C O M E   G E T   M E

(A Caitlin Dare FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1)

M o l l y   B l a c k

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

EPILOGUE

PROLOGUE

Frank Rafter couldn’t wait for tonight’s work to be over. The high wind was making everyone’s job dangerous. This weather brought more risk - as an experienced conductor who’d worked on trains for well over a decade, he knew it meant power lines blown down, fizzing and sparking across the lines. It meant fallen tree branches, dark and deadly, lying across the tracks with the potential for a derailment. It was his biggest nightmare to think of the train veering off the tracks that way, hundreds of tons of high-speed metal, with the force of all its motion behind it, plowing into chaos and destruction.

Only two more stops to go, he thought to his relief, as the train pulled into the station at the small town of Bridgeford, California. The doors hissed open, and a blast of frigid wind rushed in, making him shiver. Hearing a shout from the platform, his head turned sharply.

Frank had observed that wild weather had an effect on the passengers. They behaved differently. Some shut down, retreating into their shells. But for others, it was as if the wind brought out the worst in them, making their behavior as unpredictable and destructive as the elements.

There was trouble afoot tonight; he sensed it.

The group of young men in carriage three were a potential problem, and he'd been keeping an eye on the five teens ever since they boarded two stops ago. They were rowdy, and he suspected they’d been drinking, although they hadn’t brought any alcohol on board. He could hear their voices now, loud and derogatory as they laughed about something, or someone, that wasn't as cool as they were. There were only a few other passengers on board this late train. In that carriage, it was just the group. There had been a couple of others, who’d quickly gone elsewhere when those guys had boarded.

They were alone now, but he was worried they might go on the rampage and spill over into other carriages. He’d glimpsed, in one of the other carriages, a young woman on her own, asleep. He didn’t want them bothering her and knew from experience that a confrontation like that could get extremely unpleasant for a solo female passenger.

Frank knew that he - forty-four years old, average height, unassuming demeanor - wouldn't stand a chance of controlling them if they got seriously out of hand. He was fit and strong thanks to the physical demands of his job, but he couldn't control a group of five drunken youths that decided to go rogue.

He'd have to call in the railway police, he thought, and he was ready to do that. The only question was whether they'd get here in time, if things did start getting violent.

Now, he paced into carriage three, where the group was clustered.

They were sprawled over the seats, feet up, muddy shoes smearing the vinyl covers and the window glass, and one of them - a tall, gangly young man with a shock of dark hair and a scuffed leather jacket - had an unlit cigarette in his hand. He stared at Frank defiantly, with the lighter in the other.

"No smoking on board the train," Frank said sternly, pointing to the sign, waiting for the torrent of abuse that he knew his words would unleash, along with the sight of his uniform, a reminder of an authority this group was rebelling against.

"Hey Grampa, you think you can stop us?" the teen said, and Frank could read the signs of trouble in his stance.

"Rules are for everyone," Frank said, and he was relieved that his words were calm and measured.

"You gonna arrest us, old man? What do you think you are, a cop?" he sneered, as he got to his feet, muscles tensing.

"If you're going to light the cigarette, do it off the train," Frank insisted.

"Or what?" the man asked, grinning, and Frank felt his stomach twist. This was going to escalate.

But then, another of the young men pulled his friend's arm. "C'mon. Let's go."

With a deep feeling of relief, Frank realized this was their stop. They were leaving.

He'd come back when they'd gone, look for what he expected to find - rips and slashes in the seat upholstery, graffiti scrawled or carved into the metal rails. Experience had taught him he'd see this, and the damage would need to be reported, creating more paperwork, more costs.

But for now, at least, they were going, trooping out, dragging their feet and jostling against the seats. The smoker flicked his lighter as he reached the door, one of the others tossed a balled up food wrapper in Frank's direction so they all guffawed with laughter, their voices echoing around the deserted platform.

Pressing his lips together, Frank picked it up and put it into the trash. At least they'd gone, and with them, his biggest fear that tonight's ride might end in trouble, violence, or crime. Now, he wouldn't have to call the police.

He moved through to check carriage two, which was unoccupied, and then to carriage one, where he’d noticed the woman a few stops back, in a blue skirt and jacket, her coat slung around her shoulders. Her head was bowed and lolling sideways, her purse lying forgotten next to her.

Still here? And still asleep? It must have been a tough week, and now, she was lulled into slumber by the repetitive rocking and swaying of the train. The next stop was in an industrial area where not many office workers got off, and the one after that was in the dilapidated part of downtown where their journey would end.

He wondered if this was her stop. He didn’t want her to miss it.

"Ma'am?" he said, in a voice that was calculated to be just sharp and loud enough to wake her. Experience had taught him the required tone and volume.

But she didn't stir. Didn't move.

There was something about her stillness that was ringing alarm bells in the back of his mind - he'd seen people pass away on trains before, from illness or health issues or drug overdoses, even once through choking.

He moved forward, his heart speeding up as he noticed how sheet white her face was, how limp her folded hands were.

"Ma'am?" He touched her shoulder, and drew in a hissed, horrified breath as she slumped sideways, toppling onto the seat, her head snapping back, her eyes staring, sightless.

"No!" The word burst from his lips as Frank gazed down at her. Trouble had landed, but just not in the carriage he'd expected.

This was not a natural death; this was no illness, no overdose. The livid bruises on her neck were now exposed, the finger marks clear and visible.

She’d been strangled.

CHAPTER ONE

It was nobody's fault that this chase-down had ended in a hostage situation.

FBI agent Caitlin Dare crouched in the foyer of the abandoned building, staring through the crumbling window frame at the condemned apartment block opposite her.

Her hand gripped her gun. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a tight braid that showed off her defined cheekbones and determined jawline. Her pale blue eyes were narrowed against the late afternoon glare, as she gazed into the gloomy brick shell.

She glanced around, seeing the stressed faces of the SWAT team behind her. They were good agents, all four of them, as was her partner, Fitch, who was waiting, tense and alert, beside her. These were men that she'd worked with for a year since being transferred to the Atlanta FBI branch.

"Get away! Or I'll shoot her! I swear it."

The killer's voice roared from out of the window, deep and menacing through the shattered glass.

He had the gun pressed right up against the woman's neck, and was hiding behind her, taunting them through the splintered gap in the grimy glass. This hostage was young - maybe only twenty, with olive skin and wide, scared, brown eyes. She'd been walking innocently across the road, carrying shopping bags, as he'd fled.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Now, the bags were scattered in the road, which had been cordoned off. The groceries were spilled and smashed. And he'd taken her, grabbed her up as he'd fled, and then ducked for cover in this crumbling shelter.

“We have to storm the building," the tall, capable Agent Fitch muttered to Caitlin. "Backup is arriving. The helicopter will be here in five minutes. Then, we'll be ready. We rush him, grab him, take him down."

"If we do, he'll shoot her," she whispered back.

With nearly ten years' law enforcement experience under her belt, Caitlin knew murderous intent when she saw it. This killer wasn't just making empty threats, and his record so far backed that up.

They'd been tracking him for a week. He'd been working as part of an armed robbery gang, but when police had busted the group, he'd run and gone on a killing spree in his efforts to escape.

One wrong move now, and the girl would die. He’d done similar acts before.

She stared again at the house, refusing to accept this had turned into a stalemate, seeking out another way. When it came to saving lives, and helping teammates or civilians out of a dangerous situation, Caitlin did her utmost to look for other ways, rather than face down disaster.

Her nickname, back at the FBI academy, had quickly become Rebel Dare, thanks to her reputation of finding ways – even if it meant bending rules – to get her team and innocent civilians out of danger.

She hadn't changed much in the years since then, even though that propensity to go rogue had gotten her disciplined more times than she could count.

Now, her attention was drawn again to the building’s side entrance. It was nothing more than a narrow gap with a door leaning sideways on rusted hinges. Fitch had immediately rejected her suggestion to go in that way, saying it was too dangerous, too narrow, and it gave the killer a chance to ambush them.

But it was a chance to get in behind him.

Sure, there was an element of danger, but the hostage was in far more peril. She couldn't allow this man to kill again. Not on her watch. Not an innocent woman, who had kids at home. She’d seen the spilled items in the grocery bags. She wasn’t prepared to jeopardize a mother’s life. The plan needed to change.

The killer’s grim ID photo had shown his face with cruel eyes and a twisted mouth, a long scar running down the right side of his cheek. She couldn't see the scar now, couldn't see his face at all. All she could see was the terrified woman, his hand gripping her arm and neck, holding her in front of him.

The side entrance would only work if she used stealth and surprise to get there. It was going to be, tactically, the opposite of storming the building.

“What about if I go, on my own?” she whispered.

“It’s not what we agreed.”

“If I go, then I’m the only one who takes the risk. Fitch, there’s a mother being held in there who’s going to die. I am begging you to change your mind. I am okay with the danger personally.”

It was as if Fitch hadn’t heard her. He was ignoring her now, and Caitlin knew time was running out. She felt suddenly desperate, and angry, that this woman’s life was not as important to the team as to her.

"I'm going in the side. He won't see me if I'm fast. You stay here," she hissed to Fitch. She heard him draw in a sharp breath at her words.

"We have to stick together, and we wait for the helicopter. Then we go in and overpower him. We have to follow the plan!"

"We can't do that. The plan was in place before he grabbed the hostage. We need to get in there before he hurts her. I can read him, and he's about to run out of patience."

She wouldn't act like this just out of defiance. That was what many of her superiors didn't understand. It was probably why she wasn't higher up the ladder, at thirty-two, as she knew she could be.

But on the other hand, when lives were at stake, she'd managed to save the day in a lot of situations just like this, by thinking a few steps ahead.

Now, she was already moving toward the door, moving faster than the others could react.

"Dare! If you go off on your own, there’s going to be big trouble," she heard Fitch snap behind her.

She hesitated, feeling conflicted. No way did she want to disobey orders, but she thought Fitch’s call to abandon the side entrance had been wrong, and too risk-averse. He hadn’t wanted to risk injuring himself, but a life was at stake here, and she was offering to go. Refusing to allow it was the wrong call to make.

Nope, she had to try. Turning her back on his angry voice, keeping low, she crept out of their makeshift shelter and moved around, staying well out of the killer’s line of sight. She could hear him, screaming across the alleyway at her team. He was taunting them, goading them, but he was also working himself up into a violent state, and the edge of aggression in his rising voice convinced her that they didn't have another five minutes to wait.

He wanted to run, and he wanted to kill. The SWAT team might have a logical plan in place, but the killer was not on that timeline. He was now acting through instinct and panic combined, leading to an unpredictable and explosive mix of reactions.

As Caitlin sneaked up to the half-broken door, all she cared about was saving that woman. She'd seen the look in her eyes as he'd dragged her away, hiding behind her like the vicious coward he was. She’d seen the pack of diapers, the formula, the little toys in that shopping bag.

For one moment, her eyes had looked directly into Caitlin's. There had been terror in the woman's face, and silent appeal in her gaze.

No way was he going to let her go; Caitlin was certain of it. If the SWAT team stormed in now, she’d be dead before they fired a shot.

Caitlin crouched low and moved through the gap. She was inside the other building now. He hadn't seen her. 

She moved silently, her heart pounding, her hands feeling cold. Her gun was ready, but she didn't want to fire unless she absolutely had to. It was too risky. She’d seen how fast he could move, and right now, he was pressed up against his hostage.

As swiftly as she could, she rushed down the corridor, which was lined with old bricks and splintered wood. The ceiling overhead was peeling off, the boards hanging down, a stray wire jutting out like a bony finger.

Caitlin got to the wall, flattening herself against it. The killer was right there on the other side. Only a broken door now separated them. He had his back to the door because his focus was on the window, and that meant, if she was fast enough, she could get in and grab him while his attention was still distracted by the agents outside.

She would need to be very fast. And very ready for things to go wrong. She had no illusions about the level of risk that the next few moments would bring. The next step was crucial. It was do or die.

If she took too long doing this, she'd be dead too. Or, at the very least, he'd shoot the hostage. But he was going to shoot her anyway, if she didn’t stop him now, so the only person who was in greater danger at this moment was herself.

Holding her breath, Caitlin kicked the door in, with all the force she had.

CHAPTER TWO

"Now! Go!"

The urgent words flashed through Caitlin's mind as the side door burst inward, splinters flying. She’d used enough force to break it, but there was no time for even a moment of relief. She stormed in, hoping her plan had worked, ready to fight the killer and save his hostage with the advantage she'd gained.

Already, the killer was twisting around, his face horrified, but with the weight of the hostage in his grasp, he was too slow. This was her moment, and there was a narrow window for her to act.

Lunging across the dusty floor, she grabbed him, wrapping her arms around him and dragging him down to the floor. He roared in rage, the gun falling from his hand, his legs buckling and giving way. Caitlin kicked the gun aside before he could get it back.

"Out!" she yelled to the shocked woman. First thing, she needed to be removed from danger. "Get out!"

The hostage backed away, gasping in fear, and then she turned and ran for the exit.

The killer was fighting back, grabbing for Caitlin's arms. His hands were rough, and he gripped her hard, with fury and violence in his eyes. 

She'd hoped to subdue him before he could react, but he was strong and vicious, kicking her as hard as he could, catching her in the ribs, knocking the breath right out of her.

Pain exploded through her, but she refused to let go. Twisting away, she avoided the next one, and slammed her own foot into his ankle, hard.

Caitlin had to get him into cuffs, but she couldn't do that with him thrashing and struggling, trying to get her gun, seeing that his was out of reach. The killer was fighting back, but she was a trained agent, and even though he was bigger and stronger, she had the advantage of surprise, and experience on her side.

As he flailed in shock, like a slippery eel, she used her free hand to grab his wrist. He snatched it away. Gritting her teeth, Caitlin shoved her knee on it.

With her other knee on his chest, she leaned forward, using her weight to push him down and pin him to the floor. Her fingers snapped one handcuff closed, her muscles locked in a vise of effort and strain, as he gasped and struggled for breath.

Then, she got the other cuff locked.

Teeth clenched, Caitlin scrambled to her feet, dragging him up. She shoved him around and headed for the door, the last dim rays of the afternoon sun guiding the way.

Before she reached it, Fitch and the rest of her team arrived, bursting through the door, weapons drawn.

"I got him," she gasped, breathlessly, as they surrounded the handcuffed killer. "I got him, and she's safe. It's over."

But even though she now felt a deep relief at having managed to save that terrified hostage, Caitlin knew that there would be tough questions to answer later. Desperate to save that mother’s life, she’d broken protocol and defied the team's plan.

And she was worried she'd done it once too often.

*

Two hours later, tired and aching, Caitlin had wrapped up the paperwork and arrived home. The meeting with her team had been difficult. It had been more acrimonious than she’d expected. While she was willing to accept that she'd put herself at risk, she defended her actions, saying that she'd acted on new information and a changing situation, and that so long as the hostage was safe, and the killer was in custody, then it was worth it.

But the team hadn’t thought so, and she’d received a barrage of pushback and criticism.

“You have to stop breaking rules and protocol,” Fitch had told her, the words harsh. “You make the entire team look bad; you make us look like a renegade unit with one glory hunter.”

That stung, and she thought it was unfair.

“I don’t care about glory, and you know it,” she’d countered. “I needed to save a life. That’s what law enforcement is about, isn’t it? Keeping people safe? Going in the side entrance worked. Avoiding it was the wrong decision. He changed the situation so we needed to change our approach.”

“The team made a decision. This shows you’re not a team player!”

“If the team is only concerned about their own safety, I can’t be! That’s not what the priority should be.”

But her words hadn’t gotten through to him. That, she could see. She still had no idea whether this matter was put to bed, or whether more trouble might result. But she was going to stick to her guns, especially since the original decision would have resulted in the death of a hostage. How could she live with herself if that woman had died?

For now, 'home' was the fifth floor of an apartment building, just outside of downtown Atlanta, a mile from the FBI Atlanta building as the crow flew, and a mile and a half from Mercer Atlanta University.

She liked the anonymity of the apartment building - not quite as stark and grim looking as the FBI building - and conversely, she enjoyed the student vibe of her area, with its cheap eateries, the tattoo and piercing studios, the bookstores and cafés. The area had a fun, youthful energy that she appreciated.

“Hi Caitlin,” the doorman greeted her.

“Hi, Bruce. How’s Laura?” Caitlin smiled at mentioning the doorman’s slim, eighteen-year-old daughter, who’d become a good friend.

“She passed her test, and said to thank you again,” he replied with a grin.

She’d helped Laura with her studies last weekend – not that math was her strong suit either, but two heads were better than one, and they’d worked the problem out. It had taken a few false starts, a lot of laughter and joking, and a full bag of Cheez-Its, but success had been achieved.

Being helpful, going that extra mile for her community, was something deeply important to her. It hadn’t taken long for Caitlin to get in touch with the university after her move to Atlanta, and offer some help to the students there – self-defense classes, tutorials on avoiding being grabbed and abducted. The assistance had been gratefully received, and her no-charge, all-welcome weekend classes had become popular. She felt thankful she could make a difference that would allow those happy students to stay safe.

She, too, had been a carefree twenty-one year old - until the worst had happened and she received the news that her younger sister had disappeared. After that, her life had taken a different direction than she'd originally planned. Caitlin still remembered the moment she heard about that disaster, which had changed her and her future, forever.

Frowning at the memory, Caitlin rode up in the elevator, unlocked the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she locked it again and knew that, at last, the tough day was over.

She was exhausted, and hungry, and she needed a hot shower and a few hours' sleep.

Her living room was small and functional, but she had a view of the city's lights, which she loved. She sat down on the black leather couch, unlacing her boots and slipping them off. She turned on her music, picking a Lady Gaga album. It had been her sister’s favorite music at the time she disappeared, and Caitlin always found the songs comforting, a way to de-stress after facing danger down.

Then, standing up, she headed for the refrigerator.

Her legs ached, her ribs hurt, and her eyes were gritty, as she opened a beer and took a long, cool swallow.

Caitlin set the drink down, and her eyes were drawn to the photo she kept on the fridge door. Herself, and Ella, taken a few months before she disappeared.

Ella was eighteen. Beautiful, always more delicate than Caitlin, always more friendly and outgoing. Caitlin had been the hardcore, protective, older sister who fought for justice and causes. Ella had been the one who'd made friends easily, the fun loving one that people gravitated toward.

Now she was gone, and it felt like part of Caitlin's soul had been ripped away.

"What happened to you that day?" Caitlin asked sadly. "I wish you could tell me. It's not knowing that's the hardest."

The implosion of the family relationships that had followed had been another factor that had turned her life upside down. She'd been about to graduate at the top of her class after completing her degree in human resources at California State University in Sacramento. After that bombshell, she'd barely scraped through her degree, her hopes of graduating with distinction shattered.

And she'd never used the degree. In a world where innocent young women could go missing and never be found, she'd changed her plans and joined the police, and two years later she aced her FBI Academy entrance exams.

Since then, she'd spent time in four different states in all corners of the country. She’d grown to appreciate the nomadic lifestyle of an FBI agent.

Caitlin had to admit, though, she was loving Atlanta, and while here, she’d felt ready to put down roots. She'd even met someone, a few months ago. It wasn't getting serious yet, and she didn't know if it would, but at least it felt like a step back to normality, having a real relationship after the shattering turn her life had taken.

In fact, her phone started ringing at that moment. It was Mike Blair, her boyfriend, calling as if her thoughts had summoned him up.

She opened the phone.

"Hi, Mike," she said, and she smiled, glad to hear from this sandy-haired, smiling man who was never in a bad mood.

"Hey," he said. "Just wondering how the day went?"

"It was alright," she said. "I got the case wrapped up."

"You sound so tired," he said. "Is everything okay?"

"It's all fine," she evaded the question adroitly, not wanting him to worry, but also not feeling ready for the discussion on whether she'd overstepped her mandate as an agent. "Just more paperwork than I expected."

Mike laughed. As a teacher, she knew he could sympathize in that direction. He hated the paperwork part of his job.

"You want to go out, have a drink?" she asked. Although she was exhausted, she felt like she could use the company. She felt a need to be face-to-face with him, to open up about what had happened, and maybe to share some of the trauma and uncertainty that this difficult showdown had triggered.

But she heard Mike sigh. "Unfortunately, I've got a very early start tomorrow. I have to take a coach load of kids to a sports day. Let's take a rain check, and do it on Sunday?"

Sunday wasn't ideal for her, as Monday was likely to be a pressured day with the fallout from her rescue operation, but Caitlin controlled her frustration. It sometimes seemed that between their various work commitments, they were never going to get any further with this relationship and that it was spinning its wheels.

She wondered, yet again, if it was worth it. Logistically, it seemed like it was, even with the prospect of occasional dating only.

Maybe that was better, she wondered, even though she sometimes longed for the synergy of a soulmate, who she'd be able to share her deepest dreams, fears, and feelings with.

"Let's talk on Sunday," she decided. "Have fun with the coach load of kids."

Her phone beeped, telling her that another call was incoming. Her stomach swooped as she saw it was her boss on the line. Caitlin had a strong feeling this signaled trouble.

"I'd better go. Work's calling," she said.

Quickly, she swiped to pick up the new call.

"Caitlin?" Special Agent Harry Hume's voice was crisp and sharp, but she picked up a note of tension in it that had her frowning.

"Evening, Hume," she said.

"We've just wrapped up an emergency meeting. It means changes for you. I'd like you to come in tomorrow, first thing, so we can discuss them. See you in the boardroom at seven?"

"I'll see you there," Caitlin agreed. “But what –“

She was speaking to empty air. Her boss, never one for wasted time, had cut the call after a brief goodbye.

Caitlin was left feeling fraught - about the day's events, the decisions she'd made, and the changes this meeting would bring.

They didn't sound good - and this time, it didn't sound as if she would have a choice.

CHAPTER THREE

The next morning, Caitlin arrived at the FBI offices fifteen minutes early, feeling nervous about what this meeting would involve, and worrying over what ultimatum Hume had been hinting at.

At this hour on a Saturday morning, the streets were quiet. Only enthusiastic joggers, street cleaners, and dog walkers populated her drive into the Bureau - a drive which, she now realized, she'd grown to appreciate. Especially since she now feared it might be coming to an end.

Had she overstepped the mark?

Caitlin knew she’d soon find out if her bosses thought so. She walked quickly into the building, nodding a greeting to the security guard, and headed to Hume's office on the building's second floor. The meetings were held in the boardroom next to his office, which had a six-seater table. The walls were covered in maps of the area, and of the USA and neighboring countries, a reminder of the reach the FBI had that extended across state lines and boundaries.

She wasn't going to go down without a fight, Caitlin decided. If they wanted to transfer her or demote her or somehow penalize her for what had played out yesterday, she'd remind them that her actions had resulted in a life saved without harm, and the successful arrest of a dangerous criminal.

The FBI had always encouraged independent thinking among their agents. She’d always embraced that and valued the fact that she had a job where she was able to do it. But now that she thought about it, it did seem that over the past months, her ability to act independently had become more stifled by her teammates. They had been restructuring their approach to such takedowns.

Why had this changed? With a chill, she wondered if she should have asked this question earlier.

 "I can only say that my actions were taken to preserve life, and to prevent more loss," she muttered to herself, preparing for the defense she might have to provide, as she walked swiftly down the corridor and tapped on the boardroom door.

"Come in," Hume said.

Caitlin opened the door and walked in. She stopped, staring in surprise.

She'd expected to see her boss, with his lean, tan face and dark hair, flecked with gray, in his usual seat opposite the door, and he was there. But he wasn't alone. There were two other men with him, sitting to his left and right at the circular table.

As she stepped forward to greet them, Caitlin summed them up in her mind before they'd even said a word.

The man on Hume's right was FBI, without a doubt. He was high up in the organization. She couldn’t remember his name, but she’d seen his face before, on the top of important announcements and in photos with leading politicians. He was definitely not a field agent, but more senior. Scars on his hands, and a small scar on his jaw, together with the no-nonsense look in his eyes, told her that although he was in his fifties and now wearing a suit, he'd done his time in the field.

"Executive Assistant Director Knight," Hume introduced him.

Knight, that was the name she remembered. She'd been right, Caitlin realized. He was senior. Very.

She raised her chin. He might be senior, but he'd been in the trenches. With those scars, she guessed he'd also faced down danger.

"Special Agent Caitlin Dare," she introduced herself. He was looking at her in an assessing way, as if she wasn't quite fitting with the picture he'd had of her.

"And this is Nathan Bridges. Nathan's a police agent deployed at Union Pacific."

A railway cop? That got Caitlin's hackles all the way up. She stared at the tall, broad shouldered man with a tanned face and tousled, blonde hair, feeling instantly on the defensive. He looked like a surfer, not a cop. Like someone who should be out on the beach instead of fighting crime. He was probably one of those typical going-through-the-motions cops, who could manage the small stuff, but who wasn’t capable of dealing with the serious stuff.

She knew her kneejerk reaction was unfair, but she couldn’t help it. She had no love for railway police and that was due to her own bitter, past experience.

Ella had disappeared after boarding a train. In her opinion, the police hadn't done enough, not nearly enough, to find her. And that had been the fault of the railway cops themselves.

"Morning," she said, not giving anything away, remaining coolly professional as she greeted him. From the look on his face, he didn’t seem like he was overly enthusiastic about her, either, as he shook her hand.

"We have an urgent situation," Hume said, and Caitlin knew they were now getting to the reason for this meeting. She'd already guessed that it was not, in fact, about her conduct in yesterday's operation. It was something different, but she didn't know what.

"What is it?" she asked, taking the seat opposite the three men, so she had an empty one on each side of her. The dynamic still felt strangely confrontational.

"We have had two recent murders aboard commuter trains. It looks like it's a serial killer at work."

Caitlin felt her hackles go down a little. This sounded like a serious case, and she knew the Bureau had the resources to deal with it. Most probably, that was what this was about. A new case. That was all.

She relaxed just a little. Prematurely, as it happened.

"Is it definitely the work of a serial? Was one or both of the murders in this area?" she asked, wanting to get an overview.

Hume shook his head. "One was in California. Another in Arizona."

The killer was crossing state lines. Easy to do, Caitlin guessed, when you were committing murders on board a train.

"Am I going to be involved?" she asked, because this was way outside of her current area of focus. Since being transferred here, she’d barely handled any crimes outside Atlanta itself. There was more than enough in this big city to keep herself and the SWAT team busy.

Hume hesitated, as if weighing his words. "You are going to be involved," he said after a moment. "But there's more to it."

Caitlin was instantly on her guard. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Hume clasped his hands, looking at her calmly.

"For a while, now, the FBI has been liaising with local police, in many states, about the growing problem of railroad crime. It's difficult to control, the criminals frequently cross state lines, distances are often vast, and it's challenging to police effectively. As you know."

Now, his gaze held some sympathy. Her boss did, in fact, know about the loss she'd suffered. He knew the circumstances of her sister's disappearance, long ago.

"Understood," she said.

"We have decided to assign two investigators to a special task force that will focus only on rail-related crimes - either crimes that cross state borders, or crimes that are serious and simply require additional expertise. I was approached and asked to assign an agent who is able to work independently, able to take the initiative, and who's highly experienced. Your name came immediately to mind."

Caitlin saw where this was going. She didn’t like it. Not at all. This was not something she was comfortable with.

"You want me on it, full-time?" she asked, to clarify.

Hume nodded. "This will mean a transfer - on paper, at least, because you'll be working wherever the crimes occur. Moving from state to state, location to location, as you're needed. You’ll probably need to relocate permanently to somewhere more central."

Caitlin nodded. In front of the other men, she was going to stay rigidly professional, no matter what.

"Who else is on the task force?" she asked.

"It will be you and Officer Bridges. You two will form the core of the task force."

Surprised, Caitlin turned again and saw Bridges staring at her with a doubtful look on his face. He looked as unhappy as she did about this new partnership.

It was time to head this idea off at the pass, Caitlin decided. This was a bad idea. It felt – well, it felt like a demotion. Her FBI SWAT unit had become like her family – or so she thought. She knew she worked well with her current partner, Fitch. Sure, they had occasional disagreements, but didn’t all partnerships? She didn’t want this change, and she definitely did not want to be in the railway environment full-time, with all its bad associations.

Now to make sure her boss understood this.

"Thank you for considering me. I appreciate that I was first on your list." She paused. "Can I speak to you in private?" she asked Hume.

Without a word, he stood up and walked through the interleading door into his office. Caitlin followed him, closing the door behind her. She turned and faced him, finally letting her desperation show.

"Hume, I'm pleased that I've been considered for this. But I don't want to accept it. I'm not happy to go and work full-time on railway crimes. I would rather stay here with my team."

