“Stephanie?”
She snapped back to the task at hand. “Sorry. Mind wandered. Where are you?”
Declan remained silent.
He’s suspicious.
“Home,” he said finally, his voice resonating with trepidation. “Why?”
“Stay there and don’t touch anything.”
“What?”
Stephanie tucked her phone in her pocket and headed for her car.
Chapter Seven
Last Night
Jamie Moriarty avoided the glow of the streetlight and strode across the grass to the side gate of the yellow cottage serving as Dr. Burke’s psychiatric practice. The gate swung open without resistance.
That was easy.
For someone who counseled an unusual number of psychopaths, Dr. Burke still had faith in the world.
How sweet.
Jamie knew Dr. Burke counseled more than her share of bad people, because she’d been the one to refer them all. As a former U.S. Marshal, Jamie had been in charge of placing many criminals in the witness protection program. The ones with the strangest and most horrific proclivities she’d placed in her hometown. The little hell-hole known as Charity, Florida.
Becoming a U.S. Marshal had been easy for someone with her skills, and no one suspected a marshal to be a serial killer. She had access to all the crime databases, so she knew if anyone came close to solving one of her murders. She worked her way up the ranks until they allowed her to place scumbags in the witness protection program, and then she cherrypicked the best ones to place within twenty miles of each other in Charity.
She chuckled to herself, picking her way through the dark to the back door of the doctor’s office. To gather all those bored criminals in one place had been a masterstroke of genius. They feared her, because she could rat them out to the people back home who wanted them dead. It was like having an Angie’s List of criminals at her fingertips, ready to help her with whatever she needed.
She’d created herself a chessboard of murderers, con artists and thieves, pieces she could move any time she wanted.
All her playing pieces were instructed to meet with Dr. Burke on a regular basis to ensure they kept their sanity, trapped so far from the lives they’d known. At least that’s what she’d told them. Not one of them ever questioned the logic behind spilling their secrets to a therapist on a regular basis.
In reality, she wanted someone to keep an eye on her pet criminals. With Burke, she’d found a way for someone to take notes on them.
Jamie had always had a good relationship with Dr. Burke. After all, she’d been a U.S. Marshal—why wouldn’t Burke trust her? But now...she had to assume the doctor watched the news and knew she’d been revealed as The Puzzle Killer. One entire twenty-four hours news cycle had been stuffed with images of her being hauled off in cuffs.
What if they’ve moved all my babies to far-flung locations?
It made Jamie sad to think they might have.
There would be no asking Dr. Burke for information now. She had to sneak into the doctor’s office to get what she needed.
Jamie tried the backdoor knob, but didn’t get as lucky as she had with the gate.
Locked.
She removed her light jacket, wrapped it around her hand and punched in the glass. The sound of shattering glass rained to the tile floor. She waited, craning to see if any nearby porch lights had popped to life.
Nothing.
Reaching inside, she unlocked the door and let herself into the office. Again, no alarm, no camera’s red eye glowing in the dark.
I love small towns.
She moved through the doctor’s kitchen and into the main office. The file cabinets were locked, but it only took a moment of rummaging to find the key in a desk drawer.
She opened the top drawer and, holding her flashlight in her teeth, ran through the files until she spotted the names she wanted. Plucking out the folders, she flipped through the patients’ files, skimming the notes from a dozen sessions, the latest only the week before.
A trill of happiness ran through her body.
They didn’t move them.
Not the stone cold assassin. Not the other—the one who’d been hiding in plain sight, much like herself.
Who’d ever dream a witness was also a serial killer, in a way completely unrelated to their work?
Clever.
This serial killer had been to the doctor twice in the last week. Before that, not for a year.
What was different about this week?
An approaching storm.
Jamie slid the file back into the cabinet.
If the doctor’s notes were accurate, this killer was trying to retire.
Time to reactivate that thrill.
After all, she’d promised not to kill Declan and Charlotte. But if someone else happened to kill them...what could she do?
Chapter Eight
Declan hung up and lowered his phone, looking concerned.
“What was that?” asked Charlotte. She’d stopped by to catch Declan before work. She knew he’d appreciate her story about the suspicious death in Pineapple Port. She’d been about to tell him, only to have her story nipped by his ringing phone.
What fun is a murder if I can’t tell anyone about it?
Declan tapped the edge of his phone on the arm of the sofa. “Stephanie. She said to stay here and not touch anything.”
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “Who knows? I thought she was sort of, stabilizing, but...” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte frowned. She didn’t love Stephanie staying in contact with Declan. Ten percent because she was his ex and still had feelings for him and ninety percent because she was a psychopathic wild card who might wake up on any given day and decide she wanted bacon,
