Chapter 23

THE FRONT DRAPES WERE PULLED back as the officer had advised they were last night. I studied the porch, the potted ferns to the side of the front door. Nothing stood out as unusual. Both looked to be in need of water, but that was normal for Debbie to leave her plants begging for a drink. She said God would take care of the outdoor ones but when they died it was still His fault. What she didn't realize is sometimes even God appreciates a little help.

I looked inside the front window. Everything seemed mostly the same as it had when I left three days ago. Debbie's magazines were spread on the square glass coffee table and the television remote sat on top of them. Debbie had watched TV at some point since I had left.

A car door slammed behind me. I jumped and pivoted around.

"Sorry, Agent, I never meant to scare you." An officer, who I guessed to be in his mid-forties, came around from the driver side of a cruiser. His hair was crop-cut which told me he was trying to hold onto his youth.

Another officer, who came from the passenger side stood beside him. He was younger than the driver by at least twenty years, and likely a rookie.

"It's Officer Spalding." The older officer splayed a hand over his chest. "I believe we spoke on the phone last night. And this is Officer Hamilton."

"Special Agent Brandon Fisher."

Jack came around from the side of my house.

"And that is Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper."

"Ooh, supervisory special agent. We need to get ourselves some fancier titles." Spalding glanced to the younger officer before speaking to me, "Have you been able to reach your wife yet?"

I shook my head and looked back at the house. Somehow even though external evidence didn't make it appear that strangers had violated my home, it felt as if they had.

"It's hard to control a woman sometimes. They get a mind of their own and off they go."

I came down the few stairs of the deck to within a foot of Spalding. I would have pressed my nose against his if it weren't for Jack's extended arm. "You have no idea what we're dealing with here. You take a quick look around. No sign of this, no sign of that, and assume what you want. You have no idea."

Spalding's eyes went to Jack as if seeking some sort of explanation for my attitude.

"Let's get inside," Jack said. He applied muscle behind his arm and gestured me back toward the house.

"Just so ya know we drove by a few times to see if the missus had come back." Officer Spalding spoke to my back now. "Maybe she was too comfortable in her boyfriend's bed to venture home."

My fist balled, and I turned around ready to match it with his jaw, but Jack had aligned himself in front of the officer. "It's time for you boys to go."

Spalding looked around Jack. "You wonder why we guys don't like you feds? You think you're all that. But you're no better than we are."

"Nobody said we were. Go." Jack seconded his directive with an extended arm and a pointed finger to the cruiser.

"Fine, we'll leave." Spalding and his partner reached their doors about the same time. "But we're not coming back."

The cruiser's engine rumbled as Spalding gunned the accelerator.

"Guess we have some enemies on the PD now." I said the words although I didn't really care about the consequence.

Jack waved a hand. "What do we need them for anyway?" A smile cracked his lips.

*****

INSIDE THE HOUSE, the air was cool from the air conditioner yet stale. No smells of food or perfume. It was almost as if she hadn't been here for the last few days.

"Is your house always this neat?" Jack wiped his shoes on the carpet at the front door.

"It's all Deb." I wanted to smile as I praised her, but bile churned in my stomach.

The answering machine was flashing notification of a few messages. I figured some would be the click of my hanging up with at least two of them being me begging for her to answer. I pressed the play button. Four of the messages were from me, and one was from Debbie's mother. "Guess that rules out Deb being there." I looked at the missed calls; all were identified numbers.

"See anything unusual Kid?"

I shook my head as I put the phone down.

I kept moving through the house, meticulously working through every room. Upstairs, I went to our bedroom. Clothes were strewn on the floor, some clean, others worn and dropped where they came off. The bed was unmade, and the comforter dangled precariously over the edge of the mattress. There was a definite contrast to the rest of the house and our room, but that was normal.

Nothing in the room indicated Deb had been taken. I turned back to the hallway, went downstairs, and made my way to the kitchen. Jack followed behind.

