The Surviving Girls

by Katee Robert

  He huffed a laugh. “No. I have more questions than answers at this point, and that imbalance only seems to get more pronounced the longer I’m on this case.” He almost didn’t tell her what he knew, but Lei was as deep into this mess as he was. As a trainer to a cadaver dog, she had more interaction with cops than most people, and all that interaction was official business.

  More than that, he wanted to hear her thoughts, to get her perception of the new angle.

  “It’s still early, but it doesn’t look like Berkley and the unsub wrote to each other.”

  “There are other ways to communicate in prison.” She had her emotions locked down tight, but her hands shook where she gripped her knees.

  “There are,” he conceded. Dante itched to cover her hands with his own, to tell her that it would all work out and they’d find the unsub without another person dying. It wasn’t the truth, though—and she wouldn’t thank him for the lie. “But for the crime to so perfectly replicate the original, there had to be some significant information exchanged. Some of that was public knowledge, but a good portion the police and courts kept locked down.”

  “Hard to keep that information completely secret with so many people affected. The college still tried. Serial killers are bad for business.” She considered. “Well, we have a serial killer now. I think Travis is technically a spree killer.”

  “He is, though that term didn’t exist until relatively recently, but the nature of the crime edges him more into serial-killer territory. Spree killers tend to use guns—or even knives occasionally. Berkley was . . . something else.” He realized he’d been talking to her as if she were another detective and coughed. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t think—”

  “Don’t be sorry.” She gave him a humorless smile. “I’m not made of glass. It’s been twelve years, and I might be scared out of my mind right now, but it helps to talk it through. Just treat me the same way you treat Clarke and you’ll be all set.”

  “You’re not Clarke.”

  She shut down, the little openness he’d earned up to this point disappearing as if it’d been a figment of his imagination all along. “I can handle it.”

  It seemed like every time he was around this woman, he stuck his foot in his mouth. Dante dragged a hand over his face. “I’m not saying this right.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.” She started to stand.

  He reacted without thinking—reaching out and snagging her wrist. It was a light hold, the barest amount of contact to get her attention, but she froze like he’d tased her. Damn it, there goes my intentions of not touching her first. Dante spoke quietly, not wanting his words to carry. “I can’t treat you like Clarke because I don’t want to kiss Clarke. She’s like a sister to me. You are not my sister.”

  Lei opened her mouth, shut it, and opened it again. “Oh.”

  She didn’t pull away, and he permitted himself to stroke his thumb over her wrist. It was so easy to see her as larger-than-life, but when he touched her, there was no escaping the fact that she was a small woman. The skin on her arm broke out in goose bumps, and satisfaction surged. She wasn’t any more unaffected than he was. “It’s not appropriate or convenient, but I’m attracted to you, and it makes me occasionally say stupid things. Like I said—I apologize.”

  Another pause, longer this time. She finally sat back down. “You don’t have to apologize. Though I don’t know that my being attracted to you is a mark in your favor. I have outstandingly horrible taste in men.”

  She wanted him, too.

  He gave himself several seconds to revel in that knowledge, in the shared attraction that could bloom into something truly breathtaking if given half a chance. There was no telling if they had a chance at anything resembling a future, but he wanted to know her. To talk to her about things that didn’t directly link back to the most traumatic night of her life or the nightmare they were currently embroiled in. Dante wanted to know her favorite food, to talk about his childhood, to know her dreams for the future. And, yes, he wanted her.

  Pack it away.

  He couldn’t protect Lei if he was sleeping with her—if that was even on the table at this point, which he highly doubted—and neither of them would be at their best if they were indulging in their mutual attraction. He should explain that to her, but Lei swayed toward him, a reed bending in a strong wind, and he found himself drawn to her despite all the reasons he should retreat, a magnet to her lodestone.

