by Mary Stone
Try as she might, she couldn’t figure out why he’d butchered four rats and stuffed their innards with Black Cat firecrackers. Though the memory of Justin tossing the miniature explosives at her feet on the Fourth of July had never been significant to Winter, perhaps the experience differed for him. Or perhaps he merely had ready access to fireworks.
She didn’t know, and that was the part that threatened to drive her insane.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she rubbed the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. She needed to think about something else, to concentrate on the episode of Supernatural she’d been instructed to watch, to solve a sudoku puzzle or a crossword, something.
She needed a hobby.
Stamp collecting, bird watching, photography, something.
Autumn loved video games, so maybe Winter would try to play an online game as a way to spend more time with her friend. Autumn also liked to fish. According to her, the lack of lakes in Virginia compared to Minnesota was what she missed most about her home. Noah was from Texas, so he had to enjoy fishing.
Winter was halfway through composing a text message to ask Autumn for suggestions on fishing rods when a knock on the front door startled her. Noah had used the night off to catch up on laundry, but he’d assured her he would come by when he was finished.
Pushing herself to stand, Winter pocketed her phone and paused the television. “Who is it?” She was sure she knew the answer, but in her line of work, it never hurt to be thorough.
“It’s me.” Of course it was Noah.
Smiling, she flicked the deadbolt and pulled open the door. The look of contentment gave way to curiosity as she spotted the edginess in his eyes.
She scooted to the side as he stepped through the doorway. “What happened? Your laundry didn’t catch fire, did it?”
Though slight, he smiled at the question. “No, thankfully, but I did just get a call from Bobby. Ryan was keeping tabs on that site, and he found three new pictures of a girl. They haven’t identified her yet, but they’re looking into it.”
As she followed him to the living room, she pushed her hair back from her face and pressed her palms against the sides of her head. “Pictures? Just pictures this time, no video?”
Muttering a curse, Noah took a seat in the center of the couch. “The change is a little unexpected, but hopefully it’ll give us a chance to try to find her before anything else happens to her. That’s what Weyrick, Parrish, and Ryan are all working on right now. Once they find out who she is, then we can make sure she’s okay.”
Winter gave an approving nod as she sat at his side. “Then she’s in good hands.”
With another slight smile, he returned the nod. “That’s true. And honestly, I think it proves Parrish’s theory about this guy right. If the killer’s young, then it means he’s still evolving. And we’re the lucky sons of bitches who get to tag along for that development.”
Winter chewed on her thumbnail before making herself stop. “Lucky isn’t the term I’d use, but I’m glad we’re there. At least that way, we know there’s someone trying to stop it. If he’s young, honestly, that’s better. It means we get the chance to stop a serial killer before he’s racked up a body count in the double digits.”
Noah’s expression was thoughtful as he nodded. “That’s true. I suppose that’s a good way to look at it. Man, look at you, being all optimistic over here.” He draped an arm over her shoulders.
Rolling her eyes in feigned indignance, she kissed his cheek before she tucked her face in the crook of his neck. “I think I need a hobby,” she muttered.
He combed his fingers through her unbound hair. “It’s good to have a hobby, but what makes you say that?”
She closed her eyes as he massaged her scalp. “Any time I’ve got free time, it’s like my brain just has to be an asshole and wander off to all kinds of thoughts I don’t want to think about. I feel like maybe if I have something to do, then it won’t happen as often.”
Kissing the top of her head, he pulled her closer. “Maybe. But I don’t know. It sounds like maybe there’s just something that’s really bothering you. And if that’s the case, then even a massive stamp collection won’t get your mind off of it completely.”
A silence enveloped them as she considered her next words. Grasping his upper arm with one hand, she straightened until she met his dark green eyes. A shadow of concern had settled in his visage.
“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
She bit back a weary sigh. “Honestly? I think I’m just worried about my brother. And what’s worse, it was almost easier believing he was dead, as terrible as that is to say.”
“There are things worse than death,” Noah murmured against her hair.
The hair rose on Winter’s arms. “Yes, exactly. And I think there are different kinds of dead too. The Justin I once knew is dead, and we don’t know what kind of monster has replaced him.”
Noah rubbed a hand against the back of her neck. “He’ll undoubtedly be traumatized and—”
“No, not just traumatized. If he was, it would still be awful, but at least then he’d be able to get help. But I mean, what if he’s as bad as Douglas Kilroy?” She shivered. “Or worse?”
Noah’s eyes flicked over to the television as another spell of quiet descended. After the seconds ticked away, he glanced back to her. “I don’t know, sweetheart, but I think that’s the worst-case scenario, you know? I mean, he’s probably going to have some issues. Anyone would have issues if they were in his place. Honestly, it’d be weirder if he didn’t.”
She managed a smile as she nodded. “Yeah, that’s true.”
He returned the expression and rubbed her arm. “But there’s help for issues. Therapy, medication, stuff like that. Even the big stuff, like schizophrenia. There are meds for that, and therapy helps too. Plus, once we find him, he’ll know that he’s got a support network.”
