CONTENTS
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Youcanfindthisandmanyothergreatbooksat:
BooksbyJenniferLynnBarnes
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RaisedbyWolves
TrialbyFire
TakenbyStorm
EveryOtherDay
TheNaturals
ForNeha,whounderstandsthehumanmindand
usesherpowersforgood,notevil(mostly)
PARTONE:KNOWING
YOU
You’vechosenandchosenwell.Maybethisonewillbetheonewhostopsyou.Maybeshe’llbe
different.Maybeshe’llbeenough.
Theonlythingthatiscertainisthatshe’sspecial.
Youthinkit’shereyes—notthecolor:anicy,see-throughblue.Notthelashes,ortheshape,orthe
wayshedoesn’tneedeyelinertogivethemtheappearanceofacat’s.
No,it’swhat’sbehindthoseicybluesthatbringstheaudienceoutindroves.Youfeelit,everytime
youlookather.Thecertainty.Theknowing.Thatotherworldlyglintsheusestoconvincepeoplethat
she’stherealdeal.
Maybesheis.
Maybeshereallycanseethings.Maybesheknowsthings.
Maybeshe’severythingsheclaimstobeandmore.Butwatchingher,countingherbreaths,you
smile,becausedeepdown,youknowthatsheisn’tgoingtostopyou.
Youdon’treallywanthertostopyou.
She’sfragile.
Perfect.
Marked.
Andtheonethingthisso-calledpsychicwon’tseecomingisyou.
CHAPTER1
Thehourswerebad.Thetipswereworse,andthemajorityofmycoworkersdefinitelyleftsomething
tobedesired,butc’estlavie,queserasera,insertforeignlanguageclichéofyourchoicehere.Itwas
asummerjob,andthatkeptNonnaoffmyback.Italsopreventedmyvariousaunts,uncles,and
kitchen-sinkcousinsfromfeelingliketheyhadtooffermetemporaryemploymentintheir
restaurant/butchershop/legalpractice/boutique.Giventhesizeofmyfather ’sverylarge,very
extended(andveryItalian)family,thepossibilitieswereendless,butitwasalwaysavariationonthe
sametheme.
Mydadlivedhalfaworldaway.Mymotherwasmissing,presumeddead.Iwaseveryone’s
problemandnobody’s.
Teenager,presumedtroubled.
“Orderup!”
Withpracticedease,Igrabbedaplateofpancakes(sideofbacon)withmylefthandandatwo-
handedbreakfastburrito(jalapeñosontheside)withmyright.IftheSATsdidn’tgowellinthefall,I
hadarealfutureaheadofmeinthecrappydinerindustry.
“Pancakeswithasideofbacon.Breakfastburrito,jalapeñosontheside.”Islidtheplatesontothe
table.“AnythingelseIcangetforyougentlemen?”
Beforeeitherofthemopenedtheirmouths,Iknewexactlywhatthesetwoweregoingtosay.The
guyontheleftwasgoingtoaskforextrabutter.Andtheguyontheright?Hewasgoingtoneed
anotherglassofwaterbeforehecouldeventhinkaboutthosejalapeños.
Ten-to-oneodds,hedidn’tevenlikethem.
Guyswhoactuallylikedjalapeñosdidn’torderthemontheside.Mr.BreakfastBurritojustdidn’t
wantpeopletothinkhewasawuss—onlythewordhewouldhaveusedwasn’twuss.
Whoathere,Cassie,Itoldmyselfsternly.Let’skeepitPG.
Asageneralrule,Ididn’tcursemuch,butIhadabadhabitofpickinguponotherpeople’squirks.
PutmeinaroomwithabunchofEnglishpeople,andI’dwalkoutwithaBritishaccent.Itwasn’t
intentional—I’djustspentalotoftimeovertheyearsgettinginsideotherpeople’sheads.
Occupationalhazard.Notmine.Mymother ’s.
“CouldIgetafewmoreofthesebutterpackets?”theguyontheleftasked.
Inodded—andwaited.
“Morewater,”theguyontherightgrunted.Hepuffedouthischestandogledmyboobs.
Iforcedasmile.“I’llberightbackwiththatwater.”Imanagedtokeepfromaddingperverttothe
endofthatsentence,butonlyjust.
Iwasstillholdingouthopethataguyinhislatetwentieswhopretendedtolikespicyfoodand
madeapointofstaringathisteenagewaitress’schestlikehewastrainingfortheOglingOlympics
mightbeequallyshowywhenitcametoleavingtips.
Thenagain,IthoughtasIwentforrefills,hemightturnouttobethekindofguywhostiffsthe
littlebittywaitressjusttoprovehecan.
Absentmindedly,Iturnedthedetailsofthesituationoverinmymind:thewaythatMr.Breakfast
Burritowasdressed;hislikelyoccupation;thefactthathisfriend,who’dorderedthepancakes,was
wearingamuchmoreexpensivewatch.
He’llfighttograbthecheck,thentiplikecrap.
IhopedIwaswrong—butwasfairlycertainthatIwasn’t.
OtherkidsspenttheirpreschoolyearssingingtheirwaythroughtheABCs.Igrewuplearninga
differentalphabet.Behavior,personality,environment—mymothercalledthemtheBPEs,andthey
werethetricksofhertrade.Thinkingthatwaywasn’tthekindofthingyoucouldjustturnoff—not
evenonceyouwereoldenoughtounderstandthatwhenyourmothertoldpeopleshewaspsychic,she
waslying,andwhenshetooktheirmoney,itwasfraud.
Evennowthatshewasgone,Icouldn’tkeepfromfiguringpeopleout,anymorethanIcouldgive
upbreathing,blinking,orcountingdownthedaysuntilIturnedeighteen.
“Tableforone?”Alow,amusedvoicejostledmebackintoreality.Thevoice’sownerlookedlike
thetypeofboywhowouldhavebeenmoreathomeinacountryclubthanadiner.Hisskinwas
perfect,hishairartfullymussed.Eventhoughhephrasedhiswordsliketheywereaquestion,they
weren’t—notreally.
“Sure,”Isaid,grabbingamenu.“Rightthisway.”
AcloserobservationtoldmethatCountryClubwasaboutmyage.Asmirkplayedacrosshis
perfectfeatures,andhewalkedwiththeswaggerofhighschoolnobility.Justlookingathimmademe
feellikeaserf.
“Thisokay?”Iasked,leadinghimtoatablenearthewindow.
“Thisisfine,”hesaid,slippingintothechair.Casually,hesurveyedtheroomwithbulletproof
confidence.“Yougetalotoftrafficinhereonweekends?”
“Sure,”Ireplied.IwasstartingtowonderifI’dlosttheabilitytospeakincomplexsentences.
Fromthelookontheboy’sface,heprobablywas,too.“I’llgiveyouaminutetolookoverthe
menu.”
Hedidn’trespond,andIspentmyminutebringingPancakesandBreakfastBurritotheirchecks,
plural.IfiguredthatifIsplititinhalf,Imightendupwithhalfadecenttip.
“I’llbeyourcashierwheneveryou’reready,”Isaid,fakesmilefirmlyinplace.
Iturnedbacktowardthekitchenandcaughttheboybythewindowwatchingme.Itwasn’tanI’m
readytoorderstare.Iwasn’tsurewhatitwas,actually—buteveryboneinmybodytoldmeitwas
something.ThenigglingsensationthattherewasakeydetailthatIwasmissingaboutthiswhole
situation—abouthim—wouldn’tgoaway.Boyslikethatdidn’tusuallyeatinplaceslikethis.
Theydidn’tstareatgirlslikeme.
Self-consciousandwary,Icrossedtheroom.
“Didyoudecidewhatyou’dlike?”Iasked.Therewasnogettingoutoftakinghisorder,soIletmy
hairfallinmyface,obscuringhisviewofit.
“Threeeggs,”hesaid,hazeleyesfixedonwhathecouldseeofmine.“Sideofpancakes.Sideof
ham.”
Ididn’tneedtowritetheorderdown,butIsuddenlyfoundmyselfwishingforapen,justsoI’d
havesomethingtoholdonto.“Whatkindofeggs?”Iasked.
“Youtellme.”Theboy’swordscaughtmeoffguard.
“Excuseme?”
“Guess,”hesaid.
Istaredathimthroughthewispsofhairstillcoveringmyface.“Youwantmetoguesshowyou
wantyoureggscooked?”
Hesmiled.“Whynot?”
Andjustlikethat,thegauntletwasthrown.
“Notscrambled,”Isaid,thinkingoutloud.Scrambledeggsweretooaverage,toocommon,and
thiswasaguywholikedtobealittlebitdifferent.Nottoodifferent,though,whichruledoutpoached
—atleastinaplacelikethis.Sunny-sideupwouldhavebeentoomessyforhim;overhardwouldn’t
bemessyenough.
“Overeasy.”IwasassureoftheconclusionasIwasofthecolorofhiseyes.Hesmiledandclosed
hismenu.
“AreyougoingtotellmeifIwasright?”Iasked—notbecauseIneededconfirmation,butbecause
Iwantedtoseehowhewouldrespond.
Theboyshrugged.“Now,wherewouldthefunbeinthat?”
Iwantedtostaythere,staring,untilIfiguredhimout,butIdidn’t.Iputhisorderin.Ideliveredhis
food.Thelunchrushsnuckuponme,andbythetimeIwentbacktocheckonhim,theboybythe
windowwasgone.Hehadn’tevenwaitedforhischeck—he’djustlefttwentydollarsonthetable.I
hadjustaboutdecidedthathecouldmakemeplayguessinggamestohisheart’scontentforatwelve-
dollartipwhenInoticedthebillwasn’ttheonlythinghe’dleft.
Therewasalsoabusinesscard.
Ipickeditup.Starkwhite.Blackletters.Evenlyspaced.Therewasasealintheupperleft-hand
corner,butrelativelylittletext:aname,ajobtitle,aphonenumber.Acrossthetopofthecard,there
werefourwords,fourlittlewordsthatknockedthewindoutofmeaseffectivelyasajabtothechest.
Ipocketedthecard—andthetip.Iwentbacktothekitchen.Icaughtmybreath.AndthenIlookedat
itagain.
TannerBriggs.Thename.
SpecialAgent.Jobtitle.
FederalBureauofInvestigation.
Fourwords,butIstaredatthemsohardthatmyvisionblurredandIcouldonlymakeoutthree
letters.
WhatintheworldhadIdonetoattracttheattentionoftheFBI?
CHAPTER2
Afteraneight-hourshift,mybodywasbonetired,butmymindwaswhirring.Iwantedtoshutmyself
inmyroom,collapseonmybed,andfigureoutwhattheHelloKittyhadhappenedthatafternoon.
Unfortunately,itwasSunday.
“Theresheis!Cassie,wewerejustabouttosendtheboysoutlookingforyou.”MyauntTashawas
amongthemorereasonableofmyfather ’svarioussiblings,soshedidn’twinkandaskmeifI’d
foundmyselfaboyfriendtooccupymytime.
ThatwasUncleRio’sjob.“Ourlittleheartbreaker,eh?Yououttherebreakinghearts?Ofcourse
sheis!”
I’dbeenaregularfixtureatSundaynightdinnerseversinceSocialServiceshaddroppedmeoff
onmyfather ’sdoorstep—metaphorically,thankGod—whenIwastwelve.Afterfiveyears,Istill
hadn’teverheardUncleRioaskaquestionthathedidnotimmediatelyproceedtoanswerhimself.
“Idon’thaveaboyfriend,”Isaid.Thiswasawell-establishedscript,andthatwasmyline.
“Promise.”
“Whatarewetalkingabout?”oneofUncleRio’ssonsasked,ploppinghimselfdownontheliving
roomsofa,danglinghislegsovertheside.
“Cassie’sboyfriend,”UncleRioreplied.
Irolledmyeyes.“Idon’thaveaboyfriend.”
“Cassie’ssecretboyfriend,”UncleRioamended.
“IthinkyouhavemeconfusedwithSofiaandKate,”Isaid.UndernormalcircumstancesIwouldn’t
havethrownanyofmyfemalecousinsunderthebus,butdesperatetimescalledfordesperate
measures.“They’refarmorelikelytohavesecretboyfriendsthanIam.”
“Bah,”UncleRiosaid.“Sofia’sboyfriendsareneversecret.”
Andonitwent—good-naturedribbing,familyjokes.Iplayedthepart,lettingtheirenergyinfect
me,sayingwhattheywantedmetosay,smilingthesmilestheywantedtosee.Itwaswarmandsafe
andhappy—butitwasn’tme.
Itneverwas.
AssoonasIwassureIwouldn’tbemissed,Iduckedintothekitchen.
“Cassandra.Good.”Mygrandmother,elbow-deepinflour,hergrayhairpulledintoaloosebunat
thenapeofherneck,gavemeawarmsmile.“Howwaswork?”
Despiteherlittle-old-ladyappearance,Nonnaruledtheentirefamilylikeageneraldirectingher
troops.Rightnow,Iwastheonedriftingoutofformation.
“Workwaswork,”Isaid.“Notbad.”
“Butnotgood,either?”Shenarrowedhereyes.
IfIdidn’tplaythisright,I’dhavetenjobofferswithinthehour.Familytookcareoffamily—even
when“family”wasperfectlycapableoftakingcareofherself.
“Todaywasactuallydecent,”Isaid,tryingtosoundcheerful.“Someoneleftmeatwelve-dollar
tip.”
Andalso,Iaddedsilently,abusinesscardfromtheFBI.
“Good,”Nonnasaid.“Thatisgood.Youhadagoodday.”
“Yeah,Nonna,”Isaid,crossingtheroomtokisshercheek,becauseIknewitwouldmakeher
happy.“Itwasagoodday.”
Bythetimeeveryoneclearedoutatnine,thecardfeltlikeleadinmypocket.ItriedtohelpNonna
withthedishes,butsheshooedmeupstairs.Inthequietofmyownroom,Icouldfeeltheenergy
drainingoutofme,likeairoutofaslowlywiltingballoon.
Isatdownonmybedandthenletmyselffallbackward.Theoldspringsgroanedwiththeimpact,
andIclosedmyeyes.Myrighthandfounditswaytomypocket,andIpulledoutthecard.
Itwasajoke.Ithadtobe.Thatwaswhythepretty,country-clubboyhadfeltofftome.Thatwas
whyhe’dtakenaninterest—tomockme.
Buthedidn’treallyseemthetype.
Iopenedmyeyesandlookedatthecard.Thistime,Iletmyselfreaditoutloud.“SpecialAgent
TannerBriggs.FederalBureauofInvestigation.”
Afewhoursinmypockethadn’tchangedthetextonthecard.FBI?Seriously?Whowasthisguy
tryingtokid?He’dlookedsixteen,seventeen,max.
Notlikeaspecialagent.
Justspecial.Icouldn’tpushthatthoughtdown,andmyeyesflittedreflexivelytowardthemirror
onmywall.ItwasoneofthegreatironiesofmylifethatI’dinheritedallofmymother ’sfeatures,but
noneofthemagicwithwhichthey’dcometogetheronherface.She’dbeenbeautiful.Iwasodd—
odd-looking,oddlyquiet,alwaystheoddoneout.
Evenafterfiveyears,Istillcouldn’tthinkofmymotherwithoutthinkingofthelasttimeI’dseen
her,shooingmeoutofherdressingroom,awidesmileonherface.ThenIthoughtaboutcoming
backtothedressingroom.Abouttheblood—onthefloor,onthewalls,onthemirror.Ihadn’tbeen
gonelong.I’dopenedthedoor—
“Snapoutofit,”Itoldmyself.Isatupandpushedmybackupagainsttheheadboard,unabletoquit
thinkingaboutthesmellofbloodandthatmomentofknowingitwasmymother ’sandprayingit
wasn’t.
Whatifthatwaswhatthiswasabout?Whatifthecardwasn’tajoke?WhatiftheFBIwaslooking
intomymother ’smurder?
It’sbeenfiveyears,Itoldmyself.Butthecasewasstillopen.Mymother ’sbodyhadneverbeen
found.Basedontheamountofblood,thatwaswhatthepolicehadbeenlookingforfromthe
beginning.
Abody.
Iturnedthebusinesscardoverinmyhands.Ontheback,therewasahandwrittennote.
Cassandra,itsaid,PLEASECALL.
Thatwasit.Myname,andthenthedirectivetocall,incapitalletters.Noexplanation.Nonothing.
Belowthosewords,someoneelsehadscribbledasecondsetofinstructionsinsmall,sharpletters
—barelyreadable.Itracedmyfingeroverthelettersandthoughtabouttheboyfromthediner.
Maybehewasn’tthespecialagent.
Sothatmakeshimwhat?Themessenger?
Ididn’thaveananswer,butthewordsscrawledacrossthebottomofthecardstoodouttome,
everybitasmuchasSpecialAgentTannerBriggs’sPLEASECALL.
IfIwereyou,Iwouldn’t.
YOU
You’regoodatwaiting.Waitingfortherightmoment.Waitingfortherightgirl.Youhavehernow,and
still,you’rewaiting.Waitingforhertowakeup.Waitingforhertoopenthoseeyesandseeyou.
Waitingforhertoscream.
Andscream.
Andscream.
Andrealizethatnoonecanhearherbutyou.
Youknowhowthiswillgo,howshe’llbeangry,thenscared,thenswearupanddownthatifyoulet
hergo,shewon’ttellasoul.She’lllietoyou,andshe’lltrytomanipulateyou,andyou’llhavetoshow
her—thewayyou’veshowedsomanyothers—howthatjustwon’tdo.
Butnotyet.Rightnow,she’sstillsleeping.Beautiful—butnotasbeautifulasshewillbewhen
you’redone.
CHAPTER3
Ittookmetwodays,butIcalledthenumber.OfcourseIdid,becauseeventhoughtherewasa99
percentchancethiswassomekindofhoax,therewasa1percentchancethatitwasn’t.
Ididn’trealizeIwasholdingmybreathuntilsomeonepickedup.
“ThisisBriggs.”
Icouldn’tpinpointwhatwasmoredisarming—thefactthatthis“AgentBriggs”hadapparently
givenmethenumbertohisdirectlineorthewayheansweredthephone,likesaying“hello”would
havebeenawasteofbreath.
“Hello?”Asifhecouldreadmymind,SpecialAgentTannerBriggsspokeagain.“Anyonethere?”
“ThisisCassandraHobbes,”Isaid.“Cassie.”
“Cassie.”SomethingaboutthewayAgentBriggssaidmynamemademethinkthathe’dknown
beforeI’dsaidasinglewordthatIdidn’tgobymyfullname.“I’mgladyoucalled.”
Hewaitedformetosaysomethingelse,butIstayedsilent.Everythingyousaidordidwasadata
pointyouputoutthereintheworld,andIdidn’twanttogivethismananymoreinformationthanI
hadto—notuntilIknewwhathewantedfromme.
“I’msureyoumustbewonderingwhyIcontactedyou—whyIhadMichaelcontactyou.”
Michael.Sonowtheboyfromthedinerhadaname.
“IhaveanofferI’dlikeyoutoconsider.”
“Anoffer?”Itamazedmethatmyvoicestayedeverybitascalmandevenashis.
“Ibelievethisisaconversationbesthadinperson,Ms.Hobbes.Istheresomewhereyouwouldbe
comfortablemeeting?”
Heknewwhathewasdoing—lettingmepickthelocation,becauseifhe’dspecifiedone,Imight
nothavegone.Iprobablyshouldhaverefusedtomeetwithhimanyway,butIcouldn’t,forthesame
reasonthatI’dhadtopickupthephoneandcall.
Fiveyearswasalongtimetogowithoutabody.Withoutanswers.
“Doyouhaveanoffice?”Iasked.
Theslightpauseontheotherendofthephonetoldmethatwasn’twhathe’dexpectedmetosay.I
couldhaveaskedhimtomeetmeatthedineroracoffeeshopnearthehighschooloranywherethatI
wouldhavehadthehomecourtadvantage,butI’dbeentaughttobelievethattherewasnohomecourt
advantage.
Youcouldtellmoreaboutastrangerbyseeingtheirhousethanyoueverwouldbyinvitingthemto
yours.
Besides,ifthisguywasn’treallyanFBIagent,ifhewassomekindofpervertandthiswassome
kindofgame,Ifiguredhe’dprobablyhaveaheckofatimearrangingameetingatthelocalFBI
office.
“Idon’tactuallyworkoutofDenver,”hesaidfinally.“ButI’msureIcansetsomethingup.”
Probablynotapervert,then.
Hegavemeanaddress.Igavehimatime.
“AndCassandra?”
IwonderedwhatAgentBriggshopedtoaccomplishbyusingmyfullfirstname.“Yes?”
“Thisisn’taboutyourmother.”
———
Iwenttothemeetinganyway.OfcourseIdid.SpecialAgentTannerBriggsknewenoughaboutmeto
knowthatmymother ’scasewasthereasonI’dfollowedtheinstructionsonthecardandcalled.I
wantedtoknowhowhe’dcomebythatinformation,ifhe’dlookedatherpolicefile,ifhewouldlook
atherfile,providedIgavehimwhateveritwashewantedfromme.
IwantedtoknowwhySpecialAgentTannerBriggshadmadeithisbusinesstoknowaboutme,the
samewayamanshoppingforanewcomputermighthavememorizedthespecsofthemodelthathad
caughthiseye.
“Whatfloor?”Thewomanbesidemeintheelevatorwasinherearlysixties.Hersilveryblond
hairwaspulledbackintoaneatponytailatthenapeofherneck,andthesuitshewaswearingwas
perfectlytailored.
Allbusiness,justlikeSpecialAgentTannerBriggs.
“Fifthfloor,”Isaid.“Please.”
Withnervousenergytoburn,Isnuckanotherglanceatthewomanandstartedpiecingmyway
throughherlifestory,astoldbythewayshewasstanding,herclothes,thefaintaccentinherspeech,
theclearcoatofpolishonhernails.
Shewasmarried.
Nokids.
Whenshe’dstartedintheFBI,ithadbeenaboy’sclub.
Behavior.Personality.Environment.Icouldpracticallyhearmymothercoachingmethroughthis
impromptuanalysis.
“Fifthfloor.”Thewoman’swordswerebrisk,andIaddedanotherentrytomymentalcolumn
—impatient.
Obligingly,Isteppedoutoftheelevator.Thedoorclosedbehindme,andIappraisedmy
surroundings.Itlookedso…normal.Ifithadn’tbeenforthesecuritycheckpointoutfrontandthe
visitor ’sbadgepinnedtomyfadedblacksundress,Ineverwouldhavepeggedthisforaplace
devotedtofightingfederalcrime.
“So,what?Youwereexpectingadog-and-ponyshow?”
Irecognizedthevoiceinstantly.Theboyfromthediner.Michael.Hesoundedamused,andwhenI
turnedtofacehim,therewasafamiliarsmirkdancingitswaythroughhisfeatures,onethathe
probablycouldhavesuppressedifhe’dhadtheleastinclinationtotry.
“Iwasn’texpectinganything,”Itoldhim.“Ihavenoexpectations.”
Hegavemeaknowinglook.“Noexpectations,nodisappointments.”
Icouldn’ttellifthatwashisappraisalofmycurrentmentalstateorthemottobywhichhelivedhis
ownlife.Infact,Iwashavingtroublegettinganyhandleonhispersonalityatall.He’dtradedhis
stripedpoloforaformfittingblackT-shirtandhisjeansforkhakislacks.Helookedasoutofplace
hereashehadatthediner,likemaybethatwasthepoint.
“Youknow,”hesaidconversationally,“Iknewyou’dcome.”
Iraisedaneyebrowathim.“Eventhoughyoutoldmenotto?”
Heshrugged.“MyinnerBoyScouthadtotry.”
IfthisguyhadaninnerBoyScout,Ihadaninnerflamingo.
“So,areyouheretotakemetoSpecialAgentTannerBriggs?”Iasked.Thewordscameoutcurtly,
butatleastIdidn’tsoundfascinated,infatuated,oreventheleastbitdrawntothesoundofhisvoice.
“Hmmmmm.”Inresponsetomyquestion,Michaelmadeanoncommittalnoiseunderhisbreath
andinclinedhishead—asclosetoayesasIwasgoingtoget.Heledmearoundthebullpenand
downahallway.Neutralcarpet,neutralwalls,aneutralexpressiononhiscriminallyhandsomeface.
“SowhatdoesBriggshaveonyou?”Michaelasked.Icouldfeelhimwatchingme,lookingfora
surgeofemotion—anyemotion—totellhimifhisquestionhadhitanerve.
Ithadn’t.
“Youwantmetobenervousaboutthis,”Itoldhim,becausethatmuchwasclearfromhiswords.
“Andyoutoldmenottocome.”
Hesmiled,buttherewasahardglinttoit,anedge.“IguessyoucouldsayI’mcontrary.”
Isnorted.Thatwasonewordforit.
“Areyougoingtogivemeevenahintofwhat’sgoingonhere?”Iaskedaswenearedtheendof
thehall.
Heshrugged.“Thatdepends.AreyougoingtostopplayingWho’sGottheBestPokerFacewith
me?”
Thatsurprisedalaughoutofme,andIrealizedthatithadbeenalongtimesinceI’dlaughed
becauseIcouldn’thelpitandnotbecausesomeoneelsewaslaughing,too.
Michael’ssmilelostitsedge,andforasecond,theexpressionutterlychangedhisface.Ifhe’dbeen
handsomebefore,hewasbeautifulnow—butitdidn’tlast.Asquicklyasthelightnesshadcome,it
faded.
“ImeantwhatIwroteonthatcard,”hesaidsoftly.Henoddedtoaclosedofficedoortoourright.
“IfIwereyou,Iwouldn’tgointhere.”
Iknewthen—thewayIalwaysknewthings—thatMichaelhadbeeninmyshoesonceandthathe
hadopenedthedoor.Hiswarningwasgenuine,butIopenedit,too.
“Ms.Hobbes.Please,comein.”
WithonelastglanceatMichael,Isteppedintotheroom.
“Aurevoir,”theboywiththeexcellentpokerfacesaid,punctuatingthewordswithanexaggerated
flickofhisfingers.
SpecialAgentTannerBriggsclearedhisthroat.Thedoorclosedbehindme.Forbetterorworse,I
washeretomeetwithanFBIagent.Alone.
“I’mgladyoucame,Cassie.Takeaseat.”
AgentBriggswasyoungerthanI’dexpectedbasedonhisphonevoice.Thegearsinmybrain
turnedslowly,incorporatinghisageintowhatIknew.Anoldermanwhotookpainstoappear
businesslikewasguarded.Atwenty-nine-year-oldwhodidthesamewantedtobetakenseriously.
Therewasadifference.
Obediently,Itookaseat.AgentBriggsstayedinhischair,butleanedforward.Thedeskbetweenus
wasclean,butforastackofpapersandtwopens,oneofwhichwasmissingitscap.
Hewasn’tnaturallyneat,then.Forsomereason,Ifoundthatcomforting.Hewasambitious,butnot
inflexible.
“Areyoufinished?”heaskedme.Hisvoicewasn’tcurt.Ifanything,hesoundedgenuinelycurious.
“Finishedwithwhat?”Iaskedhim.
“Analyzingme,”hesaid.“I’veonlybeeninthisofficefortwohours.Icouldn’tevenguesswhatit
isthathascaughtyourattention,butIfiguredsomethingwould.WithNaturals,somethingalmost
alwaysdoes.”
Naturals.Hesaidthewordlikehewasexpectingmetorepeatitwithaquestionmarkinmytone.I
didn’tsayanything.ThelessIgavehim,themorehe’dshowme.
“You’regoodatreadingpeople,attakinglittledetailsandfiguringoutthebigpicture:whothey
are,whattheywant,howtheyoperate.”Hesmiled.“Whatkindofeggstheylike.”
“YouinvitedmeherebecauseI’mgoodatguessingwhatkindofeggspeoplelike?”Iasked,
unabletokeeptheincredulousnessoutofmyvoice.
Hedrummedhisfingersoverthedesktop.“Iaskedyouherebecauseyouhaveanaturalaptitude
forsomethingthatmostpeoplecouldspendalifetimetryingtolearn.”
Iwonderedifwhenhesaidmostpeoplehewasreferringatleastinparttohimself.
Hetookmycontinuedsilenceassomekindofargument.“Areyoutellingmethatyoudon’tread
people?Thatyoucan’ttellmerightnowwhetherI’dratherplaybasketballorgolf?”
Basketball.Buthe’dwantpeopletothinktheanswerwasgolf.
“Youcouldtrytoexplaintomehowyoufigurethingsout,howyoufigurepeopleout,Cassie,but
thedifferencebetweenyouandtherestoftheworldisthattoexplainhowyoujustfiguredoutthatI’d
rathergetabloodynoseonthebasketballcourtthanteeoffwiththeboss,you’dhavetobacktrack.
You’dhavetosortoutwhattheclueswereandhowyou’dmadesenseofthem,becauseyoujustdoit.
Youdon’tevenhavetothinkaboutit,notthewaythatIwould,notthewaythatmyteamwould.You
probablycouldn’tstopyourselfifyoutried.”
Ihadn’tevertalkedaboutthis,notevenwithMom,who’dtaughtmethepartsofitthatcouldbe
taught.Peoplewerepeople,butforbetterorworse,mostdays,theywerejustpuzzlestome.Easy
puzzles,hardpuzzles,crosswords,mind-benders,sudoku.Therewasalwaysananswer,andIcouldn’t
stopmyselffrompushinguntilIfoundit.
“Howdoyouknowanyofthis?”Iaskedthemaninfrontofme.“Andevenifit’strue,evenifIdo
havereallygoodinstinctsaboutpeople,what’sittoyou?”
Heleanedforward.“IknowbecauseImakeitmybusinesstoknow.BecauseI’mtheonewho
convincedtheFBIthattheyneedtobelookingforpeoplelikeyou.”
“Whatdoyouwantwithme?”
Heeasedbackinhischair.“WhatdoyouthinkIwantwithyou,Cassie?”
Mymouthwentdry.“I’mseventeen.”
“Naturalaptitudes,likeyours,peakintheteenyears.Formaleducation,college,thewrong
influences,couldallinterferewiththeincrediblerawpotentialyouhavenow.”Hefoldedhishands
neatlyinfrontofhim.“Iwanttoseetoitthatyouhavetherightinfluences,thatyourgiftismolded
intosomethingextraordinary,somethingthatyoucanusetodoanincredibleamountofgoodinthis
world.”
Partofmewantedtolaughathim,towalkoutoftheroom,toforgetthatanyofthishadever
happened,buttheotherpartjustkeptthinkingthatforfiveyears,I’dbeenlivinginlimbo,likeIwas
waitingforsomethingwithoutknowingwhatthatsomethingwas.
“Youcantakeasmuchtimeasyouneedtothinkaboutit,Cassie,butwhatI’mofferingyouisa
once-in-a-lifetimechance.Ourprogramisoneofakind,andithasthepotentialtoturnNaturals—
peoplelikeyou—intosomethingtrulyextraordinary.”
“Peoplelikeme,”Irepeated,mymindgoingninetymilesanhour.“AndMichael.”
Thesecondpartwasaguess,butnotmuchofone.Inthetwominuteswe’dspentwalkingtothis
office,MichaelhadcomeclosertofiguringoutwhatwasgoingoninsidemyheadthananyoneI’d
evermet.
“AndMichael.”Ashespoke,AgentBriggs’sfacebecamemoreanimated.Gonewasthehardened
professional.Thiswaspersonal.Thisprogramwassomethinghebelievedin.
Andhehadsomethingtoprove.
“Whatwouldbecomingapartofthisprogramentail?”Iasked,measuringhisresponse.The
enthusiasmonhisfacemorphedintosomethingfarmoreintense.Hiseyesboredintomine.
“HowwouldyoufeelaboutmovingtoWashington,DC?”
CHAPTER4
HowwouldIfeelaboutmovingtoDC?
“I’mseventeen,”Ireiterated.“Abetterquestionmightbehowmylegalguardianswouldfeelabout
it.”
“Youwouldn’tbethefirstminorI’verecruited,Cassie.Therearework-arounds.”
Clearly,hehadnotmetmyNonna.
“Fiveyearsago,custodyofCassandraHobbeswasremittedtoherbiologicalfather,oneVincent
Battaglia,UnitedStatesAirForce.”AgentBriggspaused.“Fourteenmonthsafteryourappearancein
hislife,yourfatherwastransferredoverseas.Youchosetoremainhere,withyourpaternal
grandmother.”
Ididn’taskhowAgentBriggshadcomebythatinformation.HewasFBI.Heprobablyknewwhat
colortoothbrushIused.
“Mypoint,Cassie,isthatlegally,yourfatherstillhascustody,andIhaveeveryconfidencethatif
youwantthistohappen,Icanmakeithappen.”Briggspausedagain.“Asfarastheoutsideworldis
concerned,we’reagiftedprogram.Veryselective,withendorsementsfromsomeveryimportant
people.Yourfatheriscareermilitary.Heworriesaboutthewayyouisolateyourself.Thatwillmake
himeasiertopersuadethanmost.”
Istartedtoopenmymouthtoaskhowexactlyhe’ddeterminedthatmyfatherworried,butBriggs
heldupahand.
“Idon’twalkintoasituationlikethisblind,Cassie.Onceyouwereflaggedinthesystemasa
potentialrecruit,Ididmyhomework.”
“Flagged?”Iasked,raisingmyeyebrows.“Forwhat?”
“Idon’tknow.Iwasn’ttheonewhoflaggedyou,andquitefrankly,thedetailsofyourrecruitment
aremootunlessyou’reinterestedinmyoffer.Saythewordifyou’renot,andI’llleaveDenver
tonight.”
Icouldn’tdothat—andAgentBriggsprobablyknewitbeforeheasked.
Hepickedupthecaplesspenandscrawledsomenotesontheedgeofoneofhispapers.“Ifyou
havequestions,youcanaskMichael.Ihavenodoubthe’llbepainfullyhonestwithyouabouthis
experienceintheprogramsofar.”Briggsrolledhiseyesheavenwardinagestureofexasperationso
universalthatIalmostforgotaboutthebadgeandthesuit.“AndifthereareanyquestionsthatIcould
answerforyou…”
Hetrailedoffandwaited.Itookthebaitandstartedpressinghimfordetails.Fifteenminuteslater,
mymindwasreeling.Theprogram—thatwashowhereferredtoit,againandagain—wassmall,still
initstrialstages.Theiragendawastwofold:first,toeducatethoseofusselectedtoparticipateand
honeournaturalskills,andsecond,tousethoseskillstoaidtheFBIfrombehindthescenes.Iwas
freetoleavetheprogramatanytime.Iwouldberequiredtosignanondisclosureagreement.
“There’sonequestionyouhaven’tasked,Cassie.”AgentBriggsfoldedhishandsinfrontofhim
again.“SoI’llansweritforyou.Iknowaboutyourpersonalhistory.Aboutyourmother ’scase.And
whileIhavenonewinformationforyou,Icansaythatafterwhatyou’vebeenthrough,youhave
morereasonsthanmosttowanttodowhatwedo.”
“Andwhatisthat?”Iasked,mythroattighteningatthemerementionofthem-word.“Yousaidthat
you’llprovidetraining,andthatinexchangeI’llbeconsultingforyou.Consultingonwhat,exactly?
Trainingforwhat?”
Hepaused,butwhetherhewasassessingmeoraddingemphasistohisanswer,Iwasn’tsure.
“You’llbehelpingoncoldcases.OnestheBureauhasn’tbeenabletoclose.”
Ithoughtofmymother—thebloodonthemirrorandthesirensandthewayIusedtosleepwitha
phone,hopingsodesperatelythatitwouldring.Ihadtoforcemyselftokeepbreathingnormally,to
keepfromclosingmyeyesandpicturingmymom’simpish,smilingface.
“Whatkindofcoldcases?”Iasked,myvoicecatchinginmythroat.Mylipsfeltsuddenlydry;my
eyesfeltwet.
AgentBriggshadthedecencytoignoretheemotionnowevidentonmyface.“Theexact
assignmentsvary,dependingonyourspecialty.Michael’saNaturalatreadingemotions,sohespends
agreatdealoftimegoingovertestimonyandinterrogationtapes.Withhisbackground,Isuspect
he’llultimatelybeagoodfitforourwhite-collarcrimedivision,butapersonwithhisskillsetcanbe
usefulinanykindofinvestigation.Oneoftheotherrecruitsintheprogramisawalkingencyclopedia
whoseespatternsandprobabilitieseverywhereshelooks.Westartedheroutoncrimescene
analysis.”
“Andme?”Iasked.
Hewassilentforamoment,measuring.Iglancedatthepapersonhisdeskandwonderedifanyof
themwereaboutme.
“You’reaNaturalprofiler,”hesaidfinally.“Youcanlookatapatternofbehaviorandfigureout
thepersonalityoftheperpetrator,orguesshowagivenindividualislikelytobehaveinthefuture.
Thattendstocomeinhandywhenwehaveaseriesofinterrelatedcrimes,butnodefinitesuspect.”
Ireadinbetweenthelinesofthatstatement,butwantedtobesure.“Interrelatedcrimes?”
“Serialcrimes,”hesaid,choosingadifferentwordandlettingithangintheairaroundus.
“Abductions.Arson.Sexualassault.”Hepaused,andIknewwhatthenextwordoutofhismouthwas
goingtobebeforehesaidit.“Murder.”
Thetruthhe’dbeendancingaroundforthepasthourwassuddenlyincrediblyclear.Heandhis
team,thisprogram—theydidn’tjustwanttoteachmehowtohonemyskills.Theywantedtousethem
tocatchkillers.
Serialkillers.
YOU
Youlookatthebodyandfeelarushofanger.Rage.It’ssupposedtobesublime.You’resupposedto
decide.You’resupposedtofeelthelifegooutofher.Sheisn’tsupposedtorushyou.
Sheshouldn’tbedeadyet,butsheis.
Sheshouldbeperfectnow,butshe’snot.
Shedidn’tscreamenough,andthenshescreamedtoomuch,andshecalledyounames.Namesthat
Heusedtocallyou.Andyougotangry.
Itwasovertoofast,toosoon,anditwasn’tyourfault,damnit.Itwashers.She’stheonewhomade
youangry.She’stheonewhoruinedit.
You’rebetterthanthis.You’resupposedtobelookingatherbodyandfeelingthepower,therush.
She’ssupposedtobeaworkofart.
Butshe’snot.
Youdrivetheknifeintoherstomachagainandagain,blindedtoanythingelse.She’snotperfect.
She’snotbeautiful.She’snothing.
You’renothing.
Butyouwon’tstaynothingforlong.
CHAPTER5
IgaveAgentBriggsthego-aheadtotalktomyfather.Myfathercalledme.LessthanaweekafterI
toldmydadthiswaswhatIwanted,IgotwordthatBriggshadobtainedthenecessarypermissions.
Mypaperworkhadgonethrough.Thatnight,Iquitmyjobatthediner.Itookashower,changedinto
mypajamas,andpreparedforWorldWarIII.
Iwasgoingtodothis.I’dknownthatfromalmostthemomentthatAgentBriggshadstarted
speaking.Icaredaboutmygrandmother.Idid.AndIknewhowhardsheandtherestofthefamilyhad
triedtomakemefeelloved,nomatterhowI’dcometothemorhowmuchofmymothertherewasin
me.ButI’dneverreallybelongedhere.Apartofmehadneverreallyleftthatfatefultheater:the
lights,thecrowd,theblood.MaybeIneverwould,butAgentBriggswasofferingmeachancetodo
somethingaboutit.
Imightneversolvemyownmother ’smurder,butthisprogramwouldturnmeintothekindof
personwhocouldcatchkillers,whocouldmakesurethatanotherlittlegirl,inanotherlife,with
anothermother,wouldneverhavetoseewhatIhadseen.
Itwasmorbidandhorrifyingandtheverylastlifethefamilywouldhaveimaginedforme—andI
wanteditmorethanIhadeverwantedanything.
Icombedmyfingersthroughmyhair.Wet,itlookeddarkenoughtopassforbrowninsteadof
auburn.Thesteamfromtheshowerhadbroughtsomecolorintomycheeks.Ilookedlikethetypeof
girlwhocouldbelonghere,withthisfamily.
Withwethair,Ididn’tlooksomuchlikemymother.
“Chicken.”Ileveledtheinsultatmyownreflectionandthenpushedbackfromthemirror.Icould
stayhereuntilmyhairdried—infact,Icouldstayhereuntilmyhairwentgray—andthatwouldn’t
maketheconversationIwasabouttohaveanyeasier.
Downstairs,Nonnawascurledupinareclinerinthelivingroom,readingglassesperchedonher
noseandalarge-printromancenovelopeninherlap.ShelookedupthesecondIsteppedintheroom,
hereagleeyessharp.
“Youarereadyforbedearly,”shesaid,nosmallamountofsuspicioninhervoice.Nonnahad
successfullyraisedeightchildren.IfI’dbeenthetypetomaketrouble,therewouldhavebeennone
thatIcouldhavestirredupthatshehadn’talreadyseen.
“Iquitmyjobtoday,”Isaid,andthesparkleinhereyestoldmethosehadbeenthewrongwordsto
leadwith.“Idon’tneedyoutogetmeanewone,”Iaddedhastily.
Nonnamadeadismissivesoundunderherbreath.“Ofcoursenot.Youareindependent.Youdonot
needanythingfromyouroldNonna.Youdonotcareifsheworries.”
Well,thiswasgoingwell.
“Idon’twantyoutoworry,”Isaid,“butsomething’scomeup.Anopportunity.”
I’dalreadymadetheexecutivedecisionthatNonnadidn’tneedtoknowwhatI’dbedoing—orwhy.
IstucktothecoverstorythatAgentBriggshadgivenme.“There’saschool,”Isaid.“Aspecial
program.Thedirectorcametoseemelastweek.”
Nonnaharrumphed.
“HetalkedtoDad.”
“Thedirectorofthisprogramtalkedtoyourfather,”Nonnarepeated.“Andwhatdidmysonsayto
thismanwhocouldnotbebotheredtointroducehimselftome?”
IexplainedasmuchasIcould.IgaveherapamphletthatAgentBriggshadgivenme—onethat
didn’tmentionwordslikeprofilingorserialkillersorFBI.
“It’sasmallprogram,”Isaid.“Atakindofgrouphome.”
“Andyourfather,hesaidyoucouldgo?”Nonnanarrowedhereyesatthesmilingkidsonthefront
ofthepamphlet,liketheywerepersonallyresponsibleforleadingherpreciousgranddaughterastray.
“Healreadysignedthepapers,Nonna.”Ilookeddownatmyhands,whichhadwoventhemselves
togetheratmywaist.“I’mgoingtogo.”
Therewassilence.Thenasharpintakeofbreath.Andthenanexplosion.
Ididn’tspeakItalian,butbasedontheemphaticgesturesandthewayshewasspittingoutthe
words,Iwasabletomakeaneducatedguessatatranslation.
Nonna’sgranddaughterwasmovingcross-countrytoenrollinagovernment-sponsoredgifted
programoverherdeadandrottingcorpse.
———
Nobodystagesaninterventionlikemyfather ’sfamilystagesanintervention.TheBat-Signalhad
nothingontheBattaglia-Signal,andlessthantwenty-fourhoursafterNonnasentoutthedistresscall,
thefamilyhadgatheredinforce.Therewasyellingandscreamingandcrying—andfood.Lotsof
food.Iwasthreatenedandcajoled,browbeatenandclaspedtomultiplebosoms.Butforthefirsttime
sinceI’dmetthishalfofmyfamilytree,Icouldn’tjusttempermyreactionstotheirs.Icouldn’tgive
themwhattheywanted.Icouldn’tpretend.
Thenoisebuilttoacrescendo,andIdrewintomyselfandwaitedforittopass.Eventually,they’d
noticethatIwasn’tsayinganything.
“Cassie,sweetheart,aren’tyouhappyhere?”oneofmyauntsaskedfinally.Therestofthetable
fellsilent.
“I’m…”Icouldn’tsayanymorethanthat.Isawtherealizationpassovertheirfaces.“It’snotthat
I’mnothappy,”Iinterjectedquickly.“It’sjust…”
Foronce,theyheardwhatIwasn’tsaying.Fromthemomentthey’dlearnedofmyexistence,I’d
beenfamilytothem.Theyhadn’trealizedthatinmyowneyes,I’dalwaysbeen—andmaybealways
wouldbe—anoutsider.
“Ineedtodothis,”Isaid,myvoiceasquietastheirshadbeenloud.“Formymom.”
ThatwasclosertothetruththanI’devermeanttotellthem.
“Youthinkyourmotherwouldhavewantedyoutodothis?”Nonnaasked.“Toleavethefamily
thatlovesyou,thatwilltakecareofyou,togoofftotheothersideofthecountry,alone,todoGod
knowswhat?”
Itwasmeantasarhetoricalquestion,butIansweredit:vehemently,decisively.
“Yes.”Ipaused,expectinganargument,butIdidn’tgetone.“Iknowyoudon’tlikeit,andIhope
youdon’thatemeforit,butIhavetodothis.”Istoodup.“Ileaveinthreedays.I’dreallyliketocome
backforChristmas,butifyoudon’twantmehere,I’dunderstand.”
Nonnacrossedtheroominasecond,surprisinglyspryforsomeoneherage.Shepokedavicious
fingerintomychest.“YoucomehomeforChristmas,”shesaidinamannerthatmadeitquiteclear
sheconsidereditanorder.“Youeventhinkaboutnotcominghome?”Shenarrowedhereyesand
drewherpokingfingeracrossherneckinamenacingfashion.“Capisce?”
Asmiletuggedattheedgeofmylips,andtearsburnedinmyeyes.“Capisce.”
CHAPTER6
Threedayslater,Ileftfortheprogram.Michaelwastheonewhocametopickmeup.Heparkedout
atthecurbandwaited.
