by Ciana Stone
She was beautiful. No, that was the wrong word. She looked like something out of a fantasy or a fairy tale.
Yes, that was it. She had the look of some mystical being, a fairy princess, as silly as it sounded, young, innocent and exotic
Except for those eyes. There was nothing innocent or young in those pale eyes. Her eyes were those of someone who has seen too much evil. Leo snapped back from those thoughts. It wasn't like him to think in these terms.
What was it about this girl that provoked such thoughts?
Suddenly, he was curious.
Someone was going to have to interview this girl.
That someone was going to be him. It had to be.
Why?
He didn't have a clue, and it didn't matter.
"So, what now?" he directed the question to Gib.
"Now we get started. I need feet on the ground ASAP. We'll interview all law enforcement, medical examiners, friends of the families, teachers, and daycare workers who knew the children, anyone, and everyone connected with any of the murder victims. Marty has prepared a schedule and divided the locations between us. He and I will be going to the site of the most recent killings to make sure everything is being recorded and fed into our database."
Leo took that moment to speak up. "I'd like to interview Miss Adams."
"Hunch or curiosity?" Gib asked.
"Does it matter?"
"Always. I'd bet on your hunches, but we have no time for curiosity. So, which is it?"
Leo glanced again at the image of Isabelle Adams on the screen then met Gib's gaze without blinking. "Hunch."
Gib nodded and looked at Marty. "Make it happen."
At a nod and quick "yes, sir," from Marty, Gib stood. "Okay, people, the clock is ticking. Let's get to work."
Gib turned, left the room, and Galen leaned over a bit toward Leo. "Why interview the girl?"
"Everyone has a story. I want to hear hers."
"Isn't her interview in the packet?"
"I want to hear it from her lips."
"You want to look her in the eyes and see if she's honest."
"Am I that predictable?"
"Not to most, but I've known you a while, and I know you have that lie detector thing going for you. After all the times you've called bullshit on me, I should know what you're up to."
"I only call bullshit on you when you come up with lame excuses for the bad decisions you make with women."
Galen laughed and stood. "Sure, buddy. It has nothing to do with being jealous of all the action I get."
"You're right; it doesn't. And you're right about my BS meter. I need to look in her eyes and hear her tell it."
Even as he said the words, he knew them to be a lie. He didn't doubt that Isabelle Adams would tell him the truth. That wasn't what he wanted to know. He wanted to know what she saw and felt and smelled before the killer took her sight. He wanted something he could use to find this psycho and either stop him or put him in the ground.
He didn't care which.
Leo returned to the present, looked out of the passenger window and considered what Galen said. Was Izzi a detriment to their investigation, or was she the best chance they had at stopping this psycho?
He knew for a fact the killer would respond to Izzi, would reach out to her if she lowered her mental barriers. The Unsub had proven, time and again, that if there was one thing he wanted, it was Isabelle Adams. He had a thing for her Leo didn't understand and probably would feel sick to his soul if he did understand.
Izzi was the one person who could probably goad their killer into action. It was his opinion that they put that to use.
Then again, he couldn't help remembering what it felt like to be stabbed and left to bleed out on the floor. Or how it was Izzi who had found him, plastered her hands over his wounds and screamed for help, keeping him alive until help arrived.
Nor would he forget the teammate they lost, or how Gib nearly died. Maybe there was some validity to Galen's claim. But even if Izzy was a flaw, she was still the best connection they had to this Unsub.
Which meant, Leo supported Gib's decision to try and enlist Izzi's help. He, like Gib, had a personal vendetta to settle with this monster, and despite wanting to see justice served, he was honest enough to admit that in this case, he wanted blood.
Ending this monster would allow him to finally sleep well again.
Chapter Five
Cabarrus County, North Carolina
After trying every technique she knew to help her fall asleep and failing each time, Isabelle gave up. When she did, the most remarkable thing happened. For the first time in years, she sensed Leo. It was almost as if his mind was reaching out to her. She opened herself mentally and felt him.
He was remembering. She allowed herself to follow him, to let the memories take her. Izzi smiled as she drifted back in time. It was her Sophomore year at the University of North Carolina in the spring of 2005, and she was seventeen years old.
2005 - the University of North Carolina at Charlotte
"Stud alert."
Izzi heard the comment from the group of girls sitting together on the grass behind her. They giggled and then, as if sharing a collective mind, started chattering all at the same time.
She looked up from her reading. One glance and she knew who the girls were all atwitter over. She couldn't say she blamed them. He was, in her opinion, magnificent. She supposed handsome, sexy, or some other such adjective would have been applicable but didn't seem quite strong enough of a description.
She watched from behind the dark lenses of her sunglasses, admiring the strong lines of his face, the smooth way he moved as if the act of walking required little effort or perhaps that gravity had less hold on him than everyone else. She wasn't sure what it was, but there was something unique about him. Powerful and attractive.
When his gaze locked on her, she jerked a bit. Agent Grant. It had to be. She was expecting an Agent Grant from the Behavioral Analysis Unit to meet her here.
