Beyond that was the constant apprehension that Mark Haddonfield and Ash Pierce would remain on the loose, threatening the public, and especially the people he cared most about. Hannah, who was for all practical purposes his stepdaughter, deserved better than to live in hiding at the very time she was supposed to be starting a fresh life in college. Kat was entitled to begin her engagement without this hanging over her head.

  And Jessie, more than anyone, was entitled to a break. Not only was she permanently on edge because a madman had decided to fixate on destroying both her legacy and her life. But she was living each day with a ticking time bomb in her skull. She’d been extremely fortunate so far, but there was the constant awareness that any bump to her head, no matter how seemingly innocuous, might be the one that ended things.

  And if that wasn’t enough, there was the continuing strain on their marriage, still only six months old. And in one big way, it was his fault. He’d recently kept his knowledge of a threat against Jessie, Hannah, and Kat from her to protect her from worrying about something he deemed extremely unlikely. But when the threat proved legitimate—in the form of Ash Pierce—Jessie lost trust in him.

  They’d been slowly building it back, both in private and at couples’ counseling with Dr. Lemmon, but there was more work to do. He hoped that they would eventually get back to the place they’d been at before this nightmare began. Sometimes he even prayed for it.

  He loved Jessie so much. Ever since he’d first met her, when he’d spoken to a forensic psychology class that was part of her master’s program, he’d been impressed by her wit and intelligence. But they’d both been married at the time, so, despite noting how attractive she was, he hadn’t let his thoughts move beyond that.

  Only later did his feelings grow deeper, when she got a consulting position with HSS. As they worked together, his respect for her as a colleague and friend blossomed. But after his marriage fell apart, things began to change. She was already divorced herself, from a man who turned out to be a sociopathic murderer.

  Ryan finally allowed himself to appreciate more than just Jessie’s charm, her dedication to others, and her steely resolve to get justice for victims. He was taken by her beaming smile, bright green eyes, and tall, athletic frame. He knew he was hooked when one day, a toss of her brown, shoulder-length hair, sent his heart fluttering extra fast.

  This was the woman he loved, and he couldn’t bear for her to be in so much pain. With the threats to her sister and herself, her ongoing health issues, and the bumps in their marriage, it was too much for one person to bear. He wanted to lighten her load, but for that to happen, something had to give. And he was the one who would have to give it.

  He and Susannah were almost to the crime scene, and he forced himself to put everything else out of his mind. He couldn’t worry about any of that right now, not with a dead body on the ground in front of him.

  “Thanks for coming,” said the officer in charge, who stepped forward and extended his hand. “I’m Sergeant Kenton.”

  "Nice to meet you, Sergeant," Ryan said. "I'm Captain Hernandez. This is Detective Valentine. What can you tell us?"

  Kenton, a burly thirty-something cop with bushy, black hair, sighed heavily.

  “We still don’t have an ID yet,” he said. “There was nothing on her. No phone, license, or purse. But CSU took her prints, so we should have something soon. The coroner isn’t done yet, but based on the bruising around her neck, strangulation doesn't seem out of the question.”

  “We understand that an inmate found her,” Susannah said, her tone betraying none of the sharpness that Ryan was worried might be off-putting.

  “That’s right,” Kenton replied. “A work crew from the MDC was on litter pickup duty this morning. The inmate who found her is Victor Antonelli. He’s a two-time loser, both convictions for B&Es, but there’s no violence in his record. He’s over there if you want to talk to him.”

  He pointed in the direction of a squad car, where a guy in his late twenties with tightly shorn brown hair sat forlornly.

  “In a minute,” Ryan said. “We might as well look at the body first.”

  As he knelt down, he studied the young woman in front of him. She looked to be in her late twenties. She had long, dark curly hair and other than her glassy, terror-filled eyes, a pleasant, warm-looking face. It didn't appear to be bruised, but as the sergeant had warned, her neck was badly discolored. There were also bruises on her arms and exposed legs. She wore a nice black dress that was now covered in dirt, leaves, and blood.

  “Am I wrong,” he said to Susannah, “or does her outfit seem less like work attire and more dinner date stuff?”

  Susannah Valentine knelt down next to him, and he heard her wince in obvious pain.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking over at her.

  “Nothing,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Just got a little leg cramp. I think I need to hydrate better. I agree. This dress is more for play than for work. My guess is that she was out for the night when this happened.”

  Ryan nodded in agreement before standing up. He noted that when Susannah joined him, she did so gingerly.

  “You sure you’re okay?” he pressed.

  “Yeah,” she assured him. “Just remind me to chug some water when we get back to the car. Shall we go talk to Antonelli?”

  “Sure,” Ryan said, not entirely convinced by her answer.

  The officer standing next to the squad car with Antonelli opened the door and the inmate stepped out. Ryan noted that he was a small guy, maybe five and a half feet tall and 150 pounds. He looked more like an amiable bank teller than a guy twice convicted for breaking and entering.

  “I’m not in trouble, right?” Antonelli asked before Ryan could say a word. “I was just trying to do the right thing, let the guards know what was going on. I’m supposed to be released in January. I can’t have this mess that up.”

