by Lisa Harris
“Sounds vaguely familiar.”
“I was the lead investigator on the case. And here’s the clincher. Not only is this body posed exactly the same way—like she’s sleeping—but there’s also the detail of the Polaroid photo found near her body. We never gave that information to the public. We later found a second Polaroid near the abduction point of another girl who’s never been found, Becky Collier.” Bradford jutted his chin toward Garrett. “He just found a Polaroid taken of this girl before she was murdered.”
Philips straightened up. “I remember those cases. Someone from the local media started calling him the Angel Abductor, proposing we might be dealing with a serial killer, but besides the Polaroid, we didn’t have any evidence that tied the cases together.”
“Why the Angel Abductor?” Garrett asked.
“Because both girls had long blonde hair.” Philips took a step back and frowned. “Like this girl. Do you know what this means, Sam?”
“It means that reporter was on to something. We’ve now got three girls either murdered or missing in the past eighteen months. All with a similar MO.”
“What about suspects?” Philips asked. “Anything pointing toward whoever’s behind this?”
“No solid evidence,” Bradford said. “Nothing beyond the rough sketch a witness gave us after Jessica Wright went missing. We put out an APB around the time of her murder, hoping to get a hit on our killer’s ID, but nothing has ever come of it.”
Philips shook his head and started his examination. “Whoever did this to her can’t be that good. He had to have left some kind of evidence behind. Who handled the Wright girl’s autopsy?”
“Craig Brower from the Nashville ME’s office. He was never able to find anything solid pointing to her killer either. Tox screens all came back inconclusive, no fingerprints, no DNA matches . . .”
Philips shoved his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose. “When I’m done here, I’ll look over the files. See if something jumps out at me that might have been overlooked.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Bradford said. “If we’d already caught the psychopath who did this, this girl would still be alive.”
“What do you know about her?” Philips asked.
Bradford looked to Garrett for an answer.
“So far there’s been no trace of any personal effects, which means we don’t even have an ID. We’re still waiting to see if we can get a match with Missing Persons.”
“I need a time frame of her death,” Bradford said.
“I’ll know more after the autopsy, but I’d say she’s already been here a couple days.”
“What else can you tell me?”
Philips frowned. “On the surface, there are no defensive wounds on her hands, no scratches, or indications that her hands were bound. But there’s a bruise here on her arm, and another one on her shoulder.”
“Implying what?” Garrett said. “He forced her to walk here?”
“I can’t answer that yet.”
“Then just give us the bottom line at this point,” Bradford said. “Should we be looking for another primary crime scene, or is this it?”
Garrett knew what Bradford was looking for. They needed to narrow the focus of the investigation. Which meant they needed to know if she’d been murdered somewhere else and then brought here, or if this was the actual scene of the crime. But until a proper autopsy was done, anything Philips gave them was primarily speculation.
“My best guess is that she was brought here by her assailant, alive.” Philips tugged at his collar, then looked up at Bradford. “But like I said, I’ll let you know as soon as I finish with my autopsy.”
Bradford took a step away from the body. “And I think it’s time we put in a call to the FBI.”
“Do you really want to get them involved?” Philips asked.
“We’re already going to have to explain to the media that we’ve got a third victim,” Bradford countered. “Which is going to cause a panic and blow up in our faces if we’re not careful. We need to find this guy.”
Garrett felt a shiver brush over him as reality sunk in. “Because we’ve got a serial killer on our hands.”
2
8:43 a.m.
Quantico, Virginia
Jordan Lambert felt the burn in her arms as she took another lap in the heated pool and widened her stroke. Classical music from her waterproof MP3 device played in her ears in an attempt to temporarily numb her mind. She pushed through the fatigue, eased up to the wall, then turned around in one seamless motion. Normally the water relaxed her. But not today. Today, her mind wouldn’t stop running.
You need to come home, Jordan. Mom and Dad miss you, and I’m worried about Mom.
Jordan filled her lungs with a breathful of air, then skimmed the top of the water, letting her body glide. The email from her sister couldn’t have come at a worse time. She went home as often as she could, but she’d missed Christmas last month. And now Clara’s email only managed to deepen the guilt and remind her of all the holidays and birthdays she’d missed over the past few years.
She turned around and started another lap. She’d never intended on putting her career above family, but it wasn’t as if she really had a choice. She hadn’t exactly taken on a nine-to-five job. When she’d chosen to join the FBI, she knew the commitment it was going to take. Which was why when she left Nashville, she was thankful that she was able to leave with her family’s blessing.
And because of that, she never looked back. But that didn’t mean that now—all these years later—there weren’t days when she wondered what it would be like if she’d chosen family over a career. Accepting a marriage proposal over a stint with the FBI, and having two or three grandchildren for her parents instead of spending the majority of her time behind a desk analyzing bad guys.