Hume frowned. "I need you to accept this new job, Caitlin. You're the only agent I can spare, and the only one who fits the profile of what we believe this unit needs to succeed.”

"You said I was first on the list. Surely there are others?" she argued.

Hume frowned. "I didn't want to bring anything negative into this, Caitlin," he said in a low voice.

She stared at him in concern. "But?" she asked.

"But we've been getting too many complaints about your conduct in the current team situation. You've been acting like a renegade, going off on your own initiative, and potentially compromising the success of cases."

"I guaranteed the success of yesterday's case," Caitlin argued, now feeling seared by the critical words.

Hume shook his head. "No, I disagree. You broke the protocol of the SWAT unit and took an unnecessary risk. But that's not the point. The point is, I can't have an agent working in this team situation who acts the way you do. I need every individual to be part of the team. I need everyone to work with the others, not against them."

"I've been a good team member. But yesterday I saw a gap and took it. It saved a life."

"And the team's actions might have done the same." Hume sighed. "Look, Caitlin, Fitch spoke to me in private last night."

Fitch? Her current investigation partner? Caitlin had a bad feeling about this.

"What did he say?"

"He wants to work with someone different. He's not happy with you as a partner anymore, for all these reasons. He’s submitted an official report regarding your conduct and your ability to work as part of a team. So that leaves me in a difficult situation because I have to find someone else for you to partner with, based on this adverse report. I was glad when I was approached by Knight. This seems like a good answer."

Caitlin gasped in shock, tasting the bitter tang of betrayal. Why hadn’t Fitch told her that himself? Why hadn’t he discussed this with her, instead of complaining directly to their boss?

Now, she knew, it was too late. Those words of complaint about her couldn’t be unsaid. They were now on the record. On her record, like a dirty smear, she thought, feeling horrified.

She'd been given an ultimatum. And she knew that if she didn't agree to it, Hume might have no other alternatives for her. That might mean a transfer for all the wrong reasons.

She'd never thought the meeting would end this way. This felt shameful, like a demotion. She was going to become a nomad, teamed up with a railway cop, investigating train crimes that the other rail cops presumably weren't competent enough to deal with.

And there was no choice.

One short meeting had turned her expectations, and her future, on their heads in the worst possible way. There was nothing she could do, no more arguments to try. She saw that clearly on Hume's face.

"In that case, I accept," she said quietly.

He nodded. "Go and pack. I'm chartering you a plane, to get you on site fast. The sooner we can get this solved, the better. Remember, this is a new task force, it’s experimental, and we need results."

Caitlin didn't miss the subtext.

If this crime wasn't solved fast, the new unit wouldn’t exist for long, and nor would her temporary lifeline.

CHAPTER FOUR

Caitlin glanced out of the airplane window as the scenery passed by, but she barely noticed the changing view, the drier, more arid terrain that had replaced the trees and rolling landscape during the four hour flight.

She felt as if the knife of betrayal from her SWAT team in Atlanta was still lodged firmly in her back. Now, she had one goal in mind, and that was to get out of this impossible situation she'd somehow managed to land herself in.

There seemed to be only one way to do it, Caitlin reasoned. She was going to have to solve this case herself, and fast. And then, with that accolade under her belt, she was going to fight for her place at the Atlanta FBI office, having proved herself in this crisis. She would request a different partner, even if it meant she was no longer a part of the SWAT team. As a special agent, there were other sectors of the FBI she could move to within this office. She didn’t want to be forced out of Atlanta when she was making a life for herself, becoming part of her community, and embarking on a romantic relationship she felt invested in.

This was going to be the biggest challenge of her career for sure, but if she managed it, then it would be the case that might save everything she valued.

She’d been perusing the information on her laptop during the flight, hoping that she’d have an early breakthrough or see a common thread. But the problem was that there was so little information on the victims – Bridget Hanover, from Nevada, and Vicky Ford, from California. Both had been traveling in the evening. Both had traveled alone. Both had been found in a carriage, alone, long after their scheduled disembarkation point.

The first murder had occurred three days ago, and the second, yesterday evening.

Caitlin noted that the victims were similar in age – mid-twenties – and in appearance, both being blonde, blue-eyed women. But that might not mean much.

There was a distinct lack of evidence, with both scenes being very clean. Forensics hadn’t found anything so far according to the reports. Caitlin hoped she could find more, or perhaps something that would link the two victims.

The plane banked sharply, coming in to land at Bridgeford Airport, where they would begin the investigation.

And by 'they,' that meant this railway cop she was partnered up with. Nathan Bridges.

Nathan was absorbed in his laptop screen, sitting two seats away from her in the small airplane. She stole a glance at him.

Nathan didn't look up from his laptop.

The gangly blonde man had been silent for most of the flight, and the only time they'd spoken was when they were getting on the plane. He'd been friendly enough, but in a very reserved way that told her he clearly felt the same way about this partnership as she did.

Caitlin realized she had no idea whether this was Nathan's home state or whether he was from elsewhere. She hadn't wanted to ask, even though details on the case were very sparse and at some stage, she knew, they'd need to discuss them and bounce some ideas around.

Caitlin wasn't feeling friendly herself. She had been on edge all morning, since Hume had told her about her new role. It felt as if her life had been turned upside down in the worst possible way.

She felt ashamed and angry at what she perceived to be a demotion, and it was made all the worse by the fact that her trusted partner had basically requested it and had forced Hume's hand.

It wasn't like Fitch had always played by the rules. He'd occasionally deviated from his mandate, too, and she'd accepted it. In fact, it had made so little impact in her life that she'd barely even noticed it.

She wondered suddenly if political maneuverings had been at work within her department. Two new agents had recently been transferred to the FBI Atlanta department on a 'temporary' basis. She remembered Fitch mentioning that one had been a guy he'd worked with in the past, and he was going to push for him becoming a permanent part of the team.

Perhaps Fitch had used her actions yesterday as an excuse to try and get himself a new case partner and ensure that his former colleague ended up being able to stay in that department.

Caitlin didn't like that idea at all. But now, she wondered if that’s what was going on. There was no other logical explanation. And if it were true, she didn't know whether to be angry or sad.

She had built up a trust with her team. She was proud of her ability to work effectively as a member of a SWAT team, and she'd always felt that she was making an important contribution. She'd felt proud of the team and herself.

But they hadn’t felt the same about her, and now she was being exiled to work with a railway cop she barely knew.

She was good at what she did; she knew it. But it was difficult to give this her best energy when she felt like she was being punished and her future was in question. There was no choice, though. It truly was make or break for her now. She'd need to get some credibility back, to rise above the complaint Fitch had made, and then to request redeployment within the Atlanta office, with her reputation reestablished.

Now, as if feeling her thoughts, Nathan glanced around.

"Looks like we've made good time on this flight. We should be landing in fifteen minutes."

Caitlin glanced out of the window.

"Do you know the area? Are you from here?" she asked.

To her surprise, Nathan shook his head. "I worked here for a year, but that was nearly a decade ago. I've moved around since then. Been transferred a few times, but I've spent more time in the north and east than I have on the west coast."

So he didn’t even have local knowledge? What did he have?

“Do you have a record of solving serious crimes?” she asked. “Have you worked on murder cases before?”

As the words came out, she could see he was taking them the wrong way. She’d asked them because she was now anxious about what the two of them could bring to this case. She could have asked them in a different tone, or worded her questions in another way, and she now realized she’d been far too blunt. And he’d taken them as criticism.

She could see his face drawing into angry lines.

“If you’re so interested in my CV and record, I’m sure you can obtain it,” he said defensively. “Seeing you’re with the FBI.”

“Yes, I’m with the FBI and we handle serious crimes,” she said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I’d like to make sure my new partner is on board with that level of experience.”

“Did you ask your last case partner that? I wonder why you’re not still with that team.” He glared at her.

Great. Now the tension in this airplane was tangible. And worse still, she didn’t like the tone he’d used. It seemed as if he knew that her career was under a cloud. Or maybe he was just taking a lucky guess; but at any rate, the words stung.

She shut her mouth, not wanting to discuss this any further. She’d basically discovered that her partner probably had no murder case experience, because if he did he would have said so. Wouldn’t he?

And he knew, or sensed, that her career was in trouble. That didn’t put her on a good footing. Now, she felt even worse than she did before. She wasn’t on a strong foundation now.

"Let's go directly to the scene, when we land," Caitlin snapped.

“I’ve already organized that with the local cops,” he shot back. “It’s the logical place to go. But if you come up with anything that can actually be helpful, please share it.”

In other words, he’d thought of it already and didn’t need her to think for him. This was heading sharply downhill. A bad first impression and one wrong comment from her, and now it was like being on a case with an enemy.

Well, fine. Let’s see how far you get with this, she seethed.

If there was any evidence, she was going to find it. And she was going to make sure she proved herself, every step of the way.

She was now on a case with someone who actively disliked her, and she didn’t want to be stabbed in the back a second time. It was imperative to take the lead on this investigation and move it forward as quickly as possible. Speed would be one of her strengths here, having worked in the pressured environment of the FBI.

The plane came in to land, with both of them still not speaking to each other. She did her best to push away the negative thoughts that were buzzing around her, as persistent as flies. They would only hold her back. There was a job to do here, and everything now rode on her doing it to the best of her ability. At least she had a plan in place, and it was a simple one.

Solve the case, and reclaim her position in Atlanta, working on the serious crimes in that city. Not railroad crimes that awakened all the monsters of the past.

She picked up her carry-on and made sure she was first in line at the exit door.

Viewing this scene was going to be a critical step. It would give her the chance to show what she was made of, and to pick up any details that the railway cops had missed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Nathan Bridges strode into the airport arrivals hall at Bridgeford, looking out for the officer who was meeting them. He felt angry and annoyed at being partnered up with this rude, abrasive FBI agent who clearly despised him.

The sooner this case was solved, the better, he thought. He hoped he could take the initiative on it and play the major role in doing so, taking the lead in the investigation.

Then, he could request a new partner. He had huge misgivings about Caitlin Dare. From what he'd picked up from the conversation that had played out before she’d walked in, she was available not because she was the best, but because she was a pariah. He’d heard that she was a renegade, a wild card, and he got the impression that her career was currently under a cloud.

He didn't want or need to be partnered with a person like that. Especially with his own background, and what was currently hanging over his own head. She didn’t know about his recent case history and he couldn’t let her find out, or she’d use it against him. That, he was sure of.

"You'd better not do that again." Like an unwelcome memory, the words of warning from his boss still rang in his ears.

If he was honest with himself, there were times in the recent murder case he’d handled, when he had overstepped the mark, and he'd been forced to attend a disciplinary hearing afterward.

"You took unnecessary risks. You could have been killed during that chase-down," his superior had chastised him.

"I am sorry." He'd apologized, genuinely, for what he had done. It had been totally uncharacteristic of him, because he was an investigator who usually did things by the book. “I had to shoot, because there was a chance the killer would escape," he'd reasoned.

"You went way too far out on a limb there. You could have put other lives at risk."

“I would not have chased him through that station, firing at him, if there had been anyone there!” he protested. “The only person at risk was me!”

“In those circumstances you were not able to make that judgment call,” his boss had said harshly.

He'd been making a name for himself, and he didn't want his job to be in jeopardy. But after taking one unacceptable risk, his copybook had been blotted and his reputation smeared.

The reprimand, the warning, had all been delivered in a concerned tone, as if his boss had wondered how he'd gotten away with it, and now wanted to rein him in somewhat before things got worse.

The experience had been a painful one. It had been a warning; a wake-up call. 

"Don't do it again," his superior had warned him. "And in the future, don't go off half-cocked. Wait for the backup. Let your team handle the chase-down."

"I will, sir."

Feeling ashamed, Nathan had realized that his courageous actions in catching this killer had worked against him, because all his bosses were seeing were the rules he’d broken that one time.

Now, he was worried that he didn’t have what it took, and that he wasn’t enough of a team player. Then, the next day, he’d been called into a meeting and told he was part of this task force.

He worried that it was a punishment, even though his bosses had said they were sending him because of his experience and capability. Now, the pressure was on to prove that he was a team player, but he couldn’t do it when he was partnered with someone that clearly resented him, and who was fighting her own battles.

What he couldn't understand was why the FBI hadn't sent their best person to be part of this team.

He was wondering if they were taking this seriously. Perhaps they were sending someone they thought was dispensable, and that made him worry all over again that he, too, was being sidelined and that this position was more of a demotion than an honor.

His best bet was to ace this case, and then, riding on the credibility that would give him, to request a different partner that he had a hope of working more cooperatively with.

The first step would be going to the recent crime scene, and a special agent from the railway police would be meeting them to take them there. Looking out for that person in the arrivals hall, Nathan recognized the black uniform with its badge and shield immediately, and gravitated in that direction.

He hadn't met this officer before, but ten years was a long time. The man, with a graying mustache and a wise expression on his slightly chubby face, greeted them professionally.

He noticed the moment of surprise as the officer took them both in. Wryly, he guessed they made quite the unusual pair. Hopefully, not for long.

There was Dare, about five-five and slender, with her auburn hair and porcelain skin and bone structure that was almost model-worthy. And then there was himself, a gangling six-footer, with blonde looks that made most people assume he was a surfer, and not a railway cop. Just as well the uniform helped clue them in.

"Officer Bridges," he said by way of introduction as they approached.

"FBI agent Dare," Caitlin said, quickly stepping ahead to shake hands first.

"I'm Officer O'Donnell," the cop said. "I'm here to take you to the scene, and answer any questions you have."

"Thanks," Nathan said, shaking his hand second. Mentally, he added 'ultra-competitive' to the list of attributes that he'd rather not have in an investigation partner and was keen to do without.

"Do you have a car waiting?" Caitlin asked.

"Sure do. This way. I’ll sign it out to you, and when we’re done at the scene, you can use it for as long as you need."

They hurried out of the airport into the bright afternoon light.

"We've been told that the train was removed to a siding?" Caitlin said as they walked across the tarmac to the parking lot.

"Yes. The train crew handled it, with the help of the local police. The conductor who was on that trip has also made himself available this afternoon. You can speak to him."

They hurried through the airport, headed for the parking lot, climbed into the car, and drove out.

"The siding isn't far from here," Officer O'Donnell explained. "Probably a ten minute drive."

He got on the radio and began confirming that everything, and everyone, was in place awaiting their arrival. Nathan listened to the familiar back and forth banter between the members of the team, which sounded organized and professional. It gave him hope that he could work with a cooperative team member one day, and make sure this new unit was a long-term success.

By the time O’Donnell was off the radio, they were already pulling up into the siding.

They climbed out, and as they walked into the station and approached the train carriage, Nathan was surprised to see Caitlin hesitate, looking at the scene as if it was not just unfamiliar to her, but actively unwelcome.

He sensed there was something about this role, or maybe the setting, that really bothered his new partner. Perhaps that was what she'd been telling her superior early that morning when she'd requested to have that private meeting. There was definitely an issue or a complication.

She didn’t want to be here at all. Not only did she not want to work with him, but she didn’t like this environment. He could see it clearly.

But then she squared her shoulders and strode on.

They headed up to the train, where the doors were open and a uniformed conductor was standing in the entrance.

 “This is the witness who found the second victim,” O’Donnell introduced him.

"Frank Rafter," the serious looking man said. "I’m glad they’re putting more resources toward this. This was the worst experience of my career. Knowing it's part of a series - that a serial murderer is working on trains - makes it extremely disturbing."

"Absolutely. We hope we can solve it as fast as possible," Nathan agreed.

"I've collected some photos for you on my laptop. There's camera footage of the victim, Vicky Ford, entering the train, and there is camera footage from a few of the stations along the route. Unfortunately, being Friday evening, the train was very busy. But hopefully some of it can help."

"I'd like to see the footage of the victim boarding," Nathan said immediately, before Caitlin could ask the same. "Perhaps she was followed directly onto the train by the killer, or there are some other clues that can help us."

"I have that footage," Frank said, leading them into the train.

CHAPTER SIX

Footage of the victim boarding? Caitlin felt encouraged that was available. That could be a gold mine of information. It might even show them the killer's face, if he'd been tracking her closely.

But, as she stepped into the train, she hesitated. Once again, this felt a lot more personal than she'd thought it would.

It came home to her, with intensity, what Ella's experience had been like, and what had gone through her sister’s mind that day as she’d innocently boarded. Stepping onto that train, trying to choose an empty compartment, picking a seat, settling in. And then the question that Caitlin had always asked herself and never gotten the answer.

Had the man who was part of her family, that creepy man who scared her, been on that train, too?

She knew that as a train conductor, he could travel on his staff pass whenever he wanted to, and he'd been working that route. She just didn't know about that particular day. Having known him for years, he had always given Caitlin the creeps, because he was one of those people who seemed to be thinking things they didn't say. One of those whose eyes said more than their face did. And she suspected that he had been in some sort of trouble with the police, years back. Something to do with assault, with a beating.

As a kid she'd heard whispers about that - or rather, overheard them, when she wasn't supposed to be listening. But since he had never been arrested for any crimes, she wondered if someone in the family had protected him.

What if her Uncle Josh was the monster who'd abducted Ella?

With no evidence, her family had been outraged by this suggestion. Her father had shouted at her she was wrong, that Josh was a good man, that he had a right to his privacy, and that he'd told them he hadn't been on that train. Like his word meant anything? Of course he’d lie if he had been, she thought angrily.

What if he had been on that train, seen Ella, followed her out, and grabbed her? It had always seemed like a possibility to Caitlin, but when she’d dared to mention it, it had caused such a huge family fight that she’d retreated in shock and shame, believing she must have been wrong.

Since then, the time had never felt right to pursue this line of thought again. Her mind had veered away from it, and she’d been filled with self-doubt. Because, after all, he had been cleared by the police.

Caitlin had always believed that when she joined the FBI, one day, she would use her skills to investigate that case anew, but there had never been time, and she’d never been ready to face the amount of conflict it would cause. Perhaps now was the time, she thought, as she stood on the train, taking in the feel of it, breathing in the smell.

She hadn't traveled by train since this tragedy. Hadn't wanted to set foot in one and, in fact, she’d resolved she never would.

But now, here she was, following up on an urgent crime that needed to be solved for the sake of her career.

Forcing her mind back to the present, aware that Nathan was looking at her strangely, Caitlin stepped into the train. She couldn’t afford to show weakness now. With the way things were between them, he would use it against her.

There was the seat, ahead, the one with the official notice above it with a chip out of the side. She recognized that immediately from the crime scene photos she'd looked through during the flight.

"Was this carriage busy?" she asked the conductor.

"Yes, at first," he said. "There were five carriages, and they were all busy earlier in the evening. There were a lot of office commuters on that train journey."

"Was there any trouble on the train?" she asked.

"There's always trouble on a Friday evening. We had our share of rowdy passengers. There was one particular group I had my eye on, a bunch of teens who were drunk and looking to cause difficulties. But they were only on the train for three stops, and they stayed in carriage three the whole time."

"Anyone you remember being bothered by what was happening? Anyone who moved carriages to avoid anything?" Nathan asked.

"There were a lot of people who moved." Frank paused. "What I do remember though, is that the first few times I went this way, I didn't see her. I am almost definitely sure that she wasn't in this seat straight after boarding, which I see from the ticket, and the footage, was eight stops before we found her. She was meant to stay on the train for only four stops, I believe. And instead, she ended up alone, in this carriage."

So she had moved.

Or else, Caitlin thought with a chill, someone had moved her.

"She might have been grabbed, kept somewhere out of sight. In one of the train's restrooms or in another compartment out of the way," she suggested.

"Let's see her boarding?" Caitlin asked.

"Sure." The laptops were set up on one of the tables at a nearby seat. He moved to them and pressed Play.

Caitlin stepped forward, watching closely, suppressing a shiver as she saw the woman in the crowd, waiting for her turn to board. Her blue jacket stood out in the sea of people and she watched carefully as the woman stepped aboard.

"She was definitely a couple of carriages further up," she said in surprise. "That looks like she boarded in the middle, and ended up near the back?"

Thinking logically, Caitlin did not believe that a woman could have been carried the whole way through a train carriage without people noticing. So maybe she’d gotten up from her seat, either to move, or use the restroom, or buy a snack, and somewhere in that sea of people had been a man who followed her and used that opportunity to strike.

Caitlin was going to go with it being a man, because if this woman had been overpowered and moved, it would have taken strength. She was a tall woman.

However, her killer could already have been on the train, or he could have boarded later. And there were big crowds. It wouldn't be easy to pinpoint anyone in this throng, without a description.

"Here's another camera angle," Frank said.

Again, she looked closely. This one showed the woman walking straight up to the camera before disappearing from the picture just after she boarded.

And it was then that Caitlin saw something. Or rather, didn't see something she should have.

"Can you pull up the crime scene photos?" she asked, and Nathan looked around, obviously hearing the intensity in her voice.

"Sure. I'll do it on the other machine," Frank said.

In a few moments, the close-up photos that Caitlin had scrutinized so carefully on the airplane, were visible on the other laptop's screen. She saw again that livid bruising, those violent, purplish marks on the skin. And something else, too. Something that hadn't been there when the woman boarded.

"That pin on her jacket lapel," she said, pointing to it.

She'd noticed it from the photos as its bright red color had stood out. It was a cheerful pin, in the shape of a ladybug, with a bright red, round shape and golden legs.

She looked again at the footage, and couldn't see that pin at all. The victim had not been wearing it when she'd boarded. There was no sign of it at all.

"She could have had it with her, and put it on," Nathan said, in a voice that warned Caitlin they needed to consider all eventualities.

"Or it could be a signature, and in that case, it must have some meaning to the killer," Caitlin argued. "We need to see if the other victim was wearing that same pin."

“We can do that, but we’ll probably need to go to the Nevada pathology lab to confirm it, or at least call them, because that death took place in a different state,” Nathan said.

This was true, and it brought home to Caitlin the full scope of the logistics in solving these crimes. Time, distance, and state lines were not on their side.

At that moment, Officer O'Donnell hurried into the train.

"Vicky Ford’s boyfriend has arrived at the police department. He's just finished identifying her body. He's pretty shocked, but said he's willing to answer any questions you have."

"Let's go there," Caitlin said.

Speaking to someone who knew Vicky well would allow her to find out if there was any trouble in her life. The killer could have a personal connection with his victims. This might not be a random crime, and Caitlin knew it was possible she had been deliberately targeted.

It was time to find out what had been going wrong in Vicky’s life.

CHAPTER SEVEN

In the harsh light of the local police department, Will Brooks looked haggard with shock. The tall man, with a mane of brown hair that was partially controlled by a ponytail tie, was sprawled on a chair, looking devastated by what had occurred.

"I'm so sorry about your loss, Will," Caitlin said gently. At times like this, her natural impatience seemed to vanish completely. She felt true empathy for him. Especially remembering that when Ella had disappeared and she'd tried to ask questions, she'd been treated brusquely and impatiently by a few of the officials, and every less-than-kind word had left a scar.

"I'm investigating this case, and I'm here to find out who did this to your girlfriend. I understand how difficult this is for you, but I need to ask you some questions." She sat down beside him, shutting everything out but him - even Nathan, who was hovering behind her, looking concerned and anxious.

"What?" Will’s voice was hoarse. "What do you want to know?"

"Were you aware of any trouble in Vicky's life? Anything that could have caused this?" Caitlin asked. "Anyone who wanted to harm her, any vindictive exes, any problems? Did she talk about anyone or anything that was bothering her?"

He shook his head. "No. To be honest, we hadn't seen much of each other in the past few days."

"Why's that?" Caitlin asked.

"She'd been busy with work, and working overtime. I'm a musician and I had a few gigs lined up that I was traveling for. But I don't remember her being upset about anything. She had a very normal life."

"What about her job? Did she have any problems there?" Nathan asked.

"No. She was a product manager for a sportswear company and she enjoyed her job. She got promoted last year. She was happy there."

"Did Vicky ever speak about a woman named Bridget Hanover? Did she know her at all? She lived in Nevada." She wanted to know if Vicky had known the other victim.

"I don't remember that name at all," Will said. "She didn't know anyone in Nevada, as far as I knew. We were dating for a year, so I think I would know if she had. Her parents live overseas, and her sister is in LA. At the time, Vicky was traveling to see her."

"So she didn't ride that train route regularly?" Nathan asked.

"No, she lived close to her work and would drive there. She only used the train to visit her sister, once every few months."

Caitlin thought that was interesting. It meant that this murder could not have been preplanned because Vicky was not a regular traveler. In contrast, Bridget had been on her usual route back from work, though later than normal. Caitlin had expected the same here.

Now, she was starting to wonder if this killer was looking out for a certain type of woman, or simply choosing a train and then picking a victim.

This had been a very valuable interview, for that snippet of information alone. It told them a lot about the killer. And now, Caitlin had one more question.

"Did Vicky wear a ladybug pin?"

She showed him the photo, with the face cropped out and only the suit itself visible.

He looked at it and shook his head. "I never saw her wearing that before."

"Thank you," Caitlin said. She couldn't think of anything more to ask. She felt traumatized on his behalf after speaking to him and hearing his pain so closely. Nothing could bring Vicky back, but now they needed to investigate the other scene and victim.

That crime had taken place across the state border, and about a hundred miles away. They had a borrowed car. In two hours, they could be at the pathologist's offices in the town of Boulder, Nevada. And more answers might be found there.

*

Two hours later, Caitlin and Nathan arrived at the pathologist's offices in Nevada. It was getting late. In fact, as Nathan had driven, with a stony silence between the two of them, Caitlin had started checking her watch more and more frequently. She hoped he was getting the hint that he could go five miles over the speed limit. He didn’t have to stick rigidly to the actual limit, as he was doing.

She hoped that by coming here, speaking to the pathologist and viewing the first crime scene, they would get more insight into either the crime or the killer.

Their first stop was the pathologist's offices. Due to a lack of staffing and an overload of work in Nevada, this autopsy had only been completed today. Caitlin hoped that there might be some new findings to help them on the case.

She was starting to feel impatient. So far, there were no leads, and she knew the clock was ticking if she was to prove herself.

The buildings looked a little tired here, she thought as they parked outside the small office where the coroner and pathologist worked. The town itself was surrounded by mountains and desert, and although it probably had a population of fifty thousand people or so, it looked isolated in its vast, empty setting.

They walked in and Caitlin approached the desk, glancing down at the case report before giving the receptionist a friendly nod.

"We are here to speak with Dr. Bennett. It's about the Bridget Hanover postmortem," she said.

The receptionist took her phone, and spoke with someone. Her face was tight and stressed, as if this was one more thing to deal with in this small and clearly understaffed setup. Two paramedics rushed out of one of the rooms, wheeling an empty stretcher. From another side of the building, Caitlin heard raised voices, as if a discussion was spiraling all the way into argument.

"You can go through to room two," she told them. "Please mask up." She indicated the masks. Caitlin and Nathan took one each, and Caitlin slipped hers on immediately, grateful for any additional layers between herself and the inevitable odors of death and corruption which her sensitive nose picked up, even over the harsher tones of disinfectant.

There were two bodies on the tables. One was covered with a sheet, and the other was being worked on by the pathologist. The pathologist herself was a woman in her forties, with a brisk, efficient air about her, and a tired look in her eyes.

"You're here for the Hanover autopsy results?" she asked.

She moved to the other body and drew back the sheet.

Immediately, Caitlin saw those livid bruises. Vivid even in the crime scene photos, they were more shocking in real life, against the blonde woman's sheet white skin.

Caitlin looked down at the woman, feeling a rush of sympathy, and it was laced with fear as she remembered Ella.

“She’s similar in appearance to the other victim,” she said. “Seeing her in person, those features, the eye color, it’s even more obvious than it was from the photos.” The first crime scene photos had either been too far away or too close up for her to get a good impression of the victim’s facial features.

She turned to Nathan again. She was going to come across as bossy, and he was going to resent it, but she needed to take control of the situation and make sure decisive action happened.

“We must put a warning out, to all railway lines. Female passengers of this approximate age and appearance need to be warned that they’re at risk,” she said. “Can you get that done?”

As she expected, he didn’t look too happy to be told what to do by her. “I was about to do it,” he said.

“Immediately.” Caitlin wasn’t letting up.

He looked like he wanted to snap back at her, but controlled himself.

While Nathan went to the door to make the call, she got ahead with some more information about the victim.

“Is the cause of death definitely strangulation? No other injuries or possible complications?”

"Cause of death was strangulation,” Dr. Bennett confirmed. “From the evidence, it looks as if she fought the killer for a while. There are fibers caught under her nails which makes me think he was wearing fabric or woolen gloves at the time he attacked her. It's unfortunate that we haven’t been able to get a DNA sample. He was clearly prepared," the doctor said.

