“Besties? What are you, thirteen? And, I’ll have you know, I can cut a rug with the best of them. You’re just jealous that I’ll be spending my days with the ladies who lunch, while you’ll be hitting the pavement, or twiddling your thumbs on surveillance.” Jerry sneered at him, but he missed it.
“Cut a rug? What are you, sixty?” Dylan chuckled, but still didn’t open his eyes. He knew that keeping them closed would only make Jerry more aggravated. “Besides, I’d much rather investigate Casanova than attend fancy-schmancy parties, or work on my tan.” Dylan peeked at Jerry beneath his lashes, smiling at the thundercloud covering her face.
“At least I’ve got sense enough to fit into those fancy-schmancy parties. It’s a good thing Interpol is sending their own agent, maybe now we won’t blow the cover.” Jerry sniped.
Nate was accustomed to Dylan and Jerry’s back and forth. It was easy for him to ignore their banter as he scanned the remaining contents of the police files. There seemed to be a lot of information missing, either by a transmission mistake, or through shoddy police work. Surely the locals interviewed more than one neighbor, and one friend, of the first two victims. He made a mental note to request the complete files when they landed.
“Okay, if we assume the victims go with him willingly, and are comfortable being close to him, then he’s either part of their social circle, or he meets them through their daily activities.” Nate tapped his fingers on the armrest.
“He could be anything from a valet at a restaurant they frequent, to the guy installing their cable.” Dylan sat up and reached for his laptop. “We should check for any overlap during the last month of their lives.”
“Sure, check, but I doubt that a woman who’s living a life of luxury, courtesy of one man, would be willing to risk that falling apart for the cable guy.” Jerry knew in her gut that she was right. “However, she might be willing to trade up.”
Dylan and Nate both looked at her.
“Trade up?” Nate voiced their common question.
“Sure. Better looking, more money, maybe even marriage material, so she can get the whole enchilada, not just the peripheral pocket change.” Jerry considered her theory before continuing. “Maybe our guy is not only part of her circle, but the crème of the crop. Or at least he’s making it appear so, to her.”
“So, the unsub infiltrates her world, entices her to date him with a bigger bank account and his single, ready for marriage status, then goes in for the kill. Literally.” Dylan nodded his head. “I like it, it fits.”
“It’s definitely a possibility.” Nate agreed. “We’ll know more when we get Interpol’s profile.” Nate stroked his chin absently, a sure tell that he was in deep thought. “That scenario also fits the unsub’s European moniker, Casanova Killer. You may be onto something, Jerry.”
“Based on that theory, I think we should extend the age range of the standard profile, in a case like this, from a white male in his mid-to-late thirties, to one in his mid-to-late fifties.” Dylan stretched his long legs into the aisle.
“Agreed.” Nate nodded. Jerry typed as Nate continued. “We know that his signature here is the same as for his kills in Europe. Selecting victims with similar physical characteristics, leaving them in plain sight in remote locations, killing them with a left to right slash across the throat, and his socio-economic preferences are the primary factors that led Barnes to believe he’s relocated to San Francisco.”
“He’s either simulating wealth, or he is wealthy. If he’s playing a role, the props for that lifestyle are not cheap. He’d need a lucrative source of income, just to buy the wardrobe and transportation to pull it off.” Jerry stopped typing and considered the situation. “His source of funds could be from other criminal activities. I mean if your passion is killing, then what’s to stop you from robbery or dealing drugs?”
“Barnes may shed more light on that, but it’s a valid point. We’ve caught more than one serial by following the money trail.” Nate nodded. “But if he’s dealing, it’s high end. I doubt we’ll find this one on the street corner.”
“That brings up another point. How sure is Interpol that his first kills are the three in London? It’s rare for a serial to start off without leaving a trace. He could have begun with prostitutes, or other high-risk victims, in order to perfect his craft.” Dylan yawned and stretched.
“Surely they thought of that.” Jerry commented. “It’s textbook profiling.”
“I’m not so sure Interpol is big on psychological profiling. They’re more into following concrete leads than insolating character traits and tracing patterns.” Nate answered.