“Idonotlikethis,”Nonnatoldmeformaybethethousandthtime.
“Iknow.”Ibrushedakissagainsthertemple,andshecuppedmyheadinherhands.
“Youbegood,”shesaidfiercely.“Youbecareful.Yourfather,”sheadded,asanafterthought.“I
amgoingtokillhim.”
IglancedbackovermyshoulderandsawMichaelstandingwithhisbacktoagleamingblack
Porsche.Fromadistance,Icouldn’tmakeouttheexpressiononhisface,butIhadasuspicionthathe
wasn’thavinganytroubleinterpretingmyfeelings.
“I’llbecareful,”ItoldNonna,turningmybackontheboywiththediscerningeye.“Promise.”
“Eh,”shesaidfinally.“Howmuchtroublecanyougetinto?Thereareonlyafewstudentsinthe
entireschool.”
Afewstudentswhowerebeingtrainedtoanalyzecrimescenes,poreoverwitnesstestimony,and
trackserialkillers.Whattroublecouldwepossiblygetinto?
Withoutanotherword,Ihauledmybagouttothecar.Nonnafollowedand,whenMichaelopened
thetrunkbutmadenomovetohelpmewithmybag,sheshothimadisapprovinglook.
“Youarejustgoingtostandthere?”sheasked.
Withanalmostimperceptiblesmirk,Michaeltookthebagfrommyhandandhoistediteffortlessly
intothetrunk.Thenheleanedclose,intomypersonalspace,andwhispered,“AndhereI’dpegged
youasthekindofgirlwho’dwanttodotheheavyliftingherself.”
Nonnaeyedme.SheeyedMichael.Sheeyedwhatlittlespacetherewasbetweenthetwoofus.And
thenshemadeaharrumphingsound.
“Anythinghappenstoher,”shetoldMichael,“thisfamily—weknowhowtodisposeofabody.”
Insteadofgivingintothemortificationandburyingmyheadinmyhands,Isaidgood-byeto
Nonnaandclimbedintothecar.Michaelfollowedsuit.
“Sorryaboutthat,”Isaid.
Michaelarchedoneeyebrow.“Aboutthedeaththreat,ortheimaginarychastitybeltshe’sfitting
youwithaswespeak?”
“Shutup.”
“Oh,comeon,Cassie.Ithinkit’snice.Youhaveafamilythatcares.”
Maybehethoughtthatwasnice,andmaybehedidn’t.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutmyfamily.”
Michaelgrinned,completelyundeterred.“Iknow.”
IthoughtbacktowhatAgentBriggshadtoldmeaboutMichael’sgift.
“Youreademotions,”Isaid.
“Facialexpressions,posture,gestures,theworks,”hesaid.“Younibbleontheinsideofyourlip
whenyou’renervous.Andyougetthislittlewrinkleatthecornerofyourrighteyewhenyou’re
tryingnottostare.”
Hesaidallofthiswithoutevertakinghiseyesofftheroad.Mygazeflittedtothespeedometer,and
Irealizedhowfastweweregoing.
“Doyouwanttogetpulledover?”Isqueaked.
Heshrugged.“You’retheprofiler,”hesaid.“Youtellme.”Heeasedofftheacceleratoreverso
slightly.“That’swhatprofilersdo,isn’tit?Youlookatthewayapersonisdressed,orthewaya
persontalks,everylittledetail,andyouputthatpersoninabox.Youfigureoutwhatkindof
individualyou’redealingwith,andyouconvinceyourselfthatyouknowexactlywhateveryoneelse
wants.”
Okay,sohe’dhadanexperience—andnotagoodone—withaprofilerinthepast.Itookthatto
meanthatthedifficultyI’dbeenhavinggettingareadonhimwasnoaccident.Helikedkeepingme
guessing.
“YouwearadifferentstyleofclothingeverytimeIseeyou,”Isaid.“Youstanddifferently.You
talkdifferently.Youneversayanythingaboutyourself.”
“MaybeIlikebeingtall,dark,andmysterious,”Michaelreplied,takingaturnsoquicklythatIhad
toremindmyselftobreathe.
“You’renotthattall,”Igrittedout.Helaughed.
“You’reannoyedwithme,”hesaid,wigglinghiseyebrows.“Butalsointrigued.”
“Wouldyoustopthat?”I’dneverrealizedhowirritatingitwastobetheoneunderthemicroscope.
“I’llmakeyouadeal,”Michaelsaid.“I’llstoptryingtoreadyouremotionsifyoustoptryingto
profileme.”
Ihadsomanyquestions—aboutthewayhe’dgrownup,abouthisability,aboutwhyhe’dwarned
metostayaway—butunlessIwantedhimmakinganintensestudyofmyemotions,I’dhavetogetmy
answersthenormalway.
“Fine,”Isaid.“Deal.”
Hesmiled.“Excellent.Now,asashowofgoodfaith,sinceI’vealreadyspentagoodchunkoftime
gettinginsideyourhead,I’llgiveyouthreequestionstotrytogetinsidemine.”
Thepuzzlesolverinmewantedtoaskwhatkindofclothesheworewhentherewasnoonearound
toseehim,howmanysiblingshehad,andwhichoneofhisparentshadturnedhimintothekindof
guywhowasalittleangryattheworld.
ButIdidn’t.
Anyonecomfortabledrivingthisfastwasn’tgoingtoshyawayfromafewlittlewhitelies.IfI
askedhimwhatIwantedtoknow,allIwouldgetwasmoremixedmessages—soIaskedhimtheonly
questionIwasfairlycertainhe’danswerhonestly.
“What’swiththePorsche?”
Michaeltookhiseyesofftheroadjustlongenoughtoflickhisgazeovertome,andIknewthat
I’dsurprisedhim.
“ThePorsche?”herepeated.
Inodded.“I’mprettysureit’snotstandardFBIissue.”
Theedgesofhislipscurvedupward,andforonce,therewasnodarkundercurrenttothe
expression.“ThePorschewasapresent,”hetoldme.“Frommylifebefore.Gettingtokeepitwas
oneoftheconditionsIgaveBriggsforjoiningup.”
“Whywouldn’thehaveletyoukeepit?”Iasked,realizingbelatedlythatI’djustburnedquestion
numbertwo.
“Taxfraud,”Michaelreplied.“Notmine.Myfather ’s.”
Fromthetightnessinhisvoice,IgotthefeelingthatkeepingthePorscheprobablyhadn’tbeenthe
onlyconditionofMichael’sparticipationintheprogram.Whetherhe’daskedforthegovernmentto
overlookhisfather ’scrimesorhisfatherhadbarteredawayhissoninexchangeforimmunity,I
wasn’tsure.
Ididn’task.
Instead,Istucktosaferground.“What’sitlike?Theprogram?”
“I’veonlybeenthereforafewmonths,”Michaelsaid.“Briggssprungmetocomegetyou.Good
behavior,Iguess.”
Somehow,Idoubtedthat.
MichaelseemedtosensethatIwasn’tbuyingit.“AndalsopossiblybecauseBriggsneeded
someonetoreadyouremotionsandfigureoutwhetherornotyou’reasecretbottleofragewho
shouldn’tbegrantedaccesstoconfidentialfiles.”
“DidIpass?”Iasked,ateasingnotemakingitswayintomyvoice.
“Uh-uh-uh,”Michaelreplied.“That’sfourquestions.”
Withnowarning,hejerkedthesteeringwheeltotheleft,pulledaU-turn,andthentookafastright.
Afewsecondslater,thetwoofusslammedintoaparkingspaceatwhatappearedtobesomekindof
airporthangar.
“What,”Isaid,myeyeswideningasItookinthesleekhunkofmetalinfrontofus,“isthat?”
“That?”Michaelrepeated.“That’sthejet.”
“Letmeguess,”Isaid,onlyhalfjoking.“Youmadegettingtokeepyourprivatejetaconditionof
youracceptanceintotheprogram?”
Michaelsnorted.“Sadly,itbelongstotheFBI.WhenBriggsisn’toutropingtheyoungand
impressionableintodoinghisdirtyworkforhim,hebelongstoaspecializedteamthatworkswith
lawenforcementacrossthecountry.Thejetcutsdownontraveltime.Forus,it’sjustaperk.”
“Cassie,”AgentBriggsgreetedmethesecondIsteppedoutofthecar.Justmyname,nothingelse.
Michaelhitabutton,andthetrunkpoppedopen.Iwenttoretrievemybag,andMichaelshot
BriggsaverygoodimitationofNonna’sscowl.“Youjustgoingtostandthere?”heaskedtheFBI
agent.
Briggshelpedmewithmybag,andMichaelcaughtmyeye.“Amused,”hewhispered.“Andalso
someresidualembarrassment.”
IttookmeasecondtorealizethatMichaelwasn’tinterpretingBriggs’sfacialexpression.Hewas
interpretingmine.
I’llstoptryingtoreadyouremotionsifyoustoptryingtoprofileme.
Liar.
Withoutanotherword,Michaelturnedandsaunteredtothejet.BythetimeIclimbedaboard,he
wasalreadylounginginthebackrowofseats.Helookedup,hispostureinviting,hiseyestellingme
tostayaway.
Tearingmygazefromhis,Itookaseatintherowinfrontofhim,facingthecockpit.We’dsee
howgoodhewasatreadingmyemotionsbasedonnothingmorethanthebackofmyhead.
“Tellyouwhat,”Michaelwhispered,hisvoiceloudenoughtoreachmyears,butnotBriggs’s.“If
youpromisenottogivemethesilenttreatment,I’llgiveyouafourthquestion,freeofcharge.”
Astheplanetookoffandthecitygrewsmallbehindus,Iturnedaroundinmychair.
“You’releavingthePorscheinDenver?”Iasked.
Heleanedforward,closeenoughthathisforeheadwasalmosttouchingmine.
“Thedevil’sinthedetails,Cassie.IneversaidthatPorschewasmyonlycar.”
YOU
It’sbeendayssincethelasttime,daysofrelivingyourfailure,overandoveragain.Eachminutehas
beentorture,andnowyou’reonaschedule.Youdon’thavetheluxuryofhuntingfortheperfectgirl.
Therightgirl.There’snothingspecialabouttheoneyou’vechosen,exceptforthecolorofherhair.
Itremindsyouofsomeoneelse’shair,andthat’senough.Fornow.
Youkillherinamotelroom.Nooneseesyouenter.Noonewillseeyouleave.Youputducttape
overhermouth.Youhavetoimaginethesoundofherscreams,butthelookinhereyesisworthit.
It’sfast,butnottoofast.
It’syours.
You’reincharge.Youdecide.Youslidetheknifeintothefleshunderhercheekbone.Youcarvethe
heavymakeup—andtheskin—offofherface.
There.That’sbetter.
Youfeelbetter.Moreincontrol.Andyouknowthateventhoughyoudon’thavetimeforpictures,
you’llneverforgetthewaythebloodlooksasitstainsherhair.
Somedays,youthink,itfeelslikeyouhavebeendoingthisforever.Butnomatterhowmanythere
are,nomatterhowproficientyou’vebecomeatshowingthemwhatyouare,whattheyare,thereisa
partofyouthatknows.
Itwillneverbequiteright.
Itwillneverbeperfect.
Therewillneverbeanotheronelikethefirst.
PARTTWO:LEARNING
CHAPTER7
Isteppedoffthejetandblinked,myeyesadjustingtothesun.Awomanwithbrightredhairstrode
towardtheplane.Shewaswearingagraysuitandblacksunglasses,andshewalkedlikeshehad
someplacetobe.
“Iheardarumorweweregettinginaroundthesametime,”shecalledouttoBriggs.“ThoughtI’d
cometogreetyouinperson.”Withoutwaitingforareply,sheturnedherattentiontome.“I’mSpecial
AgentLaceyLocke.Briggsismypartner,andyou’reCassandraHobbes.”
Shetimedthisspeechtoendjustassheclosedthespacebetweenus.Sheheldoutahand,andIwas
struckbythefactthatshelookedsomehowimpishdespitethesunglassesandthesuit.
Itookherhand.“It’snicetomeetyou,”Isaid.“MostpeoplejustcallmeCassie.”
“Cassieitis,then,”shereplied.“Briggstellsmeyou’reoneofmine.”
Oneofhers?
Michaelfilledintheblank.“Aprofiler.”
“Don’tsoundsoenthusiasticaboutthescienceofprofiling,Michael,”Lockesaidlightly.“Cassie
mightmistakeyouforaseventeen-year-oldboywithoutastrongsenseofderisionfortherestofthe
world.”
Michaelheldahandtohischest.“Yoursarcasmwoundsme,AgentLocke.”
Shesnorted.
“You’rehomeearly,”Briggscutin,aimingthecommentatAgentLocke.“NothinginBoise?”
Lockegaveabriefjerkofherhead.“Deadend.”
Anunspokencommunicationpassedbetweenthetwoofthem,andthenBriggsturnedtome.“As
Michaelsoobliginglypointedout,AgentLockeisaprofiler.She’llbeinchargeofyourtraining.”
“Luckyyou,”Lockesaidwithagrin.
“Areyou…”Iwasn’tsurehowtoask.
“ANatural?”shesaid.“No.There’sonlyonethingI’veeverbeenanaturalat,andsadly,Ican’ttell
youaboutthatuntilyou’retwenty-one.ButIdidgothroughtheFBIAcademyandtookeveryclass
theyofferedinbehavioralanalysis.I’vebeenapartofthebehavioralscienceunitforalmostthree
years.”
Iwonderedifitwouldberudetoaskhowoldshewasnow.
“Twenty-nine,”shesaid.“Anddon’tworry,you’llgetusedtoit.”
“Usedtowhat?”
Shegrinnedagain.“Peopleansweringquestionsbeforeyouaskthem.”
———
Theprogram’sbaseofoperationswasaloomingVictorian-stylehouseinthetinytownofQuantico,
Virginia—closeenoughtoFBIheadquartersonMarineCorpsBaseQuanticotobehandy,butnotso
closethatpeopleweregoingtostartaskingquestions.
“Livingroom.Mediaroom.Library.Study.”ThepersonthatBriggshadfoundtolookafterthe
house—andus—wasaretiredmarinebythenameofJuddHawkins.Hewassixty-something,eagle-
eyed,andamanoffewwords.“Kitchen’sthroughthere.Yourroomisonthesecondfloor.”Judd
pausedforafractionofasecondtolookatme.“You’llbesharingwithoneoftheothergirls.Iexpect
that’snotaproblem?”
Ishookmyhead,andhestrodebackdownthehallwayandtowardastaircase.“Lookalive,Ms.
Hobbes,”hecalledback.IhurriedtocatchupandthoughtIheardasmileinhisvoice,thoughthere
wasbarelyahintofitonhisface.
Ifoughtasmileofmyown.JuddHawkinsmightnothavebeengruffandno-nonsense,butmygut
wastellingmehehadmoresoftspotsthanmostpeoplewouldhavethought.
Hecaughtmestudyinghimandgaveabrisk,businesslikenod.LikeBriggs,hedidn’tseemto
mindtheideathatImightbegettingageneralpictureofhispersonalityfromthelittledetails.
UnlikeacertainotherindividualIcouldthinkof,who’ddonehisbesttothwartmeateveryturn.
RefusingtoglancebackatMichael,Inoticedaseriesofframedpicturesliningthestaircase.A
dozenorsomen.Onewoman.Mostwereintheirlatetwentiesorearlythirties,butoneortwowere
older.Someweresmiling;somewerenot.Apaunchymanwithdarkeyebrowsandthinninghairhung
betweenahandsomeheartbreakerandablack-and-whitephotofromtheturnofthecentury.Atthetop
ofthestairs,anelderlycouplesmiledoutfromaslightlylargerportrait.
IglancedatJudd,wonderingifthesewerehisrelatives,oriftheybelongedtosomeoneelseinthis
house.
“They’rekillers.”AnAsiangirlaboutmyagesteppedaroundthecorner.Shemovedlikeacat—
andsmiledlikeshe’djusteatenacanary.
“Thepeopleinthepictures,”sheclarified.“They’reserialkillers.”Shetwirledhershinyblack
ponytailaroundherindexfinger,clearlyenjoyingmydiscomfort.“It’stheprogram’scheerywayof
remindingDeanwhyhe’shere.”
Dean?WhowasDean?
“Personally,Ithinkit’salittlemacabre,butthenagain,I’mnotaprofiler.”Thegirlflickedher
ponytail.“Youare,though.Aren’tyou?”
Shetookastepforward,andmyeyesweredrawntoherfootwear:blackleatherbootswithheels
highenoughtomakemyfeetshudderinspasmsofsympathy.Shewaswearingskintightblackpants
andahigh-neckedsleevelesssweater,electricbluetomatchthestreaksinherblackhair.
AsItookinherclothing,thegirlclosedthespacebetweenusuntilshewasstandingsoclosetome
thatIthoughtshemightreachoutandstarttwirlingmyhairinsteadofherown.
“Lia,”Juddsaid,absolutelyunfazed,“thisisCassie.Ifyou’refinishedtryingtoscareher,I’m
bettingshe’dreallyliketosetthatbagdown.”
Liashrugged.“Micasaessucasa.Yourroomisthroughthere.”
“Your”room,Ithought.Not“our”room.
“Cassie’sreallybrokenupaboutnotroomingwithyou,Lia,”Michaelsaid,interpretingmyfacial
expressionwithawink.Liapivotedtofacehim,andherlipstwistedupwardinaslow,sizzlinggrin.
“Missme?”sheasked.
“Likeathorninmypaw,”Michaelreplied.
Comingupthestairsbehindus,AgentBriggsclearedhisthroat.“Lia,”hesaid.“Nicetoseeyou.”
Liagavehimalook.“Now,AgentBriggs,”shereplied,“that’ssimplynottrue.”
AgentLockerolledhereyes.“Lia’sspecialtyisdeception,”shetoldme.“Shehasanuncanny
knackforbeingabletotellwhenpeoplearelying.And,”AgentLockeadded,meetingLia’seyes,
“she’saverygoodliar.”
Liadidn’tseemtotakeoffenseattheagent’swords.“I’malsobilingual,”shesaid.“Andvery,very
flexible.”
ThesecondverywasaimeddirectlyatMichael.
“So,”Isaid,myduffelbagdiggingintomyshoulderasItriedtoprocessthefactthatLiawasa
Naturalliar,“thepicturesonthewallaren’tserialkillers?”
Thatquestionwasansweredwithsilence.SilencefromMichael.SilencefromJudd.Silencefrom
AgentLocke,wholookedabitabashed.
AgentBriggsclearedhisthroat.“No,”hesaidfinally.“That’strue.”
Myeyesweredrawntotheportraitoftheelderlycouple.
Smilingserialkillers,five-inchheels,andagirlwithagiftforlying?Thiswasgoingtobe
interesting.
CHAPTER8
BriggsandLockeleftshortlyafterJuddshowedmetomyroom.Theypromisedtoreturnthenext
dayfortraining,butfornow,allthatwasexpectedofmewastosettlein.Myroommate—whoever
shewas—hadyettomakeanappearance,soforthemoment,Ihadtheroomtomyself.
Twinbedssatatoppositeendsoftheroom.Abaywindowoverlookedthebackyard.Tentatively,I
openedwhatIassumedtobetheclosetdoor.Theclosetwasexactlyhalffull:halfofeachrack,halfof
thefloorspace,halfoftheshelves.Myroommatefavoredpatternstosolids,brightcolorstopastels,
andhadahealthyamountofblackandwhiteinherwardrobe,butnogray.
Allofhershoeswereflats.
“Dialitbackanotch,Cassie,”Itoldmyself.I’dhavemonthstoanalyzemyroommate’s
personality—withoutcreepilystalkingherhalfofthecloset.Quicklyandefficiently,Iemptiedmy
ownbag.I’dlivedinColoradoforfiveyears,butbeforethat,thelongestI’deverlivedinoneplace
wasfourmonths.Mymotherwasalwaysofftothenextshow,thenexttown,thenextmark,andIwas
anexpertunpacker.
TherewasstillspaceonmysideoftheclosetwhenIwasdone.
“Knock-knock.”Lia’svoicewashighandclear.Shedidn’twaitforpermissionbeforecominginto
theroom,andIrealizedwithastartthatshe’dchangedclothes.
Thebootshadbeenreplacedwithballetflats,andshe’dtradedthetightblackpantsforalacy,
flowingskirt.Herhairwaspulledbackatthenapeofherneck,andevenhereyeslookedsofter.
Itwaslikeshe’dgivenherselfamakeover—orswitchedpersonalitiesaltogether.
FirstMichael,nowLia.Iwonderedifhe’dpickedupthetrickofchangingclothingstylesfrom
her,orifshe’dgottenitfromhim.GiventhatLiawastheonewhospecializedindeception,my
moneywasontheformer.
“Areyoufinishedunpackingyet?”sheasked.
“I’mstillworkingonsomestuff,”Isaid,busyingmyselfwiththedresser.
“No.You’renot.”
I’dneverconsideredmyselfaliaruntilthatmoment,whenLia’sabilitytooktheoptionaway.
“Look,thoseserialkillerpicturesgivenewmeaningtothewordcreepy.”Lialeanedbackagainst
thedoorjamb.“IwashereforsixweeksbeforesomeonetoldmethatGrandmaandGrampswere
actuallyFayeandRayCopeland,whowereconvictedofkillingfivepeopleandmadeacozylittle
quiltoutoftheirclothes.Trustme,it’sbetterthatyouknownow.”
“Thanks,”Isaiddryly.
“Anyway,”Liasaid,draggingouttheword,“Juddgivescrappytours.He’sasurprisinglydecent
cook,andhe’sgoteyesinthebackofhishead,buthe’snotexactlywhatonewouldcallchatty,and
unlesswe’reabouttoburntheplacedown,he’sprettyhands-off.Ithoughtyoumightwantarealtour.
Orthatyoumighthavesomequestions.”
Iwasn’tsurethatapersonrenownedforherskillatlyingwastheidealinformationsourceortour
guide,butIwasn’tabouttoturndownapeaceoffering,andIdidhaveonequestion.
“Where’smyroommate?”
“Whereshealwaysis,”Liarepliedinnocently.“Thebasement.”
———
Thebasementranthelengthofthehouseandstretchedoutunderneaththefrontandbackyards.From
thebottomofthestairs,allIcouldseewastwoenormouswhitewallsthatranthewidthofthespace,
butdidn’tquitereachthefourteen-footceilings.Therewasasmallspacebetweenwhereonewall
endedandthenextbegan.
Anentrance.
Iwalkedtowardit.Somethingexploded,andIjumpedbackward,myhandsflyingupinfrontof
myface.
Glass,Ithoughtbelatedly.Shatteringglass.
Asecondlater,IrealizedthatIcouldn’tseethesourceofthesound.Iloweredmyhandsand
lookedbackatLia,whohadn’tsomuchasflinched.
“Isthatnormal?”Iaskedher.
Shegaveagracefullittleshrug.“Definenormal.”
Agirlpokedherheadoutfrombehindoneofthepartitions.“Conformingtoatype,standard,or
regularpattern.”
ThefirstthingInoticedaboutthegirl—otherthanthechippertoneinhervoiceandthefactthat
shehadliterallyjustdefinednormal—washerhair.Itwasblond,glow-in-the-darkpale,andstick
straight.Theendswereunevenandherblunt-cutbangsweretooshort,likeshe’dchoppedthemoff
herself.
“Aren’tyousupposedtobewearingsafetygoggles?”Liaasked.
“Itispossiblethatmygoggleshavebeencompromised.”Withthat,thegirldisappearedback
behindthepartition.
Basedontheself-satisfiedcurveofLia’slips,IwasgoingtogooutonalimbandguessthatIhad
justmetmyroommate.
“Sloane,Cassie,”Liasaidwithagrandgesture.“Cassie,Sloane.”
“Nicetomeetyou,”Isaid.Itookafewstepsforward,untilIwasstandinginthespacebetweenthe
partitionsandcouldseewhattheyhadhiddenbefore.Anarrowhallwaystretchedoutinfrontofme.It
waslinedwithroomsoneitherside.Eachroomhadonlythreewalls.
Immediatelytomyleft,IfoundSloanestandinginthemiddleofwhatappearedtobeabathroom.
Therewasadooronthefarside,andIrealizedthatthespacelookedexactlythewayabathroom
wouldifsomeonehadremovedthebackwall.
“Likeamovieset,”Imurmured.Therewasglassalloverthefloor,andatleastahundredPost-it
notesstucktotheedgeofthesinkandscatteredinaspiralpatternonthetiles.Iglancedbackdownthe
hallwayattheotherrooms.Theothersets.
“Potentialcrimescene,”Liacorrected.“Forsimulations.Onthisside”—Liaposedlikeagame
showassistant—“wehaveinteriorlocations:bathrooms,bedrooms,kitchens,foyers.Acoupleof
miniature—andIdomeanminiature—restaurantsets,and,justbecausewereallyarethatcliché,a
mockpostoffice,forallyourgoingpostalneeds.”
Liapivotedandgesturedtowardtheothersideofthehall.“Andoverhere,”shesaid,“wehavea
fewoutdoorscenes:park,parkinglot,make-outpoint.”
IturnedbacktothebathroomsetandSloane.Shekneltgingerlynexttotheshardsofglassonthe
floorandstaredatthem.Herfacewascalm.Herfingershoveredjustoverthecarnage.
Afteralongmoment,sheblinkedandstoodup.“Yourhairisred.”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Itis.”
“Peoplewithredhairrequireroughlytwentypercentmoreanesthesiatoundergosurgery,and
they’resignificantlymorelikelytowakeuponthetable.”
IgotthedistinctfeelingthatthiswasSloane’sversionof“hello,”andsuddenly,everythingclicked
intoplace:theprevalenceofpatternsinherwardrobe,theprecisionwithwhichshe’ddividedour
closetintwo.“AgentBriggssaidthatsomeoneherewasaNaturalwithnumbersandprobabilities.”
“Sloane’sabsolutelydangerouswithanythingnumerical,”Liasaid.Shegesturedlazilytowardthe
glassshards.“Sometimesliterally.”
“Itwasjustatest,”Sloanesaiddefensively.“Thealgorithmthatpredictsthescatterpatternofthe
shardsisreallyquite—”
“Fascinating?”avoicebehindussuggested.Liadraggedonelong,manicurednailoverherbottom
lip.Iturnedaround.
Michaelsmiled.“Youshouldseeherwhenshe’shadcaffeine,”hetoldme,noddingatSloane.
“Michael,”Sloanesaiddarkly,“hidesthecoffee.”
“Trustme,”Michaeldrawled,“it’sakindnesstousall.”Hepausedandthengavemealong,slow
smile.“Thesetwohaveyouniceandtraumatizedyet,Colorado?”
Iprocessedthefactthathe’djustgivenmeanickname,andLiasteppedinbetweenus.
“Traumatized?”sherepeated.“It’salmostlikeyoudon’ttrustme,Michael.”Hereyeswidenedandher
lowerlippokedout.
Michaelsnorted.“Wonderwhy.”
Anemotionreader,adeceptionspecialist,astatisticianwhocouldnotbeallowedtoingestcoffee,
andme.
“Isthisit?”Iasked.“Justthefourofus?”
Hadn’tLiamentionedsomeoneelse?
Michael’seyesdarkened.Lia’smouthcurvedslowlyintoasmile.
“Well,”Sloanesaidbrightly,completelyunawareofthechangingundercurrentintheroom.
“There’salsoDean.”
CHAPTER9
WefoundDeaninthegarage.Hewaslyingonablackbench,facingawayfromthedoor.Darkblond
hairwasplasteredtohisfacewithsweat,hisjawclenchedasheexecutedaseriesofslowand
methodicalbenchpresses.Eachtimehiselbowslocked,Iwonderedifhe’dstop.Eachtime,hekept
going.
Hewasmuscularbutlean,andmyfirstimpressionwasthatthiswasn’taworkout.Thiswas
punishment.
MichaelrolledhiseyesandthenstrolledupbehindDean.“Ninety-eight,”hesaid,histonefullof
mockpain.“Ninety-nine.Onehundred!”
Deanclosedhiseyesforabriefmoment,thenpushedthebarbellupagain.Hisarmsshookslightly
ashewenttosettheweightdown.Michaelclearlyhadnointentionofspottinghim.Tomysurprise,
SloanepushedpastMichael,wrappeddaintylittlehandsaroundthebarbell,androckedbackonher
heels,anglingitintoplace.
Deanwipedhishandsonhisjeans,grabbedanearbytowel,andsatup.“Thanks,”hetoldSloane.
“Torque,”shesaid,insteadofyou’rewelcome.“Theroleoftheleverwasplayedbymyarms.”
Deanstoodup,hislipsanglingslightlyupward,butthemomenthesawme,thefledglingsmile
frozeonhisface.
“DeanRedding,”Michaelsaid,enjoyingDean’ssuddenobviousdiscomfortalittletoomuch,
“meetCassieHobbes.”
“Nicetomeetyou,”Deansaid,pullingdarkeyesfrommineanddirectingthosewordsatthefloor.
Lia,who’dbeenremarkablyquietuptothispoint,raisedaneyebrowatDean.“Well,”shesaid,
“that’snotstrictly—”
“Lia.”Dean’svoicewasn’tloudorhard,butthesecondhesaidhername,Liastopped.
“That’snotstrictlywhat?”Iasked,eventhoughIknewthatthenextwordoutofhermouthwould
havebeentrue.
“Nevermind,”Liasaidinasingsongtone.
IlookedbackatDean:Lighthair.Darkeyes.Openposture.Clenchedfists.
Icatalogedthewayhewasstanding,thelinesofhisface,thedingywhiteT-shirtandrattyblue
jeans.Hishairneededtobecut,andhestoodwithhisbacktothewall,hisfacecastinshadows,like
thatwaswherehebelonged.
Whywasn’titnicetomeetme?
“Dean,”Michaelsaid,withtheairofsomeoneimpartingafascinatingbitofuselesstrivia,“isa
Naturalprofiler.Justlikeyou.”
ThoselastthreewordsseemedmoreaimedatDeanthanme,andastheyhittheirtarget,Deanlifted
hiseyestomeetMichael’s.TherewasnoemotiononDean’sface,buttherewassomethinginhiseyes,
andIfoundmyselfexpectingMichaeltolookawayfirst.
“Dean,”Michaelcontinued,staringatDeanandtalkingtome,“knowsmoreaboutthewaythat
killersthinkthanjustaboutanyone.”
Deanthrewdownthetowelinhishand.Musclestaut,hebrushedbyMichaelandSloane,byLia,by
me.Afewsecondslater,hewasgone.
“Deanhasatemper,”Michaeltoldme,leaningbackagainsttheworkoutbench.
Liasnorted.“Michael,ifDeanhadatemper,you’dbedead.”
“Dean’snotgoingtokillanyone,”Sloanesaid,hervoicealmostcomicallyserious.
Michaeldugaquarteroutofhispocketandflippeditintheair.“Wannabet?”
———
Thatnight,Ididn’tdream.Ialsodidn’tsleepmuch,courtesyofthefactthatSloane,whohadadainty
littlebuild,alsoapparentlyhadthenasalpassagesofanoverweighttrucker.Instead,asItriedtoblock
outthesoundofhersnoring,IclosedmyeyesandpicturedeachoftheNaturalswholivedinthis
house.Michael.Dean.Lia.Sloane.NoneofthemwaswhatI’dexpected.Noneofthemfitafamiliar
mold.AsIdriftedintothathalf-awake,half-asleepstatethatwasascloseasIwasgoingtogettoa
realnight’srest,IplayedagameI’dinventedwhenIwaslittle.Imentallypeeledoffmyownskinand
putonsomeoneelse’s.
Lia’s.
Istartedwiththephysicalthings.ShewastallerthanIwas,andlithe.Herhairwaslonger,and
insteadofsleepingwithittuckedunderherhead,shewouldspreaditoutonthepillow.Her
fingernailswerepainted,andwhenshehadenergytoburn,sherubbedthethumbnailonherlefthand
withthethumbonherright.Inmymind,Iturnedmyhead—Lia’shead—totheside,peeringintoher
closet.
IfMichaelhadleveragedacaroutofBriggs,Liawouldhavegoneforclothes.Icouldalmostsee
thecloset,fulltooverflowing.Astheroomcamemoreintofocus,Icouldfeelmysubconscious
takingover,feelmyselflosingtherealworldinfavorofthisimaginaryoneI’dbuiltinmyhead.
Iletgoofmybedandmycloset,myphysicalsensations.IletmyselfbeLia,andarushof
informationcameatmefromallsides.Likeawritergettinglostinabook,Iletthesimulationrunits
course.WhereSloaneandIwereneat,theLiainmyheadwasmessy,herroomamultisensory
archiveofthepastfewmonths.Therewasnorhymeorreasontotheorganizationofthecloset.
Dresseshunghalfonandhalfoffthehangers.Therewereclothes—dirty,clean,new,andeverything
inbetween—onthefloor.
Ipicturedgettingoutofbed.Inmyownbody,Ihadatendencytositupfirst,butLiawouldn’ttake
thetime.She’drolloutofbed,readyforaction.Readytoattack.Longhairfellonmyshoulders,andI
twirledastrandofitaroundmyindexfinger:anotherofLia’snervoushabits,designedtolooklikeit
wasn’tnervousatall.
Iglancedoveratthedoortotheroom.Closed,ofcourse.Probablyalsolocked.WhowasI
keepingout?WhatwasIafraidof?
Afraid?Iscoffedsilently,mymind-voicesoundingmoreandmorelikeLia’s.I’mnotafraidof
anything.
Iwalkedovertothecloset—lightonmytoes,hipsswayinggently—andpulledoutthefirstshirtI
touched.Theselectionwascompletelyrandom,butwhatcamenextwasn’t.Ibuilttheoutfituparound
me.Idressedmyselfuplikeadoll,andwitheachpassingmoment,Iputthatmuchmorespace
betweenthesurfaceandeverythingunderneath.
Ididmyhair,myeyes,mynails.
Buttherewasstillthatlittlevoiceinmyhead.ThesameonethathadinsistedIwasn’tscared.Only
thistime,theonethingitkeptsaying,overandoveragain,wasthatIwashere—behindthislocked
doorwithwhoknowswhatwaitingoutside—becauseIhadnowhereelsetogo.
YOU
You’rehomenow.You’realone.Everythingisinitsplace.Everythingbutthis.
Youknowthatthereareotherpeoplelikeyou.Othermonsters.Othergods.Youknowyou’renotthe
onlyonewhotakeskeepsakes,thingstorememberthegirlsby,oncetheirscreamsandtheirbodiesand
theirbegging-pleading-lyinglipsaregone.
Youwalkslowlytothecabinet.Youopenit.Carefully,gingerly,youplacethiswhore’slipsticknext
toalltherest.Theauthoritieswon’tnoticeit’smissingwhentheysearchherpurse.
Theyneverdo.
Alazysmileonyourface,yourunyourfingertipsacrosseachone.Remembering.Savoring.
Planning.
Becauseit’sneverenough.It’sneverover.
Especiallynow.
CHAPTER10
Thenextday,IcouldbarelylookatLia.ThegameI’dplayedthenightbeforewasonemyyounger
selfhadplayedwithstrangers:childrenI’dmetindiners,peoplewhohadcometomymother ’s
shows.Theywereneverrealtome—andneitherwerethethingsI’dimaginedonceI’dmentallytried
ontheirshoes.ButnowIhadtowonderhowmuchofitwasreallyimaginationandhowmuchofit
wasmysubconsciousworkingitswaythroughLia’sBPE.
HadIimaginedthatLiawasmessy—orhadIprofiledit?
“There’scerealinthecabinetandeggsinthefridge,”Juddgreetedmefrombehindanewspaperas
Iwanderedintothekitchen,stilldebatingthatquestion.“I’mmakingagroceryrunatoh-nine-
hundred.Ifyou’vegotrequests,speaknoworforeverholdyourpeace.”
“Norequests,”Isaid.
“Lowmaintenance,”Juddcommented.
Ishrugged.“Itry.”
Juddfoldedhispaper,carriedanemptymugtothesink,andrinseditout.Aminutelater—atnine
o’clockonthedot—Iwasaloneinthekitchen.AsIpouredmyselfabowlofcereal,Iwentbackto
tryingtoworkmywaythroughthelogicofmyLiasimulation,tofigureouthowIknewwhatIknew
—andifIknewitatall.
“IhavenoideawhatthoseCheeriosdidtoyou,butI’msurethey’revery,verysorry,”Michael
saidasheslidintotheseatnexttomeatthekitchentable.
“Excuseme?”
“You’vebeenstirringthemintosubmissionforagoodfiveminutes,”Michaeltoldme.“It’sspoon
violence,iswhatitis.”
IpickedupaCheerioandflickeditathim.Michaelcaughtitandpoppeditintohismouth.
“Sowhichoneofuswasitthistime?”Michaelasked.
Suddenly,IbecameveryinterestedinmyCheerios.
“Comeon,Colorado.Whenyourbrainstartsprofiling,yourfacestartsbroadcastingamixof
concentration,curiosity,andcalm.”Michaelpaused.Itookabigbiteofcereal.“Themusclesinyour
neckrelax,”hecontinued.“Yourlipsturneversosubtlydown.Yourheadtiltsslightlytooneside,
andyougetcrow’s-feetatthecornersofyoureyes.”
Isetmyspooncalmlyinmybowl.“Idonotgetcrow’s-feet.”
Michaelhelpedhimselftomyspoon—andabiteofcereal.“Anyoneevertellyouyou’recutewhen
you’reannoyed?”
“IhopeI’mnotinterrupting.”Liacamein,stolethecerealbox,andstartedeatingrightoutofthe
carton.“Actually,that’snottrue.Whatever ’sgoingonhere,Iamabsolutelydelightedtointerruptit.”
ItriedtokeepmyselffromstudyingLia—andIdefinitelytriedtokeepfromwrinklingthecorners
ofmyeyes—butitwashardtoignorethefactthatshewaswearingbarely-theresilkpajamas.And
pearls.
“So,Cassie,areyoureadyforyourfirstdayofHowtoCrawlintotheSkullsofBadGuys101?”
Liasetthecerealboxdownandheadedforthefridge.Herheaddisappearedintotherefrigeratoras
shestarteddiggingaround.Herpajamabottomsleftverylittletotheimagination.
“I’mready,”Isaid,avertingmyeyes.
“Cassiewasbornready,”Michaeldeclared.Overintherefrigerator,Liastoppedrummagingfora
moment.“Besides,”Michaelcontinued,“whateverAgentLockehasherdoing,ithastobebetterthan
watchingforeign-languagefilms.Withoutthesubtitles.”
IbitbackasmileattheaggrievedtoneinMichael’svoice.“Isthatwhattheyhadyoudoonyour
firstday?”
“That,”Michaelsaid,“iswhattheyhadmedoformyfirstmonth.‘Emotionsaren’taboutwhat
peoplesay,’”hemimicked,“‘they’reaboutposture,facialexpressions,andculture-specific
instantiationsofuniversalphenomenologicalexperiences.’”
Liaexitedtherefrigeratorwithemptyhands,shutthedoor,andopenedthefreezer.“Poorbaby,”
shetoldMichael.“I’vebeenhereforalmostthreeyears,andtheonlythingthey’vetaughtmeisthat
psychopathsarereallygoodliars,andFBIagentsarereallybadones.”
“Haveyoumetmany?”Iasked.
“FBIagents?”Liafeignedignoranceassheretrievedacartonofmint-chocolate-chipicecream
fromthefreezer.
Igaveheralook.“Psychopaths.”
Shegrabbedaspoonoutofthedrawerandbrandisheditlikeamagicwand.“TheFBIhidesus
awayinanicelittlehouseinanicelittleneighborhoodinanicelittletown.Doyoureallythink
Briggsisgoingtoletmetagalongonprisoninterviews?Orgointothefield,whereImightactually
gettodosomething?”
MichaelputLia’swordsinslightlymorediplomaticterms.“TheBureauhastapes,”hesaid.“And
reelsandtranscripts.Coldcases,mostly.Thingsthatotherpeoplehaven’teverbeenabletosolve.
Andforeverycoldcasetheybringus,therearedozensofcasesthatthey’vealreadysolved.Teststo
seeifwereallyareasgoodasAgentBriggssaysweare.”
“Evenwhenyougivethemtheanswerthey’relookingfor,”Liacontinued,pickinguprightwhere
Michaelleftoff,“evenwhenthePowersThatBeknowthatyou’reright,theywanttoknowwhy.”
Whywhat?Thistime,Ididn’taskthequestionoutloud—butMichaelanswereditanyway.
“Whywecandoitandtheycan’t.”HereachedoverandsnaggedanotherbiteofmyCheerios.
“Theydon’tjustwanttotrainus.Theydon’tjustwanttouseus.Theywanttobeus.”
“Absolutely,”anewvoiceconcurred.“Deepdown,inmyheartofhearts,allIreallywantistobe
MichaelTownsend.”
AgentLockestrolledintothekitchenandwentstraightforthefridge.Clearlyshewasathome
here,evenifshelivedsomewhereelse.
“Briggsleftfilesforyoutwo”—AgentLockegesturedtoMichaelandLia—“inhisstudy.He’s
goingtorunanewsimulationwithSloanetoday,andI’mgoingtostartcatchingCassieuptospeed.”
Sheheavedalarger-than-lifesigh.“It’snotasglamorousasbeingajadedseventeen-year-oldboy
withparentalissuesandahair-geldependency,butc’estlavie.”
Michaelreacheduptoscratchthesideofhisface—andoh-so-subtlyflippedAgentLockeoffinthe
process.
Liatwirledherspoonaroundherfinger,atiny,ice-cream-ladenbaton.“LaceyLocke,everybody,”
shesaid,liketheFBIagentwasacomedianandLiatheannouncer.
Lockegrinned.“Doesn’tJuddhavearuleaboutyouwearinglingerieinthekitchen?”sheasked,
eyeingLia’spajamas.Liashrugged,butsomethingaboutAgentLocke’spresenceseemedtosubdue
her.Withinminutes,myfellowNaturalshadscattered.NeitherLianorMichaelseemedanxiousto
spendtimeinthecompanyofanFBIprofiler.
“Ihopethey’renotmakinglifetoodifficultonyou,”Lockesaid.
“No.”Infact,foramomentthere,eatingwiththetwoofthem,talkingtothem,hadfeltnatural.
Nopunintended.
“NeitherMichaelnorLiawasgivenmuchofachoiceaboutjoiningtheprogram.”Lockewaited
forthattosinkin.“Thattendstoputachiponaperson’sshoulder.”
“They’renotthetypetorespondwelltobeingstrong-armed,”Isaidslowly.
“No,”AgentLockereplied.“Theyaren’t.I’vemadealotofmistakes,butthatwasn’toneofmine.
Briggslacksacertainamountof…finesse.Guynevermetasquarepeghedidn’twanttopoundinto
aroundhole.”
ThatdescriptionfitwithmyimpressionofAgentBriggsexactly.AgentLockewasspeakingmy
language,butIdidn’thavetimetorelishthatfact.
BecauseDeanwasstandinginthedoorway.
AgentLockesawhimandnodded.“Rightontime.”
“Ontimeforwhat?”Iasked.
DeanansweredonAgentLocke’sbehalf,butunlikethered-hairedagent,hewasn’tsmiling.He
wasn’tfriendly.Hedidn’twanttobethere—andunlessIwasmistaken,hedidn’tlikeme.
“Foryourfirstlesson.”
CHAPTER11
IfDeanwasunhappyattheprospectofspendingthemorningwithme,hewasevenlesspleasedwhen
AgentLocke’splanformyfirstdayrequiredustotakealittlefieldtrip.Clearly,he’dexpectedapen-
and-paperlesson,orpossiblyasimulationinthebasement,butAgentLockejusttossedhimthekeys
toherSUV.
“You’redriving.”
MostFBIagentswouldn’thaveinsistedaseventeen-year-oldboydrive—butitwasbecoming
increasinglycleartomethatLaceyLockewasn’tmostagents.Shetookthefrontpassengerseat,andI
slidintotheback.
“Whereto?”DeanaskedAgentLockeashebackedoutofthedriveway.Shegavehimanaddress,
andhemurmuredareply.ItriedtodiagnosetheslighttwingeofanaccentIheardinhisvoice.
Southern.
Hedidn’tsayasinglewordfortherestofthedrive.Itriedtogetareadonhim.Hedidn’tseem
shy.Maybehewasthetypeofpersonwhosavedhiswordsforthoserareoccasionswhenhereally
hadsomethingtosay.Maybehekepttohimselfandusedsilenceasawayofkeepingotherpeopleat
arm’slength.
OrmaybehejusthadzerodesiretoconversewithLockeandme.
He’saNaturalprofiler,Ithought,wonderingifhisbrainwaschurning,too,assimilatingdetails
aboutmethewayIwasassessinghim.
Hewasacarefuldriver.
Hisshoulderstensedwhensomeonecuthimoff.
Andwhenwearrivedatourdestination,hegotoutofthecar,shutthedoor,andheldthekeysout
toAgentLocke—allwithouteverlookingatme.Iwasusedtofadingintothebackground,but
somehow,comingfromDean,itfeltlikeaninsult.LikeIwasn’tworthprofiling,likehedidn’thave
theslightestinterestinfiguringmeout.
“WelcometoWestsideMall,”AgentLockesaid,snappingmeoutofit.“I’msurethisisn’twhat
youwereexpectingforyourfirstday,Cassie,butIwantedtogetasenseofwhatyoucandowith
normalpeoplebeforewediveintotheabnormalendofthespectrum.”
Deanflickedhiseyessideways.
Lockecalledhimonit.“Somethingyou’dliketoadd?”
Deanstuffedhishandsintohispockets.“It’sjustbeenalongtime,”hesaid,“sincesomeoneasked
metothinkaboutnormal.”
Fiveminuteslater,wehadatableinthefoodcourt.
