When No One Is Watching

It’s not Lena, she thought, releasing her breath from the vise in her chest. She couldn’t have handled seeing that, and yet part of her desperately wanted the not knowing to end. That was the worst part about having a loved one go missing: not knowing whether she would one day pass Lena on the street or pick up the phone to hear her voice. Or open the front door to see police officers charged with delivering the worst possible news.

It’s not Lena.

Mia fingered the pill in her pocket, clutching it against a wad of lint. She hadn’t touched police work in the months since she was injured, and she couldn’t exactly say she missed it. Still, she felt its tug on her, perhaps from some need to bring order to her small corner of the universe or to feel useful again. Here I go, she thought wryly. Her illustrious return to normalcy, where normal meant poring over the handiwork of psychopaths in her spare time. She let the pill fall again to the bottom of her pocket and stared at the stiff body of the woman in front of her. Was this Lena’s fate, too?

“I’m sorry about your sister,” said Gray, his tone shifting to a place somewhere between near-warmth and not-unkindness. “What was her name?”

“Lena Perez. She was a grad student at Boston University. She vanished last August. Before you think I’m some serial killer groupie, I took no interest in Valentine before then. I started working on the case last summer when Lena went missing.” Eager to avoid elaborating, Mia cocked her head at him. “Look, I’m not here to contaminate your scene and create trouble. I’ll stick to five minutes if you’re serious about that, but can I at least walk around a bit?”

He was like a stone wall, filling up her line of vision with his broad shoulders and arrogance, but she saw him flinch as he considered the request, and then he stepped aside. “You can walk, but I’m going with you.”

How gallant. She stifled a groan and didn’t respond other than to shrug and finally step around him to examine the victim.

The woman was fully clothed in jean shorts and a novelty T-shirt. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted a dark pink. “She doesn’t look like she was dressed to go out. She may have been first attacked in her home,” Mia mused, mostly to herself. “Was she a student?”

“We don’t have an ID,” said Gray.

Poor girl. Mia traced her gaze over the sad figure. The woman’s eyes were filmy and stared into nothing. Mia pointed to a wilting bouquet of flowers nestled beside her left arm. “What’s with the flowers?”

“They were left with the body,” said Dr. McCarthy. “Red roses mixed with white carnations. What do you think—is Valentine back from vacation?”

Mia frowned, folding her arms across her chest. She’d memorized the Valentine files, spending hours studying the crime scene photos and autopsy reports. This scene was wrong.

She felt a gaze and looked up to see Gray watching her. “You don’t think so, Dr. Perez.”

When she’d first spotted him from the top of the embankment, she swore her heart had stopped. He was unexpected, standing like some marvelous Greek sculpture by the bank of the river, the fine, straight angles of his body incongruent with the ugly chaos over which he loomed. The morning was hot, but the blood in her cheeks ran still warmer at the intensity of his stare. If he weren’t so grouchy, she might have found him attractive.

“It’s all wrong,” she said, shaking her head. “The flowers, for one. It’s a cheap arrangement, something you’d buy from a grocery store. Valentine has never left bouquets like that.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“No.” The word flew from her lips on instinct, and she scrambled to produce a basis for that conclusion. “That would be like a fashionista dressing in cheap clothes. It’s not who he is. Valentine leaves a single kind of flower, and the choice is always symbolic. The flowers aren’t meant to honor the woman—they are meant to say something about her. This arrangement is all wrong. The body is posed improperly, too.” She pointed to the straight arms. “Her arms should be crossed over her chest, and the flowers should be in the center, over her sternum.” She paused as she braced herself. “Doc, what about her heart?”

McCarthy reached forward and gently felt along the victim’s sternum. “Valentine cuts through the bone. This sternum appears intact.”

“No,” Mia repeated, breathing easier. “This isn’t Valentine.”

“Are you saying we have a copycat?” Gray said.

“I didn’t say that, but you can’t ignore the similarities. Also—” she gestured to the gaping wounds on the victim’s palms “—Valentine restrains his victims. We’ve never found defensive wounds.”

