Family Honor Read online

No, he smells like Aramis or some other musky cologne I can never resist. Mel sighed, and headed into the conference room.

  Willis had dragged the bulletin boards and positioned them next to the white board. He'd lined up a row of tables underneath, leaving one lone table in the middle with chairs around it.

  "Taking that 'make yourself at home' comment to heart, I see," Mel said as she entered.

  He glanced at her and smiled. "We have a method that works pretty well. If you stick to an established routine, you spend less time worrying about the logistics of things and can devote more energy to the task at hand."

  "I see." She blinked, not sure she really did, but expecting she was going to find out.

  He fanned her folders out on the lone table with chairs. "Have a seat over here, and hand me what you've got on victim number one. Photos first, then I'll ask you for some information."

  Mel did as directed.

  Willis peeled off his suit coat and draped it over the back of a chair. He took the handful of pictures she held out and spread them across his table. He chose the mug shot of the woman and pinned it to the top row of the bulletin board. Below it he displayed the shots of her body at the crime scene. He moved to the white board and picked up a blue marker. "Name? Age?"

  Mel had been so caught up watching him dart around she wasn't prepared with the answers. She leafed through the files while he stopped and looked at her.

  "You don't know your victim's name?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

  "Of course I do. It's Rhonda something." She shuffled papers and felt the heat of another blush creep up her chest, past her neck, to her face.

  "Rhonda Something.Unusual last name." His voice was patronizing.

  "Look." Mel slapped her folder closed and caught his gaze. "I wasn't expecting this today. I was up 'till all hours with number three last night—"

  "I'm sorry." Willis put his hands on his hips. "Maybe we should put a notice in the newspaper, asking the killer to please do his dirty work earlier in the day because our officers are getting too tired."

  She stood to face him and realized they were very close to the same height. He was slightly taller, and for a second that threw her. Most of the men she worked with were shorter, and she knew she intimidated them. Nathan Willis was nowhere near intimidated. "Look, Agent, that's not what I meant."

  "Supervisory Special Agent," he corrected.

  "Supervisory Special Ass," she retorted. "Yesterday I was in charge of this case. Today, apparently, I'm playing second fiddle to you. Okay, fine, I appreciate the help, I really do. If you could just show some mutual respect and departmental courtesy, it might go a long way. Because I have to tell you, when you say 'Jump', not everyone around here is going to say 'how high?'."

  Willis appeared taken aback. "You weren't expecting me?"

  "God no!" She nearly added you were the last thing I ever expected, but she held back.

  He inhaled and blew it out. "Okay, I'm surprised here. The Bureau has to be invited in on a case. Our arrival is not usually a surprise."

  "My captain said something about the chief, so maybe he invited you. The field workers are apparently the last to know."

  He nodded. "Apologies. I get a little overexcited at times. These cases really get under my skin. I've tracked more serial murderers killing hookers than I care to think about, you might say it's my area of expertise."

  "Sounds gruesome."

  His brow wrinkled into a furrow. "It happens every day, somewhere. Hookers are an easy target. Half the time no one reports them as being gone, because they were already missing from their regular life. The rest don't have anyone who gives a damn about them. Which makes them what? An easy target."

  "Easy target," Mel mouthed the words along with him. "Sad."

  "Yeah, it is sad. And when I get to a police department and find that not everything humanly possible has been done to find the killer, I get annoyed … and angry."

  "I assure you, that's not the case here. I have the information you need. Let's put whatever that was behind us and start over, shall we?"

  His eyes flickered interest.

  Before he could speak, Stone joined them.

  "I have the photos of vic number three. I called Martin with the CSI and he should have a detailed report to us by ten."

  "Good enough." Willis nodded. "If you'd like to have a seat, Detective Curtis was preparing to fill me in on vic number one, Rhonda Something."

  "Jensen," Stone supplied, and took a chair.

  A look of amusement passed between Mel and Willis. The tiniest hint of a smile creased the corner of his mouth. "I can see how you two complement each other."

  "We do." She sat and opened her folder. "Rhonda Jensen, age forty-four."

