at a moment’s notice.
“Is the victim…?”
“Badly beaten,” he said tersely.
As if on cue, a team of paramedics carried a stretcher from the house, one of them holding an IV bag high. The victim was strapped down, her neck in a brace. She was carried right past them—the poor woman looked as if she’d been hit by a truck, both eyes swollen shut, her face savaged with bruises and cuts.
“God,” Luke breathed.
It was one thing to read about the victims. Even the horror of photographs was one step removed from the violence. But seeing this poor woman, a mere hour after the attack…
Syd knew the sight of that battered face had brought the reality of this situation home to the SEAL in a way nothing else could have.
“Let’s go inside, “she said.
Luke was still watching the victim as she was gently loaded into the ambulance. He turned his head toward Syd almost jerkily.
Uh-oh. “You okay?” she asked quietly.
“God,” he said again.
“It’s awful, isn’t it? That’s pretty much what Gina looked like,” she told him. “Like she’d gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champ on speed. And what he did to her face is the least of it.”
He shook his head. “You know, I’ve seen guys who were injured. I’ve helped patch up guys who’ve been in combat. I’m not squeamish, really, but knowing that someone did that to her and got pleasure from it….” He took a deep breath and blew it out hard. “I’m feeling a little…sick.”
He’d gone completely pale beneath his tan. Oh, boy, unless she did something fast, the big tough warrior was going to keel over in a dead faint.
“I am, too,” Syd said. “Mind if we take a minute and sit down?” She took his arm and gently pulled him down next to her on the stairs that led to the front door, all but pushing his head down between his knees.
They sat there in silence for many long minutes after the ambulance pulled away. Syd carefully kept her eyes on the activity in the street—the neighbors who’d come out in their yards, the policemen keeping the more curious at a safe distance—looking anywhere but at Luke. She was aware of his breathing, aware that he’d dropped his head slightly in an attempt to fight his dizziness. She took many steadying breaths herself—but her own dizziness was more from her amazement that he could be affected this completely, this powerfully.
After what seemed like forever, she sensed more than saw Luke straighten up, heard him draw in one last deep breath and blow it out in a burst.
“Thanks,” he said.
Syd finally risked a glance at him. Most of the color had returned to his face. He reached for her hand, loosely lacing her fingers with his as he gave her a rueful smile. “That would’ve been really embarrassing if I’d fainted.”
“Oh,” she said innocently, “were you feeling faint, too? I know I’m not taking enough time to eat right these days, and that plus the lack of sleep….”
He gently squeezed her hand. “And thanks, also, for not rubbing in the fact that right now I’m the one slowing you down.”
“Well, now that you mention it….”
Luke laughed. God, he was good-looking when he laughed. Syd felt her hands start to sweat. If she hadn’t been light-headed before, she sure as hell was now.
“Let’s go inside,” Luke said. “Find out if this guy left a calling card this time.”
Syd gently pulled her hand free as she stood up. “Wouldn’t that be nice?”
“MARY BETH HOLLIS…” Detective Lucy McCoy told Syd over the phone “…is twenty-nine years old. She works in San Diego as an administrative assistant to a bank president.”
Syd was sitting in the airless office at the naval base, entering the information about the latest victim into the computer. “Single?” she asked.
“Recently married.”
Syd crossed her fingers. “Please tell me her husband works here at the base…” She had a theory about the victims, and she was hoping she was right.
But Lucy made the sound of the loser button. “Sorry,” she said. “He works in legal services at the same bank.”
“Her father?”
“Deceased. Her mother owns her own flower shop in Coronado.”
Syd didn’t give up. “Brothers?”
“She’s an only child.”
“How about her husband. Did he have any brothers or sisters in the Navy?”
Lucy knew where she was going. “I’m sorry, Syd, Mary Beth has no family ties to the base.”
Syd swore. That made her theory a lot less viable.
“But…” Lucy said.
Syd sat up. “What? You’ve got something?”
“Don’t get too excited. You know the official police and FInCOM position—”
“That the fact that eight out of twelve victims are connected to the base is mere coincidence?” Syd said a most indelicate word. “Where’s the connection with Mary Beth?”
“It’s a stretch,” Lucy admitted.
“Tell me.”
“Former boyfriend. And I mean former. As in nearly ancient history. Although Mary Beth just got married, she’s been living with her lawyer for close to four years. Way before that, she was hot and heavy with a captain who still works as a doctor at the military hospital. Captain Steven Horowitz.”
Syd sighed. Four years ago. That was a stretch.
“Still think there’s a connection?” Lucy asked.
“Yes.”
Lucky poked his head in the door. “Ready to go?”
Like Syd, he’d been working nonstop since last night’s late-night phone call about the most recent attack. But unlike Syd, he still looked crisp and fresh, as if he’d spent the afternoon napping rather than sifting through the remaining personnel files of the men on the naval base.
“I gotta run,” Syd told Lucy. “I’m going back to the hypnotist, see if I noticed any strange cars parked in front of my house on the night Gina was attacked. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck,” Lucy said. “If you could remember the license-plate number, I’d be most appreciative.”
“Yeah, what are the odds of that? I don’t even know my own plate number. Later, Lucy.” Syd hung up the phone, saved her computer file and stood, trying to stretch the kinks out of her back.
“Anything new turn up?” Lucky asked as they started down the hall.
“Four years ago, Mary Beth Hollis—victim twelve—used to date a Captain Horowitz.”
“Used to date,” he repeated. He gave her a sidelong glance. “You’re working hard to keep your theory alive, eh?”
“Don’t even think of teasing me about this,” Syd countered. “Considering all the women who lived in San Felipe and Coronado, it couldn’t be coincidence that nine out of twelve victims were related to someone who worked at the base. There’s a connection between these women and the base, I’m sure of it. However, what that connection is…” She shook her head in frustration. “It’s there—I just can’t see it. Yet,” she added. “I know I’m close. I have this feeling in my…” She broke off, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. She had a feeling….
“In