The Hunted Girls Read online

  “I requested you because of your success profiling the Copycat Killer.”

  She made no answer.

  “Nadine.” His voice went low and strangely intimate.

  Clint scowled at her phone and tightened his grip on the wheel as Skogen continued, his drawl more evident now.

  “You know these predators. They don’t take holidays. They don’t stop. They keep hunting and killing until they are caught or die.”

  She did know. It was why she had made the decision to dedicate her life to hunting them. But not there. Not where her childhood was tangled up with so many of her mother’s victims. The murder sites, body dumps and the ruined lives. It was too much.

  “We only need you to consult.”

  Should she? Could she go back there and keep them separate in her mind? The past and the present. Two killers running over the same ground.

  “Dr. Finch?”

  “How many days between them?”

  “That’s one of the disturbing parts. Seems only a few days.”

  That meant this unsub—unknown subject—might be searching for the next victim right now. The pressure to stop the killer warred with her uncertainties.

  “I’d have conditions.”

  Now he was the one hesitating. “Such as?”

  “Could you hold for a moment?”

  “Dr. Finch, I have two bodies up here.”

  She tapped the mute and turned to Demko.

  “What do you think?” she asked Clint.

  “Great opportunity. But I’m not anxious for you to disappear. Honestly, the last three months have been tough.”

  That warmed her heart. “For me, too.”

  “And are you really ready to take on the hunt for another killer?”

  Was she? She didn’t think so. No. How could she ever be? But she knew also that she could not sit by if a predator was out there, hunting. She’d always been determined to make up for her family’s trail of ruined lives in the only way she knew how. By hunting people like them.

  “If there’s a killer up there again. And I can help…”

  He nodded. “Then go for it.”

  “Would you come with me?”

  He blinked at her and then returned his attention to the road, gliding up the North Trail toward Bradenton, passing car dealerships and strip malls.

  “I have a job.”

  “Leave of absence?”

  “I can request it. No promises.”

  “Do you think Juliette would join us?”

  “All you can do is ask,” he said.

  “Dr. Finch? Are you there?” asked Skogen.

  She tapped the screen to unmute. “Yes. I’m here. I’d like to form my own team.”

  He made a sound in his throat. “It’s my investigation. My team.”

  She smiled, wondering how badly he wanted her help, and waited.

  “They would not be active members of my investigation and would have to be vetted. Their opinions and input would be for you alone.”

  “Of course.”

  She noticed how, before even knowing her team, he had dismissed their importance and the value of their input while establishing his control over “his” investigation.

  “I can live with that.” But she believed he was making a mistake. As a Homicide detective who worked for years in Miami-Dade County, Detective Clint Demko likely had worked on many more murder investigations than Skogen ever would.

  “That it?”

  “No. My role as consultant for this case would have to remain confidential. No press announcements, no interviews. And no media gets near me or my team.”

  “My team and superiors would have to be aware of your role.”

  “I’m fine with that.”

  “Then I’ll look forward to meeting you in person this evening. You’ll have a room waiting for you in Silver Springs. I’ll send you the details.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How long until you assemble your team?”

  “Let me get back to you on that.”

  “Fine. Text me when you arrive so we can meet, Dr. Finch.”

  Agent Skogen’s number vanished from the screen. She took a moment to add it to her contacts so he wouldn’t spring on her again.

  “So, tonight? I can’t get there that fast,” said Clint.

  “I understand.”

  “Nadine, you don’t have to go up there tonight or at all. Not if you think it will be too hard for you.”

  Hard did not begin to describe the whirlwind of emotions tearing around inside her.

  “He’s cleared it with Tampa. I’m assigned. His request is a formality.”

  She was certain of only one thing—she would do all she could to help the FBI stop this unsub.

  “Another serial killer hunting in my mother’s territory.”

  “Hell of a coincidence,” he said.

  “Yes.” Except she didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Nadine exited the highway and tried to ignore the goose bumps as she spotted the sign for Ocala and Silver Springs. Her headlights illuminated the familiar collection of gas stations, hotels and fast-food joints that clustered about each exit. These gave way to a smattering of industrial parks and car dealerships.

  Seeing her childhood home again conjured thoughts of her brother, Arlo, an inmate in Lawtey Correctional Institution, eleven years into a fifteen-year sentence on a conviction for sexual assault.

  Another criminal in the family.

  They exchanged frequent emails, occasional phone calls and, since the purchase of her first car after college, she visited once a month. Being in Ocala would shorten her travel time considerably.

  Her heart was beating so fast. She kept one hand on the wheel and pressed the other over her rib cage to still the mad pounding.

  Had she really thought to escape this place? Believed that she would never have to come back and face the memories and the pain? Meanwhile, she’d carried them with her all these years.

  Why was she doing this? She hated this town, this terrible place. Hated that no one had known what her mother was really like, and that she had waited so long to tell.

  As she pulled into the hotel parking area, she wondered if she had really woken up in the FBI dormitory at Quantico this morning.

  Before exiting her vehicle, she checked her texts, seeing one from Juliette.

