IAN LOOKED UP FROM HIS DESK, from the files he'd been poring over, when he heard the door to the station open. He could see Sharon gathering up her things and getting ready to switch the dispatch over to county before heading home for the night. As he watched her, Vivienne and Daniel came into view. He'd sent Marcus out on patrol, but Wyatt, Carly, and Nick were still upstairs. Rising from his seat, Ian glanced at the calendar on his desk. For everyone's sake, especially the women who might become the targets of their killer, Ian hoped they could wrap things up quickly.
He met Vivienne and Daniel in the lobby and, after locking the doors behind Sharon, the three of them trudged up the stairs. Carly and Wyatt looked up expectantly, while Nick only spared a glance before returning his attention to the phone call he was conducting. The man hadn't been half bad after Vivienne had left. He'd been head down, nose to the grindstone most of the day—his superficial, irritating charm only making an appearance when trying to cajole information from people. Like the phone records he was currently trying to sweet-talk out of someone at the phone company. They had obtained the warrant, so his request wasn't out of the blue. And both Jessica Akers and Rebecca Cole had used the same provider, so that made things a bit easier. But given that Jessica's last call was over three years ago, the phone company was giving them a two-day ETA on her records. Nick was trying to knock it down to twelve hours.
Vivienne and Daniel went to the board to look at the new information the team had posted throughout the day. When Nick ended his call, tossing his cell down with a muttered curse, everyone came to attention.
“Looks like you made some progress,” Daniel commented.
“Did you solve the case, Viv, luv? You always do, you know.” Nick's chide didn't come out like one, but as Ian started to call him on it, Vivienne raised a hand and shook her head.
“Don't bother. He gets cranky when a case doesn't move as fast as he wants.”
“Does it ever move as fast as you want, Larrimore?” Ian posited the rhetorical question.
Nick shook his head, then grinned. “I wasn't easy to live with, was I, luv?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “I wouldn't know, Nick. We never lived together. Now, focus on the case, as I'm sure you did all day while I wasn't here, and stop trying to get a rise out of Ian—”
When Vivienne snapped her mouth shut and pursed her lips, Ian knew she'd realized her mistake. She'd just acknowledged the personal nature of her relationship with the Deputy Chief of Police to the entire room. She cast him an apologetic look then motioned him to get things started. Which he was more than happy to do.
“All right. Vivienne and Daniel, why don't you give us an update on what you found up at the lab. Then we can go over what we found today.”
Vivienne moved to the front of the room and perched on a table. She looked exhausted. After everything that had happened last night, the physical and the emotional ups and downs, it didn't come as a surprise to Ian.
“We don't actually have all that much to add. The slivers that were found on both Jessica and Rebecca come from plywood, the same type of plywood. But it's a common variety, so that in and of itself doesn't tell us much.
“What is interesting about them,” Vivienne continued, “is that they both had trace absorptions of exhaust. The sliver found in Jessica had a higher concentration, but both had the same chemical makeup.”
“Which means?” Carly prompted.
“The wood was kept in a car or truck for a while before the women came into contact with it,” Daniel provided.
“Could it have happened during shipping?” Carly pressed.
“Depending on the shipping method, it's possible. But in this case, the chemical makeup leads us to believe it was a gas-fueled car or truck,” Daniel answered
“As opposed to a diesel truck,” Wyatt said.
Vivienne nodded and continued. “Maybe he's transporting the makeshift tables in his car until the right time.”
“Or, maybe his car is where he holds them,” Carly suggested.
Ian looked at Vivienne, who was looking at Carly, her head cocked to the side. “You have a good point, Carly. It's possible he could have set up his table and shackles in a car, or more likely, a van or truck,” she said.
“So it couldn't be diesel but would still need to be big enough for him to move around in,” Carly added.
Vivienne nodded and Ian considered this option before weighing in.
“If that's the case, I'd wager it's a van rather than a truck,” Ian said. “They're easier to move around in, and it's easier to conceal things in the back.”
