The Surviving Girls

by Katee Robert

  He refocused on the road. “The women can’t bring in much money with the searches.”

  “They don’t.” Clarke didn’t open her eyes. “They won a civil suit against Travis Berkley about a year after he was convicted of the murders.”

  Now she had his attention. “And they escaped in the first place—bet that really stung him.” From all accounts, Travis Berkley was a textbook sociopath, and his parents and his money had only encouraged that. His mother and father’s parenting style could be summed up with benign neglect—his father had worked eighty-plus hours a week during the majority of his childhood, and his mother had done the equivalent via a full social schedule as well—and they’d thrown money and toys at him to compensate for the lack of time and attention they dealt out. Travis was brilliant enough to keep himself occupied, and to cover up his less conventional entertainments. The end result was a man who ruled his own little part of the world and felt perfectly entitled to do so. “It must have burned every single day in court to see them there, defying him and his so-called perfect plan to walk away from this crime with none the wiser.”

  “Yep. Though you’d think he wouldn’t wait ten freaking years to get his revenge.”

  Dante had thoughts about that. He also had thoughts about the fact that Britton had been called in to consult on the case when the girls pointed the finger at Berkley. The cops had wanted every t crossed and i dotted, so Britton had drawn up a blind profile—without knowing there was a suspect, let alone their identity.

  He’d described Berkley right down to the Jaguar he drove.

  The fact that Britton was apparently still in contact with the survivors was something Dante would have to bring up when he had a free moment. The head of BAU had invaluable information, and he needed access to it.

  But he wanted to go into meeting the women without anything coloring the first impression.

  The drive went quickly. It helped that western Washington was gorgeous, especially this time of year. The mountain pass and thick forests gave him plenty to look at while Clarke dozed in the passenger seat.

  The sun had risen well into the sky by the time he followed the GPS’s instructions to a gravel drive that wound off the main road. “Clarke.”

  She opened her eyes, instantly awake. “This looks like the intro to a horror movie. We’ll drive down there, the car won’t start when we try to leave, and then the nice sorority girls will kill us and cook us in soup.”

  “Woman, you have got to stop reading all those horror novels.” Dante leaned forward and examined the surrounding trees as they crawled forward. “You see that?”

  “Cameras.”

  About a half a mile in, the trees fell back to reveal a charming two-story house with a big lawn and decent-size kennel behind it. Dante stopped for a few seconds, taking in the whole picture. Cameras dotted the front porch, decorative bars covered all the windows, and the front door looked sturdy enough to survive a siege. The house was a couple of decades old, but someone had put a lot of money and effort into turning it into a fortress. “Interesting.”

  “Those cameras are different. The ones on the trees are motion activated, if I don’t miss my guess. These are on constantly.”

  It made sense from a tactical point of view. The other cameras were an early-warning system. These were a last line of defense.

  Since there was no way the women didn’t know they were here by now, he pulled onto the paved driveway and parked. “Be nice, Clarke.”

  “I’m always nice.” She caught his glance and sighed like a kid who’d been lectured by a parent. “Fine. But I get to be bad cop when we get the first suspect.”

  “You’re always bad cop.”

  “Good to know you’re seeing things my way.” She hopped out of the car and headed for the front door.

  Dante allowed himself to curse for a full five seconds. He adored her, but these women would require careful handling, and Clarke was about as subtle as a two-by-four to the side of the head. It meant she and Dante worked well together and could adapt to any situation, but sometimes it took everything he had to reel her back in. He did not need today to be one of those days.

  He took a calming breath and followed Clarke to the front door.

  “Incoming,” Emma called from the office. “Front door.”

  She didn’t sound worried, so they must be the Feds Britton had promised to send. Lei touched Saul’s head. “Saul, stay.” He sat a few feet back while she answered the knock that came a few seconds later.

  Lei hadn’t slept much, which was her only explanation for staring like an idiot when she opened the door. The two people on the porch screamed federal agent so strongly that she would have had them pegged even without Britton’s warning, but that wasn’t what had her fighting to drag her jaw off the floor.

  The woman had to be in her late twenties, though she looked younger because of her wide blue eyes and the smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. Or maybe it was the mass of curly red hair barely contained in a messy bun at the nape of her neck. Either way, she might be nontraditional, but she didn’t hold Lei’s attention.

  No, that was all reserved for the man. He wasn’t particularly tall—probably topping out around six feet—but his shoulders were wide enough to fill the doorway. His warm dark skin contrasted against his white button-up shirt, and his dark eyes took her in the same way she was taking him in.

  Or not the same, since I’m ogling him like an idiot.

  Lei didn’t move, and the redhead seemed to realize they were all staring at one another. She snorted. “You must be Lei Zhang. I thought you’d be taller.”

  “They all say that.”

  “Agent Clarke Rowan.” She jerked a thumb at herself and then her partner. “Agent Dante Young. Britton said you’d be expecting us.”

  They had all the right information, but that didn’t mean she was just going to let them into her house. Lei eyed them. “Badges, please.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake.”

  “Clarke, if you were in her position, you’d do the same damn thing.” Agent Young passed over his badge.

