Chapter Three
Katie
“You good, Doc?” Detective Williams asks me.
“Peachy.”
I’m anything but peachy. My hands are clammy, shaking at my sides.
My mouth is drier than a flip-flop in the desert.
I’m rattled. All because of the man who is treading purposefully behind me in a uniform that looks far too good on him, considering the sight of him usually makes my stomach queasy.
Being trapped in an elevator with his manly scent, the same minty freshness that I woke up to yesterday morning, has my head spinning.
We head to the end of the long corridor on the top floor of Seattle’s police headquarters.
Chief Margaret Tanner, known as Chief to her face and Hide behind her back because she has a habit of making you feel like she’s tanned your hide after one of her rage outbursts.
She is a good chief, and I’ve yet to be on the receiving end of one of her disciplinaries.
But then, given that I’m a contractor, perhaps I’m exempt.
My job is to be Switzerland. Neutral on all counts.
I assess the accused, determine their mental state, interview friends and family members, visit crime scenes—the list goes on.
All in an attempt to get a clear-cut picture of who this person is and whether they committed the crime they’re accused of.
Some cases are easier than others; some .
. . well, let’s just say some take a little more energy.
I have a feeling that this case is going to be the latter, especially given that Jacob Jones, in his goddamn uniform, is hot on my heels right now.
I can practically feel his breath on my neck; he’s so close.
I swallow hard, desperately trying not to think about Saturday night and how it felt to have him curled up against me in Lottie’s guest bedroom.
We have never crossed that line before, except for one regrettable kiss in college that we absolutely do not talk about.
I should have tried harder to kick him out of the bed on Saturday, but with each step toward the chief’s office, I promise myself that it will not happen again.
Even if it means sleeping on that god-awful cot for the next three months. There will be no more cuddling. Ever.
I indicate for Jonesy to go through the doorway to the chief’s office, and I follow.
There are no seats left, so I perch on the back wall next to Officer Sanchez.
Detective Williams stands beside me, his knee bent as the sole of his foot braces his weight against the wall, his arms crossed over his broad chest.
He’s upset. Unhappy with the situation unfolding. I can’t say I’m thrilled that Jonesy and his bosses are here either, but police officers have this real tendency to lift their back leg and piss on something they think inherently belongs to them.
Unfortunately for me, I have a feeling that in choosing to stand next to me rather than Officer Sanchez, Detective Williams is now pissing a circle around me.
His scowl, currently aimed at Jonesy, would be comical if I weren’t harboring some uncertain feelings toward the detective.
We get along fine at crime scenes; a case we worked on last year involving the serial killer dubbed The Poser by the media had brought us closer together.
It had been a year since the case wrapped up, but we still saw each other for coffee and the occasional dinner.
It doesn’t hurt that he is utterly gorgeous.
Strong, capable, understanding—a man with an astonishing amount of patience.
And as Jonesy pointed out, his biceps could crush a melon.
I know the detective wants to progress our relationship, but for a variety of reasons, I’ve been reluctant to commit.
After everything that went down with The Poser serial killer, real name Thomas Vale, I have been struggling with a few things.
Mostly on how to be intimate with others.
Sexually, to be clear. My friendships are still alive and well, and I have a great relationship with my family.
But being in the presence of someone so evil has changed me.
I don’t know how to be anymore. I always knew who I was.
Always knew what I wanted to do with my life.
I dated, I fucked around, I had fun. But now, it’s like I freeze every time. I can’t speak to anyone I know about this; they wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t understand the dark depths that Thomas Vale took me to, that I can’t seem to climb out of.
I shake Thomas Vale from my mind. We have a new case, and I need to be on my A game if I’m going to handle Jonesy.
“I hear you and Dr. Jones are acquainted,” the chief states, bringing the rest of the room up to speed. I see a small smile pull at Jonesy’s lips from the corner of my eye.
“Yes, Chief. From Elwood. We studied together.”
