The Killing Hour by Lisa Gardner Read Free Book Online Page B

“All right, pretty boy. There’s no dealing with you tonight, so you might as well tell me about your meeting.”
    “It never happened,” he said readily.
    “Blew you off?”
    “For bigger fish. According to Dr. Ennunzio, it’s now all terrorism all the time.”
    “Versus your five-year-old case,” she filled in for him.
    He grinned crookedly, leaned back, and spread out his darkly bronzed hands. “I have seven dead girls, Genny. Seven little girls who never made it home to their families. It’s not their fault they were murdered by a plain-vanilla serial killer and not some imported terrorist threat.”
    “Battle of the budgets.”
    “Absolutely. The Behavioral Science Unit has only one forensic linguist—Dr. Ennunzio—but the nation has thousands of whackos writing threats. Apparently, letters to the editor are low on the list of priorities. Of course, in my world, these letters are about the only damn lead we have left. National Academy prestige aside, my department didn’t send me here for continued education. I’m supposed to meet this man. Get his expert input on the only decent lead we have left. I go back to my department without so much as saying boo to the fine doctor, and I can kiss my ass good-bye.”
    “You don’t care about your ass.”
    “It would be easier if I did,” Mac said, with his first trace of seriousness all night.
    “You ask anyone else in the BSU for help?”
    “I’ve asked anyone who’ll give me the time of day in the hall for help. Hell, Genny, I’m not proud. I just
want
this guy.”
    “You could go independent.”
    “Been there, done that. Got us nowhere.”
    Genny considered this while taking another drag from her cigarette. Despite what she might think, Mac hadn’t let the great set of boobs fool him. Genny was a sheriff. Ran her own twelve-man office. In Texas, where girls were still encouraged to become cheerleaders or, better yet, Miss America. In other words, Genny was tough. And smart. And experienced. She probably had
many
of those cases that got under an investigator’s skin. And given how hot it had become outside, how hot it would be by the end of the week, Mac would appreciate any insight she could give him.
    “It’s been three years,” she said at last. “That’s a long time for a serial predator. Maybe your guy wound up in jail on some other charge. It’s been known to happen.”
    “Could be,” Mac acknowledged, though his tone said he wasn’t convinced.
    She accepted that with a nod. “Well, how about this, big boy? Maybe he’s dead.”
    “Hallelujah and praise the Lord,” Mac agreed. His voice still lacked conviction. Six months ago he’d been working on buying into that theory. Hell, he’d been looking forward to embracing that theory. Violent felons often led violent lives and came to violent ends. All the better for the taxpayers, as far as Mac was concerned.
    But then, six months ago, one single letter in the mail . . .
    Funny the things that could rock your world. Funny the things that could take a three-year-old frustrated task force and launch it from low-burn, cooling their heels, to high-octane, move, now, now, now in twenty-four hours or less. But he couldn’t mention these things to Genny. These were details told only on a need-to-know basis.
    Like why he really wanted to talk to Dr. Ennunzio. Or why he was really in the great state of Virginia.
    Almost on cue, he felt the vibration at his waist. He looked down at his beeper, the sense of foreboding already gathering low in his belly. Ten numbers stared back up at him. Atlanta area code. And the other numbers . . .
    Damn!
    “I gotta go,” he said, bolting to his feet.
    “She that good-looking?” Genny drawled.
    “Honey, I’m not that lucky tonight.”
    He threw thirty bucks on the table, enough to cover his drinks and hers. “You got a ride?” His voice was curt, the question unconscionably rude, and they both knew it.
    “No man’s that hard to replace.”
    “You