  His lips found hers as if they’d done so a thousand times before—soft and sweet and completely at odds with the tempest raging in his chest. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to stroke his tongue along hers, to memorize her taste. He wanted all of her pressed against all of him, no clothing acting as barriers, several soundproofed walls between them and the rest of the world and hours to spend exploring her body and learning what she liked.

  Lei made a sound that was almost a whimper, and then she was in his lap, straddling him as she cupped his face in her hands and took the kiss deeper. Her tongue flicked the seam of his lips, and he took that for the invitation it was. Dante ran a hand up her spine and pressed her more firmly against him and nipped her bottom lip. The move made her squirm, and he had to bite back a groan at the feeling of her pressed against him with only their pants keeping them from . . . Fuck, get ahold of yourself.

  But there was no stopping this.

  It was like the last few days had been building to this moment, a screaming crescendo of need that drowned out everything else. There was no common sense, no brakes, nothing to stop them.

  A throat cleared behind them, and Lei shoved away from him. It was only his quick reflexes that grabbed her around the waist before she tumbled down the stairs. He set her on the step and moved back, turning to face Emma where she stood in the doorway, a strange look on her face. She held up her phone. “Clarke is on the line.”

  “Why didn’t she call me?”

  She raised blonde brows. “She did. Apparently you were distracted.”

  He dug his phone out of his pocket, and, sure enough, there were two missed calls from Clarke. Damn. For all his talk of keeping his head in the game, the first time Lei looked at him sideways, he was on her like some kind of savage. He glanced at her, finding her dark eyes a little glazed, her lips plumped from his mouth on hers. Sheer satisfaction derailed his guilt. She looked like that because of him.

  She glanced at him and gave a self-conscious smile. “Busted.”

  “Phone.” Emma’s voice took on a shrill quality that pushed Dante into motion. No matter what had just happened with him and Lei, Emma had been through a terrifying ordeal today. This was just one more shock in a string of shocks. It stood to reason she wouldn’t react well to it.

  He took the phone from her hand. “Clarke.”

  “You were kissing the gorgeous Chinese chick, weren’t you? You dirty dog!”

  She must have heard Emma speaking and deducted it from there—either that or she was taking a shot in the dark. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to confirm or deny. “You have information?”

  “Jeez, Dante, take away all my fun. You got to take off and almost had a run-in with the unsub. I’ve been dealing with the local flavor and watching the mouthy medical examiner cut up bodies. Cut a girl some slack, yeah?”

  He held his breath and counted to five. Slowly. “Clarke.”

  “Yeah, yeah. We are federal agents of the United States, and we should act like it. I’ve already gotten the lecture more times than I care to count, and it didn’t make any impact before now, so you might as well give it up for a lost cause.” A door slammed, and the background noise became muted. “I rented a second car and I’m on my way to you.”

  He watched Lei and Emma walk back into the house. “You know how Britton has that theory about Berkley having a partner?”

  “Hmm. Hold on while it switches to Bluetooth.” A few seconds later, Clarke was back, her voice tinny. “Okay, I’m here and catching up. Berkley’s theore
tical partner. The cops on that case already had Berkley in hand, so it didn’t make sense to look too closely at the theory that there might be more than one person there. His lawyer could have used that as leverage to create reasonable doubt. Since they knew he was responsible for at least half the murders, if not more, they went with the perp they had.”

  “There should have been some kind of evidence of the partner beyond the MO. There was evidence of Berkley all over that place, from DNA to his fingerprints. I’m not doubting Britton—I’m more than convinced he’s right at this point—but with as messy as those murders were, something else should have supported his theory beyond the profile he created.”

  She snorted. “You didn’t read the report closely enough. There were well over a dozen unidentified prints in that house. There was some kind of party or get-together or whatever the hell sororities do the week before the murders, and those girls didn’t clean worth a damn. The cops didn’t look too closely because Berkley’s prints were there.”

  Dante pinched the bridge of his nose. “We’ll get this bastard. He can’t stay away from Lei and Emma, so it’s only a matter of time.” It wasn’t even an issue of offering them up as bait any longer. Lei was right. They would be hunted no matter where they were. At least in the house, the comings and goings of strangers would be noted. In a hotel, all bets were off.

