Dead Drift

  Crest looked to Finley. “Are you up for it?”

  Finley nodded. When it came to helping identify a lost loved one, she was always in.

  “Which one you want, hon?” a tall, slender brunette with tat sleeves asked Kate as she flipped through the sample display.

  “Actually, I was wondering if Tanya was in. I’ve heard she does incredible custom work.”

  “That’d be me.” The brunette cracked her gum and smiled. “And you heard right.”

  “Oh, cool. Nice to meet you. I’m Jasmine, by the way. My guy is getting a tattoo with Hank, and I was hoping for a consult.”

  “No problem,” Tanya said. “Come on back. I always like original ideas. You can only see so many hearts and roses, if you get my drift. It’s fun doing something unique.”

  Tanya led her around the corner and down the back hall, past cubicles with neck-high dividing walls. Luke was in the third stall. He’d been taken back by Hank a half hour earlier and was lying on his stomach as Hank worked on his back, which was a mixture of scars and tattoos. She nearly tripped in shock at the scrolled tattoo of her nickname on his right shoulder blade. How had she missed that when he was doing his chin-ups last night? Maybe because she’d been too focused on his muscles to notice anything else.

  “Hey, honey,” Luke said, lifting his head. “Having that consult?”

  “Yep.” Though if Tanya had time, she wasn’t just getting the consult. She was going for it. She knew what she wanted, had known for a while, and there was no time like the present. Though she still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Luke had Gracie tattooed on his back.

  Grace was the nickname given to her by her dad when she was young for her lack thereof. She’d been the tomboy climbing and, in accordance with her nickname, falling out of trees, rather than doing perfect pirouettes in the ballet studio like her sister, Beth.

  Luke had taken the name and altered it to Gracie to fit her better. The new nickname was based off Sandra Bullock’s tough yet endearing FBI agent character in Miss Congeniality, a movie she loved.

  And he had it on his back. Permanently.

  “I know your man is hot,” Tanya said, “but you gonna stand there and stare all day, or are we going to do this?”

  Heat flared in Kate’s cheeks, and she quickly hurried down the hall after Tanya, mortified.

  “Seriously, Tanya, hot?” Hank hollered at her before she entered the cubicle in front of her.

  “You know I’m just messing with you, baby,” she said as she blew him a kiss. “You know you’re the hottest.” She winked and he smiled.

  The two rough-around-the-edges tattoo artists had a surprisingly playful side that didn’t fit at all with what Kate had anticipated. But like Grammie always said, never judge a dish by the way it looks. Some of the yummiest food looked the messiest. And that was certainly true of her gram’s mud pies. They always came out lopsided and indented in the center, but there was nothing better on earth. Man, she missed Gram. Sweetest little Irish fighter of a lady she’d ever known. She’d inherited so much from her.

  “So,” Tanya said, indicating for Kate to take a seat as she grabbed a sketchpad and cup of colored pencils from her desk. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Something that symbolizes my love for the sea. One thing I definitely want included is a starfish, but other than that, I’d love to see what you come up with.”

  This tattoo would be a reminder that God was with her through deep waters. He had been these last seven years, and she was so grateful. He was with her now as her heart was both elated at Luke’s return and torn apart. The starfish would symbolize her unending love for Luke, reminding her of the starfish ring he’d given her back in college. One she still wore to this day. Thank goodness she’d been wearing it when the boat exploded or it, too, would have been lost along with everything else.

  “Cool,” Tanya said. “What size are you thinking, and where do you want it?”

  Kate indicated her left shoulder blade. “This general area, and I’d say about a handspan.”

  “Okay.” Tanya smacked her gum again, the smell of grape Bubblicious filling the air. “Cool.” She started sketching while Kate surveyed the ten-by-ten-foot space. Pictures of Tanya and Hank hung on the wall, sat in frames on her desk, and were clipped or pinned to various surfaces throughout the office. Tanya clearly loved her husband.

  Kate wondered if she knew the type of men her husband associated with on the side. Instead of jumping right into questioning her, she’d play it cool and wait for the right timing. If she came on too strong, Tanya would retreat.

  Fifteen minutes of small talk later, Tanya turned the sketchpad around. “How about this?”

  It was a beautiful conch shell with a starfish nestled inside.

  “It’s perfect.”

  “Glad you like it. My eleven o’clock canceled. Wanna go for it?” she asked.

  “Absolutely.” Not only was it perfect, but the time spent with Tanya would provide the opportunity to toss some questions her way.

  To Kate’s horror, Tanya led her to the cubicle next to Luke’s. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her getting a tattoo of a starfish. He’d know the depth of meaning it held straightaway.

  “You nervous?” Tanya asked, picking up on her vibe.

  Kate swallowed as her gaze connected with Luke’s. “Nope.” Terrified.

  Luke cocked his head up a notch. “Whatcha doing, babe?”

  “She’s getting a gorgeous tat,” Tanya said, moving to show him the sketch.

  “Oh, wait,” Kate said. “I want it to be a surprise.”

  Tanya turned back around. “I got ya.” She winked. “Go ahead and lie down. Slide your shirt off your shoulder. It’s loose enough—you shouldn’t have to take it off.”

