Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Carol Ericson (short books to read TXT) 📖

She shrugged. “Juan and his partner thought it was the killer’s own design.”

“How sure were they that the killer actually drew the symbol? Couldn’t it have been spray-painted before the murder happened?”

Keara shrugged, suddenly looking exhausted. “I didn’t ask for particulars. I just knew they’d determined it was put there by the killer. You can contact the Houston PD for more details. Juan’s partner is still there, as far as I know. I don’t keep in close touch with the department, but I don’t think the murder was ever solved.”

Ben nodded and Anderson wrote down the contact information for Juan’s partner, but Jax didn’t need to ask to know it was low on their list of priorities. They’d follow up—they were both good agents—but despite the strange symbol, they didn’t think it was connected. And he understood why. The symbol was too generic, the crimes too different. Besides, there were too many variables. They couldn’t even be sure the murderer in Keara’s husband’s case had been the one to draw the symbol. Alleyways were often filled with random graffiti, especially in a big city like Houston.

Keara stood, flinching in a way that told him that he wasn’t the only one who’d left that bar with injuries. The closed-off expression on her face said she wouldn’t welcome him asking about it, so instead he asked, “Are you okay to drive home? Desparre isn’t exactly close.”

“Out here, it’s about as close as you get,” she replied, her chin tilting up just slightly. “Thanks for the help,” she added, her gaze sweeping the three of them, lingering briefly on him before she headed for the door.

“The symbol is unusual,” Jax said once she’d left the hotel and it was just him and the agents in the brightly lit lobby.

“It’s not connected,” Ben said, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

“I’ll call the partner and follow up anyway,” Anderson added, “but Ben is right. It’s strange, but coincidences happen.”

“I don’t know—”

“Jax, you want to talk to her about this more? Be my guest,” Ben said, glancing at his watch and standing. “But you know as well as we do that it’s unlikely there’s a solid link here. Yeah, the symbol is odd, but it’s not particularly unique. And we can’t even be sure the killer in her husband’s case is the one who drew it. She said it was spray-painted on an alley wall. Could have been some random tagger practicing. Our symbol was literally on the bomb fragment. That’s pretty different.”

“Maybe, but—”

“An alley in downtown Houston at a murder site. And a bomb fragment in the middle of nowhere, Alaska. A single murder and a bombing that’s already killed seven and injured at least twelve more. You’ve got the psychology background, so you tell me: How likely is it that a violent murderer turned into a bomber?”

“Not very,” Jax agreed, trying not to be distracted by the way his arms stung, the way his back and legs and head throbbed. The two aspirin he’d gotten from the hotel desk hadn’t done much to ease the pain.

From the type of murder Keara had described, the killer had wanted to get up close. He thrived on the brutality, on causing someone else to suffer, on watching that suffering up close and personal. He’d probably loved the attention, the big press coverage in a big city. A bomber was a different personality type. Someone who didn’t want to be hands-on for the actual kill. Someone who wanted to see more destruction, but choosing a place so far off the map meant maybe he wasn’t looking for the intensity of news coverage.

“Still...”

“What?” Anderson prompted when Jax went silent.

Jax’s specialty was working with trauma victims, helping them reclaim control over their emotions and their lives. He’d spent time analyzing the motives behind the perpetrators, but only if it was in service of the survivors.

But the more time he’d spent working for the FBI, the more he’d realized that the specialty translated. And not just as a Victim Specialist, but also in providing real insight into the way the perpetrators thought.

He didn’t know enough about the case Keara’s husband had investigated to be able to say if it was connected or not. But something about it kept nudging his brain.

“The symbol was on the bomb fragment,” Jax said. “That means it’s important. But maybe the bomber didn’t expect it to survive the blast. Maybe he drew it for himself.”

“Maybe,” Ben agreed.

“So maybe he never expected it to be connected to a seven-year-old murder.”

“IS THERE ANY news on the Luna bombing?” Tate Emory, an officer she’d brought on to the Desparre PD just over five years ago, leaned his head into her office.

Tate was one of her most easygoing officers, with a calm under pressure none of her veterans had expected. Of course, they only knew Tate’s cover story, believed he’d been a true rookie when he joined the force. But Keara knew he’d been a police officer before hiding away in this remote Alaskan town. Because she’d kept his secret, he was one of the only people here who knew anything about her past.

Still, she wasn’t about to share the possible connection to one of her husband’s cases. Not when the FBI had grown less and less interested the longer she’d spoken. Not when the light of day was bringing her own doubts.

Last night she’d been so certain. This morning, back at work in Desparre and fielding calls from concerned citizens about their neighboring town, she wondered if she was wrong.

It had been seven years since she’d seen that symbol. Yes, years on the force had enhanced her skills of observation and memory. But maybe it wasn’t the same. Even she had to admit it didn’t look like much beyond doodling. Or maybe both a murderer and a bomber had seen the same symbol somewhere and used it themselves.

“The FBI is managing the investigation.” She told Tate what he’d surely already seen