ONE HUNDRED FIFTEEN
SHANNON LOOKED UP when Ezra found his way back to the bullpen. His body language didn’t say much—he’d always played things close to his chest—but she knew that the interview had not yielded what Ezra had hoped it would. It had been a long shot to begin with.
Long distance serial killers were hard to nail down in a profile. They all knew this. Sometimes it felt like they were randomly pulling game cards out of a box. And with the question of whether this was a personal mission killer or something else—and the unsub could range from personal mission to contract killer, for all they had right now—they had little concrete direction.
Except the video she was working on.
“So? What did you find out?” she asked as he settled into his borrowed desk.
“Not much. Hollace says he hasn’t spoken to anyone in a while. Years except for an email last week.”
“And the missing rifle?”
“He even had an answer for that. That can be verified.”
She heard the frustration and understood. “Let me guess—that’s my next chore?”
Ken nodded. He stepped up to her desk. “Find what you can on everyone in Ezra’s unit, Shan. Cross reference any recent contact you can find.”
“Even Ezra?” It felt like an invasion—one she wasn’t really too keen on making.
“Shan, even me. Find whatever you can. I’d tell it to you all anyway.”
For some reason, that very thought had her stomach tightening. That and the look on his face.
It told her so much about how he was feeling. That he trusted her. That he didn’t care who knew exactly how he felt.
“But what if we’re hearing zebras, here? What if Nils and Geoff were just coincidence, and it has nothing to do with their personal connection?” Shannon asked. If they accepted that it wasn’t coincidence, the entire angle of the case had just gotten a whole lot tighter. She wasn’t certain she’d be able to squeeze through.
“That’s another angle I am putting Djorn on. Max got a call from Allen Knight about something. He’ll be back shortly,” Ken said. “But this is the only victim connection we’ve found at all. I think we should run with it.”
Shannon nodded.
ONE HUNDRED SIXTEEN
“HOW MANY?” MAX felt sick, looking at what covered the walls in the house across the road from the one where Al’s parents lived. So close.
“Three full walls,” his teammate, Armitage, said. He, Maria, and the newly returned Jac had been canvasing the area surrounding Al’s parents’ home for witnesses to the Lorcan shooting when they’d found it. “In here. We found it this morning when the realtor who is showing both this house and that one next door stopped by to check on things. She about had a breakdown. She’s dealt with a personal stalker before and recognized the signs. She’s a former police officer. Thankfully, she didn’t mess around with anything. We thought the house next door was the one where the sniper holed up.”
“What the hell does it all mean?” Agent Ward asked. His team had been given clearance to help with the canvassing, on condition of Max’s supervision. It was Dennis doing their field office head a favor. “This guy behind what happened to Jaynice?”
Knight, who was actually the most senior agent out there, shook his head. “I don’t know. But the connection to the bureau is there somehow. We just have to find it. And it’s a pretty damned big coincidence to find this so close to what happened across the road. And it be her.”
Max didn’t wait for the rest of the idle chitchatting. He’d been sent there because of PAVAD. He was damned well going to see what had worried Lucas and Knight. “The photos?”
Knight hesitated. “I’m not sure what they mean. Maybe one of you PAVADians can figure out the connection. And if they’re connected to Agent Toliver and Agent Hahn or not.”
Max nodded. “Let’s take a look.”
He looked over his shoulder at Jac. She had been quiet since she’d returned from her visit with Nat. She hadn’t said much not case-related to him lately at all. He missed her. Even though she was right there.
Some of the trust between them was gone. His fault, but he didn’t regret his decision to involve her sister.
It had been the right choice—for PAVAD. For Shannon and Ezra. Maybe not so much for Nat, but that was going to have to work itself out with time. She’d heal eventually. He waved his partner ahead of him.
Jac cursed lightly, stopping in the center of the room. Max almost ran into her. “What is it?”
The question had been largely unnecessary.
Photos dominated. Photos of a woman he recognized.
They were in a semi-chronological order, if the dates in the corners of each image were correct. A single yard chair sat in the center of the room, facing the photo collection.
They started off with a date a week after she had first been rescued. Shannon still had visible bruising on her cheek in the first image. The collection of images had her first as a group participant. Then the focus obviously narrowed. Became obsessed. Sexualized.
“He’s devolved. He started with her here. It’s a generic photo. She’s with Mia and Kyra,” Jac said. “I was there behind her that day, I think. But the photos from this last week are just of her.”
Max nodded. He was familiar enough with profiling to see exactly what Jac no doubt had.
The images had changed from a newswire clipping to a more intimate, almost loverlike art piece. Captured by someone who had taken the time to set up his shots perfectly. The photographer was extremely skilled. Focused.
He looked over at Lucas. “Get Ken Chalmers on the phone. He needs to see this. Fast.”
ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN
EZRA WAS WITH Chalmers when they got the call that whatever Max had found near the Lorcan crime scene was something that had to be seen and dealt with immediately.
They were met outside by Allan Knight and Max Jones. “You’ll need to see this.”
