Mercy

* * *

“I NEED YOUR HELP,” Rourke said, leaning toward her conspiratorially. “I remembered that your background was psychology and criminology. Did I hear correctly that you’re doing freelance profiling for the Seattle P.D.?”

Laura shouldn’t have been surprised that he knew this, but she was. Just as she shouldn’t have been disappointed that he’d asked her to dinner because he wanted her help on a case.

“I need to know about this woman and the kind of man who would be in her life,” he said.

“Based on three photos?” she asked, thinking he must be kidding.

“This woman is the connection between the three different crime scenes, but I think there’s more. I think she’s working with a serial killer.”

Laura leaned back in her chair in surprise. She studied him for a moment before she looked at the photographs again. She tried to imagine why this woman was at three separate crime scenes in three separate neighborhoods. It could be as simple as morbid curiosity. Or not.

Profiling was a science based on statistics compiled of criminals. Depending on the type of murder, she could paint a fairly accurate picture of the killer once she had all the information. Or, if Rourke was right about the woman, in this case, co-killer.

Of course, it was much more likely that this woman could be just as Laura had said before, someone with a scanner who lived such a dull life that going to crime scenes was her only source of entertainment.

Had it not been Rourke, she would have dismissed this without a thought. But she’d learned a long time ago to trust him. If he felt he had to chase this, even jeopardize his job to do so, then she had to take it seriously.

She motioned for the magnifying glass again. What was funny was that when she’d first noticed the woman, she’d thought she recognized her. Something about the woman’s face... But when she studied the features, she decided the woman merely had one of those sweet, innocent-looking faces. That didn’t make Laura hate her any less.

She knew it was crazy to be jealous of a woman in a crime-scene photo who was possibly involved in at least three murders. But she could see that no woman had ever captivated Rourke like this one had. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her in the photo.

Laura figured he’d be disappointed when he finally came face-to-face with her. That was if he could find her—and didn’t get himself killed in the process.

Pushing the photos away, she was torn between laughter and tears when she thought how excited she’d been after Rourke’s call. What a fool she’d been, taking forever to get dressed. She’d even put on a little makeup, not that Rourke had noticed. And while she was touched that he’d called her to help with this, she wanted him to see her. Not the former cop. Not the former homicide partner. For once, she just wanted him to look at her and see the woman.

“So, what are you planning to do?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Laura, I can’t get these three cold cases out of my mind. I have no choice but to try to find this woman. I know you think I’m a fool to chase this.”

She sighed, seeing his disappointment. He’d hoped she would jump on board just like in the old days when he’d bent the rules and she had gone along with it. But the last time she’d bent the rules, she was almost killed. Her world, as she had known it, ended the day she was shot. She still had the scars, both inside and out.

Now, sitting here with him, she found herself battling a growing anger, more at herself than at him. Not that she thought it made any difference. Picking up her glass, she took a sip of her Scotch, hoping the alcohol would steady her.

“I’ve got two weeks,” he said, oblivious to her mounting resentment. “Once I get this woman’s name—”

“You’re really going to risk throwing away your career for some questionable lead in some old cold cases?”

He waved a hand through the air. “You know the ‘career’ part is the least of it for me. Sure, I love what I do and have worked hard to get where I am, but what is the point if I can’t chase a case that’s gotten into my blood?”

Her blood was on fire now. She could feel it flush her cheeks as she took another drink. The Scotch was like throwing gasoline on a blaze. “You don’t care about a career I would give my left leg for?” She let out a bark of a laugh, trying to keep her voice down when she was raging inside. “Oh, that’s right—I lost my career because of my left leg. Shot in the line of duty. Bang. Career over and you...” She lifted her nearly empty Scotch glass, suddenly at a loss for words. Tears welled and spilled. She wiped furiously at them. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let him see how messed up she was or how deep her hurt ran.

Rourke looked shocked as he reached for her. “Laura, I’m so sorry.”

