Brooke’s head pounded when her eyes fluttered open. She tried to sit up, but pain shot through her body, sending her backward to the stained carpet. She lay for a moment, her heart beating fast as she tried to collect herself.

Where was she?

Drawing in a breath, she pushed up to a sitting position and rested her back against the concrete. Her throat also hurt, and when she raised her hand to her neck, the flesh felt tender and bruised.

She reached for her weapon and discovered her gun belt had been stripped away, as had her shoes and socks. The pins securing her hair had been removed, leaving her long dark hair to fall past her shoulders.

As she looked around the small room, she was now more pissed than afraid. How could she have been so stupid? She’d heard his footsteps come up behind her, but she’d not reacted fast enough.

Her mind went to Matt sleeping in his bed. Worry and fear swirled around her anger. It was one thing for her to pay the price for not being on guard, but not her kid. Tears burned her eyes before she stopped her thoughts midstream. She was no use to Matt sitting in here crying like a child. This prick wouldn’t have it easy with her.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed to a standing position and felt along the walls until her fingertips brushed over a doorknob. Hope came and went just as quickly as she rattled the knob and realized it was locked.

She considered shouting and pounding, but knew this was what he wanted from her. Fear. And she’d be damned if she’d give it to him. Drawing in a deep breath, she ran her fingers again over her neck. He’d strangled her while she’d been unconscious. Not very sporting, even for him. Out cold, she’d not shown him the fear he craved, so he’d left her alive. For now.

If she was sure of anything, it was that he would return and strangle her again.

One way or another, she had to get ready for him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Thursday, November 21, 1:30 p.m.

Nevada and Macy had arrived in Deep Run when Sheriff Tanner called. After a brief exchange, the two agreed to continue the discussion on a closed-circuit connection in the conference room.

Sullivan poked his head into the room. “Received a text from Deputy Bennett. She says her boy is real sick. She’ll be here as soon as she can.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Nevada asked.

“Probably, but the deputy never asks for help and likely would be embarrassed by it.”

“I’ll follow up with her in the next hour,” Nevada said.

“And this package arrived for Agent Crow.”

Macy opened the package and pulled out the small sample of Beacon cologne. She removed the top and sprayed a light mist on her wrist. She inhaled, hoping she’d smelled this before. She had not.

She handed the bottle to Nevada. “It’s not familiar to me. I think our guy might have changed his scent.”

He sniffed and then recapped it. “It’s not familiar to me either, but I’ll pass it around the office. Someone might recognize it.”

“You never know.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two were sitting at the conference-room table looking at the telecast of a leather-bound chair and the Mercer County seal mounted on the wall behind. Seconds later a man in his sixties settled in front of the camera. He had a white mustache, a cleanly shaved head, and he wore a khaki shirt with the sheriff’s star pinned over his heart.

“Sheriff Tanner,” Nevada said. “Appreciate you talking with us.”

“Glad to help. Apologize for not being around when you called, but as you’ll learn, this job will take you to every corner of the county. How’s it up there in the valley?” he asked.

“Fall came and went fast. It’ll be a long winter.”

“I hear that.”

“I’m joined today by Special Agent Macy Crow,” Nevada said. “She’s working a series of rapes and a murder all connected by the same DNA.”

“Afternoon, Agent Crow.”

“I appreciate the time,” she said.

“Of course.” He rustled through papers. “I pulled the case files you referenced in your message, Sheriff Nevada. I didn’t think anything would come of that ViCAP application I submitted.”

“New details have been entered in the system,” Macy said.

“We found a body in Deep Run.” Nevada opened a tablet and then an email from Tanner. “Agent Crow thinks we have a serial offender who remained active after he left our area.”

Tanner flipped open his file. “Guys like this don’t stop until they’re caught.”

“Who’s your victim?” Macy watched as Nevada opened an attachment. The motor vehicles picture of a young brunette came onscreen.

“Her name was Becky Taylor. I sent you her picture and several crime scene photos about ten minutes ago.”

“I have them right here,” Nevada said. He viewed the image of a woman curled on her side. She was dressed and her hands and feet bound with red rope.

“The medical examiner figured she was exposed to the elements for about five months when found in late April,” Tanner said.

“And the cause of death was strangulation?” Macy asked.

“It was.”

“What about a bite mark?” Nevada asked.

“Upper right thigh,” Tanner said.

The older sheriff glanced at the file, shaking his head. “Becky was nineteen when she was murdered. She was arrested for prostitution and drug charges several times. I did some asking around the trailer park where she grew up. They tell me the deck was stacked against her from the get-go. No daddy and a drug-addicted mom. She was pretty much on her own as soon as she could walk.”

She sounded like Cindy Shaw. “Known associates?” Macy asked.

“They knew her at the truck stops where she did most of her work. Everybody knew of her, but no one could say for sure when she vanished or who she was last seen with.”

The world swallowed up girls like Becky Taylor who turned to the sex trade for so many reasons, including money, acceptance, and even affection. “According to the ViCAP report, the DNA was degraded.”

“That was 2017, so unless you folks at Quantico got more fancy ways of testing DNA, there’s not much to be done.”

“Can you send the DNA to Quantico?” Macy asked. “It wouldn’t hurt to run it through our labs.”

“You give me the address, and I’ll get it there.”

“Thank you.” Macy tapped her pen against her yellow legal pad. “Were there any other girls like Becky who vanished?”

He ran his fingers over the length of his mustache. “Girls go missing all the time.”

“Any report of johns who tried to strangle sex workers?” Macy asked.

“I can do a search and see if any of the girls filed complaints. It’s going to take some time.”

“That would be great. We’ve got his DNA, and we think he had a chipped front tooth.”

When the conference call ended, Macy went up to a whiteboard and taped up the pictures of Tobi Turner, Cindy Shaw, Becky Taylor, and Beth Watson. All the women had long dark hair and were in their late teens or early twenties.

“Where did Cindy Shaw live?” Macy asked.

“In a small mobile home park.”

“Like Becky.”

“Yes.”

“I’d like to visit the park where Cindy lived. There might be someone there who remembers her.”

“Let’s go.”

“You don’t think I’m chasing a ghost?”

“I don’t know what you’re chasing, but looking at that board, I see a direct link between Cindy and the other three victims. It makes sense to determine if anyone remembers her.”

“Maybe I’ve been processing logical evidence stored away in her brain.” Even as she spoke the words she really wanted to believe, they didn’t quite ring true.

They drove to the small Stafford Estates, located twenty minutes from the center of town. Truck tires painted white and cut in half, along with handfuls of winter pansies, marked the entrance and the gravel road that fed into the park between the rows of about two dozen mobile homes.

Nevada pulled into the park, and they drove down the center past several units before they reached a white one trimmed in black. There were a couple of lawn chairs outside, and it reminded Macy of her pop’s place.

Macy climbed out of the vehicle and walked up to the trailer door. She knocked and stood to the side as Nevada, hand on his weapon, waited just to the right.

The door opened to a young woman who appeared to be six or seven months pregnant. Brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore a blue uniform with her name badge pinned above her right breast pocket.

Macy held up her badge. “My name is Special Agent Macy Crow, and I’m here with Sheriff Nevada looking for the family that used to live in this trailer. Do you remember hearing about the Shaw family? They would have lived here about fifteen years ago.”

“My husband and I have only been here three years. But if you knock on the door across the street from me, Ms. Beverly might remember. She’s been here at least twenty years. Knows everyone.”

“Thank you.”

“Knock loud,” the woman said. “She’s hard of hearing.”