She’d paid attention, absorbing the details. Knowledge is power. The CIA had taught her that.
If this was an elaborate cover story, it was the most convincing one she’d ever seen. She grabbed her bags and Travis walked her inside. Just like he’d said, they had a state of the art security system, and she felt a bit better once she saw it. Tom, or whatever the serial killer’s name was, would find it nearly impossible to break into this place.
Although, it won’t keep Langley from finding you.
As soon as they got inside, Storm gave her a short tour of the building.
She hated to admit it, but Lucy loved HQ.
The place looked like it should be featured in Architectural Digest. She’d spent the last year on the run, hiding out in nasty no-tell hotel rooms and sleeping on couches. She hadn’t lived in a decent place since she’d escaped her handler and Hussam in DC.
In the foyer, a huge brick fireplace was situated in the middle of the room. Roughhewn stairs led up to the second floor. Another staircase led to a third floor, and when she leaned to the side, Lucy glimpsed an open bedroom door.
Those must be living quarters.
Travis led her down the hallway, past an industrial-sized kitchen, a comfy-looking living room, a bathroom, and eventually, they stopped in the doorway of a meeting room.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I called an early morning team meeting to discuss this situation.”
“Whatever.”
He held out his hands. “Want me to take your bags up to a room?”
She clutched the straps protectively. Lucy wanted to say no, just for spite, but it would be childish. Besides, she didn’t want to keep the bags beside her during the meeting.
She nodded. “Sure.”
Travis beamed, as though she’d just given him a compliment. It lit up his face and her stomach fluttered in response.
What the hell is wrong with me? This bastard stabbed you in the back. Remember?
“Want a cup of coffee?”
She groaned at the thought. Lucy had been up all night and she needed a caffeine fix. Badly.
“Yes, please, I take it with—”
“Honey and half and half. Yes, I remember.”
Once again, she was in that café, in Baghdad. They’d been having dinner together, lingering over a plate of baklava and Turkish coffee. He’d been flirting with her, teasing, and she’d been so in love with him, Lucy had never even seen his betrayal coming.
Her life had never been the same since.
In retrospect, she should’ve figured it out. There’d been something guilty in his expression. And he’d drawn out the dinner, milking every last minute with her. Obviously, he’d been stalling, waiting for his team to arrive on the scene.
Lucy shook her head to scatter the thoughts. Now wasn’t the time to walk down painful memory lane. Later, when she was alone, Lucy would indulge herself in a funk.
“Just to be crystal clear, I’m not staying in a room with you.” They’d never consummated their relationship. Thank God. And they weren’t about to start today.
“Of course not. You’ll have your own room.” Travis strapped her bags on and presumably headed upstairs. She took the opportunity to familiarize herself with the room.
Like the rest of the place, the room was rustic.
There were three brick walls, and one large floor to ceiling window, with a breathtaking view of the woods behind the barn. She wanted to go for a hike out there and explore the wilderness.
This isn’t a vacation. Get your head straight.
In the center of the room, stood a farmer’s table surrounded by several brown leather chairs. There were a series of framed posters on the wall, all of them featuring motivational sayings.
The only easy day was yesterday.
All in, all the time.
Don’t run to your death.
Have a shared sense of purpose.
Hmph, the last one tracks. She and Travis were on the same page when it came to solving Christy’s murder. And once they did, all bets were off.
Lucy recognized another poster in the center of the rest. It was the Navy warfare special insignia—a golden eagle clutching a trident, an anchor, and a rifle.
Had he been working with Navy SEALs?
She’d wondered what happened to him after the CIA took her into custody. It’s like he just vanished. Whenever she’d asked about him, her handler had dodged the question and moved onto the next topic.
“You’re Lucy?” Someone asked, and she whirled to see a man giving her a once over.
Lucy recognized him from the picture Travis had shown her. Logan Knoxville had coal black hair and piercing blue eyes. The man was fit, and around six feet tall.
