Cold-Blooded Liar (The San Diego Case Files Book 1)

Siggy, stop barking. Please.” Sam pulled his growling dog away from Joel’s front window, where Siggy had burrowed underneath the drawn drapes so that he could look out onto the street. Siggy spent his days in an apartment, so he wasn’t used to watching the world go by. Everything in the neighborhood was making him bark.

Siggy went right back to his post under the drapes, but at least he’d stopped barking. Sam got some pain reliever for his headache and downed it with a gulp of coffee. And checked his phone. Again.

He’d been watching his phone since dawn, hoping for at least a text from Kit telling him what—if anything—they’d found in Colton’s backyard. Surely they would have started digging by now.

And, of course, with every minute that passed, he became more convinced that something had gone horribly wrong and that she suspected him again. Which was stupid.

“You’re being paranoid,” he muttered to himself. “It’s all the coffee.”

Which was part of it, for sure. But it was mostly the stress of the entire situation. He’d heard from Vivian that morning. She’d asked if SDPD had confirmed his alibi for the time that Skyler was killed. If they’d established that he’d been in Joshua Tree all weekend. When they did—“When, not if, Sam,” she’d said—then he could return to work. She still believed in him, at least.

The problem was, he didn’t know the status of his alibi. Kit had promised she’d locate the park ranger. Had she done that? Was the special master finished reviewing the location tracking on his phone?

Would he ever get his phone back? Would he ever get his shoes back?

Would he ever get his life back?

He was going crazy. He couldn’t leave the house unless he had a babysitter.

Relax. It’s not like you’ve been trapped inside for a year. It’s been less than twelve hours.

He needed to do something.

So he gathered the runaway reports he’d downloaded from the California clearinghouse for missing persons. He knew Kit would continue to search for the victims of Colton and his partner, but she wasn’t infallible.

After all, Sam had gotten a lot of information that Kit hadn’t been able to extract. It was a small comfort to his battered ego.

There were so many runaways. He wasn’t sure staring at the photos of missing teenagers was going to improve his mental health, but this was the task he could do until it was time for Laura to take him to Colton’s third ex-wife.

He made another pot of coffee and spread the reports over Joel’s kitchen table. Time to make himself useful.

SDPD, San Diego, California

Wednesday, April 20, 9:15 a.m.

Connor’s ringing phone distracted Kit from the background checks she was running. So far, no one on Orion’s board of trustees seemed to have any skeletons in their closets.

Connor beckoned her to his desk. “It’s the call I was waiting for. Remember, Parker thinks I’m asking about scholarships for a friend. She doesn’t know you’re here.”

Kit mimed zipping her lips. He handed her the headphones he’d plugged into the receiver so that she could also listen, then set the recorder to run.

“Hey, Parker,” Connor answered warmly. “How are you?”

“Cold. You have sun in San Diego, but we had freezing rain last night.”

“In New York?” Connor asked, as if he had all the time in the world.

Kit wanted him to hurry along but contained herself. This was his call, and she’d let him play it the way he felt best.

“I’m doing a traveling show right now. We’re in Toronto. Look, I got in touch with the woman who was the scholarship student in my class at Orion. She enrolled in our sophomore year.”

Only one per year? Kit thought.

“They only gave out one scholarship a year?” Connor asked.

Good. They were on the same wavelength.

“That’s it. I texted her last night and she said we could call, so I’ll loop her in. Is it okay if I sit in? She doesn’t know you.”

“Of course,” Connor said smoothly, but he grimaced because that might limit what they could ask.

After thirty seconds, another voice spoke. “I’m here.” It was resonant and familiar somehow. Kit frowned, trying to place where she’d heard it.

“Okay,” Parker said. “Tanya, this is Connor Robinson. Connor, Tanya Westbrook. Connor has a friend whose kid wants to get into Orion on a scholarship.”

“Good luck to her. Or him?” Tanya asked.

“Her,” Connor said. “My girlfriend’s daughter. She’s just finishing her freshman year in high school, and all she can talk about is Orion School. What can you tell me?”