Gray removed his sunglasses and blinked against the glare. Mia watched him out of the corner of her eye, not wanting to be too obvious. He looked as if he were carved out of marble, but behind his dark eyes was a softness. She’d always believed the eyes were the window to the soul, and she wondered what he was hiding behind that wall he’d constructed to protect himself.

He knelt beside the body, his brow tense with concentration. “Valentine may have screwed up this time,” he said. “Maybe she broke free of the restraints.”

“But there are no ligature marks on her wrist,” noted Dr. McCarthy. “There’s no evidence she was ever restrained in the first place.”

“The media doesn’t know about the bonds or the missing heart,” Mia said. “A copycat wouldn’t know, either.”

“Hey, wait a second.” Dr. McCarthy pressed a gloved hand to the victim’s side. “Since when does Valentine carry a gun?”

Mia’s pulse quickened, and she and Gray rushed to the ME’s side as he probed his index finger against the stiff edges of a hole in the victim’s shirt. “I didn’t notice it before with all of the blood on the shirt, but this is a bullet hole.” He leaned closer and frowned. “Not much blood. She may have been shot postmortem.”

“Overkill.” A shiver swept up Mia’s spine. “Why would he shoot a corpse?”

“Maybe he didn’t trust that the knife would work?” Dr. McCarthy offered.

“No.” This time it was Gray who spoke. He glanced at Mia before placing his sunglasses back on his face. “With all of those knife wounds? He knew she was dead.”

He straightened and turned his back to them, staring out over the Charles. After a moment, he turned back. “I agree with Dr. Perez. This isn’t Valentine.”

“Wow, you’re listening to me. I’m flattered.” She gave a small smile.

“Don’t be flattered,” he replied flatly. “I listen to evidence.”

Her shoulders tightened. Arrogant jerk. She’d fought hard to be taken seriously by the police officers she’d worked with, and she’d succeeded by producing real results. It had been years since anyone had treated her with such hostility, and Mia tamped down the irritation surging in her chest. This was her reward for trying to be personable.

“A copycat.” Gray cursed under his breath. “This is the last thing I need.”

“Lieutenant!” an officer called from farther down the path. “Any chance a gun was involved?” He held up a handgun with a gloved hand. “We just found this in the grass here.”

Gray’s face darkened. “What’s the caliber?”

The officer turned the gun. “Looks like a .32. White handle. Looks expensive.”

Gray and Mia exchanged a quick glance. “Yeah,” said Gray. “Bag it.”

Mia tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and swept the back of her hand across her brow. Her lungs were heavy from the thick summer air, and she was already imagining how good it might feel to plunge into the cold water of the river. Thinking and doing were completely different things, though. She didn’t normally like to bathe with E. coli. “I think my five minutes are up. Unless you want me to stick around and help you find more evidence for you to listen to.”

She didn’t expect him to flinch, and he didn’t disappoint her. “I’m a man of my word. I said five minutes, and I meant it.”

She shrugged. “Then I guess I’m off. Nice to see you, Dr. McCarthy. And maybe I’ll see you around, Lieutenant.”

“Nice to see you, Mia,” said Dr. McCarthy.

Gray grunted an indecipherable response, then added, “Don’t forget your monkey tea.”

A simple “thank you” would have sufficed. She turned with a sigh and started walking toward the cement steps. “It’s monkey-picked oolong,” she muttered under her breath as she retrieved her mug. She placed one foot on the landing before pausing and turning back toward Gray. “You have my card, Lieutenant,” she said.

“Yes.” He didn’t bother looking up from whatever object on the ground was holding his attention.

Mia nodded. “Good.”

She paused when she heard the quick successive clicks of a camera. Up at the top of the embankment, reporters were waiting for her. Mia turned her back to them. “Hey, Lieutenant?”

He glanced in her direction. “Yes?”

“You’ll want to be careful what you say to them.” She pointed to the media. “Valentine won’t take kindly to hearing about a copycat.”

She proceeded away from the scene and ignored the reporters who nearly tackled her when she reached street level. By then uneasiness had settled in her gut. She couldn’t place its origin. All she knew was that she couldn’t shake the feeling that something very bad might have just happened, and that she’d failed to recognize it.