  “Why would it mess that up?” Susannah asked him challengingly. “Did you kill her?”

  Antonelli looked aghast.

  “I didn’t kill anybody,” he insisted. “I’ve never even hit anyone. I just found her like that, I swear.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Ryan said. “How did you first find her?”

  “I was picking up trash and I discovered this shoe under the bush. I noticed there was what looked like blood on but didn’t think much of it, so I dumped it in my trash bag. I went a few steps further. That’s when I saw her.”

  “Did you touch her?” Susannah demanded.

  “No way! I wish I never even saw her. I puked when I did. Then I called the guards. I promise, that’s all I did.”

  Ryan looked at Susannah and got the sense that she was reaching the same conclusion as him: Victor Antonelli was telling the truth, which meant he wasn’t of much more use to them. Ryan beckoned her over.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  “I think that our little friend here has shared all he knows,” she said, “and until we get an ID on our victim, there’s not much we can do here.”

  “I agree,” Ryan said. “Chief Decker mentioned that other woman who was found yesterday. I think it’s time we look into what happened to her. Maybe that will prove more promising than what we have here.”

  “I hope so,” Susannah said, “because if it doesn’t, this case may end up being more involved than the bare-bones version of HSS can handle."

  Ryan tried not to give in to that kind of negativity, but with the way the last few months had gone, he wouldn’t bet money on this case going smoothly. He hoped he was wrong, because he desperately needed a break.

  He almost said that to Susannah but caught himself. He was the boss, even if he was starting to hate it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Wake up, Jessie.”

  She startled at the words, briefly disoriented before she comprehended that Grover Nix was standing over her, a concerned look on his face.

  Jessie hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep. She’d only gone into Ryan’s office with the intention of finding someplace dark and quiet to fend off her headache. But apparently, not even his tattered loveseat could prevent her from drifting off.

  “What time is it?” she asked groggily.

  “Just after noon,” he said. “You seemed like you needed a few hours of shuteye, so I kept everyone away while you napped. I would have let you go longer, but Ryan called.”

  “Is he okay?” she asked quickly.

  “He’s fine,” Grover assured her. “In fact, he asked the same thing of you when he couldn’t reach you. But he does have an update on this case with the woman by the side of the road, so he asked me to get hold of you.”

  She sat bolt upright.

  “Is he on the line now?”

  “No,” he said. “He asked you to call back once you were more alert.”

  “Okay,” she replied, reaching for her phone. “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To Research,” she said, already out the door, “I want Jamil and Beth to hear this too.”

  She dashed through the bullpen, actively looking away from the empty HSS section of the room, then darted down the hallway. Grover only caught up to her as she got to the door of Research. Once there, she called Ryan back.

  Jamil and Beth, who had both been transfixed by their monitors, looked up.

  “What’s going on?” Beth asked.

  “That’s what we’re about to find out,” Jessie said, putting her phone on speaker.

  Her call only rang once before Ryan picked up.

  “Jessie?”

  “Yep,” she said. “You’re on speaker with Jamil and Beth too. What have you got for us?”

  “First off, are you okay?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  “Yeah, I just took a catnap that ran long. Any good leads on this thing?”

  “I was hoping you guys could help with that,” he replied, letting it go. “We’re still waiting on an ID for the woman who was found this morning. I've asked the Gardena coroner to send you what they have. But right now, we're at the apartment of the first victim, the one who was found on Monday morning. Her name is Noemi Benson.”

  Jessie turned to ask Jamil to look her up, but his fingers were already flying across his keyboard.

  “She was thirty-two,” Susannah said over speaker, “lived alone. Neighbors say she was friendly enough but mostly kept to herself. From everything we’ve been able to gather, no one in her personal or professional life knew she was related to Clay Vanowen.”

  “Who’s that?” Beth asked.

  “He’s her uncle,” Jessie explained. “He’s also a well-connected political consultant here in town. That, on top of the serial killer element, is why Chief Decker asked us to take over the case. But if no one knew she was related to him, that eliminates some kind of twisted political payback as a motive for her murder.”

  “Right,” Ryan agreed. “We’re hoping that once we get an ID on victim number two, we’ll find some shared connection that helps us.”

  “Right now,” Susannah added, “the only connection seems to be the manner of death. Both appear to have been beaten and strangled before getting dumped on the side of the road. The crime scenes don’t help either. Noemi Benson was found in West L.A. near where Pico and Sawtelle Boulevards butt up to the 405 freeway. That’s almost twenty miles from where victim number two was dumped.”

  “I’ve pulled up Benson’s social media accounts,” Jamil said. “It looks like she was pretty active. Lots of talk about workouts, the TV shows she liked, her unsatisfying dating life. A little bit about her work—she was a junior account executive at an ad agency. Like you guys said, it looks unlikely that this was connected to her uncle. There’s no mention of him anywhere on her socials. No photos of him either.”

  “Can you send us that stuff, Jamil?” Susannah asked.

  “On it,” he replied.

