Maybe the police would save his chosen target this time, although just the thought of that made the voices scream louder.

  He drove out of the old workshop and through the town, feeling the voices of the dead whispering in his mind now that he was on his way, telling him he had to finish what he’d started.

  He had already decided upon his target for this next round of the game. Her name was Sydney Locksen, and she had been one of the administrative staff on the project. Low in the pecking order, no one really, yet she was as guilty as the rest of them. She could have blown the whistle, could have told the world about the brakes on the WM 120, but she hadn’t. She’d chosen to say nothing. Her silence had cost as many lives as the actions of the others.

  Inaction deserved to be punished, just as much.

  He drove to watch her now. She had changed jobs, working a variety of small, temporary jobs, presumably to try to scrub the stain of Westford-Myer from her soul, but he had still managed to track her down. She was sitting at an outdoor café, sipping on a latte and scrolling through her phone. She was in her twenties, short, blonde-haired, wearing a cream blouse with a dark jacket and skirt.

  He watched her for a few moments, taking in her appearance and demeanor. She seemed calm and relaxed, as though she had no idea what was coming for her—which of course she didn’t. She looked almost… happy. He took a deep breath, feeling the anger inside him grow even stronger. How could she just go about her normal life like this when so many were dead?

  No, she didn’t deserve to be happy. None of them did.

  He wanted to grab her in that moment, to take her from the cafe, to kill her with his bare hands, but there were far too many people around for that. If he tried to abduct her here, people would stop him, and the FBI would know who he was.

  He didn’t want that, at least not before his work was completed. After that… well, he didn’t care about himself. The dead certainly didn’t care about him. They spent as much time telling him that he should be dead as they did telling him to kill his targets. To execute them the way they deserved.

  For now, he had to leave her where she was outside the cafe, however difficult it was to do that. He had to get back in his van, force himself to drive away. It wasn’t time to take her yet.

  Instead, he drove to the location he had picked out for the next round of the game. It was one that he had already scouted out, one that would make for the perfect game of hangman with the authorities, reminding them that they had done nothing to prevent the deaths of those killed by the cars, just as they could do nothing to prevent the deaths of those responsible. It was a place that had a beautiful irony to it.

  He moved inside and set up the winch. In spite of the device’s large metal frame it didn’t take him long to get everything in place, and he felt a sense of satisfaction as he stepped back to admire his handiwork.

  Soon, Sydney Locksen would pay for her inaction with her life.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “Jack Morrison has an alibi.”

  Those were the words that Amber had been hoping not to hear, even as she’d dreaded that she would.

  Francesca was standing across from her in the offices of the Westford PD, with Simon sitting at a desk to one side.

  “One of my people is watching him at the hospital,” she said. “He came around long enough to tell them that at the time of Emily Chen’s abduction, he was at a local bar with twenty witnesses, trying to drink his way through the grief. His friends say that he’s been on a downward spiral ever since the court judgment. We’ll check in with the bar, but it’s looking less like him by the moment.”

  Amber felt a knot form in her stomach. Jack Morrison had been her prime suspect for the hangman murders, at least until she’d found him hanging by the side of the road. Now, she saw him for what he was: a man rocked by the grief for his dead family, one who thought that there would never be answers or justice for them. He’d lost everything, and decided that there was simply nothing left to live for.

  Amber sighed heavily, feeling the weight of the case bearing down on her. Jack Morrison had seemed like the most likely suspect, and now that their theory had been blown apart, what did that mean for the investigation and the hopes of finding the killer? It seemed that their investigation was going nowhere. She glanced over at Simon, hoping for some kind of comfort or reassurance, but he was watching Francesca. Amber saw the detective look across his way. Was there the faintest flicker of a smile there?

  If so, why did she care?

  “So where does that leave us?” Amber asked finally.

  Francesca shrugged. “Back to square one, I’m afraid. We’ll keep looking into Morrison, of course, in case his alibi breaks, but without a new lead, we’re at a dead end.”

  Amber sighed, trying to think of anything else useful they could do. It seemed to her that there was no choice but to simply pick up where they had left off when they went after Morrison.

  “Then we go back to the list of people who were hurt or who had loved ones hurt,” Amber said. “We try to find someone else who matches the profile of an engineer living locally, someone whose case against the company shows that they might have had a grudge against the company or the project. I know it’s not much to go on, but it’s something.”

  Simon nodded. “We don’t have a lot of better options. We’ll start pulling files again and see if there’s anyone who stands out. Francesca, do you want to help with that?”

  With Amber, would it have been a question, or simply an assumption?

  Francesca smiled at Simon. “Of course. I’ll get on it right away. I’ll get a team to start looking at some of the less likely people too, just in case there’s more there than we think. Hopefully, we’ll find something soon.”

  “Great,” Simon said, standing up from the desk. “Let’s get to work then.”

