Strong, Sleek and Sinful - By Lorie O'Clare Page 0,44
trying to learn as much as possible about her. His focus wasn’t leery, but at the same time she saw little trust. He was the typical jaded cop, years on the force making it impossible for him to accept anyone for who they were without analyzing them first. “Kids these days live on computers. It’s becoming incredibly common, and the accepted norm, for people, not just children, to meet online and start dating. Smoke-filled bars that once were meat markets are becoming a thing of the past.”
“And good riddance,” she said, smiling easily at him. Then inching her chair backward, she glanced over at John. “We don’t have a clue what Peter looks like, do we?”
“The girl who went to meet the boy who was supposed to be from Topeka,” Rad began, and looked down at one of the files he’d spread out in front of him while blowing out a breath. He ran thick fingers over closely shaved gray hair and didn’t look up when he continued speaking. “Sally Wright, that was her name. Her father, Charles Wright, reported seeing a Caucasian male get out of a car and then jump back into it when he approached his daughter.”
“I saw that,” Kylie said. “But he couldn’t give a solid ID. We don’t know what he was driving?”
“Nope.” Rad raised his gaze to her, his brow wrinkling, giving his face the look of a bulldog. “That’s all we’ve got so far.”
Kylie nodded. It was nothing to go on. Pushing her chair back farther, she gathered her notes and shoved them into her briefcase.
“Well, I’ve got a job to do,” she said, anxious to get out of there.
“Keep me posted daily on what you do,” John told her.
She didn’t answer to him, but it was a courtesy she was expected to give the local agency. Nodding once, “Of course,” she said, as she lifted her strap to her briefcase over her shoulder and headed toward the door.
“And Kylie,” John said. “Remember, until we narrow this down further, you can’t rely on the cops in the area.”
She noticed Rad’s expression tighten, his face pinch with aggravation, but he didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything worse than the possibility of someone close to you, or an individual whom you’ve trusted over the years, turning out to be a criminal. And a child molester—the worse kind.
“Got it,” she said, and headed out the door.
Stopping at the first Starbucks she spotted, she spent time on her computer using MapQuest to locate each of the businesses her perp used. Mission Hills wasn’t a big town, although it ran into other suburbs surrounding Kansas City. Sitting in her car, sipping on her coffee, she used her wireless printer from her trunk and quickly printed directions to help her around town. Today she wouldn’t play the teenage scene but would instead focus on every location with public computers, starting with the ones their perp had already used. Something told her she wasn’t dealing with an idiot. She was probably miles behind her guy and she seriously doubted he’d retrace his steps. But this guy had several months on her if he was responsible for the deaths of all the girls she had files on. His level of comfort would be pretty high right now. Quite possibly, if he had found a comfortable location and was content with the knowledge that he wasn’t being tracked, he would use a computer more than once to set up a meeting with his next prey. If she was lucky, his next “victim” would be her.
Her cell phone rang as she pulled into the parking lot of a locally owned bookstore and coffeehouse. She parked, focusing on the squad car idling along the curb by the entrance, as she answered her phone.
“Hello,” she said, adjusting her earpiece and then taking in the busy-looking bookstore.
“Peter struck again.”
“Huh?” She looked down at the number on her phone.
“It’s Paul. Don’t even try to keep up with all of the numbers down here,” he said, as if he could see what she was doing at that moment. Computer geeks made her nervous. For all she knew, he very well could see what she was doing. “PD just got a call in at Raney’s. It’s three blocks north of you.”
“You can see me,” she accused, and glared at the navigator on her dash that stared ominously back at her with its one blank eye. “What’s the call?”