Caitlin nodded. It was unfortunate, too, that most victims went straight for the killer's hands when they were being strangled. From her own FBI training and the cases she'd seen, she knew that was the wrong thing to do almost every time. There were other and better ways to try and fight a killer who had his hands tightly around your neck.

"Was she moved after death?" Caitlin asked. Such a struggle could surely not have played out in a train compartment.

"Yes, there are signs she was moved, shortly after death."

"And any other information on the killer?"

The doctor looked thoughtfully at Caitlin.

"This individual who killed her is very strong. Not only would he obviously have had to move the full dead weight of his victims and position them in these seats, but also his hands are strong. There is evidence of serious force being used in this strangulation. And it was quick." She looked again at her notes, and at the woman's neck. "One other thing I observed. I see here that although the force on both sides of the neck is fairly even, there's actually slightly worse crushing and bruising on the victim’s right."

"So it's possible the killer is left handed?" Nathan asked, returning from outside, and the doctor nodded.

Left handed. That was a very important clue, and Caitlin realized that if the pressure had been more intense on that side of the neck, it was extremely likely. The dominant hand would be stronger. With roughly ten percent of the population being left handed, that narrowed the field of suspects significantly. It was a big break, for sure.

"Can I see her clothes and possessions?" Caitlin asked.

The doctor took out a plastic bag in which the victim's clothes and possessions were neatly folded. Caitlin saw she'd been wearing jeans and a red top.

"Was there a pin on her top?" she asked. "With a design of a ladybug on it? I didn't see such a thing in the photos, but I'm wondering if it was with her somewhere?"

"No. She didn't have a pin on her at all."

Caitlin felt surprised. She'd been so sure that pin was a signature.

She saw Nathan giving her a meaningful look, as if he thought she’d been wasting her time pursuing that pin theory.

The doctor was obviously very busy, so after thanking her, Caitlin left quickly. She tried to keep breathing through her mouth, and as little as possible, the whole way down the corridor. As soon as she was back in the lobby, she ripped off her mask, feeling grateful to be out of that environment.

"I think we should go and view the scene of the crime," she said. "That carriage is still in a siding. There may be evidence there."

"You’re really hung up on this evidence,” he said, sounding annoyed with her. “You don’t think that the police would have found it? Or do you still think railway police can’t do the job?”

“It would have been local police. I’m not trying to make this personal,” she snapped. “And yes, I do want to look again for evidence. You’d be surprised how often details can be missed.”

He looked as if he was about to say something, but then caught himself.

“Okay,” he said, shrugging.

The way he was saying it made Caitlin hesitate.

"You think we should do something different?" She was shocked to find herself feeling insecure. Had Nathan thought a step ahead?

That chat with Hume had undermined her confidence, she realized. She was starting this case on an unsure footing, and she didn't feel as capable in her skills as she knew she should.

“Let’s go and rule your theory out,” he said. “I do have an idea. I’ll tell you afterward. I’m sure it will get results.”

The way he was saying it told her, for sure, that he had a better idea in mind and thought hers was pathetic.

“By the way, your boss called,” he said.

That jolted Caitlin. “My boss?” she asked incredulously. What had he been doing speaking to Nathan?

“Agent Knight. I guess he’s the boss of us both now. He seems to be directing the task force, anyway. He wanted to know if we’d made any progress. I told him we’d hopefully have something to report in the next couple of hours and he said he hoped so, because he needs to see fast results.”

Caitlin took a deep breath. She hadn’t thought things could get worse. Now, the pressure was even more intense for one of them to get a breakthrough.

And given what was at stake, Caitlin knew it needed to be her.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The train carriage where Bridget had been murdered, Caitlin learned, had been uncoupled from the others, and was on its own in a siding at the town’s station. When she and Nathan arrived there, it was clear that the station was shutting up operations for the day. It was getting dark.

She wanted to see what this scene had looked like and to find out which carriage in the train it was, to see whether this killer had a preference for the same seat in the carriage. How was his mind working?

She hoped she'd get a lead, or a better perspective from this, because she was worried about what Nathan had in store. What if he got the first breakthrough? What if he solved it on his own? Where would she be then?

"Hello?" Nathan called out, as they walked into the station itself, and a caretaker in a yellow vest hurried over, with an inquiring expression.

"Police," he explained. "We're here to see the crime scene carriage."

"It's this way," the caretaker said with a sigh, treading heavy-footed away from the gate, and checking his watch in a meaningful way as he walked toward it. “But the crew is coming to clean it out in a few minutes. They need it back in service.”

Caitlin felt a knot of tension tighten inside her. A few minutes was all they had. Would it be enough to find important evidence?

"Has anyone checked the carriage since it's been here?" she asked as they walked, keeping her tone polite. She might be brimming with frustration, but Caitlin knew from experience that being friendly with people would get her further. She needed this caretaker on her side.

"No, ma'am," he replied.

"What carriage was it? Was it at the front or the back?"

"As I recall, it was in the middle of the train. It was a long train, seven or eight carriages," he said.

Here it was. A plain looking, obviously empty carriage. There was crime scene tape attached to the seat where the victim had lain. Caitlin saw immediately that there was a similarity.

This body had also been dumped in a seat close to an interleading door. That meant the killer must have been working in one of the restrooms, storage rooms, or staff-only areas of the train. He’d then dragged the body out, gone through the door after making sure the coast was clear, and dumped her quickly in the closest seat.

As she looked, something trapped deep in the fold of the seat caught her eye.

She bent and pulled it out - carefully, using her jacket sleeve, because without a doubt this was evidence.

“Look at this!” Caitlin held it up, feeling vindicated. It was a ladybug pin, identical to the last one.

"It must have fallen off her when she was moved," she said, showing Nathan, who looked reluctantly impressed. "Perhaps it wasn't in an obvious place, since she wasn't wearing a jacket. He might have stuck it into the belt of her jeans, or her sock, or somewhere else that it wasn't noticed and it simply fell down."

At any rate, she now knew for sure that this killer was using these pins as his signature. Her theory had gotten results, and she couldn’t have been more relieved about it. Now, they would have something solid to report to Knight. Something she had found.

It was one step, and they needed more, but it was at least a start.

Caitlin carried the pin carefully out of the train carriage, feeling deeply relieved that she'd found the piece of evidence that told them something about the killer's mindset. Now, she needed to take this further. What did this ladybug pin mean to him?

She placed it in an evidence bag and slipped it into her laptop bag. Given the lack of any trace evidence so far, she wasn't holding out much hope for a fingerprint on this pin - but perhaps she might get lucky.

"If you're finished here, I'd like to go ahead with my theory," Nathan said.

Caitlin felt herself start bristling again. The competition was flaring between them again. His theory. That he hoped would produce better results than her hunch about the pin? His voice told her so.

"Since we're here, we can go into this station office - if you wouldn't mind opening up, sir?"

"I can do that," the caretaker said, now looking resigned at the fact he was going to be here a while longer.

"What do you want to look for?" Caitlin asked.

"I want to see if there are any railway staff members who were on both trains at the times of the killings. Perhaps someone worked both those shifts."

That felt like a punch in the gut to Caitlin. It was a damned good theory, and she hadn't thought of it. He had. She'd been focused on getting every last piece of evidence that might give a clue to the killer's identity.

"In different states?" she asked, not wanting to give this idea too much obvious enthusiasm. “You think that’s possible?”

"The train routes run across state lines, and you'll probably find most of the staff commonly work a full day’s shift," he replied. Either he hadn't heard the critical note in her voice or else was ignoring it.

"You don't think the police would have checked that already?" She hoped they had.

"I didn't see any reference to it in the case notes."

He walked into the small office, took his laptop out of his bag, and opened it up.

"I'm going to log into the staff records and look," he said.

He started typing, and she heard the speedy clicking of the keyboard and the sound of the computer's fan whirring. Behind her, the caretaker shifted uneasily from foot to foot. She was sure he was checking his watch again.

"How long is that likely to take?" she asked, as she looked around the office, feeling restless and competitive. She, too, was worried about time, because it felt as if the day was slipping by. What else could she do? What other angle had they missed?

Nathan was leaning over the computer, looking between two sets of records, switching from one to the other, his fingers flying. He was fast, Caitlin had to admit. And focused. He was definitely a more driven person than she’d first thought, and guessed, from that surfer-boy appearance.

She decided she could help him, instead of being so fearful and negative about his theory. With any luck, it would just rule the possibility out quicker.

"Would a second screen make it easier?" she said, getting her own laptop out of her bag.

"No," he said shortly.

Caitlin stared at him, feeling more distrustful than ever by that quick refusal. “Okay,” she said slowly. He wouldn’t compromise the speed of the case by refusing help and insisting on working alone? Or would he?

"This password will only work off one login,” he explained. “It’s not that I don’t want the help. It’s just that logistically, I can’t use it. It might not take long. Depends how quickly I can spot the common factors."

She put her laptop away, feeling deflated. This was his idea, and he was executing it. She couldn't even help. The lists looked long and complex. He was gazing from one to the other, jotting notes on his paper notebook that he'd taken out and placed on the desk.

"I don't think there is anyone in common," he muttered, and Caitlin had time for a quick flare of relief.

But then, Nathan caught his breath.

"Wait a minute!" he said, now sounding excited. "I've found someone here. He’s an attendant who operates the food and beverage service. He wasn't supposed to work the shift where Vicky died. He switched shifts with a fellow worker the day before yesterday."

Caitlin inhaled sharply. That sounded like a very positive lead.

"Who is he?"

"His name's Anthony Curry," Nathan said. "He's a local employee. He lives in the neighboring town." He checked the map on his phone. "I see he had today off, so with any luck he's home.”

Caitlin nodded. This was a strong lead. They needed to get there, fast.

CHAPTER NINE

The neighboring town, where suspect Anthony Curry lived, was a few miles further into Nevada and even smaller, nothing more than a small collection of lights set in the shadow of one of the steep, arid hills. But as Nathan drove into it, frustratingly refusing to exceed the speed limit, Caitlin knew that they could be entering the killer's home town.

Confronting a killer always meant risk. This was going to be the first potentially risky confrontation that the two of them handled. And she was feeling far from confident about it.

They were not a team. They were not working together as yet, and in fact she doubted they ever would. They were not on each other's wavelengths, and Caitlin worried - for herself as well as him - that they wouldn't be enough in tune to have each other's backs.

Even so, this was their first real lead, and they had to follow it through. And more than that, this was her chance to prove herself all over again, to prove that she had what it took to work with a partner. This didn’t have to be harmonious; she knew that was too much to ask for. It just had to be effective and go smoothly. Surely she could hope for that?

Nathan glanced at her, and she guessed that he was feeling uneasy, too. It was in the tense set of his shoulders, in the way he gripped the steering wheel. Perhaps he also thought that this first meeting with a suspect would be a showdown in more ways than one.

Caitlin was braced for a confrontation as Nathan's car crunched onto the gravel in front of the little house. It was a small, single-story home, in an arid yard. Gardening was clearly not Anthony Curry's strong suit, though the house itself was neatly painted, the path swept, the windows clean.

And a light was on in one of them. She could see the glow from inside. It looked like he was home.

Taking a deep breath, Caitlin climbed out of the car, breathing in the smell of cooking food wafting on the breeze, looking around this quiet neighborhood.

She could hear the sound of a dog barking in the distance, and a mother calling out to her children to come inside from playing.

It was a quiet neighborhood. There was a secure community in this small town. Areas like this always impressed her with their feeling of innocence, and made her briefly wish she lived somewhere similar. She knew, though, that the sense of security in these places could be false. A peaceful community was all well and good, until a young woman's life was taken in a brutal crime. Killers had to hide somewhere, and didn’t always go to ground in the big, bad cities.

They walked up to the front door, and Nathan rang the bell.

Caitlin waited tensely, knowing that they could be about to confront a man who had killed two women, and could be dangerous. 

Footsteps approached.

The door was opened. In the bright hallway light she saw a man with a surprised expression on his broad, fleshy face. Anthony Curry was a tall, strong man. That, she saw immediately. He was probably Nathan's height, broad-shouldered, with large hands. One of them was holding a coffee cup. The right hand, she noticed.

"Good evening," Nathan said. "We're from the railroad policing unit, and we need to speak to you in connection with the recent murders."

Anthony stared at them, appalled. The cup in his hand tilted and a splash of liquid spattered down onto the tiles. Caitlin jumped ever so slightly at the sound. That was how tightly wound she felt. Hastily, Anthony righted the cup.

"I'd better wipe that up," he said. He had a soft, musical voice that was surprisingly at odds with his big, bulky appearance.

Now seemingly panicked, he rushed out of the hall, returned a moment later without the cup and with a cloth in his hand, and wiped up the spill quickly before ushering the two of them in.

Caitlin followed the two men to a small living area, with two blue sofas that seemed to overcrowd the compact room.

Anthony sat on one. The two of them sat on the other.

Caitlin wanted to take the lead, but before she could, Nathan said quickly, "We're here because you worked shifts on both trains, at the times when these women were murdered. Obviously, there are some questions surrounding that."

"I - I don't understand," he said. "There are hundreds of people who work on the trains. Why would the police want to speak to me?"

"Because you swapped shifts to be on the second train at the time when Vicky Ford was killed," Nathan said. 

"Well, yes. But that's just a coincidence. I was working in the refreshments kiosk on both days. I didn't kill anyone. I swear I didn't." His coffee cup was still in his right hand, and he was holding it tightly, as though for support. "I did nothing wrong. I didn't even know that there had been another killing on that train. Well, as I left the station yesterday, I saw the police arrive and I wondered if there had been another - another incident."

Watching him, Caitlin decided that if she hadn’t known him and he was not a suspect, her impression of him would have been a gentle man. That was what she was getting. She wasn’t sensing violence in him, and she was very used to interviewing violent suspects.

"What's the protocol when you work your shifts?" Caitlin asked, needing to get a picture of what his movements could have been. "Do you work alone; do you work with anyone?"

"I work with a partner. We're a team of two in the refreshments kiosk. One of us mans the kiosk full-time, and the other is more mobile - going to and fro, getting additional stock, that sort of thing."

"And which were you?" she asked.

"I was in the kiosk full-time. I like dealing with the public, so I always choose to do that."

"And who did you work with on those two shifts, when the two women were killed?"

"I worked the first of those two shifts with Gracie Edgar, who I often partner with. Then the second one, I switched because the other worker wanted the day off. So I worked with Jack Scott that day."

"And did you take any breaks?"

"Yes, we have allocated break times. I had one break on the first of those two shifts. That was from four-fifteen to four-thirty p.m. I came back five minutes early because the kiosk was very busy. Then the second shift was a longer one, so I took two breaks, from three p.m. to three-fifteen, and then again from six-fifteen to six thirty." He opened his phone and scrolled through. "I can show you my clock-in and clock-out times here."

"And do you leave the kiosk at any other time?"

"Absolutely not. We are only allowed to take the scheduled breaks when manning the kiosk. If we leave it at any other time then our partner has to stand in for us. You can ask Jack and Gracie, I didn’t have a situation where they had to step in and do my job for me.” He added, earnestly, “I was unemployed for a couple of years after the company I worked for closed their doors. I’m very grateful to have a job again, especially one where I’m able to work so many shifts. I wouldn’t do anything to put that at risk.”

While he spoke, still in that nonaggressive voice, Caitlin was thinking furiously, doing math in her head.

To her, it didn't look like he would have had a window of time available on the first train to kill the victim. She'd only boarded the train after his break was over.

Nathan glanced at her. He had worked it out, too. He looked slightly disappointed.

"Thank you for your time," he said, getting up. "I don't have further questions for you, and appreciate your cooperation. The local PD will double check what you’ve said, within the next hour, so until they clear you please keep your phone open and don’t leave these premises."

As they walked out, he was already on the phone to the local team, requesting that this get done.

Caitlin felt slightly relieved that Nathan’s theory hadn’t panned out, and then got immediately mad at herself for feeling that way. Why was she being so petty? The important thing was that this case was solved!

But it was so important for her career, for her future, that she was the one who solved it.

As she thought so, her mind veered again to her sister’s predicament. Ella had never been far from her thoughts since she’d started this new role. This time, though, Caitlin thought there was a reason why she’d suddenly started thinking of her sister, and that was because of the confusion regarding her uncle’s shifts.

It had muddied the investigation waters in Ella’s disappearance, and now, Caitlin wondered if there were parallels in this case.

There was so much confusion about whether Uncle Josh had been on the train, and that was because he hadn't been officially on shift. He'd just hitched a ride, as employees were allowed to do. And back then, she knew, he'd been able to do it - for some reason - without an official record. Since then, she was sure, there were better digital ways of tracking employees' movements.

"Does every employee who boards a train get tracked these days?" she asked as they climbed into the car. "For instance, if they're just hitching a ride home, and not on shift?"

"Yes. They would be tracked and have to swipe their employee card if they were just using the train," Nathan said.

"In that case, let's look again. Based on that theory, there might be other train employees we haven’t yet looked at who could have been on both trains," Caitlin said, her resolve now hardening, because she thought she was onto something here, and so did Nathan from the spark of excitement in his eyes as he stared at her.

“What if someone was off duty and simply using the train when they made those kills?”

CHAPTER TEN

He walked down the corridor, moving from carriage one into carriage two, keeping his expression neutral and his body language calm. Nobody must notice him. He was adept at staying under the radar.

But inside, he felt sharp and alert, all his senses spiking. That was because he knew she was on the train.

He was searching for her, although perhaps ‘hunting’ would be a better term. He wanted to hunt down and destroy the woman who had destroyed his life.

He knew that she was on the train, and he knew that she was on her own. That, he instinctively understood, because that was how things had happened. He had a picture in his mind of her. Her blonde hair would attract his eye with its distinctive pale gold color. Her blue eyes, pretty but ice-cold, would draw him in.

She might be sitting quietly; and in fact, she probably would be. That was the type of person she was. To sit and do nothing. A cold-hearted, uncaring woman, one who had blood on her hands.

"Excuse me," a woman said, approaching him, jolting his attention away from the search.

Dumpy, short, and with a shock of frizzy red hair, his eyes - that radar within - passed over her without so much as a blip. She was just another passenger and not the woman he was seeking.

He stood aside for her, polite and courteous. The voice in his mind was giving a warning. "Do not make a scene, do not draw attention. Make polite conversation as she will expect it."

"Lots of shopping?" he said, looking at the bulky bags she was carrying. Inside he felt angry, because she was slowing down his search, making it harder for him to move through the train and see. Why couldn't she have planned better, packed better? He would have loved to have given her a harshly critical reprimand, scalded her with his words, showed her who he was.

But he kept his voice calm and his demeanor mild. He was a good actor. He knew how to read people. That was his talent, and he could see she was the chatty type.

"Yes, I'm doing shopping for my mother," the redheaded woman said, beaming at him, clearly delighted to be engaging with a stranger in this crowded train. He knew he had a trustworthy face. People automatically had confidence in him, believing him to be reliable and caring. But already, his eyes were scanning past, over the top of her head, assessing the other passengers in his carriage.

Deep inside, he felt a stab of anger, because he was being held up from his search, he who was so eager to find her, to see her again, to grasp her throat in his hands, to finally eradicate her from this world, like a pest. He’d stamp her out. The world didn’t need her and she was better gone.

He had missed her on the first train, but he was certain he would see her soon. As soon as this interfering redhead had passed by.

"I hope your mother appreciates all the trouble you go to for her," he said, as the woman walked on, staggering and swaying under the weight of the bags.

"Oh, I hope so too. She could sometimes be more grateful, know what I mean?"

“I think I do know,” he said, as if sharing an inside joke with her.

The woman rolled her eyes, smiling, before she proceeded on her way, giving him space again to resume his search.

He could see in his mind's eye. The image of her was ingrained in his memory. All he had to do now was find her. And he was going to. No way would he let her get away with it. She was the woman who had ruined his life, and so he had to take her down, to destroy her. That was how he saw it.

“Excuse me, can you tell me if this seat is free?" a man asked, startling him. He'd been deep in his thoughts for a minute. He'd lost the discipline he usually forced on himself, and his mind had raced ahead, in thoughts of revenge.

"It is free, I believe," he said, stepping aside.

“Thank you,” the man said. Like the woman, he knew that this man thought of him immediately as a trustworthy type, a likeable person.

He waited for the man to sit, and then continued on his way. This train was very full. Evening commuters were packing into it. That was good, because it would give him more of a chance of finding her. Of course, he would have to be patient. There had been a few times, in the past few days, when he'd seen her but had been unable to act. Frustrating though that was, he knew circumstances had to be right, and they weren't always. The trick was to be prepared, and to move quickly when the moment was right.

The urge was growing stronger, and he was feeling the pressure. In fact, the urge was so strong that it was almost a physical pain, and for a moment it felt crushing, as if he couldn't breathe. Then he forced it away, trying to calm himself.

He needed to be in control. He had to remain calmly positive that he would find her on this train, and that he was able to act and do what he needed to, because she'd stayed alive too long. He walked along, doing a visual sweep of the passengers.

He was starting to feel a little edgy at his lack of progress. He’d been making such strides recently, He was used to being in control, able to decide his own fate and the fate of others, thinking on the fly and making things happen the way he wanted them to happen.

He hated it when circumstances didn't allow for that to occur. It was lucky he was a patient man, because right now he was at the end of his patience. Where was she?

In his mind, he conjured an image of her, her blonde hair pale and shiny, her blue eyes bright, her smile wary. She had a beautiful face. He hated her for that, too. It disguised her evil character.

He scanned the passengers in the carriage, forcing himself to be calm. Like a hunter, he was seeking his prey. There were certain attributes and qualities this prey would show. He knew that she would be sitting quietly, not causing trouble, and he suspected that she would be lost in her own thoughts.

After all, she had so much to think about, this evil woman.

Then, suddenly, he saw her. His heart sped up. He felt a flicker of hope, a tingle of excitement.

There she was! Sitting quietly, just as he'd expected, scrolling through her phone. From time to time, she was looking around nervously. He expected that. He had seen the railway police earlier on the platform, issuing their warnings. Of course they were going to try and steer people away from the fate they deserved. That was to be expected. But he knew that she was arrogant enough to disregard a warning, to think she’d be safe. That was who she was.

But still, he showed nothing. Nobody would have known that, in a few seconds, his heart had accelerated and adrenaline-fueled hope had flooded him. It was lucky he was so calm and controlled. That was standing him in good stead at this time, especially seeing this was only the first step, after all.

Quietly, inconspicuously, he found a seat and took it, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

Now, his prey would need to make a move. And when she did, he would be ready and he would take her down.

His hands flexed.

It was as if he could feel her neck already. The last two times, he’d left his victims for a while, tied and gagged them and dumped them deep in the train before coming back.

This time, he didn’t think he had the patience for that. He was going to take her fast and brutally, get his hands around her neck, squeeze the life out of her. That would truly give her the payback she deserved.

But he couldn’t do anything with her in that seat, not in such a crowded train. Move, he thought, willing her to get restless, to need a snack, to use the restroom.

Then he caught his breath as she stood up. It felt like his wishes had been granted. What a head rush! Without a doubt, he'd now be able to take this all the way.

He stood, too, walking quietly through the train.

Following her.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

"We need to do exactly what you did earlier, and go through the list of employees riding those trains. But this time, also include train employees who were not on duty and who just hitched a ride. And let's pay special attention to conductors," Caitlin said to Nathan, darkly, with thoughts of Uncle Josh at the forefront of her mind.

"Conductors? Why, you think they're a more likely prospect?" He sounded doubtful, and as if he distrusted her judgment automatically. But in this regard she was not willing to budge.

"Yes, I do," Caitlin said. She could tell that Nathan picked up the angry note in her voice. She didn't want him to know that this case was feeling personal to her and that unwanted memories were flooding her mind.

She didn't want him to know that she was feeling furious, all over again, at the inadequate, flimsy answers that her uncle had provided. Answers that only triggered more questions. They’d never asked them. As a family, they had failed Ella, and she was ashamed to think about that.

Now, Nathan's gaze was downright curious. He was probably thinking she was acting weird, and she was.

No way was she going to tell him why, though. Why would she confide in him when she hoped they would know each other for a couple of days at best? So she kept her personal reasons to herself, and gave him the logical explanation.

"Conductors are more mobile. They're walking up and down the train all the time. The caterers, the drivers, are far less mobile.”

“A cleaner would also be mobile,” he pointed out.

“Cleaners keep out of the way. They work more behind the scenes. Conductors deal with the public. Are you really telling me you don’t believe these women were watched carefully before they were taken?” she asked, now feeling annoyed at his lack of willingness to come on board with her.

He nodded. "That makes sense, I guess." He sounded reluctant.

"You guess?" Annoyed, Caitlin glanced at him. "What part of my theory don't you want to commit to?"

"No, it's a reasonable theory," he said.

"So? Then it makes sense. Full stop."

She couldn't wait to be out of this partnership. It was like he was actively resisting her ideas now.

The thought briefly occurred to her that she'd been doing exactly the same to him. But that was because her job was on the line. She needed to succeed in this, and couldn't help feeling both competitive and anxious when it looked like she was failing.

Especially seeing it was now fully dark. The day was passing by fast.

"We can go back to the police station and check there, I suppose,” he said thoughtfully.

"Why waste that time?" she retorted, frustration surging again. "You don’t have to have a desk in front of you to check a list. That’ll be twenty minutes spent going back. We can check right here in the car."

"Okay," he said, surprised.

This was really the wrong partner for her and for the case, Caitlin thought. Railroad police might be used to keeping normal hours, but her FBI career had taught her that there was no such thing as quitting time, and no need for anything but the basic essentials.

As soon as they were in the car, they opened up the laptop again, and used the center console as a table. Caitlin got a signal on her phone and Nathan linked his computer to it.

Then, she had to wait for the long, tedious minutes as he scrolled through all the information again. This was definitely a one person job, due more to the lack of space on the screen than to the fact they were working in the car. It had been a one person job at a desk, too.

She waited, looking at Nathan's face, his features strong in the reflected light, his blonde hair forming a golden halo in the dark of the car.

Watching him work, all her worries flared up again. This was an experimental unit, it was just an idea, it might even be a token gesture toward fighting these crimes. She knew how those things went. Three months down the line, and the powers in charge would decide it wasn't working and would shut it down. Or else there’d be a reduction in the crime stats and it would be quietly disbanded.

Nathan would go back to his job. She feared she wouldn't.

"Have you found anything yet?" she asked, the pressure bearing down once more on her.

"Give me a chance," he said, now sounding annoyed.

"Is there any way I can help?"

He flashed her an annoyed glance.

"It's a one person job. It hasn't changed since last time."

"I guess," she said, saying it just like he'd done a few minutes ago, venting her annoyance in the sarcasm. To her surprise, he didn't take offense, but instead grinned briefly before turning back to his work.

Just as well one of them, at least, could have a sense of humor when the chips were down, Caitlin guessed, feeling oddly relieved that he’d defused the situation instead of escalating it into an argument. And he was right. It was a one person job.

Even if they weren't in a car, she couldn't help. She hadn't been able to help the last time either. One person looking at a small laptop screen was possible. When two tried, it meant neither could focus on the detail properly. And clearly, focus was needed for this job, and with only one password, that meant she was sitting here twiddling her thumbs and waiting to see if this idea worked.

She tried not to fidget. Better that he work without distraction. What mattered was that he ended up finding something helpful.

She thought back to the cases she and Fitch had handled, the times they’d spent together sitting in a car. She’d thought they were in tune with each other and that there had been camaraderie between them. As it turned out, there had not been enough of that. From his side, anyway. She hadn’t lived up to his expectations or standards, or something. She wasn’t enough of a team player for her team to have wanted her.

It still hurt when she thought about it. Perhaps she needed to change.

At least there was honesty in this car. If Nathan infuriated her, like he was doing, she wasn’t going to be shy to tell him because it wasn’t like she planned to spend a lot of time here. She wanted to be back with the Atlanta FBI office, but now she didn’t know if there was a future there for her at all. It made her feel unmoored, as if failure was threatening from every side.

"Okay," Nathan said, and the tone of his voice got all her hopes sparking.

"You got something?"

"Yes. I’ve found a person who looks to have been on both those trains. And he is a conductor."

"Who is it?" Her hopes flared.

"His name is Jim Grieg. He was on duty for half of the first train ride. He clocked off half an hour after Bridget boarded, and got off at the next stop."

"Okay." That sounded good, she thought. "And the second trip?"

