The Stranger You Know (Forensic Instincts 3)

Swallowing hard, she battled her inner turmoil, dead set on keeping the upper hand in this interview. Hutch had prepped her. She knew what to expect and what to do. And, dammit, she was going to do it, no matter what the cost.

She knew Hutch sensed her reaction. But he didn’t glance her way. He kept a laser gaze on Fisher, hardly blinking as the killer ignored him, his stare locked on Casey. But, in an almost imperceptible motion, Hutch slid his hand over and squeezed Casey’s fingers beneath the table.

Casey felt some of the tension ease from her body. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to have Hutch along for this meeting, after all.

Fisher reached the table and his lips curved into a cocky smile as he took a seat. “Hello, Red. This is quite an honor.”

Red. That was what the scrambled voice on the phone had called her. Fisher was using it purposely.

“An honor? It’s not meant to be one.” Casey spoke in an even tone. “It’s meant to be a face-to-face meeting. You’re obviously determined to see me. So here I am.”

“I was delighted to get word about your visitation request.” Without averting his eyes, Fisher jerked his thumb in Hutch’s direction. “Is this your ventriloquist?”

“Supervisory Special Agent Kyle Hutchinson,” Hutch supplied. “FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

“Of course.” Fisher gave a tight nod. “You disappoint me, Red. I thought you’d be feisty enough to talk to me alone. What’s Agent Hutchinson’s role here—to protect you or to offer his professional take on me?”

“Neither. Protocol.” Casey interlaced her fingers on the table in front of her, her fear receding beneath a wall of resolve. “Frankly? I didn’t want or need an escort. I wanted a one-on-one meeting. My request was denied.”

That explanation seemed to please him. “So the decision wasn’t yours. I’m glad to hear that. It means I was right about you, after all. You are a little hellcat.” He paused. “For now.”

“Let’s skip the veiled threats,” Casey said. “And the cat and mouse game.”

“Fair enough. I’m listening.”

“We’ve linked you to several old, cold murders.”

“Have you? I hope you didn’t drive all this way for confirmation. You know I’m appealing my conviction. I won’t be admitting to anything. I wouldn’t have done so in the first place if you hadn’t used that barbaric navy SEAL to torture me and extract false confessions under duress.”

“Funny, that’s not how I remember it.”

“Then your memory is poor.”

Casey shrugged, calling on her training and Hutch’s prep work. “Either way, it never occurred to me that you’d be making a full confession right now. You’re too smart to offer yourself up. If I’ve learned anything about you, it’s that we underestimated you. We won’t do that again.”

“A wise decision.”

“But you should know we found DNA evidence in both the Jan Olson and Holly Stevens cases.”

“Did you? Fascinating.”

“You were a novice in those days,” Casey continued. “Plus DNA evidence hadn’t come nearly as far as it has now. Which would explain why you left semen on both victims.”

Fisher didn’t respond.

“We aren’t the only ones who knew about the cold cases. My new BFF used his voice scrambler to call me and share the info. He’s been very busy, and very communicative. He’s on a brand-new crime spree, which I’m sure isn’

t news to you. He calls me after every one of his brutal murders. And he obviously admires you a great deal. Because his implication’s that he is you.”

A fine tension emanated from Fisher. “Why? What did he say?”

“He just gave snippets of information about where we can find the victims and made direct threats to me. It’s as if you trained him—and you did a hell of a good job.”

Again, no answer.

“He’s embellished on your work, you know,” Casey added. “He doesn’t simply leave the bodies as is. He’s very artistic and refined in presenting his work. Clearly a cut above the crude way you worked.”

Anger flashed in Fisher’s eyes. “Artistry is in the eyes of the beholder.”