The Naturals (The Naturals, #1) Jennifer Lynn Barnes

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CONTENTS

CoverPage

TitlePage

CopyrightPage

Dedication

PARTONE:KNOWING

CHAPTER1

CHAPTER2

CHAPTER3

CHAPTER4

CHAPTER5

CHAPTER6

PARTTWO:LEARNING

CHAPTER7

CHAPTER8

CHAPTER9

CHAPTER10

CHAPTER11

CHAPTER12

CHAPTER13

CHAPTER14

CHAPTER15

CHAPTER16

CHAPTER17

CHAPTER18

CHAPTER19

CHAPTER20

CHAPTER21

CHAPTER22

CHAPTER23

CHAPTER24

CHAPTER25

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PARTTHREE:HUNTING

CHAPTER26

CHAPTER27

CHAPTER28

CHAPTER29

CHAPTER30

CHAPTER31

CHAPTER32

CHAPTER33

CHAPTER34

CHAPTER35

PARTFOUR:SEEING

CHAPTER36

CHAPTER37

PARTFIVE:DECIDING

CHAPTER38

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

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FirstpublishedintheUSAbyHyperion,animprintofDisneyBookGroup

ThiseditionpublishedinGreatBritainin2013by

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Copyright©JenniferLynnBarnes2013

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Youcanfindthisandmanyothergreatbooksat:

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BooksbyJenniferLynnBarnes

andavailablefromQuercus

RaisedbyWolves

TrialbyFire

TakenbyStorm

EveryOtherDay

TheNaturals

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ForNeha,whounderstandsthehumanmindand

usesherpowersforgood,notevil(mostly)

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PARTONE:KNOWING

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YOU

You’vechosenandchosenwell.Maybethisonewillbetheonewhostopsyou.Maybeshe’llbe
different.Maybeshe’llbeenough.

Theonlythingthatiscertainisthatshe’sspecial.
Youthinkit’shereyes—notthecolor:anicy,see-throughblue.Notthelashes,ortheshape,orthe

wayshedoesn’tneedeyelinertogivethemtheappearanceofacat’s.

No,it’swhat’sbehindthoseicybluesthatbringstheaudienceoutindroves.Youfeelit,everytime

youlookather.Thecertainty.Theknowing.Thatotherworldlyglintsheusestoconvincepeoplethat
she’stherealdeal
.

Maybesheis.
Maybeshereallycanseethings.Maybesheknowsthings.
Maybeshe’severythingsheclaimstobeandmore.Butwatchingher,countingherbreaths,you

smile,becausedeepdown,youknowthatsheisn’tgoingtostopyou.

Youdon’treallywanthertostopyou.
She’sfragile.
Perfect.
Marked.
Andtheonethingthisso-calledpsychicwon’tseecomingisyou.

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CHAPTER1

Thehourswerebad.Thetipswereworse,andthemajorityofmycoworkersdefinitelyleftsomething
tobedesired,butc’estlavie,queserasera,insertforeignlanguageclichéofyourchoicehere.Itwas
asummerjob,andthatkeptNonnaoffmyback.Italsopreventedmyvariousaunts,uncles,and
kitchen-sinkcousinsfromfeelingliketheyhadtooffermetemporaryemploymentintheir
restaurant/butchershop/legalpractice/boutique.Giventhesizeofmyfather ’sverylarge,very
extended(andveryItalian)family,thepossibilitieswereendless,butitwasalwaysavariationonthe
sametheme.

Mydadlivedhalfaworldaway.Mymotherwasmissing,presumeddead.Iwaseveryone’s

problemandnobody’s.

Teenager,presumedtroubled.
“Orderup!”
Withpracticedease,Igrabbedaplateofpancakes(sideofbacon)withmylefthandandatwo-

handedbreakfastburrito(jalapeñosontheside)withmyright.IftheSATsdidn’tgowellinthefall,I
hadarealfutureaheadofmeinthecrappydinerindustry.

“Pancakeswithasideofbacon.Breakfastburrito,jalapeñosontheside.”Islidtheplatesontothe

table.“AnythingelseIcangetforyougentlemen?”

Beforeeitherofthemopenedtheirmouths,Iknewexactlywhatthesetwoweregoingtosay.The

guyontheleftwasgoingtoaskforextrabutter.Andtheguyontheright?Hewasgoingtoneed
anotherglassofwaterbeforehecouldeventhinkaboutthosejalapeños.

Ten-to-oneodds,hedidn’tevenlikethem.
Guyswhoactuallylikedjalapeñosdidn’torderthemontheside.Mr.BreakfastBurritojustdidn’t

wantpeopletothinkhewasawuss—onlythewordhewouldhaveusedwasn’twuss.

Whoathere,Cassie,Itoldmyselfsternly.Let’skeepitPG.
Asageneralrule,Ididn’tcursemuch,butIhadabadhabitofpickinguponotherpeople’squirks.

PutmeinaroomwithabunchofEnglishpeople,andI’dwalkoutwithaBritishaccent.Itwasn’t
intentional—I’djustspentalotoftimeovertheyearsgettinginsideotherpeople’sheads.

Occupationalhazard.Notmine.Mymother ’s.
“CouldIgetafewmoreofthesebutterpackets?”theguyontheleftasked.
Inodded—andwaited.
“Morewater,”theguyontherightgrunted.Hepuffedouthischestandogledmyboobs.
Iforcedasmile.“I’llberightbackwiththatwater.”Imanagedtokeepfromaddingperverttothe

endofthatsentence,butonlyjust.

Iwasstillholdingouthopethataguyinhislatetwentieswhopretendedtolikespicyfoodand

madeapointofstaringathisteenagewaitress’schestlikehewastrainingfortheOglingOlympics
mightbeequallyshowywhenitcametoleavingtips.

Thenagain,IthoughtasIwentforrefills,hemightturnouttobethekindofguywhostiffsthe

littlebittywaitressjusttoprovehecan.

Absentmindedly,Iturnedthedetailsofthesituationoverinmymind:thewaythatMr.Breakfast

Burritowasdressed;hislikelyoccupation;thefactthathisfriend,who’dorderedthepancakes,was
wearingamuchmoreexpensivewatch.

He’llfighttograbthecheck,thentiplikecrap.
IhopedIwaswrong—butwasfairlycertainthatIwasn’t.
OtherkidsspenttheirpreschoolyearssingingtheirwaythroughtheABCs.Igrewuplearninga

differentalphabet.Behavior,personality,environment—mymothercalledthemtheBPEs,andthey

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werethetricksofhertrade.Thinkingthatwaywasn’tthekindofthingyoucouldjustturnoff—not
evenonceyouwereoldenoughtounderstandthatwhenyourmothertoldpeopleshewaspsychic,she
waslying,andwhenshetooktheirmoney,itwasfraud.

Evennowthatshewasgone,Icouldn’tkeepfromfiguringpeopleout,anymorethanIcouldgive

upbreathing,blinking,orcountingdownthedaysuntilIturnedeighteen.

“Tableforone?”Alow,amusedvoicejostledmebackintoreality.Thevoice’sownerlookedlike

thetypeofboywhowouldhavebeenmoreathomeinacountryclubthanadiner.Hisskinwas
perfect,hishairartfullymussed.Eventhoughhephrasedhiswordsliketheywereaquestion,they
weren’t—notreally.

“Sure,”Isaid,grabbingamenu.“Rightthisway.”
AcloserobservationtoldmethatCountryClubwasaboutmyage.Asmirkplayedacrosshis

perfectfeatures,andhewalkedwiththeswaggerofhighschoolnobility.Justlookingathimmademe
feellikeaserf.

“Thisokay?”Iasked,leadinghimtoatablenearthewindow.
“Thisisfine,”hesaid,slippingintothechair.Casually,hesurveyedtheroomwithbulletproof

confidence.“Yougetalotoftrafficinhereonweekends?”

“Sure,”Ireplied.IwasstartingtowonderifI’dlosttheabilitytospeakincomplexsentences.

Fromthelookontheboy’sface,heprobablywas,too.“I’llgiveyouaminutetolookoverthe
menu.”

Hedidn’trespond,andIspentmyminutebringingPancakesandBreakfastBurritotheirchecks,

plural.IfiguredthatifIsplititinhalf,Imightendupwithhalfadecenttip.

“I’llbeyourcashierwheneveryou’reready,”Isaid,fakesmilefirmlyinplace.
Iturnedbacktowardthekitchenandcaughttheboybythewindowwatchingme.Itwasn’tanI’m

readytoorderstare.Iwasn’tsurewhatitwas,actually—buteveryboneinmybodytoldmeitwas
something.ThenigglingsensationthattherewasakeydetailthatIwasmissingaboutthiswhole
situation—abouthim—wouldn’tgoaway.Boyslikethatdidn’tusuallyeatinplaceslikethis.

Theydidn’tstareatgirlslikeme.
Self-consciousandwary,Icrossedtheroom.
“Didyoudecidewhatyou’dlike?”Iasked.Therewasnogettingoutoftakinghisorder,soIletmy

hairfallinmyface,obscuringhisviewofit.

“Threeeggs,”hesaid,hazeleyesfixedonwhathecouldseeofmine.“Sideofpancakes.Sideof

ham.”

Ididn’tneedtowritetheorderdown,butIsuddenlyfoundmyselfwishingforapen,justsoI’d

havesomethingtoholdonto.“Whatkindofeggs?”Iasked.

“Youtellme.”Theboy’swordscaughtmeoffguard.
“Excuseme?”
“Guess,”hesaid.
Istaredathimthroughthewispsofhairstillcoveringmyface.“Youwantmetoguesshowyou

wantyoureggscooked?”

Hesmiled.“Whynot?”
Andjustlikethat,thegauntletwasthrown.
“Notscrambled,”Isaid,thinkingoutloud.Scrambledeggsweretooaverage,toocommon,and

thiswasaguywholikedtobealittlebitdifferent.Nottoodifferent,though,whichruledoutpoached
—atleastinaplacelikethis.Sunny-sideupwouldhavebeentoomessyforhim;overhardwouldn’t
bemessyenough.

“Overeasy.”IwasassureoftheconclusionasIwasofthecolorofhiseyes.Hesmiledandclosed

hismenu.

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“AreyougoingtotellmeifIwasright?”Iasked—notbecauseIneededconfirmation,butbecause

Iwantedtoseehowhewouldrespond.

Theboyshrugged.“Now,wherewouldthefunbeinthat?”
Iwantedtostaythere,staring,untilIfiguredhimout,butIdidn’t.Iputhisorderin.Ideliveredhis

food.Thelunchrushsnuckuponme,andbythetimeIwentbacktocheckonhim,theboybythe
windowwasgone.Hehadn’tevenwaitedforhischeck—he’djustlefttwentydollarsonthetable.I
hadjustaboutdecidedthathecouldmakemeplayguessinggamestohisheart’scontentforatwelve-
dollartipwhenInoticedthebillwasn’ttheonlythinghe’dleft.

Therewasalsoabusinesscard.
Ipickeditup.Starkwhite.Blackletters.Evenlyspaced.Therewasasealintheupperleft-hand

corner,butrelativelylittletext:aname,ajobtitle,aphonenumber.Acrossthetopofthecard,there
werefourwords,fourlittlewordsthatknockedthewindoutofmeaseffectivelyasajabtothechest.

Ipocketedthecard—andthetip.Iwentbacktothekitchen.Icaughtmybreath.AndthenIlookedat

itagain.

TannerBriggs.Thename.
SpecialAgent.Jobtitle.
FederalBureauofInvestigation.
Fourwords,butIstaredatthemsohardthatmyvisionblurredandIcouldonlymakeoutthree

letters.

WhatintheworldhadIdonetoattracttheattentionoftheFBI?

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CHAPTER2

Afteraneight-hourshift,mybodywasbonetired,butmymindwaswhirring.Iwantedtoshutmyself
inmyroom,collapseonmybed,andfigureoutwhattheHelloKittyhadhappenedthatafternoon.

Unfortunately,itwasSunday.
“Theresheis!Cassie,wewerejustabouttosendtheboysoutlookingforyou.”MyauntTashawas

amongthemorereasonableofmyfather ’svarioussiblings,soshedidn’twinkandaskmeifI’d
foundmyselfaboyfriendtooccupymytime.

ThatwasUncleRio’sjob.“Ourlittleheartbreaker,eh?Yououttherebreakinghearts?Ofcourse

sheis!”

I’dbeenaregularfixtureatSundaynightdinnerseversinceSocialServiceshaddroppedmeoff

onmyfather ’sdoorstep—metaphorically,thankGod—whenIwastwelve.Afterfiveyears,Istill
hadn’teverheardUncleRioaskaquestionthathedidnotimmediatelyproceedtoanswerhimself.

“Idon’thaveaboyfriend,”Isaid.Thiswasawell-establishedscript,andthatwasmyline.

“Promise.”

“Whatarewetalkingabout?”oneofUncleRio’ssonsasked,ploppinghimselfdownontheliving

roomsofa,danglinghislegsovertheside.

“Cassie’sboyfriend,”UncleRioreplied.
Irolledmyeyes.“Idon’thaveaboyfriend.”
“Cassie’ssecretboyfriend,”UncleRioamended.
“IthinkyouhavemeconfusedwithSofiaandKate,”Isaid.UndernormalcircumstancesIwouldn’t

havethrownanyofmyfemalecousinsunderthebus,butdesperatetimescalledfordesperate
measures.“They’refarmorelikelytohavesecretboyfriendsthanIam.”

“Bah,”UncleRiosaid.“Sofia’sboyfriendsareneversecret.”
Andonitwent—good-naturedribbing,familyjokes.Iplayedthepart,lettingtheirenergyinfect

me,sayingwhattheywantedmetosay,smilingthesmilestheywantedtosee.Itwaswarmandsafe
andhappy—butitwasn’tme.

Itneverwas.
AssoonasIwassureIwouldn’tbemissed,Iduckedintothekitchen.
“Cassandra.Good.”Mygrandmother,elbow-deepinflour,hergrayhairpulledintoaloosebunat

thenapeofherneck,gavemeawarmsmile.“Howwaswork?”

Despiteherlittle-old-ladyappearance,Nonnaruledtheentirefamilylikeageneraldirectingher

troops.Rightnow,Iwastheonedriftingoutofformation.

“Workwaswork,”Isaid.“Notbad.”
“Butnotgood,either?”Shenarrowedhereyes.
IfIdidn’tplaythisright,I’dhavetenjobofferswithinthehour.Familytookcareoffamily—even

when“family”wasperfectlycapableoftakingcareofherself.

“Todaywasactuallydecent,”Isaid,tryingtosoundcheerful.“Someoneleftmeatwelve-dollar

tip.”

Andalso,Iaddedsilently,abusinesscardfromtheFBI.
“Good,”Nonnasaid.“Thatisgood.Youhadagoodday.”
“Yeah,Nonna,”Isaid,crossingtheroomtokisshercheek,becauseIknewitwouldmakeher

happy.“Itwasagoodday.”

Bythetimeeveryoneclearedoutatnine,thecardfeltlikeleadinmypocket.ItriedtohelpNonna

withthedishes,butsheshooedmeupstairs.Inthequietofmyownroom,Icouldfeeltheenergy
drainingoutofme,likeairoutofaslowlywiltingballoon.

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Isatdownonmybedandthenletmyselffallbackward.Theoldspringsgroanedwiththeimpact,

andIclosedmyeyes.Myrighthandfounditswaytomypocket,andIpulledoutthecard.

Itwasajoke.Ithadtobe.Thatwaswhythepretty,country-clubboyhadfeltofftome.Thatwas

whyhe’dtakenaninterest—tomockme.

Buthedidn’treallyseemthetype.
Iopenedmyeyesandlookedatthecard.Thistime,Iletmyselfreaditoutloud.“SpecialAgent

TannerBriggs.FederalBureauofInvestigation.”

Afewhoursinmypockethadn’tchangedthetextonthecard.FBI?Seriously?Whowasthisguy

tryingtokid?He’dlookedsixteen,seventeen,max.

Notlikeaspecialagent.
Justspecial.Icouldn’tpushthatthoughtdown,andmyeyesflittedreflexivelytowardthemirror

onmywall.ItwasoneofthegreatironiesofmylifethatI’dinheritedallofmymother ’sfeatures,but
noneofthemagicwithwhichthey’dcometogetheronherface.She’dbeenbeautiful.Iwasodd—
odd-looking,oddlyquiet,alwaystheoddoneout.

Evenafterfiveyears,Istillcouldn’tthinkofmymotherwithoutthinkingofthelasttimeI’dseen

her,shooingmeoutofherdressingroom,awidesmileonherface.ThenIthoughtaboutcoming
backtothedressingroom.Abouttheblood—onthefloor,onthewalls,onthemirror.Ihadn’tbeen
gonelong.I’dopenedthedoor—

“Snapoutofit,”Itoldmyself.Isatupandpushedmybackupagainsttheheadboard,unabletoquit

thinkingaboutthesmellofbloodandthatmomentofknowingitwasmymother ’sandprayingit
wasn’t.

Whatifthatwaswhatthiswasabout?Whatifthecardwasn’tajoke?WhatiftheFBIwaslooking

intomymother ’smurder?

It’sbeenfiveyears,Itoldmyself.Butthecasewasstillopen.Mymother ’sbodyhadneverbeen

found.Basedontheamountofblood,thatwaswhatthepolicehadbeenlookingforfromthe
beginning.

Abody.
Iturnedthebusinesscardoverinmyhands.Ontheback,therewasahandwrittennote.
Cassandra,itsaid,PLEASECALL.
Thatwasit.Myname,andthenthedirectivetocall,incapitalletters.Noexplanation.Nonothing.
Belowthosewords,someoneelsehadscribbledasecondsetofinstructionsinsmall,sharpletters

—barelyreadable.Itracedmyfingeroverthelettersandthoughtabouttheboyfromthediner.

Maybehewasn’tthespecialagent.
Sothatmakeshimwhat?Themessenger?
Ididn’thaveananswer,butthewordsscrawledacrossthebottomofthecardstoodouttome,

everybitasmuchasSpecialAgentTannerBriggs’sPLEASECALL.

IfIwereyou,Iwouldn’t.

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YOU

You’regoodatwaiting.Waitingfortherightmoment.Waitingfortherightgirl.Youhavehernow,and
still,you’rewaiting.Waitingforhertowakeup.Waitingforhertoopenthoseeyesandseeyou.

Waitingforhertoscream.
Andscream.
Andscream.
Andrealizethatnoonecanhearherbutyou.
Youknowhowthiswillgo,howshe’llbeangry,thenscared,thenswearupanddownthatifyoulet

hergo,shewon’ttellasoul.She’lllietoyou,andshe’lltrytomanipulateyou,andyou’llhavetoshow
her—thewayyou’veshowedsomanyothers—howthatjustwon’tdo.

Butnotyet.Rightnow,she’sstillsleeping.Beautiful—butnotasbeautifulasshewillbewhen

you’redone.

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CHAPTER3

Ittookmetwodays,butIcalledthenumber.OfcourseIdid,becauseeventhoughtherewasa99
percentchancethiswassomekindofhoax,therewasa1percentchancethatitwasn’t.

Ididn’trealizeIwasholdingmybreathuntilsomeonepickedup.
“ThisisBriggs.”
Icouldn’tpinpointwhatwasmoredisarming—thefactthatthis“AgentBriggs”hadapparently

givenmethenumbertohisdirectlineorthewayheansweredthephone,likesaying“hello”would
havebeenawasteofbreath.

“Hello?”Asifhecouldreadmymind,SpecialAgentTannerBriggsspokeagain.“Anyonethere?”
“ThisisCassandraHobbes,”Isaid.“Cassie.”
“Cassie.”SomethingaboutthewayAgentBriggssaidmynamemademethinkthathe’dknown

beforeI’dsaidasinglewordthatIdidn’tgobymyfullname.“I’mgladyoucalled.”

Hewaitedformetosaysomethingelse,butIstayedsilent.Everythingyousaidordidwasadata

pointyouputoutthereintheworld,andIdidn’twanttogivethismananymoreinformationthanI
hadto—notuntilIknewwhathewantedfromme.

“I’msureyoumustbewonderingwhyIcontactedyou—whyIhadMichaelcontactyou.”
Michael.Sonowtheboyfromthedinerhadaname.
“IhaveanofferI’dlikeyoutoconsider.”
“Anoffer?”Itamazedmethatmyvoicestayedeverybitascalmandevenashis.
“Ibelievethisisaconversationbesthadinperson,Ms.Hobbes.Istheresomewhereyouwouldbe

comfortablemeeting?”

Heknewwhathewasdoing—lettingmepickthelocation,becauseifhe’dspecifiedone,Imight

nothavegone.Iprobablyshouldhaverefusedtomeetwithhimanyway,butIcouldn’t,forthesame
reasonthatI’dhadtopickupthephoneandcall.

Fiveyearswasalongtimetogowithoutabody.Withoutanswers.
“Doyouhaveanoffice?”Iasked.
Theslightpauseontheotherendofthephonetoldmethatwasn’twhathe’dexpectedmetosay.I

couldhaveaskedhimtomeetmeatthedineroracoffeeshopnearthehighschooloranywherethatI
wouldhavehadthehomecourtadvantage,butI’dbeentaughttobelievethattherewasnohomecourt
advantage.

Youcouldtellmoreaboutastrangerbyseeingtheirhousethanyoueverwouldbyinvitingthemto

yours.

Besides,ifthisguywasn’treallyanFBIagent,ifhewassomekindofpervertandthiswassome

kindofgame,Ifiguredhe’dprobablyhaveaheckofatimearrangingameetingatthelocalFBI
office.

“Idon’tactuallyworkoutofDenver,”hesaidfinally.“ButI’msureIcansetsomethingup.”
Probablynotapervert,then.
Hegavemeanaddress.Igavehimatime.
“AndCassandra?”
IwonderedwhatAgentBriggshopedtoaccomplishbyusingmyfullfirstname.“Yes?”
“Thisisn’taboutyourmother.”

———

Iwenttothemeetinganyway.OfcourseIdid.SpecialAgentTannerBriggsknewenoughaboutmeto

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knowthatmymother ’scasewasthereasonI’dfollowedtheinstructionsonthecardandcalled.I
wantedtoknowhowhe’dcomebythatinformation,ifhe’dlookedatherpolicefile,ifhewouldlook
atherfile,providedIgavehimwhateveritwashewantedfromme.

IwantedtoknowwhySpecialAgentTannerBriggshadmadeithisbusinesstoknowaboutme,the

samewayamanshoppingforanewcomputermighthavememorizedthespecsofthemodelthathad
caughthiseye.

“Whatfloor?”Thewomanbesidemeintheelevatorwasinherearlysixties.Hersilveryblond

hairwaspulledbackintoaneatponytailatthenapeofherneck,andthesuitshewaswearingwas
perfectlytailored.

Allbusiness,justlikeSpecialAgentTannerBriggs.
“Fifthfloor,”Isaid.“Please.”
Withnervousenergytoburn,Isnuckanotherglanceatthewomanandstartedpiecingmyway

throughherlifestory,astoldbythewayshewasstanding,herclothes,thefaintaccentinherspeech,
theclearcoatofpolishonhernails.

Shewasmarried.
Nokids.
Whenshe’dstartedintheFBI,ithadbeenaboy’sclub.
Behavior.Personality.Environment.Icouldpracticallyhearmymothercoachingmethroughthis

impromptuanalysis.

“Fifthfloor.”Thewoman’swordswerebrisk,andIaddedanotherentrytomymentalcolumn

impatient.

Obligingly,Isteppedoutoftheelevator.Thedoorclosedbehindme,andIappraisedmy

surroundings.Itlookedso…normal.Ifithadn’tbeenforthesecuritycheckpointoutfrontandthe
visitor ’sbadgepinnedtomyfadedblacksundress,Ineverwouldhavepeggedthisforaplace
devotedtofightingfederalcrime.

“So,what?Youwereexpectingadog-and-ponyshow?”
Irecognizedthevoiceinstantly.Theboyfromthediner.Michael.Hesoundedamused,andwhenI

turnedtofacehim,therewasafamiliarsmirkdancingitswaythroughhisfeatures,onethathe
probablycouldhavesuppressedifhe’dhadtheleastinclinationtotry.

“Iwasn’texpectinganything,”Itoldhim.“Ihavenoexpectations.”
Hegavemeaknowinglook.“Noexpectations,nodisappointments.”
Icouldn’ttellifthatwashisappraisalofmycurrentmentalstateorthemottobywhichhelivedhis

ownlife.Infact,Iwashavingtroublegettinganyhandleonhispersonalityatall.He’dtradedhis
stripedpoloforaformfittingblackT-shirtandhisjeansforkhakislacks.Helookedasoutofplace
hereashehadatthediner,likemaybethatwasthepoint.

“Youknow,”hesaidconversationally,“Iknewyou’dcome.”
Iraisedaneyebrowathim.“Eventhoughyoutoldmenotto?”
Heshrugged.“MyinnerBoyScouthadtotry.”
IfthisguyhadaninnerBoyScout,Ihadaninnerflamingo.
“So,areyouheretotakemetoSpecialAgentTannerBriggs?”Iasked.Thewordscameoutcurtly,

butatleastIdidn’tsoundfascinated,infatuated,oreventheleastbitdrawntothesoundofhisvoice.

“Hmmmmm.”Inresponsetomyquestion,Michaelmadeanoncommittalnoiseunderhisbreath

andinclinedhishead—asclosetoayesasIwasgoingtoget.Heledmearoundthebullpenand
downahallway.Neutralcarpet,neutralwalls,aneutralexpressiononhiscriminallyhandsomeface.

“SowhatdoesBriggshaveonyou?”Michaelasked.Icouldfeelhimwatchingme,lookingfora

surgeofemotion—anyemotion—totellhimifhisquestionhadhitanerve.

Ithadn’t.

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“Youwantmetobenervousaboutthis,”Itoldhim,becausethatmuchwasclearfromhiswords.

“Andyoutoldmenottocome.”

Hesmiled,buttherewasahardglinttoit,anedge.“IguessyoucouldsayI’mcontrary.”
Isnorted.Thatwasonewordforit.
“Areyougoingtogivemeevenahintofwhat’sgoingonhere?”Iaskedaswenearedtheendof

thehall.

Heshrugged.“Thatdepends.AreyougoingtostopplayingWho’sGottheBestPokerFacewith

me?”

Thatsurprisedalaughoutofme,andIrealizedthatithadbeenalongtimesinceI’dlaughed

becauseIcouldn’thelpitandnotbecausesomeoneelsewaslaughing,too.

Michael’ssmilelostitsedge,andforasecond,theexpressionutterlychangedhisface.Ifhe’dbeen

handsomebefore,hewasbeautifulnow—butitdidn’tlast.Asquicklyasthelightnesshadcome,it
faded.

“ImeantwhatIwroteonthatcard,”hesaidsoftly.Henoddedtoaclosedofficedoortoourright.

“IfIwereyou,Iwouldn’tgointhere.”

Iknewthen—thewayIalwaysknewthings—thatMichaelhadbeeninmyshoesonceandthathe

hadopenedthedoor.Hiswarningwasgenuine,butIopenedit,too.

“Ms.Hobbes.Please,comein.”
WithonelastglanceatMichael,Isteppedintotheroom.
Aurevoir,”theboywiththeexcellentpokerfacesaid,punctuatingthewordswithanexaggerated

flickofhisfingers.

SpecialAgentTannerBriggsclearedhisthroat.Thedoorclosedbehindme.Forbetterorworse,I

washeretomeetwithanFBIagent.Alone.

“I’mgladyoucame,Cassie.Takeaseat.”
AgentBriggswasyoungerthanI’dexpectedbasedonhisphonevoice.Thegearsinmybrain

turnedslowly,incorporatinghisageintowhatIknew.Anoldermanwhotookpainstoappear
businesslikewasguarded.Atwenty-nine-year-oldwhodidthesamewantedtobetakenseriously.

Therewasadifference.
Obediently,Itookaseat.AgentBriggsstayedinhischair,butleanedforward.Thedeskbetweenus

wasclean,butforastackofpapersandtwopens,oneofwhichwasmissingitscap.

Hewasn’tnaturallyneat,then.Forsomereason,Ifoundthatcomforting.Hewasambitious,butnot

inflexible.

“Areyoufinished?”heaskedme.Hisvoicewasn’tcurt.Ifanything,hesoundedgenuinelycurious.
“Finishedwithwhat?”Iaskedhim.
“Analyzingme,”hesaid.“I’veonlybeeninthisofficefortwohours.Icouldn’tevenguesswhatit

isthathascaughtyourattention,butIfiguredsomethingwould.WithNaturals,somethingalmost
alwaysdoes.”

Naturals.Hesaidthewordlikehewasexpectingmetorepeatitwithaquestionmarkinmytone.I

didn’tsayanything.ThelessIgavehim,themorehe’dshowme.

“You’regoodatreadingpeople,attakinglittledetailsandfiguringoutthebigpicture:whothey

are,whattheywant,howtheyoperate.”Hesmiled.“Whatkindofeggstheylike.”

“YouinvitedmeherebecauseI’mgoodatguessingwhatkindofeggspeoplelike?”Iasked,

unabletokeeptheincredulousnessoutofmyvoice.

Hedrummedhisfingersoverthedesktop.“Iaskedyouherebecauseyouhaveanaturalaptitude

forsomethingthatmostpeoplecouldspendalifetimetryingtolearn.”

Iwonderedifwhenhesaidmostpeoplehewasreferringatleastinparttohimself.
Hetookmycontinuedsilenceassomekindofargument.“Areyoutellingmethatyoudon’tread

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people?Thatyoucan’ttellmerightnowwhetherI’dratherplaybasketballorgolf?”

Basketball.Buthe’dwantpeopletothinktheanswerwasgolf.
“Youcouldtrytoexplaintomehowyoufigurethingsout,howyoufigurepeopleout,Cassie,but

thedifferencebetweenyouandtherestoftheworldisthattoexplainhowyoujustfiguredoutthatI’d
rathergetabloodynoseonthebasketballcourtthanteeoffwiththeboss,you’dhavetobacktrack.
You’dhavetosortoutwhattheclueswereandhowyou’dmadesenseofthem,becauseyoujustdoit.
Youdon’tevenhavetothinkaboutit,notthewaythatIwould,notthewaythatmyteamwould.You
probablycouldn’tstopyourselfifyoutried.”

Ihadn’tevertalkedaboutthis,notevenwithMom,who’dtaughtmethepartsofitthatcouldbe

taught.Peoplewerepeople,butforbetterorworse,mostdays,theywerejustpuzzlestome.Easy
puzzles,hardpuzzles,crosswords,mind-benders,sudoku.Therewasalwaysananswer,andIcouldn’t
stopmyselffrompushinguntilIfoundit.

“Howdoyouknowanyofthis?”Iaskedthemaninfrontofme.“Andevenifit’strue,evenifIdo

havereallygoodinstinctsaboutpeople,what’sittoyou?”

Heleanedforward.“IknowbecauseImakeitmybusinesstoknow.BecauseI’mtheonewho

convincedtheFBIthattheyneedtobelookingforpeoplelikeyou.”

“Whatdoyouwantwithme?”
Heeasedbackinhischair.“WhatdoyouthinkIwantwithyou,Cassie?”
Mymouthwentdry.“I’mseventeen.”
“Naturalaptitudes,likeyours,peakintheteenyears.Formaleducation,college,thewrong

influences,couldallinterferewiththeincrediblerawpotentialyouhavenow.”Hefoldedhishands
neatlyinfrontofhim.“Iwanttoseetoitthatyouhavetherightinfluences,thatyourgiftismolded
intosomethingextraordinary,somethingthatyoucanusetodoanincredibleamountofgoodinthis
world.”

Partofmewantedtolaughathim,towalkoutoftheroom,toforgetthatanyofthishadever

happened,buttheotherpartjustkeptthinkingthatforfiveyears,I’dbeenlivinginlimbo,likeIwas
waitingforsomethingwithoutknowingwhatthatsomethingwas.

“Youcantakeasmuchtimeasyouneedtothinkaboutit,Cassie,butwhatI’mofferingyouisa

once-in-a-lifetimechance.Ourprogramisoneofakind,andithasthepotentialtoturnNaturals—
peoplelikeyou—intosomethingtrulyextraordinary.”

“Peoplelikeme,”Irepeated,mymindgoingninetymilesanhour.“AndMichael.”
Thesecondpartwasaguess,butnotmuchofone.Inthetwominuteswe’dspentwalkingtothis

office,MichaelhadcomeclosertofiguringoutwhatwasgoingoninsidemyheadthananyoneI’d
evermet.

“AndMichael.”Ashespoke,AgentBriggs’sfacebecamemoreanimated.Gonewasthehardened

professional.Thiswaspersonal.Thisprogramwassomethinghebelievedin.

Andhehadsomethingtoprove.
“Whatwouldbecomingapartofthisprogramentail?”Iasked,measuringhisresponse.The

enthusiasmonhisfacemorphedintosomethingfarmoreintense.Hiseyesboredintomine.

“HowwouldyoufeelaboutmovingtoWashington,DC?”

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CHAPTER4

HowwouldIfeelaboutmovingtoDC?

“I’mseventeen,”Ireiterated.“Abetterquestionmightbehowmylegalguardianswouldfeelabout

it.”

“Youwouldn’tbethefirstminorI’verecruited,Cassie.Therearework-arounds.”
Clearly,hehadnotmetmyNonna.
“Fiveyearsago,custodyofCassandraHobbeswasremittedtoherbiologicalfather,oneVincent

Battaglia,UnitedStatesAirForce.”AgentBriggspaused.“Fourteenmonthsafteryourappearancein
hislife,yourfatherwastransferredoverseas.Youchosetoremainhere,withyourpaternal
grandmother.”

Ididn’taskhowAgentBriggshadcomebythatinformation.HewasFBI.Heprobablyknewwhat

colortoothbrushIused.

“Mypoint,Cassie,isthatlegally,yourfatherstillhascustody,andIhaveeveryconfidencethatif

youwantthistohappen,Icanmakeithappen.”Briggspausedagain.“Asfarastheoutsideworldis
concerned,we’reagiftedprogram.Veryselective,withendorsementsfromsomeveryimportant
people.Yourfatheriscareermilitary.Heworriesaboutthewayyouisolateyourself.Thatwillmake
himeasiertopersuadethanmost.”

Istartedtoopenmymouthtoaskhowexactlyhe’ddeterminedthatmyfatherworried,butBriggs

heldupahand.

“Idon’twalkintoasituationlikethisblind,Cassie.Onceyouwereflaggedinthesystemasa

potentialrecruit,Ididmyhomework.”

“Flagged?”Iasked,raisingmyeyebrows.“Forwhat?”
“Idon’tknow.Iwasn’ttheonewhoflaggedyou,andquitefrankly,thedetailsofyourrecruitment

aremootunlessyou’reinterestedinmyoffer.Saythewordifyou’renot,andI’llleaveDenver
tonight.”

Icouldn’tdothat—andAgentBriggsprobablyknewitbeforeheasked.
Hepickedupthecaplesspenandscrawledsomenotesontheedgeofoneofhispapers.“Ifyou

havequestions,youcanaskMichael.Ihavenodoubthe’llbepainfullyhonestwithyouabouthis
experienceintheprogramsofar.”Briggsrolledhiseyesheavenwardinagestureofexasperationso
universalthatIalmostforgotaboutthebadgeandthesuit.“AndifthereareanyquestionsthatIcould
answerforyou…”

Hetrailedoffandwaited.Itookthebaitandstartedpressinghimfordetails.Fifteenminuteslater,

mymindwasreeling.Theprogram—thatwashowhereferredtoit,againandagain—wassmall,still
initstrialstages.Theiragendawastwofold:first,toeducatethoseofusselectedtoparticipateand
honeournaturalskills,andsecond,tousethoseskillstoaidtheFBIfrombehindthescenes.Iwas
freetoleavetheprogramatanytime.Iwouldberequiredtosignanondisclosureagreement.

“There’sonequestionyouhaven’tasked,Cassie.”AgentBriggsfoldedhishandsinfrontofhim

again.“SoI’llansweritforyou.Iknowaboutyourpersonalhistory.Aboutyourmother ’scase.And
whileIhavenonewinformationforyou,Icansaythatafterwhatyou’vebeenthrough,youhave
morereasonsthanmosttowanttodowhatwedo.”

“Andwhatisthat?”Iasked,mythroattighteningatthemerementionofthem-word.“Yousaidthat

you’llprovidetraining,andthatinexchangeI’llbeconsultingforyou.Consultingonwhat,exactly?
Trainingforwhat?”

Hepaused,butwhetherhewasassessingmeoraddingemphasistohisanswer,Iwasn’tsure.
“You’llbehelpingoncoldcases.OnestheBureauhasn’tbeenabletoclose.”

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Ithoughtofmymother—thebloodonthemirrorandthesirensandthewayIusedtosleepwitha

phone,hopingsodesperatelythatitwouldring.Ihadtoforcemyselftokeepbreathingnormally,to
keepfromclosingmyeyesandpicturingmymom’simpish,smilingface.

“Whatkindofcoldcases?”Iasked,myvoicecatchinginmythroat.Mylipsfeltsuddenlydry;my

eyesfeltwet.

AgentBriggshadthedecencytoignoretheemotionnowevidentonmyface.“Theexact

assignmentsvary,dependingonyourspecialty.Michael’saNaturalatreadingemotions,sohespends
agreatdealoftimegoingovertestimonyandinterrogationtapes.Withhisbackground,Isuspect
he’llultimatelybeagoodfitforourwhite-collarcrimedivision,butapersonwithhisskillsetcanbe
usefulinanykindofinvestigation.Oneoftheotherrecruitsintheprogramisawalkingencyclopedia
whoseespatternsandprobabilitieseverywhereshelooks.Westartedheroutoncrimescene
analysis.”

“Andme?”Iasked.
Hewassilentforamoment,measuring.Iglancedatthepapersonhisdeskandwonderedifanyof

themwereaboutme.

“You’reaNaturalprofiler,”hesaidfinally.“Youcanlookatapatternofbehaviorandfigureout

thepersonalityoftheperpetrator,orguesshowagivenindividualislikelytobehaveinthefuture.
Thattendstocomeinhandywhenwehaveaseriesofinterrelatedcrimes,butnodefinitesuspect.”

Ireadinbetweenthelinesofthatstatement,butwantedtobesure.“Interrelatedcrimes?”
“Serialcrimes,”hesaid,choosingadifferentwordandlettingithangintheairaroundus.

“Abductions.Arson.Sexualassault.”Hepaused,andIknewwhatthenextwordoutofhismouthwas
goingtobebeforehesaidit.“Murder.”

Thetruthhe’dbeendancingaroundforthepasthourwassuddenlyincrediblyclear.Heandhis

team,thisprogram—theydidn’tjustwanttoteachmehowtohonemyskills.Theywantedtousethem
tocatchkillers.

Serialkillers.

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YOU

Youlookatthebodyandfeelarushofanger.Rage.It’ssupposedtobesublime.You’resupposedto
decide
.You’resupposedtofeelthelifegooutofher.Sheisn’tsupposedtorushyou.

Sheshouldn’tbedeadyet,butsheis.
Sheshouldbeperfectnow,butshe’snot.
Shedidn’tscreamenough,andthenshescreamedtoomuch,andshecalledyounames.Namesthat

Heusedtocallyou.Andyougotangry.

Itwasovertoofast,toosoon,anditwasn’tyourfault,damnit.Itwashers.She’stheonewhomade

youangry.She’stheonewhoruinedit.

You’rebetterthanthis.You’resupposedtobelookingatherbodyandfeelingthepower,therush.

She’ssupposedtobeaworkofart.

Butshe’snot.
Youdrivetheknifeintoherstomachagainandagain,blindedtoanythingelse.She’snotperfect.

She’snotbeautiful.She’snothing.

You’renothing.
Butyouwon’tstaynothingforlong.

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CHAPTER5

IgaveAgentBriggsthego-aheadtotalktomyfather.Myfathercalledme.LessthanaweekafterI
toldmydadthiswaswhatIwanted,IgotwordthatBriggshadobtainedthenecessarypermissions.
Mypaperworkhadgonethrough.Thatnight,Iquitmyjobatthediner.Itookashower,changedinto
mypajamas,andpreparedforWorldWarIII.

Iwasgoingtodothis.I’dknownthatfromalmostthemomentthatAgentBriggshadstarted

speaking.Icaredaboutmygrandmother.Idid.AndIknewhowhardsheandtherestofthefamilyhad
triedtomakemefeelloved,nomatterhowI’dcometothemorhowmuchofmymothertherewasin
me.ButI’dneverreallybelongedhere.Apartofmehadneverreallyleftthatfatefultheater:the
lights,thecrowd,theblood.MaybeIneverwould,butAgentBriggswasofferingmeachancetodo
somethingaboutit.

Imightneversolvemyownmother ’smurder,butthisprogramwouldturnmeintothekindof

personwhocouldcatchkillers,whocouldmakesurethatanotherlittlegirl,inanotherlife,with
anothermother,wouldneverhavetoseewhatIhadseen.

Itwasmorbidandhorrifyingandtheverylastlifethefamilywouldhaveimaginedforme—andI

wanteditmorethanIhadeverwantedanything.

Icombedmyfingersthroughmyhair.Wet,itlookeddarkenoughtopassforbrowninsteadof

auburn.Thesteamfromtheshowerhadbroughtsomecolorintomycheeks.Ilookedlikethetypeof
girlwhocouldbelonghere,withthisfamily.

Withwethair,Ididn’tlooksomuchlikemymother.
“Chicken.”Ileveledtheinsultatmyownreflectionandthenpushedbackfromthemirror.Icould

stayhereuntilmyhairdried—infact,Icouldstayhereuntilmyhairwentgray—andthatwouldn’t
maketheconversationIwasabouttohaveanyeasier.

Downstairs,Nonnawascurledupinareclinerinthelivingroom,readingglassesperchedonher

noseandalarge-printromancenovelopeninherlap.ShelookedupthesecondIsteppedintheroom,
hereagleeyessharp.

“Youarereadyforbedearly,”shesaid,nosmallamountofsuspicioninhervoice.Nonnahad

successfullyraisedeightchildren.IfI’dbeenthetypetomaketrouble,therewouldhavebeennone
thatIcouldhavestirredupthatshehadn’talreadyseen.

“Iquitmyjobtoday,”Isaid,andthesparkleinhereyestoldmethosehadbeenthewrongwordsto

leadwith.“Idon’tneedyoutogetmeanewone,”Iaddedhastily.

Nonnamadeadismissivesoundunderherbreath.“Ofcoursenot.Youareindependent.Youdonot

needanythingfromyouroldNonna.Youdonotcareifsheworries.”

Well,thiswasgoingwell.
“Idon’twantyoutoworry,”Isaid,“butsomething’scomeup.Anopportunity.”
I’dalreadymadetheexecutivedecisionthatNonnadidn’tneedtoknowwhatI’dbedoing—orwhy.

IstucktothecoverstorythatAgentBriggshadgivenme.“There’saschool,”Isaid.“Aspecial
program.Thedirectorcametoseemelastweek.”

Nonnaharrumphed.
“HetalkedtoDad.”
“Thedirectorofthisprogramtalkedtoyourfather,”Nonnarepeated.“Andwhatdidmysonsayto

thismanwhocouldnotbebotheredtointroducehimselftome?”

IexplainedasmuchasIcould.IgaveherapamphletthatAgentBriggshadgivenme—onethat

didn’tmentionwordslikeprofilingorserialkillersorFBI.

“It’sasmallprogram,”Isaid.“Atakindofgrouphome.”

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“Andyourfather,hesaidyoucouldgo?”Nonnanarrowedhereyesatthesmilingkidsonthefront

ofthepamphlet,liketheywerepersonallyresponsibleforleadingherpreciousgranddaughterastray.

“Healreadysignedthepapers,Nonna.”Ilookeddownatmyhands,whichhadwoventhemselves

togetheratmywaist.“I’mgoingtogo.”

Therewassilence.Thenasharpintakeofbreath.Andthenanexplosion.
Ididn’tspeakItalian,butbasedontheemphaticgesturesandthewayshewasspittingoutthe

words,Iwasabletomakeaneducatedguessatatranslation.

Nonna’sgranddaughterwasmovingcross-countrytoenrollinagovernment-sponsoredgifted

programoverherdeadandrottingcorpse.

———

Nobodystagesaninterventionlikemyfather ’sfamilystagesanintervention.TheBat-Signalhad
nothingontheBattaglia-Signal,andlessthantwenty-fourhoursafterNonnasentoutthedistresscall,
thefamilyhadgatheredinforce.Therewasyellingandscreamingandcrying—andfood.Lotsof
food.Iwasthreatenedandcajoled,browbeatenandclaspedtomultiplebosoms.Butforthefirsttime
sinceI’dmetthishalfofmyfamilytree,Icouldn’tjusttempermyreactionstotheirs.Icouldn’tgive
themwhattheywanted.Icouldn’tpretend.

Thenoisebuilttoacrescendo,andIdrewintomyselfandwaitedforittopass.Eventually,they’d

noticethatIwasn’tsayinganything.

“Cassie,sweetheart,aren’tyouhappyhere?”oneofmyauntsaskedfinally.Therestofthetable

fellsilent.

“I’m…”Icouldn’tsayanymorethanthat.Isawtherealizationpassovertheirfaces.“It’snotthat

I’mnothappy,”Iinterjectedquickly.“It’sjust…”

Foronce,theyheardwhatIwasn’tsaying.Fromthemomentthey’dlearnedofmyexistence,I’d

beenfamilytothem.Theyhadn’trealizedthatinmyowneyes,I’dalwaysbeen—andmaybealways
wouldbe—anoutsider.

“Ineedtodothis,”Isaid,myvoiceasquietastheirshadbeenloud.“Formymom.”
ThatwasclosertothetruththanI’devermeanttotellthem.
“Youthinkyourmotherwouldhavewantedyoutodothis?”Nonnaasked.“Toleavethefamily

thatlovesyou,thatwilltakecareofyou,togoofftotheothersideofthecountry,alone,todoGod
knowswhat?”

