Grace waved goodbye to Elsie Whitmore as Tim finished up with Mr. Berkeley. The day had been filled with a steady stream of clients in need of rehab. She hadn’t expected the patient volume to rise so quickly and she was already considering hiring another physical therapist for part-time hours.

Glancing at the clock, she wondered if Sean was running late. He’d hoped to be here at six for when she closed and then he’d follow her home. If he wasn’t on time, she was to walk across the street to Dan’s apartment above the hardware shop until he arrived. She thought he was being over-protective, but this was his field, and after he’d gotten hit by the car, she understood his caution.

Sean had come back in after informing Dan about the crime scene at the beach house. Grace felt bad because she knew how much the little cottage meant to the older man. And now it was sullied because of a madman, and no amount of good memories would erase the fact that a woman had been brutally murdered and left there.

Sean had filled her in as much as he could, and her heart broke at the frustration he was going through. There were evil people in the world, and being in the FBI, he’d come across many of them, she was sure. But this case was eating at him, and she prayed they got a break soon so the task force and the residents of Dare County could breathe easier again.

Gathering up the top of a plastic garbage bag, she pulled it out of the can it was in and looked around to see if anything else needed to be thrown away. Tim was doing an ultrasound treatment on Mr. Berkeley, which would last several minutes, so Grace started for the back door leading to the alley where the employees working in the few stores on either side of her parked. Most of them would be gone by this time, but a few would still be there. The dumpster for the businesses in her complex was back there.

Opening the door, she made sure it didn’t shut completely behind her, locking her out, by putting a small wedge between it and the door jamb. The dumpster was two stores down to her right, and Grace swung the bag of garbage as a silly tune popped into her head. Maybe she would find a comedy on Netflix tonight for Sean—after the day he had, he could probably use some comic relief.

When she reached the dumpster, she pushed up the lid and threw the bag inside, then let the lid drop again. Before she had a chance to turn around, two arms encircled her from behind. One hand grabbed her waist while the other clamped a cloth over her mouth and nose. A sickeningly, sweet smell filled her nostrils as she reached up and tried to pull the cloth away from her face, clawing at the hand holding it. Grace struggled against the assault, kicking and trying to break free, but her mind began to fog and the strength drained from her limbs, rendering them useless. As she gave one last, futile kick of her leg, her slip-on sneaker flew from her foot. Her body went limp as a heavy darkness overtook her. The last thing she heard before she lost consciousness was a male voice say, “Sleep tight . . . slut.”

* * *

Parking the Mustang in an empty spot in front of Grace’s business, Sean glanced at his watch—6:02. Not bad. With the horrendous day behind him, he was looking forward to cuddling on the couch with the woman he loved, some takeout, a funny movie or show, and Rico purring loudly in the middle of it all. When the cat wasn’t being moody, he loved to lay on the back of the couch behind them and purr in their ears.

He climbed out of his car just as Dan was locking up the hardware store. The older man held up a finger and Sean waited for him to cross the street with Jinx at his side. Tail wagging, the dog sniffed Sean with earnest, probably smelling Rico on his clothes.

“How was the rest of your day?” Dan asked.

Leaning against the hood of the car, Sean crossed his arms. The weight of his frustration and anger apparent on his face. “It sucked. This morning’s victim was the niece of Congressman Holloway, Natalie Bowers. She went to a bachelorette party at a club in Elizabeth City last night and never made it home. Her friends said she met them there and they didn’t see her leave with anyone, but the place was packed. She left early—around 11:00 p.m.—because she was supposed to run in some 5k fundraiser for veterans this morning, but her car was found in the club’s lot this morning. The ME estimated the time of death was sometime between midnight and 2:00 a.m. Her prints were in the system from when her father was a US ambassador to Belgium while she was in her teens. Her parents are on vacation in Hawaii so her name isn’t being released until the morning while they fly back tonight. The congressman notified them by phone a few hours ago.” He shrugged his bad shoulder and grimaced. It had felt better most of the day, but now his neck was stiff with stress and that was affecting the still healing muscles. Grace was planning on massaging it again tonight before putting a heating pad on it. “Anyway, let’s talk about something else. How was your day?”

“Good. Bonnie and I are going out to eat and then to see that new Russell Crowe movie. Want to join us?”

He shook his head. “No, thanks. I just want to go home, kick off my shoes, and order take-out. I’d probably be asleep ten minutes into a movie.”

