up the credit card. She read the name embossed in silver lettering. James Clark.
Her throat closed up. The implications ricocheted through her mind, setting off clanging bells. A man’s credit card?
She flipped the card over. Her heart stalled. A bright yellow sticker of a bird flashed at her like a neon light.
The blood drained from her head, making her light-headed. Slowly, she turned to Drew.
Concern filled his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Eight bodies. All women, all killed exactly the same way.” She held out the card. “Birdman is changing his MO.”
After donning a glove to keep his prints off the evidence, Drew studied the credit card for a moment before lifting his gaze to Sami. She stood stiff as a board with her fists at her side. Though she tried to hide it, he could see she was wigged out by this turn of events. Her face had gone pasty white. She sucked in air, in and out, in and out.
Unexpected empathy twisted in his gut. The last thing he needed was for her to pass out in the middle of a crime scene and contaminate the evidence. Taking her by the elbow, he propelled her out of the motel room, away from the grisly scene and the eerie drawing on the wall.
“We’ll turn the card over to our forensic team when they arrive to process the room and handle the victim,” he said once they were on the balcony.
He tucked the credit card inside an evidence bag. According to Sami, the killer’s MO was evolving. Birdman, as she’d called him, was becoming more comfortable, more confident. Ready to add men to his repertoire.
It wasn’t unusual for a serial murderer to make subtle changes to their form of homicide as they grew more adept at killing, but a sudden change in gender? That was uncommon, though not unheard of. Was there more than one killer? Were the deaths Sami was investigating even related to the one here?
He couldn’t discount the bird image. She believed the bird was the killer’s signature. But Drew didn’t know what the symbol represented to the murderer.
“We need to run the name on the card.” Her terse tone matched the rapid clip of her stride. “Find him. Though it’s probably too late.”
“The credit card could belong to the victim in this room. Her husband’s?” Drew offered, though he doubted his own speculation.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Her certainty wouldn’t be swayed. Not that he blamed her. She was obviously committed and passionate about finding this murderer. He appreciated that. Police work took dedication and perseverance. Sometimes to the detriment of everything else in one’s life.
He should know. He didn’t have much beyond his work. Which was fine with him. He didn’t need anything or anyone else. It was simpler not to have a personal life, because outside the job, it was too easy to let his guard down as he had with his ex-wife. He had no intention of letting anyone else rip his heart to shreds.
Once they were in the parking lot, Drew headed for the American agents, Border Patrol Agent Wellborn and ICE Agent Fallon. They gathered with the rest of the IBETs team at the back of a van that housed their equipment. Only a few other cars dotted the parking lot. The motel didn’t do a huge business, it seemed, just enough to stay solvent.
Justin’s nose no longer bled and thankfully didn’t look broken. Drew led Sami to the group of men.
“Did you catch him?” Sami asked Luke, clearly finding him more approachable than Agent Fallon. Drew didn’t blame her. Fallon could be intimidating, but Drew also knew he was a good man to have watch your back. Fallon knew how to get a job done.
“No. He escaped,” Luke replied, frustration evident in his voice.
“He jumped into a sedan and took off,” Canadian Border Services agent Nathaniel Longhorn offered. A First Nation descendant, Nathaniel kept his black hair long and tied back with a leather strap. He was lean, muscular and deadly with a knife. Drew was glad to have him on his team. “I’ve radioed in the license plate to the Vancouver police and to the border crossing.”
“Secure the scene and wait for Forensics to show,” Drew instructed. Then he handed the evidence bag containing the credit card to Justin. “Run the name. Find out where this was last used and see if you can track down the man.”
Justin peered at the credit card. “Will do.”
“Whoever that card belongs to is a potential victim, if not dead already,” Sami interjected.
Blake slid his gaze to her. “You sound sure, Special Agent Bennett. And yes, I did check on your credentials.” He smirked. “Your boss is eager to talk to you.”
Sami glanced at Drew, then back to Blake. “I am sure.”
Interesting that she didn’t elaborate or acknowledge Blake’s remark that her boss wanted to talk to her. She’d indicated that no one took her claim of a serial killer seriously. Was her presence here unsanctioned?
He wasn’t sure if he was on board with the whole serial-killer angle either but he did have a dead body to contend with.
To the men, he said, “Call me when you know anything. I’m taking Special Agent Bennett to headquarters.”
At Sami’s questioning look, he added, “You can call your boss from there. The IBETs team works out of the consulate general’s building on West Pender Street here in Vancouver. The consul general along with US Homeland Security provide oversight for IBETs as well as other binational interagency task forces.”
“So I was right. You are working together as a joint team,” she murmured, her gaze raking over the men.
“Yes. We’re part of the Integrated Border Enforcement Teams—IBETs. There are several such task forces across the shared border between our two countries. Need to keep everyone safe, eh?”
A faint smile touched her lips. “Yes, I’m aware. Can I have my gun and ID back?”
Blake removed the Glock he’d tucked into the waistband of his jeans. “Here you go, princess.”
Her lip curled.
Drew suppressed a smile, though he didn’t condone the rudeness of his fellow team member. Blake handed over her ID and Drew gestured for Sami to follow him to where he’d stashed his vehicle. “This way.”
He opened the passenger door to his twenty-year-old Land Cruiser.
“Sweet ride,” she said as she slid inside.
He wasn’t into fancy and new. “I like vintage.”
When he climbed into the driver’s seat, she said, “I have a 1964 Chevrolet Corvair convertible that was my father’s. It runs but needs an overhaul. One of these days I’ll have the car restored.”
“Nice. What color?”
“Baby blue.”
Like her eyes. “Pretty.”
“It
