She’d lain down after Eric’s departure, expecting to doze for only a little while. But apparently she had been asleep for hours. Outside, the sky had grown black, bathing the room in shadows. Mia stood and bumped her shin on the coffee table in her haste to get to a lamp. She’d never liked the darkness. She released a pent-up breath as soft light filled the space. Based in reality or not, the dream had brought back old memories she had worked hard to suppress.
Two days before her sixth birthday, the Florida Department of Family and Child Services removed Mia from her mother’s home, relinquishing her into foster care. Luri Hale had been a mess, unable to care for herself, much less a child. Abandoned by her husband, jobless, given to binge drinking and interchanging bouts of mania and depression, she had made Mia’s young life a maelstrom of uncertainty. During Luri’s up periods, their filthy apartment hosted an endless parade of strange men. And when the crash—the corresponding down period came—it was much worse. Mia was left alone with her mother’s drunken sobs and abusive outbursts.
The removal by DFACS came after Mia, dirty, barefoot, had been caught shoplifting food from a neighborhood grocery store.
Still, foster care had been a rough ride, with families often taking children only for the modicum of cash they brought in. And Mia learned quickly not to get too settled anywhere, since the following week or month might mean a move somewhere else, including back home whenever Luri regained custody of her before losing her again. Because she refused to give up her rights, Mia had been ineligible for adoption. Not that many couples were looking for kids who weren’t babies or toddlers, especially ones who weren’t blond-haired and blue-eyed.
Mia knew Luri was still alive, living somewhere near Brunswick, Georgia, an hour and a half up the coast. But she never saw her, hadn’t spoken to her in years. Even now, she felt a sense of anger and loss for the family she’d never had.
Wandering into the kitchen, she noticed the blinking light on the phone console, indicating two new voice mails. The phone’s ringer was on low—had the calls come in while she’d been asleep? She pressed the button and waited for the first message. It was from Grayson, who was checking in on her. He’d heard about the ID on Pauline Berger’s body, he said, and wanted Mia to call him back. Concern threaded his voice.
She would call him, soon. An image of the woman’s corpse filled her head and sent a shiver running through her all over again.
Mia moved to the second message but was met with only silence—a good ten seconds of static-filled dead air before the voice mail system cut off the connection. She checked the caller ID screen, which read Unknown Caller. Zeroes were displayed where the number should have been. She received calls like that all the time, everyone did, and she hated that she was letting some telemarketing firm put her even more at unease. The draining therapy session, the strange nightmare—all of it had shaken her a bit. Mia realized it wasn’t Grayson but Eric she wanted to call. She shoved away the impulse, however, not wanting to seem anxiety-prone and needy.
As she went to the fridge and rummaged through the Thai leftovers from the previous evening, her mind returned to the little red-haired girl. Even now, she could almost feel the child’s thin fingers grasping hers, could see her clear hazel eyes.
It’ll get better. You’ll see.
Mia only hoped the dream-child was telling her the truth.
Eric had taken his beer out to the deck of Cameron and Lanie’s house. The couple lived in St. Augustine, south of the Jacksonville area in a weathered, Craftsman-style waterfront home that overlooked the Matanzas Bay. The home had been built in the 1920s and passed down through three generations of Vartrans. A short distance away, the lighthouse on Anastasia Island was visible, its still-operational beacon glowing like a bonfire in the dark night.
“You know that thing’s haunted,” Lanie said, following his gaze as she came out onto the deck from the kitchen. She cupped the mound of her belly and eased down onto the step next to where he sat. Her blond hair lifted in the warm, brackish breeze. “As the story goes, the lighthouse keeper’s young daughter drowned in the bay and her ghost can be seen on the observation deck from time to time.”
Eric raised his eyebrows. “Do you really believe that?”
She smiled slightly, shrugging. “I’ve never seen her but it’s good for tourism.”
“Where’s Cameron?”
“Doing the dishes for his poor, knocked-up wife. I thought I’d come out here and check on you.”
