The Hunted Girls Read online

  The Hunted Girls

  A totally gripping crime thriller

  Jenna Kernan

  Books by Jenna Kernan

  Agent Nadine Finch

  A Killer’s Daughter

  The Hunted Girls

  Available in Audio

  Agent Nadine Finch

  A Killer’s Daughter (Available in the UK and the US)

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Hear More from Jenna

  Books by Jenna Kernan

  A Letter from Jenna

  A Killer’s Daughter

  Acknowledgments

  For Jim, always.

  Prologue

  He moved undetected by the authorities, the public or his prey. It was how he preferred it until now. Because his target had changed and so, too, must his methods.

  He finished the alert and set aside his phone, wondering who would be the next to spring his trap. He was certain of his skills. A decade-long career—with each of his victims only ever listed as missing persons, the truth of their fate never established by the authorities—made his proficiency as an apex predator undeniable.

  Before he’d known of her, he’d been content. Now he saw contentment was not enough. Neither was complacency. To lure the ultimate target into his territory, he needed to carefully bait this trap with something she would find irresistible. So he was here, in her mother’s playground, and this time, instead of hiding evidence of his work, he would display it.

  He kept his playthings only for himself. Sometimes for days, sometimes weeks, once for a month. None were ever seen again after he snatched them from their known world and carried them screaming into his.

  This new plan meant exposing his victims and giving back his playthings, but not before he had finished his games. She had to see him, what he was and what he was capable of becoming. He needed to tempt, capture her attention and hold it. Offer something she could not resist. A series of fresh kills in the shadow of her mother’s crimes.

  She’d come. He’d be waiting.

  There would be two bodies, to release the scent of death, grab media attention and raise the possibility of a serial killer.

  He had been here behind his hunting blind less than a half hour when she appeared with a dog. The canine has already greeted the departing couple in the lot as if they were related, so it is no threat to him. Rather the creature is an asset, as it gives her the confidence to move blithely into the woods alone.

  Bird-watching. She lifted her binoculars, sweeping the limbs of the live oaks draped with Spanish moss, searching for her quarry. If she heard him, she gave no sign. Her dog noticed him immediately and wagged its tail in greeting.

  The shove from behind sent the woman crashing down, momentarily pinning her arms beneath her. He threw himself on top of her, preferring his hands to any weapon.

  Air whooshed from her and she arched back, lifting her head. Before she drew her next breath, he captured her neck in the crook of his elbow. She couldn’t scream if she wanted to. The chokehold worked in less than a minute. Her body sagged, going limp. He yanked her hands behind her and tightened the restraints tauter than necessary, enjoying the feel of the plastic tearing into flesh. He tugged once more, savoring the zipping sound of the teeth engaging, locking her tight. Droplets of blood soaked into the fabric covering her lower back.

  Next he secured her ankles, turning her into a worm as she roused to struggle. When she woke enough to open her mouth, he stuffed a cotton rag between her teeth. She choked, but before expelling the object, he tore the section of silver tape and secured it over her parted lips.

  She rolled to her side, her eyes wide and frantic, darting from his face and back to her surroundings as if trying to understand what was happening. He waited, holding the leash to her dog, smiling down at her.

  Did she recognize that the fact he’d allowed her to see his face was a very bad sign?

  Bagged and tagged, he thought. The first step to luring the ultimate catch.

  One

  TUESDAY

  At the flight attendant’s announcement, that passengers could use their cell phones, Dr. Nadine Finch discovered she had two missed calls, two voice messages and two texts. She checked the texts first.

  They were both from Homicide detective Clint Demko. They’d been dating for seven months now, as he kept reminding her, each time he tried to have the conversation about moving forward. This five-month separation during her training at the FBI National Academy in Virginia had been a strain.

  The first text said he would be late and the second that he was waiting beyond security, likely because her late flight allowed him to arrive on time.

  She turned to her voicemail as the doors opened and the line of passengers choking the center aisle began to move.

  She skipped the unknown caller and frowned at seeing the second was from FBI Special Agent Sean Torrin.

  Those pesky hairs on her neck lifted. Torrin had not been in touch in months. He had been assigned to assist the local Bureau out of Tampa on a case in which she was the star witness. The murders of four couples by an emerging serial killer here in Sarasota, Florida, had been Nadine’s first job as a profiler.

  “Nadine, it’s Sean Torrin. Listen, I got a call from the Lakeland Bureau. They’ve got a case down there in Ocala.”

  She sucked in a breath. Ocala. Her hometown and her mother’s onetime playground. Just the mention of the place where Arleen Howler had killed eight people caused her muscles to tense. It seemed being the daughter of a serial killer never got easier and was full of all kinds of hazards, her own memories being one of the most unpredictable.

