by Terri Reed
Grace ran into the room, almost knocking her over. “Easy, girl.” She reached down and gave Grace a quick pat on the head, trying to reassure her. Taking a deep breath, she started walking toward the kitchen. At least there she could grab a knife to protect herself. She was fairly certain that she’d set the alarm before she went to bed, but now she started second-guessing herself. She’d been so engrossed in her work she couldn’t remember.
Another loud bark from Grace had Lily moving quickly through the kitchen. Even though it was dark, there was still a thread of moonlight coming in through the kitchen windows. Enough light for her to locate her butcher block and grab the biggest knife she had.
Lily knew she wasn’t like most women. She’d spent five years in the CIA on highly dangerous operations overseas. But she’d never confronted danger in her own home. Although she wasn’t afraid, she was angry at the possibility that someone had dared to invade her privacy. She clenched the knife in her right hand, ready to fight off any attacker.
Then she reached into the kitchen drawer, grabbed a flashlight with her left hand and scanned the bright light over the living room. Nothing.
Was it possible that there was just a power outage in the area? Possible, yes, but that wouldn’t explain Grace’s incessant barking. Grace stood beside her, now on high alert. The young Labrador was loyal and courageous, even if she still needed a bit of training.
Lily had had enough. She wanted to end this. “I’m calling the cops right now,” she said loudly. “So you better get out of my house or show yourself, you coward.”
She didn’t have a landline, and her cell phone was in her bedroom. But the intruder didn’t know that. Assuming there was an intruder. For a moment, she strained to listen but couldn’t hear any noise now. She took a few steps back into the kitchen.
The lights flickered on and her microwave beeped, signaling the return of power to her house. Quickly, she ran up the steps to grab her gun from the nightstand, just to be on the safe side. Then she intended to clear the house room by room, as she had done many times before on missions.
But first she grabbed her cell and dialed 911, reporting to the operator that there was an intruder and she needed help right away. While she felt she could hold her own, she wasn’t an idiot and would welcome some backup right now. Then her lights turned off again. Something was definitely wrong.
She quickly gave her address to the operator. She heard a sound behind her one second too late. Strong arms grabbed on to her, ripping her phone out of her hand. She didn’t hesitate to act. Using years of self-defense and martial arts training, she was able to break his initial hold. Her response seemed to catch him off guard. He must’ve assumed that she would be a pliant victim. This man had no idea what she was capable of. He’d picked the wrong house to break into tonight.
It was dark in her bedroom, but she could see the outline of her assailant. She mentally cataloged what she could discern of his physical appearance. Male, approximately six feet tall and wearing a dark ski mask. She couldn’t even get a good look at his eyes because she was too busy fighting him off.
She landed a hard right kick into his side, and he grunted loudly in pain. Not waiting for him to recover, she steadied herself into position and got in one more strong kick that made him stagger backward a few steps.
“The cops will be here any minute,” she told him. Backup was on the way. But instead of what she was used to, other CIA agents backing her up—or stabbing her in the back—this would be the police.
She reached for the Glock from inside the bedside table drawer as her attacker took a few more steps back and then turned to run. He must have realized that the police had to be close to her house by now.
With the gun in her hands, she ran out of her room after him. He deserved to be arrested and face justice for what he’d done. Because if he’d done this to her, chances were he was a repeat offender.
But as she started down the stairs, she twisted her ankle and hit the ground hard. She groaned loudly. The attacker was going to get away. And there was nothing she could do about it.
* * *
FBI special agent Rex Sullivan looked over at Atlanta Police Department officer Sean Bishop, who had offered to give him a ride home. The FBI had been called in last week because the APD felt they had sufficient evidence to indicate that a potential serial killer was on the loose. Rex had been picked up earlier at the FBI field office and taken to the latest crime scene.
The woman’s body had been discovered that afternoon, but she definitely hadn’t been killed today. Due to the advanced state of decomposition, the coroner was placing the time of death at about two weeks ago. The victim had lived alone in a rental condo. Sadly, no one had reported the young woman missing, and it took her rent not being paid before the landlord entered the condo to find her lifeless body.
Another innocent victim of a totally heinous crime. Profiling and catching these twisted criminals was Rex’s specialty. The perpetrators were most often male. And they typically possessed a lethal combination of the ability to blend in with society and the skills to be a cold-blooded killer.
The young officer with him was trying to hold it together after visiting the grisly murder scene that the FBI and APD were working together. But with the images fresh in his mind, Rex had to admit that he didn’t look forward to going to bed, either. So when an emergency call had come across the radio a few minutes ago, Rex was actually relieved that they were close to the location where it came from.
“Thanks for understanding,” Sean said.
“Totally understand. And I won’t do anything to interfere. This is your jurisdiction.” Rex was just happy to have the diversion.
