The Chosen Girls (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 4)

by Elle Gray

  “Of course you can, babe,” Astra winks. “You can be anything you want to be.”

  I nod. “Work hard. Don’t let anybody put you down, and never forget how amazing you are,” I tell her. “And don’t ever, ever, ever, let anybody tell you what you can and cannot do. If you put your mind to it and work hard, you can do anything you want to do.”

  “She speaks the truth,” Astra nods.

  “Sydney, go back inside, dear,” Marjorie says when she steps back out onto the porch.

  Astra and I both give her a card and tell her to call us anytime if she needs advice—or help. Sydney gives us a smile, then disappears into the house. Marjorie smiles after the girl and I can see just how much she cares about her.

  “She’s quite taken with you two,” Marjorie says.

  “She seems like a wonderful girl,” I say.

  “She is. She and her mother have just had a rough go of it in life,” Marjorie replies.

  “Well, I’m sure being here with you, in a safe place where she’s genuinely cared for, is going to do wonders for her,” Astra says.

  Marjorie looks down at the porch, her cheeks flushing. She is a woman who does great work but obviously isn’t one who accepts praise very well. She hands me the paper with the address she had for Helen Svboda.

  “Thank you for this,” I tell her. “This is going to help a lot.”

  “I certainly hope so,” she says. “I didn’t have a current telephone number for him.”

  “That’s all right, we can take it from here,” Astra says.

  I’m so excited I feel ready to burst. But I stuff it all down. There’s work to be done yet. I won’t put the cart before the horse. But I feel like we’re close.

  Thirty-Two

  Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office

  “Tony Svboda, thirty-two years old, works as a personal trainer at Rock Solid Fitness,” Rick announces. “It’s a gym he opened six years ago.”

  I pace at the front of the bullpen, hands clasped behind me, listening to Svboda’s bio being read out for me.

  “Degree in Psychology from Oregon, has a reported IQ of 139,” Mo adds.

  “You’re kidding me,” Astra says.

  “Not according to his school files,” Mo says. “Papa Svboda was a big shot union boss. Died when Tony was two years old. It’s just been him and his mama until she died a month and a half ago.”

  “There’s the stressor,” I say.

  Astra nods. “Has he been married? Engaged? Anything?”

  “Not according to anything I can find,” Rick chimes in.

  We’ve been doing loose surveillance on Tony for the last couple of days. Mo put a tracker on his car so we can keep tabs on him, even when we can’t be there in person. I had Rick do a deep dive on him and put together a dossier. I want to know everything there is to know about him, because the more I know, the better I’ll be able to predict his next movements. I need to get inside his head, and to do that, I need information. And since I obviously can’t have a conversation with him, a digital dossier will have to do.

  But every instinct I have is telling me he’s our guy. His description matches the one Fish gave me, right down to the fact that he’s Czech. If he’s not our guy, I will throw myself off the Space Needle. But as sure as I am, I know we need evidence. We need proof. Everything we have—which truthfully isn’t much at this moment—is pointing to Svboda as our rapist/killer. But it’s all circumstantial. It would be laughed out of court in the blink of an eye. Hell, I don’t think we even have enough yet to get an arrest warrant. I can’t think of a single judge who’d sign off on one with what we have.

  “Okay, what else? Does he have a criminal record?” I ask.

  “Has a juvie record, but it’s sealed,” Mo says.

  “He has been arrested for grand theft, assault and battery after a bar fight, and vandalism. He threw a chair through a plate-glass window at the mall,” Rick answers.

  “None of that adds up to being a serial rapist and murderer,” Astra admits.

  I shake my head. “No, it does not. Not at all,” I reply. “No history of escalating violence. That’s unusual.”

  “I think we need to see what’s in that juvie file,” Astra says.

  “Agreed,” I say. “Rick, can you make that happen?”

  “Do we have a warrant?”

  “Can you pretend we do?” Astra asks.