  Notified my director, requested leave.

  They had spoken before she’d left town about the possibility of Juliette joining her. Nadine barely had the question out and Juliette was agreeing, jumping at the chance.

  Great! Hope to CU soon.

  Nadine threaded her keys between her fingers. Then she stepped from her Lexus and scanned the parking area. It was well lit, and her space was close to the hotel entrance.

  She wheeled the amassed luggage, still containing her yellow-painted brick, the distance to the lobby. Inside, the tropical vibe prevailed with potted palms, blue pastel wallpaper and a carpet covered with a pattern of Monstera leaves. Between the baggage station and the main desk sat a square cage on wheels. Inside was a sulfur-crested cockatoo that she went over to admire. It reminded her of Juliette’s beloved pet.

  “Good evening,” said the chipper young woman at reception. “That’s Petunia. She’s a permanent guest here. Left behind in one of the rooms over a decade ago.”

  “My friend has one.”

  “Oh, fun!”

  Nadine sagged on the counter.

  Meanwhile, the woman before her looked perky as a cheerleader at halftime. The tag said that her first name was Rosie. Well named, thought Nadine.

  “Long day?” asked Rosie.

  “Endless.”

  “Well then, let’s get you checked in so you can get to your room and relax.” Rosie was a blonde with a pale complexion. She wore a cloth headband and a crisp uniform of gray-and-white polyester. Her fingers shot to the keyboard. “Do you have a reservation with us?”

  “Yes. I should. It’s Dr. Nadine Finch.�
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  Rosie’s carefully applied eyebrows lifted. “Oh yes. Dr. Finch. I have your reservation here. It’s open ended. You will be having an extended stay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. Let me just get your key ready.” Rosie ducked below the counter and out of view, popping back up like a gopher from a hole. “How many keys?”

  “One.” She hoped that Demko would be up here shortly, if his leave of absence was approved, but preferred spending time with him at his place.

  As Rosie ran a plastic key card through the data-card system, a text from Skogen appeared, asking her to reply upon arrival so he could welcome her and relay case details.

  She thought the best welcome he could give her was time to take a hot shower and get a full night’s sleep.

  “Here you go. The key will only open the elevator at your floor and provides you access to the common areas, like the pool and exercise room. Elevators are to the right. Tiki bar on the pool deck opens at four. We serve warm cookies at reception from three to five. Breakfast is between six and nine every morning and there is coffee until midnight right in the dining area.” Rosie motioned to the empty seating area, now dark. “Do you need maps? I have some coupons for Silver Springs and information on the National Forest.”

  “I don’t need maps, thanks.”

  Rosie glanced toward the empty bell stand and frowned.

  “I got it,” said Nadine, reading Rosie as she referred to handling her own luggage.

  “Well, I’m here until midnight, if you need anything. Your room is 242, second floor and a left just off the elevators.” She slipped the key card into a paper envelope and slid it forward. “Have a nice evening.”

  She wouldn’t, but she nodded, forcing a smile.

  “Hello,” said Petunia, with perfect enunciation.

  “Good-bye,” corrected Rosie.

  Up in her room, Nadine took in the space. This was a business hotel, which meant she had a kitchenette consisting of a tiny sink, microwave, coffee station and minifridge. She passed a small love seat facing a desk, continuing beyond the partition, collapsing on the bed. Her eyes drifted shut for an instant before the text chimes startled her.

  The first text was from Clint and was one word.

  Arrived?

  The second was from Skogen.

  Reception says you arrived. Please meet me in the lobby.

  He’d barely given her the chance to settle in or text him herself.

  She groaned and texted Demko.

  Arrived. Meeting now with Skogen.

  Nadine stared at her reflection, her expression determined, her chin lowered.

  “All right, Agent Skogen. Let’s see what you’ve got for me.”

  When the elevator doors opened at ground level, Nadine found a well-dressed man in a tan suit and gray satin tie standing in a posture of practiced stillness. He cocked his head to one side at her appearance and lifted a brow.

  “Dr. Finch?”

  This could only be lead investigator Special Agent Jack Skogen, acting as if he didn’t instantly recognize her. Her photo was in the FBI database and had been in every national newspaper. His pretense that he needed to verify her identity irritated.

  She gave him a once-over as she nodded acknowledgement of her identity. His physicality screamed former military, with a muscular build and above average height. His light brown hair receded slightly off a broad forehead. His brows peaked in a near-perfect triangle over intent blue eyes. He had a narrow nose, strong jaw, thin lips, and ears that protruded a little more than they should to be classically handsome—although, all in all, he was a good-looking man, and clean-shaven despite the hour.

  She stepped forward, making good eye contact and holding her smile but withholding her hand, keeping it fixed to the strap of her briefcase.

  “You must be Special Agent Skogen.”

  “Guilty,” he said. “Please call me Jack.”

  He motioned her forward out of the alcove and into the lobby, where he took a seat that commanded the best view of both the front and back entrance. She chose a chair facing reception and Rosie, who gave her a bright smile and wave.

