Right now, he dreaded telling Leslie Sanders’s parents that their daughter would never come home again. He practiced his speech all the way to the morgue.
From behind the yellow tape, The Agent watched them work. He watched the man snap pictures of the crowd as he’d known he would. They would study those pictures later, comparing them to the other two scenes with the crowds. But they wouldn’t notice him. He didn’t stand out. And he never looked the same. So he didn’t try to turn from the photographer, but he never looked directly at the camera either.
They’d found Leslie faster than he’d thought they would, but that was all right. She’d served her purpose and The Agent had done his job.
He’d disposed of the body.
The man, obviously a cop, climbed up to look over the bin. He looked sad . . . then angry.
The Agent shook his head, wanted to explain that there was no need for sorrow or anger. Leslie would live on. She’d done something not many people did in their lives. Leslie had provided extreme joy and pleasure to those who deserved it—and he’d assisted in that.
And been well compensated for it too, he thought smugly.
Yes, it would all be fine. Leslie would be buried and he could move on to the next girl. His fingers itched and he wondered how he should kill the next one. Experimenting with different ways to kill them was interesting—and disgusting too. Drowning was the way to go. Simple, no mess. Yeah. Drowning. The cops would try to figure out why the girls died by different methods, but there really wasn’t anything to figure out.
It had been hard killing the first one. Strangling her, watching the life seep from her eyes. He’d thrown up afterward. The second one he’d drowned so he couldn’t see her soul drain, or the fixed empty stare. That had been better. The crazy thing was, he hadn’t killed Leslie. Boss had done that. Shot her in the chest. Very messy. It turned The Agent’s stomach and he knew he could never shoot one of the girls. A cop? Yeah, he could shoot a cop. But the girls, yes, he’d probably just drown them from now on.
He scanned the scene again. For a moment he chilled at the expression on the tall cop’s face. This man might cause him some trouble.
The Agent shrugged it off. No, he was too careful, too skilled, too smart. He had his purpose. To fulfill Boss’s orders. To carry out the plan.
And live well because of it.
Oh yes, the money was definitely important. Lots and lots of delicious money.
Soon he’d have enough and be one of the deserving ones. Equal to those who’d benefited from Leslie and the other girls’ great sacrifice. A sacrifice that brought infinite joy and smiles. Yes, soon he would smile like that too.
It was as simple as that.
2
Jenna Wolfe stared at her geometry teacher, Mr. Alexander, and tried to paste a look on her face that said, “This is fascinating stuff.”
In truth, she was bored silly—and sleepy. Finding her dad gone last night had creeped her out. Sure, she was sixteen, almost seventeen, and often stayed by herself, but she didn’t like waking up to an empty house. Regret cramped her. She shouldn’t have called her dad and acted like a whiny baby. Now she was stuck staying at her grandparents’. She wanted her dad home—with her, all night long.
Jenna sighed, shifted in her seat, and tried to focus on the math, but really, who cared about the Pythagorean theorem?
Jenna had more serious things to deal with right now. Like how to get Bradley Fox to notice her. Frankly, Jenna thought the two of them would make the perfect couple.
“The Fox and the Wolfe.” It was just too cool—and would make the most romantic love story in the history of Stanton High School.
Jenna knew she was pretty; everyone told her so. She also saw it every morning when she looked in the mirror. A flawless complexion, curly dark hair, and wide blue eyes.
Unfortunately, she was also shy when it came to boys she liked. Shy and socially inept. The fact caused her immense frustration, because she could have incredibly intelligent conversations in her daydreams or on the computer, but when it came to actually doing it in real life, she totally froze up.
“Psst. Jenna.”
Jenna cut her eyes to her best friend, Patty Thomas, who sat in the desk directly next to hers. Jenna raised a brow and silently mouthed, “What?”
Patty held up a folded piece of paper in front of her geometry book so the teacher wouldn’t be able to see what she was doing if he happened to turn from the board. She subtly waved it.
