“Delegate. I’m fine with that.” Matt turned to Kara. “At noon we’re having a debriefing with every cop who has worked in Liberty Lake or has a strong affiliation with Liberty Lake—retired and active.”

“Good.”

“You’re welcome to join us.”

“Thanks, maybe. Liberty Lake’s my home base, and this guy is really pissing me off.”

Matt left Kara, Ryder and Michael in the war room. He didn’t know what was going on between Michael and Kara—nothing, he was sure, except that they had this rapport that he was a bit uncomfortable with.

¡Me resbala!

Who was he trying to fool? Himself? Yes, he did care.

Why, Matt? Why do you care? Kara is a big girl, just because she slept with you last night doesn’t mean there’s anything between you but mutual lust.

He liked her. He wanted to spend time with her.

Estás actuando como un adolescente cachondo.

You’re acting like a horny teenager. Grow up, Costa.

Yeah. Easier said.

He kicked back on his bed and hoped that he would drift off, but his mind was working double time.

“Well, shit.” He sighed, got up, and took a long, hot shower. When he got out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and looked at the digital clock by the bed.

It flipped to 12:00 a.m.

It was March 7.

Hamilton? McCafferty? Was the Triple Killer one of them? Or were they completely missing the boat?

He didn’t think so. Not when that pileup happened on March 3. They were close. Very close. But were they close enough? Even if they identified him, if he had changed his name, if he was in hiding, if they didn’t have a good photograph of him—they just didn’t have the time. Everything had to come together, and fast.

He was about to pull on sweatpants when he heard a knock at his door. He glanced through the peephole.

Kara?

He opened his door. She looked as exhausted as he felt.

She stepped in and shut the door behind her.

“Kara—” he began.

She silenced him with a kiss. A hard, passionate, desperate kiss. His towel fell to the floor and he took her to bed.

“Are you okay?” he asked, breathless, when their lips parted.

“Very,” she mumbled. “Shut up.”

“Demanding.”

“You don’t even know the meaning of the word.”

She flipped him over so she was on top and he couldn’t talk if he tried. Every thought left his mind as she took charge.

After they had sex—mindless, passionate, very physical sex—he slept like a rock for five hours. He didn’t even hear Kara leave.

32

Sunday, March 7
Washington DC
10:30 a.m. ET

Catherine Jones made a point of having brunch every Sunday with her husband and daughter. When she was still living with them in Stafford, Chris and Lizzy would go to church in the morning and Catherine would cook. She loved trying new recipes, but there were a few go-to dishes that everyone loved. She and Chris would have mimosas and enjoy a leisurely morning that would spread to a leisurely afternoon—unless one of them was called into work. Often, her sister, Beth, would join them, occasionally Matt if he was in town, and less often, Chris’s family.