“Okay, so maybe we can add that to the board?” Vivienne said.
Wyatt got up and wrote ‘Van?’ on the board behind her.
“What else did you find, Vivienne?” Ian asked.
“Dirt,” she responded.
“Soil,” Daniel corrected her.
“Soil, then,” Vivienne said, rolling her eyes. “And only on Rebecca. Jessica's remains were too contaminated, too old. Everything we found on her, with the exception of the sliver, was consistent with her dumping spot. Rebecca, on the other hand, had soil on the tips of her right fingers and the bottoms of her heels that was inconsistent with the soil in the well.”
“Which means?” Ian asked.
“We're not sure. But…” Vivienne's voice drifted off.
Ian watched as a distant expression stole across her features. She was making connections and coming up with ideas.
“It might give more credence to our theory of a van,” she said.
“In what way?” Ian asked.
“Well, at first I was thinking she might have gotten soil on her fingertips and heels from being dragged, but now I don't think so. The mechanics don't work,” Vivienne answered.
“Here, let me show you. Ian?” She waved him over. “Put your hands under my arms, as if you were going to drag me and take a few steps back. I'm going to let my body go, so be prepared for the weight.”
“Yeah, I think I got it,” Ian responded to her warning before thinking about it. His mind had instantly gone to how easily he'd held her weight the night before. Judging by the look on her face, her single arched eyebrow, and the smile that played at the edges of her mouth, it must have come through in his tone.
“I'm going to step back now,” he said, clearing his throat. And he did. And she made her point. By the time Vivienne was close enough to the ground where both her heels and her fingertips dragged, he was hunched over like Igor. No one would drag a dead body around like that, at least not far. Not even a psycho serial killer. It was too awkward and too uncomfortable.
“But this,” Vivienne said, standing upright and then moving toward a table. “Makes more sense.” She lay down on the table and positioned herself in a reasonable facsimile of how they imagined Rebecca and Jessica were shackled. Her heels rested against the tabletop and her fingertips brushed against it over her head.
“But if he keeps them shackled on the same surface as the wood sliver we found, why aren't there slivers in her fingertips or heels?” Wyatt asked.
“Because she was probably kept on the ground, or close to it,” Carly answered standing up. Ian turned toward his officer as she approached the table. Vivienne propped herself up to see better. Nick was sitting forward, a crease between his brows.
“Why do you say that?” Ian asked.
“A couple of reasons.” Carly paused and studied Vivienne before motioning her to scoot down the table. Vivienne moved down until her feet and ankles were hanging off the edge. “It's possible that the shackles aren't part of the table, but attached to the ground, in which case, her wrists and ankles might hang off the edge of the wood.”
Ian frowned in thought, impressed with her report. “Good point, Carly.”
“It is a very good point,” Vivienne echoed. “And, I think, if we're on the right track, probably a correct point. It would explain why there aren't slivers in her fingertips, and it also makes it easier for the killer to clean up.”
“Remove the board, burn it, replace it with a clean one, and, voila, you have no biological evidence and a clean place for your next victim.” This came from Nick, who sat back and crossed his arms as he spoke. “And then there's the rape aspect of it,” he added.
Ian wasn't going to like where this was going. Especially when Nick got up and moved to Carly's side.
“And that was going to be my second point,” Carly said, her voice contemplative.
“Meaning?” Wyatt asked.
“The mechanics of it.” Ian's voice was flat as it dawned on him what Nick was alluding to.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “If her wrists and ankles are hanging off the board, the board can't be that big. And it's a lot easier to rape a woman when you aren't worried about falling off the ledge. Not to mention you'd have better leverage.”
“Which means, if she was restrained this way,” Vivienne spoke, lying back down for visual impact—one that Ian could do without, “then chances are she was close to the ground, making it easier for him to do his thing and better for her to collect trace soil evidence on her fingers and heels.”
