Edge of Midnight - Leslie Tentler

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Cam and I moved back home, Rebecca and I still kept in touch by phone. We talked every few weeks or so.” Lanie didn’t look at him as she spoke. Instead, she stared out over the water. “I know you guys were having problems. But she still loved you, Eric.”

       He sighed. He suspected she knew anyway. “We were getting a separation. Rebecca wanted it—I didn’t.”

       His job had come between them. Bureau work was always demanding, but Eric’s move to the VCU had only intensified the long hours and travel, as well as the pressure. The daily violence had worn him down more than he’d expected. Rebecca had always needed his attention, his time, and he hadn’t been able to give it to her. At least not in the amounts she desired. Even if she really did love him, she had still wanted out.

       “I let her down,” he murmured, more to himself than Lanie.

       “It’s not your fault. Rebecca knew what she was getting into when she married a federal officer—”

       “She didn’t plan to die because of me.”

       Lanie fell silent. There really was no response she could give. Eric felt bad for the harsh edge to his words. Rebecca’s murder had screwed him up, but he didn’t need to take it out on someone else. After a few moments, he said, “Thanks for dinner, and for letting me stay at the bungalow. It beats the hell out of the Holiday Inn.”

       “Cam figured you get your share of hotel rooms without having to stay in one down here.” Lanie played with her wedding band, sliding it up and down on her finger as she spoke. “We’re lucky. His parents left him the rental property, and this house. The bungalow is a nice supplemental income, but it’s in an older area of Jax Beach and usually doesn’t rent out until the summer when everything else is full.”

       She hesitated. “I’m sorry we hadn’t mentioned the baby before now. Called or dropped you a postcard or something. It’s just that it’s taken a while and with the miscarriage two years ago, I’ve been a little superstitious about talking about it.”

       Eric nodded his understanding. “You guys have a good life down here. You’ll be good parents. Do you have a name picked out?”

       “Rosalie Marie.” She let out a small laugh. “It’s horribly old-fashioned, but it was Cameron’s mother’s name. He’s dead set on it.”

       “It’s beautiful.”

       Eric had braced his hand on the thigh of his jeans, and Lanie covered it with hers. She gazed at him, her china-blue eyes serious. Even in the shadows, he could see faint sun freckles on her cheekbones.

       “You deserve a good life, too, Eric,” she said softly. “But Cameron thinks you’re still not through punishing yourself.”

       He looked away and swallowed another sip of beer. Maybe when The Collector was dead or behind bars—and he admitted he’d prefer the former—he’d be able to let go of the past. But not until then.

       Both he and Lanie turned as the door to the kitchen opened. Cameron came outside. Eric got to his feet and helped Lanie to a standing position. Truth be told, she wasn’t all that big yet but she was small-framed and her rounded stomach did make her seem a little off balance.

       “Kitchen all done?” she asked.

       Cameron nodded. He still had a dish towel slung over one shoulder.

       “Do you want some dessert now? You boys can have coffee or another beer, and I’ll be stuck with boring old herbal tea…” She halted, apparently catching the seriousness on Cam’s face.

       “We’re going to have to take a rain check on dessert, babe,” he said. His eyes moved to Eric. “I just got a call from Boyet. Another woman was reported missing an hour ago.”

      8

      Eric and Cameron stood in the security office at Jacksonville International Airport, reviewing a digital recording with the facility’s head of security. Anna Lynn Gomez, a twenty-eight-year-old flight attendant, could be seen in the grainy video. She was still in her uniform and rolling her suitcase across the concourse.

       “No one appears to be following her,” the heavyset security chief noted. He switched to a time-stamped recording from the parking garage. “And there’s her Nissan Altima driving out of lot B at 11:28 p.m.”

       That had been Thursday night, and it was now in the very early hours of Saturday morning. Due to her work schedule, at first neither of Ms. Gomez’s roommates had reported her missing, thinking her layover had been extended somewhere. But when she still hadn’t shown up by Friday evening and failed to return messages left on her cell phone, they had grown concerned and contacted the local authorities.

       Which meant she had already been missing for over twenty-four hours.

       Eric watched as her car remained stopped at the parking attendant’s booth on the video. Although it was hard to see clearly, she appeared to be alone. He thought of the stolen vehicle that had driven past the area where Pauline Berger’s body was found on Thursday night. If the unsub had been out hunting then, it was possible he’d crossed paths with Ms. Gomez, who would have been headed toward the waterside suburb of Arlington where she rented a house with two other women. Eric considered several scenarios. She could’ve had a flat somewhere on the road, or stopped for gas or a late bite to eat. Any such event could have given her abductor an opportunity.

       “The roads aren’t enough—tell the JSO to check parking lots for her car between here and Arlington. Gas stations and restaurants open late in particular,” Eric said as he and Cameron traveled back through the airport. Due to the hour, the terminal held only occasional patches of bleary-eyed travelers.

       Cameron took his cell phone from his pocket. They stood in front of a closed Starbucks while he gave instructions to a Sheriff’s Office dispatcher.

       “Can we consider for a moment the possibility Ms. Gomez wasn’t abducted?” he asked as they resumed walking. “You saw her on the video, Eric. She’s pretty and young—maybe she’s off with a pilot having hot sex at some beach resort. When we talked to her roommates, they acknowledged she can be impulsive, which I interpreted to be a diplomatic way of saying irresponsible. It’s one of the reasons they waited so long to call.”

       “I hope that’s the case.” Eric had seen the flight attendant. Her petite frame and dark hair reminded him of Mia.

       “But you don’t think so.”

       “Do you?”

       Cam shrugged. “Wishful thinking.”

       The disappearance of Ms. Gomez had made the Friday late-night news. Combined with the recent discovery of Pauline Berger’s body, the media was hotly speculating on the presence of a serial killer in the metro area. The FBI would be making a formal statement in the morning, and Eric was working on getting a gag order in place prohibiting the press from talking about certain aspects of the investigation. Due to Mia’s involvement, the Courier had already agreed not to publish specific details, but he couldn’t count on other news outlets to have the same discretion. The order was being put in front of a judge at 7:00 a.m.

       As they continued through a set of automated glass doors that led into the airport’s parking garage, Cameron checked his watch. “I emailed you the M.E.’s report on Ms. Berger—it came through right after dinner. An analysis of the remaining skin tissue on the abdomen indicates a controlled, superficial laceration.”

       “In the shape of the number six?”

       “Possibly. There wasn’t enough tissue left to make a full determination. C.O.D. was most likely blunt force trauma. The skull was fractured. There were also several other broken bones.”

       Stopping at the elevator, Eric pushed the button. In Maryland, the unsub had killed his victims in multiple ways. Pauline Berger had apparently been beaten to death.

       Eric wondered how long they had. If The Collector held true to form, Anna Lynn Gomez

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