Jenna stuck her hand out and palmed it with a practiced move. Hiding it under her desk, she opened it and read “Party this Friday at Janet’s. BYOB!”
Jenna sighed. BYOB as in “bring your own bottle” . . . of beer, wine, a cooler, whatever. Where would she get her hands on some this time? She’d worked so hard to become one of the “in” crowd, but lately, the partying and drinking were beginning to wear thin. So were the lies she constantly had to tell—and remember.
She simply looked up and nodded.
Patty tossed her chestnut-colored hair and grinned, green eyes snapping. She mouthed, “Cool.”
Jenna watched Patty turn her attention back to Mr. Alexander. The irony didn’t escape Jenna. She shook her head and blinked her eyes, forcing them open. Patty could sleep through class and still ace every test she took. Unfortunately, Jenna couldn’t do that.
She had to study for every A she got. Lately, though, she couldn’t stay motivated, no matter how hard she tried. It was September and five weeks into the school year. Her four-and-a-half week interims had not been great. Not terrible, but definitely not great either. Her dad didn’t even know about those grades. He would, however, ask to see her report card. That gave her roughly four weeks to get her grades back up.
Right now, though, the only thing that really interested her was Bradley Fox and the new friend she’d met on the internet, 2COOL2BLV—Too cool to believe.
Now there was someone she could trust. Oh, she knew that she should be careful, that there were some real psychos out there just looking for some gullible young thing to take advantage of, but 2COOL wasn’t like that. He was incredibly sweet and always knew the right thing to say. And besides, Jenna was smarter than the average teen.
After all, her dad was “supercop.”
Jenna smirked. When her dad had finally decided to let her get online by herself, she had been fully “in-serviced” on the hazards of the internet—and the creeps who prowl it. He was so paranoid it was ridiculous.
She knew how to take care of herself. 2COOL had proven himself; lived up to his name. After all, she’d been talking to him online for two months now. If he was some perv, he’d have made his move by now, right? A thrill shot through her. She couldn’t wait to get home to talk to him. At least he was around when she needed him.
Connor knew that if he didn’t get some real sleep soon, his body was going to override his brain and simply shut itself down.
But this case haunted him and he knew that even if he went home this minute, he wouldn’t sleep. Fortunately, he kept a change of clothing, a toothbrush, and a razor in his locker at the office. He’d shave in the bathroom, change clothes, grab a strong cup of coffee, and keep working. And check on Jenna. He’d missed breakfast with her this morning. Again. But at least he’d managed to arrange for her to stay with his parents for the next little while.
“Hey, partner, how’d it go?” Andrew entered the locker room and slapped him on the back.
Connor didn’t have to ask Andrew what he was asking about. Andrew hadn’t gone with him to break the news to Leslie’s family; he’d stayed at the crime scene with the investigators, questioning witnesses and coming up empty.
“Her parents took it hard, of course. Apparently she was a straight A student, member of the cheerleading squad, debate team, and wanted to go to medical school. She scored a perfect 1600 on her SATs at the end of her junior year. She would have been a freshman in college this year.”
“Wow, ouch. You tell them she’d
had a baby?”
“Nope, and they didn’t mention anything about the possibility of her being pregnant. Didn’t even have a boyfriend when she disappeared a little over a year ago. And according to Serena, the baby was born pretty recently, so she would have gotten pregnant after her disappearance. Anyway, that’s one fact we’re keeping to ourselves.”
“Good idea. Maybe someone will trip up and say something about it.”
“Yeah.” Connor rubbed the stubble on his chin. “You know, Andrew, I just don’t get it. These kids that are disappearing, they’re not the kids with parents who don’t care. They’re not throwaway kids or street kids or even runaways. All six who have disappeared are from middle- to upper-class families. Families with money. What do you make of that?”
“Coincidence?”