  “I recommended they contact you for your opinion. The lead is Jack Skogen. Don’t know him, but he’s got a solid solve rate. He’ll be in touch. Fill you in on the details.” There was a pause. “Oh, I’ll be in town for the trial. Maybe we could meet for drinks?”

  Nadine glanced at the second message and the unknown number. Beside her, the man who had occupied the window seat hunched, casting her an impatient look. Nadine didn’t need any of her psychological training on nonverbal communication to read his annoyance at her blocking his exit.

  She stepped into the aisle, collected her carry-on, made heavier by the brick tucked inside, earned by completing the FBI’s grueling 6.1-mile obstacle course. The rite of passage was fondly referred to as the Yellow Brick Road. Precious cargo in tow, she made her exit. Just outside the gate, she pulled aside to retrieve the second message.

  “Hi, Dr. Finch. This is FBI Special Agent Jack Skogen. I’m in Ocala working with the Orlando field office. We’ve been called in on two unusual homicides. I’d appreciate your opinion. Requested you be assigned and have Tampa’s okay on that. Please give me a call when you get this.”

  Nadine resisted returning the call and instead fired off a one-word reply to Demko.

  Landed

  Then she headed
out, finding him waiting just past security. She waved from the secure side of the glass exit gates.

  His fine brown hair had grown back nicely over the surgical scar resulting from the blow to the head suffered last September as they closed in on their perp—another reminder of the Copycat Killer. He kept his hair overly long on the top and it was forever falling across his wide brow.

  Demko grinned, his blue eyes bright. He was again strong and fit and back on the job. They were lucky to have survived, not to have lost their lives or each other. But they both had scars. Permanent reminders of the cost of hunting serial killers.

  Nadine exhaled. Seeing Demko always gave her butterflies, reminding her how much she loved him. She hurried through the sliding glass doors.

  Clint closed the distance as she released the handle to her roller bag and stepped into his arms. They shared a desperate hug.

  There was a difference of eleven inches in their heights. Demko was tall and muscular. She looked up at his handsome, smiling face and kissed him. The soft grazing of lips escalated like a brush fire. When she pulled away, she sucked in much-needed oxygen as he panted and dragged his fingers through his hair.

  “Wow, have I missed you,” he said. “Twenty weeks is a lifetime.”

  Her FBI coursework had been exhaustive, including basic training, firearms, academics and operational skills. She enjoyed the case exercises and scenarios the best, and 110 hours of shooting practice the least. And throughout, he’d cheered her progress and missed her as much as she missed him.

  Meanwhile, Demko had been busy preparing for the upcoming trial. Because of that, they had seen each other once in the five-month separation.

  “Where’s the brick?” he asked, referring to her unwieldy memento of the course.

  When she’d left for Virginia, she could do only three push-ups. Yet somehow she’d survived slogging under barbed wire, scrambling over cargo nets and dragging herself up cliffs using a climbing rope. And she had a brick trophy to prove it. Amazing what determination and practice could accomplish.

  “Carry-on,” she said, tilting her head in the direction of her bag.

  His smile beamed with pride and she grinned back.

  “Can’t wait to see it.” He hugged her again. “I’m so proud of you.” He kissed her forehead.

  “We need to go out and celebrate! Big romantic dinner. Anywhere you want.”

  She made a face and he frowned.

  “What?”

  “I just got a phone call from FBI Special Agent Jack Skogen.”

  “I’m not going to like this. Am I?”

  He wouldn’t because, if she took this assignment, she’d be leaving again.

  As they headed downstairs to the baggage claim, Nadine tried and failed not to obsess about the two homicides Skogen mentioned.

  Nadine and Clint had both thought that her new assignment in the Tampa FBI field office would mean more time together. Before leaving for Quantico, she had rented a place in Bradenton, between Tampa and Sarasota. But if they shipped her off to a field office in Central Florida, that ride to see Clint would change from twenty minutes to three hours.

  “Do you want to return his call?”

  “Maybe. God, I’m not even unpacked.”

  She had thought to have a little time to settle in up in Tampa.

  “How’s Molly?” she asked, referring to his puppy, who was now a lanky almost one-year-old boxer.

  “Misses you nearly as much as I do,” he said, taking her hand and bringing her knuckles to his lips.

  Nadine wondered if she’d even have a chance to give Clint a proper hello before she was saying good-bye. So why was the possibility of fleeing Clint causing her a mixture of regret and relief? They were good together. He balanced her anxiety with calm, and she grounded his obsession with his work with a routine that included meals. But that didn’t mean she was ready to move in with him, as he’d suggested. Exactly what prompted her reluctance was a deep well of murky, still water.

