was textbook. Overbearing mother he hated. He’d threatened to kill her for years, but could never bring himself to do it. After she died in a car accident, he treated the new victims as surrogates. So he waited for her anniversary for each kill.”
Kammy nodded thoughtfully. “Trying to kill his mother over and over again, in the form of women who resembled her.”
“Exactly. And the Fishhook Rapist chooses victims with a definite look, so it’s possible he’s modeling them after someone, too, but it could just be that he has a type. And given the rape, I think his motivation is different.”
“Such as?”
It was 6:00 a.m. Monday morning, and they’d been going over the evidence practically nonstop since he’d been called in early Saturday. He was exhausted. But he didn’t think he’d be able to sleep even if he wanted to. Every time he closed his eyes, he thought of the case. He thought of Maggie’s case file.
He thought of Maggie, the way he knew her now. Light blue eyes bright with intelligence and determination, dark brown hair framing her heart-shaped face, lean body outlined with muscle, primed to rush into a SWAT call. And he thought of her the way he’d seen her in the photographs from her case file, taken at the hospital shortly after her attack. Smaller and much younger, hunched into herself, battered and broken. He never wanted to see her like that again.
Straightening, he shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe we should talk to a profiler—”
Kammy cut him off. “This case has been to the BAU. One of their senior people profiled him for us a few years ago.”
“Okay, so what’d they say about the date of the attacks?”
“He said there wasn’t enough evidence to be sure either way.”
“But if we could figure out what it was, maybe it would help us track him.”
Kammy nodded. “Well, you have any ideas, then go for it. In the meantime, let’s work with what we know. Why’s he coming back for Maggie?”
“Because he couldn’t claim her,” Grant replied immediately. To him, that one was obvious.
It had been the same with the Manhattan Strangler. He’d come back for the one woman who’d escaped him, the one woman he’d tried to kill who had managed to survive, against all the doctors’ predictions.
Kammy’s eyebrows drew together. “He did claim her. He raped and branded her like the rest—”
“Yeah, but look at her now.” Grant cut Kammy off, not wanting or needing the reminder of what Maggie had endured. “She’s SWAT. She didn’t let him break her. And she was the first one he went after, the one with the most meaning to him.”
“You think he knew her personally?”
“Probably not, but I think he watched her from afar for a while. I think there’s a good chance he had a legitimate reason to be at the college back then.”
“You mean a student?” Kammy shook her head. “The profiler was pretty solid on the guy being older than his victims.”
“Maybe he worked there.”
“Okay,” Kammy said, “We can double-check. But they definitely looked closely at college employees back then. And I’m pretty sure we checked into anyone who moved after that attack, because we know he must have left between then and the following year, when he showed up in Mississippi. But let’s go back to what you said about Maggie being different from the others.”
Grant spun his chair back toward the conference table and took out eight of the nine victim files, handing them to Kammy. “The other victims. Look at their updates, the follow-ups. Look at where they are now. Every single one of them was derailed by the attack in some way. Either they dropped out of school, so they didn’t end up in their planned profession, or they developed other problems like drinking or substance abuse.”
Kammy started opening the files. “Okay, you’re right about some of them. Two dropped out of school and never went back, which—you’re right—seriously impacted their futures. One has a drinking problem and another one has had substance abuse issues, but she’s clean now. Still, what about Marjorie? She—”
“Was on suicide watch on and off for two years after her attack.”
“Danielle—”
“Dropped out of school, too.”
“She’s a doctor now,” Kammy argued.
“She eventually went back to school. But it set her back about four years. And she’s been vocal about her experience since then, including her struggle with panic attacks to this day.”
Kammy stared at him. “This isn’t all in the files.”
“I did some digging. I know Maggie was his first victim, and ten years is an anniversary. But I think it’s more than that. Maggie didn’t just survive. She went into one of the most physical jobs in the FBI. Looking at her now, you’d never think she endured that. I think he’s developed a sick obsession with her, with the idea of her and how he tried to leave a mark on her—psychologically, that is—and ultimately failed. I think he’s coming back for her because he wants to break her.”
Kammy snorted. “I know Maggie Delacorte, too, Grant. She’s one of the toughest agents here. If he couldn’t break her when she was twenty-two, how’s he going to do it now, when she’s SWAT?”
Grant shook his head, frowning. “I don’t know.” Which worried him a lot. Because the Fishhook Rapist was extremely intelligent. He had to be, to evade them for this many years, with this much Bureau heat on him. So he would have a plan in place.
Yet, he’d advertised that he was going to return for Maggie. He’d never returned for any of his victims. So they would never have expected it if he hadn’t told them. Why would he do that? Unless it was part of his effort to break Maggie down.
“Well, whatever his plan is, we need to get to him before he gets near her. I don’t care if she can take him down with her bare hands, I don’t like this,” Kammy said. “I don’t like anything about this.”
“Neither do I.”
“We’ve got twenty-seven days,” Kammy said. “And so far, zero leads.”
“Then we’d better get cracking,” Grant said, standing. “I’ll get the number for the DC cops who handled the original case.”
“Just remember,” Kammy called after him, “You run into Maggie, and you say nothing.”
“Not a problem,” Grant said. He hoped she wouldn’t discover that he was working the case until it was over. Until they’d put the Fishhook Rapist behind bars for good.
* * *
PEOPLE WERE STARING.
Maggie felt uncomfortable as she walked down the drab gray hallway toward the bustling bullpen where she worked at the WFO. Other agents avoided her eyes as she approached, but she could see them watching from her peripheral vision. As if they all knew.