  “Listen, I was going to tell you . . .” She cursed. “What the fuck?”

  The small hairs on the back of his neck stood up. “Clarke?”

  “Oh, shit!” she yelled. Then the phone line cut out.

  Dante hung up and redialed immediately. It went to voice mail. The feeling of dread only got worse. He ran into the house, nearly trampling Lei in the process. She took one look at his face and her expression fell into familiar professional lines. “What’s wrong?”

  “Clarke is in trouble.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Lei didn’t spend her life conflicted. She saw her course of action and went for it. Doubts were for the past and the dark of night where there was no one to stand witness. As she stood in the middle of her living room and watched Dante frantically calling the Seattle PD and then looked at Emma curled up in a ball on the couch . . .

  Conflicted.

  She couldn’t leave Emma. Her friend had just been scared out of her mind. Their sanctuary breached. Their assured safety ripped away. All the measures they’d comforted themselves by taking over the years . . . none of it actually made a difference when push came to shove.

  Now Clarke was in trouble, potentially hurt—or worse.

  She paced from one wall to the other, glancing from her friend to Dante and back again. He’d leave. He wouldn’t have a choice. Even if the PD was on top of things, he would have to go to his partner. They didn’t have her exact location, but that didn’t mean anything. They could track her phone.

  Emma could track her phone.

  Lei stopped short. “Emma.”

  “Yeah?” Emma sounded like a ghost of her former self. She managed to stir to look at Lei, her blue eyes washed-out and tired. What she needed was a sleeping pill and eight hours of rest, but they didn’t have that luxury right now.

  “Can you track her phone? If it’s not turned off?” It was going straight to voice mail, but that could mean a number of things.

  Emma snorted, the first her thing she’d done since they got there. “I can track it even if it’s turned off.” She shot a look at Dante and lowered her voice. “If she ditched it, that’s another story, but even turned off, there’s still a way.”

  “Do it.”

  Emma hesitated, then climbed to her feet. “Prince, come.” The Golden Retriever shot to his feet and trotted after her, tongue lolling.

  Lei shifted so she had a line of sight down the hallway and watched Emma duck into her office. She’d find Clarke faster than the cops would, and hopefully in the hustle, no one would look too closely at how she found the agent. Dante hung up and cursed. “She left almost an hour ago. She could be anywhere between Seattle and here. Goddamn it, Clarke.” He gripped his phone so tightly, she half expected it to shatter.

  “We’ll find her.” Lei moved closer and extracted the phone from his hand—just in case. Then, because she couldn’t resist, she took his hand and squeezed it. She wasn’t good at reassurances—she’d lost that skill along with so many other parts of herself after Travis—but Dante looked so lost and furious and worried, she couldn’t help but reach out. “Did Detective Smith have anything useful to add?”

  “They’re doing a briefing in the morning updating the new task force with the information they have from the second site.” He raked his free hand over his close-cropped hair. “He’d like you to be there for it. Emma, too, though I told him that wasn’t possible.”

  Nothing short of Armageddon would pry Emma from this house, and even then she might decide to try to wait it out. She’d do the same with their current situation. Lei glanced at the hallway. No sign of her yet. “I can’t leave Emma.”

  “I understand. I hope you understand that I’m contacting Sheriff Bamford to put a deputy on the house.” Dante crossed his arms over his chest. “If he doesn’t have the manpower, I’ll request it from Britton.”

  Surprise derailed her thoughts. “What? Why? That’s not protocol.”

  “I’m aware.” Nothing budged in his expression. “I’m also aware that you’re targeted, and the unsub will be back. I know you don’t like hearing it, but it’s the truth. There’s no avoiding a future confrontation with this bastard, and I’ll be damned before I leave you unprotected—both of you.”