“Well, she has an uphill climb ahead of her,” Tanya said. “But it’s worth it if she’s persistent. Orion opens so many doors. It’s how I met my agent.”

“Tanya has three gold records,” Parker said proudly.

Kit and Connor shared a puzzled glance. “I’m sorry,” Connor said, apologetic. “But I haven’t heard anything you’ve recorded.”

Parker laughed. “That’s because Tanya is her real name. She records as Sybil Tucker.”

Kit’s mouth fell open. Sybil Tucker? Her songs were all over the radio. No wonder she sounded familiar.

Connor was having a similar reaction. “Wow. You’re really good. I have two of your albums downloaded.”

“Why, thank you! So. Orion. It’s hard to get into, but even harder to excel once you’re there. It’s kind of a viper’s nest. Present company excluded. Parker was the only one who sat with me at lunch on my first day of school.”

Connor’s smile was warm. “Doesn’t surprise me at all. So what was the application process?”

“Well, students can apply starting the summer before their freshman year of high school and if they don’t get in, they can keep applying until they graduate from their home district school. If they get in—and if they can pay the tuition—they start that fall. Applicants send an audition tape first. Orion gets hundreds during the summer. A team of incoming seniors review and submit the top hundred to the admissions director. He narrows it down to twenty-five. Those twenty-five come in and audition live for the committee. Gotta say, that was the most nervous I have ever been.”

“Sounds brutal,” Connor said. “How much is the scholarship worth?”

“Full year’s tuition,” Tanya replied. “A cool forty grand.”

Kit covered her mouth with her hand to keep the gasp from jumping out of her mouth. Eyes wide, she stared at Connor.

“For high school?” he asked, equally shocked. “That’s what a lot of universities cost.”

“Exactly,” Parker said. “That’s why the scholarships are fought over.”

“I guess so.” Connor shook his head. “So is this a full scholarship until graduation, or do you have to try out every year?”

“Once you’re in,” Tanya said, “tuition is covered for the duration. You can get kicked out, but hardly anyone does.”

“Okay.” Connor still looked shell-shocked. “My girlfriend’s daughter heard a rumor that there were other ways to get in. Not that she’s going to do them, but some of the other girls were talking. You know. Like girls do.”

“And boys,” Parker said dryly. “Check your misogyny at the door, Connor.”

Connor blinked. “What? I’m not misogynistic.”

Kit gave him a look. Seriously?

Connor looked a little hurt and Kit wondered if no one had ever confronted him before.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “Boys gossip, too. I think the topics are different, though.”

Both Parker and Tanya laughed. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” Tanya said. “So this rumor. Is it that there’s a guy who knows someone who can get them a private audition, which is code for sex?”

“Yeah. Any truth to it? My girlfriend’s daughter was worried she’d lose out because she wasn’t willing to do that.”

“Good for her,” Tanya said fervently. “That she knows her personal limits so young is good to hear. I heard that rumor when I was in school, but I attributed it to people who were angry that my tuition was free. You know, she only got in because she slept with someone. Sick people.”

“There is that other scam, though,” Parker said. “Which is probably worse, because so many kids get disappointed.”

“Yeah,” Tanya agreed. “It’s fake, but nobody can ever figure out what the scammer gets out of it other than humiliating some high school kids.”

Kit and Connor shared a glance. This could be it.

“What’s the scam?” Connor asked. “So I can warn my girlfriend’s kid about it.”

Parker sighed. “A high school kid—always a girl—would get an email from someone claiming to be on the admissions committee. They always said they’d seen her in her high school production and thought she was super talented. You know, the flattery that we all like to hear. Then they say that Orion is doing an audition for an extra scholarship.”

“First red flag,” Tanya cut in. “They only do extra admission auditions for kids who’ve transferred into the district during the school year. And never for scholarships.”

“He sends a form and has her fill it out and says she can invite her friends,” Parker continued. “She tells her friends and they all show up at Orion for this audition, only to find locked doors and a grumpy security guard telling them to go away.”

