Page 19 of Fatal Mistake
Despite the potential danger surrounding them, thoughts of her trying to pick him up and heave him over the rail made him smile. She’d become one tough little cookie. Not that even with her new strength she could accomplish such a feat, but he could see her trying.
He let his gaze settle on her face bathed in the moon’s golden glow. He studied her big, bright eyes ringed with long lashes, her high cheekbones, and her makeup-free, flawless complexion, and his heart took a tumble.
She was beautiful, no doubt, but it was more than that. As she’d asked about his reasons for putting a detail on her aunt, he couldn’t answer right away because he actually cared about what she thought about him. That was a new one for him. He hadn’t cared about other people’s opinions for eons, and the thought had kept his mouth closed.
She caught him staring at her and frowned. “I’ve got the first watch if you want to take a beauty nap.”
“I’m pretty enough, thank you very much,” he joked, hoping to lighten the mood. It only gained him a roll of her eyes. “Since we’re both awake, what say I run a few things past you for your opinion?”
“What kind of things?” Suspicion lingered in her eyes.
He liked the strength she’d acquired, but not this guarded attitude that said she’d lost her innocence. He couldn’t even remember a time when he thought people were basically good. Certainly not since he landed on foreign soil and took part in Operation Iraqi Freedom followed by years of deployment in Afghanistan. He’d experienced terrorism firsthand, learning lessons that she was coming to understand in a very graphic way. He’d been a big part of painting that picture for her. Now, he would play an even bigger role, and he didn’t like being the one to chase out her faith in her fellow man. But his opinion didn’t matter. Not with a killer to apprehend.
He firmed his resolve to do his job. “I’ve lived in Keeler’s head for the last six months. I’ve walked in his shoes and talked to everyone who’s had anything to do with him since he was born.” He crossed over to her and rested against the railing. “We’re hunting him based on my conclusions, and it would help if you shot holes in it if I’m incorrect.”
“Go on,” she said, not really admitting she’d help him.
“First, you should know, with the number of lives Keeler has taken, he fits the definition of a serial killer.” He glanced at Tara to see her reaction, but her expression remained blank.
“These killers,” Cal continued, “are driven by motives and reasons that are uniquely theirs. But there are certain interpersonal traits common to serial murderers. They include superficial charm, a grandiose sense of self-worth, pathological lying, and the manipulation of others. Does any of this sound like Keeler?”
“Maybe,” she said, sounding unaffected by his question, but the snap of a rubber band on her wrist told him otherwise.
He didn’t know what was up with the bands, but logic said she used them as a coping mechanism. He chose not to make her uncomfortable by questioning her about them and waited for her to continue.
“Oren was far from charming in high school. He embraced the Goth look and gave everyone an attitude, including me. Oddly enough, even when he showed such a hard exterior, I always thought he had a naïve outlook. I know it’s been months, but I can still hardly believe he’s the bomber.”
Cal knew Keeler was as far from naïve as they come. “What I don’t understand is why someone so into Goth would enlist in the army.”
“I never got that either. I know his dad forced that issue. His mom didn’t want to talk about it. Our friendship had ended, so I don’t know the details except that he stayed in for four years and then went to college on Uncle Sam’s money to get a degree in electrical engineering.”
“But his father’s death ended that, right?”
She nodded. “His dad had a heart attack in Oren’s third year. He had to go home to run the farm. As it turns out, he ran it into the ground. Maybe if he’d finished college he’d have gotten a good job instead of assembling security systems and things would be different.”
“Degree or not, those three years in college gave him the skills to create very complicated bombs.”
She frowned but didn’t comment.
“Tell me about after high school,” Cal said. “How often did you see him then?”
“I was in college when his dad died, but when I came home to see June, I’d occasionally run into him. By then, he’d let go of the clean-cut military look and was back to the Goth style. And as I told you before, the last time I saw him was at June’s house in January. He’d cleaned up his act and was quite charming.”
“Charm and manipulation,” Cal muttered. “True hallmarks of a serial killer.”
She met his gaze. “That charm and manipulation is true of you, too, but you’re not a serial killer.”
He deserved her comment but that didn’t stop him from cringing and looking back at the night scenery. “Serial killers fail to accept responsibility for their actions. They’re irresponsible and impulsive and lack empathy, guilt, or remorse. They also don’t have realistic life goals and exhibit poor behavioral controls.” He met her gaze again and made sure to keep his tone light. “None of this can be said for me.”
“Touché. Your need to find Oren at any cost is very clear, telling me how goal oriented you are.”
Cal still needed her to answer his questions, so he let her comment slide, which in itself confirmed her claim. “Keeler has the added distinction of having been radicalized.”
“Which means what exactly?”
“Our research says he turned his back on his country, accepted ISIS’s views, and aligned himself with them. We don’t believe he’s acting as an official part of the group. More like a loner with loose ties to the organization, hence the Lone Wolf name assigned to him.”
She shifted to face him, and he could tell he’d gained her interest. “Isn’t that odd? Going off on his own like that?”
