I See You (Criminal Profiler #2) - Mary Burton Page 0,27
woke up.
She sat on the end of the bed and reached for her laces. As she ducked her head, she had the sense that someone was in the shadows, lurking, watching.
Hadley rose and walked toward her bedroom door. Her sister’s name on her lips as she stared down the long quiet hallway. Her heart pounded in her chest. She listened but heard only the gurgle of the coffee maker downstairs. No one was there. And yet, something was definitely off.
She returned to her bedroom and readied to close and lock the door. But as she took hold of the knob and pushed it closed, the hair on the back of her neck rose. Her skin prickled. And then came the creak of floorboards only a few feet away.
The sound wasn’t coming from the hallway but from behind her.
Someone was in her room.
The phone woke Nikki McDonald, startling her from a hazy, restless sleep. Her body was still buzzing with too much caffeine, and her mind was crammed with ideas about the Marsha Prince story.
She reached automatically for the first of three cells on her nightstand. Blinking away the sleep, she focused on her phone.
What do you think of my tip?
She sat up so quickly the papers piled on her chest slid to the floor. She had received nothing from the tipster who had contacted her early in the summer through her website. And now, he was texting her.
Heart pounding, she drew in a breath. She gave out this cell number to anyone and everyone. It was the number she used when she worked a story, so no surprise that whoever her mystery person was, they had gotten ahold of it.
Nikki texted back: Who is this? How did you know Marsha Prince was in that storage room? She waited for the text bubbles. “Come on. Don’t leave Mama hanging like that.”
And then the trio of rolling bubbles appeared. I know a lot about Marsha Prince.
Who is this?
The bubbles vanished.
She typed, Reward for more information.
“Come on, come on.” She gripped the phone for minutes, staring, waiting, before realizing whoever had contacted her might not be motivated by money. If coins were not going to do the trick, a few ego strokes might.
No one can tell your story like me.
Silence.
She fell back against the mattress, holding the phone to her chest. Whoever this was, this was contact number two. This mystery source was building up his nerve. He wanted something from her but was not ready to ask.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. She dialed her contact in the police department.
“Manny Jackson.”
“Manny, this is Nikki McDonald.”
“Long time no talk.” The rough edges softened as he was likely remembering the multiple rounds of bourbon she had bought him while working the Beltway Bomber story three years ago.
“Been on the move.”
“So I hear.”
She rose and paced, making herself smile. “Hey, Manny, got a favor to ask.”
“You always have a favor to ask.” He sounded more amused than put out.
“Hey, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. Your department came off looking like heroes when I covered the bomber.” The cops had been heroes. In cinematic fashion, they had found the bomb and disarmed it so quickly she had almost been disappointed. A little explosion or fire would have made for great footage, plus more airtime for her.
“You back on the job at the news station? For what it’s worth, the gal who took your place looks like she’s still in high school.”
She pictured the brunette with the smooth olive skin. “Kelsey Jennings was in high school five years ago.”
“Shit.”
“I might have a shot at returning if you help me with this.”
A sigh shuddered over the line. “What do you need?”
“Marsha Prince.”
The beat of silence went from weary to charged, like she had struck a nerve, and it was sending shocks through his body. “What about her?”
This time her grin was real. “Vaughan came to see me today. He told me the skull I found shoved in the gray trunk was Marsha Prince. How did she die?”
He blew out a breath. “If the detectives know, they aren’t telling.”
“How long has she been dead?” When he hesitated, she added, “Do a down-and-out gal a solid, Manny.”
He chuckled. “No one is sure. Now that they know who she is, they’ll run more tests.”
She paced the carpeted floor, glancing in the mirror as she passed. She sucked in her stomach. “What’s the FBI’s involvement?”
“Strictly support at this point. They did the bust and made