If he had to guess, this crime was fresh. It had potentially only been committed hours ago.

  He wished Fiona were here to add some insight, but they’d rushed out without thinking to bring her along. Jake and Lauren were used to working alone, and in that moment, all Jake had cared about was getting to the crime scene.

  Well, now they were here. And it looked just the same as the others.

  This guy was on a rampage.

  And Jake was sure he wouldn’t stop anytime soon.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Fiona paced her hotel room, her hand on her sweaty forehead. Here she was, up and ready for the day, thinking she would be meeting with Jake and Lauren first thing—only to discover they were not even in the building.

  They’d left her.

  They’d woken up and left her.

  Twenty minutes ago, Fiona received a text from Jake saying only: On my way. Sorry we didn’t wake you. New crime scene… new body. Talk soon.

  Fiona couldn’t help but feel frustrated she’d been left behind. She’d thought that working with Jake and Lauren would mean she’d get more hands-on action, but so far, she’d only been where she always was: either in a lab or in an examination room.

  Maybe she was being childish, but was she part of the team or not?

  But Fiona knew she couldn’t stay angry for long. She had to focus on the task at hand: finding this killer before he could find another victim.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. Fiona opened it to find Jake standing outside—no sign of Lauren.

  “Hey,” Jake said, his voice soft as he looked at her. He then pushed into her room, and Fiona jumped back, startled. Jake slid into the desk and pulled out his laptop, like he was in a huge rush.

  Flustered and confused, Fiona stood over him. “Agent Tucker, what is going on?”

  Jake’s fingers flew across his keyboard as he logged into his laptop. “Lauren’s talking to a guy we found last night who we think might be a person of interest. Right now, you and I need to find any more suspects to add to that list, going off the very limited data we have.”

  Fiona was quiet and Jake continued to work. She didn’t know what to say. She felt confused, and like she wasn’t sure what to do with herself, which made her feel very foolish. Of course, if she’d been at the crime scene to investigate with them, perhaps she’d feel differently. “Well, was there anything notable at the crime scene?” Fiona asked. “I… would have liked to be there.”

  Jake finally stopped typing and flashed her an apologetic look. “Sorry, Red. Muscle memory. Lauren and I just bolted as soon as we heard. We should’ve woke you up.”

  Fiona sighed, feeling the tension in her shoulders relax. She knew that Jake was sorry and that he was only trying to do what was best for the case. She sheepishly smiled at him and nodded her head. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Let’s just get to work then.”

  Jake returned the smile as he started typing again, this time with Fiona beside him, ready to help in any way she could. She grabbed her own laptop and set up across from him, trying not to think about the fact that they were alone in a hotel room together.

  “And to answer your question,” Jake said, eyes on his screen, “we didn’t find anything new at the scene, at least not yet. The victim was ID’d as twenty-one-year-old Mia Phearson. She was last seen alive walking alone down Grace Street on someone’s security camera. The body’s being sent to the coroner’s. We can have you go over again later. Till then, I say we try to crack that theory you had going yesterday—that we should be looking into morticians and people like that. People with easy access to body bags and embalming fluids.”

  Fiona nodded and started typing away at her own laptop. “I was thinking we could do a deeper search on that. Maybe look into embalming fluid suppliers, or see if any mortuary schools in the area have had security breaches. With some luck, we can see if any other mortuary schools have had any problem students. The girls were all pretty young, although only Sarah was in school.”

  Jake nodded, his eyes already on his screen. “And I’ll see who I can get on the coroner’s side. Maybe they can look up their records to see who’s been buying embalming fluid in the area.”

  Fiona nodded and they started to work. Fiona surfed the internet, checking every mortuary school she could find in the area, while Jake searched the coroner’s records. The room was quiet save for the clicking of keys and the beeping of the computer screens. They were both intent on their own screens, and on the task at hand.

  “We’re looking for anyone with a criminal record of any kind,” Jake said, “or even a history of intensive psychiatric care. We can’t rule anyone out. Whoever’s doing this is calculating, and I’d bet there were some warning signs somewhere in his life.”

  Fiona nodded. She could agree with him there. With the help of the FBI database, she was able to access personnel files. The schools so far seemed clean.

  Her mind wandered back to her conversation with her father last night. A mortician… that seemed like the most likely culprit. Somebody who already knew how to embalm. Then again, it wasn’t like the work was necessarily perfect.

  Now that she thought about it, only formaldehyde was found on the women’s skin. But an experienced embalmer would likely be using a mixture of formaldehyde, glutaraldehyde, and methanol. She knew a lot about this thanks to her family’s business.

  The killer was such a perfectionist, and yet that could be considered a misstep.

  So… maybe she was not looking for a mortician, but someone else.

  She thought of her mother. In the funeral home business, Fiona’s mother was the funeral director. She planned them out and organized them, she watched from afar as they played out. But working hands-on with the bodies was not something she did. She would often comment on how good Fiona’s father’s work was, how lifelike he kept the deceased.

  A thought struck Fiona. Perhaps they were looking in the right area, but not coming to the exact right conclusion.

