The detective was not nearly as subtle as he imagined, and Sean shot him an amused look. “She’s doing fine. And no, she can update everything from Quantico.” He let the answer hang for half a beat before adding, “Want me to pass her a note for you?”
Rafe shot him a glare. “Very funny. She’s attractive and interesting—that’s all.”
Sean hid his grin. “Sure.”
The moment they reached the front doors, his focus snapped back to the task at hand. The parking lot beyond was packed shoulder to shoulder with reporters jockeying for position. Satellite vans lined the curb. Camera crews from every major American network had shown up, along with at least one from overseas. Dare County’s Seaside Strangler had become international news.
Matt stepped to the podium first and delivered the standard update, releasing Whitney Wells’s name along with the carefully limited details they had already approved for public release. Then he turned toward Sean. “And now, FBI Special Agent Sean Malone.”
As Sean stepped forward and placed his prepared statement on the podium, he drew a slow breath.
Time to bait the trap.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morning activity had begun to stir through the neighborhood beneath a sky streaked with scattered clouds and early sunlight. A chill clung to the air, but it would be gone soon as the temperature rose. Several cars rolled through the streets as people headed to work, while a few pedestrians strolled along the sidewalks, and households began their day.
George eased toward the stop sign at the corner, his thoughts circling the news conference he’d watched the night before. He still saw the federal agent’s face as if the man sat in the passenger seat beside him. Calm. Certain. Looking straight into the cameras as he dissected everything, reducing it to neat conclusions and polished sound bites for the waiting reporters. George had replayed every second for hours, watching until his jaw ached from clenching his teeth.
Then he couldn’t believe his luck. The karma gods must be shining on him because the jogger who’d just passed his sedan was none other than the Fed himself, his long strides eating up the asphalt. There was no mistaking him. The build. The dark hair. The sharp profile he’d studied on television until it was burned into his memory.
A surge of triumph shot through him. Of all the streets. Of all the mornings. The timing felt too perfect to be a coincidence.
His fingers curled around the steering wheel as anger churned beneath the rush of excitement. That federal pig still didn't understand. None of them did. Not the police. Not the reporters scribbling down their lies. Not the grieving families pretending those women had been innocent victims instead of the filth they were.
Why could they not see what he was doing?
He was cleaning up what everyone else ignored. Making the world better. Erasing trash no one else dared to deal with.
Yet they stood in front of cameras and painted him as the monster.
The words still echoed from the recent broadcasts and headlines. Savage. Sadist. Barbarian.
They spat the accusations as if he were the villain, as if they could not recognize what he had done for them.
Then the FBI agent had gone further.
Weak.
A loser.
Dysfunctional.
And worst of all, a coward.
The insult scraped across his mind like broken glass. Coward. The word festered, feeding the rage coiling inside him until his pulse pounded in his ears.
He turned at the next corner, then took another, circling the block with his gaze fixed on the streets ahead as he calculated where the agent would reappear. If that smug fool wanted to provoke him, then he would learn what happened when he pushed too far.
George would show them all that he was many things, but a coward was not one of them.
And he would start with Special Agent Sean Malone.
Sean’s pulse and breathing held steady in their target range as his sneakers struck the pavement in an even rhythm through the streets on Grace’s side of town. Two miles down, two to go.
He wished he hadn’t left his earbuds at the sheriff’s department the day before. After the press conference, he’d needed to shut everything out for a while. Music helped take the edge off as he worked his way through the reports generated by the tip-line interviews. It wasn’t that he doubted anyone’s ability to do the job. He trusted his team. Still, he had hoped a detail someone else had missed might jump off the page.
Nothing had.