“No wonder they haven’t caught him yet.” Jerry mumbled. “What do you know about Barnes?”
“Not much. He’s based in London and he’s been with Interpol for eight years, primarily undercover. That’s it, other than the fact that he’s already established a cover we can use.”
“Speaking of, what about my cover?” Jerry asked.
“You have a bay front condo, very posh, I might add.” Nate grinned at her raised eyebrows. “A personal shopper is filling your closet as we speak. You’re all set to be the perfect pampered princess.”
“Sounds great, do I get to keep the clothes?” Jerry looked hopeful.
“Not hardly. We’re doing this on San Francisco’s dime. They’re very eager to put this to rest sooner, rather than later.”
“Serial killers don’t exactly inspire tourist traffic,” Dylan scoffed, “but this one is so specific, that the average person is exempt.”
“His target victim pool is one of the reasons we have such a large budget on this assignment. Who do you think donates to the arts, and helps make the city what it is, in order to attract the tourists? The people he’s targeting. Don’t forget that two of the victims had married lovers. The killer’s actions caused an investigation that put a serious kink in their extracurricular activities.”
“So, our investigation is also funded, in part, by an element of the elite private sector.” Jerry grinned. “Somehow, that makes me happy.”
“Hey, you play, you pay.” Dylan quipped.
Nate ignored his remark. “You’ll also have a limo at your disposal. The driver is one of ours from the San Francisco office. That way, you’ll have backup when Barnes isn’t around.”
“If our theory holds, the killer will likely make contact when I’m alone. Do we know the three victim’s routines?”
“Jimmy’s working on it. Only two of the women had a driver, the third drove herself around. He’s pulling the GPS info for the month before her death, to try and establish some sort of routine. He should have something for us by the time we land.”
“I still can’t believe the agency hired someone so young for tech support. What is he, twelve?” Dylan had been waiting for the newbie to screw up, but so far his support had been invaluable.
“Age is just a number, old man.” Jerry teased. “Besides, Jimmy’s legal, barely, and he’s a helluva lot better than the last tech guy they gave us.”
“True, but he still seems too young for the job.”
“You’re just jealous that you didn’t graduate from MIT when you were eighteen.” Jerry poked Dylan’s outstretched leg with her toe.
Dylan rolled his eyes at her, then continued. “Maybe it’s not the women he’s targeting, as much as the men. Jimmy should look for overlaps in their lives as well.”
“He’s doing it as we speak.” Nate commented, pleased that Dylan made the connection. These two were the best of the best, in spite of their constant back-and-forth nonsense. He was proud to have them on his team.
“Doesn’t seem like there’s anything we can do until we land.” Dylan moved to a seat at the back of the plane. “Wake me when we get there.”
Chapter Three
Ethan Barnes flashed the flight attendant his most charming smile as he exited the plane. It was habit, more than a conscious effort to captivate, even though the effect was decidedly beguiling.
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Ethan’s rakish good looks, and slightly dangerous swagger, were never wasted on any female who crossed his path. He looked a bit like he’d just stepped off the cover of a decadent romance novel, complete with longish black hair, and muscles rippling beneath his tailored shirt. Accustomed to the attention, Ethan had learned to take the unwanted admiration in stride.
Stepping into the early morning haze that hovered over the bay, he was suddenly grateful for the side benefits of his wealthy playboy cover, specifically the sleek black town car propping up the driver, holding a sign that read, “Ethan Bennett,” his cover for the assignment. Exhausted from the thirteen hour flight, he was in no mood to try and navigate an unfamiliar city during rush hour.
Handing his bag to the driver, with a nod in lieu of a handshake, he slid into the backseat. Momentarily surprised to find it occupied by a lanky stranger, holding a steaming mug of something that smelled like heaven, he quickly regrouped and held out his hand.
“You must be Nate.” The stranger took his hand, nearly crushing it, until Ethan gave back as good as he got.
“Dylan Dawes. Nate’s busy coordinating with the locals. Nice to meet you, Barnes.” Dylan had studied the man’s profile, so he knew what to expect, but the agency photo did not capture the aloof, I’m-so-much-better-than-you attitude of the man who climbed into the car.