In the kitchen, a few clean dishes sat in the drip tray. The rest of the counters and stovetop were empty.

"This isn't making any sense."

"What?"

"Well, let's adhere to your slogan stay calm. Let's assume he doesn't have her."

"Okay."

"The unsub seeks control and power. They like to have the upper hand. How would they know I wouldn't be able to reach her unless they had at least been here?"

"Maybe it's a series of bizarre coincidences."

I shook my head. "I don't believe that. How would he know I wouldn't be able to reach her?"

"He routed any calls you made to her cell phone to his copy of the SIM card and then didn't answer."

I bobbed my head. "Okay, possible. But what about her not being at home? And don't say coincidence."

"He was here. You like that answer better?" Jack pulled out his cigarettes.

"Don't smoke in here."

I expected him to go out the back door and light up outside. Instead, he pushed the pack back into his pocket. "What would get her to leave?"

"No stranger I can tell you that. I mean, I think about ruses the unsub could have used. Maybe coming to the door telling her the house was infested by something dangerous to her health but she's not gullible."

"What about a friend having problems or a family member that might need—"

The lock on the front door turned. Jack and I pulled our guns, flattened against the walls, and readied to fire if need be. Light footsteps tapped on the hardwood. They stopped in the living room and the radio turned on. Alan Jackson sang the chorus of Pop a Top.

More footsteps and they were coming toward us, the steps now landing on the ceramic tile of the hallway to the kitchen.

Jack held an index finger to his lips. He gestured with the other hand for me to wind around to the dining room side.

"Stop there!" Jack's voice sounded like a roar as it bounced off the plastered walls.

Glass shattered on the ceramic. "Who—"

I knew the voice. "Deb?" I lowered my gun.

"Brandon?" There was fear in her register.

"Deb." I came around the corner to find Jack holding his gun on her. I put a hand on his wrist for him to lower the weapon. Pasta sauce oozed out of a grocery bag on the floor like a blood pool.

"What are you...who is he?"

"You're okay." I hurried to reach her without caring where I stepped. I needed to hold her. As I pulled her tight, I kissed her lips then her forehead. I put a hand behind her head coaxing her to rest it on my shoulder. It only stayed there briefly.

"What's going on?" Deb pulled back, arms crossed. She looked to Jack, to the gun that was now secured in his holster, to the mess on the floor. "You're cleaning that up."

"No problem." I couldn't pull my eyes from her. She was okay. She was fine. "I love you."

"What are you doing here?"

"Where were you last night?"

"Last night or for the last couple? You don't listen to me when I talk do you? Of course, you're too busy with this new job of yours." She passed a condemning glance to Jack.

"Hon, this is Supervisory Special Agent Jack Harper."

Jack extended a hand for her to shake. She tightened her crossed arms. "You still haven't answered my question about what you're doing here."

"This is my home."

"I'm not stupid, Brandon. I know something else is going on here. Why the guns?" She glared at Jack. "He was ready to shoot me."

"You didn't answer your calls."

"Did you call my cell? I had it with me." She flung her purse around to the front of her, reached in, and pulled it out. She rocked it right to left. "No missed calls. Thought you just didn't care. Too busy."

"You're okay?"

"Don't I look it? Why are you acting strange?" Her arms loosened, and she bent over to pick up the spilled contents of the bag.

I put a hand on her elbow and directed her to regain full height. "The case I'm working on—"

"You think I'm in danger." Debbie laughed. "It's like in the movies."

"This is serious Deb." The stark soberness of my expression killed any amusement that had graced hers. "I'm going to ask you again and I need you to answer. Where have you been?"

"Chantilly at Karen's. I told you that two nights ago when you called me."

How did I forget that conversation? For a second, I berated myself for not listening to her when she had told me that. I excused it based on what I had witnessed with this case. "Your sister's laid up."

"Right. The doctor told her she needs to stay off her feet for the rest of her pregnancy. Ken's working night shift and can't be there to help out with the kids."