  She chewed on that for a moment. Part of her wanted to yell at him, to rail that they’d been just fine before he showed up and they’d take care of themselves in the future, too. But the truth was that the killer had bypassed all their security and come into the one place that was supposed to be safe. “I’ll talk to Emma.”

  “That’s all I ask.” His gaze dropped where she held his phone. “You’ll be safer here if you bar the doors, but I can’t leave her out there.” His expression flickered, as if trying to fight against a tide of fear.

  Lei moved before she thought too hard about it. She stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “We’ll find her, Dante.” What condition they found her in was up for debate, but he was worried enough without her stating the obvious and making everything worse. Loup Loup Pass was hardly treacherous this time of year, but when the rain wet the road, it could get slippery. If Clarke was going too fast . . . She could be down the side of an embankment. Emma will find her. At least this time of year, she wasn’t in danger of freezing to death while they searched.

  Emma hurried into the room. She barely paused at the sight of Lei hugging Dante, waving a paper. “I found her.”

  “What?”

  Lei released him and took the paper from her friend. “Emma knows her shit.” She glanced at the location—closer than she’d anticipated. “She made it through the pass. It’s about twenty minutes from here.” Close enough that it’s possible the killer had something to do with this.

  No, that was crazy thinking . . . Wasn’t it?

  She was jumping at shadows, and she didn’t know how to stop. Every time she turned around, this guy was pulling off something she would have thought impossible before he did it. Hauling two young women out into the woods to create a scent trail for her to follow. Managing to get back to her and Emma’s home and break in without Emma’s early-warning system sounding the alarm. He might have been here before without our knowing it. The stalking didn’t just magically start up with the murders. This has been planned for a long time.

  What was running an FBI agent off the road compared to that?

  She couldn’t say it to Dante, couldn’t reveal just how paranoid she was.

  “You should go. Call Isaac and tell him to bring his people and meet you there. Maybe an ambulance, too.” There was one that Stillwater shared with neighboring towns, and the paramedics we
re mostly volunteers—just like the deputies—but it was better than nothing.

  Dante hesitated. “I can’t leave you here alone.”

  “Yes, you can.” She moved to the door and opened it. “Emma has me now. I’ll keep both of us safe.” She waited, holding her breath. “Go.”

  He finally nodded as if coming to a decision. “Lock the doors. Lock the damn windows. You have your gun?”

  “Yes.” She wasn’t going anywhere without it from there on out. She had a license to carry concealed, and if any cop in the investigation had a problem with it, they could shove off. They’d already proved that they couldn’t protect Lei and Emma. They didn’t get a say. Dante was different, but his loyalties were split—and rightfully so. That didn’t change the fact that the only person she could rely on was Emma.

  “I’ll call as soon as I know something.” He brushed a finger along her jawline, the touch so soft, she was half sure she’d imagined it. And then he was gone.

  Lei stood there until his taillights disappeared into the growing darkness, and then she shut and locked the door. She paused, still touching the dead bolt. “The doors were locked before.”

  “Yes. Always.”

  Then how the fuck had the killer gotten inside? The security cameras being overridden was scary, but ultimately technology was corruptible—Emma’s skill set was more than proof of that. Her custom-locked doors should not be. Emma had petitioned for some fancy locks that could be coded to them, but Lei didn’t trust technology as much as her friend did. When they were installed, there were only two copies of the key made. Lei had one. Emma had the other. Hers never left her pocket when she was outside the house, and the house was locked when she was inside. Emma never left the house, period. There should have been no damn way for the killer to get past their locked doors and leave the front one open for Lei to find.

  She turned and leaned against the door. “Where is your key?”

  “My key?” Emma frowned and pulled at the chain she always wore around her neck. It held a single key and a zip drive. Lei had never asked what was on the zip drive, but Emma had carried it on her person for years. It was one of the few secrets they had from each other. Emma touched the key. “Why?” Her expression cleared. “You think he somehow got a copy of the key? But that doesn’t make sense. We both carry ours on us, and there aren’t others.”