The camera refocused on her as the graphics moved up to a corner shot and she paused, her gaze locking on mine. Everything in her demeanor told me that her next words mattered.
“If this is one person, and if that pattern holds, then this isn’t a killer targeting success.” She lets that sit there, calmly, for a beat of three seconds. No rush. No hurry. Her manner says listen to me and I am all in. “It’s someone auditing it.”
The earlier anticipation morphs into a true thrill. Has she figured it out? Has she figuredmeout?
“Internally, we’ve been calling this person The Auditor.” The flat, almost effortless delivery, laid it out like the fact it was. Not sensational or looking to snare headlines. She wasn’t even throwing down a gauntlet.
It was her restraint that made it so much more powerful. That and the graphics that begin to fill the screen, side by side of victim headshots and court documents. One by one. No gore. No dramatics. Just clean, controlled, and factually correct.
The news. Not opinion.
Mallory McBryan’s delivery made her more than credible. It made her even more attractive than she’d already been. She was dangerous and she absolutely took my breath away.
She finished her report with that smile, that glint of professionalism, and as the screen faded to black, I let out a slow breath.
Now... now it’s my turn.
I stood, slowly, turning toward the figure in the corner. They were still shaking, their eyes wide with panic.
I smiled, the anticipation curling in my chest.
“You’ve been so patient,” I whispered, stepping closer. "But now, it’sourtime."
Chapter
One
MALLORY
The scent of coffee hit first—just seconds before the headlines registered, screaming my name alongside the wordmurder. I stared at my phone and the notifications scrolling across the screen. There were a dozen or more missed calls, missed texts, with more continuing to arrive.
Even as I scanned each new blip, my brain seemed to take a beat to fully process the information. I set the phone down and finished preparing my coffee. The machine made it easy to grind the beans, brew the espresso, and steam the milk. It wasn’t until I had the first cup ready that I reclaimed the phone and carried it with me to the dining table that overlooked Lake Michigan.
The view had easily added another hundred thousand to the cost of the condo, but it was worth it. The sunrise kissed the horizon, turning the scattering of clouds in the distance a kind of ruddy purple and red. They would gradually transform to pink as the day brightened and then the light would stretch out over the water.
My favorite time of day. I took another swallow of coffee before flipping open my laptop. Normally, I protected the next twenty minutes with religious intensity—no phone, no headlines, no crises. Eight years of therapy had taught methat peace wasn’t something you earned. It was something you guarded.
A miracle for a news junkie like me. Today, however, there was no way I could embrace self-care over the need to know. Sorry Doc Henderson. I went straight to my news aggregator. Like my phone, local news headlines had me as the story. A few of the wire services had already picked it up and there…
My network was running with it as breaking news.
Goddammit.
First up were the wire and regional reports.
“Investigators Review Financial Records After Reporter Links Unrelated Murders”
“Sources: FBI Examining Possible Pattern in Regional Killings Following Media Analysis”
“Note Referencing Local Anchor Found at Latest Homicide Scene, Police Confirm”
Using another journalist as a source—I was iffy on, but at least they weresourcingme with the credit for breaking the story if not being the one who figured it out. I could live with that.
Next in the list were the digital and cable news media takes.
“‘Did he do it for Mallory?’Note Found at Murder Scene Raises Alarming Questions”
“Is the ‘Auditor’ Watching? Killer Appears to Reference On-Air Reporter by Name”