“Thewomaninthepurplefleece,”AgentLockesaid.“Whatcanyoutellmeabouther,Cassie?”
Isatandfollowedhergazetothewomaninquestion.Midtwenties.Shewaswearingrunningshoes
andjeansinadditiontothefleece.Eithershewassportyandshe’dthrownonthejeansbecauseshe
wascomingtothemall,orshewasn’t,butwantedpeopletothinkthatshewas.Isaidasmuchout
loud.
“Whatelsecanyoutellme?”AgentLockeasked.
MyguttoldmethatAgentLockedidn’twantdetails.Shewantedthebigpicture.
Behavior.Personality.Environment.
ItriedtointegratePurpleFleeceintohersurroundings.She’dchosenaseatneartheedgeofthe
foodcourt,eventhoughtherewereplentyoftablesavailableclosertotherestaurantwhereshe’d
purchasedhermeal.Therewereseveralpeoplesittingnearher,butshestayedfocusedonherfood.
“She’sastudent,”Isaidfinally.“Graduateschoolofsomekind—mymoney’sonmedschool.
She’snotmarried,buthasaseriousboyfriend.Shecomesfromanupper-middle-classfamily,heavy
emphasisontheupper.She’sarunner,butnotahealthnut.Shemostlikelygetsupearly,likesdoing
thingsthatotherpeoplefindpainful,andifshehasanysiblings,they’reeitheryoungerthansheisor
they’reallboys.”
IwaitedforAgentLocketoreply.Shedidn’t.NeitherdidDean.
Tofillthesilence,Iaddedonelastobservation.“Shegetscoldreallyeasily.”
Therewasnootherexcuseforwearingafleece—evenindoors—inJuly.
“Whatmakesyouthinkshe’sastudent?”AgentLockeaskedfinally.
ImetDean’seyesandknewsuddenlythathesawit,too.“It’stenthirtyinthemorning,”Isaid,“and
she’snotatwork.It’stooearlyforalunchbreak,andshe’snotdressedlikesomeonewho’sonthe
job.”
AgentLockeraisedaneyebrow.“Maybesheworksfromhome.Ormaybeshe’sbetweenjobs.
Maybesheteacheselementaryschoolandshe’sonsummervacation.”
Thoseobjectionswereperfectlyvalid,butsomehow—tome—theystillfeltwrong.Itwashardto
explain;IthoughtofMichaelwarningmethattheFBIwouldneverstoptryingtofigureouthowIdid
whatIdid.
IthoughtaboutAgentLockesayingshe’dlearnedprofilingthehardway—oneclassatatime.
“She’snotevenlookingatthem.”
Tomyshock,Deanwastheonewhocametomyrescue.
“Pardon?”AgentLocketurnedherattentiontohim.
“Theotherpeoplehereinheragerange.”Deannoddedtowardacoupleofyoungmomswith
smallchildren,plusseveraldepartmentstoreemployeeslinedupforcoffee.“She’snotlookingat
them.Theyaren’therpeers.Shedoesn’tevenrealizethey’rethesameage.Shepaysmoreattentionto
collegestudentsthantootheradults,butsheclearlydoesn’tconsiderherselfoneofthem,either.”
AndthatwasthefeelingIhadn’tbeenabletoputintowords.ItwaslikeDeancouldseeintomy
head,makesenseoftheinformationbouncingaroundmybrain—but,ofcourse,thatwasn’tit.He
hadn’tneededtogetintomyhead,becausehe’dbeenthinkingtheexactsamething.
Afteralongmomentofsilence,Deanflickedhiseyesovertome.“Whymedschool?”
Iglancedbackatthegirl.“Becauseshe’sarunner.”
Deansmiled,eversoslightly.“Youmeanshe’samasochist.”
Acrosstheroom,thegirlwe’dbeentalkingaboutrose,andIwasabletomakeoutthebagsinher
hand,thestoresshe’dshoppedat.Itfit.Everythingfit.
Iwasn’twrong.
“Whatmakesyouthinkshehasaboyfriend?”Deanasked,andunderhisquietdrawlIcouldhear
curiosity—andmaybeevenadmiration.
Ishruggedinresponsetohisquestion—mainlybecauseIdidn’twanttotellhimthatthereasonI’d
beensurethisgirlwasn’tsinglewasthefactthattheentiretimewe’dbeenthere,shehadn’tsomuch
asglancedatDean.
Fromadistance,hewouldhavelookedolder.
EveninjeansandafadedblackT-shirt,youcouldseethemusclestensingagainstthefabricofhis
sleeves.Andthemusclesnotcoveredbyhissleeves.
Hishair,hiseyes,thewayhestood,andthewayhemoved—ifshe’dbeensingle,shewouldhave
looked.
———
“Newgame,”AgentLockesaid.“Ipointtothecar,youtellmeaboutthepersonwhoownsit.”
We’dbeenatthemallforthreehours.I’dthoughtcomingouttotheparkinglothadsignaledthe
endoftoday’straining,butapparentlyIwaswrong.
“Thatone,Cassie.Go.”
Iopenedmymouth,thenshutitagain.Iwasusedtostartingwithpeople:theirposture,thewaythey
talked,theirclothes,theiroccupations,theirgender,thewaytheyarrangedanapkinontheirlap—that
wasmylanguage.Startingwithacarwaslikeflyingblind.
“Inourlineofwork,”AgentLocketoldmeasIstaredatawhiteAcura,debatingwhetherit
belongedtoashopperorsomeonewhoworkedatthemall,“youdon’tgettomeetthesuspectbefore
youprofilethecrime.Yougotothesceneandyourebuildwhathappened.Youtakephysical
evidence,youturnitintobehavior,andthenyoutrytonarrowdowntherangeofsuspects.Youdon’t
knowifyou’relookingforamanorawoman,ateenageroranoldman.Youknowhowtheykilled,
butyoudon’tknowwhy.Youknowhowtheyleftthebody,butyouhavetofigureouthowtheyfound
thevictim.”Shepaused.“So,Cassie.Whoownsthiscar?”
Themakeandmodelweren’ttellingmemuch.Thiscarcouldhavebelongedtoeitheramanora
woman,anditwasparkedinfrontofthefoodcourt,whichmeantthatIhadnoideawhattheowner ’s
destinationinsidethemallwas.Theparkingspacewasn’tagoodone,butitwasn’tbad.Theparking
jobleftalittletobedesired.
“Theywereinahurry,”Isaid.“Theparkingjobiscrooked,andtheydidn’tbothercruisingfora
betterspace.”Thatalsotoldmethatthedriverdidn’thavethekindofegothatwouldpushapersonto
huntforaprimespot,asifgettingagreatparkingplaceatthemallwasanindicatorofpersonal
worth.“Nocarseat,sonoyoungchildren.Nobumperstickers,relativelyrecentlywashed.They’re
nothereforfood—noreasontohurryforthat—buttheyparkedatthefoodcourt,soeithertheydon’t
knowwherethey’regoingoncetheygetinsidethemallortheirstoreofchoiceiscloseby.”
Ipaused,waitingforDeantopickupwhereIhadleftoff,buthedidn’t.Instead,AgentLockegave
measinglepieceofadvice.
“Don’tsaythey.”
“Ididn’tmeantheyasinplural,”Isaidhastily.“Ijusthaven’tdecidedyetifit’samanorawoman.”
Deanglancedatthemallentranceandthenbackatme.“That’snotwhatshemeans.Theykeepsyou
ontheoutside.Sodoheandshe.”
“SowhatwordamIsupposedtouse?”
“Officially,”AgentLockesaid,“weusethetermUnknownSubject—orUNSUB.”
“Andunofficially?”Iasked.
Deanshovedhishandsintothepocketsofhisjeans.“Ifyouwanttoclimbinsidesomeone’shead,”
hesaidroughly,“youusethewordI.”
Thenightbefore,I’dimaginedmyselfinLia’sbody,imaginedwhatitwasliketobeher.Icould
imaginedrivingthiscar,parkingitlikethis,climbingout—butthiswasn’taboutcars.Ultimately,I
wouldn’tbeprofilingshoppers.
I’dbeprofilingkillers.
“WhatifIdon’twanttobethem?”Iasked.IknewthatifIclosedmyeyes,ifIsomuchasblinked,I
wouldberightbackinmymother ’sdressingroom.I’dbeabletoseetheblood.I’dbeabletosmellit.
“WhatifIcan’t?”
“Thenyou’relucky.”Dean’svoicewasquiet,buthiseyeswerehard.“Andyou’dbebetteroffat
home.”
Mystomachtwisted.Hedidn’tthinkIbelongedhere.Suddenly,itwasalltooeasytorememberthat
whenwe’dmetthedaybeforeandhe’dsaid“nicetomeetyou,”ithadbeenalie.
AgentLockesetahandonmyshoulder.“IfyouwanttogetclosetoanUNSUB,butyoudon’twant
toputyourselfintheirshoes,there’sanotherwordyoucanuse.”
IturnedmybackonDeanandfocusedmyfullattentiononAgentLocke.“Andwhatwordisthat?”
Iasked.
Lockemetmygaze.“You.”
CHAPTER12
Thatnight,IdreamedthatIwaswalkingthroughanarrowhallway.Thefloorwastiled.Thewalls
werewhite.Theonlysoundintheentireroomwasmysneaker-cladfeetscuffingagainstthefreshly
moppedfloor.
Thisisn’tright.Somethingaboutthisisn’tright.
Fluorescentlightsflickeredoverhead,andontheground,myshadowflickered,too.Attheendof
thehallway,therewasametaldoor,paintedtomatchthewalls.Itwasslightlyajar,andIwonderedif
I’dleftitthatwayorifmymotherhadcrackedthedooropentokeepaneyeoutforme.
Don’tgointhere.Stop.Youhavetostop.
Ismiledandkeptrightonwalking.Onestep,twosteps,threesteps,four.Onsomelevel,Iknew
thatthiswasadream,knewwhatIwouldfindwhenIopenedthatdoor—butIcouldn’tstop.Mybody
feltnumbfromthewaistdown.Mysmilehurt.
Ilaidmyhandflatagainstthemetaldoorandpushed.
“Cassie?”
Mymotherwasstandingthere,dressedinblue.Abreathcaughtinmythroat—notbecauseshewas
beautiful,thoughshewas,andnotbecauseshewasonthevergeofscoldingmefortakingsolongto
reportbackonthecrowd.
Aviseclosedinaroundmylungs,becausethiswaswrong.Thishadn’thappened,andIwishedto
Godithad.
Pleasedon’tbeadream.Justthisonce,letitbereal.Don’tletit—
“Cassie?”Mymomstumbledbackward.Shefell.Bloodturnedbluesilkred.Itsplatteredagainst
thewalls.Therewassomuchofit—toomuch.
She’scrawlinginit,slipping,buteverywhereshegoes,theknifeisthere.
Handsgrabbedatherankles.Iturned,tryingtoseeherattacker ’sface,andjustlikethat,my
motherwasgoneandIwasbackoutsidethedoor.Myhandpusheditopen.
Thisishowithappened,Ithoughtdully.Thisisreal.
Isteppedintothedarkness.Ifeltsomethingwetandsquishybeneathmyfeet,andthesmell—oh,
God,thesmell.Iscrambledforthelightswitch.
Don’t.Don’tturniton,don’t—
Iwokewithastart.
Inthebedbesideme,Sloanewasdeadtotheworld.I’dhadthedreamoftenenoughtoknowthat
therewasnopointinclosingmyeyesagain.Icreptquietlyoutofbedandwenttothewindow.I
neededtodosomething—totakemycuefromthewomanI’dprofiledthatmorningandrununtilmy
bodyhurt,ortofollowinDean’sfootstepsandtakeitoutonsomeweights.ThenIcaughtsightofthe
backyard—andmorespecifically,thepool.
Theyardwasdimlylit,thewatergleamingblackinthemoonlight.Silently,Igrabbedaswimsuit
andslippedoutoftheroomwithoutwakingSloane.Minuteslater,Iwassittingattheedgeofthepool.
Eveninthedeadofnight,theairwashot.Idangledmylegsovertheedge.
Iloweredmyselfintothepool.Slowly,thetensionleftmybody.Mybrainshutoff.Forafew
minutes,Ijusttreadedwater,listeningtothesoundsoftheneighborhoodatnighttime:cricketsandthe
windandmyhandsmovingthroughthewater.ThenIstopped—stoppedtreadingwater,stopped
fightingthepullofgravity—andletmyselfsink.
Iopenedmyeyesunderwater,butcouldn’tseeanything.Therewasdarknessallaroundme,and
thensuddenly,therewasaflickeroflightatthepool’ssurface.
Iwasn’talone.
Youdon’tknowthat,Itoldmyself,butIsawthefaintestblurofmotion,andthatprotestdiedaquick
andbrutaldeath.Therewassomeoneupthere—andIcouldn’tstayunderwaterindefinitely.
Justlikethat,IfeltlikeIwasbackinthenarrowhallwayofmydreams,walkingslowlytoward
somethingawful.
It’snothing.
Still,Ifoughttheneedforair.Iwanted—irrationally—tostayunderwater,whereitwassafe.ButI
couldn’t.Waterpluggedmyears,andasmylungsscreamedforair,thesoundofmyownheartbeat
surroundedme.
Icameupslowly,breakingthesurfaceasquietlyasIcould.Treadingwater,Iturnedinacircle,my
eyesscanningtheyardforanintruder.Atfirst,Isawnothing.AndthenIsawapairofeyes,the
moonlightcaughtinthemjustso.
Lookingatme.
“Ididn’tknowyouwereouthere,”theownerofthoseeyessaid.“Ishouldgo.”
Myheartkeptrightonpounding,evenonceIrealizedthevoicebelongedtoDean.Nowthatmy
brainhadidentifiedhim,Icouldmakeoutafewmoreofhisfeatures.Hishairhunginhisface.His
eyes—whichI’dseenasapredator ’samomentbefore—nowjustlookedsurprised.
Clearly,hehadn’texpectedanyonetobeswimmingatthreeinthemorning.
“No,”Isaid,myvoicetravelingalongthesurfaceofthewater.“It’syouryard,too.Stay.”
Ifeltridiculousforbeingsojumpy.Thiswasaquiet,sleepylittletown.Theyardwasfenced.No
oneknewwhattheFBIwastrainingustodo.Weweren’ttargets.Thiswasn’tmydream.
Iwasn’tmymother.
Foranelongatedmoment,IthoughtDeanwouldturnandwalkaway,butinstead,hesatafew
inchesawayfromtheedgeofthepool.“Whatareyoudoingouthere?”
Forsomereason,Ifeltcompelledtotellhimthetruth.“Icouldn’tsleep.”
Deangazedoutattheyard.“Istoppedsleepingalongtimeago.Mostnights,Igetthreegood
hours,maybefour.”
I’dgivenhimatruth,andhe’dgivenmeone.Wefellintosilencethen,himattheedgeofthepool
andmetreadingwateratthecenter.
“Itwasn’treal,youknow.”Hespoketohishands,nottome.
“Whatwasn’treal?”
“Today.”Deanpaused.“AtthemallwithLocke.Playinggamesinparkinglots.That’snotwhatthis
is.”
Inthescantlightofthemoon,hiseyeslookedsodarktheywerenearlyblack,andsomethingabout
thewayhewaslookingatmemademerealize—hewasn’tcriticizingme.
Hewastryingtoprotectme.
“Iknowwhatthisis,”Isaid.Iknewbetterthananyone.Turningawayfromhim,Istaredupatthe
sky,alltooawareofthefactthathewasstaringatme.
“Briggsshouldn’thavebroughtyouhere,”hesaidfinally.“Thisplacewillruinyou.”
“DiditruinLia?”Iasked.“OrSloane?”
“They’renotprofilers.”
“Didthisplaceruinyou?”
Deandidn’tpause,notevenforasecond.“Therewasnothingtoruin.”
Iswamovertotheedge,rightnexttohim.“Youdon’tknowme,”Isaid,pullingmyselfoutofthe
water.“I’mnotscaredofthisplace.I’mnotafraidtolearnhowtothinklikeakiller,andIamnot
afraidofyou”
Iwasn’tevensurewhyI’daddedonthoselastsixwords,buttheyweretheonesthatmadehiseyes
flash.IwashalfwaytothehousewhenIheardhimstandup.Iheardhimwalkacrossthegrasstothe
tiny,shacklikepoolhouse.Iheardhimthrowaswitch.
Suddenly,theyardwasn’tdarkanymore.Ittookmeamomenttorealizewherethelightwas
comingfrom.Thepoolwasglowing.Therewasnootherwordforit.Itlookedlikesomeonehad
splatteredglow-in-the-darkpaintacrosstheedge.Therewasadropoffluorescentcolorhere,adrop
there.Longstreaksofit.Blobs.Fourparallelsmearsacrossthetileonthesideofthepool.
IglancedatDean.
“Blacklight,”hesaid,asifthatwerealltheexplanationI’dneed.
Icouldn’thelpmyself.Imovedcloser.Isquattedtogetabetterlook.AndthatwaswhenIsawthe
glow-in-the-darkoutlineofabodyatthebottomofthepool.
“HernamewasAmanda,”Deansaid.
Irealizedthenwhatthesmearsandstreaksofpaintontheconcreteandthesideofthepoolwere
supposedtobe.
Blood.
Thecolorhadfooledme,eventhoughthepatternwasalltoofamiliar.
“Shewasstabbedthreetimes.”Deanwouldn’tlookatme,wouldn’tevenlookatthepool.“She
crackedherheadonthecementwhensheslippedinherownblood.Andthenhewrappedherfingers
aroundherthroat.Heforcedherupperbodyoverthesideofthepool.”
Icouldseeithappening,seethekillerstandingoveragirl’sbody.Shewouldhavekicked.She
wouldhaveclawedathishands,triedtousethesideofthepoolforleverage.
“Heheldherunder.”Deankneltnexttothepoolanddemonstrated,actingoutthemotion.“He
drownedher.Andthenhesetherfree.”Heletgoofhisimaginarypreyandsentherofftowardthe
centerofthepool.
“Thisisacrimescene,”Isaidfinally.“Oneofthefakecrimescenesthattheyusetotestus,likethe
setsinthebasement.”
Deanstaredoutatthecenterofthepool,wherethevictim’sbodywouldhavebeen.“It’snotfake,”
hesaidfinally.“Itreallyhappened.Itjustdidn’thappenhere.”
IreachedouttotouchDean’sshoulder.Heshruggedoffmytouch,turningtofaceme,hisbody
closetomine.“Everythingaboutthisplace—thehouse,theyard,thepool—wasconstructedwithone
thinginmind.”
“Fullimmersion,”Isaid,holdinghisgaze.“LikethoseschoolswheretheyonlyspeakFrench.”
Deanjerkedhisheadtowardthepool.“Thisisn’talanguagepeopleshouldwanttolearn.”
Normalpeople—thatwaswhatDeanmeant.ButIwasn’tnormal.IwasaNatural.Andthismock
crimescenewasn’ttheworstthingI’dseen.
Iturnedtowalkbacktothehouse.IheardDeanwalkacrossthelawn.Iheardhimfliptheswitch.
AndwhenIglancedbackovermyshoulder,thepoolwasjustapool.Theyardwasjustayard.And
theoutlineofthebodywasgone.
CHAPTER13
IoversleptthenextmorningandwokeuptothefeelingthatIwasbeingwatched.
“Knock,knock.”
Basedonthegreeting—andthefactthatthepersonspeakinghadopenedmydoor,knockedonit,
andsaidthosewordsattheexactsametime—IexpectedLia.Instead,IopenedmyeyestofindAgent
Lockestandinginmydoorway,acupfromStarbucksinonehandandcarkeysintheother.
IglancedoveratSloane’sbed,butitwasempty.
“Latenight?”mynewlyacquiredmentorasked,eyebrowsarched.IthoughtofDeanandthepool
anddecidedthatwasnotanareaofdiscussionIwantedtopursue.
“Really?”AgentLockesaid,eyeingthelookonmyface.“Iwasjustkidding,butyou’vegotI-was-
up-late-with-a-boy-last-nightface.Maybeweshouldhavesomegirltalk.”
Ididn’tknowwhatwasworse,thefactthatLockethoughtmylatenighthadsomethingtodowitha
stupidteenagecrushorthefactthatshesoundedsuspiciouslylikemyfemalecousins.
“Nogirltalk,”Isaid.“Asageneralrule,ever.”
AgentLockenodded.“Sonoted.”Sheeyedmypajamas,andthenjerkedherheadtowardthecloset.
“Getup.Getdressed.”Shetossedmethecarkeys.“I’llgetDean.You’redriving.”
———
Iwasn’texactlyhappywhenAgentLocke’sdirectionsendeduptakingusrightbacktothemall—and
specificallytoMrs.Fieldscookies.Afterseeingthemocked-upbloodspatteronthepool’sedgethe
nightbefore,profilingshoppersseemedsenseless.Itseemedsilly.
Ifshemakesusguesswhatkindofcookiespeoplearegoingtoorder…
“Threeandahalfyearsago,SandyHarrisonwasherewithherhusbandandtheirthreechildren.
Herhusbandtooktheireight-year-oldsontothebookstore,andshewasleftwiththetwoyounger
girls.”AgentLockesaidallofthisinaperfectlynormalvoice.Notasingleshopperturnedtolookat
us,butherwordsfrozemetothespot.“Sandyandthegirlswereinlineforlemonade.Three-year-
oldMadelynmadeabeelineforthecookies,andSandyhadtopullherback.ItwasChristmastime,
andthemallwascrammedfullofpeople.Madelynwasdesperatelyinneedofanapandontheverge
ofameltdown.Thelinewasmoving.Sandymadeittothecounterandturnedtoaskherolder
daughter,Annabelle,whethershewantedregularlemonadeorpink.”
Iknewwhatwascoming.
“Annabellewasgone.”
ItwaseasytopicturethemallatChristmastime,toseetheyoungfamilysplittingup,thefather
takingthesonandthemotherjugglingtwoyounggirls.Isawthesmalleroneonthevergeofa
tantrum,sawthemother ’sattentiondiverted.Iimaginedherlookingdownandrealizingthateven
thoughshe’djustlookedawayforafewseconds,eventhoughshewasalwayssocareful…
“Mallsecuritywascalledimmediately.Withinhalfanhour,they’dalertedthepolice.Theystopped
trafficintoandoutofthemall.TheFBIwascalledonboardandweissuedanAMBERAlert.Ifa
childisn’trecoveredinthefirsttwenty-fourhours,thenchancesaregoodthatheorshewillneverbe
recoveredalive.”
Iswallowedhard.“Didyoufindher?”
“Wedid,”AgentLockereplied.“Thequestionis,wouldyouhave?”Sheletthatsinkinfora
second,maybetwo.“Thefirsthouristhemostcrucial,andyou’vealreadylostthat.Thegirlwas
missingforninety-sevenminutesbeforeyouevengotthecall.Youneedtofigureoutwhotookher
andwhy.Mostabductionsarecommittedbyfamilymembers,butherparentsweren’tdivorcedand
therewerenocustodyissues.Youneedtoknowthisfamily’ssecrets.Youneedtoknowtheminside
andout—andyouneedtofigureouthowsomeonegotthatlittlegirloutofthismall.Whatdoyou
do?”
Ilookedaroundatthemall,atthepeoplehere.“Securityfootage?”Iasked.
“Nothing,”Lockesaidtersely.“There’snophysicalevidence,notevenascrap.”
Deanspokeup.“Shedidn’tcry.”AgentLockenodded,andhecontinued.“EvenatChristmastime,
eveninacrowd,I’mnotgoingtoriskforciblygrabbingakidwhosemotheristhreefeetaway.”
Icouldn’tquitebringmyselftogetintheabductor ’shead,soIdidthenextbestthing.Igotinto
Annabelle’s.“Iseesomeone.MaybeIknowhim.MaybehehassomethingIwant.Ormaybehe
droppedsomethingandIwanttogiveitback.”Ipaused.“I’mnottheonecryingandbeggingfor
cookies.I’mtheoldersister.I’magoodgirl.I’mmature…soIfollowhim.Justtogetabetterlook,
justtohandsomethingbacktohim,whatever.…”Ipacedoutthesteps.Fiveofthem,andIwas
aroundthecornerandfacingaservicedoor.
Obligingly,Deanwenttoopenit,butitwaslocked.
“MaybeIworkhere,”hesaid.“MaybeI’vejuststolentheaccesscard.Eitherway,I’mprepared.
I’mready.MaybeIwasjustwaitingforachild—anychild—totakethebait.”
“That’sthequestion,isn’tit?”AgentLockesaid.“Wasthisacrimeofopportunityorwasthegirla
specifictarget?Tofindher,you’dneedtoknow.”
Ibackedupandtriedtoplaythescenealloveragain.
“Whatkindofpersonareyoulookingfor?”AgentLockeasked.“Male?Female?What’stheage
range?Intelligence?Education?”
Ilookedatthecookiestore,thentheservicedoor,thenatDean.Thiswaswhathewastalkingabout
thenightbefore.Thiswasthejob.
Allbusiness,IturnedbacktoAgentLocke.“Exactlyhowoldwasthegirl?”
CHAPTER14
“Lockeworkingyoutoohard?”Michaelswoopedinonmeatbreakfast,ahabitofhis,andoneI’d
growntolookforwardtointhepastweek.Everyday,AgentLockeshowedupwithanewchallenge,
andeveryday,Isolvedit.WithDean.
Sometimes,itfeltlikemorningswithMichaelweremyonlyrealbreak.
“Someofuslikeworkinghard,”Itoldhim.
“Asopposedtothoseofuswhoaretheentitledproductofanoh-so-privilegedupbringing?”
Michaelasked,wigglinghiseyebrows.
“Thatwasn’twhatImeant.”
Heleanedoverandtweakedmyponytail.“Likelystory,Colorado.”
“Doyoureallyhateithere?”Iasked.Icouldn’ttellifhelegitimatelydislikedtheprogramorifthe
attitudewasforshow.ThebiggestthingI’dfiguredoutaboutMichaelinthepastweekwasthatthere
wasaverygoodchancethathe’dbeenwearingmasksforlongerthanhe’dbeenworkingfortheFBI
—pretendingtobesomethinghewasn’twassecondnature.
“Let’sjustsaythatIhavetherareabilitytobedissatisfiedwhereverIam,”Michaelsaid,“although
I’mstartingtothinkthisplacehasitsperks.”Thistime,insteadofmessingwithmyponytail,he
pushedastraypieceofhairoutofmyface.
“Cassie.”Dean’svoicetookmebysurprise,andIjumped.“Locke’shere.”
“Allworkandnoplay,”Michaelwhispered.
Iignoredhim—andwenttowork.
———
“One.Two.Three.”AgentLockesetthepicturesdownoneatatime.“Four,five,six,andseven.”
Tworowsofpictures—threeinonerowandfourintheother—staredupatmefromthekitchen
table.Eachpicturecontainedabody:glassyeyes,limbssplayedeverywhichway.
“AmIinterrupting?”
Locke,Dean,andIturnedtoseeJuddinthedoorway.“Yes,”Lockesaidwithasmile.“Youare.
Whatcanwedoforyou,Judd?”
Theoldermanbitbackasmileofhisown.“You,younglady,canpointmeinBriggs’sdirection.”
“Briggsisoutdoingsomelegworkonacase,”Lockereplied.“It’sjustmetoday.”
Juddwassilentforamoment.Hiseyesfellonthepicturesonthekitchentable,andheraisedan
eyebrowatLocke.“Cleanupwhenyou’redone.”
Withthat,Juddleftustoourowndevices,andIturnedmyattentionbacktothephotographs.The
threeonthetoprowfeaturedwomenlyinglifelessonpavement.Thefouronthebottomwere
indoors:twoonbeds,oneonthekitchenfloor,oneinabathtub.Threeofthevictimshadbeen
stabbed.Twohadbeenshot.Onehadbeenbludgeoned,andonehadbeenstrangled.
Iforcedmyselftostareatthepictures.IfIblinked,ifIturnedaway,ifIflinched,Imightnotbe
abletolookback.Besideme,Deanwaslookingatthepictures,too.Hescannedthem,lefttoright,up
anddown,likehewastakinginventory,likethebodiesinthesepictureshadn’teverbeenpeople:
somebody’smother,somebody’slove.
“Sevenbodies,”AgentLockesaid.“Fivekillers.Threeofthesewomenwerekilledbythesame
man.Theremainingfourweretheworkoffourdifferentkillers.”AgentLocketappedlightlyonthe
topofeachphoto,bringingmyeyesfromonetothenext.“Differentvictims,differentlocations,
differentweapons.What’ssignificant?What’snot?Asprofilers,alargepartofourjobisidentifying
patterns.Therearemillionsofunsolvedcasesoutthere.Howdoyouknowifthekilleryou’re
trackingisresponsibleforanyofthem?”
IcouldnevertellwhenAgentLockewasaskingarhetoricalquestionandwhensheexpectedan
answer.Afewsecondsofkeepingmymouthshuttoldmethatthiswasaninstanceofthefirst.
AgentLocketurnedtoDean.“CaretoexplaintoCassiethedifferencebetweenakiller ’sMOand
theirsignature?”
Deantorehisattentionawayfromthephotosandforcedhimselftolookatme.Studyingmutilated
bodieswasroutine.Talkingtome—apparently,thatwashard.
“MOstandsformodusoperandi,”hesaid,andthat’sasfarashegotbeforeheshiftedhisgaze
frommyfacetoaspotjustovermyleftshoulder.“Modeofoperation.Itreferstothemethodusedby
thekiller.Location,weapon,howtheypickvictims,howtheysubduethem—that’sakiller ’sMO.”
Helookeddownathishands,andIlookedatthem,too.Hispalmswerecalloused,hisfingernails
shortanduneven.Athinwhitescarsnakeditswayfromthebaseofhisrightthumbtotheoutsideof
hiswrist.
“Akiller ’sMOcanchange,”Deancontinued,andItriedtofocusonhiswordsinsteadofhisscar.
“AnUNSUBmightstartoffkillinghisvictimsquickly.He’snotsurehe’llbeabletogetawaywithit,
butwithtimeandexperience,alotofUNSUBsdevelopwaystosavorthekill.Somekillersescalate—
takingmorechances,spacingtheirkillsclosertogether.”
Deanclosedhiseyesforasplitsecondbeforeopeningthemagain.“AnythingaboutanUNSUB’s
MOissubjecttochange,sowhileitcanbeinformativetotracktheMO,it’snotexactlybulletproof.”
Deanfingeredtheclosestpictureagain.“That’swheretheirsignaturecomesin.”
AgentLocketookuptheslackintheexplanation.“AnUNSUB’sMOincludesalloftheelements
necessarytocommitacrimeandevadecapture.Asakiller,youhavetoselectavictim,youhaveto
haveameansofexecutingthecrimeunnoticed,youhavetohaveeitherphysicalprowessorsome
kindofweapontokillthemwith.Youhavetodisposeofthebodyinsomeway.”
AgentLockepointedtothepicturethathadcapturedDean’sattention.
“Butafteryoustabsomeoneintheback,youdon’thavetorollthemoverandposetheirarms,
palmsupattheirsides.”Shestoppedpointing,butkepttalking—aboutotherkillers,otherthingsthat
she’dseeninherworkwiththeFBI.“Youdon’thavetokisstheirforeheadsorcutofftheirlipsor
leaveapieceoforigaminexttothebody.”
AgentLocke’sexpressionwasserious,butnowherenearasdetachedasDean’s.She’dbeendoing
thisjobforawhile,butitstillgottoher—thewayitwouldprobablyalwaysgettome.“Collectively,
werefertotheseextraactions—andwhattheytellusabouttheUNSUB—asasignature.AnUNSUB’s
signaturetellsussomethingabouthisorherunderlyingpsychology:fantasies,deep-seatedneeds,
emotions.”
Deanlookeddownathishands.“Thoseneeds,thosefantasies,thoseemotions,”hesaid,“they
don’tchange.Akillercanswitchweapons,theycanstartkillingonaquickerschedule,theycan
changevenues,theycanstarttargetingadifferentclassofvictims—buttheirsignaturestaysthe
same.”
Iturnedmyattentionbacktothepictures.Threeofthewomenhadbeenstabbed:twoinbackalleys,
oneinherownkitchen.Thewomaninthekitchenhadfought;fromthelooksofthepictures,the
othertwohadneverhadachance.
“Thesetwo,”Isaid,pullingoutthefirsttwostabbingpictures.“Thekillersurprisedthem.Yousaid
theUNSUBstabbedthisonefrombehind.”Iindicatedthegirlontheleft.“Aftershewasdead—or
closeenoughtoitthatshecouldn’tputupmuchofafight—heturnedherover.Soshecouldseehim.”
ThiswaswhatAgentLockewastalkingaboutwhensheusedthephrasedeep-seatedneed.The
killerhadattackedthisgirlfrombehind,butitwasimportanttohim—forwhateverreason—thatshe
seehisfaceandthatheseehers.
“Don’tsayhe,”Deansaid.Heshifted,andsuddenly,Icouldfeeltheheatfromhisbody.“Sayyou,
Cassie.OrsayI.”
“Fine,”Isaid.Istoppedtalkingaboutthekiller—andstartedtalkingtohim.“Youwantthemtosee
you.Youwanttostandoverthem.Andastheylietheredying,ormaybeevenafterthey’redead,you
can’thelpbuttouchthem.Youstraightentheirclothes.Youlaytheirarmsouttotheside.”Istaredat
thepictureofthegirlhe’dattackedfrombehind,andsomethingelsestruckmeaboutit.“Youthink
they’rebeautiful,butgirlslikethat,womenlikethat,theyneverevenseeyou.”Ipaused.“Soyou
makethemseeyou.”
Ilookedatthenextpicture:anotherwoman,stabbedandfounddeadonthepavement.Likethefirst,
she’dbeenchosenforconvenience.Butaccordingtothenotesonthepicture,shehadn’tbeenstabbed
frombehind.
“Itwasn’tenough,”Isaid.“Turningheroveraftershedied,itwasn’tenough.Soyoutookthenext
onefromthefront.”
Likethefirstvictim,thisonehadbeenlaidcarefullyonherback,herhairfannedaroundherface
inanunnaturalhalo.Withouteventhinkingaboutit,Itookthethirdpictureonthetoprow—agunshot
victimwho’ddiedrunning—andsetitaside.Thatwasn’ttheworkofthesameUNSUB.Itwasquick
andclean,andtherewasn’tawhiffofdesireaboutit.
Turningmyattentiontothebottomrowofpictures,Iscannedthem,tryingtokeepmyemotionsin
checkthewayDeandid.OneofthesefourwomenhadbeenkilledbythesameUNSUBasthefirst
two.Theeasyanswer—andthewrongone—wouldhavebeenthethirdstabbingvictim,butshe’dbeen
stabbedinthekitchen,withaknifefromherowndrawer.She’dfought,she’ddiedbloody,andthe
killerhadleftherthere,herskirtonsideways,herbodycontorted.
Youneedtoseethem,Itoldthekillersilently,picturinghissilhouetteinmymind.Youneedthemto
seeyou.Theyneedtobebeautiful.
Thisthirdvictimhadbeenkilledafterthefirsttwo.TheUNSUB’sMOhadchanged:different
weapon,differentlocation.Butdeepdown,thekillerhadn’tchanged.Hewasstillthesameperson
withthesamesickunderlyingneeds.
Everytimeyoukill,youneedmore.Youneedtobebetter.Sheneedstobebetter.Killingwomenon
thestreetwasn’tenoughanymore.Youdidn’twantaquickieinabackalley.Youwantedarelationship.
Awoman.Ahome.
Izeroedinonthetwowomenwho’dbeenkilledintheirbedrooms.Bothhadbeenfoundlyingon
theirbeds.Onehadbeenshot.Theotherhadbeenstrangled.
Youcatchheratnight.Inherhouse.Inherbedroom.Shedoesn’tlookthroughyounow,doesshe?
She’snottoogoodforyounow.
ItriedtoimaginetheUNSUBshootingawoman,butthemathonthatonejustdidnotcompute.
Youwanthertoseeyou.Youwanttotouchher.Youwanttofeelthelifegoingoutofher,littleby
little.
“Thiswasthelastone,”Isaid,pointingtothewomanwho’dbeenstrangledinherownbed.
“DifferentMO.Samesignature.”
Thiswomanhaddiedwatchinghim,andhe’dposedher,proppedherheaduponapillow,fanning
herbrownhairoutaroundherdeath-stillface.
Suddenly,Iwasnauseous.Itwasn’tjustwhathadbeendonetothesewomen.Itwasthatfora
moment,I’dconnectedwiththepersonwho’ddoneit.I’dunderstood.
Ifeltahand,warmandsteady,onthebackofmyneck.Dean.
“You’refine,”hesaid.“It’llpass.”
Thisfromtheboywho’dneverwantedmetogototheplaceI’djustgone.
“Justbreathe,”hetoldme,darkeyesmakingacarefulstudyofmine.Ireturnedthefavor,
concentratingonhisface—here,now,thismoment,nothingelse.
“Youokay,Cass?”AgentLockesoundedworriedinspiteofherself.Icouldpracticallyseeher
wonderingifshe’dpushedmetoofar,toofast.
“I’mfine,”Isaid.
“Liar.”Liastrolledintothekitchenlikeamodelonacatwalk,butforonce,Iwasgladforthe
distraction.
“Okay,”Isaid,amendingmypreviousstatement.“I’mnotfine,butIwillbe.”Iturnedaroundand
metLia’seyes.“Satisfied?”
Shesmiled.“Delighted.”
AgentLockeclearedherthroatandadoptedasternexpressionthatremindedmeofAgentBriggs.
“We’restillworkinghere,Lia.”
Lialookedatme,thenatDean,whodroppedhishandstohisside.“No,”shesaid.“You’renot.”
Iwasn’tsureifLiawascallingLockeoutonalieortellingtheagenttobackoff.Ialsowasn’tsure
whethershewasdoingitforme—orforDean.
“Fine,”AgentLockecapitulated.“Mybrilliantlectureonthedifferencebetweenorganizedand
disorganizedkillerscanwaituntiltomorrow.”Herphonevibrated.Shepickeditup,glancedatthe
screenforafewseconds,andthencorrectedherself.“Andby‘tomorrow,’”shesaid,“Imean
Monday.Haveagoodweekend.”
“Somebodyhasacase,”Liasaid,hereyeslightingup.
“Somebodyhastojet,”AgentLockereplied.“Norestforthewicked,andasmuchasI’dloveto
takeahumanliedetectorwithmetoacrimescene,Lia,that’snotwhatthisprogramis.Youknow
that.”
I’dgottennauseousoverpictures,long-deadwomen,andakillerwho’dalreadybeenconvicted.
Lockewastalkingaboutanactivecrimescene.
Afreshbody.
“You’reright,”Deansaid,steppinginbetweenLiaandLocke.“That’snotwhatthisprogramis,”
hetoldtheagent,andevenfrombehind,Icouldpicturethelookinhiseyes—intenseandfullof
warning.“Notanymore.”
YOU
You’regettingsloppy,killingsoclosetohome,leavingthebodiesspreadthroughoutthebackstreetsof
thecapital,likeHanselandGreteldroppingmoreandmorebreadcrumbsthefartherintotheforest
theygo.
Butfromthemomentyoufirstlaideyesonher,it’sbeenhardertopushbackthedesiretokill,
hardertorememberwhyyoumakeitapointnottoplayinyourownbackyard.
Maybethisisthewayit’ssupposedtobe.Maybeit’sfate.
Timetofinishwhatyoustarted.
Timetogettheirattention.
Timetocomehome.
CHAPTER15
IwokeuponSaturdayatnoontotwosounds:theshufflingofcardsandthefaint,high-pitchedwhir
ofmetalonmetal.Iopenedmyeyesandturnedoverontomyside.Sloanewassittingcross-leggedon
herbed,amuginonehandandtheotherdealingoutcards:sevencolumns,adifferentnumberof
cardsineachone,allofthemfacedown.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Iasked.
Sloanestaredatthebacksofthecardsforamomentandthenpickedoneupandmovedit.
“Solitaire,”shesaid.
“Butallofthecardsarefacedown.”
“Yes.”Sloanetookasipfromhermug.
“HowcanyouplaySolitaireifallofthecardsarefacedown?”
Sloaneshrugged.“Howcanyouplaywithsomeofthemfaceup?”
“Sloaneissomethingofacardshark.BriggsfoundherinVegas.”Liastuckherheadoutofthe
closet.“Ifsheskimsthedeckonce,shecanmoreorlesstrackthecards,evenoncethey’reshuffled.”
IregisteredthefactthatLiawasinourcloset.Metalonmetal,Ithought.Metalhangerssliding
acrossametalrack.
“Hey,”Isaid,takingabetterlookatLia’scurrentattire.“That’smydress.”
“Minenow.”Liasmiled.“Didn’ttheFBIwarnyouthatIhavestickyfingers?Kleptomania,
pathologicallying—it’sallthesame,really.”
IthoughtLiawasjoking,butIcouldn’tbesure.
“Kidding,”sheconfirmedafterafewseconds.“Aboutthekleptomania,notaboutthefactthatI
havenointentionofgivingthisdressback.Honestly,Sloaneisthekleptointhishouse,butthisreally
ismoremycolorthanyours.”
IturnedtoSloane,who’dratchetedthespeedofhergameupanotch—orthree.
“Sloane,”Isaid.
“Yes?”
“WhyisLiapokingaroundinourcloset?”
Sloanelookedup,butdidn’tstopplaying.“Motivationisreallymoreyourdomainthanmine.I
findmostpeoplesomewhatbewildering.”
Irephrasedthequestion.“WhywouldyouletLiapokearoundinourcloset?”
“Oh,”Sloanesaid,onceshetookmymeaning.“Shebroughtabribe.”
“Bribe?”Iasked.AndthatwaswhenIrealizedwhat,exactly,wasinSloane’smug.
“Youbroughthercoffee?”
Liasmoothedahandoverthefrontofmydress.“Guiltyascharged.”
———
Sloaneoncoffeewasabitlikeanauctioneeronspeed.Thenumberspouredoutofhermouthrapid-
fire,astatisticforeveryoccasion.Foreighthours.
“SixteenpercentofAmericanmenhaveblueeyes,”sheinformedmeblithely.“Butoverforty
percentofmaleTVdoctorsdo.”
WatchingTVwithahyped-upstatisticianwouldhavebeenchallengingenough,butSloanewasn’t
theonlyonewho’dfollowedmetothemediaroomafterdinner.
“Hermouthsays,Iloveyou,Darren,butherposturesays,Ican’tbelievethewritersaredoingthis
tomycharacter—shewouldnevergetinvolvedwiththisschmuck!”Michaelpoppedapieceof
popcornintohismouth.
“Doyoumind?”Iaskedhim,gesturingtowardthescreen.
Hegrinned.“Notatall.”
Itriedtotunethetwoofthemout,buttheeffortwasfutile.Icouldn’tgetlostinthemedical
melodramaanymorethantheycould,becauseallIcouldthink—overandoveragain—wasthatDr.
DarrentheSchmuck’sBPEsimplydidnotaddup.
“WecouldswitchtorealityTV,”Michaelsuggested.
“Roughlyonepercentofthepopulationareconsideredtobepsychopaths,”Sloaneannounced.
“Recentestimatessuggestthatoverfourteenpercentofrealitytelevisionstarsare.”
“Whoseestimates?”Michaelasked.
SloanesmiledlikeaCheshirecat.“Mine.”
Michaelputhishandsbehindhisheadandleanedback.“Forgetstudyingkillers.Let’sarrest
fourteenpercentofallrealitytelevisionstarsandcallitaday.”
Sloaneslouchedinherchairandtoyedwiththeendofherponytail.“Beingapsychopathisn’ta
crime,”shesaid.
“Areyoudefendingpsychopaths?”Michaelasked,archingoneeyebrowtoridiculousheights.
“Thisiswhywedon’tgiveyoucoffee.”
“Hey,”Sloanesaiddefensively,“I’mjustsayingthatstatistically,apsychopathismorelikelyto
endupasaCEOthanaserialkiller.”
“Ahem.”LiawastheonlypersonIknewwhowouldactuallysaythewordahemtoannounceher
presence.Onceshehadourattention,shelookedateachoneofusinturn.“Juddjustleftforanight
onthetownwithanoldfriend.Wehavethehousetoourselves.”Sheclaspedherhandstogetherin
frontofherbody.“Livingroom.Fifteenminutes.Comeprepared.”
“Preparedforwhat?”Iasked,butbeforethequestionhadfullyexitedmymouth,shewasgone.
“Thatprobablydoesnotbodewell.”Michael’swordsdidn’tsoundmuchlikeacomplaint.He
stood.“I’llseeyouladiesinfifteen.”
AsIwatchedhimwalkoutthedoor,Icouldn’thelpthinkingthatI’dspentmostofmylifeasan
observer,andLiawasthetypetopullpeopleoffthesidelines.
“Anyguesseswhatwe’regettingourselvesinto?”IaskedSloane.
“Basedonpreviousexperience,”Sloanereplied,“myguesswouldbetrouble.”
CHAPTER16
MichaelandDeanwerealreadyinthelivingroomwhenSloaneandIarrived.Inthepastfourteen
minutes,myblondcompanionhadquieted,liketheEnergizerBunnypoweringdown.Shetookaseat
onthesofanexttoMichael.Isatdownnexttoher.Acrossfromus,Deanwassittingontheedgeofthe
fireplace,hisgazelockedonthefloor,hairinhisface.
Sofa,chairs,pillows,rug,Ithought.Andhechoosestositonstone.
IflashedbacktothefirsttimeI’dseenhim,liftingweightsandpushinghisbodytothebrink.My
veryfirstimpressionhadbeenthathewaspunishinghimself.
