Girl, Bound, page 4
Martin’s mouth stretched a hearty laugh. ‘Tough as old boots, me,’ he said. ‘Besides, I've never done a damn thing to upset you. Pretty sure I'm safe.’
Mia found relief in Martin making the claim. They’d been over this before, but it always helped to hear it from his own mouth again. The man was ex-military, ex-FBI, not to mention he still had strength on his side.
Mia nodded, but the unease remained. ‘I know. But I can't help it. First Carter, then Trevor. Bad things come in threes.’
Another fish escaped Martin’s clutches, then he set his fishing rod down in defeat. ‘Bad things?’ he laughed.
Mia corrected herself. ‘Okay. Tragic things.’
‘Seems a stretch,’ Martin said. He reached into his bag beside him and pulled out a blue can. ‘Beverage?’
‘It’s nine-thirty.’
‘It’s five o’clock somewhere.’
Mia’s phone buzzed like a hornet trying to escape her pocket. She pulled it out and squinted at the screen. The name William Edis stared back at her.
The boss, the old-turned-new FBI director, the man who’d dragged her through the muck of the FBI trenches for twenty-odd years.
She hesitated, her thumb hovering over the answer button like a judge's gavel. This was supposed to be her time with Martin, a chance to breathe air that didn't reek of corpses.
But the job, that cruel mistress, never could resist sinking her claws in.
Martin, ever observant, cocked an eyebrow. ‘Duty calls?’
‘Maybe,’ she said.
‘Well, don't let me stop you.’ Martin motioned for her to answer.
Mia did. She hit answer, pasting on a smile that felt as false as a politician's promise.
‘Edis. What’s up?’
Silence, then Edis's gravelly voice, rough as a smoker's cough. ‘Ripley. Sounds like the outdoors. Didn’t interrupt you did I?’
‘I’m fishing.’
‘You? Fishing?’
‘I'm not. But Martin is, and I'm trying this new thing called compromise.’
‘Well, I hate to rain on your romantic parade, but we've got a situation up in Maine that's got your name written all over it. And it’s…. quite strange.’
Mia's detective senses perked up like a bloodhound on a fresh scent. Edis wasn't one for drama. If he said weird, it was going to be a regular carnival of the bizarre.
‘Lay it on me,’ she said, already mentally packing her go-bag.
‘Two stiffs,’ Edis said. ‘In body bags.’
Mia frowned. ‘Not exactly front page news, Will.’
‘I mean literally. Two victims were found zipped up tight in body bags. Like someone wanted them gift-wrapped for the meat wagon.’
‘Interesting,’ Mia said. ‘Where?’
'Millhaven, Maine. Tiny little speck on the map. The last homicide they had was probably some Pilgrim taking a tomahawk to the skull. Can you get here in thirty?'
Mia turned to her man, who she’d seemingly lost to nature. He was in his own world, not a side-eye in sight.
‘Alright. I’m heading in.’
‘Thanks. I’ll call Agent Dark in too.’
Mia ended the call, a sigh leaving her lips like a deflating balloon. The job, that jealous mistress, had come calling once again, demanding her lifeblood. And like a good soldier, she had to answer. At least, she had to if she still wanted to collect that fat pension in two months.
‘Edis needs me at HQ in thirty,’ she said, an apology written in the slump of her shoulders.
Martin, bless his unflappable soul, just shrugged. ‘Duty calls, and she's got a mighty loud bark. You better hop to before she starts nipping at your heels.’
Mia couldn't help but chuckle. Martin had a way of putting things in perspective, of cutting through the gloom with a well-placed quip. It was one of the many reasons she loved him.
‘I'm sorry,’ she said, meaning it. ‘I know this was supposed to be our time.’
Martin waved off her apology like a pesky fly. ‘Don't you worry about me, darlin'. I've got these here fish to keep me company. They're not much for conversation, but they're excellent listeners.’
Mia snorted, picturing Martin trading war stories with a trout. It was an image that would keep her smiling until she got back.
But as she gathered her things, a cold thread of fear wormed its way into her heart. The memory of Trevor, of his dead eyes staring up at her from a cold slab. The knowledge that someone, somewhere, had their sights set on those closest to her.