When she’d first glanced at the picture, Lucy had been astonished to see Travis worked with pretty girls and Magic Mike extras. Not a homely one in the bunch.
According to Travis, Nox had been an Army Ranger and a lethal sniper, taking out members of Al Qaeda and ISIS all over the Middle East before joining Black Star.
I like him already.
“Yep, and you must be Nox.”
“I see my reputation has preceded me.”
“Travis briefed me during the ride over,” Lucy explained. “It’s more efficient to hit the ground running.”
“He said you worked for the agency.” Nox rolled his eyes. “Actually, he implied it, since Storm is a secretive son of a bitch.”
“Storm…?”
“Travis. Storm is his nickname.”
Weird. Since when did he have a nickname? Or maybe he just gives everybody a fictitious name.
“And you were a Marine?” Nox asked.
“Yep.”
He squinted at her. “Why did you leave the Corps?”
Lucy knew what Nox was up to. He was simply testing her mettle. Whenever a new recruit joined the ranks, the old guard gave him or her a hard time. When someone is tasked with guarding your six, it pays to find out if they’re up to it or not.
“I was being underutilized. Since I’m female, I didn’t get to do as much as I wanted to.”
They’d kept her far away from the action most of the time. She understood there was an imperative to ensure the survival of the species and all, but Lucy knew she was capable of more dangerous missions. Due to her language skills, she’d spent the bulk of her time translating.
Her parents had been horrified when Lucy had told them she’d enlisted. She was smart enough to sign up before they got the chance to talk her out of it. No one else in her family had ever served, so they didn’t get it.
A former Marine had been speaking on campus one day. He’d lost both of his legs in an IED attack, but it hadn’t slowed him down. She’d been inspired to fight, to serve her country. And despite everything, Lucy didn’t regret the decision. She belonged on the front lines.
“I get that.” Nox grunted in what she assumed was approval.
“When I joined a private security firm in Iraq, I got more responsibility.” And the paychecks had been better, too. Win-win.
“And from there you joined the CIA? Storm was vague on the details.”
“Yeah, he loves to be ambiguous.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I can’t confirm or deny which agency I might’ve worked for, but I will say this much. It’s more like I was drafted.” She frowned. “So, did I pass?”
He nodded. “Yeah, flying colors.”
Lucy had a feeling this was a tightknit group. Baylor Security had been the same way. They all had each other’s backs, and she’d trusted every single one of them.
“I gotta say though, you’re not what I expected.” Nox squinted at her.
“Let me guess, you were expecting a scantily clad chick? Something along the lines of Mata Hari?”
Mata Hari was an infamous courtesan and exotic dancer who worked as a spy during World War I. Like James Bond, she’d done a little sexpionage to get intelligence. Lucy was more of the gi
rl-next-door type, assuming the girl next door could kick a terrorist’s ass and not even break a nail.
Although, the comparison hit close to home. In order to get information on terrorists, she’d been forced to compromise her morals in the process. There was even a spy term for it, a honey trap. Lucy was fortunate she’d escaped with her life.
He chuckled. “A man can dream, I guess.”
“Since we’re good, let’s make it official.” Lucy stuck a hand out to shake his and smiled. “Pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.” Nox was calm, cool and as sharp as metal. Easy on the eyes, too. She liked him immediately.
“Storm said you have some special abilities.”
“Did he? Well, I know six languages.”
His jaw dropped. “How on Earth did you learn so many?”
“My grandad is from Iraq and he spoke English, Arabic, Kurdish, and Armenian. I picked up French and Spanish in school.”
Her grandfather had married an American woman, and her mom had settled down with an American guy, too. She’d grown up with a mix of cultures in her childhood home and Lucy wouldn’t have had it any other way. Although, she hadn’t been home in ages. No doubt, the CIA had bugged her parents’ place.
“Your granddad taught you the first four?”
