He’s blurred, getting into a car.
The girl walking past him on the sidewalk has no idea.
My stomach twists.
“He didn’t hit there,” Jack says. “No incident, no follow-up. I think he was just…moving through. Maybe driving himself crazy trying to figure out what the hell to do after losing his prize.”
“She’s not—” I start, then catch myself.
He knows.
Jack nods.
“He’s changing,” he says. “Expanding his radius. You were right in that first profile—he doesn’t like dead ends. You threw him one. Now he’s looking for a new angle.”
“To get to her?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe he’s deciding she’s not as fun if somebody snatches her out of his arms.”
The idea hits like a stone.
“He’ll come back,” I say.
“Almost certainly,” Jack says. “But I don’t think he’s coming right back. Men like him don’t like being made to look stupid. He’ll lick his wounds. He’ll plan. And he’s got more than one obsession simmering.”
I frown. “What do you mean?”
Jack sips his coffee, eyes on the window.
“Remember that bomb in Richmond I told you about?” he asks. “The domestic terror thing years back, at that outdoor festival.”
I nod.
“Pulled a teenage girl outta that mess,” he says. “Lost a lot of people that day. Cops, civilians, kids. I was looking back at the manifesto that surfaced recently and there was something in it that sent up some alarm bells. Something that felt less like ideology and more like—”
“A story,” I finish. “But that was years ago. He would have been a teenager…?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I might be crazy. I hope I’m crazy. I’m definitely going to look deeper before I send it to State or anything.”
My grip tightens on Tallulah’s hand.
“The thing is…if it is him…it means there’s a good chance he’s been practicin’ for a long time,” Jack continues. “It means his modus operandi is more fluid than we’ve ever given him creditfor, which makes it more difficult to pin him down. And it means survivors—like the one from the bombing and Tallulah and Shiloh…they stick in a man like that’s teeth.”
My stomach sinks.
“What are you gonna do?” I ask.
“Go back through old case files,” he says. “I’ve already called a friend in Richmond PD. We’re pullin’ transcripts, footage, the works. And administration finally won that fight about bringin’ in a trauma specialist for the department, so I’ll have someone for Tallulah and others to talk to. Some shrink with a fancy CV. She’s startin’ next month.” His mouth twists. “Only they want me to be her first patient, so that backfired a little. Mandatory debriefing, they call it.”
“Everyone needs to talk about their feelings, Jack” I say, unable to resist.
He glares.
“I’m more worried she’ll be useless,” he says. “Last thing I need is some outsider comin’ in here thinkin’ this is a Hallmark town with a serial killer problem.”
My gaze slides to Tallulah.
Lucy Falls isn’t a Hallmark town. It’s sharper than that. Messier. Realer.