Her sister Karen living nearby was part of the reason Deb agreed to move from Florida.

"I need you to do me a favor." I rubbed my hands on her forearms and peered into her eyes. "I need you to promise me that you will."

"What?"

"I want you to go back. Stay with her until I'm finished this case."

"What is it?"

"I can't answer that. I just need to know you're safe."

"I'm not running from my home because some psycho is fixated on you. I'm not afraid."

"If you knew what he was capable of you would be."

"You're trying to scare me?"

I recalled how I explained to Jack that my wife wouldn't leave the house for anything less than a good reason. Even faced with a murderous psychopath she was prepared to stay and fight.

"We're getting you a new cell phone."

"This one works fine."

"Trust me. Please, just a little."

"Fine."

"And please go back and stay with Karen."

She let out a sigh. "If it means that much to you."

"It does."

*****

DEBBIE TOLD US SHE'D LEAVE with one condition. She didn't want cops posted outside the house while she packed and didn't want them following her. I had given her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead before we left. I knew I had a job to do, but all I wanted was to make love to her and hold her close.

Jack didn't say anything until we arrived at Quantico and he pulled into the parking lot. "Be happy we should have other things to do here, Slingshot."

"It's not like we knew she was okay."

"If you listened when she spoke you would have known where she was."

"If you weren't always rushing our conversations—"

Jack slammed a flattened hand onto the steering wheel. He didn't say a word. We both just sat there looking at the other cars until my cell phone rang. I answered.

"I hear Chantilly is a lovely place."

It wasn't Debbie. It was someone using a voice modifier.

"You son of a bitch! I'll kill you when I find you!"

A laugh from the caller sent chills down my spine. "First you must find me."

"You stay away from her!"

"Are you going to stop me?"

The line went dead.

"Fuckin' shit!" I gripped my cell phone hard and faced Jack. "He knows where Deb's sister lives. He's been close."

We both jumped out of the SUV and went straight to Nadia's office. She was wading through screens of codes.

"The triangulation for the call just made to his cell. Now," Jack barked.

Nadia jumped, and a stress ball fell to the floor. She spun around in her chair. An HB pencil sat clenched in her teeth. She took it out of her mouth as she nodded hello.

This was the second time I had seen her. The first was a quick orientation of the base office and personnel. Her dark hair swept just past shoulder length and held the shine of expensive hair products. The rusty-orange frames of her glasses would have been popular back in the seventies, but somehow they suited her.

"You said a call just now?" She asked the question as she bent over to pick up the stress ball.

"Yes." The word came from Jack's lips like the hiss of a snake.

"All right then."

Any other time I would have found amusement in the contrast between Jack's attitude and Nadia's relaxed nature. I thought it ironic as Jack always told me to calm down.

Nadia turned back to face the screen. She clicked on the keyboard, and within seconds the triangulation filled in on the screen. Her finger traced the perimeter. "It's coming from within here."

"That's a five-mile radius around my home—"

My cell chimed notification of a new text message.

Chapter 24

PAIGE LOADED INTO THE SUV beside Zachery. She let him drive because he preferred to and she couldn't care less whether she drove or rode shotgun.

They were leaving the Smith home after speaking to the wife Ann. They belonged to the same church where Royster was a member and Bingham attended. As with the other four families they had visited they didn't have anything to offer. Paige suspected the unsub wasn't a local. She brought the concept up to Zachery. "It's like Bingham and this unsub didn't even exist around here. And since everyone knows everyone and everything about everyone."

"Do you think they came to Salt Lick to kill?"

"I'm leaning that way." She glanced at Zachery's profile as he drove. "And if that's the case there's another connection to Bingham. What are we missing?"

"Not sure yet. But it would have to be someone tight with Bingham and comfortable with the area."

"It could be a former resident or a non-church member. Maybe a visitor from Florida." Zachery looked at her. "If the cases are connected, the unsub could have helped with the murders in Florida and followed Bingham out here."