  “If I was in her position, I would have moved to fucking Antarctica.” She handed over her badge as well.

  “Antarctica is rather cold this time of year.” And I’d never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I spent the rest of my life hiding on another continent. Some—namely, her parents—might call what she did now hiding, but Lei knew better.

  She took a picture of both their badges and information and handed them back. She didn’t get any weird vibes off them, and if they weren’t who they said they were, she’d find out soon enough. She texted the pictures to Emma with a request to follow up to make sure they were legit. “You can come in.”

  “Thanks.”

  She led the way into the sitting room off the foyer. It wasn’t a room she and Emma ever used, mostly because they avoided company whenever possible, but it was useful to have when guests were unavoidable.

  Like now.

  Saul waited for her to sit in the single chair by the window and then took up a spot at her feet, eyeing the newcomers with polite curiosity. It could turn on a dime if she needed it to, but Saul wasn’t a guard dog. He was a cadaver dog who could also do search and rescue in a pinch. It wasn’t in his nature to attack, but he was still protective of her. “I’m assuming you did your homework.”

  Detective Young nodded. “I’d like to see the box, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.”

  She raised her eyebrows at the politeness of the question, especially considering the circumstances. “The local sheriff requested I keep it until you two showed up.” She took it out of the cabinet she’d stowed it in after Isaac had left last night, and passed it over.

  Dante examined it and then handed it to his partner. “I know you’ve gone over this already, but please walk me through what happened.”

  He had a nice voice—nicer even than Britton’s. It kind of reminded her of the tide, slow and s
teady and totally able to pull you under if you were unwary. Stop that.

  Lei went over it all. Again. Her job yesterday. Coming home to the package having been delivered by mail. What she found when she opened it. “It’s not particularly helpful, I know.”

  “No way to know.”

  Agent Rowan rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. You know damn well that the unsub covered his tracks. If the package had a postmark from Seattle, he must have sent it the second he had a chance for it to show up the same day.”

  “Clarke.”

  She blatantly ignored the warning in his tone. “I’m stating a fact. And the fact is that Lei has gone through enough crap that she won’t appreciate me sugarcoating facts. Right?”

  Lei smiled despite the situation. She’d met more than her fair share of Feds over the years, but Clarke was definitely unique. Normally they were better at dissembling, but the redhead didn’t seem interested in trying. After all the careful handling she endured at the hands of most people she met, it was a breath of fresh air. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”

  “See.”

  Dante turned those captivating dark eyes on her. “Where’s Emma?”

  “Emma is right here.” She made her entrance like she’d been waiting for her cue—which she probably had.

  Lei bit back a sigh. Her friend exerted control over her surroundings in any way she could, usually by eavesdropping. It went hand in hand with Emma’s hacking—what was hacking but a different kind of eavesdropping? But the way the Feds’ eyes narrowed showcased their dislike for that little stunt.

  Emma crossed to perch on the arm of Lei’s chair, Prince on her heels. He took up a spot opposite Saul, and Lei watched the agents note the proximity of both dogs and the women. Emma crossed her arms over her chest—or under, since she had the body of an old-school pinup girl. “You’ve heard the story. What are you going to do about it?”

  Lei nudged her. “Shut up. They’re here to tell us about the murders.”

  Agent Young raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think there were murders?”

  “Don’t play with me. One—Britton already told me there were murders, because apparently unlike you, he isn’t concerned with hiding information to prove that he has the biggest cock in the room. Two—hair is a traditional trophy of quite a large number of serial killers and serial rapists, and it was delivered to our house. And, finally, three—BAU wouldn’t be here for something as mundane as stalking. Stop playing coy and give us the information we need in order to keep ourselves safe.”

  Agent Rowan blinked and then grinned. “I changed my mind—she’s exactly the right height.”

  Agent Young shot her an exasperated look. “Knock that off.” He turned to face Lei and Emma. “There were three women murdered last night—and their coloring matches the hair delivered to your home, though we’ll have to test to ensure that it’s a true match.”

  That was bad—and it had to be bad for it to be connected to them—but he was holding something back. Lei leaned forward and pinned him with her best take-no-shit look. “The other shoe—drop it now, please.”

  Agent Young spoke softly, almost cautiously. “All three women were members of the University of Washington chapter of Omega Delta Lambda—your sorority. Whoever this unsub is, he’s following in the footsteps of Travis Berkley.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Lei couldn’t breathe. Her chest closed painfully as if she’d been knocked flat on her back, and her lungs burned with the need for oxygen. Somewhere in the tiny rational corner of her mind, she knew there was nothing really wrong with her, but rational thought had no place in the midst of her panic.

  He’s back. Emma was right all along, and he’s coming for us.

  Stop.

  You’re spiraling.

  Travis Berkley is still in jail. This is a copycat, and no matter how bad a copycat is, he can’t be worse than Travis. You survived before. You will this time, too.

  A whine cut through her thoughts, and then Saul was there, nudging her hand with his cool nose. She inhaled sharply, suddenly aware that everyone in the room was staring at her. The Feds had the blank-slate expression she’d come to associate with cops when they were in a difficult situation. Emma looked at her as if she was on the verge of her own panic attack.

