Scene of the Crime: Baton Rouge. Carla Cassidy
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an open mind,” Nicholas said. “At this point we can’t know if the perp is male or female or even a team. We just don’t have enough information to make that call.”
“That’s right,” Alex answered. “Matt and Terry, anything new on your end?”
“Not yet,” Matt replied. “But we’re digging for anything we can find.”
As he continued to reaffirm assignments for the day, Georgina was already eager for the night to come. This was their first real lead and she couldn’t wait for them to follow it.
“Nicholas, get me everything you can on Michelle Davison by noon. Frank, continue to look for other connections between the missing people. Georgina, you and I are going to get the files of the cases that this author showcased in her book and see if we can figure out exactly why she chose these particular cases, these particular agents to write about.”
Georgina nodded. Catching a killer was rarely like it was shown on television, with high-speed chases and shoot-outs in dark alleys.
So much of the work to catch a killer took place in chairs, researching the victims’ lives, going through reports until you were nearly blind, searching the web for something, anything, that might burp up a clue.
Granted, they didn’t know if this particular unsub was a killer or not, but he or she was definitely a serial kidnapper and these cases would be investigated as if they were chasing a killer.
Her gaze drifted up to the bulletin board where the victims’ photos remained. Her focus was drawn to the little girl who had vanished with her parents.
Of all the people showcased on the board, Macy Connelly would be the most expendable. The seven-year-old would be of no use to the kidnapper, especially a kidnapper who claimed to be an FBI-trained serial killer.
Georgina had always loved children, but even when she’d been married she had never envisioned having any of her own. She knew what she was capable of giving and it had never been enough to be a mother.
Still, there was something that haunted her about Macy Connelly, an emotion that skewered deep into her soul. It was as if Macy might have been the daughter she and Alex would have had if Georgina had been different, if she had been whole.
She could only hope and pray that they could solve this case before something tragic happened to the agents and their spouses, before something tragic happened to the blond-haired, blue-eyed little angel who appeared to be personally pleading with Georgina for help.
* * *
THAT EVENING AT SIX-THIRTY when Alexander pulled into Georgina’s driveway and she stepped out on the porch, he was immediately sorry that he’d told her not to dress like an FBI agent, but rather as a woman attending a social function.
She walked toward the car clad in a short, green dress that he recognized as the dress she’d worn on their second date. The only difference was that she’d added a gold belt around the fitted waist.
Didn’t she buy new clothes? Did she even remember that the green dress had been one of his favorites? Probably not. Georgina wasn’t particularly sentimental. She was pragmatic and dealt only in the present. In the brief time he’d been her husband he’d realized she didn’t dwell on the past and she rarely looked to the future. She was always in the here and now, and there had been times during their marriage it had made him slightly crazy.
She opened the passenger door and slid in, gold hoop earrings dancing on her ears as the familiar scent of her perfume filled the air. She exuded a thrumming energy as she greeted him and then buckled her seat belt.
“You look nice,” he said as he backed out of her driveway.
“Thanks, so do you.”
He didn’t look all that different from what he looked like every day. The only difference was his black slacks were paired with a black-and-blue pin-striped shirt instead of the regular white dress shirt. His blazer was the same one that had been slung across the back of a chair for most of the day.
“I’m so excited,” she continued. “We’ve only been at it for a day and already a lead has come to light.”
“We don’t know how good this lead might be,” he replied in an attempt to temper her enthusiasm. “The odds that we’re going to solve these crimes tonight by attending a college bookstore autographing session are pretty minimal.”
“True, but at least it’s a place to start.” She shifted positions to face him more fully. “We’ll solve this one, Alex. We’ll solve it and save every single one of those people.”
The diminutive use of his name felt both familiar and intimate and he shoved away the wave of warmth that suffused him as he heard it. She was the only person in his life who had called him Alex. Both professionally and personally he’d always been Alexander.
“We’re a long way from a solve, but I hope your optimism plays out,” he said gruffly.
Damn her green dress and her use of Alex. The last thing he needed was to get lost in memories, in questions from the past that would splinter his attention. He needed to remain focused on the case and nothing else.
The Baton Rouge College campus was both huge and beautiful. Stately stone buildings were linked together by tree-lined sidewalks, and courtyards with benches invited students to gather for impromptu study sessions or social activities.
The bookstore was along a side street, and Alexander was surprised to discover the parking lot next to it full. He found an open curbside space about a block away and he and Georgina got out of the car to walk in the sultry evening air. “Feels more like early August than September,” Alexander said.
“It is warm. Looks like she’s drawn quite a crowd,” Georgina said.
“Murder and mayhem always sell well,” Alexander replied with a touch of disgust.
Georgina shot him a quick smile. “You can’t blame people for being interested in the same things we are. If the readers who buy these kinds of books are freaks, then that makes you and me super freaks.”
Alexander laughed, knowing that she was right. Neither of them would be where they were if they weren’t drawn to the dark side of humanity.
He fought the impulse to place his hand at the center of her back as they walked side by side, as he used to do. It had always been a proprietary touch and he hadn’t had that right for two years.
Focus, he thought as they entered the door to the busy bookstore. This job was his chance to stanch the nightmares of failure that played over and over again in his head. He was haunted by a single dead young woman; he couldn’t imagine seven people haunting him if he didn’t get this job done right.
Alexander estimated Michelle Davison to be in her mid-thirties. She was an attractive blonde with blue eyes and appeared to be greeting her fans with genuine warmth and friendliness.
There was a long line before her, and as he and Georgina fell into the line, he also noted the man who stood just behind the table where Michelle sat.
Tall and muscular, although he was neatly dressed in slacks and a short-sleeved white shirt, he looked like a thug. A tattoo rode the side of his neck and others crept up his muscled arms. Boyfriend? Bodyguard? Partner in crime?
Alexander couldn’t help the suppositions that raced through his mind. His plan was to buy a book, chat like a customer and then once the signing was over have a more in-depth discussion with the author.
“I didn’t expect this kind of crowd,” he said, leaning closer to Georgina.
“I checked her out before you picked me up. This is her fifth crime book and she’s grown quite popular,” Georgina replied. “You think the guy behind her is her agent?” she asked dryly.
Alexander flashed a tight smile. “I’ve heard that literary agents are tough, especially those from New York City.”
A small laugh