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  Finally inside the station, she held on tightly to her suitcase, and watched as the others on her bus were greeted with hugs and pats on the back. Still she did not see Anthony. A light touch on her arm caused Alison to spin around. Anthony?

  A heavy woman in a black hoodie smiled at her and asked, "Are you Alison?"

  Alison looked up, confused. "Yes, my name is Alison."

  "Hello, Alison. I'm Mrs. Burns. Anthony's mom," she said quickly, as if she were in a hurry. "Anthony got tied up and asked me to pick you up."

  "Oh," Alison said with obvious disappointment.

  "Now, now, you'll see him soon. Is this your only suitcase?"

  "Yes. It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Burns," Alison offered politely.

  But Mrs. Burns was already walking away, pulling Alison's suitcase behind her. Alison hurried after her. Soon they reached the door that led to a small parking lot. Alison followed Mrs. Burns to a small dark green car and helped her push the heavy suitcase into the trunk.

  Once they were in the car, Alison repeated, "It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Burns. Thanks for picking me up."

  Mrs. Burns gave her a little nod, and then turned the key in the ignition to start the car. She backed up the car to turn around, and headed toward Main Street.

  Mrs. Burns drove in silence as Alison took in her new surroundings. They were in the outskirts of town when Mrs. Burns braked for a stop sign. Suddenly the back door ripped open, and a man in a ski mask burst inside.

  "What the...?" Terrified Alison whipped around in her seat, choking back a cry. Mrs. Burns just sat in the driver's seat looking straight ahead.

  "Hello, Alison. I've waited a long time to meet you."

  She opened her mouth to scream just as his stun gun slammed against her neck, causing her to collapse in her seat.

  "Damn it. What are you doing here? You couldn't wait until I got her home?!" Erin shouted.

  "Shut the fuck up and drive. Now!" He pulled the lever at the side of Alison's seat that lowered the back. With both hands under her arms, he pulled her limp body into the back seat and yanked a roll of duct tape from his jacket.

  <><><>

  Chapter Three

  Fat droplets of rain streamed down the window of the airport Starbucks as hurried travelers grabbed their Cafe Mochas and rushed toward their gate. Brody sipped his cappuccino and did some people-watching while Cameron read email on his laptop. The scent of newly brewed coffee and freshly baked chocolate chip cookies wafted in the air, as the friendly chatter of travelers competed with the thick whirr of the frothing machine.

  Cameron was the first to break the silence. "I still can't believe you're flying to Florida to talk to some ex-FBI agent turned consultant who could very well tell you to take a hike."

  "This is one of those situations where I can't take 'no' for an answer. It will go better in person." Brody's expression was serious, his eyes filled with determination. "Besides, who could refuse to help us? We've got a monster who's already killed four girls. He won't stop. Serial killers can't. There will be more murders unless he's stopped."

  "How much do you know about this consultant?"

  "I know he helped Tim Brennan solve a serial murder case in his county last year. Brennan recommends him. That's all I need to know."

  "So Sheriff Brennan is still your mentor?"

  "Yeah, he's the best. I'm one of the youngest sheriffs in the state. I got lucky when Tim Brennan took me under his wing. He's one of the smartest men I've ever met," Brody said.

  Brody remembered the first time he met Tim Brennan. Tim had rushed to the hospital when he'd received word Brody's mother had been shot. The two men were in the hospital waiting room when the E.R. doctor appeared and told them she wouldn't make it. A bond between the two had taken Brody through the rough days of caring for his brothers while attending the police academy, until now, when Brody was searching for a monster.

  Cameron gulped down the rest of his coffee and asked, "Brody, how the hell did you get the county commission to approve funding for a consultant? It wasn't too long ago they voted against getting laptops for patrol cars because they thought they were toys."

  "It was easier than I thought it'd be. First, they're scared shitless about the murders. Second, I told them Sheriff Brennan recommended this particular consultant. It seems that was all Commission President, Bradley Lucas needed to hear. Apparently, he and Tim have been friends since grade school."