  Thankfully she’d worn a loose, scoop-neck top with a bandeau underneath.

  With a tight swallow, she made herself as comfortable as possible on the sheet-draped tattoo table.

  She could practically feel Luke’s curiosity radiating through the neck-high wall separating them. She was abundantly thankful for that wall.

  “First tattoo?” Tanya asked.

  “Yep.”

  “You’ll do just fine. You’re strong. I can tell.” She was, except when it came to Luke, and it irritated her that he still possessed that weakening effect over her emotions.

  Tanya laid the cool stencil on her back and got started. Kate tensed slightly as the needle pricked in and out of her flesh. Tattoos did, in fact, hurt. But it was nothing she couldn’t weather.

  She made small talk with Tanya while Luke did the same with Hank. A half hour later, Luke was done and offered to buy Hank a drink at the pub next door while Tanya finished. Hank readily took Luke up on the offer, and the two left. Now she could really start asking questions. Without Hank there to overhear, perhaps Tanya would grow even chattier.

  Hedging her bets, she went with her gut instinct. “Did you see that gorgeous white Escalade in the parking lot?”

  Tanya beamed.

  Bingo.

  “It’s mine,” Tanya said, lifting the needle, wiping it, and dipping it in the yellow ink before returning to Kate’s shoulder blade.

  “You’re kidding. Man, I’d love a vehicle like that.”

  “Hank bought it for me last week for our tenth anniversary.”

  “Wow! I wish Garrett could afford gifts like that. I had no idea owning a tattoo studio paid so well. Maybe my guy should switch professions.” Using the term of affection she’d used so often for Luke stung more than the bobbing needle. He was no longer her guy, despite the scenario they were playing today.

  “It pays the bills,” Tanya said with a disinterested shrug.

  The needle continued pricking her skin like a bee stinging the same area relentlessly, making the area raw and tender.

  “Sometimes you need to find other ways to supplement your income,” Tanya finally said.

  “Like selling Mary Kay?” she asked,
trying to play the fool.

  Tanya laughed. “Not exactly.”

  Kate frowned.

  Tanya looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. “Let’s just say you find a need—one that people are willing to pay high dollar for in exchange for their autonomy.”

  “Like what? Jewelry? I have a friend who works for Ross-Keller as a jewelry rep. She throws parties in her home. Last year she even won a car. . . .”

  Tanya chuckled. “Hon, there’s a lot easier ways to make money. You just gotta be willing to take the risks and, no offense, but your boyfriend doesn’t exactly look like the high-risk type.”

  Kate swallowed her laughter. If Tanya only knew.

  He had been young. It was so long ago, before he was exposed to the cruel truth. And she had been beautiful—long, blond hair, vibrant green eyes the shade of the Aegean Sea—and so kind and attentive. He was a college student on exchange and boarding in her home. She was a professor at the Sorbonne, and seven years older than him, yet she treated him like a man. Something his father had never managed to do.

  They’d talked—oh, how they’d talked—long discussions about his love for history, archaeology, and the great antiquities of the world, how he longed to dig some forgotten artifacts out of the ground with his own hands one day.

  And that’s when it began. That moment. It was so clear in his mind, his hand even tingled the way it did that day so many years ago, when she took it in hers and led him to her bedroom.

  On that day, she became his lover. For nearly six months, it had been idyllic.

  His parents never would have approved, but they’d never approved of anything about him. He hadn’t joined their crazy, extremist faith. He was open to all cultures of the world.

  He’d studied ancient art rather than the Quran. He would never be an extremist like his father . . . or so he’d thought.

  A knock rapped on Khaled Ebeid’s door, pulling him from days long past.

  “Sir.” Brandt, his new right-hand man, stuck his head in.

  “Yes? What is it?”

  “She’s here.”

  “Perfect. Show her in.” Now to offer a contract fee high enough to entice her to take the job.

  She entered the room with a cold, calculated expression on her beautiful face. “Let’s make this quick. I have somewhere I need to be.”

  “With pleasure.” He liked a woman who got straight to the point. “We just need to agree on a price.”

  She wrote down a number on a pad of paper she pulled from her purse.

  Khaled read it and then slipped it into his jacket pocket. “Looks like we have a deal.”

  She smiled. “I’m going to enjoy this one.”

  14

  How did it go?” Griffin stood as his wife exited the autopsy room.

  “There are dentals there, so an identification will be made. It’ll just take time.”

  “I was speaking with Crest while you were in there. He went back through the missing person’s database and two young women who share similarities with other victims popped up. I’m betting she’s one of the two.”

  “Two missing persons?” Finley asked.

  He nodded.

  “So we may be dealing with more victims than we realized?”

  “Yeah, I suppose we should have assumed not all the victims would wash up on shore. What is the likelihood the remains you just examined belong to a victim of our killer?”

  “Based on the evidence, I’d say it’s very likely she was a victim of our killer. The ‘Shore Killer,’ according to the ME.”

  “The Shore Killer?” Griffin shook his head. “I suppose it fits.” He grimaced. “It looks like we are indeed dealing with a serial killer, and one who’s still very active.”

