Chapter 2 #2
The flight took longer than she anticipated, as a storm over the Midwest diverted the plane south before it could resume its flight path.
When she landed, dawn was breaking over mountains that seemed impossibly vast compared to the urban landscape she’d left behind.
A different driver, same silent professionalism, drove her through a small town called Blackridge.
Main Street. The Last Stand bar. Local diner. Post office.
Quaint. Normal. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone.
Claire had never felt more exposed in her life.
The compound sat outside town, tucked against the mountains. From the road, it looked like nondescript buildings, a parking area, and modest, generic signage that didn’t disclose its true identity.
Up close, Claire’s trained eye caught the details. Cameras on every angle. Reinforced doors. Electronic locks. Defensive positioning.
This wasn’t just a safe house. This was a tactical installation.
A woman waited at the entrance. Mid-thirties, dark hair, intelligent eyes. “Agent Dawson. Welcome. I’m Dr. Genevieve Montgomery. Call me Vivi.” Her voice was cultured. “I’m sorry for the circumstances.”
“Yeah, me, too. When do I meet my protection detail?” Claire kept her voice professional, but she was exhausted, frustrated, and in no mood for small talk.
“This morning. First, let’s get you settled.” Dr. Montgomery led her inside, down a hallway to a room that looked more like a decent hotel than a prison cell. “You’ll have access to secure internet for your work. Our communications are encrypted.”
Claire dropped her bag on the bed, turned to face the doctor. “Who exactly are you people?”
“We’re specialists who handle threats law enforcement can’t neutralize quickly enough.” Dr. Montgomery’s smile was slight. “Your job here is to stay safe while the FBI works your case.”
“My job is to catch predators, not hide from them.”
“You don’t like being sidelined.”
“Would you?”
Dr. Montgomery studied her for a moment. “I’ve reviewed your file. Your work on the Riverside Strangler case was impressive. Your profile led to his arrest.”
Claire didn’t respond. It had been her first big case. More had followed.
“The FBI’s behavioral analysis on your stalker is...adequate,” Dr. Montgomery continued, “but I think we can do better.”
Claire’s attention sharpened. “What do you mean?”
“I’ve developed a new profiling methodology that combines traditional behavioral analysis with neuropsychological markers and predictive modeling.
” She pulled out a tablet and showed Claire a complex flowchart.
“It’s called Trident Therapy. Three-pronged approach—behavioral, neurological, environmental. ”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“The Bureau doesn’t have access to it. But I’ve used it with operatives for years. It’s designed to help them understand themselves and their enemies on a deeper level. I believe with a few modifications, it can help us understand predators and serial killers, too.”
Claire moved closer to the screen, studying it. The tool was sophisticated. More comprehensive than standard FBI profiling protocols…but was it accurate?
“Traditional profiling tells us a lot about the suspect’s personality and habits,” Montgomery went on, “helping us understand behaviors and potential patterns. My work takes that to a more analytical level. I don’t like educated guesses. I like solid facts that lead to better options.”
“You want to re-profile my stalker.”
“I want us to re-profile him. Together.” Dr. Montgomery met her eyes. “Fresh perspective, new methodology, no preconceptions from the FBI’s work. You know this case better than anyone. I have tools you don’t. Working as a team, perhaps we can uncover this killer’s next move.”
Claire hesitated. “But my team is already working the case.”
“We’re not interfering with their agenda or procedures. You’re consulting, independently.” A pause. “Anything we discover, you can share with them. Or...if we find an imminent threat you feel is important, we can act on it first and loop them in when you’re ready.”
That was bending the rules. Claire knew it. But the alternative was sitting here on the sidelines while other agents hunted her predator. “What makes your methodology different?”
“Your stalker chose you specifically. You’re his type.
But from what I’ve learned, there’s a psychological architecture to his obsession.
” Dr. Montgomery pulled up another screen.
“These women,”—she gestured to the three victims—“were all survivors. But so are thousands of other women. They resemble you, but again, so do hundreds of other women. Why these three? Why you?”
“The FBI profilers already established—”
“They established demographics, opportunity, and general behavioral patterns.” Dr. Montgomery’s voice was patient but firm. “I’m talking about the specific psychological framework that made him choose you. Not just any survivor. You, Claire.”
Claire stared at the screen. The same question had nagged at her for weeks.
“He’s been watching you for how long?” Dr. Montgomery asked. “Weeks, possibly months?”
“That we know of.”
“What if it’s been longer? What if he’s been building toward this since…Lily’s death?”