  A ping sounded from Cameron's laptop. He opened the email and read it aloud to Brody, "A missing person report has been filed in Indianapolis. Thirteen-year-old Alison Brown has been missing for two days, last seen at her residence in Indianapolis. The preteen may be a runaway."

  Brody scrubbed his hands over his face. "Christ, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

  "That this kid may have run away to meet our killer? Yes. I'll contact the mother for details while you're gone."

  A female voice over a loud speaker announced that the AirTran flight to Orlando would leave in fifteen minutes. Brody gulped the rest of his coffee, grabbed his navy duffle bag, and threw the empty cup in a garbage bin.

  "Good luck, Brody," Cameron said.

  Brody gave his brother a brief hug. "Keep an eye on things until I return."

  <><><>

  Brody pulled up in front of a two-story gray house in a nice neighborhood with palm trees lining the streets. Flicking on the interior car light, he checked the address he'd been given. It was the correct address, so he parked his rental car in the driveway. There were lights on inside the house, which was encouraging, for he had a critical need to talk to the resident.

  Impatiently, he rang the doorbell several times, and then pounded his fist against the front door. Damn it. He had not come all the way from Indiana to Florida to miss talking with this guy. He had to be home. Brody desperately needed his help before another teenage girl lost her life. Sheriff Tim Brennan had written to him about how good this guy was, and if Brennan recommended him, he had to be excellent. Brody hammered at the door again, before peeking through the front window. There was no one inside, but from his position he could see open sliding glass doors leading to the backyard.

  From the side yard, he opened the iron gate to the back of the house. The second he entered the backyard, he noticed a woman diving into an Olympic-sized pool. Transfixed, he watched her as she swam to the far end of the pool, and then kicked-off to swim to the other end, this time on her back. Her naked body, slick from the water, glowed in the moonlight. The tiny glittering lights surrounding the pool made her look ethereal as she sliced through the water.

  He should do the gentlemanly thing and leave, but he couldn't move. His frozen legs seemed attached to the ground. He could barely breathe as she lifted herself out of the water. With long black hair as shiny as glass, she had an athletic build, with full, uplifted breasts, curved hips and endless legs. His jeans grew tighter as his arousal strained against the zipper of his jeans.

  Moving to a deck chair, she wrapped a white towel around her body—then picked up a serious-looking handgun that she aimed at his chest.

  "I don't know who you are or why you're in my yard, but I've got a little secret I'd like to share with you," she began. "In the past two years, I've shot two men. Neither man is here to talk about it."

  Brody stiffened as a wave of apprehension hit him full-force. He'd been shot before, remembered it well, and had no desire to repeat the experience. He cleared his throat and said, "I apologize if I frightened you. I pounded on the front door, but no one answered."

  "That doesn't tell me who you are and why you are here," she returned, assuming one of the best shooting stances he'd ever seen.

  He hesitated for a second, and then responded, "I'm Sheriff Brody Chase from Morel, Indiana, in Shawnee County. I'm here to see Carl Stone."

  She quirked her eyebrow questioningly, and asked, "Who told you Carl Stone lived here?"

  "A fellow Indiana county sheriff gave me the name and address in an email
. Tim Brennan's his name," he replied.

  She slowly lowered the gun. "Sounds like Sheriff Brennan made a typo. It's Carly Stone that you're looking for. Why do you want to talk to me?"

  "You're Tim's consultant?" Brody asked, with an element of surprise in his voice.

  "My brother, Blake Stone, is a detective on Tim's team. Last year, he and his wife, Jennifer, did all the work to track down the killer. I just gave them a kind of psychological road map."

  "I need to talk to you," Brody said as he moved closer.

  She held up a hand. "Not here. There's an IHOP Restaurant down the road. I'll meet you there in an hour."