Itwasmeantasarhetoricalquestion,butIansweredit:vehemently,decisively.
“Yes.”Ipaused,expectinganargument,butIdidn’tgetone.“Iknowyoudon’tlikeit,andIhope

youdon’thatemeforit,butIhavetodothis.”Istoodup.“Ileaveinthreedays.I’dreallyliketocome
backforChristmas,butifyoudon’twantmehere,I’dunderstand.”

Nonnacrossedtheroominasecond,surprisinglyspryforsomeoneherage.Shepokedavicious

fingerintomychest.“YoucomehomeforChristmas,”shesaidinamannerthatmadeitquiteclear
sheconsidereditanorder.“Youeventhinkaboutnotcominghome?”Shenarrowedhereyesand
drewherpokingfingeracrossherneckinamenacingfashion.“Capisce?”

Asmiletuggedattheedgeofmylips,andtearsburnedinmyeyes.“Capisce.”

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CHAPTER6

Threedayslater,Ileftfortheprogram.Michaelwastheonewhocametopickmeup.Heparkedout
atthecurbandwaited.

“Idonotlikethis,”Nonnatoldmeformaybethethousandthtime.
“Iknow.”Ibrushedakissagainsthertemple,andshecuppedmyheadinherhands.
“Youbegood,”shesaidfiercely.“Youbecareful.Yourfather,”sheadded,asanafterthought.“I

amgoingtokillhim.”

IglancedbackovermyshoulderandsawMichaelstandingwithhisbacktoagleamingblack

Porsche.Fromadistance,Icouldn’tmakeouttheexpressiononhisface,butIhadasuspicionthathe
wasn’thavinganytroubleinterpretingmyfeelings.

“I’llbecareful,”ItoldNonna,turningmybackontheboywiththediscerningeye.“Promise.”
“Eh,”shesaidfinally.“Howmuchtroublecanyougetinto?Thereareonlyafewstudentsinthe

entireschool.”

Afewstudentswhowerebeingtrainedtoanalyzecrimescenes,poreoverwitnesstestimony,and

trackserialkillers.Whattroublecouldwepossiblygetinto?

Withoutanotherword,Ihauledmybagouttothecar.Nonnafollowedand,whenMichaelopened

thetrunkbutmadenomovetohelpmewithmybag,sheshothimadisapprovinglook.

“Youarejustgoingtostandthere?”sheasked.
Withanalmostimperceptiblesmirk,Michaeltookthebagfrommyhandandhoistediteffortlessly

intothetrunk.Thenheleanedclose,intomypersonalspace,andwhispered,“AndhereI’dpegged
youasthekindofgirlwho’dwanttodotheheavyliftingherself.”

Nonnaeyedme.SheeyedMichael.Sheeyedwhatlittlespacetherewasbetweenthetwoofus.And

thenshemadeaharrumphingsound.

“Anythinghappenstoher,”shetoldMichael,“thisfamily—weknowhowtodisposeofabody.”
Insteadofgivingintothemortificationandburyingmyheadinmyhands,Isaidgood-byeto

Nonnaandclimbedintothecar.Michaelfollowedsuit.

“Sorryaboutthat,”Isaid.
Michaelarchedoneeyebrow.“Aboutthedeaththreat,ortheimaginarychastitybeltshe’sfitting

youwithaswespeak?”

“Shutup.”
“Oh,comeon,Cassie.Ithinkit’snice.Youhaveafamilythatcares.”
Maybehethoughtthatwasnice,andmaybehedidn’t.“Idon’twanttotalkaboutmyfamily.”
Michaelgrinned,completelyundeterred.“Iknow.”
IthoughtbacktowhatAgentBriggshadtoldmeaboutMichael’sgift.
“Youreademotions,”Isaid.
“Facialexpressions,posture,gestures,theworks,”hesaid.“Younibbleontheinsideofyourlip

whenyou’renervous.Andyougetthislittlewrinkleatthecornerofyourrighteyewhenyou’re
tryingnottostare.”

Hesaidallofthiswithoutevertakinghiseyesofftheroad.Mygazeflittedtothespeedometer,and

Irealizedhowfastweweregoing.

“Doyouwanttogetpulledover?”Isqueaked.
Heshrugged.“You’retheprofiler,”hesaid.“Youtellme.”Heeasedofftheacceleratoreverso

slightly.“That’swhatprofilersdo,isn’tit?Youlookatthewayapersonisdressed,orthewaya
persontalks,everylittledetail,andyouputthatpersoninabox.Youfigureoutwhatkindof
individualyou’redealingwith,andyouconvinceyourselfthatyouknowexactlywhateveryoneelse

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wants.”

Okay,sohe’dhadanexperience—andnotagoodone—withaprofilerinthepast.Itookthatto

meanthatthedifficultyI’dbeenhavinggettingareadonhimwasnoaccident.Helikedkeepingme
guessing.

“YouwearadifferentstyleofclothingeverytimeIseeyou,”Isaid.“Youstanddifferently.You

talkdifferently.Youneversayanythingaboutyourself.”

“MaybeIlikebeingtall,dark,andmysterious,”Michaelreplied,takingaturnsoquicklythatIhad

toremindmyselftobreathe.

“You’renotthattall,”Igrittedout.Helaughed.
“You’reannoyedwithme,”hesaid,wigglinghiseyebrows.“Butalsointrigued.”
“Wouldyoustopthat?”I’dneverrealizedhowirritatingitwastobetheoneunderthemicroscope.
“I’llmakeyouadeal,”Michaelsaid.“I’llstoptryingtoreadyouremotionsifyoustoptryingto

profileme.”

Ihadsomanyquestions—aboutthewayhe’dgrownup,abouthisability,aboutwhyhe’dwarned

metostayaway—butunlessIwantedhimmakinganintensestudyofmyemotions,I’dhavetogetmy
answersthenormalway.

“Fine,”Isaid.“Deal.”
Hesmiled.“Excellent.Now,asashowofgoodfaith,sinceI’vealreadyspentagoodchunkoftime

gettinginsideyourhead,I’llgiveyouthreequestionstotrytogetinsidemine.”

Thepuzzlesolverinmewantedtoaskwhatkindofclothesheworewhentherewasnoonearound

toseehim,howmanysiblingshehad,andwhichoneofhisparentshadturnedhimintothekindof
guywhowasalittleangryattheworld.

ButIdidn’t.
Anyonecomfortabledrivingthisfastwasn’tgoingtoshyawayfromafewlittlewhitelies.IfI

askedhimwhatIwantedtoknow,allIwouldgetwasmoremixedmessages—soIaskedhimtheonly
questionIwasfairlycertainhe’danswerhonestly.

“What’swiththePorsche?”
Michaeltookhiseyesofftheroadjustlongenoughtoflickhisgazeovertome,andIknewthat

I’dsurprisedhim.

“ThePorsche?”herepeated.
Inodded.“I’mprettysureit’snotstandardFBIissue.”
Theedgesofhislipscurvedupward,andforonce,therewasnodarkundercurrenttothe

expression.“ThePorschewasapresent,”hetoldme.“Frommylifebefore.Gettingtokeepitwas
oneoftheconditionsIgaveBriggsforjoiningup.”

“Whywouldn’thehaveletyoukeepit?”Iasked,realizingbelatedlythatI’djustburnedquestion

numbertwo.

“Taxfraud,”Michaelreplied.“Notmine.Myfather ’s.”
Fromthetightnessinhisvoice,IgotthefeelingthatkeepingthePorscheprobablyhadn’tbeenthe

onlyconditionofMichael’sparticipationintheprogram.Whetherhe’daskedforthegovernmentto
overlookhisfather ’scrimesorhisfatherhadbarteredawayhissoninexchangeforimmunity,I
wasn’tsure.

Ididn’task.
Instead,Istucktosaferground.“What’sitlike?Theprogram?”
“I’veonlybeenthereforafewmonths,”Michaelsaid.“Briggssprungmetocomegetyou.Good

behavior,Iguess.”

Somehow,Idoubtedthat.
MichaelseemedtosensethatIwasn’tbuyingit.“AndalsopossiblybecauseBriggsneeded

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someonetoreadyouremotionsandfigureoutwhetherornotyou’reasecretbottleofragewho
shouldn’tbegrantedaccesstoconfidentialfiles.”

“DidIpass?”Iasked,ateasingnotemakingitswayintomyvoice.
“Uh-uh-uh,”Michaelreplied.“That’sfourquestions.”
Withnowarning,hejerkedthesteeringwheeltotheleft,pulledaU-turn,andthentookafastright.

Afewsecondslater,thetwoofusslammedintoaparkingspaceatwhatappearedtobesomekindof
airporthangar.

“What,”Isaid,myeyeswideningasItookinthesleekhunkofmetalinfrontofus,“isthat?”
“That?”Michaelrepeated.“That’sthejet.”
“Letmeguess,”Isaid,onlyhalfjoking.“Youmadegettingtokeepyourprivatejetaconditionof

youracceptanceintotheprogram?”

Michaelsnorted.“Sadly,itbelongstotheFBI.WhenBriggsisn’toutropingtheyoungand

impressionableintodoinghisdirtyworkforhim,hebelongstoaspecializedteamthatworkswith
lawenforcementacrossthecountry.Thejetcutsdownontraveltime.Forus,it’sjustaperk.”

“Cassie,”AgentBriggsgreetedmethesecondIsteppedoutofthecar.Justmyname,nothingelse.
Michaelhitabutton,andthetrunkpoppedopen.Iwenttoretrievemybag,andMichaelshot

BriggsaverygoodimitationofNonna’sscowl.“Youjustgoingtostandthere?”heaskedtheFBI
agent.

Briggshelpedmewithmybag,andMichaelcaughtmyeye.“Amused,”hewhispered.“Andalso

someresidualembarrassment.”

IttookmeasecondtorealizethatMichaelwasn’tinterpretingBriggs’sfacialexpression.Hewas

interpretingmine.

I’llstoptryingtoreadyouremotionsifyoustoptryingtoprofileme.
Liar.
Withoutanotherword,Michaelturnedandsaunteredtothejet.BythetimeIclimbedaboard,he

wasalreadylounginginthebackrowofseats.Helookedup,hispostureinviting,hiseyestellingme
tostayaway.

Tearingmygazefromhis,Itookaseatintherowinfrontofhim,facingthecockpit.We’dsee

howgoodhewasatreadingmyemotionsbasedonnothingmorethanthebackofmyhead.

“Tellyouwhat,”Michaelwhispered,hisvoiceloudenoughtoreachmyears,butnotBriggs’s.“If

youpromisenottogivemethesilenttreatment,I’llgiveyouafourthquestion,freeofcharge.”

Astheplanetookoffandthecitygrewsmallbehindus,Iturnedaroundinmychair.
“You’releavingthePorscheinDenver?”Iasked.
Heleanedforward,closeenoughthathisforeheadwasalmosttouchingmine.
“Thedevil’sinthedetails,Cassie.IneversaidthatPorschewasmyonlycar.”

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YOU

It’sbeendayssincethelasttime,daysofrelivingyourfailure,overandoveragain.Eachminutehas
beentorture,andnowyou’reonaschedule.Youdon’thavetheluxuryofhuntingfortheperfectgirl.
Therightgirl.There’snothingspecialabouttheoneyou’vechosen,exceptforthecolorofherhair.

Itremindsyouofsomeoneelse’shair,andthat’senough.Fornow.
Youkillherinamotelroom.Nooneseesyouenter.Noonewillseeyouleave.Youputducttape

overhermouth.Youhavetoimaginethesoundofherscreams,butthelookinhereyesisworthit.

It’sfast,butnottoofast.
It’syours.
You’reincharge.Youdecide.Youslidetheknifeintothefleshunderhercheekbone.Youcarvethe

heavymakeup—andtheskin—offofherface.

There.That’sbetter.
Youfeelbetter.Moreincontrol.Andyouknowthateventhoughyoudon’thavetimeforpictures,

you’llneverforgetthewaythebloodlooksasitstainsherhair.

Somedays,youthink,itfeelslikeyouhavebeendoingthisforever.Butnomatterhowmanythere

are,nomatterhowproficientyou’vebecomeatshowingthemwhatyouare,whattheyare,thereisa
partofyouthatknows.

Itwillneverbequiteright.
Itwillneverbeperfect.
Therewillneverbeanotheronelikethefirst.

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PARTTWO:LEARNING

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CHAPTER7

Isteppedoffthejetandblinked,myeyesadjustingtothesun.Awomanwithbrightredhairstrode
towardtheplane.Shewaswearingagraysuitandblacksunglasses,andshewalkedlikeshehad
someplacetobe.

“Iheardarumorweweregettinginaroundthesametime,”shecalledouttoBriggs.“ThoughtI’d

cometogreetyouinperson.”Withoutwaitingforareply,sheturnedherattentiontome.“I’mSpecial
AgentLaceyLocke.Briggsismypartner,andyou’reCassandraHobbes.”

Shetimedthisspeechtoendjustassheclosedthespacebetweenus.Sheheldoutahand,andIwas

struckbythefactthatshelookedsomehowimpishdespitethesunglassesandthesuit.

Itookherhand.“It’snicetomeetyou,”Isaid.“MostpeoplejustcallmeCassie.”
“Cassieitis,then,”shereplied.“Briggstellsmeyou’reoneofmine.”
Oneofhers?
Michaelfilledintheblank.“Aprofiler.”
“Don’tsoundsoenthusiasticaboutthescienceofprofiling,Michael,”Lockesaidlightly.“Cassie

mightmistakeyouforaseventeen-year-oldboywithoutastrongsenseofderisionfortherestofthe
world.”

Michaelheldahandtohischest.“Yoursarcasmwoundsme,AgentLocke.”
Shesnorted.
“You’rehomeearly,”Briggscutin,aimingthecommentatAgentLocke.“NothinginBoise?”
Lockegaveabriefjerkofherhead.“Deadend.”
Anunspokencommunicationpassedbetweenthetwoofthem,andthenBriggsturnedtome.“As

Michaelsoobliginglypointedout,AgentLockeisaprofiler.She’llbeinchargeofyourtraining.”

“Luckyyou,”Lockesaidwithagrin.
“Areyou…”Iwasn’tsurehowtoask.
“ANatural?”shesaid.“No.There’sonlyonethingI’veeverbeenanaturalat,andsadly,Ican’ttell

youaboutthatuntilyou’retwenty-one.ButIdidgothroughtheFBIAcademyandtookeveryclass
theyofferedinbehavioralanalysis.I’vebeenapartofthebehavioralscienceunitforalmostthree
years.”

Iwonderedifitwouldberudetoaskhowoldshewasnow.
“Twenty-nine,”shesaid.“Anddon’tworry,you’llgetusedtoit.”
“Usedtowhat?”
Shegrinnedagain.“Peopleansweringquestionsbeforeyouaskthem.”

———

Theprogram’sbaseofoperationswasaloomingVictorian-stylehouseinthetinytownofQuantico,
Virginia—closeenoughtoFBIheadquartersonMarineCorpsBaseQuanticotobehandy,butnotso
closethatpeopleweregoingtostartaskingquestions.

“Livingroom.Mediaroom.Library.Study.”ThepersonthatBriggshadfoundtolookafterthe

house—andus—wasaretiredmarinebythenameofJuddHawkins.Hewassixty-something,eagle-
eyed,andamanoffewwords.“Kitchen’sthroughthere.Yourroomisonthesecondfloor.”Judd
pausedforafractionofasecondtolookatme.“You’llbesharingwithoneoftheothergirls.Iexpect
that’snotaproblem?”

Ishookmyhead,andhestrodebackdownthehallwayandtowardastaircase.“Lookalive,Ms.

Hobbes,”hecalledback.IhurriedtocatchupandthoughtIheardasmileinhisvoice,thoughthere

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wasbarelyahintofitonhisface.

Ifoughtasmileofmyown.JuddHawkinsmightnothavebeengruffandno-nonsense,butmygut

wastellingmehehadmoresoftspotsthanmostpeoplewouldhavethought.

Hecaughtmestudyinghimandgaveabrisk,businesslikenod.LikeBriggs,hedidn’tseemto

mindtheideathatImightbegettingageneralpictureofhispersonalityfromthelittledetails.

UnlikeacertainotherindividualIcouldthinkof,who’ddonehisbesttothwartmeateveryturn.
RefusingtoglancebackatMichael,Inoticedaseriesofframedpicturesliningthestaircase.A

dozenorsomen.Onewoman.Mostwereintheirlatetwentiesorearlythirties,butoneortwowere
older.Someweresmiling;somewerenot.Apaunchymanwithdarkeyebrowsandthinninghairhung
betweenahandsomeheartbreakerandablack-and-whitephotofromtheturnofthecentury.Atthetop
ofthestairs,anelderlycouplesmiledoutfromaslightlylargerportrait.

IglancedatJudd,wonderingifthesewerehisrelatives,oriftheybelongedtosomeoneelseinthis

house.

“They’rekillers.”AnAsiangirlaboutmyagesteppedaroundthecorner.Shemovedlikeacat—

andsmiledlikeshe’djusteatenacanary.

“Thepeopleinthepictures,”sheclarified.“They’reserialkillers.”Shetwirledhershinyblack

ponytailaroundherindexfinger,clearlyenjoyingmydiscomfort.“It’stheprogram’scheerywayof
remindingDeanwhyhe’shere.”

Dean?WhowasDean?
“Personally,Ithinkit’salittlemacabre,butthenagain,I’mnotaprofiler.”Thegirlflickedher

ponytail.“Youare,though.Aren’tyou?”

Shetookastepforward,andmyeyesweredrawntoherfootwear:blackleatherbootswithheels

highenoughtomakemyfeetshudderinspasmsofsympathy.Shewaswearingskintightblackpants
andahigh-neckedsleevelesssweater,electricbluetomatchthestreaksinherblackhair.

AsItookinherclothing,thegirlclosedthespacebetweenusuntilshewasstandingsoclosetome

thatIthoughtshemightreachoutandstarttwirlingmyhairinsteadofherown.

“Lia,”Juddsaid,absolutelyunfazed,“thisisCassie.Ifyou’refinishedtryingtoscareher,I’m

bettingshe’dreallyliketosetthatbagdown.”

Liashrugged.“Micasaessucasa.Yourroomisthroughthere.”
“Your”room,Ithought.Not“our”room.
“Cassie’sreallybrokenupaboutnotroomingwithyou,Lia,”Michaelsaid,interpretingmyfacial

expressionwithawink.Liapivotedtofacehim,andherlipstwistedupwardinaslow,sizzlinggrin.

“Missme?”sheasked.
“Likeathorninmypaw,”Michaelreplied.
Comingupthestairsbehindus,AgentBriggsclearedhisthroat.“Lia,”hesaid.“Nicetoseeyou.”
Liagavehimalook.“Now,AgentBriggs,”shereplied,“that’ssimplynottrue.”
AgentLockerolledhereyes.“Lia’sspecialtyisdeception,”shetoldme.“Shehasanuncanny

knackforbeingabletotellwhenpeoplearelying.And,”AgentLockeadded,meetingLia’seyes,
“she’saverygoodliar.”

Liadidn’tseemtotakeoffenseattheagent’swords.“I’malsobilingual,”shesaid.“Andvery,very

flexible.”

ThesecondverywasaimeddirectlyatMichael.
“So,”Isaid,myduffelbagdiggingintomyshoulderasItriedtoprocessthefactthatLiawasa

Naturalliar,“thepicturesonthewallaren’tserialkillers?”

Thatquestionwasansweredwithsilence.SilencefromMichael.SilencefromJudd.Silencefrom

AgentLocke,wholookedabitabashed.

AgentBriggsclearedhisthroat.“No,”hesaidfinally.“That’strue.”

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Myeyesweredrawntotheportraitoftheelderlycouple.
Smilingserialkillers,five-inchheels,andagirlwithagiftforlying?Thiswasgoingtobe

interesting.

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CHAPTER8

BriggsandLockeleftshortlyafterJuddshowedmetomyroom.Theypromisedtoreturnthenext
dayfortraining,butfornow,allthatwasexpectedofmewastosettlein.Myroommate—whoever
shewas—hadyettomakeanappearance,soforthemoment,Ihadtheroomtomyself.

Twinbedssatatoppositeendsoftheroom.Abaywindowoverlookedthebackyard.Tentatively,I

openedwhatIassumedtobetheclosetdoor.Theclosetwasexactlyhalffull:halfofeachrack,halfof
thefloorspace,halfoftheshelves.Myroommatefavoredpatternstosolids,brightcolorstopastels,
andhadahealthyamountofblackandwhiteinherwardrobe,butnogray.

Allofhershoeswereflats.
“Dialitbackanotch,Cassie,”Itoldmyself.I’dhavemonthstoanalyzemyroommate’s

personality—withoutcreepilystalkingherhalfofthecloset.Quicklyandefficiently,Iemptiedmy
ownbag.I’dlivedinColoradoforfiveyears,butbeforethat,thelongestI’deverlivedinoneplace
wasfourmonths.Mymotherwasalwaysofftothenextshow,thenexttown,thenextmark,andIwas
anexpertunpacker.

TherewasstillspaceonmysideoftheclosetwhenIwasdone.
“Knock-knock.”Lia’svoicewashighandclear.Shedidn’twaitforpermissionbeforecominginto

theroom,andIrealizedwithastartthatshe’dchangedclothes.

Thebootshadbeenreplacedwithballetflats,andshe’dtradedthetightblackpantsforalacy,

flowingskirt.Herhairwaspulledbackatthenapeofherneck,andevenhereyeslookedsofter.

Itwaslikeshe’dgivenherselfamakeover—orswitchedpersonalitiesaltogether.
FirstMichael,nowLia.Iwonderedifhe’dpickedupthetrickofchangingclothingstylesfrom

her,orifshe’dgottenitfromhim.GiventhatLiawastheonewhospecializedindeception,my
moneywasontheformer.

“Areyoufinishedunpackingyet?”sheasked.
“I’mstillworkingonsomestuff,”Isaid,busyingmyselfwiththedresser.
“No.You’renot.”
I’dneverconsideredmyselfaliaruntilthatmoment,whenLia’sabilitytooktheoptionaway.
“Look,thoseserialkillerpicturesgivenewmeaningtothewordcreepy.”Lialeanedbackagainst

thedoorjamb.“IwashereforsixweeksbeforesomeonetoldmethatGrandmaandGrampswere
actuallyFayeandRayCopeland,whowereconvictedofkillingfivepeopleandmadeacozylittle
quiltoutoftheirclothes.Trustme,it’sbetterthatyouknownow.”

“Thanks,”Isaiddryly.
“Anyway,”Liasaid,draggingouttheword,“Juddgivescrappytours.He’sasurprisinglydecent

cook,andhe’sgoteyesinthebackofhishead,buthe’snotexactlywhatonewouldcallchatty,and
unlesswe’reabouttoburntheplacedown,he’sprettyhands-off.Ithoughtyoumightwantarealtour.
Orthatyoumighthavesomequestions.”

Iwasn’tsurethatapersonrenownedforherskillatlyingwastheidealinformationsourceortour

guide,butIwasn’tabouttoturndownapeaceoffering,andIdidhaveonequestion.

“Where’smyroommate?”
“Whereshealwaysis,”Liarepliedinnocently.“Thebasement.”

———

Thebasementranthelengthofthehouseandstretchedoutunderneaththefrontandbackyards.From
thebottomofthestairs,allIcouldseewastwoenormouswhitewallsthatranthewidthofthespace,

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butdidn’tquitereachthefourteen-footceilings.Therewasasmallspacebetweenwhereonewall
endedandthenextbegan.

Anentrance.
Iwalkedtowardit.Somethingexploded,andIjumpedbackward,myhandsflyingupinfrontof

myface.

Glass,Ithoughtbelatedly.Shatteringglass.
Asecondlater,IrealizedthatIcouldn’tseethesourceofthesound.Iloweredmyhandsand

lookedbackatLia,whohadn’tsomuchasflinched.

“Isthatnormal?”Iaskedher.
Shegaveagracefullittleshrug.“Definenormal.”
Agirlpokedherheadoutfrombehindoneofthepartitions.“Conformingtoatype,standard,or

regularpattern.”

ThefirstthingInoticedaboutthegirl—otherthanthechippertoneinhervoiceandthefactthat

shehadliterallyjustdefinednormal—washerhair.Itwasblond,glow-in-the-darkpale,andstick
straight.Theendswereunevenandherblunt-cutbangsweretooshort,likeshe’dchoppedthemoff
herself.

“Aren’tyousupposedtobewearingsafetygoggles?”Liaasked.
“Itispossiblethatmygoggleshavebeencompromised.”Withthat,thegirldisappearedback

behindthepartition.

Basedontheself-satisfiedcurveofLia’slips,IwasgoingtogooutonalimbandguessthatIhad

justmetmyroommate.

“Sloane,Cassie,”Liasaidwithagrandgesture.“Cassie,Sloane.”
“Nicetomeetyou,”Isaid.Itookafewstepsforward,untilIwasstandinginthespacebetweenthe

partitionsandcouldseewhattheyhadhiddenbefore.Anarrowhallwaystretchedoutinfrontofme.It
waslinedwithroomsoneitherside.Eachroomhadonlythreewalls.

Immediatelytomyleft,IfoundSloanestandinginthemiddleofwhatappearedtobeabathroom.

Therewasadooronthefarside,andIrealizedthatthespacelookedexactlythewayabathroom
wouldifsomeonehadremovedthebackwall.

“Likeamovieset,”Imurmured.Therewasglassalloverthefloor,andatleastahundredPost-it

notesstucktotheedgeofthesinkandscatteredinaspiralpatternonthetiles.Iglancedbackdownthe
hallwayattheotherrooms.Theothersets.

“Potentialcrimescene,”Liacorrected.“Forsimulations.Onthisside”—Liaposedlikeagame

showassistant—“wehaveinteriorlocations:bathrooms,bedrooms,kitchens,foyers.Acoupleof
miniature—andIdomeanminiature—restaurantsets,and,justbecausewereallyarethatcliché,a
mockpostoffice,forallyourgoingpostalneeds.”

Liapivotedandgesturedtowardtheothersideofthehall.“Andoverhere,”shesaid,“wehavea

fewoutdoorscenes:park,parkinglot,make-outpoint.”

IturnedbacktothebathroomsetandSloane.Shekneltgingerlynexttotheshardsofglassonthe

floorandstaredatthem.Herfacewascalm.Herfingershoveredjustoverthecarnage.

Afteralongmoment,sheblinkedandstoodup.“Yourhairisred.”
“Yes,”Isaid.“Itis.”
“Peoplewithredhairrequireroughlytwentypercentmoreanesthesiatoundergosurgery,and

they’resignificantlymorelikelytowakeuponthetable.”

IgotthedistinctfeelingthatthiswasSloane’sversionof“hello,”andsuddenly,everythingclicked

intoplace:theprevalenceofpatternsinherwardrobe,theprecisionwithwhichshe’ddividedour
closetintwo.“AgentBriggssaidthatsomeoneherewasaNaturalwithnumbersandprobabilities.”

“Sloane’sabsolutelydangerouswithanythingnumerical,”Liasaid.Shegesturedlazilytowardthe

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glassshards.“Sometimesliterally.”

“Itwasjustatest,”Sloanesaiddefensively.“Thealgorithmthatpredictsthescatterpatternofthe

shardsisreallyquite—”

“Fascinating?”avoicebehindussuggested.Liadraggedonelong,manicurednailoverherbottom

lip.Iturnedaround.

Michaelsmiled.“Youshouldseeherwhenshe’shadcaffeine,”hetoldme,noddingatSloane.
“Michael,”Sloanesaiddarkly,“hidesthecoffee.”
“Trustme,”Michaeldrawled,“it’sakindnesstousall.”Hepausedandthengavemealong,slow

smile.“Thesetwohaveyouniceandtraumatizedyet,Colorado?”

Iprocessedthefactthathe’djustgivenmeanickname,andLiasteppedinbetweenus.

“Traumatized?”sherepeated.“It’salmostlikeyoudon’ttrustme,Michael.”Hereyeswidenedandher
lowerlippokedout.

Michaelsnorted.“Wonderwhy.”
Anemotionreader,adeceptionspecialist,astatisticianwhocouldnotbeallowedtoingestcoffee,

andme.

“Isthisit?”Iasked.“Justthefourofus?”
Hadn’tLiamentionedsomeoneelse?
Michael’seyesdarkened.Lia’smouthcurvedslowlyintoasmile.
“Well,”Sloanesaidbrightly,completelyunawareofthechangingundercurrentintheroom.

“There’salsoDean.”

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CHAPTER9

WefoundDeaninthegarage.Hewaslyingonablackbench,facingawayfromthedoor.Darkblond
hairwasplasteredtohisfacewithsweat,hisjawclenchedasheexecutedaseriesofslowand
methodicalbenchpresses.Eachtimehiselbowslocked,Iwonderedifhe’dstop.Eachtime,hekept
going.

Hewasmuscularbutlean,andmyfirstimpressionwasthatthiswasn’taworkout.Thiswas

punishment.

MichaelrolledhiseyesandthenstrolledupbehindDean.“Ninety-eight,”hesaid,histonefullof

mockpain.“Ninety-nine.Onehundred!”

Deanclosedhiseyesforabriefmoment,thenpushedthebarbellupagain.Hisarmsshookslightly

ashewenttosettheweightdown.Michaelclearlyhadnointentionofspottinghim.Tomysurprise,
SloanepushedpastMichael,wrappeddaintylittlehandsaroundthebarbell,androckedbackonher
heels,anglingitintoplace.

Deanwipedhishandsonhisjeans,grabbedanearbytowel,andsatup.“Thanks,”hetoldSloane.
“Torque,”shesaid,insteadofyou’rewelcome.“Theroleoftheleverwasplayedbymyarms.”
Deanstoodup,hislipsanglingslightlyupward,butthemomenthesawme,thefledglingsmile

frozeonhisface.

“DeanRedding,”Michaelsaid,enjoyingDean’ssuddenobviousdiscomfortalittletoomuch,

“meetCassieHobbes.”

“Nicetomeetyou,”Deansaid,pullingdarkeyesfrommineanddirectingthosewordsatthefloor.
Lia,who’dbeenremarkablyquietuptothispoint,raisedaneyebrowatDean.“Well,”shesaid,

“that’snotstrictly—”

“Lia.”Dean’svoicewasn’tloudorhard,butthesecondhesaidhername,Liastopped.
“That’snotstrictlywhat?”Iasked,eventhoughIknewthatthenextwordoutofhermouthwould

havebeentrue.

“Nevermind,”Liasaidinasingsongtone.
IlookedbackatDean:Lighthair.Darkeyes.Openposture.Clenchedfists.
Icatalogedthewayhewasstanding,thelinesofhisface,thedingywhiteT-shirtandrattyblue

jeans.Hishairneededtobecut,andhestoodwithhisbacktothewall,hisfacecastinshadows,like
thatwaswherehebelonged.

Whywasn’titnicetomeetme?
“Dean,”Michaelsaid,withtheairofsomeoneimpartingafascinatingbitofuselesstrivia,“isa

Naturalprofiler.Justlikeyou.”

ThoselastthreewordsseemedmoreaimedatDeanthanme,andastheyhittheirtarget,Deanlifted

hiseyestomeetMichael’s.TherewasnoemotiononDean’sface,buttherewassomethinginhiseyes,
andIfoundmyselfexpectingMichaeltolookawayfirst.

“Dean,”Michaelcontinued,staringatDeanandtalkingtome,“knowsmoreaboutthewaythat

killersthinkthanjustaboutanyone.”

Deanthrewdownthetowelinhishand.Musclestaut,hebrushedbyMichaelandSloane,byLia,by

me.Afewsecondslater,hewasgone.

“Deanhasatemper,”Michaeltoldme,leaningbackagainsttheworkoutbench.
Liasnorted.“Michael,ifDeanhadatemper,you’dbedead.”
“Dean’snotgoingtokillanyone,”Sloanesaid,hervoicealmostcomicallyserious.
Michaeldugaquarteroutofhispocketandflippeditintheair.“Wannabet?”

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———

Thatnight,Ididn’tdream.Ialsodidn’tsleepmuch,courtesyofthefactthatSloane,whohadadainty
littlebuild,alsoapparentlyhadthenasalpassagesofanoverweighttrucker.Instead,asItriedtoblock
outthesoundofhersnoring,IclosedmyeyesandpicturedeachoftheNaturalswholivedinthis
house.Michael.Dean.Lia.Sloane.NoneofthemwaswhatI’dexpected.Noneofthemfitafamiliar
mold.AsIdriftedintothathalf-awake,half-asleepstatethatwasascloseasIwasgoingtogettoa
realnight’srest,IplayedagameI’dinventedwhenIwaslittle.Imentallypeeledoffmyownskinand
putonsomeoneelse’s.

Lia’s.
Istartedwiththephysicalthings.ShewastallerthanIwas,andlithe.Herhairwaslonger,and

insteadofsleepingwithittuckedunderherhead,shewouldspreaditoutonthepillow.Her
fingernailswerepainted,andwhenshehadenergytoburn,sherubbedthethumbnailonherlefthand
withthethumbonherright.Inmymind,Iturnedmyhead—Lia’shead—totheside,peeringintoher
closet.

IfMichaelhadleveragedacaroutofBriggs,Liawouldhavegoneforclothes.Icouldalmostsee

thecloset,fulltooverflowing.Astheroomcamemoreintofocus,Icouldfeelmysubconscious
takingover,feelmyselflosingtherealworldinfavorofthisimaginaryoneI’dbuiltinmyhead.

Iletgoofmybedandmycloset,myphysicalsensations.IletmyselfbeLia,andarushof

informationcameatmefromallsides.Likeawritergettinglostinabook,Iletthesimulationrunits
course.WhereSloaneandIwereneat,theLiainmyheadwasmessy,herroomamultisensory
archiveofthepastfewmonths.Therewasnorhymeorreasontotheorganizationofthecloset.
Dresseshunghalfonandhalfoffthehangers.Therewereclothes—dirty,clean,new,andeverything
inbetween—onthefloor.

Ipicturedgettingoutofbed.Inmyownbody,Ihadatendencytositupfirst,butLiawouldn’ttake

thetime.She’drolloutofbed,readyforaction.Readytoattack.Longhairfellonmyshoulders,andI
twirledastrandofitaroundmyindexfinger:anotherofLia’snervoushabits,designedtolooklikeit
wasn’tnervousatall.

Iglancedoveratthedoortotheroom.Closed,ofcourse.Probablyalsolocked.WhowasI

keepingout?WhatwasIafraidof?

Afraid?Iscoffedsilently,mymind-voicesoundingmoreandmorelikeLia’s.I’mnotafraidof

anything.

Iwalkedovertothecloset—lightonmytoes,hipsswayinggently—andpulledoutthefirstshirtI

touched.Theselectionwascompletelyrandom,butwhatcamenextwasn’t.Ibuilttheoutfituparound
me.Idressedmyselfuplikeadoll,andwitheachpassingmoment,Iputthatmuchmorespace
betweenthesurfaceandeverythingunderneath.

Ididmyhair,myeyes,mynails.
Buttherewasstillthatlittlevoiceinmyhead.ThesameonethathadinsistedIwasn’tscared.Only

thistime,theonethingitkeptsaying,overandoveragain,wasthatIwashere—behindthislocked
doorwithwhoknowswhatwaitingoutside—becauseIhadnowhereelsetogo.

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YOU

You’rehomenow.You’realone.Everythingisinitsplace.Everythingbutthis.

Youknowthatthereareotherpeoplelikeyou.Othermonsters.Othergods.Youknowyou’renotthe

onlyonewhotakeskeepsakes,thingstorememberthegirlsby,oncetheirscreamsandtheirbodiesand
theirbegging-pleading-lyinglipsaregone.

Youwalkslowlytothecabinet.Youopenit.Carefully,gingerly,youplacethiswhore’slipsticknext

toalltherest.Theauthoritieswon’tnoticeit’smissingwhentheysearchherpurse.

Theyneverdo.
Alazysmileonyourface,yourunyourfingertipsacrosseachone.Remembering.Savoring.

Planning.

Becauseit’sneverenough.It’sneverover.
Especiallynow.

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CHAPTER10

Thenextday,IcouldbarelylookatLia.ThegameI’dplayedthenightbeforewasonemyyounger
selfhadplayedwithstrangers:childrenI’dmetindiners,peoplewhohadcometomymother ’s
shows.Theywereneverrealtome—andneitherwerethethingsI’dimaginedonceI’dmentallytried
ontheirshoes.ButnowIhadtowonderhowmuchofitwasreallyimaginationandhowmuchofit
wasmysubconsciousworkingitswaythroughLia’sBPE.

HadIimaginedthatLiawasmessy—orhadIprofiledit?
“There’scerealinthecabinetandeggsinthefridge,”Juddgreetedmefrombehindanewspaperas

Iwanderedintothekitchen,stilldebatingthatquestion.“I’mmakingagroceryrunatoh-nine-
hundred.Ifyou’vegotrequests,speaknoworforeverholdyourpeace.”

“Norequests,”Isaid.
“Lowmaintenance,”Juddcommented.
Ishrugged.“Itry.”
Juddfoldedhispaper,carriedanemptymugtothesink,andrinseditout.Aminutelater—atnine

o’clockonthedot—Iwasaloneinthekitchen.AsIpouredmyselfabowlofcereal,Iwentbackto
tryingtoworkmywaythroughthelogicofmyLiasimulation,tofigureouthowIknewwhatIknew
—andifIknewitatall.

“IhavenoideawhatthoseCheeriosdidtoyou,butI’msurethey’revery,verysorry,”Michael

saidasheslidintotheseatnexttomeatthekitchentable.

“Excuseme?”
“You’vebeenstirringthemintosubmissionforagoodfiveminutes,”Michaeltoldme.“It’sspoon

violence,iswhatitis.”

IpickedupaCheerioandflickeditathim.Michaelcaughtitandpoppeditintohismouth.
“Sowhichoneofuswasitthistime?”Michaelasked.
Suddenly,IbecameveryinterestedinmyCheerios.
“Comeon,Colorado.Whenyourbrainstartsprofiling,yourfacestartsbroadcastingamixof

concentration,curiosity,andcalm.”Michaelpaused.Itookabigbiteofcereal.“Themusclesinyour
neckrelax,”hecontinued.“Yourlipsturneversosubtlydown.Yourheadtiltsslightlytooneside,
andyougetcrow’s-feetatthecornersofyoureyes.”

Isetmyspooncalmlyinmybowl.“Idonotgetcrow’s-feet.”
Michaelhelpedhimselftomyspoon—andabiteofcereal.“Anyoneevertellyouyou’recutewhen

you’reannoyed?”

“IhopeI’mnotinterrupting.”Liacamein,stolethecerealbox,andstartedeatingrightoutofthe

carton.“Actually,that’snottrue.Whatever ’sgoingonhere,Iamabsolutelydelightedtointerruptit.”

ItriedtokeepmyselffromstudyingLia—andIdefinitelytriedtokeepfromwrinklingthecorners

ofmyeyes—butitwashardtoignorethefactthatshewaswearingbarely-theresilkpajamas.And
pearls.

“So,Cassie,areyoureadyforyourfirstdayofHowtoCrawlintotheSkullsofBadGuys101?”

Liasetthecerealboxdownandheadedforthefridge.Herheaddisappearedintotherefrigeratoras
shestarteddiggingaround.Herpajamabottomsleftverylittletotheimagination.

“I’mready,”Isaid,avertingmyeyes.
“Cassiewasbornready,”Michaeldeclared.Overintherefrigerator,Liastoppedrummagingfora

moment.“Besides,”Michaelcontinued,“whateverAgentLockehasherdoing,ithastobebetterthan
watchingforeign-languagefilms.Withoutthesubtitles.”

IbitbackasmileattheaggrievedtoneinMichael’svoice.“Isthatwhattheyhadyoudoonyour

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firstday?”

“That,”Michaelsaid,“iswhattheyhadmedoformyfirstmonth.‘Emotionsaren’taboutwhat

peoplesay,’”hemimicked,“‘they’reaboutposture,facialexpressions,andculture-specific
instantiationsofuniversalphenomenologicalexperiences.’”

Liaexitedtherefrigeratorwithemptyhands,shutthedoor,andopenedthefreezer.“Poorbaby,”

shetoldMichael.“I’vebeenhereforalmostthreeyears,andtheonlythingthey’vetaughtmeisthat
psychopathsarereallygoodliars,andFBIagentsarereallybadones.”

“Haveyoumetmany?”Iasked.
“FBIagents?”Liafeignedignoranceassheretrievedacartonofmint-chocolate-chipicecream

fromthefreezer.

Igaveheralook.“Psychopaths.”
Shegrabbedaspoonoutofthedrawerandbrandisheditlikeamagicwand.“TheFBIhidesus

awayinanicelittlehouseinanicelittleneighborhoodinanicelittletown.Doyoureallythink
Briggsisgoingtoletmetagalongonprisoninterviews?Orgointothefield,whereImightactually
gettodosomething?”

MichaelputLia’swordsinslightlymorediplomaticterms.“TheBureauhastapes,”hesaid.“And

reelsandtranscripts.Coldcases,mostly.Thingsthatotherpeoplehaven’teverbeenabletosolve.
Andforeverycoldcasetheybringus,therearedozensofcasesthatthey’vealreadysolved.Teststo
seeifwereallyareasgoodasAgentBriggssaysweare.”

“Evenwhenyougivethemtheanswerthey’relookingfor,”Liacontinued,pickinguprightwhere

Michaelleftoff,“evenwhenthePowersThatBeknowthatyou’reright,theywanttoknowwhy.”

Whywhat?Thistime,Ididn’taskthequestionoutloud—butMichaelanswereditanyway.
“Whywecandoitandtheycan’t.”HereachedoverandsnaggedanotherbiteofmyCheerios.

“Theydon’tjustwanttotrainus.Theydon’tjustwanttouseus.Theywanttobeus.”

“Absolutely,”anewvoiceconcurred.“Deepdown,inmyheartofhearts,allIreallywantistobe

MichaelTownsend.”

AgentLockestrolledintothekitchenandwentstraightforthefridge.Clearlyshewasathome

here,evenifshelivedsomewhereelse.

“Briggsleftfilesforyoutwo”—AgentLockegesturedtoMichaelandLia—“inhisstudy.He’s

goingtorunanewsimulationwithSloanetoday,andI’mgoingtostartcatchingCassieuptospeed.”
Sheheavedalarger-than-lifesigh.“It’snotasglamorousasbeingajadedseventeen-year-oldboy
withparentalissuesandahair-geldependency,butc’estlavie.”

Michaelreacheduptoscratchthesideofhisface—andoh-so-subtlyflippedAgentLockeoffinthe

process.

Liatwirledherspoonaroundherfinger,atiny,ice-cream-ladenbaton.“LaceyLocke,everybody,”

shesaid,liketheFBIagentwasacomedianandLiatheannouncer.

Lockegrinned.“Doesn’tJuddhavearuleaboutyouwearinglingerieinthekitchen?”sheasked,

eyeingLia’spajamas.Liashrugged,butsomethingaboutAgentLocke’spresenceseemedtosubdue
her.Withinminutes,myfellowNaturalshadscattered.NeitherLianorMichaelseemedanxiousto
spendtimeinthecompanyofanFBIprofiler.

“Ihopethey’renotmakinglifetoodifficultonyou,”Lockesaid.
“No.”Infact,foramomentthere,eatingwiththetwoofthem,talkingtothem,hadfeltnatural.
Nopunintended.
“NeitherMichaelnorLiawasgivenmuchofachoiceaboutjoiningtheprogram.”Lockewaited

forthattosinkin.“Thattendstoputachiponaperson’sshoulder.”

“They’renotthetypetorespondwelltobeingstrong-armed,”Isaidslowly.
“No,”AgentLockereplied.“Theyaren’t.I’vemadealotofmistakes,butthatwasn’toneofmine.

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Briggslacksacertainamountof…finesse.Guynevermetasquarepeghedidn’twanttopoundinto
aroundhole.”

ThatdescriptionfitwithmyimpressionofAgentBriggsexactly.AgentLockewasspeakingmy

language,butIdidn’thavetimetorelishthatfact.

BecauseDeanwasstandinginthedoorway.
AgentLockesawhimandnodded.“Rightontime.”
“Ontimeforwhat?”Iasked.
DeanansweredonAgentLocke’sbehalf,butunlikethered-hairedagent,hewasn’tsmiling.He

wasn’tfriendly.Hedidn’twanttobethere—andunlessIwasmistaken,hedidn’tlikeme.

“Foryourfirstlesson.”

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CHAPTER11

IfDeanwasunhappyattheprospectofspendingthemorningwithme,hewasevenlesspleasedwhen
AgentLocke’splanformyfirstdayrequiredustotakealittlefieldtrip.Clearly,he’dexpectedapen-
and-paperlesson,orpossiblyasimulationinthebasement,butAgentLockejusttossedhimthekeys
toherSUV.

“You’redriving.”
MostFBIagentswouldn’thaveinsistedaseventeen-year-oldboydrive—butitwasbecoming

increasinglycleartomethatLaceyLockewasn’tmostagents.Shetookthefrontpassengerseat,andI
slidintotheback.

“Whereto?”DeanaskedAgentLockeashebackedoutofthedriveway.Shegavehimanaddress,

andhemurmuredareply.ItriedtodiagnosetheslighttwingeofanaccentIheardinhisvoice.

Southern.
Hedidn’tsayasinglewordfortherestofthedrive.Itriedtogetareadonhim.Hedidn’tseem

shy.Maybehewasthetypeofpersonwhosavedhiswordsforthoserareoccasionswhenhereally
hadsomethingtosay.Maybehekepttohimselfandusedsilenceasawayofkeepingotherpeopleat
arm’slength.

OrmaybehejusthadzerodesiretoconversewithLockeandme.
He’saNaturalprofiler,Ithought,wonderingifhisbrainwaschurning,too,assimilatingdetails

aboutmethewayIwasassessinghim.

Hewasacarefuldriver.
Hisshoulderstensedwhensomeonecuthimoff.
Andwhenwearrivedatourdestination,hegotoutofthecar,shutthedoor,andheldthekeysout

toAgentLocke—allwithouteverlookingatme.Iwasusedtofadingintothebackground,but
somehow,comingfromDean,itfeltlikeaninsult.LikeIwasn’tworthprofiling,likehedidn’thave
theslightestinterestinfiguringmeout.