“Gladtoseeyouallmadeit.”Liadidn’tjustwalkintoaroom;shemadeanentrance.Alleyeson
her,shesanktothefloorandstretchedherlegsout,crossingherfeetattheanklesandspreadingmy
dressoutaroundher.“Foryourentertainmentthisevening:TruthorDare.”Shepaused,rakingher
eyesovertherestofus.“Anyobjections?”
Deanopenedhismouth.
“No,”Liatoldhim.
“Youaskedforobjections,”Deansaid.
Liashookherhead.“Youdon’tgettoobject.”
“DoI?”Michaelasked.
Liaconsideredthequestion.“Doyouwantto?”
Michaelglancedatme,thenbackatLia.“Notparticularly.”
“Then,yes,”Liareplied.“Youdo.”
Besideme,Sloaneraisedherhand.
“Yes,Sloane?”Liasaidpleasantly.Apparently,shewasn’tconcernedthatourresidentnumbersgirl
mightobject.
“I’mfamiliarwiththegistofthegame,butI’munclearononething.”Sloane’seyesgleamed.
“Howdoyouwin?”
Michaelgrinned.“Youhavetoloveagirlwithacompetitivestreak.”
“Youdon’twinTruthorDare,”Isaid.Infact,Ideeplysuspectedthiswasthekindofgamethat
everybodylost.
“Isthatanobjection?”Liaasked.
Fromacrosstheroom,DeanwastelegraphingthewordsSAYYEStome,asclearlyasifhe’dhired
aplanetowritetheminthesky.AndifI’dbeeninaroomwithanyotherteenagersontheplanet,I
wouldhave.ButIwasinaroomwithMichael,whoIcouldn’tquiteprofile,andDean,who’dsaidthe
otherdaythatNaturalsdidn’tworkonactivecasesanymore.Ihadquestions,andthiswastheonlyway
Iwasgoingtogettoaskthem.
“No,”ItoldLia.“Thatwasn’tanobjection.Let’splay.”
AslowsmilespreadacrossLia’sface.Deanbangedhisheadbackagainstthefireplace.
“CanIgofirst?”Sloaneasked.
“Sure,”Liarepliedsmoothly.“Truthordare,Sloane?”
Sloanegaveheralook.“That’snotwhatImeant.”
Liashrugged.“Truth.Or.Dare.”
“Truth.”
InanormalgameofTruthorDare,thatwouldhavebeenthesaferoption—becauseifthequestion
wastooembarrassing,youcouldalwayslie.WithLiaintheroom,thatwasimpossible.
“Doyouknowwhoyourfatheris?”
Lia’squestiontookmecompletelyoffguard.I’dspentmostofmylifenotknowingwhomyown
fatherwas,butcouldn’timaginebeingforcedtoadmitthatinfrontofacrowd.Liaseemedfondof
Sloane,moreorless,butclearly,inTruthorDare,thekidglovescameoff.
SloanemetLia’seyes,unfazed.“Yes,”shesaid.“Ido.”
“Aswingandamiss,”Michaelmurmured.Liagavehimadirtylook.
“Yourturn,”shetoldSloane,andfromthelookonherface,Iguessedshewasbracingherselffor
payback—butSloaneturnedtome.
“Cassie.Truthordare?”
ItriedtoimaginewhatkindofdareSloanemightcomeupwith,butdrewablank.
“Statistically,themostcommondaresinvolveeatingunpleasantfood,makingprankphonecalls,
kissinganotherplayer,lickingsomethingunsanitary,andnudity,”Sloanesaidhelpfully.
“Truth.”
Sloanewassilentforseveralseconds.“Howmanypeopledoyoulove?”
ThequestionseemedharmlessenoughuntilIstartedthinkingaboutmyanswer.Sloane’sblueeyes
searchedmine,andIgotthedistinctfeelingthatshewasn’taskingbecauseshethoughtitwouldbe
amusingtohearmyanswer.
Shewasaskingbecausesheneededdatapointstocomparetoherown.
“HowmanypeopledoIlove?”Irepeated.“Like…lovehow?”
I’dneverbeeninlove,soifshewastalkingaboutromance,theanswerwaseasy.
“Howmanypeopledoyoulove,total?”Sloanesaid.“Summingacrossfamilial,romantic,andall
othervariations.”
Iwantedtojustchooseanumberatrandom.Fivesoundedgood.Orten.Toomanytocount
soundedbetter,butLiawaswatchingme,verystill.
I’dlovedmymother.Thatmuchwaseasy.AndNonnaandmyfatherandtherest—Ilovedthem.
Didn’tI?Theyweremyfamily.Theylovedme.JustbecauseIwasn’tshowyaboutitdidn’tmeanthatI
didn’tlovethemback.I’ddonewhatIcouldtomakethemhappy.Itriednottohurtthem.
ButdidIreallylovethem,thewayI’dlovedmymom?CouldIloveanyonelikethatagain?
“One.”Ibarelymanagedtogetthewordoutofmymouth.IstaredatLia,hopingshe’dtellmethat
wasn’ttrue,thatlosingmymomhadn’tbrokensomethinginsideofmeandIwasn’tdestinedtospend
therestofmylifetwoshadesremovedfromthekindoflovethattherestofmyfamilyfeltforme.
Liaheldmygazeforafewseconds,thenshrugged.“Yourturn,Cassie.”
ItriedtorememberwhyI’dthoughtplayingthisgamewasagoodidea.“Michael,”Isaidfinally.
“Truthordare?”
ThereweresomanythingsIwantedtoaskhim—whathereallythoughtoftheprogram,whathis
fatherwaslike,beyondtheissueoftaxfraud,whethertherehadeverbeenmoretohisrelationship
withLiathantradingverbalbarbs.ButIdidn’tgetachancetoaskanyofthosequestions,because
Michaelleanedforwardinhisseat,hiseyesgleaming.“Dare.”
Ofcoursehewasn’tgoingtoletmedigaroundinhisbrain.Ofcoursehewasgoingtomakeme
issuethefirstdareofthegame.Irackedmybrainforsomethingthatdidn’tsoundlame,butalso
didn’tinvolvekissing,nudity,oranythingthatmightgiveMichaelanexcusefortrouble.
“Hitmewithyourbestshot,Colorado.”Michaelwasenjoyingthiswaytoomuch.Ihadafeeling
hewashopingthatIwoulddarehimtodosomethingalittlebitdangerous,somethingthatwouldget
hisadrenalinepumping.
SomethingBriggswoulddisapproveof.
“Idareyou…”Isaidthewordsslowly,hopingananswerwouldpresentitself.“…todance
ballet.”
EvenIwasn’tsurewherethatcamefrom.
“What?”Michaelsaid.Clearly,he’dbeenexpectingsomethingalittlemoreexciting,oratthevery
leastrisqué.
“Ballet,”Irepeated.“Rightthere.”Ipointedtothecenteroftherug.“Dance.”
Liastartedcrackingup.EvenDeanbitbackasmile.
“BalletisatraditionofperformancebodymovementhailingbacktotheearlyRenaissance,”
Sloanesaidhelpfully.“ItisparticularlypopularinRussia,France,Italy,England,andtheUnited
States.”
Michaelstoppedherbeforeshecouldorateanentirehistoryoftheart.“I’vegotthis,”hesaid.And
then,asolemnexpressiononhisface,hestoodup,hewalkedtothecenteroftheroom,andhestruck
apose.
I’dseenMichaeldosmooth.I’dseenhimdosuave.I’dfelthimpushapieceofhairoutofmyface
—butthis.Thiswasreallysomething.Hestoodonhistippy-toes.Hetwirledinacircle.Hebenthis
legsandstuckouthisbutt.Butthebestthingwasthelookinhiseyes:cold,steelydetermination.
Hecappedtheperformanceoffwithacurtsy.
“Verynice,”Isaidbetweenhystericalgiggles.Hesankbackontothesofaandthenturneddagger
eyesonLia.
“Truthordare.”
Notsurprisingly,Liachosetruth.Ofallofus,shewasprobablytheonlyoneherewhocouldlie
andgetawaywithit.
Michaelsmiled,asgenialasLiahadbeenwhenshe’dstartedthiswholething.“What’syourreal
name?”
Forafewbriefseconds,vulnerabilityandirritationpassedoverLia’sfeaturesinquicksuccession.
“Yournameisn’tLia?”SloanesoundedstrangelyhurtattheideathatLiamighthaveliedabout
somethingassimpleandbasicasherownname.
“Yes,”Liatoldher.“Itis.”
MichaelstaredatLia,raisinghiseyebrowseversoslightly.
“Butonceuponatime,”Liasaid,soundinglessandlesslikeherselfwitheveryword,“myname
usedtobeSadie.”
Lia’sanswerfilledmymindwithquestions.ItriedtopictureherasaSadie.Hadsheshedherold
nameaseasilyasshechangedclothes?Whyhadshechangedit?HowhadMichaelknown?
“Truthordare…”Liadraggedhereyesacrosseachofus,onebyone,andIsensedsomething
darkslowlyunfurlinginsideofher.Thiswasn’tgoingtoendwell.
“Cassie.”
Itdidn’tseemfairthatitwasmyturnagainalready,whenDeanhadyettogo,butIsteppedupto
theplate.
“Dare.”Idon’tknowwhatpossessedmetochoosethatoption,otherthanthefactthatthelookon
Lia’sfaceconvincedmethatshe’dmakeSloane’squestionlookaboutaspersonalasaninquiryabout
theweather.
Liabeamedatme,andthenbeamedatMichael.Payback.
“Idareyou,”Liasaid,relishingeachandeveryword,“tokissDean.”
Deanreactedtothatsentencelikehe’dbeenelectrocuted.Hesatstraightup.“Lia,”hesaidsharply.
“No.”
“Oh,comenow,Dean,”Liacajoled.“It’sTruthorDare.Takeonefortheteam.”Withoutwaiting
forhisreply,sheturnedbacktome.“Kisshim,Cassie.”
Ididn’tknowwhatwasworse,Dean’sobjectiontotheideaofbeingforcedtokissmeorthe
suddenrealizationthatmybodydidn’tobjecttotheideaofkissinghim.Ithoughtofourlessonswith
Locke,thefeelofhishandonthebackofmyneck.…
Liawatchedmeexpectantly,butMichael’seyesweretheonesIfeltonmyfaceasIcrossedthe
roomtostandinfrontofDean.
Ididn’thavetodothis.
Icouldsayno.
Deanlookedupatme,andforasplitsecond,Isawsomethingotherthandeadlyneutralityonhis
face.Hiseyessoftened.Hislipsparted,liketherewassomethinghewantedtosay.
Ikneltnexttothefireplace.Iputonehandonhischeek,andIbroughtmylipstohis.Itwasa
friendlykiss.AEuropeanhello.Ourmouthsonlytouchedforasecond—butIfeltit,electric,allthe
waytomytoes.
Ipulledback,unabletoforcemyeyesawayfromhislipsasIdid.Forafewseconds,wejust
stayedthere,staringateachother:himonthefireplaceandmekneelingontherug.
“Yourturn,Cassie.”Liasoundedprettydarnedsatisfiedwithherself.
Iforcedmyselftostandupandwalkbacktothesofa.Isatdown,stillabletofeeltheghostof
Dean’slipsonmine.“Truthordare,Dean?”
Itwasonlyfair:hewasthesolepersonpresentwhohadn’tbeeninthehotseatyet.Forasecond,I
thoughthemightrefuseandcallanendtothisgame,buthedidn’t.
“Truth.”
ThiswastheopportunityMichaelhadn’tgivenme.ThereweresomanythingsIwantedtoknow.I
concentratedonthat,insteadofwhathadpassedbetweenusamomentbefore.
“Theotherday,whenLockesaidshecouldn’ttakeLiatothecrimescene,yousaidthatwasn’twhat
theprogramwasanymore.”Ipaused.“Whatdidyoumean?”
Deannodded,asifthatwereaperfectlyreasonablequestiontoaskafteryou’dkissedaperson.“I
wasthefirstone,”hesaid.“Beforetherewasaprogram,beforetheystartedusingthetermNaturals,
itwasjustBriggsandme.Ididn’tlivewithJudd.TheFBIbrassdidn’tknowaboutme.Briggs
broughtmequestions.Igavehimanswers.”
“Questionsaboutkillers.”Iwasn’tallowedafollow-upquestion,soIphraseditasastatement.
Deannodded.Liacutin,breakingoffallconversation.
“Hewastwelve,”shesaid,clippingthewords.“Yourturn,Dean.”
“Cassie,”Deansaid.Thatwasit—no“truthordare.”Justmyname.
Besideme,Michael’sjawclenched.Lia’spaybackhadhititstarget—andthensome.
“Truth,”Isaid,tryingnottodwellonMichael’sreactionorwhatitmightmean.
“Whydidyoucomehere?”Deanasked,lookingatLia,athisownhands,atanythingbutme.“Why
jointhisprogramatall?”
Therewerealotofanswerstothatquestionthatwouldhavebeentechnicallytrue.Icouldhavesaid
thatIwantedtohelppeople.IcouldhavesaidthatI’dalwaysknownthatI’dneverquitefitinthe
regularworld.ButIdidn’t.
“Mymotherwasmurdered.”Iclearedmythroat,tryingtosaythewordsliketheywerejustany
otherwords.“Fiveyearsago.Basedonthebloodspatter,theythinkshewasstabbed.Repeatedly.The
policeneverfoundherbody,buttherewasenoughbloodthattheydon’tthinkshecouldhave
survived.Iusedtothinkthatmaybeshehad.Idon’tanymore.”
Deandidn’treactvisiblytothatconfession—butLiawentunnaturallystill,andSloane’smouth
droppedopenassheavertedhereyes.Michaelhadknownaboutmymother,butI’dneversaidaword
toanyoftheothers.
Truthordare,Dean.Iwantedtosaythewords,butIcouldn’tkeepaskingDeanquestions.Already,
we’dkeptthisgamebetweenthetwoofusfortoolong.“Truthordare,Lia?”
“Truth.”Liasaidthewordlikeachallenge.Iaskedherwhethershewasmessyorneat.She
loweredherchin,raisedhereyebrows,andstaredatme.
“Seriously,”shesaid.“That’syourquestion?”
“That’smyquestion,”Iconfirmed.
“I’mamess,”shesaid.“Byeverysenseoftheword.”Shedidn’tgivemetimetomeditateonthe
factthatI’dpeggedherrightbeforeshetargetedMichaelforthenextround.Iexpectedhimtopick
dareagain,buthedidn’t.
“Truth.”
Liarandaintyhandsoverherdress.Shegavehimhermostwide-eyed,innocentlook.Thenshe
askedhimifhewasjealouswhenIkissedDean.Michaeldidn’tbataneye,butIthoughtDeanmight
actuallythrottleLia.
“Idon’tgetjealous,”Michaelsaid.“Igeteven.”
NoonewassurprisedwhenMichaelaimedthenextroundatDean.
“Truthordare,Dean?”
“Truth.”Dean’seyesnarrowed,andIrememberedLiasayingthatifDeanhadatemper,Michael
wouldhavebeendeadbynow.Iwaited,mystomachheavyandmythroatdry,forMichaeltoaskDean
somethinghorrible.
Buthedidn’t.
“HaveyoueverseenTheBadSeed?”heinquiredpolitely.“Themovie.”
AmuscleinDean’sjawtwitched.“No.”
Michaelgrinned.“Ihave.”
Deanstoodup.“I’mdonehere.”
“Dean—”Lia’stonewashalfwaybetweenmulishandwheedling,buthesilencedherwithalook.
Twosecondslater,hewasstalkingoutoftheroom,andafewsecondsafterthat,Iheardthefront
dooropen,thenslam.
Deanwasgone—andapersondidn’thavetobeanemotionreadertoseethelookofsatisfaction
onMichael’sface.
YOU
Everyhour,everyday,youthinkaboutTheGirl.Butit’snottimeforthegrandfinale.Notyet.Instead,
youfindanothertoyatalittleshopinDupontCircle.You’vehadyoureyeonherforawhile,but
resistedtheurgetoaddhertoyourcollection.Shewastooclosetohome,inanareathatwastoo
denselypopulated.
Butrightnow,theso-calledMadameSeleneisjustwhatyouneed.Bodiesarebodies,butapalm
reader—there’sacertainpoetrytothat.Amessageyouwant—need—havetosend.Itwouldbesimpler
tokillherintheshop,todriveaknifethrougheachpalmandleaveherbodyondisplay,butyou’ve
workedsohardthisweek.
Youdeservealittletreat.
Takingheriseasy.You’reaghost.Astrangerwithcandy.Asympatheticear.WhenMadameSelene
wakesupinthewarehouse,shewon’tbelievethatyou’retheonewho’sdonethistoher.
Notatfirst.
Buteventually,she’llsee.
Yousmile,thinkingabouttheinevitabilityofitall.Youtouchthetipsofherbrownhairandpickup
thehandyboxofRedDyeNumber12.Youhumunderyourbreath,achildren’ssongthattakesyou
backtothebeginning,backtothefirst.
Thepalmreader’seyesflickeropen.Herhandsarebound.Sheseesyou.Thensheseesthehairdye,
theknifeinyourlefthand,andsherealizes.—
Youarethemonster.
Andthistime,youdeservetotakethingsslow.
CHAPTER17
WhenAgentLockeshowedupMondaymorning,shehaddarkcirclesunderhereyes.Belatedly,I
rememberedthatwhilewe’dbeenwatchingTVandplayingTruthorDare,sheandBriggshadbeen
outworkingacase.Arealcase,withrealstakes.
Arealkiller.
Foralongtime,Lockedidn’tsayanything.“BriggsandIhitabrickwallthisweekend,”shesaid
finally.“We’vegotthreebodies,andthekillerisescalating.”Sheranahandthroughhairthatlooked
likeithadbeenonlyhaphazardlybrushed.“That’snotyourproblem.It’smine,butthiscasehas
remindedmethattheUNSUBisonlyhalfthestory.Dean,whatcanyoutellCassieabout
victimology?”
Deanstaredholesinthecountertop.Ihadn’tseenhimsinceTruthorDare,butitwaslikenothing
hadchangedbetweenus,likewe’dneverkissed.
“Mostkillershaveatype,”hesaid.“Sometimes,it’saphysicaltype.Forothers,itmaybeamatter
ofconvenience—maybeyoufocusonhikers,becausenoonereportsthemmissingforafewdays,or
students,becauseit’seasytogetaholdoftheirclassschedules.”
AgentLockenodded.“Occasionallythevictimsmaybeservingasasubstituteforsomeoneinthe
UNSUB’slife.Somekillerskilltheirfirstgirlfriendortheirwifeortheirmother,overandover
again.”
“Theotherthingvictimologytellsus,”Deancontinued,flickinghiseyesovertoAgentLocke,“is
howthevictimwouldhavereactedtobeingabductedorattacked.Ifyou’reakiller…”Hepaused,
searchingfortherightwords.“There’sagive-and-takebetweenyouandthepeopleyoukill.You
choosethem.Youtrapthem.Maybetheyfight.Maybetheyrun.Sometrytoreasonwithyou,some
saythingsthatsetyouoff.Eitherway,youreact.”
“Wedon’thavetheluxuryofknowingeverylastdetailabouttheUNSUB’spersonality,”Agent
Lockecutin,“butthevictim’spersonalityandbehavioraccountforhalfofthecrimescene.”
ThemomentIheardthephrasecrimescene,Iflashedbacktoopeningthedoortomymother ’s
dressingroom.I’dalwaysthoughtthatIknewsolittleaboutwhathadhappenedthatday.Bythetime
I’dgottenbacktothedressingroom,thekillerwasgone.Mymotherwasgone.Therewassomuch
blood.…
Victimology,Iremindedmyself.Iknewmymother.Shewouldhavefought—nail-scratching,
breaking-lamps-over-his-head,struggling-for-the-knifefought.Andtherewereonlytwothingsthat
couldhavestoppedher:dyingortherealizationthatIwasduebackintheroomatanysecond.
Whatifshewentwithhim?Thepolicehadassumedshewasdead—orattheveryleastunconscious
—whentheUNSUBhadremovedherfromtheroom.Butmymotherwasn’tasmallwoman,andthe
dressingroomwasonthesecondfloorofthetheater.Undernormalcircumstance,mymother
wouldn’thavejustletakillerwaltzheroutthedoor—butshemighthavedoneanythingtokeepher
assailantawayfromme.
“Cassie?”AgentLockesaid,snappingmebacktothepresent.
“Right,”Isaid.
Shenarrowedhereyes.“Rightwhat?”
“Sorry,”ItoldLocke.“Couldyourepeatwhatyoujustsaid?”
Shegavemealong,appraisinglook,thenrepeatedherself.“Isaidthatwalkingthroughacrime
scenefromavictim’sperspectivecantellyoualotaboutthekiller.Sayyougointoavictim’shouse
andyoufindoutthatshecompulsivelywritesto-dolists,color-codesherclothes,andhasapetfish.
Thiswomanisthethirdvictim,butshe’stheonlyoneofthethreewhodoesn’thavedefensive
wounds.Thekillernormallykeepshisvictimsalivefordays,butthiswomanwaskilledbyastrong
blowtotheheadonthedayshewastaken.Herblousewasbuttonedcrookedlywhentheyfoundher.”
Puttingmyselfintothekiller ’shead,Icouldimaginehimtakingwomen.Playingwiththem.So
whywouldheletthisoneoffeasy?Whyendhisgameearly,whensheshowednosignsoffighting
back?
Becausesheshowednosignsoffightingback.
Iswitchedperspectives,imaginingmyselfasthevictim.I’morganized,orderly,andtypeAinthe
extreme.Iwantapet,butcan’tbringmyselftogetonethatwouldactuallydisruptmylife,soIsettle
forafishinstead.MaybeI’vereadaboutthepreviousmurdersinthepaper.MaybeIknowhowthings
endforthewomenwhofoughtback.
SomaybeIdon’tfightback.Notphysically.
ThethingsLockehadtoldmeaboutthevictimsaidthatshewasawomanwholikedtostayin
control.Shewouldhavetriedreasoningwithherkiller.Shewouldhaveresistedhisattemptsto
controlher.Shemighthaveeventriedtomanipulatehim.Andifshe’dsucceeded,evenforan
instant…
“TheUNSUBkilledtheothersforfun,”Isaid,“buthekilledherinafitofrage.”
Theirinteractionwouldhavebeenagameofcontrolforhim,too—andshewasjustenoughofa
controlfreaktodisruptthat.
“And?”AgentLockeprompted.
Idrewablank.
“Hebuttonedhershirt,”Deansaid.“Ifshe’dbuttonedit,itwouldn’thavebeencrooked.”
Thatobservationsentmymindwhirring.Ifhe’dkilledherinarage,whywouldhehavedressed
herafterward?Ifhe’dundressedher,Icouldunderstandit—thefinalhumiliation,thefinalassertion
ofcontrol.
Youknowher,Ithought.
“TheUNSUB’sfirsttwovictimswerechosenrandomly.”AgentLockemetmyeyes,andfora
second,itfeltlikeshewasreadingmymind.“Weassumedthethirdvictimwasaswell.Wewere
wrong.”Lockerockedbackonherheels.“That’swhyyouneedbothsidesofthecoin.Checksand
balances,victimsandUNSUBs—becauseyou’llalwaysbewrongaboutsomething.You’llalways
misssomething.Whatifthere’sapersonalconnection?WhatiftheUNSUBisolderthanyou
thought?Whatifheisashe?WhatiftherearetwoUNSUBsworkingasapair?Whatifthekilleris
justakidhimself?”
Iknewsuddenlythatweweren’ttalkingaboutthetypeAwomanandthemanwho’dkilledher
anymore.WeweretalkingaboutthedoubtsplaguingLockerightnow,theassumptionsshe’dmadeon
hercurrentcase.WeweretalkingaboutanUNSUBthatLockeandBriggshadn’tbeenabletocatch.
“Ninetypercentofallserialkillersaremale.”Sloaneannouncedherpresence,thenwalkedupto
joinus.“Seventy-sixpercentareAmerican,withasubstantialpercentageofserialmurders
concentratedinCalifornia,Texas,NewYork,andIllinois.Thevastmajorityofserialkillersare
Caucasian,andovereighty-ninepercentofvictimsofserialcrimesareCaucasianaswell.”
Icouldnothelpnoticingthatshespokesignificantlyslowerwhennotundertheinfluenceof
caffeine.
BriggsfollowedSloaneintotheroom.“Lacey.”HegotAgentLocke’sattention.“Ijustgotacall
fromStarmans.Wehavebodynumberfour.”
Thinkingaboutthosewords—andwhattheymeant—feltlikeeavesdropping,butIcouldn’thelp
myself.Anotherbody.Anotherperson,dead.
Lockeclenchedherjaw.“Sameprofile?”sheaskedBriggs.
Briggsgaveabrisk,slightnod.“ApalmreaderinDupontCircle.Andthenationaldatabasesearch
werancamebackwithmorethanonematchforourkiller ’sMO.”
WhatMO?Icouldn’tshakethequestion,anymorethanIcouldstopwonderingwhothisnew
victimwas,ifshe’dhadafamily,whohadtoldthemthatshewasdead.
“Thatbad?”Lockeasked,readingBriggs’sface.IwishedMichaelweretheretohelpmedothe
same.Thiscasewasnoneofmybusiness—butIwantedtoknow.
“Weshouldtalkelsewhere,”Briggssaid.
Elsewhere.AsinsomewherethatSloane,Dean,andIweren’t.
“Youdidn’thavetroublecomingtoDeanforadvicewhenhewastwelve,”Isaid,unabletostop
myself.“Whystopnow?”
Briggs’seyesdartedovertoDean,whomethisgazewithoutblinking.Clearly,thatwasn’t
informationDeanwassupposedtosharewiththerestofus—butjustasclearly,Deanwasn’tgoingto
lookawayfirst.
“Theflowerbedscouldusesomeweeding.”Juddbrokethetension,comingintotheroomtostand
betweenBriggsandDean.“Ifyou’redonewiththekidsforabit,Icanputthemtowork.Mightbe
goodforthemtogettheirhandsdirty,getsomesun.”
JudddirectedthosewordsatAgentBriggs,butLockewastheonewhoreplied.“It’sfine,Judd.”
SheglancedfirstatDean,thenatme.“Theycanstay.Briggs,youweresayingthedatabaseturnedup
morethanonecasewiththesameMO?”
Foramoment,BriggslookedlikehemightarguewithLockeaboutlettingusstay,butshejust
stoodthere,stubbornlywaitinghimout.
Briggsgaveinfirst.“Ourdatabasesearchreturnedthreecasesconsistentwithourkiller ’sMOin
thepastninemonths,”hesaid,clippingeachword.“NewOrleans,LosAngeles,andAmericanFalls.”
“Illinois?”Lockeasked.
Briggsshookhishead.“Idaho.”
Iprocessedthatinformation.IfthecasesBriggswastalkingaboutwererelated,weweredealing
withakillerwho’dcrossedstatelinesandhadbeenkillingforthebetterpartofayear.
“Mygobagisinthecar,”Lockesaid,andsuddenly,Iremembered—weweren’tdealingwith
anything.Lockehadn’tletBriggsshufflethethreeofusoutoftheroom,butattheendoftheday,this
wasn’tatrainingexercise,anditwasn’tmycase,orevenours.
Itwastheirs.
“Weleaveatsixteenhundredhours.”Briggsstraightenedhistie.“IleftworkforLia,Michael,and
Sloane.Locke,doyouhaveanythingforCassieandDean—besidesweedingtheflowerbeds?”he
addedwithaglanceatJudd.
“I’mnotleavingthemacoldcase.”Locketurnedtome,almostapologetically.“Youhavean
incredibleamountofrawtalent,Cass,butyou’vespenttoomuchtimeintherealworldandnot
enoughinours.Notyet.”
“Shecanhandleanythingyouthrowather.”
IlookedatDean,surprised.HewasthelastpersonIexpectedtobemakingthisargumentonmy
behalf.
“Thankyouforthatglowingendorsement,Dean,”Lockesaid,“butI’mnotgoingtorushthis.Not
withher.”Shepaused.“Library,”shetoldme.“Thirdshelffromtheleft.There’saseriesofblue
binders.Prisoninterviews.Makeyourwaythroughthose,andwe’lltalkaboutgettingyoustartedon
coldcaseswhenIgetback.”
“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”Dean’svoicewascuriouslyflat.Lockeshrugged.
“You’retheonewhosaidshewasready.”
CHAPTER18
Thatnight,whenIsnuckouttothepoolforamidnightswim,Deanwasn’ttheonewhojoinedme.
“Iwouldhavepeggedyouforano-nonsenseone-piece,”MichaelsaidasIcameupforairafter
swimminglaps.Hedangledhislegsoverthesideofthepool.“Somethingsporty.”
Iwaswearingatwo-piecebathingsuit—halfwaybetweensportyandabikini.
“ShouldIbeinsulted?”Iasked,swimmingtotheoppositesideofthepoolandpullingmyselfup
ontotheledge.
“No,”Michaelreplied.“Butyouare.”
Hewasright,ofcourse.Inthedimlightofthemoon,Iwonderedhowhecouldevenseemyface,
letalonereadanemotionIwastryingtohide.
“Youlikeithere.”Michaelloweredhimselfintothepool,andforthefirsttime,Iregisteredthe
factthathischestwasbare.“YoulikeAgentLocke.Youlikeallofherlittlelessons.Andyoulikethe
ideaofhelpingoutwithrealcasesevenmore.”
Ididn’tsayanything.Clearly,Michaelwascapableofhavingthisconversationallbyhimself.
“What?Youaren’tevengoingtotrytoprofileme?”Michaelflickedwateratmyknees.“Where’s
thegirlfromthediner?”heaskedme.“Titfortat.”
“Youdon’twanttobeprofiled,”Itoldhim.“Youdon’twantpeopletoknowyou.”Ipaused.“You
don’twantmetoknowyou.”
Hewassilentforonesecond,two,three—andthen,“Truth.”
“Yeah,”Isaidwryly.“Ispeakthetruth.”
“No,”Michaelreplied.“Truth.Isn’tthatwhatyouwantedmetosaylastnight,insteadofdare?”
“Idon’tknow,”Itoldhim,grinning.“Iwouldn’ttradethememoryofyourballetman-dancefor
anything.”
Michaelpushedofffromtheledgeandstartedtreadingwater.“Ialsoexcelatsynchronized
swimming.”Ilaughed,andhemadehiswayovertomyledge.“Imeanit,Cassie.Truth.”Hepaused,
twofeetawayfromme.“Youask.I’lltellyou.Anything.”
Iwaitedforthecatch,buttherewasn’tone.
“Fine,”Isaid,consideringmyquestionscarefully.“Whydon’tyouwanttobeprofiled?Whatisit
you’resoafraidthatpeoplearegoingtofindout?”
“Igotintoafightonce,”Michaelsaid,soundingoddlyatease.“RightbeforeIcamehere.Putthe
otherguyinthehospital.Ijustkepthittinghim,overandoveragain,evenoncehewasdown.Idon’t
loseitoften,butwhenIdo,it’sbad.Itakeaftertheoldmaninthat.WeTownsendsdon’tdoanything
halfway.”Michaelpaused.He’dansweredmysecondquestion,butnotmyfirst.“MaybeIdon’twant
tobeprofiledbecauseIdon’twanttoknowwhatyou’dsee.WhatlittleboxIfitin.WhoIreallyam.”
“There’snothingwrongwithyou,”Isaid.
Hegavemealazysmile.“That’samatterofsomedebate.”
I’dbeenplanningonaskingabouthisfather,butnowIcouldn’tbringmyselftoaskiftheoldman
hadeverlostitwithhim.“Yourfamily’swealthy?”
“Assin,”Michaelreplied.“Mypastisalongstringofboardingschools,excess,andthefinestfill-
in-the-blankthatmoneycanbuy.”
“Doesyourfamilyknowyou’rehere?”
Michaelpushedoffthesideandstartedtreadingwateragain.Icouldn’tmakeouttheexpressionon
hisface,butIdidn’tneedtoseehimtoknowthathistrademarksmirkheldmorethanahintofself-
loathing.“Abetterquestionmightbeiftheycare.”
Threequestions.Threehonestanswers.Justbecausehe’dofferedtoshowmehisscarsdidn’tmean
Ihadtotearthemopen.“YouandLia?”Iasked,changingthesubject.
“Yes,”Michaelreplied,catchingmeoffguard,becauseIhadn’tconsidereditayes-or-noquestion.
“Onagain,offagain.Neverforverylong,anditwasneveragoodcall—foreitherofus.”
IfIdidn’twanttoknowtheanswer,Ishouldn’thaveasked.Istoodupandcannonballedbackinto
thepool,sendingasmalltsunamiofwaterMichael’sway.ThemomentIcamebackup,heflicked
wateratmyface.
“Youknow,ofcourse,”hesaidsolemnly,“thatthismeanswar.”
Onesecond,therewasagoodthreefeetofspacebetweenus,andthenext,wewerewrestling,each
tryingtooutdunkandoutsplashtheother,neitherofusfullyawareofjusthowclosetogetherour
bodieswere.
Igotamouthfulofwater.Isputtered.Michaeldunkedme,andIcameupgaspingforair—andsaw
Deanstandingonthepatio.Hewasstandingperfectly,horriblystill.
MichaeldunkedmeagainbeforeherealizedI’dstoppedfighting.HeturnedaroundandsawDean.
“Yougotaproblem,Redding?”Michaelasked.
“No,”Deanreplied.“Noproblem.”
IgaveMichaelasharplookandtrustedthathe’dbeabletoreadmewellenoughforittobe
effective,eveninthedark.
Michaelgotthemessage.“Caretojoinus?”heaskedDean,overlypolitely.
“No,”Deanreplied,justaspolitely.“Thankyou.”Hepaused,andthesilenceswelledaroundus.
“Youtwohaveagoodnight.”
AsDeandisappearedbackintothehouse,Icouldn’thelpfeelingthatI’dtakensomethingfromhim
—theplacehecametothink,themomentwe’dsharedthenighthe’dshownmetheblacklights.
“Truthordare.”Michael’svoicecutintomythoughts.
“What?”
“Yourturn,”Michaeltoldme.“Truthordare?”
“Truth.”
Michaelreachedouttopushmywethairoutofmyface.“IfLiahaddaredyoutokissme,would
youhavedoneit?”
“Liawouldn’thavedaredmetokissyou.”
“Butifshehad?”
Icouldfeelheatrisinginmycheeks.“Itwasjustagame,Michael.”
Michaelleanedforwardandbrushedhislipsagainstmine.Thenhepulledbackandstudiedmy
face.Whateverhesawthere,heliked.
“Thankyou,”hesaid.“That’sallIneededtoknow.”
———
Ididn’tsleepmuchthatnight.IjustkeptthinkingaboutMichaelandDean,thesubtlebarbsthatpassed
betweenthetwoofthem,thefeelofeachone’slips.Bythetimethesuncameupthenextmorning,I
wantedtokillsomeone.PreferablyMichael—butLiawasaclosesecond.
“We’reoutoficecream,”Isaidmurderously.
“True,”Liareplied.She’dswappedthesilkpajamasforboxershortsandarattyT,andthere
wasn’tsomuchasahintofremorseonherface.
“Iblameyou,”Isaid.
“Alsotrue.”Liastudiedmyface.“AndunlessI’mmistaken,you’renotjustblamingmefortheice
cream.Andthatmakesmeterriblycurious,Cassie.Caretoshare?”
Itwasimpossibletokeepasecretinthishouse—letalonetwo.FirstDean,thenMichael.Ihadn’t
signedupforthis.IfLiahadn’tdaredmetokissDean,Michaelneverwouldhavekissedmeinthe
pool,andIwouldn’tbeinthismess,unsurewhatIfelt,whattheyfelt,whatIwassupposedtodoabout
it.
“No,”Isaidoutloud.Iwashereforonereasonandonereasonalone.“Forgetbreakfast,”Isaid,
slammingthefreezerdoorshut.“Ihaveworktodo.”
Iturnedtoleave,butnotbeforeIcaughtsightofLiatwirlinghergleamingblackponytailaround
herindexfinger,herdarkeyeswatchingmealittletoocloselyforcomfort.
CHAPTER19
Imademywaytothelibrarytodrownmysorrowsinserialkillerinterviews.Wall-to-wall,ceiling-
to-floorbookshelvesbulgedwithcarefullyorganizedtitles:textbooks,memoirs,biographies,
academicjournals,andtheoddestassortmentoffictionI’deverseen:old-fashioneddime-store
mysteries,romancenovels,comicbooks,Dickens,Tolkien,andPoe.
Thethirdshelffromtheleftwasfullofbluebinders.Ipickedupthefirstoneandopenedit.
FRIEDMAN,THOMAS
OCTOBER22-28,1993
FLORIDASTATEPRISON,STARKE,FL
ThomasFriedman.Suchanormal-soundingname.Gingerly,Iflippedthroughthetranscript:a
bare-bonesplaywithalimitedcastofcharacters,noplot,andnoresolution.SupervisorySpecial
AgentCormackKentwastheinterviewer.HeaskedFriedmanabouthischildhood,hisparents,his
fantasies,theninewomenhe’dstrangledwithhigh-sheendresshose.ReadingFriedman’swords—
blackinktypedontothepage—wouldhavebeenbadenough,buttheworstpartwasthatafterafew
pages,Icouldhearthewayhewouldhavetalkedaboutthewomenhe’dkilled:excitement,nostalgia,
longing—butnoremorse.
“Youshouldsitdown.”
I’dbeenexpectingsomeonetojoinmeinthelibrary.Ihadn’texpectedthatsomeonetobeLia.
“Dean’snotcoming,”Liasaid.“Hereadthoseinterviewsalongtimeago.”
“Haveyoureadthem?”Iasked.
“Some,”Liareplied.“Mostly,I’veheardthem.Briggsgivesmetheaudio.IplaySpottheLie.It’sa
realparty.”
Irealizedsuddenlythatmostpeoplemyage—mostpeopleanyage—wouldn’tbeabletotake
readingtheseinterviews.Theywouldn’twantto,andtheycertainlywouldn’tlosethemselvesinit,the
wayIwould.ThewayIalreadyhad.Friedman’sinterviewwashorribleandhorrifying—butI
couldn’tturnoffthepartofmybrainthatwantedtounderstand.
“What’sthedealwithyouandDean?”IaskedLia,forcingmyselftothinkaboutanythingother
thanthefactthatpartofmewantedtokeepreading.MichaelmighthavetoldmethatheandLiahad
hookedup—morethanonce—butDeanwastheonewhocoulddialherbackanotchjustbysaying
hername.
“I’vebeeninlovewithhimsinceIwastwelve.”Liashrugged,likeshehadn’tjustbaredhersoulto
me.AndthenIrealized,shehadn’t.
“Oh,God,”shesaid,gaspingforairbetweengiggles.“Youshouldseeyourface.Really,Cassie,
I’mnotafanofincest,andDeanistheclosestthingtoabrotherIhave.IfItriedtokisshim,hemight
actuallyhurlonme.”
Thatwascomforting.Butthefactthatitwascomfortingjustsentmerightbackintothetailspin
fromthatmorning:whyshouldIcareiftherewasanythingbetweenLiaandDean,whenMichaelwas
theonewho’dkissedmeofhisownfreewill?
“Look,asadorableaswatchingyouangstis,”Liasaid,“takeabitoffriendlyadvice:there’snota
personinthishousewhoisn’treally,truly,fundamentallyscreweduptothedepthsoftheirdarkand
shadowysouls.Includingyou.IncludingDean.IncludingMichael.”
Thatsoundedmorelikeaninsultthanadvice.
“Deanwouldwantmetotellyoutostayawayfromhim,”Liasaid.
“AndMichael?”Iasked.
Liashrugged.“IwanttotellyoutostayawayfromMichael.”Shepaused.“Iwon’t,butIwantto.”
Iwaitedtoseeifshewasfinished.Shedidn’tsayanythingelse.
“Asfarasadvicegoes,thatkindofsucked.”
Liaexecutedanelaboratebow.“Itry.”Hereyesflittedbacktothebinderinmyhand.“Domea
favor?”
“Whatkindoffavor?”
Liagesturedtothebinder.“Ifyou’regoingtoreadthose,”shesaid,“don’tsayanythingabout
themtoDean.”
———
Forthenextfourdays,LockeandBriggswereawayworkingontheircase,andotherthanavoiding
MichaelandDeanandweedingtheflowerbedsforJudd,therewasnothingformetodobutread.
Andread.Andread.Athousandpagesofinterviewslater,Igotsickofbeingcoopedupinthelibrary
anddecidedtotakealittlefieldtrip.Itookawalkthroughtownandendedupploppingdownbythe
PotomacRiver,enjoyingtheviewandreadinginterviewtwenty-seven,bindertwelve.The1990shad
givenwaytothetwenty-firstcentury,andSSAKenthadbeenreplacedbyaseriesofotheragents—
amongthem,AgentBriggs.
“Enjoyingabitoflightreading?”
Ilookeduptoseeamanaroundmydad’sage.Hehadafive-o’clockshadowandafriendlysmile
onhisface.
Ishiftedsothatmyarmcoveredmyreadingmaterialincasehedecidedtolook.“Somethinglike
that.”
“Youlookedprettyabsorbed.”
Thenwhydidyouinterruptme?Iwantedtoask.Eitherhe’dsoughtmeoutspecifically,orhewas
thekindofpersonwhodidn’tseethecontradictionininterruptingsomeone’sreadingtotellhershe
lookedabsorbedinthetext.
“YouliveatJudd’splace,right?”hesaid.“HeandIgowayback.”
Irelaxedslightly,butstillhadnointentionofgettingsuckedintoaconversationaboutmyreading
material—oranythingelse.“It’snicetomeetyou,”Isaidinmybestwaitressvoice,hopinghe’dsense
afalsenoteunderthecheerfulnessinmyvoiceandleavemetomyowndevices.
“Enjoyingtheweather?”heaskedme.
“Somethinglikethat.”
“Ican’ttakeyouanywhere.”Michaelappearedonmyothersideandeasedhimselfontotheground
nexttome.“She’stoogregariousforherowngood,”hetoldthemanstandingnexttous.“Always
chattingupcompletestrangers.Frankly,Ithinksheover-shares.It’sembarrassing.”
IputtheheelofmyhandonMichael’sshoulderandshoved,butcouldn’tpushdownthestabof
gratitudeIfeltthatIwasnolongersufferingthroughSmallTownTalkTimealone.
“Well,”themansaid.“Ididn’tmeantointerrupt.Ijustwantedtosayhello.”
Michaelnoddedausterely.“Howdoyoudo?”
IwaiteduntilourvisitorwasoutofearshotbeforeIturnedtohim.“‘Howdoyoudo’?”Irepeated
incredulously.
Michaelshrugged.“Sometimes,”hesaid,“whenI’minasocialpickle,Iliketoaskmyself,
WWJAD?”Iraisedaneyebrow,andheexplained.“WhatWouldJaneAustenDo?”
IfMichaelreadJaneAusten,IwastheheirtotheBritishthrone.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iaskedhim.
“Rescuingyou,”heansweredblithely.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
Igesturedtothebinder.“Reading.”
“Andavoidingme?”heasked.
Irepositionedmybodyandhopedtheglarefromthesunwouldcompromisehisviewofmyface.
“I’mnotavoidinganyone.Ijustwantedtobealone.”
Michaelbroughthishanduptohisfacetoshielditfromthesun.“Youwantedtobealone,”he
repeated.“Toread.”
“That’swhyI’mhere,”Isaiddefensively.“That’swhywe’reallhere.Tolearn.”
NottoobsessoverthefactthatI’vekissedmoreboysinthepastweekthanIhaveinmyentirelife,I
addedsilently.Tomysurprise,Michaeldidn’tcommentontheemotionsIhadtobebroadcasting.He
justreclinednexttomeandheldupsomereadingmaterialofhisown.
“JaneAusten,”Isaid,disbelieving.
Michaelgesturedtowardmybinder.“Carryon.”
Forfifteenortwentyminutes,thetwoofusreadinsilence.Ifinishedinterviewtwenty-sevenand
startedinonnumbertwenty-eight.
REDDING,DANIEL
JANUARY15–18,2007
VIRGINIASTATEPENITENTIARY,RICHMOND,VA
Ialmostmissedit,wouldhavemissedithadthenamenotbeenprintedoverandoveragain,
documentingthisparticularserialkiller ’severyword.
Redding.
Redding.
Redding.
TheinterviewerwasAgentBriggs.Thesubject’snamewasRedding,andhe’dbeenincarceratedin
Virginia.Istoppedbreathing.Mymouthwentsuddenlydry.Iflippedthroughthepages,fasterand
faster,skimmingatwarpspeeduntilDanielReddingaskedBriggsaquestionabouthisson.
Dean.
CHAPTER20
Dean’sfatherwasaserialkiller.WhileIwastravelingthecountrywithmymom,Deanhadbeen
livingtwentyyardsawayfromtheshackwherehisfathertorturedandkilledatleastadozenwomen.
AndDeanhadneversaidawordtome:notwhenwewereworkingourwaythroughLocke’s
puzzlesandbouncingideasoffeachother;notwhenhecaughtmeswimminginthepoolthatfirst
time;notafterwe’dkissed.He’dtoldmethatspendingtimeinsidethemindsofkillerswouldruinme,
buthadn’tbreathedawordabouthispast.
Suddenly,everythingfellintoplace.ThetoneinLia’svoicewhenshe’dsaidthepicturesonthe
stairwellwerethereforDean’sbenefit.ThefactthatAgentBriggshadgonetoDeanforhelpona
casewhenhewastwelve.MichaelintroducingDeanbytellingmethatheknewmoreabouttheways
thatkillersthoughtthanjustaboutanyone.Liaaskingme,asafavor,nottosayanythingaboutthese
interviewstoDean.TheBadSeed.
Istoodupandshovedthebinderbackintomybag.Michaelsaidmyname,butIignoredhim.Iwas
halfwaybacktothehousebeforeI’devenregisteredthefactthatIwasrunning.