  Willis wrote what she told him on the whiteboard. "Last known location?" He glanced around. "Damn, we're going to need a map of the area."

  "Right here." Stone shuffled through one of the folders and produced a folded map. "We've marked the last knowns and body dumps on here."

  "Excellent!" Willis opened the map and pinned it up. He looked at Stone. "You know Wichita better than me, can you mark the last knowns with the red map tacks, and the dump sites with the blues?"

  "Sure." Stone did as instructed.

  Willis made notes on the board with all the information Mel offered him. "She was found wearing an old cheerleading uniform, white with red trim, with a small cardinal mascot on it?"

  "Yes." Mel read through sheets of information. "Polyester fabric popular in the seventies. The uniform was homemade, no tags of any kind."

  Willis nodded as he wrote. Finally satisfied, he moved on to victim number two.

  "Donna Leonard. Age forty-nine." Mel read statistics while Willis copied them down. "Blue and gold cheerleading uniform. Some type of tag in the skirt, but it was old and faded. Fabric seems to be from the same era. She was also found in an alley near Oldtown."

  Stone marked the location on the map.

  "Which brings us to victim three." Mel rifled through the photos Stone set before her. "Obviously we don't have a name, yet. She's approximately the same age as the other two. Another white uniform, red trim, another cardinal mascot."

  "Mel's high school mascot was a cardinal," Stone commented as he added a push pin for the location they'd found the body last night.

  "We'll need to follow up on that." Willis said.

  Mel folded her arms across her chest. "Already done. There are currently two cardinal mascots in the city, one at a public elementary school and the other at a Catholic middle school."

  "Okay," Willis nodded. "But we aren't so interested in 'current' as we are past history. What schools had cardinal mascots when these uniforms were in vogue? Seventies era?"

  Mel shrugged. "That information is a little harder to come by."

  He snapped his fingers. "And that's exactly where I can help. We have one of the most sophisticated computer systems available, with a database that would blow your socks off."

  "I knew it!" Stone exclaimed. "Complete with super-geeky, way smart technical analysts?"

  Willis chuckled. "Not exactly like you see on TV. And it doesn't happen as fast, either. But our analysts are cracker-jack. I'll start feeding them information today. They'll have information for us by tomorrow."

  "Tomorrow is Saturday," Stone commented.

  Willis looked from him to Mel. "I suppose you two don't work weekends?"

  "Of course we do," she piped up before Stone could say anything, and made a mental note to talk to Reeder about allowing some overtime.

  "Sure." Stone shrugged, then added, "So are you here alone? I thought you people usually worked in teams."

  "I supervise a team of agents," Willis acknowledged. "I sent them to Tacoma after a missing child. This particular case was right up my alley, so I volunteered to come here."

  "Hence the title 'Supervisory Special Agent'," Mel teased. She thought she saw a slight flush to Willis' cheeks.

  "Yeah." He shrugged
. "Sorry about that. As I said before, I tend to get a little overexcited. These cases make my blood boil."

  "But not enough to enlist a whole team to help." Stone mused. "I guess a missing kid in Tacoma outranks a bunch of dead hookers in Wichita."

  "Not so." Willis said firmly. "If you saw the sheer volume of cases that cross my desk you'd be amazed. Dozens of people get killed or go missing each week, and the FBI has to choose where we feel we can do the most good. As I was telling Detective Curtis here, I seem to have developed the specialty for serial killers who prey on working girls. I don't particularly like it, but the cases generally share some similarities, and often times I'm able to help."

  Stone seemed to mull over the information for a few moments until the geek in him resurfaced. "So, are you from Quantico?"

  "No, San Antonio."

  "San Antonio?" Mel and Stone repeated at the same time. "I don't hear a Texas accent," she added.

  "I didn't say I was born and raised there. I grew up running through the cornfields of Iowa. Did a stint in the service which took me to Kosovo and Bosnia. Joined the FBI and did my training at Quantico," he nodded at Stone, "and now I go where they send me—wherever I'm needed."