  <><><>

  Brody spotted Carly Stone as soon as she walked into the restaurant. Her dark hair was tightly pulled back into a bun, and she wore a no-nonsense, buttoned-up white blouse with a tailored denim jacket and khakis. Carly Stone looked all business. If only he could vanquish the image of her luscious nude body he'd seen back at her pool. One thing he didn't need right now was a distraction. And Ms. Carly Stone had the potential to be one hell of a distraction.

  As she strode toward his table, he took in her exotic dark eyes, high cheek bones and olive skin. Carly seemed to know the waitress and chatted amiably until she reached him. He stood up next to the table to greet her.

  With an outstretched hand, Brody said, "Let's start over. I'm Sheriff Brody Chase from Morel, in Shawnee County, Indiana."

  Carly clasped his hand and said, "I'm Carly Stone, ex-federal agent and current consultant. Nice to meet you."

  Brody politely pulled out her chair until she sat down, and then returned to his own.

  "I apologize for being late. I had a couple of calls to make."

  "I didn't notice. Just glad you're here," he said. This was a lie. She was exactly eleven minutes late and he had wondered if she was going to show. "I bet I can guess one of the people you called."

  "Psychic?"

  He ignored her remark and said, "Sheriff Tim Brennan."

  "You're good." Carly said with a grin. "I called Tim Brennan and my brother, Blake Stone."

  Brody's serious face broke into a smile. "What did Sheriff Brennan tell you about me?"

  "Tim said he's known you for a long time and that you are a good man and an excellent sheriff who needs my help."

  "Does that mean you're going to take the job?"

  "Not necessarily."

  "So you called Tim to make sure I was on the up and up?"

  "Of course, I did. Do you really think I make a habit of meeting with Peeping Toms?"

  Under her glare, Brody squirmed in his seat. "I've come all the way from Indiana because my county needs your help finding a serial killer. When you didn't answer your front door, I decided to check the back to see if you were home."

  "And how long did you stand there while I was in the pool?"

  Brody's embarrassment quickly turned into annoyance. Luckily a waitress arrived for their order.

  "Carly, what will you have?" she asked, as she withdrew a small pad and pencil from her apron pocket.

  "I'll have a cheese omelet, no hash browns, and a slice of bacon," Carly said without looking at the menu.

  "So, your usual?" the waitress chided.

  "Yes, Gracie, my usual, and keep the coffee coming."

  Gracie turned to Brody. "You don't look like any of the men Carly's brought in here before. You're much better looking and not wearing a navy Brooks Brothers suit."

  "Gracie!" It was Carly's turn to be embarrassed, and she colored fiercely.

  "But I'm betting you're in law enforcement. Am I right?" Gracie paused, and then added, "Did anyone ever tell you that you look a lot like that actor on True Blood? I think Joe Manganiello is his name."

  Brody glanced at Carly's shocked face, grinned and said, "Yes, I'm in law enforcement and I'd like scrambled eggs, bacon, hash browns, and a refill on my coffee."

  "Coming right up," Gracie said with a giggle, and headed back to the kitchen.

  "I am so sorry," Carly began.

  "No need to apologize. It was worth it to see you blush," said Brody with a grin of amusement.

  "I am not blushing," she insisted.

  "Are too."

  "Am not. Let's talk about your case. I have some questions."

  "Ask away."

  "Tim said you've had four murders in the past two years. Tell me about them."

  "They were all preadolescent females. The first two bodies were dumped, one in a farmer's field, the other in a ditch alongside a country road."

  "And the last two?" asked Carly.

  Gracie arrived at their table to fill their coffee mugs, so Brody paused until she left. "We found the last two in a car that had been set on fire. They'd each been shot in the back of the head, execution-style."

  "So the fire was set to cover up the murders?"

  "I think so, and the killer didn't do that great of a job." Brody lifted his coffee mug and sipped.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The car fire was discovered before it had a chance to completely burn the bodies. We were able to get identification of each girl from the autopsies."

  "So what's the connection between the four murders?" she asked, wanting to put all the pieces together.