“What’s going on here, Jones?” Ezra asked.
“Inside.”
The house was a subdivision two-story in the same pricey neighborhood as the one owned by Al Lorcan’s parents. He could see it easily in the distance.
He didn’t think that was just coincidence.
There were far too many coincidences falling around them lately.
Max Jones’s partner, Jac, met them in the door. “We called it in as a threat to PAVAD, Agent Chalmers. After what’s happened, we wanted to be proactive. Just in case.”
“Of course.”
Ezra only half listened to the conversation behind him.
There were photos everywhere. Many were of people he recognized—including himself. Sin Lorcan, Jaynice Miller, a local politician, Ed Dennis, as well as others from both branches of the FBI in St. Louis. He shouldn’t be there.
But that didn’t matter. Not when he saw what had concerned Jac and Max enough to order a protective detail.
There were far more photos of Shannon than anyone else on the board.
Exponentially.
They started off with her in her driveway, then walking on the street. On the bus. With Jac, and Leina, Kyra and Cam, and with Ezra.
Then the focus narrowed. Sharply.
To just photos of Shannon.
Far too many of Shannon.
ONE HUNDRED EIGHTEEN
CHAS HAD SCREWED up. He should have stuck around to see if Nils had lived or died. Now the man would be able to tell Ezra that it had been Chas. That would ruin everything for him and Shannon.
Just like Nils and Ezra had ruined everything with him and Amelia. Shannon was already looking in Ezra’s direction. Chas had to do something before he lost her forever.
He forced himself to breathe. To think.
Ezra had called his cell phone, the same number Chas had given Nils in a foolish mistake. The voice mail had told Chas that they suspected someone was targeting their own unit, and to contact Ezra immediately.
He couldn’t do
that. It would ruin everything.
And if he had to sit across the table from Ezra Hahn and pretend to not know about Shannon, he’d snap.
The possibility also existed that this was just Ezra’s way of luring him out.
How else would he have gotten Chas’s private number? Unless he’d been checking Nils’s and Geoff’s cell phones. That was it.
No. Ezra was on to him. Chas would have to leave soon. But first...
He couldn’t. He had to be there for Shannon.
He pulled himself together.
The lights and crowd surrounding the house he’d intended to buy for Shannon had him turning sharply and heading toward the north.
The fact that they’d found where he had been staying was proof enough that the call from Ezra had been a trap.
Ezra knew about him. And now the other man was going to do whatever he had to do to take Shannon away from Chas.
He would lose her.
Just like he had lost Amelia.
Chas kept walking.
He needed to get to his car. And then he had to get to her. Before Ezra did.
ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN
CHAS WAITED OUTSIDE her townhouse. Eventually, she would have to return. Hopefully, without Ezra. That would make it the easiest. But if the other man was with her, Chas was prepared to do what he had to do.
He forced his body to stop shaking. Forced himself to plan instead of doing something stupid and rash.
Shannon deserved him to make this as easy on her as possible. It would be traumatic for her. He'd probably frighten her. She'd be sad. Miss her friends.
But hopefully, one day, she would understand he was rescuing her. Like he should have rescued Amelia.
Amelia was going to haunt him until he was happy with Shannon. He knew that.
What he didn't know was how he was going to get to her.
He forced his breathing to level out. To slow down until he could think again.
Chas watched her parking spot for hours before it occurred to him. He'd turned his white rental sedan in yesterday for another vehicle. A gray truck this time. With as little fanfare as possible, he parked in the extra assigned spot in front of Shannon's home. Right next to her little SUV. She wasn't home. He'd checked.
She'd ridden in yesterday with that asshole, Ezra Hahn, and hadn't reappeared since.
When it did... He wanted Ezra to have to park across the road in overflow parking. It was more secluded there. He could simply take Ezra out then take Shannon away.
He imagined it for a while. Ran the angles. Then it sank in. If he took out Ezra right in front of her, Shannon would fight.
Her complex had many people around during the day. There was a high probability someone would see them. Sound the alarm.
He could take out half the neighbors, including the nosy relic who'd watched him before. The guy had to be one hundred if he was a day. Chas had watched Shannon laugh and flirt with the old man just last week. The old guy had barely been able to move, but Shannon had been so gentle and so kind.
Chas winced. If he killed the old man, too, it would hurt her.
He couldn't keep hurting her.
Ezra. He would take out the one man standing between him and Shannon—only Ezra, unless absolutely necessary.
And that meant he needed to find a way to get Shannon without her seeing what he was going to do to Ezra.
Chas had always been a master strategist. It would just require some planning.
ONE HUNDRED TWENTY
“MISS! HEY, MISS!”
Shannon turned to see a dark-haired man hurrying toward her from the back edge of her unit. It wasn't Ian Ward. The other agent had driven her to her apartment after she'd picked him up at the hospital. She'd taken a few moments to interview Jaynice's fiancé and check on him. He was mending but terrified. For Jaynice. Shannon had probably spoken with him longer than she should have, but she hadn't wanted to leave the man who reminded her of her father alone. She'd stayed until he'd fallen asleep, then found Ian in the waiting room with Jaynice's daughter again.