She'd been quite enchanted with his voice, that smooth deep tone, and the unmistakable but slightly watered-down British accent.
His appearance was every bit as attractive as his voice. Izzi was especially glad she'd chosen this place. She wasn't at all sure she'd be comfortable being somewhere more private. Here there was noise and movement and distraction, and she suspected she'd need a bit of all of that. This was a place where students often sat on benches along the sidewalk to study, visit with friends, spend time with people they were dating, or flirting with those they'd like to date.
Being younger than everyone else, she was rarely there for anything other than studying or reading. Sometimes she just needed to be outside and feel the sun on her skin. Today that skin was feeling a little warmer than usual, and she suspected it had something to do with the dark-skinned man walking toward her.
"Isabelle Adams?" He stopped in front of her.
"Yes."
"Agent Leo Grant." He showed her his identification.
She took it and scrutinized it before returning it to him. "May I sit?" he asked.
"Of course," she agreed and made room on the bench.
He sat, angled toward her. "I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me, Miss Adams."
Her gaze connected with his, and she bolted to her feet. She might be shy of eighteen, but she knew what it felt like to be attracted to a man, and right now she'd liked to jump Agent Leo Grant. "Would you mind if we walk?"
"That's fine," he stood and waited for her to slide her book into her bookbag and shrug the straps over her shoulders. "Lead the way."
Izzi pointed to the left. They walked for a few yards in silence before she dared to look at him again. "You want to ask me about that day, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Why?"
She could tell her question surprised him because of the minute falter in his pace and the expression on his face. "Pardon?"
"Evade much?"
Izzi i
mmediately scolded herself mentally for teasing an adult, and especially a federal agent, and directed her gaze to her feet. "Sorry, but I was questioned so many times I started to feel like a recording stuck on an endless loop. Then it stopped, and I was finally left alone. At least until another murder happened."
She looked directly at him. "Why do you want to question me now, Agent Grant?"
"I'm hoping there's something you've remembered over the years that you may not have told anyone."
That wasn't the truth.
She could see it in his eyes and really hated that Agent Grant lied to her. Then she realized why he'd lied, and that awareness made her legs feel suddenly weaker than a moment ago.
"He's back, isn't he?" Even she could hear the thickness in her tone, feel the way her throat tightened. The thought that he was back prompted a memory of the whispers that had been part of life, off and on, since she was seven. It made her queasy and sweaty. She wiped one hand over the leg of her jeans.
Agent Grant looked away for a moment, stuck his hands into his trouser pockets, and appeared to be focused on the pavement beneath his feet. Izzi didn't say another word. He'd either answer or not. How he responded wouldn't change anything. She'd known this day would come, tried to wish or pray it away, all the while knowing she'd be unsuccessful. He'd told her they weren't finished. What if he'd decided that now was the time to pick up where they'd left off?
When Agent Grant stopped suddenly, she kept going for two steps before stopping to turn and face him.
"We think he may be starting up again," he said. "But can't be certain, so we're going over everything and talking to everyone involved in the…".
Izzi felt sorry for him when he trailed off and stood there looking at her with an expression of discomfort on his handsome face. "The murders," she filled in the blank for him.
"Yes. Sorry. It must be difficult to hear me speak of it."
She wasn't quite ready to reveal how she felt about any of it. First, she wanted to know how honest Agent Grant would be with her from this point on. "Can I buy you a coffee? There's a nice coffee shop just off-campus. It's only a mile or so if you don't mind the walk."
"I'd be happy to have coffee with you, but perhaps we could ride. I have a rental car. Providing, of course, you feel safe being in a car with me. If you like, you can call Quantico and verify my identity."
Izzi shook her head. "I don't need to do that. And I'm fine riding with you. Where are you parked?"
"Behind the library."
"This way," she pointed.
They walked in uncomfortable silence. Izzi wasn't quite sure what to make of Agent Grant, aside from being shockingly handsome, soft-spoken, and seemingly, kind and polite. But people often went out of their way to behave in a manner that engendered trust. Once you trust someone, you let your guard down.
And that's what opens the door to them finding the weapon they need to hurt you.
She knew that all too well. A memory surfaced, driving the point home.
She'd been with her grandparents for over six months. Even at seven, she knew she was a burden. Her eyes hadn't yet sufficiently healed to have surgery, so she was technically blind. She could see light and shapes, but only as fuzzy blobs. It was challenging to navigate around the house and had taken a month before she could feed herself without making a huge mess.
One of her grandmother's friends, a lady from the church, stopped by every week or so and often brought her granddaughter, Chelsea, who was a year older than Izzi.
Izzi was thrilled to have someone close to her own age to spend time with. She started to think of Chelsea as her friend.
Until one Sunday, after church, she was holding her grandfather's hand while grandmother chatted with a friend, and Izzi heard Chelsea's voice. "You won't believe why she wears those glasses."
The burst of chatter from multiple voices let Izzi know that Chelsea was with girls from the Sunday school class. A moment later, Chelsea continued. "A bad man killed her mom and brother and cut her eyes up. She can't see hardly at all, and my mom says she'll be a freak for the rest of her life. Just a burden on her poor old grandparents."
