“I’m the FBI,” he said. “I kind of do.”
“Bullshit,” she declared. “I know you, Harrison. You work with that famous profiler. The one who specializes in serial killers. Grace Sinclair. I read her novels. If this was something you wanted your entire team on, you would’ve called her in. Instead, you called in your girl genius because she hero-worships you. She’s not gonna blab to your higher-ups about what you’re up to on your vacation. This is off the books—until you’ve got concrete evidence to take to them.”
Paul bit the inside of his cheek, wishing she wasn’t so damn alluring when she was reading him like a book. “You’re a brat,” he said.
Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I do what I have to.”
“You know, it’s against the law to blackmail an FBI agent,” he said.
“I’m not blackmailing you,” she scoffed. “It’s not my fault if I’m more clever than you. Now are you gonna come back inside?”
He looked past her shoulder to the farmhouse in the distance, feeling the dread start to build.
Usually, the spur of the hunt, the methodical steps that it took to find a killer, was something that motivated and fueled him. But he had a horrible feeling, one that had been there from the moment he realized that Abby was right . . .
There was more to this story. More to Cass’s murder than they ever thought.
That meant secrets were going to be uncovered. And secrets in a small town ran deep.
“Let’s go,” he said.
Chapter 13
“Oh, good, you’re back.”
Zooey had helped herself to a piece of apple pie from the fridge and perched on the edge of the desk to eat it. “This is delicious,” she told Abby, pointing her fork at the plate.
“Thanks,” Abby said.
“You mad at me, boss?” Zooey asked.
Paul shook his head. “I’m not mad at you, Zo. It’s just a shock. Everything I thought I knew is wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” Zooey said. “Both of you. I know that Cass was special to you. And from what I’ve read, she was a special person all around. It sucks that we’re here. But now that we are, we can figure out what really happened—and maybe prevent another girl from being taken.”
Abby felt a chill down her spine. “Another girl?” she echoed.
“Well, yeah,” Zooey said. “If the seven girls I identified are his victims, then he’s operating on a really predictable two-year schedule. He takes a girl every other fall. We’re a bit overdue, actually. Ramona, Molly, and Imogen were all taken in early September. But Keira, if she is his seventh victim, was taken in late November.”
“It’s November fifth,” Abby said, horrified at the thought that some girl was walking around right now, unknowing a psychopath was closing in on her.
“We’ve got a ticking clock then,” Paul said grimly.
“That’s my thinking,” Zooey said.
Abby had to clench her hands because they were starting to shake. Maybe she didn’t have the stomach for this, but it didn’t matter anymore: She was in it, and she was going to see it through. For Cass.
“Zooey, how accurate is your Sibyl program?” Abby asked. “Can we be sure all these girls are the unsub’s victims?”
Zooey shook her head. “This is the Code Sibyl’s first outing. Programs like this are always going to have bugs I have to work out. I’m human and I make mistakes. And the records that Sibyl’s scanning through aren’t perfect either. But it gives us a rough place to start to do some good old-fashioned police work. Sibyl’s designed to be an aid, not a complete solution.”
“Speaking of that,” Paul said. “Have you tracked down the girls’ families yet?”
“I’ve sent the address of Keira Rice’s parents to your phone,” Zooey said. “They’re about an hour’s drive from here.”
Paul turned to Abby, and there was a glitter of challenge in his eyes that made sparks go off under her skin. “You up for a little gumshoeing?” he asked, like he hadn’t just demanded she leave the case behind fifteen minutes ago. What was with him?
“I am,” she said.
“I’m gonna step out and make a call,” Paul said. “My mom’s gonna be pissed that I’m ditching lunch with her.”
“Tell Tandy hi,” Abby called after him.
He disappeared out of the study, and Zooey pursed her lips, making a tutting sound like a little old lady. “Wow, you two have tension,” she commented.
Abby could feel her cheeks getting hot. She couldn’t believe she was getting called out by a pint-sized genius with a mythology geek streak. “We’ve been friends a long time,” she said, simply.
“That is not the way a guy looks at you when he’s feeling just friendly,” Zooey said, with an air of precocious wisdom that was so cute Abby couldn’t help but smile. She liked this kid. She had gumption.
“He’s just being a hard-ass,” Abby said. “He likes being in charge.”
“Well, after the whole bomb thing, can you really blame him?” Zooey asked, hopping off the desk. She was halfway across the room when she froze, catching sight of the look on Abby’s face.
“What ‘bomb thing’?” Abby demanded, feeling like someone had thrown ice water in her face.
“Um . . .” Zooey looked over her shoulder, like she was weighing her chances of escape. “There may have been an incident on a kidnapping case. Our kidnapping victim was diabetic, which meant we only had a small window of time to work with. The boss led a team in to get her, but everything went wrong. The kidnapper strapped him into a suicide vest full of C4 and held him hostage with the girl for like, a day. He’s better, though. The PTSD was bad for a while, but he’s drinking a lot less coffee now, which means he’s sleeping more and wow, you look really horrified, I’m making this a whole lot worse, aren’t I?” Zooey’s entire monologue came out as kind of a rush and she had to take a deep breath after she was done.
“I need to sit down,” Abby said. And then she did just that.
“Oh, my God, he’s gonna be so mad,” Zooey muttered to herself. “Look, I’m sorry. The way he looks at you and talked about you, I just figured you two were close and you probably knew the whole deal. My big mouth gets me in trouble all the time. Please, don’t say anything to him about it. The only reason I know about the PTSD is because he doesn’t believe in keeping things from his team. He held a whole meeting about it and everything.”
“Someone strapped C4 to him?” Abby asked dumbly, the details Zooey had given her whirling around in her head like bats around a cave at dusk.
“It kinda goes with the job. Our team, it’s an elite task force,” she explained. “He is the best of the best, Abby. And sometimes, that means putting yourself into some major danger for the greater good. And the boss? He’s all about the greater good.”
“My God,” Abby said. She knew, intellectually, that of course Paul’s job was dangerous. But maybe she’d tricked herself into thinking he spent most of his time behind a desk, giving orders, instead of out in the field, where even the right move could get him killed. The reality now was impossible to deny, and her heart picked up when she realized that he hadn’t left the study earlier because he was angry over Code Sibyl’s reveal of the possible victims.
Had he actually left because his PTSD had been triggered? He had been breathing in that long, slow way when she’d found him in the orchard. Was he trying to gain some kind of control?
She had very little experience with PTSD and her mind was racing. Had she made it worse by touching him? He would’ve moved away if she had, right? Abby’s stomach tightened, feeling like the ground was moving beneath her, unsteady and unpredictable.
“You’re not going to tell him I blabbed, are you?” Zooey asked. She looked so worried Abby shot her a reassuring smile.
“Of course not,” she said. “It does explain some things, but you don’t have to worry. If he wants to tell me, as far as he’s concerned, that’ll be the first time I’m hearing it.”