the freak show?"
Billy winced.
The inspector looked around. "You got a man in a cage or something?"
She eyed him carefully, but so far he hadn't so much as glanced at her hands.
"Please, come sit." Billy motioned to the couch. "I'll open this window for a little fresh air."
Jordan nodded. "Thanks." He sat on the couch across from Casey.
Casey finished her cigarette and dropped it into a glass on the table.
"Thank God," Billy said, carrying the glass to the kitchen at arm's length as though the smell were something he might catch.
"I'm sure you didn't come here to see me smoke," Casey said to the inspector.
He shook his head. "No." He straightened his jacket and sat forward. His knees reached halfway up his chest as he struggled to get comfortable on her couch. "I heard you speak at Berkeley about a year ago. You discussed the merits of profiling. I was quite impressed with your speech. I've come here for your help, Ms. McKinley." He met her gaze. "With a case," he added.
With some effort, Casey pushed herself to her feet. "Then, I won't waste your time or mine, Inspector. I don't work for the Bureau anymore."
He didn't move. "I think you'll want to hear what I have to say."
"Why would I?"
"Listen to the man," Billy snapped.
Casey glanced up, surprised she hadn't noticed Billy's return to the room.
She shook her head. "I have enough problems, Inspector. I don't need yours."
Jordan stood, looking relieved to be able to stretch his legs again.
Casey backed away from him, his sheer size making her even more skittish.
"I've heard about your work," he said.
She stared at him without responding.
Billy moved to her side, putting his arm through hers and holding on. The gesture made Casey wonder who was supporting whom.
"I've heard you were the best."
"That about sums it up, Inspector. I was the best."
"Please. Let me finish."
She restrained herself from speaking, wondering why it was taking him so long to spit it out. What the hell did he really want? Why was he here? But somehow, she was afraid to ask—afraid he would give her answers she didn't want to hear.
"I need your help," he continued.
"For a profile?" Billy asked.
Her eyes closed, Casey wished he had kept quiet.
Jordan nodded. "Sort of."
The air was thick around the inspector's words. He was holding something back. The thought of what he had left out filled Casey with dread. She thought about Leonardo. It couldn't be him. He wasn't back. It was impossible.
Billy patted her arm as though that would relieve the terror that streamed through her veins like glacier ice. Why was she reacting this way? What did she expect him to say? What was she was afraid of? No. She knew what she was afraid of.
The inspector looked at Billy as though Casey weren't even in the room. "We have a perp who has killed three children. Cut them up—different parts on each one."
His words hit her like a bullet. She struggled for breath, then straightened her back. Her teeth tight, Casey fought her fear.
"I read about that case in the paper," Billy said. "Remember, Casey? I was telling you about it." He turned back to the inspector. "Casey was profiling it for me."
"Enough," she spit, pulling away from Billy and looking at the detective. "You need to leave."
Jordan didn't move.
"Now," she said.
Billy made no move to contradict her.
"May I call you Casey?"
She gave a wicked chortle at his attempt to befriend her. "You mean as you leave? I don't see any harm."
Jordan smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't leave just yet. I need to ask you some questions."
"I don't think you heard me. I've got nothing to say."
"Casey, this is a matter of police business," he pressed. But his eyes wavered, and she knew he was caught.
She shook her head and raised a lame hand. "Don't play that fucking game with me."
Billy stepped in front of her as though he could shield her from the words the inspector was about to speak.
She ignored him and continued, "I'm not some naive
Billy winced.
The inspector looked around. "You got a man in a cage or something?"
She eyed him carefully, but so far he hadn't so much as glanced at her hands.
"Please, come sit." Billy motioned to the couch. "I'll open this window for a little fresh air."
Jordan nodded. "Thanks." He sat on the couch across from Casey.
Casey finished her cigarette and dropped it into a glass on the table.
"Thank God," Billy said, carrying the glass to the kitchen at arm's length as though the smell were something he might catch.
"I'm sure you didn't come here to see me smoke," Casey said to the inspector.
He shook his head. "No." He straightened his jacket and sat forward. His knees reached halfway up his chest as he struggled to get comfortable on her couch. "I heard you speak at Berkeley about a year ago. You discussed the merits of profiling. I was quite impressed with your speech. I've come here for your help, Ms. McKinley." He met her gaze. "With a case," he added.
With some effort, Casey pushed herself to her feet. "Then, I won't waste your time or mine, Inspector. I don't work for the Bureau anymore."
He didn't move. "I think you'll want to hear what I have to say."
"Why would I?"
"Listen to the man," Billy snapped.
Casey glanced up, surprised she hadn't noticed Billy's return to the room.
She shook her head. "I have enough problems, Inspector. I don't need yours."
Jordan stood, looking relieved to be able to stretch his legs again.
Casey backed away from him, his sheer size making her even more skittish.
"I've heard about your work," he said.
She stared at him without responding.
Billy moved to her side, putting his arm through hers and holding on. The gesture made Casey wonder who was supporting whom.
"I've heard you were the best."
"That about sums it up, Inspector. I was the best."
"Please. Let me finish."
She restrained herself from speaking, wondering why it was taking him so long to spit it out. What the hell did he really want? Why was he here? But somehow, she was afraid to ask—afraid he would give her answers she didn't want to hear.
"I need your help," he continued.
"For a profile?" Billy asked.
Her eyes closed, Casey wished he had kept quiet.
Jordan nodded. "Sort of."
The air was thick around the inspector's words. He was holding something back. The thought of what he had left out filled Casey with dread. She thought about Leonardo. It couldn't be him. He wasn't back. It was impossible.
Billy patted her arm as though that would relieve the terror that streamed through her veins like glacier ice. Why was she reacting this way? What did she expect him to say? What was she was afraid of? No. She knew what she was afraid of.
The inspector looked at Billy as though Casey weren't even in the room. "We have a perp who has killed three children. Cut them up—different parts on each one."
His words hit her like a bullet. She struggled for breath, then straightened her back. Her teeth tight, Casey fought her fear.
"I read about that case in the paper," Billy said. "Remember, Casey? I was telling you about it." He turned back to the inspector. "Casey was profiling it for me."
"Enough," she spit, pulling away from Billy and looking at the detective. "You need to leave."
Jordan didn't move.
"Now," she said.
Billy made no move to contradict her.
"May I call you Casey?"
She gave a wicked chortle at his attempt to befriend her. "You mean as you leave? I don't see any harm."
Jordan smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't leave just yet. I need to ask you some questions."
"I don't think you heard me. I've got nothing to say."
"Casey, this is a matter of police business," he pressed. But his eyes wavered, and she knew he was caught.
She shook her head and raised a lame hand. "Don't play that fucking game with me."
Billy stepped in front of her as though he could shield her from the words the inspector was about to speak.
She ignored him and continued, "I'm not some naive
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