by C. J. Cross
Girl Left Behind
C.J. Cross
Liquid Mind Publishing
Girl Left Behind
A Dana Grey Mystery Book One
C.J. Cross
Copyright © 2021 by C.J. Cross.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
Liquid Mind Publishing
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
Also by C.J. Cross
Girl Left Behind
Girl on the Hill
Girl in the Grave
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
The Dana Gray Series
Girl on the Hill: Chapter 1
Girl on the Hill: Chapter 2
Prologue
He took a final drag from his cigarette as his prey approached. Holding the smoke in his lungs, he savored the tranquil feeling that washed over him. This was it—the calm before the storm. His first kill. It had to be perfect.
Letting the sound of their unsuspecting voices center him, he exhaled, stubbing out the cigarette butt as he listened in on what would be the last pleasant conversation the couple would ever have.
“I don’t know, James . . . I see potential here, but it would mean uprooting our daughter. Do you really think it’s worth altering her life like this?”
“Renee, you know as well as I do our girl is exceptional. I have every faith that Dana will adjust. Besides, doesn’t everything feel life altering at thirteen?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You know I am. And don’t forget Dana is half the reason we’re doing this.”
Curiosity ate at him as the silence following the exchange between the couple dragged on. It had him moving to the peephole in the flimsy motel door. He knew he shouldn’t risk it, but he couldn’t help himself. This kill was special and so were the victims. They hadn’t been chosen at random. No, each life collected held special meaning. These two even more because they would be his first.
Holding his breath, he gazed through the peephole, getting a glimpse at the stars of his show. They didn’t know it yet, but they were about to earn a special place in history.
The couple embraced each other just outside the door, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes after sharing a tender kiss. It was their love and devotion that had won them this coveted spot over so many other contenders.
The woman wore an emerald silk blouse that emphasized the green in her hazel eyes. The man wore a brown tweed blazer almost the exact shade of his hair. They would look gorgeous laid out on the stage he’d set for them. For a moment he wondered about the daughter they spoke of. What did she look like? Did she take after her mother or her father, or was she an equal blend of the two? Maybe one day he would have a chance to find out.
Visions flashed through his mind of finding the girl and bringing her into the fold. With enough time he could make her see why her parents had been chosen, why it was such an honor, one maybe they could share together in the future. Clamping the lid on his excitement, he pushed the thoughts to a dark corner of his mind to revisit later. He had more pressing matters to focus on now.
The work had been done. Now all that was left to do was to wait for the show to begin. Stepping back from the door, he glanced one last time at the hotel room. The last one the couple would ever see. Excitement bubbled up as he stared at the pristine red and gold carpet. The pattern of starbursts called to him, the fibers aching to absorb the blood of his sacrifice.
Whispers too low for him to interpret were exchanged outside the door before he heard the key slip into the lock. His heart raced as the doorknob twisted, sealing the couple’s fate. There was no going back now.
He gripped the camera in his trembling hands, willing himself to hold steady. He didn’t want to miss this—the priceless expressions on his victims’ faces as they realized their destiny and the fact that there was no escaping it.
1
“Shep, over here!”
Jake Shepard nodded to his steely-haired superior before donning latex gloves and blue crime scene booties. SSA Tom Cramer had been the one to call Jake to the scene. It might not be textbook procedure by Bureau standards, but such behavior wasn’t unusual between the two men. Jake and the savvy special agent had always shared a unique working relationship thanks to the unbreakable bond of brotherhood the Army afforded.
Even though Jake’s days in uniform were behind him, he appreciated the camaraderie, nonetheless. Having Cramer take him under his wing had made the transition to civilian life a bit easier, especially since joining the FBI hadn’t been the means to an end that Jake had hoped for.
Thanks to the nature of the covert special forces missions he’d served on in the military, he still had much to atone for. And from the looks of the crime scene he was standing in, he’d get to do a bit more of that today.
“Third one,” Cramer said, shaking his head at the gruesome scene as Jake approached.
Sadly, Jake wasn’t as shocked as he should have been by the lifeless bodies. It was the pentagram and antique glass vials that piqued his interest.
“Same MO?” he asked as he made his way toward the large pentagram sketched between the twin hotel beds.
“Seems that way,” Cramer replied.
