Ramsey sat at the end of the table and set his briefcase and coffee cup down. He clicked open the locks as Jackson sat and Shepard closed the door.

She sat to his left, and though she kept her gaze downcast, Ramsey sensed her curiosity. From what Jackson had said on the phone, Shepard was good at what she did. She had worked the entire state doing mostly undercover and human trafficking cases, but she could be reckless. That trait was her best asset but also her Achilles’ heel.

“Agent Shepard, how do you know”—he glanced at his notes—“Reverend Beckett?”

“Our parents are neighbors. She’s two years older, and we knew each other growing up. She knows the women who work the streets around her mission. When she learned two were missing, she asked me if I could ask around.”

“And you figured you could handle it alone?” Ramsey asked.

No hint of apology softened her grim expression. “Yes, I did.”

“And when did you realize the driver of the van wasn’t your ordinary john?”

“As I said in my report, when I smelled hints of bleach in the van.”

“Consider yourself fortunate,” Ramsey said.

Darkness shadowed her eyes. “I do.”

“This individual’s DNA is linked to at least ten murders across the country. But I believe there are more victims.”

“Ten?” No missing the anger tightening her words.

“That we know of. If you hadn’t stabbed him, you would have been the next victim. Who gave you a belt buckle with a knife?”

“My father. He’s a retired Nashville homicide detective.”

Points for Dad. He opened his folder and pulled out a series of crime scene photos. The images were all of nude women at various stages of decomposition.

Agent Shepard studied the first image with keen interest. Ramsey had seen the pictures so many times that he could describe them without looking. The image she studied now was of Nikki Smith, Victim #6. She had been a runaway who at seventeen had started selling herself on the streets. She had been twenty-one when she was murdered. “Cause of death was strangulation, but as you can see from the cuts and puncture marks on her body, she was tortured before she was killed.”

“Is that a handcuff key on the chain around her neck?” Shepard asked.

“Yes. All the victims were found with similar keys on their bodies. We think he was toying with the women. The key that could have set them free was dangling from their neck out of reach.”

Agent Shepard nodded as she studied another picture. “Are those drill marks on the body?” Her tone was an odd blend of curiosity, anger, and some horror.

“We believe so,” he said.

She passed the images to Jackson, whose stoic gaze shifted from sadness to anger. “When was she killed?”

“2005. Her body was found on the side of a rural road in Maryland; however, she worked the streets in Baltimore. She’d been missing for a week. The next victim was found two years later in South Carolina. Again, young woman, tortured and strangled.”

“Does he have a type?” Shepard asked.

“He goes after the prostitutes,” he said. “The ones he chose weren’t on the streets long.”

“Inexperienced. Not yet hardened by the streets.”

“Yes.”

“They were easier targets,” Shepard said. “The experienced ones might have avoided him.”

“Exactly.”

“Does he have a physical preference?” she asked.

He searched in his file for a one-page compilation of a series of photos that was of all the victims’ faces taken within one to two years before their deaths. Some were high school yearbook pictures, others were DMV, and a few were grainy snapshots.

Agent Shepard’s gaze moved from face to face, methodically scanning the images. “Dark hair, olive skin, brown eyes.”

“You fit his profile perfectly,” Ramsey said.

“He didn’t choose me at random?”

“No.”

“Lucky me.”

“If it hadn’t been you, it would have been someone else.”

“The two missing girls that Sarah Beckett has been searching for look like these women,” Jackson commented.

“Do you think the van driver is connected to the two missing women?” Ramsey asked.

“Since I’m not a fan of coincidence, I’d say yes,” Jackson said.

“If that’s true, we’ve got a much bigger problem than I originally thought,” Shepard said.

“Reverend Beckett does serve women he targets,” Ramsey said.

“How long did it take to find the bodies of the other victims?” Jackson’s frown had deepened.

“Anywhere between one week to nine months,” Ramsey said. “He’s not interested in credit or being noticed. He dumps them in secluded locations and moves on with his life.”

“He wants to keep doing what he’s doing,” Jackson said.

“Correct,” Ramsey said. “Which makes him even more dangerous and harder to catch.”

“And now he’s in Nashville,” Jackson said.

“He was seven days ago,” Ramsey said. “Agent Shepard, you’re the first person we know of who has survived direct contact with him and has seen how he operates.”

She sifted slowly through all the images one more time. If she were worried about her near-fatal mistake, her cool expression gave no hint of it. “What can we do for you?”

“Have there been any sightings of his van?” Ramsey asked.

“We put out a BOLO as soon as Agent Shepard called in her attack,” Jackson said. “We also went through all the street cameras in the area in the days after the attack. There was no sign of the van.”

“No one has seen it. We are assuming he ditched it somewhere close to the Mission.”

“I’ve spoken to Reverend Beckett several times in the last few days,” Shepard said. “She hasn’t heard anything about him appearing again, and all the working girls are on notice.”

Jackson closed the file of images. “We’ll assist in any way we can.”

“I’d like to work with Agent Shepard and interview the women who were working that night, along with Reverend Beckett.”

“What do you think the chances are that he’s still in the area?” Agent Shepard asked.

“I’m not sure he is. But this is as close as I’ve gotten.”

“How long have you been chasing this guy?” Agent Shepard asked.

“Seven years. I picked up the case when we crossed paths in Wilmington, North Carolina. He killed three prostitutes there.”

“He’s not worried about leaving DNA on his victims,” Agent Shepard said. “But he’s obsessed with leaving none in his van. Thus, the bleach.”

“Control is important to him, especially in the van, which is his workshop and domain,” Ramsey said. “He spends a lot of time in it. Agent Shepard, you noted that the side door opened with astonishing speed.”

“Correct,” she said.

“He’s spent time modifying it to reduce the abduction window to an acceptable risk.”

“And he doesn’t want his kills to be attached to it,” Jackson said.

“Not to the van,” Ramsey said.

“But he wants his DNA to link the victims,” Agent Shepard said. “Like an artist signs his work.”

Ramsey was impressed by her insight. “Agreed.”

“He must be certain he’s not in any databases,” Jackson said.

“So far, he’s not,” Ramsey said.

“He’s a clean slate and likes his van the same way,” Agent Shepard said, more to herself.

“Exactly,” Ramsey said.

“I looked at dozens of van pictures this last week,” she said. “I’d say this one is at least ten years old.”

“I’d like to drive to the corner where your attack occurred, Agent Shepard,” Ramsey said.

“What if I return to the corner tonight? If he’s out there, he could see that I’ve gotten back to work.”

“No,” Jackson said.

“It might eventually come to that,” Ramsey said. “For now, I just want to see the area.”

“I can take you now. We can also pay a visit to Reverend Beckett.”

“Good,” Ramsey said.

Agent Shepard tapped her fingertips on the open file. “If this killer ditched the van, he’ll be back for it. He has to have stowed it close to the Mission. I could go through surveillance footage of the area. It has to be on a private security camera somewhere.”

“I’ve had officers doing exactly that for the last three days,” Jackson said.

“And?” she asked.

Jackson’s phone rang. He glanced at the number, his face tight with annoyance. “I have to take this.”

“Sure,” Ramsey said.

Jackson nodded as he listened to the person on the phone, his scowl softening as he ended the call. “We might have gotten lucky. Officers located the white van in a warehouse twenty minutes ago.”

“Where?” Ramsey asked.

“Five blocks from where Agent Shepard encountered him.”

“I want to see it before it’s moved or disturbed,” Ramsey said.

“Be my guest. Agent Shepard will drive you.”