“Okay, time to get up, Vivienne,” Ian said, breaking everyone's intense focus on her. Seeing her lying there, in the place of Rebecca Cole or Jessica Akers, was giving him the cold sweats.
“So, it looks like what we might have is a van that has the space for a plywood board and the right setup to hook up shackles,” Ian summarized.
“And space for him to do what he's done to these women,” Vivienne added.
Ian frowned at the reminder, then spoke. “I want everyone to keep an open mind because what we're talking about here makes sense, but there could be a hundred other options we aren't considering. But if we are on the right track, we're probably looking for a large, industrial-style van. The kind with no windows, like electricians use, not a minivan or commercial passenger van,” he added.
He gave everyone, including Nick, a pointed look. What they were saying did make sense. But they were dealing with someone who killed women for some unknown reason, and he didn't want to rely on ‘good sense.’
“So anything else, Vivienne?” Ian asked. She shook her head and slid to the edge of the table. “Okay, Carly and Nick, do you want to go over what you all found today?” The two looked at each other, and Carly gave Nick a nod to go first.
“We are tracing the last moves of both women—which is obviously easier with Rebecca, who has only been missing a little more than a month, than Jessica. Still, we've tracked down some friends of both. Colleagues in the NYPD will be interviewing them and collecting evidence as time permits. They'll send everything to Sam as soon as possible.
“In the meantime, we're working on getting the phone and bank records. Again, easier for Rebecca, harder for Jessica,” Nick provided.
“What about Jessica's mother? Will she be coming up?” Vivienne asked Nick.
Ian saw a look of frustration pass over Nick's face before he answered. “No, she won't be coming up.”
Vivienne raised her eyebrows at this.
“Jessica's mother blames her for her father's downfall. She didn't exactly say her daughter got what she deserved, but she was very nonchalant about the remains. She gave me the name of a funeral home to release them to when we're done. Said they'd take care of everything.” Nick didn't bother to hide his disgust.
“When you talked about notifying her mom, it sounded like it was going to be devastating. Her response isn't in line with that at all,” Vivienne pressed.
Nick frowned. “Yeah, well, when Jessica went missing, it was before General Akers's fall from grace. Before Mrs. General Akers was ostracized from society and her entire life fell apart. She's had a lot of time to reflect and blame someone. I guess she's blaming Jessica.”
“Nice,” someone muttered.
“Any more we can do or is everything moving along?” Ian asked.
Nick shrugged. “If you can produce some phone records, that would be great. Other than that, we've got all the requests in, and we're just sitting on our hands for a day or two.”
“Any estimates on when we might start to see things?” Ian pressed.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Nick answered. “A couple of days for the physical evidence to be collected and sent to the lab by NYPD, a day or two for the records, maybe a few more for the interviews. I may go down there and do a few myself, depending on how things go.”
“Okay, Carly?” Ian asked, swinging his gaze to the officer. “What about the other women?”
“I talked to most of the case officers for the women we have on the list. Two I had to leave a message for. One is, well—” Carly's eyes went to Vivienne for a moment, and she looked uncomfortable. “Well, he didn't want to talk to me about the case, but he said you needed to call him, Dr. DeMarco.”
Ian's eyes tracked to Vivienne. She frowned. “Call me Vivi, and why does he want to talk to me? Who is it?”
“Lucas Rancuso. Boston PD,” Carly supplied.
Vivienne let out a deep breath then a quiet curse. “The three women in Boston?”
Carly nodded.
“I'll call him tonight or tomorrow,” she said.
Carly looked at Ian. He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Ah, Viv,” Nick sat back, glee in his voice.
“Shut up, Nick.” She glared at him before turning back to Carly. “Lucas and I are longtime friends. Those three cases we're looking at in Boston didn't ring a bell when we first started talking about them, but now that I know they were Lucas's cases, I remember them well.”
“And why does he need to talk to you, Vivienne?” Ian asked.
