by Paris Hansen
People sucked.
And now her and her unborn child were going to die. Her husband would be left alone to grieve them both, all because people sucked, and she was too nice for her own good.
But maybe there was a way she could get free. She tried to assess her situation, noting they were still on the road, though the sound of traffic was nearly non-existent. She could hear the faint tune of a song playing on the radio and the wheels hitting the road beneath the vehicle. Her hands and feet were bound with zip ties, her mouth covered by tape. A bag or maybe a pillowcase covered her head, making it impossible for her to look around for a potential weapon.
She didn’t know why she even bothered. Her situation was hopeless. Her restraints were impossible to get out of, and even if she did, she was 39 weeks pregnant; where was she going to go? It had taken her twice as long to walk from her car to the store than usual. How far would she get if she had to run for her life?
Feeling defeated, she started to cry. Softly at first, but it quickly turned into full-on body-wracking sobs. Never in a million years would she have guessed this would be the way she’d go out. Her heart ached for the people she’d leave behind. For the baby she carried inside of her who’d never get a chance to take his first breath.
Sharp pain in her abdomen had her curling into the fetal position, her arms wrapping around her stomach as best she could given the zip ties. She’d been having Braxton-Hicks contractions off and on for the last couple of days. Her doctor told her everything was fine but to keep monitoring them the best she could. This pain felt different. Harsher and more insistent.
Tears dampened the fabric over her head as pain coursed through her again. Suddenly, her headache and her impending fate were a distant memory.
Was she in labor? Was something wrong with the baby? Would her kidnapper toss them away when he realized she was having her baby?
Hope coursed through her. It was foolish to let herself feel it, but she couldn’t help herself.
She moaned in agony as another contraction wracked her body. Moisture pooled between her legs, but she couldn’t tell what it was. Blood, urine, her water breaking. At this point, it could’ve been anything. She had no experience with what was happening to her body, nothing to reference besides the videos and things she’d heard in childbirth class.
But none of those people had been in her position when they were near their due date. None of them would’ve been able to tell her what to expect while going into labor after being abducted.
Curling in on herself, she tried to breathe through the pain. A feat nearly impossible with the tape over her mouth and the bag over her head. The van made a sharp turn causing her to slide along the floor into the side of the van. The new road they were on wasn’t paved; each bump and pothole they hit sent pain ricocheting through her bones. Between the contractions and the violence of each bump in the road, she prayed she’d eventually pass out from the pain.
A particularly bad bump had her head slamming down against the floor of the van. As her eyes fluttered closed and everything faded away, she couldn’t help but wonder why this of all of her prayers was the one finally being answered.
Chapter Seven
In less than five minutes, Sloane found herself in an FBI-issued vehicle with her ex-husband headed toward the abduction site in Danville, thirty miles east of the city. Traffic was heavy, like usual in the bay area, which meant the thirty-minute drive would likely take close to an hour, even if they turned on the lights and sirens. Sloane used the first few minutes to enter the cell phone numbers of the task force members, including Reid, into her phone in case she needed them.
Constant communication was important when it came to an investigation. It felt a bit foreign, knowing she would have to depend on other people, and they were going to be depending on her. Writing was a very solitary practice, even though she had an agent and an editor, and a handful of other people affiliated with her publisher who took care of specific details of her career. She was still very much alone 90% of the time.
Sloane tried not to get frustrated with the overwhelming traffic. It was one of the many things she didn't miss about her life in California. The man sitting next to her was another.
"What do you think the odds are he left something behind this time?" Sloane asked as Reid quickly changed lanes.
She didn't wait for him to respond, knowing he probably wouldn't. When he was working a case, Reid tended to keep everything bottled up. He went deep into himself to try to figure things out, unlike her, who always felt the need to say things out loud, even if she was the only one listening. Sometimes while writing, she found herself talking out loud, trying to fix a plot hole or untangle a mess she'd unintentionally made. Thankfully, there was no one around besides Apollo to comment on how crazy she probably looked.
"He's escalated his timeline. By a lot. He only did that one other time, and that was with Danielle. It was obvious she wasn't planned; maybe this one wasn't planned either. He fucked up with Danielle. Is it too much to hope he's fucked up with this one too?"
She felt terrible for focusing on what they could learn from the newest victim instead of focusing on finding her alive. Unfortunately, the odds of finding her alive were slim to none, but maybe if they could catch a break, they'd be able to catch her killer.
Sloane wanted to be wrong. She wanted him to leave her alive, but it had only happened once out of six victims, and she was pretty sure he didn't realize Maggie Whitten was alive when he walked away with her daughter. He probably wouldn't make the same mistake again.
With details of the initial killings moving through her head like a disjointed movie, Sloane was pleasantly surprised when the sea of cars in front of them parted. It took them another fifteen minutes to make their way to the scene. The victim had been kidnapped in broad daylight from the parking lot of a popular store. Her car and her groceries sat untouched right where they'd left them. Her melted ice cream now a discolored puddle beneath the red plastic cart.