Eric had found out at dinner that Lanie was due in early August, and she was having a baby girl. He had known Lanie for nearly as long as he’d known Cameron. During the years in which they’d been partnered, it had often been the four of them on weekends—Cameron and Lanie, Rebecca and himself. Cameron had served as a groomsman at his and Rebecca’s wedding. Sitting on the deck with nothing but quiet and the water’s dark beauty stretching out in front of him, he could easily understand why his friends had made the choice to return home.
“How are you, Eric?” Lanie nudged his shoulder with hers. “I mean, really. How are you?”
“I’m okay.”
When she continued to gaze at him, concern on her face, he added quietly, “It’s been almost three years, Lanie.”
She pushed her hair from her eyes. “Time flies. We miss you. We miss Rebecca, too.”
Eric took a sip of his beer.
“Even after Cam and I moved back home, Rebecca and I still kept in touch by phone. We talked every few weeks or so.” Lanie didn’t look at him as she spoke. Instead, she stared out over the water. “I know you guys were having problems. But she still loved you, Eric.”
He sighed. He suspected she knew anyway. “We were getting a separation. Rebecca wanted it—I didn’t.”
His job had come between them. Bureau work was always demanding, but Eric’s move to the VCU had only intensified the long hours and travel, as well as the pressure. The daily violence had worn him down more than he’d expected. Rebecca had always needed his attention, his time, and he hadn’t been able to give it to her. At least not in the amounts she desired. Even if she really did love him, she had still wanted out.
“I let her down,” he murmured, more to himself than Lanie.
“It’s not your fault. Rebecca knew what she was getting into when she married a federal officer—”
“She didn’t plan to die because of me.”
Lanie fell silent. There really was no response she could give. Eric felt bad for the harsh edge to his words. Rebecca’s murder had screwed him up, but he didn’t need to take it out on someone else. After a few moments, he said, “Thanks for dinner, and for letting me stay at the bungalow. It beats the hell out of the Holiday Inn.”
“Cam figured you get your share of hotel rooms without having to stay in one down here.” Lanie played with her wedding band, sliding it up and down on her finger as she spoke. “We’re lucky. His parents left him the rental property, and this house. The bungalow is a nice supplemental income, but it’s in an older area of Jax Beach and usually doesn’t rent out until the summer when everything else is full.”
She hesitated. “I’m sorry we hadn’t mentioned the baby before now. Called or dropped you a postcard or something. It’s just that it’s taken a while and with the miscarriage two years ago, I’ve been a little superstitious about talking about it.”
Eric nodded his understanding. “You guys have a good life down here. You’ll be good parents. Do you have a name picked out?”
“Rosalie Marie.” She let out a small laugh. “It’s horribly old-fashioned, but it was Cameron’s mother’s name. He’s dead set on it.”
“It’s beautiful.”
Eric had braced his hand on the thigh of his jeans, and Lanie covered it with hers. She gazed at him, her china-blue eyes serious. Even in the shadows, he could see faint sun freckles on her cheekbones.
“You deserve a good life, too, Eric,” she said softly. “But Cameron thinks you’re still not through punishing
yourself.”
He looked away and swallowed another sip of beer. Maybe when The Collector was dead or behind bars—and he admitted he’d prefer the former—he’d be able to let go of the past. But not until then.
Both he and Lanie turned as the door to the kitchen opened. Cameron came outside. Eric got to his feet and helped Lanie to a standing position. Truth be told, she wasn’t all that big yet but she was small-framed and her rounded stomach did make her seem a little off balance.
“Kitchen all done?” she asked.
Cameron nodded. He still had a dish towel slung over one shoulder.
“Do you want some dessert now? You boys can have coffee or another beer, and I’ll be stuck with boring old herbal tea…” She halted, apparently catching the seriousness on Cam’s face.
“We’re going to have to take a rain check on dessert, babe,” he said. His eyes moved to Eric. “I just got a call from Boyet. Another woman was reported missing an hour ago.”