To anyone else, the thought of their younger sibling being diagnosed with a mental illness like schizophrenia would have been crushing. But to Winter, a schizophrenic diagnosis would mean that there was hope. From what she knew of the disorder, all the oddities about Justin’s persona seemed to fit. Paranoia, reclusiveness, the bizarre messages—schizophrenia would explain it all. If she felt the compulsion, she could even run the theory by Autumn.
Though she still worried, a portion of the leaden weight had finally lifted from her shoulders. For the past week or longer, she’d viewed the situation with her brother as black and white. Either he was fine, or he was a maniac like Douglas Kilroy.
Maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t be fine, but he could be helped.
17
Aiden had stared at the photo printouts of the blonde girl for so long, he was sure he’d be able to draw her face from memory if he was even the slightest bit artistically inclined. However, he had a difficult time drawing anything more complex than a stick figure. His memorization of the young woman’s facial features brought them no closer to discovering her identity.
As he glanced to where Ryan O’Connelly sat at a circular table in the center of the conference room, Bobby Weyrick at his side, Aiden bit back a sigh. With their three brains together, they should have come up with a solution by now.
Instead, Weyrick shuffled through missing persons’ reports, and Ryan pored over the seedy forum. Aiden looked through the state DMV database, but there were thousands and thousands of young blonde women in Richmond.
Right now, they didn’t even know for sure that the young woman in the pictures was in Richmond. Ryan had advised them that the forum was used internationally, so for all they knew, she could be in Alaska. Or a different country. The moon.
At the thought, Aiden gritted his teeth. It was already ten at night, but he didn’t want to leave the office until he’d at leased pinned down the identity of the woman in the photos.
Bobby Weyrick ran a hand through his sandy hair and shook his head. “Didn’t see her in any recent missing persons’ rep
orts. These pictures are brand new, though, so who knows whether or not she’s even been reported missing yet.”
Aiden nodded. “All we’ve got are the pictures. We don’t even know if the killer has kidnapped her yet. Since there isn’t a video of her captivity online at this point, he might not have. Agent Welford is still here looking into the forum posts. She’s upstairs so she can use the specialized software in Cyber Crimes, and she said she’ll let us know ASAP if she finds anything from tracing the responses to the pictures.”
Bobby cursed under his breath. “Maybe one of us should go get some food. Seems like we might be here for a while.”
Freezing mid-keystroke, Aiden looked over his shoulder to the photos they’d taped to a whiteboard.
“She’s wearing a red polo. It looks like a men’s cut. That seem off to either of you?” He shifted his gaze back to Ryan and Bobby as the men exchanged glances.
O’Connelly shrugged. “It’s not the most fashionable outfit.”
“No, it’s not.” Pushing to stand, Aiden walked over to the whiteboard and pulled down one of the photos. “Her jeans and her shoes are pretty fashionable, but not her shirt. She’s wearing a uniform shirt. Look.”
As he set the picture atop the table, he lifted a magnifying glass, peering closer.
Weyrick squinted at the photograph too. “What do you see?”
“A smudge. I think this photo might have been doctored to cover the fact that there’s a logo of some sort over the left breast.”
After a few more taps, Weyrick turned the laptop for Aiden and Ryan to see. “Here’s one that hasn’t been doctored, but the angle is wrong.” He zoomed in, and he was right. The detail of the image wasn’t much help. But it was something.
“I can’t read that, can you?” Bobby asked.
As he peered closer, Aiden shook his head. “No, but we can search for businesses in the city that have a logo that’s what? Red, white, and maybe green? It looks like there’s text in the middle, so we can keep an eye out for that too.”
With the instructions clear, the space lapsed back into silence as they went to work.
Aiden pored through the oft overlooked event arena and amusement parks first, then once they’d been ruled out, he switched to chain retail stores. A chain of grocery stores local to the southeast United States caught his eye, but upon closer inspection, the logo didn’t appear to match.
Before he exited the grocery store web page, he caught a glimpse of a sale coupon in the part of their site devoted to ads. The deal was good—two brand name frozen pizzas for nine dollars—but the price wasn’t what caught his eye.
In the background of the graphic on the front of the box was an Italian flag. Reddish orange, white, and green, just like the young woman’s shirt.
“Italian.” Aiden glanced from Bobby to Ryan. “Red-orange, white, and green. Those are the colors of the Italian flag.”
“Mexican too,” Bobby said.
Ryan shrugged. “And Irish.”
Aiden had already returned his focus to the screen of his laptop. “How many Irish restaurants do you think there are in Richmond?”
“Could be a pub.”
At Ryan’s suggestion, Aiden shot him an approving nod. The man might have been a lifelong thief, but he was sharp. “Good idea. O’Connelly, you look through bars, Weyrick, you look through Mexican restaurants, and I’ll look through Italian ones.”
After another series of nods, they went back to work. This time, they were interrupted after only ten minutes of searching.
Bobby glanced up and turned the computer monitor to face them. “I think I’ve got it, boys.”
Squinting, Aiden raised the photograph of the woman until it was side by side with the glowing screen. “Super Taco. Yeah, Weyrick. That could be it.”
Weyrick spun the laptop around. “Says here that there are two locations in Richmond. Neither are open now, but they open back up tomorrow at ten in the morning. Unless we want to look through the state databases until our eyes bleed, seems to me there ain’t much else we can do right now.”