  They started to go through the files again together, working through the claimants in the case against the Westford-Myer Motor Company one by one. For each one, they had to look into their location, their background, anything that might provide clues as to whether they could have done this. They had to find reasons to eliminate them one by one. The lawsuit was a huge pool of people with a potential motive to want to hurt those connected with the WM 120, but now they needed to establish who had the means and the opportunity.

  To Amber, it felt too much like they were going over old ground. They’d looked at the lawsuits. As far as she could tell, there was nothing new to uncover in the files, and the frustration was palpable in the room. There weren’t any engineers other than Jack Morrison who lived locally and were involved in a lawsuit.

  She knew they had to keep trying, had to do something, though. They couldn’t give up until they had caught the person responsible for the hangman murders. They couldn’t just sit back and wait for the answers to come to them. Amber couldn’t bear the thought of another victim being added to the list.

  As they worked, Amber couldn’t help noticing the small looks between Simon and Francesca, the moments they found to move closer to one another. Amber was sure that she saw their hands brush, not quite accidentally.

  She tried to push the thought out of her mind, focusing instead on the case at hand. But as the work wore on, the tension in the room seemed to grow thicker, and the glances between the two became more frequent and intense. Amber felt as if she ought to go work somewhere else, just so that she wasn’t in the way.

  Should Simon even be doing that in the middle of a case? Should he be flirting with a local detective like that, even if she was good-looking and intelligent? A part of Amber wanted to tell them both to knock it off and focus on the case.

  Amber had to admit that what she was feeling in that moment was jealousy, but it didn’t make sense that she should be jealous. After all, she didn’t feel anything for Simon, did she?

  Did she? It would make no sense to Amber if she did.

  She had a boyfriend. One who was handsome, and kind, and…

  As if the thought had summoned him, Amber’s phone started to ring. She saw Joseph’s name on the display and hurriedly got up.

  “I have to take this,” she said, heading away from the others so that she could talk. She wondered if they would even notice. She perched by one of the department’s windows, looking out over Westford. She could see a group of journalists below. Maybe Joseph would have been among them if she’d told him about this case earlier. Then again, did Amber really want the distraction of her boyfriend there with her?

  “Hey, Joseph,” Amber said, once she’d settled into position.

  “Amber, I was getting worried,” Joseph said. “All I’ve had from you in the last day is one message saying that you were heading to someplace in Oregon.”

  That caught Amber by surprise. She’d been wondering pretty much the same thing. She’d been getting worried because she hadn’t heard from Joseph, because he hadn’t called. She hadn’t considered that he might be waiting for her to call at the same time she was.

  Amber sighed. “I know, Joseph, and I’m sorry. It’s just that things have been really hectic here. I’m working on a case.”

  “What kind of case?” Joseph asked. “There wasn’t a lot of detail in your message.”

  Was that him asking as a concerned boyfriend or as a reporter fishing for information?

  “It’s a murder investigation,” Amber said. “Someone’s been killing people who worked on a motor project, the WM 120. We still don’t know who’s behind it.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Are you okay?” Joseph asked at last. “It sounds like a dangerous situation.”

  “I’m fine,” Amber said. “We’re being careful. But I really need to focus on this right now, Joseph.”

  “You say you’re being careful, but how careful is it possible to be, with a murderer somewhere out there? I’ve covered your cases before, Amber. You’ve been in so much danger in some of them. You’ve almost died before.”

  This was too close to the conversation they’d had before, in the restaurant.

  “I know, Joseph,” Amber said, her voice growing tense. “But I can’t just stop doing my job because there’s a risk involved. I’m an FBI agent, it’s what I do.”

  “I know, I know,” Joseph said, his voice calming slightly. “I just worry about you, Amber. You mean everything to me.”

  Amber felt her heart flutter at his words, but the feeling was quickly replaced by guilt, because she wasn’t sure that she could say the same thing back. She couldn’t help but think about Simon and Francesca, just a little ways away, their growing attraction, and her feelings of jealousy. Was she being unfair to Joseph, dating him while she was having these thoughts about someone else?

  They were just thoughts, though. Thoughts didn’t count. She hadn’t done anything about them, wouldn’t do anything about them.

  “I’m not taking any unnecessary risks. But this is what I do, you know that. I can’t just sit back and not help catch a killer. I’m trained for this.”

  “You were trained as a puzzle editor before this,” Joseph pointed out. “You were a lot safer then. And you were the best at it.”

  “So what? You want me to go back to a life of making up puzzles for people?”

  Amber couldn’t help a slightly harsh note at that. After everything she’d done, could her old life ever seem like enough again?

  “I saw you when you were competing in that puzzle competition,” Joseph said. “You were so happy, so excited. You were in your element. And I was so proud of you. I just worry that this job is too dangerous for you.”

  Amber felt a pang of guilt. Joseph was right in one way, of course. She had been happy when she’d been competing. There had been a challenge there and it had felt good to beat everyone else. But she also couldn’t deny the thrill that came with catching a killer, the satisfaction of bringing justice to the victims and their families. That work felt as though it mattered, as though she was making a real difference.

