The fact that they couldn't find any connection between any of the victims was troubling. It made predicting who he might take next even more difficult. They were all pretty, brown-haired girls, but there had to be something more than that. Another issue was, they had no idea where he would even strike next. If Paris was taken from Miami, and Francine from here, in Northern Florida, then this guy clearly had a huge reach. He wasn't afraid to travel.

  And he did have the car. It had no license plate, but it was a somewhat unique make. Maybe Nicky's only hope now was to try to track that car--or a car like it. But it discouraged her, because they'd already tried that route with the car, and it had led them to a dead end.

  But she had to try. Pacing across the room, Nicky called Grace. As usual, the tech picked up within a ring.

  "Hey, Nicky, how's it going?"

  "Not so good, Grace," Nicky said. "Jimmy Drake's not our guy."

  "Ah, shit! Sorry to hear that--he seemed like the right one for sure."

  "It's a different car. But we know for sure that the person who dropped off the photos did drive a Hana Kuma. We also know he's potentially driven all across Florida. I was hoping you could help me track this car down."

  "Without a license plate?"

  Nicky swallowed. "That's right. We're looking for a Hana Kuma with no license plate."

  "That might not be easy to get on security footage," Grace said. It was the first time Nicky had heard her hesitate. Normally, Grace was right on top of things, but Nicky knew this could be a wild goose chase.

  "I know it's a lot to ask, Grace," Nicky said. "If you can, recover traffic footage from across the state and see what you can find. Try Miami, around the time Paris went missing."

  "Nicky, this is a really big request."

  "I know," Nicky said, running her fingers up and down her hair. "But if we get this guy, this will all be worth it."

  Grace was silent for a moment. "Okay, Nicky," she said. "I'll do what I can. Just give me some time.”

  "Thanks, Grace."

  Nicky hung up, feeling a weight lifted off of her shoulders. If there was even a chance that Grace could find this car, then she was going to take it. And she would find this guy, whoever he was.

  Nicky just needed something to go her way.

  But she knew firsthand how impossible it could be to track a vehicle with no identification. She knew because when she and her sister had been kidnapped all those years ago, all Nicky had for the officers was a description of the van they'd been in. No license plate number.

  And it had never been found, to this day.

  Nicky remembered it so clearly, too. The make… the build… but it had been no help. There were simply too many of them in America—in the world—and without a plate, it was impossible to narrow down who could’ve taken them. Nicky would love to take a look again, with the resources of the FBI behind her, but of course, she didn’t have permission to do that yet.

  If she could get Felix to talk, or get information out of him, then she would have something, though. She had to have something.

  Nerves tore through her. No... she couldn't think like that. She had to stay resolute. For the victims. And for Rosie.

  Nicky began to pace again, even as Ken arrived with two cups of coffee. "I know you said you didn't want one," he said, "but I got you one anyway."

  "Thanks, Ken." Nicky took the cup and sipped it, feeling the warm liquid flow down her throat. It was strong and bitter, but it was comforting to have. "I just talked to Grace," she said. "She's going to try to recover any traffic footage from around Miami, around the time Paris went missing."

  "And she can do that?"

  "If she can't, I don't know who can," Nicky said. Her footsteps slowed to a halt, and she turned to face Ken. "I just don't know what else we can do to track this guy. There's no forensic data on the photographs. And we still don't even know where the bodies are."

  "True," Ken said. "He could've put those girls anywhere."

  Nicky sat back down at the table and pulled out the files, taking out the print-offs of the Polaroid photos. She looked at them closely, for any identifying mark in the background, but it was completely non-descript. It looked to be a basement of some kind, with concrete flooring. In the background of one photo, she could see a vintage floral couch. On the photo with the chair, the girl was sitting, slumped, on another vintage-style chair.

  "He seems to have old furniture," Nicky noted.

  Ken sat down next to her with his coffee, looking over the photos. "Yeah, they don't make them like that anymore."