  I get it. Rick isn’t exactly a boy scout, but he’s not one to break the rules all willy-nilly either. He likes things to be ordered, and most of all, legal. He’s not like Brody, who will break any law just because it’s a challenge and he can. Rick is more cautious about covering his own backside. He worries about going to prison for doing some of the things I ask him to do. Which is why I ask him to do very little that crosses a line. Sure, I’ll send him into that gray area. But I’ve stopped asking him to do anything blatantly illegal. I just go to Brody for that.

  But this is time-sensitive. I don’t have the time to wait for a judge to sign off on a warrant. We have a killer who, for all we know, is out on the hunt right now, and I don’t believe we have the time to waste trying to get a warrant.

  Not that getting a warrant in this case is a slam dunk. With what we have, it’s iffy that a judge would sign off on us breaking the seal on his juvie record. And then we would have wasted all that time and arrived back at the same place we began.

  No, we don’t have time for that.

  “Can you break the seal on it?” I ask.

  “Of course, but—”

  “I’ll get a warrant and have a judge sign off on it retroactively. We’re pressed for time right now and I need to know what’s in there,” I say. “Can you do it, Rick?”

  He sighs and runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair. He frowns, but nods.

  “Yeah, I can do that,” he says. “But if this blows back on me, don’t you think for a moment I won’t sell you guys out to save my hide.”

  “I would expect nothing less.”

  We watch him working, his fingers flying over the keyboard. Like Brody, the man is a technological wizard. I wish I had a fraction of the skill they have.

  “All right, here,” Rick says.

  I turn and look at the monitors as he pulls up his juvie arrest record and whistle low.

  “Two arrests for assault and one for arson,” I read. “Wow. Got off on all of them with probation?’’

  “How is that even possible?” Astra asks.

  “Good question,” I reply.

  “Friends in high places,” Mo answers. “Says here the Svboda family is connected to local politicians, judges, lawyers, cops. It’s quite the legal cornucopia.”

  “Enough to keep a troublesome kid like Tony out of trouble,” Astra says.

  “Also, enough to make a kid think he’s bulletproof,” I add.

  “Not entirely. He was mandated to attend court-ordered anger management counseling,” Rick says. “He did that until his probation was up and apparently never went back.”

  “Yeah, seems like those worked well for him,” Astra quips.

  “So, we’ve got a wealthy, well-connected family who made a habit out of covering for Tony’s indiscretions,” I say. “I wonder if his friends in high places ever looked the other way and didn’t charge him for crimes he committed.”

  “Stands to reason,” Astra says.

  “Further adding to his belief that he’s bulletproof.”

  This is all great information, but I need a closer look at him. I need to really get into his head and into his life. And there’s only one way I know of to do that. I turn to Astra and give her a smile.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I ask.

  “You asking me out?”

  “You know it.”

  Thirty-Three

  Svboda Residence, Madrona District; Seattle, WA

  “You sure know how to romance a girl,” Astra says with a grin.

  “Only the best for you, baby.”


  We share a quiet laugh as I get myself wired for sight and sound. I clip the pinhole camera to my collar, then hook the Bluetooth mic and speaker to my ear. I pull the black balaclava down to my forehead and zip up the black jacket I’m wearing. The night outside is dark. Thick clouds choke the sky, and thunder rumbles in the distance. Flashes of lightning light up the bank of clouds in spots, creating a beautiful strobe effect.

  “You ready?” she asks.

  I nod. “I am.”

  She looks down at the tablet in her lap, checking Svboda’s location. The red dot that marks his car is stationary, showing him at a local bar. The trouble is the bar is only five minutes away. But we needed to get in tonight, so we’re making the best of what we have. Lemons into lemonade and all that.

  “Okay, we’re good to go,” she reports.

  “Great. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Keep your head on a swivel.”

  “Copy that.”

  I open the door and slide out of the SUV, then look around at the neighborhood. It’s quiet. Most of the windows in the large houses are dark, and nobody seems to be out on the street. This neighborhood is affluent. Most of the houses are large and have multiple stories. No bars on the windows here. But I’m sure most of them are outfitted with state-of-the-art security systems. Which is why I had to bring in a little backup.