“WelcometoWestsideMall,”AgentLockesaid,snappingmeoutofit.“I’msurethisisn’twhat

youwereexpectingforyourfirstday,Cassie,butIwantedtogetasenseofwhatyoucandowith
normalpeoplebeforewediveintotheabnormalendofthespectrum.”

Deanflickedhiseyessideways.
Lockecalledhimonit.“Somethingyou’dliketoadd?”
Deanstuffedhishandsintohispockets.“It’sjustbeenalongtime,”hesaid,“sincesomeoneasked

metothinkaboutnormal.”

Fiveminuteslater,wehadatableinthefoodcourt.
“Thewomaninthepurplefleece,”AgentLockesaid.“Whatcanyoutellmeabouther,Cassie?”
Isatandfollowedhergazetothewomaninquestion.Midtwenties.Shewaswearingrunningshoes

andjeansinadditiontothefleece.Eithershewassportyandshe’dthrownonthejeansbecauseshe
wascomingtothemall,orshewasn’t,butwantedpeopletothinkthatshewas.Isaidasmuchout
loud.

“Whatelsecanyoutellme?”AgentLockeasked.
MyguttoldmethatAgentLockedidn’twantdetails.Shewantedthebigpicture.
Behavior.Personality.Environment.
ItriedtointegratePurpleFleeceintohersurroundings.She’dchosenaseatneartheedgeofthe

foodcourt,eventhoughtherewereplentyoftablesavailableclosertotherestaurantwhereshe’d
purchasedhermeal.Therewereseveralpeoplesittingnearher,butshestayedfocusedonherfood.

“She’sastudent,”Isaidfinally.“Graduateschoolofsomekind—mymoney’sonmedschool.

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She’snotmarried,buthasaseriousboyfriend.Shecomesfromanupper-middle-classfamily,heavy
emphasisontheupper.She’sarunner,butnotahealthnut.Shemostlikelygetsupearly,likesdoing
thingsthatotherpeoplefindpainful,andifshehasanysiblings,they’reeitheryoungerthansheisor
they’reallboys.”

IwaitedforAgentLocketoreply.Shedidn’t.NeitherdidDean.
Tofillthesilence,Iaddedonelastobservation.“Shegetscoldreallyeasily.”
Therewasnootherexcuseforwearingafleece—evenindoors—inJuly.
“Whatmakesyouthinkshe’sastudent?”AgentLockeaskedfinally.
ImetDean’seyesandknewsuddenlythathesawit,too.“It’stenthirtyinthemorning,”Isaid,“and

she’snotatwork.It’stooearlyforalunchbreak,andshe’snotdressedlikesomeonewho’sonthe
job.”

AgentLockeraisedaneyebrow.“Maybesheworksfromhome.Ormaybeshe’sbetweenjobs.

Maybesheteacheselementaryschoolandshe’sonsummervacation.”

Thoseobjectionswereperfectlyvalid,butsomehow—tome—theystillfeltwrong.Itwashardto

explain;IthoughtofMichaelwarningmethattheFBIwouldneverstoptryingtofigureouthowIdid
whatIdid.

IthoughtaboutAgentLockesayingshe’dlearnedprofilingthehardway—oneclassatatime.
“She’snotevenlookingatthem.”
Tomyshock,Deanwastheonewhocametomyrescue.
“Pardon?”AgentLocketurnedherattentiontohim.
“Theotherpeoplehereinheragerange.”Deannoddedtowardacoupleofyoungmomswith

smallchildren,plusseveraldepartmentstoreemployeeslinedupforcoffee.“She’snotlookingat
them.Theyaren’therpeers.Shedoesn’tevenrealizethey’rethesameage.Shepaysmoreattentionto
collegestudentsthantootheradults,butsheclearlydoesn’tconsiderherselfoneofthem,either.”

AndthatwasthefeelingIhadn’tbeenabletoputintowords.ItwaslikeDeancouldseeintomy

head,makesenseoftheinformationbouncingaroundmybrain—but,ofcourse,thatwasn’tit.He
hadn’tneededtogetintomyhead,becausehe’dbeenthinkingtheexactsamething.

Afteralongmomentofsilence,Deanflickedhiseyesovertome.“Whymedschool?”
Iglancedbackatthegirl.“Becauseshe’sarunner.”
Deansmiled,eversoslightly.“Youmeanshe’samasochist.”
Acrosstheroom,thegirlwe’dbeentalkingaboutrose,andIwasabletomakeoutthebagsinher

hand,thestoresshe’dshoppedat.Itfit.Everythingfit.

Iwasn’twrong.
“Whatmakesyouthinkshehasaboyfriend?”Deanasked,andunderhisquietdrawlIcouldhear

curiosity—andmaybeevenadmiration.

Ishruggedinresponsetohisquestion—mainlybecauseIdidn’twanttotellhimthatthereasonI’d

beensurethisgirlwasn’tsinglewasthefactthattheentiretimewe’dbeenthere,shehadn’tsomuch
asglancedatDean.

Fromadistance,hewouldhavelookedolder.
EveninjeansandafadedblackT-shirt,youcouldseethemusclestensingagainstthefabricofhis

sleeves.Andthemusclesnotcoveredbyhissleeves.

Hishair,hiseyes,thewayhestood,andthewayhemoved—ifshe’dbeensingle,shewouldhave

looked.

———

“Newgame,”AgentLockesaid.“Ipointtothecar,youtellmeaboutthepersonwhoownsit.”

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We’dbeenatthemallforthreehours.I’dthoughtcomingouttotheparkinglothadsignaledthe

endoftoday’straining,butapparentlyIwaswrong.

“Thatone,Cassie.Go.”
Iopenedmymouth,thenshutitagain.Iwasusedtostartingwithpeople:theirposture,thewaythey

talked,theirclothes,theiroccupations,theirgender,thewaytheyarrangedanapkinontheirlap—that
wasmylanguage.Startingwithacarwaslikeflyingblind.

“Inourlineofwork,”AgentLocketoldmeasIstaredatawhiteAcura,debatingwhetherit

belongedtoashopperorsomeonewhoworkedatthemall,“youdon’tgettomeetthesuspectbefore
youprofilethecrime.Yougotothesceneandyourebuildwhathappened.Youtakephysical
evidence,youturnitintobehavior,andthenyoutrytonarrowdowntherangeofsuspects.Youdon’t
knowifyou’relookingforamanorawoman,ateenageroranoldman.Youknowhowtheykilled,
butyoudon’tknowwhy.Youknowhowtheyleftthebody,butyouhavetofigureouthowtheyfound
thevictim.”Shepaused.“So,Cassie.Whoownsthiscar?”

Themakeandmodelweren’ttellingmemuch.Thiscarcouldhavebelongedtoeitheramanora

woman,anditwasparkedinfrontofthefoodcourt,whichmeantthatIhadnoideawhattheowner ’s
destinationinsidethemallwas.Theparkingspacewasn’tagoodone,butitwasn’tbad.Theparking
jobleftalittletobedesired.

“Theywereinahurry,”Isaid.“Theparkingjobiscrooked,andtheydidn’tbothercruisingfora

betterspace.”Thatalsotoldmethatthedriverdidn’thavethekindofegothatwouldpushapersonto
huntforaprimespot,asifgettingagreatparkingplaceatthemallwasanindicatorofpersonal
worth.“Nocarseat,sonoyoungchildren.Nobumperstickers,relativelyrecentlywashed.They’re
nothereforfood—noreasontohurryforthat—buttheyparkedatthefoodcourt,soeithertheydon’t
knowwherethey’regoingoncetheygetinsidethemallortheirstoreofchoiceiscloseby.”

Ipaused,waitingforDeantopickupwhereIhadleftoff,buthedidn’t.Instead,AgentLockegave

measinglepieceofadvice.

“Don’tsaythey.”
“Ididn’tmeantheyasinplural,”Isaidhastily.“Ijusthaven’tdecidedyetifit’samanorawoman.”
Deanglancedatthemallentranceandthenbackatme.“That’snotwhatshemeans.Theykeepsyou

ontheoutside.Sodoheandshe.”

“SowhatwordamIsupposedtouse?”
“Officially,”AgentLockesaid,“weusethetermUnknownSubject—orUNSUB.”
“Andunofficially?”Iasked.
Deanshovedhishandsintothepocketsofhisjeans.“Ifyouwanttoclimbinsidesomeone’shead,”

hesaidroughly,“youusethewordI.”

Thenightbefore,I’dimaginedmyselfinLia’sbody,imaginedwhatitwasliketobeher.Icould

imaginedrivingthiscar,parkingitlikethis,climbingout—butthiswasn’taboutcars.Ultimately,I
wouldn’tbeprofilingshoppers.

I’dbeprofilingkillers.
“WhatifIdon’twanttobethem?”Iasked.IknewthatifIclosedmyeyes,ifIsomuchasblinked,I

wouldberightbackinmymother ’sdressingroom.I’dbeabletoseetheblood.I’dbeabletosmellit.
“WhatifIcan’t?”

“Thenyou’relucky.”Dean’svoicewasquiet,buthiseyeswerehard.“Andyou’dbebetteroffat

home.”

Mystomachtwisted.Hedidn’tthinkIbelongedhere.Suddenly,itwasalltooeasytorememberthat

whenwe’dmetthedaybeforeandhe’dsaid“nicetomeetyou,”ithadbeenalie.

AgentLockesetahandonmyshoulder.“IfyouwanttogetclosetoanUNSUB,butyoudon’twant

toputyourselfintheirshoes,there’sanotherwordyoucanuse.”

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IturnedmybackonDeanandfocusedmyfullattentiononAgentLocke.“Andwhatwordisthat?”

Iasked.

Lockemetmygaze.“You.”

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CHAPTER12

Thatnight,IdreamedthatIwaswalkingthroughanarrowhallway.Thefloorwastiled.Thewalls
werewhite.Theonlysoundintheentireroomwasmysneaker-cladfeetscuffingagainstthefreshly
moppedfloor.

Thisisn’tright.Somethingaboutthisisn’tright.
Fluorescentlightsflickeredoverhead,andontheground,myshadowflickered,too.Attheendof

thehallway,therewasametaldoor,paintedtomatchthewalls.Itwasslightlyajar,andIwonderedif
I’dleftitthatwayorifmymotherhadcrackedthedooropentokeepaneyeoutforme.

Don’tgointhere.Stop.Youhavetostop.
Ismiledandkeptrightonwalking.Onestep,twosteps,threesteps,four.Onsomelevel,Iknew

thatthiswasadream,knewwhatIwouldfindwhenIopenedthatdoor—butIcouldn’tstop.Mybody
feltnumbfromthewaistdown.Mysmilehurt.

Ilaidmyhandflatagainstthemetaldoorandpushed.
“Cassie?”
Mymotherwasstandingthere,dressedinblue.Abreathcaughtinmythroat—notbecauseshewas

beautiful,thoughshewas,andnotbecauseshewasonthevergeofscoldingmefortakingsolongto
reportbackonthecrowd.

Aviseclosedinaroundmylungs,becausethiswaswrong.Thishadn’thappened,andIwishedto

Godithad.

Pleasedon’tbeadream.Justthisonce,letitbereal.Don’tletit
“Cassie?”Mymomstumbledbackward.Shefell.Bloodturnedbluesilkred.Itsplatteredagainst

thewalls.Therewassomuchofit—toomuch.

She’scrawlinginit,slipping,buteverywhereshegoes,theknifeisthere.
Handsgrabbedatherankles.Iturned,tryingtoseeherattacker ’sface,andjustlikethat,my

motherwasgoneandIwasbackoutsidethedoor.Myhandpusheditopen.

Thisishowithappened,Ithoughtdully.Thisisreal.
Isteppedintothedarkness.Ifeltsomethingwetandsquishybeneathmyfeet,andthesmell—oh,

God,thesmell.Iscrambledforthelightswitch.

Don’t.Don’tturniton,don’t
Iwokewithastart.
Inthebedbesideme,Sloanewasdeadtotheworld.I’dhadthedreamoftenenoughtoknowthat

therewasnopointinclosingmyeyesagain.Icreptquietlyoutofbedandwenttothewindow.I
neededtodosomething—totakemycuefromthewomanI’dprofiledthatmorningandrununtilmy
bodyhurt,ortofollowinDean’sfootstepsandtakeitoutonsomeweights.ThenIcaughtsightofthe
backyard—andmorespecifically,thepool.

Theyardwasdimlylit,thewatergleamingblackinthemoonlight.Silently,Igrabbedaswimsuit

andslippedoutoftheroomwithoutwakingSloane.Minuteslater,Iwassittingattheedgeofthepool.
Eveninthedeadofnight,theairwashot.Idangledmylegsovertheedge.

Iloweredmyselfintothepool.Slowly,thetensionleftmybody.Mybrainshutoff.Forafew

minutes,Ijusttreadedwater,listeningtothesoundsoftheneighborhoodatnighttime:cricketsandthe
windandmyhandsmovingthroughthewater.ThenIstopped—stoppedtreadingwater,stopped
fightingthepullofgravity—andletmyselfsink.

Iopenedmyeyesunderwater,butcouldn’tseeanything.Therewasdarknessallaroundme,and

thensuddenly,therewasaflickeroflightatthepool’ssurface.

Iwasn’talone.

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Youdon’tknowthat,Itoldmyself,butIsawthefaintestblurofmotion,andthatprotestdiedaquick

andbrutaldeath.Therewassomeoneupthere—andIcouldn’tstayunderwaterindefinitely.

Justlikethat,IfeltlikeIwasbackinthenarrowhallwayofmydreams,walkingslowlytoward

somethingawful.

It’snothing.
Still,Ifoughttheneedforair.Iwanted—irrationally—tostayunderwater,whereitwassafe.ButI

couldn’t.Waterpluggedmyears,andasmylungsscreamedforair,thesoundofmyownheartbeat
surroundedme.

Icameupslowly,breakingthesurfaceasquietlyasIcould.Treadingwater,Iturnedinacircle,my

eyesscanningtheyardforanintruder.Atfirst,Isawnothing.AndthenIsawapairofeyes,the
moonlightcaughtinthemjustso.

Lookingatme.
“Ididn’tknowyouwereouthere,”theownerofthoseeyessaid.“Ishouldgo.”
Myheartkeptrightonpounding,evenonceIrealizedthevoicebelongedtoDean.Nowthatmy

brainhadidentifiedhim,Icouldmakeoutafewmoreofhisfeatures.Hishairhunginhisface.His
eyes—whichI’dseenasapredator ’samomentbefore—nowjustlookedsurprised.

Clearly,hehadn’texpectedanyonetobeswimmingatthreeinthemorning.
“No,”Isaid,myvoicetravelingalongthesurfaceofthewater.“It’syouryard,too.Stay.”
Ifeltridiculousforbeingsojumpy.Thiswasaquiet,sleepylittletown.Theyardwasfenced.No

oneknewwhattheFBIwastrainingustodo.Weweren’ttargets.Thiswasn’tmydream.

Iwasn’tmymother.
Foranelongatedmoment,IthoughtDeanwouldturnandwalkaway,butinstead,hesatafew

inchesawayfromtheedgeofthepool.“Whatareyoudoingouthere?”

Forsomereason,Ifeltcompelledtotellhimthetruth.“Icouldn’tsleep.”
Deangazedoutattheyard.“Istoppedsleepingalongtimeago.Mostnights,Igetthreegood

hours,maybefour.”

I’dgivenhimatruth,andhe’dgivenmeone.Wefellintosilencethen,himattheedgeofthepool

andmetreadingwateratthecenter.

“Itwasn’treal,youknow.”Hespoketohishands,nottome.
“Whatwasn’treal?”
“Today.”Deanpaused.“AtthemallwithLocke.Playinggamesinparkinglots.That’snotwhatthis

is.”

Inthescantlightofthemoon,hiseyeslookedsodarktheywerenearlyblack,andsomethingabout

thewayhewaslookingatmemademerealize—hewasn’tcriticizingme.

Hewastryingtoprotectme.
“Iknowwhatthisis,”Isaid.Iknewbetterthananyone.Turningawayfromhim,Istaredupatthe

sky,alltooawareofthefactthathewasstaringatme.

“Briggsshouldn’thavebroughtyouhere,”hesaidfinally.“Thisplacewillruinyou.”
“DiditruinLia?”Iasked.“OrSloane?”
“They’renotprofilers.”
“Didthisplaceruinyou?
Deandidn’tpause,notevenforasecond.“Therewasnothingtoruin.”
Iswamovertotheedge,rightnexttohim.“Youdon’tknowme,”Isaid,pullingmyselfoutofthe

water.“I’mnotscaredofthisplace.I’mnotafraidtolearnhowtothinklikeakiller,andIamnot
afraidofyou

Iwasn’tevensurewhyI’daddedonthoselastsixwords,buttheyweretheonesthatmadehiseyes

flash.IwashalfwaytothehousewhenIheardhimstandup.Iheardhimwalkacrossthegrasstothe

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tiny,shacklikepoolhouse.Iheardhimthrowaswitch.

Suddenly,theyardwasn’tdarkanymore.Ittookmeamomenttorealizewherethelightwas

comingfrom.Thepoolwasglowing.Therewasnootherwordforit.Itlookedlikesomeonehad
splatteredglow-in-the-darkpaintacrosstheedge.Therewasadropoffluorescentcolorhere,adrop
there.Longstreaksofit.Blobs.Fourparallelsmearsacrossthetileonthesideofthepool.

IglancedatDean.
“Blacklight,”hesaid,asifthatwerealltheexplanationI’dneed.
Icouldn’thelpmyself.Imovedcloser.Isquattedtogetabetterlook.AndthatwaswhenIsawthe

glow-in-the-darkoutlineofabodyatthebottomofthepool.

“HernamewasAmanda,”Deansaid.
Irealizedthenwhatthesmearsandstreaksofpaintontheconcreteandthesideofthepoolwere

supposedtobe.

Blood.
Thecolorhadfooledme,eventhoughthepatternwasalltoofamiliar.
“Shewasstabbedthreetimes.”Deanwouldn’tlookatme,wouldn’tevenlookatthepool.“She

crackedherheadonthecementwhensheslippedinherownblood.Andthenhewrappedherfingers
aroundherthroat.Heforcedherupperbodyoverthesideofthepool.”

Icouldseeithappening,seethekillerstandingoveragirl’sbody.Shewouldhavekicked.She

wouldhaveclawedathishands,triedtousethesideofthepoolforleverage.

“Heheldherunder.”Deankneltnexttothepoolanddemonstrated,actingoutthemotion.“He

drownedher.Andthenhesetherfree.”Heletgoofhisimaginarypreyandsentherofftowardthe
centerofthepool.

“Thisisacrimescene,”Isaidfinally.“Oneofthefakecrimescenesthattheyusetotestus,likethe

setsinthebasement.”

Deanstaredoutatthecenterofthepool,wherethevictim’sbodywouldhavebeen.“It’snotfake,”

hesaidfinally.“Itreallyhappened.Itjustdidn’thappenhere.”

IreachedouttotouchDean’sshoulder.Heshruggedoffmytouch,turningtofaceme,hisbody

closetomine.“Everythingaboutthisplace—thehouse,theyard,thepool—wasconstructedwithone
thinginmind.”

“Fullimmersion,”Isaid,holdinghisgaze.“LikethoseschoolswheretheyonlyspeakFrench.”
Deanjerkedhisheadtowardthepool.“Thisisn’talanguagepeopleshouldwanttolearn.”
Normalpeople—thatwaswhatDeanmeant.ButIwasn’tnormal.IwasaNatural.Andthismock

crimescenewasn’ttheworstthingI’dseen.

Iturnedtowalkbacktothehouse.IheardDeanwalkacrossthelawn.Iheardhimfliptheswitch.

AndwhenIglancedbackovermyshoulder,thepoolwasjustapool.Theyardwasjustayard.And
theoutlineofthebodywasgone.

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CHAPTER13

IoversleptthenextmorningandwokeuptothefeelingthatIwasbeingwatched.

“Knock,knock.”
Basedonthegreeting—andthefactthatthepersonspeakinghadopenedmydoor,knockedonit,

andsaidthosewordsattheexactsametime—IexpectedLia.Instead,IopenedmyeyestofindAgent
Lockestandinginmydoorway,acupfromStarbucksinonehandandcarkeysintheother.

IglancedoveratSloane’sbed,butitwasempty.
“Latenight?”mynewlyacquiredmentorasked,eyebrowsarched.IthoughtofDeanandthepool

anddecidedthatwasnotanareaofdiscussionIwantedtopursue.

“Really?”AgentLockesaid,eyeingthelookonmyface.“Iwasjustkidding,butyou’vegotI-was-

up-late-with-a-boy-last-nightface.Maybeweshouldhavesomegirltalk.”

Ididn’tknowwhatwasworse,thefactthatLockethoughtmylatenighthadsomethingtodowitha

stupidteenagecrushorthefactthatshesoundedsuspiciouslylikemyfemalecousins.

“Nogirltalk,”Isaid.“Asageneralrule,ever.”
AgentLockenodded.“Sonoted.”Sheeyedmypajamas,andthenjerkedherheadtowardthecloset.

“Getup.Getdressed.”Shetossedmethecarkeys.“I’llgetDean.You’redriving.”

———

Iwasn’texactlyhappywhenAgentLocke’sdirectionsendeduptakingusrightbacktothemall—and
specificallytoMrs.Fieldscookies.Afterseeingthemocked-upbloodspatteronthepool’sedgethe
nightbefore,profilingshoppersseemedsenseless.Itseemedsilly.

Ifshemakesusguesswhatkindofcookiespeoplearegoingtoorder
“Threeandahalfyearsago,SandyHarrisonwasherewithherhusbandandtheirthreechildren.

Herhusbandtooktheireight-year-oldsontothebookstore,andshewasleftwiththetwoyounger
girls.”AgentLockesaidallofthisinaperfectlynormalvoice.Notasingleshopperturnedtolookat
us,butherwordsfrozemetothespot.“Sandyandthegirlswereinlineforlemonade.Three-year-
oldMadelynmadeabeelineforthecookies,andSandyhadtopullherback.ItwasChristmastime,
andthemallwascrammedfullofpeople.Madelynwasdesperatelyinneedofanapandontheverge
ofameltdown.Thelinewasmoving.Sandymadeittothecounterandturnedtoaskherolder
daughter,Annabelle,whethershewantedregularlemonadeorpink.”

Iknewwhatwascoming.
“Annabellewasgone.”
ItwaseasytopicturethemallatChristmastime,toseetheyoungfamilysplittingup,thefather

takingthesonandthemotherjugglingtwoyounggirls.Isawthesmalleroneonthevergeofa
tantrum,sawthemother ’sattentiondiverted.Iimaginedherlookingdownandrealizingthateven
thoughshe’djustlookedawayforafewseconds,eventhoughshewasalwayssocareful…

“Mallsecuritywascalledimmediately.Withinhalfanhour,they’dalertedthepolice.Theystopped

trafficintoandoutofthemall.TheFBIwascalledonboardandweissuedanAMBERAlert.Ifa
childisn’trecoveredinthefirsttwenty-fourhours,thenchancesaregoodthatheorshewillneverbe
recoveredalive.”

Iswallowedhard.“Didyoufindher?”
“Wedid,”AgentLockereplied.“Thequestionis,wouldyouhave?”Sheletthatsinkinfora

second,maybetwo.“Thefirsthouristhemostcrucial,andyou’vealreadylostthat.Thegirlwas
missingforninety-sevenminutesbeforeyouevengotthecall.Youneedtofigureoutwhotookher

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andwhy.Mostabductionsarecommittedbyfamilymembers,butherparentsweren’tdivorcedand
therewerenocustodyissues.Youneedtoknowthisfamily’ssecrets.Youneedtoknowtheminside
andout—andyouneedtofigureouthowsomeonegotthatlittlegirloutofthismall.Whatdoyou
do?”

Ilookedaroundatthemall,atthepeoplehere.“Securityfootage?”Iasked.
“Nothing,”Lockesaidtersely.“There’snophysicalevidence,notevenascrap.”
Deanspokeup.“Shedidn’tcry.”AgentLockenodded,andhecontinued.“EvenatChristmastime,

eveninacrowd,I’mnotgoingtoriskforciblygrabbingakidwhosemotheristhreefeetaway.”

Icouldn’tquitebringmyselftogetintheabductor ’shead,soIdidthenextbestthing.Igotinto

Annabelle’s.“Iseesomeone.MaybeIknowhim.MaybehehassomethingIwant.Ormaybehe
droppedsomethingandIwanttogiveitback.”Ipaused.“I’mnottheonecryingandbeggingfor
cookies.I’mtheoldersister.I’magoodgirl.I’mmature…soIfollowhim.Justtogetabetterlook,
justtohandsomethingbacktohim,whatever.…”Ipacedoutthesteps.Fiveofthem,andIwas
aroundthecornerandfacingaservicedoor.

Obligingly,Deanwenttoopenit,butitwaslocked.
“MaybeIworkhere,”hesaid.“MaybeI’vejuststolentheaccesscard.Eitherway,I’mprepared.

I’mready.MaybeIwasjustwaitingforachild—anychild—totakethebait.”

“That’sthequestion,isn’tit?”AgentLockesaid.“Wasthisacrimeofopportunityorwasthegirla

specifictarget?Tofindher,you’dneedtoknow.”

Ibackedupandtriedtoplaythescenealloveragain.
“Whatkindofpersonareyoulookingfor?”AgentLockeasked.“Male?Female?What’stheage

range?Intelligence?Education?”

Ilookedatthecookiestore,thentheservicedoor,thenatDean.Thiswaswhathewastalkingabout

thenightbefore.Thiswasthejob.

Allbusiness,IturnedbacktoAgentLocke.“Exactlyhowoldwasthegirl?”

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CHAPTER14

“Lockeworkingyoutoohard?”Michaelswoopedinonmeatbreakfast,ahabitofhis,andoneI’d
growntolookforwardtointhepastweek.Everyday,AgentLockeshowedupwithanewchallenge,
andeveryday,Isolvedit.WithDean.

Sometimes,itfeltlikemorningswithMichaelweremyonlyrealbreak.
“Someofuslikeworkinghard,”Itoldhim.
“Asopposedtothoseofuswhoaretheentitledproductofanoh-so-privilegedupbringing?”

Michaelasked,wigglinghiseyebrows.

“Thatwasn’twhatImeant.”
Heleanedoverandtweakedmyponytail.“Likelystory,Colorado.”
“Doyoureallyhateithere?”Iasked.Icouldn’ttellifhelegitimatelydislikedtheprogramorifthe

attitudewasforshow.ThebiggestthingI’dfiguredoutaboutMichaelinthepastweekwasthatthere
wasaverygoodchancethathe’dbeenwearingmasksforlongerthanhe’dbeenworkingfortheFBI
—pretendingtobesomethinghewasn’twassecondnature.

“Let’sjustsaythatIhavetherareabilitytobedissatisfiedwhereverIam,”Michaelsaid,“although

I’mstartingtothinkthisplacehasitsperks.”Thistime,insteadofmessingwithmyponytail,he
pushedastraypieceofhairoutofmyface.

“Cassie.”Dean’svoicetookmebysurprise,andIjumped.“Locke’shere.”
“Allworkandnoplay,”Michaelwhispered.
Iignoredhim—andwenttowork.

———

“One.Two.Three.”AgentLockesetthepicturesdownoneatatime.“Four,five,six,andseven.”

Tworowsofpictures—threeinonerowandfourintheother—staredupatmefromthekitchen

table.Eachpicturecontainedabody:glassyeyes,limbssplayedeverywhichway.

“AmIinterrupting?”
Locke,Dean,andIturnedtoseeJuddinthedoorway.“Yes,”Lockesaidwithasmile.“Youare.

Whatcanwedoforyou,Judd?”

Theoldermanbitbackasmileofhisown.“You,younglady,canpointmeinBriggs’sdirection.”
“Briggsisoutdoingsomelegworkonacase,”Lockereplied.“It’sjustmetoday.”
Juddwassilentforamoment.Hiseyesfellonthepicturesonthekitchentable,andheraisedan

eyebrowatLocke.“Cleanupwhenyou’redone.”

Withthat,Juddleftustoourowndevices,andIturnedmyattentionbacktothephotographs.The

threeonthetoprowfeaturedwomenlyinglifelessonpavement.Thefouronthebottomwere
indoors:twoonbeds,oneonthekitchenfloor,oneinabathtub.Threeofthevictimshadbeen
stabbed.Twohadbeenshot.Onehadbeenbludgeoned,andonehadbeenstrangled.

Iforcedmyselftostareatthepictures.IfIblinked,ifIturnedaway,ifIflinched,Imightnotbe

abletolookback.Besideme,Deanwaslookingatthepictures,too.Hescannedthem,lefttoright,up
anddown,likehewastakinginventory,likethebodiesinthesepictureshadn’teverbeenpeople:
somebody’smother,somebody’slove.

“Sevenbodies,”AgentLockesaid.“Fivekillers.Threeofthesewomenwerekilledbythesame

man.Theremainingfourweretheworkoffourdifferentkillers.”AgentLocketappedlightlyonthe
topofeachphoto,bringingmyeyesfromonetothenext.“Differentvictims,differentlocations,
differentweapons.What’ssignificant?What’snot?Asprofilers,alargepartofourjobisidentifying

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patterns.Therearemillionsofunsolvedcasesoutthere.Howdoyouknowifthekilleryou’re
trackingisresponsibleforanyofthem?”

IcouldnevertellwhenAgentLockewasaskingarhetoricalquestionandwhensheexpectedan

answer.Afewsecondsofkeepingmymouthshuttoldmethatthiswasaninstanceofthefirst.

AgentLocketurnedtoDean.“CaretoexplaintoCassiethedifferencebetweenakiller ’sMOand

theirsignature?”

Deantorehisattentionawayfromthephotosandforcedhimselftolookatme.Studyingmutilated

bodieswasroutine.Talkingtome—apparently,thatwashard.

“MOstandsformodusoperandi,”hesaid,andthat’sasfarashegotbeforeheshiftedhisgaze

frommyfacetoaspotjustovermyleftshoulder.“Modeofoperation.Itreferstothemethodusedby
thekiller.Location,weapon,howtheypickvictims,howtheysubduethem—that’sakiller ’sMO.”

Helookeddownathishands,andIlookedatthem,too.Hispalmswerecalloused,hisfingernails

shortanduneven.Athinwhitescarsnakeditswayfromthebaseofhisrightthumbtotheoutsideof
hiswrist.

“Akiller ’sMOcanchange,”Deancontinued,andItriedtofocusonhiswordsinsteadofhisscar.

“AnUNSUBmightstartoffkillinghisvictimsquickly.He’snotsurehe’llbeabletogetawaywithit,
butwithtimeandexperience,alotofUNSUBsdevelopwaystosavorthekill.Somekillersescalate—
takingmorechances,spacingtheirkillsclosertogether.”

Deanclosedhiseyesforasplitsecondbeforeopeningthemagain.“AnythingaboutanUNSUB’s

MOissubjecttochange,sowhileitcanbeinformativetotracktheMO,it’snotexactlybulletproof.”
Deanfingeredtheclosestpictureagain.“That’swheretheirsignaturecomesin.”

AgentLocketookuptheslackintheexplanation.“AnUNSUB’sMOincludesalloftheelements

necessarytocommitacrimeandevadecapture.Asakiller,youhavetoselectavictim,youhaveto
haveameansofexecutingthecrimeunnoticed,youhavetohaveeitherphysicalprowessorsome
kindofweapontokillthemwith.Youhavetodisposeofthebodyinsomeway.”

AgentLockepointedtothepicturethathadcapturedDean’sattention.
“Butafteryoustabsomeoneintheback,youdon’thavetorollthemoverandposetheirarms,

palmsupattheirsides.”Shestoppedpointing,butkepttalking—aboutotherkillers,otherthingsthat
she’dseeninherworkwiththeFBI.“Youdon’thavetokisstheirforeheadsorcutofftheirlipsor
leaveapieceoforigaminexttothebody.”

AgentLocke’sexpressionwasserious,butnowherenearasdetachedasDean’s.She’dbeendoing

thisjobforawhile,butitstillgottoher—thewayitwouldprobablyalwaysgettome.“Collectively,
werefertotheseextraactions—andwhattheytellusabouttheUNSUB—asasignature.AnUNSUB’s
signaturetellsussomethingabouthisorherunderlyingpsychology:fantasies,deep-seatedneeds,
emotions.”

Deanlookeddownathishands.“Thoseneeds,thosefantasies,thoseemotions,”hesaid,“they

don’tchange.Akillercanswitchweapons,theycanstartkillingonaquickerschedule,theycan
changevenues,theycanstarttargetingadifferentclassofvictims—buttheirsignaturestaysthe
same.”

Iturnedmyattentionbacktothepictures.Threeofthewomenhadbeenstabbed:twoinbackalleys,

oneinherownkitchen.Thewomaninthekitchenhadfought;fromthelooksofthepictures,the
othertwohadneverhadachance.

“Thesetwo,”Isaid,pullingoutthefirsttwostabbingpictures.“Thekillersurprisedthem.Yousaid

theUNSUBstabbedthisonefrombehind.”Iindicatedthegirlontheleft.“Aftershewasdead—or
closeenoughtoitthatshecouldn’tputupmuchofafight—heturnedherover.Soshecouldseehim.”

ThiswaswhatAgentLockewastalkingaboutwhensheusedthephrasedeep-seatedneed.The

killerhadattackedthisgirlfrombehind,butitwasimportanttohim—forwhateverreason—thatshe

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seehisfaceandthatheseehers.

“Don’tsayhe,”Deansaid.Heshifted,andsuddenly,Icouldfeeltheheatfromhisbody.“Sayyou,

Cassie.OrsayI.”

“Fine,”Isaid.Istoppedtalkingaboutthekiller—andstartedtalkingtohim.“Youwantthemtosee

you.Youwanttostandoverthem.Andastheylietheredying,ormaybeevenafterthey’redead,you
can’thelpbuttouchthem.Youstraightentheirclothes.Youlaytheirarmsouttotheside.”Istaredat
thepictureofthegirlhe’dattackedfrombehind,andsomethingelsestruckmeaboutit.“Youthink
they’rebeautiful,butgirlslikethat,womenlikethat,theyneverevenseeyou.”Ipaused.“Soyou
makethemseeyou.”

Ilookedatthenextpicture:anotherwoman,stabbedandfounddeadonthepavement.Likethefirst,

she’dbeenchosenforconvenience.Butaccordingtothenotesonthepicture,shehadn’tbeenstabbed
frombehind.

“Itwasn’tenough,”Isaid.“Turningheroveraftershedied,itwasn’tenough.Soyoutookthenext

onefromthefront.”

Likethefirstvictim,thisonehadbeenlaidcarefullyonherback,herhairfannedaroundherface

inanunnaturalhalo.Withouteventhinkingaboutit,Itookthethirdpictureonthetoprow—agunshot
victimwho’ddiedrunning—andsetitaside.Thatwasn’ttheworkofthesameUNSUB.Itwasquick
andclean,andtherewasn’tawhiffofdesireaboutit.

Turningmyattentiontothebottomrowofpictures,Iscannedthem,tryingtokeepmyemotionsin

checkthewayDeandid.OneofthesefourwomenhadbeenkilledbythesameUNSUBasthefirst
two.Theeasyanswer—andthewrongone—wouldhavebeenthethirdstabbingvictim,butshe’dbeen
stabbedinthekitchen,withaknifefromherowndrawer.She’dfought,she’ddiedbloody,andthe
killerhadleftherthere,herskirtonsideways,herbodycontorted.

Youneedtoseethem,Itoldthekillersilently,picturinghissilhouetteinmymind.Youneedthemto

seeyou.Theyneedtobebeautiful.

Thisthirdvictimhadbeenkilledafterthefirsttwo.TheUNSUB’sMOhadchanged:different

weapon,differentlocation.Butdeepdown,thekillerhadn’tchanged.Hewasstillthesameperson
withthesamesickunderlyingneeds.

Everytimeyoukill,youneedmore.Youneedtobebetter.Sheneedstobebetter.Killingwomenon

thestreetwasn’tenoughanymore.Youdidn’twantaquickieinabackalley.Youwantedarelationship.
Awoman.Ahome
.

Izeroedinonthetwowomenwho’dbeenkilledintheirbedrooms.Bothhadbeenfoundlyingon

theirbeds.Onehadbeenshot.Theotherhadbeenstrangled.

Youcatchheratnight.Inherhouse.Inherbedroom.Shedoesn’tlookthroughyounow,doesshe?

She’snottoogoodforyounow.

ItriedtoimaginetheUNSUBshootingawoman,butthemathonthatonejustdidnotcompute.
Youwanthertoseeyou.Youwanttotouchher.Youwanttofeelthelifegoingoutofher,littleby

little.

“Thiswasthelastone,”Isaid,pointingtothewomanwho’dbeenstrangledinherownbed.

“DifferentMO.Samesignature.”

Thiswomanhaddiedwatchinghim,andhe’dposedher,proppedherheaduponapillow,fanning

herbrownhairoutaroundherdeath-stillface.

Suddenly,Iwasnauseous.Itwasn’tjustwhathadbeendonetothesewomen.Itwasthatfora

moment,I’dconnectedwiththepersonwho’ddoneit.I’dunderstood.

Ifeltahand,warmandsteady,onthebackofmyneck.Dean.
“You’refine,”hesaid.“It’llpass.”
Thisfromtheboywho’dneverwantedmetogototheplaceI’djustgone.

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“Justbreathe,”hetoldme,darkeyesmakingacarefulstudyofmine.Ireturnedthefavor,

concentratingonhisface—here,now,thismoment,nothingelse.

“Youokay,Cass?”AgentLockesoundedworriedinspiteofherself.Icouldpracticallyseeher

wonderingifshe’dpushedmetoofar,toofast.

“I’mfine,”Isaid.
“Liar.”Liastrolledintothekitchenlikeamodelonacatwalk,butforonce,Iwasgladforthe

distraction.

“Okay,”Isaid,amendingmypreviousstatement.“I’mnotfine,butIwillbe.”Iturnedaroundand

metLia’seyes.“Satisfied?”

Shesmiled.“Delighted.”
AgentLockeclearedherthroatandadoptedasternexpressionthatremindedmeofAgentBriggs.

“We’restillworkinghere,Lia.”

Lialookedatme,thenatDean,whodroppedhishandstohisside.“No,”shesaid.“You’renot.”
Iwasn’tsureifLiawascallingLockeoutonalieortellingtheagenttobackoff.Ialsowasn’tsure

whethershewasdoingitforme—orforDean.

“Fine,”AgentLockecapitulated.“Mybrilliantlectureonthedifferencebetweenorganizedand

disorganizedkillerscanwaituntiltomorrow.”Herphonevibrated.Shepickeditup,glancedatthe
screenforafewseconds,andthencorrectedherself.“Andby‘tomorrow,’”shesaid,“Imean
Monday.Haveagoodweekend.”

“Somebodyhasacase,”Liasaid,hereyeslightingup.
“Somebodyhastojet,”AgentLockereplied.“Norestforthewicked,andasmuchasI’dloveto

takeahumanliedetectorwithmetoacrimescene,Lia,that’snotwhatthisprogramis.Youknow
that.”

I’dgottennauseousoverpictures,long-deadwomen,andakillerwho’dalreadybeenconvicted.

Lockewastalkingaboutanactivecrimescene.

Afreshbody.
“You’reright,”Deansaid,steppinginbetweenLiaandLocke.“That’snotwhatthisprogramis,”

hetoldtheagent,andevenfrombehind,Icouldpicturethelookinhiseyes—intenseandfullof
warning.“Notanymore.”

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YOU

You’regettingsloppy,killingsoclosetohome,leavingthebodiesspreadthroughoutthebackstreetsof
thecapital,likeHanselandGreteldroppingmoreandmorebreadcrumbsthefartherintotheforest
theygo.

Butfromthemomentyoufirstlaideyesonher,it’sbeenhardertopushbackthedesiretokill,

hardertorememberwhyyoumakeitapointnottoplayinyourownbackyard.

Maybethisisthewayit’ssupposedtobe.Maybeit’sfate.
Timetofinishwhatyoustarted.
Timetogettheirattention.
Timetocomehome.

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CHAPTER15

IwokeuponSaturdayatnoontotwosounds:theshufflingofcardsandthefaint,high-pitchedwhir
ofmetalonmetal.Iopenedmyeyesandturnedoverontomyside.Sloanewassittingcross-leggedon
herbed,amuginonehandandtheotherdealingoutcards:sevencolumns,adifferentnumberof
cardsineachone,allofthemfacedown.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Iasked.
Sloanestaredatthebacksofthecardsforamomentandthenpickedoneupandmovedit.

“Solitaire,”shesaid.

“Butallofthecardsarefacedown.”
“Yes.”Sloanetookasipfromhermug.
“HowcanyouplaySolitaireifallofthecardsarefacedown?”
Sloaneshrugged.“Howcanyouplaywithsomeofthemfaceup?”
“Sloaneissomethingofacardshark.BriggsfoundherinVegas.”Liastuckherheadoutofthe

closet.“Ifsheskimsthedeckonce,shecanmoreorlesstrackthecards,evenoncethey’reshuffled.”

IregisteredthefactthatLiawasinourcloset.Metalonmetal,Ithought.Metalhangerssliding

acrossametalrack.

“Hey,”Isaid,takingabetterlookatLia’scurrentattire.“That’smydress.”
“Minenow.”Liasmiled.“Didn’ttheFBIwarnyouthatIhavestickyfingers?Kleptomania,

pathologicallying—it’sallthesame,really.”

IthoughtLiawasjoking,butIcouldn’tbesure.
“Kidding,”sheconfirmedafterafewseconds.“Aboutthekleptomania,notaboutthefactthatI

havenointentionofgivingthisdressback.Honestly,Sloaneisthekleptointhishouse,butthisreally
ismoremycolorthanyours.”

IturnedtoSloane,who’dratchetedthespeedofhergameupanotch—orthree.
“Sloane,”Isaid.
“Yes?”
“WhyisLiapokingaroundinourcloset?”
Sloanelookedup,butdidn’tstopplaying.“Motivationisreallymoreyourdomainthanmine.I

findmostpeoplesomewhatbewildering.”

Irephrasedthequestion.“WhywouldyouletLiapokearoundinourcloset?”
“Oh,”Sloanesaid,onceshetookmymeaning.“Shebroughtabribe.”
“Bribe?”Iasked.AndthatwaswhenIrealizedwhat,exactly,wasinSloane’smug.
“Youbroughthercoffee?”
Liasmoothedahandoverthefrontofmydress.“Guiltyascharged.”

———

Sloaneoncoffeewasabitlikeanauctioneeronspeed.Thenumberspouredoutofhermouthrapid-
fire,astatisticforeveryoccasion.Foreighthours.

“SixteenpercentofAmericanmenhaveblueeyes,”sheinformedmeblithely.“Butoverforty

percentofmaleTVdoctorsdo.”

WatchingTVwithahyped-upstatisticianwouldhavebeenchallengingenough,butSloanewasn’t

theonlyonewho’dfollowedmetothemediaroomafterdinner.

“Hermouthsays,Iloveyou,Darren,butherposturesays,Ican’tbelievethewritersaredoingthis

tomycharacter—shewouldnevergetinvolvedwiththisschmuck!”Michaelpoppedapieceof

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popcornintohismouth.

“Doyoumind?”Iaskedhim,gesturingtowardthescreen.
Hegrinned.“Notatall.”
Itriedtotunethetwoofthemout,buttheeffortwasfutile.Icouldn’tgetlostinthemedical

melodramaanymorethantheycould,becauseallIcouldthink—overandoveragain—wasthatDr.
DarrentheSchmuck’sBPEsimplydidnotaddup.

“WecouldswitchtorealityTV,”Michaelsuggested.
“Roughlyonepercentofthepopulationareconsideredtobepsychopaths,”Sloaneannounced.

“Recentestimatessuggestthatoverfourteenpercentofrealitytelevisionstarsare.”

“Whoseestimates?”Michaelasked.
SloanesmiledlikeaCheshirecat.“Mine.”
Michaelputhishandsbehindhisheadandleanedback.“Forgetstudyingkillers.Let’sarrest

fourteenpercentofallrealitytelevisionstarsandcallitaday.”

Sloaneslouchedinherchairandtoyedwiththeendofherponytail.“Beingapsychopathisn’ta

crime,”shesaid.

“Areyoudefendingpsychopaths?”Michaelasked,archingoneeyebrowtoridiculousheights.

“Thisiswhywedon’tgiveyoucoffee.”

“Hey,”Sloanesaiddefensively,“I’mjustsayingthatstatistically,apsychopathismorelikelyto

endupasaCEOthanaserialkiller.”

“Ahem.”LiawastheonlypersonIknewwhowouldactuallysaythewordahemtoannounceher

presence.Onceshehadourattention,shelookedateachoneofusinturn.“Juddjustleftforanight
onthetownwithanoldfriend.Wehavethehousetoourselves.”Sheclaspedherhandstogetherin
frontofherbody.“Livingroom.Fifteenminutes.Comeprepared.”

“Preparedforwhat?”Iasked,butbeforethequestionhadfullyexitedmymouth,shewasgone.
“Thatprobablydoesnotbodewell.”Michael’swordsdidn’tsoundmuchlikeacomplaint.He

stood.“I’llseeyouladiesinfifteen.”

AsIwatchedhimwalkoutthedoor,Icouldn’thelpthinkingthatI’dspentmostofmylifeasan

observer,andLiawasthetypetopullpeopleoffthesidelines.

“Anyguesseswhatwe’regettingourselvesinto?”IaskedSloane.
“Basedonpreviousexperience,”Sloanereplied,“myguesswouldbetrouble.”

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CHAPTER16

MichaelandDeanwerealreadyinthelivingroomwhenSloaneandIarrived.Inthepastfourteen
minutes,myblondcompanionhadquieted,liketheEnergizerBunnypoweringdown.Shetookaseat
onthesofanexttoMichael.Isatdownnexttoher.Acrossfromus,Deanwassittingontheedgeofthe
fireplace,hisgazelockedonthefloor,hairinhisface.

