Lost Girls: A gripping thriller that will have you hooked (Ben Forrester FBI Thrillers Book 1)

by Jon Mills

  “You sleep out here often?” she asked, glancing around at the disarray.

  “Yeah, when it strikes my fancy.”

  “Or when you’ve drunk a little?” she said, picking up an empty bottle of bourbon. He took it from her and tossed it into a wicker trashcan with two others.

  “Are you here to judge me?”

  “No, I was hoping to hear your thoughts on the reports I gave you… which… I can see you thoroughly went through.”

  She gazed at the mess of jumbled paperwork before picking it up and trying to figure out which report went with certain photos. Meanwhile, Ben exited to take a piss. After, he splashed some cold water on his face and gazed at the bags under his eyes. He pulled at them and took a closer look at his bloodshot eyes. He needed more sleep, but that wasn’t going to happen. He ran the tip of his fingers through his dark hair in an attempt to smooth out the bedhead mess. Ben ran a hand over his stubbled chin, it was showing a good amount of gray at the front. Aging had once bothered him. Now he couldn’t care less. It was a step closer to seeing Elizabeth.

  When he returned, Dakota was looking at the photo of his family.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer...”

  Her eyebrow shot up. “Right. Sorry.” She set it back down and took a seat. “She was a beautiful woman. Good-looking kid too.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “How are you getting on with the missing girl?”

  He shifted the topic away after getting a feeling she was about to dig deeper into his past. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t have shared it, but he had Emily and Nate for that. As it stood his slate was clean here. No one knew about him, or at least had mentioned his past involvement in the FBI until now. He wanted to keep it that way. There was something very comforting about anonymity. It was the reason he didn’t want his face on books. He wasn’t clamoring to be noticed. His success in the bureau wasn’t all down to him but he knew that everything got viewed through that lens because of his involvement in nationwide cases. In the eyes of the media and public he was the guy whose profiles had caught killers. But this was not exactly true. The police were the ones who apprehended. Leads from citizens and a fair amount of luck played a large role. The profiles he created were just a tool. A means of filtering through the chaos and mess to pinpoint a cluster of individuals who might be responsible. He’d helped catch killers, nothing more.

  “No leads. Search crews have turned up nothing and they are still out there.”

  “It’s frustrating isn’t it? How long have you been with the department, Woods?” He nursed his coffee, took the lid off and steam spiraled above it.

  She gave him a look, and he remembered she wanted him to address her by her first name.

  “Five years. Three of those were on patrol. I’m still a rookie in the chief’s eyes.”

  It only required two years to be eligible to become a detective.

  “How many others?”

  “Just me. I mean, there are other officers, but I was the only one crazy enough to want to follow through and get trained.” She paused. “And even then they pulled me out, halfway through training. But, hopefully, I will return in a few months to complete it.”

  “Why?”

  “Small-town politics. Budget versus need. We don’t exactly get a lot of homicides here.”

  “Considering the FBI?”

  Her eyes locked on him. “Yeah… it’s more of an aspiration than a solid goal. I’ll probably complete my training and take a position with the state police or follow through with the FBI.”

  “Well, I’m sure my books will dissuade you.”

  “You say that like you hate it?”

  “No. Just it can eat you up and spit you out.”

  She glanced again at the photo. He quickly moved on before she began questioning.

  “Your perp is going to take another,” Ben said before taking a sip of coffee.

  Her brow pinched. “Why? He’s already taken two this year,” she said.

  “One got away from him.”

  “But she was found dead?”

  “That was after. Punishment. If you look at all the victims. She was the one that was stabbed. That’s personal. He was enraged. It’s just a hunch but I think she got away from him. Anyway, he’ll take another because it’s all part of his fantasy. It has to be perfect. That last one wasn’t perfect. Far from it.”

  Ben flipped through the photos before handing it all to her.

  “What about the others?” Ben asked.

  “Those not found?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Still classified as lost.”

  “Okay, so he keeps some of them alive. Search the National Park Service records for other disappearances where no one was found. I’m betting you’ll find a similar match to these other girls. He hasn’t taken seven, he’s taken a lot more.”

  Dakota took a sip of her coffee and looked down at the photos.

  “He’s getting more reckless. Sloppy then?”

  “No,” he replied

  “But she got away.”

  “Not because of a lack of oversight on his part. No, I think that was all her doing. She was smart. No, this guy is organized, methodical.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There are only two types of predators out there. The organized and disorganized. Based on what I’ve seen in the crime scene photos and reports, he stalks his victims. Watches them for some time. He never left behind any trace evidence that might incriminate him. He’s careful but vindictive if crossed. He’s been doing this a while and he’ll continue until he’s caught.”

  She nodded and put her drink down.

  “What makes you believe it’s a male if no semen was found?”

  “Sexual crimes are usually done by males in their twenties and thirties.” He swallowed down the rest of his coffee. “You want some breakfast?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  At fifteen minutes past nine, Ben was beginning to feel human again. A cheese omelet always hit the spot. He’d tossed back two Tylenol to fend off the throbbing in the back of his head and refilled Dakota’s cup.

