her surroundings, not parking under a light. “One second I was getting out of my car and the next...” She rubbed a hand over her bandaged wrist where the pain had subsided to a dull ache as ghostly footsteps echoed in her memory. “I woke up in an air-conditioned igloo with a third of my blood missing.” Her ears buzzed as the fear crawled back into her throat.
“So there’s no hope of a description.”
Fragmented images flashed through her mind. Like jagged puzzle pieces with no way to fit together. “Not from me.” And didn’t that just burn. “Maybe the lab will have some luck with my phone.”
“Strange, don’t you think? That he broke pattern like that? Potentially exposed himself by calling a police detective and telling him where to find you. You’ve been on his trail long enough. Why do you think he did that?”
Strange? Strange was the tip of the iceberg, wasn’t it? “Killers like this aren’t exactly known for their grasp on reality.” Personally, she didn’t appreciate the increased level of anxiety she had to adjust to thanks to his changeup, but she didn’t have anybody but herself to blame after that last blog post she’d run. “The Iceman has spent three years being invisible. No one’s come forward with any information of having seen him, let alone a description. There’s been no indication as to how he targets his victims, how he transports them—only that he seems to have an unhealthy fascination with vivisection and deep freezers. Now we can add blood to that list.” Her palms itched to get to her files and notes. “Aside from the missing persons’ reports, there’s been nothing to track. His abduction pattern has always been erratic and meticulous, and we’ve never found a common thread among the victims. At least not the first three victims.”
“More victims give us more data to work with.”
“But that’s the sad thing. Like Cole’s superiors, I wanted to believe he’d stopped, but that’s not the norm with these types of killers, is it? The Iceman is confident. Smart. Organized. Until...” She cleared her throat and drank her coffee, the warm spice of the cinnamon bathing her tongue. “We still don’t understand how he’s choosing his victims, and if he isn’t, if they’re completely random, we might never catch him.” That was what she needed to figure out: the connection between the victims. “Somehow he was aware enough to know their routines.”
“And yours. The coffee shop where you were abducted. Is it your habit to meet with Detective Delaney at that particular time and place?”
“Yes.” Eden frowned, realizing Agent Simmons had turned her questioning into a conversation. “And don’t think that hasn’t been bothering me.” It was one thing to be predictable; it was another to fall into a careless routine that had nearly gotten her killed.
“And yet he went out of his way to make sure you survived. Seems...inconsistent to me.”
“Makes me an outlier,” she mused, agreeing with him. “Something he can’t quite figure out or control.” Except what he’d done had been an attempt to regain that control. She would have noticed if someone had been following her. Or had she gotten lazy earlier than she realized and stopped paying attention? She took a deep breath, sat back in her chair and looked at the FBI agent, grudgingly appreciative for making her look at the case in a different way. “He knew his victims’ routines going back to the first three killings. Pam Norris disappeared on her way home from school before a three-day weekend. Her parents were away and didn’t report her missing until they got home on Monday. Elliot Scarbrough, single, junior partner in a local law firm who had started working from home. Last place he was seen was leaving the gym four days before anyone realized he was gone. Denise Pageant—her husband was on a business trip that got extended. Her car was found abandoned in her neighborhood grocery store almost a week later. He knew when to grab them. He knew they wouldn’t be missed for a while. That puts him somewhere in their lives.”
Agent Simmons twisted the wedding band on his finger and dropped his chin. “You know their names.”
“Of course I know their names.” She didn’t even try to hide her offense.
“Why?” He looked honestly perplexed. “Why do you do this? And please don’t disillusion me by telling me this is about fortune and fame.”
Eden crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought you wanted to question me, not analyze me.”
Again, he didn’t rise to the bait. “Why risk your life to go after him? To go after others like him?”
Eden couldn’t remember the last time she’d been asked such a simple yet complex question. Her answer shouldn’t matter. Not to the FBI. Not even to Cole or Simone or Allie. The only person who deserved an answer to that question was herself. And for her, the answer was simple. “Because their victims mattered.”
“That’s all?”
“Isn’t that enough?” She didn’t want to talk about herself; she didn’t matter. Stopping the Iceman before he hanged anyone else in a deep freeze had to be her focus. And then she’d move on to the next one. Because there would always be a next one. “Here’s what’s really odd about what happened last night. Not that he targeted me. Yeah, that’s creepy and all—” and would give her nightmares for the rest of her life “—but why would he want me found?”
“He can’t take credit for something no one knows about.” Cole strolled into the break room with that cop look in his eyes that revealed confidence, obligation and a touch of annoyance as he bit into an apple fritter. Just seeing him eased some of the tension that had settled around her.
He was Cole. Her friend. Her best friend, and yet every time she laid eyes on him it was as if she was seeing him in a different light. A light she shouldn’t want turned on.
“Bowie is typing up your report now,” Cole said and poured a cup of coffee. “Sticky maple fingers and all. Should be ready for you to sign in a bit. Agent Simmons, I thought we agreed you’d wait until I was present before you spoke with Eden.”
“It’s fine.” Eden sighed. “I don’t need you hovering, Cole. We’ll only kill each other that much sooner.”
Agent Simmons’s sad smile knocked against an unfamiliar soft spot on her heart. “You two sound like me and my ex-wife.” Eden glanced down at his wedding band. He shook his head. “Long story. Suffice it to say obsessing over a case you can’t crack destroys more than the victims’ lives. Did Forensics give you anything?” he asked Cole.
“Only confirmed what we already knew.” Cole sat on the edge of the counter and crossed his ankles as he polished off his doughnut. “No prints other than yours and people you know, Eden, and no prints on your phone. Dr. Collins sent over the final lab results from your blood work. We might be able to trace the sedative he used—”
“That’s good news,” Eden interrupted.
“Remains to be seen. Propofol is popular on the black market, but we’ll run it to be safe. Other than that, we’re coming up blank. Again. He must have been hermetically sealed given the lack of forensic evidence. He drove your car, Eden. That should have given us something.”
“All you have to do is watch TV crime shows to know how to evade forensics,” Eden muttered. Nothing like television to turn those with twisted behavioral tendencies into master criminals. “How am I supposed to drive my Bug again?” She loved her neon green VW, the first new car she’d ever bought. “Not to mention use my phone.” She shuddered.
“I’m