Sofa,chairs,pillows,rug,Ithought.Andhechoosestositonstone.
IflashedbacktothefirsttimeI’dseenhim,liftingweightsandpushinghisbodytothebrink.My

veryfirstimpressionhadbeenthathewaspunishinghimself.

“Gladtoseeyouallmadeit.”Liadidn’tjustwalkintoaroom;shemadeanentrance.Alleyeson

her,shesanktothefloorandstretchedherlegsout,crossingherfeetattheanklesandspreadingmy
dressoutaroundher.“Foryourentertainmentthisevening:TruthorDare.”Shepaused,rakingher
eyesovertherestofus.“Anyobjections?”

Deanopenedhismouth.
“No,”Liatoldhim.
“Youaskedforobjections,”Deansaid.
Liashookherhead.“Youdon’tgettoobject.”
“DoI?”Michaelasked.
Liaconsideredthequestion.“Doyouwantto?”
Michaelglancedatme,thenbackatLia.“Notparticularly.”
“Then,yes,”Liareplied.“Youdo.”
Besideme,Sloaneraisedherhand.
“Yes,Sloane?”Liasaidpleasantly.Apparently,shewasn’tconcernedthatourresidentnumbersgirl

mightobject.

“I’mfamiliarwiththegistofthegame,butI’munclearononething.”Sloane’seyesgleamed.

“Howdoyouwin?”

Michaelgrinned.“Youhavetoloveagirlwithacompetitivestreak.”
“Youdon’twinTruthorDare,”Isaid.Infact,Ideeplysuspectedthiswasthekindofgamethat

everybodylost.

“Isthatanobjection?”Liaasked.
Fromacrosstheroom,DeanwastelegraphingthewordsSAYYEStome,asclearlyasifhe’dhired

aplanetowritetheminthesky.AndifI’dbeeninaroomwithanyotherteenagersontheplanet,I
wouldhave.ButIwasinaroomwithMichael,whoIcouldn’tquiteprofile,andDean,who’dsaidthe
otherdaythatNaturalsdidn’tworkonactivecasesanymore.Ihadquestions,andthiswastheonlyway
Iwasgoingtogettoaskthem.

“No,”ItoldLia.“Thatwasn’tanobjection.Let’splay.”
AslowsmilespreadacrossLia’sface.Deanbangedhisheadbackagainstthefireplace.
“CanIgofirst?”Sloaneasked.
“Sure,”Liarepliedsmoothly.“Truthordare,Sloane?”
Sloanegaveheralook.“That’snotwhatImeant.”
Liashrugged.“Truth.Or.Dare.”
“Truth.”
InanormalgameofTruthorDare,thatwouldhavebeenthesaferoption—becauseifthequestion

wastooembarrassing,youcouldalwayslie.WithLiaintheroom,thatwasimpossible.

“Doyouknowwhoyourfatheris?”
Lia’squestiontookmecompletelyoffguard.I’dspentmostofmylifenotknowingwhomyown

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fatherwas,butcouldn’timaginebeingforcedtoadmitthatinfrontofacrowd.Liaseemedfondof
Sloane,moreorless,butclearly,inTruthorDare,thekidglovescameoff.

SloanemetLia’seyes,unfazed.“Yes,”shesaid.“Ido.”
“Aswingandamiss,”Michaelmurmured.Liagavehimadirtylook.
“Yourturn,”shetoldSloane,andfromthelookonherface,Iguessedshewasbracingherselffor

payback—butSloaneturnedtome.

“Cassie.Truthordare?”
ItriedtoimaginewhatkindofdareSloanemightcomeupwith,butdrewablank.
“Statistically,themostcommondaresinvolveeatingunpleasantfood,makingprankphonecalls,

kissinganotherplayer,lickingsomethingunsanitary,andnudity,”Sloanesaidhelpfully.

“Truth.”
Sloanewassilentforseveralseconds.“Howmanypeopledoyoulove?”
ThequestionseemedharmlessenoughuntilIstartedthinkingaboutmyanswer.Sloane’sblueeyes

searchedmine,andIgotthedistinctfeelingthatshewasn’taskingbecauseshethoughtitwouldbe
amusingtohearmyanswer.

Shewasaskingbecausesheneededdatapointstocomparetoherown.
“HowmanypeopledoIlove?”Irepeated.“Like…lovehow?”
I’dneverbeeninlove,soifshewastalkingaboutromance,theanswerwaseasy.
“Howmanypeopledoyoulove,total?”Sloanesaid.“Summingacrossfamilial,romantic,andall

othervariations.”

Iwantedtojustchooseanumberatrandom.Fivesoundedgood.Orten.Toomanytocount

soundedbetter,butLiawaswatchingme,verystill.

I’dlovedmymother.Thatmuchwaseasy.AndNonnaandmyfatherandtherest—Ilovedthem.

Didn’tI?Theyweremyfamily.Theylovedme.JustbecauseIwasn’tshowyaboutitdidn’tmeanthatI
didn’tlovethemback.I’ddonewhatIcouldtomakethemhappy.Itriednottohurtthem.

ButdidIreallylovethem,thewayI’dlovedmymom?CouldIloveanyonelikethatagain?
“One.”Ibarelymanagedtogetthewordoutofmymouth.IstaredatLia,hopingshe’dtellmethat

wasn’ttrue,thatlosingmymomhadn’tbrokensomethinginsideofmeandIwasn’tdestinedtospend
therestofmylifetwoshadesremovedfromthekindoflovethattherestofmyfamilyfeltforme.

Liaheldmygazeforafewseconds,thenshrugged.“Yourturn,Cassie.”
ItriedtorememberwhyI’dthoughtplayingthisgamewasagoodidea.“Michael,”Isaidfinally.

“Truthordare?”

ThereweresomanythingsIwantedtoaskhim—whathereallythoughtoftheprogram,whathis

fatherwaslike,beyondtheissueoftaxfraud,whethertherehadeverbeenmoretohisrelationship
withLiathantradingverbalbarbs.ButIdidn’tgetachancetoaskanyofthosequestions,because
Michaelleanedforwardinhisseat,hiseyesgleaming.“Dare.”

Ofcoursehewasn’tgoingtoletmedigaroundinhisbrain.Ofcoursehewasgoingtomakeme

issuethefirstdareofthegame.Irackedmybrainforsomethingthatdidn’tsoundlame,butalso
didn’tinvolvekissing,nudity,oranythingthatmightgiveMichaelanexcusefortrouble.

“Hitmewithyourbestshot,Colorado.”Michaelwasenjoyingthiswaytoomuch.Ihadafeeling

hewashopingthatIwoulddarehimtodosomethingalittlebitdangerous,somethingthatwouldget
hisadrenalinepumping.

SomethingBriggswoulddisapproveof.
“Idareyou…”Isaidthewordsslowly,hopingananswerwouldpresentitself.“…todance

ballet.”

EvenIwasn’tsurewherethatcamefrom.
What?”Michaelsaid.Clearly,he’dbeenexpectingsomethingalittlemoreexciting,oratthevery

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leastrisqué.

“Ballet,”Irepeated.“Rightthere.”Ipointedtothecenteroftherug.“Dance.”
Liastartedcrackingup.EvenDeanbitbackasmile.
“BalletisatraditionofperformancebodymovementhailingbacktotheearlyRenaissance,”

Sloanesaidhelpfully.“ItisparticularlypopularinRussia,France,Italy,England,andtheUnited
States.”

Michaelstoppedherbeforeshecouldorateanentirehistoryoftheart.“I’vegotthis,”hesaid.And

then,asolemnexpressiononhisface,hestoodup,hewalkedtothecenteroftheroom,andhestruck
apose.

I’dseenMichaeldosmooth.I’dseenhimdosuave.I’dfelthimpushapieceofhairoutofmyface

—butthis.Thiswasreallysomething.Hestoodonhistippy-toes.Hetwirledinacircle.Hebenthis
legsandstuckouthisbutt.Butthebestthingwasthelookinhiseyes:cold,steelydetermination.

Hecappedtheperformanceoffwithacurtsy.
“Verynice,”Isaidbetweenhystericalgiggles.Hesankbackontothesofaandthenturneddagger

eyesonLia.

“Truthordare.”
Notsurprisingly,Liachosetruth.Ofallofus,shewasprobablytheonlyoneherewhocouldlie

andgetawaywithit.

Michaelsmiled,asgenialasLiahadbeenwhenshe’dstartedthiswholething.“What’syourreal

name?”

Forafewbriefseconds,vulnerabilityandirritationpassedoverLia’sfeaturesinquicksuccession.
“Yournameisn’tLia?”SloanesoundedstrangelyhurtattheideathatLiamighthaveliedabout

somethingassimpleandbasicasherownname.

“Yes,”Liatoldher.“Itis.”
MichaelstaredatLia,raisinghiseyebrowseversoslightly.
“Butonceuponatime,”Liasaid,soundinglessandlesslikeherselfwitheveryword,“myname

usedtobeSadie.”

Lia’sanswerfilledmymindwithquestions.ItriedtopictureherasaSadie.Hadsheshedherold

nameaseasilyasshechangedclothes?Whyhadshechangedit?HowhadMichaelknown?

“Truthordare…”Liadraggedhereyesacrosseachofus,onebyone,andIsensedsomething

darkslowlyunfurlinginsideofher.Thiswasn’tgoingtoendwell.

“Cassie.”
Itdidn’tseemfairthatitwasmyturnagainalready,whenDeanhadyettogo,butIsteppedupto

theplate.

“Dare.”Idon’tknowwhatpossessedmetochoosethatoption,otherthanthefactthatthelookon

Lia’sfaceconvincedmethatshe’dmakeSloane’squestionlookaboutaspersonalasaninquiryabout
theweather.

Liabeamedatme,andthenbeamedatMichael.Payback.
“Idareyou,”Liasaid,relishingeachandeveryword,“tokissDean.”
Deanreactedtothatsentencelikehe’dbeenelectrocuted.Hesatstraightup.“Lia,”hesaidsharply.

“No.”

“Oh,comenow,Dean,”Liacajoled.“It’sTruthorDare.Takeonefortheteam.”Withoutwaiting

forhisreply,sheturnedbacktome.“Kisshim,Cassie.”

Ididn’tknowwhatwasworse,Dean’sobjectiontotheideaofbeingforcedtokissmeorthe

suddenrealizationthatmybodydidn’tobjecttotheideaofkissinghim.Ithoughtofourlessonswith
Locke,thefeelofhishandonthebackofmyneck.…

Liawatchedmeexpectantly,butMichael’seyesweretheonesIfeltonmyfaceasIcrossedthe

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roomtostandinfrontofDean.

Ididn’thavetodothis.
Icouldsayno.
Deanlookedupatme,andforasplitsecond,Isawsomethingotherthandeadlyneutralityonhis

face.Hiseyessoftened.Hislipsparted,liketherewassomethinghewantedtosay.

Ikneltnexttothefireplace.Iputonehandonhischeek,andIbroughtmylipstohis.Itwasa

friendlykiss.AEuropeanhello.Ourmouthsonlytouchedforasecond—butIfeltit,electric,allthe
waytomytoes.

Ipulledback,unabletoforcemyeyesawayfromhislipsasIdid.Forafewseconds,wejust

stayedthere,staringateachother:himonthefireplaceandmekneelingontherug.

“Yourturn,Cassie.”Liasoundedprettydarnedsatisfiedwithherself.
Iforcedmyselftostandupandwalkbacktothesofa.Isatdown,stillabletofeeltheghostof

Dean’slipsonmine.“Truthordare,Dean?”

Itwasonlyfair:hewasthesolepersonpresentwhohadn’tbeeninthehotseatyet.Forasecond,I

thoughthemightrefuseandcallanendtothisgame,buthedidn’t.

“Truth.”
ThiswastheopportunityMichaelhadn’tgivenme.ThereweresomanythingsIwantedtoknow.I

concentratedonthat,insteadofwhathadpassedbetweenusamomentbefore.

“Theotherday,whenLockesaidshecouldn’ttakeLiatothecrimescene,yousaidthatwasn’twhat

theprogramwasanymore.”Ipaused.“Whatdidyoumean?”

Deannodded,asifthatwereaperfectlyreasonablequestiontoaskafteryou’dkissedaperson.“I

wasthefirstone,”hesaid.“Beforetherewasaprogram,beforetheystartedusingthetermNaturals,
itwasjustBriggsandme.Ididn’tlivewithJudd.TheFBIbrassdidn’tknowaboutme.Briggs
broughtmequestions.Igavehimanswers.”

“Questionsaboutkillers.”Iwasn’tallowedafollow-upquestion,soIphraseditasastatement.

Deannodded.Liacutin,breakingoffallconversation.

“Hewastwelve,”shesaid,clippingthewords.“Yourturn,Dean.”
“Cassie,”Deansaid.Thatwasit—no“truthordare.”Justmyname.
Besideme,Michael’sjawclenched.Lia’spaybackhadhititstarget—andthensome.
“Truth,”Isaid,tryingnottodwellonMichael’sreactionorwhatitmightmean.
“Whydidyoucomehere?”Deanasked,lookingatLia,athisownhands,atanythingbutme.“Why

jointhisprogramatall?”

Therewerealotofanswerstothatquestionthatwouldhavebeentechnicallytrue.Icouldhavesaid

thatIwantedtohelppeople.IcouldhavesaidthatI’dalwaysknownthatI’dneverquitefitinthe
regularworld.ButIdidn’t.

“Mymotherwasmurdered.”Iclearedmythroat,tryingtosaythewordsliketheywerejustany

otherwords.“Fiveyearsago.Basedonthebloodspatter,theythinkshewasstabbed.Repeatedly.The
policeneverfoundherbody,buttherewasenoughbloodthattheydon’tthinkshecouldhave
survived.Iusedtothinkthatmaybeshehad.Idon’tanymore.”

Deandidn’treactvisiblytothatconfession—butLiawentunnaturallystill,andSloane’smouth

droppedopenassheavertedhereyes.Michaelhadknownaboutmymother,butI’dneversaidaword
toanyoftheothers.

Truthordare,Dean.Iwantedtosaythewords,butIcouldn’tkeepaskingDeanquestions.Already,

we’dkeptthisgamebetweenthetwoofusfortoolong.“Truthordare,Lia?”

“Truth.”Liasaidthewordlikeachallenge.Iaskedherwhethershewasmessyorneat.She

loweredherchin,raisedhereyebrows,andstaredatme.

“Seriously,”shesaid.“That’syourquestion?”

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“That’smyquestion,”Iconfirmed.
“I’mamess,”shesaid.“Byeverysenseoftheword.”Shedidn’tgivemetimetomeditateonthe

factthatI’dpeggedherrightbeforeshetargetedMichaelforthenextround.Iexpectedhimtopick
dareagain,buthedidn’t.

“Truth.”
Liarandaintyhandsoverherdress.Shegavehimhermostwide-eyed,innocentlook.Thenshe

askedhimifhewasjealouswhenIkissedDean.Michaeldidn’tbataneye,butIthoughtDeanmight
actuallythrottleLia.

“Idon’tgetjealous,”Michaelsaid.“Igeteven.”
NoonewassurprisedwhenMichaelaimedthenextroundatDean.
“Truthordare,Dean?”
“Truth.”Dean’seyesnarrowed,andIrememberedLiasayingthatifDeanhadatemper,Michael

wouldhavebeendeadbynow.Iwaited,mystomachheavyandmythroatdry,forMichaeltoaskDean
somethinghorrible.

Buthedidn’t.
“HaveyoueverseenTheBadSeed?”heinquiredpolitely.“Themovie.”
AmuscleinDean’sjawtwitched.“No.”
Michaelgrinned.“Ihave.”
Deanstoodup.“I’mdonehere.”
“Dean—”Lia’stonewashalfwaybetweenmulishandwheedling,buthesilencedherwithalook.

Twosecondslater,hewasstalkingoutoftheroom,andafewsecondsafterthat,Iheardthefront
dooropen,thenslam.

Deanwasgone—andapersondidn’thavetobeanemotionreadertoseethelookofsatisfaction

onMichael’sface.

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YOU

Everyhour,everyday,youthinkaboutTheGirl.Butit’snottimeforthegrandfinale.Notyet.Instead,
youfindanothertoyatalittleshopinDupontCircle.You’vehadyoureyeonherforawhile,but
resistedtheurgetoaddhertoyourcollection.Shewastooclosetohome,inanareathatwastoo
denselypopulated.

Butrightnow,theso-calledMadameSeleneisjustwhatyouneed.Bodiesarebodies,butapalm

reader—there’sacertainpoetrytothat.Amessageyouwant—need—havetosend.Itwouldbesimpler
tokillherintheshop,todriveaknifethrougheachpalmandleaveherbodyondisplay,butyou’ve
workedsohardthisweek.

Youdeservealittletreat.
Takingheriseasy.You’reaghost.Astrangerwithcandy.Asympatheticear.WhenMadameSelene

wakesupinthewarehouse,shewon’tbelievethatyou’retheonewho’sdonethistoher.

Notatfirst.
Buteventually,she’llsee.
Yousmile,thinkingabouttheinevitabilityofitall.Youtouchthetipsofherbrownhairandpickup

thehandyboxofRedDyeNumber12.Youhumunderyourbreath,achildren’ssongthattakesyou
backtothebeginning,backtothefirst.

Thepalmreader’seyesflickeropen.Herhandsarebound.Sheseesyou.Thensheseesthehairdye,

theknifeinyourlefthand,andsherealizes.—

Youarethemonster.
Andthistime,youdeservetotakethingsslow.

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CHAPTER17

WhenAgentLockeshowedupMondaymorning,shehaddarkcirclesunderhereyes.Belatedly,I
rememberedthatwhilewe’dbeenwatchingTVandplayingTruthorDare,sheandBriggshadbeen
outworkingacase.Arealcase,withrealstakes.

Arealkiller.
Foralongtime,Lockedidn’tsayanything.“BriggsandIhitabrickwallthisweekend,”shesaid

finally.“We’vegotthreebodies,andthekillerisescalating.”Sheranahandthroughhairthatlooked
likeithadbeenonlyhaphazardlybrushed.“That’snotyourproblem.It’smine,butthiscasehas
remindedmethattheUNSUBisonlyhalfthestory.Dean,whatcanyoutellCassieabout
victimology?”

Deanstaredholesinthecountertop.Ihadn’tseenhimsinceTruthorDare,butitwaslikenothing

hadchangedbetweenus,likewe’dneverkissed.

“Mostkillershaveatype,”hesaid.“Sometimes,it’saphysicaltype.Forothers,itmaybeamatter

ofconvenience—maybeyoufocusonhikers,becausenoonereportsthemmissingforafewdays,or
students,becauseit’seasytogetaholdoftheirclassschedules.”

AgentLockenodded.“Occasionallythevictimsmaybeservingasasubstituteforsomeoneinthe

UNSUB’slife.Somekillerskilltheirfirstgirlfriendortheirwifeortheirmother,overandover
again.”

“Theotherthingvictimologytellsus,”Deancontinued,flickinghiseyesovertoAgentLocke,“is

howthevictimwouldhavereactedtobeingabductedorattacked.Ifyou’reakiller…”Hepaused,
searchingfortherightwords.“There’sagive-and-takebetweenyouandthepeopleyoukill.You
choosethem.Youtrapthem.Maybetheyfight.Maybetheyrun.Sometrytoreasonwithyou,some
saythingsthatsetyouoff.Eitherway,youreact.”

“Wedon’thavetheluxuryofknowingeverylastdetailabouttheUNSUB’spersonality,”Agent

Lockecutin,“butthevictim’spersonalityandbehavioraccountforhalfofthecrimescene.”

ThemomentIheardthephrasecrimescene,Iflashedbacktoopeningthedoortomymother ’s

dressingroom.I’dalwaysthoughtthatIknewsolittleaboutwhathadhappenedthatday.Bythetime
I’dgottenbacktothedressingroom,thekillerwasgone.Mymotherwasgone.Therewassomuch
blood.…

Victimology,Iremindedmyself.Iknewmymother.Shewouldhavefought—nail-scratching,

breaking-lamps-over-his-head,struggling-for-the-knifefought.Andtherewereonlytwothingsthat
couldhavestoppedher:dyingortherealizationthatIwasduebackintheroomatanysecond.

Whatifshewentwithhim?Thepolicehadassumedshewasdead—orattheveryleastunconscious

—whentheUNSUBhadremovedherfromtheroom.Butmymotherwasn’tasmallwoman,andthe
dressingroomwasonthesecondfloorofthetheater.Undernormalcircumstance,mymother
wouldn’thavejustletakillerwaltzheroutthedoor—butshemighthavedoneanythingtokeepher
assailantawayfromme.

“Cassie?”AgentLockesaid,snappingmebacktothepresent.
“Right,”Isaid.
Shenarrowedhereyes.“Rightwhat?”
“Sorry,”ItoldLocke.“Couldyourepeatwhatyoujustsaid?”
Shegavemealong,appraisinglook,thenrepeatedherself.“Isaidthatwalkingthroughacrime

scenefromavictim’sperspectivecantellyoualotaboutthekiller.Sayyougointoavictim’shouse
andyoufindoutthatshecompulsivelywritesto-dolists,color-codesherclothes,andhasapetfish.
Thiswomanisthethirdvictim,butshe’stheonlyoneofthethreewhodoesn’thavedefensive

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wounds.Thekillernormallykeepshisvictimsalivefordays,butthiswomanwaskilledbyastrong
blowtotheheadonthedayshewastaken.Herblousewasbuttonedcrookedlywhentheyfoundher.”

Puttingmyselfintothekiller ’shead,Icouldimaginehimtakingwomen.Playingwiththem.So

whywouldheletthisoneoffeasy?Whyendhisgameearly,whensheshowednosignsoffighting
back?

Becausesheshowednosignsoffightingback.
Iswitchedperspectives,imaginingmyselfasthevictim.I’morganized,orderly,andtypeAinthe

extreme.Iwantapet,butcan’tbringmyselftogetonethatwouldactuallydisruptmylife,soIsettle
forafishinstead.MaybeI’vereadaboutthepreviousmurdersinthepaper.MaybeIknowhowthings
endforthewomenwhofoughtback
.

SomaybeIdon’tfightback.Notphysically.
ThethingsLockehadtoldmeaboutthevictimsaidthatshewasawomanwholikedtostayin

control.Shewouldhavetriedreasoningwithherkiller.Shewouldhaveresistedhisattemptsto
controlher.Shemighthaveeventriedtomanipulatehim.Andifshe’dsucceeded,evenforan
instant…

“TheUNSUBkilledtheothersforfun,”Isaid,“buthekilledherinafitofrage.”
Theirinteractionwouldhavebeenagameofcontrolforhim,too—andshewasjustenoughofa

controlfreaktodisruptthat.

“And?”AgentLockeprompted.
Idrewablank.
“Hebuttonedhershirt,”Deansaid.“Ifshe’dbuttonedit,itwouldn’thavebeencrooked.”
Thatobservationsentmymindwhirring.Ifhe’dkilledherinarage,whywouldhehavedressed

herafterward?Ifhe’dundressedher,Icouldunderstandit—thefinalhumiliation,thefinalassertion
ofcontrol.

Youknowher,Ithought.
“TheUNSUB’sfirsttwovictimswerechosenrandomly.”AgentLockemetmyeyes,andfora

second,itfeltlikeshewasreadingmymind.“Weassumedthethirdvictimwasaswell.Wewere
wrong.”Lockerockedbackonherheels.“That’swhyyouneedbothsidesofthecoin.Checksand
balances,victimsandUNSUBs—becauseyou’llalwaysbewrongaboutsomething.You’llalways
misssomething.Whatifthere’sapersonalconnection?WhatiftheUNSUBisolderthanyou
thought?Whatifheisashe?WhatiftherearetwoUNSUBsworkingasapair?Whatifthekilleris
justakidhimself?”

Iknewsuddenlythatweweren’ttalkingaboutthetypeAwomanandthemanwho’dkilledher

anymore.WeweretalkingaboutthedoubtsplaguingLockerightnow,theassumptionsshe’dmadeon
hercurrentcase.WeweretalkingaboutanUNSUBthatLockeandBriggshadn’tbeenabletocatch.

“Ninetypercentofallserialkillersaremale.”Sloaneannouncedherpresence,thenwalkedupto

joinus.“Seventy-sixpercentareAmerican,withasubstantialpercentageofserialmurders
concentratedinCalifornia,Texas,NewYork,andIllinois.Thevastmajorityofserialkillersare
Caucasian,andovereighty-ninepercentofvictimsofserialcrimesareCaucasianaswell.”

Icouldnothelpnoticingthatshespokesignificantlyslowerwhennotundertheinfluenceof

caffeine.

BriggsfollowedSloaneintotheroom.“Lacey.”HegotAgentLocke’sattention.“Ijustgotacall

fromStarmans.Wehavebodynumberfour.”

Thinkingaboutthosewords—andwhattheymeant—feltlikeeavesdropping,butIcouldn’thelp

myself.Anotherbody.Anotherperson,dead.

Lockeclenchedherjaw.“Sameprofile?”sheaskedBriggs.
Briggsgaveabrisk,slightnod.“ApalmreaderinDupontCircle.Andthenationaldatabasesearch

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werancamebackwithmorethanonematchforourkiller ’sMO.”

WhatMO?Icouldn’tshakethequestion,anymorethanIcouldstopwonderingwhothisnew

victimwas,ifshe’dhadafamily,whohadtoldthemthatshewasdead.

“Thatbad?”Lockeasked,readingBriggs’sface.IwishedMichaelweretheretohelpmedothe

same.Thiscasewasnoneofmybusiness—butIwantedtoknow.

“Weshouldtalkelsewhere,”Briggssaid.
Elsewhere.AsinsomewherethatSloane,Dean,andIweren’t.
“Youdidn’thavetroublecomingtoDeanforadvicewhenhewastwelve,”Isaid,unabletostop

myself.“Whystopnow?”

Briggs’seyesdartedovertoDean,whomethisgazewithoutblinking.Clearly,thatwasn’t

informationDeanwassupposedtosharewiththerestofus—butjustasclearly,Deanwasn’tgoingto
lookawayfirst.

“Theflowerbedscouldusesomeweeding.”Juddbrokethetension,comingintotheroomtostand

betweenBriggsandDean.“Ifyou’redonewiththekidsforabit,Icanputthemtowork.Mightbe
goodforthemtogettheirhandsdirty,getsomesun.”

JudddirectedthosewordsatAgentBriggs,butLockewastheonewhoreplied.“It’sfine,Judd.”

SheglancedfirstatDean,thenatme.“Theycanstay.Briggs,youweresayingthedatabaseturnedup
morethanonecasewiththesameMO?”

Foramoment,BriggslookedlikehemightarguewithLockeaboutlettingusstay,butshejust

stoodthere,stubbornlywaitinghimout.

Briggsgaveinfirst.“Ourdatabasesearchreturnedthreecasesconsistentwithourkiller ’sMOin

thepastninemonths,”hesaid,clippingeachword.“NewOrleans,LosAngeles,andAmericanFalls.”

“Illinois?”Lockeasked.
Briggsshookhishead.“Idaho.”
Iprocessedthatinformation.IfthecasesBriggswastalkingaboutwererelated,weweredealing

withakillerwho’dcrossedstatelinesandhadbeenkillingforthebetterpartofayear.

“Mygobagisinthecar,”Lockesaid,andsuddenly,Iremembered—weweren’tdealingwith

anything.Lockehadn’tletBriggsshufflethethreeofusoutoftheroom,butattheendoftheday,this
wasn’tatrainingexercise,anditwasn’tmycase,orevenours.

Itwastheirs.
“Weleaveatsixteenhundredhours.”Briggsstraightenedhistie.“IleftworkforLia,Michael,and

Sloane.Locke,doyouhaveanythingforCassieandDean—besidesweedingtheflowerbeds?”he
addedwithaglanceatJudd.

“I’mnotleavingthemacoldcase.”Locketurnedtome,almostapologetically.“Youhavean

incredibleamountofrawtalent,Cass,butyou’vespenttoomuchtimeintherealworldandnot
enoughinours.Notyet.”

“Shecanhandleanythingyouthrowather.”
IlookedatDean,surprised.HewasthelastpersonIexpectedtobemakingthisargumentonmy

behalf.

“Thankyouforthatglowingendorsement,Dean,”Lockesaid,“butI’mnotgoingtorushthis.Not

withher.”Shepaused.“Library,”shetoldme.“Thirdshelffromtheleft.There’saseriesofblue
binders.Prisoninterviews.Makeyourwaythroughthose,andwe’lltalkaboutgettingyoustartedon
coldcaseswhenIgetback.”

“Idon’tthinkthat’sagoodidea.”Dean’svoicewascuriouslyflat.Lockeshrugged.
“You’retheonewhosaidshewasready.”

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CHAPTER18

Thatnight,whenIsnuckouttothepoolforamidnightswim,Deanwasn’ttheonewhojoinedme.

“Iwouldhavepeggedyouforano-nonsenseone-piece,”MichaelsaidasIcameupforairafter

swimminglaps.Hedangledhislegsoverthesideofthepool.“Somethingsporty.”

Iwaswearingatwo-piecebathingsuit—halfwaybetweensportyandabikini.
“ShouldIbeinsulted?”Iasked,swimmingtotheoppositesideofthepoolandpullingmyselfup

ontotheledge.

“No,”Michaelreplied.“Butyouare.”
Hewasright,ofcourse.Inthedimlightofthemoon,Iwonderedhowhecouldevenseemyface,

letalonereadanemotionIwastryingtohide.

“Youlikeithere.”Michaelloweredhimselfintothepool,andforthefirsttime,Iregisteredthe

factthathischestwasbare.“YoulikeAgentLocke.Youlikeallofherlittlelessons.Andyoulikethe
ideaofhelpingoutwithrealcasesevenmore.”

Ididn’tsayanything.Clearly,Michaelwascapableofhavingthisconversationallbyhimself.
“What?Youaren’tevengoingtotrytoprofileme?”Michaelflickedwateratmyknees.“Where’s

thegirlfromthediner?”heaskedme.“Titfortat.”

“Youdon’twanttobeprofiled,”Itoldhim.“Youdon’twantpeopletoknowyou.”Ipaused.“You

don’twantmetoknowyou.”

Hewassilentforonesecond,two,three—andthen,“Truth.”
“Yeah,”Isaidwryly.“Ispeakthetruth.”
“No,”Michaelreplied.“Truth.Isn’tthatwhatyouwantedmetosaylastnight,insteadofdare?”
“Idon’tknow,”Itoldhim,grinning.“Iwouldn’ttradethememoryofyourballetman-dancefor

anything.”

Michaelpushedofffromtheledgeandstartedtreadingwater.“Ialsoexcelatsynchronized

swimming.”Ilaughed,andhemadehiswayovertomyledge.“Imeanit,Cassie.Truth.”Hepaused,
twofeetawayfromme.“Youask.I’lltellyou.Anything.”

Iwaitedforthecatch,buttherewasn’tone.
“Fine,”Isaid,consideringmyquestionscarefully.“Whydon’tyouwanttobeprofiled?Whatisit

you’resoafraidthatpeoplearegoingtofindout?”

“Igotintoafightonce,”Michaelsaid,soundingoddlyatease.“RightbeforeIcamehere.Putthe

otherguyinthehospital.Ijustkepthittinghim,overandoveragain,evenoncehewasdown.Idon’t
loseitoften,butwhenIdo,it’sbad.Itakeaftertheoldmaninthat.WeTownsendsdon’tdoanything
halfway.”Michaelpaused.He’dansweredmysecondquestion,butnotmyfirst.“MaybeIdon’twant
tobeprofiledbecauseIdon’twanttoknowwhatyou’dsee.WhatlittleboxIfitin.WhoIreallyam.”

“There’snothingwrongwithyou,”Isaid.
Hegavemealazysmile.“That’samatterofsomedebate.”
I’dbeenplanningonaskingabouthisfather,butnowIcouldn’tbringmyselftoaskiftheoldman

hadeverlostitwithhim.“Yourfamily’swealthy?”

“Assin,”Michaelreplied.“Mypastisalongstringofboardingschools,excess,andthefinestfill-

in-the-blankthatmoneycanbuy.”

“Doesyourfamilyknowyou’rehere?”
Michaelpushedoffthesideandstartedtreadingwateragain.Icouldn’tmakeouttheexpressionon

hisface,butIdidn’tneedtoseehimtoknowthathistrademarksmirkheldmorethanahintofself-
loathing.“Abetterquestionmightbeiftheycare.”

Threequestions.Threehonestanswers.Justbecausehe’dofferedtoshowmehisscarsdidn’tmean

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Ihadtotearthemopen.“YouandLia?”Iasked,changingthesubject.

“Yes,”Michaelreplied,catchingmeoffguard,becauseIhadn’tconsidereditayes-or-noquestion.

“Onagain,offagain.Neverforverylong,anditwasneveragoodcall—foreitherofus.”

IfIdidn’twanttoknowtheanswer,Ishouldn’thaveasked.Istoodupandcannonballedbackinto

thepool,sendingasmalltsunamiofwaterMichael’sway.ThemomentIcamebackup,heflicked
wateratmyface.

“Youknow,ofcourse,”hesaidsolemnly,“thatthismeanswar.”
Onesecond,therewasagoodthreefeetofspacebetweenus,andthenext,wewerewrestling,each

tryingtooutdunkandoutsplashtheother,neitherofusfullyawareofjusthowclosetogetherour
bodieswere.

Igotamouthfulofwater.Isputtered.Michaeldunkedme,andIcameupgaspingforair—andsaw

Deanstandingonthepatio.Hewasstandingperfectly,horriblystill.

MichaeldunkedmeagainbeforeherealizedI’dstoppedfighting.HeturnedaroundandsawDean.
“Yougotaproblem,Redding?”Michaelasked.
“No,”Deanreplied.“Noproblem.”
IgaveMichaelasharplookandtrustedthathe’dbeabletoreadmewellenoughforittobe

effective,eveninthedark.

Michaelgotthemessage.“Caretojoinus?”heaskedDean,overlypolitely.
“No,”Deanreplied,justaspolitely.“Thankyou.”Hepaused,andthesilenceswelledaroundus.

“Youtwohaveagoodnight.”

AsDeandisappearedbackintothehouse,Icouldn’thelpfeelingthatI’dtakensomethingfromhim

—theplacehecametothink,themomentwe’dsharedthenighthe’dshownmetheblacklights.

“Truthordare.”Michael’svoicecutintomythoughts.
“What?”
“Yourturn,”Michaeltoldme.“Truthordare?”
“Truth.”
Michaelreachedouttopushmywethairoutofmyface.“IfLiahaddaredyoutokissme,would

youhavedoneit?”

“Liawouldn’thavedaredmetokissyou.”
“Butifshehad?”
Icouldfeelheatrisinginmycheeks.“Itwasjustagame,Michael.”
Michaelleanedforwardandbrushedhislipsagainstmine.Thenhepulledbackandstudiedmy

face.Whateverhesawthere,heliked.

“Thankyou,”hesaid.“That’sallIneededtoknow.”

———

Ididn’tsleepmuchthatnight.IjustkeptthinkingaboutMichaelandDean,thesubtlebarbsthatpassed
betweenthetwoofthem,thefeelofeachone’slips.Bythetimethesuncameupthenextmorning,I
wantedtokillsomeone.PreferablyMichael—butLiawasaclosesecond.

“We’reoutoficecream,”Isaidmurderously.
“True,”Liareplied.She’dswappedthesilkpajamasforboxershortsandarattyT,andthere

wasn’tsomuchasahintofremorseonherface.

“Iblameyou,”Isaid.
“Alsotrue.”Liastudiedmyface.“AndunlessI’mmistaken,you’renotjustblamingmefortheice

cream.Andthatmakesmeterriblycurious,Cassie.Caretoshare?”

Itwasimpossibletokeepasecretinthishouse—letalonetwo.FirstDean,thenMichael.Ihadn’t

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signedupforthis.IfLiahadn’tdaredmetokissDean,Michaelneverwouldhavekissedmeinthe
pool,andIwouldn’tbeinthismess,unsurewhatIfelt,whattheyfelt,whatIwassupposedtodoabout
it.

“No,”Isaidoutloud.Iwashereforonereasonandonereasonalone.“Forgetbreakfast,”Isaid,

slammingthefreezerdoorshut.“Ihaveworktodo.”

Iturnedtoleave,butnotbeforeIcaughtsightofLiatwirlinghergleamingblackponytailaround

herindexfinger,herdarkeyeswatchingmealittletoocloselyforcomfort.

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CHAPTER19

Imademywaytothelibrarytodrownmysorrowsinserialkillerinterviews.Wall-to-wall,ceiling-
to-floorbookshelvesbulgedwithcarefullyorganizedtitles:textbooks,memoirs,biographies,
academicjournals,andtheoddestassortmentoffictionI’deverseen:old-fashioneddime-store
mysteries,romancenovels,comicbooks,Dickens,Tolkien,andPoe.

Thethirdshelffromtheleftwasfullofbluebinders.Ipickedupthefirstoneandopenedit.

FRIEDMAN,THOMAS
OCTOBER22-28,1993
FLORIDASTATEPRISON,STARKE,FL

ThomasFriedman.Suchanormal-soundingname.Gingerly,Iflippedthroughthetranscript:a

bare-bonesplaywithalimitedcastofcharacters,noplot,andnoresolution.SupervisorySpecial
AgentCormackKentwastheinterviewer.HeaskedFriedmanabouthischildhood,hisparents,his
fantasies,theninewomenhe’dstrangledwithhigh-sheendresshose.ReadingFriedman’swords—
blackinktypedontothepage—wouldhavebeenbadenough,buttheworstpartwasthatafterafew
pages,Icouldhearthewayhewouldhavetalkedaboutthewomenhe’dkilled:excitement,nostalgia,
longing—butnoremorse.

“Youshouldsitdown.”
I’dbeenexpectingsomeonetojoinmeinthelibrary.Ihadn’texpectedthatsomeonetobeLia.
“Dean’snotcoming,”Liasaid.“Hereadthoseinterviewsalongtimeago.”
“Haveyoureadthem?”Iasked.
“Some,”Liareplied.“Mostly,I’veheardthem.Briggsgivesmetheaudio.IplaySpottheLie.It’sa

realparty.”

Irealizedsuddenlythatmostpeoplemyage—mostpeopleanyage—wouldn’tbeabletotake

readingtheseinterviews.Theywouldn’twantto,andtheycertainlywouldn’tlosethemselvesinit,the
wayIwould.ThewayIalreadyhad.Friedman’sinterviewwashorribleandhorrifying—butI
couldn’tturnoffthepartofmybrainthatwantedtounderstand.

“What’sthedealwithyouandDean?”IaskedLia,forcingmyselftothinkaboutanythingother

thanthefactthatpartofmewantedtokeepreading.MichaelmighthavetoldmethatheandLiahad
hookedup—morethanonce—butDeanwastheonewhocoulddialherbackanotchjustbysaying
hername.

“I’vebeeninlovewithhimsinceIwastwelve.”Liashrugged,likeshehadn’tjustbaredhersoulto

me.AndthenIrealized,shehadn’t.

“Oh,God,”shesaid,gaspingforairbetweengiggles.“Youshouldseeyourface.Really,Cassie,

I’mnotafanofincest,andDeanistheclosestthingtoabrotherIhave.IfItriedtokisshim,hemight
actuallyhurlonme.”

Thatwascomforting.Butthefactthatitwascomfortingjustsentmerightbackintothetailspin

fromthatmorning:whyshouldIcareiftherewasanythingbetweenLiaandDean,whenMichaelwas
theonewho’dkissedmeofhisownfreewill?

“Look,asadorableaswatchingyouangstis,”Liasaid,“takeabitoffriendlyadvice:there’snota

personinthishousewhoisn’treally,truly,fundamentallyscreweduptothedepthsoftheirdarkand
shadowysouls.Includingyou.IncludingDean.IncludingMichael.”

Thatsoundedmorelikeaninsultthanadvice.
“Deanwouldwantmetotellyoutostayawayfromhim,”Liasaid.

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“AndMichael?”Iasked.
Liashrugged.“IwanttotellyoutostayawayfromMichael.”Shepaused.“Iwon’t,butIwantto.”
Iwaitedtoseeifshewasfinished.Shedidn’tsayanythingelse.
“Asfarasadvicegoes,thatkindofsucked.”
Liaexecutedanelaboratebow.“Itry.”Hereyesflittedbacktothebinderinmyhand.“Domea

favor?”

“Whatkindoffavor?”
Liagesturedtothebinder.“Ifyou’regoingtoreadthose,”shesaid,“don’tsayanythingabout

themtoDean.”

———

Forthenextfourdays,LockeandBriggswereawayworkingontheircase,andotherthanavoiding
MichaelandDeanandweedingtheflowerbedsforJudd,therewasnothingformetodobutread.
Andread.Andread.Athousandpagesofinterviewslater,Igotsickofbeingcoopedupinthelibrary
anddecidedtotakealittlefieldtrip.Itookawalkthroughtownandendedupploppingdownbythe
PotomacRiver,enjoyingtheviewandreadinginterviewtwenty-seven,bindertwelve.The1990shad
givenwaytothetwenty-firstcentury,andSSAKenthadbeenreplacedbyaseriesofotheragents—
amongthem,AgentBriggs.

“Enjoyingabitoflightreading?”
Ilookeduptoseeamanaroundmydad’sage.Hehadafive-o’clockshadowandafriendlysmile

onhisface.

Ishiftedsothatmyarmcoveredmyreadingmaterialincasehedecidedtolook.“Somethinglike

that.”

“Youlookedprettyabsorbed.”
Thenwhydidyouinterruptme?Iwantedtoask.Eitherhe’dsoughtmeoutspecifically,orhewas

thekindofpersonwhodidn’tseethecontradictionininterruptingsomeone’sreadingtotellhershe
lookedabsorbedinthetext.

“YouliveatJudd’splace,right?”hesaid.“HeandIgowayback.”
Irelaxedslightly,butstillhadnointentionofgettingsuckedintoaconversationaboutmyreading

material—oranythingelse.“It’snicetomeetyou,”Isaidinmybestwaitressvoice,hopinghe’dsense
afalsenoteunderthecheerfulnessinmyvoiceandleavemetomyowndevices.

“Enjoyingtheweather?”heaskedme.
“Somethinglikethat.”
“Ican’ttakeyouanywhere.”Michaelappearedonmyothersideandeasedhimselfontotheground

nexttome.“She’stoogregariousforherowngood,”hetoldthemanstandingnexttous.“Always
chattingupcompletestrangers.Frankly,Ithinksheover-shares.It’sembarrassing.”

IputtheheelofmyhandonMichael’sshoulderandshoved,butcouldn’tpushdownthestabof

gratitudeIfeltthatIwasnolongersufferingthroughSmallTownTalkTimealone.

“Well,”themansaid.“Ididn’tmeantointerrupt.Ijustwantedtosayhello.”
Michaelnoddedausterely.“Howdoyoudo?”
IwaiteduntilourvisitorwasoutofearshotbeforeIturnedtohim.“‘Howdoyoudo’?”Irepeated

incredulously.

Michaelshrugged.“Sometimes,”hesaid,“whenI’minasocialpickle,Iliketoaskmyself,

WWJAD?”Iraisedaneyebrow,andheexplained.“WhatWouldJaneAustenDo?”

IfMichaelreadJaneAusten,IwastheheirtotheBritishthrone.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iaskedhim.

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“Rescuingyou,”heansweredblithely.“Whatareyoudoinghere?”
Igesturedtothebinder.“Reading.”
“Andavoidingme?”heasked.
Irepositionedmybodyandhopedtheglarefromthesunwouldcompromisehisviewofmyface.

“I’mnotavoidinganyone.Ijustwantedtobealone.”

Michaelbroughthishanduptohisfacetoshielditfromthesun.“Youwantedtobealone,”he

repeated.“Toread.”

“That’swhyI’mhere,”Isaiddefensively.“That’swhywe’reallhere.Tolearn.”
NottoobsessoverthefactthatI’vekissedmoreboysinthepastweekthanIhaveinmyentirelife,I

addedsilently.Tomysurprise,Michaeldidn’tcommentontheemotionsIhadtobebroadcasting.He
justreclinednexttomeandheldupsomereadingmaterialofhisown.

“JaneAusten,”Isaid,disbelieving.
Michaelgesturedtowardmybinder.“Carryon.”
Forfifteenortwentyminutes,thetwoofusreadinsilence.Ifinishedinterviewtwenty-sevenand

startedinonnumbertwenty-eight.

REDDING,DANIEL
JANUARY15–18,2007
VIRGINIASTATEPENITENTIARY,RICHMOND,VA

Ialmostmissedit,wouldhavemissedithadthenamenotbeenprintedoverandoveragain,

documentingthisparticularserialkiller ’severyword.

Redding.
Redding.
Redding.
TheinterviewerwasAgentBriggs.Thesubject’snamewasRedding,andhe’dbeenincarceratedin

Virginia.Istoppedbreathing.Mymouthwentsuddenlydry.Iflippedthroughthepages,fasterand
faster,skimmingatwarpspeeduntilDanielReddingaskedBriggsaquestionabouthisson.

Dean.

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CHAPTER20

Dean’sfatherwasaserialkiller.WhileIwastravelingthecountrywithmymom,Deanhadbeen
livingtwentyyardsawayfromtheshackwherehisfathertorturedandkilledatleastadozenwomen.

AndDeanhadneversaidawordtome:notwhenwewereworkingourwaythroughLocke’s

puzzlesandbouncingideasoffeachother;notwhenhecaughtmeswimminginthepoolthatfirst
time;notafterwe’dkissed.He’dtoldmethatspendingtimeinsidethemindsofkillerswouldruinme,
buthadn’tbreathedawordabouthispast.