She sighed. “Because when Lucas tied the three missing persons cases together, he didn't like how the women looked like me. One of them was even a professor at the same university I teach at. He's a good friend of the family and has been for years. He won't like that I'm looking into them, and he'll want to know what I'm doing and that I'm okay. That's all. Like I said, I'll give him a call later and get us the information we need.”
She gave Ian a reassuring look, communicating to him that'd she go into it more later. He nodded and waved Carly on.
“So, have you found anything interesting, Carly?” Ian asked.
Carly contemplated a piece of paper she was holding before answering. “I think there are a few women we can eliminate from our list.” Indecision was clear in her voice—not indecision about her opinion, but about bringing it up. There was a lot to lose, for the women, if she was wrong.
“Walk us through it, Carly,” Vivienne coaxed.
Carly nodded and stepped up to the board. “This woman, Amy Clayton, was in an abusive relationship and there was some evidence that her boyfriend was involved in her disappearance. He's a rich real estate broker and lawyered up right away, but the case officer said they had some evidence that he'd taken her by force in his car. They just didn't have enough to arrest him.
“And this woman,” Carly said, pointing to one of the pictures, “Jolene Henderson, has three kids. None of the other women have kids.”
“What did the case officer have to say?” Ian asked.
“That she was a hard-working woman who went missing during Katrina.”
“Okay. Who else?” Vivienne asked.
“Francis Buckley was a prostitute. It doesn't fit since all the other women were attractive, successful women. Francis was attractive, at some point, but not successful and definitely from a different socio-economic strata than the other women.”
“That's good. Any more?” Vivienne prompted again.
“The last one I think we can eliminate is Sarah Kirk. She looks the part in many ways, but she was thirty-three when she went missing ten years ago.”
“Most of the women on the board are about that age. Give or take five or so years,” Wyatt pointed out.
Carly shook her head. “No, most of the women would have been thirty-three or thirty-four this year. All of the women were born within a year of each other.”
Vivienne stood and went to the board, scanning each of the profiles. Nick got up and followed. By watching the two, Ian knew Carly had stumbled onto something.
“Well, shit,” Nick said when he reached the end.
“You can say that again,” Vivienne uttered.
“Carly is right, and I can't believe we missed it,” Vivienne shook her head, still studying the board.
“What does it mean?” Ian pressed.
“It could mean our killer is what Vivienne likes to call a relational killer,” Nick supplied. Everyone turned to her for an explanation, including Nick.
“A relational killer is a term I use,” Vivienne said. “It's not official. But what it means is that the victims have a relational resemblance to the killer. An example might be something like a killer whose victims are all single fathers whose children are the same age as the killer. Which means that, as the killer ages, so do the fathers, or victims. The profile of the victim changes because it's related to something external.”
“And in this case?” Ian asked.
“I would wager that it's about the age of the killer, so, as he ages, the victims age. Which would explain why the latest victim is thirty-four, but this victim,” Vivienne said, pointing to another photo of a woman who was reported missing five years ago, “is only twenty-nine. It's not a variation in his victim profile, it's a central part of it.”
The news hit Ian with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“So you're saying to me that the age parameters we put in when conducting our database searches are completely irrelevant?” Ian asked, overwhelmed by the possibilities.
“No, age is very relevant,” she answered, “Just not in the way we were originally thinking about it. We were using age to define the boundaries, assuming his victims, like the ones we think we've found, are between the ages of approximately twenty-eight to thirty-five. But now we can use age to show us the path he's taken. The good news is this can give us a lot more information about him, specific information. The bad news is, because we don't know his age or the age he started killing, we need to go back far enough to the extent that it would have been impossible for him to commit the murders.”
“How far back?” Ian demanded.
“To be on the safe side, thirty-four years. Something about that date triggered something in the killer. He might have started then,” Vivienne answered.
“Thirty-four years,” Ian repeated, stunned at the potential enormity of it.
“But we only need to look for women born in these two years,” Vivienne said, writing them on the board. “It will eliminate a lot of women. And I'd recommend starting the year this woman was killed,” she said, pointing again to their twenty-nine year old. “And go back year by year, looking for women of the right age. I doubt he's been killing for thirty-four years, and my guess is we'll find fewer and fewer victims as the women get younger and younger.”
