I’d worked a volunteer search there a few years back. Forested, rural, with a sheriff’s department that was always two deputies short.
“What kind of case?” I asked.
“Missing woman,” he said. “Twenty-six. Lived alone. Reported a prowler a week before she disappeared. Woke up twice thinking someone was in the house. Patrol nevercaught him. Then one morning, her neighbor found her front door cracked open. She was gone.”
My jaw clenched. “And the coin?”
“Left on her porch step,” Tate said. “Same size, same metal, same damn wolf’s head stamped into it. They found another one a year later in a different town. Similar situation. Woman living alone. Went missing. No body, no suspect, no closure.”
I stared across the street at Saint and Havoc. Saint had gone still, reading my lips from afar. Havoc’s eyes narrowed.
“You’re telling me this son of a bitch leaves trophies,” I said.
“Calling cards,” Tate corrected. “Like I said this morning—this isn’t random. He escalates. Starts with watching, stalking, maybe break-ins. Then one day she’s just… gone.”
For a long beat, all I heard was my own breathing.
Tate went on, quieter. “The Ridgemont sheriff sent their files up to the state task force when the second coin turned up. FBI glanced at it, decided it wasn’t enough to connect to any series they were working. And then it went cold.”
“Until now,” I said.
“Until now,” he echoed.
I looked through the glass.
Nora was laughing at something Agnes had said, head tipped back, sunlight catching the curve of her throat. Knowing what I knew now made the back of my neck go hot.
“Does he pick at random?” I asked. “Or does he have a type?”
Another rustle of pages. “From what I’ve got? Late twenties to early thirties, living alone, predictable routines, no close male presence.” Tate paused. “Librarian in a small town wouldn’t be a stretch.”
My molars ground together. “He picked the wrong town, and the wrong woman.”
“I’m counting on that,” Tate said. “But listen to me, Wyatt—we treat this like the first twenty-four hours of a kidnapping, even if she’s still standing in front of you. Every minute from here on out, we assume he’s planning his next move.”
“I already am.”
“I figured,” he said. “You’ve got that look even over the phone.” Another pause. “I’m going to loop in Ridgemont and see if they had any partial prints, tire impressions, anything we can lean on. In the meantime, she doesn’t go anywhere without you or one of your boys. Not home, not to the grocery store, not even out back to take the trash.”
“Understood.”
“Wyatt,” Tate added, voice dropping, “these two women in the old cases? They also reported seeing a tall man watching them from the edge of their property. They brushed it off as paranoia until it was too late.”
I thought of the camera footage.
Of that shadow at the end of Nora’s walkway.
Staring straight at the lens with that subtle, mocking tilt of his chin.
“We’re not brushing it off,” I said.
“Good,” Tate replied. “Because if this is the same bastard, he’s done this before. And men like that? They don’t just stop.”
We hung up.
I stood there for a full thirty seconds, letting the information settle. Every instinct I had screamedmovement. Fortify. Hunt.
Saint approached, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Bad?”