Suddenly,everythingfellintoplace.ThetoneinLia’svoicewhenshe’dsaidthepicturesonthe

stairwellwerethereforDean’sbenefit.ThefactthatAgentBriggshadgonetoDeanforhelpona
casewhenhewastwelve.MichaelintroducingDeanbytellingmethatheknewmoreabouttheways
thatkillersthoughtthanjustaboutanyone.Liaaskingme,asafavor,nottosayanythingaboutthese
interviewstoDean.TheBadSeed.

Istoodupandshovedthebinderbackintomybag.Michaelsaidmyname,butIignoredhim.Iwas

halfwaybacktothehousebeforeI’devenregisteredthefactthatIwasrunning.

WhatwasIdoing?
Ididn’thaveananswertothatquestion.Andyet,Icouldn’tturnaround.IkeptgoinguntilIreached

thehouse.Iclimbedthestairs,headingformyroom,butDeanwaswaitingformeatthetop,likehe’d
knowntodaywouldbetheday.

“You’vebeenreadingtheinterviews,”hesaid.
“Yeah,”Irepliedsoftly.“Ihave.
“DidyoustartwithFriedman?”Deanasked.
Inodded,waitingforhimtonametheawfulunspokensomethingthathungintheairbetweenus.
“That’stheguywiththepantyhose,right?Didyougettothepartwherehetalksaboutwatching

hisoldersistergetdressed?Orwhataboutthatbitwiththeneighbor ’sdog?”

I’dneverheardDeansoundlikethis—soflippantandcruel.
“Idon’twanttotalkaboutFriedman,”Isaid.
“Right,”Deanreplied.“Youwanttotalkaboutmyfather.Didyoureadthewholeinterview?On

daythree,Briggsbribedhimtotalkabouthischildhood.Youknowwhathebribedhimwith?Pictures
ofme.Andwhenthatdidn’twork,picturesofthem.Thewomenhekilled.”

“Dean—”
“What?Isn’tthiswhatyouwanted?Totalkaboutit?”
“No,”Isaid.“Iwanttotalkaboutyou.”
“Me?”Deancouldn’thavesoundedmoreincredulousifhe’dtried.“Whatelseistheretosay?”
Whatwastheretosay?
“Idon’tcare.”Mybreathwasstillraggedfromrunning.Iwassayingthiswrong.“Yourfather—it

doesn’tchangewhoyouare.”

WhatIam,”hecorrected.“Andyes,itdoes.Whydon’tyougoaskSloanewhatthestatisticssay

aboutpsychopathyandheredity?Andthenwhydon’tyouaskherwhattheysayaboutgrowingupin
anenvironmentwhereit’stheonlythingyouknow.”

“Idon’tcareaboutthestatistics,”Isaid.“We’repartners.Weworktogether.YouknewIwasgoing

tofindout.Youcouldhavetoldme.”

“We’renotpartners.”
Thewordshurtme—andhemeantforthemto.
“Wewon’teverbepartners,”Deansaid,hisvoicerazor-sharpandunrepentant.“Anddoyouwant

toknowwhy?Becauseasgoodasyouareatgettinginsidenormalpeople’sheads,Idon’tevenhave

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toworktogetinsideakiller ’s.Doesn’tthatbotheryou?Didn’tyouevernoticehoweasyitwasfor
metobethemonsterwhenwewere‘working’together?”

I’dnoticed—butI’dattributedittothefactthatDeanhadmoreexperienceatprofilingkillers.I

hadn’trealizedthatthatexperiencewasfirsthand.

“Didyouknowaboutyourfather?”IregrettedthequestionthemomentIaskedit,butDeandidn’t

bataneye.

“No,”hesaid.“Notatfirst,butIshouldhave.”
Notatfirst?
“Itoldyou,Cassie.BythetimeBriggsstartedcomingbywithquestionsoncases,therewas

nothinglefttoruin.”

“That’snottrue,Dean.”
“Myfatherwasinprison.Iwasinfostercare,andevenbackthen,IknewthatIwasn’tlikethe

otherkids.Thewaymymindworked,thethingsthatmadesensetome…”Heturnedhisbackonme.
“Ithinkyoushouldgo.”

“Go?Gowhere?”
“I.Don’t.Care.”Heletoutashudderybreath.“Justleavemealone.”
“Idon’twanttoleaveyoualone.”Andthereitwas,somethingIhadn’tevenletmyselfthinksince

TruthorDare.

“HowexactlywasIsupposedtotellyou?”Deanasked,stillfacingawayfromme.“‘Hey,guess

what?Yourmomwasmurdered,andmydadisakiller.’”

“Thisisn’taboutmymom.”
“Whatdoyouwantmetosay,Cassie?”Deanfinallyturnedbackaroundtofaceme.“Justtellme,

andI’llsayit.”

“Ijustwantyoutotalktome.”
Dean’sfingerscurledintofistsathissides.Icouldbarelyseehiseyesbehindthehairthatfellin

hisface.“Idon’twanttotalktoyou,”hesaid.“You’rebetteroffwithMichael.”

“Dean—”
Ahandgrabbedmyshoulderandspunmearound.Hard.
“Hesaidhedidn’twanttotalktoyou,Cassie.”Lia’sfacewasamaskofcalm.Hertonewas

anythingbut.“Don’tturnbacktolookathim.Don’tsayanotherwordtohim.Justgo.Andonemore
thing?”Sheleanedforwardtowhisperinmyear.“Remindmenevertoaskyouforafavoragain.”

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CHAPTER21

Iwalkedslowlybackdownthestairs,tryingtofigureoutwhathadjusthappened.WhatwasI
thinking,confrontingDean?Hewasallowedtohavesecrets.HewasallowedtobeangrythatLocke
hadassignedmetoreadthoseinterviews,knowingthatoneofthemwashisfather ’s.Ishouldn’thave
goneupthere.Ishouldhavelefthimalone.

“LiaorDean?”
IlookedupandsawMichaelstandingnearthefrontdoor.
“What?”
“Thelookonyourface,”hereplied.“LiaorDean?”
Ishrugged.“Both?”
Michaelnodded,asifmyanswerwereaforegoneconclusion.“Youokay?”
“You’retheemotionreader,”Isaid.“Youtellme.”
Hetookthatasaninvitationtocomecloser.Hestoppedafootortwoawayandstudiedmyface.

“You’reconfused.Madderatyourselfthanyouareateitherofthem.Lonely.Angry.Stupid.”

“Stupid?”Isputtered.
“Hey,IjustcallitlikeIseeit.”Michaelwasapparentlyinthemoodtobeblunt.“Youfeelstupid.

Doesn’tmeanyouare.”

“Whydidn’tyoutellme?”Isatdownonthebottomstep,andafterafewseconds,Michaelsat

downbesideme,stretchinghislegsoutonthehardwoodfloor.“Whymakethinlyveiledcomments
aboutTheBadSeedinsteadofjusttellingmethetruth?”

“Ithoughtabouttellingyou.”Michaelleanedbackonhiselbows,hiscasualposturecontradicting

thetensionunmistakableinhisvoice.“EverytimeIsawthetwoofyouhunchedoveroneofLocke’s
littlepuzzles,Ithoughtabouttellingyou.ButwhatwouldyouhavesaidifIdid?”

ItriedtoimaginehearingaboutDean’sfatherfromMichael,whocouldbarelymanageacivil

wordwhereDeanwasconcerned.

“Exactly.”Michaelreachedforwardtotaptheedgeofmylips,likethatwastheprecisespotthat

hadtippedhimofftowhatwasgoingoninsidemymind.“Youwouldn’thavethankedmefortelling
you.Youwouldhavehatedmeforit.”

IswattedMichael’shandawayfrommyface.“Iwouldn’thavehatedyou.”
Michaelgesturedinthegeneraldirectionofmyforehead,butrefrainedfromactuallytouchingmy

facethistime.“Yourmouthsaysonething,butyoureyebrowssayanother.”Hepaused,andhisown
mouthtwistedintoalazygrin.“Youmightnotrealizethis,Colorado,butyoucanbealittle
sanctimonious.”

Thistime,Ididn’tbotherlettingmyfacedothetalkingforme.Isluggedhimintheshoulder—

hard.

“Fine.”Michaelheldhispalmsupinsurrender.“You’renotsanctimonious.You’rehonorable.”He

pausedandtrainedhiseyesstraightahead.“MaybeIdidn’twanttoadvertisethefactthatI’mnot.”

Forasplitsecond,Michaelletthosewords—thatconfession—hangintheair.
“Besides,”hecontinued,“ifI’dtoldyouthatbetweenReddingandmyselfIwasthesafeoption,I

wouldhavelostallofthatcarefullybuilt-upbad-boycred.”

Fromself-loathingtosardonicinundertwoseconds.
“Trustme,”Isaidlightly,“youdon’thaveanycred.”
“Oh,really?”Michaelsaid.WhenInodded,hestoodupandtookmyhand.“Let’sfixthat,then,

shallwe?”

Awiserpersonwouldhavesaidno.Itookadeepbreath.“Whatdidyouhaveinmind?”

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———

Blowingstuffupwassurprisinglytherapeutic.

“Clear!”Michaelyelled.Thetwoofusscuttledbackward.Asecondlater,astringoffireworks

wentoff,scorchingthefloorofafakefoyer.

“Somehow,Idon’tthinkthisiswhatAgentBriggshadinmindwhenhebuiltthisbasement,”Isaid.
Michaeladoptedanausterelook.“Simulationisoneofourmostpowerfultools,”hesaid,doinga

passableimitationofAgentBriggs.“HowelsearewetovisualizetheworkoftheinfamousBoom-
BoomBandit?”

“Boom-BoomBandit?”Irepeated.
Hegrinned.“Toomuch?”
Iheldmyindexfingerupaninchfrommythumb.“Justalittle.”
Behindus,thedoortothebasementopenedandslammedshut.IhalfexpectedittobeJudd,asking

whatpreciselywethoughtweweredoingdownhere,butMichaelhadassuredmethebasementwas
soundproof.

“Ididn’tknowanyonewasdownhere.”Sloanelookedatthetwoofussuspiciously.“Whyareyou

downhere?”

MichaelandIlookedateachother.Iopenedmymouthtoanswer,butSloane’seyeswidenedasshe

tookintheevidence.

“Fireworks?”shesaid,foldingherarmsoverhermiddle.“Inthefoyer?”
Michaelshrugged.“Cassieneededadistraction,andIneededtogiveBriggsafewmoregray

hairs.”

Sloaneeyedhimmutinously.Consideringtheamountoftimeshespentdownhere,Icouldseewhy

shemighttakeanymisuseofthecrimesetsseriously.

“Sorry,”Isaid.
“Youshouldbe,”sherepliedsternly.“You’redoingitallwrong.”
Whatfollowedwasaten-minutelectureonpyrodynamics.Andseveralmoreexplosions.
“Well,”Michaelsaid,surveyingourwork.“That’llteachBriggsandLocketoleaveustoourown

devicesfortoolong.”

Ishovedmyhairoutofmyfacewiththeheelofmyhand.“They’reworkingacase,”Isaid,

rememberingthelookonLocke’sface—andthedetailsI’dmanagedtogleanaboutwhatsheand
Briggswereupto.“Ithinkthat’salittlebitofahigherprioritythantrainingusis.”

“Sloane,”Michaelsaidsuddenly,drawingouthernameandnarrowinghiseyes.
“Nothing,”Sloanerepliedquickly.
“Nothingwhat?”Iasked.Clearly,Iwasmissingsomethinghere.
“WhenIsaidLocke’sname,Sloanelookeddownandtothesideandhereyebrowspulledupinthe

center.”Michaelpaused,andwhenhespokeagain,hisvoicewassofter.“Whatdidyoutake,Sloane?”

Sloanemadeacarefulstudyofherfingernails.“AgentLockedoesn’tlikeme.”
IthoughtbacktothelasttimeIhadseenSloaneandLocketogether.Sloanehadcomeintothe

kitchenandrattledoffsomestatisticsaboutserialkillers.Lockehadn’thadachancetoreplywhen
Briggscameintotheroomwithanupdateontheircase.Infact,Iwasn’tsureI’deverseenLockesay
anythingtoSloane,thoughshetradedbarbseasilyenoughwithMichaelandLia.

“TherewasaUSBdrive,”Sloaneadmittedfinally,“inAgentLocke’sbriefcase.”
Michael’seyeslitup.“AmItoinferthatyouhaveitnow?”
Sloaneshrugged.“That’sadistinctpossibility.”
“YoutookaUSBdriveoutofLocke’sbriefcase?”Iprocessedthatbitofinformation.WhenLia

hadhelpedherselftothecontentsofmycloset,she’dsaidthatSloanewasthekleptomaniacinthe

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house.I’dassumedshewasjoking.

Apparentlynot.
“Let’sconcentrateontheimportantthinghere,”Michaelsaid.“Whatinformationdoyoulovely

ladiesthinkLockewouldbecarryingonherpersonwhileworkingacase?”

IglancedatSloane,thenbackatMichael.“Youthinkithassomethingtodowiththeircurrent

case?”Icouldn’tkeepthesurgeofinterestoutofmytone.

“Thatisalsoadistinctpossibility.”Sloanewassoundingdistinctlymorechipper.
Michaelthrewanarmoverhershoulder.“HaveIevertoldyouthatyou’remyfavorite?”heasked

her.Thenhecastawickedglanceatme.“Stillinneedofdistraction?”

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CHAPTER22

“Thisencryptionispathetic,”Sloanesaid.“It’sliketheywantmetohacktheirfiles.”

Shewassittingcross-leggedontheendofherbed,herlaptopbalancedonherknees.Herfingers

flewacrossthekeysassheworkedonbreakingthroughtheprotectiononthepilferedUSBdrive.A
straypieceofblondhairdriftedintoherface,butshedidn’tseemtonotice.“Done!”

Sloaneturnedthelaptoparoundsothetwoofuscouldseeit.“Sevenfiles,”shesaid.Thesmilefell

fromherface.“Sevenvictims.”

Locke’slectureonvictimologycamefloodingbacktome.Wasthatwhymymentorhadbeen

carryingaroundadigitalcopyofthesefiles?Hadshebeenattemptingtogetinsidethevictims’
heads?

“Whatifthisisimportant?”Iasked,unabletopushbackastabofguilt.“WhatifLockeandBriggs

needthisinformationfortheircase?”I’dcometotheprogramtohelp,nottogetinthewayofthe
FBI’sefforts.

“Cassie,”Michaelsaid,takingaseatagainstthefootofthebedandstretchinghislegsoutinfront

ofhim.“IsBriggsthetypetokeepbackups?”

AgentBriggswasthetypetokeepbackupsofhisbackups.HeandLockehadbeengoneforthree

days.Ifthey’dneededthisdrive,theywouldhavecomebackforit.

“ShouldIprintoutthefiles?”Sloaneasked.
Michaellookedatmeandraisedaneyebrow.“Yourcall,Colorado.”
Ishouldhavesaidno.IshouldhavetoldSloanethatthecaseLockeandBriggswereworkingon

wasnoneofourbusiness,butI’dcomeheretohelp,andLockehadsaidthatsheandBriggshadhita
brickwall.

“Printit.”
Asecondlater,theprinteronSloane’sdeskstartedspittingoutpages.Afterfiftyorsosheets,it

stopped.Michaelleanedoverandgrabbedthepages.Heseparatedthembycaseandhelpedhimselfto
threecasefilesbeforehandingtheotherstoSloaneandme.Allsevenwerehomicides.FourinDCin
thepasttwoweeksandanotherthreecases,allwithinthepastyear,fromotherjurisdictions.

“FirstDCvictimdisappearedfromthestreetshewasworkingtendaysagoandshowedupthenext

morningwithherfacehalfcarvedoff.”Michaellookedupfromleafingthroughthefile.

“Thisone’sdatedthreedayslater,”Isaid.“Facialmutilation,numeroussuperficialcutstotherest

ofthebody—shediedofbloodloss.”

“Thiswouldtaketime,”Sloanesaid,herfacepale.“Hours,notminutes,andaccordingtothe

autopsyreports,thetissuedamageis—severe.”

“He’splayingwiththem.”Michaelfinishedwithhissecondfileandstartedinonthethird.“He

takesthem.Hecutsthem.Hewatchesthemsuffer.Andthenhecutsofftheirfaces.”

“Don’tsayhe,”Icorrectedabsentmindedly.“SayIoryou.”
MichaelandSloanebothstaredatme,andIrealizedtheobvious:theirlessonswereverydifferent

frommine.

“Imean,sayUNSUB,”Itoldthem.“UnknownSubject.”
“Icanthinkofsomebetternamesforthisguy,”Michaelmurmured,lookingthroughthelastcase

fileinhishands.“Whohasthefileforthelastvictim?”

“Ido.”Sloane’svoicewasquiet,andsuddenly,shelookedveryyoung.“Shewasapalmreaderin

DupontCircle.”Forasecond,IthoughtSloanemightactuallyputthefiledown,butthenherfeatures
wentsuddenlycalm.“Apersonistentimesmorelikelytobecomeaprofessionalathletethantomake
alivingreadingpalms,”shesaid,takingrefugeinthenumbers.

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Mostkillershaveatype,Ithought,fallingbackonmyownlessons.“Doanyoftheothervictims

havetiestothepsychiccommunity,astrology,ortheoccult?”

Michaelturnedbacktothetworeportsinhishand.“LadyoftheEvening,”hesaid,“anotherLady

oftheEvening,andatelemarketer…whoworkedatapsychichotline.”

Iglanceddownatthetwofilesinmyhand.“I’vegotanineteen-year-oldrunawayandamedium

workingoutofLosAngeles.”

“Twodifferentkindsofvictims,”Michaelobserved.“Prostitutes,drifters,andrunawaysincolumn

A.PeoplewithatietotheoccultincolumnB.”

IfishedBeforephotosofthevictimsoutofmyfilesandgesturedfortheotherstodothesame.
Youpickthemforareason,Ithought,lookingatthewomenonebyone.Youcuttheirfaces,slice

yourknifedownthroughskinandtissue,untilyouhitthebone.Thisispersonal.

“They’reallyoung,”Isaid,studyingthemandsearchingforcommonalities.“Betweeneighteen

andthirty-five.”

“Thosethreehaveredhair.”Michaelseparatedoutthevictimswithnotiestothepsychic

community.

“Thepalmreaderhadredhair,too,”Sloaneinterjected.
Iwasstaringdirectlyatthepalmreader ’sBeforepicture.“Thepalmreaderwasablonde.”
“No,”Sloanesaidslowly.“Shewasanaturalblonde.Butwhentheyfoundher,shelookedlike

this.”

Sloaneslidasecond,gruesomepicturetowardus.TruetoSloane’swords,thecorpse’shairwasa

deep,unmistakablered.

Arecentdyejob,Ithought.Sodidshedyeherhair…ordidyou?
“Twoclassesofvictims,”Michaelsaidagain,liningtheredheadsupinonecolumnandthe

psychicsinanother,withthepalmreaderfromDupontCirclebetweenthetwo.“Youthinkwe’re
lookingfortwodifferentkillers?”

“No,”Isaid.“We’reonlylookingforonekiller.”
Mycompanionscouldmakeobservations.Sloanecouldgeneraterelevantstatistics.Ifthere’dbeen

witnesstestimony,Michaelcouldhavetolduswhowasexhibitingsignsofguilt.Buthere,now,
lookingatthepictures,thiswasmydomain.IwouldhavehadtobacktracktoexplainhowIknew,to
figureouthowIknew—butIwascertain.Thepictures,whathadbeendonetothesewomen,itwasthe
same.Notjustthedetails,buttheanger,theurges…

Allofthesewomenhadbeenkilledbythesameperson.
You’reescalating,Ithought.Somethinghappened,andnowyouneedmore,faster.
Istaredatthephotos,mymindwhirring,pickingupeachdetailofthepictures,thefiles,untilonly

threethingsstoodout.

Knife.
Redhead.
Psychic.
Thatwasthemomentthatthegrounddisappearedfromunderneathme.Ilosttheabilitytoblink.

Myeyesgotverydry.Mythroatwasworse.Myvisionblurred,andallofthephotographsgotvery
fuzzyexceptforone.

Thenineteen-year-oldrunaway.
Thehair,thefacialstructure,thefreckles.Throughblurredvision,shelookedlike…
Knife.
Redhead.
Psychic.
“Cassie?”Michaeltookmyhandsinhis.“You’refreezing.”

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“TheUNSUBiskillingredheads,”Isaid,“andhe’skillingpsychics.”
“That’snotapattern,”Sloanesaidpeevishly.“That’stwopatterns.”
“No,”Isaid,“it’snot.Ithink…”
Knife.Redhead.Psychic.
Icouldn’tsaythewords.“Mymother…”Itookashortbreathandbrutallyexpelledit.“Idon’t

knowwhatmymother ’sbodylookedlike,”Isaidfinally,“butIdoknowthatshewasattackedwitha
knife.”

MichaelandSloanestaredatme.Igotupandwalkedovertomydresser.Iopenedthetopdrawer

andfoundwhatIwaslookingfor.

Apicture.
Don’tlookatit,Ithought.
Directingmygazeatanythingbutthepictureinmyhand,Istoopedandtappedmyfingersonthe

palmreader ’sphotograph.“Idon’tthinkshedyedherhairred,”Isaid.“Ithinkthekillerdid.”

Youkillpsychics.Youkillredheads.Butoneortheotherisn’tenoughanymore.It’sneverenough.
GlancingupatMichaelandSloane,Ilaidmymother ’spicturedownbetweenthetwocolumns.
Sloanestudiedit.“Shelooksliketheothervictims,”shesaid,noddingtothecolumnofredheads.
“No,”Isaid.“Theylooklikeher.”
Thesewomenhadallbeenkilledinthepastninemonths.Mymotherhadbeenmissingforfive

years.

“Cassie,whoisthat?”Michaelhadtohaveknowntheanswertothatquestion,butheaskedit

anyway.

“That’smymother.”Istillcouldn’tletmyselflookatthepicture.“Shewasattackedwithaknife.

Herbodywasneverfound.”Ipaused,justforasecond.“Mymothermadeherlivingbyconvincing
peopleshewaspsychic.”

Michaellookedatme—andintome.“AreyousayingwhatIthinkyou’resaying?”
IwassayingthatBriggsandLockeweretrackinganUNSUBwhokilledwomenwithredhairand

peoplewhoclaimedtobepsychic.Itcouldhavebeenacoincidence.Ishouldhaveassumeditwasa
coincidence.

ButIdidn’t.
“I’msayingthiskillerhasaveryspecifictype:peoplewhoresemblemymother.”

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YOU

Lastnight,youwokeupinacoldsweat,andtheonlyvoiceinyourheadwasyourfather’s.Thedream
seemedreal.Italwaysseemsreal.Youcouldfeelthestickysheets,smelltheurine,hearthewhistleof
Hishandtearingthroughtheair.Youwokeupshaking,andthenyourealized—

Thebedwaswet.
No,youthought.No.No.No.
Buttherewasn’tanyonetheretopunishyou.Yourfather’sdead,andyou’renot.
You’retheonewhodoesthepunishingnow.
Butit’sneverenough.Theneighbor’sdog.Thewhores.Eventhepalmreaderwasn’tenough.You

openthebathroomcabinet.Onebyone,yourunyourhandsovereachofthetubesoflipstick,
remembereachofthegirls.

It’scalming.
Soothing.
Exciting.
Youstopwhenyougettotheoldesttube.Thefirst.Youknowwhatyouwant.Whatyouneed.You’ve

alwaysknown.

Allthat’slefttodonowistakeit.

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CHAPTER23

WhenI’dfoundoutaboutDean’sdad,I’dtakenoffrunning,butnowthatmymom’sphotographwas
staringupatmefromaseaofmurdervictims,allIcoulddowassitthere.

“Maybethiswasabadidea.”ComingfromMichael,thosewordssoundedcompletelyalien.
“No,”Isaid.“Youwantedtodistractme.I’mdistracted.”
“ThelikelihoodthatthisUNSUBistheonewhoattackedyourmotherisextremelylow.”Sloane

spokehesitantly,likeshethoughtonemoreword—oronemorestatistic—mightsetmeoff.“This
killerabductshisvictimsandkillsthemataseparatelocation,leavinglittletonophysicalevidenceat
thesiteofabduction.There’ssomeindicationthatatleasttwoofthevictimsmayhavebeendrugged.
Thewomenhaverelativelyfewdefensivewounds,indicatingthatthey’relikelyrestrainedbeforethe
knifecomesintoplay.”

Sloanewastalkingaboutthiskiller ’sMO.Withhergift,thatwasasfarasshecouldgo.She

couldn’tseeunderneathit,couldn’timaginehowakillermighthaverefinedhistechniqueoverthe
spanoffiveyears.

“WhendoesAgentBriggsgetback?”Iasked.
“He’snevergoingtoletyouworkonthis,”Michaeltoldme.
“Isthatyourwayoftellingmethatyoudon’twanthimtoknowwehackedastolenjumpdrive?”I

shotback.

Michaelsnorted.“Personally,Iwouldn’tmindtakingoutanadinthepaperorhiringaskywriterto

announcethatheandLockewereoutsmartedbythreeboredteenagers.”

Icouldthinkofalotofwordstodescribemyliferightnow;boringwasn’toneofthem.
“Briggsisnothingifnotpredictable,Cassie.Hisjobisprovingthatwecansolvecoldcases,not

draggingusalongonactiveones.He’sprobablyluckyhisbossesdidn’tfirehimwhentheyfigured
outwhathewasdoingwithDean.Evenifthiscasedoeshavesomethingtodowithyourmother ’s,
he’llneverletyouworkonit.”

IturnedtoSloaneforasecondopinion.
“Twohoursandfifty-sixminutes,”shesaid.“Briggswasduebackintowntoday,buthe’llneedto

settlethingsattheofficeandgrabachangeofclothesandashowerbeforecomingin.”

ThatmeantIhadtwohoursandfifty-sixminutestodecidehowtobroachthiscasetoAgentBriggs

—orbetteryet,AgentLocke.

———

ThegoodthingaboutbeingincahootswithanemotionreaderwasthatMichaelcouldtellthatI
wantedtobeleftalone,andheobliged.Betteryet,hetookSloane—andthefiles—withhim.

Ifhehadn’t,Iprobablywouldstillhavebeensittingthere,staringatthecrime-scenephotosand

wonderingifmymomhaddiedwithoutaface.Instead,Iwaslyingonmybed,staringatthedoorand
tryingtothinkofsomething—anything—IcouldoffertheFBItomakethemwantmeonthiscase.

Twohoursandforty-twominuteslater,someoneknockedonmydoor.IthoughtitmightbeAgent

Briggs,backfourteenminutesearlierthanSloanehadpredicted.

Butitwasn’t.
“Dean?”
Hehadn’teversoughtmeoutbeforehe’dtoldmethatweweren’tpartners,weren’tfriends,

weren’tanything.Icouldn’timaginewhyhe’dcomelookingformevoluntarilynow.

“CanIcomein?”

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Therewassomethingaboutthewayhewasstandingtherethattoldmehewasexpectingmetosay

no.MaybeIshouldhave.Instead,Inodded,nottrustingmyvoice.

Hecameinandshutthedoorbehindhim.“Liaeavesdrops,”heexplained,gesturingtowardthe

closeddoor.

Ishruggedandwaitedforhimtosaysomethinghewouldn’twantoverheard.
“I’msorry.”Hemanagedtwowords,paused,andthenpushedouttwomore.“Aboutbefore.”
“Youhavenothingtobesorryabout.”Therewasnolawsayinghehadtotrustme.Outsideof

Locke’slessons,we’dbarelyspentanytimetogether.Hehadn’tchosentokissme.

“LiatoldmeaboutthefilesyouandMichaelandSloanefound.”
Thesuddenchangeofsubjecttookmebysurprise.“HowdoesLiaevenknowaboutthat?”
Deanshrugged.“Sheeavesdrops.”
AndsinceIwasn’texactlyLia’sfavoritepersonrightnow,shehadnoreasonwhatsoevertokeep

hermouthclosedaboutwhateveritwasthatshe’doverheard.

“So,what?”IaskedDean.“We’reevennow?IfoundoutaboutyourdadandLiatoldyouthatI

thinktheUNSUBBriggsandLockeareaftermightbetheonewhokilledmymomandnow
everything’sokay?”

DeansatdownonSloane’sbedandfacedme.“Nothing’sokay.”
WhywasitthatI’dmanagedtoholdontomycoolwithMichaelandSloane,butnowthatDean

washere,Icouldfeelmyselfstartingtoslip?

“Sloanesaidthatshethinksit’shighlyunlikelythatthiskilleristhesameonewhotookmy

mother,”Isaid,lookingdownatmylapandtryingnottocry.“It’sbeenfiveyears.TheMOis
different.Idon’tevenknowifthesignatureisthesame,becausetheyneverfoundmymother ’sbody.”

Deanleanedforwardandangledhisheadupatmine.“Somekillersgoforyearswithoutbeing

caught,andtheirMOschangeastimegoeson.Theylearn.Theyevolve.Theyneedmore.”

DeanwastellingmethatIcouldberight,thatthetimeframedidn’tprecludethisbeingthesame

UNSUB,butIknewfromhistoneofvoicethathewasn’tjusttalkingaboutthisUNSUB.

“Howlongwasitbeforetheycaughthim?”Iaskedsoftly.Ididn’tspecifywhohimwas.Ididn’t

haveto.

Deanmetmygazeandheldit.“Years.”
Iwonderedifthatonewordwasmorethanhe’dtoldanyoneelseabouthisfather.
Ithoughtthatmaybeitwas.
“Mymother.Iwastheonewhofound…”Icouldn’tsayherbodybecausetherehadn’tbeenone.I

swallowedhard,butIkeptgoing,becauseitwasimportant,somehow,toputitintowords,totellhim.

“I’dgonetocheckoutthecrowd,eavesdrop,seeiftherewasanythingIcouldpickuponthat

mighthelpmymomduringtheshow.Iwasgonetenminutes,maybefifteen,andwhenIgotback,she
wasgone.Theentireroomhadbeentossed.Thepolicesayshefought.Iknowshefought—butthere
wassomuchblood.Idon’tknowhowmanytimeshestabbedher,butwhenIgotbacktotheroom,I
couldsmellit.Thedoorwaspartwayopen.Thelightwasoff.IsteppedintotheroomandIfelt
somethingwetunderneathmyfeet.Isaidhername,Ithink.AndthenIreachedforthelightswitch.I
gotthewallinstead,andtherewasbloodonthewall.Itwasonmyhands,Dean,andthenIturnedon
thelight,anditwaseverywhere.”

Deandidn’tsayanything,buthewasthere,soclosethatIcouldfeeltheheatofhisbodynextto

mine.Hewaslistening,andIcouldn’tshakethefeelingthatheunderstood.

“I’msorry,”Isaid.“Idon’tusuallytalkaboutthis,andIdon’tletitdothistome,butIremember

thinkingthatwhoeverhurtmymotherhatedher.Heknewher,andhehatedher,Dean.Itwasthere,in
theroom,inthespatter,inthewayshe’dfought—itwasn’trandom.Heknewher,andhowcouldI
explainthattoanyone?Whowouldhavebelievedme?Iwasjustsomestupidkid,butnowBriggsand

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Lockehavethiscase,andtheirUNSUBiskillingpeoplewholooklikemymotherandpeoplewho
holdasimilarjob,andhe’sdoingitwithaknife.Andeventhoughthevictimsarescattered
geographically,eventhoughnoneofthemkneweachother,it’spersonal.”Ipaused.“Idon’tthinkhe’s
killingthem.Ithinkhe’skillingheragain.AndI’mnotjustsomestupidkidanymore.I’maprofiler.
ANatural.Butevenso—who’sgoingtobelieveme?”

Deanputahandonmyneck,thewayhehadthefirsttimeI’dcrawledintoakiller ’smind.

“Nobodyisgoingtobelieveyou,”hesaid.“You’retooclosetoit.”Heranhisthumbupanddownthe
sideofmyneck.“ButBriggswillbelieveme.”

Deanwastheonlypersoninthishousewhosharedmyability.MichaelandSloanemighthave

beenskepticalaboutmytheory,butDeanhadinstinctslikemine.He’dknowifIwascrazy,orifthere
wassomethingtothis.“You’lllookatthecase?”Iaskedhim.

Henoddedanddroppedhishandfrommyneck,likehe’donlyjustrealizedhewastouchingme.
Istood.“I’llberightback,”Isaid.“I’mgoingtogetthefile.”

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CHAPTER24

“Michael,canIhavethe—”Iburstintothekitchen,onlytofindthatMichaelandSloaneweren’tthe
onlyonesthere.Juddwascooking,andAgentBriggswasstandingwithhisbacktome,athinblack
briefcasebyhisfeet.

“—thebacon,”Ifinishedhastily.
AgentBriggsturnedtofaceme.“AndwhydoesMichaelhaveyourbacon?”heasked.
Asifthiswholesituationwasn’tawkwardenough,Liachosethatmomenttocomesaunteringinto

theroom.“Yes,Cassie,”shesaidwithawickedgrin,“telluswhyMichaelhasyourbacon.”

Thewayshesaidthephraseleftverylittlequestionthatshewasusingitasaeuphemism.
“Lia,”Juddsaid,wavingaspatulainhergeneraldirection,“that’senough.”Thenheturnedtome.

“Grubwillbereadysoon.Iexpectyoucanholdoutuntilthen?”

“Yes,”Isaid.“Nobaconneeded.”
FrombehindBriggs’sback,Michaelpantomimedsmackinghispalmintohisforehead.

Apparently,myattemptsatsubterfugeleftsomethingtobedesired.Itriedtomakeaquickexit,but
AgentBriggsstoppedmeinmytracks.

“Cassie.Aword.”
IglancedatMichael,wonderingwhat—ifanything—BriggsknewaboutwhatMichael,Sloane,and

Ihadbeenupto.

“Ambidextrous,”Sloanesaidsuddenly.
“Thisshouldbegood,”Liamurmured.
Sloaneclearedherthroat.“AgentBriggsaskedforaword.Ambidextrousisagoodone.Lessthan

point-fivepercentofthewordsintheEnglishlanguagecontainallfivevowels.”

Iwasgratefulforthedistraction,butunfortunately,Briggsdidn’tbite.“Cassie?”
“Sure.”Inoddedandfollowedhimoutoftheroom.Iwasn’tsurewherewewereheadingatfirst,

butafterwepassedthelibrary,IrealizedweweregoingtotheonlyroomonthegroundfloorI
hadn’tbeeninyet—Briggs’sstudy.

Heopenedthedoorandgesturedformetoenter.Iwalkedintotheroom,takinginmy

surroundings.Theroomwasfullofanimals,lifelessandfrozeninplace.

Huntingtrophies.
Therewasagrizzlybear,reareduponitsbacklegs,itsmouthcaughtinasilentroar.Ontheother

sideoftheroom,alifelikepanthercrouched,caninesgleaming,whileamountainlionseemedtobe
ontheprowl.

Themostdisturbingthingaboutthisentireroom—maybethisentiresituation—wasthatIhadn’t

peggedAgentBriggsforahunter.

“They’repredators.Remindersofwhatmyteamdealswitheverytimewegooutintheworld.”
TherewassomethingaboutthewayAgentBriggssaidthosewordsthatmademerealize,beyonda

shadowofadoubt,thatheknewwhatMichael,Sloane,andIhadbeenuptoinhisabsence.Heknew
thatweknewtheexactdetailsofthecasethatheandAgentLockewereworkingnow.

“Howdidyoufindout?”Iasked.
“Juddtoldme.”Briggscrossedtheroomandsatontheedgeofthedesk.Hegesturedformeto

takeaseatinachairinfrontofhim.“Youknow,Juddmightfadeintothebackgroundaroundhere,
butthere’snotmuchthatgoesoninthishousethathedoesn’tknow.Informationgatheringhasalways
beenaspecialtyofhis.”

Keepinghiseyesfixedonme,Briggsopenedhisbriefcaseandtookoutafile:allofthepapers

we’dprintedoutearlier.“IconfiscatedthisfromMichael.Andthis,”headded,holdinguptheUSB

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drive,“fromSloane.Herlaptopwillbemakingatriptoourtechlabtoensurethatalltracesofdata
havebeenwipedfromtheharddrive.”

Ihadn’tevenhadachancetotellAgentBriggsmysuspicions,andhewasalreadyshuttingme

down—andshuttingmeout.

Briggsranonehandroughlyoverhischin,andIrealizedthathehadn’tshavedinatleastaday.
“Thecaseisn’tgoingwell.”Ipaused.“Isit?”
“IneedyoutolistentowhatI’msaying,Cassandra.”
Thatwasonlythesecondtimehe’dcalledmebymyfullnamesinceI’dtoldhimIpreferred

Cassie.

“Iwasupfrontwithyouaboutwhatthisprogramisandwhatitisnot.TheFBIisn’taboutto

authorizeteenagerstodiveintothemiddleofactivecases.”

Hischoiceofwordswasmorerevealingthanheknew.TheFBIhadqualmsaboutthrowing

teenagersintothethickofthings.Briggs—personally—didnot.

“Sowhatyou’resayingisthatusingthetwelve-year-oldsonofaserialkillerasyourown

personalencyclopediaofmurderousmindswasfine,butnowthattheprogramisofficial,wecan’t
evenlookatthefiles?”

“WhatI’msaying,”Briggscountered,“isthatthisUNSUBisdangerous.He’slocal.AndIhaveno

intentionofinvolvinganyofyou.”

“Evenifthiscasehassomethingtodowithmymother ’s?”
Briggspaused.“You’rejumpingtoconclusions.”Hedidn’taskmewhyIthoughtthiscasehad

somethingtodowithmymother ’s.NowthatI’dbroughtuptheidea,hedidn’thaveto.“The
occupations.Theredhair.Theknife.Itisn’tenough.”

“TheUNSUBdyedthelatestvictim’shairred.”Ididn’tbotheraskingifIwasrightaboutthat,

knowinginmygutthatIwas.“That’saboveandbeyondvictimselection.It’snotjustanMOanymore.
It’spartoftheUNSUB’ssignature.”

Briggscrossedhisarmsoverhischest.“I’mnottalkingwithyouaboutthis.”
Andyet,hedidn’tleavetheroom—andhedidn’tstoplistening.
“DidtheUNSUBdyeherhairbeforeorafterhekilledher?”
Briggsdidn’tsayaword.Hewasplayingthisbythebook—buthedidn’ttellmetostoptalking,

either.

“Dyeingthevictim’shairbeforethekillcouldbeanattempttocreateamoreidealtarget,onewho

claimstobepsychicandhasredhair.Butdyeingherhairafterward…”Ipaused,justlongenoughto
seethatBriggswaslistening,reallylistening,toeveryword.“Dyeingherhairaftershe’salready
deadisamessage.”

“Andwhatmessageisthat?”AgentBriggsaskedsharply,likehewasdismissingmywordsoutof

hand,whenbothofusknewthathewasnot.

“Amessageforyou:haircolormatters.TheUNSUBwantsyoutoknowthatthere’saconnection

betweenthecases.Hedoesn’ttrustyoutocometothatconclusiononyourown,sohe’shelpingyou
getthere.”

Briggswassilentforthreeorfourloadedseconds.
“Wecan’tdothis,Cassie.Iunderstandyourinterestinthecase.Iunderstandyourwantingtohelp,

butwhateveryouthinkyou’redoing,itendsnow.”

Istartedtoobjectandheheldupahand,silencingme.
“I’lltellLocketoletyoustartworkingoncoldcases.You’reobviouslyready.Butifyousomuch

assniffinthedirectionofthiscaseagain,therewillbeconsequences,andIcanguaranteethatyou
willfindthemunpleasant.”Heleanedforward,hispostureunconsciouslymimickingtheroaring
bear ’s.“HaveImademyselfclear?”

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Ididn’trespond.IfhewaslookingforapromisethatI’dstayoutofthis,hewasgoingtobe

disappointed.

“IalreadyhaveaNaturalprofilerinthisprogram.”Briggslookedmestraightintheeye,hislips

setinathin,forbiddingline.“I’dprefertohavetwo,butnotattheriskofmyjob.”

Thereitwas:theultimatethreat.IfIpushedthis,Briggscouldsendmehome.BacktoNonnaand

theauntsandtheunclesandtheconstantawarenessthatIwouldneverbelikethem,likeanyone
outsideofthesewalls.

“You’vemadeyourselfclear,”Isaid.
Briggsclosedhisbriefcase.“Giveitacoupleofyears,Cassie.Theywon’tkeepyououtofthe

fieldforever.”

Hewaitedformyreply,butIsaidnothing.Hestoodupandwalkedtothedoor.
“Ifhe’sdyeingtheirhair,therulesarechanging,”Icalledafterhim,notbotheringtoturnaround

toseeifhe’dstoppedtolistenornot.“Andthatmeansthatbeforethingsgetbetter,they’regoingto
getawholelotworse.”

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YOU

Youcan’trememberthelasttimeyoufeltthisway.Alloftheothers—allofthem—wereimitations.A
copyofacopyofthethingyouwantedmost.Butnow—nowyou’reclose.

Asmileonyourface,youpickupthescissors.Thegirlonthefloorscreams,theducttape

stretchingtightacrossherface,butyouignoreher.She’snottherealprizehere,justameanstoan
end.

Yougrabherbythehairandjerkherheadback.Shestruggles,andyoutightenyourgripandslam

herheadintothewall.

“Bestill,”youwhisper.Youletherhairfallbackdownandthenliftasinglelockofitup.
Youraisethescissors.Youcutthehair.
Andthenyoucuther.

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CHAPTER25

Iwenttobedearly.Somuchhadhappenedinthepasttwenty-fourhoursthatmybodyphysicallyhurt.
Ididn’twanttobeawakeanymore.Thatplanworkedforafewhours,butjustaftermidnight,Iawoke
tothesoundoffootstepsoutsideofmydoorandthedulcetmelodyofSloanesnoringnexttome.

Forasecond,IthoughtI’dimaginedthefootsteps,butthenIsawthehintofashadowunderneath

thedoor.

There’ssomeoneoutthere.
Whoeveritwasjuststoodthere.Icrepttowardthedoor,myhairstucktomyforeheadwithsweat

andmyheartbeatthuddinginmyears.

Iopenedthedoor.
“Notgoingforaswimtonight?”
IttookasecondforMichael’sfeaturestocometogetherinthedarkness,butIrecognizedhisvoice

immediately.

“Idon’tfeellikeswimming.”Iloweredmyvoice,butnotasmuchasIwouldhaveifmy

roommate’snasalpassageshadn’tbeenthreateningtodeafenmewithintheyear.

“Igotyousomething.”Michaeltookastepforward,untilhisfacewasmereinchesfrommine.

Slowly,heheldupaninch-thickfile.

Ilookedathim,thenatthefile,thenbackathim.
“Youdidn’t,”Isaid.
“Ohyes,”hereplied.“Idid.”
“How?”Already,myfingerswereitchingtosnatchthefilefromhishand.
“BriggstookSloane’scomputer.Hedidn’ttakemine.”
IthoughtaboutBriggs’swarning,histhreattosendmehome.Andthen,slowly,Iclosedmy

fingersaroundthefile.“Youcopiedthefilesontoyourlaptop.”

Michaelsmiled.“You’rewelcome.”

———

Ituckedthefileundermymattress.Maybetherewasanotherclueinthere.Maybetherewasn’t.First
chanceIgot,IwasshowingittoDean.Unfortunately,whenIwenttofindhimthenextmorning,he
wasn’talone.

“Missme?”AgentLockedidn’twaitformetoanswerherquestion.“Sit.”
Isat.SodidDean.
“Here.”AgentLockeheldoutathicklegalfile,theaccordionbottomstretchedtocapacityandthen

some.

“What’sthis?”Iasked.
“Briggsthinksyou’rereadytotakethenextstep,Cassie.”Lockepaused.“Isheright?”
“Acoldcase?”Thefilewasfaded—andmuch,muchheavierthantheonetuckedundermy

mattress.

“Astringofunsolvedmurdersfromthenineties,”Locketoldus.“Homeinvasion;onebullettothe

head,execution-style.Therestofthefilecontainsallofthesimilarunsolvedhomicidesthathave
takenplaceinthatareasince.”

Deangroaned.“Nowonderthefile’ssothick,”hemuttered.“Athirdofalldrug-relatedhits

probablylookjustlikethis.”

“ThenIguessitshouldkeepthetwoofyoubusy.”LockegavemealookthatItooktomean

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Briggshadtoldheraboutourlittlediscussion.

“I’llcheckinlaterintheweek.Youtwohavealotofreadingtodo,andIhaveacasetosolve.”
Sheleftthetwoofusalone.Iopenedmymouthtosaysomethingaboutthecasefilejammedunder

mymattress,butthenIcloseditagain.Liaeavesdropped—andapparently,sodidJudd.

“Howwouldyoufeelaboutworkingonourcoldcaseinthebasement?”Iasked.Thesoundproof

basement.IttookDeanamomenttocatchon,butthenheledthewaydownthestairs,closingthedoor
firmlybehindus.Wewalkedthelengthofthebasement,three-walledroomsliningeitherside,like
theatersetsinwantofaplay.

OnceIwassurewewerealone,Istartedtalking.“WhenIwenttogetthefileyesterday,Briggs

bustedme.BythetimeIgotbacktomyroom,youweregone.”

“LiamayhavementionedthatBriggsbustedyou,”Deansaid.“Youokay?”
“Itoldhimmytheory.Iaskedtoworkonthecase.Hesaidno.”
“Yougoingtoworkonitanyway?”Deanpausedinfrontofoneoftheoutdoorsets:apartialpark.

Isatdownonaparkbench,andheleanedbackagainstthebench’sarm.

“Ihaveacopyofthefile,”Isaid.“Willyoulookatit?”
Henodded.Fiveminuteslater,hewaselbow-deepinthecase—andIhadLocke’scoldcaseinmy

hands,readytocoverincaseanyonecamedowntocheckonus.

“Sometimesvictimsarejustsubstitutes,”Deansaidafterhe’dreadthroughtheentirefile.“I’m

married,butI’dnevergetawaywithkillingmyownwife,soIkillhookersandpretendthatthey’re
her.Mykiddied,andnoweverytimeIseeakidinabaseballcap,Ihavetomakehimmine.”

