Chapter Ten

“Is that him?” Dayne asked. Kat didn’t look at him, didn’t utter a word. Her body was as unmoving as a marble statue. “Kat?”

Slowly, she nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. “Yes,” she whispered. “I think so.”

The image depicted a man so generic there was nothing about him that would ever stand out in a crowd. On a scale of one to ten the chances of getting a definitive hit off facial recognition were about zilch because he’d look like half the men in every database. They’d get way too many hits to follow up on.

“Good job.” He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. To Jim he said, “Can you send the image to me and Detective Paulson?”

Paulson rattled off his department email.

“You got it.” Jim clicked the mouse to save the image.

“Make sure you copy ASAC Barstow and SAC Peters,” Dayne added. “I’ll call them in a minute to have someone run it through NGI.” The FBI’s Next Generation Identification System and many states’ DMVs now used state-of-the-art facial recognition technology. It was a long shot, but still worth a try.

“I’ll print out some color copies and distribute them to everyone in the department. I can also put out a county-wide alert.” Paulson headed back to his desk. A minute later, the printer on a nearby credenza began spewing out copies. The detective retrieved the sheets, handing one to Dayne and one to Kat.

“What is it?” he asked, when she frowned at the image.

“Something about the eyes still isn’t right. They were cloudy.”

“In what way?”

“I once wore green contact lenses to a Halloween charity event. I dressed up as a witch. The contacts made my eyes look green, but also cloudy.”

“So he could be wearing contacts. If that’s the case, his eyes could be any color.”

“Which means,” Paulson interjected, “it will be that much harder to get a positive ID on the guy.”

“We good here?” Jim caught his eye. “I’ve got another appointment downtown.”

“We’re good, man. Thanks for coming.”

A minute later, Jim had packed up his equipment and was out the door. Kat continued staring at the image, gripping the edges of the paper tighter until her knuckles whitened.

“What’s wrong?” Her face had paled considerably.

“I just can’t believe I’m sitting here in a police station, looking at a sketch of the man who murdered two people and tried to kill me, too. It’s surreal.” He glimpsed her pain, and something he hadn’t felt in a very long time pierced his gut.

Like many cops, he’d witnessed so many victims of violent crimes he’d been forced to build walls to protect his sanity. Watching her suffer pounded at those self-imposed boundaries. Not penetrating, just leaving little indentations in his emotional armor. Even more shocking was that he wanted to comfort her. Bad idea. His brain never got the message, and he reached out to rest his hand on her shoulder when both their cell phones dinged.

He cued up the email Emily had sent regarding security company options, quickly scrolling down the screen. Beside him, Kat did the same on her phone.

“I can’t tell one company from the other.” Her brows scrunched as she read the email. “Emily says your friends have completely taken over the castle.”

He chuckled. “Kade’s the best.” He continued scrolling through the list of companies. “Hire All Time Security and make sure they can have people on duty by this afternoon.” He started typing in the manpower and scheduling he wanted. “You’ll need three guards twenty-four seven. One outside the Haven, two outside the castle.”

“You really do like giving orders, don’t you?” Amusement glimmered in her eyes.

“Like I said, it’s an FBI thing.” He couldn’t stop the grin forming on his lips, or the idiotic way his heart thumped a little faster.

She gave an utterly feminine snort. “And where will you be stationed during all of this?”

“With you, at all times. Wherever you are, that’s where I’ll be.” The realization of what he’d just committed to had him gripping the phone tighter. Having personal feelings for a witness could turn into a shitstorm.

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “I hadn’t realized that—”

“That I’d be with you every second of the day? Yep, that’s the plan.” Along with not letting her out of his sight. Except while she slept, of course.

“I see.” She began typing out a reply to Emily.

He gave a mental sigh of relief that she gave in so easily. Protective services weren’t his forte, but he didn’t trust her safety to anyone else. That, and it would have trashed his ego if she’d told him to pound sand.

When she’d finished typing, she dropped her phone back into her purse. Again, she swallowed, only this time it was accompanied by a deep breath and the tip of her tongue darting over her lips. She was worried, and she should be. Hell, he was worried, too.

“Between the security guards, the new alarm system, and me and Remy with you, you’ll be safe. I promise.” This time when he reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, the tension in her body seemed to lessen. “Okay?”

