Already Trapped (Laura Frost FBI)

That did the trick, as it always seemed to. “Dr. Fairmont was formerly one of our most celebrated members of staff,” the doctor said, sighing, “He specialized in delivering multiple births—twins, triplets, and so on. He had a very successful record. He was… well, a bit of a poster child for our department.”

“So, what went wrong?” Laura asked. Something must have, and she braced herself for the worst: tiny newborns smothered in the ICU, mercy killings, attacks on exhausted new mothers…

“He was operating with a suspended medical license,” the doctor said, which seemed like an anticlimax in comparison. “He’d been sanctioned years before and never got it back. Something happened at another hospital, and he always claimed it wasn’t his fault and the suspension was unfair. But it didn’t matter. He was committing fraud, opening us up to all kinds of malpractice lawsuits.”

“What happened to him after that?” Laura asked. She still needed to track him down, to talk to him. To see if there was any link between the twins that he could identify—or even if he was the link himself, and potentially the killer. Though, the hand in her visions—she was sure it was the skin of a younger man.

“I’m not entirely sure,” the woman admitted. “He was blacklisted from every hospital in the state. Once word of something like that goes around, there’s no way back. Not even if you get your license reinstated. Your career is over.”

Now, that was slightly interesting, wasn’t it? A career over, a reputation in ruins. That was the kind of thing that could drive a man to madness. To turn him into the kind of violent monster that would seem to be the opposite of a kindly children’s doctor. “Do you know where we might find him now?” Laura asked.

“I can look up his address in our records, but we have no way of knowing if he’s still there,” the doctor said.

“Good enough,” Laura replied. It was a start, after all. She took down the details.

Something about this doctor had triggered a vision. That was enough to tell her exactly where she needed to go next. Maybe, just maybe, this was the path that would make her find the killer—and intersect with him before he claimed his next victim.

The vision had seemed useless. It was frustrating. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to rip this ability out of her head, for how confusing, painful, and meaningless it could seem to be. But then again, the visions had saved Amy’s life—and more people than her, besides.

Maybe this time she hadn’t seen a killing because she was about to go and stop any more from happening.

Nate was coming back across the bullpen, and Laura waved her notepad at him as she leapt up from her chair. “Turn around,” she said. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

***

“Do you think he still lives here?” Nate asked, squinting at the house. Laura could understand his doubt. It didn’t look as though anyone lived there anymore.

The address she’d taken from the hospital had led them to a suburb where most of the houses were white p

icket fence dreams, with manicured lawns and rose bushes. The kind of place you’d expect a highly respected doctor with a huge salary to live.

But the property they had pulled up in front of was different. The paint on the fence—and the doors, and windows—was peeling. The lawn was overgrown in some places, and overladen with trash that had been left scattered out in others. The windows were dirty, the brickwork bore strange stains, and the curtains that blocked every window were torn in some places. It looked like it had been abandoned, maybe for some time.

Laura wouldn’t put it past the place to be full of squatters, even if the bent and battered mailbox out front still read “FAIRMONT.”

“I don’t know,” Laura said. “There’s only one way to find out.”

Nate grunted in response to that, getting out of the car, Laura followed him up the short path to the front door, which was overgrown with weeds splitting through the flagstones. Laura stepped forward and tapped on the door, cocking her head to listen for an answer.

There was no telling what they were about to find here. It was a nice neighborhood; that didn’t rule out something nasty inside. For all they knew, it had been claimed by meth addicts who were in there right now thinking up paranoid delusions about why the cops would be standing outside. Not that they were dressed as cops. But in Laura’s experience, people who were on the wrong side of the law often picked up a sixth sense for these things.

There was no sound inside. Maybe that was a good sign. Maybe not.

Nate stepped forward slightly and knocked himself this time, harder and louder. At his touch, the door slipped forward, having evidently been only just latched. It opened wide in front of them with an ominous creak, leaving the hallway empty behind.

Nate and Laura exchanged a look, their hands going to their guns.

“Maybe it is abandoned,” Laura said quietly.

“Take no chances,” Nate replied, his tone gruff. She figured that was his new way of telling her to be careful, while maintaining the pretense that he didn’t care what happened to her either way.

She stepped inside first, cautious and light, looking in all directions. Her hand hovered near her holster, but she didn’t draw the gun yet. If there was no obvious reason to do so, it was too much of a chance. You could get spooked, end up drawing down on a cat jumping out of a pile of junk. Or just some kid who was staying in the house illegally and thought it would be a good idea to jump out from a doorway and run.

Laura tried to minimize her noise as she walked forward, glancing into the first room on the right and finding nothing. She was creeping along, not wanting to give any indication of where she was just in case someone had bad intentions. She moved to the next door, caught her breath first. Then leaned around swiftly, glancing inside—

And letting out a tense breath.

“Nate,” she called, her voice still low. He joined her in the doorway and she pointed. The gray-haired homeowner was asleep on the couch, or maybe passed out. He was surrounded by empty beer cans and whiskey bottles.