Yes, Kit mouthed, and Connor grinned at her, triumphant.

“And there’s never another email from this asshole?” Connor asked.

“Nope,” Parker said. “It’s really sad. I was at the school for a weekend rehearsal once when a group of kids showed up for the fake audition, and there were tears. Buckets of tears. Girls and boys, crying their eyes out. And then they ganged up on the girl who was the scam recipient. It was ugly. They screamed in her face, and when they left, they didn’t take her with them.”

And yet that girl’s probably still alive, Kit thought. Unlike Cecilia, Jaelyn, Naomi, and the others.

“You called her a cab,” Tanya recalled fondly. “You even gave her cab fare.”

“I felt so sorry for her,” Parker said. “She couldn’t afford the cab home. Her parents didn’t have the money for things like that. And certainly not for Orion’s tuition. I think whoever was targeting these girls knew they were financially desperate.”

Good to know. Financial need was a detail they hadn’t yet considered. But who paid forty thousand dollars a year for a private high school?

Apparently, all but the one scholarship kid in every Orion graduating class.

“So basically, there are no shortcuts,” Connor said. “My girlfriend’s daughter has to go the distance.”

“She does,” Tanya said. “Tell her to make sure her audition tape is flawless. It doesn’t matter how many takes she needs to do, there cannot be a single mistake.”

“And the admissions director?” Connor pressed. “He’s fair?”

“He is,” Tanya said. “And he’s been there forever.”

Parker hummed her agreement. “He was old when we were in school.”

“Old and gray, huh?” Connor fished. He’s clean, he mouthed to Kit, bringing the man’s background check up on his screen. There was nothing suspicious.

Tanya chuckled. “He’d be gray if he had hair. He’s been bald forever, too. Look, I have to run, but tell your girlfriend’s daughter that I wish her all the luck.”

Kit wished they could come clean about the real reason for their call. Rita would love an autograph from Sybil Tucker, a.k.a. Tanya Westbrook.

“Thank you both,” Connor said sincerely. “Break a leg, ladies.” He ended the call and turned off the recorder.

“So that’s how he does it,” Kit murmured.

“It’s like you thought. The girls that don’t share the good news with their friends are his victims.” He fidgeted with his computer’s keyboard before meeting Kit’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Kit tilted her head. “For what?”

“If I’ve said things that were . . . y’know. Misogynistic.”

She smiled at him. “You have, actually, but I accept your apology.”

“Feel free to tell me when I’m out of line. I don’t want to hurt anyone, even by accident.”

“I will.” She looked up when the door to the bullpen opened. “It’s Levinson. You want to come with?”

“Sure.” Connor stood. “I’ll probably still be a dick sometimes. Just so you know. Old habits being hard to break and all.”

“I’ll consider myself warned.”

She might even miss him once Baz came back. She’d miss Howard more, though. He brought cake.

SDPD, San Diego, California

Wednesday, April 20, 9:45 a.m.

Kit and Connor followed Dr. Levinson into Navarro’s office.

“Detective,” Dr. Levinson said. “You’re joining us?”

“I am,” Kit said. “Do you know Detective Robinson?”

“We’ve met,” Levinson said. He sat at the conference table, cleaning his glasses once again.

Older. Gray hair. Glasses. A drama connection.

When the four of them were seated, Navarro started. “Al, we told you that the thing the victims had in common was an interest in acting. But we’ve made another connection.”

Levinson sighed. “Orion School. I read it online this morning. I already had my coffee in a travel mug when you called, Reynaldo. I was coming in to see you. I figured you saw my name on the board of trustees list.”

“We did,” Kit said. “Why didn’t you mention it when we talked on Monday?”

“Because you weren’t talking about Orion School,” Levinson said simply. “You were talking about auditions in L.A. for TV shows. In hindsight, I probably should have suggested that you talk to the folks at Orion, but they’re not the most welcoming group. They wouldn’t have given you any information voluntarily. They’re . . .” He shrugged. “Stuck-up.”