  "And he dropped the photos in an antique store," Nicky said.

  "So, what," Ken began, "You think we're looking for an antique fanatic?"

  "Maybe," Nicky said. "Or an older person, who was alive when this style was popular." She shook her head. "I don't know. It's just a theory."

  "You could be onto something," Ken said. "The Polaroid photo--that's a vintage thing too."

  Nicky allowed her mind to wander, building up a profile of this person in her mind. They knew he had an affinity for photography. For vintage photography, at that, and vintage furniture. He obviously wanted his photographs to be seen, as he came in and planted them himself.

  That meant he was confident--he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in prison. But he was also meticulous, as he'd driven all across Florida to do this.

  "It's hard to believe he's just some random guy," Ken said. "That he just happened to carry a camera and decided to take these photos. He's obviously the type of person who would have been wanting to do something like this for a long time. Someone doesn't just wake up and become this."

  Nicky nodded, sitting back, her mind whirring. Talking to Ken was helping her to work it out in her mind. "I know," she said. "I was thinking about the same thing. Like he wants to be seen. But something about it seems off. We know that these girls didn't know each other, that they'd never met. The victims are from completely different parts of the state. And the murders appear to be completely random. And the photographs..." She took a breath, unsure where her mind was leading her. She was onto something--she just wasn't sure what yet.

  Just then, Nicky's phone rang. She snatched it off the table, but it was an unknown number.

  "This is Agent Lyons," Nicky said into the phone.

  "Agent Lyons? This is Officer Green with the Cedar Bay PD--I was given your contact information by Chief Gammage of the Pine Grove PD."

  Nicky's heart picked up. "Yes, that's right. Can I help you?"

  "I was told to call you personally if we found any evidence of any disturbing photographs in our town," he said, and Nicky's eyes flashed to Ken. He mirrored her expression.

  "Did you find some?" she asked, her heart in her throat.

  "Actually, we did," he said. "We found a photo of what appears to be a female homicide victim in an antique store here in our town."

  Nicky stood up, clutching the phone so tightly she thought the plastic might crack. "What antique store?" she asked.

  "It's called Olden's Antiques," he said, "right here in Cedar Bay."

  Nicky froze, and then started to breathe rapidly. "Where in the store? Where exactly?"

  "It was by the cash register, mixed into a pile of old photographs and postcards. The owner said he didn't see it until the police came in looking."

  "When did this happen?"

  "About twenty minutes ago. We're processing the scene now. I was told to contact you by Chief Gammage."

  "Thanks, Officer Green," Nicky said. "I'm on my way."

  She hung up and faced Ken. This was huge, but not necessarily in a good way.

  It meant there was a third victim--a third woman who had lost her life. But it also gave them another scene, another clue to chase down, which would hopefully lead them to the killer and stop him from claiming anyone else.

  But they had another body. Another photo. She knew that it was a woman, but there was no way of knowing for sure what the circumstances were surrounding her death.

  Only one thing was certain. This guy was escalating. And he wasn't about to stop.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Nicky couldn't stop trembling as she drove her car toward the small town of Cedar Bay, over an hour away from Stoneycreek. Evening was descending upon them, and plumes of pink and orange took over the sky as it darkened, the sun dipping over the Florida horizon.

  "It's going to be okay," Ken said from the passenger seat. "We'll get him, whoever he is."

  Nicky nodded. She was so nervous she could barely speak, but she knew she had to try. She had to keep going--for those girls.

  She'd gotten in touch with Officer Green, who was going to meet them at the scene. Now, she was driving as quickly as she could across the state, trying to keep her thoughts in order.

  "I can't believe he's been leaving evidence behind," she said. "It's like he wants to us to chase him."

  "Yeah, it's hard to imagine how these sickos really think," Ken said. "Back when I was training to be an agent, one of the hardest things for me was to get into the mindset of the killer. It's disturbing stuff."