The onboard phone rang and the caller ID came up Harper. Paige depressed the hands-free button. "Hel—"

"I need you two to get over the prison, pronto."

"Boss?"

What Jack told them next ignited a fire in the base of Paige's gut.

PAIGE AND ZACHERY INQUIRED AT the visitor's desk and were directed by a uniformed officer to the prison warden. The officer had a thick torso and expansive hips which stretched the fabric of her pants to full capacity. She gestured for them to stay back a few feet as she rapped her dark knuckles on the doorframe.

A man's voice called out from the inside. "Ye-eah."

"FBI here to see ya. They says it urgent."

"Let 'em in, Dorthea."

Paige entered the room and could tell by the way the warden took a second glance he expected Jack and Brandon. "I'm Special Agent Dawson." She extended a hand across the desk. The man stood to reach it. He pressed down on his shirt, and she noticed how unusually tall and slender he was. She gestured to Zachery, "And this is Special Agent Miles."

"Clarence Moore." His handshake, firm and brief, contained both confidence and power. "Pleased, I'm sure." The warden shook Zachery's hand and sat down behind his desk again. He laced his long fingers together. "What can I do for ya?"

"We need to see Lance Bingham."

"I 'ssume you're working with that other man and the young kid."

Paige fought a smile from developing. She knew how much Brandon hated being referred to as kid. "That's right."

"Bingham's out in the yard right now. Recess as we term it 'round here." He smiled. When no one said anything for a few seconds, he picked up a phone and directed a person by the name of Tom to retrieve Bingham. Moore hung up the receiver with his attention on Paige. "Let me warn ya he might be in lock-up for assaulting a neighbor, suspected of these other horrid crimes." A hand waved across his desk. "And he might appear to be near ninety, but the man ain't dead. If you know what I'm talking about."

"I'll be fine." And the words she spoke were the truth. When it came to the dark side of humanity, she had seen a lot. A man who killed his entire family because he couldn't afford them due to a lay-off, a serial who stalked maids from work wanted ads, a serial who took tongues as trophies. Yes, Lance Bingham of Salt Lick may hold a sick record—countless mutilated and disemboweled bodies—but he would be no different than the rest of them. He'd have an agenda and if she could tap into that, even give him the impression she understood, she'd have a way in.

*****

THE DOOR OPENED WITH A buzzing noise as the man who would have been his victim's last horror was escorted into the room. With a guard on each arm, they guided him to the table and secured him to the restraints there. The amped up security made her wonder if the warden was spreading the reason for the FBI's interest in Bingham.

Paige told Zachery she had this under control, and even asked that he not be in the room. She knew he watched through the window in the door and sensed his concern through the pane of glass.

Bingham's wiry hair, both on his head and face, had him resembling a ripped apart scouring pad. His glasses were oversized, taking up a third of his face. His lips were thin and an underlying smile was stenciled on them. The glint in his eyes told Paige she was looking at a different creature from the ones she had met before.

"What do you know about this?" She produced the two photos that were dropped off at the hotel, the one of Brandon's house, and the one of his wife. She held a third picture in her hands. This was what prompted the call from Jack and the directive to speak with Bingham. As she flung the picture of Brandon's scantily dressed wife, she felt an involuntary catch in her throat. That was the other woman.

"I 'pologize for my appearance. They took my razor." He rubbed at the growth on his face.

She wouldn't become distracted from her goal. She leaned in her chair and flung an arm over the back of it. "Earl Royster." She studied his reaction. Nothing. "You two were close."

"If you know everything why do you need me?"

"See that's the thing we don't." Paige smiled at Bingham, attempting to use her female charm to lure him into speaking. "We don't know what he ever saw in you. You're easily what twenty, thirty years older than he was. Surely, he'd have more intelligent friends, and more engaging conversationalists to be around, because from what I see you rarely speak."

Bingham's eyes narrowed.