Their gazes locked. “Okay.”

Unspoken understanding passed between them, along with something else he wouldn’t—no, shouldn’t—put a label on, let alone give voice to. It was in the way his heart skittered faster and how parts of his body had just gone on red alert. No matter how much he fought it, that something else zinging between them could only be one thing. Desire.

Paulson returned to the office and Dayne yanked his hand away, feeling like a teenage kid caught by his girlfriend’s father. From the smirk plastering the detective’s face, he hadn’t missed a thing.

“If you can spare a few minutes,” Paulson said, “I’ll give you an update.”

“Be right there.” He gave Paulson a dismissive nod, waiting for him to return to his desk before continuing. “Tell Emily I want those guards on duty no later than four p.m.”

The corners of her mouth twitched, and she raised her free hand to her forehead, giving him a sharp salute. “Yes, sir, officer, sir.”

He lowered his brows, feigning annoyance. “The term you’re looking for is special agent. Not officer.”

“Then, yes, sir, special agent, sir.” Her eyes twinkled with mirth, and he was glad to see her expression lighten, even if temporarily. Because she’d been right about one thing. Her freedom and her privacy were headed straight for the nonexistent zone.

He winked. “You’re learning.”

Paulson picked up a document. “We’re running every print the tech guys pulled from the Garman and Thorpe homicides.”

“The DNA results will take a while,” Dayne said absently, noting the stiffness in Kat’s back as she spoke on her cell phone. “What lab has Becca’s cell?”

“The Rockland County Sheriff’s Office.” Paulson glanced at a chain of custody form. “Their computer crime unit does forensic analysis for just about every department in the county.”

Dayne hoped they were as capable as the FBI lab. He didn’t dare voice the thought and risk falling to the rock-bottom position on Paulson’s shit list. Still… “Make sure they download all the addresses in her GPS app. It might help us trace her movements right before she died.”

He took a deep breath to steady himself. Getting wrapped up in the world of Katrina Vandenburg had kept him so busy, he hadn’t had time to fully process that Becca was really gone.

“Will do.” Paulson made a note on a pad, and Dayne was gratified to see the words “To Do” at the top. The guy might not like him, but he seemed motivated, and that was all that mattered.

He focused on the chains of custody and the list of evidence the department had collected at both crime scenes, including more than a dozen boxes of case files. “Did you get the subpoena for Becca’s phone?”

The detective pursed his lips, arching a brow as he held up a piece of paper with the words Grand Jury Subpoena in large bold letters.

“Yeah.” Dayne took the subpoena, giving it a quick once-over. “Sorry.” He really needed to stop second-guessing the guy. He handed the document back then reread the chains of custody. “You took a lot of case files. Need help looking through them?”

“Actually, yeah.” Paulson nodded.

Dayne cued up his ASAC’s number on his own cell phone. Seconds later, his boss answered.

“So, Dayne…what’s it like guarding the richest woman in the state?” Lydia Barstow, the Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge of the FBI’s Newark office, asked.

One of the detectives had given Kat a bottle of water and was now sporting a grin so broad the guy reminded Dayne of a kid talking to the prettiest girl in school. The other detective joined in and perched on the edge of the desk. Kat held out her hand and Dayne thought the guy was going to kiss it. She said something he couldn’t hear. Whatever it was, the guy blushed. It was like watching a queen hold court, and her minions were eating up every word.

Teenage boy or grown man, if they had blood flowing through their veins, they’d be drawn to her like iron to a magnet.

Goddammit. He could lie to himself until he was blue in the face. That flare of irritation in his gut was none other than good old-fashioned jealousy.

“Dayne, you still there?” came Lydia’s voice.

“Yeah. The Orangetown PD took all of Becca’s case files from her office. Can you assign some agents to review them at the PD?”

“I’ll send two agents right over.”

Dayne rattled off the address. “Anything on Becca’s arrestees?” Statistically, ex-cons seeking revenge did it within days of being released, and it was usually violent, fitting the MO of a stabbing.

Becca had been a hard-hitting agent, racking up a fuck ton of arrests on the west coast before transferring to the Newark office. She’d put some violent people behind bars. There was always the possibility that one of them had been sitting in a jail cell, seething until the day he—or she, for that matter—could exact revenge.