"He hitched a ride for half that trip also. It looks like he boarded a stop after Vicky did, and left two stops after she was supposed to. So he would have been on the train at the same time for about an hour and a half."

That was more than enough time for him to strike.

"Where does he live? Or is he at work?"

Quickly, Nathan looked it up.

"He's on a train now. It’s the evening train from Los Angeles, going all the way through to Wichita, Kansas. I’m checking the route.”

He pressed more keys on the laptop while she fidgeted, now feeling eager as well as impatient.

“It looks like it’s going to pass by the closest station to us in about an hour. I guess we could get there in that time if we rush?"

"An hour? What’s the time now?”

“It’s seven p.m.”

“We can be there by eight? Let's get going, then. You'll need to organize for the train to stop and us to board. In which case, I'll drive."

They switched seats, and feeling pleased to be behind the wheel, Caitlin set off into the night.

She felt energized all over again. The timing was perfect. This case could be solved, and her reputation redeemed, by tonight.

It all hinged on what would happen an hour from now.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Jim Grieg was on a train. Caitlin felt a steely resolve as the car powered along the highway. She was driving fast, going thirty miles over the limit, with the car's lights activated. That was how you drove on the way to catch a suspect. Meanwhile, Nathan was on the radio, in touch with the linesmen and the train driver. She listened to the staccato conversation, feeling hopeful that they were going to get results.

Stopping at an intersection, she glanced down at the ID photo and description which Nathan had called up on his laptop.

Male, brown hair, brown eyes, five-ten in height. His face looked lean and unsmiling. His hair was tidily parted. He looked unassuming, his eyes guarded.

"We'll need to board the train at North Downs and question a few suspects," Nathan said, referring to the small station that was closest. He was on the phone to the driver now.

"We don't usually make a stop there," the driver said.

"I know, it'll need to be an unscheduled stop. Please do not inform your staff on the train as yet. We don't want advance warning."

"Copy that," the driver agreed.

Nathan cut the call. Ahead, Caitlin could see the signposts for North Downs. She swung the car off the highway and powered down the road, heading to the station at the bottom of the hill. The station was empty, but the night watchman had opened the gate, ready for their arrival. She sped in, braking quickly to show her ID to the night watchman, who waved them on. Parking close to the main entrance, she got out and ran for the platform.

In only a minute, before she'd even gotten her breath back, she could see the oncoming headlights of the train.

It was a long train, ten carriages, and it looked to be about half-full. Caitlin's stomach twisted as she wondered whether this would have given this killer a chance to strike again.

It was a terrible feeling to think that they might have been just minutes too late. But if the people on the train had known earlier that law enforcement was boarding, it would have given this killer a chance to get away, and that would have been an even worse outcome.

The train came to a stop and she ran to the front to talk to the driver.

"Thanks for organizing this stop," she said, as he looked out of the window. He looked anxious, as if this interruption was throwing out his schedule and causing trouble. Well, a murder would only cause worse trouble, she knew.

"Do you have a timeframe?" he asked.

"Probably half an hour, max," she said. If all went according to plan.

"I think we do a visual check through the train first. See where he is, question him," she muttered to Nathan.

Nathan shrugged, and she could see from his face he would have done things differently, but wasn't going to argue the point now. Instead, she guessed, he was saving it up as an 'I told you so.'

Turning away from the driver's window, Caitlin went to the door of the first carriage, and she and Nathan climbed aboard. There were a dozen passengers there, and thanks to the unscheduled stop, they were now on a spectrum ranging from curious to annoyed. Caitlin's eyes flicked over them, taking in as much detail as she could, just in case she needed it.

“We’re doing a routine check, looking for information on a crime,” she heard Nathan say loudly, reassuring the passengers. “You should be moving again soon. Please stay where you are and don’t move through the train.”

Nothing looked out of place. Jim Grieg was not in this carriage. They walked through to the second carriage, which was emptier. A uniformed man was taking a trash bag down the corridor, but it wasn't Jim, she saw.

"What's going on? Is everything okay?" one of the women in the second carriage asked.

Caitlin repeated what Nathan had said earlier. "It's a routine check. We're getting information to help us with a series of crimes."

She didn't want people to panic. That was not what they needed now. But even so, she scanned the faces of all the passengers carefully, to see if there was anyone who looked like a potential victim. Any blonde woman who seemed to be asleep would ring big alarm bells right now.

She dreaded finding that, and had a horrible suspicion in the pit of her stomach that they might end up confronted by this exact, terrible sight.

Moving into the fourth carriage, Caitlin looked around again. The catering kiosk was located at the end of this carriage, and the attendant looked at them curiously.

"What's happening here? Is there trouble?"

"Routine check, in connection with a crime," she said briefly.

She walked through to the next carriage. This was starting to feel as if the suspense was building. And then, her heart stopped.

She didn't see Jim Grieg, but she saw something worse.

A blonde woman, her head slumped to the side, bent forward in her seat. She looked motionless, like a statue, her skin pale, her hair falling forward. Caitlin glanced back to see Nathan looking at the same sight, his face frozen.

"Hell," she whispered. Caitlin's heart began to race.

This was an absolute disaster. Had he struck again, on this very train? Had they boarded too late? She rushed forward, grasping the woman’s shoulder, dreading to feel that sickening tilt as the corpse slipped sideways, to see those livid bruises.

For a moment, there was no movement. Her stomach twisted.

And then, the woman erupted from sleep, sitting up straight with a surprised cry, jerking herself away from Caitlin’s worried grasp.

"Hey!" she gasped. "What's going on? Why are you disturbing me?"

Caitlin felt lightheaded with relief. She had been bracing for screams, for panic from the surrounding passengers, for the dreadful feel of a corpse in her grasp. Instead, she was met with the confused face of a young woman, blinking in a disoriented way.

"Sorry, ma'am," she said, thinking quickly, because the woman would probably not appreciate being told she looked dead. "I just wanted to warn you to take care if you're traveling alone. There have been targeted crimes against women of your appearance and age group."

The woman frowned. "Yes, I know about that. I'm just sitting here, minding my business. I don’t plan to go anywhere until I leave the train."

Her surprise turned to irritation. She was not happy about being woken from her nap. But at least she was alive.

They walked on, Caitlin searching and looking as they went, in case he was hiding. Or somebody else was hidden. She looked in all the nooks and crannies as they walked, opened the staff room and storage room doors and checked behind them. He had to be here somewhere. But she was starting to wonder where. Was he hiding from them?

Caitlin walked on, more slowly now, more cautiously, looking at each passenger, checking everyone and everywhere. She was beginning to feel very suspicious that they hadn’t seen him by now. What were the chances he would be right at the back of the train? Or had he gone there, in case, when he heard about the stop?

The last carriage of all was ahead. She pressed the button and the doors hissed open. Caitlin stepped through.

This carriage was occupied by only a couple of people, and the exit doors were open.  Caitlin registered that instantly, alarm bells already going off in her head. There was a man standing near them.

He stared at them, his head turning, and she saw recognition in his eyes. He saw their uniforms, he clocked her FBI jacket. He knew who they were, and he was wary.

"Jim Grieg? Railway special task force. We need to speak to you," Caitlin called.

Recognition turned abruptly to fear. She saw him hesitate, as if making a decision.

And then, without a word, he took off, leaping out of the train and sprinting down the darkened platform.

Their suspect was on the run.

"Get him!" Caitlin shouted, jumping out of the train and into the darkness, her feet slamming down onto the concrete platform. Behind her, she heard Nathan’s footsteps as he launched himself in pursuit.

Then she was sprinting after the fleeing suspect, legs pounding, hoping she could claw back the lead he had, before he vanished into the dark.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Their suspect was fleeing. It was a sign of guilt, Caitlin knew. But now they had to catch him, in the dark, on the run, and in an environment that he must know well and they were totally unfamiliar with.

As she ran, she tugged the flashlight from her belt. It was his footsteps, more than the sight of him, that guided her through the side entrance that he must have taken. He was running out of the back of the station, through a service entrance.

Her feet slammed on the blacktop. She was going as fast as she could, but to her irritation, she realized that Nathan, with his long legs and bigger stride, was faster.

His flashlight beam drew level with her, and then he edged ahead.

Now she was bringing up the rear, trying to keep pace with the two men. Doggedly, not wanting to relinquish any ground, she sprinted along the blacktop, her heart pounding, the adrenaline pumping. Grieg was fast. And he was nervous. He was panicking.

There was a tall, wire fence ahead, and she could see the light reflecting off it. They veered to the left and she followed, rounding the corner to see a gate in the fence. It was closed, but that wasn't going to stop their suspect.

Grieg pulled himself up and, clinging to the edge, he swung his legs over and dropped down on the other side of the fence.

Nathan followed, gaining ground as he scaled the fence and vaulted smoothly over.

Caitlin's FBI training came right back to her. How many times had they had to scale fences? She allowed muscle memory to take over, grasping the fence, feeling the wire bite into her hands as she used her speed to take her up. Her feet touched the top of the fence briefly, and then she swung her legs over and dropped down, landing on the ground beside the tracks.

How far had he gone?

She was determined not to lose him.

After a hundred yards, the road curved to the right, and Caitlin was rewarded with a glimpse of the fleeing suspect. Nathan's flashlight beam was pinning him.

She saw Grieg’s silhouette, the smooth outline of his hair, the way he was running, his arms pumping. His legs were going like pistons, his powerful frame straining.

They were running north, along the blacktop, following the curve of the service road. Although this was unknown territory, Caitlin started to ask herself: Where is this man running to? He had to have a destination in mind. He was surely not running blindly.

He was clearly someone who thought ahead. After all, he'd positioned himself right at the end of the train and opened the doors, just in case this stop meant trouble for him. Without a doubt he’d prepared for the unwanted arrival of the police.

What was he thinking now? What was he planning?

And then Grieg ducked right, disappearing down an unlit, narrow road. She saw the bulky outlines in front of her, and realized he was heading for a row of warehouses. She saw the narrow road, the warehouses rising up, the dull gleam of their walls.

It didn't make sense to go into a warehouse and hide. That would be like going into a trap. It would be too easy for the cops to bring reinforcements, seal the entrances, and search until he was flushed out. So maybe he was trying something different. Maybe this was a tactic and he was planning to double back.

Caitlin had spent a lot of her time in Atlanta investigating warehouses. She knew the logic and the normal layout of an industrial area. There would be side roads, back roads, interconnecting roads. If she was him, she'd take a side road, double back, and then go off at an angle, escaping the area and leaving the police confused and misled.

If she was him, she would go to the left.

It might be worth following that hunch.

She ran that way, turning down the narrow, dark street. The warehouses were now on her right, blocking her view. Nathan was chasing him and she'd gone out on her own, hoping that she could outthink him.

She hadn't told Nathan her plans, but there hadn't been time. She was too far away to help, if he did catch up. At least this way it gave them a second chance.

Caitlin ran in the darkness, heading for the entrance to the side road that he would have had to use if he was going to escape this way. She would have done that if she'd been him; there was a busy main road just a hundred yards away, and beyond that, the bustling streets of the town center. Very easy to hide and vanish or jump in a cab, in that populated area.

If she was him, that's what she would be planning to do.

And then she saw the narrow road up ahead. Now to see if she was right. Caitlin shrank back, pressed herself against the wall, and peered cautiously around.

He was there. He was still running, but this time, toward her. In the dim glow of the streetlight, she could see sweat glistening on his brow, and hear the regular gasps of his breaths. He was a fit man, and strong. He definitely had the power and strength to have caused the damage to the victims that she’d seen postmortem.

Caitlin knew that in just a few moments, she’d be face-to-face with him and he’d be using that power and strength against her. The thought didn’t scare her. She knew the risks of her job. She was willing to put herself in danger if it meant she could potentially catch a killer and save lives.

This man’s potential aggression scared her far less than the betrayal of a partner. Now that was something she couldn’t stomach. That was terrifying to her. Not this.

She waited as long as she could, until the last possible moment, and then she leaped out of her hiding place.

"Stop!" she yelled.

He skidded to a stop, staring at her with panicked eyes, looking from side to side as if he could somehow find a bolt hole to avoid what was happening.

But even as he glanced around, he heard Nathan's footsteps behind him, still fast and strong.

She saw him hesitate, and then make the decision that of the two, Caitlin was smaller and slighter, and he'd have more chance of busting through her and continuing his escape.

His jaw tightened. She saw him ready himself for the attack. And then, he ran at her, head down, intending to use his speed to plow straight past her.

"Not today," Caitlin hissed. There wasn't time to go for her gun, and in any case she wasn't going to use unnecessary force, especially since she now had a reputation for reckless behavior which her old unit had exaggerated to those in charge. Using a gun now would not be wise, and it could get her into trouble. Also, in the dark, and at this speed, a bullet might not find an accurate mark, and it might not stop him.

Physical intervention was the best way to handle this.

She was going to tackle him and bring him down, and she hoped she could do it effectively, even though she was smaller and lighter.

To succeed, she was going to have to use her speed and her strength. And she was going to have to use her experience to get this right.

At least she could see the attack coming, and plan for the moment when she’d make contact with him. She saw the panic, the desperation, the sheer energy in his demeanor.

Making sure she was balanced, she flexed her knees and lowered her weight, and she kept her eyes on his feet, watching for the moment when she needed to act. She’d need to be totally committed in that moment, and couldn’t allow anything but the intent of winning to cross her mind.

It was make or break. As she heard the breath hissing out of his lungs, as she was close enough to see his eyes, Caitlin hurled herself forward.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As Grieg hurtled toward her, Caitlin flung herself forward, skidding on the tarmac. She threw herself into his legs, using her own momentum to give her the advantage. Flinging herself forward, she aimed for his ankles, aiming to knock him off his feet, to crash him down to the ground.

She grabbed hold of his legs with all the intent and ferocity she possessed, feeling the scrape and the painful thud as she hit the ground. But with any luck, so would he, if she held on tightly enough.

He landed with a cry of surprise and then he was on his back, his arms flailing, and she was scrambling on top of him, capitalizing on the shock advantage she'd gained, trying to immobilize his limbs.

She pressed down hard, using all her weight, using all her strength. He was struggling, trying to buck her off, but he was not going anywhere. She was stronger than she looked, and she had a good grip on his arms. The first thing to do was get the upper hand, get him under control, and then she could handcuff him.

Caitlin shoved her arms down on his shoulders, her fingers digging into his flesh, using her weight as best she could while she grabbed for one of his wrists.

Halfway to success! She had one of the cuffs on. But the next one was a bigger challenge.

He was flailing around, fighting hard to avoid the other. His arm caught her on the cheek in a wild, painful, and accurate blow, and her head snapped sideways. For a moment she thought he was going to get up again and fling her off, and disappear with her set of cuffs dangling from his left wrist.

Then, with a thud of feet, Nathan arrived.

Within a moment, her partner - impressively quick to act, she had to admit - had grabbed Jim Grieg’s other wrist. The cuffs snapped closed.

“How did you get here?” he muttered to her.

She shrugged. “Acted off a hunch,” she muttered back.

She was expecting a lash of criticism, but to her surprise, he gasped out, “Good work.”

Caitlin couldn’t help the brief flare of relief and pride she felt. Quickly, she suppressed it. This was early. There was still a lot to do.

They dragged their now captured suspect to his feet. They were all breathing hard, particularly the men. At least taking her shortcut had allowed her to catch her breath, Caitlin realized.

"We're bringing you in," she said tersely, glad she could get the words out clearly and in a firm tone. "You attempted to flee when we tried to speak to you. Now, we want to know why. And a lot more besides."

"Let's take him into the station," Nathan suggested. "I mean, the train station. It's closer."

Caitlin was about to say no, they should question him at a police department, when she realized that there were benefits in having him close to the train.

For starters, if he looked to be guilty, and was hiding anything on that train, they'd be able to search quickly. And who knew what they would find?

Her personal hope, as they walked down the long stretch of blacktop back to the station, was for a stash of ladybug pins.

*

Ten minutes later, they had Grieg in one of the chairs in the caretaker's office. With both of them in attendance, and the interview being recorded, Caitlin was satisfied that this checked enough of the 'correct protocol' boxes.

"Why did you run when you saw us?" she asked.

The light in here was dimmer than in a normal interview room. In its dull glow, Grieg's eyes looked hooded and his cheekbones sharp. He gazed from one of them to the other, and she saw a fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He had the look of someone who was trying to think fast. Or who was about to lie.

"I was scared. I didn't think. For a moment I worried there were hijackers on the train, that it was some kind of heist."

"We identified ourselves as police."

"Is a criminal going to say they're a criminal?" he shot back.

"This was clearly not a heist. It was an official stop. It was calmly done. Nobody else was remotely worried. Only you. Why?" Caitlin pressured him.

"Because I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of you, of course."

"You were scared," Caitlin repeated in a flat tone. "Of us?"

"Because I know what you're like."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I know the police overstep their powers sometimes. I thought you were going to cause trouble for me."

Caitlin rolled her eyes and let him see it. She knew, and respected, that some people were nervous of the police, but from Grieg’s lack of fear right now and also his position with the railways, she didn’t think it was a legitimate excuse for him.

"You're a conductor. You work with law enforcement all the time, and you don’t look scared now. So if you can't explain why you were frightened enough to run, then I'm going to assume it's because you're guilty of two murders, and we're going to charge you for them. A jury won't take kindly to your behavior, by the way."

"No," Grieg snapped. "I'm not a killer!"

"Then why did you run? There was clearly a reason. So spill it, because unless it's worse than double murder, we need that reason." Nathan spoke the words, and she was reluctantly impressed by how intimidating they sounded.

She could see Grieg was faltering. He knew that he was going to have to admit his reasons. Now, with luck, they would find out what they were.

He took a deep breath.

"Look, I - well, from time to time, I've been aware of contraband goods that other staff have had on the train, and have transported. I've turned a blind eye to it because I've been threatened. There was an arrest made last week. The railroad police in this area arrested the two men who were doing it, and since then I've been very worried that they'd try and put the blame on me. So yes, that's why I ran."

"And you didn't report this crime?" Caitlin pressed. This excuse seemed flimsy.

"Like I said, I was threatened. What would you have done?" he asked. “These men said they’d get me when I got off the train, and that they’d beat me up. They said if I went to the police, there would be consequences. I was scared. I admit, I did the wrong thing.” He now sounded traumatized. Caitlin could hear it in his voice. And she had to admit that the excuse he’d given them was plausible. She guessed it wasn’t uncommon for railway staff to be threatened like this if they stumbled on crimes.

Nathan clearly agreed.

"Who were the men?" he asked.

"Costa Loxton and Miles Regan. Both worked in the catering department."

Nathan keyed in the names, and Caitlin knew he was checking up on what they'd been told. Even so, she reminded herself, he might be the killer. Nothing was stopping him from turning a blind eye while committing murders himself. She didn't know if she bought his story, although it did explain his actions.

But then her phone rang.

"Caitlin Dare," she answered. It was a harassed sounding man on the line.

"Ms. Dare. Are you in charge of the new railroad special unit?"

With a twist of her stomach at what this call might mean, she replied, "Yes, I'm one of the two people involved. Why? Is there a crime you need to report?"

"Yes, there is! I’m from the local police department. We’ve just had a crime called in. A young woman has been strangled on the train. It’s at the second to last stop before Flagstaff, Arizona. How soon can you get there?"

With a sick feeling, she realized that this was the one piece of information that would clear Grieg. A murder had just occurred on a totally different train. It wasn’t the piece of evidence she wanted. This was a disaster of immense proportions.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jan Evans stretched her legs, feeling tired of sitting. She was tired of being in a chair. She was very bored being on this train, feeling uncomfortable and also a little uneasy because there were several creepy guys in her carriage, or so she thought.

She'd been at the office all day, working long hours. Now, instead of being at home, she was on the train to Flagstaff where she'd then board another train to Tucson, and then check into a hotel to be ready for an expo tomorrow where she would run a station.

It was the third expo in as many months, and she hated expos. She was more of a one-on-one person. She could charm anyone in a face-to-face meeting, and she guessed that was why they’d sent her here.

She was tired, but she had no choice. Jan was twenty-five years old and she wanted to get ahead in the tough world of media sales. This meant putting in the long hours, even if it was exhausting.

Trying to force her attitude more into the ‘gratitude’ spectrum, Jan told herself she was lucky to have a job with one of the leading media companies that covered print, online, and two local TV networks, even though she'd never thought the job would be so hard.

She pushed back her blonde hair, refastening it in the ponytail, wondering if one of the three creepy guys she had identified sitting near her was watching. She wasn’t going to make eye contact with them. Unnecessary. What if they spoke to her? She was all peopled out for today, with a lot more of the same waiting tomorrow.

Jan looked out the window. It was a beautiful night with a full moon as they moved through Arizona. The plains were black, with the occasional gas station or house visible. The train was speeding along, and she knew they'd reach Tucson in another fifty minutes or so, even with the change at Flagstaff.

She wasn't looking forward to the next day. It was going to be a long one, with a big crowd. There would be lots of visitors to her stand, and that meant she’d have to perform with a lot of new sign-ups. She was going to have to come across at her best, impress people with the benefits of their media company, and somehow manage to keep on doing this hour after hour to drum up business.

At least by tomorrow she wouldn't be tired of sitting anymore. Even though she'd packed her most comfortable pair of boots, she was pretty sure that by the end of day tomorrow she'd do anything to get the weight off her feet and put them up.

"Where are you off to?" the man sitting across from her asked.

She hadn’t been able to avoid getting into a conversation with him. He was a short but powerful looking guy, in his forties, with a kindly face and a balding head. He'd gotten on the train a stop after her, and since then, he had barely stopped talking. He was one of those people who literally didn't know the meaning of silence. They'd discussed the weather and the view and the merits of the different snacks on sale. Now, he was turning the topic to their end destination.

"I'm off to an expo in Tucson," she said, smiling briefly. She wasn't one to start cold shouldering people who were being kind, and she sensed he was being kind.

At any rate, since the railroad police had taken her aside and told her to be extra careful on this trip as there were women of her approximate age and looks being targeted by killers, she was glad of the company.

She was always a little wary of traveling alone. She felt safe, of course, because the train was so well policed. There couldn't possibly be a killer on board this train; there were only a few creepy passengers, but still it was comforting to know that if she needed it, she could call for help.

It was just tiresome to have to keep up a conversation when what she wanted to do was scroll through her phone and zone out for a while.

"What about you?" she asked.

"Oh, I'm just heading home to Flagstaff. I live there and I want to get an early night, as I've got meetings tomorrow morning. I work in the pharmaceutical field. I'm a product manager."

"That's interesting," she said. And then, feeling suddenly restless and sick of this conversation, she stood.

"Want anything from the catering kiosk?" she asked, deciding to get herself a soda.

"No, thanks. I'm good."

With the formalities concluded, she stood up and walked through the train, out of her carriage, into another.

She was vaguely aware that there was someone behind her, who was also treading slowly down the corridor. She didn't think anything of it, though. Not until she passed a door saying "Staff Only" and with abrupt suddenness, the steps behind her quickened.

Jan's instincts suddenly brought her to her senses. She whirled around, and tried to back away. She was too late. Too late to react, too slow even to shout for help.

It was one of the guys she’d seen earlier! Creep number one, the man she’d noticed looking at her as soon as she’d boarded the train.

She’d thought nothing of it, but she’d been wrong. Now, he grabbed her arm and dragged her into the staff only area. Struggling, she found her arms were pinned to her side. He was strong. This man who she'd only barely glimpsed, was grabbing her with brutal intent as he shoved her into the small space. Terror flared inside her. This couldn't be happening. She'd just been innocently walking between carriages. How could this have happened so fast, so suddenly?

He was a big man, and he was immensely strong. With no effort at all, he held her, pressed against the wall as he slammed the door shut. From behind her, he then dragged her deeper into the storage area, and she realized with a jolt of horror that he was going to kill her.

She was going to die.

Panicked, she tried to scream, but her mouth was clamped shut, a big, strong hand crushing her lips. She tried to fight him off, kicking back, but there was no space in this tiny, secluded area.

She tried to wriggle free, but his hands were strong, and he blocked her escape. They were in a dark space, with only a sliver of moonlight coming in through the window. She was trapped, and she was at the mercy of this madman.

Her heart was racing, in a mix of terror and distress. She didn't want to be attacked. She didn't want this; she wanted to live. She had to do something to save her life.

There was pepper spray in her purse. That, she remembered.

"Don't move," he hissed. "Don't say a word."

Violently, his hands jerked to her neck, and squeezed.

"No!" she tried to shout, but the words were muffled and they wouldn't come. She couldn't utter them, couldn't speak at all.

There was no air left in the little room and the blood was pounding in her head.

Her hand moved to the purse at her belt, and closed over the pepper spray. She tried her best to lift it but her fingers felt so weak, so limp. Pain flared in her head and her vision blurred.

"I'm going to enjoy this," said the man, and his voice was cold. "I'm going to enjoy it so much. You deserve it. You do know this is payback, right? You remember what you did, don't you? I hope you feel sorry now."

He had the wrong person! She was going to die because he thought she was someone else!

She tried to think what else she could do, but it was as if her thoughts were stifled. She could hear a terrible choking noise and realized, to her dismay, that she was the one making it.

Press the button, she urged herself. Spray him! Now!

She did her best, and heard the hiss of the canister, but she had no strength to lift it, and was only able to press it for a moment.

Then there was nothing more, only dark clouds, rushing in from the edges of her vision to boil in front of her and smother the world.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The miles couldn't pass quickly enough for Caitlin. She was in the passenger seat of the car, and Nathan had taken the wheel. Normally she would have felt competitive about this, but right now, she just wanted this case wrapped up and for the horror of these ongoing killings to be stopped.

It was impossible that he'd struck again. How was he keeping so far ahead of them?

They'd made good time, driving deep into the night. It was now nearly ten p.m. as Nathan braked to a hurried halt outside the train station. Several police cars were parked out there, but Caitlin didn't see the coroner's van that she expected. Perhaps the body had already been removed.

She got out of the car and they rushed into the station, seeing where the spotlights had been set up, where the bursts of radio communication were coming from. The incident looked to have played out in or near the second last carriage. What had happened? Was it identical to the previous scenes?

They rushed to the entrance, seeing that two forensic workers were inside, and two police were at the doorway.

"We're from the railroad task force," Caitlin said. "Who has information on what happened here?"

"That would be me," the closest police officer said, walking over to her. "Good to meet you, ma'am. I'm glad we have a dedicated task force on this, because it’s horrific. Folk are very worried now."

“First things first. Where are the passengers? Is everyone still on the train?” If so, this killer would be there, somewhere.

But the policeman shook his head.

“The train was at a station when she was found. The man that we suspect is the criminal made a run for it, into the dark. As soon as we arrived, we sent out a team to search the area for him, but there was no sign of him.”

"Where's the victim?" Caitlin asked, glancing at the area beyond the carriage where the forensic officers were at work.

"She's been rushed to a hospital," the officer said.

Caitlin stared at him, stunned, seeing the same shock in Nathan's eyes.

"Hospital? She's still alive?"

"Yes. She was alive when she was discovered, but in critical condition. She'll probably need to be on life support," the police officer said.

"But - but how did she survive? Does anyone know what happened?" Caitlin felt stunned by this bombshell. If this woman survived, she would surely have seen her would-be killer. This was a huge win for them. Something must have gone wrong. The power that she’d seen his hands could exert, the damage to the throats of the other victims, had been extensive. If he hadn’t done the job, it was surely because something had happened to prevent him.

"Yes. You can speak to the witness who found her. His name's Mike Garland, and he's in the carriage next door." The police officer gestured.

Caitlin and Nathan hurried through to the next door carriage. There, a short, genial looking man in his forties was pacing to and fro, on his phone, clearly excited and still on an adrenaline high from what had played out. She recognized that immediately in his rushed way of speaking and the tension in his body. She noted, also, that his voice was hoarse and nasal and his eyes were reddened.

"Yes, yes, I know, I know. I'm on my way," he said into the phone. "I've got to go. I'm meeting with the police, but I'll get back to you as soon as I can."

He clipped his phone back onto his belt, and rushed over to them.

"You must be the investigators," he said.

"We are," Caitlin said, as they shook hands. "I'm very glad you found her."

"I'm relieved she's still alive," Garland said. 

"What happened? How did you find her?"

"Well, I was chatting with her earlier, when we were on the train. We were in opposite seats and I always enjoy a friendly conversation. She got up to get a drink, I think, and a few seconds later, I noticed a man going the same way."

He paused, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. "I would say I realized immediately that there was something intentional in the way he followed her. It was like - he was walking fast. Almost as if he wanted to catch up with her."

"How long was this after the woman got up to leave the carriage?" Caitlin asked.