WhatwasIdoing?
Ididn’thaveananswertothatquestion.Andyet,Icouldn’tturnaround.IkeptgoinguntilIreached
thehouse.Iclimbedthestairs,headingformyroom,butDeanwaswaitingformeatthetop,likehe’d
knowntodaywouldbetheday.
“You’vebeenreadingtheinterviews,”hesaid.
“Yeah,”Irepliedsoftly.“Ihave.
“DidyoustartwithFriedman?”Deanasked.
Inodded,waitingforhimtonametheawfulunspokensomethingthathungintheairbetweenus.
“That’stheguywiththepantyhose,right?Didyougettothepartwherehetalksaboutwatching
hisoldersistergetdressed?Orwhataboutthatbitwiththeneighbor ’sdog?”
I’dneverheardDeansoundlikethis—soflippantandcruel.
“Idon’twanttotalkaboutFriedman,”Isaid.
“Right,”Deanreplied.“Youwanttotalkaboutmyfather.Didyoureadthewholeinterview?On
daythree,Briggsbribedhimtotalkabouthischildhood.Youknowwhathebribedhimwith?Pictures
ofme.Andwhenthatdidn’twork,picturesofthem.Thewomenhekilled.”
“Dean—”
“What?Isn’tthiswhatyouwanted?Totalkaboutit?”
“No,”Isaid.“Iwanttotalkaboutyou.”
“Me?”Deancouldn’thavesoundedmoreincredulousifhe’dtried.“Whatelseistheretosay?”
Whatwastheretosay?
“Idon’tcare.”Mybreathwasstillraggedfromrunning.Iwassayingthiswrong.“Yourfather—it
doesn’tchangewhoyouare.”
“WhatIam,”hecorrected.“Andyes,itdoes.Whydon’tyougoaskSloanewhatthestatisticssay
aboutpsychopathyandheredity?Andthenwhydon’tyouaskherwhattheysayaboutgrowingupin
anenvironmentwhereit’stheonlythingyouknow.”
“Idon’tcareaboutthestatistics,”Isaid.“We’repartners.Weworktogether.YouknewIwasgoing
tofindout.Youcouldhavetoldme.”
“We’renotpartners.”
Thewordshurtme—andhemeantforthemto.
“Wewon’teverbepartners,”Deansaid,hisvoicerazor-sharpandunrepentant.“Anddoyouwant
toknowwhy?Becauseasgoodasyouareatgettinginsidenormalpeople’sheads,Idon’tevenhave
toworktogetinsideakiller ’s.Doesn’tthatbotheryou?Didn’tyouevernoticehoweasyitwasfor
metobethemonsterwhenwewere‘working’together?”
I’dnoticed—butI’dattributedittothefactthatDeanhadmoreexperienceatprofilingkillers.I
hadn’trealizedthatthatexperiencewasfirsthand.
“Didyouknowaboutyourfather?”IregrettedthequestionthemomentIaskedit,butDeandidn’t
bataneye.
“No,”hesaid.“Notatfirst,butIshouldhave.”
Notatfirst?
“Itoldyou,Cassie.BythetimeBriggsstartedcomingbywithquestionsoncases,therewas
nothinglefttoruin.”
“That’snottrue,Dean.”
“Myfatherwasinprison.Iwasinfostercare,andevenbackthen,IknewthatIwasn’tlikethe
otherkids.Thewaymymindworked,thethingsthatmadesensetome…”Heturnedhisbackonme.
“Ithinkyoushouldgo.”
“Go?Gowhere?”
“I.Don’t.Care.”Heletoutashudderybreath.“Justleavemealone.”
“Idon’twanttoleaveyoualone.”Andthereitwas,somethingIhadn’tevenletmyselfthinksince
TruthorDare.
“HowexactlywasIsupposedtotellyou?”Deanasked,stillfacingawayfromme.“‘Hey,guess
what?Yourmomwasmurdered,andmydadisakiller.’”
“Thisisn’taboutmymom.”
“Whatdoyouwantmetosay,Cassie?”Deanfinallyturnedbackaroundtofaceme.“Justtellme,
andI’llsayit.”
“Ijustwantyoutotalktome.”
Dean’sfingerscurledintofistsathissides.Icouldbarelyseehiseyesbehindthehairthatfellin
hisface.“Idon’twanttotalktoyou,”hesaid.“You’rebetteroffwithMichael.”
“Dean—”
Ahandgrabbedmyshoulderandspunmearound.Hard.
“Hesaidhedidn’twanttotalktoyou,Cassie.”Lia’sfacewasamaskofcalm.Hertonewas
anythingbut.“Don’tturnbacktolookathim.Don’tsayanotherwordtohim.Justgo.Andonemore
thing?”Sheleanedforwardtowhisperinmyear.“Remindmenevertoaskyouforafavoragain.”
CHAPTER21
Iwalkedslowlybackdownthestairs,tryingtofigureoutwhathadjusthappened.WhatwasI
thinking,confrontingDean?Hewasallowedtohavesecrets.HewasallowedtobeangrythatLocke
hadassignedmetoreadthoseinterviews,knowingthatoneofthemwashisfather ’s.Ishouldn’thave
goneupthere.Ishouldhavelefthimalone.
“LiaorDean?”
IlookedupandsawMichaelstandingnearthefrontdoor.
“What?”
“Thelookonyourface,”hereplied.“LiaorDean?”
Ishrugged.“Both?”
Michaelnodded,asifmyanswerwereaforegoneconclusion.“Youokay?”
“You’retheemotionreader,”Isaid.“Youtellme.”
Hetookthatasaninvitationtocomecloser.Hestoppedafootortwoawayandstudiedmyface.
“You’reconfused.Madderatyourselfthanyouareateitherofthem.Lonely.Angry.Stupid.”
“Stupid?”Isputtered.
“Hey,IjustcallitlikeIseeit.”Michaelwasapparentlyinthemoodtobeblunt.“Youfeelstupid.
Doesn’tmeanyouare.”
“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”Isatdownonthebottomstep,andafterafewseconds,Michaelsat
downbesideme,stretchinghislegsoutonthehardwoodfloor.“Whymakethinlyveiledcomments
aboutTheBadSeedinsteadofjusttellingmethetruth?”
“Ithoughtabouttellingyou.”Michaelleanedbackonhiselbows,hiscasualposturecontradicting
thetensionunmistakableinhisvoice.“EverytimeIsawthetwoofyouhunchedoveroneofLocke’s
littlepuzzles,Ithoughtabouttellingyou.ButwhatwouldyouhavesaidifIdid?”
ItriedtoimaginehearingaboutDean’sfatherfromMichael,whocouldbarelymanageacivil
wordwhereDeanwasconcerned.
“Exactly.”Michaelreachedforwardtotaptheedgeofmylips,likethatwastheprecisespotthat
hadtippedhimofftowhatwasgoingoninsidemymind.“Youwouldn’thavethankedmefortelling
you.Youwouldhavehatedmeforit.”
IswattedMichael’shandawayfrommyface.“Iwouldn’thavehatedyou.”
Michaelgesturedinthegeneraldirectionofmyforehead,butrefrainedfromactuallytouchingmy
facethistime.“Yourmouthsaysonething,butyoureyebrowssayanother.”Hepaused,andhisown
mouthtwistedintoalazygrin.“Youmightnotrealizethis,Colorado,butyoucanbealittle
sanctimonious.”
Thistime,Ididn’tbotherlettingmyfacedothetalkingforme.Isluggedhimintheshoulder—
hard.
“Fine.”Michaelheldhispalmsupinsurrender.“You’renotsanctimonious.You’rehonorable.”He
pausedandtrainedhiseyesstraightahead.“MaybeIdidn’twanttoadvertisethefactthatI’mnot.”
Forasplitsecond,Michaelletthosewords—thatconfession—hangintheair.
“Besides,”hecontinued,“ifI’dtoldyouthatbetweenReddingandmyselfIwasthesafeoption,I
wouldhavelostallofthatcarefullybuilt-upbad-boycred.”
Fromself-loathingtosardonicinundertwoseconds.
“Trustme,”Isaidlightly,“youdon’thaveanycred.”
“Oh,really?”Michaelsaid.WhenInodded,hestoodupandtookmyhand.“Let’sfixthat,then,
shallwe?”
Awiserpersonwouldhavesaidno.Itookadeepbreath.“Whatdidyouhaveinmind?”
———
Blowingstuffupwassurprisinglytherapeutic.
“Clear!”Michaelyelled.Thetwoofusscuttledbackward.Asecondlater,astringoffireworks
wentoff,scorchingthefloorofafakefoyer.
“Somehow,Idon’tthinkthisiswhatAgentBriggshadinmindwhenhebuiltthisbasement,”Isaid.
Michaeladoptedanausterelook.“Simulationisoneofourmostpowerfultools,”hesaid,doinga
passableimitationofAgentBriggs.“HowelsearewetovisualizetheworkoftheinfamousBoom-
BoomBandit?”
“Boom-BoomBandit?”Irepeated.
Hegrinned.“Toomuch?”
Iheldmyindexfingerupaninchfrommythumb.“Justalittle.”
Behindus,thedoortothebasementopenedandslammedshut.IhalfexpectedittobeJudd,asking
whatpreciselywethoughtweweredoingdownhere,butMichaelhadassuredmethebasementwas
soundproof.
“Ididn’tknowanyonewasdownhere.”Sloanelookedatthetwoofussuspiciously.“Whyareyou
downhere?”
MichaelandIlookedateachother.Iopenedmymouthtoanswer,butSloane’seyeswidenedasshe
tookintheevidence.
“Fireworks?”shesaid,foldingherarmsoverhermiddle.“Inthefoyer?”
Michaelshrugged.“Cassieneededadistraction,andIneededtogiveBriggsafewmoregray
hairs.”
Sloaneeyedhimmutinously.Consideringtheamountoftimeshespentdownhere,Icouldseewhy
shemighttakeanymisuseofthecrimesetsseriously.
“Sorry,”Isaid.
“Youshouldbe,”sherepliedsternly.“You’redoingitallwrong.”
Whatfollowedwasaten-minutelectureonpyrodynamics.Andseveralmoreexplosions.
“Well,”Michaelsaid,surveyingourwork.“That’llteachBriggsandLocketoleaveustoourown
devicesfortoolong.”
Ishovedmyhairoutofmyfacewiththeheelofmyhand.“They’reworkingacase,”Isaid,
rememberingthelookonLocke’sface—andthedetailsI’dmanagedtogleanaboutwhatsheand
Briggswereupto.“Ithinkthat’salittlebitofahigherprioritythantrainingusis.”
“Sloane,”Michaelsaidsuddenly,drawingouthernameandnarrowinghiseyes.
“Nothing,”Sloanerepliedquickly.
“Nothingwhat?”Iasked.Clearly,Iwasmissingsomethinghere.
“WhenIsaidLocke’sname,Sloanelookeddownandtothesideandhereyebrowspulledupinthe
center.”Michaelpaused,andwhenhespokeagain,hisvoicewassofter.“Whatdidyoutake,Sloane?”
Sloanemadeacarefulstudyofherfingernails.“AgentLockedoesn’tlikeme.”
IthoughtbacktothelasttimeIhadseenSloaneandLocketogether.Sloanehadcomeintothe
kitchenandrattledoffsomestatisticsaboutserialkillers.Lockehadn’thadachancetoreplywhen
Briggscameintotheroomwithanupdateontheircase.Infact,Iwasn’tsureI’deverseenLockesay
anythingtoSloane,thoughshetradedbarbseasilyenoughwithMichaelandLia.
“TherewasaUSBdrive,”Sloaneadmittedfinally,“inAgentLocke’sbriefcase.”
Michael’seyeslitup.“AmItoinferthatyouhaveitnow?”
Sloaneshrugged.“That’sadistinctpossibility.”
“YoutookaUSBdriveoutofLocke’sbriefcase?”Iprocessedthatbitofinformation.WhenLia
hadhelpedherselftothecontentsofmycloset,she’dsaidthatSloanewasthekleptomaniacinthe
house.I’dassumedshewasjoking.
Apparentlynot.
“Let’sconcentrateontheimportantthinghere,”Michaelsaid.“Whatinformationdoyoulovely
ladiesthinkLockewouldbecarryingonherpersonwhileworkingacase?”
IglancedatSloane,thenbackatMichael.“Youthinkithassomethingtodowiththeircurrent
case?”Icouldn’tkeepthesurgeofinterestoutofmytone.
“Thatisalsoadistinctpossibility.”Sloanewassoundingdistinctlymorechipper.
Michaelthrewanarmoverhershoulder.“HaveIevertoldyouthatyou’remyfavorite?”heasked
her.Thenhecastawickedglanceatme.“Stillinneedofdistraction?”
CHAPTER22
“Thisencryptionispathetic,”Sloanesaid.“It’sliketheywantmetohacktheirfiles.”
Shewassittingcross-leggedontheendofherbed,herlaptopbalancedonherknees.Herfingers
flewacrossthekeysassheworkedonbreakingthroughtheprotectiononthepilferedUSBdrive.A
straypieceofblondhairdriftedintoherface,butshedidn’tseemtonotice.“Done!”
Sloaneturnedthelaptoparoundsothetwoofuscouldseeit.“Sevenfiles,”shesaid.Thesmilefell
fromherface.“Sevenvictims.”
Locke’slectureonvictimologycamefloodingbacktome.Wasthatwhymymentorhadbeen
carryingaroundadigitalcopyofthesefiles?Hadshebeenattemptingtogetinsidethevictims’
heads?
“Whatifthisisimportant?”Iasked,unabletopushbackastabofguilt.“WhatifLockeandBriggs
needthisinformationfortheircase?”I’dcometotheprogramtohelp,nottogetinthewayofthe
FBI’sefforts.
“Cassie,”Michaelsaid,takingaseatagainstthefootofthebedandstretchinghislegsoutinfront
ofhim.“IsBriggsthetypetokeepbackups?”
AgentBriggswasthetypetokeepbackupsofhisbackups.HeandLockehadbeengoneforthree
days.Ifthey’dneededthisdrive,theywouldhavecomebackforit.
“ShouldIprintoutthefiles?”Sloaneasked.
Michaellookedatmeandraisedaneyebrow.“Yourcall,Colorado.”
Ishouldhavesaidno.IshouldhavetoldSloanethatthecaseLockeandBriggswereworkingon
wasnoneofourbusiness,butI’dcomeheretohelp,andLockehadsaidthatsheandBriggshadhita
brickwall.
“Printit.”
Asecondlater,theprinteronSloane’sdeskstartedspittingoutpages.Afterfiftyorsosheets,it
stopped.Michaelleanedoverandgrabbedthepages.Heseparatedthembycaseandhelpedhimselfto
threecasefilesbeforehandingtheotherstoSloaneandme.Allsevenwerehomicides.FourinDCin
thepasttwoweeksandanotherthreecases,allwithinthepastyear,fromotherjurisdictions.
“FirstDCvictimdisappearedfromthestreetshewasworkingtendaysagoandshowedupthenext
morningwithherfacehalfcarvedoff.”Michaellookedupfromleafingthroughthefile.
“Thisone’sdatedthreedayslater,”Isaid.“Facialmutilation,numeroussuperficialcutstotherest
ofthebody—shediedofbloodloss.”
“Thiswouldtaketime,”Sloanesaid,herfacepale.“Hours,notminutes,andaccordingtothe
autopsyreports,thetissuedamageis—severe.”
“He’splayingwiththem.”Michaelfinishedwithhissecondfileandstartedinonthethird.“He
takesthem.Hecutsthem.Hewatchesthemsuffer.Andthenhecutsofftheirfaces.”
“Don’tsayhe,”Icorrectedabsentmindedly.“SayIoryou.”
MichaelandSloanebothstaredatme,andIrealizedtheobvious:theirlessonswereverydifferent
frommine.
“Imean,sayUNSUB,”Itoldthem.“UnknownSubject.”
“Icanthinkofsomebetternamesforthisguy,”Michaelmurmured,lookingthroughthelastcase
fileinhishands.“Whohasthefileforthelastvictim?”
“Ido.”Sloane’svoicewasquiet,andsuddenly,shelookedveryyoung.“Shewasapalmreaderin
DupontCircle.”Forasecond,IthoughtSloanemightactuallyputthefiledown,butthenherfeatures
wentsuddenlycalm.“Apersonistentimesmorelikelytobecomeaprofessionalathletethantomake
alivingreadingpalms,”shesaid,takingrefugeinthenumbers.
Mostkillershaveatype,Ithought,fallingbackonmyownlessons.“Doanyoftheothervictims
havetiestothepsychiccommunity,astrology,ortheoccult?”
Michaelturnedbacktothetworeportsinhishand.“LadyoftheEvening,”hesaid,“anotherLady
oftheEvening,andatelemarketer…whoworkedatapsychichotline.”
Iglanceddownatthetwofilesinmyhand.“I’vegotanineteen-year-oldrunawayandamedium
workingoutofLosAngeles.”
“Twodifferentkindsofvictims,”Michaelobserved.“Prostitutes,drifters,andrunawaysincolumn
A.PeoplewithatietotheoccultincolumnB.”
IfishedBeforephotosofthevictimsoutofmyfilesandgesturedfortheotherstodothesame.
Youpickthemforareason,Ithought,lookingatthewomenonebyone.Youcuttheirfaces,slice
yourknifedownthroughskinandtissue,untilyouhitthebone.Thisispersonal.
“They’reallyoung,”Isaid,studyingthemandsearchingforcommonalities.“Betweeneighteen
andthirty-five.”
“Thosethreehaveredhair.”Michaelseparatedoutthevictimswithnotiestothepsychic
community.
“Thepalmreaderhadredhair,too,”Sloaneinterjected.
Iwasstaringdirectlyatthepalmreader ’sBeforepicture.“Thepalmreaderwasablonde.”
“No,”Sloanesaidslowly.“Shewasanaturalblonde.Butwhentheyfoundher,shelookedlike
this.”
Sloaneslidasecond,gruesomepicturetowardus.TruetoSloane’swords,thecorpse’shairwasa
deep,unmistakablered.
Arecentdyejob,Ithought.Sodidshedyeherhair…ordidyou?
“Twoclassesofvictims,”Michaelsaidagain,liningtheredheadsupinonecolumnandthe
psychicsinanother,withthepalmreaderfromDupontCirclebetweenthetwo.“Youthinkwe’re
lookingfortwodifferentkillers?”
“No,”Isaid.“We’reonlylookingforonekiller.”
Mycompanionscouldmakeobservations.Sloanecouldgeneraterelevantstatistics.Ifthere’dbeen
witnesstestimony,Michaelcouldhavetolduswhowasexhibitingsignsofguilt.Buthere,now,
lookingatthepictures,thiswasmydomain.IwouldhavehadtobacktracktoexplainhowIknew,to
figureouthowIknew—butIwascertain.Thepictures,whathadbeendonetothesewomen,itwasthe
same.Notjustthedetails,buttheanger,theurges…
Allofthesewomenhadbeenkilledbythesameperson.
You’reescalating,Ithought.Somethinghappened,andnowyouneedmore,faster.
Istaredatthephotos,mymindwhirring,pickingupeachdetailofthepictures,thefiles,untilonly
threethingsstoodout.
Knife.
Redhead.
Psychic.
Thatwasthemomentthatthegrounddisappearedfromunderneathme.Ilosttheabilitytoblink.
Myeyesgotverydry.Mythroatwasworse.Myvisionblurred,andallofthephotographsgotvery
fuzzyexceptforone.
Thenineteen-year-oldrunaway.
Thehair,thefacialstructure,thefreckles.Throughblurredvision,shelookedlike…
Knife.
Redhead.
Psychic.
“Cassie?”Michaeltookmyhandsinhis.“You’refreezing.”
“TheUNSUBiskillingredheads,”Isaid,“andhe’skillingpsychics.”
“That’snotapattern,”Sloanesaidpeevishly.“That’stwopatterns.”
“No,”Isaid,“it’snot.Ithink…”
Knife.Redhead.Psychic.
Icouldn’tsaythewords.“Mymother…”Itookashortbreathandbrutallyexpelledit.“Idon’t
knowwhatmymother ’sbodylookedlike,”Isaidfinally,“butIdoknowthatshewasattackedwitha
knife.”
MichaelandSloanestaredatme.Igotupandwalkedovertomydresser.Iopenedthetopdrawer
andfoundwhatIwaslookingfor.
Apicture.
Don’tlookatit,Ithought.
Directingmygazeatanythingbutthepictureinmyhand,Istoopedandtappedmyfingersonthe
palmreader ’sphotograph.“Idon’tthinkshedyedherhairred,”Isaid.“Ithinkthekillerdid.”
Youkillpsychics.Youkillredheads.Butoneortheotherisn’tenoughanymore.It’sneverenough.
GlancingupatMichaelandSloane,Ilaidmymother ’spicturedownbetweenthetwocolumns.
Sloanestudiedit.“Shelooksliketheothervictims,”shesaid,noddingtothecolumnofredheads.
“No,”Isaid.“Theylooklikeher.”
Thesewomenhadallbeenkilledinthepastninemonths.Mymotherhadbeenmissingforfive
years.
“Cassie,whoisthat?”Michaelhadtohaveknowntheanswertothatquestion,butheaskedit
anyway.
“That’smymother.”Istillcouldn’tletmyselflookatthepicture.“Shewasattackedwithaknife.
Herbodywasneverfound.”Ipaused,justforasecond.“Mymothermadeherlivingbyconvincing
peopleshewaspsychic.”
Michaellookedatme—andintome.“AreyousayingwhatIthinkyou’resaying?”
IwassayingthatBriggsandLockeweretrackinganUNSUBwhokilledwomenwithredhairand
peoplewhoclaimedtobepsychic.Itcouldhavebeenacoincidence.Ishouldhaveassumeditwasa
coincidence.
ButIdidn’t.
“I’msayingthiskillerhasaveryspecifictype:peoplewhoresemblemymother.”
YOU
Lastnight,youwokeupinacoldsweat,andtheonlyvoiceinyourheadwasyourfather’s.Thedream
seemedreal.Italwaysseemsreal.Youcouldfeelthestickysheets,smelltheurine,hearthewhistleof
Hishandtearingthroughtheair.Youwokeupshaking,andthenyourealized—
Thebedwaswet.
No,youthought.No.No.No.
Buttherewasn’tanyonetheretopunishyou.Yourfather’sdead,andyou’renot.
You’retheonewhodoesthepunishingnow.
Butit’sneverenough.Theneighbor’sdog.Thewhores.Eventhepalmreaderwasn’tenough.You
openthebathroomcabinet.Onebyone,yourunyourhandsovereachofthetubesoflipstick,
remembereachofthegirls.
It’scalming.
Soothing.
Exciting.
Youstopwhenyougettotheoldesttube.Thefirst.Youknowwhatyouwant.Whatyouneed.You’ve
alwaysknown.
Allthat’slefttodonowistakeit.
CHAPTER23
WhenI’dfoundoutaboutDean’sdad,I’dtakenoffrunning,butnowthatmymom’sphotographwas
staringupatmefromaseaofmurdervictims,allIcoulddowassitthere.
“Maybethiswasabadidea.”ComingfromMichael,thosewordssoundedcompletelyalien.
“No,”Isaid.“Youwantedtodistractme.I’mdistracted.”
“ThelikelihoodthatthisUNSUBistheonewhoattackedyourmotherisextremelylow.”Sloane
spokehesitantly,likeshethoughtonemoreword—oronemorestatistic—mightsetmeoff.“This
killerabductshisvictimsandkillsthemataseparatelocation,leavinglittletonophysicalevidenceat
thesiteofabduction.There’ssomeindicationthatatleasttwoofthevictimsmayhavebeendrugged.
Thewomenhaverelativelyfewdefensivewounds,indicatingthatthey’relikelyrestrainedbeforethe
knifecomesintoplay.”
Sloanewastalkingaboutthiskiller ’sMO.Withhergift,thatwasasfarasshecouldgo.She
couldn’tseeunderneathit,couldn’timaginehowakillermighthaverefinedhistechniqueoverthe
spanoffiveyears.
“WhendoesAgentBriggsgetback?”Iasked.
“He’snevergoingtoletyouworkonthis,”Michaeltoldme.
“Isthatyourwayoftellingmethatyoudon’twanthimtoknowwehackedastolenjumpdrive?”I
shotback.
Michaelsnorted.“Personally,Iwouldn’tmindtakingoutanadinthepaperorhiringaskywriterto
announcethatheandLockewereoutsmartedbythreeboredteenagers.”
Icouldthinkofalotofwordstodescribemyliferightnow;boringwasn’toneofthem.
“Briggsisnothingifnotpredictable,Cassie.Hisjobisprovingthatwecansolvecoldcases,not
draggingusalongonactiveones.He’sprobablyluckyhisbossesdidn’tfirehimwhentheyfigured
outwhathewasdoingwithDean.Evenifthiscasedoeshavesomethingtodowithyourmother ’s,
he’llneverletyouworkonit.”
IturnedtoSloaneforasecondopinion.
“Twohoursandfifty-sixminutes,”shesaid.“Briggswasduebackintowntoday,buthe’llneedto
settlethingsattheofficeandgrabachangeofclothesandashowerbeforecomingin.”
ThatmeantIhadtwohoursandfifty-sixminutestodecidehowtobroachthiscasetoAgentBriggs
—orbetteryet,AgentLocke.
———
ThegoodthingaboutbeingincahootswithanemotionreaderwasthatMichaelcouldtellthatI
wantedtobeleftalone,andheobliged.Betteryet,hetookSloane—andthefiles—withhim.
Ifhehadn’t,Iprobablywouldstillhavebeensittingthere,staringatthecrime-scenephotosand
wonderingifmymomhaddiedwithoutaface.Instead,Iwaslyingonmybed,staringatthedoorand
tryingtothinkofsomething—anything—IcouldoffertheFBItomakethemwantmeonthiscase.
Twohoursandforty-twominuteslater,someoneknockedonmydoor.IthoughtitmightbeAgent
Briggs,backfourteenminutesearlierthanSloanehadpredicted.
Butitwasn’t.
“Dean?”
Hehadn’teversoughtmeoutbeforehe’dtoldmethatweweren’tpartners,weren’tfriends,
weren’tanything.Icouldn’timaginewhyhe’dcomelookingformevoluntarilynow.
“CanIcomein?”
Therewassomethingaboutthewayhewasstandingtherethattoldmehewasexpectingmetosay
no.MaybeIshouldhave.Instead,Inodded,nottrustingmyvoice.
Hecameinandshutthedoorbehindhim.“Liaeavesdrops,”heexplained,gesturingtowardthe
closeddoor.
Ishruggedandwaitedforhimtosaysomethinghewouldn’twantoverheard.
“I’msorry.”Hemanagedtwowords,paused,andthenpushedouttwomore.“Aboutbefore.”
“Youhavenothingtobesorryabout.”Therewasnolawsayinghehadtotrustme.Outsideof
Locke’slessons,we’dbarelyspentanytimetogether.Hehadn’tchosentokissme.
“LiatoldmeaboutthefilesyouandMichaelandSloanefound.”
Thesuddenchangeofsubjecttookmebysurprise.“HowdoesLiaevenknowaboutthat?”
Deanshrugged.“Sheeavesdrops.”
AndsinceIwasn’texactlyLia’sfavoritepersonrightnow,shehadnoreasonwhatsoevertokeep
hermouthclosedaboutwhateveritwasthatshe’doverheard.
“So,what?”IaskedDean.“We’reevennow?IfoundoutaboutyourdadandLiatoldyouthatI
thinktheUNSUBBriggsandLockeareaftermightbetheonewhokilledmymomandnow
everything’sokay?”
DeansatdownonSloane’sbedandfacedme.“Nothing’sokay.”
WhywasitthatI’dmanagedtoholdontomycoolwithMichaelandSloane,butnowthatDean
washere,Icouldfeelmyselfstartingtoslip?
“Sloanesaidthatshethinksit’shighlyunlikelythatthiskilleristhesameonewhotookmy
mother,”Isaid,lookingdownatmylapandtryingnottocry.“It’sbeenfiveyears.TheMOis
different.Idon’tevenknowifthesignatureisthesame,becausetheyneverfoundmymother ’sbody.”
Deanleanedforwardandangledhisheadupatmine.“Somekillersgoforyearswithoutbeing
caught,andtheirMOschangeastimegoeson.Theylearn.Theyevolve.Theyneedmore.”
DeanwastellingmethatIcouldberight,thatthetimeframedidn’tprecludethisbeingthesame
UNSUB,butIknewfromhistoneofvoicethathewasn’tjusttalkingaboutthisUNSUB.
“Howlongwasitbeforetheycaughthim?”Iaskedsoftly.Ididn’tspecifywhohimwas.Ididn’t
haveto.
Deanmetmygazeandheldit.“Years.”
Iwonderedifthatonewordwasmorethanhe’dtoldanyoneelseabouthisfather.
Ithoughtthatmaybeitwas.
“Mymother.Iwastheonewhofound…”Icouldn’tsayherbodybecausetherehadn’tbeenone.I
swallowedhard,butIkeptgoing,becauseitwasimportant,somehow,toputitintowords,totellhim.
“I’dgonetocheckoutthecrowd,eavesdrop,seeiftherewasanythingIcouldpickuponthat
mighthelpmymomduringtheshow.Iwasgonetenminutes,maybefifteen,andwhenIgotback,she
wasgone.Theentireroomhadbeentossed.Thepolicesayshefought.Iknowshefought—butthere
wassomuchblood.Idon’tknowhowmanytimeshestabbedher,butwhenIgotbacktotheroom,I
couldsmellit.Thedoorwaspartwayopen.Thelightwasoff.IsteppedintotheroomandIfelt
somethingwetunderneathmyfeet.Isaidhername,Ithink.AndthenIreachedforthelightswitch.I
gotthewallinstead,andtherewasbloodonthewall.Itwasonmyhands,Dean,andthenIturnedon
thelight,anditwaseverywhere.”
Deandidn’tsayanything,buthewasthere,soclosethatIcouldfeeltheheatofhisbodynextto
mine.Hewaslistening,andIcouldn’tshakethefeelingthatheunderstood.
“I’msorry,”Isaid.“Idon’tusuallytalkaboutthis,andIdon’tletitdothistome,butIremember
thinkingthatwhoeverhurtmymotherhatedher.Heknewher,andhehatedher,Dean.Itwasthere,in
theroom,inthespatter,inthewayshe’dfought—itwasn’trandom.Heknewher,andhowcouldI
explainthattoanyone?Whowouldhavebelievedme?Iwasjustsomestupidkid,butnowBriggsand
Lockehavethiscase,andtheirUNSUBiskillingpeoplewholooklikemymotherandpeoplewho
holdasimilarjob,andhe’sdoingitwithaknife.Andeventhoughthevictimsarescattered
geographically,eventhoughnoneofthemkneweachother,it’spersonal.”Ipaused.“Idon’tthinkhe’s
killingthem.Ithinkhe’skillingheragain.AndI’mnotjustsomestupidkidanymore.I’maprofiler.
ANatural.Butevenso—who’sgoingtobelieveme?”
Deanputahandonmyneck,thewayhehadthefirsttimeI’dcrawledintoakiller ’smind.
“Nobodyisgoingtobelieveyou,”hesaid.“You’retooclosetoit.”Heranhisthumbupanddownthe
sideofmyneck.“ButBriggswillbelieveme.”
Deanwastheonlypersoninthishousewhosharedmyability.MichaelandSloanemighthave
beenskepticalaboutmytheory,butDeanhadinstinctslikemine.He’dknowifIwascrazy,orifthere
wassomethingtothis.“You’lllookatthecase?”Iaskedhim.
Henoddedanddroppedhishandfrommyneck,likehe’donlyjustrealizedhewastouchingme.
Istood.“I’llberightback,”Isaid.“I’mgoingtogetthefile.”
CHAPTER24
“Michael,canIhavethe—”Iburstintothekitchen,onlytofindthatMichaelandSloaneweren’tthe
onlyonesthere.Juddwascooking,andAgentBriggswasstandingwithhisbacktome,athinblack
briefcasebyhisfeet.
“—thebacon,”Ifinishedhastily.
AgentBriggsturnedtofaceme.“AndwhydoesMichaelhaveyourbacon?”heasked.
Asifthiswholesituationwasn’tawkwardenough,Liachosethatmomenttocomesaunteringinto
theroom.“Yes,Cassie,”shesaidwithawickedgrin,“telluswhyMichaelhasyourbacon.”
Thewayshesaidthephraseleftverylittlequestionthatshewasusingitasaeuphemism.
“Lia,”Juddsaid,wavingaspatulainhergeneraldirection,“that’senough.”Thenheturnedtome.
“Grubwillbereadysoon.Iexpectyoucanholdoutuntilthen?”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Nobaconneeded.”
FrombehindBriggs’sback,Michaelpantomimedsmackinghispalmintohisforehead.
Apparently,myattemptsatsubterfugeleftsomethingtobedesired.Itriedtomakeaquickexit,but
AgentBriggsstoppedmeinmytracks.
“Cassie.Aword.”
IglancedatMichael,wonderingwhat—ifanything—BriggsknewaboutwhatMichael,Sloane,and
Ihadbeenupto.
“Ambidextrous,”Sloanesaidsuddenly.
“Thisshouldbegood,”Liamurmured.
Sloaneclearedherthroat.“AgentBriggsaskedforaword.Ambidextrousisagoodone.Lessthan
point-fivepercentofthewordsintheEnglishlanguagecontainallfivevowels.”
Iwasgratefulforthedistraction,butunfortunately,Briggsdidn’tbite.“Cassie?”
“Sure.”Inoddedandfollowedhimoutoftheroom.Iwasn’tsurewherewewereheadingatfirst,
butafterwepassedthelibrary,IrealizedweweregoingtotheonlyroomonthegroundfloorI
hadn’tbeeninyet—Briggs’sstudy.
Heopenedthedoorandgesturedformetoenter.Iwalkedintotheroom,takinginmy
surroundings.Theroomwasfullofanimals,lifelessandfrozeninplace.
Huntingtrophies.
Therewasagrizzlybear,reareduponitsbacklegs,itsmouthcaughtinasilentroar.Ontheother
sideoftheroom,alifelikepanthercrouched,caninesgleaming,whileamountainlionseemedtobe
ontheprowl.
Themostdisturbingthingaboutthisentireroom—maybethisentiresituation—wasthatIhadn’t
peggedAgentBriggsforahunter.
“They’repredators.Remindersofwhatmyteamdealswitheverytimewegooutintheworld.”
TherewassomethingaboutthewayAgentBriggssaidthosewordsthatmademerealize,beyonda
shadowofadoubt,thatheknewwhatMichael,Sloane,andIhadbeenuptoinhisabsence.Heknew
thatweknewtheexactdetailsofthecasethatheandAgentLockewereworkingnow.
“Howdidyoufindout?”Iasked.
“Juddtoldme.”Briggscrossedtheroomandsatontheedgeofthedesk.Hegesturedformeto
takeaseatinachairinfrontofhim.“Youknow,Juddmightfadeintothebackgroundaroundhere,
butthere’snotmuchthatgoesoninthishousethathedoesn’tknow.Informationgatheringhasalways
beenaspecialtyofhis.”
Keepinghiseyesfixedonme,Briggsopenedhisbriefcaseandtookoutafile:allofthepapers
we’dprintedoutearlier.“IconfiscatedthisfromMichael.Andthis,”headded,holdinguptheUSB
drive,“fromSloane.Herlaptopwillbemakingatriptoourtechlabtoensurethatalltracesofdata
havebeenwipedfromtheharddrive.”
Ihadn’tevenhadachancetotellAgentBriggsmysuspicions,andhewasalreadyshuttingme
down—andshuttingmeout.
Briggsranonehandroughlyoverhischin,andIrealizedthathehadn’tshavedinatleastaday.
“Thecaseisn’tgoingwell.”Ipaused.“Isit?”
“IneedyoutolistentowhatI’msaying,Cassandra.”
Thatwasonlythesecondtimehe’dcalledmebymyfullnamesinceI’dtoldhimIpreferred
Cassie.
“Iwasupfrontwithyouaboutwhatthisprogramisandwhatitisnot.TheFBIisn’taboutto
authorizeteenagerstodiveintothemiddleofactivecases.”
Hischoiceofwordswasmorerevealingthanheknew.TheFBIhadqualmsaboutthrowing
teenagersintothethickofthings.Briggs—personally—didnot.
“Sowhatyou’resayingisthatusingthetwelve-year-oldsonofaserialkillerasyourown
personalencyclopediaofmurderousmindswasfine,butnowthattheprogramisofficial,wecan’t
evenlookatthefiles?”
“WhatI’msaying,”Briggscountered,“isthatthisUNSUBisdangerous.He’slocal.AndIhaveno
intentionofinvolvinganyofyou.”
“Evenifthiscasehassomethingtodowithmymother ’s?”
Briggspaused.“You’rejumpingtoconclusions.”Hedidn’taskmewhyIthoughtthiscasehad
somethingtodowithmymother ’s.NowthatI’dbroughtuptheidea,hedidn’thaveto.“The
occupations.Theredhair.Theknife.Itisn’tenough.”
“TheUNSUBdyedthelatestvictim’shairred.”Ididn’tbotheraskingifIwasrightaboutthat,
knowinginmygutthatIwas.“That’saboveandbeyondvictimselection.It’snotjustanMOanymore.
It’spartoftheUNSUB’ssignature.”
Briggscrossedhisarmsoverhischest.“I’mnottalkingwithyouaboutthis.”
Andyet,hedidn’tleavetheroom—andhedidn’tstoplistening.
“DidtheUNSUBdyeherhairbeforeorafterhekilledher?”
Briggsdidn’tsayaword.Hewasplayingthisbythebook—buthedidn’ttellmetostoptalking,
either.
“Dyeingthevictim’shairbeforethekillcouldbeanattempttocreateamoreidealtarget,onewho
claimstobepsychicandhasredhair.Butdyeingherhairafterward…”Ipaused,justlongenoughto
seethatBriggswaslistening,reallylistening,toeveryword.“Dyeingherhairaftershe’salready
deadisamessage.”
“Andwhatmessageisthat?”AgentBriggsaskedsharply,likehewasdismissingmywordsoutof
hand,whenbothofusknewthathewasnot.
“Amessageforyou:haircolormatters.TheUNSUBwantsyoutoknowthatthere’saconnection
betweenthecases.Hedoesn’ttrustyoutocometothatconclusiononyourown,sohe’shelpingyou
getthere.”
Briggswassilentforthreeorfourloadedseconds.
“Wecan’tdothis,Cassie.Iunderstandyourinterestinthecase.Iunderstandyourwantingtohelp,
butwhateveryouthinkyou’redoing,itendsnow.”
Istartedtoobjectandheheldupahand,silencingme.
“I’lltellLocketoletyoustartworkingoncoldcases.You’reobviouslyready.Butifyousomuch
assniffinthedirectionofthiscaseagain,therewillbeconsequences,andIcanguaranteethatyou
willfindthemunpleasant.”Heleanedforward,hispostureunconsciouslymimickingtheroaring
bear ’s.“HaveImademyselfclear?”
Ididn’trespond.IfhewaslookingforapromisethatI’dstayoutofthis,hewasgoingtobe
disappointed.
“IalreadyhaveaNaturalprofilerinthisprogram.”Briggslookedmestraightintheeye,hislips
setinathin,forbiddingline.“I’dprefertohavetwo,butnotattheriskofmyjob.”
Thereitwas:theultimatethreat.IfIpushedthis,Briggscouldsendmehome.BacktoNonnaand
theauntsandtheunclesandtheconstantawarenessthatIwouldneverbelikethem,likeanyone
outsideofthesewalls.
“You’vemadeyourselfclear,”Isaid.
Briggsclosedhisbriefcase.“Giveitacoupleofyears,Cassie.Theywon’tkeepyououtofthe
fieldforever.”
Hewaitedformyreply,butIsaidnothing.Hestoodupandwalkedtothedoor.
“Ifhe’sdyeingtheirhair,therulesarechanging,”Icalledafterhim,notbotheringtoturnaround
toseeifhe’dstoppedtolistenornot.“Andthatmeansthatbeforethingsgetbetter,they’regoingto
getawholelotworse.”
YOU
Youcan’trememberthelasttimeyoufeltthisway.Alloftheothers—allofthem—wereimitations.A
copyofacopyofthethingyouwantedmost.Butnow—nowyou’reclose.
Asmileonyourface,youpickupthescissors.Thegirlonthefloorscreams,theducttape
stretchingtightacrossherface,butyouignoreher.She’snottherealprizehere,justameanstoan
end.
Yougrabherbythehairandjerkherheadback.Shestruggles,andyoutightenyourgripandslam
herheadintothewall.
“Bestill,”youwhisper.Youletherhairfallbackdownandthenliftasinglelockofitup.
Youraisethescissors.Youcutthehair.
Andthenyoucuther.
CHAPTER25
Iwenttobedearly.Somuchhadhappenedinthepasttwenty-fourhoursthatmybodyphysicallyhurt.
Ididn’twanttobeawakeanymore.Thatplanworkedforafewhours,butjustaftermidnight,Iawoke
tothesoundoffootstepsoutsideofmydoorandthedulcetmelodyofSloanesnoringnexttome.
Forasecond,IthoughtI’dimaginedthefootsteps,butthenIsawthehintofashadowunderneath
thedoor.
There’ssomeoneoutthere.
Whoeveritwasjuststoodthere.Icrepttowardthedoor,myhairstucktomyforeheadwithsweat
andmyheartbeatthuddinginmyears.
Iopenedthedoor.
“Notgoingforaswimtonight?”
IttookasecondforMichael’sfeaturestocometogetherinthedarkness,butIrecognizedhisvoice
immediately.
“Idon’tfeellikeswimming.”Iloweredmyvoice,butnotasmuchasIwouldhaveifmy
roommate’snasalpassageshadn’tbeenthreateningtodeafenmewithintheyear.
“Igotyousomething.”Michaeltookastepforward,untilhisfacewasmereinchesfrommine.
Slowly,heheldupaninch-thickfile.
Ilookedathim,thenatthefile,thenbackathim.
“Youdidn’t,”Isaid.
“Ohyes,”hereplied.“Idid.”
“How?”Already,myfingerswereitchingtosnatchthefilefromhishand.
“BriggstookSloane’scomputer.Hedidn’ttakemine.”
IthoughtaboutBriggs’swarning,histhreattosendmehome.Andthen,slowly,Iclosedmy
fingersaroundthefile.“Youcopiedthefilesontoyourlaptop.”
Michaelsmiled.“You’rewelcome.”
———
Ituckedthefileundermymattress.Maybetherewasanotherclueinthere.Maybetherewasn’t.First
chanceIgot,IwasshowingittoDean.Unfortunately,whenIwenttofindhimthenextmorning,he
wasn’talone.
“Missme?”AgentLockedidn’twaitformetoanswerherquestion.“Sit.”
Isat.SodidDean.
“Here.”AgentLockeheldoutathicklegalfile,theaccordionbottomstretchedtocapacityandthen
some.
“What’sthis?”Iasked.
“Briggsthinksyou’rereadytotakethenextstep,Cassie.”Lockepaused.“Isheright?”
“Acoldcase?”Thefilewasfaded—andmuch,muchheavierthantheonetuckedundermy
mattress.
“Astringofunsolvedmurdersfromthenineties,”Locketoldus.“Homeinvasion;onebullettothe
head,execution-style.Therestofthefilecontainsallofthesimilarunsolvedhomicidesthathave
takenplaceinthatareasince.”
Deangroaned.“Nowonderthefile’ssothick,”hemuttered.“Athirdofalldrug-relatedhits
probablylookjustlikethis.”
“ThenIguessitshouldkeepthetwoofyoubusy.”LockegavemealookthatItooktomean
Briggshadtoldheraboutourlittlediscussion.
“I’llcheckinlaterintheweek.Youtwohavealotofreadingtodo,andIhaveacasetosolve.”
Sheleftthetwoofusalone.Iopenedmymouthtosaysomethingaboutthecasefilejammedunder
mymattress,butthenIcloseditagain.Liaeavesdropped—andapparently,sodidJudd.
“Howwouldyoufeelaboutworkingonourcoldcaseinthebasement?”Iasked.Thesoundproof
basement.IttookDeanamomenttocatchon,butthenheledthewaydownthestairs,closingthedoor
firmlybehindus.Wewalkedthelengthofthebasement,three-walledroomsliningeitherside,like
theatersetsinwantofaplay.
OnceIwassurewewerealone,Istartedtalking.“WhenIwenttogetthefileyesterday,Briggs
bustedme.BythetimeIgotbacktomyroom,youweregone.”
“LiamayhavementionedthatBriggsbustedyou,”Deansaid.“Youokay?”
“Itoldhimmytheory.Iaskedtoworkonthecase.Hesaidno.”
“Yougoingtoworkonitanyway?”Deanpausedinfrontofoneoftheoutdoorsets:apartialpark.
Isatdownonaparkbench,andheleanedbackagainstthebench’sarm.
“Ihaveacopyofthefile,”Isaid.“Willyoulookatit?”
Henodded.Fiveminuteslater,hewaselbow-deepinthecase—andIhadLocke’scoldcaseinmy
hands,readytocoverincaseanyonecamedowntocheckonus.
“Sometimesvictimsarejustsubstitutes,”Deansaidafterhe’dreadthroughtheentirefile.“I’m
married,butI’dnevergetawaywithkillingmyownwife,soIkillhookersandpretendthatthey’re
her.Mykiddied,andnoweverytimeIseeakidinabaseballcap,Ihavetomakehimmine.”
DeanhadalwaysusedthewordItoclimbintokillers’heads,butnowthatIknewhisbackground,
hearingthatwordcomeoutofhismouthgavemechills.
“MaybethefirsttimeIkilledsomeone,itwasn’tplanned,butnowtheonlytimeIeverreallyfeel
aliveiswhenI’mfeelingthelifegooutofsomeoneelse,someonelikeher.”
