Page 31 of The Murder Between Us
Noah tried to breathe. He dragged in a shuddering breath, so broken it sounded like he was dying.
“If you ever decide to come out, you’re going to find a guy who will thank his lucky stars every day for you. And you’ll be happy, too. I know you will. But you have to make that choice when you’re ready.” The car door opened. He heard Cole slide out. “I’ll see you inside. Thank you for the coffee. It’s great.”
The car door shut.
Gasping, Noah pitched forward, burying his forehead in the center of his steering wheel as the sobs broke in his chest.I was happy with you. For one night, I was happy with you.
It took ten minutes for his breathing to calm down. For his hands to stop shaking. Another ten to clear the redness from his eyes. He couldn’t do anything about the way his face had swelled up. Of course, he’d looked like shit to begin with. He’d been up the whole night, and the night before. Well, it wasn’t like he was trying to impress anyone.
Finally he made his way inside, badging onto the third floor and heading for his office. The bullpen buzzed, everyone catching up and sipping coffee and trading ideas. The floor was more crowded than usual with the task force, the deputies and police officers on loan from the area departments. He saw Deputies Santos, Nichols, and Holland gesturing to a map of the kill sites and a gaggle of police officers from Des Moines—Salvage, Reynolds, and Estrada—flipping through old crime scene photos. He didn’t see Deputy Garrett.
Noah frowned. The day before, John had texted him after Garrett stormed out of the office late in the afternoon.Noah, I want to talk to you about Garrett. I’m worried about him. Let’s meet tomorrow to discuss reassigning him.
Maybe Garrett needed to sit this investigation out. Let someone else represent Boone County on the task force.
Down the hallway, Cole and Jacob were in the conference room together, talking as they sipped their coffees. Jacob said something, teasing Cole, and Cole tipped his head back and laughed hard.
Jealousy knifed through Noah’s gut. He turned away.You are not the man for him. Cole deserves a man far better than you.
He pulled out his phone and texted Katie, checking in.Hope class is going well. I’ll pick you up from cheerleading practice at four. Pizza tonight?
Katie was supposed to be focusing on her pre-calc class, but he got a text back right away.OK Dad. Can Cole come? I wanna ask about more cases he’s been on and killers he’s caught. :)
Noah groaned.I’m sure he’s busy. Aren’t you supposed to be doing schoolwork?
I am, Dad.He got a picture of her math work, taken surreptitiously from her lap with the teacher at the whiteboard.
Focus, pumpkin. You’re doing really well with your summer school classes so far.
Well, I WASfocused… :)
He pursed his lips and frowned.Okay, fair point. Love you, K-Bear.
ILY too, dad byex
* * *
“Okay.Time to dig into the killer’s profile.”
Noah nodded. He tapped his pen against his notepad, sitting across from Cole in the conference room. Cole stared at him a beat too long.
“You can find this guy?” Jacob, at the head of the conference table, asked Cole. He was leaning back in the chair, and the metal was groaning out cries of surrender. Eventually, he was going to break every chair in the office.
“I have a pretty good track record.”
“You’ve caughtallthe killers you’ve profiled?”
Cole nodded. He fiddled with his papers, his pen. “Noah, talk to me about the suspects the original investigation developed.”
“There were two main ones we focused on.” Noah fingered the two folders in front of him. His eyes darted to the whiteboard at the head of the table, where two groups of headshots stared down at them. Six young women—Kelsey, Ellen, Paige, Lauren, Monica, and Stacy—were grouped together to one side. He could recite their names from memory, draw up each of their faces in his mind. He’d never forget those girls, not as long as he lived.
Kimberly and Jessie were on the other side. Bart Olson’s and Frank Foster’s photos sat below their daughters’.
“First, Tech Sergeant Alan Prince.” Noah flipped open the folder on the left. The suspect’s photo was on top, an eight-by-ten of his last promotion board picture. Prince was a large man, burly, with a barrel chest and a square jaw. He looked like he chewed bullets for breakfast. “Air force, based at Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha. It’s a two-hour drive from Offutt to the Des Moines metro region. Prince was a pararescueman.”
“A medic.”
“Yes. The air force combat medic. Pararescue jumpers are elite service members. Air force special operators. They have one of the highest training washout rates in the entire armed forces.”