  “Thanks.”

  She glanced up at him with those blue eyes that were kind of mesmerizing. He hadn’t seen her out of uniform. He eyed her, making his way back to the breakfast table. She was short compared to him.

  “So what about you?” Ben asked.

  “Not much to say, really.”

  He took a seat across from her and bit down on his toast.

  “Anyway, you’re the expert. What can you tell me?” she enquired.

  He stifled a laugh. “You were engaged or married for five years.”

  “Six actually.”

  “Yeah, I guess the white band on your finger is fading but could be the summer weather.” He leaned back in his chair, taking in her five-foot-eight frame with long, strawberry blonde hair.

  “You grew up around here. You’ve wanted to get out for years and that’s why you have an interest in the FBI. This place doesn’t challenge you.”

  “Is that why you think I came to you?” she asked.

  He smirked. “If it is, I would hate to disappoint.”

  “What else?”

  Dakota seemed to be enjoying this. Perhaps he would have continued if the case wasn’t weighing heavily on his mind.

  “Maybe another time.”

  That only made her smile. “This guy. You said he was organized, can you elaborate?”

  Ben took a deep breath. “Contrary to what people might think, he’s not schizophrenic or paranoid but calm and collected. You’re dealing with someone who holds a position of power. He’s comfortable in it. Has the respect of those around him but not women. He’s not skinny, and he dresses well to blend in.”

  “Not skinny?”

  “Despite what you might be thinking, he’s in a good state of mind. All of this. Even the police showing up. It’s nothing to him. He still thinks he’s in control and he is. He sleeps well, eats
well, and if you passed him on the street or spoke to him, you wouldn’t even know it. He’s more than likely had a string of relationships. Short-lived, uneventful… even forgettable.”

  She leaned forward, clasping her hands beneath her chin.

  He continued, “Look for someone with a military background who was kicked out, someone who would have made a good recruit. Careful, organized and can follow rules but chooses not to.”

  “What about a job?” she asked.

  “He has one. Something that lets him observe the comings and goings of his victims, and as for transportation… Whatever it is… you’ll find it clean. Spotless even. He has a high attention to detail.”

  She set her knife and fork down and sat back in her chair with her coffee, studying him. “You got all of that from the reports and photos? You should consider joining the department.”

  He snorted. “Maybe in another lifetime.”

  She glanced around the room and then ran her hand around Jinx’s face. “Where’s Chloe?”

  “At her grandmother’s. You know Janice Turner?”

  “Oh yeah, of course. I never knew that was your wife’s mother.”

  “And after all that research on me?” he said playfully.

  “Do you mind?” She wanted to look around.

  “Go ahead.”

  He gathered up the plates and rinsed the remainders off then slotted them into the dishwasher. He could see her running her hands over the psychology books he had in his office.

  “You read all of these?”

  “Yep. Dry as heck, but insightful. You can borrow them if you like.”

  “I might do that.”

  In two years he hadn’t had anyone over besides Janice. It’s not that he couldn’t have, he just didn’t feel ready to open up to anyone new or surround himself with large groups of people. The times he ventured out to the grocery store he felt as though he was suffocating from the crowds. It just became easier to get it delivered. Not that he cooked much.

  She strolled from room to room before returning.

  “So what’s on the agenda for today?” he asked.

  “A press conference. They want to calm the public’s fears.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  It rarely did any good. If anything, it had a tendency to infuriate people and get the public riled up. The police hated doing them; it only made them feel incompetent if they had nothing to offer beyond the generalized palatable version of what had happened. Essentially they regurgitated what the media already knew.

  “Do you want to come with me to the crime scene?” she asked.

  Ben leaned back against the kitchen counter and chewed on the inside of his cheek.

  “Like maybe if you tagged along you might see something we’ve overlooked.”

  “Woods,” he said.

  “Dakota.”

  “Look, Woods, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

  He knew what Dr. Rose would have suggested. She would have encouraged him to go, and, maybe he should. It had been a while since he’d got his hands dirty with an investigation. But then the more he pondered it, he could feel his pulse beating a little faster. He swallowed hard. Not now. He turned to look for his migraine medication. He’d been getting them less frequently but since going over the reports and seeing dead bodies, it was starting again.

  “I think I’ll take a rain check. I’m not feeling too good and I…” he cleared his throat. “I have to pick up my daughter later.”

  “Sure, okay, just thought I would ask.”

  He wanted her to leave now but didn’t want to be rude. Thankfully she must have picked up on it.

  “Well, thanks for the breakfast and your insights. Hopefully we can catch this guy.”

  He nodded but didn’t say anything. It had been a bad mistake looking over the reports. He wasn’t ready to deal with it. A flood of memories bombarded his mind as he shook out a couple of pills and tossed them back with the remainder of his coffee.

  An hour after she left he poured himself a small scotch. Just a little to take the edge off things. The phone rang, but he didn’t answer it. A few seconds passed and then it rang again. He wasn’t going to answer it, but he wanted to see who was calling. He looked at the caller ID. It was Janice.

