They’d largely dismissed the third one, called IRL, because it wasn’t a dating app in the traditional sense. It fact it billed itself as the anti-app. First of all, it only seemed to have a beta version so far. Plus, there was no matching of potential dates and no ability to text anyone else with a profile, so there was no way to track who connected with whom, if that was even possible.

  Jessie frowned at that last fact. She wondered what the point was of signing up for an app that didn’t actually allow its users to meet potential partners. She felt like she had to be missing something.

  Unfortunately, she couldn't access anything more about the app without creating a profile of her own, so reluctantly, she did. When it was activated, she reviewed how the system worked.

  Once she was logged in, the reason for the anti-app claim and the name IRL became clearer. The service worked via mixers. People could register to attend a themed mixer, usually at a club of some kind, the location of which was announced the day of. The mixers were centered around enthusiasm for hobbies as varied as emo music, adventure sports, 1980s nostalgia, or even chess.

  If a user saw that someone with a profile they liked had signed up to attend a mixer, they could sign up too in the hopes of meeting them there. Or they could just sign up because they like the mixer’s theme and hoped they would meet someone they connected with while attending.

  The member profiles were pretty generic, with general likes and dislikes and space for a brief statement that reflected their take on the world and dating. Only first names were allowed. It was all pretty bare bones.

  But it might be enough. Now that she understood how the system worked, she just needed to see which mixers the victims had attended. If someone had registered for the same mixers as both Noemi or Rena, that was a potential lead. She was just pulling up their mixer histories when Jamil let out a relieved sigh.

  “What?” Beth asked.

  “I’m in,” he said. “I’ve got access to all her phone data.”

  In light of that, Jessie turned her attention to Rena’s mixer history, hoping what she found would overlap with what Jamil might discover. Sure enough, it listed her as having attended one last night. The theme was History Trivia. But the location was listed simply as Site B.

  She checked the glossary of terms and found that the app designers thought adding this extra obstacle amplified the “mystery” of the app. But the mystery was short-lived as each letter corresponded to a location. She checked where Site B was, then looked up at Jamil.

  “Any chance her location data has her at the Old Town Brewpub in Torrance at around 8 p.m.?” she asked him.

  His expression told her that not only was that the case, but he was also disappointed that he hadn’t been the one to announce it.

  “How did you know that?” he asked.

  “You know IRL, the third dating app both Rena and Noemi were on, which didn’t look like it would be of much use to us? It might turn out to be helpful after all. If both women attended IRL mixers on the nights they died, that might be our connection to the killer.”

  “But didn’t you find that Hoffman had listed a 7:30 meeting last night in her calendar?” Grover asked, speaking for the first time since they’d been in Research.

  Jessie realized that he was right. She’d forgotten about the meeting. Had Rena bailed on the mixer because of it? And then, in a flash, it hit her. There was no meeting.

  “I think the meeting was the mixer,” she said suddenly.

  “What do you mean?” Beth asked, confused.

  "It makes perfect sense," Jessie explained. "Rena's roommate, Coral, said that she was a reserved person. Maybe she didn't want anyone, even Coral, knowing that she was on this dating app. She might have been embarrassed. A fascination with historical trivia isn’t exactly all the rage these days. So she marks it down as a ‘meeting’ in case anyone sees the calendar, is cryptic when Coral asks where she’s going, and then happily heads off to answer questions about the Federalist Papers and hopefully make a love connection. And if our killer is on the app as well, trolling for potential victims, he might have shown up at the brewpub too.”

  Kat nodded excitedly.

  “So then we need to find out who attended that mixer and any event that Noemi went to on Monday,” she said.

  “Are you able to check on Noemi’s profile to see if she went to a mixer then?” Jessie asked Jamil.

  “I already had her phone location listed as Eastpark Century City, but I can try to nail it down,” he replied. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Jessie worried it take longer than that. Eastpark Century City was a massive outdoor shopping mall complex. Locating exactly where Noemi had ended up once she got there would be a challenge. But if anyone was up for to the task, it was Jamil.

  “In the meantime I’m going to tell Ryan that our next stop is the Old Town Brewpub,” she said, grabbing her phone.

  “You mean his next stop,” Grover corrected. “You’re not going into the field, I assume?”

  The severe look on his face told her that while it was phrased as a question, it was really an instruction. And considering what happened during her recent foray into the field, it was probably a good one.

  “Yes,” she conceded reluctantly. “I mean Ryan’s next stop.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

  Hannah tried not to jump to conclusions.

  She had been peeking through the living room curtains for the last five minutes, waiting to see what the guys in the white van on the street out front would do next. Rufus was in the kitchen, studying his laptop monitor, which currently had six different camera shots pulled up.

  “Any luck?” she called out from the living room.

  “I’m trying to zoom in on the rear license plate,” he shouted back, “but there’s a bush partially blocking it.

  “Is Deep Dive Carpet Cleaners even a real company?” she asked, referencing the name on the side of the van.

