The Darkness of Evil (Karen Vail #7)(11)

“When did that article on you come out in Time?”

Jasmine’s mouth dropped open. “About a week earlier.”

Vail looked at her with a raised brow. No words were necessary.

“Fine.” Jasmine massaged her forehead. “I’ll file that police report so the detective can follow up.”

Vail rose and gave Jasmine’s right shoulder a squeeze. “Good.”

“Should I just call the same detective who handled my father’s case? Erik Curtis?”

“That’d be a good place to start. Give him those names. And if any of them contact you in any way, even if you happen to see them anywhere near you or your house, call Detective Curtis immediately.” Vail’s phone buzzed again and she glanced at the display. “Let me know if you have any problems. Or if you get more letters from your father. I’ll be going back to see him again. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.”

She gave Jasmine another hug, then headed out the door, dialing DiCarlo on the way back to her car.





8


Erik Curtis sat down in front of Vail’s desk. “Never been here before. Interesting place.”

Curtis’s New Orleans roots could still be detected in his speech. Someday she was going to invite him to a barbeque just to see if he showed up with a slab of alligator meat to throw on the grill.

“It’s not as interesting as the subbasement at the Academy where the unit was started. Dark, quiet, deep below ground. This is just office space.”

“I was picturing something more like the TV show. You know, Criminal Minds.”

“Seriously. Hollywood? That was what you thought my reality was like?” Let me go summon our private jet. Wheels up in fifteen.

Curtis shrugged. “Guilty as charged.”

“Speaking of guilty,” Vail said, taking a file and setting it in front of her. “Roscoe Lee Marcks.”

“Bastard’s still a thorn in my side, all these years later.”

“Hey, at least he’s a thorn who’s residing in a federal penitentiary, locked away forever.”

He worked his jaw slightly, as if conceding Vail’s point. “So let me see this letter.”

Vail pulled out a copy of the document and handed it to Curtis. “Not really a whole lot to ‘see.’” She described the envelope Jasmine received and how she determined—or concluded—that Marcks had sent it. “No one else knew about what was done to Sparky. At least, no one who’s still alive.”

Curtis shifted his right leg, crossed it over his left knee. “So we basically know this douche bag is the one who sent the letter and he’s … what? Toying with Jasmine? Or really threatening her?”

“Could be both. Don’t know enough to say. Yet. But we have to take it seriously.”

Curtis mulled that for a bit. “So what are you thinking?”

“Protective custody.”

“Don’t think I could sell that to my lieutenant. Not based on this.” He glanced again at the paper Vail had handed him.

“Maybe start with regular well-checks, investigate Marcks, see if you can get a line on anyone he could be using for a job—guys who visited him, known associates. Maybe we can get a handle on whether or not he’s actually going to act on this threat.”

Curtis gave a tight nod. “I can do that.”

“Jasmine’s going to be contacting you to file a report. She’s also got the names of three known associates of Marcks worth looking into. One may’ve been following her. Name’s Gaines. Coincided with a front page Time magazine article—”

“I saw it. I’ll follow up with her, look into it.”

“Good. Now get outta here so I can get some real work done. I’ve got a unit meeting and my boss is on my ass.”

“Speaking of asses, how’s your husband?”

Vail looked up and locked her gaze on Curtis. “He’s dead, Erik. Long story. I’m engaged to a DEA agent.”

“Good for you. I think.” He got up from his chair. “I had the hots for you. You know that, right?”

I do now.

“I—” she swallowed. “Nope, did not know that. But I’m … flattered.”

“Yeah, well, you were married, had a kid. Jonathan?”

Vail rose and gathered up a case file. “Jonathan, yeah. Freshman at GW.”

“Good. That’s good.” Curtis rocked back on his heels. “You’re lookin’ good, Vail. Guess you’re the one that got away.”

“Sorry.” She glanced up at him, trying not to laugh. “You’ll find someone.” It’d help if you cut your hair and joined a gym. But hey, there’s someone for everyone. “Keep me posted on what you find, okay?”

Curtis shrugged. “Of course.”

VAIL WALKED INTO THE CONFERENCE ROOM a couple of minutes late. Gifford frowned, but it was DiCarlo’s head shake that irked her. Yeah, I’m late and I’m sorry, but get over it, lady. I was working. On that hand-holding babysitting case.

Standing at the front, remote in hand, was profiler extraordinaire Art Rooney, one of two ATF agents—Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives—in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He winked at Vail and turned back to the room, where nearly every one of the seats were taken.