DeanhadalwaysusedthewordItoclimbintokillers’heads,butnowthatIknewhisbackground,

hearingthatwordcomeoutofhismouthgavemechills.

“MaybethefirsttimeIkilledsomeone,itwasn’tplanned,butnowtheonlytimeIeverreallyfeel

aliveiswhenI’mfeelingthelifegooutofsomeoneelse,someonelikeher.”

“Youseeit,too,don’tyou?”Iasked.
Henodded.“I’dbetmoneythatthispersoniseitherrelivingtheirfirstkillorfantasizingabouta

persontheywanttokillbutcan’t.”

“AndifItoldyoutherewasared-hairedpsychicattackedwithaknifefiveyearsago,andthey

neverfoundthebody?”

Deanpaused.“ThenI’dwanttoknoweverythingtherewastoknowaboutthatcase,”hesaid.
SodidI.

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YOU

Theboxisblack.Thetissueiswhite.Andthepresent—thepresentisred.Youlayitgingerlyinthe
tissue.Youputthelidonthebox.Youwashthescissorsandusethemtocutalong,blackribbon—silk.

Special.
JustlikeTheGirlis.
No,youthink,pickingupthepresentandstrokingyourglovedthumbalongitsedge.Youdon’thave

tocallherTheGirl.Notanymore.

You’veseenher.You’vewatchedher.You’resure.Nomoreimitations.Nomorecopies.It’stimeshe

gottoknowyou,thewayyouknewhermother.

Youputthecardontopofthepackage.Youscrawlhernameontheoutside,eachletteralaborof

love.

C-A-S-S-I-E.

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PARTTHREE:HUNTING

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CHAPTER26

Wantingtoknowmoreaboutmymother ’scaseanddeterminingthebestwaytogainaccesstoher
fileweretwoverydifferentthings.Twenty-fourhoursafterDeanhadconfirmedmyimpressionof
ourUNSUB,Iwasstillempty-handed.

“Well,well,well…”
IheardLia’svoice,butrefusedtoturnaroundandwatchhermakeanentrance.Instead,Ifocused

onthegrainofthekitchentableandthesandwichonmyplate.

“Somebodygotapackageinthemail,”Liasingsonged.“Itookthelibertyofopeningitforyou,

andvoilà.Aboxwithinabox.”Shesatdownnexttomeandplacedarectangulargiftboxinfrontof
heronthetable.“Asecretadmirer,perhaps?”Therewasanenvelopeontopofthebox,andLia
pickeditupanddangledthecardinfrontofme.

Mynamewaswrittenontheenvelope,thelettersevenlyspacedwithjustahintofcurltothem,like

thepersonwho’dwrittenthemwastornbetweenwritingincursiveandwritinginprint.

“Youreallyareincrediblypopular,aren’tyou?”Liasaid.“Itdefiesalllogic.Iassumedyouwere

justthenewshiny.Inaprogramwithsofewstudents,itwouldbeweirderifthenewgirldidn’tdraw
attentionfromtheoppositesex.ButneitherMichaelnorDeanwouldhaveareasontomailyoua
package,soIcanonlyinferthatyour,shallwesay,appealisn’tlimitedtopeoplewholivehere.”

ItunedLiaoutandlookedatthebox.Itwasmatteblackwithaperfectlyfittedlid.Ablackribbon

hadbeenwrappedaroundtheboxtwice,formingacrossshapeonthefront.Inthecenterofthecross,
theribboncurledintoabow.

“DidIhearmyname?”Michaelsaunteredovertojoinus.“Don’tyoujusthateitwhenyouwalk

intotheroomandeveryone’stalkingaboutyou?”Hiseyeslandedonthegift,andthesmileonhis
faceturnedplasticandsharp.

“Somebody’snotfondofcompetition,”Liasaid.
“Andsomebodyisalotmorevulnerablethansheletson,”Michaelrepliedwithoutmissingabeat.

“Yourpoint?”

ThatshutLiaup—temporarily.Ilookedbackdownattheboxandranmyfingeralongtheedgeof

theribbon.

Silk.
“Youdidn’tsendthis?”IaskedMichael,myvoicecatchinginmythroat.
“No,”Michaelrepliedwitharollofhiseyes.“Ireallydidn’t.”
Therewasn’tapersoninmyfamilywhowouldhavesentmeapackagewrappedupinsilk,andI

couldn’tthinkofanyoneelsewhowouldwanttosendmeacarepackage.

Michaelhadn’tsentit.
Deanwasn’tthegift-givingtype.
IturnedtoLia.“Yousentthis.”
“Nottrue.”Shestaredatmeforasecond,thenmadeagrabforthecard.
“Don’t—”Istartedtosay.Mywordsfellondeafears.Shepluckedaplainwhitenotecardfromthe

envelopeandclearedherthroat.

“Fromme,toyou.”Liaarchedaneyebrowandtossedthecardbackonthetable.“Howromantic.”
Achillcrawledupmyspine.Mybreathfelthotinmylungs,butmyhandswerefreezingcold.The

package,theribbon,thebowtiedjustso…

Somethingisn’tright.
“Cassie?”Michaelmusthaveseenitonmyface.Heleanedtowardme.IglancedatLia,butfor

once,shehadnothingtosay.Slowly,Ibroughtmyhanduptotheribbon.Ipulled,anditfellawayinto

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agracefulblackheaponthetable.

NowthatI’dstarted,Icouldn’tstop.Ihookedmyfingersaroundthelidofthebox.Ipulleditoff

andsetitgingerlytotheside.Whitetissuepaper,meticulouslyfolded,layinside.

“Whatisit?”
IignoredLia’squestion.Ireachedintothebox.Iunwrappedthetissuepaper.
AndthenIscreamed.
Nestledinthetissuepaperwasalockofredhair.

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CHAPTER27

IttookAgentBriggsanhourtogettoourhouse.Ittookhimfivesecondstogetfromthefrontdoor
tothekitchen—andthebox.

“StillthinkI’mjumpingtoconclusionswhenIsaythiscaseisrelatedtomymother ’s?”Iasked

him,myvoiceshaky.Heignoredmeandbarkedoutcommandstotheteamofagentshe’dbrought
withhim.

“Bagthepackaging,thebox,theribbon,thecard,everything—ifthere’saspeckofevidenceon

anyofit,Iwanttoknow.Starmans,trackthebox—howitwassent,whereitwasmailedfrom,who
paidforit.Brooks,Vance,weneedDNAonthehair,andweneedityesterday.Idon’tcarewhoyou
havetothreateninthelabtogetitdone,rushit.Locke…”

AgentLockecrossedherarmsoverherchestandgaveBriggsalook.Tohiscredit,heloweredhis

voicetoamorereasonablevolumeandpitch.

“IfthisisourUNSUB,itchangeseverything.Wehavenoevidencethathe’severmadecontactwith

atargetpriortokilling.Thismaybeourchancetogetaheadofhim.”

“Wedon’tevenknowthatthisisourUNSUB,”AgentLockepointedout.“It’sredhair.Forallwe

know,itcouldbeaprank.”

HergazedriftedovertoLiathesecondshesaidthewordprank.Iwhippedmyheadaroundtolook

attheNaturalliar,too.

Liatossedherblackhairoverhershoulder.“Thisisalittlebeyondthepale,evenforme,Agent

Locke.”

Lockeglancedatme.“Gottenintoanyargumentslately?”sheasked.
Iopenedmymouth,thenglancedatLiaagain.Remindmenevertoaskyouforafavoragain.The

venominhertonewhenshe’dsaidthosewordshadbeenpalpable.

“Lia.”AgentBriggsbarelymanagedtogetthewordoutaroundhisclenchedjaw.“Tellmeagain

howyoufoundthepresent.”

Lia’seyesflashed.“Iwentouttogetthemail.TherewasapackagewithCassie’snameonit.I

openedsaidpackage.Inside,therewasabox.IdecidedIwantedtoseethelookonCassie’sfacewhen
sheopenedsaidbox.Ibroughtitintothekitchen.Cassieopenedit.Theend.”

BriggsturnedtoLocke.“IftheDNAcomesbackasamatchforoneofourvictims,you’llhaveto

completelyreworktheprofile.Ifitdoesn’t…”

HeglancedbackatLia.
“Whydoeseveryonekeeplookingatme?”shesnapped.“Ifoundthepackage.Ididn’tsendit.Ifthe

DNAonthehairdoesn’tcomebackasamatch,maybeyoushouldthinkaboutaskingCassiesome
questions.”

“Me?”Iaskedincredulously.
“Youwantedinonthiscase,”Liaretorted.“Andnowthekillercontactsyououtoftheblue?How

luckyforyou.”

Icouldn’ttellifLiabelievedwhatshewassayingornot.Itdidn’tmatter,becauseBriggshad

alreadyturnedhisdiamond-hardgazeonme.

“Cassiedidn’tdothis.”
Ihadn’tevenrealizedthatDeanwasintheroomuntilhespoke.Clearly,neitherhadtheagents.

Briggsactuallyjumped.

“Cassie’snotthetypetoplaygames.”Dean’svoicebrookednodoubt.“Theentirereasonshe

wantedtoworkonthiscaseisthatshethinksithassomethingtodowithhermother ’smurder.Why
wouldsheriskdivertingmanpowerandresourcesawayfromtherealinvestigationwhensheknows

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thekillerisescalating?Ifthisisaprank,it’saprankthat’sgoingtogetsomeonekilled.”

Theknotinmychestloosened.IlookedatDean,andsuddenly,Icouldbreathe.
“Dean’sright.”Locke’svoicesoundedexactlylikeminewhenIwasworkingmywaythrougha

puzzle.“IfCassiewantedinonthiscase,she’djustfindawaytokeepworkingitonherown.”

Itriedveryhardnottolookconspicuous—becausethatwasexactlywhatI’dbeentryingtodo.
“Cassie,didyouordidyounotdropthiscasewhenItoldyouto?”Briggstookastepforward,

invadingmypersonalspace.“Haveyoudoneanythingthatmighthavedrawnthekiller ’sattention?”

Ishookmyhead—notobothquestions.Briggs’shandfellbacktohisside.Heclenchedhisjaw

again.Forthesecondtime,Deanintervened.

“AllCassiedidwasgiveacopyofthecasefiletome.”
EverypairofeyesintheroomturnedtoDean.Normally,hestoodandwalkedlikesomeonewho

wantedtodisappearintothewoodwork,buttoday,hisshoulderswereback,hisjawset.

“Ireadthefile.Iprofiledit.AndIthinkCassie’sright.”DeanleveledhisgazeatAgentBriggs.

“Thesewomenarestand-ins,andIthinkthere’saveryrealchancethatthepersonthey’restandingin
forisCassie’smother.”

“You’veneverevenseentheLorelaiHobbescasefile,”Briggsshotback.Mymother ’snamehit

melikeapunchtothestomach.

“I’veseenCassie’smother ’spicture,”Deanargued.“I’veseenthehumanhairthatsomeonejust

senttoCassieasagift.”

BriggslistenedtoeverywordDeanhadtosay,anintenselookofconcentrationonhisface.

“You’renotauthorizedtoworkthiscase,”hesaidfinally.

Deanshrugged.“Iknow.”
“Youarenotgoingtobeworkingthiscase.”
“Iknow.”
“I’mgoingtopretendthatweneverhadthisconversation.”
“Liar,”Liacoughed.
Briggswasnotamused.“Youmayleavetheroom,Lia.”
Liaclaspedherhandstogether.“Oh,Mother,mayI?”
Deanmadeachokingsound.Iwasn’tentirelycertain,buthemighthavebeenswallowingalaugh.
“Now,Lia.”
Afteralongmomentandaglareaimedattheroomasawhole,Liatwirledonhertoesandstalked

outoftheroom.OncehewassureLiawasgone,AgentBriggsturnedtoAgentLocke.“Doyouthink
thiscaseisrelatedtotheLorelaiHobbescase?”

Ididn’tflinchwhenhesaidmymother ’snameasecondtime.IconcentratedonthefactthatLia

wascorrect:BriggshadnointentionofforgettingwhatDeanhadtoldhim.

IthinkCassie’sright.
“Idon’tknowthatitmatterswhetherthetwocasesarerelatedornot,”Lockeansweredfinally.

“Cassie’shairisred.She’sabityoungerthantheothervictims,butotherwise,shefitstheprofileof
thiskiller ’svictims,andmoreimportantly,ourUNSUBisescalating.Ifyouassumethelastvictim’s
hairwasdyedasamessage,thatmeansthisguyisplayingwithus.Andifhe’splayingwithus,there’s
asizablechancethathe’swatchingus.”AgentLockerubbedthebackofherhandwearilyoverher
brow.“Ifhe’swatchingus,hecouldhavefollowedushere,andifhefollowedushere,hecouldhave
seenCassie.”

Briggs’sphonerangbeforehecouldreply.Bythetimehehungup,Ialreadyknewwhatthenext

wordsoutofhismouthweregoingtobe.

“We’vegotanotherbody.”

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YOU

YouwatchtheFBIagentsscurryingaroundthecrimescenelikeants.Thisparticularcorpseisnot
yourbestwork.Youkilledherlastnight,andalready,herscreamshavefadedfromyourears.Herface
isstillrecognizable—moreorless.

Youusedscissorsthistimeinsteadofyourknife.
Butthat’snotthepoint.Notthistime.Thistime,thepointisthatthegiftyousentsweetlittle

CassandraHobbeswastherealthing.

Thepatheticlittleslutlyinglifelessonthepavementisjustapieceoftheplan.Youabandonedher

bodyatdawn,knowingthatitwouldn’tbediscoveredimmediately.You’dhoped—prayed,even—that
Cassiewouldbetherewhentheagentsgotthecall.

Didyouscreamwhenyouopenedthebox,Cassie?Didyouthinkaboutme?AmIthethoughtthat

keepsyouupatnight?There’ssomuchyouwanttoaskher.

Somuchyouwanttotellher.
Therestoftheworldwillneverunderstand.TheFBIwillneverknowtheinnerworkingsofyour

brain.

They’llneverknowhowcloseyouare.
ButCassie—she’sgoingtoknoweverything.Thetwoofyouareconnected.Cassieishermother’s

daughter—andthat’sascloseasyou’reevergoingtoget.

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CHAPTER28

Twodayslater,thehairfromtheblackboxcamebackasamatchfortheUNSUB’slatestvictim.

“I’llacceptgiftsinlieuofanapology,”LiatoldAgentLocke.“Anytimenowisfine.”
Lockedidn’treply.Thethreeofus—alongwithBriggs,Michael,andDean—wereinBriggs’s

study.Sloanewasnowheretobeseen.

Yousentmeapieceofhair.Icouldn’tkeepfromtalkingtothekillerinmyhead,couldn’tkeep

fromthinkingaboutthepresentandwhatitmeantthattheUNSUBhadsentittome.Wasshe
screamingwhenyoucutitoff?Didyouusethescissorstocutherafterward?Wasiteverevenabout
her?Orwasitaboutme?Aboutmymother?

“AmIindanger?”Isoundedremarkablycalm,likemyquestionwasjustapieceofthepuzzleand

notamatteroflifeanddeath—specifically,mine.

“Whatdoyouthink?”Lockeasked.
Briggsnarrowedhiseyes,likehecouldn’tbelieveshewasusingthisasateachingopportunity,but

Iansweredthequestionanyway.

“IthinkthisUNSUBwantstokillme,butIdon’tthinkhewantstokillmeyet.”
“Thisisinsane.”Michaelhadthatlookonhisface—theonethattoldmehewantedtohitsomeone.

“Cassie,areyouevenlisteningtoyourself?”HeturnedtoBriggs.“She’sinshock.”

Sheisstandingrighthere,”Isaid,butIdidn’tcontradicttherestofMichael’sstatement.Givenhis

abilitytoreadpeople,Ihadtoassumethathemightberight.MaybeIwasinshock.Icouldn’tdenythe
factthatmyemotionswereonlockdown.

Iwasn’tangry.
Iwasn’tscared.
Iwasn’teventhinkingaboutmymotherandthefactthatthisUNSUBmightverywellhavekilled

her,too.

“Youkillwomen,”Isaidoutloud.“Womenwithredhair.Womenwhoremindyouofsomeone

else.Andthenoneday,youseeme,andforwhateverreason,I’mnotliketheothers.Younever
neededtotalktothem.Youneverneededthemtogotosleepatnightthinkingaboutyou.ButI’m
different.Yousendmeagift—maybeyouwanttoscareme.Maybeyou’replayingwithmeorusing
metoplaywiththefeds.Butthewayyouwrappedthatbox,thecareyoutookwithmynameonthe
card—there’sapartofyouthatthinksyoureallyhavegivenmeagift.You’retalkingtome.You
mademespecial,andwhenyoukillme,thatwillhavetobespecial,too.”Everysinglepersoninthe
roomwasstaringatme.IturnedtoDean.“AmIwrong?”

Deanconsideredthequestion.“I’vebeenkillingforalongtime,”hesaid,slippingintothekiller ’s

mindaseasilyasIhad.“Andeachtime,it’salittlebitlessthanitwasthetimebefore.Idon’twantto
getcaught,butIneedthedanger,thethrill,thechallenge.”Heclosedhiseyesforamoment,andwhen
heopenedthem,itwaslikethetwoofusweretheonlytwopeopleintheroom.

“You’renotwrong,Cassie.”
“Thisissick,”Michaelsaid,hisvoicerising.“There’ssomepsychooutthere,fixatingonCassie,

andyoutwoareactinglikethisissomekindofgame.”

“Itisagame,”Deansaid.
IknewDeanwasn’tenjoyingthis,thatlookingatmethroughakiller ’seyeswasn’tsomethinghe

wouldhavechosentodo,butMichaelonlyheardthewords.HelungedforwardandcaughtDeanby
thefrontofhisshirt.

Asecondlater,MichaelhadDeanpinnedtothewall.“Listentome,yousicksonofa—”
“Michael!”BriggspulledhimoffDean.Atthelastsecond,Deanlungedforwardandgrabbed

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Michael,reversingtheirpositionsandwedginghiselbowunderneathMichael’sthroat.

Deanloweredhisvoicetoawhisper.“Ineversaidthiswasagametome,Townsend.”
ItwasagametotheUNSUB.Iwastheprize.Andifweweren’tcareful,MichaelandDeanwere

goingtokilleachother.

“Enough.”LockeputahandonDean’sshoulder.Hestiffened,andforasecond,Ithoughthemight

hither.

“Enough,”Deanechoed,expellingabreath.HeletMichaelgoandtookastepback.Thenhejust

keptwalkingbackwarduntilhisbackhittheoppositewall.Hewasapersonwhodidn’tlosecontrol,
whocouldn’taffordto,andhe’dcomecloseenoughwithMichaeljustnowthatitscaredhim.

“Sowhatdowedonow?”Iasked,pullingeveryone’sattentionfromDeanandgivinghima

secondtorecover.

Briggsjabbedhisindexfingerinmydirection.“You’restillnotworkingthiscase.Eitherofyou.”

HesparedaglareforDeanbeforereturningthatlaserfocustome.“I’veassignedateamtowatchthe
house.I’llintroduceyoualltoAgentsStarmans,Vance,andBrooks.Untilfurthernotice,noneofyou
willbeleavingthisresidence,andCassieisneveralone.”

Closingranksaroundmewasn’tgoingtobringusanyclosertothisUNSUB.
“Youshouldtakemewithyou,”ItoldBriggs.“Ifthisguywantsme,weshouldusethat.Setatrap.”
“No!”Michael,Dean,andBriggsrespondedattheexactsametime.Iturnedbeseechingeyesto

AgentLocke.

Shelookedlikeshewasonthevergeofagreeingwithme,butatthelastsecond,shebitherlipand

shookherhead.“TheUNSUBhasonlymadecontactonce.He’lltryagain,whetheryou’rehereor
elsewhere,andatleasthere,wehavethehomecourtadvantage.”

I’dbeentaughtthattherewasnosuchthingasthehomecourtadvantage,butmymother ’slessons

hadbeengearedtowardreadingpeople,notplayingcatandmousewithkillers.

“TheUNSUBisbreakingpattern.”Lockereachedoutandtouchedthesideofmyfacesoftly.“As

scaryasitis,that’sagoodthing.Weknowwhathewants,andwecankeephimfromgettingit.The
morerileduphegets,themorelikelyheistomakeamistake.”

“Ican’tjustdonothing.”Ilockedmyeyesontomymentor ’s,willinghertounderstand.
“Youcandosomething,”shesaidfinally.“Youcanmakealist.Everyoneyou’vespokento,

everyoneyou’vemet,everyplaceyou’vebeen,everypersonwho’sspentevenasecondlookingat
yousinceyougothere.”

Mymindwentimmediatelytothemanwho’dinterruptedmyreadingthatafternoonbythe

Potomac—withouttellingmehisname.Wasthathim?Wasitnothing?

Itwashardnottobeparanoid,givenwhatIknewnow.
“TheUNSUBmailedthepackage,”Liapointedout,jarringmefrommythoughts.“Hedoesn’t

havetobelocal.”

Deanjammedhishandsintohispockets.“He’dwanttoseeher,”hesaid,hisowngazeflicking

towardmyface,justforasecond.

“Weweren’tabletotracethepackage,”Lockesaidgrimly.“Busypostoffice,busyday,lessthan

observantmailclerk,andnosecuritycameras.OurUNSUBpaidcash,andthereturnaddressis
obviouslyfaked.Thisguyisgood,andhe’splayingwithus.Atthispoint,Iwouldn’truleanything
out.”

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CHAPTER29

Forthenextthreedays,Icouldbarelymanagetogotothebathroomwithoutsomeoneelsefollowing
mein.AndeverytimeIlookedoutthewindow,IknewthattheFBIwasoutthere,watchingand
waiting,hopingthekillerwouldtryagain.

“ThereareapproximatelythirtythousandworkingmorticiansintheUnitedStates.”
Sloane—whowastheonlypersoninthehouseIcouldn’tjustifythrowingoutofmyroom,sinceit

washerroom,too—hadpulledCassiebabysittingdutywhenI’dtriedtosneakawayforsometime
alone.

“Morticians?”Irepeated.Ieyedhersuspiciously.“Didsomeonegiveyoucoffee?”
Sloaneverypointedlydidnotanswerthecoffeequestion.“Ithoughtyoucoulduseadistraction.”
Iploppeddownonmybed.“Don’tyouhaveanymorecheerfulstatistics?”
Sloanefrownedincontemplation.“Areballoonanimalscheerful?”
Ohdearlord.
“Balloonistsaremorelikelythanothercircusperformerstosufferfromsubconjunctival

hemorrhages.”

“Sloane,subconjunctivalhemorrhagesarenotcheerful.”
Sheshrugged.“Ifyouhadaballoon,Icouldmakeyouadachshund.”
AnotherfewdaysofthisandImightwillinglyservemyselfuptotheUNSUB.Whowouldhave

thoughtmyfellowNaturalswouldtakeBriggs’sdecreethatInotbeleftalonesoseriously?Deanand
Michaelcouldbarelystandtobeinthesameroomwitheachother,butthesecondIsteppedoutofmy
bedroom,oneorbothofthemwouldbetherewaitingforme.Theonlythingthatcouldhavemade
thiswholesituationmoreawkwardwasifLiahadn’tmagnanimouslydecidedtostayoutofthefray.

“Knock,knock!”
SomuchforLia’smagnanimousness.
“Whatdoyouwant?”Iaskedher,notbotheringtosugarcoatmywords.
“My,butwe’recrankytoday.”
Iflookscouldkill,Liawouldhavebeendeadonthefloor,andIwouldhavebeenontrialfor

murder.

“Isuppose,”Liasaid,withtheairofsomeonemakingamostgenerousconcession,“thatthe

argumentyouhadwithDeanabouthisfatherwasn’tentirelyyourfault,andsincethiswholehair-in-
a-boxthingseemstohavegivenhimarenewedpurposeinlife,I’mnotmorallyobligatedtomake
youmiserableanymore.”

Iwasn’tsurehowtoreplytothat.“Thankyou?”
“Ithoughtyoucoulduseadistraction.”Liasmiled.“Ifthere’sonethingIexcelat,it’sdistractions.”
ThelasttimeI’dletLiadictateourplans,I’dendedupkissingDeanandMichaelinaspanofless

thantwenty-fourhours,butafterthreedaysofhousearrestandwaytoomanystatisticsabout
dachshunds,Iwasdesperate.

“Whatkindofdistractiondidyouhaveinmind?”
Liatossedabagonmybed.Iopenedit.
“Didyourobacosmeticsstore?”
Liashrugged.“Ilikemakeup—andnothingsaysdistractionlikeamakeover.Besides…”She

reachedinthebagandpulledoutalipstick.Smilingwickedly,sheuncappeditandtwistedthebottom.
“Thisisdefinitelyyourcolor.”

Ieyedthelipstick.Thecolorwasdark—halfwaybetweenredandbrown.Waytoosexyforme—

andstrangelyfamiliar.

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“Whatdoyousay?”Liadidn’tactuallywaitforananswer.Shepushedmeintoasittingpositionon

thebed.Sheleanedintomypersonalspaceandtiltedmychinback.Andthenshedraggedthelipstick
acrossmylips.

“Kleenex!”Liabarked.
SloanesuppliedtheKleenex,agoofygrinonherface.
“Blot,”Liaordered.
Iblotted.
“Iknewthatwouldbeagoodcoloronyou,”Liatoldme,hervoicesmugandself-satisfied.

Withoutanotherword,sheturnedherattentiontomyeyes.Whenshewasfinallyfinished,Ipushed
heroffmeandwalkedovertothemirror.

“Oh.”Icouldn’tkeepthesoundfromescapingmymouth.Myblueeyeslookedimpossiblybig.My

lasheshadbeenthoroughlymascara-ed,andthecoloronmylipswasdarkagainstmyporcelainskin.

Ilookedlikemymother.Myfeatures,thewaytheycametogetheronmyface—everything.
Bluedress.Blood.Lipstick.
Aseriesofimagesflashedthroughmymind,andIrealizedwithsuddenclaritywhythecolorof

thislipstickhadseemedsofamiliar.Iturnedbacktothebedandscavengedthroughthebagof
makeupuntilIfoundit.Iturnedthetubeupsidedown,lookingforthecolor ’sname.

RoseRed,”Iread,swallowingafterIsaidthewords.IturnedtoLia.“Wheredidyougetthis?”
“Whatdoesitmatter?”
Myknuckleswentwhitearoundthetube.“Wheredidyougetthis,Lia?”
“Whydoyouwanttoknow?”shecountered,foldingherarmsoverherchestandexaminingher

nails.

“Ijustdo,okay?”Icouldn’ttellhermorethanthat—andIshouldn’thavehadto.“Please?”
Liagatheredthemakeupoffthebedandmadeherwaytothedoor.Shegavemeoneofthose

smilesthatwasn’tasmile.“Iboughtit,Cassie.Withmoney.Aspartofourfinesystemofcapitalistic
exchange.Happy?”

“Thecolor—”Istartedtosay.
“It’sapopularcolor,”Liacutin.“IfyoubribeSloanewithsomejava,shecouldprobablytellyou

exactlyhowmanymillionsoftubesofittheyselleveryyear.Seriously,Cassie.Don’taskwhy.Just
saythankyou.”

“Thanks,”Isaidsoftly,butIcouldn’thelpfeelingthattheuniversewasmockingme,andIcouldn’t

keepfromlookingdownatthetubeinmyhandandthinking,overandoveragain,thatonceupona
time,I’dknownsomeoneelsewhowaspartialtoRoseRedlipstick.

Mymother.

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YOU

“Holdstill.”

Thegirlwhimpers,hereyesfillingwithtears,herhandspullingatthebindings.Youbackhandher,

andshefallstotheground.There’snopleasuretobehadinthis.

She’snotLorelai.
She’snotCassie.
She’snotevenaproperimitation.Butyouhadtodosomething.Youhadtoshowthepeopleclosing

ranksaroundCassiewhathappenswhentheytrytostandbetweenyouandwhatisyours.

“Holdstill,”yousayagain.
Thistime,thegirlobeys.Youdon’tkillher.Youdon’tevenhurther.
Notyet.

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CHAPTER30

Iwokemidmorningtoslantingraysoflightbreakingthroughmybedroomwindow.Sloanewas
nowheretobeseen.Afterdoingacursorycheckofthehallway,Islunkintothebathroomandlocked
thedoorbehindme.

Solitude.Fornow.
Ipulledtheshowercurtain,stretchingitacrossthelengthofthetub.Withatwistofmywrist,I

turnedonthespray,ashotasitwouldgo.Thesoundofwaterdrummingagainsttheporcelaintubwas
soothingandhypnotic.Isankdowntothefloor,pullingmykneestomychest.

Sixdaysago,aserialkillerhadcontactedme,andmyonlyreactionhadbeentocrawlintothe

UNSUB’shead,calmandcool.Butlastnight,wearingthesameshadeoflipstickasmymotherhad
undoneme.

Itwasacoincidence,Itoldmyself.Ahorrible,twisted,untimelycoincidencethatwithindaysof

beingcontactedbyakillerwhomighthavemurderedmymother,Liahadmademeuptolookjustlike
her
.

“It’sapopularcolor.Justsaythankyou.”
Steambuiltupintheairaroundme,remindingmethatIwaswastinghotwater,acardinalsinina

housewithfiveteenagers.Istoodandswipedmyarmacrossthemirror,leavingastreakonitssteam-
coveredsurface.

Istaredatmyself,banishingtheimageofRoseRedonmylips.Thiswasme.Iwasfine.
Strippingoffmypajamas,Isteppedintotheshower,lettingthesprayhitmestraightintheface.

Theflashbackcamesuddenlyandwithoutwarning.

Fluorescentlightsflickeroverhead.Ontheground,myshadowflickers,too.
Thedoortoherdressingroomisslightlyajar.
Iconcentratedonthesoundofthewater,thefeelofitonmyskin,pushingbackagainstthe

memories.

Thesmell
Abruptly,Iturnedofftheshower.Wrappingatowelaroundmytorso,Isteppedoutontothebath

mat,drippingwet.Icombedmyfingersthroughmyhairandturnedtothesink.

ThatwaswhenIheardthescream.
“Cassie!”Ittookmeamomenttopickoutmyname,andanotherafterthattorecognizethatSloane

wastheoneyelling.Wearingonlyatowel,Irushedacrosstoourroom.

“What?Sloane,whatisit?”
Shewasstillcladinherpajamas.White-blondhairstucktoherforehead.“Ithadmynameonit,”

shesaid,hervoicestrained.“It’snotstealingifithasmynameonit.”

“Whathadyournameonit?”
Withshakinghands,sheheldoutapaddedenvelope.
“Whodidyounotstealthisfrom?”Iasked.
Sloanelookeddistinctlyguilty.“Oneoftheagentsdownstairs.”
They’dbeenscreeningallofourmail,notjustmine.
AnglingmyheadsothatIcouldseewhatwasinsidetheenvelope,IrealizedwhySloanehad

screamed.

There,insidetheenvelope,wasasmall,blackbox.

———

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Oncetheboxhadbeenremovedfromtheenvelope,therewasnoquestionthatitmatchedthefirstone:
theribbon,thebow,thewhitecardwithmynamewrittenonitincareful,notquitecursivescript.The
onlydifferencewasthesize—andthefactthatthistime,theUNSUBhadusedSloanetogettome.

YouknowtheFBIhasmeunderguard.Youwantmeanyway.
“Youdidn’topenthebox.”AgentBriggssoundedsurprised.AbouttensecondsafterI’drealized

whatwasinsidetheenvelope,AgentsStarmansandBrookshadburstintothebedroom.They’dcalled
LockeandBriggs.I’dhadjustenoughtimetogetdressedbeforethedynamicduohadarrived—with
another,oldermanintow.

“Ididn’twanttocompromisethephysicalevidence,”Isaid.
“Youdidtherightthing.”Themanwho’dcomewithBriggsandLockespokeforthefirsttime.

Hisvoicewasgruff,aperfectmatchforhisface,whichwasweatherwornandsuntanned.Iputhisage
atsomewhereintheneighborhoodofsixty-five.Hewasn’ttall,buthehadacommandingpresence,
andhelookedatmelikeIwasachild.

“Cassie,thisisDirectorSterling.”Lockemadetheintroduction,butthethingsshedidn’tsay

numberedinthedozens.

Forinstance,shedidn’tsaythatthismanwastheirboss.
Shedidn’tsaythathewasthepersonwho’dsignedoffontheNaturalsprogram.
Shedidn’tsaythathe’dbeentheonetorakeBriggsovercoalsforusingDeanonactivecases.
Shedidn’thaveto.
“Iwanttobetherewhenyouopenit.”IaddressedthewordstoAgentLocke,butDirectorSterling

wastheonewhoreplied.

“Ireallydon’tthinkthat’snecessary,”hesaid.
Thiswasamanwithchildren,maybeevengrandchildren,evenifhewasahigher-upattheFBI.I

couldusethat.

“I’matarget,”Isaid,allowingmyeyestogowide.“Keepingthisinformationfrommemakesme

vulnerable.ThemoreIknowaboutthisUNSUB,thesaferIam.”

“Wecankeepyousafe.”Thedirectorspokelikeamanusedtohavinghiswordstakenaslaw.
“That’swhatAgentBriggssaidfourdaysago,”Isaid,“andnowthisguyiscomingatmethrough

Sloane.”

“Cassie—”AgentBriggsstartedtotalktomeinthesamevoicethedirectorused—likeIwasa

littlekid,liketheyhadn’tbroughtmeheretosolvecasesinthefirstplace.

“TheUNSUBstruckagain,didn’the?”Myquestion—whichwasaguess,really—wasmetwith

absolutesilence.

Iwasright.
“ThisUNSUBwantsme.”Iworkedmywaythroughthelogic.“Youtriedtokeephimawayfrom

me.Whatever ’sinthatbox,it’sastepupfromwhattheUNSUBsentmelasttime.Awarningforyou,
apresentforme.Ifhethinksyou’rekeepingitfromme,thingsareonlygoingtogetworse.”

ThedirectornoddedtoAgentBriggs.“Openthebox.”
Briggsputonapairofgloves.Hepulledontheedgeoftheribbon,andthebowcameundone.He

setthecardtothesideandliftedthelidoffthebox.

Whitetissuepaper.
Carefully,heopenedthetissuepaper.Aringletofhairlayinthebox.Itwasblond.
“Openthecard,”Isaid,myvoicecatchinginmythroat.
Briggsopenedtheenvelopeandpulledoutacard.Likethelastone,itwaswhite,elegant,butplain.

Briggsopenedthecard,andaphotographfellout.

Icaughtsightofthegirlinthepicturebeforetheycouldobscureitfromme.Herwristswere

boundbehindherbody.Herfacewasswollen,anddriedbloodhadcrustedaroundherscalp.Hereyes

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werefilledwithtearsandsomuchfearthatIcouldhearherscreamingbehindtheduct-tapegag.

Shehaddirtyblondhairandababyface.
“She’stooyoung,”Isaid,mystomachtwisting.Thegirlinthepicturewasfifteen,maybesixteen

—andnoneoftheUNSUB’sothervictimshadbeenminors.

Thisgirlwasyoungerthanme.
“Briggs.”Lockepickedupthephotoandhelditouttohim.“Lookatthenewspaper.”
I’dbeensofixatedonthegirl’sfacethatIhadn’tnoticedthenewspapercarefullypoisedagainst

herchest.

“Shewasalivethistimeyesterday,”Briggssaid,andthatwaswhenIknew—whythispresentwas

differentfromthelastone,whythehairintheboxwasblond.

“Youtookher,”Isaidsoftly,“becausetheytookme.”
Lockecaughtmyeye,andIknewshe’dheardme.Sheagreedwithme.Guiltroselikenauseainthe

backofmythroat.Ipusheditdown.Icouldprocessthislater.IcouldhatetheUNSUB—andmyself—
forthebloodandbruisesonthisgirl’sfacelater.Butrightnow,Ihadtoholdittogether.

Ihadtodosomething.
“Whoisshe?”Iasked.Iftakingthisgirlwasthekiller ’swayoflashingoutbecausetheFBIhad

triedtokeephimfromme,shewouldn’tbejustanyone.Thisgirldidn’tfitwiththevictimologyof
theUNSUB’sothervictims,butiftherewasonethingIknewaboutthiskiller,itwasthathealways
chosehistargetsforareason.

“Ms.Hobbes,Iappreciateyourpersonalinterestinthiscase,butthatinformationisaboveyour

paygrade.”

Igavethedirectoralook.“Youdon’tpayme.Andifthekilleriswatching,andyouinsiston

keepingmelockedupoutofreach,it’sgoingtogetworse.”

Whycouldn’theseethat?Whycouldn’tBriggs?Itwasobvious.TheFBIwantedtokeepmeoutof

this,butthekillerwantedmein.

“Whatdoesthecardsay?”Lockeasked.“Thepictureisonlypartofthemessage.”
Briggslookedatme,thenatthedirector.Thenheflippedthecardaroundsothatwecouldreadit

forourselves.

CASSIE—WON’TITLOOKBETTERRED?
Theimplicationwasclear.Thisgirlwasalive.Butshewouldn’tbeforlong.
“Whoisshe?”Iaskedagain.
Briggskepthismouthclampedshut.Hehadpriorities,andkeepinghisjobwasnumberone.
“GenevieveRidgerton.”Lockeansweredmyquestion,hervoiceflat.“HerfatherisaU.S.senator.”
Genevieve.SonowthegirltheUNSUBhadtakenbecauseofme,thegirltheUNSUBhadhurt

becauseofme,hadaname.

ThedirectortookasteptowardLocke.“Thatinformationisneed-to-know,AgentLocke.”
Shewavedoffhisobjection.“Cassie’sright.Genevievewastakenasadeliberatestrikeatus.We

putprotectiononCassie,wekeptherfromleavingthehouse,andthiswasthedirectresponse.We’re
noclosertocatchingthismonsterthanwewerefourdaysago,andhewillkillGenevieveunlesswe
givehimareasonnotto.”

HewouldkillGenevievebecauseofme.
“Whatareyousuggesting?”Thedirectorsaidthosewordsinatonebrimmingwithwarning,but

Lockerespondedasifthequestionhadbeenposedinearnest.

“I’msuggestingthatwegivethiskillerexactlywhathewants.WedealCassiein.Wetakeherwith

usandpayanothervisittothecrimescene.”

“Youreallythinkshe’llfindsomethingwemissed?”
Lockeshotmeanapologeticlook.“No—butIthinkthatifwetakeCassietothecrimescene,the

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killermightfollow.”

“We’renottrainingthesekidstoplaybait,”AgentBriggssaidsharply.
ThedirectorturnedhisattentionfromLocketoBriggs.“Youpromisedmethreecoldcasesbythe

endoftheyear,”hesaid.“Sofar,yourNaturalshavedeliveredone.”

Icouldfeelthedynamicsintheroomshifting.AgentBriggsdidn’twanttorisksomething

happeningtooneofhispreciousNaturals.Thedirectorwasskepticalthatourabilitieswereworththe
costofthisprogram,andwhateverobjectionshehadtobringingaseventeen-year-oldtoacrime
scenemusthavebeenoutweighedbythefactthatthissituationcouldhavemajorpolitical
ramifications.

ThisUNSUBhadn’tchosenasenator ’sdaughterbychance.
“Takeherwithyoutotheclub,Briggs,”thedirectorgrunted.“Ifanyoneasks,she’sawitness.”He

turnedtome.“Youdon’thavetodothisifyoudon’twantto,Cassandra.”

Iknewthat.IalsoknewthatIdidwantto—andnotjustbecauseLockemightberightaboutmy

presencebeingenoughtolurethekillerout.Icouldn’tjustsitbackandwatchthishappen.

Behavior.Personality.Environment.
Victimology.MO.Signature.
IwasaNatural—andassickasitwas,IhadarelationshipwiththisUNSUB.Iftheybroughtmeto

thecrimescene,Imightseesomethingtheothershadmissed.

“I’llgo,”Itoldthedirector.“ButI’mbringingbackupofmyown.”

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CHAPTER31

ClubMusewasaneighteen-and-overestablishment.Theyonlyservedalcoholtopatronswearing
twenty-one-pluswristbands.Andyet,somehow,GenevieveRidgerton,whowasneithereighteennor
twenty-one,had—accordingtoallwitnessreports—beenmorethanalittletipsywhenshe’d
disappearedfromtheClubMusebathroomthreenightsearlier.

DirectorSterlinghadreluctantlyagreedtoallowmetobringtwooftheotherswithmetothe

crimescene,andthenhe’dputasmuchdistancebetweenusandhimaspossible.Asaresult,Briggs
andLockeweretheoneswhoescortedmetotheclub—andtheyweretheoneswho’ddecidedwhich
ofmyhousematesgottotagalong.

Sloanewascurrentlywalkingtheinsideperimeteroftheclub,lookingforpointsofentryand

doingsomesortofcalculationinvolvingmaximumoccupancy,thepopularityofthebandplaying,
totalamountofalcoholconsumed,andthelineforthebathroom.

Dean,Locke,andIweretracingGenevieve’slaststeps.
“Twounisexbathrooms.Deadboltsoneachofthedoors.”Dean’sdarkeyesscannedtheareawith

almostmilitaryprecision.

“Genevievewasinlinewithafriend,”Locketoldus.“ThefriendwentintoBathroomA,leaving

Genevievenextinline.Whenthefriendcameout,Genevievewasn’tinline.Thefriendassumedshe
wasinthesecondbathroomandwentbacktothebar.SheneversawGenevieveagain.”

IthoughtoftheGenevieveI’dseenintheUNSUB’spicture,theGenevievewithbruisesandblood

crustedonherscalp.ThenIpushedthatimageoutofmyheadandforcedmyselftothinkaboutthe
eventsthathadledtoherabduction.

“Okay,”Isaid.“SoI’mGenevieve.I’malittledrunk,maybemorethanalittle.Istumblemyway

throughthecrowd,waitinline.Myfriendgoesintooneofthebathrooms.Thenextoneopensup.”I
weavedonmyfeetabitasIwalkedthroughthemotionsthegirlwouldhavetaken.“Islipintothe
bathroom.MaybeIremembertothrowthedeadbolt.MaybeIdon’t.”

Mullingthatover,Iscannedtheroom:atoilet,asink,abrokenmirror.Hadthemirrorbeenthat

waybeforeGenevievewastaken?Orhaditgottenbrokenwhenshewasabducted?Iturnedthree
hundredandsixtydegrees,takingitallinandtryingtoignorejusthowdisgustingthebathroomsat
eighteen-and-overclubsreallywere.Thefloorwaspermanentlysticky.Ididn’tevenwanttolookat
thetoilet,andtherewasgraffitiscrawledacrosseverysurfaceofthebathroomwalls.

“Ifyouforgottoboltthedoor,Imighthavefollowedyouin.”
IttookmeamomenttorealizethatDeanwasspeakingfromtheUNSUB’sperspective.Hetooka

steptowardme,makingthesmallspacefeelevensmaller.Istumbledbackward,buttherewas
nowheretogo.

“Sorry,”hesaid,holdinghishandsup.ChannelingGenevieve,Ifeltmylipscurlintoaloopy

smile.Afterall,thiswasaclub,andhewaskindofcute.…

Asecondlater,Deanhadhishandovermymouth.“Icouldhavechloroformedyou.”
Itwistedoutofhishold,alltooawareofhowclosemybodywastohis.“Youdidn’t.”
“No,”heagreed,hiseyesonmine.“Ididn’t.”
Thistime,hewrappedahandaroundmywaist.Ileanedintohim.
“MaybeI’mnotjustalittledrunk,”Isaid.“MaybeI’mdrunkerthanIshouldbe.”
Deancaughton.“MaybeIslippedalittlesomethingextraintoyourdrink.”
“It’sfivefeetfromthebathroomdoortothenearestemergencyexit.”Sloaneissuedthat

observationfromjustoutsidethebathroomdoor.Clearly,shehadbettersensethantojointhetwoof
usinalreadycramped—anddisgusting—quarters.

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ThatwentdoubleforAgentLocke.“WehaveawitnesswhocanplaceGenevievegoingintothis

bathroom,”shesaid.“Butnooneremembersseeingherleave.”

GiventhatGenevieveprobablywasn’ttheonlytipsypersoninClubMusethatnight,Iwasn’t

terriblysurprised.Itwasscarytothinkhoweasyitmighthavebeentoleadadruggedgirloutofthe
bathroom,downthehallway,andoutthedoor.

“Nineseconds,”Sloanesaid.“EvenifyouaccountforasluggishgaitonGenevieve’spart,the

distancebetweenthebathroomandtheclosestexitissmallenoughthatsomeonecouldhavegotten
heroutofhereinnineseconds.”

YouchoseGenevieve.Youwaitedforexactlytherightmoment.Youonlyneedednineseconds.
ThisUNSUBwasmeticulous.Aplanner.
Youdoeverythingforareason,Ithought,andthereasonyoutookthisgirlisme.
“Okay,kiddies,playtime’sover.”AgentLockehaddoneanadmirablejoboffadingintothe

backgroundandlettinguswork,butclearly,shewasonatimetable.“Forwhatit’sworth,Ireached
thesameconclusionyoudid.TwoofthepreviousvictimshadtracesofGHBintheirsystems.The
UNSUBmostlikelyslippedsomethingintoGenevieve’sdrinkandwalkedherrightoutthe
emergencyexitwithnoonethewiser.”

Belatedly,IrealizedthatDeanstillhadhisarmwrappedaroundmywaist.Asecondlater,hemust

haverealizedthesamething,becausehepulledawayfrommeandtookastepback.

“AnysignoftheUNSUBoutside?”heasked.
ItwaseasytoforgetthatIwasn’tactuallyhereasaprofiler.Iwashereasbait,andtheFBIwas

hopingI’dbringthekillerstraighttothem.

“Plainclothesagentsarecanvassingthestreetsaswespeak,”AgentLocketoldus,“masquerading

asvolunteers,handingoutflyers,andlookingforpeoplewhomighthaveinformationabout
Genevieve’sdisappearance.”

Deanleanedbackagainstthewall.“Butyou’rereallyjustmakingalistofthepeoplewhoapproach

theagents?”

