Sydney reached the back corner of the library and paused, scrunching her brow in confusion.
“Is that cinnamon I smell? Why am I smelling cinnamon? Did Carmen leave a donut in the microwave again? And why are you talking to yourself?”
She rolled her eyes at herself—that really was a habit she had to break. She headed to the small kitchen where they had their breaks and stopped in her tracks when she opened the door. A plate of snickerdoodles sat on the table. There were two glasses of champagne, and helium-filled balloons had been tied to the backs of two of the chairs.
That someone had set that up was odd in and of itself, but for her, this scene meant something else.
She and Mitch had both been book geeks, book nerds, bookworms—whatever you wanted to call them. A date to them was usually carry-out dinner at home, then curling up in front of the fireplace, her feet in Mitch’s lap, as they both buried their noses in a book.
Books were their world, and that she could share her passion with the man she loved had only made her love both books and him more.
When Mitch asked her out, she hadn’t hesitated to say yes, and she hadn’t been surprised when he had snuck her in here late one night and surprised her with champagne and her favorite cookies. It had been so special, just the two of them in here, and they’d eaten the cookies and then gone hunting through the shelves, sharing their favorite books with one another.
Only she and Mitch had been there that night, and Mitch had been gone for five years now, so how had someone recreated that date here in the very same library?
Confused, she spun in a circle, but she didn’t see anyone.
“What is going on? Hello?” she called out.
No one answered.
“This is too weird. And you are too weird, Syd, stop talking to yourself.”
“I think it’s adorable.”
She spun around again at the sound of the voice, then gasped when she saw who was standing behind her.
“No,” she whispered. “You can’t be here.”
“And yet, I am.”
Sydney didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think; she just acted. She screamed at the top of her lungs and turned and ran.
He was faster than her.
Bigger and stronger than her too.
He was on her in seconds. He grabbed her arm, yanked her up against his rock-hard body, then wrapped an arm around her neck and squeezed.
She clawed, she kicked, she struggled.
It didn’t do any good.
The world grayed, a sound like rushing waves at the beach echoed in her head. Her limbs began to tingle, and then she floated away.
5
April 19th
* * *
9:23 A.M.
* * *
“We got another one.”
“Yay, yay, yay,” Dante deadpanned. This was not how he wanted to start his day. He had thought they would have Ed O’Rourk in custody by now. Instead, the man was still on the run, and he had killed again.
This one hit him particularly hard.
Not just because this felt like he was partly to blame since things hadn’t gone to plan at Ed’s house yesterday, but also because of who this victim was.
“That makes five now,” his partner said.
“Is that why you’re here? To state the obvious?” he snapped. Why did Milla always have to be so cheerful? Why couldn’t she be like a normal cop and let the job break down her spirit piece by piece until it was only by sheer strength of will that you didn’t end up like one of the people they hunted daily.
“Nope, I’m here to help you,” Milla answered with a smile. “You’d miss me if I weren’t around.”
“As if,” he muttered under his breath as he stalked through the library to the kitchen.
This crime scene was just like the others.
Four women, all dead.
Mauled by a man who thought he was a beast.
He wasn’t just on edge because he was angry and felt guilty. It was knowing that at any minute now he could expect to receive a phone call saying that Sydney Carriere’s body had been discovered.
Only Sydney wasn’t just a librarian who had fallen victim to this serial killer who appeared to be obsessed with her. She was also the woman who had smiled at him yesterday.
That was it.
Just a smile.
And yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
“After the last two murders, we notified all libraries in the area and told them to tell their employees to make sure that no one was here alone in the evenings. Why do you think she was here by herself last night?” Milla asked.
“We’ll never know,” Dante said. He was under no illusion that anyone was ever going to see Sydney alive again. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. His inability to stop thinking about her was testament to how badly he wanted her to still be alive, and if there was a way to save her life, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he was resigned to the facts, and the facts in this case were the woman would soon be dead if she wasn’t already.
“Why do you think he does this?” Milla waved her hand at the party scene before them. “How do you think he does it? Don’t they see him? Or hear him? Do you think he breaks in after everyone else leaves, or was he in here at some point during the day and hid, waiting until everyone left before sneaking out and setting this up? I don’t get how the women don’t know he’s here until he’s ready for them,” Milla said.
These were all questions they had gone through already, and still, they didn’t have any answers.
Which drove him crazy.
And made him angry.
Angry at the killer for what he was doing. Angry at Sydney for being so irresponsible as to be alone in a library at night. Angry at himself that he hadn’t done more to stop this man.
Just plain angry.
He had been angry for the last six years, and Sydney had—for one second—taken that anger away.
And now it was back.
And she was gone.
He had become a cop because he wanted to save people. He had stayed a cop after losing his family because it was the only thing that kept him marginally sane. Every person he couldn’t save was like another weight added around his neck. Too many unsaved people over too many years left him with too much weight to carry around. His job was slowly but surely killing him, but he could never give it up. It was all he had in his life.
Milla’s phone buzzed, and she answered it while he did a slow walk around the kitchen that served as the break room for the library staff. A plate of cookies, two glasses of champagne, balloons. What was important enough about these items that he set this up at each of the crime scenes?
Serial killers were kind of his area of expertise. Usually, he could figure them out … what was their motivation … what had set them on this path … what was their endgame. When he got those answers, it led him to the man he was looking for.
But this time?
Nothing.
He couldn’t get a read on this guy, no matter how hard he tried, which meant that Ed could remain at large indefinitely because he didn’t know where he should be looking for the man. If Sydney was the intended endgame, then what would Ed do next? Where would he go? Would he disappear? Commit suicide? Go on a spree?