“One name popped up on the list. Kelso Donnelly. You know him?”

“Yeah.” He frowned, remembering the case he’d worked on with Becca. Kelso Donnelly had thrown a conniption when he’d been sentenced to ten years in federal lockup.

Donnelly was a beast of a man. At six-two and weighing in at about three-fifty, he was intimidating as hell. Added to that was the twisted mind of a pedophile. If they hadn’t caught up with him before he’d left the country with eight-year-old Melinda White… Dayne’s stomach roiled at the thought of what would have been that little girl’s fate.

“Where is he?” Dayne asked.

“That’s the problem,” Lydia continued. “He was released two weeks ago, but no one’s seen him. Not his family, his ex-wife, or anyone who knew him. He’s from Pennsylvania, and I have two teams out there now trying to find him.”

Donnelly definitely fit the profile, and now he was on the loose. But the guy looked nothing like the digital sketch Kat and Jim had come up with. Then again, a decade in prison could change a man. Inside and out.

“Can you email me his rap sheet and a recent photo? I want to share them with the PD.”

“Already did.”

On cue, his cell phone pinged. “Thanks, Lydia.” He ended the call and forwarded Donnelly’s criminal history and color photo to Paulson’s email. “Two agents are on their way to read through Becca’s case files. I just sent you a rap sheet. Becca and I arrested this guy ten years ago. She was the case agent, and he swore he’d come after her the second he got released.”

“Maybe he did.” Paulson pulled up the email on his desktop and opened the attachment. As expected, Donnelly’s arrest photo looked nothing like Kat’s sketch. But Lydia had included another photo, one dated less than a year ago and taken in prison. Compared to the way the guy had looked the day he and Becca had arrested him, the face staring back at him was gaunt. Donnelly must have lost two hundred pounds. Now that his chin and cheekbones were visible, his face looked average.

Like the man in Kat’s sketch.

“Kat.” The conversation she’d been having with the young detectives immediately ceased. “Can you come over here?”

Kat rose regally, smoothing her hands down her slacks before gliding over to Paulson’s desk.

“Take a look at this photo.” He indicated Paulson’s monitor. “Is this the man who attacked you?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “I can’t be sure. It all happened so fast.” She leaned in closer. “Are his eyes blue?”

Paulson scrolled back to the rap sheet, but Dayne already knew the answer because he’d never forget the bastard’s eyes or the disgusting way he’d watched as they’d carried Melinda out of the tiny bedroom he’d kept her in. “Yes. They’re blue,” he answered before Paulson had even gotten to the man’s physical description.

“Whatever color they are, this asshole’s now a suspect.” Paulson printed out several copies of Donnelly’s photo. “I’ll put out a BOLO and make sure every department in the area sees it.”

While the detective logged into NYSPIN, Dayne urged Kat to the nearest chair then retrieved the photos from the printer and grabbed a black pen from the desk. He set the photo on the desk then scribbled on Donnelly’s chin, doing his best to draw a beard and mustache similar to the one in Kat’s sketch. He put the photo and Kat’s sketch side by side.

The images were similar in terms of overall features, but the features in both were so average, even he could see it would be difficult for anyone to say with a reasonable degree of certainty that these were the same men.

After staring alternately from one image to the other, she looked up at him, her eyes filled with regret. “I’m sorry. I just can’t tell.”

“That’s okay.” Although he was disappointed. Not with her. She was doing far better than he could have expected.

“No.” She grabbed his hand, and when her fingers tightened around his, he felt the contact clear down to his toes. “It’s not okay. I saw him, but I can’t identify him. How is that possible? Why can’t I be sure? It’s as if the image is becoming more and more fuzzy over time.”

He clasped her hands in his. “What you’re experiencing is normal. Lots of witnesses go through the same thing, thinking that because they got a quick look at someone, they should instantly be able to pick them out of a lineup. It’s never that simple. There are emotions involved and stress. The more time that goes by, the harder it is to recall detail.”

Her head lowered. He expected her to release his hand. She didn’t. When she looked up, shadows flickered in her eyes. Dark shadows, as if she were suddenly bone-tired.

“Please,” she whispered. “Get me out of here.”

So he did. He would have done anything to ease her pain.