Chapter 6 #2
But in the safety of his arms, she knew he didn’t see her as weak. He saw her for who she was—strong and brave, even if she’d been through hell.
She closed her eyes, and her breathing became easy. So easy. His heart beat steadily under her ear. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm her body matched. He smelled like soap, his tactical gear, and something else.
Safety.
“Tell me something,” Wolf said quietly. “Something good. A favorite memory.”
“What?”
“Anything. Your favorite food. A place you’ve traveled. Just...something that isn’t this.”
Claire chuckled. “Ice cream. Cookie dough ice cream from this place in Georgetown. Lily and I would beg her mom to take us there every Saturday in the summer.”
“What else?”
“Books. I read everything. Thrillers, mysteries, sci-fi. Anything that takes me out of my head for a while.”
“Do you have a favorite?”
“The Martian. I’ve read it five times.”
She felt rather than heard his almost-laugh. “Stranded on Mars. Sounds relaxing.”
“It’s about survival. Problem-solving. Not giving up even when everything’s against you.”
“No wonder you like it.”
Claire pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him.
His face was inches from hers. This close, she could see those gold flecks in his green eyes again.
The small scar above his left eyebrow. The way his lips quirked with what seemed like genuine pleasure that he’d made her forget the bad memories.
That she was clutching him like a lifeline.
“This is your brand of therapy, isn’t it?” she asked. “I like it.”
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing.” She should step back. Should let him go. “You talked me out of a panic attack and got me back on an even keel.”
“Yes, I did,” he said a little cheekily.
She pinched his side. “Don’t get arrogant, Commander.”
The term seemed to remind him of where they were. Who they were. He gently but firmly stepped back, disengaging her hands from his shirt.
“Sit,” he said, easing her back into the chair. His voice was still light as he added, “Doctor’s orders.”
Her legs were still shaky, but she was steady now. Her heart rate was normal.
“Have you had therapy?” she asked.
Wolf’s expression shuttered. “Some.”
“Did it help?”
“I’m still here.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.”
He smiled back. “At the moment, I am, too.”
Heat spread through her body. She tried to think of something to say, but her brain seemed to short-circuit.
He came to the rescue. “What about your family? Your parents. They must be proud of you. FBI agent, catching killers.”
“They are.” Claire wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold without his warmth. “But they moved to France five years ago. My dad’s company transferred him to Paris. They wanted me to come with them, but I stayed.”
“For the job.”
“For Lily.” The truth she’d never said out loud. It startled her in some ways, but in others, it seemed exactly right. “I couldn’t leave. Couldn’t stop hunting men like the one who took her. It felt like... if I left, if I gave up, she’d die all over again.”
Wolf was quiet for a long moment. “She wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your life for hers.”
“No, she wouldn’t, but that doesn’t bring her back.”
“You’re too hard on yourself. No one who loves someone wants them to stop living because they’re gone.”
The weight in his voice. The certainty. Claire studied his face, this man who understood grief in a way most people didn’t. “Are you insinuating I stopped living because of what happened?”
“Have you? Is everything you do for her?”
Her hands found a thread on her sleeve. “Now you do sound like a therapist.”
He must have heard the annoyance in her tone. He raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry. I was out of line.”
He was, and yet, she realized she was bristling because he’d hit the nail on the head. Who would she be right now if she hadn’t been living for Lily?
Rubbing her forehead, she sagged back in the chair. She’d think about that later. “What about your family?” she asked. “Your parents. Do you see them?”
Wolf’s jaw tightened. “No.”
“Why not?”
“We don’t have that kind of relationship.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He faced the two-way mirror, his attention landing on her reflection. “Doctor Montgomery should be back soon with that coffee.”
Deflecting. Again. Every time Claire got close to something real, he pulled back.
“Wolf—”
“Tell me how you track killers,” he said, turning to face her. “Your process. step by step.”
Claire sighed but accepted that he was a closed book.
For now. She was a profiler, and soon, she’d figure him out.
“I look at victimology—who they target, why—and apply pattern analysis. Then I look at geographic profiling—where they hunt. Behavioral markers—escalation patterns, cooling-off periods. I put it all together and build a psychological profile. It includes what drives them, what triggers them, and what they need.”
“And once you have that?”
“It’s more science than art, but once I have all of that, I’m more accurate at predicting their next move. If the team agrees, we set up surveillance on likely targets or locations and wait for them to make a mistake.”
Wolf crossed his arms over his impressive chest and leaned back on the wall. “What if we don’t wait?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Countdown Killer wants you. He’s obsessed with you. What if we use that?”