“Why?” Wyatt asked.
“Because of the sexual nature of the crimes,” Vivienne answered. “I don't think this is a parent/child thing, not with the kind of rape we saw with Rebecca. I think he has some sort of identification with the victims as women. And he's probably an adult around the same age, give or take ten years.”
Ian took in the information and forced himself to be open, to listen to Vivienne, to her experience. But it was overwhelming. How in the world was he, with his small-town force, supposed to solve this kind of case? Then again, there was always the FBI. He could call them in, and with Vivienne as his backup, he knew they would respond.
By unspoken agreement, everyone in the room moved to implement this new plan, looking through over three decades of missing persons reports for women born during those two years. But Vivienne came toward Ian and met his gaze.
As if she'd read his mind, she spoke. “We can call in the FBI, Ian, and they'll send people. Good people. But they'll probably hire me anyway. I'm not saying don't do it, because I think at some point, we're going to need to. But I am saying don't discount yourself and your team. You have me, and Nick, too. Use us to get us as far as we can go and then we can call for help. It's not as though we don't have the resources. We do.”
“What if someone else dies while we're spinning our wheels?” His biggest fear. What if pride kept him from calling in the big guns and another woman died? There was enough death on his hands; he didn't want any more.
“We're not spinning our wheels, Ian. If I thought my colleagues in Quantico could do this better or faster than we can, I wouldn't hesitate to call them in. But I'm not convinced they can. I know what their case load is, Ian.”
He ran a hand over his face and through his hair then crossed his arms over his chest. “I can't take that chance, Vivienne.”
He could feel her studying him, debating what to do next. He knew she wanted him to believe he could lead his team through this. But he just wasn't there; in his mind, the risk was too high.
“How about this? Tomorrow morning we'll call my colleague in the FBI behavioral science group. We can run through everything with him and see what he has to say. He's a good guy and will give you his honest opinion.”
Ian looked down at her, searching her face. He wanted to feel good about the fact that she believed in him. But this was big; these were the lives of unknown numbers of women. If someone could do the job better than he could, they should.
“Why are you pushing?” he asked.
Vivienne pursed her lips and looked away for a moment. Her gaze landed on the window but he got the sense that she wasn't seeing what was out there. Finally, she looked back.
“Just trust me. All I'm asking is for you not to call the FBI in tonight. To wait to talk to John tomorrow. And after you talk to John, then you can decide whether you want to bring them in.”
“Won't it be too late at that point? I mean, if I talk to him, we'll be discussing not just a serial killer, but one we are pretty sure has crossed state lines. Won't he have to come in at that point?”
“Just talk to him tomorrow.”
Again, Ian searched her eyes for some answer. But all he saw there was a question: would he trust her for this little bit of time? He glanced at the clock and noticed how late it was. Even if he called them tonight, the likelihood of them doing anything before tomorrow wasn't high. He looked back at Vivienne, whose gaze hadn't left his face. He sighed. Tonight, tomorrow, it wouldn't make a difference. He nodded his agreement.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice soft. He wasn't sure what she was saying thanks for, but he nodded again.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“And a little tired, and I could use a shower.”
He smiled at the image. “Why don't you head back to my house? I'll finish things up here and then meet you there. I'm scheduled for patrol tonight, though, so I'll be out from eleven to seven.”
She nodded then turned to say her goodbyes to the team. Daniel and Nick opted to leave with her. Within five minutes, the three were gone. Ian stood at the window and, for a long time after they'd disappeared from sight, he watched the streets and the growing shadows.
* * *
Vivi pulled up alongside Ian's house and saw a dog bound out of the woods. She paused before opening her door, watching as the pup danced and spun toward the car wearing a goofy dog grin. He had a thick, gray coat and when he approached her window she noticed his yellow wolf-like eyes. If it hadn't been for his huge ears that stuck straight out at right angles, the lock of wayward fur on his head, and the grin, she might have been worried.
