The Detective

Chapter 11 - Point Blank

Carissa Angelique Withers had been shot in the head at point blank range in the doorway of her bedroom. She was fifteen. Laying next to her charred frame was a ten thousand dollar murder weapon: a hand-engraved, 1853 Remington revolver.

I'd lost four pounds by Thursday because I couldn't eat. Or sleep.

A few things became clear to me after we'd collected all the evidence from the house fire. These weren't seasoned criminals as I had originally thought. No criminal would carry an antique handgun that hadn't been fired in a century to a robbery. They were lucky it hadn't blown up in their hand. My theory was the gun was taken as a nifty trinket from the safe in the Carreras' home, and it was carried by an amateur, albeit brilliant, thief to the next target. They hadn't expected Carissa to be at home during the time of the robbery, and she was shot by a remorseful shooter because she surprised them. The handgun—complete with a set of at least partial fingerprints—had been discarded and set on fire to cover up the accident because they didn't know what else to do.

The forensics team at the State Crime Lab was working on the gun.

A couple other points were very interesting as well. The home was protected by ArmorTech, and Dr. Withers kept cash in a combination safe inside his home office. The thieves hadn't gotten to it, however. They bolted empty-handed as soon as they set the fire.

I'm missing something, I thought over and over and over again.

The doorbell of my apartment chimed. I looked at the clock on the desk in my office. It was almost nine at night. When I reached the front door, I checked out the peephole and saw Shannon shivering out in the cold. My head thumped against the door as I knocked my forehead against it.

"Nathan?" she called out.

I pulled the door open and stepped out of her way. "Hey. What are you doing here? I wasn't expecting you till tomorrow." I wasn't exactly expecting her then either. With everything that had happened since Monday, we'd hardly spoken, much less finalized plans.

"I was worried about you." She put her bag down and unbuttoned her coat. "Your mom said that—"

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. "My mother? You're still talking to my mother?"

She blinked with surprise. "Well, yeah. I emailed her when I didn't hear back from you on Tuesday. She sent me the news article on the girl who died and said she was worried you were taking it really hard."

I bit the insides of my lips to keep my mouth from flying off on its own accord.

She draped her coat over the back of my recliner. "Are you mad?"

I blew out a slow puff of air. "I'm not mad, but I'm not exactly happy either to be honest. I've got a lot of stuff going on and I like you, but..."

Her shoulders sank. "I'm sorry, Nathan." She picked up her coat again. "I just wanted to help."

As she reached for her bag, I grabbed her arm. "No, I'm sorry. Come here."

God, she smelled good. Like a long winter nap and fresh laundry—both of which I needed desperately. "Is that lavender?" I asked, nuzzling my face against her neck.

She giggled. "You know what lavender is?"

"I have sisters."

"Oh yes. Lara and Karen, correct?" she asked.

Pulling back, I narrowed my eyes. "Geez, how much have you been talking to my mom?"

She put her hands on my chest. "Not too much. She's worried about you. So am I." She batted her eyes up at me. "Can I do anything to make you feel better."

I smiled. I could think of a few things.

I was wide awake well into the middle of the night, despite Shannon's valiant attempt to exhaust me. Absentmindedly, I traced my finger up and down her spine as she lay sprawled out across my mattress in the moonlight. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Anthony Withers' face across that lawn. It was the same face I'd had while I watched police search the parking lot after a football game during my senior year of high school. I knew then, just like Anthony did, that I would never see my sister again.

Maybe it was Lieutenant Carr's voice haunting me, but I couldn't shake the feeling that Carissa Withers wouldn't be dead if the robbery cases had my full attention. But how could it? I was also more certain than ever that a serial killer was lurking in North Carolina, and it was only a matter of time before another girl was taken.

I looked down at Shannon, and my heart lurched at the thought that it could be her. What if she was next?

Good god, I have real feelings for this woman. I sat up in the darkness of my room and swung my legs off the bed.

"Nathan?" I heard Shannon whisper.

Reaching behind me, I ran my hand along her bare arm. "Shh. Go back to sleep."

I got up and tugged on the gym shorts I had discarded by the bed, then quietly crept out of my room and down the hall to my office. I flipped on the light and flinched as it burned my retinas. For ten solid minutes, I sat with my feet propped up on the desk and stared at the map of North Carolina on the wall.

Two women in Raleigh, two in Greensboro, two in Hickory, two around Winston-Salem, two around Statesville, and Leslie Ann Bryson in Asheville.

"Oh shit!" I sat up so fast that I knocked a cup full of pens off my desk.

How have I not seen this before? If Leslie Bryson was another victim of the same perp, that would make Asheville the only city with only one victim...

"Is everything OK in here?" Shannon was rubbing her eyes as she walked into the room. "I heard a noise."

"I'm sorry. I knocked some stuff off my desk." Her perfect legs were peeking out from underneath my NC State t-shirt. "Go back to bed, babe. I'll be there in a minute."

She circled her arms around my neck from behind. "What are you doing in here?"

"Working." I pointed to the map. "I think I just figured out something important."

"Oh yeah?" she asked.

I nodded. "Either there's another missing woman in Asheville or there's about to be."

She yawned. "Is it going to happen before breakfast?"

"Uh, I don't think so."

She tugged on my arm. "Then come back to bed with me. You can figure it out tomorrow."

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I missed you all last week! I'm back from floating around in the Caribbean with some amazing editors and agents. It was a glorious trip, but I'm glad to be home! (And I'm really glad to have the Internet again!)