She was quiet for a moment. “Have we met before? You seem...”
Garrett’s heart stopped.
He turned to face her, forcing himself to meet those blue eyes. “I’ve been deployed for most of the past fifteen years.”
“Maybe at a joint task force briefing? I’ve worked with SEALs before.”
“We all blend together, don’t we? At least, that’s our goal.” He winked, making a joke. Once again, he motioned her forward. “Shall we?”
She frowned, but she let it drop.
Garrett released a mental sigh of relief, trying not to think about how close she was. How, after fifteen years of wondering if CJ was okay, she was here. Alive. Strong. Everything he’d hoped she’d become.
And so far, she hadn’t recognized him.
The conference room was all business. Vivi sat at the head of the table with files, a tablet, and three cups of coffee. She’d set up tactical displays on the wall screens—maps, timelines, victim photos.
“Agent Dawson.” Vivi’s voice was warm. “Wolf will brief you on security protocols, and then we can begin our profiling work.”
Claire sat, pulled out her laptop. “He already did—don’t go anywhere without a bodyguard.” She fixed him with a glare. “Look, I appreciate the protection, but I’m here to work. Dr. Montgomery and I will be re-profiling my stalker using her Trident methodology.”
“Understood.” Garrett leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “My job is to keep you alive while you do that.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
He held her glare. “I’m a tactical operator with fifteen years of experience hunting predators in hostile environments. You’re a high-value target with a serial killer fixated on you. That makes this a protection operation, not babysitting.”
Her eyes narrowed. Alpha recognizing alpha. “I’m not some civilian.”
“No. You’re an FBI agent with five years of field experience.” He kept his voice even. “Which means you know how dangerous your stalker is. You’ve seen what he did to three women who looked exactly like you.”
That hit home. Her jaw tightened.
Vivi intervened smoothly. “Perhaps we should move on to the threat assessment?”
She pulled up the case file on the main screen. Three victim photos: Sarah Mitchell. Rebecca Torres. Amanda Greenwood. Her notes listed the obvious—they were all dark-haired, blue-eyed, with similar cheekbones, noses, and lips. Just like Claire.
But they were all dead.
“The timeline from first direct message to death ranges from five to seven days,” Vivi said. “Agent Dawson received her first direct message four days ago.”
Garrett’s stomach went cold. He already knew it, but hearing it again set that countdown clock in his head all over again. Four days. She had one, maybe three, left.
Except now, she had him.
No one was coming through his protection.No one.
“How did he breach FBI security?” he asked.
“Unknown.” Vivi pulled up technical reports. “He’s accessed their internal network three times. Either he’s inside the Bureau or has compromised someone who is.”
Claire looked sick at the thought. “Everyone on my team has been thoroughly vetted.”
“It could be anyone,” Garrett said, “from the mailroom attendant to the janitor. And vetted doesn’t mean they’re above being bribed or blackmailed.” He eyed the photos of the dead women staring back at him. “The previous victims—where was he when he struck?”
“Two were at home. One in a parking garage at her workplace.” Vivi shifted the screen to crime scene photos. The graphic nature was tough to look at. “It appears that he learns their patterns and strikes when they’re most vulnerable. Not unusual for this type of serial killer.”
Garrett studied the photos with the cold assessment of someone who’d hunted men like this. “He’s patient. Organized. This isn’t about rage. It’s about control.”