I wish I hadn’t worn such high heels. They are killing my feet already as I shift my weight from foot to foot.
I feel the detective stiffen next to me.
He’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I don't. There’s no reason for anyone in this room to know the history between us.
Jonesy and I are sort of friends. As much as I love to bust his balls, we’ve known each other for a long time.
He’s been a thorn in my side since he left to go overseas with the army as part of his thesis.
That was . . . eight years ago? Around then, anyway.
We were completing our PhDs, I’d had a crush on him since we first met, and bam, finally, one night at a party, we kissed.
He ran off. I didn’t hear from him for a year whilst he was away.
No letters, no phone calls, no emails. Nothing.
So when he returned from his tour, we had our monthly dinner club, and I brought the most attractive man I could find on short notice and paraded him in front of a jaw-clenching Jonesy like he was a show pony getting his first ribbon.
The relationship didn’t last, but it didn’t need to.
The message was clear to Jonesy. He’d disappeared without a word after kissing me, and I was over it.
Over him. Since then, our rivalry has developed into all-out arguments until we’re both put on a warning by the group, so we rein it back, only for it to begin building up again in a few months.
Come to think of it, we are due for a big blowout. Perhaps this case will be the catalyst.
The chief intertwines her fingers, looking between the two of us briefly before continuing.
“A woman, identified as Jennifer Kray, has been found dead in the parking lot of a bar called Skallywags.
She was stabbed sixteen times and left to die.
We have evidence that this is a clear-cut case.
The suspect, Connor Maddox, was arrested at 4 a.m. this morning and has yet to be interviewed.
His lawyer is present and has been briefed on the case.
He is currently giving his client some legal advice before we begin our interviews.
“The two of you—” She glances between Jonesy and me. “Are to observe Detective Williams and Officer Sanchez interrogate the suspect. You will each conduct your own interviews with the suspect as well.
“Dr. Jones, given that you are not a forensic psychologist, Dr. Murphy will be able to get you up to speed on our policies. In high-profile cases such as these, the investigation is thorough. She’ll not only interview the suspect but also family members, witnesses, go to crime scenes, and so on.
Given that you will understand the military aspect of this case, you should both be able to help each other. ”
“This seems unnecessary for an open and shut case,” the colonel chimes in, playing with the ends of his mustache.
“There has been a murder, Colonel. Investigating it is the bare minimum, is it not?” the chief snarks.
I bite my cheek to stop myself from laughing.
The colonel’s eyebrows shoot up. I can’t imagine anyone has talked back to him in a while.
At least not to his face. My eyes flit to Jonesy, and he’s watching my reaction.
I watch as his lips twist to the side in an attempt to control the threatening smile as he looks away from me.
At least he’s not completely up his boss’s ass.
“Thoughts, Dr. Murphy?” the chief asks.
My thoughts are that this is going to be a clusterfuck.
A literal nightmare. Since Jonesy got back from overseas, we’ve barely spent more than an evening together, aside from the occasional group trip where I would do my best to avoid him for as much of the time as possible.
He’s irritating, annoying, and did one semester on forensic psychology, so he'll be no help at all.
“It’s not usual for psychologists to confer. It could create seeds of doubt or influence over the findings. It’s best if we work separately.”
I feel Detective Williams relax next to me. The colonel, the other army guy, and Jonesy stare at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. I frown, trying to understand the situation, but I can’t make sense of it.
“The judge has ordered that you work together on this one. You can write separate reports if you wish. Discuss it, or don’t. But you will be investigating as a team,” the colonel chimes in, seemingly changing his stance on whether the interviews are even necessary.
“With all due respect, Colonel, you don’t have a doctorate in psychology. The process of interviewing and coming to conclusions is a matter of ethics. How would you feel if I influenced Dr. Jones’s report?
“I think you might overestimate your reach, Miss Murphy.” The colonel smiles, his crooked teeth on display through a snigger.
I ignore the “Miss Murphy” comment and shrug. “Perhaps. I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”