“Youseeit,too,don’tyou?”Iasked.
Henodded.“I’dbetmoneythatthispersoniseitherrelivingtheirfirstkillorfantasizingabouta
persontheywanttokillbutcan’t.”
“AndifItoldyoutherewasared-hairedpsychicattackedwithaknifefiveyearsago,andthey
neverfoundthebody?”
Deanpaused.“ThenI’dwanttoknoweverythingtherewastoknowaboutthatcase,”hesaid.
SodidI.
YOU
Theboxisblack.Thetissueiswhite.Andthepresent—thepresentisred.Youlayitgingerlyinthe
tissue.Youputthelidonthebox.Youwashthescissorsandusethemtocutalong,blackribbon—silk.
Special.
JustlikeTheGirlis.
No,youthink,pickingupthepresentandstrokingyourglovedthumbalongitsedge.Youdon’thave
tocallherTheGirl.Notanymore.
You’veseenher.You’vewatchedher.You’resure.Nomoreimitations.Nomorecopies.It’stimeshe
gottoknowyou,thewayyouknewhermother.
Youputthecardontopofthepackage.Youscrawlhernameontheoutside,eachletteralaborof
love.
C-A-S-S-I-E.
PARTTHREE:HUNTING
CHAPTER26
Wantingtoknowmoreaboutmymother ’scaseanddeterminingthebestwaytogainaccesstoher
fileweretwoverydifferentthings.Twenty-fourhoursafterDeanhadconfirmedmyimpressionof
ourUNSUB,Iwasstillempty-handed.
“Well,well,well…”
IheardLia’svoice,butrefusedtoturnaroundandwatchhermakeanentrance.Instead,Ifocused
onthegrainofthekitchentableandthesandwichonmyplate.
“Somebodygotapackageinthemail,”Liasingsonged.“Itookthelibertyofopeningitforyou,
andvoilà.Aboxwithinabox.”Shesatdownnexttomeandplacedarectangulargiftboxinfrontof
heronthetable.“Asecretadmirer,perhaps?”Therewasanenvelopeontopofthebox,andLia
pickeditupanddangledthecardinfrontofme.
Mynamewaswrittenontheenvelope,thelettersevenlyspacedwithjustahintofcurltothem,like
thepersonwho’dwrittenthemwastornbetweenwritingincursiveandwritinginprint.
“Youreallyareincrediblypopular,aren’tyou?”Liasaid.“Itdefiesalllogic.Iassumedyouwere
justthenewshiny.Inaprogramwithsofewstudents,itwouldbeweirderifthenewgirldidn’tdraw
attentionfromtheoppositesex.ButneitherMichaelnorDeanwouldhaveareasontomailyoua
package,soIcanonlyinferthatyour,shallwesay,appealisn’tlimitedtopeoplewholivehere.”
ItunedLiaoutandlookedatthebox.Itwasmatteblackwithaperfectlyfittedlid.Ablackribbon
hadbeenwrappedaroundtheboxtwice,formingacrossshapeonthefront.Inthecenterofthecross,
theribboncurledintoabow.
“DidIhearmyname?”Michaelsaunteredovertojoinus.“Don’tyoujusthateitwhenyouwalk
intotheroomandeveryone’stalkingaboutyou?”Hiseyeslandedonthegift,andthesmileonhis
faceturnedplasticandsharp.
“Somebody’snotfondofcompetition,”Liasaid.
“Andsomebodyisalotmorevulnerablethansheletson,”Michaelrepliedwithoutmissingabeat.
“Yourpoint?”
ThatshutLiaup—temporarily.Ilookedbackdownattheboxandranmyfingeralongtheedgeof
theribbon.
Silk.
“Youdidn’tsendthis?”IaskedMichael,myvoicecatchinginmythroat.
“No,”Michaelrepliedwitharollofhiseyes.“Ireallydidn’t.”
Therewasn’tapersoninmyfamilywhowouldhavesentmeapackagewrappedupinsilk,andI
couldn’tthinkofanyoneelsewhowouldwanttosendmeacarepackage.
Michaelhadn’tsentit.
Deanwasn’tthegift-givingtype.
IturnedtoLia.“Yousentthis.”
“Nottrue.”Shestaredatmeforasecond,thenmadeagrabforthecard.
“Don’t—”Istartedtosay.Mywordsfellondeafears.Shepluckedaplainwhitenotecardfromthe
envelopeandclearedherthroat.
“Fromme,toyou.”Liaarchedaneyebrowandtossedthecardbackonthetable.“Howromantic.”
Achillcrawledupmyspine.Mybreathfelthotinmylungs,butmyhandswerefreezingcold.The
package,theribbon,thebowtiedjustso…
Somethingisn’tright.
“Cassie?”Michaelmusthaveseenitonmyface.Heleanedtowardme.IglancedatLia,butfor
once,shehadnothingtosay.Slowly,Ibroughtmyhanduptotheribbon.Ipulled,anditfellawayinto
agracefulblackheaponthetable.
NowthatI’dstarted,Icouldn’tstop.Ihookedmyfingersaroundthelidofthebox.Ipulleditoff
andsetitgingerlytotheside.Whitetissuepaper,meticulouslyfolded,layinside.
“Whatisit?”
IignoredLia’squestion.Ireachedintothebox.Iunwrappedthetissuepaper.
AndthenIscreamed.
Nestledinthetissuepaperwasalockofredhair.
CHAPTER27
IttookAgentBriggsanhourtogettoourhouse.Ittookhimfivesecondstogetfromthefrontdoor
tothekitchen—andthebox.
“StillthinkI’mjumpingtoconclusionswhenIsaythiscaseisrelatedtomymother ’s?”Iasked
him,myvoiceshaky.Heignoredmeandbarkedoutcommandstotheteamofagentshe’dbrought
withhim.
“Bagthepackaging,thebox,theribbon,thecard,everything—ifthere’saspeckofevidenceon
anyofit,Iwanttoknow.Starmans,trackthebox—howitwassent,whereitwasmailedfrom,who
paidforit.Brooks,Vance,weneedDNAonthehair,andweneedityesterday.Idon’tcarewhoyou
havetothreateninthelabtogetitdone,rushit.Locke…”
AgentLockecrossedherarmsoverherchestandgaveBriggsalook.Tohiscredit,heloweredhis
voicetoamorereasonablevolumeandpitch.
“IfthisisourUNSUB,itchangeseverything.Wehavenoevidencethathe’severmadecontactwith
atargetpriortokilling.Thismaybeourchancetogetaheadofhim.”
“Wedon’tevenknowthatthisisourUNSUB,”AgentLockepointedout.“It’sredhair.Forallwe
know,itcouldbeaprank.”
HergazedriftedovertoLiathesecondshesaidthewordprank.Iwhippedmyheadaroundtolook
attheNaturalliar,too.
Liatossedherblackhairoverhershoulder.“Thisisalittlebeyondthepale,evenforme,Agent
Locke.”
Lockeglancedatme.“Gottenintoanyargumentslately?”sheasked.
Iopenedmymouth,thenglancedatLiaagain.Remindmenevertoaskyouforafavoragain.The
venominhertonewhenshe’dsaidthosewordshadbeenpalpable.
“Lia.”AgentBriggsbarelymanagedtogetthewordoutaroundhisclenchedjaw.“Tellmeagain
howyoufoundthepresent.”
Lia’seyesflashed.“Iwentouttogetthemail.TherewasapackagewithCassie’snameonit.I
openedsaidpackage.Inside,therewasabox.IdecidedIwantedtoseethelookonCassie’sfacewhen
sheopenedsaidbox.Ibroughtitintothekitchen.Cassieopenedit.Theend.”
BriggsturnedtoLocke.“IftheDNAcomesbackasamatchforoneofourvictims,you’llhaveto
completelyreworktheprofile.Ifitdoesn’t…”
HeglancedbackatLia.
“Whydoeseveryonekeeplookingatme?”shesnapped.“Ifoundthepackage.Ididn’tsendit.Ifthe
DNAonthehairdoesn’tcomebackasamatch,maybeyoushouldthinkaboutaskingCassiesome
questions.”
“Me?”Iaskedincredulously.
“Youwantedinonthiscase,”Liaretorted.“Andnowthekillercontactsyououtoftheblue?How
luckyforyou.”
Icouldn’ttellifLiabelievedwhatshewassayingornot.Itdidn’tmatter,becauseBriggshad
alreadyturnedhisdiamond-hardgazeonme.
“Cassiedidn’tdothis.”
Ihadn’tevenrealizedthatDeanwasintheroomuntilhespoke.Clearly,neitherhadtheagents.
Briggsactuallyjumped.
“Cassie’snotthetypetoplaygames.”Dean’svoicebrookednodoubt.“Theentirereasonshe
wantedtoworkonthiscaseisthatshethinksithassomethingtodowithhermother ’smurder.Why
wouldsheriskdivertingmanpowerandresourcesawayfromtherealinvestigationwhensheknows
thekillerisescalating?Ifthisisaprank,it’saprankthat’sgoingtogetsomeonekilled.”
Theknotinmychestloosened.IlookedatDean,andsuddenly,Icouldbreathe.
“Dean’sright.”Locke’svoicesoundedexactlylikeminewhenIwasworkingmywaythrougha
puzzle.“IfCassiewantedinonthiscase,she’djustfindawaytokeepworkingitonherown.”
Itriedveryhardnottolookconspicuous—becausethatwasexactlywhatI’dbeentryingtodo.
“Cassie,didyouordidyounotdropthiscasewhenItoldyouto?”Briggstookastepforward,
invadingmypersonalspace.“Haveyoudoneanythingthatmighthavedrawnthekiller ’sattention?”
Ishookmyhead—notobothquestions.Briggs’shandfellbacktohisside.Heclenchedhisjaw
again.Forthesecondtime,Deanintervened.
“AllCassiedidwasgiveacopyofthecasefiletome.”
EverypairofeyesintheroomturnedtoDean.Normally,hestoodandwalkedlikesomeonewho
wantedtodisappearintothewoodwork,buttoday,hisshoulderswereback,hisjawset.
“Ireadthefile.Iprofiledit.AndIthinkCassie’sright.”DeanleveledhisgazeatAgentBriggs.
“Thesewomenarestand-ins,andIthinkthere’saveryrealchancethatthepersonthey’restandingin
forisCassie’smother.”
“You’veneverevenseentheLorelaiHobbescasefile,”Briggsshotback.Mymother ’snamehit
melikeapunchtothestomach.
“I’veseenCassie’smother ’spicture,”Deanargued.“I’veseenthehumanhairthatsomeonejust
senttoCassieasagift.”
BriggslistenedtoeverywordDeanhadtosay,anintenselookofconcentrationonhisface.
“You’renotauthorizedtoworkthiscase,”hesaidfinally.
Deanshrugged.“Iknow.”
“Youarenotgoingtobeworkingthiscase.”
“Iknow.”
“I’mgoingtopretendthatweneverhadthisconversation.”
“Liar,”Liacoughed.
Briggswasnotamused.“Youmayleavetheroom,Lia.”
Liaclaspedherhandstogether.“Oh,Mother,mayI?”
Deanmadeachokingsound.Iwasn’tentirelycertain,buthemighthavebeenswallowingalaugh.
“Now,Lia.”
Afteralongmomentandaglareaimedattheroomasawhole,Liatwirledonhertoesandstalked
outoftheroom.OncehewassureLiawasgone,AgentBriggsturnedtoAgentLocke.“Doyouthink
thiscaseisrelatedtotheLorelaiHobbescase?”
Ididn’tflinchwhenhesaidmymother ’snameasecondtime.IconcentratedonthefactthatLia
wascorrect:BriggshadnointentionofforgettingwhatDeanhadtoldhim.
IthinkCassie’sright.
“Idon’tknowthatitmatterswhetherthetwocasesarerelatedornot,”Lockeansweredfinally.
“Cassie’shairisred.She’sabityoungerthantheothervictims,butotherwise,shefitstheprofileof
thiskiller ’svictims,andmoreimportantly,ourUNSUBisescalating.Ifyouassumethelastvictim’s
hairwasdyedasamessage,thatmeansthisguyisplayingwithus.Andifhe’splayingwithus,there’s
asizablechancethathe’swatchingus.”AgentLockerubbedthebackofherhandwearilyoverher
brow.“Ifhe’swatchingus,hecouldhavefollowedushere,andifhefollowedushere,hecouldhave
seenCassie.”
Briggs’sphonerangbeforehecouldreply.Bythetimehehungup,Ialreadyknewwhatthenext
wordsoutofhismouthweregoingtobe.
“We’vegotanotherbody.”
YOU
YouwatchtheFBIagentsscurryingaroundthecrimescenelikeants.Thisparticularcorpseisnot
yourbestwork.Youkilledherlastnight,andalready,herscreamshavefadedfromyourears.Herface
isstillrecognizable—moreorless.
Youusedscissorsthistimeinsteadofyourknife.
Butthat’snotthepoint.Notthistime.Thistime,thepointisthatthegiftyousentsweetlittle
CassandraHobbeswastherealthing.
Thepatheticlittleslutlyinglifelessonthepavementisjustapieceoftheplan.Youabandonedher
bodyatdawn,knowingthatitwouldn’tbediscoveredimmediately.You’dhoped—prayed,even—that
Cassiewouldbetherewhentheagentsgotthecall.
Didyouscreamwhenyouopenedthebox,Cassie?Didyouthinkaboutme?AmIthethoughtthat
keepsyouupatnight?There’ssomuchyouwanttoaskher.
Somuchyouwanttotellher.
Therestoftheworldwillneverunderstand.TheFBIwillneverknowtheinnerworkingsofyour
brain.
They’llneverknowhowcloseyouare.
ButCassie—she’sgoingtoknoweverything.Thetwoofyouareconnected.Cassieishermother’s
daughter—andthat’sascloseasyou’reevergoingtoget.
CHAPTER28
Twodayslater,thehairfromtheblackboxcamebackasamatchfortheUNSUB’slatestvictim.
“I’llacceptgiftsinlieuofanapology,”LiatoldAgentLocke.“Anytimenowisfine.”
Lockedidn’treply.Thethreeofus—alongwithBriggs,Michael,andDean—wereinBriggs’s
study.Sloanewasnowheretobeseen.
Yousentmeapieceofhair.Icouldn’tkeepfromtalkingtothekillerinmyhead,couldn’tkeep
fromthinkingaboutthepresentandwhatitmeantthattheUNSUBhadsentittome.Wasshe
screamingwhenyoucutitoff?Didyouusethescissorstocutherafterward?Wasiteverevenabout
her?Orwasitaboutme?Aboutmymother?
“AmIindanger?”Isoundedremarkablycalm,likemyquestionwasjustapieceofthepuzzleand
notamatteroflifeanddeath—specifically,mine.
“Whatdoyouthink?”Lockeasked.
Briggsnarrowedhiseyes,likehecouldn’tbelieveshewasusingthisasateachingopportunity,but
Iansweredthequestionanyway.
“IthinkthisUNSUBwantstokillme,butIdon’tthinkhewantstokillmeyet.”
“Thisisinsane.”Michaelhadthatlookonhisface—theonethattoldmehewantedtohitsomeone.
“Cassie,areyouevenlisteningtoyourself?”HeturnedtoBriggs.“She’sinshock.”
“Sheisstandingrighthere,”Isaid,butIdidn’tcontradicttherestofMichael’sstatement.Givenhis
abilitytoreadpeople,Ihadtoassumethathemightberight.MaybeIwasinshock.Icouldn’tdenythe
factthatmyemotionswereonlockdown.
Iwasn’tangry.
Iwasn’tscared.
Iwasn’teventhinkingaboutmymotherandthefactthatthisUNSUBmightverywellhavekilled
her,too.
“Youkillwomen,”Isaidoutloud.“Womenwithredhair.Womenwhoremindyouofsomeone
else.Andthenoneday,youseeme,andforwhateverreason,I’mnotliketheothers.Younever
neededtotalktothem.Youneverneededthemtogotosleepatnightthinkingaboutyou.ButI’m
different.Yousendmeagift—maybeyouwanttoscareme.Maybeyou’replayingwithmeorusing
metoplaywiththefeds.Butthewayyouwrappedthatbox,thecareyoutookwithmynameonthe
card—there’sapartofyouthatthinksyoureallyhavegivenmeagift.You’retalkingtome.You
mademespecial,andwhenyoukillme,thatwillhavetobespecial,too.”Everysinglepersoninthe
roomwasstaringatme.IturnedtoDean.“AmIwrong?”
Deanconsideredthequestion.“I’vebeenkillingforalongtime,”hesaid,slippingintothekiller ’s
mindaseasilyasIhad.“Andeachtime,it’salittlebitlessthanitwasthetimebefore.Idon’twantto
getcaught,butIneedthedanger,thethrill,thechallenge.”Heclosedhiseyesforamoment,andwhen
heopenedthem,itwaslikethetwoofusweretheonlytwopeopleintheroom.
“You’renotwrong,Cassie.”
“Thisissick,”Michaelsaid,hisvoicerising.“There’ssomepsychooutthere,fixatingonCassie,
andyoutwoareactinglikethisissomekindofgame.”
“Itisagame,”Deansaid.
IknewDeanwasn’tenjoyingthis,thatlookingatmethroughakiller ’seyeswasn’tsomethinghe
wouldhavechosentodo,butMichaelonlyheardthewords.HelungedforwardandcaughtDeanby
thefrontofhisshirt.
Asecondlater,MichaelhadDeanpinnedtothewall.“Listentome,yousicksonofa—”
“Michael!”BriggspulledhimoffDean.Atthelastsecond,Deanlungedforwardandgrabbed
Michael,reversingtheirpositionsandwedginghiselbowunderneathMichael’sthroat.
Deanloweredhisvoicetoawhisper.“Ineversaidthiswasagametome,Townsend.”
ItwasagametotheUNSUB.Iwastheprize.Andifweweren’tcareful,MichaelandDeanwere
goingtokilleachother.
“Enough.”LockeputahandonDean’sshoulder.Hestiffened,andforasecond,Ithoughthemight
hither.
“Enough,”Deanechoed,expellingabreath.HeletMichaelgoandtookastepback.Thenhejust
keptwalkingbackwarduntilhisbackhittheoppositewall.Hewasapersonwhodidn’tlosecontrol,
whocouldn’taffordto,andhe’dcomecloseenoughwithMichaeljustnowthatitscaredhim.
“Sowhatdowedonow?”Iasked,pullingeveryone’sattentionfromDeanandgivinghima
secondtorecover.
Briggsjabbedhisindexfingerinmydirection.“You’restillnotworkingthiscase.Eitherofyou.”
HesparedaglareforDeanbeforereturningthatlaserfocustome.“I’veassignedateamtowatchthe
house.I’llintroduceyoualltoAgentsStarmans,Vance,andBrooks.Untilfurthernotice,noneofyou
willbeleavingthisresidence,andCassieisneveralone.”
Closingranksaroundmewasn’tgoingtobringusanyclosertothisUNSUB.
“Youshouldtakemewithyou,”ItoldBriggs.“Ifthisguywantsme,weshouldusethat.Setatrap.”
“No!”Michael,Dean,andBriggsrespondedattheexactsametime.Iturnedbeseechingeyesto
AgentLocke.
Shelookedlikeshewasonthevergeofagreeingwithme,butatthelastsecond,shebitherlipand
shookherhead.“TheUNSUBhasonlymadecontactonce.He’lltryagain,whetheryou’rehereor
elsewhere,andatleasthere,wehavethehomecourtadvantage.”
I’dbeentaughtthattherewasnosuchthingasthehomecourtadvantage,butmymother ’slessons
hadbeengearedtowardreadingpeople,notplayingcatandmousewithkillers.
“TheUNSUBisbreakingpattern.”Lockereachedoutandtouchedthesideofmyfacesoftly.“As
scaryasitis,that’sagoodthing.Weknowwhathewants,andwecankeephimfromgettingit.The
morerileduphegets,themorelikelyheistomakeamistake.”
“Ican’tjustdonothing.”Ilockedmyeyesontomymentor ’s,willinghertounderstand.
“Youcandosomething,”shesaidfinally.“Youcanmakealist.Everyoneyou’vespokento,
everyoneyou’vemet,everyplaceyou’vebeen,everypersonwho’sspentevenasecondlookingat
yousinceyougothere.”
Mymindwentimmediatelytothemanwho’dinterruptedmyreadingthatafternoonbythe
Potomac—withouttellingmehisname.Wasthathim?Wasitnothing?
Itwashardnottobeparanoid,givenwhatIknewnow.
“TheUNSUBmailedthepackage,”Liapointedout,jarringmefrommythoughts.“Hedoesn’t
havetobelocal.”
Deanjammedhishandsintohispockets.“He’dwanttoseeher,”hesaid,hisowngazeflicking
towardmyface,justforasecond.
“Weweren’tabletotracethepackage,”Lockesaidgrimly.“Busypostoffice,busyday,lessthan
observantmailclerk,andnosecuritycameras.OurUNSUBpaidcash,andthereturnaddressis
obviouslyfaked.Thisguyisgood,andhe’splayingwithus.Atthispoint,Iwouldn’truleanything
out.”
CHAPTER29
Forthenextthreedays,Icouldbarelymanagetogotothebathroomwithoutsomeoneelsefollowing
mein.AndeverytimeIlookedoutthewindow,IknewthattheFBIwasoutthere,watchingand
waiting,hopingthekillerwouldtryagain.
“ThereareapproximatelythirtythousandworkingmorticiansintheUnitedStates.”
Sloane—whowastheonlypersoninthehouseIcouldn’tjustifythrowingoutofmyroom,sinceit
washerroom,too—hadpulledCassiebabysittingdutywhenI’dtriedtosneakawayforsometime
alone.
“Morticians?”Irepeated.Ieyedhersuspiciously.“Didsomeonegiveyoucoffee?”
Sloaneverypointedlydidnotanswerthecoffeequestion.“Ithoughtyoucoulduseadistraction.”
Iploppeddownonmybed.“Don’tyouhaveanymorecheerfulstatistics?”
Sloanefrownedincontemplation.“Areballoonanimalscheerful?”
Ohdearlord.
“Balloonistsaremorelikelythanothercircusperformerstosufferfromsubconjunctival
hemorrhages.”
“Sloane,subconjunctivalhemorrhagesarenotcheerful.”
Sheshrugged.“Ifyouhadaballoon,Icouldmakeyouadachshund.”
AnotherfewdaysofthisandImightwillinglyservemyselfuptotheUNSUB.Whowouldhave
thoughtmyfellowNaturalswouldtakeBriggs’sdecreethatInotbeleftalonesoseriously?Deanand
Michaelcouldbarelystandtobeinthesameroomwitheachother,butthesecondIsteppedoutofmy
bedroom,oneorbothofthemwouldbetherewaitingforme.Theonlythingthatcouldhavemade
thiswholesituationmoreawkwardwasifLiahadn’tmagnanimouslydecidedtostayoutofthefray.
“Knock,knock!”
SomuchforLia’smagnanimousness.
“Whatdoyouwant?”Iaskedher,notbotheringtosugarcoatmywords.
“My,butwe’recrankytoday.”
Iflookscouldkill,Liawouldhavebeendeadonthefloor,andIwouldhavebeenontrialfor
murder.
“Isuppose,”Liasaid,withtheairofsomeonemakingamostgenerousconcession,“thatthe
argumentyouhadwithDeanabouthisfatherwasn’tentirelyyourfault,andsincethiswholehair-in-
a-boxthingseemstohavegivenhimarenewedpurposeinlife,I’mnotmorallyobligatedtomake
youmiserableanymore.”
Iwasn’tsurehowtoreplytothat.“Thankyou?”
“Ithoughtyoucoulduseadistraction.”Liasmiled.“Ifthere’sonethingIexcelat,it’sdistractions.”
ThelasttimeI’dletLiadictateourplans,I’dendedupkissingDeanandMichaelinaspanofless
thantwenty-fourhours,butafterthreedaysofhousearrestandwaytoomanystatisticsabout
dachshunds,Iwasdesperate.
“Whatkindofdistractiondidyouhaveinmind?”
Liatossedabagonmybed.Iopenedit.
“Didyourobacosmeticsstore?”
Liashrugged.“Ilikemakeup—andnothingsaysdistractionlikeamakeover.Besides…”She
reachedinthebagandpulledoutalipstick.Smilingwickedly,sheuncappeditandtwistedthebottom.
“Thisisdefinitelyyourcolor.”
Ieyedthelipstick.Thecolorwasdark—halfwaybetweenredandbrown.Waytoosexyforme—
andstrangelyfamiliar.
“Whatdoyousay?”Liadidn’tactuallywaitforananswer.Shepushedmeintoasittingpositionon
thebed.Sheleanedintomypersonalspaceandtiltedmychinback.Andthenshedraggedthelipstick
acrossmylips.
“Kleenex!”Liabarked.
SloanesuppliedtheKleenex,agoofygrinonherface.
“Blot,”Liaordered.
Iblotted.
“Iknewthatwouldbeagoodcoloronyou,”Liatoldme,hervoicesmugandself-satisfied.
Withoutanotherword,sheturnedherattentiontomyeyes.Whenshewasfinallyfinished,Ipushed
heroffmeandwalkedovertothemirror.
“Oh.”Icouldn’tkeepthesoundfromescapingmymouth.Myblueeyeslookedimpossiblybig.My
lasheshadbeenthoroughlymascara-ed,andthecoloronmylipswasdarkagainstmyporcelainskin.
Ilookedlikemymother.Myfeatures,thewaytheycametogetheronmyface—everything.
Bluedress.Blood.Lipstick.
Aseriesofimagesflashedthroughmymind,andIrealizedwithsuddenclaritywhythecolorof
thislipstickhadseemedsofamiliar.Iturnedbacktothebedandscavengedthroughthebagof
makeupuntilIfoundit.Iturnedthetubeupsidedown,lookingforthecolor ’sname.
“RoseRed,”Iread,swallowingafterIsaidthewords.IturnedtoLia.“Wheredidyougetthis?”
“Whatdoesitmatter?”
Myknuckleswentwhitearoundthetube.“Wheredidyougetthis,Lia?”
“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”shecountered,foldingherarmsoverherchestandexaminingher
nails.
“Ijustdo,okay?”Icouldn’ttellhermorethanthat—andIshouldn’thavehadto.“Please?”
Liagatheredthemakeupoffthebedandmadeherwaytothedoor.Shegavemeoneofthose
smilesthatwasn’tasmile.“Iboughtit,Cassie.Withmoney.Aspartofourfinesystemofcapitalistic
exchange.Happy?”
“Thecolor—”Istartedtosay.
“It’sapopularcolor,”Liacutin.“IfyoubribeSloanewithsomejava,shecouldprobablytellyou
exactlyhowmanymillionsoftubesofittheyselleveryyear.Seriously,Cassie.Don’taskwhy.Just
saythankyou.”
“Thanks,”Isaidsoftly,butIcouldn’thelpfeelingthattheuniversewasmockingme,andIcouldn’t
keepfromlookingdownatthetubeinmyhandandthinking,overandoveragain,thatonceupona
time,I’dknownsomeoneelsewhowaspartialtoRoseRedlipstick.
Mymother.
YOU
“Holdstill.”
Thegirlwhimpers,hereyesfillingwithtears,herhandspullingatthebindings.Youbackhandher,
andshefallstotheground.There’snopleasuretobehadinthis.
She’snotLorelai.
She’snotCassie.
She’snotevenaproperimitation.Butyouhadtodosomething.Youhadtoshowthepeopleclosing
ranksaroundCassiewhathappenswhentheytrytostandbetweenyouandwhatisyours.
“Holdstill,”yousayagain.
Thistime,thegirlobeys.Youdon’tkillher.Youdon’tevenhurther.
Notyet.
CHAPTER30
Iwokemidmorningtoslantingraysoflightbreakingthroughmybedroomwindow.Sloanewas
nowheretobeseen.Afterdoingacursorycheckofthehallway,Islunkintothebathroomandlocked
thedoorbehindme.
Solitude.Fornow.
Ipulledtheshowercurtain,stretchingitacrossthelengthofthetub.Withatwistofmywrist,I
turnedonthespray,ashotasitwouldgo.Thesoundofwaterdrummingagainsttheporcelaintubwas
soothingandhypnotic.Isankdowntothefloor,pullingmykneestomychest.
Sixdaysago,aserialkillerhadcontactedme,andmyonlyreactionhadbeentocrawlintothe
UNSUB’shead,calmandcool.Butlastnight,wearingthesameshadeoflipstickasmymotherhad
undoneme.
Itwasacoincidence,Itoldmyself.Ahorrible,twisted,untimelycoincidencethatwithindaysof
beingcontactedbyakillerwhomighthavemurderedmymother,Liahadmademeuptolookjustlike
her.
“It’sapopularcolor.Justsaythankyou.”
Steambuiltupintheairaroundme,remindingmethatIwaswastinghotwater,acardinalsinina
housewithfiveteenagers.Istoodandswipedmyarmacrossthemirror,leavingastreakonitssteam-
coveredsurface.
Istaredatmyself,banishingtheimageofRoseRedonmylips.Thiswasme.Iwasfine.
Strippingoffmypajamas,Isteppedintotheshower,lettingthesprayhitmestraightintheface.
Theflashbackcamesuddenlyandwithoutwarning.
Fluorescentlightsflickeroverhead.Ontheground,myshadowflickers,too.
Thedoortoherdressingroomisslightlyajar.
Iconcentratedonthesoundofthewater,thefeelofitonmyskin,pushingbackagainstthe
memories.
Thesmell—
Abruptly,Iturnedofftheshower.Wrappingatowelaroundmytorso,Isteppedoutontothebath
mat,drippingwet.Icombedmyfingersthroughmyhairandturnedtothesink.
ThatwaswhenIheardthescream.
“Cassie!”Ittookmeamomenttopickoutmyname,andanotherafterthattorecognizethatSloane
wastheoneyelling.Wearingonlyatowel,Irushedacrosstoourroom.
“What?Sloane,whatisit?”
Shewasstillcladinherpajamas.White-blondhairstucktoherforehead.“Ithadmynameonit,”
shesaid,hervoicestrained.“It’snotstealingifithasmynameonit.”
“Whathadyournameonit?”
Withshakinghands,sheheldoutapaddedenvelope.
“Whodidyounotstealthisfrom?”Iasked.
Sloanelookeddistinctlyguilty.“Oneoftheagentsdownstairs.”
They’dbeenscreeningallofourmail,notjustmine.
AnglingmyheadsothatIcouldseewhatwasinsidetheenvelope,IrealizedwhySloanehad
screamed.
There,insidetheenvelope,wasasmall,blackbox.
———
Oncetheboxhadbeenremovedfromtheenvelope,therewasnoquestionthatitmatchedthefirstone:
theribbon,thebow,thewhitecardwithmynamewrittenonitincareful,notquitecursivescript.The
onlydifferencewasthesize—andthefactthatthistime,theUNSUBhadusedSloanetogettome.
YouknowtheFBIhasmeunderguard.Youwantmeanyway.
“Youdidn’topenthebox.”AgentBriggssoundedsurprised.AbouttensecondsafterI’drealized
whatwasinsidetheenvelope,AgentsStarmansandBrookshadburstintothebedroom.They’dcalled
LockeandBriggs.I’dhadjustenoughtimetogetdressedbeforethedynamicduohadarrived—with
another,oldermanintow.
“Ididn’twanttocompromisethephysicalevidence,”Isaid.
“Youdidtherightthing.”Themanwho’dcomewithBriggsandLockespokeforthefirsttime.
Hisvoicewasgruff,aperfectmatchforhisface,whichwasweatherwornandsuntanned.Iputhisage
atsomewhereintheneighborhoodofsixty-five.Hewasn’ttall,buthehadacommandingpresence,
andhelookedatmelikeIwasachild.
“Cassie,thisisDirectorSterling.”Lockemadetheintroduction,butthethingsshedidn’tsay
numberedinthedozens.
Forinstance,shedidn’tsaythatthismanwastheirboss.
Shedidn’tsaythathewasthepersonwho’dsignedoffontheNaturalsprogram.
Shedidn’tsaythathe’dbeentheonetorakeBriggsovercoalsforusingDeanonactivecases.
Shedidn’thaveto.
“Iwanttobetherewhenyouopenit.”IaddressedthewordstoAgentLocke,butDirectorSterling
wastheonewhoreplied.
“Ireallydon’tthinkthat’snecessary,”hesaid.
Thiswasamanwithchildren,maybeevengrandchildren,evenifhewasahigher-upattheFBI.I
couldusethat.
“I’matarget,”Isaid,allowingmyeyestogowide.“Keepingthisinformationfrommemakesme
vulnerable.ThemoreIknowaboutthisUNSUB,thesaferIam.”
“Wecankeepyousafe.”Thedirectorspokelikeamanusedtohavinghiswordstakenaslaw.
“That’swhatAgentBriggssaidfourdaysago,”Isaid,“andnowthisguyiscomingatmethrough
Sloane.”
“Cassie—”AgentBriggsstartedtotalktomeinthesamevoicethedirectorused—likeIwasa
littlekid,liketheyhadn’tbroughtmeheretosolvecasesinthefirstplace.
“TheUNSUBstruckagain,didn’the?”Myquestion—whichwasaguess,really—wasmetwith
absolutesilence.
Iwasright.
“ThisUNSUBwantsme.”Iworkedmywaythroughthelogic.“Youtriedtokeephimawayfrom
me.Whatever ’sinthatbox,it’sastepupfromwhattheUNSUBsentmelasttime.Awarningforyou,
apresentforme.Ifhethinksyou’rekeepingitfromme,thingsareonlygoingtogetworse.”
ThedirectornoddedtoAgentBriggs.“Openthebox.”
Briggsputonapairofgloves.Hepulledontheedgeoftheribbon,andthebowcameundone.He
setthecardtothesideandliftedthelidoffthebox.
Whitetissuepaper.
Carefully,heopenedthetissuepaper.Aringletofhairlayinthebox.Itwasblond.
“Openthecard,”Isaid,myvoicecatchinginmythroat.
Briggsopenedtheenvelopeandpulledoutacard.Likethelastone,itwaswhite,elegant,butplain.
Briggsopenedthecard,andaphotographfellout.
Icaughtsightofthegirlinthepicturebeforetheycouldobscureitfromme.Herwristswere
boundbehindherbody.Herfacewasswollen,anddriedbloodhadcrustedaroundherscalp.Hereyes
werefilledwithtearsandsomuchfearthatIcouldhearherscreamingbehindtheduct-tapegag.
Shehaddirtyblondhairandababyface.
“She’stooyoung,”Isaid,mystomachtwisting.Thegirlinthepicturewasfifteen,maybesixteen
—andnoneoftheUNSUB’sothervictimshadbeenminors.
Thisgirlwasyoungerthanme.
“Briggs.”Lockepickedupthephotoandhelditouttohim.“Lookatthenewspaper.”
I’dbeensofixatedonthegirl’sfacethatIhadn’tnoticedthenewspapercarefullypoisedagainst
herchest.
“Shewasalivethistimeyesterday,”Briggssaid,andthatwaswhenIknew—whythispresentwas
differentfromthelastone,whythehairintheboxwasblond.
“Youtookher,”Isaidsoftly,“becausetheytookme.”
Lockecaughtmyeye,andIknewshe’dheardme.Sheagreedwithme.Guiltroselikenauseainthe
backofmythroat.Ipusheditdown.Icouldprocessthislater.IcouldhatetheUNSUB—andmyself—
forthebloodandbruisesonthisgirl’sfacelater.Butrightnow,Ihadtoholdittogether.
Ihadtodosomething.
“Whoisshe?”Iasked.Iftakingthisgirlwasthekiller ’swayoflashingoutbecausetheFBIhad
triedtokeephimfromme,shewouldn’tbejustanyone.Thisgirldidn’tfitwiththevictimologyof
theUNSUB’sothervictims,butiftherewasonethingIknewaboutthiskiller,itwasthathealways
chosehistargetsforareason.
“Ms.Hobbes,Iappreciateyourpersonalinterestinthiscase,butthatinformationisaboveyour
paygrade.”
Igavethedirectoralook.“Youdon’tpayme.Andifthekilleriswatching,andyouinsiston
keepingmelockedupoutofreach,it’sgoingtogetworse.”
Whycouldn’theseethat?Whycouldn’tBriggs?Itwasobvious.TheFBIwantedtokeepmeoutof
this,butthekillerwantedmein.
“Whatdoesthecardsay?”Lockeasked.“Thepictureisonlypartofthemessage.”
Briggslookedatme,thenatthedirector.Thenheflippedthecardaroundsothatwecouldreadit
forourselves.
CASSIE—WON’TITLOOKBETTERRED?
Theimplicationwasclear.Thisgirlwasalive.Butshewouldn’tbeforlong.
“Whoisshe?”Iaskedagain.
Briggskepthismouthclampedshut.Hehadpriorities,andkeepinghisjobwasnumberone.
“GenevieveRidgerton.”Lockeansweredmyquestion,hervoiceflat.“HerfatherisaU.S.senator.”
Genevieve.SonowthegirltheUNSUBhadtakenbecauseofme,thegirltheUNSUBhadhurt
becauseofme,hadaname.
ThedirectortookasteptowardLocke.“Thatinformationisneed-to-know,AgentLocke.”
Shewavedoffhisobjection.“Cassie’sright.Genevievewastakenasadeliberatestrikeatus.We
putprotectiononCassie,wekeptherfromleavingthehouse,andthiswasthedirectresponse.We’re
noclosertocatchingthismonsterthanwewerefourdaysago,andhewillkillGenevieveunlesswe
givehimareasonnotto.”
HewouldkillGenevievebecauseofme.
“Whatareyousuggesting?”Thedirectorsaidthosewordsinatonebrimmingwithwarning,but
Lockerespondedasifthequestionhadbeenposedinearnest.
“I’msuggestingthatwegivethiskillerexactlywhathewants.WedealCassiein.Wetakeherwith
usandpayanothervisittothecrimescene.”
“Youreallythinkshe’llfindsomethingwemissed?”
Lockeshotmeanapologeticlook.“No—butIthinkthatifwetakeCassietothecrimescene,the
killermightfollow.”
“We’renottrainingthesekidstoplaybait,”AgentBriggssaidsharply.
ThedirectorturnedhisattentionfromLocketoBriggs.“Youpromisedmethreecoldcasesbythe
endoftheyear,”hesaid.“Sofar,yourNaturalshavedeliveredone.”
Icouldfeelthedynamicsintheroomshifting.AgentBriggsdidn’twanttorisksomething
happeningtooneofhispreciousNaturals.Thedirectorwasskepticalthatourabilitieswereworththe
costofthisprogram,andwhateverobjectionshehadtobringingaseventeen-year-oldtoacrime
scenemusthavebeenoutweighedbythefactthatthissituationcouldhavemajorpolitical
ramifications.
ThisUNSUBhadn’tchosenasenator ’sdaughterbychance.
“Takeherwithyoutotheclub,Briggs,”thedirectorgrunted.“Ifanyoneasks,she’sawitness.”He
turnedtome.“Youdon’thavetodothisifyoudon’twantto,Cassandra.”
Iknewthat.IalsoknewthatIdidwantto—andnotjustbecauseLockemightberightaboutmy
presencebeingenoughtolurethekillerout.Icouldn’tjustsitbackandwatchthishappen.
Behavior.Personality.Environment.
Victimology.MO.Signature.
IwasaNatural—andassickasitwas,IhadarelationshipwiththisUNSUB.Iftheybroughtmeto
thecrimescene,Imightseesomethingtheothershadmissed.
“I’llgo,”Itoldthedirector.“ButI’mbringingbackupofmyown.”
CHAPTER31
ClubMusewasaneighteen-and-overestablishment.Theyonlyservedalcoholtopatronswearing
twenty-one-pluswristbands.Andyet,somehow,GenevieveRidgerton,whowasneithereighteennor
twenty-one,had—accordingtoallwitnessreports—beenmorethanalittletipsywhenshe’d
disappearedfromtheClubMusebathroomthreenightsearlier.
DirectorSterlinghadreluctantlyagreedtoallowmetobringtwooftheotherswithmetothe
crimescene,andthenhe’dputasmuchdistancebetweenusandhimaspossible.Asaresult,Briggs
andLockeweretheoneswhoescortedmetotheclub—andtheyweretheoneswho’ddecidedwhich
ofmyhousematesgottotagalong.
Sloanewascurrentlywalkingtheinsideperimeteroftheclub,lookingforpointsofentryand
doingsomesortofcalculationinvolvingmaximumoccupancy,thepopularityofthebandplaying,
totalamountofalcoholconsumed,andthelineforthebathroom.
Dean,Locke,andIweretracingGenevieve’slaststeps.
“Twounisexbathrooms.Deadboltsoneachofthedoors.”Dean’sdarkeyesscannedtheareawith
almostmilitaryprecision.
“Genevievewasinlinewithafriend,”Locketoldus.“ThefriendwentintoBathroomA,leaving
Genevievenextinline.Whenthefriendcameout,Genevievewasn’tinline.Thefriendassumedshe
wasinthesecondbathroomandwentbacktothebar.SheneversawGenevieveagain.”
IthoughtoftheGenevieveI’dseenintheUNSUB’spicture,theGenevievewithbruisesandblood
crustedonherscalp.ThenIpushedthatimageoutofmyheadandforcedmyselftothinkaboutthe
eventsthathadledtoherabduction.
“Okay,”Isaid.“SoI’mGenevieve.I’malittledrunk,maybemorethanalittle.Istumblemyway
throughthecrowd,waitinline.Myfriendgoesintooneofthebathrooms.Thenextoneopensup.”I
weavedonmyfeetabitasIwalkedthroughthemotionsthegirlwouldhavetaken.“Islipintothe
bathroom.MaybeIremembertothrowthedeadbolt.MaybeIdon’t.”
Mullingthatover,Iscannedtheroom:atoilet,asink,abrokenmirror.Hadthemirrorbeenthat
waybeforeGenevievewastaken?Orhaditgottenbrokenwhenshewasabducted?Iturnedthree
hundredandsixtydegrees,takingitallinandtryingtoignorejusthowdisgustingthebathroomsat
eighteen-and-overclubsreallywere.Thefloorwaspermanentlysticky.Ididn’tevenwanttolookat
thetoilet,andtherewasgraffitiscrawledacrosseverysurfaceofthebathroomwalls.
“Ifyouforgottoboltthedoor,Imighthavefollowedyouin.”
IttookmeamomenttorealizethatDeanwasspeakingfromtheUNSUB’sperspective.Hetooka
steptowardme,makingthesmallspacefeelevensmaller.Istumbledbackward,buttherewas
nowheretogo.
“Sorry,”hesaid,holdinghishandsup.ChannelingGenevieve,Ifeltmylipscurlintoaloopy
smile.Afterall,thiswasaclub,andhewaskindofcute.…
Asecondlater,Deanhadhishandovermymouth.“Icouldhavechloroformedyou.”
Itwistedoutofhishold,alltooawareofhowclosemybodywastohis.“Youdidn’t.”
“No,”heagreed,hiseyesonmine.“Ididn’t.”
Thistime,hewrappedahandaroundmywaist.Ileanedintohim.
“MaybeI’mnotjustalittledrunk,”Isaid.“MaybeI’mdrunkerthanIshouldbe.”
Deancaughton.“MaybeIslippedalittlesomethingextraintoyourdrink.”
“It’sfivefeetfromthebathroomdoortothenearestemergencyexit.”Sloaneissuedthat
observationfromjustoutsidethebathroomdoor.Clearly,shehadbettersensethantojointhetwoof
usinalreadycramped—anddisgusting—quarters.
ThatwentdoubleforAgentLocke.“WehaveawitnesswhocanplaceGenevievegoingintothis
bathroom,”shesaid.“Butnooneremembersseeingherleave.”
GiventhatGenevieveprobablywasn’ttheonlytipsypersoninClubMusethatnight,Iwasn’t
terriblysurprised.Itwasscarytothinkhoweasyitmighthavebeentoleadadruggedgirloutofthe
bathroom,downthehallway,andoutthedoor.
“Nineseconds,”Sloanesaid.“EvenifyouaccountforasluggishgaitonGenevieve’spart,the
distancebetweenthebathroomandtheclosestexitissmallenoughthatsomeonecouldhavegotten
heroutofhereinnineseconds.”
YouchoseGenevieve.Youwaitedforexactlytherightmoment.Youonlyneedednineseconds.
ThisUNSUBwasmeticulous.Aplanner.
Youdoeverythingforareason,Ithought,andthereasonyoutookthisgirlisme.
“Okay,kiddies,playtime’sover.”AgentLockehaddoneanadmirablejoboffadingintothe
backgroundandlettinguswork,butclearly,shewasonatimetable.“Forwhatit’sworth,Ireached
thesameconclusionyoudid.TwoofthepreviousvictimshadtracesofGHBintheirsystems.The
UNSUBmostlikelyslippedsomethingintoGenevieve’sdrinkandwalkedherrightoutthe
emergencyexitwithnoonethewiser.”
Belatedly,IrealizedthatDeanstillhadhisarmwrappedaroundmywaist.Asecondlater,hemust
haverealizedthesamething,becausehepulledawayfrommeandtookastepback.
“AnysignoftheUNSUBoutside?”heasked.
ItwaseasytoforgetthatIwasn’tactuallyhereasaprofiler.Iwashereasbait,andtheFBIwas
hopingI’dbringthekillerstraighttothem.
“Plainclothesagentsarecanvassingthestreetsaswespeak,”AgentLocketoldus,“masquerading
asvolunteers,handingoutflyers,andlookingforpeoplewhomighthaveinformationabout
Genevieve’sdisappearance.”
Deanleanedbackagainstthewall.“Butyou’rereallyjustmakingalistofthepeoplewhoapproach
theagents?”