“I hear ya. So . . .” Sean’s brow furrowed when his uncle’s words trailed off. The man was grinning and had a twinkle in his eyes.

“What?”

Dan shrugged not-so-innocently. “Nothing. Just wondering how things are going for you and Grace.”

“Oh, no.” Sean shook a finger at him. “Don’t start. At least, let me close this case before you and Bonnie start planning our wedding. Speaking of which, you two are spending a lot of time together lately. More so than usual.” He arched a questioning eyebrow. “Something you want to tell the rest of us?”

The man’s smile got even wider. Oh, yeah, there was something going on. “Well, since you asked, I’ve started courting Bonnie.”

A laugh burst from Sean’s chest—the first one since he’d been joking around with Grace that morning. “Courting? Do people still do that nowadays?”

“I don’t care what other people call it or do these days. I courted Annie, although it didn’t last long. We were married two months after we met.”

Sean knew that story well, but he couldn’t imagine going from just meeting someone to wedded bliss eight weeks later—even though that was basically what KC and Moriah had done, give or take a week. Apparently, back in the day, it wasn’t unheard of at all. In fact, his parents had only been “courting” three and a half months before they got engaged. But unlike Dan and Annie’s elopement, Tom and Megan Malone had done the church and reception thing after a six month engagement. “Well, good for you. I’m happy for both of you. But why now after all this time? Annie’s been gone for almost thirty years, and you and Bonnie have been good friends all along.”

This time, Dan shrugged. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. Things just changed for the better between us, and I guess the time was right.”

“So when’s the wedding?” Sean teased.

“Don’t you turn the tables on me, boy. I’m getting all three of you married off before I can relax and settle down. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

“That’s calling the kettle black, old man.” He pushed off the car and clapped his uncle on the back. “Anyway, you and Bonnie have fun. Let me go get Grace and find out what she wants for dinner tonight.”

“I’m right behind you. She called a little while ago and asked me to bring over a wrench after I closed.” He pulled the tool out of his back pocket. “The hose for the washing machine is dripping a little.”

Sean pulled open the door to the business and Jinx rushed past him looking for one of his favorite humans. Grace’s receptionist had left at the end of her shift at 4:00 p.m., so there was no one sitting at the desk. The two men walked back to the therapy room and Sean glance around. The only people there were Tim and an older gentleman, who was in the process of buttoning up his dress shirt, getting ready to leave.

As Dan headed to the laundry room, Sean asked Tim, “Where’s Grace?”

The man pointed toward the back door. “She took the garbage out.” He checked the clock as if suddenly realizing more time had passed than he thought. “Shoot, but that was about ten minutes ago.”

Panicking, Sean set off at a dead run and slammed into the back door, throwing it open. His gaze went everywhere, hoping to find Grace was just talking to someone, having lost track of time. Jinx followed on his heels, and he heard Dan and Tim also come out behind him. Grace was nowhere in sight and her car was still parked in a space in the small lot.

“Grace!” he shouted, then pointed for Dan to head left while he went right, and for Tim to check the car. “Grace!”

Jinx made a beeline to the dumpster two stores down, sniffing like mad, seemingly understanding the urgency of the situation. The dog was the first one to spot the single, white, slip-on shoe Grace had been wearing earlier, and Sean’s heart and stomach sank when he saw it. Jinx sniffed the shoe, then whined and looked up at him in confusion. Leaving the shoe where it was, he pulled out his cell phone and found the number for the direct line to the on duty desk sergeant at the sheriff’s department. Fuck! Please let this be a nightmare or a joke. Please!

When the call was answered, he spoke with authority and a calm he didn’t feel. “This is Special Agent Sean Malone of the FBI. I need the sheriff and BCI to respond immediately to 113 Main Street in Whisper for a kidnapping by an unknown suspect. Grace Whitman, blonde female Caucasian, twenty-seven, last seen wearing khaki pants, navy blue, polo shirt. Abduction took place in the last ten to fifteen minutes, no description on a vehicle or suspect. Also contact Detective Brad Lynch and have him respond.”

After the sergeant confirmed the information, Sean disconnected the phone and turned to find his uncle looking pale and terrified. It was exactly how Sean felt. “Go be with Bonnie. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”

His uncle gave him a stoic nod. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be praying for you both.”

“So will I.” I’m going to pray like the love of my life’s life depends on it. Because it does.