"I mean he had lots of buddies, but losing his brother, he had a hard time with that. Is that why he turned to you?"

Bingham's eyes snapped to hers and dropped to her mouth just as quickly. She knew he watched her lips as she spoke and she put effort into manipulating them to her advantage—a small pout here, the hint of a smile there.

"He looked to you for comfort, didn't he? He saw you as a caring individual who had his back. He knew you from church and saw that you were a hard worker with the farmers in the area."

A small twitch in his cheek revealed she was chipping away at his pride. He didn't want to be thought of as weak, empathic and caring, least of all a simple farm hand.

"And you gave him friendship and supp—"

Bingham smiled. "Ain't none of this true."

"No? Well, then you'll have to educate me because from what I see it is."

He looked down at the photos. "It was supposed to be a joke."

"What was Lance? Can I call you Lance?" She pulled out his first name and added an element of huskiness to her voice.

"The pictures." Bingham's expression went serious and any sort of control she had gained evaporated with a figurate hiss to steam. "None of you can prove I did anything wrong."

"We know about the other murders in Sarasota Florida." She paused. He didn't blink. "We know about some of your victims right here in Salt Lick. Earl's brother was one of them." She stretched the truth.

He tapped an index finger on the table.

"Why go after Special Agent Fisher?"

"Special Agent, la de la. Nothing special that I see there. But you do." He leaned in, closing the distance between them. "You do, don't you?" His mouth rapidly transformed into a wild smile.

"Why his wife?"

The smile disappeared. Bingham's gaze lingered in her eyes making her uncomfortable, but she refused to break the eye contact. To do so would demonstrate weakness and give Bingham the upper hand. She needed to maintain control. "Who is this person? Who is your follower?"

"You told me already that Earl must have been."

Paige smirked. He bit. "How many did he help you with?"

Bingham guided her eyes to the table and the photograph of Brandon's wife. "She's beautiful." Seconds of delay followed those two words. "That must bother you."

*****

JACK PRESSED THE BRAKES HARD enough the SUV lunged forward. He put it into park, and I jumped out and headed up the porch steps. Police cruisers were already at the house including the two officers we had met earlier.

"I didn't think you big shots needed us," Spalding said as he pulled up on his pants and adjusted his holster.

"We need you to block the street. No one in. No one out." I heard Jack's firm words. "Now."

"Yes, boss." Spalding's words were followed by a chuckle, but he complied with Jack's directions.

"The only way he could have got that picture is from inside the house." I turned the handle and turned to Jack. "It's unlocked." Deb's car was in the driveway. But if she was there wouldn't she be outside wondering what was going on with the police cruisers? And why wasn't she answering her phone?

I cracked open the door, gun readied as was Jack's. I heard more sirens from the local PD coming closer.

"Take it slow," Jack cautioned.

"Deb." I called into the house and looked through to the kitchen as I wound along the wall, vigilant in case the unsub was here. "We shouldn't have left her alone." I spoke in a whisper. "I can't believe the unsub knows about Deb's sister." Not only did I worry about Deb's safety but also her sister and her family's. I continued down the hallway, placing foot over foot, back to the wall, gun ready.

"One thing at a time."

"Deb." I called out louder than the first time.

I heard banging upstairs. I pointed upward. "There. Did you hear that? Deb?" More shuffling of feet, and a slam of a dresser drawer.

"You go first. I'll stay behind and watch your back."

Adrenaline forced my steps forward, suppressing my fear beneath layers of bravado. I approached the base of the stairs cautiously, straining to hear anything. Nothing but silence seeped over the upper landing like a thickly laid fog. I faced upward and raised my gun to match. There was no one there, no shadows casting against the exterior wall of the staircase.

I took each stair slowly, careful not to agitate the old wood of the home, but it didn't matter. Even the lightest placed step caused it to moan. I turned around to Jack, who directed me to face forward with a tightened jaw and a scowl.

