But then an elderly serial killer called the Night Hunter trapped Jessie, Ryan, and Hannah in a remote mountain cabin. Jessie and Ryan managed to capture and subdue the man. But while he was handcuffed and unarmed, Hannah shot and killed him. She claimed it was a form of self-defense, a way to stop a man she knew would never stop searching for a way to get at them, even from behind bars.
Only later did Jessie learn that the real reason Hannah had murdered the Night Hunter was because she simply wanted to know what it felt like. As it turned out, she liked it. The act gave her a high she’d never experienced before, and she wanted to recreate it. In the weeks after she shot the Night Hunter in cold blood, she harbored fantasies of killing someone else in the hopes of recapturing the thrill of that moment.
When, over a month later, Hannah finally revealed that to Dr. Lemmon, the doctor came up with the idea of sending her to Seasons, where she’d been ever since. In her time there, she’d participated in intense therapy sessions, both group and individual, as well as a couple of sessions with Jessie. Dr. Lemmon had also ordered everything from redirection therapy to brain-mapping. All options were under consideration. Nothing was off the table. The goal was twofold: first, to help Hannah feel emotions without needing heightened situations; and second, to eliminate her addictive desire to get a high from—to put it bluntly—killing people.
As Jessie finished up her final deep stretch, she recalled her last visit, just two days ago. It wasn’t a therapy session, just a casual visit, but it hadn’t been particularly casual. Hannah wasn’t in a very chatty mood.
“Are you just here to rub my nose in my grotesquery?” she had asked. It had gone downhill from there.
Jessie tried to shake loose of the memory as she opened the door to the mid-Wilshire house she’d inherited from her murdered profiling mentor, Garland Moses, and headed for the bedroom to undress and shower. She could hear Ryan grunting in the backyard and went that way to check on him.
Her fiancé was taking advantage of the mild, early-March Los Angeles day, doing his rehab workout session outside and shirtless. Now over eight months removed from being stabbed in the chest and spending weeks in a coma, he was about ninety-five percent recovered.
He was currently doing squats while holding forty pound dumbbells. Jessie admired him silently from behind the sliding glass door. His short black hair and dark skin gleamed in the sunlight. His normally kind brown eyes were fixed in concentration. Sweat poured down his muscled chest as he knelt down and popped back up, his calves rippling with the effort. Though Ryan wasn’t vain, Jessie knew that it was important for him to regain the chiseled physique he’d had before being attacked. His six-foot, two-hundred-pound body had always been both a source of pride and a weapon he could use against the criminals he came up against. His goal was to get back to where he’d been and he was almost there.
Once he finished his set, she tapped on the glass and opened the door.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she told him, “You almost done?”
“I’ve got about five minutes left. I’ll hop in after you’re done.”
Jessie was tempted to suggest he finish up early and join her. But she knew he really wanted to get back to full strength and anything that interfered with that, even a mid-morning delight, was secondary right now.
So she held her tongue and headed to the bathroom. Her running top was soaked through and her black pants were starting to feel uncomfortably warm against her legs. She turned on the shower and gave herself a once-over in the mirror while the water warmed up. She was pleased to see that her five-mile runs were paying dividends.
She looked firmer than she had a few months ago. Considering she was fast approaching her thirty-first birthday, she thought she was doing pretty well. Her long legs, which contributed significantly to her five-foot-ten frame, had regained much of the muscle tone they’d lost when she was recovering from her various injuries. Her shoulder length brown hair was lustrous and her green eyes glowed with energy. Despite the ongoing stressors in her life, she thought she was holding up quite nicely. And the furtive looks she got when she walked down the street seemed to confirm it.
She showered quickly, aware that Ryan would be waiting for his turn. When she turned off the water and pulled back the curtain, he was there holding out a towel for her.
“Personalized towel service,” she noted. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I wish I could say it was just domestic kindness,” he said apologetically, “but I’m here to move things along.”
“Why?” she asked. “Did I take too long? I thought I was pretty quick.”
“No,” he assured her. “But while you were showering we got a call from Decker. He has a case for us.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“He wouldn’t get into particulars other than to say there was a murder at the Peninsula resort in Palos Verdes. He wants us to head there ASAP. He’ll update us en route.”
“Did he at least mention the victim?”
“Nope. I asked but he said he’d fill us both in when he calls back in ten minutes, when he expects that we’ll be in the car. He said the police chief would be on the call too so we better hurry.”
“He wants us on the road in ten minutes?” she demanded incredulously.
Ryan looked at his watch.
“Not anymore,” he answered. “Now we’re down to eight.”
Jessie got out of the shower, still dripping wet, wrapped the towel around herself and darted out to the bedroom to find something that would look professional and appropriate for the most exclusive resort in Southern California. And now she had seven minutes to do it.
CHAPTER TWO
Jessie was annoyed.
Decker had made them run around to get ready and now he was late. By the time he called twenty minutes later, they were well on their way to Palos Verdes, a gorgeous oceanside community in the Southern California South Bay. Nestled between Long Beach and the Beach Cities, it was known for its craggy cliffs, amazing views, and eight-figure homes.
Decker texted about two minutes before the call to tell them the delay was because the chief was finishing up another meeting. He didn’t give them any warning about why the head of the Los Angeles Police Department wanted in on the call.
Jessie was apprehensive. Her interactions with Chief Laird hadn’t always been positive, especially when it briefly looked like he might fire both her and Ryan when they discovered police corruption in the Valley Division. Ryan was driving so when his phone rang, he handed it off to Jessie, who put it on speaker and held it out between them.
“Hello, Captain,” he said.
“Hernandez,” Decker said tersely, “is Hunt there with you?”
“Right here, Captain,” she replied, trying to keep the nerves out of her voice.
“Good. I’ve conferenced us in with Chief Laird. He wanted to be a part of this conversation. Would you like to begin, Chief?”
“Why don’t you give them the basics first, Decker,” Chief Laird said gruffly. “Once they know what they’re dealing with, I’ll offer my two cents.”
“All right,” Decker said, then launched in. “Less than forty-five minutes ago, a forty-four-year-old man was found dead in the steam room of the men’s spa at the Peninsula resort. His neck was tied to some kind of thin belt. Local police called it in to headquarters as soon as they realized who the victim was: Scott Newhouse.”