Dark roast, two creams. How many times had she heard him order coffee when they were on the phone together? Hundreds at least.
“Coffee would be great.”
“Let me take your coat.” Something else she should have done already.
When he’d shouldered out of the designer down filled jacket, she took it, felt the warmth of him trapped in the fabric. She pushed aside the ludicrous thought before she embarrassed herself by sighing out loud. “My medium blend may be lighter than you prefer,” she said as she hung up his coat and then led the way to the kitchen.
“As long as it’s caffeinated, it’ll work.”
Rather than take a seat at the sofa, he followed her into the kitchen and settled at the small round table for two. She couldn’t help smiling at the incongruity of the image of this tall, broad shouldered man at her little shabby chic table. The furnishings had been included with the cottage. The previous owner had been dedicated to repurposing all things vintage.
Not that Lara minded. She kind of liked the boho vibe of her cozy little cottage.
“I love the place.”
She set the mug and a tiny pitcher of cream on the table in front of him and lowered into the second of the two chairs. “It’s quiet. Calming.”
He nodded. Sipped his coffee. “Does that mean you’re set on staying year round?”
Other than Nate and the people in Maple Ridge who knew her, she hadn’t mentioned the move to anyone else. She hadn’t really decided to stay permanently until just recently. Buying this cottage on the lake was a good thing either way. A nice place to get away, she’d initially thought. Close to her childhood home in the small town where she grew up. A terrific getaway to come and unwind.
But, yes, she had decided to stay.
“I think so. It feels right. For now, anyway.”
“I can see why. The drive from the city was nice, but this is pretty incredible. You have amazing views.”
She nodded, glanced out the window. “I do.”
“I also like that the woods crowd up to your backyard. You’re basically hidden except from the water.”
Maybe she was hiding. She dismissed the idea. “I should probably get some sort of real boat.” She had the canoe down at the rickety little dock that was part of the property. She hadn’t taken it out on the water. Truthfully, she wasn’t even sure it was seaworthy. The former owner had insisted the canoe was in mint condition, but Lara hadn’t tested it out.
“Now that would be the perfect finishing touch.” He lifted the mug to his lips.
“Maybe you can help me pick one out while you’re here.” The Marina was open all weekend. There was a good-sized selection of available vessels. Not that she’d stopped and looked but she had to pass it on the drive into the city.
He looked as surprised at the offer as she felt at making it. She actually hadn’t seriously considered making the leap until just this moment. Apparently meeting Nate face to face had churned up a number of unexpected feelings.
She couldn’t remember when she’d felt so inexplicably unsettled.
“I’d love to.”
There was a ‘but’ coming. He schooled his expression and stared at the mug in his hand rather than at her.
Odd, she decided. Had her former stalker, Jeffrey Medford, finally reappeared and made some new threat? If his visit to Nashville was related to Bureau business, it likely wasn’t about her. The Medford case fell in the jurisdiction of the NYC field office. Worry trickled in her veins as she thought of the email and the text message she’d received last night. Had Medford resurfaced and chosen a new tactic? He’d seemingly fallen off the planet two years ago after her escape. Never to be heard from again.
Until now…possibly.
“Lara, we need to talk.”
The worry that made a deep breath near impossible had her searching his eyes, his face for some indication of just how concerned she should be. “What’s going on? I mean, I’m thrilled to have you sitting at my table like this.” She gestured to him and then the room at large mainly just to have something to do with her hands. “But having you show up like this is…perhaps not a social call. Not that I’m unhappy about seeing you—I mean, really seeing you—either way,” she threw in for good measure and then shut up because she was rambling.
“Sorry about the way I just showed up. I didn’t want to have this conversation on the phone.” He settled his mug on the table and continued before she could decide how to respond to his words. “Next week, I think, is the upcoming DNA series you told me about.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “In the Blood.” That was the title she’d given to next week’s two-part segment. Generally, she blogged on Mondays only. Occasionally, like this past week, she blogged on Mondays and Fridays. Next week’s segment had garnered a great deal of interest, prompting her to make it a two-parter as well.
“It’s related to that—the DNA series—my visit, I mean.” He glanced at the table and then at the window.
In all the conversations she’d had with this man, he’d never come off as unsure of himself. Steady, confident—she’d never thought of him any other way. Apparently, he was as unsettled as she was. Tension was thick in his tone. What the devil was going on?
“Okay,” she prompted, needing to hear the rest.
“You’re more aware than most,” he began, “that the Bureau, as well as other law enforcement agencies, has made a good number of connections to ongoing cases through the surge in people’s obsession with delving into their ancestries.”
Lara didn’t quite understand why he felt the need to qualify whatever he was about to say with this. They had discussed the subject numerous times as she planned the upcoming segment. Before she could ask, he went on.
“You’re familiar, of course, with the Butcher.”
This wasn’t a question. He knew she was. Yet, she nodded as if it was necessary to confirm his statement. The conversation suddenly felt off kilter. Out of sync.
“He has eluded the authorities for decades. We can’t be sure just how many murders are his but dozens match his MO. Only twice in all those cases, and only in the past couple of years, has he ever made a mistake and left behind DNA evidence.”
“The first time you assumed it could be another victim’s,” she said, remembering what a coup it was to find any evidence, genetic or otherwise, not belonging to the victim left at the scene of the crime. The scene was actually the dump site. The Butcher’s victims were abducted, then taken to an unknown location for him to do his heinous work, afterwards the body was left at a staged scene.
“Right. Then it happened again, back in August. The thinking was that he could be growing sloppy or that age or illness had begun to affect his work.”
“Or maybe he’s testing you.” Lara shrugged. “Or playing with you. Showing that he is far superior by leaving evidence you can’t figure out how to use.”
Nate nodded, his gaze dropping from hers.
“Has there been another victim?” She hadn’t seen anything in the news and she tracked numerous media outlets. Notifications hit her feed twenty-four/seven.
Having the Butcher strike again would have made national news. The moniker had been chosen back in the nineties. His victims were always impaled and tortured slowly over the time it took them to die as he effectively butchered them like an animal being prepared for market. He never took trophies from his victims, and there seemed to be no true pattern to the type he chose or his timing. Sometimes he took two or three victims per year, but the past two he’d only taken one per year. This, too, suggested a slowing down which could be related to aging or some health issue.