  Stone stared at the white board with all the information Willis had compiled. "I think we need you here, SSA Willis. I know these women do."

  Mel followed his gaze. "Yeah. We appreciate any help you can give us on this case."

  Willis looked at each of them for a moment. "We'll find this guy. I can feel it in my gut. He might think he's smart, but he's making mistakes. And we're smarter. We'll get him." To Mel he said, "What was your plan of action for today?"

  "Go over the report when it comes in, obviously, then take the vic's photos to Oldtown. The girls don't start working there until afternoon. If we don't get a hit, more girls show up in the evening. We can check back. I'd like to identify this woman, see if anyone out there is missing her."

  Willis nodded. "What about Rhonda and Donna? Was anybody missing them?"

  Stone spoke up. "Rhonda Jensen was homeless, living off and on in a shelter run by the Lutherans. She had an expensive meth habit. One daughter, married with two sons, didn't much want to hear about what happened. Said she tried to help her mother over and over again, but finally gave up when mom started stealing money from her grandsons for drugs. Seemed sad when we told her, but not overly so. I suspect she walled off those emotions years ago."

  Willis screwed up his face.

  Mel added, "Donna Leonard is pretty much the same story, except no drug habit—she was bipolar and wouldn't stay on her meds. Daughter said they made her mom 'feel funny'. She was in and out of shelters, never in one place for long. The daughter is a lawyer, with a very nice lifestyle. She had mom committed several times and tried every service money could buy, but as soon as Donna got out of treatment she'd slipped back into her old ways."

  Stone shook his head. "You'd think with all that money they could have hired someone to stay with her."

  Willis shrugged. "Can't watch someone 24/7. If Donna didn't want to be helped, she'd find a way to escape. Just too damned bad how things ended up for her."

  Mel said softly, "Maybe now that you're here, we can keep this from happening to anyone else's mother, SSA Willis."

  He nodded. "Please, you can drop the formalities. It's just Willis. Or Nate."

  She smiled. "I'm Mel, though most of the people around here call me Curtis."

  "Or Black Widow." Nate grinned.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Stone cleared his throat. "You can call me 'Detective Stone'. Everyone here does."

  Mel whispered, "Or little dude. He especially likes that."

  Nate's laugh was deep and genuine. "Oh, I'll bet."

  She was still grinning at the way his face lit up, so it didn't even bother her when Stone passed by, punched her arm and muttered, "Beotch."

  Mel just smiled.

  Chapter Two

  Nate held on for dear life as Mel navigated the streets of Wichita at the upper end of the speed limit. He usually preferred to drive and had a shiny black bureau-issued SUV, but Mel insisted she knew the town, and he couldn't argue with that. Didn't want to argue with the gorgeous cop who matched him in stature as well as attitude. He'd seen lots of pretty women, dated a few dozen of them, but there was something different about this one—a spark of some kind, a spirit too irresistible to ignore.

  He sighed. Five days. The chief had given him five days in Kansas to solve what the press was now calling the Cheerleader Slasher case. And at the same time, unravel the mystery that was Melanie Curtis.

  She screeched to a stop at the curb alongside what appeared to be a shack with a sign that read 'Fanny's'.

  "Hungry?" Mel glanced at him.

  Surprised, he shrugged. They were supposed to be headed to a place called Oldtown to interview working girls, but it was after one p.m. "I could eat."

  "Wait here." She exited the vehicle and approached a walk-up window at the shack.

  He saw her talk to someone inside, hand over some cash, and in just a few minutes she returned with two brown paper sacks.

  She climbed back in the Murano and handed the bags over. "Sliders. Best in town." She buckled up and proceeded to drive.

  "Okay." Nate opened one of the bags and blinked. There were roughly a dozen small hamburgers, not individually wrapped, just stacked on top of one another. "Hmmm."

  "Try one," she encouraged, and held out her hand.

  He passed her one and took one for himself. The first bite made him think of a cheesy, oniony little taste of heaven. "Wow," he murmured, licking oozing mustard from his thumb.

  She chuckled. "Napkins in the glove box."

