Picture Perfect Murder. Rachel Dylan
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herself. She’d been so engrossed in her work she couldn’t remember.
Another loud bark from Grace had Lily moving quickly through the kitchen. Even though it was dark, there was still a thread of moonlight coming in through the kitchen windows. Enough light for her to locate her butcher block and grab the biggest knife she had.
Lily knew she wasn’t like most women. She’d spent five years in the CIA on highly dangerous operations overseas. But she’d never confronted danger in her own home. Although she wasn’t afraid, she was angry at the possibility that someone had dared to invade her privacy. She clenched the knife in her right hand, ready to fight off any attacker.
Then she reached into the kitchen drawer, grabbed a flashlight with her left hand and scanned the bright light over the living room. Nothing.
Was it possible that there was just a power outage in the area? Possible, yes, but that wouldn’t explain Grace’s incessant barking. Grace stood beside her, now on high alert. The young Labrador was loyal and courageous, even if she still needed a bit of training.
Lily had had enough. She wanted to end this. “I’m calling the cops right now,” she said loudly. “So you better get out of my house or show yourself, you coward.”
She didn’t have a landline, and her cell phone was in her bedroom. But the intruder didn’t know that. Assuming there was an intruder. For a moment, she strained to listen but couldn’t hear any noise now. She took a few steps back into the kitchen.
The lights flickered on and her microwave beeped, signaling the return of power to her house. Quickly, she ran up the steps to grab her gun from the nightstand, just to be on the safe side. Then she intended to clear the house room by room, as she had done many times before on missions.
But first she grabbed her cell and dialed 911, reporting to the operator that there was an intruder and she needed help right away. While she felt she could hold her own, she wasn’t an idiot and would welcome some backup right now. Then her lights turned off again. Something was definitely wrong.
She quickly gave her address to the operator. She heard a sound behind her one second too late. Strong arms grabbed on to her, ripping her phone out of her hand. She didn’t hesitate to act. Using years of self-defense and martial arts training, she was able to break his initial hold. Her response seemed to catch him off guard. He must’ve assumed that she would be a pliant victim. This man had no idea what she was capable of. He’d picked the wrong house to break into tonight.
It was dark in her bedroom, but she could see the outline of her assailant. She mentally cataloged what she could discern of his physical appearance. Male, approximately six feet tall and wearing a dark ski mask. She couldn’t even get a good look at his eyes because she was too busy fighting him off.
She landed a hard right kick into his side, and he grunted loudly in pain. Not waiting for him to recover, she steadied herself into position and got in one more strong kick that made him stagger backward a few steps.
“The cops will be here any minute,” she told him. Backup was on the way. But instead of what she was used to, other CIA agents backing her up—or stabbing her in the back—this would be the police.
She reached for the Glock from inside the bedside table drawer as her attacker took a few more steps back and then turned to run. He must have realized that the police had to be close to her house by now.
With the gun in her hands, she ran out of her room after him. He deserved to be arrested and face justice for what he’d done. Because if he’d done this to her, chances were he was a repeat offender.
But as she started down the stairs, she twisted her ankle and hit the ground hard. She groaned loudly. The attacker was going to get away. And there was nothing she could do about it.
* * *
FBI special agent Rex Sullivan looked over at Atlanta Police Department officer Sean Bishop, who had offered to give him a ride home. The FBI had been called in last week because the APD felt they had sufficient evidence to indicate that a potential serial killer was on the loose. Rex had been picked up earlier at the FBI field office and taken to the latest crime scene.
The woman’s body had been discovered that afternoon, but she definitely hadn’t been killed today. Due to the advanced state of decomposition, the coroner was placing the time of death at about two weeks ago. The victim had lived alone in a rental condo. Sadly, no one had reported the young woman missing, and it took her rent not being paid before the landlord entered the condo to find her lifeless body.
Another innocent victim of a totally heinous crime. Profiling and catching these twisted criminals was Rex’s specialty. The perpetrators were most often male. And they typically possessed a lethal combination of the ability to blend in with society and the skills to be a cold-blooded killer.
The young officer with him was trying to hold it together after visiting the grisly murder scene that the FBI and APD were working together. But with the images fresh in his mind, Rex had to admit that he didn’t look forward to going to bed, either. So when an emergency call had come across the radio a few minutes ago, Rex was actually relieved that they were close to the location where it came from.
“Thanks for understanding,” Sean said.
“Totally understand. And I won’t do anything to interfere. This is your jurisdiction.” Rex was just happy to have the diversion.
“We don’t even know the full details yet. Just that there was a distress call from a female citing a possible intruder and then the 911 operator lost contact. We’ll be there soon, but back to today’s crime scene for a minute, this makes murder number three in two months all with a similar MO,” Sean said. “This guy doesn’t show any sign of stopping. I’m guessing that after tonight, the FBI will officially label this guy a serial killer, right?”
Rex rubbed his chin. “I’m leaning toward that assessment, yes. We have three victims so far. All the women in their mid to late twenties, all living alone. All three of the victims had long, dark hair and light-colored eyes. But beyond that, my team is going to be working on finding other connections between the victims. It will be important to determine if there are ties between them or if he’s just targeting randomly based upon looks.”
Sean pulled the police car to a stop in front of the designated address. A two-story house with a big front porch. “This is it. Let’s go check it out.”
Rex didn’t normally work active scenes. He was usually called in after the fact, once a murder had been committed. But he had finished at the top of his class at Quantico and had seen some heavy field action in his first couple of years. So he felt more than prepared to go in, and there was no way he was sending Sean into this house without backup.
They ran up the porch steps and entered the front door, which had been left unlocked. That first tidbit of information already had Rex uneasy.
“Atlanta Police. Anyone here?” Sean yelled.
Rex was met with a barking yellow Lab running full steam ahead, fur flying. The dog jumped up and put its paws on him. It seemed friendly but agitated. Probably from whatever had happened at the house. “It’s okay,” he told the Lab. “We’re here to help.”
“I’m up here,” a female voice yelled loudly.
Rex followed the voice to the top of the stairs. And that was when he saw her. A beautiful woman with long, wavy, dark hair and bright blue eyes. A chill shot down his arm when he realized that she looked astonishingly like his other three murder victims.
“I’m Special Agent Rex Sullivan with the FBI, and this is Officer Sean Bishop with the Atlanta Police Department.”
Sean crouched down beside her on the stairs. “The ambulance is on its way, ma’am. What happened?”
“I was attacked,” she said. “The man got away.”
“What’s your name?” Rex asked.
“Lily Parker.”
Just