  I hit the button on my Bluetooth bud to open the line. “Brody, are you there?” I whisper.

  “Comin’ to you live,” he says.

  “Hi, Blake!” Marcy screams in the background. “Make sure you tell her she owes me an exclusive!”

  I laugh softly. “Tell Marcy it’s hers as soon as I close this case out.”

  “Why didn’t you have your own tech guru doing this?” Brody asks.

  “Rick’s already fulfilled his ‘doing naughty things’ quota for the day,” I reply.

  “It’s because I’m just flat-out better, isn’t it?” Brody questions.

  “Rick isn’t cut out for the black bag stuff, I’m afraid.”

  Brody laughs. “Yeah, it’s okay. You don’t have to say it. It’s enough for me to know you’re thinking it. I’m just better.”

  I’m smiling like an idiot and look through the SUV’s windshield to see Astra, who’s listening in, laughing.

  “Okay, I’m heading across the street now,” I say. “Are you set up, Brody?”

  “Does a bear defecate in a sylvan environment?”

  “Ummmm… yes?”

  He chuckles. “We’re ready to go,” he confirms.

  “Okay, great.”

  I dart across the street and up the long driveway, moving as quickly and quietly as I can. I veer off the driveway and head around to the side yard. I’m just about to scale the wrought-iron fence, but on a hunch, I turn the knob. It’s unlocked. Stroke of luck, which just has me hoping it doesn’t run out.

  I slip inside, quietly closing the door behind me, then pull the balaclava down so only my eyes are showing.

  “Okay, I’m on the side yard,” I whisper.

  There’s a little space between the houses here, so I doubt anybody could overhear me if I spoke normally, but I’m not going to take the chance.

  “You know, for being so wealthy, their security system is garbage. I’d have a tougher time hacking into somebody’s Xbox,” Brody cracks.

  “I’ll make sure he knows. Maybe I’ll leave a note.”

  “You should do it as a kindness,” Brody offers. “Less scrupulous types than me might take advantage of the situation.”

  I make my way to the back deck and pause for a moment to admire the pool and jacuzzi. They’re both large and fashioned out of what’s made to look like black volcanic stone. It’s actually quite beautiful—all except for the beer bottles and cans floating on the surface of the pool. What a pig.

  “Okay Blake, the alarm is disabled. The house is yours,” Brody says in my ear.

  I move over to the large French doors and grit my teeth as I turn the knob. It swings inward and no alarm sounds. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and smile.

  “Nice work, Brody.”

  “Did you doubt me?”

  “I won’t next time.”

  “You said that last time.”

  “Yeah, but this time I really mean it,” I tell him, and he laughs in my ear.

  I slip a flashlight out of the pack on my waist and click it on, sweeping the blade of light across one side of the room and then the other. Moving silently, I leave the door open behind me just in case I need to make a quick exit.

  I find myself in a great room that’s tastefully furnished and decorated. It’s clean. Spotless really. I make a circuit of the ground floor and don’t find much of anything. The house is clean and well-ordered though, which tells me he still has a cleaning service. I just hope he doesn’t have a live-in maid.

  “Nothing on the ground floor,” I announce. “Moving to the second. Astra, how are we doing?”

  “Still stationary. We’re good,”

  I walk down a long hallway that ends in a door. I go inside and am immediately assaulted by the overpowering stench of stale body odor. The room is a disaster zone, with clothes and shoes strewn all over the place. The bed is unmade and the sheets are so dingy, I have to wonder when was the last time he changed them.

  “What are you seeing, Wilder?”

  “A pigsty,” I croak. “This place is a mess, and it stinks.”

  “I guess money just can’t buy you class,” she comments.

  “I say that about Paxton all the time,” Brody chimes in.