"Maybe twenty seconds? I'm not sure. It was fast."

"What did he look like?"

"I wish I'd had a better look. I would say he was middle-aged, not a young man. Tall, strong looking, wearing a black jacket and blue jeans. I only saw the back of him, unfortunately. Anyway, I started thinking there was something peculiar about this, so I decided to check it out."

"So you followed?"

"Yes, I went the same way. Next thing I knew, I heard him coughing, and he burst out of the service room and headed for the exit door. I mean, he was in such a rush that he almost knocked me over. He barged straight past me and I wondered what had happened. I looked inside that service room and there she was, that nice young woman. I think she'd managed to activate her pepper spray because there was a smell of it in the room that just about choked me. I couldn’t see a thing for a few seconds.”

"And what did you do after that?" Nathan asked.

 “I knew she was hurt bad. As soon as I could see again, I dragged her out of that room into the fresh air first, and then got on the phone to 911 before I did anything else. I shouted for help, and one of the train’s staff heard and they called the railway police also. She was coughing badly, and so was I, and it seemed like her throat was damaged. But she was alive, and she looked at me and tried to say something. She was trying to say something, and I'm sure it was for me to help her, so I did. I did my best to support her head, and I checked her pulse. I was ready to do CPR on her if I had to, but I was wary about doing it because I was coughing nonstop after inhaling that pepper spray myself, so I put her in the recovery position in the fresh air, and monitored her pulse and breathing. I just wanted to help her. That's what people do, isn't it? I just thought, someone's hurt, and we're in an emergency, and this is what I can do and that's what I did. And then the ambulance came and the paramedics took her away," he finished.

"You did a great job," Caitlin praised him. He might be gabbing now, on an adrenaline high, but she was sure this man had in fact saved the woman’s life.

Now they knew much more about this killer. They knew that he waited in the train carriage, and that he followed the victims when they got up - at any rate, he'd done so this time.

He had then tried to overpower and strangle this woman immediately, but she'd fought back. She hadn't been killed. And she might have seen him. She might remember the details that could identify him.

But Caitlin knew the woman would be receiving emergency medical treatment and would not be able to tell them yet. For now, they knew what clothing he was wearing, and they knew that he'd fled the station. She turned back, returning to the police officer who had managed the scene.

“Did anyone else get a good look at this killer?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Ma’am, we interviewed all the people in the carriage. He was sitting right at the back and he seemed to have been wearing dark glasses and a hooded jacket, your typical passenger who wants to sleep and be left alone. One or two people remembered glancing at him, but nobody can give us more detail than the witness who found Jan.”

Caitlin nodded. She didn’t think this was coincidental. She was sure that the killer was an expert in choosing out of the way places to sit, and avoiding being noticed. So the basic description was all they had.

"Have you put an APB out for this man?" she asked. This looked like a capable cop. She hoped he’d taken this essential first step.

"Yes, we've issued a description of his clothing and build, and we've alerted all police in the surrounding area."

Caitlin looked at Nathan.

“Let’s get a full list of passengers on this train, who were still on it or who might have been on it at the time this happened,” she said.

“That’ll probably take an hour or two to organize, but I’ll get it started,” he said.

"In the meantime, I think we need to search again," she said. "He could have been hiding somewhere, laying low, and planning to make a run for it once the search was over."

She took the flashlight from her belt and jumped off the train, shining it around the station. The place was still cordoned off, blue and red lights flashing, a few police in attendance, and a few curious onlookers standing by.

Hopefully, the list of passengers would give them more information, but for now, a physical search might still get results.

Somewhere, he was hiding. And if he was as cunning and careful as he seemed to be, it might well be that he had planned to avoid all the onlookers and the risk of being seen, hiding here until it was safe to move.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

"With all the commotion, with police around, would he really have tried to flee? Or would he have hidden somewhere?" Caitlin asked in a low voice as Nathan caught up with her, looking inquiringly at her as if wondering why she was heading out into the dark.

She was pacing through the station, shining her flashlight in every direction, keeping the description of his build and clothing in her mind.

"Also, he was pepper sprayed," Nathan added thoughtfully. "That wouldn't have made it easy for him to run. If he caught some of that spray, got it in his lungs, he might be laying low and waiting to recover."

That was an excellent point. After all, the witness who'd discovered Jan Evans, had said her attacker had been coughing. He might have gotten enough pepper spray in his lungs that he couldn't run. That stuff was horrible. Being pepper sprayed was one of the tests that FBI agents had to pass, before qualifying. Caitlin found her eyes watering in sympathy as she remembered those agonizing, stinging moments that had felt like an eternity.

What could this killer be doing right now? How could they find him?

"He might be armed," Nathan reminded her.

That was also a point. Caitlin put her other hand on her gun's grip. She didn't want to be surprised that way. Strangulation was a silent method of killing, because obviously he didn't want to draw attention to what he was doing on a train, but that didn't mean he couldn't be carrying a weapon.

They took the platform by platform approach, shining the flashlights onto every surface, checking every open room, looking in all the restrooms, all the store rooms, trying every door they found, and making sure that none were locked from the inside.

Caitlin looked under the piles of tarps, behind a pile of stacked girders, and even climbed onto the railing to check the roof of a utility room. But there was no sign of him.

Then, they widened their search, walking outside the station, checking the road.

"He could be escaping on foot, and I wonder if anyone might have seen a man coughing," Caitlin said, striding down the road. Nathan was keeping pace with her. But in the dark, the road looked quiet, and the homes were set well back. Unfortunately, if he had been coughing, he’d have been able to cough and hack the whole way through this small town without anyone hearing, she acknowledged.

"He could have run off into the desert, and be laying low there," Nathan said.

She knew that was a very real possibility. The side roads led into bushy, scrubby wilderness and it would be easy for him to hide. They couldn't stray into the wilderness, it was simply too vast. If he was hiding out here, then there was nothing they could do. He might have known this station, and thought about how to get away, or maybe he had a plan to get off at this stop all along. Worst case, he’d had a vehicle parked nearby and had simply climbed into it. But if he’d been interrupted, that was unlikely, she thought. He hadn’t finished his kill, and he hadn’t set up his usual scene.

No, rethinking her theory, she guessed that he’d intended to stay on the train for a lot longer.

But tonight, they weren't going to find him out here. That was clear. Reluctantly, Caitlin decided they'd have to call off their impromptu search.

"At least the APB's gone out," Nathan said. "If he's on foot, then hopefully a patrol will spot him at some stage. We'll have the airports and bus stations covered. He can't have gone far."

She wished she could be as confident as he was. After all, the man had already slipped through their fingers twice. He might have gone farther than they thought. But, for now, she had to agree with him.

They made their way back across the road and into the station. Now, it was time to explore the other direction that she hoped would yield results.

Her stomach twisted as she remembered the precarious position that the victim had been in. Alive, but only just.

She might not still be alive, but Caitlin’s hopes were hinging on it.

"Let's go to the hospital," she said.

*

The journey to the Flagstaff general hospital seemed to take forever. Nerves were flaring inside Caitlin. They had no idea whether this victim's condition would have improved or deteriorated. She'd sounded very badly hurt.

Even so, she was holding out hope for a single, vital piece of knowledge - the identity of the victim's attacker.

She prayed that Jan was still alive, and she could tell them what they needed to know.

On the way, glancing at her phone, she saw she’d had a text from Mike.

“Off to bed now, babe. Missing you!”

Seeing it ten minutes after it was sent, she quickly texted back, “Missing you too! Looking forward to getting home when this case is over!”

But for how much longer would Atlanta be home, she wondered, knowing that the railway task force, if successful, would require her to relocate. What would that mean for this relationship she was trying so hard to work on?

There wasn’t time to worry about that, because they had arrived. Nathan parked the car and they ran into the hospital.

Caitlin's feet rushed over the tiles. She breathed in the hospital smell, noticing that the small local hospital looked like it was bursting at the seams. She saw two patients waiting in the emergency room, and a third being wheeled in on a stretcher. Two doctors were heading across the lobby at a half-run, and the receptionist seemed to be on a nonstop flood of incoming calls.

Waiting for her to wrap up the calls, Caitlin was hoping for good news, that Jan would be conscious, and that they could get information on what had happened.

But it seemed that this time, they weren't going to be lucky.

"Is there any news on the victim from the attempted train murder, Jan Evans?" Caitlin asked the receptionist. "We're from the task force investigating these crimes."

"I'm afraid I can't give out any information. It's in the hospital's privacy policy. We're supposed to maintain the patient's confidentiality at all times." The woman pressed her lips together firmly.

"It's a murder investigation," Caitlin pleaded.

"The information could save lives," Nathan added. "Is there any way we could at least speak to a doctor?"

Looking dubious, she got on the phone again, calling up to the ward. A moment later, shaking her head disapprovingly, she handed the phone over to Caitlin.

"This is Doc Lowry speaking," a man's voice said. "How can I help?"

"This is Agent Dare, investigating the case. I was wondering if there's an update on Jan's condition," Caitlin said, now dreading the worst.

"She's alive, but still in a very serious condition," he said.

Alive, at least. Caitlin had never been so relieved to hear that word. Alive meant there was hope.

"Has she said anything about her attacker?"

" She's been in and out of consciousness, but she's not been able to speak, or tell us who her attacker was."

"Would it be possible to speak to her, even if briefly? What she knows could be critical to the case," Caitlin said.

"I'm really sorry. She's been anesthetized. The surgeon had to operate due to the extent of the damage to her throat."

"Do you know when she would be awake again?"

The doctor paused. "She'll be out of theater in an hour or so, and maybe awake in another few hours. But there’s no guarantee that she’ll be well enough to speak when she does wake," he warned.

"Please, if you do speak to her, ask her if there's anything she can remember, anything at all. If she can tell us some clues to the identity of her attacker, then we can get so much further with this case. Until then, everyone else is at risk."

"I'll do that," he promised. Caitlin read her personal cellphone number out to the doctor. Then she glanced at Nathan.

There was nowhere else for them to go tonight. This was their key witness and it was imperative to get more information on what this killer looked like. There might be an identifying feature Jan had noticed, and such information could crack the case.

Speed was imperative. If they could talk to her while the crime was still fresh in her mind, then they might get the answers they needed.

"I think we wait here," she muttered to Nathan, not willing to waste a minute by being elsewhere when this crucial witness was ready to talk.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He was coughing and choking. The world was barely visible through a haze of tears. And he was furious. How could such a thing have happened? How dare this bystander, this do-gooder, interfere with him at such a critical moment?

He'd found her, and he'd been choking her. He'd been planning to leave her there, tied and gagged, choking and dying, and take cover for a while. He wanted her to suffer, to reflect on how uncaring she’d been, on the devastation she’d caused through her selfishness.

When the time was right and the coach was emptier, then he would have made sure she was dead, and moved her to her final resting place in the train, for the world – or at least a few of the passersby – to see.

Now, this careful planning was all destroyed.

He even had the ladybug pin ready to use, and in the commotion it had fallen on the floor. That was a good pin, with significance. Now, it was wasted. He only had a few left and he’d wanted to make sure each one ended up in the right place, where it would be seen and noticed. This pin had dropped on the floor like trash.

But there was no time to feel sorry for himself, he knew, as he hurried away, coughing uncontrollably. The cops were like rats, they would rush in when they sensed there was something to feed on. He needed to get away before those rats arrived.

He didn't know this station or the environment, but he knew how to fly by the seat of his pants. This was a small town - what he could see of it through the painful, stinging tears. The cops would be able to patrol it effectively. A car would be the best way to escape but calling a cab would leave a trace, a record.

He felt a wave of anger, and shook his head, trying to shake the tears out of his eyes.

In a small town, strangers were easily recognized, so he couldn’t stay around for long. The later it got, the greater the chances he’d be seen.

And he wasn't going to allow that to happen.

He had to get away somehow, and he had to do it quickly.

At least his eyes were now clearing enough for him to see. He had only gotten a trace of that pepper spray in them. A full dose of it would have been a disaster. Now, as his vision resumed, he saw a group of young people heading toward the exit. 

Blending in with the group, head down, he filed quickly out of the station. He walked at the same pace they did, and in the same way, slightly stooped, casual, moving his shoulders in a carefree way. He got out unnoticed. He’d been fast enough. That had been his first goal – to run while there was time.

He walked down the road, heading toward the main street. There were a few shops still open, one of which was a supermarket. He moved toward it, and then, inside, he went to the restroom. He found a cubicle and crouched down, and then turned on the tap.

He splashed his face with the water, and carefully examined the damage to his eyes. They still felt as if they were on fire, but he was relieved to see they didn’t look as bad as they felt. He rinsed them with water, washing them carefully.

Had that man seen him? He was sure the good Samaritan, the interfering idiot, had noted his appearance. So, leaving the restroom, he went to the small clothing section of the market and bought a pale, tan, long-sleeved shirt. That would take the focus away from the black garment people might be looking for, without being too obvious. He slipped the shirt on. Now he felt he could breathe more easily.

Now he felt he had some protection. He’d do something about his hair later. Since he was not going to stop killing, he couldn’t afford to look like the man that idiot had seen, and would tell the police about.

He walked out of the store, feeling the cool night air on his skin. He needed to get out of this town now, and take a circuitous route back home. Surveying the area, he had a plan.

There was a young man on the side of the road, busy hailing a cab. He looked like a student, which probably meant he'd been drinking was now heading out of town and home, wherever that was. So, quickly, the man created a scenario.

He rushed over as the cab arrived, and put his hand on the opposite door.

The student, a sporty looking man of about twenty-one years old, looked first alarmed and then annoyed. "Hey, mister, this is my cab," he said.

"Oh, no. I'm so sorry," he said. "I was in such a hurry to get to my sister’s place. I’m late for dinner there, and when I saw this cab arrive, it was like an answer!"

Seeing that the man was now less angry, he continued, "Where are you headed?"

"I'm going to Tucson."

The man made sure to look surprised. "I'm going almost all the way there. Would you mind splitting the fare? I'll pay you and get out just before town."

"Yeah." He saw the student's mind ticking over and knew he was thinking about the money saved. "Yeah, I guess that's okay."

The man got in the cab, staying quiet, willing himself not to sneeze. He mustn't do anything to draw attention to himself now. He was a good actor, and the student was convinced by his honest demeanor and gentle voice.

As the cab pulled off, he felt a sense of relief. He'd managed to get out of town, without being seen. Every mile that now passed minimized his risk. He watched the town passing by, watched until they reached its edges, and then he stared out over the stark, darkened view, with the occasional light hinting at one of the scattered settlements among the deserts, mountains, and pine forests. He watched it until the lights of Tucson came into sight.

But he wasn't watching idly. His mind was racing. He was going over every single moment of that botched job, again and again, in his head.

Anger was inevitable of course, because he'd had her. He had basically had her down, he'd tasted triumph, he'd felt the satisfaction that at last he was putting an end to her. And that bastard had ruined it. He'd been caught by a meddling, interfering do-gooder who'd decided he should be a hero.

But he was now thinking, too. If there was one thing he was always capable of doing, it was assessing a situation with an open mind.

He was thinking of how he could do better. He was thinking of all the mistakes he had made, and how he could avoid them next time, because for sure, there was going to be a next time. There had to be. He was all the more determined to continue after this small setback.

Anger had no place in his agenda. It interfered with thought and planning.

Next time, he thought, he needed to try and walk with his target. It was following her too closely that had attracted attention. He'd jumped up too suddenly and the other man had noticed. So better preparation was key, and he shouldn't be afraid to try and get close to his target, to converse with her. Then maybe he could even suggest that they go to the bar, or the catering car. That would mean it would be at a time of his choosing, which would lessen the risk.

So to do that, he would need a good story, one that made her sympathetic to him. If she was sympathetic, and felt sorry for him, she’d be more willing to cooperate. Then it would be easy.

He would have to find the right time and place. But then, he would be prepared. Already, he had the germ of an idea in his mind that he thought would work perfectly.

Of course, by then, he'd look different. His build and his age could not be changed, but everything else could be. He needed a brand new appearance, and it would be fun to create it.

Next time, he would catch her, and he wouldn’t fail. She would suffer for hours, and then he would kill her.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

"Is there somewhere we can sit while we wait to see the patient?" Caitlin asked the receptionist. "We need to speak to this witness. The doctor said she might be awake in a few hours."

Finally, it seemed the receptionist was becoming slightly more sympathetic to their needs.

"There's a waiting room down the hall," she said. "No one is using it at the moment."

"Thanks," Caitlin said. She and Nathan walked down the hall and found the waiting room. They settled in, Caitlin sitting on one of the hard plastic chairs and Nathan pacing up and down the room.

The waiting room was small and basic, but it had a coffee machine and there was a vending machine outside.

"Food? Sandwich?" Nathan asked.

"Thanks," Caitlin said. She was surprised he’d offered. Things had been so acrimonious during the day that she hadn’t thought he’d do such a thing. She didn't feel hungry. Her stomach was knotted from tension, but she knew she needed to eat.

While Nathan got the food, Caitlin opened her laptop and began checking the latest reports from the police. They were disappointingly sparse. It seemed that nobody had seen any sign of the suspect.

"Nothing on the APB," she said, as Nathan walked back in. "He can’t have headed into town."

"I don't know what he's got planned, but if he’s managed to get out of town, he’s thinking a few steps ahead," Nathan said, handing her a sandwich and a coffee. "He's on foot and unarmed. I think he's stuck here."

She shook her head. “I think he’s managed to escape. Thanks for the food.”

She opened the sandwich and took a bite, and drank half her coffee in one gulp. And then, Nathan's computer pinged.

"We have the list of the passengers on that train," he said.

Quickly, he forwarded it to her, so she could read it on her own laptop, and Caitlin stared down at it eagerly. This was an important lead. Somewhere on this list was the killer.

Of course, he could be using a false name. And there were a lot of people on the train. But she could start to narrow it down by identifying all the people who were clearly male, and then, one by one, using the details she'd been given to search them further.

Since there were close to two hundred names, this was going to be a long job. But then again, Caitlin reasoned, it wasn't like she was doing anything else with her time.

"I'm going to start to narrow the list down and get details of each person," she said.

"Good idea. I'll work from the end of the list, you work from the top?" Nathan asked.

"Let's do it that way," she agreed. They split the task, and settled down to work.

Caitlin's fingers flew over the keyboard, looking at the passenger names that were clearly male, and then going into the details of each one to see when they had boarded, when they had alighted, and any other available information on them.

It was a time consuming, painstaking job. But for now, it was all she could do. She had to hope that her hunch was right, that they were on the right track, and would be able to solve the case before someone else was killed.

But she was tired, and as she worked, she felt her eyelids start to become leaden. A huge yawn split her face.

"I wonder if they have pillows, a spare bed, or something," Nathan said blearily.

Caitlin didn't rate their chances as Nathan got up and walked out to go look. She'd seen how busy the hospital was.

It was after one a.m. Uncomfortable as it was, she could tough it out here for a few hours. She pulled two of the chairs together to form a makeshift, cramped bed, and lay down on them.

She was aware of Nathan coming back in with a resigned sigh and doing the same, clearly having gotten nowhere on his mission. And then, sleep enfolded her, and the waiting room disappeared.

In its place, Caitlin found herself on a train.

She was eighteen years old again, nervous but excited about the train trip she was taking. She got into the carriage, settled down, and the train moved off.

It was a long ride, and she'd bought a book to read, so she sat back and got immersed in it, turning the pages, lulled by the clicking of the wheels and the progression of the scenery outside.

And then, a man sat down opposite her. She glanced up and felt a chill.

She knew him. It was her uncle. Uncle Josh, with his creepy smile and those eyes that slipped away from hers as if his gaze was oiled. Uncle Josh, with a history of violence that lurked darkly in his past and which nobody talked about.

He was here, on the train, in his conductor's uniform.

"Well, hello," he said in a low, and somehow threatening voice.

Caitlin tried to get up, to walk away from his cold, intrusive gaze, but she could not move. It was like she was frozen to the spot.

"I've been following you, little Caitlin," Uncle Josh said. "I've been waiting for you to come to the station. I've been waiting for years."

"I don't want to talk to you," Caitlin said. “Get the hell away from me. I don’t feel safe around you.”

"You never wanted to talk to me. But I'll stay with you now and make sure you’re safe. I always get a little worried when young women have to go alone on long train journeys."

"I want to get off this train," Caitlin said, feeling a cold rush of fear.

"No, you don't," Uncle Josh insisted. "You can't get off this train. You're going to stay on this train for me, for us. But it'll be the last trip you will take. That, I should tell you now."

Caitlin tried to scream, but nothing came out.

She wasn't even breathing. Her body was frozen, and all she could do was watch as Uncle Josh took a knife from his pocket.

And then, she was able to move. She was on her feet and fleeing through the train, screaming. People were looking up now. They were staring at her. But nobody was helping her. They were all strangers. There was no one she knew.

There was no escape, and Uncle Josh was behind her, coming after her with his knife.

She had to get away. She had to get off this train. Somehow, she managed to force open the door of the carriage and fly out, toward the connecting door that would take her to another carriage.

She ran through the carriage, through the next, but there was no way out. There were no exit doors. Trapped on the train, there was nowhere for her to go. Footsteps were thudding behind her, and they were gaining on her.

“Help me!” she screamed to the passengers, but they turned away, unwilling to listen. Clearly, they thought she was just a hysterical girl, making a fuss.

The footsteps were louder, and more distinct now. Uncle Josh was gaining on her. She could hear his voice, sharp and menacing.

"Here we are, Caitlin. All alone for a little chat. I think we should get to know each other a little better, don't you?" The knife glinted in the light from the window, as he drew it from his pocket.

Caitlin tried to scream again, but her throat was frozen. She tried to move, but her limbs felt leaden and she was trapped. There was only one course of action she could take, and that was to attack him. She needed to fight back. Her hand lunged out to hit him, to try and stop him.

And it slammed into the hard back of a plastic chair. The pain, the impact, jarred her straight out of the nightmare. She was in the harsh, unforgiving light of the waiting room. Disoriented, breathing hard, she sat up, pushing herself off the seat.

Her heart was pounding. That dream had seemed so real. She'd felt so helpless, so terrified. She still felt disoriented from it.

Had her subconscious had been trying to tell her something about her uncle? Caitlin felt sure of it. On this case, more and more, her past was haunting her.

She heard footsteps behind her and half-stood, turning to the door.

"Caitlin? You okay?" Nathan asked, walking in quickly. "I got up five minutes ago. I heard you shouting from down the corridor."

She couldn’t tell him what had happened and why. No way did she want to embroil him in her past.

"Just a dream," she said. "I'm okay."

His face was tired and his shirt crumpled, but he looked enthused.

"I've just been up to the ward where Jan is checked in. They say she's awake. And we can speak to her, but only for a minute.

Caitlin was good with that. A minute might be all they needed.

Her dream forgotten, she grabbed up her laptop bag, tightening her ponytail and straightening her top.

"Let's hope that minute gets us somewhere," she said, striding out of the waiting room behind him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

It wasn’t so simple after all. When they reached the entrance to the ward, Caitlin saw there had been a crisis. Doctors were rushing in, and she heard a machine beeping fast and loud from inside.

“Are we able to go in?” she asked.

"I'm sorry," a nurse said, standing solidly in front of the door. "You'll need to give us a few minutes at least. Maybe longer."

"What's going on?" Nathan whispered.

Caitlin bit back the angry, 'How should I know?' that she almost snapped out in the tense situation. Losing her temper wouldn’t help her now. She needed to be a different person. She needed to cooperate with her partner, who was actually the better person right now. She felt briefly ashamed that she’d let the stress get to her.

Instead, in a reasonable tone, she said, "I’m guessing she had a health blip and they need to recheck her, or maybe medicate her."

"I hope it's not serious." Nathan sounded concerned.

"I know. It's so important that she gets well. She doesn’t deserve this. And we need to find him," Caitlin said softly.

It was as if, for one strange moment, they felt like actual collaborating partners, instead of rivals with differing agendas, who'd gotten off on the wrong foot and things had gone downhill from there.

Then the doctor rushed to the door.

"You can come through, but only for a short while. She's in pain and it’s causing a bad reaction. We've had to medicate her deeply and it's likely to have a sedative effect."

That meant a small window of time. It might mean no window at all. Caitlin knew that by the time doctors agreed to allow the police in, the painkiller was likely to have taken hold already.

Even though Jan might not be able to answer questions, Caitlin wasn't about to waste this opportunity to try.

She hustled in, feeling anxious and concerned about the woman’s well-being, but equally fraught about the case, as the doctor led the way through.

Jan Evans was lying on the bed in a private ward, surrounded by equipment and machinery. She looked frail, pale, and she was clearly in pain. Caitlin could see the stress etched on her face. Her throat was terribly swollen, and Caitlin saw that as a result of the swelling and damage, they'd had to give her a tracheotomy. This lifesaving procedure boded well for her recovery.

It didn't bode nearly so well for her ability to answer questions.

“Would she be able to write something down?” Caitlin murmured to the doctor, who shook his head.

“She’s got drips going into both arms. I can’t have her moving them, and she’s very weak.”

He hovered nearby, watching the machines.

Caitlin knew she would have to do what she could, and try to read this woman’s lips if she was able to speak at all.

"You're very brave," Caitlin said softly to Jan. "I'm so glad you're being well looked after. I know this must be hard. But we need your help. Can you tell me anything more about the man that took you?"

She didn't know if Jan had heard her. Her eyes were blank and vague. Her breathing was soft and regular but it now sounded as if she was on the brink of falling asleep. Caitlin was sure she was deeply sedated. She knew her health had to come first, but even so, she hoped with all her heart she’d be able to whisper something before sleep overtook her again.

"Anything you can tell us might save another life," Nathan urged.

Caitlin didn't think she would react to Nathan. But then, to Caitlin's surprise, she opened her eyes wider.

She was mouthing a word. Nathan bent forward, listening. Caitlin looked at her lips.

"She's saying Jonathan," she said. "I can see it."

But Nathan shook his head. "I can't hear it. I don't hear a Jonathan at all."

"That's because she's had a tracheotomy," Caitlin snapped. "She can't speak clearly. She's trying her best and maybe she's relying on us to help her out."

"Did you say Jonathan?"

The young woman nodded, but now her eyes were glazing over.

“I think that’s enough,” the doctor said, moving forward.

It had been so little! They’d managed to glean only one muttered word.

"Well, that's what we've got," Caitlin said, acknowledging the futility of this endless wait and uncomfortable night. "And seeing we have no other leads, we should take it seriously."

She emphasized the 'no other leads' in the hope that her partner, who was now pushing her buttons all over again, would remember the pressure they were under.

Nathan still looked incredulous. "How do we know she's saying the name of her attacker?” he asked as they left the ward. “Maybe it's just a coincidence. Maybe you're wrong."

Caitlin glared at him. "I'm not wrong. I can tell; I'm a good lip reader."

"Okay, okay," Nathan said, holding his hands up as if to surrender. "Say it's Jonathan. What next?"

Caitlin was already moving. "We need to recheck the list."

"We haven't even finished going through the list," Nathan argued.

"We don't need to see the whole list," she said through gritted teeth.

Leaving the ward, they hustled back to their waiting room, a place she couldn't say she was overly fond of.

"We now have a name. That will help us search faster."

Nathan practically rolled his eyes. Resisting the urge to snap at him, Caitlin opened her machine and went looking.

The names scrolled past, flying by her tired eyes. She kept searching, but now it was with a sense of desperation.

"Jonathan," she said, tapping the screen. "Jonathan something."

"How would she have known his name?" Nathan said.

"Because maybe they spoke. Maybe that's how he got to know her."

"I don't see a Jonathan here."

Nor did she. But then, as she looked, she did. There was just one name, a Jonathan Eliot.

"Alright. There's one,” Nathan acknowledged. “But we can’t just rush off and speak to him without checking if he’s even a viable suspect.”

“I'm not going to rush into this. You look like you think I’m about to do that.” Caitlin knew that even in this pressured time, she had to take the correct steps. “Let's see where he got off and where he got on. If it looks like it gave him a chance to kill her, then we go and speak to him."

She checked her watch. It was five a.m. Early to arrive on someone's doorstep, but maybe that was good.

"He lives in Phoenix ," Nathan said.

“That’s more than an hour’s drive from here.” By the time they reached his doorstep, he was more likely to be awake, which was good. “Can we see if he was on the other trains at the right time?”

“We can, but it’ll take long. Pulling those records takes longer because of customer confidentiality, and it’s after hours now,” Nathan explained.

Caitlin was determined not to jump to any conclusions until she had fully narrowed down the facts.

