THE OFFICE DIDN’T feel right without Samantha there. The place just seemed...empty. Blake steepled his fingers as he stared at her empty desk chair. She’d be cleared in the shooting, of that, he had no doubt. He’d already told his side of the story that morning. Samantha should be back in action right the hell away and then—
The office door swung open. “She doesn’t exist.” Samantha stood there, her chest heaving, her eyes gleaming, faint spots of pink color on her cheeks.
His brows shot up as he rose to his feet. “Bass gave you the all clear to get back to work?” A smile curved his lips. When Samantha was close, there was more excitement in the air. More focus. More—
“Hell, no. I haven’t heard a word from him yet.” She just waved that matter away.
Blake blinked. “What?”
“The woman. The reporter.” She hurried toward him, nodding. “She doesn’t exist. There is no Hannah Broderick at Channel Seven. I went down there and talked to the producer myself. She doesn’t work for them.”
Tension snaked through his body. “Then who the hell was she?” He reached for the phone. He’d call the hospital and warn the guard to be extra vigilant just in case the lady came back.
But Samantha snagged his hand. Heat seemed to lance him at her touch. “I already contacted the hospital. They’re moving Missy to another floor and putting a second guard on her.” Excitement sharpened her voice. “I think it’s her.”
He stared at her.
“George’s trigger? Come on, you know I mentioned this to you only a dozen or so times. His victims were all a certain type.”
“Young, blonde, beautiful.”
“Petite,” she fired right back. “Delicate builds. Fragile in appearance.”
“She had red hair, Samantha.”
“Like that couldn’t be a dye job.” Samantha nodded. “Actually, the hair was what made me suspicious in the first place. Do you know how many redheads with blue eyes are roaming around? Natural ones?”
He shook his head, not having a clue on that one.
“Those are recessive traits—the red hair, the blue eyes. I read a story on this once, and only like one percent of the population has that combination. It’s like finding a freaking four-leaf clover or some crazy shit like that. Needle-in-a-haystack odds.”
Samantha had a photographic memory. He’d learned that early on. If she read something once...she had the facts forever.
“I’m wagering she’s a natural blonde.” Samantha nodded. “More than that, she’s the trigger. I know it. She was waiting for me in that garage. She wanted to know who’d killed George. She was there for a reason.”
He remembered the woman’s eyes. “Because she was pissed.”
Samantha nodded. “Anger like that is personal. We need to find her.”
She’d already found them.
“She’s tied to George Farris. We have to dig in his files...search his house... We have to find the connection to her because I think she’ll be coming after us again. Only I don’t think it will be for a little chat this time.”
She was still touching his hand. Blake cleared his throat. “You think she wants vengeance?”
“She wanted to know if I’d killed George.”
His shoulders tensed. “She asked me the same thing.”
A faint line appeared between her brows. “She’s trying to figure out which one of us killed him because she needs to know which of us she will kill.”
Sure as hell seemed that way. “Repercussions,” he muttered.
Her hand pulled back from him. “What?”
“That’s what your friend Latham warned me about.”
Surprise flashed on her face. “Cameron warned you about something? When?”
“Outside of your apartment last night. We had a little chat.” One that still didn’t sit well with him. Cameron Latham wasn’t a guy he’d ever see as his friend. Too much tension was between them. We both want Samantha. His voice was low as Blake said, “Cameron warned that George’s death could have repercussions. That someone close to George would react, only I didn’t think there was anyone left close to the man.”
“Someone was left,” Samantha said. “His trigger. The woman he’s been systematically trying to kill over and over again. The woman who helped to turn him into the killer he is.”
The woman who seemed to be gunning for them. “I don’t get it. If she’s the woman Farris really wanted to kill, then why didn’t he go after her? Why hurt those other women? Why torture those victims if the mystery lady was the one he actually wanted under his knife?”
Her gaze dropped. Samantha licked her lips, a quick, nervous swipe of her tongue. “Maybe he was afraid of her...or maybe he loved her.” A bitter laugh slipped from her. “Could be both. Loved her and feared her and he couldn’t take that last step, not with her. Because if he killed her, if he pushed her out of his life, then there would be no going back. She’d just be gone.” Her lashes lifted and she gazed at him once more. “She’s dangerous. We have to find her.”
The woman had been stalking Samantha in a parking garage. Fuck, yes, they were going to find her.
* * *
A YELLOW LINE of police tape sectioned off the entrance to the little house on the cul-de-sac.
The broken window had been covered with cardboard. All of the lights were off. The house appeared...dark.
Beaten.
Dead?
Samantha slammed her car door and walked around the vehicle. They hadn’t hidden their ride this time. They’d parked right in front of the house. Secrets were in there—secrets that she intended to find.
Their mystery woman wasn’t going to stalk her through the streets. That wasn’t a game that Samantha would intend to play.
Blake gave a low whistle as he turned and looked at the quiet neighborhood. “Bet the neighbors here will be having nightmares for weeks.”
And they’d be trying to sell their property. No one wanted to be the one who lived next door to a serial killer.
Just not the kind of fame folks wished to
have.
She didn’t head for the front door. Instead, Samantha went to the back of the house. A patio waited back there. Chairs. A fire pit. A wind chime. It was blowing with the evening breeze, an oddly peaceful sound in the middle of that madness.
The screen door was a few feet away and...
Samantha’s eyes narrowed on the screen. “Was that screen cut yesterday?” A small sliver, one near the lock.
Blake had followed her. His arm brushed against her shoulder as he pulled out his gun. “Don’t remember, but I’m not taking the chance that it wasn’t.”
She started to pull her own gun but...
I don’t have it. Hell. Bass still had her gun.
Blake met her stare and nodded. “You stay behind me.”
Right. She’d be happy to follow the guy with the gun.
He reached for the screen door. It slid right open. Someone had definitely been inside. Could be some curious neighborhood kid who was a little too interested in death. Could be a nosy reporter.
Could be our mystery lady.
It was dark in the house, but light still spilled in through the windows. The chalk outline of George’s body was on the floor. A chair was overturned. But...
Everything else looked normal. Eerily so.
No one was in the living room. The kitchen was empty. Blake began to advance down the narrow hallway.
And Samantha heard the low moan. A weak cry, almost one that sounded pain-filled. Adrenaline flooded through her body. Blake rushed forward.
A weak cry. A woman who’d seemed deceptively fragile.
A woman who knew how to lure her prey to her?
“Don’t!” Samantha cried out.
Blake looked back at her. He was a few steps ahead of Samantha in that tight hallway.
The moan came again. And then... “Help...”
Blake nodded toward Samantha. Then he raised his voice and said, “FBI! This is a crime scene. Come out now, with your hands up!”
Silence.
Then...
“Help...” Faint. So weak.
Blake pressed his body against the wall. Samantha did the same. Their eyes met for a moment. She knew he was about to run into the room, gun aimed, ready to face the threat. She’d go behind him, unarmed, yes, but not defenseless.