“We don’t even know the full details yet. Just that there was a distress call from a female citing a possible intruder and then the 911 operator lost contact. We’ll be there soon, but back to today’s crime scene for a minute, this makes murder number three in two months all with a similar MO,” Sean said. “This guy doesn’t show any sign of stopping. I’m guessing that after tonight, the FBI will officially label this guy a serial killer, right?”
Rex rubbed his chin. “I’m leaning toward that assessment, yes. We have three victims so far. All the women in their mid to late twenties, all living alone. All three of the victims had long, dark hair and light-colored eyes. But beyond that, my team is going to be working on finding other connections between the victims. It will be important to determine if there are ties between them or if he’s just targeting randomly based upon looks.”
Sean pulled the police car to a stop in front of the designated address. A two-story house with a big front porch. “This is it. Let’s go check it out.”
Rex didn’t normally work active scenes. He was usually called in after the fact, once a murder had been committed. But he had finished at the top of his class at Quantico and had seen some heavy field action in his first couple of years. So he felt more than prepared to go in, and there was no way he was sending Sean into this house without backup.
They ran up the porch steps and entered the front door, which had been left unlocked. That first tidbit of information already had Rex uneasy.
“Atlanta Police. Anyone here?” Sean yelled.
Rex was met with a barking yellow Lab running full steam ahead, fur flying. The dog jumped up and put its paws on him. It seemed friendly but agitated. Probably from whatever had happened at the house. “It’s okay,” he told the Lab. “We’re here to help.”
“I’m up here,” a female voice yelled loudly.
Rex followed the voice to the top of the stairs. And that was when he saw her. A beautiful woman with long, wavy, dark hair and bright blue eyes. A chill shot down his arm when he realized that she looked astonishingly like his other three murder victims.
“I’m Special Agent Rex Sullivan with the FBI, and this is Officer Sean Bishop wi
th the Atlanta Police Department.”
Sean crouched down beside her on the stairs. “The ambulance is on its way, ma’am. What happened?”
“I was attacked,” she said. “The man got away.”
“What’s your name?” Rex asked.
“Lily Parker.”
Just then, Rex’s good buddy, Atlanta police detective Derrick McKinley, walked up the steps. “I heard the call for backup and I came over.”
“What hurts?” Rex asked.
“My ankle,” she responded. “I twisted it when I was trying to go after the guy.”
“Wait. You were going after him?” Rex asked. This woman had guts.
“Yes. My Glock is right there.”3 She nodded down to the step just below her. “It’s mine. He knew that I’d made the 911 call. Once he couldn’t easily subdue me, he probably decided to cut his losses and get out of here.”
The EMT walked up the steps and went to work on Lily.
“We’ll let you get medical attention,” Rex said. “But then we’ll need your detailed statement.”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
“My recommendation would be to transport her to the hospital. The doctors will need to take X-rays to determine if her ankle is broken,” the paramedic said.
“I think it’s just a mild sprain, if that,” she said.
“Still, you need to get it looked at,” he responded.
She gave a reluctant nod. “All right.”
The Labrador walked up a few steps and barked, getting Rex’s attention. It looked up at Rex with big chocolate-brown eyes. “What’s your name, buddy?” He leaned down and took a close look at the collar with a bone-shaped nameplate hanging off it. The green collar didn’t give away the gender. But the name did, along with a closer inspection of the pup.
“That’s Grace,” Lily said loudly from a few steps up. “She will be fine here while I’m at the hospital. I’m sure I won’t be gone too long,” Lily said.
Rex nodded. His mind went into overdrive analyzing the situation. It was entirely possible that this beautiful, mysterious Glock-carrying woman had just escaped being the fourth victim of a serial killer.
* * *
Lily awoke feeling completely disoriented but was quickly able to determine by the antiseptic smell that she was in a hospital. She recalled having been given a pain pill in the early-morning hours, even though she’d insisted that she didn’t really need it. But the doctor wanted to get the swelling down and had said it would make her more comfortable.
Looking around the space, her heart immediately warmed. Sitting in the hospital room were two of her friends from childhood. She’d become close with them again since she’d returned to Atlanta.
“Lily, you’re awake!” Alison Cruz said. Her petite, brunette friend squeezed her hand tightly and had tears in her eyes.
“How long have I been out?”
“Not that long. It’s just about eleven in the morning,” Jackson Bray said. She’d known Jackson since sixth grade. His dark brown eyes were filled with concern. “Guy wanted to be here, but he couldn’t get anyone to cover his shift at work. We are so glad to see you awake.”
“What actually happened to you? How did you hurt your ankle?” Alison asked. “We couldn’t get any specific information from the police officers or the hospital. We only found out you were here because we got concerned when you wouldn’t answer any of our calls or texts. So we went by your house and a police officer filled us in.”
Before Lily could respond, the man she recognized as FBI special agent Rex Sullivan entered the room. Standing at least six foot two, he was dressed in a dark suit with a navy tie. His brown hair was cut short.