Lockenodded.“Gotitinone.I’mevenpatchingavideofeedthroughtoMichaelandLiabackat
thehousesotheycananalyzeanyonewhoapproaches.”
Apparently,Lockewasn’tabovetakingadvantageofthedirector ’sauthorizationtoinvolve
Naturalsinthiscase.
Shepushedastrandofstrayhairoutofherface.“Cassie,weneedyoutomakeafewmore
appearancesoutside.I’dhaveyouhandingoutflyersifIthoughtwecouldgetawaywithit,buteven
I’mnotwillingtopushBriggsthatfar.”
ItriedtoputmyselfintheUNSUB’sshoes.He’dwantedmeoutofthehouse;Iwasoutofthe
house.He’dwantedmeinvolvedinthiscase;nowIwasstandinginthemiddleofthecrimescene.
“Haveyouseeneverythingyouneedtoseehere?”AgentLockeaskedme.
IglancedoveratDean,whowasstillkeepinghisdistance.
Youwantedmeinvolvedinthiscase.
Youdoeverythingforareason.
Thereasonyoutookthisgirlisme.
“No.”Ididn’texplainmyselftoAgentLocke.Ididn’thaveanexplanation.ButIknewinmygut
thatwecouldn’tleaveyet.IfthiswaspartoftheUNSUB’splan,iftheUNSUBhadwantedmetocome
here…
“We’remissingsomething.”
SomethingtheUNSUBwouldhaveexpectedmetosee.SomethingIwassupposedtofind,
somethingthatwassupposedtoholdmeaningforme.
Slowly,Iturnedaround,takinginthethree-sixtyviewoncemore.Ilookedunderthesink.Iranmy
fingersgingerlyalongtheedgesofthebrokenmirror.
Nothing.
Methodically,Irakedmyeyesoverthegraffitionthewalls.Initialsandhearts,cursewordsand
slurs,doodles,songlyrics…
“There.”Asinglelineoftextcaughtmyeye.Atfirst,Ididn’tevenreadthewords.AllIsawwere
theletters:notquitecursiveandnotquiteprint,thesamehyperstylizedhandwritingasonthecards
thatcamewitheachblackbox.
FORAGOODTIME
Thesentencecutoffthere.Frantically,Iranmyfingeroverthewall,sortingthroughtext,looking
forthathandwritingtopickupagain.
CALL567-3524.GUARANTEED
Aphonenumber.Myheartskippedabeat,butIforcedmyselftokeepgoing:upanddownthewalls
ofthebathroom,lookingforanotherline.
Anotherclue.
Ifounditnearthemirror.
PLUSONE.KOLAANDTHORN.
KolaandThorn?ThemoreIread,themoretheUNSUB’smessagesoundedlikegibberish.
“Cassie?”AgentLockeclearedherthroat.Iignoredher.Therehadtobemore.Istartedatthetop
andwentthroughallofthegraffitiagain.OnceIwassuretherewasnothingelse,Iwalkedoutofthe
bathroomtogetsomeair.Locke,Dean,andSloanehadbeenjoinedbyAgentBriggs.
“Weneedyoutomakeanotherappearanceoutside,Cassie.”AgentBriggsclearlyconsideredthat
anorder.
“TheUNSUB’snotthere,”Itoldthem.
TheFBIthoughtthatbybringingmehere,they’dbeenlayingatrapformykiller,buttheywere
wrong.TheUNSUBwastheonelayingatrapforus.
“Ineedapen,”Isaid.
Afterseveralseconds,Briggsgavemeapen.
“Paper?”
Heremovedanotebookfromhislapelpocketandhandedittome.
“TheUNSUBleftusamessage,”Isaid,butwhatIreallymeantwasthathe’dleftmeamessage.
Iscrawledthewordsontothepage,thenhandedittoBriggs.
“Foragoodtime,call567-3524.Guaranteedplusone.KolaandThorn.”Briggsliftedhiseyes
fromthepagetomeetmine.“You’resurethisisfromtheUNSUB?”
“Itmatchesthecards,”Itoldhim.Thewaymynamehadlookedinthekiller ’sscriptwasburned
intomymind.“I’msure.”
Tothem,thecardswereevidence.Buttome,theywerepersonal.Withouteventhinkingaboutit,I
reachedformycellphone.
“Whatareyoudoing?”Deanaskedme.
Ipressedmylipsintoafirmline.“Callingthenumber.”
Nobodystoppedme.
“I’msorry,thenumberyouhavedialedisnotinservice.Pleasetryyourcallagainlater.”
Ihungup,lookeddownatthefloor,thenshookmyhead.
“Noareacode,”Sloanesaid.“ArewethinkingDC?Virginia?Maryland?That’selevenpossible
areacodeswithinahundred-mileradius.”
“Starmans.”AgentBriggswasonhiscellphoneimmediately.“I’mgoingtoreadyouatelephone
number.Ineedyoutotryitwitheveryareacodewithinathree-hourdrivingdistanceofthis
location.”
“CanIseeyourphone,Cassie?”Sloane’srequestdistractedmefromBriggs’sconversation.
Unsurewhyshewantedit,Ihandedhermyphone.Shestaredatitforaminute,herlipsmoving
rapidly,butnosoundscomingout.Finallyshelookedup.“It’snotaphonenumber—oratleast,not
oneyou’resupposedtocall.”
Iwaitedforanexplanation.Sheobliged.
“567-3524.Onatelephone,five,six,three,two,andfoureachcorrespondtothreelettersonthe
keypad.Sevenisafour-letternumber:P,Q,R,andS.That’stwothousandninehundredandsixteen
possibleseven-lettercombinationsfor567-3524.”
IwonderedhowlongitwouldtakeSloanetorunthroughthetwothousandninehundredand
sixteenpossiblecombinations.
“Lorelai.”
“What?”Thesoundofmymother ’snamewaslikeabucketoficewaterthrowndirectlyintomy
face.
“567-3524isthetelephonenumberthatcorrespondstothewordLorelai.Italsospellslose-lag,
lop-flag,andJose-jag,buttheonlyseven-letter,single-wordpossibility—”
“IsLorelai.”IfinishedSloane’ssentenceandtranslatedthemessagewiththatmeaning.
Foragoodtime,callLorelai.Guaranteedplusone.KolaandThorn.
“Plusone,”Deanreadovermyshoulder.“YouthinktheUNSUBistryingtotellusthatwe’vegot
anothervictimonourhands?”
Foragoodtime,callLorelai.
NowIhadironcladproofthatthiscasehadsomethingtodowithmymother ’s.Thatwaswhythe
UNSUBhadwantedmetocomehere.He’dleftmethismessage—completewitha“guaranteedplus
one.”SomeonetheUNSUBhadalreadyattacked?Someonehewasplanningonattacking?
Iwasn’tsure.AllIknewwasthatifIdidn’tsolvethis,ifwedidn’tsolvethis,someoneelsewas
goingtodie.
GenevieveRidgerton.Plusone.Howmanypeopleareyougoingtokillbecauseofme?Iasked
silently.
Therewasnoanswer,justtherealizationthateverythingwasplayingoutexactlyastheUNSUB
hadintended.EverydiscoveryI’dmadehadbeenchoreographed.Iwasplayingapart.
Unabletostopmyself,Iturnedmyattentiontothelastlineofthemessage.
KolaandThorn.
“Symbolism?”Deanaskedme,followingmythoughtsexactly.“Kola.Cola.Drinking.Thorn.
Rose.Blood…”
“Ananagram?”Sloanehadthatfarawaylookinhereye,thesameoneshe’dgottenthedayImet
her,kneelingoverapileofglass.“Ankhontolard.Hotnodalnark.Landrandhook.Oaklandnorth.”
“NorthOakland,”Deancutin.“That’sinArlington.”
Foragoodtime,callLorelai.Guaranteedplusone.NorthOakland.
“WeneedalistofeverybuildingonNorthOakland,”Isaid,mybodybuzzingwithasuddenrush
ofadrenaline.
“Whatarewelookingfor?”Briggsaskedme.
Ididn’thaveananswer—awarehouse,maybe,oranabandonedapartment.Itriedtofocus,butI
couldn’tquiteridmybrainofthesoundofmymother ’sname,andIrealizedsuddenlythatifthis
killerknewmehalfaswellashethoughthedid,therewasanotherpossibility.
Foragoodtime,callLorelai.
Thedressingroom.Theblood.Iswallowed.“I’mnotsure,”Isaid.“ButIthinkyoumightbe
lookingforatheater.”
CHAPTER32
“We’vegotabodyatasmall,independenttheaterinArlington.”AgentBriggs’sfingerscurledinto
hispalmsashedeliveredthenews,buthefoughttheurgetoclenchhisfists.“It’snotGenevieve
Ridgerton.”
Ididn’tknowwhethertoberelievedorupset.Somewhere,fifteen-year-oldGenevievemightstill
bealive.Butnowweweredealingwithbodynumbereight.
OurUNSUB’s“plusone.”
“Starmans,Vance,Brooks:Iwantthethreeofyoutotakethekidsbacktothehouse.Iwantoneof
youpostedatthefrontdoor,oneatthebackdoor,andonewithCassieatalltimes.”AgentBriggs
turnedandstartedwalkingoutoftheclub,asignaltotherestofusthathewassoconfidentthatwe
wouldfollowhisordersthathedidn’tevenneedtostayheretoseethemthrough.
Ididn’tneedLiaorMichaelheretotellmethathisconfidencewasalie.
“I’mgoingwithyou,”Isaid,followinghimoutside.“Theexactsamelogicthatletyoubringme
hereappliesinArlington.TheUNSUBturnedthisintoalittletreasurehunt.Hewantstoseeme
followittotheend.”
“Idon’tcarewhathewants,”Briggscutin.“Iwanttokeepyousafe.”
Histonewasuncompromisingandfullofwarning,butIcouldn’tstopmyselffromasking,“Why?
BecauseI’mvaluable?BecauseNaturalsworksowellasateam,andyou’dhatetothrowthatoff?”
AgentBriggsclosedthespacebetweenusandbroughthisfacedownlevelwithmine.“Doyou
reallythinkthatlittleofme?”heaskedquietly.“I’mambitious.I’mdriven.I’msingle-minded,butdo
youreallythinkthatIwouldknowinglyputanyofyouindanger?”
Ithoughtofthemomentwe’dmet.Thepenwithoutthecap.Hispreferenceforbasketballover
golf.
“No,”Isaid.“Butwebothknowthatthiscaseiskillingyou.It’skillingLocke,andnowthere’sa
senator ’sdaughterinvolved.Ifitweren’tforme,youwouldn’thavesentsomeonetocheckoutthat
theater.Wewouldn’thavediscoveredthebodyforhours,maybedays—andwhoknowswhatour
UNSUBwouldhavedonetoGenevieveinthemeantime?
Ifyoudon’twanttousemeasbaitanymore,fine.Butyouneedtotakemewithyou.Youneedtotake
allthreeofuswithyou,becausewemightseesomethingthatyoucan’t.”
ThatwasthewholereasonBriggshadstartedtheNaturalsprogram.Thewholereasonthathe’d
cometotwelve-year-oldDean.Nomatterhowlongtheydidthisjob,orhowmuchtrainingtheyhad,
theseagentswouldneverhaveinstinctsasfinelyhonedasours.
“Lethercome.”LockeplacedahandonBriggs’sarm,andforthefirsttime,Iwonderedifthere
wasanythingbetweenthetwoofthemotherthanwork.“IfCassie’soldenoughtoplaybait,she’sold
enoughtolearnfromtheexperience.”Lockeglancedaroundtheroom—atSloaneandDean.“They
allare.”
———
Forty-fiveminuteslater,wepulledupto4587NorthOaklandStreet.Thelocalpolicewerealready
there,butattheFBI’sinsistence,theyhadn’ttouchedathing.Dean,Sloane,andIwaitedinthecarwith
AgentsStarmansandVanceuntilthelocalPDhadbeenclearedoffthescene,andthentheybroughtus
uptothethirdfloor.
Tothistinytheater ’sonlydressingroom.ImadeithalfwaydownthehallbeforeAgentBriggs
steppedoutoftheroom,blockingtheentrance.
“Youdon’tneedtoseethis,Cassie,”hesaid.
Icouldsmellit—notrotten,notyet,butcoppery:rustwithjustahintofdecay.Ipushedpast
Briggs.Heletme.
Theroomwasrectangular.Therewasbloodsmearedacrossthelightswitch,bloodpoolednear
thedoor.Theentireleft-handsideoftheroomwaslinedwithmirrors,likeadancestudio.
Likemymother ’sdressingroom.
Mylimbsfeltheavyallofasudden.Mylipswerenumb.Icouldn’tbreathe,andjustlikethat,Iwas
rightback—
Thedoorisslightlyajar.Ipushitopen.There’ssomethingwetandsquishybeneathmyfeet,andthe
smell—
Igropeforthelightswitch.Myfingerstouchsomethingwarmandstickyonthewall.Frantically,I
searchforthelightswitch—
Don’tturniton.Don’tturniton.Don’tturniton.
Iturniton.
I’mstandinginblood.There’sbloodonthewalls,bloodonmyhands.Alampliesshatteredonthe
woodfloor.Adeskisupturned,andthere’sajaggedlineinthefloorboards.
Fromtheknife.
Pressureonmyshouldersforcedmetostoprelivingthememory.Hands.Dean’shands,Irealized.
Hebroughthisfaceveryclosetomine.
“Stayincontrol,”hesaid,hisvoicesteadyandwarm.“Everytimeyougobackthere,everytime
youseeit—it’sjustblood,justacrimescene,justabody.”Hedroppedhishandstohissides.“That’s
allitis,Cassie.That’sallyoucanletitbe.”
Iwonderedwhichmemoriesherelivedoverandover—wonderedaboutthebodiesandtheblood.
Butrightnow,inthismoment,Iwasjustgladthathewashere,thatIwasn’talone.
Itookhisadvice.Iforcedmyselftolookatthemirror,smearedwithblood.Icouldmakeout
handprints,fingertracks,likethevictimhadusedthemirrortopullherselfalongthegroundaftershe
wastooweaktowalk.
“Timeofdeathwaslatelastnight,”Briggssaid.“We’llhaveForensicsinheretoseeiftheycanlift
anyfingerprintsbesidesthevictim’soffthemirror.”
“That’snotherblood.”
IglancedoveratSloaneandrealizedthatshewaskneelingnexttothebody.Forthefirsttime,I
lookedatthevictim.Herhairwasred.She’dobviouslybeenstabbedrepeatedly.
“Themedicalexaminerwilltellyouthesamething,”Sloanecontinued.“Thiswomanisfivefeet
tall,approximatelyahundredandtenpounds.Givenhersize,we’relookingatdeathfrom
exsanguinationwiththelossofthreequartsofblood,maybeless.She’swearingjeansandacashmere
top.Cashmere—andotherformsofwool—canabsorbuptothirtypercentofitsweightinmoisture
withoutevenappearingdamp.Sincethedeepestwoundsareconcentratedoverherstomachandchest
areas,andhertopandjeanswerebothtight,she’dhavehadtobleedthroughthefabricbefore
drippingalloverthefloor.”
Ilookedatthewoman’sclothes.Sureenough,theyweresoakedwithblood.
“Bythetimeherclothesweresaturatedenoughtoleaveapuddleofthatsizeonthefloorover
there”—Sloanegesturedtowardthedoor—“ourvictimwouldn’thavebeenconscioustofightoffher
attacker,letaloneleadhimonamerrychasethroughtheroom.She’stoosmall,shedoesn’thave
enoughblood,thefabricsshe’swearingdon’texpelliquidquicklyenough—thenumbersdon’tadd
up.”
“She’sright.”AgentBriggsstoodupfromexaminingthefloor.“There’saknifemarkonthefloor
overhere.Ifitwasmadewithabloodyknife,therewouldbebloodembeddedinthescratch,but
there’snot,meaningthateithertheUNSUBmissedathisfirstattemptatstabbingthewoman—which
certainlydoesn’tseemlikely,givenhersizeandthefactthathewouldhavehadtheelementof
surprise—ortheUNSUBdeliberatelymadethesemarkswithacleanknife.”
Iputmyselfinthevictim’sshoes.Shewaseightornineinchesshorterthanmymother ’sfive-nine,
butthatdidn’tmeanshecouldn’thavefought.ButeveniftheUNSUBhadcomeafterherintheexact
sameway,whatwerethechancesthatthescenewouldhavelookedthismuchlikemymother ’s
dressingroom?Themirrorsonthewall,thebloodsmearedonthelightswitch,thedarkliquid
pooledbythedoor.
Somethingaboutthisdidn’tfeelright.
“She’sleft-handed.”
IturnedtolookatDean,andhecontinued,“Victim’swearingherwatchonherrighthand,andher
manicureismorechippedonherlefthandthanherright,”hesaid.“Wasyourmotherleft-handed,
Cassie?”
Ishookmyheadandrealizedwherehewasgoingwiththis.“Theywouldn’thavefoughtoffan
attackerinthesameway,”Isaid.
Deangaveabriefnodofagreement.“Ifanything,we’dexpectspatteronthiswall.”Hegesturedto
theplainwalloppositethemirrors.Itwasclean.
“TheUNSUBdidn’tkillherhere.”Lockewasthefirstonewhosaiditoutloud.“There’svirtually
nobloodpooledaroundthebody.Shewaskilledsomewhereelse.”
Youkilledher.Youbroughtherhere.Youpaintedtheroominblood.
“Foragoodtime,callLorelai,”Imurmured.
“Cassie?”AgentLockeraisedaneyebrowatme.Iansweredthequestionthatwentalongwiththe
eyebrowraise.
“She’sjustaprop,”Isaid,lookingatthewoman,wishingIknewhername,wishingthatIcould
stillmakeoutthefeaturesofherface.“Thisisaset.Thisentirethingwasstagedtolooklikemy
mother ’sdeath.Exactlylikeit.”Mystomachtwistedsharply.
“Okay,”AgentLockesaid.“SoI’mthekiller.I’mfixatedonyou,andI’mfixatedonyourmother.
Maybeshewasmyfirstkill,butthistime,itisn’taboutyourmother.”
“It’saboutyou.”DeanpickedupwhereAgentLockehadleftoff.“I’mnottryingtoreliveher
death.I’mtryingtoforceyoutorelivediscoveringher.”
TheUNSUBhadwantedmehere.Thepresents,thecodedmessage,andnowthis—acorpse
dumpedinacrimescenestrikinglylikemymother ’s.
“Briggs.”OneofBriggs’sagents—Starmans—stuckhisheadintotheroom.“Medicalexaminer
andtheforensicsteamarehere.Doyouwantmetoholdthemoff?”
BriggslookedatDean,atme,andthenatSloane,stillkneelingnexttothebody.We’dbeencareful
nottotouchanythingordisturbthecrimescene,butploppingthreeteenagersdowninthemiddleofa
murderinvestigationwasn’texactlycovert.Briggs,Locke,andtheirteamobviouslyknewaboutus,
butIwasn’tconvincedthattherestoftheFBIdid,andBriggsconfirmedthatwhenheglancedfrom
StarmanstoLocke.
“Getthemoutofhere,Starmans,”Briggssaid.“Iwantyou,Brooks,andVancerotatingthroughon
Cassie’sprotectiondetail.DirectorSterlinghasofferedsomeofhisbestmenforsurveillance.
They’llkeepaneyeonthehousefromtheoutside,butIwantoneofyouwithCassieatalltimes,and
tellJuddthatthehousearrestisstillineffect.Nooneleavesthathouseuntilthiskilleriscaught.”
Ididn’tfighttheorders.
Ididn’tfighttostaythereintheroom,lookingforclues.
Thereweren’tany.Thiswasneveraboutmefiguringoutwhothiskillerwas.Thiswasalways,
alwaysabouttheUNSUBplayingwithme,forcingmetorelivetheworstdayofmylife.
Sloaneslippedanarmaroundmywaist.“Therearefourteenvarietiesofhugs,”shesaid.“Thisis
oneofthem.”
Lockeputahandonmyshoulderandsteeredthetwoofusoutoftheroom,Deanonourheels.
Thisisagame.IheardDean’svoiceechoingthroughmymemory.It’salwaysagame.Thatwas
whathe’dtoldMichael,andatthetime,I’dagreed.Tothekiller,thiswasagame—andsuddenly,I
couldn’thelpthinkingthatthegoodguysmightnotwinthisone.
Wemightlose.
Imightlose.
CHAPTER33
Iwasn’tallowedtogointothehouseuntilJuddandtheagentsonmyprotectiondetailhadsweptit,
andeventhen,AgentStarmansaccompaniedmetomybedroom.
“Youokay?”heasked,givingmeasidelongglance.
“Fine,”Ireplied.Itwasastockanswer,perfectedaroundtheSundaynightdinnertable.Iwasa
survivor.Whateverlifethrewatme,Icameoutokay,andtherestoftheworldthoughtIwasgreat.I’d
beenfakingthingsforsolongthat,untilthepastfewweekswithMichael,Dean,Lia,andSloane,I’d
forgottenwhatitwasliketobereal.
“You’reatoughkid,”AgentStarmanstoldme.
Iwasn’tinthemoodtotalk,andIespeciallywasn’tinthemoodtobepattedmetaphoricallyonthe
head.AllIwantedwastobeleftaloneandgivenachancetoprocess,torecover.
“You’redivorced,”Ireplied.“Sometimewithinthepastfouryears,maybefive.Longenoughago
thatyoushouldhavemovedon.”
InormallymadeitarulenottotakethethingsIdeducedaboutpeopleandturnthemintoweapons,
butIneededspace.Ineededtobreathe.Istoodandwalkedovertothewindow.AgentStarmans
clearedhisthroat.
“WhatdoyouthinktheUNSUBisgoingtodo?”Iaskedwearily.“Takemeoutwithasniper
rifle?”
Notthiskiller.He’dwantupcloseandpersonal.Youdidn’thavetobeaNaturalprofilertoseethat.
“Whydon’tyoucutthepooragentsomeslack,Colorado?I’mfairlycertainmakinggrownmen
cryisLia’sspecialty,notyours.”Michaeldidn’tbotherknockingbeforeenteringtheroomand
givingAgentStarmanshismostcharmingsmile.
“I’mnotmakinganyonecry,”Isaidmutinously.
Michaelturnedhisgazeonme.“Underneathyourticked-off-that-they-won’t-leave-me-alone-and-
even-more-ticked-off-that-I’m-scared-to-actually-be-aloneexterior,Idetectaslighttraceofguilt,
whichsuggeststhatyoudidsaysomethingbelowthebelt,andyou’refeelingthetiniestbitbadfor
usingyourpowersforevil,andhe”—MichaeljerkedhisheadtowardAgentStarmans—“isfighting
down-turnedlipsandfurrowedeyebrows.Idon’tneedtotellyouwhatthatmeans,doI?”
“Pleasedon’t,”AgentStarmansmuttered.
“Ofcourse,there’salsohisposture,whichsuggestssomelevelofsexualfrustration—”
AgentStarmanstookastepforward.HetoweredoverMichael,butMichaeljustkeptsmiling,
undeterred.
“Nooffense.”
“I’llbeoutinthehall,”AgentStarmanssaid.“Keepthedooropen.”
IttookmeamomentaftertheagentretreatedtorealizethatMichaelhadputhimonthespoton
purpose.
“Wereyoureallyreadinghisposture?”Iwhispered.
Michaelduckedhisheadnexttomine,adelightfullywickedsmileonhisface.“Unlikeyou,Ihave
noproblemsusingmyabilityfornefariouspurposes.”Hereachedupandranhisthumboverthe
edgeofmylipandontomycheek.“Youhavesomethingonyourface.”
“Liar.”
Hebrushedhisthumbovermyothercheek.“Ineverlieaboutaprettygirl’sface.You’recarrying
somuchtensioninyoursthatIhavetoask:shouldIbeworriedaboutyou?”
“I’mfine,”Isaid.
“Liar,”Michaelwhisperedback.
Forasecond,Icouldalmostforgeteverythingthathadhappenedtoday:GenevieveRidgerton;the
codedmessageonthebathroomwall;theUNSUBbutcheringawomanandusingherbodyasaprop
torecreatemymother ’sdeath;thefactthatallofthiskiller ’sactionsweredesignedtomanipulateme.
“You’redoingitagain,”Michaelsaid,andthistime,heranthemiddleandindexfingersofeach
handalongthelinesofmyjaw.
Inthehallway,AgentStarmanstookastepback.Andthenanother,untilhewasalmostoutofsight.
“Areyoutouchingmejusttomakehimuncomfortable?”IaskedMichael,keepingmyvoicelow
enoughthattheagentwouldn’toverhear.
“Notjusttomakehimuncomfortable.”
Mylipstwitched.Eventhepossibilityofasmilefeltforeignonmyface.
“Now,”Michaelsaid,“areyougoingtotellmewhathappenedtoday,ordoIhavetodragitoutof
Dean?”
Igavehimaskepticallook.Michaelamendedhispreviousstatement.“Areyougoingtotellme
whathappenedtoday,oramIgoingtohavetohaveLiadragitoutofDean?”
KnowingLia,she’dprobablymanagedtopryatleasthalfofthestoryoutofDeanalready—and
withmyluck,shewouldpassitontoMichaelwithembellishments.Itwasbetterthathehearditfrom
me—soIstartedatthebeginningwithClubMuseandthemessageonthebathroomwallanddidn’t
stopuntilI’dtoldhimaboutthecrimesceneinArlingtonanditsresemblancetomymother ’s.
“Youthinkthesimilaritywasintentional,”Michaelsaid.
Inodded.Michaeldidn’taskmetoelaborate,andIrealizedhowmuchofourconversation
happenedinsilence,withhimreadingmyfaceandmeknowingexactlyhowhe’drespond.
“ThetheoryisthattheUNSUBstagedallofthisforme,”Isaidfinally.“Itwasn’tabouttheUNSUB
relivingthekill.Itwasaboutmakingmereliveit.”
Michaelstaredatme.“Saythesecondsentenceagain.”
“Itwasn’tabouttheUNSUBrelivingthekill,”Irepeated.
“There,”Michaelsaid.“Everytimeyousaythewordsrelivingthekill,youduckyourheadslightly
totheright.It’slikeyou’reshakingyourheadorbeingbashfulor…something.”
Iopenedmymouthtotellhimthathewaswrong,thathewasreadingtoomuchintothatsingle
sentence,butIcouldn’tformthewords,becausehewasright.Ididn’tknowwhyIfeltlikeIwas
missingsomething,butIdid.IfMichaelhadseensomehintofthatinmyfacialexpression…
MaybemybodyknewsomethingthatIdidn’t.
“Itwasn’tabouttheUNSUBrelivingthekill,”Isaidagain.Thatwastrue.Iknewitwastrue.But
nowthatMichaelhadpointeditout,Icouldfeelmyguttellingme,loudandclear,thatitwasn’tthe
wholetruth.
“I’mmissingsomething.”Thehorroratthecrimescenehadbeenfamiliar.Almosttoofamiliar.
Whatkindofkillerrememberedthedetailsofacrimescenesoexactly?Thesplatter,thebloodonthe
mirrorsandthelightswitch,theknifemarksonthefloor…
“Tellmewhatyou’rethinking.”Michael’swordspenetratedmythoughts.Ifocusedonhishazel
eyes.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Isawashadowinthedoorway.AgentStarmans.Hadheoverheard
us?Washetryingtooverhearus?
Michaelgrabbedmyneck.Hepulledmetowardhim.WhenAgentStarmansglancedintheroom,
allhesawwasMichaelandme.
Kissing.
Thekissinthepoolwasnothingcomparedtothis.Then,ourlipshadbarelybrushed.Now,mylips
wereopening.Ourmouthswerecrushedtogether.Hishandtraveledfrommyneckdowntomylower
back.Mylipstingled,andIleanedintothekiss,shiftingmybodyuntilIcouldfeeltheheatfromhisin
myarms,mychest,mystomach.
Onsomelevel,IwasawareofthefactthatAgentStarmanshadhightaileditbackdownthehall,
leavingmealonewithMichael.Onsomelevel,Iwasawareofthefactthatnowwasnotatimefor
kissing,ofthevortexofemotionIfeltwhenIlookedatMichael,ofthesoundofsomeoneelse
comingdownthehallway.
Myfingerscurledintoclaws.IdugthemintohisT-shirt,hishair.Andthenfinally—finally—I
realizedwhatIwasdoing.Whatweweredoing.
Ipulledback,thenhesitated.Michaeldroppedhishandsfrommyback.Therewasasoftsmileon
hisface,alookofwondermentinhiseyes.ThiswasMichaelwithoutlayers.ThiswasMichaeland
me—andDeanwasstandinginthedoorway.
“Dean.”Iforcedmyselfnottoscramblebackward,nottoleanawayfromMichaelinanyway.I
wouldn’tdothattohim.Thekissmighthavestartedasadistraction,hemighthavetakenadvantageof
themoment,butI’dkissedhimback,andIwasn’tgoingtoturnaroundandmakehimfeellike
nothingjustbecauseDeanwasstandinginthedoorwayandtherewassomethingtherebetweenhim
andme,too.
Michaelhadnevermadeanysecretofthefactthathewaspursuingme.Deanhadfoughtany
attractionhefeltformeeverystepoftheway.
“Weneedtotalk,”Deansaid.
“Whateveryouhavetosay,”Michaeldrawled,“youcansayinfrontofme.”
IgaveMichaelalook.
“Whateveryouhavetosay,youcansayinfrontofme,unlessCassiewishestospeaktoyou
privately,inwhichcaseIcompletelyrespectherrighttodoso,”Michaelcorrectedhimself.
“No,”Deansaid.“Stay.It’sfine.”
Hedidn’tsoundfine—andifIwaspickinguponthat,Ididn’twanttoknowhoweasyitwasfor
MichaeltoseewhatDeanwasfeeling.
“Ibroughtyouthis,”Deansaid,holdingoutafile.Atfirst,Ithoughtitwasthecasefileforour
UNSUB,butthenIsawthelabelonthefile.
LORELAIHOBBES
.
“Mymother ’sfile?”
“Lockesnuckmeacopy,”Deansaid.“Shethoughttheremightbesomethinghere,andshewas
right.Theattackonyourmotherwaspoorlyplanned.Itwasemotional.Itwasmessy.Andwhatwe
sawtoday—”
“Wasn’tanyofthosethings,”Ifinished.DeanhadjustputintowordsthefeelingI’dbeenonthe
vergeofexplainingtoMichael.Akillercouldgrowandchange,theirMOcoulddevelop,butthe
emotions,therage,thetitillation—thatdidn’tjustgoaway.Whoeverhadattackedmymomwould
havebeentoooverwhelmedbyadrenalinetocommittheminutiaeofthescenetomemory.
Thepersonresponsibleforthebloodinmymother ’sdressingroomfiveyearsagowouldn’thave
beenabletoreenacthermurdersocoldlytoday.
Thiswasn’taboutrelivingakill.
“EvenifI’mevolving,”Deansaid,“evenifI’vegottengoodatwhatIdo—seeingyou,Cassie,
seeingyourmotherinyou,I’dbefrenzied.”Deanslippedapictureofmymother ’scrimesceneout
ofthefolder.Thenhelaidasecondpicturedownnexttoit,ofthescenetoday.Lookingatthetwo
photossidebyside,Iacceptedwhatmygutwastellingme,whatDeanwastellingme.
Ifyouweretheonewhokilledmymother,ItoldtheUNSUB,ifeverywomanyou’vekilledsinceisa
waytorelivethatmoment,wouldn’therdeathmeansomethingtoyou?Howcouldyoupossiblystagea
scenelikethatandnotlosecontrol?
TheUNSUBresponsibleforthecorpseI’dseentodaywasmeticulous.Methodical.Thetypewho
neededtobeincontrolandalwayshadaplan.
Thepersonwho’dkilledmymotherwasnoneofthosethings.
Howisthatevenpossible?Iwondered.
“Lookatthelightswitches.”
Iturnedaround.Sloanewasdirectlybehindme,staringatthepictures.Liaenteredtherooma
momentlater.
“ItookcareofAgentStarmans,”shesaid.“Hehassomehowdevelopedtheimpressionthatheis
urgentlyneededinthekitchen.”Deangaveheranexasperatedlook.“What?”shesaid.“Ithought
Cassiemightwantsomeprivacy.”
Ididn’treallythinkfivepeoplecountedas“privacy,”butIwastoostuckonSloane’swordsto
nitpickLia’s.“WhyamIlookingatthelightswitches?”
“There’sasinglesmearofbloodonthelightswitchandplateinbothphotos,”Sloanesaid.“Butin
thisone”—shegesturedtothephotoofthescenetoday—“thebloodisonthetopoftheswitch.Andin
thisone,it’sonthebottom.”
“Andthetranslation,forthoseofuswhodon’tspendhoursworkingonphysicalsimulationsinthe
basement?”Liaasked.
“Inoneofthephotos,thelightswitchgotsmearedwithbloodwhensomeonewithbloodyhands
turneditoff,”Sloanesaid.“Butintheotherone,ithappenedwhenthelightwasturnedon.”
Myfingerstouchsomethingwarmandstickyonthewall.Frantically,Isearchforthelightswitch.
Myfingersfindit.Idon’tcarethatthey’recoveredinwarm,wetliquid.
I.Need.It.On.
“Iturnedthelighton,”Isaid.“WhenIcamebacktomymother ’sdressingroom—therewasblood
onmyhandswhenIturnedthelighton.”
Butiftherehadonlybeenonesmearofbloodontheswitch,andthatsmearofbloodwasfrommy
hand…
Mymother ’skillerwouldn’thaveknownitwasthere.Theonlypeoplewhowouldhaveknown
aboutthebloodonthelightswitchwerethepeoplewho’dseenthecrimesceneafterI’dreturnedto
thedressingroom.AfterI’dturnedthelighton.AfterI’daccidentallycoatedtheswitchinblood.
Andyet,ourUNSUB,whohadmeticulouslyrecreatedmymother ’smurderscene,hadincluded
thatdetail.
Youweren’trelivingthekill,Ithought,allowingmyselftofinallygivelifetothewords,because
youweren’ttheonewhokilledmymother.
ButwhoelsecouldthisUNSUB—whowasunquestionablyfixatedonmymom,onme—possibly
be?Mymindracedthroughtheday’sevents.
Thegift,senttome,butaddressedtoSloane.
GenevieveRidgerton.
Themessageonthebathroomwall.
ThetheaterinArlington.
Everydetailhadbeenplanned.ThiskillerhadknownexactlywhatIwoulddoateverystepalong
theway—butnotjustme.He’dknownwhatallofuswoulddo.He’dknownthatsendingapackageto
Sloanewashisbestchanceofgettingittome.He’dknownthatBriggsandLockewouldcaveand
bringmetothecrimescene.He’dknownthatI’dfindthemessage,andthatsomeoneelsewould
decodeit.He’dknownthatwewouldfindthetheaterinArlington,thattheagentswouldletmeseeit.
“Thecode,”Isaid,backtrackingoutloud.Theotherslookedatme.“TheUNSUBleftamessage
forme,butIcouldn’thavedecodedit.Notalone.”IftheUNSUBwassosetonforcingmetorelive
mymother ’smurder,whyleaveamessageImightnotbeabletounderstand?
HadtheUNSUBknownSloanewouldbethere?Didheexpecthertodecodeit?Didheknowwhat
shecoulddo?Andifhedid…
Youknowaboutmymother’scase.Whatifyouknowabouttheprogram,too?
“Lia,thelipstick.”Itriedtokeepmyvoicesteady,triednottoletthepanicinmychestwormits
waytothesurface.“TheRoseRedlipstick—wheredidyougetit?”
Afewdaysago,ithadseemedbenign:acruelirony,butnothingmore.Now—
“Lia?”
“Itoldyou,”Liasaid,“Iboughtit.”
Ihadn’trecognizedtheliethefirsttimearound.
“Wheredidyougetit,Lia?”
Liaopenedhermouthtodishoutaretort,thencloseditagain.Hereyesstudiedmine.“Itwasa
gift,”shesaidquietly.“Idon’tknowfromwho.Someoneleftabagofmakeuponmybedlastweek.I
justassumedIhadamakeupfairy.”Shepaused.“Honestly,IthoughtitmightbefromSloane.”
“Ihaven’tstolenmakeupinmonths.”Sloane’seyeswerewide.Mystomachlurched.
TherewasachancethattheUNSUBknewabouttheprogram.
Theonlypeoplewhowouldhavebeenabletoreconstructmymother ’scrimescenesoexactly,the
onlypeoplewhowouldhaveknownaboutthebloodonthelightswitch,werepeoplewhohadaccess
tothecrime-scenephotos.
Andsomeonehadleftatubeofmymother ’sfavoritelipstickonLia’sbed.
Insideourhouse.
CHAPTER34
“Cassie?”Liawasthefirstonetobreakthesilence.“Areyouokay?Youlook…notgood.”
IwasgoingtogooutonalimbandguessthatwasaboutasdiplomaticasLiagot.
“IneedtocallAgentBriggs,”Isaid,andthenIpaused.“Idon’thavehisnumber.”
Deanfishedhisphoneoutofhispocket.“Thereareonlyfournumbersinmycontacts,”hesaid.
“Briggsisoneofthem.”
TheotherthreewereLocke,Lia,andJudd.Myhandsshaking,IdialedAgentBriggs.
Noanswer.
IcalledLocke.
Pleaseanswer.Pleaseanswer.Please,pleaseanswer.
“Dean?”
LikeAgentBriggs,Lockedidn’tbotherwithhello.
“No,”Isaid.“It’sme.”
“Cassie?Iseverythingokay?”
“No,”Isaid.“Itisn’t.”
“Areyoualone?”
“No.”
Lockemusthaveheardsomethinginmyvoice,becausesheflippedintoagentmodeinaheartbeat.
“Canyoutalkopenly?”
Iheardstepsinthehallway.AgentStarmansopenedthedoorwithoutknocking,glaredpointedlyat
Lia,thenresumedstandingguard,rightoutsidethedoor.
“Cassie,”Lockesaidsharply.“Canyoutalk?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Ididn’tknowanythingexceptforthefactthattherewasaveryrealpossibilitythatthekillerhad
beeninsideourhouse—forallIknew,thekillercouldbeinsidethehousenow.IftheUNSUBhad
accesstoFBIfiles,ifhehadaccesstous…
“Cassie,Ineedyoutolistentome.Hangupthephone.Tellwhoever ’saroundyouthatI’minthe
middleofsomethingandI’llstopbythehouseassoonasI’mdone.Thentakethephone,gotothe
bathroom,andcallmeback.”
Ididwhatshetoldmetodo.Ihungupthephone.Irepeatedherwordstotherestoftheroom—and
toAgentStarmans,whowasstandingrightoutside.
“Whatdidshesay?”Liaasked,hereyeslockedontomyface,readytocallmeoutthesecondalie
passedmylips.
“Shesaid,‘I’minthemiddleofsomething,andI’llstopbythehouseassoonasI’mdone.’”
Technically,AgentLockehadsaidthoseexactwords.Iwasn’tlying—andI’djusthavetotakethe
chancethatLiawouldn’tpickupanycuesthatIwaswithholdingachunkofthetruth.
“Areyouokay?”Deanasked.
“I’mgoingtothebathroom,”Isaid,hopingthey’dreadthatasmenotwantingtoadmitthatI
wasn’tokay.IwalkedoutoftheroomwithouteverlookingMichaelintheeye.
ThesecondIclosedthebathroomdoorbehindme,Ilockedit.Iturnedonthesinkfaucet,andthen
IcalledAgentLockeback.
“I’malone,”Isaidsoftly,lettingthesoundofrunningwatermaskmywordsforeveryonebuther.
“Okay,”Lockesaid.“Now,takeadeepbreath.Staycalm.Andtellmewhat’swrong.”
Itoldher.Shecursedsoftlyunderherbreath.
“DidyoucallBriggs?”sheasked.
“Itried,”Isaid.“He’snotpickinguphisphone.”
“Cassie,Ineedtotellyousomething,andIwantyoutopromisemethatyou’regoingtokeepit
together.BriggsisinameetingwithDirectorSterling.Wehavereasontobelievethattheremightbe
aleakinourunit.Untilwegetfirmevidencetothecontrary,wehavetoassumethatyourprotection
detailhasbeencompromised.Ineedyoutogetout:quietly,quickly,andwithoutdrawinganyone’s
attention.”
IthoughtaboutAgentStarmans,outinthehallway,andabouttheotheragentsdownstairs.I’dbeen
socaughtupinthecaseIhadn’tpaidattentiontothem.
Toanyofthem.
“I’llcallStarmansandtheothers,”Lockesaid.“Ishouldbeabletobuyyouafewminutes
unguarded.”
“Ihavetogetoutofhere,”Isaid.TheideathattheUNSUBmightbeoneofthepeoplewhowas
supposedtoprotectme—
“Youhavetocalmdown,”Lockesaid,hervoicefirm.“Youliveinahousefullofveryperceptive
people.Ifyoupanic,they’llknowit.”
Michael.ShewastalkingaboutMichael.
“Hedoesn’thaveanythingtodowiththis,”Isaid.
“Ineversaidhedid,”Lockereplied,“butI’veknownMichaelforlongerthanyouhave,Cassie,
andhe’sgotahistoryofdoingstupidthingsforgirls.Thelastthingweneedrightnowissomeone
playinghero.”
IthoughtofthewaythatMichaelhadslammedDeanintothewallwhenDeanhadcalledthekiller ’s
obsessionwithmeagame.IthoughtofMichaelinthepool,tellingmeaboutatimewhenhe’dlostit.
“Ihavetogo,”Isaid.ThefartherawayIwasfromMichael,thesaferhe’dbe.IfIleft,theUNSUB
wouldfollow.Wecouldflushthispsychopathout.“I’llcallyouonceI’mclear.”
“Cassie,ifyouhangupthisphoneanddosomethingstupid,”Lockesaid,channelingNonnaand
mymotherandAgentBriggsallatonce,“Iwillspendthenextfiveyearsofyourlifemakingsure
youdeeply,deeplyregretit.IwantyoutofindDean.Ifanyoneinthathouseknowshowtospota
killer,it’shim,andItrusthimtokeepyousafe.HeknowsthecombinationtothesafeinBriggs’s
study.TellhimIsaidtouseit.”
Ittookmeamomenttorealizethatthesafeinquestionmustbeagunsafe.
“GettoDeanandgetoutofthehouse,Cassie.Don’tletanyoneelseseeyouleave.I’llsendthe
coordinatesofourDCsafehouse.BriggsandIwillmeetyouthere.”
Inodded,knowingthatshecouldn’tseeme,butunabletoformintelligiblewords.
“Stay.Calm.”
Inoddedagainandfinallymanagedtosay,“Okay.”
“Youcandothis,”AgentLockesaid.“YouandDeanareanincredibleteam,andI’mnotgoingto
letanythinghappentoeitherofyou.”
Threesharprapsonthebathroomdoormademejump,butIforcedmyselftofollowLocke’s
primarydirectiveandstaycalm.Icoulddothis.Ihadtodothis.Hangingupthephone,Istuffeditinto
mybackpocket,turnedthefaucetoff,andglancedatthedoor.
“Whoisit?”
“It’sme.”
Michael.Icursedinside,becausetherewascalmandtherewascalm,andwithMichael’sknackfor
emotions,he’dknowinaheartbeatifIwasfaking.
Calm.Calm.Calm.
Icouldn’tbeangry.Icouldn’tbescared.Icouldn’tbepanickedorguiltyorshowanysignsthatI’d
justtalkedtoAgentLocke—notifIwantedtokeepMichaeloutofthis.Atthelastsecond,asIopened
thedoor,IrealizedthatIwasn’tgoingtobeabletodoit.
Hewasgoingtorealizethatsomethingwaswrong—soIdidtheonlythingIcouldthinkoftodo.I
openedthedoor,andIlied.
“Look,”Isaid,allowingthebevyofemotionsI’dbeenholdingbacktoshowonmyface,allowing
himtoseehowtiredIwas,howoverwhelmed,howupset.“Ifthisisaboutthekiss,Ireallyjustcannot
dealwiththisrightnow.”Ipausedandletthosewordssinkin.“Ican’tdealwithyou.”
Isawitthesecondthewordshittheirmark,becauseMichael’sfacialexpressionutterlychanged.
Hedidn’tlookangryorsad—helookedlikehecouldn’thavecaredless.HelookedliketheboyI’d
metinthediner:layersuponlayers,maskuponmask.
Ibrushedpasthimbeforehecouldseethatithurtmetohurthim.Hittingthefinalnailinthe
coffin,Istalkeddownthehallway,knowinghewaswatchingme,andIwalkedrightuptoDean.
“Ineedyourhelp,”Isaid,myvoicelow.
Deanglancedovermyshoulder.IknewhewaslookingatMichael.IknewMichaelwasglaringat
him,butIdidn’tturnaround.
Icouldn’tletmyselfturnaround.
Deannodded,andasecondlater,Ifollowedhimuptothethirdfloor,tohisroom.TruetoAgent
Locke’swords,AgentStarmansreceivedaphonecallthatkepthimfromfollowing.
“Sorry—”Istartedtosay,butDeancutmeoff.
“Don’tapologize,”hesaid.“Justtellmewhatyouneed.”
Ithoughtofthewayhe’dlooked,walkinginonMichaelandme.“Lockewantsmeoutofthe
house,”Isaid.“Eitherthere’saleakintheFBIandtheUNSUBhasawayin,ortheUNSUBisalready
hereandwejustdon’tknowit.Lockesaidtotellyoutousethecombinationtothesafeinthestudy.”
Dean’sphonebuzzed.Anewtext.