  “I could talk to Harry,” Joseph said, mentioning Amber’s former boss, the editor of the Washington News. “My guess is that he’d love to have you start producing some puzzle pages again now that your name is out there.”

  Amber wasn’t sure what to say to that. Did Joseph really think that she would just go back to how things had been? Her boss’s attitude had been at least a part of why she quit.

  “Joseph, imagine if I told you that being a journalist wasn’t a good idea,” Amber said. “That you could upset the wrong people with your stories, maybe make dangerous enemies. Imagine if I told you that you had to stop. Imagine if I talked to someone about getting you a job in another field.”

  “That isn’t the same,” Joseph said. “You’re going up against killers, not putting together stories about politicians. I just worry about you getting hurt.”

  “And I’m choosing to do it. I’m doing it because I can make a difference. Look, I… I’ll be careful, Joseph,” she said, trying to reassure him. She didn’t want him to worry, after all. “I promise. And I’ll call you as soon as I have any news.”

  “Okay,” Joseph said, his voice making it clear that Amber hadn’t really alleviated any of his concerns.

  Amber hung up. She needed to get back to the case. More than that, she was grateful to get back to the case if it meant she didn’t have to argue with Joseph anymore. When she walked over, Simon and Francesca were still working, although neither of them looked like they were getting very far.

  “There’s no one here who matches the profile,” Simon said. “We’ve checked everyone. No one who obviously has the skills also lives near enough. So unless we go through all of them one by one to make sure that no one has traveled into Westford to do this, we’re not getting anywhere.”

  Amber had an idea about that, one that drove away thoughts of Joseph, at least for the time being. He seemed to spend so much time thinking of Amber as a potential victim that it couldn’t help sparking a thought in her.

  “Then maybe we’re looking in the wrong place. Or looking the wrong way. Maybe we need to think less about who the killer is and more about who the killer’s next victims might be.”

  “You think we should take a look at people involved in Westford-Myer to try to establish who he’s going to target?” Francesca said. “That’s potentially a lot of people.”

  “What about people directly involved in the project?” Amber suggested. “The closer they’re involved, the more likely they are to be a target, right? He’s looking for revenge relating to a specific project, rather than the company as a whole. Maybe if we can work out a likely next target, we can shadow them and be there when the killer strikes.”

  “It might work,” Simon said. “It’s better than trying to pick out a likely suspect from so many people with a potential motive. We could be here for weeks, checking everyone.”

  He didn’t mention that they might not have weeks. Not when the killer had struck twice in two days. He was clearly accelerating, trying to kill as many of those connected with the project as possible before the FBI caught up to him.

  “The project members are mentioned in the legal papers,” Francesca said. “It was a small team. The exec in charge and the marketing consultant are both dead. That leaves people higher up in the company, a few admin staff, and the engineers.”

  “I thought Dave Muldeer was the engineer on the project?” Simon said.

  “Dave Muldeer was an assistant engineer on the project, but the lead was a man named Steven Boon. If the killer already murdered the assistant, does it make sense that he might go after the lead engineer?”

  To Amber the only question was why he hadn’t already targeted him.

  “If he can get to him,” Amber said, “does he still live in Westford?”

  Simon was already typing at his computer, clearly trying to find an answer to just that question. “Yes, the DMV says that he has an address here in town.”

  Then it made sense for them to go talk to him. At the very least, they needed to warn him to be careful, since Richard Myer wasn’t willing to put out a general warning to his staff. He seemed like a victim the killer would want to target almost more than anyone else.

  Maybe if they watched him, the killer would come to them.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  What would they find when they went to talk to Steven Boon? Would he even be alive, if the other members of his team had already been targeted?

  Amber could barely hold back the tension as she and the others drove to Steven Boon’s apartment building. Francesca was driving as quickly as ever, but Amber’s mind was racing with thoughts about what they might find when they got there. What if the killer was already there? What if they were too late?

  Even Francesca’s reckless driving couldn’t get them there instantly, so Amber spent every one of the twists and turns on the way there hoping that they would be in time to prevent another tragedy.

  Finally, they came to a halt. As they pulled up to the building, Amber took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. They were trained for this, she reminded herself. They had to be strong and focused if they were going to catch the killer before he could hurt anyone else.

  Amber couldn’t help but feel a sense of urgency. She kept imagining the worst-case scenario: the killer could be inside, Steven Boon’s life in danger.

  Amber looked over the building. It was a tall, modern structure with glass walls and a sleek design. It looked to her like an expensive address. She found herself wondering if this choice of address was funded by the success of Steven Boon’s past projects, or if it was down to the WM 120. Had he taken a payoff to say the right thing in the hearings? Was that why he was able to live so comfortably here?

  Amber was sure that Francesca would want answers to that later, but for now, the focus had to be on making sure that Steven Boon was all right. They hurried inside, taking the elevator to the floor where Steven Boon’s apartment was located. As the elevator drew to a halt, Amber’s hand brushed her gun in an unconscious, nervous, gesture. Her conversation with Joseph had reminded her just how dangerous her job could be, setting her nerves on edge.

 

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