Lockenodded.“Gotitinone.I’mevenpatchingavideofeedthroughtoMichaelandLiabackat

thehousesotheycananalyzeanyonewhoapproaches.”

Apparently,Lockewasn’tabovetakingadvantageofthedirector ’sauthorizationtoinvolve

Naturalsinthiscase.

Shepushedastrandofstrayhairoutofherface.“Cassie,weneedyoutomakeafewmore

appearancesoutside.I’dhaveyouhandingoutflyersifIthoughtwecouldgetawaywithit,buteven
I’mnotwillingtopushBriggsthatfar.”

ItriedtoputmyselfintheUNSUB’sshoes.He’dwantedmeoutofthehouse;Iwasoutofthe

house.He’dwantedmeinvolvedinthiscase;nowIwasstandinginthemiddleofthecrimescene.

“Haveyouseeneverythingyouneedtoseehere?”AgentLockeaskedme.
IglancedoveratDean,whowasstillkeepinghisdistance.
Youwantedmeinvolvedinthiscase.
Youdoeverythingforareason.
Thereasonyoutookthisgirlisme.
“No.”Ididn’texplainmyselftoAgentLocke.Ididn’thaveanexplanation.ButIknewinmygut

thatwecouldn’tleaveyet.IfthiswaspartoftheUNSUB’splan,iftheUNSUBhadwantedmetocome
here…

“We’remissingsomething.”
SomethingtheUNSUBwouldhaveexpectedmetosee.SomethingIwassupposedtofind,

somethingthatwassupposedtoholdmeaningforme.

Slowly,Iturnedaround,takinginthethree-sixtyviewoncemore.Ilookedunderthesink.Iranmy

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fingersgingerlyalongtheedgesofthebrokenmirror.

Nothing.
Methodically,Irakedmyeyesoverthegraffitionthewalls.Initialsandhearts,cursewordsand

slurs,doodles,songlyrics…

“There.”Asinglelineoftextcaughtmyeye.Atfirst,Ididn’tevenreadthewords.AllIsawwere

theletters:notquitecursiveandnotquiteprint,thesamehyperstylizedhandwritingasonthecards
thatcamewitheachblackbox.

FORAGOODTIME

Thesentencecutoffthere.Frantically,Iranmyfingeroverthewall,sortingthroughtext,looking

forthathandwritingtopickupagain.

CALL567-3524.GUARANTEED

Aphonenumber.Myheartskippedabeat,butIforcedmyselftokeepgoing:upanddownthewalls

ofthebathroom,lookingforanotherline.

Anotherclue.
Ifounditnearthemirror.

PLUSONE.KOLAANDTHORN.

KolaandThorn?ThemoreIread,themoretheUNSUB’smessagesoundedlikegibberish.
“Cassie?”AgentLockeclearedherthroat.Iignoredher.Therehadtobemore.Istartedatthetop

andwentthroughallofthegraffitiagain.OnceIwassuretherewasnothingelse,Iwalkedoutofthe
bathroomtogetsomeair.Locke,Dean,andSloanehadbeenjoinedbyAgentBriggs.

“Weneedyoutomakeanotherappearanceoutside,Cassie.”AgentBriggsclearlyconsideredthat

anorder.

“TheUNSUB’snotthere,”Itoldthem.
TheFBIthoughtthatbybringingmehere,they’dbeenlayingatrapformykiller,buttheywere

wrong.TheUNSUBwastheonelayingatrapforus.

“Ineedapen,”Isaid.
Afterseveralseconds,Briggsgavemeapen.
“Paper?”
Heremovedanotebookfromhislapelpocketandhandedittome.
“TheUNSUBleftusamessage,”Isaid,butwhatIreallymeantwasthathe’dleftmeamessage.
Iscrawledthewordsontothepage,thenhandedittoBriggs.
“Foragoodtime,call567-3524.Guaranteedplusone.KolaandThorn.”Briggsliftedhiseyes

fromthepagetomeetmine.“You’resurethisisfromtheUNSUB?”

“Itmatchesthecards,”Itoldhim.Thewaymynamehadlookedinthekiller ’sscriptwasburned

intomymind.“I’msure.”

Tothem,thecardswereevidence.Buttome,theywerepersonal.Withouteventhinkingaboutit,I

reachedformycellphone.

“Whatareyoudoing?”Deanaskedme.
Ipressedmylipsintoafirmline.“Callingthenumber.”
Nobodystoppedme.
“I’msorry,thenumberyouhavedialedisnotinservice.Pleasetryyourcallagainlater.”

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Ihungup,lookeddownatthefloor,thenshookmyhead.
“Noareacode,”Sloanesaid.“ArewethinkingDC?Virginia?Maryland?That’selevenpossible

areacodeswithinahundred-mileradius.”

“Starmans.”AgentBriggswasonhiscellphoneimmediately.“I’mgoingtoreadyouatelephone

number.Ineedyoutotryitwitheveryareacodewithinathree-hourdrivingdistanceofthis
location.”

“CanIseeyourphone,Cassie?”Sloane’srequestdistractedmefromBriggs’sconversation.

Unsurewhyshewantedit,Ihandedhermyphone.Shestaredatitforaminute,herlipsmoving
rapidly,butnosoundscomingout.Finallyshelookedup.“It’snotaphonenumber—oratleast,not
oneyou’resupposedtocall.”

Iwaitedforanexplanation.Sheobliged.
“567-3524.Onatelephone,five,six,three,two,andfoureachcorrespondtothreelettersonthe

keypad.Sevenisafour-letternumber:P,Q,R,andS.That’stwothousandninehundredandsixteen
possibleseven-lettercombinationsfor567-3524.”

IwonderedhowlongitwouldtakeSloanetorunthroughthetwothousandninehundredand

sixteenpossiblecombinations.

“Lorelai.”
“What?”Thesoundofmymother ’snamewaslikeabucketoficewaterthrowndirectlyintomy

face.

“567-3524isthetelephonenumberthatcorrespondstothewordLorelai.Italsospellslose-lag,

lop-flag,andJose-jag,buttheonlyseven-letter,single-wordpossibility—”

“IsLorelai.”IfinishedSloane’ssentenceandtranslatedthemessagewiththatmeaning.
Foragoodtime,callLorelai.Guaranteedplusone.KolaandThorn.
“Plusone,”Deanreadovermyshoulder.“YouthinktheUNSUBistryingtotellusthatwe’vegot

anothervictimonourhands?”

Foragoodtime,callLorelai.
NowIhadironcladproofthatthiscasehadsomethingtodowithmymother ’s.Thatwaswhythe

UNSUBhadwantedmetocomehere.He’dleftmethismessage—completewitha“guaranteedplus
one.”SomeonetheUNSUBhadalreadyattacked?Someonehewasplanningonattacking?

Iwasn’tsure.AllIknewwasthatifIdidn’tsolvethis,ifwedidn’tsolvethis,someoneelsewas

goingtodie.

GenevieveRidgerton.Plusone.Howmanypeopleareyougoingtokillbecauseofme?Iasked

silently.

Therewasnoanswer,justtherealizationthateverythingwasplayingoutexactlyastheUNSUB

hadintended.EverydiscoveryI’dmadehadbeenchoreographed.Iwasplayingapart.

Unabletostopmyself,Iturnedmyattentiontothelastlineofthemessage.
KolaandThorn.
“Symbolism?”Deanaskedme,followingmythoughtsexactly.“Kola.Cola.Drinking.Thorn.

Rose.Blood…”

“Ananagram?”Sloanehadthatfarawaylookinhereye,thesameoneshe’dgottenthedayImet

her,kneelingoverapileofglass.“Ankhontolard.Hotnodalnark.Landrandhook.Oaklandnorth.”

“NorthOakland,”Deancutin.“That’sinArlington.”
Foragoodtime,callLorelai.Guaranteedplusone.NorthOakland.
“WeneedalistofeverybuildingonNorthOakland,”Isaid,mybodybuzzingwithasuddenrush

ofadrenaline.

“Whatarewelookingfor?”Briggsaskedme.
Ididn’thaveananswer—awarehouse,maybe,oranabandonedapartment.Itriedtofocus,butI

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couldn’tquiteridmybrainofthesoundofmymother ’sname,andIrealizedsuddenlythatifthis
killerknewmehalfaswellashethoughthedid,therewasanotherpossibility.

Foragoodtime,callLorelai.
Thedressingroom.Theblood.Iswallowed.“I’mnotsure,”Isaid.“ButIthinkyoumightbe

lookingforatheater.”

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CHAPTER32

“We’vegotabodyatasmall,independenttheaterinArlington.”AgentBriggs’sfingerscurledinto
hispalmsashedeliveredthenews,buthefoughttheurgetoclenchhisfists.“It’snotGenevieve
Ridgerton.”

Ididn’tknowwhethertoberelievedorupset.Somewhere,fifteen-year-oldGenevievemightstill

bealive.Butnowweweredealingwithbodynumbereight.

OurUNSUB’s“plusone.”
“Starmans,Vance,Brooks:Iwantthethreeofyoutotakethekidsbacktothehouse.Iwantoneof

youpostedatthefrontdoor,oneatthebackdoor,andonewithCassieatalltimes.”AgentBriggs
turnedandstartedwalkingoutoftheclub,asignaltotherestofusthathewassoconfidentthatwe
wouldfollowhisordersthathedidn’tevenneedtostayheretoseethemthrough.

Ididn’tneedLiaorMichaelheretotellmethathisconfidencewasalie.
“I’mgoingwithyou,”Isaid,followinghimoutside.“Theexactsamelogicthatletyoubringme

hereappliesinArlington.TheUNSUBturnedthisintoalittletreasurehunt.Hewantstoseeme
followittotheend.”

“Idon’tcarewhathewants,”Briggscutin.“Iwanttokeepyousafe.”
Histonewasuncompromisingandfullofwarning,butIcouldn’tstopmyselffromasking,“Why?

BecauseI’mvaluable?BecauseNaturalsworksowellasateam,andyou’dhatetothrowthatoff?”

AgentBriggsclosedthespacebetweenusandbroughthisfacedownlevelwithmine.“Doyou

reallythinkthatlittleofme?”heaskedquietly.“I’mambitious.I’mdriven.I’msingle-minded,butdo
youreallythinkthatIwouldknowinglyputanyofyouindanger?”

Ithoughtofthemomentwe’dmet.Thepenwithoutthecap.Hispreferenceforbasketballover

golf.

“No,”Isaid.“Butwebothknowthatthiscaseiskillingyou.It’skillingLocke,andnowthere’sa

senator ’sdaughterinvolved.Ifitweren’tforme,youwouldn’thavesentsomeonetocheckoutthat
theater.Wewouldn’thavediscoveredthebodyforhours,maybedays—andwhoknowswhatour
UNSUBwouldhavedonetoGenevieveinthemeantime?
Ifyoudon’twanttousemeasbaitanymore,fine.Butyouneedtotakemewithyou.Youneedtotake
allthreeofuswithyou,becausewemightseesomethingthatyoucan’t.”

ThatwasthewholereasonBriggshadstartedtheNaturalsprogram.Thewholereasonthathe’d

cometotwelve-year-oldDean.Nomatterhowlongtheydidthisjob,orhowmuchtrainingtheyhad,
theseagentswouldneverhaveinstinctsasfinelyhonedasours.

“Lethercome.”LockeplacedahandonBriggs’sarm,andforthefirsttime,Iwonderedifthere

wasanythingbetweenthetwoofthemotherthanwork.“IfCassie’soldenoughtoplaybait,she’sold
enoughtolearnfromtheexperience.”Lockeglancedaroundtheroom—atSloaneandDean.“They
allare.”

———

Forty-fiveminuteslater,wepulledupto4587NorthOaklandStreet.Thelocalpolicewerealready
there,butattheFBI’sinsistence,theyhadn’ttouchedathing.Dean,Sloane,andIwaitedinthecarwith
AgentsStarmansandVanceuntilthelocalPDhadbeenclearedoffthescene,andthentheybroughtus
uptothethirdfloor.

Tothistinytheater ’sonlydressingroom.ImadeithalfwaydownthehallbeforeAgentBriggs

steppedoutoftheroom,blockingtheentrance.

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“Youdon’tneedtoseethis,Cassie,”hesaid.
Icouldsmellit—notrotten,notyet,butcoppery:rustwithjustahintofdecay.Ipushedpast

Briggs.Heletme.

Theroomwasrectangular.Therewasbloodsmearedacrossthelightswitch,bloodpoolednear

thedoor.Theentireleft-handsideoftheroomwaslinedwithmirrors,likeadancestudio.

Likemymother ’sdressingroom.
Mylimbsfeltheavyallofasudden.Mylipswerenumb.Icouldn’tbreathe,andjustlikethat,Iwas

rightback—

Thedoorisslightlyajar.Ipushitopen.There’ssomethingwetandsquishybeneathmyfeet,andthe

smell

Igropeforthelightswitch.Myfingerstouchsomethingwarmandstickyonthewall.Frantically,I

searchforthelightswitch

Don’tturniton.Don’tturniton.Don’tturniton.
Iturniton.
I’mstandinginblood.There’sbloodonthewalls,bloodonmyhands.Alampliesshatteredonthe

woodfloor.Adeskisupturned,andthere’sajaggedlineinthefloorboards.

Fromtheknife.
Pressureonmyshouldersforcedmetostoprelivingthememory.Hands.Dean’shands,Irealized.

Hebroughthisfaceveryclosetomine.

“Stayincontrol,”hesaid,hisvoicesteadyandwarm.“Everytimeyougobackthere,everytime

youseeit—it’sjustblood,justacrimescene,justabody.”Hedroppedhishandstohissides.“That’s
allitis,Cassie.That’sallyoucanletitbe.”

Iwonderedwhichmemoriesherelivedoverandover—wonderedaboutthebodiesandtheblood.

Butrightnow,inthismoment,Iwasjustgladthathewashere,thatIwasn’talone.

Itookhisadvice.Iforcedmyselftolookatthemirror,smearedwithblood.Icouldmakeout

handprints,fingertracks,likethevictimhadusedthemirrortopullherselfalongthegroundaftershe
wastooweaktowalk.

“Timeofdeathwaslatelastnight,”Briggssaid.“We’llhaveForensicsinheretoseeiftheycanlift

anyfingerprintsbesidesthevictim’soffthemirror.”

“That’snotherblood.”
IglancedoveratSloaneandrealizedthatshewaskneelingnexttothebody.Forthefirsttime,I

lookedatthevictim.Herhairwasred.She’dobviouslybeenstabbedrepeatedly.

“Themedicalexaminerwilltellyouthesamething,”Sloanecontinued.“Thiswomanisfivefeet

tall,approximatelyahundredandtenpounds.Givenhersize,we’relookingatdeathfrom
exsanguinationwiththelossofthreequartsofblood,maybeless.She’swearingjeansandacashmere
top.Cashmere—andotherformsofwool—canabsorbuptothirtypercentofitsweightinmoisture
withoutevenappearingdamp.Sincethedeepestwoundsareconcentratedoverherstomachandchest
areas,andhertopandjeanswerebothtight,she’dhavehadtobleedthroughthefabricbefore
drippingalloverthefloor.”

Ilookedatthewoman’sclothes.Sureenough,theyweresoakedwithblood.
“Bythetimeherclothesweresaturatedenoughtoleaveapuddleofthatsizeonthefloorover

there”—Sloanegesturedtowardthedoor—“ourvictimwouldn’thavebeenconscioustofightoffher
attacker,letaloneleadhimonamerrychasethroughtheroom.She’stoosmall,shedoesn’thave
enoughblood,thefabricsshe’swearingdon’texpelliquidquicklyenough—thenumbersdon’tadd
up.”

“She’sright.”AgentBriggsstoodupfromexaminingthefloor.“There’saknifemarkonthefloor

overhere.Ifitwasmadewithabloodyknife,therewouldbebloodembeddedinthescratch,but

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there’snot,meaningthateithertheUNSUBmissedathisfirstattemptatstabbingthewoman—which
certainlydoesn’tseemlikely,givenhersizeandthefactthathewouldhavehadtheelementof
surprise—ortheUNSUBdeliberatelymadethesemarkswithacleanknife.”

Iputmyselfinthevictim’sshoes.Shewaseightornineinchesshorterthanmymother ’sfive-nine,

butthatdidn’tmeanshecouldn’thavefought.ButeveniftheUNSUBhadcomeafterherintheexact
sameway,whatwerethechancesthatthescenewouldhavelookedthismuchlikemymother ’s
dressingroom?Themirrorsonthewall,thebloodsmearedonthelightswitch,thedarkliquid
pooledbythedoor.

Somethingaboutthisdidn’tfeelright.
“She’sleft-handed.”
IturnedtolookatDean,andhecontinued,“Victim’swearingherwatchonherrighthand,andher

manicureismorechippedonherlefthandthanherright,”hesaid.“Wasyourmotherleft-handed,
Cassie?”

Ishookmyheadandrealizedwherehewasgoingwiththis.“Theywouldn’thavefoughtoffan

attackerinthesameway,”Isaid.

Deangaveabriefnodofagreement.“Ifanything,we’dexpectspatteronthiswall.”Hegesturedto

theplainwalloppositethemirrors.Itwasclean.

“TheUNSUBdidn’tkillherhere.”Lockewasthefirstonewhosaiditoutloud.“There’svirtually

nobloodpooledaroundthebody.Shewaskilledsomewhereelse.”

Youkilledher.Youbroughtherhere.Youpaintedtheroominblood.
“Foragoodtime,callLorelai,”Imurmured.
“Cassie?”AgentLockeraisedaneyebrowatme.Iansweredthequestionthatwentalongwiththe

eyebrowraise.

“She’sjustaprop,”Isaid,lookingatthewoman,wishingIknewhername,wishingthatIcould

stillmakeoutthefeaturesofherface.“Thisisaset.Thisentirethingwasstagedtolooklikemy
mother ’sdeath.Exactlylikeit.”Mystomachtwistedsharply.

“Okay,”AgentLockesaid.“SoI’mthekiller.I’mfixatedonyou,andI’mfixatedonyourmother.

Maybeshewasmyfirstkill,butthistime,itisn’taboutyourmother.”

“It’saboutyou.”DeanpickedupwhereAgentLockehadleftoff.“I’mnottryingtoreliveher

death.I’mtryingtoforceyoutorelivediscoveringher.”

TheUNSUBhadwantedmehere.Thepresents,thecodedmessage,andnowthis—acorpse

dumpedinacrimescenestrikinglylikemymother ’s.

“Briggs.”OneofBriggs’sagents—Starmans—stuckhisheadintotheroom.“Medicalexaminer

andtheforensicsteamarehere.Doyouwantmetoholdthemoff?”

BriggslookedatDean,atme,andthenatSloane,stillkneelingnexttothebody.We’dbeencareful

nottotouchanythingordisturbthecrimescene,butploppingthreeteenagersdowninthemiddleofa
murderinvestigationwasn’texactlycovert.Briggs,Locke,andtheirteamobviouslyknewaboutus,
butIwasn’tconvincedthattherestoftheFBIdid,andBriggsconfirmedthatwhenheglancedfrom
StarmanstoLocke.

“Getthemoutofhere,Starmans,”Briggssaid.“Iwantyou,Brooks,andVancerotatingthroughon

Cassie’sprotectiondetail.DirectorSterlinghasofferedsomeofhisbestmenforsurveillance.
They’llkeepaneyeonthehousefromtheoutside,butIwantoneofyouwithCassieatalltimes,and
tellJuddthatthehousearrestisstillineffect.Nooneleavesthathouseuntilthiskilleriscaught.”

Ididn’tfighttheorders.
Ididn’tfighttostaythereintheroom,lookingforclues.
Thereweren’tany.Thiswasneveraboutmefiguringoutwhothiskillerwas.Thiswasalways,

alwaysabouttheUNSUBplayingwithme,forcingmetorelivetheworstdayofmylife.

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Sloaneslippedanarmaroundmywaist.“Therearefourteenvarietiesofhugs,”shesaid.“Thisis

oneofthem.”

Lockeputahandonmyshoulderandsteeredthetwoofusoutoftheroom,Deanonourheels.
Thisisagame.IheardDean’svoiceechoingthroughmymemory.It’salwaysagame.Thatwas

whathe’dtoldMichael,andatthetime,I’dagreed.Tothekiller,thiswasagame—andsuddenly,I
couldn’thelpthinkingthatthegoodguysmightnotwinthisone.

Wemightlose.
Imightlose.

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CHAPTER33

Iwasn’tallowedtogointothehouseuntilJuddandtheagentsonmyprotectiondetailhadsweptit,
andeventhen,AgentStarmansaccompaniedmetomybedroom.

“Youokay?”heasked,givingmeasidelongglance.
“Fine,”Ireplied.Itwasastockanswer,perfectedaroundtheSundaynightdinnertable.Iwasa

survivor.Whateverlifethrewatme,Icameoutokay,andtherestoftheworldthoughtIwasgreat.I’d
beenfakingthingsforsolongthat,untilthepastfewweekswithMichael,Dean,Lia,andSloane,I’d
forgottenwhatitwasliketobereal.

“You’reatoughkid,”AgentStarmanstoldme.
Iwasn’tinthemoodtotalk,andIespeciallywasn’tinthemoodtobepattedmetaphoricallyonthe

head.AllIwantedwastobeleftaloneandgivenachancetoprocess,torecover.

“You’redivorced,”Ireplied.“Sometimewithinthepastfouryears,maybefive.Longenoughago

thatyoushouldhavemovedon.”

InormallymadeitarulenottotakethethingsIdeducedaboutpeopleandturnthemintoweapons,

butIneededspace.Ineededtobreathe.Istoodandwalkedovertothewindow.AgentStarmans
clearedhisthroat.

“WhatdoyouthinktheUNSUBisgoingtodo?”Iaskedwearily.“Takemeoutwithasniper

rifle?”

Notthiskiller.He’dwantupcloseandpersonal.Youdidn’thavetobeaNaturalprofilertoseethat.
“Whydon’tyoucutthepooragentsomeslack,Colorado?I’mfairlycertainmakinggrownmen

cryisLia’sspecialty,notyours.”Michaeldidn’tbotherknockingbeforeenteringtheroomand
givingAgentStarmanshismostcharmingsmile.

“I’mnotmakinganyonecry,”Isaidmutinously.
Michaelturnedhisgazeonme.“Underneathyourticked-off-that-they-won’t-leave-me-alone-and-

even-more-ticked-off-that-I’m-scared-to-actually-be-aloneexterior,Idetectaslighttraceofguilt,
whichsuggeststhatyoudidsaysomethingbelowthebelt,andyou’refeelingthetiniestbitbadfor
usingyourpowersforevil,andhe”—MichaeljerkedhisheadtowardAgentStarmans—“isfighting
down-turnedlipsandfurrowedeyebrows.Idon’tneedtotellyouwhatthatmeans,doI?”

“Pleasedon’t,”AgentStarmansmuttered.
“Ofcourse,there’salsohisposture,whichsuggestssomelevelofsexualfrustration—”
AgentStarmanstookastepforward.HetoweredoverMichael,butMichaeljustkeptsmiling,

undeterred.

“Nooffense.”
“I’llbeoutinthehall,”AgentStarmanssaid.“Keepthedooropen.”
IttookmeamomentaftertheagentretreatedtorealizethatMichaelhadputhimonthespoton

purpose.

“Wereyoureallyreadinghisposture?”Iwhispered.
Michaelduckedhisheadnexttomine,adelightfullywickedsmileonhisface.“Unlikeyou,Ihave

noproblemsusingmyabilityfornefariouspurposes.”Hereachedupandranhisthumboverthe
edgeofmylipandontomycheek.“Youhavesomethingonyourface.”

“Liar.”
Hebrushedhisthumbovermyothercheek.“Ineverlieaboutaprettygirl’sface.You’recarrying

somuchtensioninyoursthatIhavetoask:shouldIbeworriedaboutyou?”

“I’mfine,”Isaid.
“Liar,”Michaelwhisperedback.

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Forasecond,Icouldalmostforgeteverythingthathadhappenedtoday:GenevieveRidgerton;the

codedmessageonthebathroomwall;theUNSUBbutcheringawomanandusingherbodyasaprop
torecreatemymother ’sdeath;thefactthatallofthiskiller ’sactionsweredesignedtomanipulateme.

“You’redoingitagain,”Michaelsaid,andthistime,heranthemiddleandindexfingersofeach

handalongthelinesofmyjaw.

Inthehallway,AgentStarmanstookastepback.Andthenanother,untilhewasalmostoutofsight.
“Areyoutouchingmejusttomakehimuncomfortable?”IaskedMichael,keepingmyvoicelow

enoughthattheagentwouldn’toverhear.

“Notjusttomakehimuncomfortable.”
Mylipstwitched.Eventhepossibilityofasmilefeltforeignonmyface.
“Now,”Michaelsaid,“areyougoingtotellmewhathappenedtoday,ordoIhavetodragitoutof

Dean?”

Igavehimaskepticallook.Michaelamendedhispreviousstatement.“Areyougoingtotellme

whathappenedtoday,oramIgoingtohavetohaveLiadragitoutofDean?”

KnowingLia,she’dprobablymanagedtopryatleasthalfofthestoryoutofDeanalready—and

withmyluck,shewouldpassitontoMichaelwithembellishments.Itwasbetterthathehearditfrom
me—soIstartedatthebeginningwithClubMuseandthemessageonthebathroomwallanddidn’t
stopuntilI’dtoldhimaboutthecrimesceneinArlingtonanditsresemblancetomymother ’s.

“Youthinkthesimilaritywasintentional,”Michaelsaid.
Inodded.Michaeldidn’taskmetoelaborate,andIrealizedhowmuchofourconversation

happenedinsilence,withhimreadingmyfaceandmeknowingexactlyhowhe’drespond.

“ThetheoryisthattheUNSUBstagedallofthisforme,”Isaidfinally.“Itwasn’tabouttheUNSUB

relivingthekill.Itwasaboutmakingmereliveit.”

Michaelstaredatme.“Saythesecondsentenceagain.”
“Itwasn’tabouttheUNSUBrelivingthekill,”Irepeated.
“There,”Michaelsaid.“Everytimeyousaythewordsrelivingthekill,youduckyourheadslightly

totheright.It’slikeyou’reshakingyourheadorbeingbashfulor…something.

Iopenedmymouthtotellhimthathewaswrong,thathewasreadingtoomuchintothatsingle

sentence,butIcouldn’tformthewords,becausehewasright.Ididn’tknowwhyIfeltlikeIwas
missingsomething,butIdid.IfMichaelhadseensomehintofthatinmyfacialexpression…

MaybemybodyknewsomethingthatIdidn’t.
“Itwasn’tabouttheUNSUBrelivingthekill,”Isaidagain.Thatwastrue.Iknewitwastrue.But

nowthatMichaelhadpointeditout,Icouldfeelmyguttellingme,loudandclear,thatitwasn’tthe
wholetruth.

“I’mmissingsomething.”Thehorroratthecrimescenehadbeenfamiliar.Almosttoofamiliar.

Whatkindofkillerrememberedthedetailsofacrimescenesoexactly?Thesplatter,thebloodonthe
mirrorsandthelightswitch,theknifemarksonthefloor…

“Tellmewhatyou’rethinking.”Michael’swordspenetratedmythoughts.Ifocusedonhishazel

eyes.Outofthecornerofmyeye,Isawashadowinthedoorway.AgentStarmans.Hadheoverheard
us?Washetryingtooverhearus?

Michaelgrabbedmyneck.Hepulledmetowardhim.WhenAgentStarmansglancedintheroom,

allhesawwasMichaelandme.

Kissing.
Thekissinthepoolwasnothingcomparedtothis.Then,ourlipshadbarelybrushed.Now,mylips

wereopening.Ourmouthswerecrushedtogether.Hishandtraveledfrommyneckdowntomylower
back.Mylipstingled,andIleanedintothekiss,shiftingmybodyuntilIcouldfeeltheheatfromhisin
myarms,mychest,mystomach.

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Onsomelevel,IwasawareofthefactthatAgentStarmanshadhightaileditbackdownthehall,

leavingmealonewithMichael.Onsomelevel,Iwasawareofthefactthatnowwasnotatimefor
kissing,ofthevortexofemotionIfeltwhenIlookedatMichael,ofthesoundofsomeoneelse
comingdownthehallway.

Myfingerscurledintoclaws.IdugthemintohisT-shirt,hishair.Andthenfinally—finally—I

realizedwhatIwasdoing.Whatweweredoing.

Ipulledback,thenhesitated.Michaeldroppedhishandsfrommyback.Therewasasoftsmileon

hisface,alookofwondermentinhiseyes.ThiswasMichaelwithoutlayers.ThiswasMichaeland
me—andDeanwasstandinginthedoorway.

“Dean.”Iforcedmyselfnottoscramblebackward,nottoleanawayfromMichaelinanyway.I

wouldn’tdothattohim.Thekissmighthavestartedasadistraction,hemighthavetakenadvantageof
themoment,butI’dkissedhimback,andIwasn’tgoingtoturnaroundandmakehimfeellike
nothingjustbecauseDeanwasstandinginthedoorwayandtherewassomethingtherebetweenhim
andme,too.

Michaelhadnevermadeanysecretofthefactthathewaspursuingme.Deanhadfoughtany

attractionhefeltformeeverystepoftheway.

“Weneedtotalk,”Deansaid.
“Whateveryouhavetosay,”Michaeldrawled,“youcansayinfrontofme.”
IgaveMichaelalook.
“Whateveryouhavetosay,youcansayinfrontofme,unlessCassiewishestospeaktoyou

privately,inwhichcaseIcompletelyrespectherrighttodoso,”Michaelcorrectedhimself.

“No,”Deansaid.“Stay.It’sfine.”
Hedidn’tsoundfine—andifIwaspickinguponthat,Ididn’twanttoknowhoweasyitwasfor

MichaeltoseewhatDeanwasfeeling.

“Ibroughtyouthis,”Deansaid,holdingoutafile.Atfirst,Ithoughtitwasthecasefileforour

UNSUB,butthenIsawthelabelonthefile.

LORELAIHOBBES

.

“Mymother ’sfile?”
“Lockesnuckmeacopy,”Deansaid.“Shethoughttheremightbesomethinghere,andshewas

right.Theattackonyourmotherwaspoorlyplanned.Itwasemotional.Itwasmessy.Andwhatwe
sawtoday—”

“Wasn’tanyofthosethings,”Ifinished.DeanhadjustputintowordsthefeelingI’dbeenonthe

vergeofexplainingtoMichael.Akillercouldgrowandchange,theirMOcoulddevelop,butthe
emotions,therage,thetitillation—thatdidn’tjustgoaway.Whoeverhadattackedmymomwould
havebeentoooverwhelmedbyadrenalinetocommittheminutiaeofthescenetomemory.

Thepersonresponsibleforthebloodinmymother ’sdressingroomfiveyearsagowouldn’thave

beenabletoreenacthermurdersocoldlytoday.

Thiswasn’taboutrelivingakill.
“EvenifI’mevolving,”Deansaid,“evenifI’vegottengoodatwhatIdo—seeingyou,Cassie,

seeingyourmotherinyou,I’dbefrenzied.”Deanslippedapictureofmymother ’scrimesceneout
ofthefolder.Thenhelaidasecondpicturedownnexttoit,ofthescenetoday.Lookingatthetwo
photossidebyside,Iacceptedwhatmygutwastellingme,whatDeanwastellingme.

Ifyouweretheonewhokilledmymother,ItoldtheUNSUB,ifeverywomanyou’vekilledsinceisa

waytorelivethatmoment,wouldn’therdeathmeansomethingtoyou?Howcouldyoupossiblystagea
scenelikethatandnotlosecontrol?

TheUNSUBresponsibleforthecorpseI’dseentodaywasmeticulous.Methodical.Thetypewho

neededtobeincontrolandalwayshadaplan.

Thepersonwho’dkilledmymotherwasnoneofthosethings.

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Howisthatevenpossible?Iwondered.
“Lookatthelightswitches.”
Iturnedaround.Sloanewasdirectlybehindme,staringatthepictures.Liaenteredtherooma

momentlater.

“ItookcareofAgentStarmans,”shesaid.“Hehassomehowdevelopedtheimpressionthatheis

urgentlyneededinthekitchen.”Deangaveheranexasperatedlook.“What?”shesaid.“Ithought
Cassiemightwantsomeprivacy.”

Ididn’treallythinkfivepeoplecountedas“privacy,”butIwastoostuckonSloane’swordsto

nitpickLia’s.“WhyamIlookingatthelightswitches?”

“There’sasinglesmearofbloodonthelightswitchandplateinbothphotos,”Sloanesaid.“Butin

thisone”—shegesturedtothephotoofthescenetoday—“thebloodisonthetopoftheswitch.Andin
thisone,it’sonthebottom.”

“Andthetranslation,forthoseofuswhodon’tspendhoursworkingonphysicalsimulationsinthe

basement?”Liaasked.

“Inoneofthephotos,thelightswitchgotsmearedwithbloodwhensomeonewithbloodyhands

turneditoff,”Sloanesaid.“Butintheotherone,ithappenedwhenthelightwasturnedon.”

Myfingerstouchsomethingwarmandstickyonthewall.Frantically,Isearchforthelightswitch.

Myfingersfindit.Idon’tcarethatthey’recoveredinwarm,wetliquid.

I.Need.It.On.
“Iturnedthelighton,”Isaid.“WhenIcamebacktomymother ’sdressingroom—therewasblood

onmyhandswhenIturnedthelighton.”

Butiftherehadonlybeenonesmearofbloodontheswitch,andthatsmearofbloodwasfrommy

hand…

Mymother ’skillerwouldn’thaveknownitwasthere.Theonlypeoplewhowouldhaveknown

aboutthebloodonthelightswitchwerethepeoplewho’dseenthecrimesceneafterI’dreturnedto
thedressingroom.AfterI’dturnedthelighton.AfterI’daccidentallycoatedtheswitchinblood.

Andyet,ourUNSUB,whohadmeticulouslyrecreatedmymother ’smurderscene,hadincluded

thatdetail.

Youweren’trelivingthekill,Ithought,allowingmyselftofinallygivelifetothewords,because

youweren’ttheonewhokilledmymother.

ButwhoelsecouldthisUNSUB—whowasunquestionablyfixatedonmymom,onme—possibly

be?Mymindracedthroughtheday’sevents.

Thegift,senttome,butaddressedtoSloane.
GenevieveRidgerton.
Themessageonthebathroomwall.
ThetheaterinArlington.
Everydetailhadbeenplanned.ThiskillerhadknownexactlywhatIwoulddoateverystepalong

theway—butnotjustme.He’dknownwhatallofuswoulddo.He’dknownthatsendingapackageto
Sloanewashisbestchanceofgettingittome.He’dknownthatBriggsandLockewouldcaveand
bringmetothecrimescene.He’dknownthatI’dfindthemessage,andthatsomeoneelsewould
decodeit.He’dknownthatwewouldfindthetheaterinArlington,thattheagentswouldletmeseeit.

“Thecode,”Isaid,backtrackingoutloud.Theotherslookedatme.“TheUNSUBleftamessage

forme,butIcouldn’thavedecodedit.Notalone.”IftheUNSUBwassosetonforcingmetorelive
mymother ’smurder,whyleaveamessageImightnotbeabletounderstand?

HadtheUNSUBknownSloanewouldbethere?Didheexpecthertodecodeit?Didheknowwhat

shecoulddo?Andifhedid…

Youknowaboutmymother’scase.Whatifyouknowabouttheprogram,too?

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“Lia,thelipstick.”Itriedtokeepmyvoicesteady,triednottoletthepanicinmychestwormits

waytothesurface.“TheRoseRedlipstick—wheredidyougetit?”

Afewdaysago,ithadseemedbenign:acruelirony,butnothingmore.Now—
“Lia?”
“Itoldyou,”Liasaid,“Iboughtit.”
Ihadn’trecognizedtheliethefirsttimearound.
“Wheredidyougetit,Lia?”
Liaopenedhermouthtodishoutaretort,thencloseditagain.Hereyesstudiedmine.“Itwasa

gift,”shesaidquietly.“Idon’tknowfromwho.Someoneleftabagofmakeuponmybedlastweek.I
justassumedIhadamakeupfairy.”Shepaused.“Honestly,IthoughtitmightbefromSloane.”

“Ihaven’tstolenmakeupinmonths.”Sloane’seyeswerewide.Mystomachlurched.
TherewasachancethattheUNSUBknewabouttheprogram.
Theonlypeoplewhowouldhavebeenabletoreconstructmymother ’scrimescenesoexactly,the

onlypeoplewhowouldhaveknownaboutthebloodonthelightswitch,werepeoplewhohadaccess
tothecrime-scenephotos.

Andsomeonehadleftatubeofmymother ’sfavoritelipstickonLia’sbed.
Insideourhouse.

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CHAPTER34

“Cassie?”Liawasthefirstonetobreakthesilence.“Areyouokay?Youlook…notgood.”

IwasgoingtogooutonalimbandguessthatwasaboutasdiplomaticasLiagot.
“IneedtocallAgentBriggs,”Isaid,andthenIpaused.“Idon’thavehisnumber.”
Deanfishedhisphoneoutofhispocket.“Thereareonlyfournumbersinmycontacts,”hesaid.

“Briggsisoneofthem.”

TheotherthreewereLocke,Lia,andJudd.Myhandsshaking,IdialedAgentBriggs.
Noanswer.
IcalledLocke.
Pleaseanswer.Pleaseanswer.Please,pleaseanswer.
“Dean?”
LikeAgentBriggs,Lockedidn’tbotherwithhello.
“No,”Isaid.“It’sme.”
“Cassie?Iseverythingokay?”
“No,”Isaid.“Itisn’t.”
“Areyoualone?”
“No.”
Lockemusthaveheardsomethinginmyvoice,becausesheflippedintoagentmodeinaheartbeat.

“Canyoutalkopenly?”

Iheardstepsinthehallway.AgentStarmansopenedthedoorwithoutknocking,glaredpointedlyat

Lia,thenresumedstandingguard,rightoutsidethedoor.

“Cassie,”Lockesaidsharply.“Canyoutalk?”
“Idon’tknow.”
Ididn’tknowanythingexceptforthefactthattherewasaveryrealpossibilitythatthekillerhad

beeninsideourhouse—forallIknew,thekillercouldbeinsidethehousenow.IftheUNSUBhad
accesstoFBIfiles,ifhehadaccesstous

“Cassie,Ineedyoutolistentome.Hangupthephone.Tellwhoever ’saroundyouthatI’minthe

middleofsomethingandI’llstopbythehouseassoonasI’mdone.Thentakethephone,gotothe
bathroom,andcallmeback.”

Ididwhatshetoldmetodo.Ihungupthephone.Irepeatedherwordstotherestoftheroom—and

toAgentStarmans,whowasstandingrightoutside.

“Whatdidshesay?”Liaasked,hereyeslockedontomyface,readytocallmeoutthesecondalie

passedmylips.

“Shesaid,‘I’minthemiddleofsomething,andI’llstopbythehouseassoonasI’mdone.’”
Technically,AgentLockehadsaidthoseexactwords.Iwasn’tlying—andI’djusthavetotakethe

chancethatLiawouldn’tpickupanycuesthatIwaswithholdingachunkofthetruth.

“Areyouokay?”Deanasked.
“I’mgoingtothebathroom,”Isaid,hopingthey’dreadthatasmenotwantingtoadmitthatI

wasn’tokay.IwalkedoutoftheroomwithouteverlookingMichaelintheeye.

ThesecondIclosedthebathroomdoorbehindme,Ilockedit.Iturnedonthesinkfaucet,andthen

IcalledAgentLockeback.

“I’malone,”Isaidsoftly,lettingthesoundofrunningwatermaskmywordsforeveryonebuther.
“Okay,”Lockesaid.“Now,takeadeepbreath.Staycalm.Andtellmewhat’swrong.”
Itoldher.Shecursedsoftlyunderherbreath.
“DidyoucallBriggs?”sheasked.

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“Itried,”Isaid.“He’snotpickinguphisphone.”
“Cassie,Ineedtotellyousomething,andIwantyoutopromisemethatyou’regoingtokeepit

together.BriggsisinameetingwithDirectorSterling.Wehavereasontobelievethattheremightbe
aleakinourunit.Untilwegetfirmevidencetothecontrary,wehavetoassumethatyourprotection
detailhasbeencompromised.Ineedyoutogetout:quietly,quickly,andwithoutdrawinganyone’s
attention.”

IthoughtaboutAgentStarmans,outinthehallway,andabouttheotheragentsdownstairs.I’dbeen

socaughtupinthecaseIhadn’tpaidattentiontothem.

Toanyofthem.
“I’llcallStarmansandtheothers,”Lockesaid.“Ishouldbeabletobuyyouafewminutes

unguarded.”

“Ihavetogetoutofhere,”Isaid.TheideathattheUNSUBmightbeoneofthepeoplewhowas

supposedtoprotectme—

“Youhavetocalmdown,”Lockesaid,hervoicefirm.“Youliveinahousefullofveryperceptive

people.Ifyoupanic,they’llknowit.”

Michael.ShewastalkingaboutMichael.
“Hedoesn’thaveanythingtodowiththis,”Isaid.
“Ineversaidhedid,”Lockereplied,“butI’veknownMichaelforlongerthanyouhave,Cassie,

andhe’sgotahistoryofdoingstupidthingsforgirls.Thelastthingweneedrightnowissomeone
playinghero.”

IthoughtofthewaythatMichaelhadslammedDeanintothewallwhenDeanhadcalledthekiller ’s

obsessionwithmeagame.IthoughtofMichaelinthepool,tellingmeaboutatimewhenhe’dlostit.

“Ihavetogo,”Isaid.ThefartherawayIwasfromMichael,thesaferhe’dbe.IfIleft,theUNSUB

wouldfollow.Wecouldflushthispsychopathout.“I’llcallyouonceI’mclear.”

“Cassie,ifyouhangupthisphoneanddosomethingstupid,”Lockesaid,channelingNonnaand

mymotherandAgentBriggsallatonce,“Iwillspendthenextfiveyearsofyourlifemakingsure
youdeeply,deeplyregretit.IwantyoutofindDean.Ifanyoneinthathouseknowshowtospota
killer,it’shim,andItrusthimtokeepyousafe.HeknowsthecombinationtothesafeinBriggs’s
study.TellhimIsaidtouseit.”

Ittookmeamomenttorealizethatthesafeinquestionmustbeagunsafe.
“GettoDeanandgetoutofthehouse,Cassie.Don’tletanyoneelseseeyouleave.I’llsendthe

coordinatesofourDCsafehouse.BriggsandIwillmeetyouthere.”

Inodded,knowingthatshecouldn’tseeme,butunabletoformintelligiblewords.
“Stay.Calm.”
Inoddedagainandfinallymanagedtosay,“Okay.”
“Youcandothis,”AgentLockesaid.“YouandDeanareanincredibleteam,andI’mnotgoingto

letanythinghappentoeitherofyou.”

Threesharprapsonthebathroomdoormademejump,butIforcedmyselftofollowLocke’s

primarydirectiveandstaycalm.Icoulddothis.Ihadtodothis.Hangingupthephone,Istuffeditinto
mybackpocket,turnedthefaucetoff,andglancedatthedoor.

“Whoisit?”
“It’sme.”
Michael.Icursedinside,becausetherewascalmandtherewascalm,andwithMichael’sknackfor

emotions,he’dknowinaheartbeatifIwasfaking.

Calm.Calm.Calm.
Icouldn’tbeangry.Icouldn’tbescared.Icouldn’tbepanickedorguiltyorshowanysignsthatI’d

justtalkedtoAgentLocke—notifIwantedtokeepMichaeloutofthis.Atthelastsecond,asIopened

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thedoor,IrealizedthatIwasn’tgoingtobeabletodoit.

Hewasgoingtorealizethatsomethingwaswrong—soIdidtheonlythingIcouldthinkoftodo.I

openedthedoor,andIlied.

“Look,”Isaid,allowingthebevyofemotionsI’dbeenholdingbacktoshowonmyface,allowing

himtoseehowtiredIwas,howoverwhelmed,howupset.“Ifthisisaboutthekiss,Ireallyjustcannot
dealwiththisrightnow.”Ipausedandletthosewordssinkin.“Ican’tdealwithyou.”

Isawitthesecondthewordshittheirmark,becauseMichael’sfacialexpressionutterlychanged.

Hedidn’tlookangryorsad—helookedlikehecouldn’thavecaredless.HelookedliketheboyI’d
metinthediner:layersuponlayers,maskuponmask.

Ibrushedpasthimbeforehecouldseethatithurtmetohurthim.Hittingthefinalnailinthe

coffin,Istalkeddownthehallway,knowinghewaswatchingme,andIwalkedrightuptoDean.

“Ineedyourhelp,”Isaid,myvoicelow.
Deanglancedovermyshoulder.IknewhewaslookingatMichael.IknewMichaelwasglaringat

him,butIdidn’tturnaround.

Icouldn’tletmyselfturnaround.
Deannodded,andasecondlater,Ifollowedhimuptothethirdfloor,tohisroom.TruetoAgent

Locke’swords,AgentStarmansreceivedaphonecallthatkepthimfromfollowing.

“Sorry—”Istartedtosay,butDeancutmeoff.
“Don’tapologize,”hesaid.“Justtellmewhatyouneed.”
Ithoughtofthewayhe’dlooked,walkinginonMichaelandme.“Lockewantsmeoutofthe

house,”Isaid.“Eitherthere’saleakintheFBIandtheUNSUBhasawayin,ortheUNSUBisalready
hereandwejustdon’tknowit.Lockesaidtotellyoutousethecombinationtothesafeinthestudy.”

Dean’sphonebuzzed.Anewtext.
“Thatwillbethelocationtothesafehouse,”Isaid.“Idon’tknowhowwe’resupposedtogetdown

tothestudyandoutofthehousewithoutanyoneseeingus,but—”

“Ido.”Deankeptthingssimple:nomorewordsthanabsolutelynecessary.“There’saback

staircase.Theyblockeditoffyearsago:toounsteady.NobodybutJuddevenknowsit’sthere.Ifwe
cangetdowntothebasement,Iknowawayout.Here.”Hethrewmeasweatshirtoffhisbed.“Putthis
on.You’refreezing.”

