Hold on to Me by Linda Winfree Page A

couldn’t get her to open up, but Cookie could? “He was a textbook example and my mother couldn’t extricate herself. It made for an interesting childhood.”
    Cookie tapped the book. “You see something else in here, don’t you?”
    She slanted a cautious glance at Tick. “I think he’s a cop.”
    “What?” His stomach took a slow, sickening roll. “Hell, what makes you think that?”
    “Probably the stuff like this.” Cookie flipped back a page and began to read. “He’d just gotten off work. I had him leave his clothes on, including the holster and the gun. I love the idea of it, the power. It’s the biggest turn-on ever.”
    “It’s southwest Georgia.” Jeff chuckled, a hint of derision in the sound. “Have you seen all the gun racks on pickups? Hell, just about every guy here has a gun and they wear them. All you need is a permit.”
    “It’s more than that,” Caitlin said softly. “She mentions the use of handcuffs—don’t look at me like that, Calvert, I know anybody can buy them, but still—it’s the way she talks about him. I simply…damn it, I think he’s a cop.”
    Tick tugged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Intuition?”
    “Yes.”
    “Shit.”
    “Yes.” She looked away. “I might be wrong.”
    He pushed up to pace. “And when, exactly, was the last time you were wrong about an offender profile?”
    “Well…”
    “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Great. Just freakin’ great.” He didn’t want to think about it. Now he’d be giving every guy he worked with, from every department in this end of the state, the once-over, wondering which one it could be.
    “He could be an ex-cop. Or a wannabe who couldn’t pass the psychological to get into the academy. God knows we see enough of those—”
    “You realize this makes all three of us suspects.” He stopped and faced her.
    “Everyone’s a suspect. That’s the number one rule. You know that, Calvert. And I’m only theorizing. I don’t know enough yet to say more. Besides, if we start trying to put any unsub offender into a neat little slot, we’re bound to be disappointed.”
    “Hey, I’m in here.” Cookie chuckled.
    “Why am I not surprised?” Jeff cast a glance heavenward.
    The weight of the day’s events settled squarely in the middle of Tick’s back. “Tell me you’re kidding.”
    “Nah.” Grinning, Cookie passed him the book. “May twenty-third.”
    Not wanting to read the account, but compelled to do so, Tick accepted the journal. He skimmed the entry, relief and disgust tangling in him. “Because you wrote her a flippin’ speeding ticket. When are you going to grow up?”
    “You’re grown up enough for both of us. I’ve got to start on that database.” He stood to rummage in the banker’s box for the evidence bag holding Amy’s address book. He tagged Jeff on the arm. “You can help me.”
    Rising, Jeff gestured between Tick and Caitlin. “What are you two going to do?”
    Caitlin glanced at Tick and away. He cleared his throat. “What colleagues do in an investigation. Follow the rule of twenty-four and delve into Amy and Vontressa’s lives.”
    * * *
    During the minutes before the seven a.m. shift change, quiet permeated the sheriff’s office, and in the makeshift war room, Caitlin buried herself in the materials related to the case, free from the distraction of Tick’s presence. The hours they’d spent after dinner the night before, interviewing Vontressa King’s friends, had seemed a special kind of torture. After midnight and countless unsuccessful interviews, they’d parted with a polite distance between them.
    That hadn’t stopped her from dreaming of him.
    She rubbed at her eyes, gritty and dry from lack of sleep. With Amy’s diary and address book open before her, she jotted notes on a legal pad, adding to the twelve pages she’d already written since her arrival at the obscene hour of four a.m. She lifted her cup of coffee. The lukewarm liquid left an acidic