Chapter 2

Mia couldn’t hide in the bathroom stall forever. She knew that. Someone would inevitably come looking for her, slipping beneath the stall door to find her perched on the back of the toilet like a queen on some perverse throne, her high heels wobbling on the seat, her fists clutching at the fabric of her gown to keep it from falling into the chemical-blue water.

Just the guest of honor having another anxiety attack. Nothing strange about that.

Thirty minutes until dinner. Mia propped her head up on the heel of her palms, resting her elbows on her knees, and tried not to think about the crowd. Her doctors assured her she was making progress and that her difficulty processing information wouldn’t last forever. Progress was slow. Tonight there would be swirls of colors and smells and noises that confused her senses, and she doubted she was equipped to manage this. Not yet.

Mia closed her eyes and focused on her breath, trying to resurrect the calm she’d felt on those few occasions she’d actually made it to yoga class. These days peace and solitude were indulgences that she could enjoy in only small doses before those around her became alarmed. The key was to find that sweet spot between enjoying much-needed isolation and triggering a minor manhunt. Everyone was always so concerned, and she found it exhausting. She winced when people spoke to her in ellipses. How are you holding up, Mia? You know, considering....

Was it any wonder she needed to hide?

Somewhere to the left, a toilet flushed. Mia opened her silver clutch to check her watch. The hotel ballroom was right down the hall. She could wait here for twenty-six more minutes and still have time to make the dinner.

A group of women came chattering into the restroom. It would be only a matter of time before someone curious fidgeted with the stall door, found it locked and started to wonder why she couldn’t see feet when she peered underneath. Time’s up.

Mia eased herself to the floor. She exited the stall and saw the line beginning to form. She took care washing her hands, singing “Happy Birthday” to herself twice while lathering, and then entered the fray.

The ballroom was so much louder than the muffled bliss of the women’s restroom, and her senses were instantly assaulted by a wash of colors, conversations and smells. She hovered by the back of the room, starting when someone pressed a cold glass into her hand.

“I thought you’d made a run for it.” Mark flashed his own tumbler and raised it to his lips. “Drink up. You’ll feel better.”

She doubted that very much but did as instructed. She cringed at the burn of the liquid. “Rum and Coke?”

“Diet Coke. Finish it. It’ll put some hair on your chest.”

“Not the look I was going for.” She lowered the glass to her waist, happy to at least have something besides her clutch to hold on to. Being empty-handed felt so awkward.

Mark issued a shrug that told her she could suit herself. Then he leaned forward until his breath was in her ear. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But you should at least pretend you’re enjoying yourself. Do it for Lena.”

Her gut still tensed at the mention of her sister. “Are you trying to motivate me, or make me feel guilty?”

He straightened. “Whatever works at this point. You can’t hide in the bathroom. You’re a guest of honor, and it’s undignified. People here are excited about your triumphant return to the spotlight.”

“I’ve never sought the spotlight,” she said wryly.

“But the spotlight sure found you, Dr. Perez.”

Mark Lewis would know about minor celebrity. He’d sought and found it as a young entrepreneur. Now he was a millionaire many times over, and his construction company, Eminence Corp, was poised to break ground on what would become the city’s tallest skyscraper. He lived in a penthouse at the Ritz-Carlton next to some of Boston’s athletic heroes, and he had standing invitations to the most exclusive events in the area.

All of it fascinated Mia, who had less than no desire to actually live such a life. Growing up the daughter of a father who taught high school and a mother who sold an occasional painting, she hadn’t learned a thing about high-fashion designers, crystal or silver. His was a foreign lifestyle. But since Lena’s murder, she and Mark each understood what the other felt in a way almost no one else in the world could. They’d each lost one of the people they’d loved the most, because before she’d vanished, Mark and Lena had been engaged.

Mia smoothed a clammy palm down the front of her dress before remembering how much it had cost her. Wouldn’t Lena have loved to see her older sister in a designer gown? Mia must have selected the garment in a weak moment, because when she’d put it on that evening, she’d been appalled to see how the dress she’d convinced herself was tasteful and modest was actually quite sexy. The shimmering steel-blue fabric clung to places her other clothes normally smoothed over, and the slit up the left side was much higher than she’d appreciated at first. She took another sip of her drink, and her face puckered again.

