she swung the door open, anxious for an excuse to avoid watching his attention shift back to the sketches.
“I didn’t know you were artistic.”
Making a production of gathering up eggs, cheese, and milk to set on the counter, she didn’t answer.
“These are good. A bit . . . macabre.”
“I have dreams sometimes. It helps to sketch out the images. Where do you keep the bagels?” She hoped to distract him. “And the frying pan?”
He crossed to find both for her and set them on the stove. Again clad in the shorts from last night, he appeared in no particular hurry to get ready for work. When she snuck a glance at the clock, she realized it wasn’t even six thirty.
“More like nightmares, I’d say.” Her spine stiffened as he wandered over to look at the sketches again. “Weird, the way dreams are, with everyone and anyone you’ve encountered in the last few days all jumbled together. Emmons. Muller.” He paused. “Geez, that’s a good likeness of Jett. Darrell.” He laughed a little. “Should I be hurt that I didn’t appear in your dreams?” She heard the sound of another page turning. Then silence.
Risa forced herself to turn around. And saw the exact moment he flipped to the page of Walter Eggers. He stilled. Stared at it fiercely. And when he didn’t speak . . . when one long minute stretched into the next, she made a tentative stab at an explanation. More of one then she’d ever offered anyone else, outside of Raiker.
“He’ll be next. Not last night. I called and he was still home in bed. But soon.” He stared at the sketch a moment longer. Then finally raised his gaze to meet hers. What she saw in it nearly made her weep.
“Risa . . . it was just a dream. A horrible one, I’m sure. But packed with visuals from our day, from our worries . . . hell, I don’t know.” He raked his hand through his short dark hair. “It’s our subconscious playing mind games on us. I used to have this recurring dream of being captured by a clown who insisted on painting a big-ass goofy grin and tear drops on me. It was terrifying. I hate clowns.”
His attempt at humor fell flat. “Dreams are the way I zeroed in on Martin Volk. Tyler Temple. And dozens of others before that. Hundreds.”
There was a guarded expression on his face that stabbed deeper than Volk’s knife had. Caused more damage. “You’re confusing instincts with something else.” Something, given his careful choosing of his words, that he didn’t want to identify.
“You need to put an around-the-clock guard on Eggers.” She hated the note of pleading in her tone.
“Because he’s going to be next.”
“Yes.”
The silence was interminable. Then he gave a short nod. “Okay.”
Stunned, she could only stare at him. Nate cocked a brow. “Even without . . . this”—he tapped the page with the drawing of the man—“we can be certain he has knowledge of the background leading up to this thing. With the IA investigation on him and his connection to our case, I can make a solid argument to Morales that he’s crucial to our investigation. He can go up the line and get the strings pulled to keep him on a desk job.” He paused questioningly and she nodded. That would take care of the man’s work hours.
“And you’ll keep him under surveillance after that?”
“I can keep an officer on him.”
Something inside her eased. A tendril of hope unfurled. “If the Cop Killer comes for him, we might be able to catch him in the act.”
Nate rifled through the pictures again. “Anyone else here you want us to keep an eye on? Although Juicy is a given . . . Hey, you even have a sketch of . . .” He looked at her. “Is that Kristin?”
She busied herself cracking eggs into a bowl she’d found in the cupboard. “Not everything in the dreams is relevant. A lot is open to interpretation.” Like the melding of one image into the next. Random snippets of conversation that made little sense.
“That’s what I’m saying, Risa.” Something in his tone alerted her. “They’re just dreams. Open to interpretation.”
Strength leeched out of her body. Her shoulders sagged. She felt as if she were folding in upon herself. Because it was clear by that statement that he still didn’t believe her. Like her mother hadn’t. Like she’d always known her ex wouldn’t.