Jake’s eyes scanned the occult symbol on the floor. It stood out boldly against the pale blues and yellows of the carpet pattern. Though it had been some time since it’d dried, there was no doubt in Jake’s mind that the pentagram had been drawn in blood. Just like the other two.
He crouched lower, examining the way the blood had seeped into the carpet fibers. His mind flashed back to the two previous crime scenes he’d visited in the past few weeks, then to the present bodies laid out on the twin beds. They lay motionless, their hands folded over their chests, eyes closed, hair and clothing neatly arranged. If it weren’t for the strange glass vials in their hands, he would’ve thought they were sleeping.
Apparently, that was the mistake a member of hotel housekeeping made at the first crime scene. But this was number th
ree. Word was spreading.
DC might be a big city, but gossip was an artform here. Jake heard his uncle’s voice in his head. Lies spread faster than the devil’s radio.
Growing up in rural Nevada had left Jake with a plethora of unique euphemisms; ones he kept to himself thanks to his hard-learned lessons in the military. The Army taught him to conform or be cast out. And Jake had been cast out enough for one lifetime.
“He gets an A plus for consistency,” Jake said, noting the killer’s signature—the pentagram and glass vial in each victim’s hands. “Any word from toxicology?”
Cramer shook his head. “Preliminary findings are the same as the other two. Vials are empty of trace, but we’re still waiting for a full work up.”
Jake sighed. “This makes three. It’s officially a serial. Guess that means we’re passing this off to BAU?”
“Not just yet,” Cramer murmured.
A crime scene tech piped up. “But that’s protocol. The Behavioral Analysis Unit is specially equipped to handle a scene like this. Unless you think this is a copycat situation?”
Cramer’s nostrils flared as he stalked toward the green tech. Stopping short, he towered over the young man, who at least had the sense to cower under Cramer’s stony glare.
“What I think is that you should do your job and get Agent Shepard up to speed on the scene,” Cramer snapped, before storming toward the hotel room door.
Jake heard his boss mutter a few choice words under his breath as he ducked under the police tape and disappeared down the hall. He was clearly frustrated, and Jake didn’t blame him. They now had six dead bodies and zero leads.
“What’d I say?” the tech asked, his face noticeably paler after an up-close and personal encounter with the gruff older agent.
“Nothing,” Jake assured him. “It was a fair question. But when you’ve been doing this job as long as Cramer has, it’s not a necessary one. At least not if you want to stay on his good side,” he added with a wink.
The tech nodded.
“So, what’ve you got for me?” Jake asked, pulling out his notebook to take notes.
The tech began rattling off the details pertinent to the case.
“Two victims, DOA. Cassie Owens, twenty-eight, Tyson Kline, thirty-two. Cause of death currently unknown. Awaiting toxicology report.”
Jake had already assessed most of this himself, but he let the eager tech continue, estimating time of death and other clinical information. This was a good teaching moment and there was no better place to learn than on the job. It wasn’t until the tech got to the absurd title assigned to the killer that Jake stopped him.
“The Romeo and Juliet Killer?” Jake’s dark eyebrows furrowed with disapproval. “That’s what we’re going with?”
The tech shrugged. “I didn’t come up with it.”
Grunting, Jake flipped his notebook closed, beginning to see why Cramer needed a moment. This was the part Jake hated most. The fame and notoriety that would come along with deeming these murders serial … it would be a media circus. Most of the time, that was exactly what these sick, murderous sociopaths expected. And one thing Jake hated was doing what was expected.
Thinking outside the box had saved his life a time or two. Why stop now?
“Thanks,” Jake said, excusing himself. “Come find me if you have anything new.”
Outside, Jake found Cramer hunched over the hood of his black SUV, studying something on his cell phone, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“I thought you quit,” Jake called as he walked over.
Cramer straightened. “So did I. Take a look at this.”
Jake examined the phone Cramer handed over, frowning as he read the email. He read the same line twice to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. Dr. Gray. Smithsonian Occult History and Artifacts department.
“What the hell is this?” Jake demanded.
“It’s a directive from the powers that be.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means from now on, you’ll be working this case with a partner.”
Jake worked his jaw, clenching down hard against the painful memories that began flooding back to him. “I don’t do partners, Cramer. You know that.”
“I know you prefer to work alone, but we’ve got nothing and let’s face it, this isn’t our typical case.”