8
Eric and Cameron stood in the security office at Jacksonville International Airport, reviewing a digital recording with the facility’s head of security. Anna Lynn Gomez, a twenty-eight-year-old flight attendant, could be seen in the grainy video. She was still in her uniform and rolling her suitcase across the concourse.
“No one appears to be following her,” the heavyset security chief noted. He switched to a time-stamped recording from the parking garage. “And there’s her Nissan Altima driving out of lot B at 11:28 p.m.”
That had been Thursday night, and it was now in the very early hours of Saturday morning. Due to her work schedule, at first neither of Ms. Gomez’s roommates had reported her missing, thinking her layover had been extended somewhere. But when she still hadn’t shown up by Friday evening and failed to return messages left on her cell phone, they had grown concerned and contacted the local authorities.
Which meant she had already been missing for over twenty-four hours.
Eric watched as her car remained stopped at the parking attendant’s booth on the video. Although it was hard to see clearly, she appeared to be alone. He thought of the stolen vehicle that had driven past the area where Pauline Berger’s body was found on Thursday night. If the unsub had been out hunting then, it was possible he’d crossed paths with Ms. Gomez, who would have been headed toward the waterside suburb of Arlington where she rented a house with two other women. Eric considered several scenarios. She could’ve had a flat somewhere on the road, or stopped for gas or a late bite to eat. Any such event could have given her abductor an opportunity.
“The roads aren’t enough—tell the JSO to check parking lots for her car between here and Arlington. Gas stations and restaurants open late in particular,” Eric said as he and Cameron traveled back through the airport. Due to the hour, the terminal held only occasional patches of bleary-eyed travelers.
Cameron took his cell phone from his pocket. They stood in front of a closed Starbucks while he gave instructions to a Sheriff’s Office dispatcher.
“Can we consider for a moment the possibility Ms. Gomez wasn’t abducted?” he asked as they resumed walking. “You saw her on the video, Eric. She’s pretty and young—maybe she’s off with a pilot having hot sex at some beach resort. When we talked to her roommates, they acknowledged she can be impulsive, which I interpreted to be a diplomatic way of saying irresponsible. It’s one of the reasons they waited so long to call.”
“I hope that’s the case.” Eric had seen the flight attendant. Her petite frame and dark hair reminded him of Mia.
“But you don’t think so.”
“Do you?”
Cam shrugged. “Wishful thinking.”
The disappearance of Ms. Gomez had made the Friday late-night news. Combined with the recent discovery of Pauline Berger’s body, the media was hotly speculating on the presence of a serial killer in the metro area. The FBI would be making a formal statement in the morning, and Eric was working on getting a gag order in place prohibiting the press from talking about certain aspects of the investigation. Due to Mia’s involvement, the Courier had already agreed not to publish specific details, but he couldn’t count on other news outlets to have the same discretion. The order was being put in front of a judge at 7:00 a.m.
As they continued through a set of automated glass doors that led into the airport’s parking garage, Cameron checked his watch. “I emailed you the M.E.’s report on Ms. Berger—it came through right after dinner. An analysis of the remaining skin tissue on the abdomen indicates a controlled, superficial laceration.”
“In the shape of the number six?”
“Possibly. There wasn’t enough tissue left to make a full determination. C.O.D. was most likely blunt force trauma. The skull was fractured. There were also several other broken bones.”
Stopping at the elevator, Eric pushed the button. In Maryland, the unsub had killed his victims in multiple ways. Pauline Berger had apparently been beaten to death.
Eric wondered how long they had. If The Collector held true to form, Anna Lynn Gomez was still alive. She’d remain that way until he took another victim.
She’d barely slept after watching the late-evening news.
It was now after four on Saturday afternoon, and Mia stood in shorts and a tank top in the muggy shade of a live oak, waiting outside her apartment building for Eric’s arrival. She had spoken to him only briefly that morning by phone. Even with the latest abduction, he had been intent on keeping their appointment with Dr. Wilhelm.