"Let's find out more about Jonathan Eliot," she said. "And since Phoenix is forty minutes away, maybe we should do it while we drive. Just in case."

Nathan still didn't look happy, but Caitlin was pushing this one. She was feeling seriously desperate. Just now, Knight would be waking up, checking his messages, looking for any signs of further progress in the case. And there were none. They hadn't made any progress. That was not going to sit well with him. He might decide to disband this experimental unit then and there.

That would be a disaster.

But that was a problem she would deal with when it arrived. In the meantime, she was going to focus on the case. She was going to be on top of this.

She was not going to let the worst happen.

As soon as she was in the car, with the list of passengers still in her hand, she went on the hunt for more details, clicking through the site and also accessing the police and FBI databases. It wasn't easy because Nathan was driving jerkily. He was in a mood. This case was also getting him down, but Caitlin thought his own behavior was getting in his way as well. He was tired and fed up and didn't want to cooperate with her.

His loss, she decided fiercely, as results finally came up.

"Well, this is interesting," she said.

"What is?" Nathan answered her, his tone combative.

"Jonathan Eliot is forty-five years old, and he's a big man. Six-two. He works as a gym coach. Undoubtedly he's strong."

"Okay," Nathan said.

"And there's something else," Caitlin added, saving the best till last. "I've been into the other databases, the records. And he has a criminal record for assault. Three years ago, he had a fight with his girlfriend and tried to strangle her."

Nathan didn't answer. He just hit the gas as they sped to Phoenix.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

With a history of assault, confronting this suspect was going to be a risky endeavor.

Caitlin felt keyed up, adrenaline pumping as they approached the suburb of Phoenix where Jonathan Eliot lived. He checked so many of the boxes they were looking for, and she was sure Jan had whispered his first name. There were no other Jonathans on the train passenger list.

Now, would he be at home? And would he be willing to talk?

Somehow, she doubted the latter. His home was just down the road from a big gym, which was presumably where he worked, and she wondered if he wasn’t at home whether he'd be there already. There were a few cars outside the large building.

His house, half a mile further on, was a small, single-story place. The garage was closed. The yard was arid looking. Clearly, gardening was not a big priority in his life. But then again, maybe other things were, like stalking women on trains.

She was sure he was their killer. A man like this, strong and fit, a man with a criminal record, who seemed to be capable of violence, was a strong suspect. And the violence, that strangling of his previous girlfriend, was identical to the killer's MO.

She climbed out of the car and walked up to the front door. Standing on the scuffed doormat, she knocked, waited, feeling anxious and expectant.

No answer. She knocked again, harder. Still no answer.

He must be at the gym, she thought. That was going to be her next stop. But as she made the decision to go there, she heard footsteps from the road that were coming closer.

Turning, Caitlin saw the man they were looking for.

Jonathan Eliot had obviously been for a run. Now, with sneakers on his feet, wearing a handlebar vest that showed his powerful shoulders, he was dropping back to a walk as he saw two officers on his doorstep. There was a shocked expression on his heavy featured face.

Immediately her mind flashed straight to the description that the man on the train had given them, and she thought it was close enough. He fit the witness’s report of the killer who’d fled the scene.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, looking from Caitlin to Nathan and back again. "You from the police?"

"Special railway crimes unit," Caitlin said. "We need to ask you some questions."

He was starting to look more and more nervous. "You want to tell me what this is about?" he demanded again.

"It's in connection with a murder investigation. Serial crimes," Caitlin said firmly.

His eyes widened. "I don't know a thing about that! And I'm not answering your questions."

"Then I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to come with us," Caitlin said.

He snorted with obvious contempt.

"Where to? You don't have the right to take me anywhere."

"So you are not willing to cooperate?" Caitlin asked coolly.

"I'm not going anywhere!" he said, his voice getting louder. "I'm not answering any of your questions, and I don't have to! What kind of country do we live in? I'm going to call my lawyer, and you can go to hell!"

He went to push past Caitlin, and Nathan stepped in his way.

"Not so fast, please, sir," Nathan said. "We have to ask you some questions."

"Get out of my way," Eliot said.

"Look, you're only compromising this," Caitlin began, and he turned on her furiously.

"Don't waste your breath, lady," he spat back at her. "I'm calling my lawyer right now. I'm exercising my right to remain silent, and I'm going inside."

Time was going to be their enemy here. This man was making things difficult from the start. They could not prevent him from going inside his house, and once there, he didn’t have to come out. There were steps they could take, but those steps would all take time, and time would be his friend, not theirs.

She was running through their options in her head, and it looked like there were not many of them. This wasn't going the way she'd thought it would. This man was aggressively defiant.

And then, with a subtly insulting tone in his voice, Nathan leaned closer to Eliot.

"Are you really so scared of us you won't answer questions?" he said.

"Scared of you?" the man said, turning on him. "Scared of you ? Of course I’m not! You're the government! I know what you can do and what you can’t do. I know my rights. You're just a bully boy looking to control me and you're not going to do it."

He was still resisting. But he was also angry. His face was flushing red, and there was a muscle twitching in his cheek. He was looking more dangerous by the second.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," he said, his voice sounding deeper and more threatening. "And you're not coming into my house."

"You're not willing to cooperate?" Nathan replied, his tone of voice even more cutting now. He stepped even closer, so that his face was almost touching the man's. "Maybe you should think about why."

He was pushing it even more. Caitlin then realized that was the whole point of what Nathan was doing.

He was deliberately pushing this man’s buttons, and doing so in a way that was totally within his rights as a police officer. Nothing he said was out of line. He had this guy's number now and he'd decided what was likely to anger him.

And now he was subtly needling him in the hope that this violent man would do exactly what Caitlin was worried about. That was a brilliant move, especially for a man that she sensed was risk-averse, because it was risky but the payoff would be huge.

The minute he laid a hand on Nathan, they could arrest him, and then they'd be able to get him in for questioning far quicker and without any worry about him evading them in the meantime.

Caitlin had to admit, her mind reeled as she took this in. Nathan was going off script to catch this killer? Just like she did?

It wasn't something she'd thought he would do. Perhaps it wasn't even intentional, she decided. Maybe he truly was that angry and he was just looking to get this man to break.

As Eliot processed Nathan's words, his face changed. She saw the words were hitting home, and that he was rising to the taunts.

"You think I'm scared of you?" he said to her. "You think I'm scared of police? You got the wrong guy."

Before she could say anything, he pushed Nathan to one side, so violently that he almost fell over. He barged past her and headed for his door.

"Not so fast! You just assaulted an officer!" Caitlin said, grasping his arm.

"You think that was assault? I'll show you what that is!"

The next moment he'd turned in her direction, fists swinging.

Instinctively, she ducked. But the next punch came fast, aiming straight for her head at speed.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Caitlin ducked the punch, her reflexes lightning quick, but only just fast enough. She literally felt Eliot's fist graze the top of her head, and then Nathan was in the fray again, leaping to her defense.

Nathan grabbed hold of his arm again and this time, he was faster. He put more force into the action. He wrenched Eliot's arm up behind his back, and swung him around so that he was facing his own, still closed, front door.

Caitlin heard the impact as Eliot's shoulder collided with the door, and then she, too, was leaping forward, to contain this violent and extremely strong man. Eliot was shouting with anger and frustration, and he was struggling to free himself from Nathan's grip. But Caitlin got ahold of his other arm and dragged it behind him.

The click of the handcuffs closing signaled that this suspect was finally no longer a direct threat to them. But he had been, and she wondered if he’d been so resistant and aggressive toward them because he had everything to lose.

Caitlin couldn't wait to question him, and dig deeper into his reasons for being so uncooperative from the moment he’d set eyes on them.

They didn't waste any time. The sun was only just up by the time she and Nathan got him into the back of the car, still handcuffed. They then drove the short distance to the closest police station.

From the back of the car, Eliot was shouting and threatening in a nonstop, loud diatribe.

"You think you can arrest me? You got no right! You think you can bully me? You think you can scare me into telling you what you want to hear? Well, you're wrong! You got no right to do that to me. I'll sue the pants off you, you hear me? You've messed with the wrong guy."

By the time they arrived at the station, feeling battered by the sound waves, she and Nathan escorted him inside, past the glass-walled offices, down the long corridor, and into one of the interrogation rooms. Caitlin shut the door behind them while Nathan got Eliot to sit down at the table.

Finally, as he stared at the two investigators, he lapsed into a surly silence. Just as well. Caitlin’s ears were still ringing from being trapped inside a car with this shouting, yelling man.

"You know why you're here?" Caitlin asked. She now needed to get some sort of rapport going; or at any rate, she needed to get him talking. If he only ranted and raved and demanded his lawyer, this was going to drag the case on, and they wouldn't get the answers they needed.

More importantly, they wouldn’t get the results that were so critical to the success of this brand new unit. If he was the killer, this needed proving. And fast.

But in response to her question, Eliot shrugged, pressing his lips together.

"Let’s go with the most recent reason first. You assaulted an officer," Caitlin continued. "It's a serious offense."

"You provoked me."

Nathan shook his head. "Your reactions were out of line. You attacked us. All we needed was for you to answer questions. However."

He paused, and waited for that word to sink in. When it did, Eliot looked up, frowning.

"However, we are on a murder investigation. So at this moment, we might consider dropping the assault charges--if, and only if, you answer our questions and talk to us like a reasonable human being."

Caitlin could see that Nathan's words had an effect. Now, Eliot was looking thoughtful.

She knew that Nathan had crossed a line in provoking this aggressive man, because of the pressure of the case. If he was innocent and had an alibi, and cooperated, there would be no need to press any charges.

Of course, if he really was the killer, things would be different. So she waited to see, knowing that if he did agree to the deal he was being offered, it might bode well for this particular interrogation, but it would not necessarily bode well for the case.

She also thought that, weirdly, Eliot had a better rapport with Nathan than with her. It was irrational, seeing Nathan was the one who’d taunted him into aggressive action, but Caitlin acknowledged it might just be because he was speaking to Nathan man-to-man.

A guy like this, with a history of assaulting women, might have a deep seated scorn for them. She couldn’t do anything about it, if that was the case. All she could do was let Nathan lead the questioning.

"You're not going to arrest me?" Eliot asked, a note of suspicion in his voice, looking directly at Nathan.

"It all depends on how you respond to our questioning. Cooperate, and if we clear you, there’ll be no need.”

Caitlin felt a flash of respect that Nathan was being very fair to him now.

"But what the hell do you want from me anyway?"

"Let’s start with your whereabouts and movements yesterday."

"That's it?"

Caitlin shut her mouth, wanting so badly to participate in the questioning, but seeing now that Eliot definitely had more respect for men, she was going to have to let Nathan handle this.

"Yes, that's it."

"I don't believe you. You're trying to trick me." His aggression was rising again.

"What makes you say that?"

Listening to Nathan, Caitlin had to admit that he had a very relaxed and easy way about him in the interrogation. There was something about the way he was speaking, and his demeanor, which defused aggression. Right now, that was a helpful quality.

"I don’t believe you because you're police. You're here to get me to confess to murders I didn't commit. You're going to try to make me say things I didn't do."

Eliot's lips pressed together in a tight line.

"So, you really believe that?" Nathan asked. "You don't want to talk to us now because you think we’ll arrest you for imaginary reasons?"

"I don't trust the police," Eliot grumbled. “You arrested me once before and took my girlfriend’s side.”

Caitlin wanted so badly to say, “Well, you did try to strangle her.” But she bit the words back, because they would only inflame the situation. But she thought them privately, while keeping her face noncommittal.

"Look," Nathan said. "If you want us to drop the assault charges, you're going to have to answer our questions. If you do, we'll do that. If you don't, we won't. That's it. Remember, we can hold you here for as long as we want. We can book you in for the maximum amount of time. We can put you through a night in the cells. Calling your lawyer won't help, by the way."

Nathan looked up from his notebook, his eyes fixed on Eliot. He waited for him to respond, and it was clear that Eliot was thinking about it.

"Alright, I'll talk to you. But if I prove I’m innocent, then I want you to quit hassling me about these murders."

"Of course we will. If we confirm you couldn’t have committed them, then we’ll release you."

Caitlin saw Eliot's eyes widen. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting that.

"I won't be able to help you if you don't cooperate," Nathan added. "So it’s up to you. This could be a very short interview. If you're really innocent, all you have to do is prove it."

"Okay," Eliot capitulated.

Caitlin felt hugely relieved. She had to admit that Nathan had handled this well. He'd read this aggressive suspect accurately and he'd been able to defuse his anger with logic and a calm, almost apologetic demeanor. At least, now, he looked like he was going to cooperate. He might try to lie, but she was on the lookout for that. Whatever he said, she was going to request concrete proof.

"Where were you yesterday? We need to account for your movements the whole day. Were you near any trains? Did you travel by rail at all?" Nathan asked.

Yesterday was the day that the most recent murder had been attempted, so that was a good starting point. If he accounted for his movements yesterday, he was cleared, but if he couldn’t, they’d need to go back further. She thought that, in any case, Nathan would also ask about Friday evening.

Eliot moved his cuffed hands restlessly. "Yesterday I spent a full day at the gym."

"Training? Or working?"

"I'm a gym instructor," Eliot said irritably. "I took private lessons with clients, with it being a Saturday, and had a very busy calendar. I started at seven a.m. I didn't leave the gym until five p.m."

"Can you prove that?"

"Yes. I guess so." Eliot looked unsure.

"What proof do you have?"

“You need proof?” Eliot sounded incredulous, as if his word should surely be enough. Well, it wasn’t, Caitlin thought. She still didn’t trust him.

“Yes, if you have it, it will confirm what you’ve said,” Nathan explained patiently, and Eliot sighed.

"I have my schedule here, in my phone."

Nathan passed him the phone and undid his handcuffs. Caitlin watched him closely, but he now seemed in a more reasonable mind frame. He lifted a hand and rubbed each of his muscular shoulders in turn, before scrolling through his phone.

"Quite a few of my clients messaged me afterward, to thank me. I can show you those texts too."

Nathan leaned over, reading the information on the phone carefully.

“And Friday afternoon, going into evening?” To be sure, Nathan was checking back further.

“I knock off at the gym at five on a Friday. By six, I was at the local bar. I met a few friends there. Got home at eleven. I have messages confirming that.”

Scrolling some more, Nathan nodded, decisively.

Caitlin knew that her suspect hadn't worked out. Without a doubt, Eliot's alibi had checked out. They were back where they started.

"Okay. I'm satisfied with that."

"Well, I want a ride home!" Eliot demanded.

 “I’m going to ask the local police to make a few calls to confirm this alibi. Once they’ve done that, they can process your release and give you a ride home,” Nathan said. “You’ll face no further charges as you cooperated with us.”

He walked out of the interview room, muttering under his breath. “Well, that was a waste of time.”

Caitlin felt hurt that he was now getting at her, personally, when she’d tried her utmost to identify another suspect. She’d been about to tell him how well she thought he’d handled that questioning. Now, he was escalating the fight between them and making it clear he didn’t want to work with her at all.

“At least I’m trying to be proactive,” she snapped, feeling suddenly to the point of tears that things were going so badly, when she’d just believed them to be going better.

She saw the flash of anger in Nathan’s face.

"It's very clear to me you want to solve this case on your own."

“I just want it wrapped up and the killer caught," Caitlin insisted angrily. “I’ve got a lot at stake here!”

He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. “So do I, in case you don’t realize. But you’re really not a team player, are you? You don’t want to work with me. It’s obvious."

“That’s completely unfair of you,” she said, exasperated. "It's very clear you don't want to work with me either! I want to solve this case, more than you know. I would never sabotage any of my colleagues."

“This isn’t just sour grapes on your part? Because you got removed from your previous role?”

She felt like she had been slapped. She drew a furious breath and glared at him.

“No. It’s not sour grapes at all. I want this to succeed, but I want to work with a partner who’ll allow me to do that.”

“Maybe you’re the one making things difficult,” he said, his tone rising.

At that moment, Caitlin's phone began ringing. With a clench of her stomach, she saw it was Hume on the line.

Her boss from the FBI office was calling?

She didn't think it was just for a progress report. Caitlin felt suddenly worried that the powers in charge, had already made a decision on this unit.

Fearing this call was going to be the worst news, she quickly grabbed it up, heading away from the interview room to speak in private.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

"Caitlin?" As she'd expected, Hume's voice sounded terse and formal. The tone of his voice clued her in that this was going to be a difficult call, and her stomach twisted.

"Hume," she responded, trying not to let the tension be audible in her voice.

"How are you doing on that side? Are you making progress?"

She sighed inwardly. "We're making some progress. We've identified certain important parameters. Now we have to narrow them down to find the killer."

"Okay." He paused. "I wanted to update you on developments this side."

"What developments?" Caitlin's stomach twisted.

"We've restructured the unit." Was there a note of apology in Hume's tone? She thought she could hear one.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, now seriously worried.

"We decided it will be better if another agent takes over your role," Hume said, the tone of his voice regretful. "We had two new agents who were transferred here recently on a temporary basis. We've decided that should become permanent."

The knife in her back was twisting now, sharply.

"Is there a reason for this?"

"It's partly Fitch's request," Hume said, in a tone that told her it was all Fitch's request.

She knew Fitch was the most established of the agents in that office. He'd been there the longest while others had come and gone. He was the biggest yes man for sure, although the weakest when it came to ideas and innovation. But he was adept at saying what the bosses wanted to hear.

Because of that he was Hume's favorite. She'd seen that in the past and hadn't really cared about it, because she was there to do a job and not to curry favor. Now, she was realizing that this decision had been unwise.

"If the railway crimes unit is not permanent, what will my role be?" she asked, needing to know the worst case.

"Caitlin, are you not aware what this means?" he asked.

"I'm only going to be aware when I'm officially told," she said, but now her stomach was churning badly.

"I mean that there will be no role for you at the present time. Nothing whatsoever within the Atlanta office. We can obviously look at a transfer to another office, but there won't be a position for you here. Not now or for the foreseeable future. We've had to let you go." His voice was flat.

She felt a rush of cold in her veins. Her heart seemed to stop beating. Her throat went dry. "What? Why?" she asked.

"I'm sorry. It's unfortunate. As you know, it's usually a case of too many crimes, too few agents. Right now we have the opposite scenario, and it looks set to continue." Hume tried for a laugh. A laugh, at this time? Caitlin couldn't believe it. There was nothing funny about this situation and this was not the time to make light of it.

They didn't want her here. It was as bald, as callous as that.

"I see..." Caitlin felt the blood drain from her face. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. She felt like she was in a nightmare.

"We're sorry to do this to you. Like I said, circumstances are unfortunate. You've done a lot of good work for this unit, but in our meeting yesterday, we agreed that being part of a team comes first, and that's now going to be our priority when making staffing decisions going forward."

"I see. So, this was my fault?" She was growing angrier.

"You know that's not what I mean," Hume said.

"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm being dumped," she said.

"I know you feel put out, but we have to do what's best for the team. It's not a reflection on you. You know that. It's just that we need to make the right changes while we have the manpower to do it."

"You've fired me, haven't you?" She glared at the phone. There was no point in putting a gloss on this.

"I haven't fired you. I've restructured the unit," Hume said. "I'm sorry we couldn't keep you in your present role. It was good working with you, Caitlin."

Caitlin shook her head. She wasn't sure what to say. This was desperately unfair. Between them, Fitch and Hume had basically forced her out. From the time those new agents had set foot in the Atlanta office, she hadn't had a chance.

This decision was highly irregular. But she knew Hume would be adept enough in creating the necessary paper trail to justify it.

Even so, she should tell him she would appeal it. He couldn't be allowed to get away with this. But she couldn't do that. It just felt too humiliating for words.

All the same, she was going to let him know how she felt, and that she knew what he’d done was wrong.

“You know that you forced me out,” she said. “You made a decision to do that purposely. You created evidence and a scenario to justify it because Fitch wanted to work with his old colleague. If you didn’t want me on the team, why didn’t you just tell me so? I think what you’ve done is wrong. I know it. And I’m sure you know it too.”

With nothing left to say, she cut the call.

That was it. Hopes, dreams, her career in Atlanta, even her relationship with Mike. All over, thanks to back office politics that gave her no chance of a future there.

She felt her heart squeezing in her chest. She felt like she was about to cry. She had a feeling of utter hopelessness.

This new railway unit wasn't working. Their last lead, which happened to be their only lead, hadn't panned out.

She knew what Hume had done was unethical, but she was only one person and they were a team, and they'd gotten a record of her supposedly renegade behavior in place to justify what they’d done.

"Caitlin?" She heard Nathan's voice behind her.

She couldn't speak to him now. She felt too upset and too ashamed. She felt like she'd burned all her bridges and now her life was in ruins. It was like this new unit had been Hume's excuse to force her out, and now it was failing and she was fighting with her partner. Most probably, she wasn’t cut out for the job any more.

Tears blurred her vision, uncharacteristic for her. She hated showing weakness, and was terrified of it.

"Give me five minutes," she muttered.

She couldn't face him now. She saw a side exit ahead and headed toward it, striding out into the morning, hearing the sounds of traffic from the main road in the distance.

Scrubbing a hand over her eyes, she veered away from there, heading in the other direction, out toward the wilderness and the desert, which was at the end of the cul-de-sac road. For a moment she wished she could just keep walking forever, into that stark, rocky terrain, among the craggy mesas and distant mountains, into the bright, glaring landscape, and never speak to another soul.

"Caitlin!" She heard Nathan's voice calling her again, more urgent now.

She shook her head and kept walking. What was the point of facing him now? Everything was ruined. She didn't know how to speak to him after what had happened.

She'd failed. She'd been replaced in the Atlanta office -  fired.

How had she let herself be pushed out in such an overtly underhanded manner? She should have fought it tooth and nail. She shouldn't have been so cowed by the idea of an ugly, prolonged fight.

But it was all too raw, too painful to think about. She was no longer proud of herself. She had no idea what she was going to do now. She felt like she was going to cry. To break down.

But she wouldn't. She wouldn't let anyone see her cry. 

As she heard footsteps behind her, though, running after her, Caitlin realized she might not have a choice.

Like it or not, Nathan was about to catch up with her.

"Caitlin!" he yelled again, and she stopped in surprise when she heard the tone of his voice.

And then, she heard him shout the words she'd never, ever expected to hear from him. Especially not at that particular moment.

"Caitlin, I'm sorry!" Nathan said, and she turned and stared at him in astonishment.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

Nathan stood a couple of yards from her, his blonde hair looking like he'd been caught in a hurricane, his eyes still reddened from their sleepless night in the hospital, and an apologetic expression on his face.

"What?" Caitlin said, her voice sounding strangely breathless. She couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"I'm sorry," Nathan said again. "I didn't mean to be critical. I vented my own frustration on you. I shouldn't have said what I did. It was completely unfair of me." He took a deep breath. "I've been - well, I guess you could say I came into this unit in a difficult position. I haven't been feeling good about my prospects. And I think it's affected the way we've been working together."

Caitlin felt stunned. She hadn’t been aware of that. She had not known that her partner was fighting battles on his own side.

"I misspoke to you, too," she admitted. "I've ended up in a disastrous situation with my past work. I don't think the outcome is fair, but there's nothing I can really do. I've been feeling under pressure, and I've been trying to prove I can do this all myself, in the hope that there would still be a future for me in the FBI Atlanta office. Now, that’s not going to happen."

There, it was out. She’d spoken her worst fears in a moment of honesty she was already regretting. Now to see if the situation backfired on her again or not.

"I can see you're a good investigator. I’ve been extremely impressed by what you’ve done. I will admit, also slightly intimidated."

They were walking out into the desert now, side by side, and in step with each other.

"Right now, you're the only one who believes I’m any good," Caitlin said, regretting the words instantly. She hadn't meant to give so much away. But Nathan nodded sympathetically.

"I got that there were problems with your past work," he said. "Can I speak frankly here?"

"As opposed to … ?" Caitlin asked. He hadn't been speaking frankly up until now? It sure had sounded like he was.

Nathan snorted. "I tend to speak my mind. I'd just like to say that when I was sitting in that meeting, they mentioned your name. Then there was a delay, so I quickly looked you up. I saw immediately that you were a very senior agent and that your record was great. I thought for sure I’d be the junior member of the team and that it would never be a fair partnership.”

“But?” It sounded as if there was a ‘but.’

“Then I saw how your boss, Hume, spoke of you, and there were some insinuations he made that were very unfair to you. I thought it was completely unprofessional the way that he was hinting you were a total renegade who went off on your own and who acted in a way that wasn't in the team's interests. I mean, he said some good things about your skills, but that was secondary."

Caitlin felt horrified. In front of Knight?

“I thought he was the one who wasn't professional. Not you,” Nathan admitted.

"I guess I'm not a team player," she mumbled, and Nathan sighed.

"I also haven't played by the rules. I normally do, and the one time I broke them for the sake of the case, it caused big trouble for me."

"You did?" Caitlin stared at him, surprised. So that was why he hadn't wanted to tell her about his record. It wasn't that he hadn't had murder cases under his belt. It was that something had gone wrong - and in much the same way her own recent career had.

"Well, I thought you acted in just the right way when you baited Eliot into assaulting you," she said.

He looked shocked. "But I ended up putting you in danger. He almost lashed out at you."

"If you hadn't done that, and pushed him into attacking, we'd still be on the doorstep arguing with him. I want to say that I appreciate those actions. And maybe I'm a renegade who isn't suited to the FBI, but I damned well value it when my partner thinks for himself."

"Likewise," he said.

They turned back toward town. Caitlin felt strangely comforted. She felt as if a low point had been reached that had felt like it was the end of the road. But it wasn't. It hadn't been.

Perhaps it was the start of a cooperative foundation between herself and Nathan - although, for how much longer? They needed to get to the bottom of this case, and fast.

"He's going to kill again. I know he is. How can we stop him?" she said aloud.

"It's eating away at me, too. To think he's on a train, maybe even now, and he's got someone, and he’s going to be faster than we can be."

Caitlin shook her head. "He was almost found out. I think he's going to be more careful now. I believe he's going to change his MO."

"How do you think he's going to do that?"

"I think he’s going to check his surroundings better, choose his victims more carefully. Maybe he’ll strike up a relationship with them first, rather than just watching them from afar. He was spotted when he followed the victim. If I was him I’d want to walk with them next time.”

“So he’ll befriend them, talk to them, and then go with them to wherever he plans to kill them?”

“Yes, that’s what I imagine happening. And it might take him longer. If so, maybe we do have a chance of stopping him. Because rushing the crime didn’t work out for him and he doesn’t want to be caught. He doesn’t want to be caught because he’s obsessed with doing this.”

As she spoke, Caitlin felt that she was finally getting where she needed to be – inside this killer’s mind.

He was cautious and careful. But he also had a strong message to send out. He was targeting women of a certain age and appearance. And he was leaving those ladybug pins in his victims.

“He's not going to stop. I don't think he can. It's a compulsion. There's a reason why he's picking these victims again and again. And I think he's going to be feeling very angry. He's going to want to kill again, soon, but he's going to be more intelligent about it."

"We have to stop him, but how?" Nathan sighed, sounding as frustrated as Caitlin felt.

With the distances traveled, and the time lag that they were experiencing in getting to the scenes, it felt as if they were being set up for failure. But maybe, Caitlin thought, she was just thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe she was too focused on that chase, and now needed to look at the evidence again. And there was a piece of evidence, potentially crucial, that they hadn't yet explored.

The pins!

They were part of his obsession. They were something that, so far, they hadn’t looked into. They’d been too focused on him, and on his victims. But these small, cheerful little ornaments that he was leaving speared into each of his victim’s clothing, might just point the way to who he really was.

"I know where we need to look now," she said, as they approached the police department. She could hear the hope, audible in her own voice, and so could Nathan as he swiveled around to look at her, eyebrows raised.

"Where?" he said. “You sound like you’re onto something?”

"I hope so. It’s the pins.”

“The ladybugs? Because they’re pretty unique items, aren’t they?” Now, she could hear the gears engaging in Nathan’s mind, too, as he considered the parameters.

“Where is he getting them from? He must have a supply. He has at least three, and presumably more than that. They don’t look mass produced."

"They do look handmade. We could do a reverse image search or look for them online?"

Now with new purpose in their stride, they headed back to the police department. For the first time, Caitlin felt as if they were a team. She felt there was the beginning of camaraderie between them.

They walked into the police station and went to the back room where Caitlin opened her laptop.

She called up a few photos of the ladybug pins from the crime scene, and then did a reverse image search. And while her computer was busy with that, she also keyed in a description of the pins, to see if she could find where they were sold.