She put a hand on his thigh and locked onto him with an intensity that could melt steel. ‘Promise me you'll be careful. No unnecessary risks, no playing hero. Keep your head down and your gun close.’
Martin returned the gesture. He knew the stakes, knew the danger that lurked in the shadows. But he was a stubborn old mule, and he wouldn't be cowed by some faceless threat.
‘I'll be fine,’ he said. ‘I've been taking care of myself since before you were a twinkle in your daddy's eye. Ain't no two-bit killer gonna get the drop on me.’
Mia wanted to believe him, wanted to wrap herself in the comfort of his confidence. But the detective in her, the part that had seen the very worst of humanity, couldn't quite let go of the dread eating away at her gut.
She stepped closer, her hand finding his, fingers interlacing like puzzle pieces. ‘I mean it, Marty. Lock the doors, set the alarms. And if anything seems off, anything at all, you call me. Straight away. No cowboy stuff.’
Martin huffed, but there was a softness in his eyes. ‘Scout's honor,’ he said, holding up three fingers in a salute. ‘I'll be the very picture of caution. Now get out of here before Edis sends a search party. Take the car back to base. I’ll get one of the boys to pick me up.’
Mia lingered a moment longer, committing every line of Martin's face to memory. Just in case. Then, with a final squeeze of his hand, she turned and walked away.
Two bodies in body bags. A brand new serial killer to hunt. And a target painted on the backs of those she held dear.
Now that she thought about it, she’d rather be fishing.
CHAPTER FOUR
Ella toward the elevator at FBI HQ, and at this hour, it was already a buzzing nest of suits and secrets. But she moved through it all like a ghost, her mind a thousand miles away.
She was still raw from her encounter with Ben, still bleeding from the thousand tiny cuts of his goodbye. But she was an FBI agent, damn it. She'd stared down serial killers and madmen, had walked through the valley of the shadow of death and come out the other side. She could handle a little heartbreak.
The elevator spat her out onto the top floor, Edis's domain. The air up here was different, charged with the crackle of power and the stench of old secrets. Ella drew in a breath, tasted the bitterness on her tongue. Ella squared her shoulders, steeling herself for whatever fresh hell awaited her behind those frosted glass doors.
Ella rounded the corner, and there was Ripley, leaning against the wall like a loitering schoolkid. Ella's heart swelled at the sight of her, a rush of affection and gratitude threatening to overwhelm her. Ripley, her partner, her sister in arms. The one person who truly understood the weight of the badge, the toll it took on mind and soul.
‘Hey, Dark,’ Ripley said. ‘You holding up okay?’
Ella shrugged. ‘I’m alive. How about you?’
Ripley pushed off the wall and wrapped Ella in a tight hug. Ella welcomed it.
‘Barely alive myself. Don’t ever go fishing, that’s all I’ll say.’ Ripley nodded at Edis’s door. ‘You ready?’
Ella nodded, her jaw tight. ‘I'm ready. I need this, Mia. I need something to focus on, something to sink my teeth into. Otherwise, I'll go crazy.’
Ripley laid a hand on Ella's shoulder, a touch that said more than words ever could. ‘I got your back, woman.’
Ella managed a smile. She knocked on Edis’s door and waited for the signal. Behind the frosted glass, she saw his blurry outline summoning them inside. Ella headed inside and found Edis’s usually pristine office in disarray. Files stacked haphazardly, coffee rings on an uncleaned desk, chairs with the warmth of recent bodies.
And there, at the center of it all, sat Edis, stocky and grim, his blue suit and tie cinched a little too tight.
‘Agents, thanks for coming.’
Ripley scanned the room and asked, ‘Cleaners didn’t come in last night?’
Edis waved a hand. ‘Save it. This Carter business has got us doing damage control like nothing else. Press, Attorney General, even had the VP in here this morning.’
Ella sank into a chair, the leather embracing her like a warm lover. ‘Any updates on the Carter situation?’
‘Nothing that you need to worry about,’ Edis said. He slid two manilla folders over to Ella and Ripley. Ella accepted it, trying not to think about Randall Carter and his mystery assailant. Right now, her priority was the details sitting in front of her. She flipped the folder open and began scouring through.