Izzi pulled back from the memory, and she realized Agent Grant was watching her. "Have I upset you, Miss Adams?"
"No."
"Your expression would suggest otherwise."
"No, you haven't upset me. I was just thinking."
"About? Oh, here we are, the gray four-door sedan," he pointed to a car.
Once they were in the car, he turned to look at her. "You were thinking?"
Izzi pulled her worry stone from her pocket. Some girls always had a mirror, lip gloss, a hairbrush, or some type of make-up with them. For Izzi, it was her worry stone. Her grandfather gave it to her when she first went to live with him and her grandmother, and her nights were filled with terrors and her days with anxiety.
He explained that all she had to do was hold the stone between her index finger and thumb and gently move her thumb back and forth over it. Pop told her it would suck the anxiety right out of her body, and she wouldn't have to be afraid.
As a child, she believed what he said, and miraculously it worked. As long as she held that small gemstone, rubbing lightly, she could keep the monsters at bay. Now, she looked out of the car window, gathering her courage to talk to Agent Grant, and wishing the stone had the power to make her feel less nervous.
He was very handsome. Sexy. And she wasn't accustomed to being in the company of attractive older men. The guys her age who showed her attention were the ones who tended to be on the fringe, into drugs, and the kind of music that gave her a headache.
She wasn't opposed to smoking pot, but the one time she'd tried acid, she screamed for a day. Izzi wouldn't make that mistake again. She kept her wits about her. And she wasn't the kind of girl who wanted to indulge in meaningless sex. Maybe she'd just chosen badly, but so far, the sex she'd experienced was nothing to brag about or repeat.
"So, you said you were thinking?" Leo prompted again, steering her thoughts back to the memory. She didn't see any harm in telling him, so she related it.
He was quiet for a few moments, then said softly. "People can be unintentionally cruel at times."
That comment, spoken softly, emboldened Izzi to lower the mental walls she kept carefully in place, battened and locked tight. The moment she did, she saw Agent Leo Grant, saw him for who he was – the person, not just the agent, and that insight changed everything. She knew beyond all doubt that she could and would trust him with her life.
And he with hers. In time.
"Yes, they can," she agreed. "And intentionally at others."
"Have you suffered from a lot of that, Miss Adams?"
"You can call me Izzi."
"Izzi? Is that the name you prefer to go by?"
"No. Everyone calls me Isabelle. Izzi was my brother's name for me. My grandparents called me Isabelle. It sounds quite grown up and possibly a bit refined. I don't feel much like either. I'd rather have my hands in the soil, ride without a saddle, and wear faded denim than dress in the latest fashion with designer labels and spend my energy trying to be pretty."
"But you are, Izzi. Pretty, I mean."
"No, I'm not," she removed her glasses and couldn't help but note the way his eyes widened slightly before he composed himself. "I'm unusual, I guess is the best word."
"Otherworldly."
She felt a reaction from him that matched her own. Surprise. Why was that? Izzi could read people, but she didn't purposely invade their privacy. She didn't get this kind of strong reaction unless the person was projecting.
What was it she felt from him? Shock?
Yes, that was it. He was shocked the word had slipped from his mouth. Typically, he was very much in control and rarely suffered a slip of the tongue.
Izzi Adams rattled him. Or was it something more?
Without thinking, she reached over to put her hand on his shoulder, and for a split second, she saw herself as he saw
her. Just months shy of being eighteen, she was a small young woman, barely over five feet tall and probably weighing no more than a hundred pounds.
Her hair was cut short, like a pixie, in uneven layers, framing her face. White with small streaks of silver, it gave her the look of a fairy princess from a fantasy tale.
Adding to the effect were her eyes.
They were mesmerizing and a bit unsettling. He'd never seen that shade of green. It reminded him of a bead on a necklace his wife prized. While it looked like a pearl, it displayed all the colors of the spectrum, depending upon how the light hit it, but no matter how strong or weak the light, the color remained a pale, pearlescent that seemed magical.
Magical. That seemed to him a fitting description for Izzi Adams.
She'd never been so flattered, or so flustered. She removed her hand from his shoulder. "You're a kind man, Agent Grant."
"It's true."
"Is it?"
"Yes." His expression changed, along with the subject. "You're young to already be a sophomore in college."
"Am I? As I understand it, a lot of people graduate high school early. Particularly those who aren't very social."
"You're not social?"
She laughed and looked out of the side window for a moment. "What do you think?"
"Well, you're in college, quite personable as far as can tell, lovely and–"
"And unable to tell anyone about myself because if I do, I go from being the unusual girl with the white hair and strange eyes to the girl who watched her family die and nearly lost her eyes."
She looked at him and said. "Go ahead. Ask."
"I just want to know what happened. If you can tell it. I want to know what you saw, smelled, heard, and felt. Again, if you can talk about it."
She pulled her bottom lip up between her teeth for a few moments, her gaze seeking his and holding firm.
