been a hell of a day, and when I find—”
He broke off, but she knew what he’d been about to say. When I find a body...
“I’m not at my best,” Josh finished as he raked a hand over his face. “But I shouldn’t be a jerk to you, and I apologize.”
“Apology accepted,” she said quietly.
He gave her a quick, searching glance. “May I tell you a story, Ms. Quinn?”
“Casey—”
He stepped toward her and her breath caught. He was...definitely strong. He wore a white T-shirt and shorts and she knew he’d changed out of his diving gear on the boat. The muscles of his arms and chest stretched the fabric of that T-shirt. He didn’t look like the typical, straitlaced FBI agent.
Probably because he wasn’t.
“A few months ago, I worked a real big case over in Fairhope, Alabama. We were after the Sorority Slasher...you remember that one?”
Her heart shoved into her throat. “Everyone remembers him.”
“Another stupid serial killer name. Folks should have just said they were looking for Dr. Cameron Latham, the genius psychology professor who decided killing was just too much fun.” His lips twisted into a bitter smile. “A reporter from that area was covering the case, trying to get all the headlines and make a name for herself.”
The breath she took seemed to chill her lungs. “I—I know what happened to the reporter.” Everyone knows. Because a story that terrible wasn’t easily forgotten.
“No, you know what was reported. You know that Dr. Latham killed the reporter. He wanted to send a message, and she was the perfect target. That’s what people know. But I was there.” He edged even closer to her. His body brushed against hers as he lowered his head—and his voice. “I know exactly what he did to her. And everything I’m about to say is off the record.”
She should back away. Put some distance between them. But she just looked up into his eyes. He’s trying to intimidate me. I won’t let him.
“I saw the blood-soaked room. I saw the body. I saw the way he’d wrecked her. He enjoyed hurting her, and her last moments—they were just of terror and pain. He left her alive in that room, you see. He let her know that death was coming, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.”
Casey licked her lips. Her mouth felt desert dry.
“So, yeah, I’m a little...sensitive to reporters right now. Because I think that reporter—Janice Beautfont—her death was a waste. She pushed herself into the spotlight, and he made her a victim. So when I see the reporters crowding around, wanting to spread the sick stories of this killer’s crimes...I remember Janice, and I hate what happened to her. I hate that this guy is feeding off the attention he’s getting, and I wish you would all just take a step back.”
Her skin felt too cold. It was a summer day on the Florida coast. Cold was the last thing she should be feeling. “I’m not trying to be in the spotlight.”
He raised one brow.
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “You don’t know me. I get that. But you’re wrong here. I want the focus on the victims. I want them to have justice.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he murmured. “And it’s always easier to do my job when I don’t have a reporter dogging my steps.”
So much for having a partnership with him. Desperate, she tried again as she said, “I can help you. I’ve been talking to the victims’ family members and their friends. I know things about the victims. Maybe I can help build a profile—”
“We have agents from our Behavioral Analysis Unit who do that.”
He was definitely shutting her down.
“Watch your step, Ms. Quinn,” he said again, but she knew he wasn’t talking about her high heels and the broken pavement in the parking lot. “Because you never know when a killer is close.”
And the guy just turned and walked away from her.
Her right foot tapped on that uneven pavement. “Casey,” she called after him. “My name is Casey. Remember it—because you’ll be seeing me again.” If he thought she was just going to give up, the guy needed to think again. She wasn’t going to be scared away.
Giving up wasn’t in her personality.
If Josh Duvane wouldn’t help her, well, then she’d just go find someone else who’d be ready to talk. A good reporter never gave up.
And Casey didn’t just want to be good at her job. She wanted to be great.
* * *
THEY’D FOUND TONYA. He’d watched as the reporters and the authorities slowly loaded into their vehicles and left the scene. They’d found her faster than they’d discovered his last victim.
But then, he hadn’t taken Tonya as far out this time. He’d left her closer to the shore, a deliberate choice. He’d needed to dump her body quickly and then get ready for the next kill.
He already had a new victim in mind.
He could see his prey right then.
She stood in the middle of the parking lot, tapping one high heel. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, a sleek style that even the humidity of Florida couldn’t seem to muss. She had on a crisp white shirt and a formfitting black pencil skirt.
She was pretty...almost perfectly so with her fine-drawn features. He’d studied her often enough; he knew every detail of her face. Her wide-set, dark eyes, her bow-shaped mouth, her softly curved chin. He’d watched her on the news, marveling at the way she seemed to stare right at him.
As if she could see him.
I see you. He’d seen her all along. He’d seen everything she’d done. All the secrets she’d tried to keep. All the sins that she thought no one knew about...he’d seen everything.
She thought she was safe. She thought no one knew what she’d done.
But he knew.
He’d always known.
And before he was done with her, she’d be begging to tell the world her story.
They always begged.
And then they died.
Casey sidled around the back of the sheriff’s station. Sure, this wasn’t exactly her best moment, sneaking up to the back of the building because she knew that the young deputy, Finn Patrick, was scheduled to get off work at eight o’clock that night. But Finn had been kind enough to share a little inside information with her before and she was hoping that he might feel similarly inclined again...
The back door squeaked open. It was a heavy metal door, and it led from the rear of