‘Millhaven, Maine,’ Edis continued. ‘We’ve got a case and we don’t know what to make of it. Couple of nights back, some corporate bigwig ends up in the parking lot of his own company, zipped up tighter than a nun's habit in a body bag. Like someone's idea of a sick joke.’
Ella turned straight to the crime scene photos, a macabre feast laid out before her. The first batch showed a sleek, black body bag from all angles, positioned on the cold concrete of a parking lot. She zeroed in on the details, her mind whirring like a machine. The bags were pristine, no signs of struggle or violence marring their sleek surface. She moved to the photos of the victim’s body - a middle-aged male, cropped brown hair. The body was equally pristine. No bruises, no lacerations that she could see at first glance.
‘Quite a statement,’ Ripley asked.
‘And last night, a similar body shows up,’ Edis said. ‘About two miles from the first body, some poor sap stumbles on a body bag in an alleyway. Zipped it open and finds a young woman, barely old enough to drink.’
The next set of photos. Another victim, same story. This time, a young blonde woman, still plastered in full make-up. Earrings in, hair curled, peaceful expression. The pictures said more than words ever could.
‘ID on the newest victim?’ asked Ella.
‘Not yet. PD are working on it.’
‘No identification on her,’ Ella mused. ‘No one reported her missing. There’s a good chance she’s a sex worker.’
Ripley chimed in, ‘Corporate hot shot and a street walker? Chalk and cheese.’
‘Our perp has a vendetta against something or someone.’ Ella concluded. ‘Inconsistent victimology, no overkill, clearly blitz attacks his victims. These people are surrogates. They represent our unsub’s hatred.’
Ripley said, ‘The good news is that he’s no sadist. No overkill, no sexual assault, not even a speck of blood. He’s in and out like the SAS. You know what that means for us.’
Ella did. 'Blitz, bag the body and run. It means he's efficient, and he doesn't hang around, so the chances of him leaving any traces behind are slim. Forensics are going to be climbing uphill with this one.'
‘Do we know the cause of death?’ Ripley directed the question to Edis.
‘Not yet. Both bodies are at the coroner’s office. You should have an answer by the time you land in Maine.’
Ella thought everything through, trying to unearth a potential motive or pattern. Two victims, different ages, genders, likely from different walks of life. Serial killers usually maintained consistent victimology, but in rare cases, they did deviate from their preferred victim type. Dennis Rader, Richard Ramirez, Andrei Chikatilo, Carl Watts. Tommy Sells. Sometimes, it was experimentation. Other times, it was opportunistic attacks on vulnerable targets.
But what was the connection here? What message was the unsub trying to send? Did the body bags serve a purpose, or were they symbolic? Furthermore, how did someone manage to kill these victims without leaving a mark?
Ripley nudged Ella and stood up. Ella grabbed her things and followed suit, ready to dive headfirst into the abyss. But before they could make their exit, a knock at the door interrupted their momentum.
‘Come in.’ Edis barked out a summons, then turned to Ella and Ripley. ‘Get going, you two. I need this solved yesterday. We can't afford to have a body-bagging psycho running loose.’
Ella nodded, ready to track down this amateur undertaker in the flesh. She turned to greet the newcomer, expecting one of Edis's higher-up pals, a stuffed suit with a stick up their ass. But what she saw made her do a double-take.
The man who strode into the room was young, early thirties at most, with a face that could have graced the cover of GQ. He wore jeans and a black jacket with the casual elegance of a model off-duty, his dark hair artfully tousled, his jawline dusted with just the right amount of stubble. Such eye candy was rare around these parts, and for a moment, Ella forgot how to breathe.
Edis cleared his throat, breaking the spell. ‘Agents Dark and Ripley, meet Agent Luca Hawkins, our newest recruit.’
Luca stepped forward, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He extended a hand to Ripley first, shaking it with a firm grip. ‘Pleasure to meet you, Agent Ripley. I've heard great things.’
Ripley returned the smile, her eyes twinkling with amusement. ‘Likewise, Agent Hawkins. Welcome to the madhouse.’
Then Luca turned to Ella, his blue eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her knees go weak. ‘And you must be Agent Dark. I've heard a lot about you.’
Ella took his hand, her skin tingling at the contact. She held on just a little too long, lost in the warmth of his touch. ‘It’s not all true, I promise,’ she managed, her voice sounding breathy to her own ears.