Itwasthemiddleofsummer.InVirginia.Ishouldn’thavebeenfreezing,butmybodywasdoing

itsbesttogointoshock.IslippedthesweatshirtonasDeanusheredmedownthebackstaircaseand
intothestudy.Ikeptwatchatthedoorashekneltnexttothesafe.

“Doyouknowhowtoshoot?”heaskedme.
Ishookmyhead.Thatparticularskillhadn’tbeenpartofmymother ’straining.Maybeifithad

been,she’dhavestillbeenalive.

Deanloadedoneofthegunsandtuckeditintothewaistbandofhisjeans.Helefttheotherone

whereitwasandshutthesafe.Twominuteslater,we’dmadeittothebasement,andaminuteafter
that,wewereonourwaytothesafehouse.

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YOU

Youweren’tsupposedtomakemistakes.Theplanwassupposedtobeperfect.Andforafewhours,it
was
.

Butyoumesseditup.Youalwaysmesseverythingup—andthereHisvoiceisagaininyourhead,

andyou’rethirteenyearsoldandcoweringinthecorner,wonderingifitwillbefistsorhisbeltora
pokerfromthefire.

Andtheworstthingis,you’realone.Surroundedbypeopleorthrowingyourhandsuptoprotect

yourface,itdoesn’tmatter.You’realwaysalone.

That’swhyyoucan’tmessthisup.That’swhyithastobeperfectfromhereonout.That’swhyyou

havetobeperfect.

Youcan’tloseCassie.Youwon’t.
You’llloveher,oryou’llkillher,buteitherway,she’sgoingtobeyours.

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CHAPTER35

Thesafehouselookedlikeanyotherhouse.Deanwentinfirst.Hepulledhisgunandhelditexpertly
infrontofhisbodyasheclearedthefoyer,thelivingroom,thekitchen.Istayedclosebehindhim.
We’dmadeourwaybacktothefoyerwhentheknobonthefrontdoorbegantoturn.

Deansteppedforward,pushingmefurtherback.Heheldthegunoutsteadily.Iwaited,prayingthat

itwasBriggsandLockeontheothersideofthedoor.Thehingescreaked.Thedoorslowlyopened.

“Michael?”
Deanloweredhisweapon.Forasplitsecond,Ifeltaburstofrelief,warmandsure,radiatingout

fromthecenterofmybody.Iexpelledthebreathcaughtinmythroat.Myheartstartedtobeatagain.

AndthenIsawtheguninMichael’shand.
“Whatareyoudoinghere?”Iasked.Lookingathim,atthegun,Ifeltlikethestupidgirlinthe

horrormovie,theonewhocouldn’tseewhatwasrightinfrontofherface.Theonewhowentto
checkontheradiatorinthebasementwhentherewasamaskedmurdererontheloose.

Michaelwashere.
Michaelhadagun.
TheUNSUBhadasourceontheinside.
No.
“Whydoyouhaveagun?”Iaskeddumbly.Icouldn’tkeepfromtakingasteptowardMichael,

eventhoughIcouldn’tquitereadthelookonhisface.

Infrontofme,Deanraisedhisrightarm,guninhand.“Putitdown,Townsend.”
Michaelwasgoingtoputdownthegun.ThatwaswhatItoldmyself.Hewasgoingtoputdownthe

gun,andthiswasallgoingtobesomekindofmistake.I’dseenMichaelonthevergeofviolence.
He’dtoldmehimselfthatthepotentialforlosingitwasinhim,butIknewMichael.Hewasn’t
dangerous.Hewasn’takiller.TheboyIknewwasn’tjustamaskwornbysomeonewhoknewhowto
manipulateemotionsaswellashecouldreadthem.

ThiswasMichael.HecalledmeColorado,andhereadJaneAusten,andIcouldstillfeelhislips

onmine.Hewasgoingtoputdownthegun.

Buthedidn’t.Instead,helifteditup,trainingtheweapononDean.
Thetwoofthemstaredateachother.Sweattrickleddownthebackofmyneck.Itookastep

forward,thenanotherone.Icouldn’tstayinthebackground.

MichaelhadaguntrainedonDean.
DeanhadaguntrainedonMichael.
“I’mwarningyou,Michael.Putitdown.”Deansoundedcalm.Absolutely,utterlycalminaway

thatmademystomachchurn,becauseIknewsuddenlythathecouldpullthetrigger.Hewouldn’t
second-guesshimself.Hewouldn’thesitate.

IfhethoughtIwasindanger,hewouldputabulletinMichael’shead.
“Youputitdown,”Michaelreplied.“Cassie—”
IcutMichaeloff.Icouldn’tlistentoawordeitherofthemhadtosay,notwhenwewereahair ’s

breadthawayfromdisaster.“Putitdown,Michael,”Isaid.“Please.”

Michael’sgazewavered.Forthefirsttime,helookedfromDeantome,andIsawitthemomenthe

realizedthatIwasn’tafraidofDean.ThatIwasafraidofhim.

“Youweregone.Deanwasgone.OneofBriggs’sgunswasgone.”Michaeltookaraggedbreath.

Theguardedexpressionfellfromhisface,bitbybit,untilIwaslookingattheboyI’dkissed:
confusedandhurting,longingforme,terrifiedforme,breakable.“Iwouldneverhurtyou,Cassie.”

Somethingcameundoneinsideofme.ThiswasMichael—thesameMichaelhe’dalwaysbeen.

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Besideme,DeanrepeatedhiscommandforMichaeltolowerthegun.Michaelclosedhiseyes.He

loweredhisweapon,andthesecondhedid,thesoundofgunfiretorethroughtheair.

Oneshot.Twoshots.
Myearsringing,myguttwisting,bilerisinginmythroat,Itriedtofigureoutwhichgunhadgone

off.Michael’shandwasbyhisside.HismouthopenedinatinyO,andIwatchedwithhorrorasred
blossomedacrosshispaleblueshirt.He’dbeenhit.Twice.Onceintheshoulder.Onceintheleg.His
eyesrolledbackinhishead.Thegundroppedfromhisfingertips.

Hefell.
IturnedtoseeDeanwiththegunstillinhishand.Hewasaimingatme.
No.Nonononononono.
AndthatwaswhenIheardavoicebehindmeandrealizedthatDeanwasn’ttheoneholdingthegun

thathadgoneoff.Hewasn’taimingatme.Hewasaimingatthepersonstandingbehindme.Theone
who’dshotMichael.

HewasaimingatSpecialAgentLaceyLocke.

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PARTFOUR:SEEING

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YOU

You’vewaitedforthismoment.Waitedforhertolookatyouandsee.Evennow,confusioniswarring
withdisbeliefonherface.Shedoesn’tunderstandwhyyoushotMichael.Shedoesn’tunderstandwho
youareorwhatsheistoyou.

ButDeandoes.Youseetheexactmomentthateverythingfallsintoplacefortheboyyoutrained.

Thelessonsyoutaughtthem,thelittlehintsyoudroppedalongtheway.ThewayyouarewithCassie,
groomingherinyourownimage.Theresemblancebetweenthetwoofyou.

Yourhairisred,too.
Deanaimshisgunatyou,butyou’renotfrightened.You’veseeninsidethisboy’shead.Youknow

exactlywhattosay,exactlyhowtoplayhim.You’retheonewhotoldhimtobringthegun.You’rethe
onewhomadesurethatnooneknewthatheandCassiewereleavingthehouse.You’retheonewho
broughtthemhere.

It’sallpartoftheplan—andDeanisjustonemorebody,onemorethingstandingbetweenyouand

yourheart’sdesire.

Cassie.Lorelai’sdaughter.
Youtoldhernottodoanythingstupid.SheandDeanweresupposedtocomealone.
You’regoingtohavetopunishherforthat.

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CHAPTER36

AgentLockewasholdingagun.She’dshotMichael—she’dshothim—andnowhewasonthe
ground,bloodpoolingaroundhisbody,hisinsidesleakingout.Thiswasamistake—ithadtobea
mistake.She’dseenthathewasholdingaweaponandshe’dreacted.ShewasanFBIagent,andshe
wantedtoprotectme.Thatwasherjob.

“Cassie.”Dean’svoicewaslowandfullofwarning.Thesetofhisfeaturesmadehimlooklikea

predator,asoldier,amachine.“Stayback.”

“No,”AgentLockesaid,movingforward,smilingasbrightlyasever.“Don’tstayback.Don’t

listentohim,Cassie.”

Deantrackedhermovementwiththegun.Hisfingerboredownonthetrigger.
“Areyouakiller,Dean?”AgentLockeasked,hereyeswideandearnest.“Wealwayswondered.

DirectorSterlingwashesitanttofundtheprogram,becauseheknowswhereyoucamefrom.What
youcamefrom.Isitreallyfairofustoteachyoueverythingthereistoknowaboutkillers?Toforce
youtoliveinahousewheretheirpictureslinethewallsandeverythingyouseeanddoisgeared
towardthatonething?Givenyourbackground,howlongcoulditpossiblybeuntilyousnap?”

AgentLockewasclosertohimnow.“It’swhatyouthinkabout.It’syourgreatestfear.Howlong,”

AgentLockedrawled,“untilyou’rejust…like…Daddy?”

Armssteady,eyeshard,Deanpulledthetrigger,buthewastoolate.Shewasonhim.Sheknocked

theguntotheside,andwhenitwentoff,thebulletflewastray,soclosetomyfacethatIcouldfeelthe
heatofitagainstmyskin.Deanturnedhisheadtolookatme,tomakesurethatIwasokay.Itcosthim
afractionofasecond,buteventhatwastoomuch.

AgentLockehithimwiththebuttofhergun,andhewentdown,hisbodylimp,hiscrumpledform

lyingthreefeetawayfromMichael’s.

“Finally,”AgentLockesaid,turningaroundtofaceme,“it’sjustusgirls.”
Itookastepforward,towardMichael,towardDean,butAgentLockewavedhergunatme.“Nuh-

uh-uh,”shesaid,makingatskingsoundunderherbreath.“Youstayrightthere.We’regoingtohave
tohavealittletalkaboutfollowingorders.Itoldyounottodoanythingstupid.LettingMichaeltrail
youherewasstupid.Itwassloppy.”

Onesecondshewasstandingthere,lookingexactlylikethewomanIknew,fulloflife,aforceof

naturewhowasverygoodatgettingherownway,andthenextshewasontopofme.Isawablurof
silverandheardtheimpactofhergunwithmycheekbone.

Painexplodedinmyfaceasecondlater.Iwasonthefloor.Icouldtastebloodinmymouth.
“Standup.”Hervoicewasbrisk,buttherewasanedgetoitI’dneverheardbefore.“Standup.”
Iclamberedtomyfeet.Shetookherlefthandandplacedherfingersundermychin.Sheangled

myfaceupward.Therewasbloodonmylips.Icouldfeelmyeyeswellingshut,andeventheslight
movementofmyheadsentstarsintomyeyes.

“Itoldyounottodoanythingstupid.ItoldyouI’dmakeyouregretitifyoudid.”Herfingernails

dugintotheskinundermychin,andIthoughtaboutthevictims’photos,thewayshe’dpeeledtheskin
fromtheirfaces.

Theknife.
“Don’tdoanythingelsethatI’llbeforcedtomakeyouregret,”shesaidcoldly.“You’llonlybe

hurtingyourself.”

Ilookedintohereyes,andIwonderedhowIcouldhavemissedthis,howIcouldhavespentall

day,everydaywithherforweekswithoutrealizingthattherewassomethingwrongwithher.

“Why?”Ishouldhavekeptmymouthshut.Ishouldhavebeenlookingforawayout,butthere

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wasn’tone,andIneededtoknow.

LockeignoredmyquestionandglancedatMichael.“It’sapity,”shesaid.“I’dhopedtosparehim.

Hehasaveryvaluablegift,andhecertainlytookashinetoyou.Theyalldid.”

Withnowarningwhatsoever,shehitmeagain.Thistime,shecaughtmebeforeIfell.
“You’rejustlikeyourmother,”shesaid.Andthenshetightenedhergriponmyarm,forcingmeto

standstraight.“Don’tbeweak.You’rebetterthanthat.We’rebetterthanthat,andIwon’thaveyou
snivelingonthefloorlikesomecommonwhore.Doyouunderstandme?”

Iunderstoodthatthewordsshewassayingwerethingsthatsomeonehadprobablyoncesaidto

her.IunderstoodthatifIaskedherhowsheknewmymother,she’dhitmeagainandagain.

IunderstoodthatImightnotgetbackup.
“IexpectananswerwhenItalktoyou,Cassie.Youweren’traisedinabarn.”
“Iunderstand,”Isaid,filingawayherchoiceofwords,thealmostmaternalundertonetoher

words.I’dassumedthattheUNSUBwasmale.I’dassumedthatwhentheUNSUBkilledfemales,there
mightbesomekindofunderlyingsexualmotivation.ButAgentLockewastheonewho’dtaughtme
thatwhenyouchangedoneassumption,youchangedeverything.

You’llalwaysbewrongaboutsomething.You’llalwaysmisssomething.WhatiftheUNSUBisolder

thanyouthought?Whatifheisashe?

She’dpracticallytoldmethatshewastheUNSUB,andithadgonerightovermyhead,becauseI’d

trustedher,becauseiftheUNSUB’smotivationwasn’tsexual,ifhewasn’tkillinghiswifeorhis
motheroragirlwhoturnedhimdown,overandoveragain,ifhewasashe

“Okay,kiddo,let’sgetthisshowontheroad.”Lockesoundedsomuchlikeherself,sonormal,that

itwashardtoremembershewasholdingagun.“I’vegotapresentforyou.I’mgoingtogogetit.If
youmovewhileI’mgone,ifyousomuchasblink,I’llputabulletinyourknee,beatyouwithinan
inchofyourlife,andputamatchingbulletinloverboy’shead.”

ShegesturedtowardDean.Hewasunconscious,butalive.AndMichael…
Icouldn’tevenlookatMichael’sbody,lyingproneonthefloor.
“Iwon’tmove.”
Shewasonlygoneforseconds.ItookasinglesteptowardMichael’sabandonedgunandfroze,

becauseIknewourcaptorwastellingthetruth.She’dkillDean.She’dhurtme.

Evenamoment’shesitationwastoolong,andaninstantlater,Lockewasback—andshewasn’t

alone.

“Pleasedon’thurtme.Please.Mydadhasmoney.He’llgiveyouwhateveryouwant,justplease

don’t—”

IttookmeamomenttorecognizeGenevieveRidgerton.Therewereuglycutsonherneckand

shoulders.Herfacewasswollenbeyondrecognition,andtherewasbloodcrustedonherscalp.The
skinaroundhermouthwaspink,likesomeonehadjustrippedoffastripoftape.Shemadeamewling
sound,halfwaybetweenagargleofwaterandamoan.

“Itoldyouonce,”AgentLockesaidtome,knifeinhandandawidesmilegrowingonherface,

“thatIwasonlyeveraNaturalatonething.”

Istruggledtoremembertheexchange,oneofthefirstthingsshe’deversaidtome,amischievous

gleaminhereyes.I’dassumedshewasreferringtosex—butthehelpless,hopelessexpressionin
Genevieve’seyesleftverylittledoubtwhatLocke’sso-calledgiftwas.

Torture.
Mutilation.
Death.
SheconsideredherselfaNaturalkiller,andshewaswaitingformetosaysomething.Waitingfor

metocomplimentherwork.

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Youknewmymother.Youhitme,youhurtme,youtoldmeitwasmyfault.Youwerealmostcertainly

abusedasachild.Youcalledmekiddo.I’mnotlikeyourothervictims.Yousentmepresents.You
groomedme
.

“Thefirstdaywemet,”Isaid,hopingtheexpressiononmyfacelookedearnestenough,innocent

enoughtopleaseher,“whenyousaidyouwereaNaturalatonlyonething,youalsosaidthatyou
couldn’ttellmeaboutituntilIwastwenty-one.”

LockelookedgenuinelypleasedthatIremembered.“ThatwasbeforeIknewyou,”shesaid.

“BeforeIrealizedhowverylikemeyouwere.IknewyouwereLorelai’sdaughter.OfcourseIknew
—Iwastheonewhoflaggedyouinthesystem.Ispoon-fedyoutoBriggs.Ibroughtyouhere,
becauseyouwereLorelai’s,butonceIstartedworkingwithyou…”Hereyeswerealightwitha
strangeglow,likeablushingbride’sorapregnantlady’s,brimmingwithhappinessfromtheinside
out.“Youweremine,Cassie.Youbelongedwithme.IthoughtIcouldwaituntilyouwereolder,until
youwereready,butyou’rereadynow.”

ShepushedGenevieveroughlydowntoherknees.Thegirlcollapsed,herbodyshaking,thetaste

ofherterrorpotentintheair.LockesawmelookingatGenevieve,andshesmiled.

“Igotherforyou.”
Gunstillinherrighthand,Lockeheldherknifeouttomewithherleft,hiltfirst.Thelookinher

eyeswashopeful,vulnerable,hungry.

Youwantsomethingfromme.
Lockedidn’twanttokillme—ormaybeshedid,butshewantedthismore.Shewantedmetotake

theknife.ShewantedmetoslitGenevieve’sthroat.Shewantedmetobeherprotégéinmoreways
thanone.

“Taketheknife.”
Itooktheknife.Ieyedthegun,stillinherhands,trainedonmyforehead.
“Isthatreallynecessary?”Iasked,tryingtoactasthoughthethoughtofturningthisknifeagainst

thesobbinggirlonthefloordidn’tmakemewanttothrowup.“IfI’mgoingtodothis,Iwantittobe
mine.”

Iwasspeakingherlanguage,tellingherwhatshewantedtohear:thatIwaslikeher,thatwewere

thesame,thatIunderstoodthatthiswasaboutangerandcontrolandhavingthepowertodecidewho
livedandwhodied.Slowly,Lockeloweredthegun,butshedidn’tputitdown.Imeasuredthedistance
betweenus,wonderingifIcouldsinktheknifeintoherbeforeshecouldgetashotoffatme.

ShewasstrongerthanIwas.Shewasbettertrained.Shewasakiller.
Stallingfortime,IkneltnexttoGenevieve.Ibentdown,bringingmylipstoherear,lettingthe

expressiononmyfacetakeonahintofthemadnessIsawinLocke’s.Then,myvoicesolowthat
onlyGenevievecouldhearme,Iwhisperedtothegirl,“I’mnotgoingtohurtyou.I’mgoingtoget
yououtofhere.”

Genevievelookedup,herbodystillcrumpledintoaballonthefloor.Shereachedoutandgrabbed

mebythefrontofmyshirt.

“Killme,”shepleaded,thewordsescapingcrackedandbleedinglips.“Youkillme,beforeshe

does.”

Ikneltthere,frozen,andLockelostit.Shemorphedfromateacherobservingherstarpupilinto

anangry,animalcreature.ShepouncedonGenevieve,turningthegirlonherback,pinninghertothe
floor,herhandsencirclingherneck.

“Youdon’ttouchCassie,”shesaid,hervoicerisingtoayell,herfacesoclosetoGenevieve’sthat

theyoungergirlhadnowheretogo.“You.Don’t.Get.To.Decide.”

Mybrainwhirred.IhadtogetheroffGenevieve.Ihadtostopher.Ihadto—
OnesecondLockewasonGenevieve,andthenextsherippedtheknifeoutofmyhand.

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“Youcan’tdoit,”shespatatme.“Youcan’tdoanythingright.”
Genevieveopenedhermouth.Lockeplungedtheknifeintoherside.I’dpromisedtoprotect

Genevieve,andnow…

Now,therewasblood.

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CHAPTER37

Lockestoodup.ShekickedGenevieve’sbodytotheside,likethegirlwasalreadydead,eventhough
thegasping,whimperingsoundsthedyinggirlmadetoldmeshewasnot.Locke’sgunwasonthe
floor,forgotten,butthewayshewasholdingtheknifeasshesteppedtowardmetoldmethatIwasn’t
anysaferthanI’dbeenamomentbefore.

Shewasgoingtocutme.
Shewasgoingtoslicemeopen.
Shewasgoingtokillme.
“You’realiar,”shesaid.“Youcouldn’tdoit.Doyouevenwantto?Doyou?”
Shewasscreamingnow.Itookastepbackward.Iopenedmymouthtotellherwhatshewantedto

hear,totellherthatIdidwantit,tostallfortime,butshenevergavemethechance.Lookingatme
overtheblade,shetookanotherstepforward.

“Youweresupposedtokillher,”shesaid.“Igotherforyou.”
“I’msorry—”
“‘Sorry’neverdidanything!Lorelaiwassorry.Shewassorry,butshehadtogo,andsheleftme

therealone.”Locke’svoicebroke,butthefurywasstillclearineveryword.“Youweresupposedto
killthegirl.Itwassupposedtobeus,Cassie.You.Andme.Butyouleft!”

Shewasn’ttalkingtomeanymore.Shedidn’tseemewhenherwildeyeslandedonmine.The

bladeinherhandgleamed.Theblooddrippedontothefloor.Ihadtwoseconds,maybethree.

“Whatdoyoumean,Ileft?”Iasked,hopingmywordswouldbreakthroughthefoginherbrain,

bringherbacktothehereandnow.“Leftwhere?”

Lockestopped.Shehesitated.Shelookedatme.Shesawme.Shegotaholdofherself,andwithher

voicestillfullofvenom,sheadvanced.“Lorelaileft.Shewaseighteen,andIwastwelve.Shewas
supposedtoprotectme.Shewassupposedtowatchoutforme.Atnight,whenDaddywentawayand
themonstercameouttoplay,shemadehimangry.Shemadehimangryonpurposesohe’dhither
insteadofme.Shesaidshewouldn’tletanythinghappentome.”Lockepaused.“Shelied.”

We’dknownthattheUNSUBwasfixatedonmymother.Wejusthadn’tknownwhy.
“Shewasmysister,andshejustleftmethere.SheknewwhathewaslikeafterMamaleft.Sheknew

whathewoulddotomeonceshewasgone,andsheleftanyway.Becauseofyou.BecauseDaddywas
right,andLorelaiwasalittlewhore.Shedidallthewrongthings,andwhenIfoundoutshewas
pregnantwiththatairforceboy’sbaby…”Lockewascompletelycaughtupinthememory.Ieyed
hergunonthefloor,wonderingifIcouldreachitintime.“IthoughtthatDaddywouldkillherifhe
knew.Iwasn’tevensupposedtoknow,butIfoundout,andhefoundout,andhewasn’tevenangry!
Hedidn’tslitherthroat,didn’tcarveupherprettylittlefaceuntiltheboysdidn’twantheranymore.
Shewaspregnant,andhewashappy.

“Andthensheleft.Inthemiddleofthenight.Shewokemeup,andshekissedme,andshetoldme

shewasleaving.Shetoldmeshewasn’tevercomingback,thatshewouldn’traiseababyinthis
house,thatourdaddywouldn’teverlayafingeronyou.”Locke’sknuckles—myaunt’sknuckles—
tightenedaroundthebaseoftheblade.Herhandshook.“Ibeggedhertotakemewithher,butshesaid
shecouldn’t.Thathe’dcomeafterus.Thatshedidn’thaveanylegalrighttotakeme.Thatitwouldbe
toohard.Sheleftmetheretorot,andonceshewasgone,theonlypersonleftforhimtopunishwas
me.”

Don’tdoanythingelsethatI’llbeforcedtomakeyouregret.
You’llonlybehurtingyourself.
Iwon’thaveyousnivelingonthefloorlikeacommonwhore.

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Mymotherhadnevertalkedaboutherfamily.She’dnevermentionedanabusivefatheroran

absentmother.She’dnevermentionedalittlesister,butnowIcouldseetheirfamilyunit:thebruises
andtheweltsandtheterror,theDaddy-monster,thelittlesisterthatshecouldn’tsave,andthebaby
thatshecould.

“WhenpeopleaskmewhyIdowhatIdo,”thewomanwhowasthatbabysistersaid,“Itellthem

thatIwentintotheFBIbecausealovedonewasmurdered.I’dfinallygottenoutofthathouse.Iwent
tocollege,andIspentyearslookingformybigsister.Atfirst,Ijustwantedtofindher.Ijustwanted
tobewithher—andwithyou.Ifshe’dtakenmewithyou,Icouldhavehelped!Youwouldhaveloved
me.Iwouldhavelovedyou.”Locke’svoicegotverysoft,andIrealizedthatthiswasascenarioshe’d
playedoutinherhead,growingupinthathellhole.She’dthoughtaboutmymom,andshe’dthought
aboutmebeforesheevermetme,beforesheeverknewmyname.

“Sheshouldn’thaveleftyouthere.”Ibravedsayingthewordsbecausetheyfelttrue.Lockewas

justakidwhenmymotherleft,andmymomhadneverevenlookedback.She’draisedmeonthe
road,movingfromcitytocity,neverlettingitslipthatshehadafamilyoutthere,justlikeshe’d
nevermentionedmydad.

Mywholelife,we’dbeenrunningfromsomething,andIdidn’tevenknowit.
“Shenevershouldhaveleftmethere,”Lockerepeated.“Eventually,Istoppeddreamingabout

findingherandbeingafamilyagain,andIstarteddreamingaboutfindingherandhurtingher,the
wayDaddyhurtme.Makingherpayforleavingmethere.Peelingherfaceoffuntilnoonethought
shewastheprettyone,untiljustlookingathermadeyouscream.”

Thedressingroom.Theblood.Thesmell
“ButbythetimeIfoundher—bythetimeIfoundyou—itwastoolate.Shewasalreadydead.She

wasgone,anditwasn’tfair.Iwassupposedtokillher.Iwassupposedtobetheone.”

Myaunthadn’tkilledmymother—becausesomeoneelsehadgottentherefirst.
“WhenIfoundoutthatshewasdead,andyouweregone,whenIfoundoutthatthey’dsentyouto

livewithyourfather’sfamily—Iwasyourfamily,too!Ithoughtabouttakingyou.Ievenwentto
Colorado,butwhenIgotthere,therewasthisjunkieatmymotel.Shewascheapandlooseanddirty,
andherhairwastheexactrightshadeofred.Ikilledher,andIsaid,‘Howdoyoulikethat,Lore?’I
carvedherupuntilIcouldimagineLorelai’sfaceunderneath,andGod,itfeltgood.”Shepaused.“It
wasthesweetest,youknow.Thefirsttime.Italwaysis.Andafterthefirsttime,youalwaysneed
more.”

“IsthatwhyyoujoinedtheFBI?”Iasked.“Lotsoftravel,easyaccess,theperfectcover?”
AgentLocketookasteptowardme.Everymuscleinherbodywastaut.Foramoment,Ithought

thatshewouldhitme—againandagainandagain.

“No,”shesaid.“That’snotwhyIjoined.”
WhenpeopleaskmewhyIdowhatIdo,ItellthemthatIwentintotheFBIbecausealovedonewas

murdered.

Locke’swordscamebacktomethen,andIrealizedthatshe’dbeentellingthetruth.
“YoujoinedtheFBIbecauseyouwantedtofindmymother ’skiller.”
Notbecauseshewasupsetthatmymomwasdead.Becauseshe’dwantedtobetheonetokillher.
“Ichangedmyname.Istudied.Iplanned.Ipassedthepsychexamswithflyingcolors.Evenonce

BriggsandIstartedworkingtogetherandhebroughtmeinontheNaturalsprogram,noonereally
sawme.TheyonlysawwhatIwantedthemtosee.Lianevercaughtmeinalie.Michaelneversawa
hintofunsavoryemotion.AndDean—Iwaslikefamilytohim.”

HearingDean’snamemademyeyesdartovertohisbody.Hestillwasn’tmoving—butMichael

was.Hiseyeswereopen.Hewasbleeding.Hecouldn’twalk,hecouldn’tevencrawl,buthewas
pullinghimselfslowlyacrossthefloor—tohisgun.

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Lockemovedtofollowmygaze,butIstoppedher.
“Itisn’tthesame,”Isaid,myvoicedecisiveandcalm.
“Whatisn’t?”Locke—no,hernamewasn’treallyLocke,notifshewasmymother ’ssister—said.
Ihadlessthanasecondtothinkofananswer,butgrowingupthedaughterofawomanwhomade

herlivingbypretendingtobepsychichadn’tjusttaughtmetheBPEs.Forbetterorworse,I’dlearned
toputonashow,soIsaidtheonethingIcouldthinkofthatwouldkeepLaceyHobbes’sattention
focusedsolelyand100percentonme.

“Youtriedtorestagemymother ’smurder,butyougotitwrong.Whatyou’redoingtothese

womenisn’tthesameaswhatIdidtomymother.”

Thewomaninfrontofmehadwantedtokillmymother,butshe’dalsodesperatelywantedher

acceptance.She’dwantedtobeapartofafamily,andshe’dbroughtmeheretonightwithsome
twistedhopethatIcouldbethatforher.She’denjoyedbeingmymentor.Shewantedmetobelikeher.

NowmyjobwastoconvinceherthatIwas.
“Mymotherdidn’tprotectyou,”Isaid,mirroringtherageanddesperationandhurtIsawonher

face.“Shedidn’tprotectme,either.Thereweremen.Shedidn’tlovethem.Shedidn’tstaywiththem.
Shedidn’tsayawordwhentheytooktheirfrustrationsoutonme.Shewasweak.Shewasawhore.
Shehurtme.”

LiawouldhaveknownIwaslying,butthewomaninfrontofmewasn’tLia.Ismiled,lettingthe

expressionspreadslowlyacrossmyface,keepingmyeyesonmyaunt,neverlooking,evenfora
second,atMichael.

“SoIhurther.”
Myauntstaredatme,herfacestilltwistedindisbelief,buthereyeswistfulwithlonging.
“Shewasgettingready.Puttingonherlipstick.Pretendingshewassoperfectandsospecial,that

shewasn’tamonster.Isaidhername.Sheturnedaround,andItookmyknife.Iplungeditintoher
stomach.Shesaidmyname.Thatwasit.Just‘Cassie.’SoIstabbedheragain.Andagain.Shefought.
Shekickedandshescreamed,butthistime,Iwastheonewiththepower.Iwastheonedoingthe
hurting,andshewastheonegettinghurt.Shefellonherstomach.IflippedheroversoIcouldseeher
face.Ididn’tdragtheknifeoverhercheekbones.Ididn’tcarveherup.Idippedmyfingersintoher
side.Imadeherscream.AndthenIpaintedherlipswithblood.”

Locke—no,Hobbes—Laceywascaptivated.Forasinglesecond,Ithoughtshemightbelieveme.

Herknifehandhunglooselybyherside.Herotherhandreachedintoherpocket.Shepulled
somethingout—Icouldn’tseewhat.Shefingereditforamoment—gingerly,carefully—andthenshe
crushedherfingersintoafist.

“Anexcellentperformance,”shesaid.“ButI’maprofiler,too.I’vebeendoingthisalotlonger

thanyouhave,Cassie,andyourmotherwasn’tkilledbyatwelve-year-oldgirl.You’renotakiller.
Youdon’thavewhatittakes.”Sheliftedtheknifeandstartedforward,thelonginginhereyesturning
tosomethingelse.

Bloodlust.
“You’renotgoingtogetawaywiththis,”Isaid,droppingtheactassheadvancedonme.“They’ll

knowitwasyou.They’llcatchyou—”

“No,”Lockecorrected.“I’llcatchDean.Youcalledmefromhisphone.Iwasworried,butwhenI

calledthehouse,youweren’tthere.Everyonewentintoanuproar.TheyfoundoutDeanwasmissing,
too,andthathe’dstolenBriggs’sguns.Itrackedyoudown.IfoundDeanherewithGenevieve.He
shotMichael.Hecarvedyouup.I’mtheheroicagentwhostoppedhim,whofiguredoutthattheDC
murdersweretheworkofacopycatwithaccesstooursystem,unrelatedtotheothermurders
altogether.Iwastoolatetosaveyou,butIdidmanagetokillDeanbeforehecouldkillme.Like
father,likeson.

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“Didyoureallythinkyoucouldwin?”sheasked.“Didyouthinkyoucouldfoolme?”
Behindher,Michaelhadtheguninhishand.Herolledontohisside.Heaimed.
“Ineverexpectedyoutobelieveme,”Isaid.“Ortoletmelive.Ijustneededyoutolisten.”
Hereyesmetmine.Theywidened.Agunshotwentoff.Thentwo,thenthree,four,five.Andmy

auntLaceyfelltothefloor,herbodysplayedoutnexttoGenevieve.

Dead.

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PARTFIVE:DECIDING

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CHAPTER38

Michaelwasinthehospitalfortwoweeks.Deanwasreleasedaftertwodays.Butevenoncewewere
backatthehouse,evenoncethecasewasclosed,noneofushadreallyrecovered.

GenevieveRidgertonhadsurvived—barely.She’drefusedtoseeanyofus—especiallyme.
Michaelhadmonthsofphysicalrehabilitationaheadofhim.Thedoctorssaidhemightneverwalk

withoutalimpagain.Deanhadbarelysaidawordtome.Sloanecouldn’ttalkaboutanythingother
thantheabsoluteunlikelihoodofaserialkillerbeingabletopassthepsychevalsandbackground
checknecessarytojointheFBI,evenunderanassumedname.AndIwasdealingwiththefactthat
LaceyLocke,néeHobbes,wasmyaunt.

Herstoryhadcheckedout.SheandmymotherwerebornandraisedoutsideofBatonRouge,

thoughbothhadshedtheiraccentsalongtheway.Theirfather,ClaytonHobbes,hadbeenconvicted
twiceofassaultandbattery—onceagainsthiswife,whoranoffwhenmymotherwasnineandLacey
wasthree.Thegirlshadattendedschooluntiltheagesoftenandsixteen,butthesystemhadlostthem
somewherealongtheway.

They’dgrownupinhell.Mymotherhadgottenout.Laceyhadn’t.
TheBureaucross-referencedLacey’smurderswithcasesthatBriggs’steamhadworked,andthey

discoveredatleastfivemorethatfitthepattern.Theagentswouldflyoutonacase;Laceywouldslip
away,andsomewhere,fortyorfiftymilesaway,someonewoulddisappear.Theywoulddie.Andifa
policereportwasfiled,itnevermadeitswaytotheFBI’sattention,becausethecrimedidn’tappearto
beserialinnature.

Thewomanwho’dcalledherselfLaceyLockehadpaidattentiontostatelines.She’dneverkilled

inthesamestatetwice—untilIjoinedtheNaturalsprogram.She’descalatedthen,committingaseries
ofmurdershereinDCasshebecameincreasinglyfixatedonme.

Atleastfourteenpeopleweredead,andasenator ’sdaughterhadbeenkidnappedandgravely

injured.ThecasewasanightmarefortheBureau—andanightmareforus.Theprohibitionagainst
Naturals’participationinactivecaseswasbackandstrongerthanever.DirectorSterlinghadmanaged
tokeepournamesoutofthenewsthistime.Asfarashewasconcerned,allanyoneneededtoknow
wasthatthekillerwasdead.

Myauntwasdead.
Justlikemymother.
TwoweeksafterMichaelhadpulledthetrigger,Icouldstillseethoselastmomentsplayingout,

overandoveragain.Isatbesidethepool,danglingmyfeetinthewaterandwonderingwhat
happenednext.

WheredidIgofromhere?
“Ifyou’regoingtoleavetheprogram,leave.ButforGod’ssake,Cassie,ifyou’regoingtostay,

stopmopingaroundlikeyourkittycathascancer,anddosomethingaboutit.”

IturnedtoseeLiastandingaboveme.Shewastheonepersonwhohadn’tchangedasaresultofall

ofthis.Inaway,itwasalmostcomfortingtoknowthatIcouldcountonhertostaythesame.

“Whatdoyouwantmetodo?”Iasked,pullingmyfeetoutofthepoolandstandingupsothatwe

wereeyetoeye.

“YoucanstartbygettingridofthatRoseRedlipstickIgaveyou,”Liasaid.Leaveittohertoknow

thatIstillhadit,thatI’dcarriedthetubeshe’dgivenmeeverywhereIwentsincediscoveringan
ancienttubeofRoseRed,worntoanub,inmyaunt’shandthenightshedied.Apparently,ithadbeen
mymother ’scolorofchoiceevenasagirl.Laceyhadkeptitalltheseyears.

Thatwaswhatshe’dcarriedinherpocket.

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Thatwaswhatshe’dheldasI’dspunmystoryaboutmymother ’sdeath.
TheFBIhadfoundadozenotherlipsticksinacabinetatherhouse.Keepsakesthatshetookfrom

eachvictim.Alittlesister,dyingtobelikebigsis,stealingherlipstickuntiltheend.

Shewastheonewho’dgiventhemakeuptoLia.She’dboughtafreshtubeofRoseRedjustfor

me,andLiahadplayedrightintoherhands.Nowthatitwasover,Ishouldhavethrownthelipstick
away,butIcouldn’tseemtobringmyselftodoit.Itwasareminder:ofthethingsmyaunthaddone,
ofwhatI’dsurvived,ofmymotherandthefactthatLaceyandIhadbothjoinedtheFBIinhopesof
findingherkiller.

Akillerwhowasstilloutthere.Akillerwhonotevenapsychotic,obsessiveFBIagenthadbeen

abletofind.Sincejoiningtheprogram,I’dgainedandlostamentorandseenmymother ’sonlyother
livingrelativeshotdead.I’dhelpedtakedownakillerwho’dbeenrecreatingmymother ’sdeathfor
years—butIwasstillnoclosertofindingthemonsterwho’dactuallykilledher.Imightneverget
answers.

Theymightneverfindherbody.
“Well?”Liahaddoneagoodimpressionofapatientperson,butclearly,hercapacityforwaiting

formetoreplyhadbeenstretchedtoitslimitandthensome.“Areyouinorareyouout?”

“I’mnotgoinganywhere,”Isaid.“I’minthis,butI’mkeepingthelipstick.”
“Rawrrrrr.”Liamadeascratchingmotion.“Somebody’sfinallygrowingclaws.”
“Yeah,”Isaiddryly.“Iloveyou,too.”
Iturnedaroundtowalkintothehouse,butLia’svoicestoppedmehalfwaythere.
“I’mnotsayingIlikeyou.I’mnotsayingI’mgoingtostopeatingyouricecreamorstealingyour

clothes,andI’mcertainlynotsayingthatIwon’tmakeyourlifealivingnightmareifyoujerkDean
around,butIwouldn’twantyoutoleave.”Liastrodepastme,thenturnedaroundandflashedmea
smile.“Youmakethingsinteresting.Andbesides,I’mkindofintotheideaofMichael’swarwounds,
andhavingmywaywithhimwillbethatmuchsweeterknowingyou’rerightdownthehall.”

Liaflouncedbackintothehouse.IthoughtofthescarsMichaelwouldhaveoncehe’dhealed,

thoughtofthekiss,thefactthathe’dalmostdiedforme—andthenIthoughtofDean.

Dean,whohadn’tforgivenhimselffornotbeingabletopullthetrigger.
Dean,whosefatherwasasmuchofamonsterasmyaunt.
Weeksago,Liahadtoldmethateverypersoninthishousewasfundamentallyscreweduptothe

depthsofourdarkandshadowysouls.Weallhadourcrossestobear.Wesawthingsthatotherpeople
didn’t—thingsthatpeopleourageshouldneverhavetosee.

Deanwouldneverjustbeaboy.He’dalwaysbetheserialkiller ’sson.Michaelwouldalwaysbe

thepersonwho’dputaroundofbulletsinmyaunt.Andpartofmewouldneverleavemymother ’s
blood-soakeddressingroom,justlikeanotherpartwouldalwaysbeatthesafehouse,withLaceyand
herknife.

Wewouldneverbelikeotherpeople.
“Idon’tknowwhatthebackdoordidtoyou,”anamusedvoicetoldme,“butI’msureit’sreally,

trulysorry.”

Michaelwassupposedtobeusingawheelchair,buthewasalreadytryingtomaneuveroncrutches

—animpossiblefeat,consideringabullethadalsobeenlodgedinhisshoulder.

“I’mnotglaringatthebackdoor,”Isaid.
Michaelraisedoneeyebrow,higherandhigheruntilIcaved.
“Fine,”Isaid.“Imighthavebeenglaringatthebackdoor.Idon’twanttotalkaboutit.”
“Likeyoudidn’twanttotalkaboutthatkiss?”Michael’svoicewaslight,butthiswasthefirsttime

eitherofushadbroughtupthatmomentinmybedroom.

“Michael—”

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“Don’t.”Hestoppedme.“IfIhadn’tbeensojealousofDean,Iwouldn’thaveboughtyourlittle

storyforasecond.Evenasitwas,Ididn’tbuyitformuchlongerthanthat.”

“Youcameafterme,”Isaid.
“I’llalwayscomeafteryou,”hesaid,wigglinghiseyebrowsinawaythatmadethewordsseem

likemoreofajokethanapromise.

Somethingtoldmeitwasboth.
“ButyouandReddinghavesomething.Idon’tknowwhatitis.Idon’tblameyouforit.”On

crutches,hecouldn’tleantowardme.Hecouldn’treachoutandbrushthehairoutofmyface.But
somethingaboutthecurveofhislipswasmoreintimatethananytouch.“Alothashappened.You
havealottofigureout.Icanbeapatientman,Colorado.Adevastatinglyhandsome,roguishly
scarred,heartbreakinglycourageous,patientman.”

Irolledmyeyes,butcouldn’tbitebackasmile.
“Sotakewhatevertimeyouneed.Figureouthowyoufeel.FigureoutifDeanmakesyoufeelthe

wayIdo,ifhe’lleverletyouin,andifyouwanthimto,becausethenexttimemylipstouchyours,
thenexttimeyourhandsareburiedinmyhair—theonlypersonyou’regoingtobethinkingaboutis
me.”

Istoodthere,lookingatMichaelandwonderinghowitwaspossiblethatIcouldinstinctively

understandotherpeople—theirpersonalities,theirbeliefs,theirdesires—butthatwhenitcameto
whatIwanted,Iwasjustlikeanyoneelse,muddledandconfusedandstumblingthrough.

Ididn’tknowwhatitmeantthatmyaunthadbeenakiller,orhowIfeltaboutthefactthatshewas

dead.

Ididn’tknowwhohadkilledmymother,orwhatlosingherandnevergettinganyclosurehad

donetome.Ididn’tknowifIwascapableofreallylettingsomeoneelsein.Ididn’tknowifIcould
fallinlove.

Ididn’tknowwhatIwantedorwhoIwantedtobewith.
Butstandingthere,lookingatMichael,theonethingIdidknow,thewayIalwaysknewthings

aboutotherpeople,wasthatsoonerorlater,asapartofthisprogram—apartofthisteam—Iwas
goingtofindout.

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ABOUTTHEAUTHOR

JenniferLynnBarnesistheauthorofadozennovelsforyoungadults.Shehasadvanceddegreesin
psychology,psychiatry,andcognitivescienceandrecentlycompletedherPh.D.atYaleUniversity.

Sheisnowaprofessorofpsychology.

Youcanfindheronlineat

www.jenniferlynnbarnes.com

and

www.jenniferlynnbarnes.tumblr.com

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What’snextforCassie?

Findoutinthesecondthrillinginstalmentof

www.jenniferlynnbarnes.com

Quercus

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

TheNaturalsmightbethemostchallengingandrewardingbookI’veeverwritten.I’mgratefulto
havehadtheopportunitytocombinemyloveofpsychologyandknowledgeofcognitivesciencewith
mypassionforYA,andIoweamajordebtofgratitudetothemanypeoplewhohelpmealongthe
way.

Majorthanksgotomyeditor,CatherineOnder,whosepassionforthisprojectandkeeneyehelped

memakethisabookIcouldn’thavewrittenonmyown.Myagent,ElizabethHarding,hasbeenwith
meeverystepofthewayforadozenbooksnow,andIfeelcontinuallyluckytohaveheronmyside.
MyUKagent,GingerClark,aswellaseveryoneatQuercusBooks,havebeensuchsupportersofthis
projectfromitsconception—I’msogratefultohavesuchtremendousteamsbehindthebookonboth
sidesofthepond.And,ofcourse,Iowehugethankyou’stoeveryoneatDisney-Hyperion,including
DinaSherman(for—amongotherthings—two-stepping!).Thanks,too,tomyfilmagent,Holly
Frederick,andtoLorenzoDeMaioforaskingquestionsthatmademegofurtherintothisworld.

Writingthisbookinvolvedalotofresearch.IoweparticulardebtstothememoirsofFBIprofiler

JohnDouglas,andtotheempiricalresearchofPaulEkman,MaureenO’Sullivan,SimonBaron-
Cohen,andmanyothers.

Asawriter—andaperson—I’vebeenblessedwithanincrediblesupportsystem,andI’venever

reliedonitasmuchformyownsanityasIdidinthewritingandeditingofthisbook.Abigthankyou
toAllyCarter,BFFextraordinaire,fortalkingmedownoffmanyacliffandforreadinganearlier
draftofthisbook.ThanksalsotoSarahCross,SarahReesBrennan,MelissaMarr,RachelVincent,
BOB,andsomanyothersfortheirfriendshipandsupportthroughtheupsanddownsofpublishing
andthecreativeprocess.

ThewritingandrevisingofthisbookspannedthelastyearofmyPhDandmyfirstyearasa

collegeprofessor.ThankyoutomycohortandadvisorsatYale,andtoeveryoneinthepsychology
departmentattheUniversityofOklahomaforbeingsowelcomingmyfirstyearasaprofessorthere
—andsosupportiveofmybooks!I’dalsoliketothankmyincrediblestudents,especiallythoseinmy
CognitiveScienceofFictionandWritingYoungAdultFictionclasseslastspring.Teachingyouhas
beensuchanincredibleexperience,andI’mabetterwriterforit!

Finally,thanks—asalways—gotomyincrediblefamily.Mom,Dad,Justin,Allison,andConnor,I

loveyoumorethanwordscansay.

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Forspecialoffers,

chaptersamplers,

competitions

andmore,

visit…

www.quercusbooks.co.uk

@quercuskids


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