She shook off the hand he placed on her arm. He motioned to the waitress to bring her another drink. That was all she needed. Didn’t he realize how close she was to telling him not only how she felt about the loss of her career but also how she felt about him?

“You’re going to do it—jeopardize everything.” Her chest ached with unshed tears. “Why would you do this?” Because of the woman in the photo. Something about that face had gotten to him.

Rourke looked distressed that he’d upset her, but also shocked. “I’m doing this because of you, Laura. I wanted to do this for you, and once I found the lead...”

She stared at him. “What are you talking about?”

“The third murder case? It was yours before you and I became partners.”

“I wasn’t on Homicide until—”

“No, you were still a street cop, but I saw your notes on this case in the original file. You were there, Laura. You took these photographs.”

She shook her head, telling herself this couldn’t be true, but an inkling of a memory fought to surface. Was that why she’d thought she recognized the woman in the crowd, because she’d taken her photo?

“I know it sounds crazy,” Rourke continued, “but it’s the reason I first got involved in this case. I saw your notes, and I wanted to solve it for you. Then, when I found the other two similar murders from the area and the same woman in all of the shots...”

All the fire in her blew out as if doused by a bucket of ice water. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. This was the Rourke she knew and loved. And wanting to solve this case because of her... Well, this was as romantic as Rourke Kincaid got. At least with her.

As the waitress arrived with their burgers, Rourke quickly pocketed the magnifying glass and slid the photos back into the folder, dropping it again on the seat next to him. The waitress exchanged her empty Scotch glass for a full one.

Laura picked it up, closed her eyes and took a gulp of the icy cold booze.

She couldn’t believe this. He’d gotten involved in the case because of her. But it was the woman in the photograph who had him about to commit career suicide.

Even with her eyes closed, she could see the image of the dark-haired young woman with the angelic face standing behind the crime-scene tape. Rourke wouldn’t be the only one haunted by the woman now.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_63a4be3f-88f2-58ce-8e95-a62858822dfa)

ROURKE MENTALLY KICKED HIMSELF. What the hell had he been thinking, going to Laura about this?

Had he thought she might want to help him by living vicariously while he solved this one? He’d been more than insensitive, but then again, Laura had also changed. He’d never seen her in tears before—even the night she was shot.

Her wounds had been nearly fatal, but she’d recovered—all except for her left leg. Like him, though, she wasn’t built for a desk job, so he was glad she had gotten into the profiling field. He thought she’d be damned good at it. Which was another reason he’d asked her to dinner.

He’d foolishly assumed, though, that the old Laura, the one who felt like an equal, would show up. This Laura... Well, she was more fragile. He should have realized that would be the case.

They ate their meals, him changing the subject to the weather. It didn’t always rain in Seattle, but still, there wasn’t that much to say.

“Is your food okay?” he asked, noticing that she’d barely touched hers. That wasn’t like her either. One of the things he’d always loved about her when they were partners was that she liked to eat as much as he did. Seattle offered every kind of fare there was, and the two of them had consumed their share.

“I had to quit eating like I used to,” she said, spearing a French fry and taking a small bite.

How had he not noticed that, along with the change in hairstyle, she’d also dropped the weight she’d gained after the shooting? Laura was an attractive woman, not classically beautiful, but striking. At five-eight, she looked strong, as if she’d been working out in spite of her leg. She’d been a blonde for as long as he’d known her, and yet her coloring seemed wrong for the pale shade, making him wonder what her natural color was. Something else he hadn’t noticed until now.

“You look great,” he said, again reminded of how little he really knew about his former partner, when she seemed to know him so well.

She smiled as if she knew he hadn’t really looked at her until that moment.

“So, you’re doing okay?” he asked, worried about her.

Laura was his age: thirty-six. It surprised him that she’d never married again. She’d apparently been married for a short time before he’d met her to a man named Mike Fuller. She never talked about it. Nor did she date much, seeming more interested in her career.