Connor shrugged. “Maybe, but I don’t buy it. There’s got to be a connection somewhere. All six have access to money, but there’s been no kind of ransom demand. Weird. But if you look at all the evidence, the information we’ve gathered, they’re not girls who found out they were pregnant and decided to run away. At least it doesn’t seem like it. But what’s the link?”
“The first girl, Amanda Sheridan. She was sixteen years old, blonde, blue eyes.”
“Right.”
“The second girl. Bethany Whitehouse. Brown hair, fair skin, brown eyes.”
“Polar opposites. The only thing they have in common is their age and they’re Caucasian. They went to rival high schools.”
“The third girl, the one we just found. Leslie Sanders, eighteen, green eyes, blonde hair, Caucasian.”
Connor shook his head. “Then the guy went off the mark and snatched Sydney Carter, who has red hair, fair skin, and freckles.”
“But still a teen. He isn’t going by how they look, like hair color or skin color. There’s something else. It’s possible it’s the age factor. They’re easy to access, innocent, trusting, or if they’re suspicious at first, he’s charming enough to put them at ease.”
“The next two girls, Veronica Batson and Julienna Harris. They’re both black.”
“It’s enough to make me crazy. The girls aren’t taken for ransom. They’re all pretty, attractive girls. Human trafficking? Sex trade? Then when they get pregnant, they’re no longer useful? But where are the babies? Sold on the black market? I may be grabbing at straws, but it’s because I don’t have anything else to grab.”
Connor slammed the locker and walked over to the sink to splash cold water on his face. In the mirror, Connor watched Andrew nod, then pinch the bridge of his nose for a brief moment. “I don’t know,” his partner muttered, “it hurts my head after a while to think about it, and yet I find I can’t think of much anything else. Angie’s ready to join the force just to be able to see me once in a while. And I’m about ready to let her. You talk to Jenna this morning?”
Connor winced. “No, not yet.” He glanced at his watch. 8:15. Too late. “She’s at school already. Her grandmother would have dropped her off about twenty minutes ago.”
“Don’t let this case kill your relationship with her, Connor.”
“I don’t plan to.”
“Did you make it to church this weekend?”
Connor shot Andrew a look that was half irritated, half amused. “You ask me that every Monday morning. What? You think the answer’s going to change?”
“God’s in the miracle business,” Andrew drawled and shrugged. “You never know.”
“Well, it’ll take more than a miracle to get me in church,” Connor muttered under his breath—just loud enough for Andrew to catch it.
“You know, Jenna might benefit from going to church. Angie and I would be glad to have her come with us even if you’re not interested.”
“Aw, man, are you going to start beating on that dead horse again? You know how I feel about church.”
“Okay, if not church, what about God? Do you really want Jenna thinking it’s all right to ignore God?”
Connor slapped a hand against the sink. “No, I don’t want her thinking that, Andrew, but what do I tell her, how do I make her go to church when I don’t even know what I believe about God?”
Andrew blew out a sigh. “I don’t know, partner, but you’ve got to do something. Jenna’s not a little girl anymore, and she’s going to follow in your spiritual footsteps. It’s your job as her dad to guide her—”
Connor held up a hand. “Enough.” He shot his friend a glare and bit his tongue against the desire to tell Andrew in no uncertain terms to back off.
And Andrew could read body language pretty well. He walked over and gave Connor another slap on the back before heading for the door. “I’m going home for a couple of hours of sleep— and to reassure Angie she’s still married to me. I guess I won’t even bother suggesting you head home.”
Connor grimaced. “Thanks, partner.”
Andrew shook his head and left without another word.
After Connor finished in the bathroom, he headed for his desk.
An officer stopped him. “Hey, Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“You know that piece of paper from the dead girl’s pocket? Jake’s got something for you.”
Fatigue momentarily forgotten, Connor’s senses leapt into alert mode. “What?”
“Don’t know, I was just told to pass the message on if I saw you before you checked your messages.” The young officer nodded toward the blinking red light on Connor’s phone.
