by Rachel Dylan
“What else can you tell me?”
“I ran upstairs to get my cell to dial 911. I started making the call, and a man grabbed me before I could get to my Glock.”
“Yes, we took the Glock into evidence.” He paused. “What happened after he grabbed you? Did you see him?”
“It was dark in my bedroom. I estimate that he was about six feet tall, two hundred pounds, give or take. But he was dressed all in black and wore a ski mask. I couldn’t even see his eyes. However, I was able to fight him off.”
He nodded. “Are you trained in self-defense techniques?”
“Yes, I am. If you want my honest assessment, I think he was actually surprised I fought back. He seemed thrown off by it. And when I reminded him that the cops were coming, he started to retreat. I got my Glock and was going to go after him, but that’s when I twisted my ankle and fell on the stairs.”
He kept jotting down notes. “What do you do for a living, Ms. Parker?”
Here came the tricky part. Would he believe that she was a photographer? The problem was that he’d seen the Glock at the scene, so there was no escaping that. “I’m a photographer.”
“That’s your only job?”
“Yes. It keeps me fully occupied.” Which was the truth. It was her only current job. She’d left the CIA life behind.
“Do you know anyone that would want to hurt you?”
She kept a straight face. “Not that I know of.” There was no way she was divulging her CIA backstory to a man she’d just met, even if he was working her case.
He took a breath and stopped writing. “I don’t want to frighten you by telling you this, but I feel I have to.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “Tell me what?”
“I’m working in conjunction with the Atlanta Police Department, and we are investigating a string of murders that have occurred in the city.”
“String of murders? Are you talking about a serial killer? I was wondering why the FBI was responding to a police call.”
“I was working a crime scene not far away from your home when the 911 call came in last night.”
“Okay, but how do I fit into all of this?”
“Once again, there’s no cause for alarm at the moment. You’re safe.”
She nodded. “I understand. But please tell me what it is you’re trying to say.”
“Ms. Parker, here’s the situation. You look strikingly similar to the other three victims from the case. I’m assuming you’re in your twenties?”
“Yes, I’m twenty-seven.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes, just with Grace.”
“All of the victims have been attractive women in their twenties, living alone, with long dark hair and light-colored eyes.”
She felt her eyes widen. “Seriously?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“Are you trying to say that the attacker was in my house trying to make me his next victim? That the man I came into contact with actually may be the serial killer that you’re trying to apprehend?”
“I can’t say with certainty that your attacker is the same man I’m trying to hunt down, but I don’t really believe in this many coincidences. The last victim was murdered approximately two weeks ago. You may have very well been his next target.”
“Wow.” She thought she’d left her life of danger behind when she quit the Agency.
She blew out a breath. “By any chance, did you find my cell at the house? The man who attacked me grabbed it away from me last night in the struggle.”
“We didn’t. Did you have any sensitive information on there like financial records—anything like that?”
“No.” Her time at the CIA had taught her to be wary of storing any intel on electronic devices. “But it did have a lot of my photos on it. Things I needed for work.”
“I’m sorry about your phone. We will attempt to track it, but I’m assuming that search will come up empty. I also suggest you get your locks changed.”
“Thanks. That’s a good idea.” She looked up and saw another man walk into her hospital room. She recognized him as one of the officers at the scene last night. He screamed law enforcement, with his dark, conservative suit. He was tall with thick, blond hair.
Rex looked at her. “Ms. Parker, I don’t think you officially met Derrick last night. This is Detective Derrick McKinley from the Atlanta Police Department. He’s also working your case.”
Derrick walked over and smiled. There was a kindness in his blue eyes. “How are you doing, Ms. Parker?”
“I’m ready to get out of here.”
“I can only imagine how you must be feeling. I just wanted to stop by and check on you. And to pick up this guy.” He nodded toward Rex. “The doctor said she was about to come in. Have you given Rex your statement?”
“Yes.” She looked over at Rex. “Did you have more questions?”
“Not at the moment, but I’m going to need to talk with you again to determine if there is any connection between you and the previous victims. Also, we’ve got an APD officer here at the hospital who will escort you home.”
The implication was clear. Rex thought that she may still be in danger, and she couldn’t object because she needed to seem like a photographer. Not a CIA agent fully capable of defending herself. She already knew that Rex was a bit suspicious of her having a Glock. And chasing after the guy. But she felt it was better to be straightforward in her statement to him. She knew all too well about how lies could start to spiral out of control.
Lily thanked both men again, and they walked out of the room as the doctor came in. She wore wire-frame glasses and her blond hair was pulled back in a bun. “Ms. Parker, I’m Dr. Grady. How are you feeling today?”
“Ready to get out of here.”