She pulled herself up against the side of the pool to catch her breath. Christmas with family wasn’t the only thing she’d missed. Pushing thirty meant her biological clock was ticking. Not that it was too late. Not yet. But she hated the guilt that came with her busy schedule, even though she loved her work. She loved the research and the chance to bring a fresh perspective to investigations.
She felt a tap on her shoulder, pulled out one of her earbuds, and looked up at her partner hovering over her.
“Ryley?”
“Hey . . . thought I might find you here.”
She frowned at the intrusion as she took off her goggles. “The question is, what are you doing here on my day off?”
The only reason she could think of was that a crisis had come up at work.
Ryley squatted on the edge of the pool. “You told me you’ve been itching to go back to Nashville to see your family.”
“So . . .” She bobbed at the edge of the heated pool, breathing in the chlorine and humid air.
“I pulled a few strings, and you’ve got your wish.”
She raised her eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“I just got a call from the higher-ups. They were going to send just me, but I convinced them to let you go with me. Which gives you about forty-five minutes to dry off, pack your carry-on, and get to the airport so we can make the next flight to Nashville.”
“Seriously?”
“Trust me, I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t serious.”
Jordan glanced at the clock on the wall. Nothing like a bit of heads-up from the FBI. But cases didn’t conveniently happen on her schedule. And Ryley was right about one thing. A trip to Nashville meant a chance to see her sister and her parents and maybe find a way to make up for taking so long between visits.
“Grab my towel over there, will you?” She pulled herself out of the water, then wrapped the yellow towel around her. “What’s the case?”
“Local authorities just found the body of a teenage girl in Sumner County, an hour or so out of Nashville. Looks like it’s a serial killer, and they’ve asked for some immediate ground support.”
She grabbed her bag off the bench, then
slipped on her flip-flops. While her job mostly consisted of time spent at a desk doing research, going over case materials, and consulting on both active and cold cases with local law enforcement via telephone conferences, the chance to be on the field always excited her. And getting to see family was the extra bonus she needed.
“They’re sending the case file to us now so we can read it over on the plane,” Ryley said.
“What’s our time frame?”
“Two, three days tops. Just enough time to go over the scene ourselves, review the crime scene photos and reports, and come up with an assessment for them to go forward with. And for you to see your family.”
At half past three, Jordan stood in the middle of the crime scene in Sumner County, six hundred miles from Quantico, Virginia. They’d driven straight to the scene from the airport in order to grab as many hours of daylight as possible, but so far the past hour of their own investigation of the scene hadn’t uncovered anything new. The crime scene itself mirrored the photos they’d received before catching their flight, except for the now-empty grave sitting on the edge of the cordoned-off space.
“Agent Lambert . . . Agent James?”
Jordan turned around at the sound of her name, then immediately felt her stomach drop. She didn’t recognize the older agent who was speaking or the taller man with broad shoulders, but there was no mistaking the dark-haired man standing between them.
Garrett Addison.
“Sorry we weren’t here when you arrived, but it looks as if you’ve already jumped into your investigation.” The older man waved his hand in apology as he continued. “Our meeting with local law enforcement took longer than I expected, but now that we’re here, I’d like to introduce you to our team.”
Jordan nodded, but no introduction was needed when it came to Garrett.
“I’m Special Agent Sam Bradford, and these are agents Abram Michaels and Garrett Addison.” Agent Bradford nodded at his team. “Special Agents Jordan Lambert and Ryley James will be working the case with us and offering FBI support and resources.”
Jordan shook Bradford and Michaels’s hands first, then turned to Garrett and tried to force back the unexpected wave of emotion. “Special Agent Addison.” She flashed him a smile. “The title sounds good on you. I had no idea you were working this particular case.”
Was he just as taken aback as she was, or was it only her imagination?
“It’s good to see you,” he said. “It’s been a long time.”
Ryley glanced from Garrett to her, then back to Garrett again. “Wait a minute . . . you two know each other?”
“We were friends at the police academy,” Garrett said. “Until eventually she was noticed by someone at the FBI, and she left for Quantico.”
He’d supported her decision, even though they both knew their relationship wasn’t going to last if she left. Not with their demanding jobs, and the hundreds of miles separating them.
And they’d been right.
There had been emails and phone calls at first, but then their communication eventually began to taper off. And the sad thing was she’d been too busy to notice, until one day she realized she couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard from him.
“Nice to meet you.” Garrett shook Ryley’s hand, and she wondered if she caught a flash of jealousy in Garrett’s eyes, or if that, too, had simply been her imagination.
Jordan shook off the feelings. Things had changed from the last time she’d seen Garrett. She was no longer a rookie FBI agent. And Garrett wasn’t the man she’d once fallen in love with.
Which was why it was best to get straight to business.
“Before we jump in,” she said quickly, “we want to make one thing clear. This is still your case. We’re here to assist and give advice. We’ve dealt with hundreds of cases and interviews, including those connected with serial killers, but you’re the ones who are going to solve this.”
