Sixteen

Dubai, United Arab Emirates

Tuesday, 26 January, 5:58 p.m.

––––––––

Aidan sat down on the sun lounger and rubbed my feet. Bliss. "What time do you want to leave for dinner?"

"Why don't the three of you go and bring me back some Dynamite Shrimp? I need to keep working through the autopsy reports." I smiled when Aidan's eyes met mine. "I love you, Mr Walker."

"No, back up. Do you think I missed something in the autopsy reports?" Aidan turned and stared out over the ocean. "I love you more, Duncan."

I kicked him in the ribs, not hard enough to leave a bruise. "For that, there won't be a round two of what happened earlier this afternoon. Is it just me or are the days blurring into each other?"

"You've been out of the game for a while. There aren't a lot of profilers who can say they hunted an international serial killer, let alone found themselves in a different city every day. For the past year you were a full-time mom, and you put up with my fears. It's normal to feel out of your depth, give yourself some time."

"I can't help but wonder if us being here is a waste of time. What if the guy Rowan calls Biggie isn't the one from the parties?"

"Our only other option is to go home and wait for the killer to strike again. That could be months from now."

I scooted closer and wrapped my arms around the keeper of my sanity, pressing my cheek to his back. "His cooling-off periods are becoming shorter. At first it was months between kills, except for the three in close succession. He's killing every month now, three people just this month. January isn't over."

"Is this escalation significant?"

I shrugged. "I'm struggling to wrap my head around how he finds the victims, or rather, who helps him find the victims. And this larger-than-life man who was with him when he got the tattoos, in Budapest and Zurich, that we know for certain. The tattoo artist told Hans the same as what Janos told Rowan. They wore disguises. Biggie's handguns were visible, and he did all the talking."

"The killer is someone famous, or infamous. A person who can persuade otherwise law-abiding individuals to find him victims."

"I want Alejandro Sanchez." I pressed my lips to Aidan's back.

He turned and pulled me onto his lap. "How much do you love me, Mrs Walker?"

I rubbed myself against him. "Is that a trick question?"

Aidan moaned as I pushed my lower body down on him. "You need to stop doing that."

I laughed and kissed him hard and fast. "You don't want me to, and whatever my Aidan wants, he gets."

Aidan leaned his forehead against mine and smiled. "It's been a long time since you interrogated a suspect. Do you think you still have it in you?"

Butterflies scurried inside me, and I pulled back, keeping my hands on the back of his neck. "What did you do, Commander Walker?"

"Do you want coffee? It's going to be a very late night."

I bit my bottom lip. The flapping of the darkness' wings drowned out the sounds of Rowan and Liam inside the house.

"This face of yours, woman, you drive me crazy."

"What face?" I pushed out my bottom lip and then smiled. I couldn't help it.

"You don't even know what I've done for you. You can feel it, can't you?" Aidan brushed his lips against mine.

I nodded, my lips still against his. "Who am I going to play with?"

"In less than seven hours Alejandro Sanchez will wake up in Dubai." Aidan stood with me in his arms and lowered me until my feet reached the deck. "Come, I need to show you a room my mother designed."

Excitement filled me. Heather Walker and I are alike in many ways. One being we enjoy torture. However, I believe the more appropriate term nowadays is interrogate. It doesn't matter what people want to call it, the way we do it, gets us answers.

If Alejandro Sanchez knew the name of our killer, I would make him tell me. If he didn't, well then, he'll have a crazy story to tell. A story no rational person would ever believe. People don't just fall asleep, get tortured, and then wake up in their own bed again. Who would take him seriously, if he didn't have even the slightest scar or bruise to show?

Aidan sent Liam to buy dinner. Food shouldn't be delivered to a safe house. I ordered two servings of Dynamite Shrimp. There isn't a PF Chang's in Marcel, so whenever possible, I ate enough to last me until the next time. Before Aidan and I returned to the office, I asked him if we could bring Ainsley to Dubai in March. With all the hours Aidan had spent working the past year, the three of us deserved our first family vacation.

Eli's spy thingy found another connection. The victims in London, Edinburgh, and Paris were in contact with the same person. An up-and-coming photographer who had taken up permanent residency in a London cemetery. The date on his death certificate corresponded with the day the victims in Paris had disappeared. A single bullet had ended his life; he died on his way to a photo shoot around 0800 hours.

"Aidan, is this the work of a sniper?" I pointed at the screens, showing the autopsy report and the crime scene photos.

The best sniper in the world intertwined his fingers behind his neck and stared up at the screens. "Yes, easy kill."

"Easy for you doesn't mean easy for everyone else, military trained or not." I smiled at his back. For more reasons than one, I was grateful my husband played for the good guys' team.

"You could've done it. It isn't hard to shoot someone standing out in the open. The killer squeezed the trigger from the other side of the Thames. The width of the Thames at Woolwich is a mere 448 metres."

I wanted to roll my eyes but didn't. "The report says an eyewitness saw him stop to take a call, while he walked in the direction of the Woolwich foot tunnel. His murderer wanted him in that exact location."

Aidan brought up a map of the area on his laptop and displayed it on the bottom right-hand screen. "It's close to the airport; killer had to get to Paris."

"Why would the killer take him out if he placed four victims in the killer's hands?"

Aidan turned to look at me. "Sniping loose ends."

I laughed. Aidan's best jokes are the ones he doesn't realise he made.

"If Biggie has the level of military training that I suspect he has, he could've made that shot." Rowan pulled out a chair and placed a box on the table.

"What's in the box?" I asked.

Aidan's smile turned wicked. "Your outfit for tomorrow night."

The grin on his face said it all. He had chosen a dress for me once before. That night had turned out better than expected once we got home from my bachelorette party. "I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"The theme of the parties is always fantasy. I briefed Aidan on what to get you as he knows your sizes."

I'm not the first person to dread opening a box, and this wasn't the first box I didn't want to open. Aidan's naughty smile lingered as he gestured towards the box with his chin. "You'll approve once you see it. This way you won't be unarmed."

"Bad idea, bro. They search everyone on arrival and keep all weapons locked away until you leave." Rowan pushed the box towards me, it glided over the glass surface.

One cut with the Ontario MK 3 Navy knife Aidan had given me for our first Valentine's day and the box opened. I stared into it. My brain didn't want to process what my eyes saw. At least every item appeared to be black.

"You can choose a wig from the ones in the closet." Aidan came to stand beside me and closed the box. "I think it will be best if you tried it on in our room. I don't want to remind Rowan I'll cut off his favourite part if he gets as much as a twitch in his penis while seeing you in this."

Aidan turned to his brother. "It twitches, I cut it off."

Rowan stretched his long arms out above his head. "I've seen her in a bikini, and besides, she's going with me and not Liam. Sister to me, unattainable to him. Big difference."

"I wish she wore a bikini to this party." Aidan shook his head and slumped down in a chair.

My future lack of flesh coverage set aside for the time being, I refocused on the man who had been murdered in London. "Why would you kill him? Four victims in three cities, he could've given you access to many more. Ignas made a name for himself photographing models, actors, and dancers. I looked at his website, none of the victims' photos were part of his portfolio."

It isn't unusual for an artist to go by his first name. What struck me as odd – two years before no one had even heard of Ignas the photographer. Before his death, everyone who is anyone wanted to be on the other side of his camera.

Rowan walked closer to the screens and cursed. "Ignas and Biggie might've known each other."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"They were born in the same country."