“What’s your role on the board?” Conner asked.

“Fundraising only. There’s another psychologist on the board who actually deals with student issues. I offered my services to the student body because those kids are high-strung, but the principal became indignant. Said their students were not criminals.” He rolled his eyes. “Little does she know. Some of them are. Not murderers,” he added. “Mostly drug use and dealing.”

“We need to talk to Orion today,” Kit said. “Any tips?”

“Have a warrant ready,” he advised. “Half of the board of trustees are lawyers.”

She grimaced. “That’ll take a while. We might go in asking for information as lowly public servants first. Why you? Are you a fundraising guru or something?”

His smile was self-effacing. “Kind of. It’s a side hobby. Maybe I learned from all the scam artists I’ve interviewed over the years, but I am a little better at getting rich people to part with their money than the average bear. I’m on four boards right now. I used to be on six boards, but I’ve cut back in the past few years. Semi-retirement, after all. I’d do it full time if I could. Profiling criminals has become rather exhausting.”

“What boards are you on?” Kit asked.

“Orion School and New Horizons, but you already knew those.”

“Dr. Reeves also serves on the New Horizons board,” Kit told Connor.

“That’s how you knew to vouch for him?” Connor asked.

Levinson nodded. “Indeed. I also serve on the boards of a shelter for domestic violence survivors and an organization that provides help to homeless people going for job interviews.”

Navarro’s expression had gone politely flat, and that didn’t bode well. “What were the two you pulled out of?”

“Skateboards for All. My son was a skateboarder. I joined for him because he was sad that some of his school friends couldn’t afford decent equipment. The other was a model railroad society, which is purely because I love model railroads. Supporting nonprofits is kind of my jam. Once I’m fully retired, I’ll be rejoining the railroad board.”

“What do you know about the admissions director at Orion?” Kit asked.

“He’s dedicated. Grumpy because he hates paperwork. My opinion is that he’s not involved in anything like this. He could be a good actor, of course. It is a drama school, after all, but I don’t see him being violent.”

Kit thought about the videos they’d seen. “Does he wear ties?”

Levinson frowned. “Why? Oh, is that the murder weapon?”

“We believe so,” Navarro said before either Kit or Connor could reply.

Navarro’s deflection bothered Kit. Navarro normally would have been one hundred percent up front with Levinson, telling him all the details.

Levinson’s frown deepened and she wondered if the psychologist thought the same thing. “He hates ties. I’ve never seen him wear one. Says it constricts his throat and damages his voice. Are we finished, Lieutenant?”

Kit bit back her wince. It had been Reynaldo when they’d first sat down. Yeah, Levinson knew that Navarro was now uncomfortable with him.

She wanted to sigh, but bit that back, too.

“For now, yes. Detectives, you may go. Can you stay for a few minutes, Dr. Levinson?”

Levinson’s expression was impassive. “Of course. Best of luck breaking into the hallowed halls of Orion School, Detectives.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kit murmured respectfully, then followed Connor out.

“That was awkward,” Connor said when they were back at their desks.

“Yeah.” She glanced at Navarro’s office, but the window blinds had been pulled. “Navarro didn’t buy his story.”

“I didn’t think so, either. Did you?”

She shrugged. “He fits the body type of the man we saw in the video.”

“He has a goatee, though, and Driscoll didn’t.”

Kit frowned. “What does that have to do with it?”

“In deepfakes, the person with the replacement face starts out making a video of himself. Or herself. Fifteen, twenty minutes of mugging different expressions. That video is broken down into individual frames—thousands of frames. Those frames are analyzed by the software and matched to the face in the destination video. In our case that would have been the killer murdering our victims.”

“Okay. That’s a really good explanation, by the way, but what does that have to do with Levinson’s goatee?”

“The closer the facial details of the source—the faker—are to those of the face in the destination video, the better the result. Driscoll’s videos were good. If he was pasting his face over Levinson’s, he might have grown a goatee of the same shape.”

