the person whose identity we don't know. Several weeks ago, we discovered another body similar in M.O. to the first one. M.O., that's modus – "
"Operandi. I know that one." Olivia tapped a forefinger against her temple. "Latin expert, remember?"
"Didn't mean to be condescending."
"Come on, Jack." She flashed that enigmatic expression she'd always had and did the slow blink that was surely unconscious, and which he'd always found intriguing and slightly arousing. Her dark hair glistened in the overhead lighting. The shape of her mouth and the fullness of her lower lip reminded him of their velvet softness against his neck and cheek. Dangerous to go there, he warned himself.
"The notes," Olivia prompted.
He shook himself back to reality. "They came after the first two murders," he began and filled her in on the details.
"And all three notes were penned in Latin?"
He handed her the plastic bag. The notes were inside, arranged back to back. Each side was labeled with date and location in the lower right corner.
She peered curiously at one side and then the other. "'Nunca fidelis,' means – "
"Never faithful," Jack finished, wryly. "Opposite of the Marine Corps motto."
"There are how many murders now?"
"Four." He hesitated, picking his way through the mine field of her worry. "But I need to tell you something."
A quick flash of concern furrowed her brow. "What?"
"Did you know the Bigler County Sheriff is Ben Slater?"
The surprise on her face was genuine. "Our Ben Slater?"
"You didn't know?"
"I just moved from the Bay Area a few months ago. I'm still new to the Sacramento area." Her face lit up with delight. "Slater, here? And sheriff? That's bizarre."
"You haven't kept in touch?"
"No, he went away to college and ... well, we lost track of each other, I guess."
"He's helping me on the DLK case," Jack said, watching her reaction, "but he doesn't know I've enlisted your aid, too."
Olivia eyed him cautiously. "Is my involvement a secret?"
"No, but I'd like the three of us to meet at the end of his shift today."
"Why?"
He frowned. "When I visited him this morning, a one eighty-seven call came through dispatch."
"One eighty-seven?"
"It's code for murder."
Her face paled with alarm. "Oh, God, you think it's Keisha?"
"It's too early to worry, Olivia. Slater will let us know as soon as she's identified."
"A woman ?"
Jack nodded. "She's probably not your student, and the body's not related to the case."
Olivia touched his hand. Even in that brief moment he was conscious of the roughness of his skin beneath her cool fingers.
"Thanks," she said and he heard the reluctant gratitude in her voice.
Thanks, she'd whispered when they'd made love, that one and only time. After she'd stopped crying and he'd hidden the blood-splotched towel at the bottom of the clothes hamper. After his own tears spilled into her silky raven curls in the same way he'd spilled himself into her young, untried body.
Jack felt himself at the edge of a dangerous precipice, his footing giving way on the slippery slope of memory. His jaw tightened and suddenly he felt like hauling off and punching something. Or someone. The urge to violence unsettled him. He struggled to control the side of his nature that fought to leap out like some bestial Mr. Hyde.
What the hell was he getting himself into?
#
When Jack and Olivia arrived at the courthouse, she touched his arm briefly. "I want to see Ben alone for a minute." Jack saw by the determined set of her jaw that it wasn't a request.
"All right." He'd allow her this small reunion, he thought, and wandered toward the coffee urn in the corner of the bullpen while she knocked on the closed office door.
All Jack heard was a brusque "Enter," and the soft clicking of the door behind her.
When Slater strode out some fifteen minutes later and waved him into his office, Jack took in the man's sun-darkened face, high with color. Seated in the visitor's chair, Olivia looked ... hell, she looked happy,