  “How’s Christopher?” she asked about his son, the boy she had yet to meet, but that, too, was something he wanted. She recognized this as a big step.

  His face just lit up as he described his last weekend with his boy and all that his son was doing. The pride and love oozed from him like honey from a comb.

  Meanwhile, children made her uncomfortable because they were all potential and dangerous possibilities. Children were terrifying.

  His boy might be a federal judge someday. Or his mother might convince him to use a shotgun on Clint, just like Clint’s half brother had done to Clint’s father. She hoped that his child would grow up like him and not his uncle.

  Clint gushed about Christopher’s first surfing lesson as they reached the luggage claim. It was clear to anyone how much he missed him when they weren’t together. Two weekends a month was hardly enough, but divorce and a job across the state made more time available only on certain holidays.

  “He wants to meet you,” said Clint, as the luggage carousel trundled along with the first bags.

  She held her rigid smile, knowing that her assignment to Ocala would prevent a visit with Christopher yet again. The relief made her feel like a traitor.

  They stood waiting with the others from her flight.

  Clint shared a video from the weekend. He was different with his boy, happy in a way that he wasn’t otherwise, and it made her realize just how important being a dad was for him and how magnificent he was at it. A natural.

  Christopher was lucky to have a great dad. Meanwhile, she’d spent her childhood fantasizing about her missing father. In his absence she’d concocted an imaginary dad from every sitcom and family movie she’d seen. She had envisioned that father, who had abandoned the family at her birth, would be normal and kind and wise. All the things Clint was to Christopher. Nadine had dreamed that her dad would return and rescue her from her terrifying home. Of course, he hadn’t and her efforts to find him had failed.

  She knew from her years of therapy the depth and breadth of the scar left by her father’s desertion. Listening to Clint talk about his boy reminded her more deeply of what she had lost and illustrated the truth. Clint was a great father, while her ability to be a mother was in serious doubt. Not only was she missing solid role models, she feared she lacked the innate abilities necessary to raise a sweet, funny, normal kid like Christopher.

  Her doubt was placing a strain on their relationship. Because every time Clint tried to have a conversation about moving them forward, she retreated.

  She wondered if this new assignment was just another opportunity to hold him at arm’s length.

  “That’s mine.” She pointed at the first of her suitcases and he sprang forward to retrieve it. After collecting the second, they headed out, reaching the parking area under towering thunderhead clouds more typical of the summer than spring. Perhaps the rainy season had already arrived.

  Once in his vehicle she gripped her phone, her foot tapping away on his spotless floor mat as he got them under way.

  “If you call him, you might be able to stop fidgeting,” he said.

  Was she? Yes, she was squirming like a worm on a hot sidewalk.

  “Fine.” She placed the call.

  “Jack Skogen.” His voice held a slight drawl, like Texas perhaps. There was a pause, and he must have glanced at the number of his caller. “Dr. Finch?”

  “Yes. I’m returning your call. I was in the air.”

  “Flying home from Quantico.”

  “Yes.”

  “You were recommended by Agent Torrin. I’m here in Orlando from DC. Local law enforcement called us in. Seems they have identified a possible serial killer.”

  “Two victims?”

  “Yes. So far. Both females. No IDs yet.”

  Nadine wished she could have Juliette Hartfield go over them. She trusted her friend who was a fine medical examiner with Florida’s District 12. Unfortunately, that district did not stretch as far east as Orlando.

  “I�
�ve already had approval on your reassignment. I’d like you to report immediately.”

  She glanced at Clint and then tapped the mute button.

  “They want me now.”

  “Great.” His words ground with sarcasm.

  She hit the button to unmute and then hit the speaker function.

  “I can be there tomorrow.”

  “Tonight would be better.”

  She pinched her lips. “Can you tell me anything about the victims?”

  “Local authorities incorrectly initially listed them as an animal attack, but the ME listed them as homicides. That’s when they called us.”

  “Where were the bodies found?”

  “In the Ocala National Forest on the St. Johns River.”

  Nadine’s heart jumped to a wild staccato and she nearly dropped the phone.

  “That’s your mother’s old hunting grounds. Isn’t it?”

  Nadine pinched her eyes shut, dizzy with how fast this conversation went from seeking her professional opinion to delving into her past.

  “Yes. We lived in Ocala.”

  “And many of Arleen Howler’s victims were recovered from the forest.”

  “How is this relevant to your current investigation?” The sharp bite of her voice must have struck something because she was met with silence.

  If Skogen wanted her help because he was a curiosity seeker, he could go spit with the reporters and publishers who flooded her voicemail and in-box with invitations and offers.