The Killer She Knew (Leigh Brody FBI Mystery #3)
Prologue
PROLOGUE
Durham, New Hampshire
Monday, October 7
9:43 p.m.
No one ever said being a killer was easy.
He’d been hoping this day would come.
Eighteen years. Of planning. Of waiting. Of blending in for the right time to strike. He’d been patient. Waiting for her to make a mistake.
And this was his reward.
A quiet shuffle reached his ears from the other side of the room as he pinned the latest news article to the board. This one an interview from the Gulf Shores News . “Revengeful Mother of Teen Sentenced to Life Without Parole.” He didn’t care about the case. It was already losing its shiny-new-crisis appeal. But the FBI agent interviewed and pictured in the center of the front-page article did hold his attention. So damn perfect. But sad. Broken.
Dozens of faces stared back at him from the wall. Well, one face. They all belonged to her. She’d kept herself out of the media well enough over the years, but she’d always been a star in his eyes.
The one who’d gotten away.
A weak sound filled the dark room. Exasperation killed the enthusiasm in his veins. Apparently his guest wasn’t going to follow the rules after all. He turned to face the slumped woman coming to against the built-in shelves constructed of raw two-by-fours.
This small below-ground escape-from-the-real-world didn’t meet his usual standards. He preferred not to have to get a tetanus shot each time he descended into the basement, but it would do for now. After all, this was all temporary.
She was pretty in an unremarkable kind of way. Curled blonde hair and flawlessly applied makeup. Smart, too, from what little conversation he’d overheard between her and her professor earlier. Something about positivist victimology, victim environment, non-random risk of violence. Blah, blah, blah. Ironic her understanding of criminal behavior wouldn’t do her any good now. “You’re wondering why you’re here.”
He crouched in front of her, reaching for a thick strand of hair as she blinked up at him. It was all she could do, thanks to padded binds around her wrists and ankles. Couldn’t be leaving any bruises, after all. What was her name? Anne? Adrienne? He wasn’t sure. They all started blending together after a while. And this one didn’t have long. There was no point in trying to remember. Ten minutes, maybe less. “Would you believe it if I said you remind me of someone I used to know?”
“Please.” Her begging had lost its meaning over the past couple of hours. It always did. If he was being honest with himself, this whole charade was starting to feel stale. Then again, pretty little Abigail hadn’t been his original target. He’d had to adapt in the moment to get to her. Take advantage of an opportunity he hadn’t considered before, and for the first time in years, he’d nearly dropped to his knees from the rush. But, in the end, Alison and the others who’d come before her were nothing more than place holders.
The one he wanted—needed—was still out there. Waiting for him.