She nodded. “He immigrated here when he was a young man, and he taught the language to his family.” Both her mother and grandfather had passed on the knowledge to Lucy, teaching her several of them at the same time. “I guess I have an ear for picking up languages.”
“And I’m excellent with a knife.” Lucy absently withdrew it, twirling the blade around.
Nox widened his eyes. “Oh, you’re that good?”
“Why, yes, I am.” Lucy’s grin was cocky as she threw it. The blade sailed past his head and plunged into the wall behind him without even pausing to aim.
“Testin’ my reflexes, huh?”
“Yup, and you passed.”
Nox pulled on the handle, but it didn’t budge. He tugged again, and it still stayed deeply embedded in the wall. He looked at her with something resembling respect.
Lucy smiled slyly. “Want me to get it out?”
“Naw, I got it.” He yanked the knife again and took out a healthy chunk of drywall with it. He smiled smugly at Lucy, then dusted it off, before handing the blade back.
She grimaced. “Um, sorry about your wall. I really didn’t think this demo through.” Since she hadn’t been living anywhere nice, damaging her surroundings hadn’t been an issue.
“Don’t be.” Nox leaned forward to whisper. “This place ain’t mine.”
She chuckled.
“What are you two talking about?” They parted as Travis walked in the room, carrying two cups of coffee.
“Nothing,” Lucy said quickly.
His brows pinched together, and a muscle worked in his jaw. What’s his deal?
“Not a damn thing,” Nox drawled. Just then, his phone rang, and he checked it. Almost instantly, Nox’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Sorry, gotta take this. It’s Maeve.”
Maeve, whoever she was, seemed to be important to Nox. Lucky girl.
He spoke to her softly, although Lucy couldn’t make out the words. This was clearly a case of true love. At one time, Lucy thought she’d had a similar connection with someone.
Put it away, Lucy.
“He’s talking to his girlfriend, you know,” Travis said, as he passed her a cup of coffee.
“I didn’t ask, Storm.” Lucy wasn’t interested in Nox anyway.
“Nox told you?”
“Yeah, you’ve got a crapload of aliases.”
“It’s just a nickname, like Lucky.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Nox paced back and forth across the room. He wasn’t paying them any attention. His focus was solely on Maeve, so they could speak freely.
He studied her over the room of his cup. “I used to call you Lucky all the time.”
“Back when we were friends.”
“We were never friends,” Storm said hoarsely.
“No, I was your mark.”
He gritted his teeth. “That’s not what I meant.”
Lucy refused to ask him for clarification. Don’t get sucked in again.
Thankfully, an interruption arrived.
“Sorry, I’m late.” A harried-looking woman walked into the room and Lucy recognized her as well. It was Mack, the former FBI agent.
Sweet Jesus. All we need is another governmental agent in the mix. Lucy had a real distrust for authority figures these days.
“No problem,” Storm said. “It’s just gonna be the four of us since the rest of the crew is out working cases. Let’s have a seat and get down to it.” He waved an arm toward the table, and everyone sat, except for Nox.
“Hey, Nox?” Storm asked.
He didn’t respond.
“Nox!” Storm’s fingers curled into fists.
Lucy smothered a laugh with her hand. Yet another point in Nox’s favor.
“Nox, get off the damn phone,” Mack said sharply.
And he obeyed her! I’ll be damned.
“How come you ignored me and not her?” Storm asked.
“Because I don’t like you,” Nox said slowly as if the answer should be obvious.
Lucy and Mack snickered, and Storm scowled at both of them.
And then his phone went off.
He answered it. “What’s up, Chief?”
Chief? He must mean Jackson West, the boss of this little operation.
Lucy remembered West from his picture. He had short-cropped blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His features were refined— high cheekbones, full lips, and arched brows. West had big quarterback shoulders, too.
Yet another hottie. Maybe the male members of the group should put together a beefcake calendar? They’d make a lot of money.