“Ms. Parker, how are you feeling today?” Rex asked.
“A little groggy from the pain meds, but my ankle isn’t hurting as badly this morning.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’d appreciate it if I could have some time alone with you to get a full statement.”
“Anything you need to say can be said in front of my friends.”
He nodded. “I understand your feelings, but it’s protocol.”
Relenting, she looked over at Alison and Jackson. “I’m sorry, you two. Could you give us a few minutes?”
“Of course,” Jackson said. He gently touched her shoulder. “We’ll go grab some coffee and come back in a bit.” Her friends walked out of the hospital room, leaving her alone with Rex.
He took a seat and pulled out a notepad. “I just wanted to hear your full account of what happened last night. I’m working your case in conjunction with the Atlanta Police Department.”
She wondered why he’d be involved at all in a breaking and entering with an assault, but figured she would just go ahead and get this over with. “My dog Grace started barking around 3:00 a.m. I went downstairs to check things out. The power kept cutting off and on multiple times before you got there. I didn’t see anyone in the house, but I felt as if someone could’ve been there.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“I ran upstairs to get my cell to dial 911. I started making the call, and a man grabbed me before I could get to my Glock.”
“Yes, we took the Glock into evidence.” He paused. “What happened after he grabbed you? Did you see him?”
“It was dark in my bedroom. I estimate that he was about six feet tall, two hundred pounds, give or take. But he was dressed all in black and wore a ski mask. I couldn’t even see his eyes. However, I was able to fight him off.”
He nodded. “Are you trained in self-defense techniques?”
“Yes, I am. If you want my honest assessment, I think he was actually surprised I fought back. He seemed thrown off by it. And when I reminded him that the cops were coming, he started to retreat. I got my Glock and was going to go after him, but that’s when I twisted my ankle and fell on the stairs.”
He kept jotting down notes. “What do you do for a living, Ms. Parker?”
Here came the tricky part. Would he believe that she was a photographer? The problem was that he’d seen the Glock at the scene, so there was no escaping that. “I’m a photographer.”
“That’s your only job?”
“Yes. It keeps me fully occupied.” Which was the truth. It was her only current job. She’d left the CIA life behind.
“Do you know anyone that would want to hurt you?”
She kept a straight face. “Not that I know of.” There was no way she was divulging her CIA backstory to a man she’d just met, even if he was working her case.
He took a breath and stopped writing. “I don’t want to frighten you by telling you this, but I feel I have to.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “Tell me what?”
“I’m working in conjunction with the Atlanta Police Department, and we are investigating a string of murders that have occurred in the city.”
“String of murders? Are you talking about a serial killer? I was wondering why the FBI was responding to a police call.”
“I was working a crime scene not far away from your home when the 911 call came in last night.”
“Okay, but how do I fit into all of this?”
“Once again, there’s no cause for alarm at the moment. You’re safe.”
She nodded. “I understand. But please tell me what it is you’re trying to say.”
“Ms. Parker, here’s the situation. You look strikingly similar to the other three victims from the case. I’m assuming you’re in your twenties?”
“Yes, I’m twenty-seven.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes, just with Grace.”
“All of the victims have been attractive women in their twenties, living alone, with long dark hair and light-colored eyes.”
She felt her
eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Are you trying to say that the attacker was in my house trying to make me his next victim? That the man I came into contact with actually may be the serial killer that you’re trying to apprehend?”
“I can’t say with certainty that your attacker is the same man I’m trying to hunt down, but I don’t really believe in this many coincidences. The last victim was murdered approximately two weeks ago. You may have very well been his next target.”
“Wow.” She thought she’d left her life of danger behind when she quit the Agency.
She blew out a breath. “By any chance, did you find my cell at the house? The man who attacked me grabbed it away from me last night in the struggle.”
“We didn’t. Did you have any sensitive information on there like financial records—anything like that?”
“No.” Her time at the CIA had taught her to be wary of storing any intel on electronic devices. “But it did have a lot of my photos on it. Things I needed for work.”
“I’m sorry about your phone. We will attempt to track it, but I’m assuming that search will come up empty. I also suggest you get your locks changed.”
“Thanks. That’s a good idea.” She looked up and saw another man walk into her hospital room. She recognized him as one of the officers at the scene last night. He screamed law enforcement, with his dark, conservative suit. He was tall with thick, blond hair.
Rex looked at her. “Ms. Parker, I don’t think you officially met Derrick last night. This is Detective Derrick McKinley from the Atlanta Police Department. He’s also working your case.”
Derrick walked over and smiled. There was a kindness in his blue eyes. “How are you doing, Ms. Parker?”
“I’m ready to get out of here.”
“I can only imagine how you must be feeling. I just wanted to stop by and check on you. And to pick up this guy.” He nodded toward Rex. “The doctor said she was about to come in. Have you given Rex your statement?”
“Yes.” She looked over at Rex. “Did you have more questions?”
