Surprisingly, Nikki gave a sharp nod of agreement. “That was my thought as well,” she said. “I don’t believe for a minute that the man committed suicide. If he was overcome by guilt, why would he go upstairs and lie down on a rotting mattress before putting the gun to his head? And where was his car? He didn’t walk to the farmhouse carrying five dead women.”
Griff tried to visualize the scene. The abandoned house. The victims laid neatly in the basement. The dead man upstairs with a bullet through his brain.
“If he had a partner, the two of them might have had a falling-out,” he suggested. “Or Archie Darrell might have become so unstable he was a liability to the sick collaboration.”
“Agreed.” Nikki pressed her lips into a tight line. Her frustration was almost a physical force. “Unfortunately, the cops are eager to avoid mass panic at having to admit there might be more than one killer stalking women. It’s far easier to reassure everyone that the madman is dead and that the public can go back to enjoying their holiday.”
Without warning Carmen was leaning forward, her hand slamming on top of the table with a burst of fury.
“And what happens when the killings continue?”
Nikki didn’t recoil at Carmen’s outburst. Instead, a grim smile curved her lips.
“Then I’m no longer there as a professional courtesy,” she told Carmen. “I’ll take charge of the investigation.”
Carmen scowled in frustration. Griff didn’t blame her. He might have full faith in Nikki’s talent as an agent, but that meant nothing if she wasn’t allowed to do her job.
“So until then, we have to wait around for the killer to strike again?” Carmen’s voice was harsh.
“No. I might not be the primary investigator in Kansas, but that doesn’t mean I’m not able to follow my own leads.” Nikki picked up her pen and flipped the page on her notepad. Then, settling her forearms on the table, she studied Carmen with a fierce intensity. “It’s clear to me that you’re somehow connected to these killings, Ms. Jacobs. I want to know everything about you.”
Carmen’s scowl deepened. “But—”
“Carmen.” Griff interrupted her protest, giving her fingers a squeeze. He’d seen that expression on Nikki’s face. Right before she’d spent the night disassembling her ex-boyfriend’s prized motorcycle down to the last screw after she’d caught him with another girl. “You might as well get comfortable.”
*
Despite the fear that churned through her like a toxic sludge, Carmen did her best to answer Nikki’s questions. Even the ones that were intrusive, or downright stupid.
Of course, it’d taken more than one silent reminder that Nikki was doing her job. The woman could be downright abrasive. But having the vast resources of the FBI helping to track down the mystery killer, or killers, might make the difference between life and death.
And not just for herself.
If the maniac truly intended to imitate the killers in her book, then there were a lot of women in danger.
She had to do whatever possible to stop him.
It was after four when they at last returned to the truck waiting in the parking lot. By mutual agreement they drove straight to Louisville, stopping long enough for a quick meal at a fast food restaurant before they were back on the road.
Carmen’s thoughts were too distracted to conduct a conversation.
She’d been right from the beginning. There was a serial killer out there. Probably more than one. And the lunatics were using her book as some sort of twisted inspiration.
Already five women had died. How many would be dead before the nightmare was over?
And was her name on the list?
It was after nine by the time they were crossing the hotel lobby and taking the elevator to the upper floor. She unlocked the door and stepped inside before she reached to flip on the light. As she was about to step out of the way so Griff could enter the room, Carmen’s attention was caught by a white square on the carpet.
She bent down. “You must have dropped something when we were leaving yesterday,” she said.
Griff abruptly brushed past her. “Wait,” he commanded.
He was too late. Carmen had already grabbed the paper. Straightening, she felt the slick gloss beneath her fingers. It wasn’t a note as she’d first thought. It was a postcard.
She turned it over, puzzled at the picture printed on the front. It looked like one of the cheapo postcards you picked up in a gift shop when you were on vacation. This one had an image of the ocean lapping against an impossibly white beach. The gentle waves reflected the sun that was just cresting the horizon and the words SURF AND TURF were stamped across the top in a large font.
There was nothing to show exactly where the picture had been taken. Just a typical sunrise over the water.
Sunrise.
Carmen reached to grasp Griff ’s arm. Once when she’d been helping her grandfather around the farm, she’d gotten too close to the edge of an old well. The soft ground had crumbled beneath her feet, sending her tumbling into the dank darkness. This felt just like it.
The terror. The sensation of falling through the air. And the jolting pain as she hit the bottom.
“Oh my God,” she breathed.
Griff turned so he was standing directly in front of her. “What is it?”
“The Morning Star.” She shoved the postcard into his hand. “The killer is going to the beach.”
He studied the happy ocean scene, his lips tightening. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a picture of the postcard.
No doubt he would be sending it to Nikki.
Then he moved across the room. “I’ll put it into the mail tomorrow morning,” he said. “Nikki might be able to use her magic to get prints or DNA.”
Carmen watched as he took the seat in front of the desk, booting up his laptop.
She moved to stand at his side, not sure if it was curiosity that sucked her across the room or his gravitational force field. Somehow over the past few days, she’d come to depend on having him near.
A knowledge that should have terrified her. Instead, she laid a hand on his shoulder, savoring the heat that seeped into her palm and through her body.
She didn’t realize until that moment just how cold she was.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Using my own magic,” he told her, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “The hotel has to have security cameras.”
Carmen raised her brows. “You can break into their security system?”
“I prefer to think of it as borrowing their video for a short period of time,” he informed her.
She watched as the computer screen was filled with the image of the hotel lobby. He really did break into the security system.
He touched the keypad and the image shifted to the empty restaurant. Another touch and she could see the kitchen.
She shook her head, caught somewhere between admiration and wry amusement. She hadn’t realized what a formidable enemy Griff Archer could be when she’d blithely plotted to lure him into helping her with a new book. Otherwise she would never have tried to cross his path.
“No wonder Nikki didn’t ask you any questions,” she murmured.
Griff ’s attention remained locked on the screen. “This could take a while,” he warned.
Accepting that she couldn’t help, Carmen reached into her purse and pulled out her phone to plug it in. She didn’t bother to glance through the dozens of messages. The details of her upcoming book tour would have to wait, along with the numerous invitations to speak around the country.
She didn’t have the energy to concentrate on anything beyond catching the bastards who were killing innocent women.
Pacing from one end of the hotel suite to the other, Carmen racked her brain for any memory that might give her a clue. There was her family who hated her, but it seemed a stretch to think they could brutally kill five women. And later, there’d been a few boyfriends. None who had seemed unstable, although who knew? It was impossible to look at someone and know that they might be capable of murder.
There’d also been men during her college years. A few lovers, several friends, and two professors who had been her mentors.
Again, it was impossible to think of them as psychotic killers.
She’d moved to stare out the window when Griff broke the silence that filled the hotel room.