I See You (Criminal Profiler, #2)(6)

Nate opened a careworn dresser in his dorm room and shoved in a handful of T-shirts. “I’m good.”

Vaughan looked at the small cinder block room sporting two twin beds, identical desks, and a long dresser with enough drawer space for two boys. Nate’s roommate, Sam from Roanoke, who had red hair, glasses, and a lean frame, stacked a handful of books on his desk.

Nate had been Vaughan’s to raise since his divorce. Connie had remarried and had decided a seven-year-old boy did not fit into her new life. She had loved the boy. Wanted to be a part of his life. But she just had not wanted to be hampered with the day-to-day grind.

Single fatherhood had scared the shit out of Vaughan, but he had figured out a way to make it work. To say this was a case of “father knows best” would be a gross overstatement, but he and Nate had done pretty well together. He was damn proud of the young man Nate was becoming.

Faced with the freedom that had tantalized Vaughan for the last couple of years, he suddenly did not want it. “How about I buy you boys a pizza in the dining hall? I hear it’s good.”

Nate shrugged. “I could eat.”

The kid could always eat. “Sam, join us? Might as well send you two off with full bellies.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks,” Sam said.

The three made their way across the campus to the dining hall fashioned out of glass and metal. A modern marvel that looked more like a fancy resort than a dining hall. The kid was going to have the best time of his life, and Vaughan was envious. His college and graduate school days had been parceled around part-time jobs that supported him and his then new wife.

Vaughan told the boys to get a table in the crowded room filled with students and parents while he scored a couple of pizzas. Fifteen minutes later, he spotted the boys sitting at a corner table.

As he approached, he caught the tail end of a conversation centered around a hot girl living on the fifth floor of their dorm. Rebecca.

Vaughan set the pizzas and sodas on their table.

He sat and flipped open the lids. The boys dug in immediately. This was his last moment with Nate for a while, and he wanted to savor every bit of it.

Vaughan reached for a slice and had it inches from his lips when his phone chimed with a text. It was from his commander, Captain Kevin Preston.

Homicide. Motel off S. Bragg Street. How soon can you be back?

He turned the phone facedown, determined to enjoy these last moments. But try as he might, the text chewed on him.

Nate bit into a slice. The kid knew the phone rarely brought good news. “You got to go?”

Vaughan took a bite and then accepted the inevitable. “Sorry, pal.”

“Murder calls.” Nate looked at Sam. “Dad’s a homicide detective.”

Vaughan wiped the grease from his fingers on a napkin and tucked his phone in his pocket. “Never a dull moment.”

Nate rose with him and almost leaned in for a quick hug before he seemed to remember they were not at home but in front of his new roommate and the entire freshman class.

Shit. When had his little guy grown up? Vaughan thrust out his hand. “Good luck, son.”

The boy took it.

Vaughan wondered when the kid had gotten so tall and his grip so strong. He pulled him forward and embraced him. “Call me if you need anything.”

Nate relaxed a fraction. “I will.”

He reluctantly released the kid.

With a wave to Sam, Vaughan navigated through the sea of people in the dining hall and strode to his car. He looked back, half hoping to see Nate one last time, but his boy had been swallowed up by his new life.

The car felt empty when Vaughan cranked the engine. Two hours ago, it had been crammed full of Nate’s things, the radio had been blaring the kid’s playlist entitled Freedom, and they had both been chowing on fast-food burgers.

Vaughan turned up the radio as he pulled onto the interstate, but the song’s electric guitar riff did not banish the silence. Even the scent of McDonald’s burgers and fries was fading.

The kid was doing what he needed to do. And like it or not, it was time for both of them to begin a new phase of their lives.

He punched the accelerator.

Two hours later, Vaughan arrived at the motel on South Bragg Street. It was a two-story structure with the room doors facing out toward the parking lot. The room rate was less than forty bucks a night, a near steal in the Northern Virginia market, and attracted a steady stream of pimps, prostitutes, and drug addicts. He had responded to a homicide here last year.

The room was roped off, and a uniformed officer waited outside the crime scene. The forensic team had arrived, and judging by the camera flashes, they were working the scene.

He reached in his glove box and removed his weapon and badge, hooking both on his belt in one fluid motion. He stepped out of the car and braced against the coiling afternoon heat, dense with humidity. He pulled on a navy-blue sport jacket, slightly frayed on the inside from the constant friction of the holster and weapon. He fished gloves from the coat pocket and worked his fingers inside the latex.

Several sets of curtains fluttered along the string of outward-facing rooms as guests stole peeks at the scene. No one appeared ready to talk, but he would be knocking on doors soon.

He shifted his attention from the windows to the scene and the officer standing watch. Officer Shepard Monroe was in his early fifties and wore a buzz cut and a thick droopy mustache. “Get the kid dropped off?”