  “In the meantime, we’re going to head to the morgue,” Ryan said. “We’ll take a look at Noemi Benson’s body in person to see if it offers any additional clues. Otherwise, I think we’re in ‘wait and see’ mode until we learn who victim number two is.”

  “I’ll keep scrubbing Benson’s personal data until the FBI asks us to switch back to helping them,” Jamil promised.

  “Great, “Ryan said, “in the meantime, can you take me off speaker, Jessie?”

  She did that as she stepped into the hall. He obviously wanted the rest of their discussion to be private.

  “It’s just me now,” she told him.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “I called you multiple times and didn’t hear back.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I went to your office to regroup and unexpectedly conked out for a bit. I must have really needed it because I never even heard your calls.”

  “Okay,” he said, sounding concerned. “Maybe turn up the ringer volume. I got so worried that I called Grover.”

  “Yes, I know,” she said, looking over at the security expert standing fifteen feet away from her in the hall. “He ripped me out of my sleepy time session. But enough about me. Have you heard anything more on Nettles?”

  “I called the hospital about a half hour ago. He’s still sleeping, but way more deeply than you were. As you can imagine, he’s heavily medicated. I don’t know that the doctors will have any meaningful updates today.”

  “And nothing more on the Haddonfield or Pierce searches?” she pressed.

  “No,” he admitted. “Frankly, based on your personal connection with Jack Dolan, I might expect him to reach out to you before me, even if that’s not protocol.”

  “I haven’t heard anything from him either,” she said before looking over at Grover. “And I assume Rufus didn’t reach out while I was asleep?”

  “No,” Grover said, shaking his head. “But once again, that’s a good thing. It’s when he does call that we need to worry. I’m sure he and Hannah are somewhere safe, annoying the hell out each other, as it should be.”

  “You hear that?” Jessie asked Ryan.

  “I did,” he said. “And Grover’s right. I know this is almost impossible to do, but try not to worry. She’s in good hands. Just focus on what you can control. We sent you everything we have so far on victim number two, as well as Noemi Benson. See if you can get into your patented ‘Jessie Hunt deep dive’ zone. Hopefully, it’ll take your mind off the other stuff.”

  “I’ll try,” Jessie told him. “Stay in touch. I love you.”

  “I love you too,” he said. “Take care of yourself.”

  Jessie hung up. She felt a little bad about not telling him about the headache that had sent her to the darkness of his office earlier. But he didn’t need the added worry, not when he couldn’t do anything about it.

  She also didn’t tell him about the new headache she could feel coming on right now, which filled her with a sudden, powerful nausea.

  “I’m going to run to the ladies’ room,” she said to Grover, hoping her voice didn’t betray the all-consuming ache that swept over her.

  He nodded casually as she scurried down the hall, pushing open the restroom door, and barely making into the stall before everything in her stomach came tumbling out of her mouth.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hannah Dorsey teetered on the edge of the barstool, refusing to look down.

  “I’m not sure this is going to work,” she said apprehensively.

  “Just focus on the task in front of you,” Rufus instructed her. “Put everything else out of your head.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she noted. “You’re not the one in danger.”

  Though she couldn’t see him, she could almost feel her bodyguard’s dismissive scowl.

  “Hannah, you’re literally five feet in the air,” he reminded her. “If you start to fall, I’m right behind you to catch you. Changing an air filter shouldn’t be such a dramatic undertaking.”

  “Then why don’t you do it?” she challenged, hearing herself and not liking how petulant she sounded.

  “We’ve been through this,” he said. “My fingers aren’t small enough to get into the slot to replace the old filter, which is causing that nasty smell. This place is over 120 years old, and it obviously wasn’t designed with big people in mind.”

  “I’m a big person,” she protested as she slid her narrow wrist into the very slot he was talking about to hook in the new filter. “I’m five foot nine!”

  “Yes, you’re very impressive,” he agreed, condescension intentionally dripping off him. “But compared to me, you have dainty bone structure. We’re just taking advantage of it.”

  She snapped the last hook into place and looked down.

  “All done,” she said. “Can you help me down now please?”

  He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her off the barstool, and plopped her onto the living room's hardwood floor.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad,” he said.

  He smiled broadly. In his current domestic incarnation, people might guess that Rufus Harrington was just a handy homeowner. In truth, he was a former special forces soldier who had moved into personal security once he left the service and now worked for Grover Nix. The thirty-one-year-old, who looked more like a gymnast (which he was in high school) than a brutish bodyguard, had dark, buzz-cut hair and a relaxed vibe that masked his skill set.

  “Why do we have to stay in a house that’s 120 years old again?” she asked.

  The home in question was a Spanish Revival-style mansion in a ritzy stretch of Santa Monica, several blocks north of Wilshire Boulevard and within easy sight of the ocean.

  “Like I said, the owners of this house are in China until the middle of next month,” he replied as if he’d told her this story dozens of times instead of mentioning it in passing while they were under duress. “They’ve been renting it out for the last year, but they wanted it cleared out and cleaned up before they got back, so they're not renting it for the next three weeks."

 

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