“Yeah, I’ll put you on speakerphone.” Storm hit a button and placed the phone in the center of the table.
“I thought I’d check in on the situation. Give me the bullet.”
“Okay, I’m going to get right to it. I think we have a serial killer in the area.” Storm pushed a manila folder into the center of the table. Lucy knew where he’d gotten the pictures. Storm had hacked the police database.
“I have info on two other victims, besides Lucy’s friend, Christy.”
As Storm explained the case to West, they rifled through the contents together. Inside, were crime scene photos of two young women—Naomi Johnson and Betty Wilson.
In addition to the infinity symbol, Naomi had rope marks on her body. She’d been tied to a gate, displayed like a wreath. The other woman, Betty, had been found in the park with her legs splayed apart. All the women were wearing lingerie. But why?
“And how did we get this case exactly?” West asked.
“Uh, Lucy brought it to me. She’s a friend of mine.”
Big surprise. Storm was lying to his boss. Good Lord. How do you know Storm isn’t telling the truth? His lips are moving.
Lucy cleared her throat and glared at Storm.
“I mean she’s an old colleague,” Storm said. “And her friend was murdered last night, Christy Baker.”
Colleague my ass. More like the girl you deceived.
“I assume she’s getting the friends and family discount?” West asked.
Lucy glanced at Nox for an explanation.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear. “It means you get our help for free, darlin’.”
“Thank you,” she mouthed.
“Why are you thanking him?” Storm asked tightly.
West cleared his throat. “Alright, I gotta go meet a client. Keep me posted on this case.”
“Will do. Bye, Chief.” Storm hung up the phone and turned his attention back to the rest of the group.
“Did the women have something in common?” Mack asked, pushing a red curl behind one ear.
Storm frowned. “What do you mean?”
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“Victimology is crucial. If you find out who he’s hunting, it should lead you to the murderer. And in my experience, serial killers have a type.” Mack studied the pictures. “They go after one specific sort of victim, someone who reminds them of a woman who hurt them. Not all serial killers are male, of course, but most of them are. In general, their victims are female.”
And here I thought terrorists were bad. At least they were murdering people for a cause, however crazy it sounded. Serial killers were just working out their issues on unsuspecting people.
“Christy was a Marine, and worked as a security guard,” Lucy volunteered.
Nox picked up a document. “According to the police, Betty was a private investigator.”
Storm scratched his chin. “And Naomi was a former cop.”
“Hmm.” Mack pressed her lips together, as though considering the information. “All of them are powerful women. Were there any defensive wounds?”
“No,” Lucy said, paging through the pictures. “These were all strong women and they would’ve fought back.” It didn’t make any sense.
“What about a toxicology report?” Nox asked. “If they were drunk or drugged, they wouldn’t have been able to defend themselves.”
Storm shook his head. “They all had alcohol in their systems, but not enough to lower their defenses this much—one or two glasses of wine at the most.”
“Have there been any other victims?” Lucy asked.
Storm shook his head. “Not as far as I know. I found, er, footage of the bodies on the dark web.”
Lucy cringed. “So, the bastard is killing them and filming it?”
“The aftermath anyway.” Storm sighed. “It’s almost like he’s proud of his handiwork or something.”
“Maybe that’s why the bodies were displayed, too.” Lucy leaned back in her chair. “But why did he leave Christy in her apartment?”
“He could’ve been interrupted,” Mack offered. “And he didn’t have time to take the body to a second location.”
“And what’s up with the infinity symbols?” Nox grimaced. “Because that’s fuckin’ messed up.”
“I think it’s picquerism.” Mack laid the women’s photos out, examining the marks more closely.
“And for those of who didn’t major in sex crimes?” Storm asked.
“It’s a paraphilia. Some people are attracted to penetrating a partner, or a victim, in this case with sharp objects like knives, pins, and razor blades. Usually, they focus on sexualized areas, like genitalia, buttocks, and breasts. Sometimes they even bite their partners.”
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