Keep alert, keep vigilant, take in your surroundings, and keep your eyes ahead.

I recited what I had been taught hoping the words would drown my guilt over pulling Debbie into this. If anything happened to her, there wouldn't be a purpose in living.

I focused on the upstairs landing. A shadow darkened the doorway of our bedroom, casting its length into the stairwell. I picked up speed. Jack closed the distance between us.

In the hallway, my heart sped up causing my breath to deepen and it threatened to expose my position.

Jack motioned that he would be going to the right of the doorway, and I was to take the left. He sprung in front of the opening. His eyes said it all, someone was in there.

I nodded to Jack and took the lead inside the room. My gun readied, I would have no hesitation to take the shot. "Put your hands up! Now!"

The yell that pierced my ears would likely cause them to ring for hours.

"What the..." Debbie's one hand went to her chest while the other ripped out the earbuds. "You scared the shit out of me." She glared at both of us before settling her eyes on my weapon. "You're holding a gun on me."

It wasn't until her words made it through that I realized it was still pointed at her. "What are you doing here?"

"What am I?" Her face scrunched up and she let out a snuff of air from her nose. "I'm getting ready to go."

"You need to come with me. Now." I put my gun back in its holster.

"Brandon, you're acting strange."

"I just need you to trust me."

"I am trying to. You told me to go back to Karen's. That's what I'm trying to do here."

I noticed the opened suitcase on the bed. Some clothes were already inside. I didn't look forward to what I had to say next. "You can't go to your sister's now."

"Brandon." Two hands went to her hips.

"Come with me." I put an arm around her and guided her out of the room.

She spun around and pointed at Jack. "What's he doing?"

He was standing on our bed, his hands gloved, poking around the light fixture on the ceiling.

"We'll talk outside."

"Brandon."

I leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Just trust me."

"Fine."

I moved her out to the backyard and for a moment took in the irony of the weather and nature. The sky was cloudless, birds were chirping, and lawn mowers purred in the neighborhood. Another beautiful Virginia morning, and yet here we were dealing with an unsub bent on destroying all that was and distorting it to a twisted view of righteousness.

We stood on the back deck facing each other. Debbie's arms were crossed. "You better tell me what's going on."

"The case we're working on—"

Her head cocked to the side, and I could read the reflection in her eyes, you put us in danger.

"It's complicated."

"Say it, Brandon. I'm in danger?" The arms tightened. One long strand of brown hair fell from the clip that held the rest. I reached out for it, peered into her eyes, and nodded.

"I can't believe this. It's a job, Brandon." She shifted to the right, moving just out of reach.

"It's not just a job."

"What else is it?"

The direct question rendered me silent for a few seconds.

"Like I thought. For a job, you put our lives in danger. Great. Just great!"

Every time she said the word job, it came out with such disdain that it angered a portion of my soul. "The FBI swear to protect—"

"Save the brochure for new recruits." She said the words, but after she did her eyes snapped to mine. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I think you did. But I get it. You weren't really into this career choice from the start."

"It's not that. It's just, it's dangerous."

"Damn right it's dangerous!" I averted my eyes from her. My earlobes heated with anger.

"Brandon."

I watched a squirrel run across the yard and up one of the giant oaks.

"Brandon."

"What?"

She placed a hand on my arm. "Where do you need me to go?"

*****

PAIGE'S EYES WERE FASTENED TO the photo of Brandon's wife. Bingham was right. The woman was beautiful and it would be a lie to say it didn't bother her on some level. But she was jealous of the woman for more than her looks. She got to spend her life with Brandon. "Why would it bother me?"

"You love him."

"Special Agent Fisher is a colleague of mine, a member of the—"

"Then you love him." Bingham's lips curled upward. The smile chilled Paige.

"Who is helping you on the outside?"

"Round and round you go." A small laugh.

"Earl Royster is dead." She dropped the fact, callously with unwavering eye contact.

