style="font-size:15px;"> She recognized the voice as the younger Canadian Mountie.
The ICE agent doubled back, nearly knocking Sami over as he ran down the stairs in hot pursuit of their quarry.
A light winked on in the room. The bright garish glow should have been welcoming. It wasn’t.
She hurried forward; the scent of death assaulted her senses. She gagged but forced herself to step inside the motel room. Would she ever grow accustomed to the smell? She prayed not.
She nudged aside the men. Their bleak expressions made dread twist in her gut. She followed their gazes to the bed. Though she knew what to expect because she’d seen other corpses, including that of her childhood best friend, the sight of the mutilated woman lying atop the multicolored bedspread made her breath catch and tears burn the backs of her eyes. Her heart sank. Would she ever be able to stop this madman?
Justin stumbled out of the bathroom doorway, holding his bleeding nose. “A guy was hiding in the bathtub. He dived out the open bathroom window.”
“And dropped two stories?” the man in charge, Inspector Drew Kelley, questioned. He stood well over six feet, with massive shoulders that filled out the midnight blue uniform beneath his flak vest. He wore his dark hair shorn in a classic clean cut. His hazel eyes reminded her of the leaves in fall.
Justin shrugged, clearly as perplexed as Drew.
“Agent Fallon is in pursuit,” Justin supplied.
Drew spoke into a radio attached to his shoulder, his commands sending others on the hunt, as well.
Fury erupted in Sami’s chest. If the Canadian hadn’t stopped her... She still had a chance to catch Birdman. Sami ran toward the busted hotel room door. Her gaze hit the wall over the bed. Her feet skidded to an abrupt halt.
Defacing the plain white wall was a rudimentary depiction of a set of eyes drawn in bright red. In blood.
The world tilted. Shivers of fear slid along her limbs. She almost dropped her knife. This was an ambush. The killer had anticipated her arrival. He’d wanted her to see that he was in control.
“Out with you,” Drew said to Justin. “We don’t need your blood contaminating the scene.” Justin left the room.
Drew turned his attention to Luke. “Secure the perimeter. This is a crime scene.”
The fresh-faced agent nodded grimly and left to do the big guy’s bidding.
Sami met Drew’s gaze. He watched her with an intensity that would have unnerved her but she was too freaked out to be fazed.
“How did you...?”
Interpreting his question of how she escaped the ties binding her to the chair, she held up her knife. “Your man didn’t do a thorough search.”
Irritation flashed in his eyes.
“Why did you think a drug deal was going down here?” she asked.
Drew ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. “US Immigration and Customs Enforcement received an anonymous tip about drugs being smuggled from the US to Canada and a major buy was supposedly taking place here tonight.”
“It was Birdman.”
“Who?”
“The killer I’m tracking. He killed this woman. And he wanted you here. He wanted me here.” Cold fingers of dread traipsed up her back. “He knows I’m after him.”
“Why would he call in a phony crime and bring authorities here?” Drew asked.
She stared back at the wall. “I believe you saved my life, Inspector.”
“You think he wanted to kill you?”
“Maybe he wants me dead.” She lifted a shoulder to convey she was guessing. “Maybe he wants me to suffer.”
“Why?”
“I think because I’m the only one to connect the dots.” She turned to stare at the Canadian. The swirling depths of his eyes made her feel dizzy. Her gaze dropped to his mouth, which was set in a hard line.
She forced herself to straighten and meet his stare once again. “He either would have killed me or he would have framed me for this woman’s murder.” She’d almost walked into his trap. A shiver skated across her nape. “Instead of a drug bust, you’d be arresting a supposed murderer. Me.”
“Why do you call him Birdman?”
She tucked her knife back into her boot and then withdrew from her pocket the photocopy of the postcard from the last crime scene. She handed it to him.
Drew studied the image of the same low-budget motel they now stood in.
“Look on the back of the postcard,” she instructed.
“‘Room 218.’” Grim anger darkened the complexities of his eyes. “That’s how you knew to come here.”
“Yes. And see the little drawing in the bottom corner?”
“A bird. Crude but identifiable.”
“Birdman. All his bread crumbs hold similar images. Sometimes they’re hand drawn, as that one is. Sometimes he uses a stamp or stickers with the same type of bird image.” An image she couldn’t get out of her head. “I’ve scoured the makers of both the stickers and the stamps, but they’re too generic and sold too widespread to be of use tracking down Birdman through his purchases.”
Drew’s brow creased. “Where did he leave this?”
She inhaled as the crime scene flashed through her mind. “Washington, DC. The postcard was tucked into the shirt of his fourth victim.” Her eyes flicked to the bed and back. “This is number eight. As far as I know.”
“So he tells you where he’ll strike next.”
She let out a mirthless laugh. “Or where he’s been.” A knot twisted in her chest. “The clue on the third victim actually pointed to victim number five. And the bread crumb found at number two led to number six.” At Drew’s confused looked, she explained. “Time of death confirms the order.”
“Why is a lone FBI agent hunting this Birdman?”
A sour taste filled her mouth. When her boss found out where she was and what she was doing...she’d probably find herself in the unemployment line. But that was a risk she was willing to take. “I’m the only one who figured out the deaths are related. All the deaths occurred in different cities, different jurisdictions. I only stumbled across the connection six months ago.”
Because of Lisa. Her heart cramped.
Her eyes swept over the room looking for the clue to the killer’s next—or already dead—victim.
There, propped up against the television set. A small square object. She sucked in air as dread flooded her veins. From the leg pocket of her pants she grabbed a pair of disposable gloves