“You look beautiful,” said Mark. “Try to enjoy yourself.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“And I’m Santa Claus.” With a flick of his wrist, he lifted the drink from her hand and helped himself to a generous gulp. “What can I give you that you’ll actually drink? I need to get you from completely frozen to thawed around the edges before your speech begins.”

She smiled. Mark wasn’t one of the people who spoke in ellipses, and she’d always appreciated that about him. She touched him lightly on the arm. “I’ll get my own drink. Can I get you a seltzer water?”

His face soured. “Is that a hint?”

“We’re both dropping them.”

She didn’t bother to wait for a response. She’d get him a seltzer with a dash of cranberry juice and a twist of lime. For herself...she didn’t much feel like drinking as she approached the bar, but then she thought of the night ahead, with all of the handshakes and pictures that would be taken. Then she thought of her sister and how there were a hundred reasons Mia would give anything to not be where she was at the moment. When the bartender asked her what she’d have to drink, Mia said, “Vodka tonic.”

While she waited, she traced her fingernails against the gleaming surface of the bar, admiring the red-and-gold flecks of the wood. Such rich colors, especially when compared to the dull yellow oak desk that sat in her office. She smiled to herself. What was it that Lena had called the desk when Mia first showed it to her? Utilitarian.

“Beautiful bar.”

Mia jumped at the masculine voice by her ear, reflexively placing a hand over her heart. Her gaze turned to the left, where Lieutenant Gray Bartlett stood watching her with slight alarm.

“Sorry,” she said, not sure what she was apologizing for.

“No, I startled you. I didn’t mean to.” The gentleness of his tone belied the edgy look of his five-o’clock shadow and slick dark hair. “I was just making conversation.”

Gray regarded her with concern, and annoyance bubbled into her chest. Everyone was so concerned all the time.

“Don’t mention it,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I was just wondering how this bar would look chopped up and reconstructed into a desk for my office.”

“Mahogany,” he mused, rubbing long fingers smoothly against the grain. “You have good taste.”

He didn’t mean it to come across as a compliment, she was sure. He was just being polite, and yet a burning flush crept into Mia’s face and momentarily consumed her breath. “Well, taste is one thing, and ability to pay is another.” She shook her head when she realized she was talking about money with a complete stranger. How tacky. “I’m a professor,” she nearly stammered in her own defense. “Associate professor. I don’t... We don’t earn enough to be able to afford mahogany.”

He rose to his full height and regarded her with dark, stormy eyes. Gray eyes. How funny that they matched his name. “I know, Dr. Perez. I have your business card, remember? And now I know all about you.”

She was sure he noticed her entire body burning under the intensity of his gaze. The bartender placed her drink in front of her, and she reached for it gratefully, hoping Gray didn’t notice the tremor in her fingers. “A lot of women might find that kind of statement creepy, you know.”

“I would think you’d be flattered that I’d bothered to read the program,” he said. “Your picture is in it. So is your biography.”

Of course they were. Because that was what happened when a prominent nonprofit honored you with an award. “Right. Well, now you know that I haven’t bothered to read the program. Don’t tell anyone.” She gripped the tumbler in one hand and wiped the other palm down the side of her dress, again forgetting that this was expensive fabric, not made for hand wiping. “I should get back to my friend.”

He turned his head to toss a glance in Mark’s direction. “Your boyfriend?”

“What? No. More like a brother. He was Lena’s fiancé.” As if being a hot cop entitled him to an explanation.

He didn’t move to the side to allow Mia to pass. “The Nelson Seaver Award,” he murmured. “That must be for your work for the Boston P.D., correct?”

The Seaver Award was given by the Boston Victims’ Rights Coalition at their annual awards night to recognize excellence in law enforcement on behalf of victims. “Yes. Like I’ve told you before, I’ve helped with quite a few cold cases.”

“Ironic that you’ve helped so many victims’ families find their justice, and no one’s helped you find yours.”

She halted, unsure of where he was going. “I don’t believe that meets the definition of irony, no.”

His mouth tightened into a small smile. “Charming. Tell me, is this how all child prodigies are? Always the smartest person in the room? Fine, then, it’s not ironic. But it’s unfortunate that you don’t have an answer.”