There had been a truck in her extra parking spot. Not uncommon, considering her neighbor seemed to have a revolving roster of boyfriends each weekend. Ian had parked across the street in overflow. He was going to wait there while conference-calling Allen Knight.
Shannon was going to grab her second ready bag and hightail it back to the PAVAD building, —hopefully before Ben finished cleaning up the latest video.
"Miss, I... I'm sorry. I don't know your name." He gave her a self-conscious smile. Awkward. He wasn't much bigger than she was, but...something about him registered.
She tensed, her hand going toward her holster. She forced herself to relax as it sank in where she'd seen him. He lived in the complex. He'd even been in the laundry room the last time she'd washed laundry. And he'd been in the office when she'd paid her last rent payment. He was just a neighbor.
She’d been riding the bus with this man for a few weeks—until Ezra had fixed her car, anyway. He was a neighbor, nothing more sinister than that. She was just extra jumpy with everything that had happened.
He looked like her insurance agent. “Yes?”
“You dropped this.” He held something out to her, and she recognized it immediately. Her FBI issued windbreaker. She’d had to be issued a new one after the last had been ruined when she’d been hit at Colby's. Her new one was still shrink-wrapped; she’d requisitioned it a few days ago, and it had been tossed at her in the hallway by the woman in charge as she'd left earlier. The other woman had teased her about it being the only extra-small jacket they had left. Then the woman had asked if Ezra was ok. Shannon had spent a moment talking to her.
The brief distraction had been needed. A reminder that Ezra had more than just the CCU supporting him, willing to help him get through this. The entire PAVAD division took care of their own.
She held out her hand for the jacket. “Thank you. I just got that today. If I lost it right off the bat, I’d never hear the end of it. Mr.—”
“Se-Seaton. It’s Charles. Most of my friend’s call me Chas-Chase.” He smiled at her, a perfectly ordinary grin. To Shannon, there was nothing remarkable about the man. Nothing to make him stand out.
The name sounded familiar. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what about him was registering.
He made her skin crawl.
She held her hand out for the plastic-wrapped jacket. He placed it in her palm, his fingers brushing her inner wrist.
Then he smiled again.
And turned away.
As she walked away, Shannon couldn’t help wonder just what it was about the man that set off every warning alarm she’d ever possessed.
Her building was less than one hundred feet ahead. She had her gun. Ian Ward was less than fifty yards away and may even have a direct line of sight on her right now.
She’d get inside, grab her bag, and get back to the other agent. Then she'd run the name Chase Seaton. Just to be sure.
She’d been trained to trust her instincts about people. She’d make sure the guy didn’t have a rap sheet that she—or others in her complex—needed to be worried about. Then she’d get back to PAVAD business.
Shannon increased her pace. She wanted to get herself inside where she felt a little safer. Then she’d grab her bag and head back to PAVAD.
Be with Ezra. The way her instincts were shouting at her, she was supposed to be.
He needed her right now.
Not Cam or Ken. Or anyone else. He needed her.
And that was where she was going to be.
She looked over her shoulder. The man was gone. She could almost make out his back as he walked away from her building. Almost. Just like all the other nights before. He'd get on the bus with her half the time. Sometimes he'd sit near her and get off at the same stop.
That’s where she’d seen him before. The bus. The apartment complex.
Shannon turned back toward her own front door, loving t
he warm orange color of it. Home. Safety.
She’d thought she was closer to it than that. She should be. She blinked, tried to focus on the orange.
It didn’t happen. Her head swirled. She couldn’t focus. She turned back toward the waiting car. Ian was getting out of the car. Shannon took a step toward him. He represented safety. Backup.
He called her name and started toward her just as a hard hand landed on Shannon's shoulder.
She heard a pop. The sound of a silencer.
Ian Ward crumbled right before her eyes, covered in red. She stepped toward him, but her head was fuzzy. She couldn't force her body to work any longer. She opened her mouth to scream.
She heard her neighbor, Mr. McClanahan, yell out. She tried to look for him. To yell for the old man to get back before he was hurt.
Nothing came out.
Shannon crumbled to the sidewalk.
Hands lifted her from the pavement. She looked into watery blue eyes of the stranger from the bus as the world went dark around her.
ONE HUNDRED TWENTY-ONE
EZRA LOOKED AT the evidence in front of him. There had been photos on those walls. Of Sinclair Lorcan and his wife. Of Jaynice Miller and the politician that had been killed recently in Springfield. Of other victims that he recognized. All arranged neatly with a printed itinerary beneath it. Red X’s crossed out the faces of those who were now deceased.
It showed exactly who had been the target of each attack.
Under each one, in obsessively neat handwriting, were monetary amounts. High amounts. Two hundred thousand just for Jaynice Miller.
Nothing of Geoff or Nils or Ezra.
And photos of Shannon. They were everywhere.
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