“But he didn’t. Driscoll was clean shaven.” She exhaled. “Okay, that makes me feel better. Thank you. How close are you to getting the background checks run?”

“Give me another half hour and I’ll have them done.”

“Same. Then we can sign out a car and pay a visit to the stuck-up folks at Orion School. I’m hoping they might have more insight on this scam artist than your friend did. If I had someone luring students to my door with any regularity, I’d work hard to identify the perpetrator.”

The door to Navarro’s office opened and Levinson emerged. He gave Kit and Connor a small wave, his smile tight as he departed.

Navarro closed his door and didn’t come out.

Kit let her sigh loose. Navarro hadn’t let his emotions dictate his investigation with respect to Levinson. That was how she should be treating Dr. Reeves.

Not Sam. He can’t be Sam anymore, even in your mind.

She looked at Connor to find him studying her carefully. “I know what we can do to try to eliminate your shrink as a suspect,” he said.

Hillcrest, California

Wednesday, April 20, 11:00 a.m.

Sam had finished his second pot of coffee and had compiled a list of five new possible victims when Siggy started growling and barking again. He’d been growling all morning, so Sam had started to dismiss it as background noise.

But this time, the growling was followed by a knock at his door.

The knock startled him, and he nearly knocked his mug over.

No more coffee for me, for real. His jitters had progressed to the shakes.

Reading dozens of missing-person reports wasn’t helping, either. Even if the runaways hadn’t been murdered, it was unlikely that many of them had landed in a safe place. His work at New Horizons made that all too clear.

Going cautiously to Joel’s front door, Sam checked the peephole and straightened abruptly. Kit McKittrick. With a man he didn’t recognize. They looked tense.

Foreboding shivered down his back as he opened the door. “Detective? How can I help you?”

She smiled at him tightly and the sense of foreboding rose to suffocate him.

“Can we come in?” she asked.

Wordlessly he stepped back, closing the door when she and the man were in Joel’s living room.

“Dr. Reeves, this is my partner, Detective Robinson.”

Oh right. Because Constantine had had a heart attack.

Robinson was a big, beefy man who wore an I-don’t-trust-you expression that gave Sam serious pause. It was like they were back to square one.

Sam wondered if he should hide Siggy, because his dog was still growling low in his throat. But that was ridiculous. He hoped.

“How can I help you?” he asked again.

Kit sighed and she sounded exhausted. Looked it, too. “May we sit down?”

He gestured to the sofa. “Go ahead.” He took the recliner but sat upright, his stomach twisted into a knot. He’d observed her for a few weeks now and something was not right. Something other than all the other shit that wasn’t right, anyway.

“I wanted to let you know what we found last night in Driscoll’s backyard,” she said.

She stopped talking, as if waiting for him to comment, but Sam could hear Laura’s voice in his head, warning him. So he kept his mouth shut.

Finally, she went on. “We found a number of hard drives. They contained videos.”

Now Sam could hear Veronica Gadd’s voice in his mind. Oh my God. What was on them? Please say it wasn’t kiddie porn. Please.

“What kind?” he asked, unable to keep the dread from his voice.

“Like this.” Kit handed him her phone on which a video was cued to begin.

Sam glanced at Detective Robinson. His eyes were suspicious and . . . waiting. Sam got the impression that this was a test of some kind.

Call Laura! Make them either arrest you or leave.

But he didn’t. Because part of him still trusted Kit McKittrick.

I’ll probably regret that later, he thought as he hit play, aware that both detectives were watching him like hawks.

This was not going to be good.

It started with a living room he’d never seen before, decorated in soft blues and grays. Broadway musical posters covered the visible walls. The camera was focused on the back of a leather sofa.

Then a man came into the room. Colton Driscoll. And then . . .

“Oh God,” Sam whispered. Because Naomi Beckham had been lying on that sofa. And now she was being murdered. By Colton. With a necktie.

Memories came flooding back, filling his mind with the images that only came out in his worst nightmares. Because he’d already seen something like this before. It had ended in death.