* * *

Pulling the car into the detached garage of his aunt’s home, George got out and shut the overhead door, blocking any view the neighbors might have. He hadn’t known his mother’s sister had ever existed until he was contacted by her lawyer after she’d passed away. The woman had never married and had no children, but her life had been far better than her sibling’s.

After years of disappointing her family left and right with poor decisions, George’s mother had run away from home at seventeen because she believed her dirtbag boyfriend loved her more than her parents had. That dirtbag had apparently been George’s sperm donor and had abandoned his girlfriend faster than he could take a dump when he found out the she was pregnant. Instead of returning to her prim and proper family for help, George’s mother had gone on welfare, and worked her way through a steady stream of johns and boyfriends. Luckily for her son, she hadn’t been into the heavy drugs of heroin and crack until a year or so after he was born.

Whereas his mother had always been a whiny bitch who hadn’t given a crap about anyone but herself, her sister had been a successful businesswoman with a nice, suburban home and an even nicer bank account. How she knew about George and why she hadn’t tried to find him before her death was a mystery that she took to her grave. All her lawyer had was George’s name, date of birth, and an address in Philadelphia where George and his mother had lived when he’d been in elementary school. His aunt had left instructions for a private investigator to be hired to find her only living heir upon her death. While part of him had been thrilled at his windfall, the other part hated the woman for not rescuing him from his crappy childhood.

Opening the trunk, he reached in and lifted the unconscious woman, carrying her up the stairs to the second floor. The large, windowless room had been the first thing he’d renovated in the house. He’d tripled the insulation in the walls, ceiling and floor, making it completely sound proof. It was now the place where the women he abducted became his masterpieces. No matter how much they screamed while he carved them, no one heard them but him; it was music to his ears. This was his playroom. The only one he hadn’t killed in this room since moving from Pennsylvania had been the bitch reporter. He hadn’t wanted to risk her telling anyone she was meeting him for the “exclusive,” and she didn’t deserve to be brought here after the names she’d called him.

The only thing that was still bothering him about this latest snatch was the cameras he’d seen at the firehouse after he’d driven by with his prize in the trunk. A reporter had been talking with some fireman in front of the station. It shouldn’t be a problem though, because there were several cars driving on the street at that time and he was just another person heading home from work or going out to meet some friends.

He dropped the slut unceremoniously onto a plank table in the middle of the room. She would be waking up soon, and he worked quickly to restrain her wrists and ankles. As he finished securing her, his cell phone chirped. One of the other things he’d added to the house was a security system that he could control via his smartphone or computer. The alert was for someone ringing the bell at the front door of the house. Bringing up the picture of whoever was interrupting him, he rolled his eyes when an elderly neighbor from across the street appeared. Fucking pain in the ass. Every time she spotted him arriving at the house, she came over with some request for him to help her out—usually with something that needed to be repaired at her place. Whomever she’d bugged before him was probably thrilled she’d found someone else to annoy. Maintaining his friendly personae around her was getting harder every fucking day. He should just kill the bitch and end his misery.

The alert sounded again. The irritating bitch would continue pressing it until he answered the door—she must wait at her front window just watching for him to pull into the drive. Not worried about the slut screaming, he locked the door behind him and hurried down the stairs. Putting on his “nice neighbor” smile, he exited the garage through the pedestrian door and walked down the driveway instead of going through the house. “Mrs. Pennington? I’m over here.”

Turning away from the door where she’d been about to press the bell again, she looked at him in relief. “Oh, George. There you are. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes or punch her in the face. “Well, I was kind of in the middle of something . . .”

Letting his voice trailed off, he hoped she would get the picture. No such luck.

“Oh, I’m sorry, but I was hoping you could just help me really quickly. My hallway light is out and I’m too old to climb up on a chair to change it. That, and I think I’m too short, even with the chair,” she added with a chuckle.

His laughter at her lame joke was forced and didn’t reach his eyes. He wanted her four-eyed, wrinkled face gone from his sight, but he’d worked hard to make the neighbors in the area think he was just a nice, quiet guy. He even had some of them bringing him dinner and baked goods. Meanwhile, a few had tried to set him up with their daughters, granddaughters, nieces, or friends, which he’d been able to get out of by conjuring up a long-distance relationship. The last thing he needed was anyone thinking he was rude or that something nefarious was going on behind his closed doors, and he still had some time before the slut woke up. “Sure, Mrs. Pennington. I’d be happy to help.”