  I look through the drawers of Tony’s dresser. Nothing. Same for his desk. I even peek into his closet and the steamer trunk at the foot of his bed. Other than the horrible mess, there’s nothing interesting in this room so I back out of it and close the door. I turn around and see another door at the opposite end of the hallway. My guess is that it’s his mother’s room.

  I move down the hall quickly and go inside, sweeping my beam of light all over the room. What I see makes my mouth fall open. My eyes widen and a quiet gasp passes my lips.

  “Holy crap,” I whisper.

  “Are you all right, Blake?”

  “Yeah. Call up the pinhole camera feed,” I tell her. “You have to see this.”

  Knowing she won’t be able to see, I move over and flip the light on. This room has no windows facing the street, so we’ll be okay. I turn around to show them what I mean. The dresser that was on that wall has been moved to the side. Clearly visible are the dark outlines and discoloration of paint that shows a large frame once hung on the wall. And in its place, there are dozens of articles about the three murders in Seattle—Emily Tompkins, Summer Kennedy, and Serena Monroe.

  He’d cut out articles from newspapers as far away as Idaho so long as it dealt with the murders. He’s obviously obsessed with them. Little wonder, since he did it. He obviously needs to relive the moment.

  “That’s a little disturbing,” Astra mutters in my ear.

  I turn around and freeze. Standing before me is the large four-poster bed I assume belongs to his mother. Like Tony’s bed, it’s unmade, and the sheets look just as dingy as his. But what catches my eye is what looks like a woman’s nightgown half-lying on his pillow. It looks to me like Svboda has been… cuddling with it.

  “I think he’s been sleeping in here,” I say. “In his mother’s bed. I think he’s been snuggling with her nightgown.”

  “Oh my God. Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I’m officially completely creeped out,” Astra replies. “And whatever you do, for the love of all things holy, please do not put that sheet under a blacklight. I’m begging you, Blake.”

  “You two have like… issues. Serious issues,” Brody chimes in.

  Trying to shake off the case of the creeps that suddenly crawled all over me, I move about the room, checking everything quickly but methodically. Again, I find nothing. No knife, nothing I can associate w
ith the crimes. Nothing. And I know there’s no way he was holding his victims either here or in his own bedroom. Their wounds would guarantee there would be blood in the primary crime scene. And it’s not here.

  “The basement,” I say. “I need to check the basement.”

  “Uh Blake, you need to get out of there. Now,” Astra says, a sense of urgency in her voice. “Svboda’s on the move and he’s coming home. Get out now.”

  A flash of adrenaline surges through me and my heart begins to race. Knowing I have a scant few minutes, I turn off the light and close the door behind me. I dash down the hallway and get to the head of the stairs when I hear Astra’s voice.

  “Two minutes,” she says. “You need to move Blake.”

  I run down the stairs as quickly and safely as I can. The last thing I want is to turn an ankle and fall down the stairs. I’m pretty sure if Tony came home to find me on the foyer floor, it wouldn’t go well for me. I make it back to the ground floor without incident, but as I move through the house, I bump into a table and send some of the figurines on top flying.

  “Dammit!”

  “One minute, Blake.”

  I bend down and pick up all the figurines I can and set them down on the table, then pick up the rest. Even if I had the time, I wouldn’t know how to put them back correctly. I didn’t see the table when I came in, so I don’t know how they were ordered. All I can hope is that he’s such a slob, he won’t notice either.

  “He’s pulling into the driveway. Get out now, Blake!”

  My heart is racing. I feel like fire is flowing through my veins as I dash out the back door, closing it behind me. I hear the rumble of the car’s engine in the driveway and then it shuts off.

  “Hit it, Brody,” I gasp. “Turn the alarm back on.”

  “Alarm is now armed,” he replies.

  There’s a long moment when I’m bathed in near silence, the only sound is my heart thundering in my ears. I move quickly along the side yard and make it back to the gate. I peer through the black iron bars and watch as Tony whistles to himself as he walks to the front door. I hunker down and wait for him to go inside.

  “You’re clear, Blake. Move, move, move,” Astra calls.