“That’s why I said the words,” he said. “I was a jerk last time, and I don’t want to be that this time.” He drank half of his coffee in one gulp. “I’m a bad bet. Still have PTSD, don’t like being around people, and get obsessed with searching when somebody is lost. I take it personally if I fail, and I’m pissed about losing three women to the psycho we’re chasing right now. I’m also generally grumpy, I’ve been told.”

Her feet tingled. Was that a hormonal reaction? How odd. “You are remarkably self-aware.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“Most definitely.” She chewed thoughtfully and then took a drink of her orange juice. “I agree that we should focus completely on finding this killer and not dwell on last night.” Although it had been good for them both. “The dead women deserve that.”

Now his face moved into lines she’d learned to recognize as relief.

Her mind drew connections, saw conflicts, possibilities, and pitfalls. This was the intelligent decision, so they could concentrate more fully on the killer before another woman died.

Huck looked down at his food, his brow furrowing. “We’re in agreement. Good. I can’t get the picture of Christine Franklin in that field out of my mind.”

“Me either,” Laurel said softly, haunted by those dahlias surrounding the frozen and beaten body.

He glanced back up. “This guy is speeding up, isn’t he?”

She set down her glass, no longer hungry. “Yes, and he’s probably angry he didn’t get the time with Christine that he wanted. The entire situation was out of his pattern. We forced him to make a move and kidnap her.”

“How long do you think we have?”

“I think he’s already found his next victim, and those urges are going to rule him soon.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

After dropping by her mother’s house for a shower and change of clothing, Laurel returned to the office and sat in her conference room looking at the murder board. Connections were everywhere, but they didn’t lead to any conclusions. Her phone rang and she lifted it off the glass tabletop. “Snow.”

“Laurel? It’s George. What the hell is going on there?”

Laurel blew out air. “Hi, Deputy Director McCromby. A reporter was being a reporter, sir. Captain Rivers didn’t say anything to the journalist, so she went with supposition.”

“What the hell was he doing even speaking with a reporter?” George bellowed.

“He was trying to gain information from her. She has excellent sources and has given us facts before, but I can assure you that he guaranteed me he would not take a call from her again.” The board was still bothering her.

“Fine. Make sure of it.” George hung up.