  “It’s real,” Rufus confirmed, “and their office is only a few miles away. But any halfway decent kill team would be sure to get those details right. It doesn’t reassure me very much.”

  Hannah didn’t mention that what she found less than reassuring was his use of the phrase “kill team.”

  “And you don’t want to call the office to see if they have any work scheduled around here today?” she asked.

  “That could open a whole new can of worms,” Rufus warned. “If they’re legit, then being questioned about a real appointment might raise alarm bells with the management company handling the property. Plus, I don’t want to make any calls if I can avoid it. That might be what Ash Pierce is hoping for.”

  “But how could she even know about this house, much less have hired a kill team to come for me?” Hannah wanted to know. “You said there’s no way it could be tied to you, at least not this fast. And it’s not like Pierce is able to communicate freely. Finding people who can do this and would be willing to, especially when there’s no guarantee that she won’t get captured and stiff them for payment, seems a little risky for the team she would hire.”

  “All excellent points,” Rufus agreed, “which is why I suspect they really are a carpet cleaning company.”

  “And yet,” Hannah noted, “they’ve been parked across the street for ten minutes now and no one has come out.”

  “It’s suspicious,” Rufus agreed.

  “So what do we do?” she asked.

  There was silence from the kitchen.

  “Rufus?” she asked, turning around to find the bodyguard standing right behind her. “Jeez! You scared me to death. Maybe give a girl a warning?”

  “Sorry,” he said with a smile. “I guess I’m too good at my job.”

  “Your job is to sneak up on people?”

  “Sometimes,” he said, peeking through the curtains himself. “Still no movement?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. “Should you be here? What if they try to surround the house? Don’t you need to be studying the cameras?”

  “Listen,” he said with a sigh. “If that really is a kill team out there, we’re probably screwed anyway. I’ve done a solid job of securing this place against infiltration by one person. But incursion by a highly trained unit? That’s a different matter. So I’m going to take a different tack.”

  “I’m all ears,” Hannah told him.

  “I’ve got a helmet and yellow vest in my go bag,” he explained. “I’m going to play the role of a workman in the area and chat them up.”

  Hannah shook her head in disbelief.

  “Setting aside the wild fact that you have a go bag with a vest and helmet, you’re just going to walk over to what might be a group of trained killers?”

  “Yes,” he said. “If they are a kill team, I’ll have the advantage of surprise. If they’re here legitimately, I’ll learn that pretty quick too.”

  “I’m glad that one of us is so confident,” she replied.

  “I’m also going to wear an earpiece,” he continued. “You’ll be watching the laptop feed and able to communicate with me. If you see anyone with a weapon or notice someone trying to sneak up behind me, please give me a heads up.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Hannah said, trying to process what she was being asked to do without resorting to snark. “Do you trust a civilian for this?”

  “I don’t have much choice, do I?” he said, flashing a smile that suggested he was actually enjoying this. “Also, it goes without saying that if you see me get shot or if I tell you to bail over comms, you should move immediately to the exit strategy we discussed earlier.”

  “You think that will work?” she asked.

  "Probably not," he conceded. "But it's better than sitting around here, waiting to get picked off. Now I'm going back to the kitchen to put on the vest. Keep your eyes on the van, and let me know if anyone starts running this way with a machine gun."

  “That’s not funny,” she said as he walked back to the kitchen.

  “It’s a little funny,” he said, looking back over his shoulder.

  ***

  Hannah sat quietly in the living room with the laptop on the table in front of her, and the curtains open just enough for her to see the van. As of yet, no one had gotten out of it.

  Rufus hadn’t spoken in the seven minutes since he’d told her he was leaving through a side door, and he had instructed her not to say anything until he contacted her first. She was just starting to worry that he'd been gunned down with a silencer when she heard his voice.

  “Approaching the van now,” he whispered. “Warn me if anyone tries to surprise me.”

  “You got it,” she said, faking that she had a clue what she was doing.

  Rufus appeared from behind a tree, walking toward the van from the back and wearing the helmet and vest he’d referenced. He ambled causally along the sidewalk, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. But she could see his right hand resting just over his vest and knew that his gun was hidden underneath it.

  “Engaging,” he muttered. “Stay alert over there.”

  “I am,” she replied, mildly annoyed that he thought she had to be reminded.

  A second later, he was by the driver’s side door. He gave the door a rap with the knuckles of his left hand, perhaps to startle the driver and get some small advantage. His right hand, at his side, was now holding the gun, out of sight of the driver.

  “Hey guys,” he said to the men Hannah couldn’t see, “having a late afternoon snack, I see?”

  There were a series of surprised grunts in response. It sounded like one guy was coughing, perhaps on some food.

  “Just needed to fill our bellies before the next job, you know,” a man with what sounded like a full mouth eventually said from the driver’s seat.

  "I get that," Rufus replied, the gun now pointed in the driver's direction, just out of sight below the window. "Nothing like a little In-N-Out Burger to replenish the body and soul. Unfortunately, I've got some bad news for you. We've got a potential gas leak in the neighborhood. It might be nothing, but we're asking all residents to evacuate the vicinity until it's resolved to our satisfaction. The same goes for anyone working in the area. Was your next job around here?”