  "But necessary for our jobs," Nicky said. "Otherwise, we'd never be able to catch them."

  "Yeah, yeah," Ken said. "But that doesn't mean I have to like it."

  It was true, though—getting into the mind of a killer was never easy.

  Nicky was quiet, letting her mind whir, trying to piece together the clues they had. It was clear that this guy was smart--but he was also cocky. He'd dropped the photos in an antique store, but they'd ended up in the hands of police. It was inevitable they would, and surely he knew that.

  "I mean, all these girls--we have no idea what he's doing with them," Nicky continued, ranting more than anything else. "They're just gone. And we can't find them. We don't even have their bodies, just those horrible pictures."

  "That's the hardest part," Ken said. "But we will, Nicky. He's going to slip up. He's going to make a mistake. And we'll be there to catch him."

  Nicky nodded, but she knew that there was a high chance that the man they were looking for was smart. And the thought of that scared her the most. The thought that he was smart enough to evade them long enough to kill one, two, maybe even three more victims before getting caught.

  Nicky couldn't handle that amount of blood on her hands. They'd already lost too many. If Nicky didn’t crack this case in good time, she feared that the task force would be declared a failure—and she would be a consequence of that. This whole task force was Nicky’s shot to prove she could get results with as few deaths as possible. If she continued to fail, maybe they’d put someone else in charge, or axe it altogether.

  The thought made her stomach bottom out. No… she had to prove herself. Nicky’s destiny was the FBI, and she did want to advance. Maybe even become Special Agent someday. Special Agent Nicky Lyons… she liked the sound of that.

  But she’d never get there if she gave up.

  Nicky's mind wandered as she drove, her exhaustion taking over. As she saw the small town go by out her window, she thought about those girls, their lives cut short.

  She thought of the man who'd done that to them, who'd taken their lives. She thought of what they were going through. And she knew, with a deep sense of conviction, that they were going to stop him.

  In her mind, she could see them. The three women, their lives snuffed out in an instant. She could see the man who'd taken them, who'd killed them. His face was blurry, but Nicky knew she could pull it into focus.

  She wasn't going to stop. Even if she never got promoted, even if her task force did get snuffed out—she had to fight for these girls.

  She wanted to be the one to catch that bastard.

  She drove faster, and the trees sped by her in a blur of green and brown, the sun setting as they approached Cedar Bay.

  Nicky knew that there was a chance they'd be approaching the scene and find absolutely nothing. No facial ID, no fingerprints. But she still had to see it for herself.

  They came into the small, quaint beachside town of Cedar Bay. Nicky’s car weaved through the narrow, winding roads. The quaint shops and restaurants were nestled between rows of tightly packed houses and dotted with colorful beach umbrellas. Buildings shimmered in the evening sun as she drove, reflecting ripples of light across the quiet streets. The salty ocean breeze blew gently in Nicky's face through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of salt, seaweed, and damp sand.

  Finally, as it was getting darker, they pulled into the parking lot of Olden's Antiques. Nicky could see other police vehicles there, and her heart started to beat faster.

  She parked and got out of the car, and Ken followed her. The two of them headed toward the store, and one officer--a young, tall, lanky man--waved at them. Nicky and Ken held up their badges.

  "Agent Lyons?" the officer asked, and Nicky recognized his voice.

  "You must be Officer Green," she said.

  "That's right. Thanks so much for coming so quickly. The manager of the store is inside," Officer Green said. "He's been really upset about this. I think he's on the edge of a breakdown."

  "I understand," Nicky said. "Thanks for calling us."

  Officer Green nodded, and then they headed into the store. The lights were dim, casting the store in a gloomy darkness. Nicky looked around the store and frowned. She couldn't even see the stack of photographs the officer had told her about. The store was filled with old and dusty furniture, with pieces sprawling haphazardly across the floor. The air was thick with the musty smell of old fabrics, carved wood, and tarnished metal. The shelves were lined with rare and valuable antiques, glittering in the dim light.