  “Jake…” Fiona began. “You mentioned you and Lauren were researching last night. Did you look into funeral home directors?”

  Jake frowned. “I don’t think we got there, no. I was focused on doctors, morticians, people like that.”

  “I was thinking maybe we’re looking for an amateur, someone who is interested in embalming, but not quite a pro… perhaps someone who watches from afar.”

  “So, a funeral home director?” Jake asked.

  Fiona’s cheeks warmed and she sank in her seat. “It was just an idea…”

  “No, I like it,” Jake said with a newfound vigor. “Let’s narrow our search down. Funeral home directors with records.”

  Fiona was already typing away on her laptop. She opened up a new window and started looking into the backgrounds of funeral home directors in the area. She cross-referenced them with police reports, medical records, and any other information she could find. It was slow going, but soon enough, Fiona found something that caught her eye.

  Paul Jensen. Forty-eight years old. A funeral home director in South Portland, not even that far from the killer’s hunting grounds. His records revealed he’d been caught by the police a few years ago during a party with a bunch of teenagers, whom he’d been buying alcohol for, and had been sent to a psychiatric facility for observation after pleading insanity for his charges of attempting to solicit sex from minors. He seemed like a nasty person, Fiona thought, and he clearly had a taste for young women since so far, all of the victims had been below the age of twenty-five.

  Fiona read through Paul’s psychiatric reports. It detailed a long history of intensive psychiatric care, and it was clear that he had severe issues with impulse control, aggression, and a tendency to act out his violent fantasies. He was diagnosed with schizophrenia and prescribed multiple doses of antipsychotic medications every day.

  But the more Fiona read, the more she became certain that this man could be their killer. Despite being on medication to control his impulses, Paul had refused to take them faithfully; he would often go days without taking them and then having a relapse into psychosis. She suspected that during these lapses in his mental health, he was committing the murders they were seeing now. If they could find evidence linking him to any of the victims or locations where bodies were found, then Fiona knew they would have their man.

  “Jake,” she said, her voice low, “I… I think I have someone.”

  “What?” Jake stood up and came over to Fiona’s side of the table. Her face flushed as he leaned over her, and she caught an unintentional smell of his cedar cologne. Fiona held her breath as Jake read the files she had open. When he let out an impressed laugh, her confidence rose a notch. “Red, this could be him,” Jake said. “I’ve gotta go talk to this guy.”

  Jake went to go close his laptop. Fiona stood up. This was her suspect, she should get to go too. At least, that was how she felt.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  Jake stopped and gave her a look. “No, I need you here.”

  Her heart sank. “What? Why?”

  “I need you looking for more perps,” Jake said. “If this isn’t our guy.”

  Frustration coursed through her. She got the strong sense that he just wanted to keep her locked up. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, after what had happened the last time Fiona had gone to talk to a suspect. She’d nearly died, and Jake had to risk his life and come save her.

  Still. Fiona had wanted to get more field experience. She didn’t want to be locked in a hotel room all day.

  But Jake was the FBI agent, and he was the one ultimately in charge of her—both him and Lauren. Fiona knew her place; she was on this team to assist them, and didn’t have the authority to call shots.

  “I understand,” she mumbled. “I’ll be here.”

  Jake sighed, then offered her a small smile. “Chin up, Red. You did great work. You’re doing great work. We need you here, okay?”

  Fiona nodded, trying to stay optimistic. “You’re right,” she said, “I can do more. I will do more.”

  “Good. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  With that, Jake left. Fiona sighed. She’d wanted to come with him—to be a part of the action, to do something. But she understood. She’d be of far more use behind the scenes, researching and organizing information. She could help them solve the case, rather than potentially causing problems.

  Still, Fiona couldn’t stop herself from dreaming about what it would be like to get out there in the field again.

  She just hoped her tip would prove useful. And if Paul Jensen was the killer, she hoped Jake was prepared to face him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Jake’s car pulled up to a small building set back from the street. The dark brick walls were stark against the clear blue sky, and the sign out front read “Jensen’s Memorial Services” in bold, black letters. The entrance was flanked by two large columns, and the windows were covered in a thin layer of fog. Despite the somber setting, there was an air of anticipation as Jake parked his car.

  Thankfully, there didn’t seem to be a funeral in session today, at least not at this time. The parking lot only had three other cars in it. There were a few people walking slowly through the graveyard, their heads bowed down in quiet reflection. The sun shone down on the various headstones and memorials, casting long shadows on the grassy paths. Jake had to admit, it was an impressive funeral home.

  He wished he wasn’t alone on this one, but it was what it was—he still hadn’t heard from Lauren, and he hoped that everything was going okay with the other suspect. As for Fiona, he’d felt bad having to shoot down her request to come, but after the way things went down last time, he wasn’t totally comfortable getting her out in the field. She didn’t have proper training with a gun. She wasn’t exactly a fighter.

  Really, she was the most useful right where she was: at her computer. If Paul Jensen was a dud, then he hoped Fiona would have some more ideas in mind.

  Taking a deep breath, Jake stepped out of the car and walked up to the entrance. It was quiet, almost eerily so. He could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on him as he opened the door and stepped inside.

