I started doing it during a particularly brutal case a few months ago, at Kurt and Mitch’s insistence. Turns out I have less crazy in my head and apparently it’s less scary for everyone else if I look after myself. Imagine that?
    I needed a decent run. Running gave my mind thinking time. Swinging the stairwell door open I hit the stairs sprinting. A poor substitute but it’d have to do. Felt like I wouldn’t be going for a proper head-clearing run for a while.
    Fifteen minutes later I pulled into Mitch’s driveway; before I got to the front door, it swung open. Greeted by a half-dressed Mitch, I grinned. More often than not a shirtless, barefoot, belt open, jeans unbuttoned, sleep-tousled Mitch met me at the door. Unbuttoned shirt with no pants was new.
    “Nice start to the day. Pants optional?”
    He laughed, pulled me close, and shoved the door till it clicked behind me. “Such a wiseass,” he said, hugging me then taking a step back, his eyes traveled down my body. “Those are yesterday’s clothes. Pull an all-nighter?”
    “Got a bit busy.”
    A thought flashed into his eyes. I didn’t want him to think; thoughts became questions. I didn’t want questions.
    “Everything all right?”
    I smiled. “I need a shower and would like company.”
    “Guess that answers my question,” Mitch said, smiling.
    And just like that, I was off the hook. No squirming required.
    I dropped my holster and phone on his bed, throwing my jacket over them. The sound of running water drowned out Mitch’s voice.
    “Did you say