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the detective lowered his head and grinned with embarrassment.

Chairs soon scraped against the wooden floor, people shuffling out of their seats. Across the hall, Emma Cole stood and swooshed her hair to one side—a mannerism that riled the killer to no end—and headed for the exit. Wasting no time, the killer shot out of his seat, pulled the hat farther down on his head, and followed her to claim his next victim.

Chapter Twenty

The event had been long but not tedious, with people cheering and clapping, kids laughing and making new friends. It was everything Rachel had been working for, and although she insisted on giving Morgan some of the credit, he declined it. She’d made it on her own, and for that he was incredibly proud of her.

Over the course of the presentation and the multiple short breaks between, he’d lost sight of Emma Cole. His attention had been held captive by his beautiful red-haired wife and her accomplishments, and taking his eye off the woman had probably been a mistake. It wasn’t much of a problem though—he knew where to find her.

Stepping out into the cold Washington night, Morgan descended the stone steps and looked up and down the street. There was no sign of her out here, so he simply waited in the cold while Rachel was inside being congratulated on her success. A couple of early leavers sneaked out and said goodbye to Morgan, to which he smiled and thanked them for coming.

Meanwhile, something felt wrong.

It wasn’t as simple as Emma saying she’d be there and then disappearing, but it was exactly that word—disappearing—that sent a cold shiver streaking down his tensed spine. With all that’d happened lately, Morgan found it hard to believe this was unrelated to the fact she had some information to share. Then again, could it be that he was paranoid? Was she simply using the bathroom, causing him to overreact?

It wasn’t long before Gary stepped outside with Hannah on his arm. It was good to see him smile, but when he caught Morgan’s worried stare, the smile fell from his face, his eyebrows arching with concern. “What is it?”

Morgan licked his dry lips, stomping toward him. “Have you seen Emma Cole?”

“Who’s that?”

“The girl I was talking to before the show.”

“Sorry, but no. Did you check—”

His heart pounding now, Morgan stormed inside, inching between the people who were lined up to leave. He placed his hand gently on each person’s shoulder, saying Emma’s name and hoping for a reaction that wasn’t befuddlement. Only with each person looking as lost as he felt, he moved on to the next.

Until one man spoke up.

“You mean that pretty blonde thing?”

“You’ve seen her?” Morgan asked. “Where?”

The man, who looked like a beetle wrapped up in his thick jacket, nodded toward the fire exit beside the stage. “She went out that way a few minutes ago. Don’t ask me why, but she was crying pretty hard. Did you do something to upset her?”

Morgan fell silent, taking in the words. “Crying?”

“Yeah. Well, if it wasn’t you it must’ve been the other guy.”

“What other guy?”

“The… I don’t know. The other guy.”

Panic and anger blended together, spiking Morgan’s blood pressure through the roof. Growing impatient, sweat beading on his temple, he spun on his heel and rushed toward the fire exit, cold air assaulting his cheeks as he burst out into the alley. His instincts drove him, making him run to one end where it split into two separate directions.

Both of them were empty.

Heading back, his sweat growing into thick droplets and dampening his back, he passed the open fire exit and sprinted to the far end, hoping to catch at least a glimpse of Emma Cole and the mysterious man she’d left with.

But she was gone.

Feeling the true magnitude of his loss, Morgan traipsed back to the fire exit, went inside, and closed the door. Rachel was waiting for him there. She approached with a sympathetic frown.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

It definitely wasn’t, Morgan thought, but that didn’t mean he had to ruin her perfect evening, as if he hadn’t done enough to bring her down lately. Instead, he nodded, pecked her on the cheek, and told her she’d done a great job. After that, he crossed the room and caught the attention of Will, official cameraman of HUCINS fundraisers.

“I need a favor.”

Will pushed his thick black glasses farther up his nose and continued to wrap a cable into a tight fold. He snapped his head, flinging a knot of greasy hair out of his face. “Sure, man. I’m just packing up my gear, and I’ll be right with you.”

Morgan shook his head, his heart still beating like crazy. “Can I look at your camera?”

“No, but… I can show you it.”

“Good enough.” Morgan leaned over his shoulder and studied the digital recorder on the tripod. He watched the small screen as close as he could, asking Will to go back further, noticing he’d gone too far, and then scanning forward again until Emma Cole came into view. “There. Pause that.”

Will hit a button and the picture froze.

“Who’s that?” Morgan asked, pointing at a thin man in a dark hoodie. There was something too familiar about that hoodie, and the realization weakened his knees. Starting to piece it together, he fought to convince himself it couldn’t be true, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn’t argue with what was right in front of him.

Will shrugged, his thin shoulders leaping up for only a second. “No clue.”

“Play it from there.” Morgan noticed Gary appear at his side, but neither of them said anything. It was one of those unspoken exchanges, communicating with a single glance. Morgan read understanding in his eyes, and he was sure Gary could read panic in his. He returned his focused stare to the camera where the hooded figure slipped a dull blade out of his pocket, pointing it close toward Emma’s spine as he whispered something in her ear. Emma nodded, and together they went offscreen, heading in the direction of the fire exit.

“That doesn’t look good,” Will offered.

But it was worse than it looked.

The hoodie made sense now, paired with the identical one from the Pizza Palace security footage. The killer had been here tonight, right under their noses, and nobody had known a damn thing about it. Somehow, he’d avoided detection and taken a victim right out from under them, and all they had was a useless recording of his back. The fact struck Morgan like a bolt of lightning, knocking the strength from his body.

“Gary,” he said, gnawing on shaking knuckles. “I think we’re in trouble.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Getting his latest victim into the house wasn’t that hard—a short walk with a few whispered threats saw to that—but with his mom locking the place down like Fort Knox, it’d been tough to sneak Emma Cole inside. Tough, but not impossible.

Posing her as a potential colleague, the killer demanded privacy and escorted her into the basement, passing through the dark corridor and refraining from shouting at his mother. How he hated her could only be compared to his distaste for his victims, but he didn’t have time to worry about that now. The more pressing matter was getting Emma down the stairs and restraining her, the latter of which had been a battle in itself. She’d wriggled and squirmed, crying as she screamed at him in high-pitched wails until he was forced to reach for the nearest object—which happened to be a very sturdy glass ashtray—and swing it at her skull.

The crunching sound was like heaven.

Chuckling like a young boy as he pushed her onto the carpenter’s bench, the killer fastened the preprepared straps and silenced her by stuffing her wide mouth with a filthy rag. Eventually she stopped fighting, and only then could the killer relax.

“Moonpie?” The voice came from up the stairs, needy and questioning.

“What?” the killer yelled.

“Come up here.”

“Why?”

“We need to talk.”

The killer hesitated, gawking down into the wet, clenched eyes of his dazed victim. Whatever his mother wanted, his fun with Emma would have to wait. Hell, it was lucky she was even alive at this point. The only reason she was even breathing was because he wanted to try something new with his victims: prolonged torture. If he’d found her on another day, she’d already be a hideous mess rotting in her own home. And where was the fun in that?

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