  “Agreed.”

  “How long was she in the water?”

  “We’re estimating a couple weeks.”

  “She had a lot of damage to her remains for so short a time.”

  “Something large fed on her,” Finley said.

  “But you were able to determine she fit our victim profile?”

  “She was in the same age range—late teens, had the same build. She was killed by a large caliber round at close range and had endured torture—broken fingers and deep knife wounds that abraded her ribs.”

  Finley shook her head. “The increase in his killing is flat-out frightening. One in Maryland, two in North Carolina, five—and now what appears to be a sixth—in Houston, and maybe a seventh, if the other missing girl was his victim. My experience with serial killers tells me there comes a time when they lose control over their compulsion.”

  Griffin exhaled. “I’m afraid you’re right, but as his compulsion increases, it also means the likelihood of him making a mistake increases. He needs to kill more often, and that’s when killers get sloppy.”

  Griffin stopped and considered a possibility, something they had not factored in. “The killer had control over many aspects of the crime—the type of women he hunted, how he abducted them, how he tortured and killed them, and even where he dumped the bodies—but he didn’t have complete control over what happened to those bodies after he dumped them in the water. It is likely some stayed put and might never be found.

  “We need to run a new search in the three states for all missing women who fit the other factors of the profile. Not looking for women who washed up on shore but for those who fit the other parameters. We may have way more victims than we realized.”

  “Well, if the profile—”

  “Profile . . . Shoot!”

  Finley frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “I had Agent Evans at Declan’s office write up a profile on our killer as a favor. I was so engrossed in reading Burke’s files on the plane, I totally forgot he’d given me the report. What if there is something in Evans’s profile that could have been helpful in our previous meetings?”

  “We can always call or revisit Agent Thornton or the detectives.”

  “Very true.” He wondered what was in that report. He prayed it would include something to draw them even closer to the killer.

  “Let me see your tattoo,” Luke said as he and Kate stepped into the brisk and windy October day.

  “It’s covered with Saran Wrap,” she said, thrilled with the work but not at all wanting to share it with Luke. Not when it held so much meaning involving him.

  He chuckled. “Saran Wrap is clear. I can see the tattoo through it.”

  “True, but you can see it later.” She climbed into the car.

  He stood over her door, his arm draped along the roof of the car, and arched a playful brow. “Why the secrecy?”

  “What can I say?” She shrugged, regretting the movement with the site still tender and tight. “I’m a private person.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, striding around the car and climbing in the driver’s side.

  She’d become a far more private person after he left. His leaving taught her a vital lesson—guard your heart well, even from those you love most. Especially from those you love most, because they hold the power to wound you the deepest.

  A few minutes into the drive, he glanced over again, this time tapping the wheel with his thumb. “So you’re really not going to let me see your tattoo?”

  He was pushing her, and she didn’t like it. “Why is it such a big deal?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You tell me.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. Because if he saw, he’d know. “I want it to heal up.” It sounded like a good excuse, but it was also true. Not the healing of the tattoo, but the healing of her heart. When it healed, then he could see her tattoo.

  “Where to next?” she asked, attempting to switch topics.

  “I need to meet up with my local handler. But I’ll drop you at Declan’s office first.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll come with you. I can always sit in the car.”

  He was poised to argue and then realized arguing with Katie was useless. Her determination was im
pressive. The lady was full of fire, and while the flame in her eyes was dimmer than it had been in the past, it still flickered. How he longed to see it spark fully back to life.

  Father, it breaks my heart to see the woman I love suffering, especially knowing it was, in large part, my doing. I just want to see her happy again. Please help her sadness abate, and equip me to let her see how desperately sorry I truly am and that my leaving was no reflection on her. It was my own stupid, young idealism and selfish need for what I thought would be a short, albeit grand, adventure. Help me to make this right, if that’s even still possible. Amen.

  He swallowed, wondering how God felt about him. Did He even care about Luke’s prayers after the life he’d been living? Compromising, blurring the line between right and wrong? Even if it was in service to the country he loved? He’d taken lives. He’d played more roles and told more lies than he could count.

  Could God really forgive a sinner like him? It seemed impossible, and yet he felt God clinging to the fraying thread of his faith, refusing to let go or give up on him. God was abundantly more gracious and merciful than Luke deserved.

  He glanced over at Katie, dying to know what tattoo she’d gotten, and it vexed him that she wouldn’t let him see it.

  He’d caught a very quick glimpse as he’d followed Hank out of his cubicle. It looked a seashell, perhaps, but the way Tanya had been hunched over Katie, working on the tattoo, it wasn’t readily visible.

  At least his time with Hank had been profitable. The intel on Hank’s transportation services was correct, and Hank had extended an invite for Luke—or rather Luke’s alias, Garrett Beck—and his lady to join him that evening at a local establishment called Jiffers. Hank had said he wanted Luke to meet the crew, and his girl could hang with Tanya. Hank hadn’t talked specifics, but he’d said he might have a position for a guy like him and that they’d discuss it more at Jiffers. Luke was thankful for the opening.