In fact, he’d said it was more important than ever.
Mia had come outdoors, thinking she would meet him there instead of him climbing the stairs to get her. Not to mention, she’d spent the sunny day inside so far, monitoring the television and police scanner for updates on Anna Lynn Gomez’s disappearance. She needed some fresh air to clear her head.
A red Toyota Prius turned into the driveway.
“How are you, Mia?” Penney Niemen, the third-floor tenant, called as she turned off the car’s ignition and slid from behind the steering wheel. Head chef at a popular vegetarian restaurant on San Marco Square, Penney was tall and willowy, with a mass of curly brown hair.
“I’m fine, Penney, thanks.” Mia walked over to the car.
The other woman hesitated, then added awkwardly, “Will and Justin told me about what…happened. That you’re the unidentified woman on the news.”
She glanced worriedly at Mia’s bandaged fingers and abraded wrists. “I hope you don’t mind—I know the press didn’t release your name. But they thought I should be aware, living upstairs in the same building.”
“It’s okay,” she assured her. “And it happened in the parking garage at the newspaper, not here.”
“I still can’t believe you managed to get away.” Shaking her head, her curls bouncing, she lifted the car’s hatchback to remove a bag of groceries. “It’s like something out of a horror movie. You’re incredibly brave.”
Mia didn’t feel that way. The truth was, she had checked her apartment’s security system repeatedly last night and kept all the overhead lights on, something she wasn’t proud of.
“They told me you were drugged. You really can’t remember anything?”
“Not so far.”
“It’s probably a blessing. If that happened to me, I’m pretty sure I’d become a certified agoraphobic and a gun owner,” Penney said. “They think he took another woman—a flight attendant—last night.”
When they’d talked, Eric had told Mia the little he knew about Anna Lynn Gomez’s disappearance so far. The FBI had released a statement that morning acknowledging that all four abductions, as well as Pauline Berger’s murder, were believed to be the work of a single culprit. JSO deputies and federal agents were currently canvassing the city, looking for the missing woman’s Nissan.
“Aren’t you terrified this psycho might come after you again?”
“According to the FBI, it’s uncommon for this type of serial offender to go after the same per
son twice,” Mia said, recounting what Eric had told her. She hoped it would put Penney’s mind at ease about living nearby.
“Still, you should be on your guard, Mia. I am. I’ve started carrying Mace.” Penney closed the hatchback. Holding the groceries on one hip, she used her free hand to shield her eyes from the sun. “Look, I feel bad about not checking on you earlier. I’ve been working double shifts at the restaurant all week. And to be honest, I think all this has me a little freaked out. I live alone…”
“I understand.” The two women didn’t know one another all that well, anyway, mostly talking as they passed on the stairs to and from work, or attending the occasional party that Will and Justin threw. “I’m sure the restaurant keeps you busy.”
“I’ll bring you some treats—maybe some brownies?”
Vegetarian or not, Slice of Life was known for having some of the best pastries around. “Thanks.”
The building had curving exterior staircases. Mia watched as Penney went up the stairs on the left and disappeared on the third-floor landing. A moment later, Eric’s rental sedan pulled in behind the Prius. Mia came forward as he exited the car. He appeared tired, and she imagined he hadn’t had much rest since another missing woman was reported.
“Any updates?” she asked.
He opened the passenger-side door for her. The car’s air conditioner was running hard, battling the Florida humidity. “We located Ms. Gomez’s Nissan an hour ago. It was in the parking lot of a Bargain-Mart off the Arlington Expressway.”
The discovery eliminated any possibility that the young woman had just gotten a wild hair and gone off on her own free will. Mia felt a troubling disquiet.
Eric squinted at her in the strong sunlight. “Why would a woman stop at a place like that, alone, at nearly midnight?”
“Lots of reasons,” she answered honestly. “Tampons. Emergency wine.”
He seemed to appreciate her candidness. Touching her shoulder, he said, “We should go.”
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