“Good news about your ankle. Not even a sprain. Just might be a little sore but shouldn’t slow you down too much. I also conducted a thorough physical exam and was unable to detect any trauma. But how are you feeling emotionally? If you need to talk to anyone, we have a full staff of psychologists.”
No way was she doing that. “I’m fine, Doctor. Just anxious to be home.”
She smiled. “I understand that.” She paused. “Ms. Parker, one other thing. An envelope was delivered for you.” The doctor pulled the small envelope out of her jacket. “It might be best if you involve the police, given the circumstances. But I thought I’d talk to you about it first in case you were expecting something.”
She wasn’t. But she didn’t want to discuss this with the doctor. “Oh, yes, it’s probably from my friend who couldn’t get off work this morning.”
“Okay, then. It will just take the nurse a few minutes to process your discharge paperwork.”
“Thank you.”
Once the doctor left the room, she quickly opened the envelope. The words typed on the small card stared back at her.
Next time you’ll be mine.
Her heart dropped. Was the FBI agent right? Could she have been the serial killer’s latest target?
TWO
Lily settled down on her couch, snuggling up with Grace to watch the local evening news. It had been two days since the incident, and she was still on high alert after receiving that note. But she was skeptical about bringing in the police or FBI at this juncture. She didn’t want anyone snooping into her life, because that would inevitably lead to questions about her past. Questions she really didn’t want to answer.
How could she explain to law enforcement, those who lived and worked in between the lines, that her previous career had forced her to work outside them?
Yesterday she had gotten her locks changed and bought a new Glock—two, in fact. Along with a new phone, since the police presumably hadn’t been able to locate hers. If this guy was coming after h
er again, she’d be ready this time. She’d been doing a lot of thinking about the past few weeks. There had been a couple of times when she was out shooting photos that she’d felt she was being watched. But she’d chalked that up to her CIA paranoia. She’d left the Agency and the life that went along with it, but she couldn’t leave behind the training.
If she were being truthful with herself, she’d admit that she had enjoyed the challenge of being a CIA agent. But it was too painful to go there right now. She’d only been out for nine months.
She turned up the volume on the TV so that she could hear it over Grace’s snoring. The blonde TV anchor didn’t smile tonight as she looked into the camera with serious hazel eyes. “Good evening, everyone. Breaking news tonight. The FBI has officially declared that there is a serial killer roaming the streets of Atlanta. Four young women, all in their twenties, have been murdered over the past two months. The latest victim was found just last night by local police, and officials are estimating that she was killed yesterday. The FBI has gone on record to say that they, too, are on the hunt to bring justice to those who have been slain.”
A shiver coursed through her body. Then the TV shot cut to a face she was familiar with—Special Agent Rex Sullivan. “We’re asking everyone in the area to be vigilant. All four murders took place inside the city, but there’s nothing saying that the killer will stick to his pattern. I would especially urge young women to remember that a serial killer may not look dangerous. He may come up to you in the grocery store parking lot and try to help you load bags into your car. He may approach you on a college campus. There are many different ways that a contact could occur, and I am advising everyone in the community to be on alert. If you see anything suspicious, please report it to the local police or the FBI field office in Atlanta immediately.”
As the news anchor picked up the reporting, Lily’s thoughts shifted to her situation. This man they were talking about might have been in her home with the intent to make her his next victim. And then it dawned on her that after he had failed with her, he’d gone out and found another innocent woman. The thought made her sick.
Her eyes went back to the screen, and she felt her mouth drop open. She reached for the remote and quickly pushed the volume up even louder. Blinking a few times, she stared at the TV.
“And tonight we have a WNB Atlanta exclusive. The photograph you are seeing was left at the latest murder scene, a fact that has been confirmed to us by the FBI. If anyone watching has information with regard to this photograph please contact the number on the bottom of your screen for the FBI field office in Atlanta immediately.”
She jumped up from the couch and walked into the kitchen, trying to remember where she had put Rex’s business card.
After locating it in one of the drawers, she grabbed her cell from the counter and dialed the number printed there.
After two rings, he answered. “Agent Sullivan.”
“Hi. This is Lily Parker.”
“Hey, Lily. How are you doing?”
“Not too good.”
“I’m sorry about that. It’s not uncommon to have difficulty after dealing with an attack in your own home. The Bureau has a lot of resources if you would like a referral to someone you can talk to about what happened to you.”
She could hear papers shuffling around in the background. “No, please listen to me. You need to come over to my house right now. I have to talk to you.”
“Are you okay?”
“Your serial killer case. I need to talk to you about that now.”
“Okay. Did you think of something else that happened the night you were attacked? I can be on my way to your place in just a few minutes, but what is this about?”
“That photograph that was just televised on the local news. Is the reporting on the photo legitimate?”
“Unfortunately, yes. That photograph was found at the scene of the latest murder. The killer struck again yesterday. We found the body last night and the photo along with it.”
