Tara’s phone interrupted her train of thought as it vibrated on the counter. She picked it up. It was a text from her boss.
MEET AT HQ ASAP
Tara’s heart thumped against her chest. Her boss had never texted her before, and she knew it could only mean one thing—that there was a new case, one she could possibly be assigned.
Chapter Two
Tara briskly made her way up the sidewalk to the entrance of the J. Edgar Hoover building and her heart swelled with pride. It was the same feeling she had each time she arrived at work for the past week, and she still couldn’t wrap her mind around that this was now a part of her normal routine.
It was something she had dreamed about for so long, ever since she was a child and then as she grew older—watching true crime late into the night as a teenager until her grandmother would force her to turn it off. It wasn’t until later in life, after her grandmother passed away and when Tara went to therapy, that she realized her fascination was deep rooted. Her therapist had said it stemmed from a need to control what she couldn’t as a child, and while Tara couldn’t disagree, she knew there was more to her desire. To Tara, it was about justice and doing her part to keep the world slightly more in balance.
Tara rushed into the FBI headquarters building and into the elevator, not wanting to be late. With each frantic step forward, she felt her palms sweat with anticipation.
The whole way to the office, Tara contemplated what Reinhardt’s words meant, and her final conclusion was that he indeed must have a case for her.
As she approached the meeting room, she looked through the pleated glass windows and saw that some agents were already there. She opened the big glass door and quickly took a seat. Soon after, a few more agents scuffled in.
Once everyone arrived, all eyes turned toward Reinhardt, who sat at the head of the large conference table reading a case file, his glasses sitting on the tip of his nose. It was their morning meeting, and over the past week, Tara had learned that it was when they updated each other on their cases.
But each time Tara took a seat at that table, she couldn’t help but feel like an outsider. She had already met all the agents, but their conversations never quite extended beyond it. They were all eagerly focused, completely absorbed in their work, and Tara understood. She respected their focus—their discipline—and she knew that to get to know them, she would have to work with them.
But today was different, and she could tell everyone around her felt it too as they quieted down much quicker than usual and stared at Reinhardt like a flock of baby birds, waiting eagerly to be fed.
He finally looked up and cleared his throat.
“Three days ago a young couple went missing in Hanover, New Hampshire. They were hikers, hiking the Appalachian Trail. No bodies found, except for some blood believed to be the couple’s.”
The room erupted into a hushed chatter before Reinhardt cleared his throat once again and the room faded into silence.
“This morning another hiker was found on someone’s porch north of Hanover. She was shot with an arrow.”
The room stayed silent as Tara looked around her at the other agents, quietly piecing together theories in their heads. It was obvious that the consensus was a possible serial killer.
“Any leads?” one younger agent asked.
Reinhardt shook his head.
“Any connection between the victims?”
Tara looked down the table to see who was speaking, and her eyes met Frank Warren, the FBI’s most skilled veteran. His impeccable suit and perfectly combed over silver hair screamed intimidation. He leaned forward over the table, staring directly at Reinhardt and meeting his eyes—something only an agent with his amount of experience would do.
“The couple and the third victim did not know each other. But they were hiking around the same area. All three in their early twenties,” Reinhardt replied before pulling himself closer to the table and resting his forearms on the surface. “The couple was spotted in Hanover the day before they went missing. Then search and rescue got sent out and they found the blood on the trail.”
“Were any arrows recovered?” Warren asked.
“Yes, in the third victim. A carbon TenPoint Alpha-Nock.”
Warren nodded as he scribbled down the name on a pad of paper in front of him. Other agents followed his lead, including Tara, who quickly grabbed her pen.
“I’m going to need to fly a couple agents out there immediately…Warren, I’m putting you on this case.”
He nodded his head promptly as if Reinhardt just confirmed what he already knew.
“Mills,” Reinhardt then said. Tara turned her head toward him, surprised to even hear her name. “I want you on this case too,” he added.
Tara stared at him for a moment of awe as she felt all eyes peering at her from every edge of the table. She had hoped for this moment, and she had a feeling it would be today, but to hear her name felt surreal.
Tara blushed. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
Reinhardt than preceded to dismiss the meeting, except for Tara and Warren, whom he asked to hang back.
Tara sat in her chair as she watched the other agents leave the room. Some stopped and talked to Reinhardt a moment, before turning to leave, and as each one left, Tara felt her heart pound faster against her chest.
This was her first real case, her first serial killer case, and a chance to really prove herself. A tinge of pride flooded through her body, but just as quickly as it entered, she immediately felt sickened by the feeling. After all, Tara knew too well how a death affected a family. It was a line she often struggled with, when to feel
