I See You (Criminal Profiler #2) - Mary Burton Page 0,28

the identification. Now, Ms. Prince is Alexandria PD Homicide’s case.”

“Thanks, Manny. I owe you a round.”

“Make it two.” In the background, a phone began to ring. “Got to go.”

“Thanks, baby.”

When the phone went dead, she pressed it to her chest and paced around the room. She owed Vaughan a phone call on this mysterious text, and she would tell him about it. Soon.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Tuesday, August 13, 5:30 a.m.

Northern Virginia

The Day Of

The instant Vaughan woke, he knew she was gone. He should not have been surprised. She never stayed long, but he’d thought last night would be different.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and instantly spotted the note on the mirror. It was written on the back of the fast-food receipt in fluid and graceful handwriting.

Called a car. Didn’t want to wake you.

Spencer. He knew how to make that woman’s body tighten with desire and how to make her moan in a way that told him she was fully attuned to his body. But beyond that, she was still a complete stranger.

He flicked the edge of the note, surprised he had not awoken. Since he had become a cop and father, he had turned into a light sleeper. Both incarnations, like a doctor on call, were summoned at all times of the day and night. His ability to shake off sleep in seconds and then think clearly was well honed. But yesterday had been long, even for him.

He laid the note on his dresser as he glanced at the pillow that still held the impression of her head. It was not like him to be sentimental, but he was sorry he likely would not see her for a while.

He showered, and fifteen minutes later he was dressed, his badge and sidearm on his belt. As the coffee brewed, he scrambled five eggs before he realized Nate was gone. He toasted a bagel and ate alone at the kitchen table.

He filled a travel mug with more coffee and was on the road by six o’clock. Moonlight mingled with the lights looming over I-395 as he looped around the beltway and headed north toward his exit. The traffic was already building, and soon it would slow to a snail’s pace.

With luck, the first wave of files from the Prince case would be in his office. He had been warned that there were a dozen file boxes, but he did not care. He also had the autopsy of the Jane Doe stabbed to death in the motel room to attend. It was going to be another long day.

Fifteen minutes later, he had parked and was in the break room, refilling his coffee. When he flipped on the lights of his office, there were six file boxes stacked in front of his desk. A green sticky note read More to come.

It was too early to call the medical examiner about his Jane Doe from the motel room, so he set his cup down and flipped through the first set of files.

He spent the next hour and a half reading through the detectives’ notes. At the time of Marsha’s disappearance, the detectives had exhausted every lead and tip that had come into the station, but in the end came up with nothing.

Vaughan juxtaposed the image of the blackened skull in the trunk and the smiling face of Marsha Prince. Only a monster would do this to a young, vibrant girl who had been Vaughan’s son’s age when she’d died.

When Nate had been a little boy, he had wanted assurance that monsters were not real. Before Vaughan could confirm they were, his ex-wife had been quick to tell the boy that they were only in storybooks. But Nate had been savvy enough to know even then that she had lied. When Vaughan had been tucking Nate into bed that night, the boy had asked his father about the monsters.

Vaughan could not lie and had simply said, “I got your six, pal.”

“I got yours, too, Dad.”

A knock on Vaughan’s door brought his attention to the present. Detective Cassidy Hughes stood in the doorway. He had worked with Hughes for a year now, and the two got on well. Short with a sinewy frame, Hughes had curly hair and always dressed in well-fitting clothes. Today it was snug jeans, a silk blouse, and heeled boots.

“Stop whatever you’re doing,” she said.

He cleared his throat and shut the dead girl’s file. “What’s up?”

“A real shit storm of biblical proportion.”

Zoe stood in her kitchen, drinking coffee and staring