She took a deep breath. “Agent Sullivan, I shot that photograph.”
* * *
Rex sped all the way from his office, where he’d planned on working a late night, to Lily’s house. A million thoughts raced through his mind, including why the killer would use one of Lily’s photographs.
He also couldn’t get a good read on Lily. He’d run some background checks on her and found some holes that he couldn’t fill. Plus, it concerned him that she had gone after the killer when he’d attacked her. That wasn’t something most people would’ve done under the circumstances. But even given all the question marks about Lily, she wasn’t the problem. She was a potential target. The killer had zoned in on her and used her photograph to send some type of message.
Lord, more innocent women are going to be killed if I can’t figure this out. Please guide me and give me strength. Rex couldn’t imagine going through life without God. Especially in his line of work, where he dealt with some of the most evil people out there.
After fighting through Atlanta traffic on the interstate, he pulled into Lily’s driveway. He rang the doorbell and heard Grace’s loud bark. He couldn’t help but smile. He really liked that dog. If he didn’t work such crazy hours, he’d have one, too, but it just didn’t seem fair given his lifestyle right now.
The front door opened and Lily stood on the other side. Her coloring was back to normal now, and her bright blue eyes didn’t break contact with his. “Come on in.”
He walked through the front door and was greeted by a very excited Grace. He knelt down for a moment to say hello.
“She really likes you,” Lily said.
“I love dogs.” He gave Grace another pat before he stood up.
“They’re great. I’m so glad I have her here with me. Come on into the living room, and I’ll try to explain everything.”
The yellow Lab followed him closely as he walked into the living room and sat down in a big beige chair. Lily took a seat on the navy couch across from him, and Grace jumped onto it to join her.
“Why don’t we just get right to it and you tell me about the photo,” Rex said.
“All right. When I saw the news tonight, I instantly recognized the picture that they put up. I’d taken it at Westlake Park only a couple of weeks ago. I remember thinking the scene was pretty amazing. That photo was black-and-white, but I have a digital color version, too.”
He leaned forward. “So first things first. You’re certain that’s your photo?”
“Absolutely. There’s no doubt in my mind.”
“And how did you take the photo?”
“With actual film. I do a combination of traditional and digital photography. But for the specific photo they showed on TV, I used film. I have a darkroom here on the first floor down the hall. I had been developing those photos the night I was attacked.”
Rex frowned as he tried to process this information.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Just trying to put together a plausible scenario for what happened here at your house. The killer cuts your lights, breaks in and attacks you. You fight him off and he retreats, taking your phone and the photo from the darkroom.”
She nodded. “Instead of being able to make me his next victim, I messed up his plan.”
“When he failed to kill you, he found another innocent victim. But he still had your photo. And he decided to use it at the scene of his fourth murder. Have you looked to see if any other photos are missing?”
“Not yet. I haven’t even gotten that far in my thought process.” She took in a deep breath. “But I had photos on my phone, too. They weren’t high quality, just images of places I wanted to go back to with my camera.”
“That’s good to know. I’d like to look in your darkroom and get the team out here to do additional evidence collection.”
>
“Sure. There’s another thing that I need to tell you about.”
A knot formed at the pit of his stomach. “What?”
“You’re not going to be happy about this, but a note was delivered to me at the hospital.”
“What? What did the note say?”
“It said, ‘Next time you’ll be mine.’”
“Why in the world didn’t you tell us about this immediately?” he asked in a raised voice.
“I didn’t realize how this was all going to unfold. I’m sorry.”
“Do you still have the note? We need to run prints on it and do an analysis.”
“Yes, I’ve got it. It’s in the kitchen.”
“You should’ve told the police about this. From here on out, you have to be straight with me, Lily. Lives are literally on the line and we’re up against the clock to find the killer before he strikes a fifth time.”
“I understand. It won’t happen again. I realize this is a serious situation. The last thing I want is to hamper your investigation. I don’t want another woman killed by this guy.”
Now he had to lay something else on her, but he thought she could handle it. He was getting the very distinct impression that it would take a lot to rattle Lily Parker. “I’m not trying to alarm you, but when I examine all the facts, I think that you could still be in danger.”
“Why is that?”
“You were on the killer’s list of victims, but you managed to stop him. I can imagine a scenario in which he becomes obsessed with finishing the job because—let’s face it—you’re the one that got away. He took your photograph and placed it at the next murder scene. He also communicated with you directly via that note. I suspect he’ll come after you again.”
“Your theory makes sense.”
He wanted to know more from her, but he needed to be careful. If he pushed too much, she might clam up. He needed as much information from her as she was willing to share. But he’d been an FBI agent long enough to know that this woman was hiding something. How many free-spirited photographers carried Glocks and seemed more annoyed than terrified at a home invasion?