“ALL CLEAR,” A MAN clad in a green bomb suit from head to toe declared, turning away from the front steps of a two-story white house with black shutters. The roof was in a serious state of disrepair, and Alexander didn’t think the siding of the house had ever been pressure-washed.
He looked at Moretti, who stood to his left, and their eyes met. When Alexander miraculously showed up at the house, Moretti had made it readily apparent he was annoyed with his presence. Alexander couldn’t just sit by and do nothing. Sure, Moretti had one of the highest solve rates in the bureau, but what if this was the one case he’d never be able to get to the bottom of? What if he missed something? Alexander needed to be here to make sure that didn’t happen.
Exhaling in obvious annoyance, Moretti handed Alexander a set of shoe covers and gloves. “Fine, but you’d better not touch anything,” he hissed. “I mean it. If you touch so much as a particle of dust—”
“I know. I know,” Alexander cut him off. “It could compromise the integrity and admissibility of the evidence. This isn’t my first rodeo. I want this fucker to burn for what he’s done, so the absolute last thing I intend to do is give him a ‘get out of jail free’ card.”
He pushed past him and toward the front steps of the house, Moretti catching up to him with ease. As they approached the front door, one of the bomb squad technicians stopped them.
“Agent Moretti,” he began.
“Yes?”
“I just wanted to let you know that, although the thermal cam couldn’t pick up on any bodies, our robot found one inside.”
“What?” Alexander’s heart fell to his stomach. His legs were on autopilot as he darted into the house, frantically scanning each room, unsure of what he would find. He feared the worst. That he would stumble on a scene no parent should ever have to.
As he ran from one room to the next, all he could think was he should have been more watchful. More caring. More involved. If he had, maybe this never would have happened.
He tore down a short hallway, past a bathroom that had seen better days, and paused briefly outside a door that was ajar. Entering the room, he looked around, falling to his knees as he stared at a body slumped over a desk. He had never been so relieved, yet so distraught at the same time. Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor, coming to a stop behind him.
Hanging his head, Alexander slowly stood and walked to the desk, careful not to touch the body. Moretti was probably anxious to get forensics in to figure out what happened, but Alexander needed this. He needed to look into those eyes.
Squatting beside the desk, he tilted his head, staring directly at the bastard’s face. He had a darker complexion than Alexander had pictured, and it was evident he was of Middle Eastern descent. His eyes were blank, having long blinked their last. The through-and-through bullet wound in the center of his head confirmed that.
Straightening, Alexander stepped to the side, surveying the back of his head.
“Entry point?” Moretti asked, standing next to him.
“That’s my guess. Probably never even saw it coming.”
“Fucking Christ,” he breathed, running his hand over his face.
Alexander felt his frustration. He didn’t know how much more of this he could go through before he lost it. Every time they thought they were getting closer to finding Melanie, something would happen to bring them right back to square one.
Glancing out the window to see small snowflakes beginning to fall from the sky, dread flowed through his bones. The Nor’easter was on their doorstep, but there was no telling where Melanie was or whether she had ever actually been here.
“I want every inch of this place searched.” Moretti tore his attention away from the corpse, issuing orders to his team of agents and crime scene technicians, all of them staring. “Document everything. Find out how this happened and where the hell the girl is!” His face reddened with each word he spoke. “Now!” he bellowed, the team jumping into action.
A chill set in when Alexander looked at Maleek’s body once more, analyzing his face. He seemed familiar, and it wasn’t just because of the sketch that had gone out. There was something else. He studied his features inch by inch, searching his brain for a memory he feared wouldn’t come. Frustration sprouted into anger. He had been trained to memorize impossibly long combinations of numbers and letters. He could recognize someone he had seen driving alongside him during his morning commute. He could recall exactly what he was wearing when Olivia went into labor. But when it mattered, when he needed to remember something that could bring his little girl back home, he drew a blank.
He ran his hand through his hair, tugging at it, letting out a defeated groan.
“What is it?” Moretti asked, eyeing him.
“I feel like I should know this guy.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. He looks familiar, and it’s not because of the sketch.” Alexander kept staring at Maleek, wracking his brain. He did everything he could to force a forgotten memory to return. He mentally went back in time, thinking perhaps this man was connected to Mischa. Did he work for her organization? He hadn’t yet told Moretti his theory that Mischa’s death was connected to Melanie’s disappearance. The only people who knew were Simpson and Martin. Maybe they weren’t connected. Maybe Alexander was just a desperate man at the end of his rope, grasping at straws.
“Agent Moretti,” a young blonde called, out of breath as she ran toward them.
“What is it?” he replied, turning his attention away from Alexander.
She stopped in her tracks, swallowing hard when she saw Maleek’s pale, cold body. It was apparent she hadn’t been to many homicides.
“Agent Gibson asked me to come get you. He needs you upstairs.”
“Did he find something?”
“I believe so.”
“Thank you, Agent…” Moretti raised his eyebrows.
“Stocker, sir.”
“Agent Stocker, please go across the street to the convenience store and ask if the clerk has seen anything suspicious over the past twenty-four hours. See if he or she remembers seeing any cars parked along the street or in the driveway, anyone coming or going from the house.”
She smiled in excitement. Alexander had the feeling she hadn’t been out of the academy for too long. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She practically ran down the hall and out of the house.
Moretti headed toward the living room, Alexander following. “Get blood spatter in there,” he ordered another agent, gesturing with his head toward the room they had just come from. “I want to know exactly where the shooter stood when he fired the weapon. I want to know what kind of bullet was used and the gun that shot it. Understand?”