Given that Genevieve probably wasn’t the only tipsy person in Club Muse that night, I wasn’t terribly surprised. It was scary to think how easy it might have been to lead a drugged girl out of the bathroom, down the hallway, and out the door.
“Nine seconds,” Sloane said. “Even if you account for a sluggish gait on Genevieve’s part, the distance between the bathroom and the closest exit is small enough that someone could have gotten her out of here in nine seconds.”
This UNSUB was meticulous. A planner.
“Okay, kiddies, playtime’s over.” Agent Locke had done an admirable job of fading into the background and letting us work, but clearly, she was on a timetable. “For what it’s worth, I reached the same conclusion you did. Two of the previous victims had traces of GHB in their systems. The UNSUB most likely slipped something into Genevieve’s drink and walked her right out the emergency exit with no one the wiser.”
Belatedly, I realized that Dean still had his arm wrapped around my waist. A second later, he must have realized the same thing, because he pulled away from me and took a step back.
“Any sign of the UNSUB outside?” he asked.
It was easy to forget that I wasn’t actually here as a profiler. I was here as bait, and the FBI was hoping I’d bring the killer straight to them.
“Plainclothes agents are canvassing the streets as we speak,” Agent Locke told us, “masquerading as volunteers, handing out flyers, and looking for people who might have information about Genevieve’s disappearance.”
Dean leaned back against the wall. “But you’re really just making a list of the people who approach the agents?”
Locke nodded. “Got it in one. I’m even patching a video feed through to Michael and Lia back at the house so they can analyze anyone who approaches.”
Apparently, Locke wasn’t above taking advantage of the director’s authorization to involve Naturals in this case.
She pushed a strand of stray hair out of her face. “Cassie, we need you to make a few more appearances outside. I’d have you handing out flyers if I thought we could get away with it, but even I’m not willing to push Briggs that far.”
I tried to put myself in the UNSUB’s shoes. He’d wanted me out of the house; I was out of the house. He’d wanted me involved in this case; now I was standing in the middle of the crime scene.
“Have you seen everything you need to see here?” Agent Locke asked me.
I glanced over at Dean, who was still keeping his distance.
“No.” I didn’t explain myself to Agent Locke. I didn’t have an explanation. But I knew in my gut that we couldn’t leave yet. If this was part of the UNSUB’s plan, if the UNSUB had wanted me to come here …
“We’re missing something.”
Something the UNSUB would have expected me to see. Something I was supposed to find, something that was supposed to hold meaning for me.
Slowly, I turned around, taking in the three-sixty view once more. I looked under the sink. I ran my fingers gingerly along the edges of the broken mirror.
Nothing.
Methodically, I raked my eyes over the graffiti on the walls. Initials and hearts, curse words and slurs, doodles, song lyrics …
“There.” A single line of text caught my eye. At first, I didn’t even read the words. All I saw were the letters: not quite cursive and not quite print, the same hyperstylized handwriting as on the cards that came with each black box.
The sentence cut off there. Frantically, I ran my finger over the wall, sorting through text, looking for that handwriting to pick up again.
A phone number. My heart skipped a beat, but I forced myself to keep going: up and down the walls of the bathroom, looking for another line.
Another clue.
I found it near the mirror.
“Cassie?” Agent Locke cleared her throat. I ignored her. There had to be more. I started at the top and went through all of the graffiti again. Once I was sure there was nothing else, I walked out of the bathroom to get some air. Locke, Dean, and Sloane had been joined by Agent Briggs.
“We need you to make another appearance outside, Cassie.” Agent Briggs clearly considered that an order.
“The UNSUB’s not there,” I told them.
The FBI thought that by bringing me here, they’d been laying a trap for my killer, but they were wrong. The UNSUB was the one laying a trap for us.
“I need a pen,” I said.
After several seconds, Briggs gave me a pen.
“Paper?”
He removed a notebook from his lapel pocket and handed it to me.
“The UNSUB left us a message,” I said, but what I really meant was that he’d left
I scrawled the words onto the page, then handed it to Briggs.
“It matches the cards,” I told him. The way my name had looked in the killer’s script was burned into my mind. “I’m sure.”
To them, the cards were evidence. But to me, they were personal. Without even thinking about it, I reached for my cell phone.
“What are you doing?” Dean asked me.
I pressed my lips into a firm line. “Calling the number.”
Nobody stopped me.
I hung up, looked down at the floor, then shook my head.
“No area code,” Sloane said. “Are we thinking DC? Virginia? Maryland? That’s eleven possible area codes within a hundred-mile radius.”
“Starmans.” Agent Briggs was on his cell phone immediately. “I’m going to read you a telephone number. I need you to try it with every area code within a three-hour driving distance of this location.”
“Can I see your phone, Cassie?” Sloane’s request distracted me from Briggs’s conversation. Unsure why she wanted it, I handed her my phone. She stared at it for a minute, her lips moving rapidly, but no sounds coming out. Finally she looked up. “It’s not a phone number—or at least, not one you’re supposed to call.”
I waited for an explanation. She obliged.
“567-3524. On a telephone, five, six, three, two, and four each correspond to three letters on the keypad.