“Thanks.”
Connor closed the distance to his desk and reached for his handset. Ignoring the message light, he dialed Jake’s extension.
“Jake Hollister.”
“What’d you find on Leslie Sanders?”
“Hey, Connor. I’m fine, thanks so much for asking. And how’s your morning going?”
“Sorry, man.”
“’S all right. I’m just messing with you.” Jake became all business. “Yeah, we found a piece of paper with an Instant Message conversation between the screen names TIME4FUN and SEASANDS4EVR. Gimme your fax number so I don’t have to look it up and I’ll send you a copy. The elevator’s broken again and I’m not walking over there.”
Connor rattled off the number, thanked the man, and hung up. He grabbed his coffee and headed to stake out the fax machine, still wondering what he was going to do about Jenna.
3
Samantha Cash loved her job as a computer forensics expert with the FBI. And hated it. As an agent, she got to be in the field occasionally, so she made sure she kept her skills honed with drills and practice; as a computer expert, she also got called on to catch the criminals by using her intellect.
Chasing bad guys gave her a thrill no roller-coaster ride could match. Yet knowing what they’d done to their victims made her sick, and the fact that she was a necessary entity in a world gone mad grieved her. However, each time she assisted in putting one of the bad guys away behind bars, a measure of peace returned to her soul. If only she could find the one—
Don’t go there, Sam. She dragged her weary body out of the car and waved at the driver, her friend and sometimes partner, Tom Jackson. “Thanks for the ride. See you next time.”
“That was good work, Sam. You’re a genius.”
Sam heard the fatigue in his deep voice and it matched her own. She could only manage a weak smile as she studied his good-looking features. Tall, with bright green eyes and a strong chin. She felt sibling affection for him, but knew he had the females after him wherever he went. Not for the first time, she wondered why she didn’t feel anything romantic for the guy. Ignoring her internal questions, she nodded. “Yeah, you too.”
Concern pulled his blond brows down. “Get some rest.”
“That’s the plan. My beeper’s off for the next twelve hours.” Speaking of which—Sam reached down and flicked the button that would shut off the palm-sized device. “Bye, Tom. Be careful driving home. You’re as worn out as I am.”
“I’ll be careful. I gotta get to my othe
r job.”
Tom was former FBI. An ex-agent who’d decided he liked marching to his own drummer instead of following someone else’s beat. Now, he hired out his skills to the highest bidder. Because of his previous work with the FBI, he often still worked for them, just as contract labor. He also teamed up with Sam when the need arose. As far as partners went, Tom was a good one.
“No way,” she protested. “You need rest, my friend.”
“Got bills to pay.”
“Ugh, don’t I know it. All right, see you later.”
He drove off and Sam turned to trudge up the three steps to her first-floor apartment. Turning the key in the lock, she shoved open the door and stepped into the silent cavern that she called “home.” Four white walls, a fireplace, and the musty smell of closed-up space greeted her.
Since she rarely spent any time here, she didn’t bother to keep anything living that might expire during one of her many absences, and much to her mother’s chagrin, decorating didn’t rate high on her priority list.
She never had anyone over as the only people she could really call friends were co-workers—and when they were together, they were working. Sam merely used the apartment to crash and grab the occasional meal—and sometimes veg out in front of the television before moving on to the next crime.
She glanced at the clock on the wall over her fireplace and groaned.
Four in the morning. Was it Monday or Tuesday? Maybe it was Wednesday. No, definitely early Monday morning—she’d missed church again yesterday. Why couldn’t the bad guys keep normal hours? She sighed at the silly thought. Exhausted to the point of being physically sick, she knew it was time for some sleep.
Sam ignored the blinking light on her answering machine, glanced at the caller ID box, and grimaced. Her mother. Not up to twenty questions, she didn’t even bother listening to the message.
Too Close to Home Page 2