Garrett caught her gaze as she spoke. She reached up to shove a wayward curl behind her ear, then pulled her hand back down. It was an automatic response she had when she was nervous. Which didn’t happen often. Both the academy and the FBI had erased most of her apprehensions and instilled inside her a greater confidence. Still, Garrett had always managed to break through her defenses. But that had been in the past. She was a different person today, and not in love with him. Not anymore.
“We appreciate that,” Agent Bradford said. “Have you found anything in your initial investigation?”
“Not yet,” Jordan said. “I’d like to see any additional photos you have of the victim, as well as of the Wright girl.”
“We should have most of what you need in our van, though we’re still waiting on Becky Collier’s file,” Garrett said.
“Go ahead and get what you need while I poke around here some more,” Ryley said.
Jordan nodded, then followed Garrett on the path toward the van, reminding herself that this was a crime scene, not a place to relive the past. Even if he still looked just as good as he had the last time she’d seen him, with his military-style haircut, dark dreamy eyes, and that hint of five-o’clock shadow along his jawline.
“How many years has it been?” she asked, pulling her long winter coat tighter around her to block the chill. “Five . . . maybe six?”
“If I remember correctly, the last time we saw each other was the night before you left for Quantico.”
A narrow branch snapped beneath her boot. She really hadn’t forgotten. How could she? He’d come to her apartment, filled with boxes for the move, to ask her to stay. She’d been excited about the FBI’s offer, because somewhere in the back of her mind she thought maybe she could find a way to have both the career she wanted as well as the man she was falling in love with. Instead, he’d kissed her goodbye and walked out of her apartment without looking back.
“Any regrets?” he asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“Regrets of joining the FBI? No. But what about you? Any regrets of choosing to leave your father’s law firm after all this time?”
“None at all.”
Her only regret had been losing him—at least it had been at one time—but she wasn’t about to show that card. They’d dated off and on for over a year. She even expected him to eventually ask her to marry him. She liked the idea of coming home to someone who understood her work, and they seemed perfect together. Or so she’d thought. Apparently her decision to pursue a career with the FBI had canceled any plans he’d been entertaining to take their relationship to the next level.
She took another look at his rugged profile. If she were honest with herself, no one had ever reached as deep into her heart as he had. Not that it mattered anymore. She’d promised herself no regrets if she moved to Virginia with the FBI.
No regrets over Garrett. Or the life she’d left behind in Nashville.
And she hadn’t had either. Most of the time anyway.
“For now, why don’t you just give me the photos you have on this crime scene, as well as any crime scene photos you have of Jessica Wright,” she said as they approached the van. “We can get the rest of the files before we leave tonight.”
“I figured you’d asked for them, so I made sure we had copies.”
Jordan nodded. She was back to sounding all business. She could hear it in her own voice. Setting the tone from the beginning was exactly what needed to be done. This wasn’t personal. Anything that had been between her and Garrett in the past was long since over.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“No. Thanks.”
“Then if you’re okay for now, I’m going to see if I can track down Becky Collier’s files.”
She started back to the crime scene, hating that she suddenly felt like she was back in the academy.
“Jordan?”
She stopped midstride and turned back to him. “Yeah?”
“It’s really good to see you.”
A loose piece of hair brushed across her cheek. This time she didn’t
try to stop herself from shoving the wayward curl behind her ear. “It’s good to see you too.”
She felt a blush rise to her cheeks as she headed back to the yellow tape flapping in the wind.
“So what just happened back there?” Ryley asked, stepping up beside her.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? Seriously? I’ve known you long enough to be able to read you. The two of you have a history.”
Jordan felt her jaw tense. “Like I said, we went to the academy together.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
“Does it matter?”
“It might to Trey.”
She blew out a puff of cold air and watched her breath fog up in front of her. “Trey has nothing to do with this.”
Because he didn’t, not really. She’d been surprised at how good it was to see Garrett again, but beyond that . . . There would never be anything beyond that. And as for her and Trey, just because they’d gone out on three or four dates didn’t mean things were serious between them.
“Are you sure?”
“Ryley, it’s nothing. Like I said, it was a long time ago. We went out a few times.”
“Okay, but there’s still something simmering between the two of you. I can feel it.”
“Fine. It was more than a few times. We met at the police academy way back before I ever thought about joining the FBI, and yes, things got pretty serious. I actually thought I might marry him.”
“Did he ask?”
She let out a sharp huff of air. “Does it matter?”
“From the look on your face it does—or at least it did.”
“I ended up leaving and joining the FBI. We didn’t really stay in touch after that.”
“Career over commitment. I can see nothing’s changed.”
Jordan frowned. “So I’m . . . focused.”
“That’s not the word I was thinking of, but that’s okay as long as you’re good with how things turned out. And as long as it’s not awkward between the two of you while we’re working together.”