Rubbing his temple with one hand, Aiden nodded. “You’re right. There isn’t. We’ll have someone head out there in the morning a little before ten. Otherwise, good work. I’m going home to sleep, and if anything comes up, just give me a call.”
With a halfhearted salute, Weyrick nodded back. “’Til tomorrow, Parrish.”
Even as Aiden strode out of the building and to the adjoining parking garage, he had already decided he wasn’t going home. Not right away.
He hadn’t replenished his stash of liquor in some time, and after a sixteen-hour workday, he needed a drink.
As he settled into the driver’s side of his car, he unlocked his phone. Before he could think better of the idea, he typed a text message to ask Autumn Trent if she was still awake.
Without pausing to consider how the question would sound at eleven at night, he hit the send button. The woman never turned on the volume for her personal phone, so if she was asleep, the message wouldn’t wake her.
Before he dropped the device into the cupholder, the screen lit up with an incoming text message: I’m awake, what’s up?
If he tried to brush off the text and tell her there was no reason for the late-night contact, she’d see straight through the half-assed fib.
I just worked for sixteen hours and need a drink. Wondering if you want to go to that bar by your place.
He stared at the screen, waiting for the reply. If she said yes, he sincerely doubted their night would end with just a couple cocktails.
18
With one last wave to the shift manager of the Mexican restaurant called Super Taco, Noah settled back behind the wheel of his truck. During the first case they worked together, Noah and Winter had alternated driving shifts. But during and after the Douglas Kilroy case some months later, her headaches and visions had increased in frequency and intensity.
Though she’d been opposed to the idea at first, Winter had come to accept that his decision to drive was strictly in the interest of safety. And she also had to come to accept that she fit better in his big truck than he did in her little Civic. Plus, having a handsome chauffeur wasn’t half bad, though she’d never admit that out loud.
With a click, Winter fastened her seatbelt. “So, no one recognized her from this restaurant. But the prep cook said he thought she looked familiar, and he might’ve seen her when he was helping their other store a couple months ago.”
Turning the key over in the ignition, he nodded. “Finally, something might go right.”
She made a tsk-tsk sound with her tongue. “Come on, now. Let’s not count our lizards before they’ve hatched.”
Noah shot her a what the hell glance. “Beg pardon?”
Winter’s blue eyes seemed to sparkle as she smiled and settled into the seat. “Lizards hatch from eggs too.”
Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the road as they pulled out of the small parking lot. “You’re not wrong, but that sounds weird as hell.”
She chuckled lightly. “I got Autumn to start saying it too.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up. “I can definitely see her picking that up, yeah.”
Their spirits were lighter than they had been all week, and Noah suspected the reason wasn’t just the mind-blowing sex from the night before. They were closing in on the bad guy. He could feel it and knew Winter could feel it too.
If they got to the blonde before the stalker, they could post security at her house to keep an eye out for the perp when he came for her. They had the potential to catch him red-handed and toss him in prison before he even thought to lay a hand on another woman.
Then Winter could go back to looking for her brother. Well, until the next bad guy came along.
They’d wrap up their case, and Max would strongarm the US Attorney into offering Ryan O’Connelly a respectable plea deal for all the work he’d done to bring a killer to justice.
That’s how cases w
ere supposed to go.
That’s how cases went in cop shows, and likely at every other precinct or FBI office in the country. The agents and detectives followed the evidence and caught the killer, and that was the end of the story. There weren’t supposed to be fifteen different caveats to every shred of evidence they uncovered. They weren’t supposed to have to race against the clock and the Russian mob to locate a corrupt cop.
They were supposed to put away murderers, and he was sure they were about to do just that.
As they pulled into a parking spot at the second, larger Super Taco location, Noah caught the first whiff of Mexican food. He glanced at his watch with a hopeful look that made her smile. “It’s almost eleven. Want to grab an early lunch?”
Winter shoved the passenger side door open. “If she’s here, then yes. We can sit in the lobby for hours while you shovel tacos into your face and interview her.”
He grinned as they walked to the glass double doors that marked the building’s entrance.
The silvery tinkle of a bell heralded their arrival, and a young woman glanced up from where she had been studying the touch screen register. A wide smile revealed straight, white teeth. “Hi, welcome to Super Taco. How are you both today?”
Noah returned her smile as he fished out his badge. “Doin’ all right, thank you. I’m Agent Dalton, and this is my partner, Agent Black. We’re wondering if there’s a manager we could speak to.”
The overhead light caught the shine of her chocolate-brown hair as she nodded. Though a portion of her welcoming grin waned, her expression was still pleasant.
“That’s me. Hi, Agents.” She reached across the counter for a handshake. “I’m Morgan Snider, the assistant manager. What can I help you with?”
Winter reached into her black blazer to produce a four-by-six printout of the photo from the shady website. “We’re looking for this woman. Does she work here?”
With little more than a cursory glance, Morgan nodded, then glanced up at them both, worry lining her forehead. “Yeah, that’s Caroline Peters. She works the closing shift with me every Sunday. Is she okay?”
