LITMIR.BIZ

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apartment and talk in the air-conditioning, if you’d like.”

       He followed her upstairs. Mia wore cropped cargo pants and a bare tank top, her outfit exceedingly casual compared to his businesslike attire. Unlocking the door to her apartment and disarming the security system, she dropped her keys and purse on a table in the foyer as he closed the door behind them. “Could I get you something to drink?”

       “Water would be nice. Thank you.”

       From the kitchen, Mia could see him in the living room. He stood with his hands on his lean hips, looking around at her furnishings and the expanse of green park that was visible from the balcony.

       “You have a nice place, Ms. Hale,” he said as she approached and handed him the glass, ice cubes tinkling inside it.

       “Please, call me Mia. And it’s a fringe benefit of attending college with the building’s owner. Will and his partner, Justin, rent to me for a steal.”

       “You and Mr. Dvorak are both writers—that’s interesting.”

       “We met at the University of Florida, but Will ended up going the more creative route.” Indoors, Agent Macfarlane’s eyes were even more striking than she’d first realized, the mossy irises rimmed in black and accentuated by thick, sable lashes. His skin was golden-toned, his short brown hair nearly light enough to be considered dark blond. She indicated the couch.

       “Please have a seat.” Once he’d done so, she settled onto a nearby side chair.

       He took a sip from the glass, then sat it on a coaster on the cocktail table in front of him. “I understand you’d been covering the recent abductions.”

       The irony of it washed through her all over again. Mia worked to keep emotion from her voice.

       “I wrote two articles. One ran after Pauline Berger’s disappearance a week ago. The second one ran right after Cissy Cox went missing. It was the same day that I…” She paused, twisting her hands together and placing them in her lap before completing her statement. “That I went missing, too.”

       “And your second article speculated on a connection between the disappearances?”

       When she nodded, he asked, “Based on what?”

       “Well, for starters, both women had family and friends, they led normal lives. They weren’t engaged in any at-risk behavior such as prostitution or drug use, nor did they have any history of mental illness or previous unexplained disappearances.” Mia looked briefly at her bandaged fingers. “Detective Scofield at the JSO also indicated that neither of the women’s significant others were being considered as suspects. Two women like that, in the same metro area…they don’t just simply vanish in isolated incidents so closely together.”

       His evaluating gaze remained steadfast. “And you have no idea how you ended up in a stolen vehicle?”

       She shook her head, wishing she had the answer. “No. I woke up inside it next to the beach. That’s all I know.”

       “The car was hot-wired. Do you think you could’ve done that?”

       Her lips parted slightly, the unexpected question catching her off guard. She chose not to answer and instead stood and slowly paced the room before turning to face him again.

       “You asked me how I am, Agent Macfarlane. The truth is…I’m having a hard time. I’m not used to being on the other side of all this. The one being asked questions.” She swallowed. “I also don’t understand why I’m the one standing here talking to you while those two other women…they’re still…”

       Mia briefly closed her eyes, her words trailing away. She was vaguely aware that he’d gotten up from the couch and moved to where she stood.

       “Ms. Hale,” he said quietly.

       “Mia,” she corrected in a soft whisper. Looking up into his face, she felt her heart beat harder. “Who did this?”

       He released a breath, hesitating. “You need to understand that you’re not just a victim. You’re also a reporter. I have to factor that in.”

      “Off the record,” she emphasized. “You have my word I won’t write anything to jeopardize your investigation. I’m not even working at the moment. And as a victim I have a right to know, don’t I? Agent Vartran, the detectives—they wouldn’t tell me anything.”

       He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again. “I was over an investigation in Maryland three years ago. Five women were abducted. Their bodies turned up later with similar injuries as yours.”

      Their bodies. Meaning the women had all been murdered. “And did you catch the person responsible?”

       His jaw tightened. “No.”

       “But you believe he’s resurfaced here in Jacksonville, after all this time?”

       “Based on the specifics of your injuries, it seems possible.” He surprised her by lifting her hand and cradling it within his own as he studied the bandaged nail beds, her abraded wrists. Then he let her fingers slide from his and met her gaze again.

       “I haven’t read your articles on the abductions yet. I’m wondering, does your photo run with the byline?”

       She shook her head. “But I do a column on Fridays. It’s a police blotter roundup. My photo runs with that one. What does that—”

       “If this is the same unsub, he’s a sociopath and an extreme narcissist. You’re an attractive female—he was probably flattered someone like you noticed his work. It could explain why he took you.”

       Mia thought of some faceless criminal circling her photo in the newspaper with a red pen. Stapling it to his bulletin board where he memorialized his victims. It sickened her. “The wounds to my hand and my stomach—he cut off my hair. Why?”

       His gaze traveled to an impressionist painting over her couch, his expression making it clear he was still struggling with how much to tell her.

       “I work a crime beat,” she reminded him. “I can handle it.”

       “He pulled out your fingernails and cut off your hair as mementos,” he said finally. “He considers himself a collector, but he can’t keep his victims’ bodies since they’ll decompose. So he takes souvenirs that will last longer. Fingernails, hair, sometimes teeth, among other things.”

       Ice water moved through Mia’s veins. Absently, she touched her abdomen through her top. He must have noticed the gesture, because he added quietly, “He also numbers his victims as a way to dehumanize them. He thrives on order and organization, as well as control.”

       She did the math, adding herself and the two missing women here to the five victims murdered previously in another state. The marking on her skin now made sense.

       “Pauline Berger and Cissy Cox are already dead, aren’t they?”

       “We have no proof of that yet. There are no bodies. And for now what I’ve told you is speculation based solely on your wounds. Three years is a long time for a killer to stop, then start up again,” he conceded. “We don’t want any of this getting out unnecessarily or too early. I’ve already told you more than I should. My dealings with reporters haven’t always been a positive experience.”

       Mia was aware of the delicate dance between the news media and law enforcement, and she’d always tried to conduct herself in an ethical manner. She touched his arm through his shirtsleeve. Her voice held a tremor despite her best effort. “I want this man caught, Agent Macfarlane. And I want…I need…to help those two women. I need to help them get back home if they’re still alive, or at least bring some peace to their families if they’re…not. That’s the most important thing to me right now.”

       His shoulders were broad, and Mia could ascertain the fit, hard build of him under his dress shirt. He studied her for several long moments before speaking.

      

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