  “Yeah,” someone said from what sounded like the passenger seat. “We’re supposed to clean that house right across the street. It’s only supposed to be an hour-long job. Supposedly, there aren't many carpets inside. That's why we saved it for the end of the day."

  Hannah took some small comfort in what the guy said. This house did have just a couple of rooms with carpeting. If they knew that, maybe this outfit was legitimate.

  “I’m afraid we definitely won’t have the all clear until later this evening,” Rufus said, sounding genuinely apologetic. “You’re going to have reschedule for another day.”

  “I don’t see anyone else leaving,” the passenger challenged.

  “We evacuated most of the residents over an hour ago,” Rufus said authoritatively. “I’ve been assigned to warn stragglers and folks who arrived more recently. We don’t want anyone collapsing from gas poisoning, you know?”

  “Oh man,” the first guy said. “We’re gonna get reamed for waiting so long to do this job. The folks who hired us are a real pain. Everything has to be done exactly to their specifications, and their specifications are for it to happen today. Are you sure we can't get in there real quick?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Rufus said firmly. “I respect that you guys have a job to do, but so do I, and if I do it wrong, people could get sick or worse. In fact, I should have insisted that you guys head out already, but I don’t want to be a jerk. So I’ll let you finish up your food, but then please be on your way.”

  “Can we come back tomorrow?” the passenger asked.

  “You could try,” Rufus told him, “But I can’t promise everything will be resolved by then. You might want to reschedule for next week, just to be safe.”

  “There’s no way we can wait that long,” the driver said. “The management company won’t have it. They’ll tell us to wear gas masks if we have to if it gets the job done.”

  “Well, I wish you the best with that,” Rufus said, apparently not wanting to push the issue too far. “I’m going to get back to alerting people around here. You guys have a good day.”

  “You too,” the driver said.

  Rufus made sure not to turn his back to the van as he retreated, but Hannah noticed that he'd returned his gun to its holster beneath the vest.

  "I think we've got an all-clear," he said quietly, "but keep an eye on them just in case."

  “You think they’re really carpet cleaners?” Hannah asked hopefully.

  "Ninety percent sure," he replied. "They were really scarfing down that food and the driver weighed about 250 pounds. The passenger wore thick glasses. That doesn't mean they're who they say they are. Those could be disguises, and I couldn't see what was in the rear of the van clearly. There could be others back there. But the betting money is on them being real. All the same, I'm upping the security measures when I get back. And probably not sleeping tonight."

  Hannah sighed. Somehow, even good news sounded menacing these days.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

  The Old Town Brewpub in Torrance, where Rena Hoffman potentially went just before her death, was not what Ryan was expecting.

  He’d assumed it would be a casual joint with TVs on the wall, playing whatever game was on at that moment, along with pool tables and dartboards. But the name turned out to be deceptive. The Brewpub was much more of a traditional nightclub, complete with a dance floor, thumping music, and flashing lights that cut through the veil of darkness.

  Considering that it was still only 6 p.m., there was nobody on the dance floor, but almost every stool at the long, semicircular bar was filled. He approached the hostess stand and tried to speak to the young woman standing there but found that he couldn’t be heard over the bass-heavy beat. He leaned in close and yelled in her ear.

  “I’m with the LAPD. I need to speak with your manager.”

  He held up his badge and ID. After a moment in which the college-aged woman looked mildly terrified, she nodded.

  “Give me a minute,” she shouted back and headed toward the back.

  While he waited, Ryan tried not to let his mind drift to unrelated concerns. But it was too late. He wanted to know how Jessie was feeling. He was anxious for an update on Susannah Valentine’s status too. He glanced at his phone in the futile hope that there might be a message from FBI agent Jack Dolan about either the search for Haddonfield or Pierce.

  Of course, there was nothing. Even though he’d checked in with interim Captain Gaylene Parker on the drive over, he briefly considered texting her to ask how everything was going, before deciding that doing so would be overbearing and insulting to the long-time professional.

  He forced himself to tear his thoughts away from his apprehensions and back to the case at hand. Looking around the club, he wondered how any kind of trivia competition could possibly take place here. How could anyone even hear the questions? One thing that did jump out at him was that in a place this loud, busy, and dark, it would be easy to slip a roofie in someone’s drink. The toxicology report wasn’t back yet on Rena Hoffman. But he wouldn’t be stunned if she’d been drugged.

  The hostess returned with a short, good-looking, muscular guy in his late twenties with short-cropped black hair. He wearing black slacks and cream-colored shirt opened one button too low, and he appeared as nervous as the hostess.

  “What can I do for you, officer?” he nearly screamed.

  "Captain, actually," Ryan replied, happy to use the intimidating power of his title as a tool to get the answers he needed. "Is there somewhere quieter we can talk?"

  “Sure, there’s the back patio out there,” the manager bellowed, pointing to a distant, moderately populated outdoor section, “or we can go to my office.”

 

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