“These things take time,” she began cautiously. “My sister’s body hasn’t even been recovered—”

“I’m not just talking about your sister,” he said. “I’m talking about you.”

Her eyes snapped to meet his. He knew. He’d done his research. Of course he had. Her cheeks grew hot as she realized how exposed she was. “What happened to me was a random attack, that’s all. Those cases, where the victim has no connection to the assailant, can be nearly impossible to solve.”

He allowed her words to settle before speaking. “You know what I think? I think that you don’t think it was random,” he said quietly.

The statement pressed against her body as surely as if he’d pushed her. “Of course it was random. I know it was. Why...?” The words eluded her, scurrying in her mind like lab rats through a maze. “What are you suggesting?”

“A partnership, Mia. Nothing more.”

* * *

Gray loathed these events. There were too many people in the room and not enough air to breathe, and he’d had to rent this monkey suit. But when the chief told you to go to a fundraiser, you went. “It’s for the Boston Victims’ Rights Coalition,” the chief had said. “It’s important that the Boston P.D. give a show of support.”

Newsflash: The Boston Police Department supports victims’ rights.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been slightly more interested in the event when he’d heard Mia Perez would be a guest of honor. She might be irritatingly effervescent, but she was easy on the eyes, and she’d been running through his mind ever since she’d shown up at the crime scene on the Charles. All of this was nothing more than evidence that he needed to date a little more than he had been since his divorce was finalized. A relationship was out of the question, but dating...maybe.

He wouldn’t be dating Mia, though. Not given the way she was looking at him now, her amber eyes sizing him up with a look that was one part heavy suspicion, two parts panic, as if he’d just informed her he could see through her dress. Part of him wondered what the psychologist thought of him. A larger part of him didn’t give a damn what she thought. He wasn’t at this fundraiser for psychoanalysis. He was here to do his job, and right now Mia Perez was a means to an end.

“A partnership?”

Her eyes narrowed. Gray couldn’t help but run his gaze from those eyes to her tense red-stained lips and then to the smattering of brown freckles on her olive skin. He observed the peachlike hair on her jaw and the small diamonds that sparkled in her earlobes. Dr. Perez cleaned up nicely.

The bartender pulled up against the side of the bar and pointed to Gray. “Coke with a twist of lime.” He shot Mia a glance. “I’m on duty tonight.”

“That’s too bad,” she said coolly. “All work and no play. It’s not good for the psyche.”

“You would know more about that than me. All I know is I like to work. Playing gets me in trouble.” He accepted the drink the bartender handed him and dropped a few dollars into a glass bowl. “Which personality disorder makes a person work too much?”

She could have frozen his drink with that smile. “Unlike you, I’m not on duty. I’m not diagnosing tonight.”

“Maybe another time, then.” He reached forward to touch her on the elbow. “I was hoping we could chat for a few minutes.”

“I really should be getting back to my friend,” Mia said, turning her long neck back from where she’d come.

“Ten minutes, that’s all.”

She reached a long, manicured finger to the spot where her ear met her jaw. “I don’t know....”

Behind them a quartet was playing, and a few couples were turning across the dance floor. Mia gripped her glass with white knuckles, darting her gaze around the room like a frightened animal. In his informal background search, he’d learned she’d suffered anxiety in crowds ever since the attack. It couldn’t make an event like this easy, and he needed her to focus on something other than the crowd.

He gently took her drink from her hands and set it on the bar, placing his beside it. Her eyes widened. “Hey, wait a minute—”

“You don’t even like whatever you ordered. Come with me.”

He took her by one of her cold hands. To his amazement, she went with him. “Where are we going?”

“I want to dance with you.”

He wound her through the crowd to the dance floor. “I can’t dance,” she said.

“Then I’ll teach you.”

They reached the floor and he turned to face her. She stood in place. “No. I can’t dance.”

“I’ve seen you walk. You carry yourself like a dancer, so I know you can dance. If you’re saying you don’t know the steps, I’ll teach you.” He took her hand again when she squinted at him, looking unconvinced. “Come on. Give me a cheap thrill.”

She rolled her eyes, but her facade melted just slightly into a smile. It was a start. “Fine. One dance.”