  Petunia sat upon a wooden perch, on an elaborate play stand fixed to the cage top, her foot raised as she shredded a paper towel tube.

  “It must be strange for you to be back up here,” said Skogen.

  Of course he would have read everything he could on her background before offering her a job as consultant. This would include Nadine’s connection with her mother’s arrest and her recent involvement in the apprehension of the Copycat Killer.

  “Yes. I passed the development where I grew up on my way in here.” Although she knew the old trailers where her family had lived long ago had been removed, to prevent curiosity seekers. One of the property owners had taken the additional step of changing the trailer park’s name.

  Jack kept his voice low, Nadine hoped with the intention of preventing the receptionist from gleaning any details of their conversation rather than to lend intimacy to their meeting.

  “You were recommended to me for this assignment by Agent Torrin.”

  “So you mentioned on the phone.”

  “He said you were so good he thought you were a suspect.”

  She frowned at this revelation.

  “He felt that you’d bring more to the investigation than a professional profile. It was his opinion that you have a sort of intuition.”

  “I don’t rely on intuition. My work is clinical. Data points and logic over hunches.”

  “And that work impressed him, along with your innate ability to glean more from the facts and details of the case than would be apparent to an investigator.”

  “I should hope so or I’m going to have to ask for my money back on my education.” He was trying to say that he believed her personal experience and being raised by a notorious killer gave her some sort of edge. But he was dancing around the point, and she was not going to help him because Nadine did not wish to be selected for this assignment due to her notoriety. If he had done so, he was bound to be disappointed.

  Still, she was relieved that he had agreed to keep her association with this case out of the press, because she did not relish becoming the center of a media storm again. Been there, done that—twice. She believed the attention needed to remain squarely focused on finding this killer.

  Despite the inevitable wobbles in her confidence that came and went, she was good at her job. Profiling required education, knowledge, experience, and identification with killers. She had all that, unfortunately.

  Skogen reached in his bag and withdrew a folder, pressed it to the table and pushed it in her direction. She noted he wore a class ring on his right hand, West Point. So he was army. There was no ring on his left. This did not tell her if he was or was not married. Many men in his profession chose not to reveal personal details, including wives and children.

  “Until we can get you secure access to our network.”

  She accepted the folder.

  “I’ll answer any questions you may have after you are up to speed.”

  “Fine.” She shifted, keen to go.

  “The ME tells me that the two victims died within a few days of each other, so I’m anxious to get you working on this. We’ll get you full access tomorrow. There is an ID badge for you to wear at the office and at any crime scene.”

  “Thank you.”

  He smiled and sat back, hands resting on his knees. His knuckles showed thin crisscrossing red lines. She assumed he’d been out in the field because those were the cuts left by sawgrass dragging across unprotected skin.

  “Where are you from originally?” she asked.

  “Oklahoma,” he said.

  “Been to Florida before?” she asked.

  “Just the coast.”

  That was a different world than Central Florida. There, most people were transplants from up north, East Coast and Midwesterners. Here in interior Florida were the original crackers, named for the
long whips used on their oxen. Here they had citrus groves, cattle ranches, phosphate mines and farming. What they didn’t have was outsiders.

  He’d stick out like a Yankee in Alabama.

  “How are you coming with collecting your team?” he asked.

  Jeepers. He’d only offered the position today.

  “I’m working on that.”

  “I’d like their names. They’ll all need to be vetted.”

  “Of course.” That would make for interesting reading. All the people she wanted around her had mothers convicted of murder. It was an odd club and one that no one wanted to join, but somehow they made her feel almost normal.

  Another oddity was that none of them had fathers. Medical examiner, Dr. Juliette Hartfield had been born to a mother already convicted of shooting and killing her three young children to remove what she saw as impediments to a relationship with a man who did not want children. Ironically, she didn’t know she was already pregnant with Juliette. Unlike the rest of them, her mother’s crimes occurred before she was born, and she had been adopted by a nice couple. The strange part was that her adoptive dad was the DA who had convicted her mother.

  Tina Ruz, her administrative assistant, had been born to a single mother convicted of first-degree homicide, when Tina was a teen, for her part in a gruesome kidnapping and murder of an elderly neighbor in a plot to empty her bank accounts. Tina’s mother was serving her sentence of forty-five years in prison.

  Demko’s father had been murdered by a shotgun blast delivered by his stepson, a plot hatched by their mother, to collect the payout from her second husband’s life insurance policy. She had convinced her elder son, Demko’s half brother, Connor, to stage a robbery of her husband’s medical offices. But the podiatrist recognized his masked attacker before his death, as witnesses testified. Now both Demko’s mother and his brother were in federal prison.

  And Nadine’s mother had butchered four couples for their infidelity after abandonment by Nadine’s father. But recently, after a conversation where Arleen had admitted to killing a man around the time her father had vanished, Nadine had doubts that their father had run out on them. She’d raised the possibility to Arlo that their mother had murdered their father after discovering his intent to leave her. Nadine wished he’d rejected the notion, but he had not. Instead he seemed to believe it a real possibility.