about that case I recommended you for. Give me a call on my cell. I have a couple questions. Oh, and if you’re free tomorrow, let’s do a late lunch, before I fly back to San Francisco.”
That done, she turned off the shower, exited the bathroom, tossed the phone on the bed, then began a top-to-bottom search of the room, finding nothing, and telling herself that she really was being paranoid if she thought they’d go to the trouble of placing a bug in her room when all she was here to do was a drawing.
The next morning, as she dressed in her running clothes, she decided her paranoia was merely a result of being tired, until she opened her door at ten A.M. and found Special Agent Griffin standing there as if he’d been waiting outside her room all morning. Then again, maybe there was some camera or listening device hidden somewhere. She almost laughed at the direction of her thoughts, then stepped into the hallway. He gave a questioning look at the sweats she wore.
“Sorry,” she said, with an apologetic shrug. “I’m not doing anything before I get in my run, then eat breakfast.”
“You can run after you finish.”
“My brain functions better this way,” she said, trying to keep her annoyance at bay. She failed. “And unless you want to jog along beside me and hold up that sketchbook, or you feel like employing another sketch artist, you’ll have to wait.”
She double-checked that her cell phone was clipped to the waist of her sweatpants, then swept past him. “Lock the door behind you,” she said, since there was nothing of interest in her things, in case he was so inclined to search through them.
Outside, the air was crisp, cool, but not too cold, even with the snow. Truth be told, she enjoyed the vast parklike grounds and the woods that surrounded Quantico’s academy, and missed the fireflies in the summer. What she didn’t miss was the summer humidity, she thought, choosing a path that led into the trees, away, she hoped, from prying eyes and ears, and allowing some shelter against the light, but melting snow. About ten minutes out, she slowed her pace, and phoned Carillo.
The first thing out of his mouth was, “What the hell are you working on?”
“Why?”
“I’m having a hard time finding any info on this guy. He seem familiar with the academy? Maybe he’s some muckety-muck investigator with the marines.”
“He was introduced as a special agent, so I doubt it.”
“Yeah? Well, there’s a lot of agencies out there that use that title. What sort of case is it?”
“At the moment, I can’t give you details, other than it looks like some ritualistic killer. Like I said, the security around it is tight, and they won’t let me talk about it. But when I can divulge anything, I’ll let you know.”
“If it’s your basic serial killer, why all the secrecy?”
“The million-dollar question.” Sydney thought she heard something behind her. “Hold on,” she said, then paused to listen. It was the slightest of sounds, but it sent a shiver through her. When she turned, she saw nothing.
“What is it?” Carillo asked.
“Probably a deer. Anyway, do me a favor, and keep checking on this guy. I get the feeling that he’s not one of ours.”
“Will do.”
She disconnected, started jogging, and again had that sensation of being watched. When she slowed, she heard nothing, so she quickened her pace, wanting out of the woods now that she no longer had need of privacy. Fifty yards later, she was sure someone was following her. She eyed a swath of needles on the ground where the snow had melted, veered off the path into the trees, making sure she left no tracks, then waited, trying to slow her breathing, hoping not to be overheard. A moment later the cadence of joggers approaching from the opposite direction caught her attention. Two young men wearing FBI Academy sweats ran into view. She stepped out, nodded. “Mind if I join you?”
“Feel free,” one of them said.
She fell in beside them, jogged for a bit, then looked back. And could’ve sworn she saw a figure slip into the woods.
Sydney showered, changed, then headed down to grab a bite to eat at the cafeteria, where Zachary Griffin was waiting. The dining hall wasn’t crowded, the morning rush long since past. No recruits in their blue shirts. Probably all in class. The patrons who remained were probably employees on a break. She recognized no one,