Just as it was ending in death for Naomi, who was fighting Colton, but slowly. Weakly.

Colton smiled when her body had gone limp.

“Dr. Reeves? Dr. Reeves? Sam?”

He looked up to find both detectives staring at him. Kit had leaned forward, her hand outstretched. Like she was about to shake him but had hesitated. Numbly, he wondered how many times she’d called his name.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why did you make me watch this?”

He’d never be able to unsee this. Never. He knew that from experience.

This was what had happened to all those poor girls. It had happened to Skyler.

It had happened to his Marley.

He dropped the phone on Joel’s carpet and ran to the bathroom, throwing up everything he’d eaten that morning.

When his stomach was empty, he hung over the toilet. Shaking.

And angry.

With Colton for being a sadistic monster who really had killed those girls.

With Kit for tormenting him this way.

With his own mind for holding so tightly to the memories he wished he could forget.

“Sam?” Kit said quietly from the doorway.

Something cold touched his shoulder. A bottle of water.

Furiously, he snatched it from her hand and rinsed his mouth out.

“Satisfied?” he demanded.

“No,” she said sadly. “I’m sorry. I needed to see your reaction. I needed to know.”

Sam twisted his body, landing on his ass, his back against the tub. “So now you do. Please leave.”

She crouched a few feet away and he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. He shoved away the flash of compassion. Because she didn’t deserve it. She still didn’t believe him. Still didn’t trust him.

I should have listened to Laura and kept my mouth shut.

“You’ve been conveniently present for a lot of important revelations on this case,” she said.

“Not because I wanted to be,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he said bitterly. “Otherwise you never would have done that dog-and-pony show out there. Were you trying to prove something to your new partner or to yourself?” A shadow moved in the hallway. Her partner was there listening. Goddammit. Sam was sick and tired of being a suspect.

He shoved himself to his feet. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. I don’t care what you believe. Get out. You can call my lawyer. And you, Robinson, you can stop lurking in the hallway. You want to see my reaction, too? Come and look at it.”

The partner came into view, his expression still grim. But there was a softening around his eyes. He’d been suspicious before, but now? He looked more unsure.

And I don’t fucking care.

Kit rose slowly. “Okay, but first I need you to know that the killer on this recording wasn’t Colton Driscoll.”

“What?” Were they still playing with him? “Of course it was. I just saw him strangle Naomi Beckham. Thank you for that, by the way. It’s not like I don’t have enough shit in my head.”

She shook her head. “Driscoll’s face was faked. Deepfakes, they call them.”

Well, damn. Now he was interested again, despite his better judgment. “I’ve heard of that,” he said warily. “Saw it online. So who was it really?”

“We don’t know. Someone shorter than Driscoll, but still strong enough to carry a teenage girl out of the room over his shoulder. Did anything in the video look familiar to you? Like, did Driscoll say anything in session to make you think he’d been to this place?”

He went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face while he contemplated his answer. Or if he even should answer. He should make them talk to Laura.

But he wanted to help them. Help Kit.

He wanted this nightmare to end. For himself and for the girls.

He dried his face and turned to face her and the hulking detective who stood behind her, watching him.

“No. Unless they were watching Avondale on the TV before the clip started. That was the only thing he said.” He folded the towel and rehung it on the bar, trying to calm his mind and remember if there really was anything else. “He said that he watched her do her homework. Geometry, maybe? Yeah, I think it was geometry because that was the first thing that had me thinking he was abusing a minor. Geometry isn’t usually a college course.”

Detective Robinson flinched and Sam wondered if he’d seen a video of a girl studying geometry before she’d been killed, whichever girl it had been.

“You’re right,” Robinson murmured, his eyes growing haunted. “It’s usually a high school course.”

Robinson’s haunted look made Sam wonder what they’d seen. “Did you watch all of the murders?” Sam asked, feeling compassion that was, once again, unwelcome.

Because if they had, he couldn’t blame them for being upset. He could blame them for making him see it, too, but he knew what it was like to have to watch helplessly.