Beside her she heard Nathan, keys clacking sharply as he did exactly the same. Now it didn't feel competitive, but rather collaborative. They were working together, and Caitlin hoped this change in their dynamic would help them to take the next step.

Find the buyer of the pins and they would find the killer. That was now where her focus lay.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Sally Nicks sat on the train, yawning. She didn't do early mornings. Really, they were horrific. But she'd been on vacation and had missed the late train last night because she and her best friend had been partying.

Well, that was the point of the trip. She had gone to Tucson for her bestie’s birthday weekend. Tracy was twenty-five, the same age as Sally, and it had been a blast.

Sally yawned again, huddling into her jacket, because she always got cold when she was tired. Her eyes flicked around the carriage, to see if anyone was paying attention to her. She saw a few people reading, a couple half-asleep, and a man looking at her, but he soon turned away.

Her dad had been super mad at her. He'd really come down on her for not having gotten on that train yesterday.

"Sal, I was worried about you," he had raged at her. "You know these railway crimes have been happening."

Being a senator, her dad had a habit of acting like he was hooked into the world of news with a direct live wire.

"Dad, it's all fine. I'm sorry if I worried you. We got a little carried away."

"No. It's not fine. I was, and am, very worried about you. You should have been back home in LA by now."

"Dad, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry."

She hadn't wanted to get into a fight with him, so she'd said okay, okay, she'd be more careful in the future.

But it was hard to be more careful when you were just going home from a party, wasn't it? She hardly ever went out and partied hard. Most times, she worked nonstop at her job as a hospital nurse, and had quiet evenings at home. She sometimes felt she was living the life of someone twice her age. It was good to let loose every so often.

She’d had a ball in Tucson with Tracy and her friends. They'd gone to clubs and she’d even met someone cute, who’d said he’d call her. She hadn't been able to get much rest over the weekend, so it was no wonder she was feeling a little bleary as she looked out of the window of the train, watching the city lights retreat and the scenery flash by, pink hued and pretty in the rising sun.

The landscape was stunning, but it wasn't holding her attention. She was yawning compulsively.

"Excuse me," a man's voice said, distracting her from yet another enormous yawn.

"Sorry," Sally said, turning to him with an apologetic smile. Guy probably thought he was going to get swallowed by her, that's how widely she'd yawned.

He was a respectable looking man, with white-blonde hair and a serious face. Though tall, he had a stooped demeanor that made him seem non-threatening. She guessed he was her dad’s age, early fifties.

"Do you mind if I sit opposite?" he asked politely. “Or is that seat taken?”

"Sure," Sally said. "Sure, of course, you can sit there, that's fine."

He was wearing a smart jacket, a red shirt, and a dark blue tie. That meant he was going to work, she guessed. Working on a Sunday must have meant he was in retail or the hospitality industry. Her friends in retail and hospitality always complained about their weekend shifts.

"Are you a little tired?" he asked, as she yawned yet again.

"Yes, I am," Sally said with a smile. "I was in Tucson for Friday and Saturday night, and I didn't get much sleep."

"That's a shame. But I'm sure you enjoyed yourself."

"Yes, I did," she admitted.

"I love Tucson. I was also there on business, but years ago I lived there. I thought it was a great city."

"I'm Sally," she said, feeling they needed introductions. "What's your name?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Carl," he said, holding his hand out.

"Nice to meet you, Carl," she said, shaking his hand.

She actually felt relieved to be sitting opposite a good solid citizen. At least it meant that the seat couldn't be taken by a weirdo, or by the killer that her dad kept on warning her about.

"Do you mind me asking where you're going?" he asked, as if after the introduction he was ready to chat.

"Oh, I'm going to my home in Lone Oaks," she said. "It’s a few miles outside of LA."

"Ah, I know the suburb. I'm on my way to LA myself."

"LA’s the best," Sally said.

She guessed that she could tell him her dad was a senator in California but she'd found that didn't always go down well with strangers. People’s political views were very different, and in the past, she'd told strangers about her dad's work, feeling proud, only to spend the next hour hearing why he was doing such a bad job. So she'd stopped talking about that because it was safer.

"Yes, I love it," he said. "It has an incredible energy to it. I'm heading there for a meeting."

Sally smiled, though she didn't really feel like talking. She felt sleepy. But he was being nice and polite, so she felt she should be at least polite in return.

"I wonder if we should go and get a coffee," he suggested. "If you're keen to take a walk, I can buy you one, if the catering's open already. We could go and take a look."

A coffee sounded like a great idea, she thought. It would perk her up a bit. She felt in need of a caffeine boost. She'd had a few drinks over the weekend, and she didn't normally drink at all. She was usually the designated driver at parties, and let her friends have a good time while she watched. But at this party she’d really had fun, and even won the tequila challenge. Not that she remembered too much about that particular event.

“You want me to go with you?” she asked, her mind catching up with his request, and thinking that was a bit weird.

“I unfortunately have a severe vision problem,” he said. “That’s actually what my meeting is about. I’m meeting with the surgeon at the hospital this afternoon, to see if it can be corrected. They seem to think an operation can fix it.”

That was why he’d seemed to be looking near her and not at her. Poor guy, she thought. He did seem a bit red-eyed.

“I’ll come with you for sure. I didn’t notice you couldn’t see well,” she said, being kind. Nobody wanted to be told they looked half-blind, did they?

“It’s a problem that’s been getting worse over the years, and I’ve only just managed to set aside the money for the operation. Just as well, seeing it’s reached a stage where it’s affecting my life,” he admitted.

"I hope it can be fixed,” she sympathized.

"I do hope so too," he said, smiling.

There was something about that smile that looked a little strange, a little forced, but then it was gone. She guessed she must have imagined it, with stranger danger being such a concern at this time. Or maybe his condition also caused him pain and he’d had a twinge of discomfort. She was going to go with that and stop being suspicious. Her dad was putting ideas into her head; that was the truth of it. He was making her scared when there was really no reason to be, especially now that she had this genteel middle-aged man watching out for her.

She checked the time. Eight-thirty a.m.

It was a bit too soon to call her dad. She'd promised to call him by nine. There would be time to do that when she had her coffee.

For now, she stood up, and walked through the carriage, following the likable man she'd just met. She sure hoped that catering kiosk was open because she needed a coffee and a soda, and maybe a pastry as well. Being tired always made her hungry. Now, she was starving.

Perhaps she could offer to buy the pastries, seeing as he was buying the coffee.

She liked Carl. There was a safe, reassuring feeling about him.

Sally even took his arm as they stood. She wanted to make sure he didn’t walk into anything and that he was safe as they made the journey to the catering car.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

The reverse image search wasn't helping. It wasn't coming up with anything for the ladybug pins, and Caitlin stared at the screen in frustration.

She’d felt so hopeful about this new angle, especially with the better energy between her and Nathan. But when she called up a few photos of those ladybug pins from the crime scenes, sitting in the police station’s back office, she couldn’t find a match.

Beside her she heard Nathan, keys clacking sharply as he did exactly the same. Now it didn't feel competitive, but rather collaborative. They were working together, at least.

Caitlin hoped this change in their dynamic would help this challenging case to be solved successfully. So far, though, there was nothing to be found. Perhaps searching for a description of the pins would help, to see if she could find where they were sold

"Pins, ladybug pins, decorative pins, brooches."

She guessed it was likely to be a small supplier. These were handmade pins and they clearly were not common. They obviously had an important significance to the killer, and he knew where to buy them.

Patience was needed, but it was a commodity that Caitlin was rapidly running short of.

"I think I might have found something here," Nathan said thoughtfully. “Look here, Caitlin.”

“Handmade by Jen?” Caitlin’s eyebrows rose as she saw the website. It was the one they needed, for sure. Reading through it, she saw that Jen was an artist who lived in Nevada, and who did beadwork and crafts, making a variety of ornaments and jewelry. Including those pins which were labeled ‘Bestseller’ on her site.

“You’ve found it, for sure!” She felt motivated all over again that they’d gotten this far. “These are unique and trademarked. She mentions those gold ladybug legs, which are actually gold plated.”

This was going to be a strong lead, Caitlin felt sure of it. Now, she needed to contact Jen, and find out where she’d sold the pins, and if anyone had bought them in bulk.

The Handmade by Jen website had an address and phone number. Feeling hopeful, Caitlin dialed the number.

After two rings, a cheery sounding woman picked up.

"Jen speaking?" she said.

"Jen, it's Agent Dare here, from the special railway crimes task force."

"From where?" Jen said, sounding shocked. "Are you sure you have the right number? I'm a craftsperson."

“I’m calling about a certain item you manufacture. It’s been found at a few different crime sites, and we feel the killer might be using it as a signature.”

Caitlin felt desperately sorry for Jen. It was going to be hard for her to learn that her items, made with such positive intentions to be used as pretty accessories and gifts, were in fact used by a killer.

"Oh no, I don't believe it," Jen said, her voice now filled with fear. "Which item is that? Are you sure it’s one of mine?”

“It’s your ladybug pins,” Caitlin said.

“My pins? Used at murder scenes?"

Her voice was shaking now, and Caitlin felt really sorry for her.

"I'm really sorry to have to tell you this, but yes," Caitlin said.

"I can't believe it," Jen said. "I just can't believe it. I've made so many of them. They've always brought joy to people. This is just unthinkable. Why them?"

That was a good question and one Caitlin wished she had the answer to. She gave her a moment. She sounded as if she needed one, to come to terms with what had happened.

"I do need to ask you a few questions about your sales and customers, as it's possible the killer bought the pins directly from you."

"Okay," Jen said, her voice sounding muted, as though she was on the verge of tears. "I'll help you any way I can. This is so terrible."

"Did anyone order bulk deliveries of these pins? Say, three or more?" Caitlin asked.

"Well, I do have a few shops I supply," the craftswoman said, still sounding shaken. "They usually order in bulk, but it's not just the pins they order. I also do ornaments, decorations, other jewelry, and those orders are quite big."

A killer who planned ahead the way this monster did, could also have disguised the pins in a bigger order. Or maybe he was one of the customers, and he had decided to start using the pins simply because they were available.

Caitlin also could not rule out that he had made multiple orders buying one pin at a time or even using different names. That would be easy to do when ordering online. It all depended how much he preplanned these crimes.

"I would like you to send me details of every single person and every outlet who ordered these pins," she said.

There was a pause.

"Do I have to?" Jen asked, sounding doubtful.

"You're legally obliged to cooperate with criminal investigations," Caitlin said, her voice gentle.

"It’s not that I don’t want to cooperate, but customer confidentiality is an issue."

"Unfortunately there's a direct link between these pins and the killer," Caitlin said. "He's using them, without a doubt. That's how we found your details. So we have the right to investigate the case. Women are being killed. We can either get a warrant, and come to your premises later today and seize what we need, or else you could provide us with it. Either way, we will keep the information confidential ourselves," she promised. “We will not misuse the information in any way, and we will only contact people that we suspect might fit the profile of our killer.”

"I see," Jen acknowledged.

"He's killing fast," Caitlin added. "We have three victims in the space of a week. We still haven't caught him. It might be he has a victim in his sights right now. If you agree to help us willingly, we will be extremely grateful and you’ll be helping us find a very dangerous serial murderer."

"What do you need exactly?" Jen asked.

"I need contact details for everyone who ordered the ladybug pins within, say, the past two years," Caitlin said. "Including the bulk orders to the gift shops. And I need those details fast. Also, the payment details for the private sales. Just the names, because we need to see if anyone placed an order under one name, and then paid under a different name."

She could tell Jen was thinking about this. Now, she was seeing the bigger picture, Caitlin hoped.

"Okay," Jen said. "I'll email the details right away. I’ve only been making them for a year and a half, so that’s as far back as the records go. If any of my customers complain, I'll tell them why I cooperated. I do think everyone should try and help in a situation like this. It's a huge tragedy."

"Thank you, Jen," Caitlin said. "I can't tell you how grateful we are for your help."

They cut the call after Caitlin had given her the email details she needed.

"So, hopefully what we get from her is a complete list," she said to Nathan. "If so then we have a lot of work to do."

"I was listening to the call. It seems like she made direct sales, and also she sold to a few gift shops?"

"Yes. And we need to look into both of them, especially local sales and local shops," Caitlin emphasized. "By local, I mean the area in which he’s been killing, which encompasses Arizona, California and part of Nevada. He must surely live somewhere within that area. I think now we can find out where if we search carefully enough."

She scribbled down, by hand, some of her thoughts that she'd had while speaking to Jen.

"Possibility of multiple orders at different times - different names?"

"Any local gift shops will be important to speak to."

"Look for any multiple online orders - big red flag!"

She was pleased that Jen kept her word. As Caitlin had finished jotting down her thoughts, there was a ping that signaled the email had arrived.

Opening it eagerly, Caitlin was pleased to see that Jen had done a thorough job. Every sale of the pins for the past year and a half was noted down in chronological order, with the number of pins ordered, date, name and address of the buyer, and also the name of the payer.

At a glance, she was disappointed to see that nobody had ordered multiple pins in one shipment online, apart from the gift shops. The killer had clearly been too clever to do that.

"I'll start looking through, and seeing if there are any discrepancies between the buyers and payers that would mean someone ordered under a different name," Nathan said. “I’ll also keep a lookout for repeat orders.”

"I'm going to go through the gift shops she supplied," Caitlin decided.

She stared at the list, eyes narrowed, looking at the various gift shops that were clients of Handmade by Jen.

There were not many of those, but the ones that she had seemed to be good customers, making big orders every month or two. That might be worth following up, Caitlin decided. Where were these shops?

She took a look at their locations and saw, to her surprise, that nine of the ten shops listed were right out of their area of focus. A few were on the east coast, a couple in Florida, and even one in Canada.

There was only one shop in the wider local area, and that was Lillie's Gifts, which was a few miles outside of Phoenix itself.

"I think it would be worth going to that shop," Caitlin said aloud. "They sell a lot of her work there. They might remember someone who'd come in and made a big bulk order."

She felt it was important to follow this up.

"I don't want to waste time," Nathan said, sounding anxious. "There are a lot of individual sales, and cross checking the payment details will take time."

"I'll go to Tucson," Caitlin decided. "That shop is not far from here. You stay here and check the list, and I'll go and speak to the store owner directly."

By the time she reached the store, it would be nine in the morning and she was sure it would be open.

"We'll stay in touch," Nathan agreed, nodding.

Grabbing the car keys, Caitlin rushed out. She had a strong feeling that at last, they were closing in on the killer.

Given that he must be locally based, she wondered if he might have felt safer and more anonymous walking into a gift shop than buying online. If so, there was only one local shop he could have used.

“We’re going to get you,” she muttered, climbing into the car.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

Nathan felt determined that if there was a link to be found in these online orders, he was going to find it. And he knew when it came to research like this, he could work fast.

As soon as Caitlin had left, he bent his head to the task. Being a railway cop, he'd done his fair share of grunt work and paperwork, which were the menial and unpopular tasks.

He'd never shied away from them and as a result, he'd learned to do them at speed. Of course, that meant for a while he was assigned more of them than he should have been because he was good at doing them, but thankfully he'd gotten past that hurdle and had been promoted from back office work to being out in the field.

He still had no idea if this new role was a punishment or not. He hoped it was more of an opportunity, and that faced with the need to create this task force, his superiors in the railway police had looked for someone with the qualities to make it succeed.

But at the moment, he couldn't suppress his fear that anything less than swift, complete success on this case would mean the end of his career.

He knew that Caitlin shared those fears.

She wasn't an easy person to like, he decided, and that was because she didn't make herself likable. She was one hundred percent genuine and zero percent fake, and she was who she was. She wasn't out to make friends, but woe betide you if you were her enemy or one of the bad guys. He could see how she might have been a threat to people in the Atlanta FBI office, who wanted to keep their status quo the way it was. Caitlin was someone who automatically seemed to challenge things. But at the same time, she was kind. That, he’d seen. She had a deep desire to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

He appreciated that quality in her, and had come to respect her. Bizarrely, right now, if he'd been given the chance of switching her out for someone else, he wouldn't have taken it. He liked that she was so fast thinking, so creative in her ideas, and so utterly hell-bent on getting results. And of course, her kindness and warmth had surprised him.

Now, they needed results, and fast.

At that moment, his phone rang, and he saw with a clench of his stomach that it was Knight calling.

He would be wanting to know if they’d achieved their goals. That was a pity because right now, there was nothing he could say. But at least they had a lead that, theoretically, should get them to this killer one way or another.

Feeling a flash of trepidation, he picked up.

"Nathan Bridges here," he answered professionally.

"Bridges. I'm calling you for a progress report," Knight said, his voice terse. "I'll be honest with you here, I'm getting big pressure from the local governments and the railway officials in all the affected states. They want results, and they are keen to know if this experimental unit is working out."

He emphasized the word "experimental." Deliberately, Nathan thought.

"Then let me be honest with you, sir," he said, keeping his tone respectful. "The task force is working together well. We have several leads now, and I'm confident we will catch the killer. It will just take some time. We need to work methodically and not rush this."

"I need to know that I'm not wasting my time here."

"The biggest challenge has been the long distances in investigating the crimes," Nathan explained. "With the killer being so mobile, it's taken hours to catch up and look at each scene. But we're learning to work around that. Air transport might be helpful in the future, like a helicopter, although I know that's an added cost factor."

"The crimes are costing money. Solving them is a priority," Knight said firmly.

"We are literally working around the clock," Nathan emphasized.

"Let me be blunt here. You're running out of time. We need results, and fast. There are already a few critics of the unit who've been calling me to say they think it is unnecessary and that it's slowing things down rather than the opposite. There are budget meetings happening as we speak, and if this isn’t solved by tomorrow, then I don’t think we’re going to be able to justify its ongoing existence. They’ll refuse to fund it."

"I understand that," Nathan said, feeling a chill. He didn't like the tone in Knight's voice.

"Good. As long as you know how serious this is. I'll be in touch again soon."

Knight disconnected, leaving Nathan feeling shaken that they already had critics. There were already people who didn’t want this unit in place at all. Politics was a complex game. People had so many different agendas.

He didn't want to think about the fact that if they didn't achieve this, it might cost him his career. And Caitlin’s, too. It was an awful thing to even consider.

He knew he was working fast, but he needed to be faster. And he needed results to back that up. He opened up the email from Jen again, and started searching, his eyes flicking from screen to screen.

He went through the orders and the payments, making notes of any discrepancies.

Now, he needed to pull out all the stops, to work as fast as he could to see if there were any common factors in the orders that he could identify.

He started out checking the addresses. Carefully, methodically, he worked his way down the list, looking at each one in turn, scribbling down the house or postbox number so he could remember it if it came up again, and then moving on.

Then, he did the same thing with the payment details.

He didn't come up with any common threads in the payment details or the names, but as he worked his way through the list, he realized that he was seeing one common factor in a few of the addresses.

“What is this?” he asked himself, leaning forward, intent on the screen. His pulse sped up. He had something, at last.

“It’s the same one here, and here, and here.” He breathed out, feeling satisfied and excited all in one go. This lead was getting results. Chasing the killer hadn’t been successful, but chasing his signatures had been the game changer they needed.

There had been five orders of pins so far, one a double order, all sent to the same postbox address in Tucson.

"Now this is interesting," he muttered, fingers flying as he switched to a different database.

The address seemed to be registered in the name of a company - Razzle Incorporated, but when he tried to look it up, he found the company was defunct, de-listed, and no information was available - at least, not fast. That was far from helpful, especially seeing the orders were all in different names, and even the payments had been made in different ways. One had been through a voucher, one using PayPal, and two from different credit cards.

But the address was the same, and he felt his resolve sharpening as he looked down at it. It was local, and multiple pins had been sent to it. He was certain, beyond any doubt, that it was the right one. This was the lead they needed! He was looking at the address the killer had used.

The problem was that there wasn't enough information on this postbox. And given the pressure of time, they had to work fast.

Perhaps he should call Caitlin now, he decided. With her FBI connections, she might have access to more databases, faster, than he did.

He picked up the phone and made the call.

The phone rang four times, five. He was beginning to think that she had it on silent and that she was busy interviewing the shopkeeper, when she finally picked up.

She sounded breathless and excited.

"I was about to call you," she said. "We've had a lucky break here. I've just discovered something very important."

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Caitlin pulled up outside the gift shop, which was in a local shopping mall in an outlying suburb of Phoenix. Lillie's Gifts was a beautifully decorated store, with colorful window displays, shiny glass doors, and even a mini café, with two small tables and chairs outside, overlooking a park.

She hoped that Lillie would be helpful, and that the store kept some kind of customer records. Doing that or not could make or break the success of this lead. Especially since she was sure the killer would have tried hard to stay anonymous.

She pushed open the door and walked into the cool, air conditioned shop that smelled of scented candles and a whiff of incense.

The shop seemed to sell everything from clothing to candles, from jewelry to ornaments, from games to puzzles.

There was a plump, dark-haired woman behind the counter who gave her a friendly smile.

Caitlin walked quickly over.

"Are you the store owner?" she asked. "I'm Agent Dare, and I'm looking for some information on crimes."

"Crimes in this area?" The woman looked confused.

"In the wider area," Caitlin said.

"I am the owner," Lillie said. "But I don't understand. Can you tell me what this is about and how my store is involved?"

"We don't know for sure you are involved. But we've found ladybug pins at the murder scenes. We're in touch with the supplier, Jen, but we are wondering if the killer might have obtained the pins from this gift shop."

"How terrible!" Lillie looked shocked. "I can't believe anyone would do such a thing, but I guess that's crime for you," she added in a more matter of fact tone.

"I'd really like to ask you some more about them," Caitlin said.

But Lillie shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you, other than all of Jen’s items, including the pins, are good sellers and they're popular. I guess people think the ladybugs are good luck."

Not for the victims, Caitlin thought sadly as Lillie continued. "I mean, they're cute, and they're brightly colored, and very good quality. That's why they sell well."

“Can I take a look at your sales records? See how many you've sold in the last few months?"

"I don't keep that information here." Lillie shrugged. "We do a lot of cash sales, we do stock takes once a month, but any more details I'd literally have to look up on the computer or our manual invoice books. We use both, as I have one assistant who works on the weekends that doesn't like using the computer."

"Do you have customer records?"

Lillie sighed. "No. We get a lot of tourists in the shop, and because they're only here as a once-off, we don't bother with keeping records."

"This would more likely be a local," Caitlin said. "And this person, probably a man, would have bought more than one pin. At least three, and probably more."

Lillie frowned.

"Well, like I said, those pins are good sellers. They've sold especially well in the past few months, but that's obviously as a result of the tragedy. However, I don't recall anyone buying more than one."

"What tragedy is that?" Caitlin's ears pricked up at the mention of what could be a related event, or even the first in a series of crimes. She was now eager to find out more.

"Oh, I don't think it would be relevant to you. There was no foul play involved. It wasn't a murder or anything like that," Lillie said.

"I'd still be interested to know," Caitlin said. "Sometimes, background information can be surprisingly helpful."

"Can it really? This was a very sad event, but it was just one of those things. It was a local woman, Gretchen Barlow, who was traveling on a train when she had an embolism."

Caitlin's eyes widened. This had to be connected! But how?

"What happened? Who is Gretchen?"

"She was a schoolteacher in this town, and very well liked. She was only in her early thirties, which is why it was so tragic. The lung embolism was apparently the result of a blood clot that she developed after breaking her ankle. It moved, and lodged in her lung, and she was just very unlucky that she was on a train at the time and couldn't get to the hospital quickly enough."

"How long ago was this?" Caitlin asked.

"It was - let me see. There was a newspaper article about it in the local paper which I kept."

She opened a file and flipped back pages.

"Three months ago! My goodness, time flies," she said.

She turned the article toward Caitlin, who read it, feeling extremely resolute that this was a major breakthrough.

Well-loved local schoolteacher Gretchen Barlow passed away tragically on a train trip between Phoenix and San Diego. Barlow, who had taught senior high school in Phoenix for ten years, was only thirty-two when she died. The cause of death was later ascertained to be a lung embolism, and doctors believe that a broken ankle a month earlier had caused the fatal blood clot which eventually migrated to her lung.

"Deep vein thrombosis can be a risk in any fracture or break where a leg joint is immobilized, or has been operated on," Dr. Pharr, a local surgeon, explained. "Patients should always take care to keep a broken limb elevated as much as possible, consult their physician about safe exercises to reduce this risk, and wear a compression stocking if this is advised after a serious fracture or a break. This can help to prevent blood clots forming and potentially causing a fatal embolism."

The death happened too quickly for anyone to intervene, and by the time the train had reached a station, it was too late for Ms. Barlow.

"She just collapsed on the train," one of the witnesses said, who arrived on the scene too late to assist. "I thought she was asleep, but then I realized she wasn't breathing, and I then discovered she was dead."

Several witnesses had also said they thought the woman was deeply asleep.

"I moved away to give her more room, because she was coughing," one witness said. "I feel so badly now, to think she was dying and I could have helped her."

"We're just so shocked," the principal of Phoenix High School said. "She was a wonderful teacher, and all the kids loved her."

"I spoke to her a few hours before she died. She was due back in Phoenix in a few days; her ankle had healed well, and she was looking forward to getting back to work and catching up with friends and family," said a tearful friend, Karen Turner.

The tragic incident was ruled a death by natural causes.

Now, here was the important part, the lead that Caitlin thought she needed.

Gretchen is survived by her parents, her younger brother, and her fiancé, the article concluded.

Caitlin nodded to herself. This was finally adding up, and she could see where her suspicions were turning.

These close family members were now all prime suspects, because she was sure the killings were somehow linked to this tragic event. One of these family members might have had a psychotic break, killing people he believed to be responsible.

Caitlin was interested to see that Gretchen herself was not similar in appearance to the victims. She was dark-haired, older, and had dark brown eyes. So the killer hadn’t been targeting people who looked like her. Perhaps he was traumatized that one of the bystanders hadn’t helped out, or he was killing a nurse or a doctor who hadn’t managed to save her in his deluded mind.

"Thank you. You've been most helpful," Caitlin said to Lillie, closing the folder.

Lillie gave Caitlin a sad smile. "I hope this helps you find the killer. It's terrible to think that Gretchen's legacy led to more murders."

Caitlin nodded, and quickly turned to leave the shop.

As she did so, Nathan called. Just in time. She'd been about to call him, because now the hunt was on.

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

"Listen, Nathan, I think I have something important here!" Caitlin followed up on her first comment, gushing out the words as she climbed into the car.

It was only then that she realized Nathan, too, had sounded excited.

"If you have something, so do I," he said.

"What do you have?" With two leads, this might progress at double the pace. The leads could even point in the same direction. Either separately or together, they might be enough to find the killer.

"I have four different names from those pin orders, all with the same address used,” Nathan told her excitedly. “I can't get much from the address, as it's a post office box in Tucson, but I can confirm that four different names and four different payment methods were used for that same address. The first pin was bought a month ago, and the others in the couple of weeks after that."

"That ties in with what I found." Switching the phone to speaker, Caitlin sped down the main road.

"What did you find?"

"I found out that a woman wearing a ladybug pin, Gretchen Barlow, died on a train just over a month ago. She suffered an embolism at thirty-two years old, after a broken ankle. It was nobody's fault, but I was wondering if one of her family might have suffered a psychotic break, and blamed someone on the train as a result. Perhaps he was angry that the train passengers didn't do enough to help."

"Yes. That sounds very possible. I'm checking the names on those orders here." Nathan drew in a sharp breath. "One of them is Carl Barlow. He bought one of those pins on his personal credit card. In fact, that was the first purchase from this address. The subsequent ones were made using different names."

"What relation is he? Father?" Now, Caitlin was taking a stab in the dark and guessing at the approximate age.

"I’m looking that information up now. Yes. Reading here, I see that Carl Barlow is her dad. I see he’s divorced, according to this record. And he’s a fitness guru who worked as a stuntman in the past, who would be fit and strong. So that's our person?"

"And that's the reason. His daughter died and he feels he's avenging her. He's riding trains in the area and he's looking for people who match the description he carries in his mind of the person who didn't help her, didn't save her. And he's killing them."

"We urgently need to know where he is!" Nathan sounded stressed to the nines. So was Caitlin.

"He might have bought train tickets using all those false names, too. He probably alternates them. Just as he bought the pins, so he's using different names and different payment details when he rides the trains."

The road scrolled ahead. Caitlin pressed her foot on the gas. She needed to get to Nathan as soon as she could, but Nathan needed to get the right answers by the time they arrived. Only then would they know where to go. Until then it was guesswork only.

"I'm going to look up every one of those names he uses. I’ll ask our main admin office for help, so that it goes quicker. We can see where he is now."