But when he finally settled, the dog sat beside her car door with his tail slapping against the ground. He stood as she opened her door and climbed out of the car, his enormous tail wagging his body. Vivi gave him a friendly scratch, wondering whose pet he was, then headed for her trunk to grab her bag.
She had just slipped the bag's strap over her shoulder when she heard Ian's Jeep approaching. Surprised he was home so soon, she waited. Obviously curious himself, the dog plopped himself at her feet, or rather, on her feet and waited with her, his tail making an occasional sweep of the ground.
As soon as Ian climbed out of his car, the pup jumped up and barreled toward him.
“Hey, Rooster,” Ian said, bending down to give the dog a good rub. “How's my boy?”
“Is he yours?”
Ian looked up. “Yeah. My folks watch him when I have long days, but he's mine. Rooster, meet Vivienne. Vivienne, this is Rooster.” He stood and walked toward her.
“He hardly ever barks now, but when I first got him, when he was a puppy, he used to howl every morning when the sun came up.”
Vivi smiled. Given the thick fur that stuck up on his head, the name was fitting in more ways than one. “How old?”
“He's not quite eight months old.”
“He's going to be a big boy,” she said.
Ian inclined his head. “So, my mom is here,” he added.
Vivi blinked. Her bag dropped back into the trunk. “Your mom is here?” she repeated, looking around for a car she might have missed.
“Yeah, she called and said she was going to walk over and drop off some food for me.”
“I see.” Vaguely, Vivi noted that Rooster's head was bobbing between them as they spoke.
“You don't want to meet my mom,” Ian said.
She didn't. Not because she thought the woman was going to be mean or scary, but because it all seemed too sudden.
“It's not that exactly,” she hedged.
Seeing him standing across from her, arms crossed, feet apart, Vivi knew he was trying to figure her out.
“If last night hadn't happened, would you still be hesitant to meet her?” he asked.
Vivi shook her head. “No, but last night did happen, and, well…” her voice trailed off.
“She's not scary, Vivienne. She's actually pretty nice.”
“I'm sure she's lovely.”
“Then?”
She sighed. “Look, what it comes down to is, if there isn't a dead body involved when I meet someone, I'm socially awkward.” And she was. She never knew what to do at parties or bars, so she rarely, if ever, went to them. She was good with colleagues and family, with them she was comfortable. With others, well, that was another story.
“You're perfectly social.” As if to support his owner's statement, Rooster stood and nudged Vivi's hand, his tail showing his excitement.
“I'd like to point out that we met over a dead body,” she countered, absently rubbing Rooster's head fluff.
Ian sighed. “Come on, let's go.” He grabbed for her bag with one hand and reached for her hand with the other. She let him take her hand, but snatched her bag strap back.
“If you're going to make me meet your mother, I am not going to meet her carrying an overnight bag into your house.”
Vivi knew women who could waltz in like they owned the place, but that kind of behavior wasn't part of her makeup. Her parents—her very Catholic parents—and family had always drilled in respect for elders, and while they weren't blind to the shenanigans all the kids got into, there was a firm divide between the things you shared with your parents and elders and those you did not. Sex lives fell firmly into the latter. And walking into Ian's house with an overnight bag was just as good as walking in and telling the woman to her face that she was sleeping with her son.
Ian gave her a look before shutting her trunk, sans bag, and dragging her into his house, Rooster trailing in their wake. Again, Vivi had a fleeting thought that she should know how to handle this better. But the truth of the matter was, there were too many unknowns, about her life, about Ian's, and about their place in each other's lives. With a start, Vivi realized she wasn't too unlike Ian and his ever-present plans. She didn't call them plans, but evidently, she preferred things in black and white.
When they entered the kitchen through the back door off the laundry room, all Vivi could see was an open refrigerator. Ian anchored her by his side and spoke.
“Hi, mom.”