“Not all,” she said. “But enough. One working theory is that Colton somehow got cameras in the killer’s home and had been watching him. Spying on him.”

“And incorporating what he saw into the lies he told you,” Robinson added.

Spying on him. Another memory surfaced from the static still filling Sam’s mind. “He said his coworkers in the mail room gave him a hard time. I asked him if he’d informed his boss. He said his boss was basically useless because he spent all day spying on the building’s residents.”

“Through the security cameras?” Robinson asked.

“Those are usually in hallways,” Kit said thoughtfully. “Not much interesting happening there.”

Robinson tilted his head. “I wonder if they have cameras in the offices.”

Sam shrugged. “All I know is that he said his boss watched the people in the building. I didn’t ask him if he watched, too. I didn’t think about it. Didn’t think I needed to. I was more worried about his pretty young things at the time.”

And if the words came out with a bitter edge, he wasn’t going to blame himself.

Kit looked away for a moment before returning her gaze to meet Sam’s. “I am sorry. I’ve had a few shocks on this case. It’s been hard to know who to trust.”

He didn’t look away. “Yeah. I kind of know how that feels.”

She winced. “We’ll go now.”

“I’ll lock the door behind you.” He followed them to the living room, where Siggy had curled up in his doggy bed and gone to sleep. So much for being a protection dog.

“At least I have an alibi for the last twenty minutes,” he added acidly as he opened the front door.

Kit pursed her lips, then nodded once. “Stay safe, Dr. Reeves.”

Detective Robinson gave Sam a considering look as he walked through the door ahead of her. “She believed you,” he said quietly. “I didn’t. The video was to convince me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sam snapped, even though Robinson had said didn’t. Like now he did believe Sam. Doesn’t matter. “You’re cops. You see this shit all the time.” I only saw it happen once. “I’m a psychologist.” I only saw it once but it changed me forever. “I hear about the aftereffects. I visualize in my mind what every victim has endured as they tell me their stories, but now I have this real-life footage to add to my nightmares.”

Kit’s throat was working frantically as she looked up at him, and he was taken aback to see tears in her eyes. “We don’t,” she whispered brokenly. “We don’t see this all the time. We come in after it’s happened. We see the bodies. But we had to watch it, Sam. All of it. All of them. So much more than we showed you. I’m sorry I made you watch that. I’m sorry I put things in your head that you can’t unsee. But my duty is to the girls. The ones that are dead and the ones he plans to kill.”

Sam closed his eyes, so damn weary. “I know,” he murmured.

“You’re collateral damage,” Robinson said from Joel’s front porch. “Sucks to be you, man.” But the words didn’t sound crass and unfeeling. Maybe tentatively regretful. “Thanks for the tip on the backyard. It’s going to be a game-changer. Once we figure out where it is that he lives, we’ll be one step closer to IDing him.” He turned and walked down Joel’s steps toward the black sedan parked in Joel’s driveway, leaving Sam standing alone with Kit.

“You okay?” Sam asked gruffly.

She rolled her eyes, drying her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket. “No. But I am sorry.”

“I know,” he said sadly, because now that his anger had faded, he really did know. “Just . . . hurry, okay? I don’t want anyone else to die.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Me either.” Then, straightening her spine, she dug in her pocket and pulled out another one of the treats she’d given him that night in the car, when she’d told him to leave town. To return to Scottsdale.

Sam now wished he’d stayed there.

He also wished he could give this woman comfort. Which makes me a fool.

“For Siggy,” she said, handing him the treat.

“Thank you.”

Then she left and he locked the door behind her. Returning to the kitchen, he put the dog treat on the table, sank into a chair, and dropped his head into his hands, the images of Naomi’s murder replaying in his mind. It all mixed with memories of Marley and he wanted to go back to bed and pretend none of this had ever happened.

No time for self-pity. Get back to work.

He looked at the photos of the runaways he’d thought might have been potential victims, now wondering if Kit had seen them die, too.