"Meanwhile, think ahead," Caitlin urged. "He's very clever and he's sneaky. He might always have a double bluff in place. We need to consider that."

"I'm looking now."

"I'll let you look, and I'll drive. I should be back there in five minutes."

Four minutes, if she got through the light ahead before it changed. With her foot flat, Caitlin sped through just as it changed. She hung up, and kept her eye on the road. She had to get to Nathan as soon as she could.

She was convinced that Carl Barlow was already on a train again. Of course he was. He was riding the lines and looking for his next victim. But where? She felt briefly daunted at the thought of the web of railways, the wide network, the number of trains. Somewhere within that, he was at work again. She was sure of it, and hopefully the ticket sales would confirm this.

What else could she do, as FBI?

She could track his cell number. That might be an idea, but it was highly likely that if he was doing this kind of crime, he kept his phone turned off. He'd want no digital record of his whereabouts, and she could see he was a very cunning and cautious man.

What about the patterns?

Was there any pattern to the trains he was taking, Caitlin wondered, as she peeled off the main road and took the route leading to the police department. Was he using any kind of method or system? Sometimes killers did that, either intentionally or accidentally.

From what she knew so far, it seemed as if he’d chosen three completely different train routes, though all in the same wider area. He’d killed on two of those routes, and he had failed to kill on the third, because he’d been interrupted.

That was all she knew and visualizing the map in her mind, she couldn’t see a pattern.

Caitlin was drawing close to the police station now, and she eased her speed down from reckless to a more moderate one. She turned into the parking lot that led to the entrance, and she slammed the car into a space.

She rushed in, and before she'd even reached the back office, she could hear the crackle of radios and Nathan's voice, loud and urgent. He was talking quickly on the phone as she rushed in, and only had time to glance at her before continuing his conversation while she shifted impatiently from foot to foot.

Finally, he cut the call, looking triumphant.

"We got him," he said.

"Got him?" Her eyes widened. “Where? How?”

"Those four names? The most recent one, Mr. Symons, bought a ticket this morning on the train running from Phoenix to Las Vegas. He did it under the credit card of Carl Barlow, so we know it's him. That's where he's headed."

"Really?" She felt stunned.

"The train is already two stops away from Vegas, so it’s too far for us to reach. I've already asked the local police to meet them at the next station, and to make a stop and search there. They agree with me that the names and payment details are sufficient evidence for them to send a team."

Caitlin nodded. In fact, feeling elated, she punched the air. This was the answer they needed. The booking history had confirmed that this was where he was riding.

Although, she suddenly wondered if she should be getting quite so excited, given the level of sneakiness they were dealing with here.

Trying to allay her fears, she stared down at the list of train rides that Nathan had called up. He’d done a thorough job. There was also an ID photo of him on the screen, showing his features.

This man had bought multiple tickets in different names, although she wasn’t sure how many of them he’d really used. But with the names they had so far, this was the only current ticket that she could see.

What if he’d used a new name, a different name? Especially since he’d almost been busted on the previous ride? What if that other booking was a red herring?

She looked down at the list again, looking through it, trying to see if there were any other names that might have recurred.

And then, with a jolt, Caitlin saw what she was looking for. A pattern.

It was there, as clear as day, and the problem was that it didn’t match with the place where the police were going to raid now.

“Have you seen something? Are you thinking something different?” Nathan had seen her face, and sounded as concerned as she now felt.

“Yes. Nathan, look here. Look what he’s done. I’m seeing it now.”

She pointed to entries on the list of the previous ticket bookings.

“It seems as if he rides one line again and again until he makes the kill. Back and forth. Look at those bookings. I’m guessing it sometimes takes him a while to find a victim. He doesn’t always succeed in that. But he rides it again and again. Look, he rode that first route three times, then he made the kill. There were a couple of other random tickets bought elsewhere, but I’m guessing he stayed on that train. He wanted to find her there and kill her.”

“And when he did, he moved on?”

“Exactly. He didn’t ride that line again. Now, it looks as if he went straight to the next train line he chose, rode it twice, presumably then went home and went to sleep, tried again the next day, and then the day after, he got results. And then he didn’t use that line again. Then, he chose a third route. And that’s the one where he got interrupted.”

“So he is aiming to kill a similar looking woman on each of the routes, sort of eradicate her, one route at a time?”

“Yes. Looking at his behavior, that’s what he is doing. And the problem is that he didn’t kill her on this route. On this train, the one from Tucson to LA. So what if he’s riding that same train, back again?”

Nathan looked taut with concern as he stared at her.

"Trying again?"

“On that same train,” Caitlin confirmed.

“I guess we could pull up every single booking and compare it to the payment details, but that would take another couple of hours.”

Caitlin was now dreading that those hours would waste too much time. The train was already on its route. It would have started, from Tucson station, at eight a.m. according to this schedule.

"We can't do that. I agree it would take too long," Caitlin admitted. "But what we could do, is board that train and take a look. We could intersect with it at that station there, in about forty-five minutes.” She pointed to the map. “That way at least we’ll physically be able to check if he’s busy completing that pattern. What do you say?"

She stared at him challengingly, waiting to know if he was going to take the risk with her, or not.

CHAPTER THIRTY

"I'm in, and I agree. Let's go catch that train."

Nathan’s words were still resounding in Caitlin’s mind as they arrived at the local station, three stops down the line from the train’s starting point in Tucson.

She felt relieved and amped that he was with her on this chase and had taken the risk.

She knew were going out on a limb here, and that they were indulging in what might be deemed unnecessary action. There was a chance they could be called to task for acting irresponsibly.

They had shown their police IDs at the turnstile in lieu of tickets, and as the train pulled in, Caitlin waited until the last moment before jumping on. She didn't want the killer to jump off, ahead of her. She knew that he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the police, and an uncanny ability to avoid them.

They boarded moments before the train pulled off. Caitlin was satisfied nobody who could have been the killer had gotten off - at any rate, not at this stop.

As they headed into the carriage, Nathan's phone rang.

"Knight?" he asked, and Caitlin felt her stomach clench. She couldn't help it. Every call from higher-ups was now going to flare her anxiety, right up until this man was caught. And she couldn’t help noticing that his contact person in their team seemed to be Nathan exclusively. She wondered if that was because of the shade Hume had thrown over her work performance.

Caitlin was sure it was. Knight was probably feeling uncertain about this ‘wild card’ agent and that was why he was monitoring them so closely.

In fact, the reason was different.

Nathan cut the call, looking stressed. "Caitlin, that was a heads-up for us. An urgent message."

“A message saying what?”

“Senator Nicks, from California, just called him. His daughter, Sally, is supposed to be on a train heading from Tucson to LA this morning. He’s not sure which train she took, but it was probably this one. She promised him to keep her phone open, but now she’s not picking up and it’s been turned off. And she fits the victims’ description.”

“She does?” Caitlin stared at Nathan, horrified by this bombshell.

“She’s blonde, blue-eyed, twenty-five years old, apparently. She’s exactly the type of person he’d go for. He’d target her like a shot. And she was traveling alone.”

Caitlin felt doom clench her stomach.

They were on the train, at least – thanks to her picking up the killer’s pattern. But was it the right train? And where was Sally Nicks?

This was a curveball she’d never expected, and now she felt the pressure weighing down, leaden and inescapable.

Fighting to keep calm, she said, “Let’s start with searching this train. We now need to look for him and for her. If we see her, we take her into protective custody and make sure she stays with a staff member at all times. And we keep our eyes open for him. We're looking for a man of his description, but bear in mind he could have changed his appearance slightly, with a wig, or a new hair color, anything different.”

“We also need to search the hiding places, the back rooms,” Nathan said somberly, and Caitlin’s stomach twisted hard.

“He seems to know all the hiding places very well. I guess he has scouted out the trains thoroughly on all those trips where he didn’t pick a victim. So we need to search those, thoroughly."

"Got it," Nathan said.

"You go left, I go right, we stay in touch?"

He nodded.

They each turned their separate ways, and went hunting.

Pacing through the carriages, Caitlin checked the face of each person on this busy morning railroad ride. She didn't want to miss anyone. She had his basic appearance etched in her mind, as well as the ID photo, although he might have changed his appearance since yesterday, aiming to be less recognizable. All her senses were on high alert and her adrenaline was pulsing.

She found herself pausing, looking at a man who was perhaps in his mid-forties. He had a mustache, and a baseball cap pulled down low over his face, and he was sitting on his own. She gave him a close look, but it wasn't the right man. He was a few years too young.

Moving to the next carriage, she saw a man with white-blonde hair, but he was with an older woman, considerately stirring her cup of coffee for her. She needed someone on their own.

Caitlin had already moved past when she realized that was exactly what the killer would do. He'd pretend to be with someone. That was exactly the sneaky maneuver he would try to use.

He’d been stirring that coffee with his left hand. This killer was left-handed.

She turned back quickly, and saw the man was ignoring his elderly companion, and staring right at her.

"Police," Caitlin said, striding toward him. "I need to check your ID, sir."

But the man leaped to his feet, revealing how tall he was, and his broad, powerful shoulders that hadn’t been so evident as he hunched down. He stared at Caitlin in a panic. And then, he turned and ran.

"Police!" she shouted again. "Stop!"

But the man ignored her. He was fast, and he was athletic. He was already hurtling down the aisle, his strides huge and an intense demeanor.

He dodged around a group coming the other way, nearly knocking a woman to the ground as he shoved his way past. He burst through the door leading to the next carriage and Caitlin followed, shouting out an apology as she, too, pushed past the group.

The train jolted and swayed as they raced through a narrow corridor, past a few service rooms. Then, he ducked aside and made for a back room.

"Stop!" Caitlin yelled. "Are you Carl Barlow? Where’s Sally Nicks. Have you taken her? Get down on the ground!"

She shouted when she saw him trying to break through the window. He wasn't trying to shatter the glass. He was just pushing it open as far as it could go. She caught her breath as he hauled himself onto the frame. What the hell was he doing? This was madness. Was he going to try and jump out? Was suicide, leaping off the train, going to be his final move after having killed his last victim?

She raced up, hoping to grab his leg and pull him back, but before she could do that, he shoved his weight off the table, and he was gone.

Not out and down. Out and up.

Caitlin looked around in a panic. What possible reason could he have for doing this? Was he trying to escape? He’d kill himself if he jumped off a moving train at this speed. But maybe not. He was an ex stuntman. This wasn’t such a crazy maneuver. He might have done stunts on trains before.

It came to her in a cold rush. He wasn’t trying to kill himself or escape. He was trying to avoid her – because he didn’t think she’d follow him and he was trying to get to another train carriage. But she knew where he must be headed.

He had Sally somewhere. He was going to the place where he’d left her and he was using the roof of the train to get there, fast. He was hell-bent on finishing the job, at whatever cost.

She had to track him. If he disappeared, climbed down into another window, he’d kill Sally before she could reach him.

Caitlin needed help here, but there was no time to go and look for it. She rushed to the door, staring frantically around. There, in the distance, was an attendant carrying a trash bag.

“Police!” Caitlin yelled. “Pull the communication cord! Stop the train! Tell the driver there’s a dangerous suspect on the roof!"

She didn't know if the woman believed her, but her face looked horrified as she hurried away.

Caitlin rushed back to the open window, feeling her heart pound at the enormity of what she was about to attempt.

It was the most dangerous thing she could ever have imagined the man might do. It was insane to use the roof as an access point, leaping from carriage to carriage, as the train hurtled along the track.

And if he’d done it, she needed to follow, and fast.

She didn't want to think too hard about this. It was the most terrifying thing she'd ever had to attempt. Gulping in a breath, Caitlin scrambled up on the table and swung herself up, getting her torso out of the window, kicking off from that same table. She could see him now, on top of the train, swaying as he staggered forward.

Caitlin slithered sideways and pushed off from the table, grabbing hold of the window frame, feeling the wind buffet her.

Now, she was pulling herself up into a crouching position on top of the train, watching the scenery flash past. Her stomach churned. Vertigo made her briefly dizzy. Balancing seemed all but impossible, and her arms pinwheeled. She didn’t rate her chances of using her gun up here. She needed her hands and arms just to keep balanced and survive.

Don’t look down, she told herself, forcing herself to stare ahead at the roof.

He was trying to get to the roof of the carriage ahead, and Caitlin's heart leaped into her mouth. He clearly knew where to go. He was moving forward slowly, but relentlessly, purposefully, swaying in time with the train. She wondered suddenly if he'd done this before. Had he been up on train roofs in the past, scoping them out as a means to an end?

Caitlin had never felt fear like this before, not even when she was facing down a gunman. Feeling the wind trying to grab her right off her precarious perch, she began staggering forward to catch him.

Surely the train would slow down soon? Hopefully not too suddenly, because a sudden stop would send her flying. But then again, this much mass in motion couldn’t stop too suddenly, she hoped. But the jolts and sways as it powered along were enough to knock her off her feet.

She was trying to watch the man ahead of her, while also keeping an eye on the track, in case they were approaching a tunnel or a bridge. Looking down was such a bad idea. It made her head spin, seeing the ground speeding past.

"Stop!" she yelled, but she didn't think he even heard her because he was ahead of her, and the speed of their movement ripped her words away. Caitlin felt her heart racing, and the sweat breaking out on her forehead.

She had to get to the roof of the next carriage. A few more feet, and she’d be there. Doggedly, she took a few more staggering steps forward, but the wind was starting to buffet her body, strong and hard. Lighter in weight than he was, she was more at risk from it. 

Caitlin took a deep breath, and leaped across to the roof of the next carriage. Her foot slipped as she landed and she fought for balance, fought to right herself.

She felt the wind trying to pull her sideways and off the train, and she bent her knees, lowering herself, forging forward.

Then, he turned around, and saw her. His face twisted in shock.

Now he was running from her, panicking, stumbling as the wind buffeted him. She didn't know if he had any more thoughts of trying to get through the window, or whether he was just trying to get away from her. Step by step, gritting her teeth, she followed, hoping that she was closing the lead in spite of the pace he was setting.

Then, a bad situation got suddenly worse. Horror surged inside her as she saw a low, arched railway bridge in the distance. Her worst fear was now being realized. This train would power through that low tunnel and they were going to be stranded on its roof. Caitlin doubted if the bridge had more than a foot of clearance.

This was a deadly situation, and the bridge was moments away.

She had to get back inside the train, or she would be crushed when it met the bridge.

CHAPTER THIRTY ONE

Caitlin looked back the way she’d come, the action causing her stomach to lurch again in a sickening way. Balancing precariously on the train’s shuddering, jolting roof, she realized she couldn't go back to where she’d climbed out. Not in time. She'd come too far along the roof. All she could do was keep forging forward, and hope that she ended up in the same place that he was heading for. He clearly knew where he was going, and must surely be heading for a window. Now he was hell-bent on getting there.

She took a step forward, and felt her foot slip badly as the train swayed suddenly. She almost fell, and felt the wind trying to pull her the rest of the way, but she managed to get her balance, keeping low, hugging the shuddering roof. Her heart was pounding harder than she'd thought it could, her breath coming in gasps.

He had also seen the approaching tunnel, and his arms were flailing as he half-ran along the roof, glancing down, looking for whatever marker he had placed there to guide him to where his victim lay.

Was she even still alive?

Caitlin didn't have any idea, but she was going to do all she could to survive herself, and to stop him.

The wind was screaming, buffeting her, forcing her to teeter as if she was on a high wire. The train was rocking, and this section of the roof was precariously slippery.

And the tunnel was closing in on them. 

Reaching it at this speed would mean certain death.

And then finally, with a screech, the train began to slow. The change in speed almost jolted her off her feet, and she hurriedly dropped to her knees, clutching at the roof with outstretched, sweaty palms. She felt the speed bleed away, a dizzying reduction in the runaway pace.

Slower meant safer. It hadn’t stopped yet, but there was no time to lose.

Keeping low, Caitlin stood up and started running, leaping forward in a bent-over, crouching position, now gaining confidence as the runaway momentum slowed.

She was going to try to catch him. Now, she had to reach him. With the train slowing, he was going to take the gap, take the chance to reach her.

The tunnel was still looming, and the front of the train was already passing into it. Would the train stop in time? Caitlin still felt breathless, fearing every moment that sped by.

She leaped to the roof of the next carriage, this time jumping in a more agile way. He was slowing down, looking for his window, she guessed.

She was twenty yards from the man ahead of her, fifteen, ten, five.

As the train slowed to a complete stop, with their carriage just a few feet from the tunnel, Caitlin felt sick with relief. But there was no time to do as much as even take a breath, because the man ahead of her now saw his chance. He crouched down, and she saw he was going to leap into the window, he was going to reach his victim, he was going to take the risk.

And then she was there. She'd got to him, she was wrenching his arm, spinning him around, tugging his arm viciously up behind his back. Using all her weight, she kicked his ankle out from under him and threw herself on top of him, using a combat technique she’d learned at the FBI Academy, which was effective in overpowering a man much bigger and heavier.

He staggered, and fell to his knees. She wrenched him down, yanking his arm painfully behind him, avoiding the kicks he was throwing in her direction. With a gasp, she slammed him down onto the roof of the train.

Quickly, Caitlin groped for her handcuffs. She was panting for breath, sweat pouring off her from the adrenaline. Her hands were slippery and so were his wrists. She got one cuff around his wrist, but then lost her grip on his other arm as he fought to get free.  He was struggling, kicking out at her, trying to twist his body, trying to push her off. But her training kept her in good stead. She was using every technique she knew to hold him. She didn't know if she could keep him down for much longer, though, so it was a race against time to get the other cuff in place.

A race she was losing. He grabbed his hand away again. Caitlin knew she was up against a strong, coordinated adversary. He’d done stunt work and was not scared of danger. He was trying to punch her again, trying to wrestle out of her grasp, and in this close quarter takedown, she was finding it difficult to keep him in her grip and also fight him off.

Plus, the fact they were both sweating was making it impossible to hold on with the force she needed.

And then, from behind her, someone lunged forward, grabbing the killer's other arm.

Nathan.

He’d climbed out on the roof to help, now he was in this fight, with fresh energy, pulling Carl’s arm up behind him so he grunted in pain, and giving Caitlin a chance, at last, to get the other handcuff on.

With a rush of relief, she heard the handcuffs click closed and the fleeing fugitive was finally subdued.

“Thanks,” she gasped to Nathan.

Only then did Caitlin register the shouts and cries coming from the sides of the train. The attendants, the train driver, conductors, and even some passengers were now aware of this fight, leaning out of the windows because the train had stopped in the middle of the tracks. They were shouting in concern. People were on their phones, making calls. Bizarrely, she saw one man filming the entire melee.

Between them, holding him firmly, they escorted Carl to the ladder that the conductor had set up, tilted at an angle so that he could step down it with his hands behind him, held firmly by Caitlin and Nathan. Carl was gasping, his face pale, sweat pouring from him.

"I think he was going to find her,” she said breathlessly to Nathan as they descended. Their suspect might be captured, but a life was still at risk. "I don’t know if we’ll be in time. He was desperate to get to her. He was trying to go over the train's roof, to reach her and kill her."

"It's okay," Nathan said.

“It is?” Caitlin gasped, her feet nearly sliding off the rungs in her surprise.

"When I heard what had happened, and saw which direction he was running in, I started searching the train in that area. I found her in a store room, right at the back, shoved in a cupboard.”

“Is she okay?” Caitlin asked.

“She was critical, she'd stopped breathing, but I gave her CPR and I think she’ll survive. She’s breathing well on her own now, and she has medical supervision. The conductor put out a call for help, and there was a nurse on the train who's taken over until we can get to the next station, where paramedics will be waiting."

Caitlin felt relief wash over her like an actual wave, dragging some of the tension and anxiety from her body.

They'd done it, they'd caught a lethal killer. And they had saved his final victim from a horrific fate – despite the great danger and risk to themselves.

She’d proved that she could get results and catch a dangerous and elusive killer. This would give her the chance to decide her future, she hoped. And most important of all, nobody else would die on a train at this man’s murderous hands.

EPILOGUE

Caitlin stared at the headline of the online article for which Nathan had just sent her the link, feeling pride and admiration.

"Elite New Railway Task Force Saves Senator's Daughter."

She was sitting in her apartment, which was she was in the process of packing up. She didn't have much stuff, but it was all going to be put in boxes, ready for her move.

Sally Nicks would make a full recovery in the hospital, and this high profile rescue had been exactly what their new unit needed.

If they had lost Sally Nicks, she knew what a disaster the outcome would have been, and they had only just managed. It had been thanks to both of their efforts and research that they had identified where the killer was, and then with Caitlin's tracking him on the train and Nathan's search and CPR, they had both played a vital role in rescuing her. An equal role.

The senator could not praise the new railway task force highly enough. The force was 'essential, lifesaving, and a great addition to our policing' according to this article. The video of her wrestling with Barlow on the train roof had gone viral, with hundreds of thousands of views so far.

Maybe sometimes breaking the rules and taking risks on your own initiative was a good thing, she thought, feeling a sense of smug satisfaction as she imagined Hume’s face as he watched that video.

And now, her phone was ringing; it was Knight on her caller ID.

Caitlin realized it was a good sign he was calling her personally, instead of speaking only to Nathan. Perhaps it meant that Hume's efforts at sabotaging her reputation were wearing off.

"Caitlin. Congratulations on your efforts yesterday," Knight said.

"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling, feeling warm pride fill her.

"I’ve just stepped out of a meeting, where the railway task force has been commended by the FBI and railway police at top level. We feel it will be an effective, and much needed, addition to our policing services. So I would like to offer you a full-time position as the joint head of this task force, along with Nathan Bridges."

"I'm very pleased to accept that position, sir," she said.

"I'll send you a letter of confirmation shortly. I'd like you to base yourself somewhere central, where you'll be able to get to a crime hotspot as fast as possible."

"Yes, I've discussed that with Nathan. We're planning to move to Kansas City and base ourselves there. That's about as central as we can get, and we'll be able to respond fast to any crisis," she said.

"Excellent. And once again, well done. You exceeded our expectations, and we feel the task force has a bright future."

"Thank you," Caitlin said. She cut the call feeling encouraged and motivated.

She was looking forward to the move, and to leaving this place in Atlanta behind, for good. Best of all, was the message thread that she couldn’t stop looking at, between herself and Mike.

She’d texted him as soon as she knew about the move.

“I’m going to be relocating. It looks like it will be a more permanent move. To Kansas City.”

“??? Kansas City! Wow!”

“Not sure what it will mean for us. What we have is important to me. Would you consider moving, too, at some stage?” Nerves had writhed inside her as she’d asked that question.

And then, the answer.

“I’d love to give it a go! Let me call you now!”

The short phone call had confirmed that her boyfriend was prepared to make the move. That meant so much to her. Caitlin had felt touched and positive that he was ready to take that step, start planning it, and look for new jobs there. She and Mike would be able to head toward a deeper commitment. It was going to be an exciting new life phase for her.

But, before her big move to Kansas City, there was another place she wanted to go.

Her success in this case, and being exposed to the world of train travel again, had finally motivated Caitlin to do what she had been wanting.

This afternoon, she was going to take a flight, and do it.

*

It was six-thirty p.m. on a rainy evening in Indianapolis when Caitlin arrived at her destination. She stared at the white painted front door of the simple double-story home, identical to its neighbors, in a quiet and respectable suburb.

Emotions surged inside her. She felt as if, finally, she was facing up to her deepest fears. And this time, she was going to get answers. She was not going to allow this slimy man to duck and dive any longer. Or hide behind his walls and doors. His car was in the driveway, he was in the house, and she was on his doorstep.

Waiting for the truth.

This would be hard, and it would bring all her old ghosts surging back again. It would tear scabs off badly healed wounds. It would make her enemies with her family all over again – but that was okay, since she barely spoke to any of them anyway.

For Ella, she was going to do this.

She raised her hand and brought the knocker down, hard, on Uncle Josh's front door.

NOW AVAILABLE!

COME FIND ME

(A Caitlin Dare FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2)

FBI BAU Special Agent Caitlin Dare teams up with the rail police to confront the rash of serial killers using trains across the country—but when bodies are found mysteriously dead on train tracks—not killed by trains—Caitlin is stumped. What message is this killer trying to send? And who will be next?

“Molly Black has written a taut thriller that will keep you on the edge of your seat… I absolutely loved this book and can’t wait to read the next book in the series!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder

COME FIND ME is book #2 of a brand-new series by critically acclaimed and #1 bestselling mystery and suspense author Molly Black, whose books have received over 2,000 five-star reviews and ratings.

The FBI is alarmed by the rash of killings on trains throughout the country, and they realize they have to put together a joint task force to tackle it. Through a partnership with the rail police, FBI Special Agent Cailtin Dare is chosen to spearhead the new unit designed to hunt killers using trains across the country.

But Cailtin remains haunted by memories of her missing sister, her unsolved case, her erratic conductor uncle, and a harrowing fear of trains.

The tension with Caitlin’s new partner doesn’t help, either.

Can Caitlin keep her own demons at bay long enough to face her past—and catch a killer?

A page-turning and harrowing crime thriller featuring a brilliant and tortured FBI agent, the Caitlin Dare series is a riveting mystery, packed with non-stop action, suspense, twists and turns, revelations, and driven by a breakneck pace that will keep you flipping pages late into the night. Fans of Rachel Caine, Teresa Driscoll and Robert Dugoni are sure to fall in love.

Future books in the series are also available.

“I binge read this book. It hooked me in and didn't stop till the last few pages… I look forward to reading more!”

—Reader review for Found You

“I loved this book! Fast-paced plot, great characters and interesting insights into investigating cold cases. I can't wait to read the next book!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder

“Very good book… You will feel like you are right there looking for the kidnapper! I know I will be reading more in this series!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder

“This is a very well written book and holds your interest from page 1… Definitely looking forward to reading the next one in the series, and hopefully others as well!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder

“Wow, I cannot wait for the next in this series. Starts with a bang and just keeps going.”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder

“Well written book with a great plot, one that will keep you up at night. A page turner!”

—Reader review for Girl One: Murder

“Sooo soo good! There are a few unforeseen twists… I binge read this like I binge watch Netflix. It just sucks you in.”

—Reader review for Found You

COME FIND ME

(A Caitlin Dare FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 2)

Molly Black

Bestselling author Molly Black is author of the MAYA GRAY FBI suspense thriller series, comprising nine books (and counting); of the RYLIE WOLF FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books; of the TAYLOR SAGE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising eight books; of the KATIE WINTER FBI suspense thriller series, comprising eleven books (and counting); of the RUBY HUNTER FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); of the CAITLIN DARE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); and of the REESE LINK mystery series, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Molly loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.mollyblackauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

BOOKS BY MOLLY BLACK

MAYA GRAY MYSTERY SERIES

GIRL ONE: MURDER (Book #1)

GIRL TWO: TAKEN (Book #2)

GIRL THREE: TRAPPED (Book #3)

GIRL FOUR: LURED (Book #4)

GIRL FIVE: BOUND (Book #5)

GIRL SIX: FORSAKEN (Book #6)

GIRL SEVEN: CRAVED (Book #7)

GIRL EIGHT: HUNTED (Book #8)

GIRL NINE: GONE (Book #9)

RYLIE WOLF FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

FOUND YOU (Book #1)

CAUGHT YOU (Book #2)

SEE YOU (Book #3)

WANT YOU (Book #4)

TAKE YOU (Book #5)

DARE YOU (Book #6)

TAYLOR SAGE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

DON’T LOOK (Book #1)

DON’T BREATHE (Book #2)

DON’T RUN (Book #3)

DON’T FLINCH (Book #4)

DON’T REMEMBER (Book #5)

DON’T TELL (Book #6)

KATIE WINTER FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

SAVE ME (Book #1)

REACH ME (Book #2)

HIDE ME (Book #3)

BELIEVE ME (Book #4)

HELP ME (Book #5)

FORGET ME (Book #6)

HOLD ME (Book #7)

PROTECT ME (Book #8)

REMEMBER ME (Book #9)

CATCH ME (Book #10)

WATCH ME (Book #11)

RUBY HUNTER FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

IF I RUN (Book #1)

IF I TELL (Book #2)

IF I LIVE (Book #3)

IF I FORGET (Book #4)

IF I RETURN (Book #5)

CAITLIN DARE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

COME GET ME (Book #1)

COME FIND ME (Book #2)

COME TAKE ME (Book #3)

COME CATCH ME (Book #4)

COME SAVE ME (Book #5)

REESE LINK MYSTERY

BEYOND REASON (Book #1)

BEYOND REACH (Book #2)

BEYOND REPAIR (Book #3)

BEYOND DOUBT (Book #4)

BEYOND NORMAL (Book #5)