  The lobby was small yet cozy, with a few armchairs around a fireplace in one corner and some simple paintings adorning the walls in another. There were two doors leading off from it: one to the office, and one to what appeared to be an exhibit hall.

  Jake went up to the reception desk and cleared his throat. A middle-aged woman with graying hair looked up from her paperwork and gave him an expectant look. “Can I help you?” she asked politely.

  “Yes,” Jake replied, pulling out his badge. “I’m looking for Paul Jensen.”

  The woman’s lips pursed. She gave him a once-over, then, unusually loudly, exclaimed, “Mr. Jensen is not in right now.”

  Jake was taken aback by her sudden rise in voice. Instinctively, he looked to his right, through another doorway that led to a funeral hall—and there, he spotted a man.

  Paul Jensen.

  Jake had seen his photos in his file. He was a tall, decrepit-looking man, and this guy fit the bill perfectly.

  Paul had obviously heard the receptionist and immediately became aware of Jake’s presence. He spun around on his heel and began sprinting away in the opposite direction, disappearing into a side door.

  Jake didn’t hesitate—he was already sprinting after him. He jumped over chairs and pushed past a table being set up, past a memorial photo of an elderly woman—right toward doors that led outside.

  Jake squinted in the sun as he bolted outside, finding himself in the graveyard.

  Jake could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he chased after Paul, but he kept pushing on, determined to catch up with him. He knew that if Paul got away, they’d be back to square one. The spindly man was shockingly fast and had a good head start on Jake—he could see him dashing through gravestones up ahead.

  Like a jackrabbit, Paul hopped from one tombstone to the next, clearly trying to lose Jake. He was heading for some sort of large tree, perhaps in an attempt to climb it.

  Jake had to raise his voice now to be heard. “FBI! Stop!” he shouted.

  Paul didn’t respond, and he was making progress. Jake knew he was dangerously close to losing him.

  “FBI!” Jake shouted again, and Paul suddenly stopped short.

  He made a sharp left, then a right, then ducked behind a headstone.

  Jake could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he rounded the headstone—and there, he realized they had reached a fenced-in area that was too tall to climb. He saw a young woman clutching a purse and a small child, their eyes wide in fear.

  Jake shot them a look. Wordlessly, the woman pointed behind Jake. He whirred around, only to see Paul making a run for it in the opposite direction.

  Damn it! He’d tricked Jake into following him this way, but he’d had an escape route all along. This guy was a cockroach, but Jake was done playing around.

  He was going to catch him.

  He ran after Paul as fast as he could, hurtling down the path between headstones. He was getting closer, and he could see that Paul was beginning to tire out.

  Paul had reached a small clearing near the fence, and he was planning on making a break for it again. He was going for a gap in the fence that led down to an alleyway between two buildings.

  “Stop!” Jake shouted again. Adrenaline was pumping through his veins, and he could feel his heart beating in his ears. His feet were pounding on the ground, his legs burning with every step.

  Paul had almost reached the gap in the fence. It was now or never.

  Jake lunged forward, snatching Paul by his shoulders and pulling him back. He had caught him.

  Paul stumbled back and fell onto the ground, out of breath. Jake quickly pulled out his handcuffs and cuffed him up.

  “Unhand me!” Paul exclaimed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  Jake scoffed. “I know that you just tried to run from a federal agent. Paul Jensen, you’re under arrest.”

  Paul squirmed beneath Jake, but had no choice but to comply as Jake read him his rights.

  ***

  Fiona had been looking for more funeral directors with shady pasts, but no one seemed quite as perfect as Paul Jensen. It had been an hour, and Fiona still hadn’t heard from Jake, but she hoped he was okay. She wasn’t even sure why she was worrying—he was the FBI agent, and the one who’d saved her life. He was a strong, capable man, and definitely didn’t need her worrying about him.

  Still, it was in her nature.

  A sudden knock at the door broke Fiona’s reverie, and she stood up from her table and went to the door, expecting to see Jake. But when she opened it, it was Lauren standing on the other side with an ice-cold expression. The moment Lauren saw Fiona, she pushed past her, into her room. “Is Jake here?”

  Okay, I guess everyone can just burst into my room, Fiona thought bitterly. “No, he isn’t,” she said. “He went to interrogate a suspect.”

  “Shit,” Lauren muttered. “That’s why he didn’t answer my call. He’s probably talking to the guy now.”

  Silence spread between them. Fiona didn’t know what to say. But she recalled Jake mentioning that Lauren was talking to a suspect too.

  “How did yours go?” Fiona asked timidly. Around Lauren, she felt like she was walking on glass, afraid to say the wrong thing.

  “Dead end,” Lauren said shortly, crossing her arms. “I did find one thing out, though. All three of the women have been on dating apps over the past several months.”

  Dating apps. Fiona suddenly remembered that she still had a profile up, and the thought mortified her. She hadn’t opened it to see if she had any messages, and hadn’t activated push notifications. If one of her colleagues saw that, she would be horrified.

  But dating apps were very common these days. Fiona wondered what Lauren was thinking, so she asked, “Do you think the killer is meeting them on there?”

 

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