Flynn hesitated. His eyes werefirmly on the paper spooling out of the fax machine, and he didn’t exactly wantto talk about Prime and her problems just then. Not to mention that it feltlike a bit of a betrayal; the Bureau could look after its own and handle itsown business, and outsiders didn’t need to know that someone was having a hardtime. “She’s following another lead,” he said. “Related to the first twomurders. Something we were already tracking before this.”
“All right.” Sheriff Petrovskitook off her glasses, watching as he grabbed hold of the paper that had finallyfinished printing. “You want my boys to talk to the Maxwell family, ask theusual questions? I can have them give you a full report.”
“Thanks,” Flynn said gratefully,flashing her a toothy smile. “That would actually be very useful. It feels liketime is of the essence with this case, and the two of us are stretched prettythin.”
“No problem,” Petrovski replied,watching him go. There was something about the way she said it that didn’tquite sit right with Flynn, like she had been expecting the FBI to stuff it upand need help, but there wasn’t time to think about it. He had to keep moving.
He was walking down the corridoras his eyes slid down the list, looking for something that would stand out. Hedidn’t even make it back to his makeshift office before something jumped rightout at him, making him stop, staring at the page.
One of the security guards who workedat the planetarium was named Tom Taylor. The address next to his name waslocal, not far from the home of Olive Hanson. The connection to Shacora Maxwellwasn’t there yet, but it didn’t mean he wouldn’t find one when he went looking.Probably the fact that they were both security guards of a kind would play intoit somehow.
But all of that didn’t matter asmuch as the man’s initials. T. T., exactly what Flynn had thought when he firstsaw the symbol carved into the bodies. It wasn’t pi at all—it was a signature.The man was carving his own initials into his victims, to mark them out as his.A macabre signature.
It was a signature that was aboutto be his unraveling. Flynn spun around, changing course to head immediatelyoutside and to the parking lot, the page with Tom Taylor’s address grippedfirmly in his hand. There wasn’t any time to lose. Flynn was going after theirkiller right now—before he had the chance to get hungry and take another life.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Zoe sat with her head in her handson the end of the bed, putting off making the call. It was probably selfish,since Flynn needed a new partner to come in and help out, but Zoe wanted toleave as much time as she possibly could before admitting to SAIC Maitland thatshe was done.
She would never work in the FBIagain after this, she knew. Flynn wasn’t going to keep quiet about the reasonsfor his not wanting to work with her, and substance abuse wasn’t exactly adesirable characteristic for an agent. Put that together with the trauma shehad experienced, and the fact that she’d always had a hard time working withothers in the first place, and Zoe didn’t rate her chances of ever gettinganother shot.
So, she just wanted to sit and bean FBI agent for a short while longer, before it all came crashing down.
It had been nice to get back intoit, even if she hadn’t managed to get anywhere. The numbers were everywhere,the headaches, the stress; all of it came together to stop her from seeing thetruth of the case. But she’d almost been there. Any other time, she’d have gottenhim. She knew it. And that felt at least a little bit good.
Better than the rest, at any rate.
Zoe sighed and picked up her cell phone,looking at the blank screen, measuring it in her mind. This was it; time tomake the call. She would have to ask Maitland to replace her and organize aplane flight back. Then there would be disciplinary action, probably mandatedtherapy sessions, and an inquest into her behavior. Even Maitland wouldn’t beable to get her out of this one, however highly he might have thought of her.He didn’t even know the truth about her unique skills, but he had always seenthat she had something that set her apart. That made her a good agent.
It didn’t matter. None of it did.Her track record of case solves was also accompanied by a track record ofdisciplinary action. Of partners who requested transfers as soon as they had toactually work with her. It was a mess. There was no one to stick up for her,with Shelley gone. No one who would fight for Zoe to keep her job.
So, it had come to this. For abrief moment Zoe thought that things might have been better if she’d never metShelley at all, but then she dismissed that cruel and unwelcome thought. No,meeting Shelley had been one of the best things to ever happen to her. She’dbecome better at her job, a better and more open person. She’d had a realfriend, something Zoe had begun to give up on having.
Shelley had been there for herwhen Zoe was struggling. But Zoe hadn’t been able to protect her when Shelleyneeded her. There had almost been John, but Zoe had pushed him away so harshlythat she couldn’t reach out to him again. Now there was no one. She didn’t wantto call Dr. Applewhite—turning to the only remotely maternal figure she had inher life to admit how badly she had failed only made her feel lower. This wasit. Zoe was alone, and she was about to lose everything.
The cell phone in her hands beganto ring, startling Zoe out of her thoughts. She stared at it dumbly for amoment; her first thought was that Flynn had gone ahead and called Maitlandfrom the car, told him everything, and this was the call that would fire her,but she didn’t recognize the number. It wasn’t registered in Washington, D.C.;it looked local.
It had already rung out sixchimes. Unable to fathom who would be