Claire’s pulse sped up. “You mean as bait?”
“I mean, we set a trap. Make him come to us on our terms.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Claire leaned forward. “What if I reach out to him? Post something online where he’d see it. Something that makes him think I want to meet. To end this. To finish what started fifteen years ago.”
“No.” Wolf’s voice was steel.
“Why not? It makes tactical sense. He’s looking for me anyway. This way we control—”
“No.” He pushed off the wall. “You’re not dangling yourself in front of a serial killer.”
“I’m an FBI agent. I’ve done undercover work before.”
“Not with someone who’s obsessed with killing you specifically.”
“That’s exactly why it would work.”
“That’s exactly why it’s too dangerous.” His eyes were hard. “We’ll set a trap, but not with you as bait.”
“Then how?”
“We use the spyware against him. He had access to your phone. He thinks he knows you. Knows how you communicate. We use the phone to send messages he believes come from you.”
“You pretend to be me.”
A nod. “I respond to his next message. Tell him I’m tired of running. He’s outsmarted me and the entire FBI. I want to meet face-to-face.”
“He’ll know it’s not me.”
“Will he? He’s been watching you from a distance.
Reading your texts. Your emails. Does he know how you think when you’re cornered?
Even if he’s one of your coworkers, he can’t predict how you’ll react.
Taking the doctor’s theory into account, he’s only ever seen you as a fourteen-year-old victim or a competent FBI profiler. I can pretend to be you.”
“This is insane.”
“This is tactical.”
Vivi entered with a tray—three cups of coffee, sandwiches, and a concerned expression.
“How are you feeling?” she asked Claire.
“Better. Thank you.”
She set down the tray, handed Claire a coffee loaded with cream and sugar. “Drink. You need the calories, and the sugar will help stabilize you.”
Claire sipped. It was too sweet, but warm. Grounding. “Wolf was just explaining his plan to trap the Countdown Killer, using my phone to lure him in.”
Vivi glanced at Wolf with a quirked brow. “How?”
Wolf shrugged. “If he sends another message, I respond as Claire. I can set up a meeting. Somewhere we control. Somewhere we can take him alive.”
“You want to take him alive?” Claire asked.
Wolf snagged a cup of coffee and smiled. “Dead men can’t tell us if they were at Lily’s murder or if there are more victims we don’t know about. You need closure. You need to bring him to justice.”
Vivi considered this. “It has merit. The Countdown Killer is arrogant. He’s been playing games with you for months. If you offer to meet on his terms, he might take the bait.”
“I hate this plan,” Claire said. “But it might work.”
“We’d need the right trigger,” Vivi said. “Something that would make Claire reaching out believable.”
“The anniversary,” Claire said quietly. “I could say I want to end it on the anniversary. Poetic justice. He’ll eat that up.”
Wolf’s eyes were dark. “Exactly.”
They sat in silence for a moment, drinking and eating while they all stewed over the plan.
A phone buzzed. All three of them froze.
“Is that yours?” Wolf asked her.
Claire pulled out her Bureau-issued phone. Looked at the screen.
Unknown Number.
Her hands shook as she unlocked it and read the text message.
The world fell silent, a roaring in her ears blocking it out.
Bobby couldn’t save her either.
The phone slipped from Claire’s fingers.
Wolf caught it. Read the message. His face went gray. Something terrible flickered behind his eyes.
“Why would he say that?” she asked. “Bobby wasn’t even in town that weekend.”
Wolf said nothing. Just stared at the message as if it had physically wounded him.
Vivi took the phone. Read it. Looked at Wolf with an expression Claire couldn’t read.
“He knows about Lily’s brother,” Vivi said. “That’s not a surprise, but it is interesting that our killer would mention him.”
Claire bolted upright. “Oh god. What if he’s gone after Bobby? What if—”
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Wolf said. “We need to stay focused on you.”
Claire’s mind raced, ignoring him. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him since the funeral. He’d be... what, thirty-three now? He could be anywhere.”
“We’ll look into it,” Wolf said. “Don’t worry about him.”
“He could be in danger. Why else would the Countdown Killer mention him?” Claire asked.
Wolf’s eyes met hers. They were shuttered, but she saw anger and something that reminded her of resolve behind them. “Because he wants you to think that no one can save you,” he said. “Not the FBI. Not Shadow Point.” His voice dropped. “Not Bobby.”
The coffee turned sour in her stomach. “Well, he’s wrong. First of all, I don’t need saving, and secondly…” Her gaze stayed locked on Wolf. “I’ve got you.”