  "For one thing, they were all preteen girls. We don't have identification of the first two. The two bodies in the car fire were identified as Sophia Bradford and Amanda Jenkins. They were both thirteen-years-old and from opposite ends of the state. Sophia stole her sister's car, but we don't know yet how Amanda got to Morel."

  "How long had the two girls been missing?"

  "Sophia was missing for nine months. Amanda for a year and a half," Brody answered, as he ran a hand through his thick hair and sighed.

  "Your killer is holding them somewhere, probably in your county," Carly predicted. "Any similarities between the two girls?"

  "Both girls were unhappy at school and spent a lot of alone-time on their computers. Sophia's mother said she received a box in the mail she was secretive about. It was a web cam, but her mother didn't know who sent it. They both took their laptops and cell phones when they disappeared."

  "It sounds like our guy may be finding and communicating with the girls online," said Carly. "Did you get any pings on the cell phones?"

  "We got a hit on Amanda's phone just outside Terre Haute, and then nothing. Same thing happened with Sophia's cell. Once she got outside Gary, she either turned it off or removed the battery."

  "Most teenage girls would not think to do this to avoid being tracked by the cell phone's GPS."

  "I agree. I think the killer instructed them to do it."

  "An online killer?"

  Brody nodded his head in agreement and said, "What are your initial thoughts?"

  "I need to study all of your evidence before I can give you anything conclusive," said Carly.

  "Off the top of your head?"

  "My initial thought is sex trafficking. If I'm right, there are a lot more girls involved. Could be twenty or more. It could be the dead girls disobeyed him in some way and were made an example for the others."

  Brody rubbed the tense muscles in the back of his neck before responding. "Christ, I hope you're wrong."

  "I could very well be wrong. I can't make an analysis until I review your evidence file. Did you bring it with you?"

  "Yes, it's out in the car."

  "Good, I can start reviewing it on the plane."

  "Does that mean you'll take the case?"

  "Yes. When do we fly to Indiana?"

  "Tomorrow," said Brody as he slid an airplane ticket across the table.

  She held the ticket up and asked, "Are you always so sure of yourself, Sheriff Chase?"

  "We need your help to track and stop a monster. I couldn't return without you."

  <><><>

  They were seated near the front of the airplane, though not in first class, so Brody couldn’t stretch his long legs. He sat next to Carly, and was engrossed in a copy of USA TODAY
. She took the opportunity to check him out. She would have to be blind not to notice how attractive he was. He wore a white polo shirt with his county sheriff insignia, along with faded jeans. The sheriff was at least six feet two inches with the promise of hard, lean muscle under his leather jacket and faded jeans. Gracie was right. He did resemble actor Joe Manganiello with his dark brown eyes, rough edges, and a punch of pure masculinity few men possess. He had this magnetism thing going that made her feel very female, which was such a change from the federal agents she was used to working with.

  Brody finished his paper, folded it, and turned to Carly.

  "Why haven't you asked me about how much we can pay you?"

  "Because I didn't take the case for money."

  "Then why did you take it?"

  "For several reasons. The first is the case interests me. What kind of a monster targets preteen girls? When it comes to helping you stop this pervert, I'm in. The second reason is that Morel is only forty-five minutes away from my brother and his family, and I hope to visit them. I miss him, and he has a new baby and five-year-old son who I'm dying to spend more time with. So when it comes to the money, I don't care. It's just icing on the cake."

  "Your brother has a new five-year-old son?" Brody asked, his dark eyebrows raised inquiringly.

  "It's a long story, but Blake and Jennifer adopted the most amazing little boy. I met him briefly in January when I flew in to see the new baby, Mylee. We had an instant connection, and I can't wait to see Shawn."

  "Sounds great. We don't have any kids in our family yet."

  "Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

  "I've got two brothers. Cameron is thirty-three and the lead detective on my team. Gabriel is twenty-seven and runs a private investigation company."