The expression on the stranger’s face belied his words. His scowl told Ethan that he’d taken his measure, and he’d somehow come up lacking.
“Pleasure. Are you with the FBI?”
“SSCD, Special Serial Crimes Division.” Dylan took pity on the foreign pretty boy and handed him a coffee. “It’s black, cream and sugar are in the bag.” He tossed a paper bag across the seat, silently amused when Ethan missed it.
“Thanks. Didn’t get much sleep on the plane.” Ethan read the other man’s disapproval and accepted it. Men didn’t immediately warm to him. Whether he inspired fear, jealousy, or something in between, he was used to a chilly reception from his male counterparts. He wondered briefly which part of his person the surly man sitting across from him objected to the most.
Ignoring Dylan’s continued assessment, Ethan prepared his coffee with three sugars and two creams. The man would come around eventually. Or not. At the moment, he couldn’t care less about Dylan Dawes’ opinion. He only wanted to solve this case, before another woman was killed.
The driver eased away from the curve before lowering the privacy glass between the front and back seats. Ethan, eyebrows raised, looked questioningly at Dylan.
“That’s Rodney, he’s one of us. He’ll be one of your drivers, as well as part of your back-up team.”
“Nice to meet you, Rodney.” Ethan nodded at the man wearing the chauffer’s cap. “Any news on the case?” He asked both men.
“No news on Casanova, and no new victims. Jerry’s set up at the condo, she’s your undercover partner. We have a video conference scheduled with Nate and the team in thirty minutes.”
“Is Jerry local FBI, or is she SSCD?”
“SSCD, one of the best.” Dylan’s scowl deepened as he leveled his eyes at Ethan.
Ethan read the warning shot from Dawes’ expression. So, that was the problem, he thought. They were a couple and Dawes’ didn’t like the idea of Ethan barging in on his territory. It was jealousy that prompted his mistrust.
“Good to know. She’ll have to be, to catch this guy. He’s slick.” Ethan sipped his coffee, glancing out the window at the majestic span of orange metal in the distance. He’d always planned to visit San Francisco, but for pleasure, not business. Still, the city made a good first impression.
“We’re anxious to hear what you know about him, the file was pretty slim.” Dylan studied the ease with which Barnes lounged on the plush leather as he surveyed the city. Slick was exactly the word he would use, and not just for Casanova.
“That’s because there’s not much to report. The guy’s a ghost.” Ethan preferred to give the details to everyone at once, no need to repeat himself, just to satisfy Dylan Dawes.
“And you’re sure that we’re after the same unsub.” Dylan’s statement was more of a question.
“Looks like. The signature is the same. His trail went cold in Italy two months ago.” Ethan settled back into his seat. “Tell me about Jerry. What does she look like?”
Son of a bitch, Dylan thought, we’re chasing a serial and this one wants a little something on the side. Well, not if he had anything to say about it. The last thing Jerry needed was Pretty Boy Slick to mess with her head. Holding his tongue, but determined to warn Jerry, he responded simply.
“She fits the profile.”
“Tall, brunette, gorgeous? Hard to imagine an FBI agent that looks like that. No offense, but all of the blokes I’ve met from your agency are more nondescript. By blokes, I mean female agents as well.” Ethan enjoyed the anger that flitted across Dylan’s face, but he couldn’t say why.
“You won’t have to imagine it for long. We’re nearly there.” Dylan did not rise to the other man’s bait. Hiding a smirk, he thought that he probably wouldn’t have to say anything to Jerry. She would see straight through this asshat.
Chapter Four
Jerry snapped the laptop closed after perusing Ethan Barnes’s profile for the tenth time. The man’s background gave her confidence in his abilities, but there was much more to being a partner than the blurbs and highlights captured in a personnel file. If he looked anything like his profile picture, Jerry knew she would have no trouble pretending to be enamored with him.