The parking lot was packed and had reportedly been just as busy hours earlier when Tasha Simpson had checked out, yet no one witnessed her abduction. Sloane wasn't sure if the lack of witnesses was because the unsub had gained Tasha's trust, getting her to go with him willingly, or because everyone who could've seen something was too engrossed in their cell phones to even notice.
Looking around at the people milling about the parking lot, she made an educated guess it was probably the latter. It amazed her how oblivious people could be to their surroundings because of one technological advancement.
She did a sweep of the people standing around watching the crime scene techs work. Focusing on anyone who looked overly interested, she noted who to look for in the video one of the techs was taking. More often than not, offenders liked to revisit the crime scene or insert themselves into the investigation somehow, sometimes even as a witness to the crime itself. Sloane never figured their unsub for a showman, but she didn't plan on leaving a single stone unturned in her hunt for the killer.
Not catching the Mommy Murderer was one regret Sloane carried with her. She knew deep down there wasn't a lot she could do, but sometimes she kicked herself for not fighting harder regarding the unsub's gender. Maybe if she'd done more, they would've caught him the first time around.
"He was probably parked right next to her. Maybe he offered to help her with her groceries given her pregnancy. A regular ol' Good Samaritan."
Reid's observation had her turning away from the crowd and back to the victim's car.
"It would make a lot of sense. We wondered how he could've gotten so close to the victims. Offering help would've done the trick. So close to the end of their pregnancy, shopping would've taken a lot out of them. Getting help loading their stuff into their car would've been a Godsend," Sloane pointed out. "He could've easily used the same gimmick at most of the abduction sites. Here, let me help you…I promise I'm totally trustworthy and innocent, then bam."
"I don't get how anyo
ne could fall for that."
"It's because we know what goes bump in the night. Most people want to see the best in others. It doesn't matter if they watch documentaries about serial killers on TV or listen to podcasts. People are inherently good, and what happened to the girl down the street could never happen to me. If more people were skeptical and distrusting like we are, we'd have a hell of a lot less to investigate."
"Touché."
Sloane hated being right, but it was the unfortunate way of the world. You couldn't go through life assuming your neighbor was a serial killer or your cab driver was a rapist. It wasn't healthy in the long run, even if being overly cautious sometimes ended up saving people's lives. While most crimes happened to high-risk people, like the homeless, drug addicts, and prostitutes, low-risk victims were sometimes easier to take advantage of. They were too damn trusting for their own good, and in the end, it cost them.
Which was what happened to Tasha Simpson.
She trusted the wrong person and would end up paying for it with her life.
The only silver lining to the situation was Tasha's abduction had given them a little more to go on as far as how their unsub worked. They'd always wondered how he approached the women he abducted, and now they had an idea. It was the only positive they were likely to glean from the situation. At least that was the feeling she was getting when she looked at the crime scene techs spread around the site.
It looked like once again they were going to come up empty. No fingerprints, no fibers. Nothing to give them a leg up in their investigation. Nothing to lead them to where Tasha Simpson was taken or where Sabrina Moreno's son was being held. It was the same as five years ago, and it made Sloane sick to her stomach.
"We aren't going to get anything from the scene. We need to interview the husband, then head back to the office until her body shows up," Reid said as he turned to look at her. "We still haven't had a chance to go over everything with you here."
"I didn't see a crime board in the conference room, although I barely had a chance to look around."
"I forgot to ask how that went."
"You know how it is. Your boss just wanted to make sure I knew my place. And if I stepped out of line, she'd send me packing so fast my head would spin. The usual," Sloane shrugged then turned to walk back to Reid's car.
As she climbed inside, she thought about what she’d seen. Reid was right about the abduction site being a dead end for them. They wouldn't learn anything new from it while standing around watching the techs gather evidence. They’d be lucky to learn much more from it after the results were back on anything they found worth testing. They were only wasting time they didn't have. The helplessness enveloping her was a familiar old friend, but one she hoped wouldn't have time to get settled.
After entering Tasha Simpson’s address into the GPS, Reid maneuvered the car through the gawkers and the members of law enforcement who were holding them back.
"We haven't set up a board yet. Hell, we just barely got the task force together before I came to get you. When we get back to the office, could you set it up? You're the key to cracking this case wide open. I need you to tell us what we should do, what and who we should be looking at. How many other things did we miss the first time around."
Sloane opened her mouth to argue. She didn't want to tell them what to do. She didn't want the responsibility he was trying to push onto her. Before she could get a word out, she was interrupted by the ringing of Reid's phone. He pressed the Bluetooth button without taking his eyes off the road.
"Morgan."
"Hey baby, do you think you'll be home for dinner tonight?"
Reid glanced over at Sloane, his cheeks reddening. "Hey Sara, you're on speakerphone, and I'm not alone."
"Oh. I'm sorry."