Claire’s chest refused to expand. The bracelet flashed through her mind. “You’ve done your research.”
Dr. Montgomery’s voice was gentle now. “He targets survivors—women who fought back and lived. You survived what happened to Lily. Were those other women’s deaths simply a lead-up to yours? Are you the true target? Are you unfinished business to him?”
Claire’s throat was tight. “You sound as if you’re suggesting it’s the same killer. Lily’s killer is dead.”
“And you’re still here. Still fighting his kind. I don’t think he’s the same man, but he might have a tie to him. Worship him. Want to be like him. Or it could be that he simply hates that you hunt serial killers. That’s what he wants to take from you.”
Fighting back the emotions, the memories threatening to cap her at the knees, she cleared her throat. “When do we start?” The question came out before she could second-guess it.
“This afternoon? After you get some rest.”
“I don’t need rest. I need to work.”
Dr. Montgomery smiled slightly. “I can see why your SAC respects you. All right. Let me set up the system. Two hours?”
“Yes.”
After she left, Claire unpacked methodically. Laptop on the desk. Case files organized. Weapon cleaned and loaded, set on the nightstand. Beside it, the photo of her and Lily.
She changed into jeans and a comfortable button-down shirt, keeping her FBI credentials and badge visible on her belt. A reminder that she was an agent, not a victim.
The window offered a view of the mountains, vast and beautiful, and slightly overwhelming to her urban senses. Reinforced glass, she noted. Nothing got through these windows.
Claire pulled up the case files on her laptop. Studied the messages again.
Day 3, Claire. Your friend couldn’t outrun him. Will you?
He knew about Lily. Knew what happened. Had he known Lily’s killer? Was this connected somehow?
Her phone buzzed with a text from Reeves: Team is en route to interview potential suspect. Will update.
Her pulse sped up. She almost texted back, demanding to be included in the interview, but stopped herself.
She was in Montana. Hidden. Safe.
Useless.
No. Not useless. She had Dr. Montgomery’s Trident methodology. She had five years of experience. She had every file, every message, every piece of evidence.
She’d find him from here if she had to.
Her inbox chimed with an internal email from Dr. Montgomery.
Claire pulled up the flowchart, started reading about neuropsychological markers and predictive behavioral modeling.
It was fascinating. More sophisticated than anything she’d seen at the Bureau.
Her mind soaked it up, reading and rereading.
She scribbled notes. Wished she had coffee.
Her lids dipped half a dozen times. She pushed herself to stay awake and keep circling different ideas. If this worked—if she and Montgomery could identify the killer before the FBI did—
There was a knock at her door.
Claire glanced at the clock. Ten thirty. Three hours had passed without her noticing.
“Agent Dawson? Your briefing is ready.”
A male voice. Deep, controlled. The kind of voice that came from years of command.
Claire took a breath, cleared her mind, and opened the door.
The man in the hallway stood at attention. Former military was written in every line of his posture. “Agent Dawson.” His voice was professional, carefully neutral. “I’ll show you to the conference room.”
“Are you my bodyguard?”
His lips quirked. “That would be Wolf. He’s busy at the moment, designing your security protocols and getting the team up to speed on you.”
“Wolf?” It came out in a huff, part disbelief and part confusion. “That’s his name?”
“His call sign, ma’am. We all use them.”
Call sign, right. They used codenames for themselves and probably would for her and the mission. “And you are?”
“Lynx.”
“What’s mine?”
He lifted a brow, looked slightly uncomfortable. “Ma’am?”
“You may be ex-Special Forces, but you act like Secret Service, right? You’ve already given me a call sign, haven’t you? Like JFK was Lancer. Nixon was Passkey. Carter was Rawhide. What’s mine?”
His gaze dropped to his boots. “Uh, that’s something you should discuss with Wolf.”
Her curiosity was piqued. “That bad, huh?”
He rolled his lips in as if hiding a grin and gestured down the hallway. “Dr. Montgomery is waiting in the conference room.”
Claire followed, the past stirred up in her head, and the present playing mind tricks with her.
They reached the conference room where Dr. Montgomery waited with a tablet and several files. Lynx nodded and left. Nothing personal in any of it.
“Agent Dawson,” Dr. Montgomery said. “Let’s get started.”
Claire took a seat, pulled out her laptop, and forced herself to focus. She was here to work. To hunt. To prove she wasn’t prey.
Everything else could wait.
Even the uncomfortable truth that being here made her feel something she hadn’t felt in fifteen years.
Safe.