Pictures and recommendations aside, Jerry’s biggest concern was that he would not respect her as an equal. Without fail, every male the agency had partnered her with, had assumed that her biggest asset was her looks. She invariably spent the first few weeks proving that her appearance took a backseat to her sharp mind and her skills in the field. Trouble was, she didn’t have weeks to prove her abilities to Barnes. They needed to hit the ground working as a team, if they had a prayer of stopping Casanova before he killed another woman.
Jerry glanced at the oversized clock hanging above the onyx bar top. They should be here any minute. Her gaze touched on the opulent furnishings that filled the expansive living area, before landing on the incredible vista of the bay and the city. The fifteenth-floor, corner condo was wrapped in floor-to-ceiling glass. She could easily get lost in the views, as well as the luxuriously appointed, and slightly intimidating, living spaces. Her humble upbringing, and modest government salary, had not prepared her to live in such lavish elegance, in the heart of Nob Hill. Part of her was afraid she would get used to it.
The soft chime of the doorbell signaled her new partner’s arrival. Jerry smoothed her hands over crisp linen pants, took a deep breath, and made her way to the door. Pasting on a smile that she hoped was welcoming and confident, she opened the door.
Interpol’s profile picture did not prepare her for the flesh-and-blood Adonis standing in the hall. Words of greeting lodged in her throat and her pulse rate soared, as she stood, and stared at, the most gorgeous man she’d ever met.
“What’s the matter, Jer, cat got your tongue?” Dylan smirked as he came up behind Ethan. “You gonna let us in?”
“Of course,” Jerry found her composure and stepped aside, allowing the two men to enter.
“Jerry Forbes, Ethan Barnes.” Dylan made the introduction on his way to the kitchen, leaving Jerry standing with her hand on the doorknob, and Ethan standing just inside the doorway, gripping a suitcase in each hand.
“Come in, please.” Jerry swept her arm in an unconscious gesture of welcome, without removing her eyes from his piercing, green gaze. He seemed to look straight through her. Jerry felt a shiver run down her spine, but tried not to show it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ethan.”
“Likewise, I’m sure.” Grateful that the speech portion of his brain managed to function on auto-pilot, Ethan couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the vision standing befor
e him. In a split second, he clearly understood the meaning of the phrase “struck by lightning.” Tall and slender, with thick waves of caramel hair falling over both shoulders, Jerry Forbes stood nearly as tall as he, with sparkling blue eyes, shot with spears of green, set wide apart in a face that he could only think of as angelic. When her perfectly shaped eyebrows lifted in a silent question, Ethan realized that he’d been standing in the doorway, staring like a dumbstruck fool.
“Thank you,” he murmured and stepped into the room, placing both cases on the shiny hardwoods. Stepping forward, he held out his hand.
Jerry still had not managed to look away from his intense gaze. From out of the blue, she imagined curling up against him on a rainy day, resting her head on his chest as his arms closed around her. She took his hand without hesitation, but as soon as their fingers touched, the comforting image morphed into one filled with white-hot passion that nearly took her breath away.
Ethan saw the flash of heat that deepened the blue, and brightened the green, in her eyes. He was having trouble masking his own reaction. Touching Jerry was like reaching his hand into a flame.
“You guys gonna stand there all day?” Dylan came from the kitchen, coffee and muffin in hand. “Nice digs, Jer. Damn site better than the Motel 6 we stayed in last week. What a dump.”
Dylan’s voice startled Jerry from her fantasy. She quickly retrieved her hand. “So glad you approve. Ethan, would you like coffee?”
“I would, thanks. What a spectacular view.” Flashing a smile that sent Jerry’s pulse into overdrive, Ethan moved to the windows.
“Stunning, isn’t it? Wait until you see it at night.” Jerry busied herself making coffee, and arranging a plate of pastries. “Dylan, will Nate be joining us?”
“Not in person. We’ll video conference when Barnes is ready to share.” Dylan propped his feet on the pewter and glass coffee table.
“I’m ready.” Ethan ignored the barely disguised sneer in the other man’s voice, and joined Jerry at the dinette table.
Dylan reached for the television remote, pressed a few buttons on his hand-held computer, and within seconds, Nate appeared on the oversized wall monitor.