“You’re right, it isn’t. And adding some librarian I need to babysit isn’t going to make it any easier.”
“Listen, Shep, my hands are tied. The Bureau wants a consult on this one. Apparently, this witch doctor has helped us out before. Just set up a meeting and get me a lead before the media turns this into a three-ring circus.”
Jake leaned back against the SUV with a sudden urge to take up smoking. It was either that or hit something, because Cramer was right. They were out of their depth here. Gang bangers, drug trafficking, terrorist cells, missing persons; that he was prepared for. But some satanic, pentagram-painting psycho? It wasn’t a mind he was eager to explore.
That was the trouble, though. They had nothing. No leads. No way to track down this killer. No way to stop more innocent lives from being snuffed out. Sighing, Jake rubbed his temples, knowing once again, his sense of duty would make it impossible to ignore the Bureau’s order to chase down every lead—even ones as crazy as talking to some “witch doctor” who probably never left the Smithsonian’s rare books department.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But I highly doubt some librarian is going to crack this case wide open.”
“So do I, but we’re not here to make assumptions. The job is to investigate every possible option until we uncover the truth.”
“I know the drill,” Jake muttered. He was expected to follow orders like a good soldier. It seemed there was no escaping the Army. On days like this, he felt like he’d merely traded one uniform for another. Sure, his Brooks Brothers suits fit a hell of a lot better than his multicam combat fatigues, but the jobs weren’t much different—do what you’re told, don’t ask questions.
A need for justice had always driven Jake. It was one of the reasons he’d enlisted in the Army. But now, at the FBI, his desire ran deeper. He needed to do more than fulfill his patriotic duty and protect civil liberties. He owed a life debt and the best way to repay it seemed to be saving as many lives as he could. Otherwise, the guilt of being spared when others had not was too much to bear.
Shaking off his dark thoughts, Jake handed the phone back to his boss. “I guess I’ve got an appointment with the witch doctor.”
2
“Dr. Gray?”
Dana Gray’s head lifted as she reluctantly pulled herself from her work. Looking up from the ancient tome she’d been deciphering, she blew at the chocolate brown bangs hanging in her eyes. Annoyed, she smoothed back the stubborn strands that had escaped her haphazard bun and added another pen into the fray to hold them in place.
Pushing her magnified readers into her hair, Dana replaced them with her regular prescription lenses as she waited for the world around her to come back into focus. The dark head of Dana’s intern timidly poked into her office.
“Oh, here you are.” Claire awkwardly halted at the door, wringing her hands. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Dr. Gray, but you have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Dana forgot to hide the shock in her voice. She couldn’t help it. In her line of work, visitors were rare. But that was the nature of the game when studying ancient history. All her subjects existed in the past tense. Some not at all. At least that’s what mainstream society wanted to believe. But Dana believed there was more to the world than what most minds were comfortable accepting. That was why she’d dedicated her life to studying the occult. Well, one of the reasons.
Dana readjusted her glasses, which were already sliding down her nose. “Why didn’t you page me?”
“I did,” Claire rebuked, her clear blue eyes blinking behind her black cat-eye frames.
Dana’s eyes flitted to the clear green pager on her a
ntique desk. The outdated gadget looked other-worldly against the ornate carvings and artifacts on the polished fifteenth century desk. She knew it was impractical, but it had been the last gift her father gave her, and she couldn’t part with it.
The display flashed, showing two missed pages. “Oh. So you did.” Dana pushed her glasses up into her hair, tangling them with her readers as she rubbed her eyes. “Sorry. I was making some headway with these Nordic Grimoires. I must’ve been so engrossed I didn’t hear your page.”
“That’s why most of modern society prefers cellphones,” Claire replied, her tone factual.
Dana felt the corners of her lips lift. In the two years they’d been working together, she’d come to enjoy the girl’s quirky personality. If it was possible, Claire was even more socially awkward than Dana. Although Dana preferred to think of herself as effectively concise, rather than socially inept. It wasn’t her fault if most people she encountered didn’t appreciate her honesty. It said more about their own insecurities than hers.
Dana clipped her pager to her belt and looked pointedly at Claire. “I own a cellphone. I just prefer not to bring it down to the stacks.” She found it a distraction that took her out of the world she immersed herself in when she was among her books. Besides, the cell service this deep in the library was atrocious. But she was getting off subject. “Who’s here to see me?”