“Thatwillbethelocationtothesafehouse,”Isaid.“Idon’tknowhowwe’resupposedtogetdown
tothestudyandoutofthehousewithoutanyoneseeingus,but—”
“Ido.”Deankeptthingssimple:nomorewordsthanabsolutelynecessary.“There’saback
staircase.Theyblockeditoffyearsago:toounsteady.NobodybutJuddevenknowsit’sthere.Ifwe
cangetdowntothebasement,Iknowawayout.Here.”Hethrewmeasweatshirtoffhisbed.“Putthis
on.You’refreezing.”
Itwasthemiddleofsummer.InVirginia.Ishouldn’thavebeenfreezing,butmybodywasdoing
itsbesttogointoshock.IslippedthesweatshirtonasDeanusheredmedownthebackstaircaseand
intothestudy.Ikeptwatchatthedoorashekneltnexttothesafe.
“Doyouknowhowtoshoot?”heaskedme.
Ishookmyhead.Thatparticularskillhadn’tbeenpartofmymother ’straining.Maybeifithad
been,she’dhavestillbeenalive.
Deanloadedoneofthegunsandtuckeditintothewaistbandofhisjeans.Helefttheotherone
whereitwasandshutthesafe.Twominuteslater,we’dmadeittothebasement,andaminuteafter
that,wewereonourwaytothesafehouse.
YOU
Youweren’tsupposedtomakemistakes.Theplanwassupposedtobeperfect.Andforafewhours,it
was.
Butyoumesseditup.Youalwaysmesseverythingup—andthereHisvoiceisagaininyourhead,
andyou’rethirteenyearsoldandcoweringinthecorner,wonderingifitwillbefistsorhisbeltora
pokerfromthefire.
Andtheworstthingis,you’realone.Surroundedbypeopleorthrowingyourhandsuptoprotect
yourface,itdoesn’tmatter.You’realwaysalone.
That’swhyyoucan’tmessthisup.That’swhyithastobeperfectfromhereonout.That’swhyyou
havetobeperfect.
Youcan’tloseCassie.Youwon’t.
You’llloveher,oryou’llkillher,buteitherway,she’sgoingtobeyours.
CHAPTER35
Thesafehouselookedlikeanyotherhouse.Deanwentinfirst.Hepulledhisgunandhelditexpertly
infrontofhisbodyasheclearedthefoyer,thelivingroom,thekitchen.Istayedclosebehindhim.
We’dmadeourwaybacktothefoyerwhentheknobonthefrontdoorbegantoturn.
Deansteppedforward,pushingmefurtherback.Heheldthegunoutsteadily.Iwaited,prayingthat
itwasBriggsandLockeontheothersideofthedoor.Thehingescreaked.Thedoorslowlyopened.
“Michael?”
Deanloweredhisweapon.Forasplitsecond,Ifeltaburstofrelief,warmandsure,radiatingout
fromthecenterofmybody.Iexpelledthebreathcaughtinmythroat.Myheartstartedtobeatagain.
AndthenIsawtheguninMichael’shand.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iasked.Lookingathim,atthegun,Ifeltlikethestupidgirlinthe
horrormovie,theonewhocouldn’tseewhatwasrightinfrontofherface.Theonewhowentto
checkontheradiatorinthebasementwhentherewasamaskedmurdererontheloose.
Michaelwashere.
Michaelhadagun.
TheUNSUBhadasourceontheinside.
No.
“Whydoyouhaveagun?”Iaskeddumbly.Icouldn’tkeepfromtakingasteptowardMichael,
eventhoughIcouldn’tquitereadthelookonhisface.
Infrontofme,Deanraisedhisrightarm,guninhand.“Putitdown,Townsend.”
Michaelwasgoingtoputdownthegun.ThatwaswhatItoldmyself.Hewasgoingtoputdownthe
gun,andthiswasallgoingtobesomekindofmistake.I’dseenMichaelonthevergeofviolence.
He’dtoldmehimselfthatthepotentialforlosingitwasinhim,butIknewMichael.Hewasn’t
dangerous.Hewasn’takiller.TheboyIknewwasn’tjustamaskwornbysomeonewhoknewhowto
manipulateemotionsaswellashecouldreadthem.
ThiswasMichael.HecalledmeColorado,andhereadJaneAusten,andIcouldstillfeelhislips
onmine.Hewasgoingtoputdownthegun.
Buthedidn’t.Instead,helifteditup,trainingtheweapononDean.
Thetwoofthemstaredateachother.Sweattrickleddownthebackofmyneck.Itookastep
forward,thenanotherone.Icouldn’tstayinthebackground.
MichaelhadaguntrainedonDean.
DeanhadaguntrainedonMichael.
“I’mwarningyou,Michael.Putitdown.”Deansoundedcalm.Absolutely,utterlycalminaway
thatmademystomachchurn,becauseIknewsuddenlythathecouldpullthetrigger.Hewouldn’t
second-guesshimself.Hewouldn’thesitate.
IfhethoughtIwasindanger,hewouldputabulletinMichael’shead.
“Youputitdown,”Michaelreplied.“Cassie—”
IcutMichaeloff.Icouldn’tlistentoawordeitherofthemhadtosay,notwhenwewereahair ’s
breadthawayfromdisaster.“Putitdown,Michael,”Isaid.“Please.”
Michael’sgazewavered.Forthefirsttime,helookedfromDeantome,andIsawitthemomenthe
realizedthatIwasn’tafraidofDean.ThatIwasafraidofhim.
“Youweregone.Deanwasgone.OneofBriggs’sgunswasgone.”Michaeltookaraggedbreath.
Theguardedexpressionfellfromhisface,bitbybit,untilIwaslookingattheboyI’dkissed:
confusedandhurting,longingforme,terrifiedforme,breakable.“Iwouldneverhurtyou,Cassie.”
Somethingcameundoneinsideofme.ThiswasMichael—thesameMichaelhe’dalwaysbeen.
Besideme,DeanrepeatedhiscommandforMichaeltolowerthegun.Michaelclosedhiseyes.He
loweredhisweapon,andthesecondhedid,thesoundofgunfiretorethroughtheair.
Oneshot.Twoshots.
Myearsringing,myguttwisting,bilerisinginmythroat,Itriedtofigureoutwhichgunhadgone
off.Michael’shandwasbyhisside.HismouthopenedinatinyO,andIwatchedwithhorrorasred
blossomedacrosshispaleblueshirt.He’dbeenhit.Twice.Onceintheshoulder.Onceintheleg.His
eyesrolledbackinhishead.Thegundroppedfromhisfingertips.
Hefell.
IturnedtoseeDeanwiththegunstillinhishand.Hewasaimingatme.
No.Nonononononono.
AndthatwaswhenIheardavoicebehindmeandrealizedthatDeanwasn’ttheoneholdingthegun
thathadgoneoff.Hewasn’taimingatme.Hewasaimingatthepersonstandingbehindme.Theone
who’dshotMichael.
HewasaimingatSpecialAgentLaceyLocke.
PARTFOUR:SEEING
YOU
You’vewaitedforthismoment.Waitedforhertolookatyouandsee.Evennow,confusioniswarring
withdisbeliefonherface.Shedoesn’tunderstandwhyyoushotMichael.Shedoesn’tunderstandwho
youareorwhatsheistoyou.
ButDeandoes.Youseetheexactmomentthateverythingfallsintoplacefortheboyyoutrained.
Thelessonsyoutaughtthem,thelittlehintsyoudroppedalongtheway.ThewayyouarewithCassie,
groomingherinyourownimage.Theresemblancebetweenthetwoofyou.
Yourhairisred,too.
Deanaimshisgunatyou,butyou’renotfrightened.You’veseeninsidethisboy’shead.Youknow
exactlywhattosay,exactlyhowtoplayhim.You’retheonewhotoldhimtobringthegun.You’rethe
onewhomadesurethatnooneknewthatheandCassiewereleavingthehouse.You’retheonewho
broughtthemhere.
It’sallpartoftheplan—andDeanisjustonemorebody,onemorethingstandingbetweenyouand
yourheart’sdesire.
Cassie.Lorelai’sdaughter.
Youtoldhernottodoanythingstupid.SheandDeanweresupposedtocomealone.
You’regoingtohavetopunishherforthat.
CHAPTER36
AgentLockewasholdingagun.She’dshotMichael—she’dshothim—andnowhewasonthe
ground,bloodpoolingaroundhisbody,hisinsidesleakingout.Thiswasamistake—ithadtobea
mistake.She’dseenthathewasholdingaweaponandshe’dreacted.ShewasanFBIagent,andshe
wantedtoprotectme.Thatwasherjob.
“Cassie.”Dean’svoicewaslowandfullofwarning.Thesetofhisfeaturesmadehimlooklikea
predator,asoldier,amachine.“Stayback.”
“No,”AgentLockesaid,movingforward,smilingasbrightlyasever.“Don’tstayback.Don’t
listentohim,Cassie.”
Deantrackedhermovementwiththegun.Hisfingerboredownonthetrigger.
“Areyouakiller,Dean?”AgentLockeasked,hereyeswideandearnest.“Wealwayswondered.
DirectorSterlingwashesitanttofundtheprogram,becauseheknowswhereyoucamefrom.What
youcamefrom.Isitreallyfairofustoteachyoueverythingthereistoknowaboutkillers?Toforce
youtoliveinahousewheretheirpictureslinethewallsandeverythingyouseeanddoisgeared
towardthatonething?Givenyourbackground,howlongcoulditpossiblybeuntilyousnap?”
AgentLockewasclosertohimnow.“It’swhatyouthinkabout.It’syourgreatestfear.Howlong,”
AgentLockedrawled,“untilyou’rejust…like…Daddy?”
Armssteady,eyeshard,Deanpulledthetrigger,buthewastoolate.Shewasonhim.Sheknocked
theguntotheside,andwhenitwentoff,thebulletflewastray,soclosetomyfacethatIcouldfeelthe
heatofitagainstmyskin.Deanturnedhisheadtolookatme,tomakesurethatIwasokay.Itcosthim
afractionofasecond,buteventhatwastoomuch.
AgentLockehithimwiththebuttofhergun,andhewentdown,hisbodylimp,hiscrumpledform
lyingthreefeetawayfromMichael’s.
“Finally,”AgentLockesaid,turningaroundtofaceme,“it’sjustusgirls.”
Itookastepforward,towardMichael,towardDean,butAgentLockewavedhergunatme.“Nuh-
uh-uh,”shesaid,makingatskingsoundunderherbreath.“Youstayrightthere.We’regoingtohave
tohavealittletalkaboutfollowingorders.Itoldyounottodoanythingstupid.LettingMichaeltrail
youherewasstupid.Itwassloppy.”
Onesecondshewasstandingthere,lookingexactlylikethewomanIknew,fulloflife,aforceof
naturewhowasverygoodatgettingherownway,andthenextshewasontopofme.Isawablurof
silverandheardtheimpactofhergunwithmycheekbone.
Painexplodedinmyfaceasecondlater.Iwasonthefloor.Icouldtastebloodinmymouth.
“Standup.”Hervoicewasbrisk,buttherewasanedgetoitI’dneverheardbefore.“Standup.”
Iclamberedtomyfeet.Shetookherlefthandandplacedherfingersundermychin.Sheangled
myfaceupward.Therewasbloodonmylips.Icouldfeelmyeyeswellingshut,andeventheslight
movementofmyheadsentstarsintomyeyes.
“Itoldyounottodoanythingstupid.ItoldyouI’dmakeyouregretitifyoudid.”Herfingernails
dugintotheskinundermychin,andIthoughtaboutthevictims’photos,thewayshe’dpeeledtheskin
fromtheirfaces.
Theknife.
“Don’tdoanythingelsethatI’llbeforcedtomakeyouregret,”shesaidcoldly.“You’llonlybe
hurtingyourself.”
Ilookedintohereyes,andIwonderedhowIcouldhavemissedthis,howIcouldhavespentall
day,everydaywithherforweekswithoutrealizingthattherewassomethingwrongwithher.
“Why?”Ishouldhavekeptmymouthshut.Ishouldhavebeenlookingforawayout,butthere
wasn’tone,andIneededtoknow.
LockeignoredmyquestionandglancedatMichael.“It’sapity,”shesaid.“I’dhopedtosparehim.
Hehasaveryvaluablegift,andhecertainlytookashinetoyou.Theyalldid.”
Withnowarningwhatsoever,shehitmeagain.Thistime,shecaughtmebeforeIfell.
“You’rejustlikeyourmother,”shesaid.Andthenshetightenedhergriponmyarm,forcingmeto
standstraight.“Don’tbeweak.You’rebetterthanthat.We’rebetterthanthat,andIwon’thaveyou
snivelingonthefloorlikesomecommonwhore.Doyouunderstandme?”
Iunderstoodthatthewordsshewassayingwerethingsthatsomeonehadprobablyoncesaidto
her.IunderstoodthatifIaskedherhowsheknewmymother,she’dhitmeagainandagain.
IunderstoodthatImightnotgetbackup.
“IexpectananswerwhenItalktoyou,Cassie.Youweren’traisedinabarn.”
“Iunderstand,”Isaid,filingawayherchoiceofwords,thealmostmaternalundertonetoher
words.I’dassumedthattheUNSUBwasmale.I’dassumedthatwhentheUNSUBkilledfemales,there
mightbesomekindofunderlyingsexualmotivation.ButAgentLockewastheonewho’dtaughtme
thatwhenyouchangedoneassumption,youchangedeverything.
You’llalwaysbewrongaboutsomething.You’llalwaysmisssomething.WhatiftheUNSUBisolder
thanyouthought?Whatifheisashe?
She’dpracticallytoldmethatshewastheUNSUB,andithadgonerightovermyhead,becauseI’d
trustedher,becauseiftheUNSUB’smotivationwasn’tsexual,ifhewasn’tkillinghiswifeorhis
motheroragirlwhoturnedhimdown,overandoveragain,ifhewasashe…
“Okay,kiddo,let’sgetthisshowontheroad.”Lockesoundedsomuchlikeherself,sonormal,that
itwashardtoremembershewasholdingagun.“I’vegotapresentforyou.I’mgoingtogogetit.If
youmovewhileI’mgone,ifyousomuchasblink,I’llputabulletinyourknee,beatyouwithinan
inchofyourlife,andputamatchingbulletinloverboy’shead.”
ShegesturedtowardDean.Hewasunconscious,butalive.AndMichael…
Icouldn’tevenlookatMichael’sbody,lyingproneonthefloor.
“Iwon’tmove.”
Shewasonlygoneforseconds.ItookasinglesteptowardMichael’sabandonedgunandfroze,
becauseIknewourcaptorwastellingthetruth.She’dkillDean.She’dhurtme.
Evenamoment’shesitationwastoolong,andaninstantlater,Lockewasback—andshewasn’t
alone.
“Pleasedon’thurtme.Please.Mydadhasmoney.He’llgiveyouwhateveryouwant,justplease
don’t—”
IttookmeamomenttorecognizeGenevieveRidgerton.Therewereuglycutsonherneckand
shoulders.Herfacewasswollenbeyondrecognition,andtherewasbloodcrustedonherscalp.The
skinaroundhermouthwaspink,likesomeonehadjustrippedoffastripoftape.Shemadeamewling
sound,halfwaybetweenagargleofwaterandamoan.
“Itoldyouonce,”AgentLockesaidtome,knifeinhandandawidesmilegrowingonherface,
“thatIwasonlyeveraNaturalatonething.”
Istruggledtoremembertheexchange,oneofthefirstthingsshe’deversaidtome,amischievous
gleaminhereyes.I’dassumedshewasreferringtosex—butthehelpless,hopelessexpressionin
Genevieve’seyesleftverylittledoubtwhatLocke’sso-calledgiftwas.
Torture.
Mutilation.
Death.
SheconsideredherselfaNaturalkiller,andshewaswaitingformetosaysomething.Waitingfor
metocomplimentherwork.
Youknewmymother.Youhitme,youhurtme,youtoldmeitwasmyfault.Youwerealmostcertainly
abusedasachild.Youcalledmekiddo.I’mnotlikeyourothervictims.Yousentmepresents.You
groomedme.
“Thefirstdaywemet,”Isaid,hopingtheexpressiononmyfacelookedearnestenough,innocent
enoughtopleaseher,“whenyousaidyouwereaNaturalatonlyonething,youalsosaidthatyou
couldn’ttellmeaboutituntilIwastwenty-one.”
LockelookedgenuinelypleasedthatIremembered.“ThatwasbeforeIknewyou,”shesaid.
“BeforeIrealizedhowverylikemeyouwere.IknewyouwereLorelai’sdaughter.OfcourseIknew
—Iwastheonewhoflaggedyouinthesystem.Ispoon-fedyoutoBriggs.Ibroughtyouhere,
becauseyouwereLorelai’s,butonceIstartedworkingwithyou…”Hereyeswerealightwitha
strangeglow,likeablushingbride’sorapregnantlady’s,brimmingwithhappinessfromtheinside
out.“Youweremine,Cassie.Youbelongedwithme.IthoughtIcouldwaituntilyouwereolder,until
youwereready,butyou’rereadynow.”
ShepushedGenevieveroughlydowntoherknees.Thegirlcollapsed,herbodyshaking,thetaste
ofherterrorpotentintheair.LockesawmelookingatGenevieve,andshesmiled.
“Igotherforyou.”
Gunstillinherrighthand,Lockeheldherknifeouttomewithherleft,hiltfirst.Thelookinher
eyeswashopeful,vulnerable,hungry.
Youwantsomethingfromme.
Lockedidn’twanttokillme—ormaybeshedid,butshewantedthismore.Shewantedmetotake
theknife.ShewantedmetoslitGenevieve’sthroat.Shewantedmetobeherprotégéinmoreways
thanone.
“Taketheknife.”
Itooktheknife.Ieyedthegun,stillinherhands,trainedonmyforehead.
“Isthatreallynecessary?”Iasked,tryingtoactasthoughthethoughtofturningthisknifeagainst
thesobbinggirlonthefloordidn’tmakemewanttothrowup.“IfI’mgoingtodothis,Iwantittobe
mine.”
Iwasspeakingherlanguage,tellingherwhatshewantedtohear:thatIwaslikeher,thatwewere
thesame,thatIunderstoodthatthiswasaboutangerandcontrolandhavingthepowertodecidewho
livedandwhodied.Slowly,Lockeloweredthegun,butshedidn’tputitdown.Imeasuredthedistance
betweenus,wonderingifIcouldsinktheknifeintoherbeforeshecouldgetashotoffatme.
ShewasstrongerthanIwas.Shewasbettertrained.Shewasakiller.
Stallingfortime,IkneltnexttoGenevieve.Ibentdown,bringingmylipstoherear,lettingthe
expressiononmyfacetakeonahintofthemadnessIsawinLocke’s.Then,myvoicesolowthat
onlyGenevievecouldhearme,Iwhisperedtothegirl,“I’mnotgoingtohurtyou.I’mgoingtoget
yououtofhere.”
Genevievelookedup,herbodystillcrumpledintoaballonthefloor.Shereachedoutandgrabbed
mebythefrontofmyshirt.
“Killme,”shepleaded,thewordsescapingcrackedandbleedinglips.“Youkillme,beforeshe
does.”
Ikneltthere,frozen,andLockelostit.Shemorphedfromateacherobservingherstarpupilinto
anangry,animalcreature.ShepouncedonGenevieve,turningthegirlonherback,pinninghertothe
floor,herhandsencirclingherneck.
“Youdon’ttouchCassie,”shesaid,hervoicerisingtoayell,herfacesoclosetoGenevieve’sthat
theyoungergirlhadnowheretogo.“You.Don’t.Get.To.Decide.”
Mybrainwhirred.IhadtogetheroffGenevieve.Ihadtostopher.Ihadto—
OnesecondLockewasonGenevieve,andthenextsherippedtheknifeoutofmyhand.
“Youcan’tdoit,”shespatatme.“Youcan’tdoanythingright.”
Genevieveopenedhermouth.Lockeplungedtheknifeintoherside.I’dpromisedtoprotect
Genevieve,andnow…
Now,therewasblood.
CHAPTER37
Lockestoodup.ShekickedGenevieve’sbodytotheside,likethegirlwasalreadydead,eventhough
thegasping,whimperingsoundsthedyinggirlmadetoldmeshewasnot.Locke’sgunwasonthe
floor,forgotten,butthewayshewasholdingtheknifeasshesteppedtowardmetoldmethatIwasn’t
anysaferthanI’dbeenamomentbefore.
Shewasgoingtocutme.
Shewasgoingtoslicemeopen.
Shewasgoingtokillme.
“You’realiar,”shesaid.“Youcouldn’tdoit.Doyouevenwantto?Doyou?”
Shewasscreamingnow.Itookastepbackward.Iopenedmymouthtotellherwhatshewantedto
hear,totellherthatIdidwantit,tostallfortime,butshenevergavemethechance.Lookingatme
overtheblade,shetookanotherstepforward.
“Youweresupposedtokillher,”shesaid.“Igotherforyou.”
“I’msorry—”
“‘Sorry’neverdidanything!Lorelaiwassorry.Shewassorry,butshehadtogo,andsheleftme
therealone.”Locke’svoicebroke,butthefurywasstillclearineveryword.“Youweresupposedto
killthegirl.Itwassupposedtobeus,Cassie.You.Andme.Butyouleft!”
Shewasn’ttalkingtomeanymore.Shedidn’tseemewhenherwildeyeslandedonmine.The
bladeinherhandgleamed.Theblooddrippedontothefloor.Ihadtwoseconds,maybethree.
“Whatdoyoumean,Ileft?”Iasked,hopingmywordswouldbreakthroughthefoginherbrain,
bringherbacktothehereandnow.“Leftwhere?”
Lockestopped.Shehesitated.Shelookedatme.Shesawme.Shegotaholdofherself,andwithher
voicestillfullofvenom,sheadvanced.“Lorelaileft.Shewaseighteen,andIwastwelve.Shewas
supposedtoprotectme.Shewassupposedtowatchoutforme.Atnight,whenDaddywentawayand
themonstercameouttoplay,shemadehimangry.Shemadehimangryonpurposesohe’dhither
insteadofme.Shesaidshewouldn’tletanythinghappentome.”Lockepaused.“Shelied.”
We’dknownthattheUNSUBwasfixatedonmymother.Wejusthadn’tknownwhy.
“Shewasmysister,andshejustleftmethere.SheknewwhathewaslikeafterMamaleft.Sheknew
whathewoulddotomeonceshewasgone,andsheleftanyway.Becauseofyou.BecauseDaddywas
right,andLorelaiwasalittlewhore.Shedidallthewrongthings,andwhenIfoundoutshewas
pregnantwiththatairforceboy’sbaby…”Lockewascompletelycaughtupinthememory.Ieyed
hergunonthefloor,wonderingifIcouldreachitintime.“IthoughtthatDaddywouldkillherifhe
knew.Iwasn’tevensupposedtoknow,butIfoundout,andhefoundout,andhewasn’tevenangry!
Hedidn’tslitherthroat,didn’tcarveupherprettylittlefaceuntiltheboysdidn’twantheranymore.
Shewaspregnant,andhewashappy.
“Andthensheleft.Inthemiddleofthenight.Shewokemeup,andshekissedme,andshetoldme
shewasleaving.Shetoldmeshewasn’tevercomingback,thatshewouldn’traiseababyinthis
house,thatourdaddywouldn’teverlayafingeronyou.”Locke’sknuckles—myaunt’sknuckles—
tightenedaroundthebaseoftheblade.Herhandshook.“Ibeggedhertotakemewithher,butshesaid
shecouldn’t.Thathe’dcomeafterus.Thatshedidn’thaveanylegalrighttotakeme.Thatitwouldbe
toohard.Sheleftmetheretorot,andonceshewasgone,theonlypersonleftforhimtopunishwas
me.”
Don’tdoanythingelsethatI’llbeforcedtomakeyouregret.
You’llonlybehurtingyourself.
Iwon’thaveyousnivelingonthefloorlikeacommonwhore.
Mymotherhadnevertalkedaboutherfamily.She’dnevermentionedanabusivefatheroran
absentmother.She’dnevermentionedalittlesister,butnowIcouldseetheirfamilyunit:thebruises
andtheweltsandtheterror,theDaddy-monster,thelittlesisterthatshecouldn’tsave,andthebaby
thatshecould.
“WhenpeopleaskmewhyIdowhatIdo,”thewomanwhowasthatbabysistersaid,“Itellthem
thatIwentintotheFBIbecausealovedonewasmurdered.I’dfinallygottenoutofthathouse.Iwent
tocollege,andIspentyearslookingformybigsister.Atfirst,Ijustwantedtofindher.Ijustwanted
tobewithher—andwithyou.Ifshe’dtakenmewithyou,Icouldhavehelped!Youwouldhaveloved
me.Iwouldhavelovedyou.”Locke’svoicegotverysoft,andIrealizedthatthiswasascenarioshe’d
playedoutinherhead,growingupinthathellhole.She’dthoughtaboutmymom,andshe’dthought
aboutmebeforesheevermetme,beforesheeverknewmyname.
“Sheshouldn’thaveleftyouthere.”Ibravedsayingthewordsbecausetheyfelttrue.Lockewas
justakidwhenmymotherleft,andmymomhadneverevenlookedback.She’draisedmeonthe
road,movingfromcitytocity,neverlettingitslipthatshehadafamilyoutthere,justlikeshe’d
nevermentionedmydad.
Mywholelife,we’dbeenrunningfromsomething,andIdidn’tevenknowit.
“Shenevershouldhaveleftmethere,”Lockerepeated.“Eventually,Istoppeddreamingabout
findingherandbeingafamilyagain,andIstarteddreamingaboutfindingherandhurtingher,the
wayDaddyhurtme.Makingherpayforleavingmethere.Peelingherfaceoffuntilnoonethought
shewastheprettyone,untiljustlookingathermadeyouscream.”
Thedressingroom.Theblood.Thesmell…
“ButbythetimeIfoundher—bythetimeIfoundyou—itwastoolate.Shewasalreadydead.She
wasgone,anditwasn’tfair.Iwassupposedtokillher.Iwassupposedtobetheone.”
Myaunthadn’tkilledmymother—becausesomeoneelsehadgottentherefirst.
“WhenIfoundoutthatshewasdead,andyouweregone,whenIfoundoutthatthey’dsentyouto
livewithyourfather’sfamily—Iwasyourfamily,too!Ithoughtabouttakingyou.Ievenwentto
Colorado,butwhenIgotthere,therewasthisjunkieatmymotel.Shewascheapandlooseanddirty,
andherhairwastheexactrightshadeofred.Ikilledher,andIsaid,‘Howdoyoulikethat,Lore?’I
carvedherupuntilIcouldimagineLorelai’sfaceunderneath,andGod,itfeltgood.”Shepaused.“It
wasthesweetest,youknow.Thefirsttime.Italwaysis.Andafterthefirsttime,youalwaysneed
more.”
“IsthatwhyyoujoinedtheFBI?”Iasked.“Lotsoftravel,easyaccess,theperfectcover?”
AgentLocketookasteptowardme.Everymuscleinherbodywastaut.Foramoment,Ithought
thatshewouldhitme—againandagainandagain.
“No,”shesaid.“That’snotwhyIjoined.”
WhenpeopleaskmewhyIdowhatIdo,ItellthemthatIwentintotheFBIbecausealovedonewas
murdered.
Locke’swordscamebacktomethen,andIrealizedthatshe’dbeentellingthetruth.
“YoujoinedtheFBIbecauseyouwantedtofindmymother ’skiller.”
Notbecauseshewasupsetthatmymomwasdead.Becauseshe’dwantedtobetheonetokillher.
“Ichangedmyname.Istudied.Iplanned.Ipassedthepsychexamswithflyingcolors.Evenonce
BriggsandIstartedworkingtogetherandhebroughtmeinontheNaturalsprogram,noonereally
sawme.TheyonlysawwhatIwantedthemtosee.Lianevercaughtmeinalie.Michaelneversawa
hintofunsavoryemotion.AndDean—Iwaslikefamilytohim.”
HearingDean’snamemademyeyesdartovertohisbody.Hestillwasn’tmoving—butMichael
was.Hiseyeswereopen.Hewasbleeding.Hecouldn’twalk,hecouldn’tevencrawl,buthewas
pullinghimselfslowlyacrossthefloor—tohisgun.
Lockemovedtofollowmygaze,butIstoppedher.
“Itisn’tthesame,”Isaid,myvoicedecisiveandcalm.
“Whatisn’t?”Locke—no,hernamewasn’treallyLocke,notifshewasmymother ’ssister—said.
Ihadlessthanasecondtothinkofananswer,butgrowingupthedaughterofawomanwhomade
herlivingbypretendingtobepsychichadn’tjusttaughtmetheBPEs.Forbetterorworse,I’dlearned
toputonashow,soIsaidtheonethingIcouldthinkofthatwouldkeepLaceyHobbes’sattention
focusedsolelyand100percentonme.
“Youtriedtorestagemymother ’smurder,butyougotitwrong.Whatyou’redoingtothese
womenisn’tthesameaswhatIdidtomymother.”
Thewomaninfrontofmehadwantedtokillmymother,butshe’dalsodesperatelywantedher
acceptance.She’dwantedtobeapartofafamily,andshe’dbroughtmeheretonightwithsome
twistedhopethatIcouldbethatforher.She’denjoyedbeingmymentor.Shewantedmetobelikeher.
NowmyjobwastoconvinceherthatIwas.
“Mymotherdidn’tprotectyou,”Isaid,mirroringtherageanddesperationandhurtIsawonher
face.“Shedidn’tprotectme,either.Thereweremen.Shedidn’tlovethem.Shedidn’tstaywiththem.
Shedidn’tsayawordwhentheytooktheirfrustrationsoutonme.Shewasweak.Shewasawhore.
Shehurtme.”
LiawouldhaveknownIwaslying,butthewomaninfrontofmewasn’tLia.Ismiled,lettingthe
expressionspreadslowlyacrossmyface,keepingmyeyesonmyaunt,neverlooking,evenfora
second,atMichael.
“SoIhurther.”
Myauntstaredatme,herfacestilltwistedindisbelief,buthereyeswistfulwithlonging.
“Shewasgettingready.Puttingonherlipstick.Pretendingshewassoperfectandsospecial,that
shewasn’tamonster.Isaidhername.Sheturnedaround,andItookmyknife.Iplungeditintoher
stomach.Shesaidmyname.Thatwasit.Just‘Cassie.’SoIstabbedheragain.Andagain.Shefought.
Shekickedandshescreamed,butthistime,Iwastheonewiththepower.Iwastheonedoingthe
hurting,andshewastheonegettinghurt.Shefellonherstomach.IflippedheroversoIcouldseeher
face.Ididn’tdragtheknifeoverhercheekbones.Ididn’tcarveherup.Idippedmyfingersintoher
side.Imadeherscream.AndthenIpaintedherlipswithblood.”
Locke—no,Hobbes—Laceywascaptivated.Forasinglesecond,Ithoughtshemightbelieveme.
Herknifehandhunglooselybyherside.Herotherhandreachedintoherpocket.Shepulled
somethingout—Icouldn’tseewhat.Shefingereditforamoment—gingerly,carefully—andthenshe
crushedherfingersintoafist.
“Anexcellentperformance,”shesaid.“ButI’maprofiler,too.I’vebeendoingthisalotlonger
thanyouhave,Cassie,andyourmotherwasn’tkilledbyatwelve-year-oldgirl.You’renotakiller.
Youdon’thavewhatittakes.”Sheliftedtheknifeandstartedforward,thelonginginhereyesturning
tosomethingelse.
Bloodlust.
“You’renotgoingtogetawaywiththis,”Isaid,droppingtheactassheadvancedonme.“They’ll
knowitwasyou.They’llcatchyou—”
“No,”Lockecorrected.“I’llcatchDean.Youcalledmefromhisphone.Iwasworried,butwhenI
calledthehouse,youweren’tthere.Everyonewentintoanuproar.TheyfoundoutDeanwasmissing,
too,andthathe’dstolenBriggs’sguns.Itrackedyoudown.IfoundDeanherewithGenevieve.He
shotMichael.Hecarvedyouup.I’mtheheroicagentwhostoppedhim,whofiguredoutthattheDC
murdersweretheworkofacopycatwithaccesstooursystem,unrelatedtotheothermurders
altogether.Iwastoolatetosaveyou,butIdidmanagetokillDeanbeforehecouldkillme.Like
father,likeson.
“Didyoureallythinkyoucouldwin?”sheasked.“Didyouthinkyoucouldfoolme?”
Behindher,Michaelhadtheguninhishand.Herolledontohisside.Heaimed.
“Ineverexpectedyoutobelieveme,”Isaid.“Ortoletmelive.Ijustneededyoutolisten.”
Hereyesmetmine.Theywidened.Agunshotwentoff.Thentwo,thenthree,four,five.Andmy
auntLaceyfelltothefloor,herbodysplayedoutnexttoGenevieve.
Dead.
PARTFIVE:DECIDING
CHAPTER38
Michaelwasinthehospitalfortwoweeks.Deanwasreleasedaftertwodays.Butevenoncewewere
backatthehouse,evenoncethecasewasclosed,noneofushadreallyrecovered.
GenevieveRidgertonhadsurvived—barely.She’drefusedtoseeanyofus—especiallyme.
Michaelhadmonthsofphysicalrehabilitationaheadofhim.Thedoctorssaidhemightneverwalk
withoutalimpagain.Deanhadbarelysaidawordtome.Sloanecouldn’ttalkaboutanythingother
thantheabsoluteunlikelihoodofaserialkillerbeingabletopassthepsychevalsandbackground
checknecessarytojointheFBI,evenunderanassumedname.AndIwasdealingwiththefactthat
LaceyLocke,néeHobbes,wasmyaunt.
Herstoryhadcheckedout.SheandmymotherwerebornandraisedoutsideofBatonRouge,
thoughbothhadshedtheiraccentsalongtheway.Theirfather,ClaytonHobbes,hadbeenconvicted
twiceofassaultandbattery—onceagainsthiswife,whoranoffwhenmymotherwasnineandLacey
wasthree.Thegirlshadattendedschooluntiltheagesoftenandsixteen,butthesystemhadlostthem
somewherealongtheway.
They’dgrownupinhell.Mymotherhadgottenout.Laceyhadn’t.
TheBureaucross-referencedLacey’smurderswithcasesthatBriggs’steamhadworked,andthey
discoveredatleastfivemorethatfitthepattern.Theagentswouldflyoutonacase;Laceywouldslip
away,andsomewhere,fortyorfiftymilesaway,someonewoulddisappear.Theywoulddie.Andifa
policereportwasfiled,itnevermadeitswaytotheFBI’sattention,becausethecrimedidn’tappearto
beserialinnature.
Thewomanwho’dcalledherselfLaceyLockehadpaidattentiontostatelines.She’dneverkilled
inthesamestatetwice—untilIjoinedtheNaturalsprogram.She’descalatedthen,committingaseries
ofmurdershereinDCasshebecameincreasinglyfixatedonme.
Atleastfourteenpeopleweredead,andasenator ’sdaughterhadbeenkidnappedandgravely
injured.ThecasewasanightmarefortheBureau—andanightmareforus.Theprohibitionagainst
Naturals’participationinactivecaseswasbackandstrongerthanever.DirectorSterlinghadmanaged
tokeepournamesoutofthenewsthistime.Asfarashewasconcerned,allanyoneneededtoknow
wasthatthekillerwasdead.
Myauntwasdead.
Justlikemymother.
TwoweeksafterMichaelhadpulledthetrigger,Icouldstillseethoselastmomentsplayingout,
overandoveragain.Isatbesidethepool,danglingmyfeetinthewaterandwonderingwhat
happenednext.
WheredidIgofromhere?
“Ifyou’regoingtoleavetheprogram,leave.ButforGod’ssake,Cassie,ifyou’regoingtostay,
stopmopingaroundlikeyourkittycathascancer,anddosomethingaboutit.”
IturnedtoseeLiastandingaboveme.Shewastheonepersonwhohadn’tchangedasaresultofall
ofthis.Inaway,itwasalmostcomfortingtoknowthatIcouldcountonhertostaythesame.
“Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”Iasked,pullingmyfeetoutofthepoolandstandingupsothatwe
wereeyetoeye.
“YoucanstartbygettingridofthatRoseRedlipstickIgaveyou,”Liasaid.Leaveittohertoknow
thatIstillhadit,thatI’dcarriedthetubeshe’dgivenmeeverywhereIwentsincediscoveringan
ancienttubeofRoseRed,worntoanub,inmyaunt’shandthenightshedied.Apparently,ithadbeen
mymother ’scolorofchoiceevenasagirl.Laceyhadkeptitalltheseyears.
Thatwaswhatshe’dcarriedinherpocket.
Thatwaswhatshe’dheldasI’dspunmystoryaboutmymother ’sdeath.
TheFBIhadfoundadozenotherlipsticksinacabinetatherhouse.Keepsakesthatshetookfrom
eachvictim.Alittlesister,dyingtobelikebigsis,stealingherlipstickuntiltheend.
Shewastheonewho’dgiventhemakeuptoLia.She’dboughtafreshtubeofRoseRedjustfor
me,andLiahadplayedrightintoherhands.Nowthatitwasover,Ishouldhavethrownthelipstick
away,butIcouldn’tseemtobringmyselftodoit.Itwasareminder:ofthethingsmyaunthaddone,
ofwhatI’dsurvived,ofmymotherandthefactthatLaceyandIhadbothjoinedtheFBIinhopesof
findingherkiller.
Akillerwhowasstilloutthere.Akillerwhonotevenapsychotic,obsessiveFBIagenthadbeen
abletofind.Sincejoiningtheprogram,I’dgainedandlostamentorandseenmymother ’sonlyother
livingrelativeshotdead.I’dhelpedtakedownakillerwho’dbeenrecreatingmymother ’sdeathfor
years—butIwasstillnoclosertofindingthemonsterwho’dactuallykilledher.Imightneverget
answers.
Theymightneverfindherbody.
“Well?”Liahaddoneagoodimpressionofapatientperson,butclearly,hercapacityforwaiting
formetoreplyhadbeenstretchedtoitslimitandthensome.“Areyouinorareyouout?”
“I’mnotgoinganywhere,”Isaid.“I’minthis,butI’mkeepingthelipstick.”
“Rawrrrrr.”Liamadeascratchingmotion.“Somebody’sfinallygrowingclaws.”
“Yeah,”Isaiddryly.“Iloveyou,too.”
Iturnedaroundtowalkintothehouse,butLia’svoicestoppedmehalfwaythere.
“I’mnotsayingIlikeyou.I’mnotsayingI’mgoingtostopeatingyouricecreamorstealingyour
clothes,andI’mcertainlynotsayingthatIwon’tmakeyourlifealivingnightmareifyoujerkDean
around,butIwouldn’twantyoutoleave.”Liastrodepastme,thenturnedaroundandflashedmea
smile.“Youmakethingsinteresting.Andbesides,I’mkindofintotheideaofMichael’swarwounds,
andhavingmywaywithhimwillbethatmuchsweeterknowingyou’rerightdownthehall.”
Liaflouncedbackintothehouse.IthoughtofthescarsMichaelwouldhaveoncehe’dhealed,
thoughtofthekiss,thefactthathe’dalmostdiedforme—andthenIthoughtofDean.
Dean,whohadn’tforgivenhimselffornotbeingabletopullthetrigger.
Dean,whosefatherwasasmuchofamonsterasmyaunt.
Weeksago,Liahadtoldmethateverypersoninthishousewasfundamentallyscreweduptothe
depthsofourdarkandshadowysouls.Weallhadourcrossestobear.Wesawthingsthatotherpeople
didn’t—thingsthatpeopleourageshouldneverhavetosee.
Deanwouldneverjustbeaboy.He’dalwaysbetheserialkiller ’sson.Michaelwouldalwaysbe
thepersonwho’dputaroundofbulletsinmyaunt.Andpartofmewouldneverleavemymother ’s
blood-soakeddressingroom,justlikeanotherpartwouldalwaysbeatthesafehouse,withLaceyand
herknife.
Wewouldneverbelikeotherpeople.
“Idon’tknowwhatthebackdoordidtoyou,”anamusedvoicetoldme,“butI’msureit’sreally,
trulysorry.”
Michaelwassupposedtobeusingawheelchair,buthewasalreadytryingtomaneuveroncrutches
—animpossiblefeat,consideringabullethadalsobeenlodgedinhisshoulder.
“I’mnotglaringatthebackdoor,”Isaid.
Michaelraisedoneeyebrow,higherandhigheruntilIcaved.
“Fine,”Isaid.“Imighthavebeenglaringatthebackdoor.Idon’twanttotalkaboutit.”
“Likeyoudidn’twanttotalkaboutthatkiss?”Michael’svoicewaslight,butthiswasthefirsttime
eitherofushadbroughtupthatmomentinmybedroom.
“Michael—”
“Don’t.”Hestoppedme.“IfIhadn’tbeensojealousofDean,Iwouldn’thaveboughtyourlittle
storyforasecond.Evenasitwas,Ididn’tbuyitformuchlongerthanthat.”
“Youcameafterme,”Isaid.
“I’llalwayscomeafteryou,”hesaid,wigglinghiseyebrowsinawaythatmadethewordsseem
likemoreofajokethanapromise.
Somethingtoldmeitwasboth.
“ButyouandReddinghavesomething.Idon’tknowwhatitis.Idon’tblameyouforit.”On
crutches,hecouldn’tleantowardme.Hecouldn’treachoutandbrushthehairoutofmyface.But
somethingaboutthecurveofhislipswasmoreintimatethananytouch.“Alothashappened.You
havealottofigureout.Icanbeapatientman,Colorado.Adevastatinglyhandsome,roguishly
scarred,heartbreakinglycourageous,patientman.”
Irolledmyeyes,butcouldn’tbitebackasmile.
“Sotakewhatevertimeyouneed.Figureouthowyoufeel.FigureoutifDeanmakesyoufeelthe
wayIdo,ifhe’lleverletyouin,andifyouwanthimto,becausethenexttimemylipstouchyours,
thenexttimeyourhandsareburiedinmyhair—theonlypersonyou’regoingtobethinkingaboutis
me.”
Istoodthere,lookingatMichaelandwonderinghowitwaspossiblethatIcouldinstinctively
understandotherpeople—theirpersonalities,theirbeliefs,theirdesires—butthatwhenitcameto
whatIwanted,Iwasjustlikeanyoneelse,muddledandconfusedandstumblingthrough.
Ididn’tknowwhatitmeantthatmyaunthadbeenakiller,orhowIfeltaboutthefactthatshewas
dead.
Ididn’tknowwhohadkilledmymother,orwhatlosingherandnevergettinganyclosurehad
donetome.Ididn’tknowifIwascapableofreallylettingsomeoneelsein.Ididn’tknowifIcould
fallinlove.
Ididn’tknowwhatIwantedorwhoIwantedtobewith.
Butstandingthere,lookingatMichael,theonethingIdidknow,thewayIalwaysknewthings
aboutotherpeople,wasthatsoonerorlater,asapartofthisprogram—apartofthisteam—Iwas
goingtofindout.
ABOUTTHEAUTHOR
JenniferLynnBarnesistheauthorofadozennovelsforyoungadults.Shehasadvanceddegreesin
psychology,psychiatry,andcognitivescienceandrecentlycompletedherPh.D.atYaleUniversity.
Sheisnowaprofessorofpsychology.
Youcanfindheronlineat
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
TheNaturalsmightbethemostchallengingandrewardingbookI’veeverwritten.I’mgratefulto
havehadtheopportunitytocombinemyloveofpsychologyandknowledgeofcognitivesciencewith
mypassionforYA,andIoweamajordebtofgratitudetothemanypeoplewhohelpmealongthe
way.
Majorthanksgotomyeditor,CatherineOnder,whosepassionforthisprojectandkeeneyehelped
memakethisabookIcouldn’thavewrittenonmyown.Myagent,ElizabethHarding,hasbeenwith
meeverystepofthewayforadozenbooksnow,andIfeelcontinuallyluckytohaveheronmyside.
MyUKagent,GingerClark,aswellaseveryoneatQuercusBooks,havebeensuchsupportersofthis
projectfromitsconception—I’msogratefultohavesuchtremendousteamsbehindthebookonboth
sidesofthepond.And,ofcourse,Iowehugethankyou’stoeveryoneatDisney-Hyperion,including
DinaSherman(for—amongotherthings—two-stepping!).Thanks,too,tomyfilmagent,Holly
Frederick,andtoLorenzoDeMaioforaskingquestionsthatmademegofurtherintothisworld.
Writingthisbookinvolvedalotofresearch.IoweparticulardebtstothememoirsofFBIprofiler
JohnDouglas,andtotheempiricalresearchofPaulEkman,MaureenO’Sullivan,SimonBaron-
Cohen,andmanyothers.
Asawriter—andaperson—I’vebeenblessedwithanincrediblesupportsystem,andI’venever
reliedonitasmuchformyownsanityasIdidinthewritingandeditingofthisbook.Abigthankyou
toAllyCarter,BFFextraordinaire,fortalkingmedownoffmanyacliffandforreadinganearlier
draftofthisbook.ThanksalsotoSarahCross,SarahReesBrennan,MelissaMarr,RachelVincent,
BOB,andsomanyothersfortheirfriendshipandsupportthroughtheupsanddownsofpublishing
andthecreativeprocess.
ThewritingandrevisingofthisbookspannedthelastyearofmyPhDandmyfirstyearasa
collegeprofessor.ThankyoutomycohortandadvisorsatYale,andtoeveryoneinthepsychology
departmentattheUniversityofOklahomaforbeingsowelcomingmyfirstyearasaprofessorthere
—andsosupportiveofmybooks!I’dalsoliketothankmyincrediblestudents,especiallythoseinmy
CognitiveScienceofFictionandWritingYoungAdultFictionclasseslastspring.Teachingyouhas
beensuchanincredibleexperience,andI’mabetterwriterforit!
Finally,thanks—asalways—gotomyincrediblefamily.Mom,Dad,Justin,Allison,andConnor,I
loveyoumorethanwordscansay.