“Oh hi, honey,” came a surprised but pleasant voice from behind the door. “I brought you some chili and a few other things. Oh, hello.” A form appeared as the door shut. Vivi didn't miss how Ian's mother's eyes went from Ian to her and then back again.
“Mom, this is Dr. Vivienne DeMarco. Vivienne, this is my mom, Ann MacAllister.”
“Dr. DeMarco. It's nice to meet you. Please call me Ann.”
“Mrs. MacAllister. It's nice to meet you, please, it's Vivi.” They both spoke at the same time, then smiled. Vivi stepped forward and the two women shook hands.
“So, you're leading the charge to solve these horrible deaths?” Ann asked.
“I'm helping Ian in every way I can,” Vivi corrected. Ian's mom had the same soft green eyes as her son, and they darted between Ian and Vivi, landing on their intertwined hands more than once. His mother's hair, though now mostly white, held shades of brown and red, like Ian's, and had the same thick curl to it. Ann was shorter than Vivi, rounded with age, and, like her son, carried an air of practicality about her. And not that Vivi had any doubts about Ann's character, but it was nice to see that she also loved dogs, which was obvious when Rooster headed to her side and she gave him a good, long scratch behind his ears with a familiar gesture.
Ann gave a small smile. “Well, I'm glad he has the help. It's such an awful thing. Nothing like this has ever happened here before.”
The cynic in Vivi suspected more had happened in this area than people knew or admitted, but she nodded in agreement.
“Anyway,” Ann said on a breath, “there is food in the fridge. I can take Rooster again if you like. And don't forget Brianna and Chris will be here tomorrow night. They'll both want to see you if you can spare the time?”
Ian wagged his head and looked at Vivi. “Brianna is my sister and Chris is my nephew. They live in New York City and are visiting for a few days,” he explained. Turning back to his mom, he answered. “You can leave Rooster here. I may drop him off tomorrow, though. And I'll make time for Chris. Brianna, we'll see,” he added with good-natured affection. Ann rolled her eyes.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Vivi. I'll let you two get back to your evening.” When Ann's eyes fell again to her hand in Ian's, Vivi tried to pull away, but Ian tightened his hold.
“Thanks, mom. We appreciate the food. And thanks for taking care of Rooster. I'll give you a call tomorrow about Chris.”
At that, Ann bid them goodbye and disappeared out the door. Rooster followed her as far as the laundry room before turning back to the two of them as if to ask “what now?” Vivi turned to Ian.
“That wasn't so bad, was it?” he asked, tugging her toward him and sliding his hands into her hair, pulling out her ponytail as he worked his way over her scalp. She tilted her head back to give him better access. Rooster ambled back into the room and sank to the floor.
“I feel like I'm going to throw up.”
He chuckled. “She's not that bad, it was fine.”
Vivi let her head fall against his chest and, as she relaxed for the first time all day, she realized how tired she was. Ian held her close as he brushed a kiss across the top of her head.
“I need to change out of my uniform. Then we can dig into some of the food she brought.”
“What time do you have to go back out?” Her voice was muffled against his chest.
“I don't. I rearranged the schedule a bit. I called in our part-time officers for most of the patrol work. Marcus, Wyatt, Carly, and I will take turns being backup, but none of us will be on patrol for the next few days. I wanted to keep everyone on this case. At least until we have a better idea of how far we're going to take it.”
“Good call,” Vivi said. “They may not have the experience, but I think they did a good job today. Especially Carly.” They stood for a little while longer, enjoying the inertia, before she spoke again. “I smell like the lab. I need to shower.”
“Now that's something I could get into.”
Ian's arms had tightened around her and his voice was quiet but deep. Rooster rose and bumped against them as if he, too, wanted in on the embrace. One of Ian's hands dropped down to Rooster's head, but he kept the other firmly around Vivi. She smiled. “I'm sure you could get into it in more ways than one. But if you do, it might be a while before we eat. Just saying.”
He smiled back. “Food is overrated.”