Bingham tapped a finger on the table. Paige counted as each one rapped off. Eleven total. A smirk still on his lips, he said, "I suppose that creates a problem for you?"

*****

I TOOK THE SUV LEAVING Jack at the house searching for cameras and audio recorders. Nadia volunteered her place and it was deemed a safe house for the time being. We picked up her key on the way.

She lived in a condo building in Logan. When she told me the address, it had me wondering how much money she had. Logan was a historic district in Washington, and condos there would have ranged up from half a million.

"It's only going to be temporary until we find the guy." I parked the car, and Deb looked through the window at the building.

"How does she afford this place?"

"Good question."

"I'm sure I'll be fine here. For a little while." She straightened up and undid her seat belt.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this unless it was for your safety."

"I know."

She got out, and I followed her to the back of the SUV. She opened the back door and went to haul out the suitcase and the one bulging overnight bag. I came in between and took them from her.

"I want you to stay in contact. I call, you answer."

Her hands went to her hips. "If the same applies to you. How do I know this psycho won't come after you? You've got their attention obviously."

"You let me worry about me okay?" I walked toward the building. She didn't need to read my face or she'd witness the truth. As much as I wanted to think positively uncertainty hindered the vision.

Her sandals flapped as she walked along the sidewalk behind me. "Not fair."

"Don't start Deb. It's for a few days until we catch this guy."

"How do you know you will?"

"That's what we do. We catch the bad guys."

A hand reached out to my shoulder, causing me to turn to face her. "And what's your track record?"

I hated it when she did this. She had a way of tapping into my perfectionist nature. She knew I was technical and critical. "It's about to have an arrest on it."

"Uh-huh." She brushed ahead of me and flung open the front door. "And how am I supposed to explain this to my work?" She held the door, and her eyes fixed on mine.

We had discussed how imperative it was for her to stay away from anywhere or anyone familiar. She wasn't to leave Nadia's condo and that included going to her job. Even to me those restrictions equated capture.

"I'm going to go nuts inside four walls for days."

"You could be in a place with six."

Her expression went sour. She got my implication—a coffin. "You think they'd kill—"

Her words died on her lips as we stepped into the lobby.

"She lives in a hotel."

High ceilings held recessed lighting that cast almost an enchanting glow over the area. A few seating areas were laid out, and minimalistic artwork was displayed on the walls. The combined textures of the wood flooring and color of the walls welcomed one with the warmth of a sun-kissed beach.

"May I help you?" A concierge called out from behind the front desk. His eyes read, and who are you?

"I believe Nadia Webber called ahead."

"Oh yes, most certainly. Mister Bond, is it?" His eyes passed judgment and skepticism the same way mine did when Nadia told me the cover name she assigned. She said it would be fun.

"Yes, it is."

He kept watching me but didn't say anything. I could only imagine what was going through his mind.

"The elevators?"

"Right there, Mister Bond." He passed a glance to Deb. "Enjoy your stay."

I put an arm through Deb's. "Let's go."

She leaned into me and whispered, "Mister Bond?"

"Long story."

"Uh-huh."

As we waited for the elevator, Deb swayed forward and bumped the purse she held dangling in front of her against her knees.

"You have to take this seriously. And, yes, they could kill you." I picked up where her last sentence had left off. I didn't want to underestimate the potential threat.

Her eyes latched with mine and she stopped swaying the purse. "All right, then. Guess I'm jail-bound."

"Don't say it like that—" Her soft laugh stopped my words there.

She smiled. "Not really much of a prison here." She glanced around. "I kind of wanted some time off work anyhow. More time to write."

"Brat." Debbie had worked on one book over the last three years.

"What, now you're jealous?"

"Maybe. A little." I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to me. As her head bent to rest on my shoulder, I brushed her hair back and kissed her forehead.

The motion transported me back to Quinton and the words Royster would say after cutting him, Shh, baby, don't cry. The other unsub was still out there.

I needed to find the son of a bitch.

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