  Officer Green led them to the back of the store, where the cash register was, and a man--the manager--was being spoken to by two other officers.

  "We have forensics standing by," Officer Green told them. "But you can see everything for yourself back here."

  They approached the register, where the manager--a distraught-looking older man--looked at them.

  "Oh, is that the FBI?" he asked.

  "Yes, sir," Nicky said. "I'm Agent Lyons and this is Agent Walker. Where was the photograph located?"

  He nodded at a pile next to him. Nicky pulled out a glove and slid it on.

  On top of the pile was a picture, a Polaroid, just like the others. This one showed a young woman in a blue dress, slumped on a couch, with her throat slit, blood leaking everywhere, all over the furniture.

  Nicky's stomach twisted. She looked at the picture and felt rage rise up in her like a tidal wave. She wanted to find this man.

  "We'll need to talk to you about this," Nicky said to the manager.

  "Okay," the manager said, but he didn't sound okay. His voice and hands were shaking. He looked as if he was on the verge of collapse.

  "We already questioned him a lot," Green cut in. "He doesn't seem to know anything."

  Nicky focused on the manager. "You have no idea who could have placed this here, or when?"

  "I don't know! People rarely look at that pile, if ever. It's mostly for decoration. We have old photographs and postcards, and it's all for fun, really. When the police came in and said they were looking for something, I didn't expect them to actually find anything."

  "I understand," Nicky said. "And you have surveillance footage in the store?"

  "I don't," he said. "We... we don't have a lot of crime in town. At all. So, you can imagine how shocking this is for me."

  Nicky nodded, though she was still frowning. She turned to Officer Green.

  "We're going to need you to get footage from the streets as soon as you can," she said. "Look for a 1998 Hana Kuma. We have reason to believe the culprit may be driving that vehicle."

  "I will," he said. "But we get a lot of tourists here, and people often wander in and out. It's mostly quiet, so there's not a lot of motion. You might not even be able to see the person who dropped that photograph off."

  "Well, we need to try," she said. "You might as well call forensics in and take this man home for the night. He doesn't need to endure this any longer."

  "Oh, thank you," the manager said.

  "We're on it," Officer Green said.

  With that, the manager left with the officers, leaving Nicky and Ken alone to survey the scene. Nicky set the photo back down, looking closely at it to see if there was another detail. The girl, like the others, had brown hair and was young and pretty. But the scene was a bit different too. The angle was wider. They could see more of the background.

  Squinting, Nicky looked even closer. It was too dark. Nicky took out her phone and snapped a photo, then, on her phone, she went into the picture settings and upped the brightness, turning the screen to Ken.

  There was a texture in the background.

  No, not a texture--a wallpaper.

  Damask. Blue and yellow in color. Something about it was familiar.

  "We've seen this before," Nicky said to Ken.

  He frowned at the screen. "Yeah, we have..."

  But where? Why was it so familiar?

  Then, it hit her:

  "Mr. Dumond," Nicky said.

  "What?" Ken frowned.

  Her heart raced. No--she was certain of it. They'd seen that wallpaper earlier that day--at Harriet Antique. "It was in Mr. Dumond's shop," Nicky said. "He had this wallpaper at his store."

  "Shit," Ken said. "He did. But he was so nice. We can't actually think..."

  "I don't know. But we need to look into him."

  ***

  Back in the car, Nicky had her laptop open while Ken sat in the passenger seat. Her fingers clacked at the keyboard as she searched for Charles Dumond from Pine Grove... but nothing came up.

  "He said he'd lived there his whole life, didn't he?" Nicky asked. "He's not in the database."

  "Maybe there are other Charles Dumonds, not from Pine Grove?" Ken offered.

  Nicky checked that. The sun had fully set now, and they were sitting in the car, the only brightness coming from the screen. The police were still working at the store across from them, looking for more evidence, but Nicky had a strong feeling they'd find none.

 

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