  Lei stroked her hand over Saul’s head, forming a wall of indisputable facts in her mind to keep the fear at bay. She wasn’t twenty-one anymore, only a couple of years out of the stifling family home she’d grown up on, still drunk on freedom and the realization that she could do anything she wanted to with her future.

  She’d been an idiot. A child who was playing dress-up without realizing the pitfalls of adulthood.

  Though most pitfalls don’t come attached to a knife.

  Lei wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d seen the worst Travis Berkley could offer and had the scars to show for it. She could shoot. She could fight. She’d worked with enough cops over the course of her career as a trainer and as part of a search team that she had an inside view as to how their minds worked.

  She would not lose herself to terror.

  Another stroke to Saul’s head and she was able to speak. “How close to the original murders are the details?”

  Agent Young exchanged a glance with his partner and leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. His big hands dangled between his legs, and she distantly noted that he had really firm thighs beneath the expensive slacks. He spoke slowly, as if gauging her response. “We haven’t had a chance to check the original case files, but the big details are almost identical. The murders were performed in the same way—girls kept in a main room and taken out individually. We think he entered through the sliding glass door, because their condo was on the second floor and he used a knife from the kitchen.”

  She could almost hear Travis’s voice in her head, even after all these years. Let me in, Lei-Lei. I have a surprise for you. Stupid. She’d been so incredibly stupid, swayed by a pretty face and a boy her parents would approve of who made her feel. Smart, athletic, the right dollar amount in his family’s bank account. Someone bright and colorful and checking all the right boxes.

  Since she couldn’t bring herself to ask if one of the girls had let him in, she focused on the rest. “If this is a fan, he must have been in contact with Travis at some point.” She put her hand on Emma’s leg when her friend flinched at his name. The Feds didn’t react, which made her sigh. “But you already knew that. You don’t need me telling you how to do your job. What is it you need?”

  Another loaded look between them. They’d obviously been partners for a long time, because they managed to convey an entire conversation’s worth of talking in a single look.

  Again, it was Agent Young who took the lead. “We can find the details of the case easily enough, along with your accounts, but what I’d like to know is your take on Travis.”

  “Because I dated him.” She stated it baldly, as if the fact she’d slept with a murderer was something she’d dealt with and moved on from. As if the fact didn’t still keep her up at night, moving beneath her skin until she wanted to take a wire brush to her body. There weren’t enough hot showers and bleach baths in the world to change the fact that she’d willingly been with him. She could never take that back.

  “Because you—both of you—have known him longer than anyone.”

  “Agent Young—”

  “Dante.”

  She stopped short. Dante. It fit him somehow—strong and a little bit intense. He masked it well, but there was fire lurking in the depths of his dark eyes, in the way he clenched his fists as they spoke about Travis. She shouldn’t be forming personal opinions about any man, let alone one connected with the case. Lei’s track record had more than proven that fact.

  While she was still trying to process her strange and seriously inconvenient reaction to him, Emma had found her voice. She spoke softly, her southern accent giving her breathy tone a pretty lilt. She had a Dolly Parton thing going for her—at least bef
ore Dolly got a little crazy for plastic surgery—and Emma wasn’t above playing up the sweet-southern-belle thing when it suited her. “Travis Berkley is a sociopath with a healthy dose of narcissistic personality disorder—which you already know because you read the file. Everything is in the file. We have been doing our best to get past what he did to us—to our sisters—and that means forgetting as much as possible.”

  Maybe for Emma. Lei couldn’t afford to forget. It had been her mistake that tipped the first domino that destroyed so many lives. While it was possible Travis could have gotten into the house on his own, she’d been the fool who let him in her window.

  The knowledge made her hands shake. Emma might want to do everything to avoid that gory walk down memory lane, but Lei didn’t have that option. Guilt wrapped around her throat, tightening, ever tightening. “You have something specific you’re here for.”

  Agent Rowan leaned forward, a clear indication that she’d take it from there. As much as Lei wanted the calming force Dante—Agent Young—seemed to emanate, she turned almost gratefully to the redhead. She eyed her as if Lei was a particularly interesting bug. “We’re theorizing this fucker—”

  “Clarke.”

  She didn’t look at him. “These women have seen enough, Dante. You know as well as I do that a few choice curse words aren’t going to have them scrambling for their sniffing salts.”

  Lei understood now why Britton had paired these two together. Clarke was the blunt force designed to set a person back on their heels so they were too busy reacting to her foul mouth to stop and think that there might be a shrewd mind behind those deceptively big blue eyes. Dante, on the other hand, was a cool summer mist, unruffling feathers and putting everyone in the room at ease with his calm presence. Both agents would be underestimated in different ways, which was only to their benefit.

  Clever.

  She eyed the dogs on the floor. Neither of them seemed overly concerned with the Feds in the room. Good. Lei had more than proved that she could be fooled, but Saul couldn’t. Every time he reacted poorly to a person, she paid attention—and most of the time something eventually came to light to prove her dog’s instincts correct.