Sloane smiled to herself, then turned to look out the side window. It wasn't much, but it was all she could do, besides sticking her fingers in her ears, to give Reid some privacy.
"It's okay. We just had something come up. I don't know when I'll be home."
"Oh wow, okay. Please be safe. I'll put a plate together for you and leave it in the fridge for whenever you get home. I love you."
"I love you, too."
Silence filled the car as the call ended, and Reid shifted awkwardly next to her. Sloane laughed at his reaction. To her, the situation didn't need to be weird. They'd been over for years, and they certainly didn't have feelings for each other. Up until he showed up on her doorstep that morning, Sloane hadn't thought of Reid as much more than her best friend's brother since finalizing their divorce.
"I…"
Sloane turned to face him, her hand in the air to stop him from speaking. "She sounds nice. You don't have to explain anything to me, you know. We're long over, and I told you years ago you needed to move on. I'm just glad you did what I said for once."
"It's just a little weird, is all."
Shrugging, Sloane turned back to look at the scenery passing by the passenger side window. "It doesn't have to be. We don't have to talk about her or your relationship. Just know I'm happy for you, Reid. I really am."
"So, Emily never mentioned her or anything?"
"Emily and I don't talk about you at all. She's doing a great job of being completely neutral in this weird situation we have her in. She's the greatest best friend a girl could ever ask for, and I'm sure a really great sister. She won't mention you unless I bring you up, which I don't. That's why I didn't know you were still in the area, let alone dating someone."
"She doesn't mention you either unless I ask. And I do ask every once in a while. I want to know how you're doing, and since I can't check on you myself, Emily's the next best thing. Her and Tally, of course. That little girl talks about you non-stop after one of their trips or calls with you."
Sloane sighed and looked back over at her ex. "I'm not your responsibility, Reid. You don't have to check up on me."
"I know I don't have to, but you were my wife, Sloane. You were a big part of my life, and even if you don’t want to hear it, I still care about what happens to you. I want to know you're doing okay. Especially since you're living in the damn woods on that island in complete isolation."
"Not complete isolation," Sloane disagreed.
Not because she wanted to start an argument but because she had no idea how to respond to Reid's declaration. It wasn't a huge surprise to know he cared about what happened to her; she still cared about what happened to him too. Of course, never asking about him made it seem like she didn't, but it was the only way she could protect herself.
Wanting desperately to change the subject, she went over in her head what she'd read on the plane. There'd been something bugging her since she read the report on Sabrina Moreno, but she hadn't had a chance to go over it with Reid until now.
"Why is he holding onto them?" she asked, hoping the change in subject didn't give Reid whiplash. "Before he either blitzed them in their house or he took care of business and dumped their bodies within an hour after he abducted them. Tasha's already been missing for two hours, and Sabrina Moreno was gone for four. What's changed?"
"Maybe he's spent the last few years perfecting his method? Setting up an operating room of sorts. Now, he can take his time."
The thought sent a chill up Sloane's spine.
They needed to sit down and go over the possible theories from now and before. Was Reid right? Had the unsub not gotten what he wanted from Maggie but instead spent the last five years practicing?
When the killings ended the first time around, people assumed he'd either been arrested for another crime or they agreed with Sloane's assessment. She figured he got what he wanted and didn't need to kill anymore. To have him back at it now made her wonder if she'd been wrong about his original motivation. The only other explanation that made sense to her was he'd moved away because he'd unintentionally left Maggie Whitten alive.
"We need to run a search for his MO throughout the country. Maybe he left town five years ago because the po
lice were on to him. He could've moved anywhere in the country or Canada or Mexico and started over again there. We also need to look into the Dark Web for black market baby sales, see if any of those can lead us to the unsub."
"Both of those things are on the list for the analysts to check out. We've also got them looking into anyone arrested around the time the killing stopped and released recently."
Sloane nodded as she looked over at Reid. "Good idea. I know it was the popular theory the first time around, but we didn't have luck with any of the people arrested back then."
"No, but now we're able to widen our search, and we have better parameters to work with."
The notification of a text coming through drew their attention to Reid's phone. He pushed a button on the steering wheel, and a computer-generated voice started to read the text.
"I'm at the Simpson residence, but I will wait for you to arrive before speaking to the husband."
The text was from Agent Cade and was as to the point as she would expect a text message from him to be. Sloane wasn't sure what to think of the man. Their brief introduction in the conference room had been charged in a way she hadn't expected. The way he'd looked at her was like he was trying to look into her soul. It was incredibly unnerving.
Most people didn't know what to make of her before her breakdown. She had to assume it was more difficult to figure her out now, even though she hadn't changed at all. Part of her wondered what it was like for a man like Agent Cade, whose job it was to get in the heads of other people, to try to get a handle on her.
"What's his deal anyway?" Sloane asked before she could stop herself.
"Who? Cade?"
"Yeah."
"I don't really know. I've been trying to avoid him as much as possible."
