“That's fair,” Jared said after exchanging a somber glance with his wife. He also patted her hand in reassurance. “We’ll have some breakfast, and then we’ll head back to our hotel. You have our cell phone numbers if you have any additional questions, right?”
“Yes,” Brook assured him as they all stood. She extended her hand to each of them in turn. Beth's grip was surprisingly strong, contradicting her fragile appearance. Through the glass wall, Brook noticed Arden rising from his desk, ready to escort the couple out. “I’ll be in touch.”
As the Hartmans stepped into the reception area, Brook lowered her gaze to the Polaroid in her hand. She couldn’t deny the similarity of events to those of the Photograph Killer. Add to that the fact that their daughter was strangled with a yellow scarf, and the odds of it being a mere coincidence dropped significantly.
Four victims, not three.
“How did your meeting go?”
“Not as expected,” Brook replied without missing a beat as she leaned down to pick up her coffee mug. “Ever hear of the Photograph Killer?”
Theo Neville, a former federal agent, had been Brook’s first hire. He had a way of filling a room without ever trying. He stood tall, his athletic frame carrying the kind of strength that came from discipline rather than vanity. Early runs, steady workouts, and healthy eating habits.It helped that the woman he was seeing was a chiropractor.
He sported a cropped hairstyle, and his single warm brown eye noticed details most people overlooked. He had lost his right eye years ago and wore a patch without apology from a case gone wrong. What she respected most was that the injury hadn’t stopped him from pursuing his goals, even when the Bureau had been determined to assign him to desk duty.
He’d inherited both kindness and conviction from parents who had lived the badge, and he carried those traits into every case. That balance—the steadiness of a cop’s son, the empathy of a man who’d seen his own share of pain—made him invaluable at S&E. He could press when needed, but he could also listen. And in Brook’s world, that mix was rare.
“Can’t say that I have,” Theo replied as he took the proffered Polaroid. “The Photograph Killer? What is it with the media and their monikers?”
Brook walked around her desk and took a seat in her chair. She placed her coffee mug on a sandstone coaster while reaching for her mouse. Moving it slightly back and forth, the monitor came to life.
“The unsub was active in 2014 and 2015. By the time the Bureau got involved, the murders had stopped. If I’m not mistaken, the agent spent around a year investigating before moving on to another case.” Brook paused, composing a brief email to send to a former colleague. Two sentences were all thatwas needed before she hit the send button. “It never really made the national news. Maybe a piece or two, but the media hype died down quickly when no other victims surfaced.”
“Were you the profiler?” Theo asked, settling into the chair across from her while he studied the photograph.
“No. Toby Graise from the BAU was assigned to the case. I heard he passed away a couple of years ago.” Brook reached for her coffee, hoping it would settle her stomach after recalling an unpleasant memory. “Three murders, all in small Ohio towns. The women were strangled with yellow silk scarves that the unsub brought himself. Each murder was preceded by a Polaroid photo sent to a local newspaper showing the victim alive and then followed up with a picture postmortem twenty-four hours later.”
“That’s not twisted at all,” Theo muttered as he lifted the Polaroid to study it more closely. “Were the victims all in their mid-twenties?”
“Yes.” Brook took a sip of her coffee. It had cooled significantly, but the contents were still warm enough to enjoy. “That Polaroid in your hand was recently found in a box of unopened mail at a now-defunct newspaper. One could potentially come up with a few reasons why, but not the fact that Lila Hartman was strangled with a yellow scarf. The official investigation ruled it a burglary gone wrong, but I think the parents might be right.”
Theo leaned forward and placed the photo on her desk. He studied her before leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his abdomen, a signal that he had come into her office for something else entirely.
“Is that a new eye patch? I like it.”
Theo’s mouth twitched, just enough to betray his satisfaction. She ignored his little victory as she considered his attire. Unlike the sleek black eyepatch that he typically sported,the one he wore this morning was a rich, dark brown.The soft leather added an unexpected amiability to his otherwise sharp-dressed style. He also had that rare, striking balance of his parents—his father’s deep brown skin softened by his mother’s lighter tones.
“It was a Christmas present from Mia.” Theo stretched his legs out in front of him, as if the office belonged to him. “Do we talk about the search for Jacob or the fact that something is wrong with Arden? I’m open to either.”
Brook slid her gaze toward the reception area. Arden had seen the Hartmans to the elevator before he ventured back through the double glass doors and down the hallway. It was as if he’d known Theo was going to bring him into the conversation.
“I’m not kidding, Brook. I’m worried about him. He’s acting like he just buried a body, and we caught the case. He dropped two client files this morning, and he apologized four times when I picked them up for him.”
“I stayed at Graham's last night,” Brook revealed, aware that Theo would have noticed her car missing from its usual spot in the parking lot, anyway. They lived in the same building, and nothing slipped by him. “Let’s just say that we weren't the only ones having an unexpected sleepover.”
The memory of Graham's reaction surfaced, and she hid her smile behind her coffee mug. His rigid posture and pained expression as he processed his mother's romantic entanglement were well worth preserving. It wasn't often that Graham, former Commanding General Marine Forces Special Operations Command (MARSOC), was so thoroughly disconcerted.
“A sleepover?” Theo's left eye widened as the implication registered. “Mrs. Elliott? Graham's mother?ThatElizabeth Elliott?”
“The very same.”
Theo let out a low whistle, his gaze drifting back toward Arden's empty desk.
“That explains a lot.”
Theo shook his head in disbelief before settling back in his chair.
He met her stare unapologetically.