  He immediately picked up, expecting her to go into her usual spiel about how he wasn’t feeding Chloe enough greens or vitamins. Instead, what she said made him drop the phone.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Four police cars, along with a game warden truck, were outside Janice’s home. One of them was Dakota’s. Ben tore into the driveway and jumped out, leaving the door on his vehicle open. An officer immediately stepped forward with his arm out.

  “That’s my daughter that’s been taken.”

  “Let him through,” Dakota said. She was standing in the doorway. Janice’s home was a two-story clapboard house with a black roof and a double garage. The moment he entered he was immediately met by the chief and several neighbors who knew Janice. Janice had a cut on her forehead. The blood was dry. She was nursing a bruised face with an ice pack when he caught sight of her.

  “Ben,” Janice got up but then nearly toppled over. An officer tried to keep her upright. “I’m so sorry, I tried to protect her.”

  “What happened?”

  Janice was about to explain but Dakota offered to fill in the blanks. “An intruder entered through a side window. We’re not sure if he was planning to rape her or take her but Janice—”

  “I heard this moan, it was so small like a child. I thought it was the dog at first. It was after one in the morning. I got up and went to check on Chloe, you know just in case she was having another one of her bad dreams. That’s when I saw him.” Her face was full of fear as she tried to recall what happened. “He was leaning over her, he had this huge knife. I turned the light on and that’s when he came at me.”

  “You’re certain it was a man?”

  “He was wearing a mask but I heard his voice. I asked him what the hell he was doing.”

  “What did he say?”

  She hesitated to reply. “Collecting.” She stared at Ben as though she was looking right through him. It often happened with victims as they recalled a traumatic event. They relived it in their mind. Her hand was shaking, her lip quivered as a single tear streaked her cheek.

  “Ben,” Dakota gestured for them to speak outside. He was still looking at his mother-in-law in disbelief. He couldn’t blame her. How does a sixty-two-year-old woman fight off a man with a blade? God, he had been so foolish to let her out of his sight. He knew it was a bad idea letting her stay over. She’d been doing it for the past three months. Weekends. She wanted to get out as much as Janice wanted to see her. The therapist had said it would be good for her. That it was time to give her room to breathe. He couldn’t prevent her from going places, she’d said.

  “I want to see the room,” Ben said, moving up the stairs while Dakota followed. As he entered the bedroom he looked at the unmade bed. The duvet was lying on the ground. Spots of blood were on the floor.

  “His?”

  “We’re going to check.”

  A chill came over him. Rage consumed his mind as he thought about someone snatching his daughter. Whoever it was had taken one hell of a risk. Did they know she was his? Ben’s eyes scanned the floor, walls, and window. He moved to the window and looked out across the yard towards the tree line.

  “She was knocked unconscious. It could have been worse, Ben,” Dakota said.

  “Worse? What’s worse than having my daughter taken?”

  He heard what she said but at the same time his mind was rolling through what happened. That’s what he did. He placed himself in the shoes of the kidnapper and reversed the event in his mind.

  “Show me where he got in.”

  Dakota didn’t even hesitate, she turned and took him back downstairs to the mud room where the window was. There was damage around the lock. He’d pried it open.

&n
bsp; “What about prints?” He turned to her. “Where is the crime scene investigation unit?”

  “You’re looking at it. Along with a few other officers.”

  “What?”

  “This kind of thing rarely happens here. Heck, most people feel comfortable leaving their doors and windows unlocked.”

  His anger was getting the better of him. It was clouding his judgment and derailing his line of thinking. He was used to having everything at his disposal. Of course small towns didn’t have the resources, usually these things were handled by state police, or they would call in the CSI unit from a neighboring town that was larger.

  “I need everyone out of here now and we need to check for fibers.”

  “What the hell is going on here?” Chief Danvers walked in while Ben was examining the window.

  “Oh, Ben, this is Kurt Danvers, our chief. Chief, Benjamin Forrester. FBI.”

  “FBI?”

  The chief’s eyes widened then narrowed.

  “Well, that’s not exactly true,” Ben muttered, not even turning to acknowledge him. “I’m on leave, or maybe I’m retired. I haven’t decided yet.”

  Ben turned and looked over his well-polished appearance.

  “Sir, look, I’m sorry what’s happened to your daughter, and you have our word we’ll investigate this thoroughly, but this is now an official crime scene and…”

  “You don’t want me to fuck it up? Kind of late now that you’ve had your officers traipsing through here.”

  “Mr. Forrester,” Danvers said.

  “Ben.”

  “Where were you last night?”

  Ben continued studying the window, showing little attention to the chief.

  “At home.”

  “Can anyone verify that?”

  He turned slowly. “Are you suggesting that I was involved in this?”

  “It’s a question.”

  “Well, here’s your answer.”

  Ben flipped him the bird. Dakota smirked; the chief however didn’t find it amusing.

  “I’m going to need you and your mother-in-law to come down to the station.”