Luca's smile widened, a flash of white teeth against tanned skin. ‘We’ll see about that. I’d love to find out for myself sometime.’
Ella felt a blush creeping up her neck, her face growing hot under his gaze. She searched for something clever to say, but her mind had gone blank, short-circuited by his proximity. She suddenly felt like a schoolgirl with a crush, her heart doing a giddy little flip in her chest. Get it together, Dark, she chided herself. You're a goddamn FBI agent, not a swooning teenager.
‘I’d be happy to show you the ropes,’ she said.
Luca leaned in conspiratorially, his voice low and intimate. ‘I'd love to pick your brain sometime, Agent Dark. Maybe we could grab a coffee, compare notes?’
Ella's heart stuttered in her chest. Was he asking her out? Here, in front of Ripley and Edis? She glanced at her partner, saw the smirk playing on Ripley's lips. Jesus, she was never going to live this down.
‘I... yes, that would be great,’ Ella stammered, her face burning. ‘I'd love to.’
‘Perfect. It’s a date,’ Luca smiled. ‘I’ll let you get back to your… whatever you were doing.’
A date. The word echoed in Ella's head, setting off a cacophony of butterflies in her stomach. She needed to get out of here before she made an even bigger fool of herself.
‘I should go,’ she blurted out, backing towards the door. ‘Plane to catch, undertaker to catch, you know how it is. My cell number is in my email.’
Luca nodded, his smile never wavering. ‘If you say so. Good luck.’
Ella mumbled a goodbye and practically sprinted from the room, Ripley hot on her heels. As soon as the door closed behind them, Ripley burst out laughing.
‘Smooth, Dark, real smooth. I thought you were going to combust.’
Ella groaned then chopped her partner in the shoulder. ‘Jeez, did that really happen? Right in front of Edis?’
‘He didn’t seem to mind. Neither did you.’
Ella hoisted her bag over her shoulder and looked back through the frosted glass into Edis’s domain. Even Luca’s outline was worth a spot on her calendar. ‘Christ, you see the jaw on that thing? It could cut glass.’
‘I could teach him a few things for sure. I call dibs on maid of honor.’
Ella shot her a glare, but there was no heat behind it. ‘Shut up. You want to walk to Maine?’
She straightened her spine, shaking off the lingering embarrassment. There was work to be done, a killer to catch. She couldn't afford to be distracted by a pretty face, no matter how tempting. Ella called the elevator and they stepped inside, ready to face whatever horrors awaited in Millhaven.
But even as the doors closed, Ella couldn't quite shake the image of Luca's blue eyes, or the promise of that coffee date.
Damn it, Dark, she thought, get your head in the game. The killer wasn't going to catch himself.
CHAPTER FIVE
Ella stared out the plane window, watching the world fall away beneath her.
She was bound for Maine, chasing a killer who left bodies in bags like discarded trash. But even as she tried to focus on the case, her thoughts kept drifting back to the heartthrob from HQ.
Luca Hawkins. The name alone did something to her. Those piercing blue eyes, that chiseled jaw, the way he looked at her like he could see right through to her soul. It was enough to make a girl weak in the knees. But Ella was no ordinary girl. She was an FBI agent, damn it, and she had a job to do.
She couldn't afford to get distracted, not now. Not with a killer on the loose and innocent lives at stake. But there was something about Luca that made her heart skip a beat, that made her wonder if maybe, just maybe, giving up chasing monsters was worth it.
Ella shook her head, banishing the thought. She couldn't afford to go down that rabbit hole, not again. The last time she'd let her guard down, let someone in, it had ended in heartbreak and tragedy. She couldn't go through that again.
Across from her, Ripley lounged in her seat, flipping through the casfile with feigned nonchalance. But Ella knew her partner too well. She could see the wheels turning behind those sharp eyes, the gears of that brilliant mind grinding away.
‘So,’ Ripley said, glancing up from her documents, ‘have you stopped thinking about Hottie McHotpants yet?’
Ella shot her a look, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. ‘Jesus, Mia, I only saw the guy for thirty seconds. He might look like a Greek god but for all I know he collects stamps and listens to prog.’
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