Page 21 of The Killer She Knew

“Yeah, yeah.” Leigh flipped off the covers smelling of spice and soap and headed for the door. All Dean. She’d catch it on her own skin, in her hair, on her clothes as she navigated from one class to the next or when she got to one of her part-time jobs. Always with her. Part of her. She could smell him on her now, and a rush of heat flooded into her face at the memories of last night. And of the past two weeks. He’d done exactly as he’d promised that first time they’d slept together. He’d taken care of her, helped her grow more confident in bed, let her use him as she needed and explore her curiosity without judgment or hesitation.

He’d become her safe place in such a short amount of time. Something she hadn’t had in a long time, and she trusted him. In more ways than one. “I’m coming.”

She dragged a blanket around her shoulders to counter the fact she was dressed in a pair of Dean’s boxer shorts and her thin tank top. No need to frighten the rest of the dorm this early in the morning. And while it wasn’t entirely against the rules for students to spend the night in each other’s rooms, she wasn’t going to advertise it.

Leigh wrenched the door open.

Facing off with two uniformed police officers.

“Dean Groves.” The nearest tried to peek around her through the slim crack in the door, both hands gripped on his utility belt. He was over a head taller than her, makingit easier, but Leigh didn’t want those eyes scouring through Dean’s dorm. This was their space. The one place she could be herself instead of the teen who’d failed to get her daddy out of murder charges. Nobody else had a right to it. “He here?”

“No.” Defenses she’d sworn she’d left back home tightened the muscles down her spine. Automatic and suffocating. Both officers set their gaze on her. Waiting for her to elaborate on Dean’s location. It was a tactic law enforcement and lawyers liked to use, knowing social expectations usually got the better of most people due to the need to avoid uncomfortable and awkward silences. But she’d made that mistake once. She wouldn’t make it again. “Anything else?”

“You are?” the second officer asked.

“None of your business.” Leigh moved to close the door in their faces. She didn’t know what the hell was going on—why police were looking for Dean—and she had no intention of getting in the middle of it. She’d already lost her war against the police department in her hometown. She couldn’t go through that again. Didn’t want to put her brother through it again.

A foot jammed against the door, keeping her from closing it fully. The officer held up a photo, nearly shoving it into her face. “You know this girl?”

Leigh glanced at the perfect smiling face then did a double take. The similarities were a bit eerie. Blonde hair with darker roots—obviously dyed and well maintained—brown eyes the color of burnt coffee, straight white teeth that’d seen years of orthodontia and whitening. The photo had come from a Granite State student ID with a section of dark green border taking up one side of the photo. “No.”

“Her name is Teshia Elborne. She’s a student here on campus.” The second officer took in Leigh’s presence inside a dorm that obviously wasn’t hers this early in the morning, herlack of clothing, and her most likely frizzed hair. “Has Dean ever mentioned her to you?”

Ah. There it was. The judgment of answering the door half dressed in a blanket that didn’t belong to her. Leigh narrowed her gaze on the photo, to give them the impression she was thinking, but she already had her answer. And she knew what kind of games police liked to play. They were trying to use her to establish a connection between this woman and Dean. In her experience, it usually meant someone was dead. “Why would he?”

“Ms. Elborne was found dead in front of Thompson Hall this morning,” the first officer said. “And we have a signed witness statement that says Dean Groves was the last person to see her alive.”

Durham, New Hampshire

Wednesday, October 9

5:53 p.m.

“You’re very impressive, you know. The way you used Morrow’s own work against him to get him to admit a personal relationship with the victim was genius.” Ford kept pace with her all too easily as they navigated back to the building’s lobby. The sun had gone down completely now, his phone lighting the way through the maze. “Did you really recognize his work in those papers from all those years ago as his research assistant?”

They couldn’t arrest Morrow for having an affair with a student, but Leigh hadn’t made any promises to keep it from the university administration either. He would lose his job. Lose any chance of publishing in a peer-reviewed journal. Lose everything he’d worked so hard for. It was a little ironic. Morrowhad threatened Alice Dietz to keep her mouth shut for fear of staining his already struggling academic career. In the end, it’d been her death that cost him everything. “No. I took a chance.”

It’d been a risk, but ego was Pierce Morrow’s number one downfall. Always had been. And she’d gotten good at using it against him.

The marshal pulled her up short, staring down at her. The light from his phone carved sharp shadows into his features, making him impossibly more handsome. “You took a chance? Wait. The section you pointed out to him in Alice Dietz’s paper didn’t come from one of his projects?”

“Oh. I have no idea. I picked it at random.” A laugh—genuine and light—escaped up her throat at the shock contorting Ford’s expression. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had reason to laugh. Hard to do when getting screamed at or ignored by a fifteen-year-old throughout the day. “Pierce Morrow doesn’t grade his own papers. That’s what he has assistants for. His work as a professor is secondary to his own research. He’s never read one of Alice Dietz’s papers. He has no idea what was in there. He’s also written on nearly every criminology topic. I was fairly confident I could pick one at random and use it against him.”

“That’s…” Ford said. “Quite brilliant.”

Warmth stretched up her neck and into her face, and she couldn’t keep eye contact. She realized exactly how close they’d gotten to each other. Mere inches between them. When had it happened? How hadn’t she noticed before now? Leigh fought the urge to add to those inches. Ford wasn’t a threat. He was… handsome. Maybe even a bit reckless taking on an investigation so out of his element. But she liked that about him. “Thank you.”

“You’re good at reading people, aren’t you?” He was looking at her with something she couldn’t identify. Admiration? Couldn’t be right. Despite national headlines, she was nobody.She’d consulted for police departments all over the country before joining the BAU, but the credit had always gone to the detectives. Until recently. She wasn’t admiration material. She was just an investigator determined to get to the truth. “It’s not about the evidence or witness statements for you. You see the things most people try to hide.”

“I’m drawn to patterns.” Had she ever told someone that before? Her parents had known, her brother too. She could find a pattern in anything. A piece of wood her father had brought home from the hardware store. The rise and dip of plot beats in her favorite TV shows. In the hundreds of Lego sets she’d put together. Come to think of it, she hadn’t touched any since being gifted a set by the man who’d abducted her brother. “Sometimes to my own detriment. I’m good at finding them. Creating them. I can rely on them. Routines and habits tell a lot more about a person and their priorities than their words.”

Maybe that’d been one of the reasons Dean Groves had been able to get away with murder for all these years. He’d changed his patterns.

“What kind of patterns do you see when you look at me?” Ford’s shoulders expanded, giving her more to take in. Not in intimidation. But hope she could see the whole picture. Deeper than the US Marshal shield pinned to his belt. Deeper than the exhaustion clouding his eyes.

This was a bad idea. While she couldn’t avoid cataloging blatant patterns in the tick of a clock or the way Ava chewed on the ends of her hair when she was upset, Leigh had built a filter to keep herself from obsessing. From getting caught up in waiting for the pattern to break. But turning her obsession on someone she’d partnered with to solve this case? She doubted either of them would like what they found. Still, she couldn’t help but pick up on the ones the marshal practically wore on his sleeves.

“You chew on the inside your mouth when you’re confused by something. Which, during this investigation, has been a lot. I’m sure your dentist doesn’t appreciate that. Your hair is also slightly thinner above your left ear, which means you run your fingers through it, especially in the presence of an attractive woman. It’s a self-conscious check. You did it when you met me at the crime scene this morning.”

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