  He nodded and grabbed a couple for each of them. They were silent for the next few minutes as they each happily polished off three sliders. Nate offered the bag to her once more.

  Mel waved him off, wiping her hands for the last time.

  He rolled the half-full bag closed and cleaned up with his last napkin. "Not as hungry as you thought?"

  Mel grinned again. "They weren't all for us. Stone didn't mind staying behind to work the evidence, but he would have minded missing Fanny's burgers. They're amazing fresh out of the microwave, too."

  Nate settled the bags in the console between them and looked at her. "I was going to ask you about that. I hoped he wouldn't feel left out, but since we just got the report on the third vic, we really needed someone to go over it in depth and he seemed like the right choice."

  She nodded. "When you get to know Henry, you'll find out he doesn't sweat the small stuff. He's not one of those players, always ambling for the best assignment, working his way up the food chain. He goes where he's needed, does what he's asked and more. He's a good partner."

  Will I be here long enough to 'get to know Henry'? Nate exhaled, and the onions that had tasted so good on the burgers came back to haunt him. "Ugh, onions."

  Mel laughed. "Sorry, but that's what makes Fanny's burgers so special. Can't get them without onions. Gum in the glove box, somewhere underneath all those napkins."

  Nate chuckled and rummaged around until he found some Double Mint gum. "The folks we're going to talk to will thank you for this." He handed Mel a stick and chewed one himself.

  She glanced sideways at him as she drove. "Most people would say 'they're just hookers'. Who cares about onion breath?"

  He started to reply then stopped.

  "What?" She pulled to the side of the road and parked.

  They'd apparently arrived at their destination, brick-lined streets, traditional lamp posts, and most of the buildings looked to be converted warehouses. "This is…?" he asked.

  "This area is called Oldtown. The city tried real hard to fix this neighborhood up. Redid the building fronts, gave low interest loans to businesses, all that jazz." She pointed up the block. "The farther you go in that direction, the nicer it gets. Really fancy shops, nightclubs, the works. But this little stretch just never
took off. This is where you come for a cheap beer, some knockoff jewelry, or an escort for the evening—or an hour."

  Nate nodded. Every city had a similar spot.

  She gazed at him. "What were you going to say just now?"

  "Hmm?" He pretended he didn't remember.

  She replied patiently, "I told you that most people would say these women are just hookers, so who cares about onion breath? You started to say something then stopped."

  He rubbed his chin, and realized he needed a shave. He liked the look of a two day beard growth, but after that it got itchy. Gazing up at Mel, he smiled. "I was going to say, 'I'm not like most people.' Then I realized that was the kitschiest pick-up line on the planet. So how about this. They're not just hookers to me. Every one of them is somebody's daughter, maybe somebody's mother, or even sister. I'm always telling people to remember that."

  He watched with surprise as Mel raised a hand to her heart. Her eyes grew misty and for a moment, she couldn't meet his gaze. When she did, he saw real emotion in her eyes.

  "You couldn't know this," she leaned in closer to him, "but that's the perfect pick-up line to use on me." She offered a small smile, and batted her lashes.

  Nate froze, uncertain what to do. Go for it. He moved forward, his face mere inches from hers. They stared at each other.

  "I was going to kiss you, but…." Mel trailed off, their faces inches apart.

  "I know." He picked up on her thought. "We work together, we have a case to solve, we should be focusing on—"

  She pressed two fingers to his lips. "I was going to say, 'but I have onion breath'." One more bat of her lashes, a quick smile, and she backed away. She grabbed one sack of burgers and opened her door. "Come on."

  Too startled to do anything but comply, Nate followed her lead. They approached three women standing on the corner, obviously working girls. Two appeared young, pretty, with long hair and nice figures. Both had good complexions and white teeth. Newbies. No visible battle scars. Not time-worn. Yet.

  They eyed Nate and one made lewd gestures about getting together with him. He smiled and focused his attention on the third woman. She had darker skin and short, bleached blonde curly hair. Definitely older, mid-forties perhaps, she looked more the type their killer went for. The woman flashed a grin at Mel and he could see a gold capped tooth in front.