F I N A L

H O U R

(A Maggie Flight Suspense Thriller—Book Seven)

K a t e   B o l d

Kate Bold

Bestselling author Kate Bold is the author of numerous series in the mystery and thriller genres, including Meg Thorne, Heather King, Brynn Justice, Beth Drake, Maggie Flight, Addison Shine, Barren Pines, Nina Veil, Nora Price, Kelsey Hawk, Alexa Chase, Ashley Hope, Camille Grace, Harley Cole, Kaylie Brooks, Eve Hope, Dylan First, Lauren Lamb series.

Many of Kate’s books are available for free. Please visit Kate’s author page to find out more.

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

Copyright © 2025 by Kate Bold. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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

PROLOGUE

“I don’t have time to speak to you now!” Harper Mull spat out the words, anger surging inside her as she gripped the phone.

She was furious that this call had come in just as she’d been about to film her yoga session, at dawn, in the serene, arid beauty of the Joshua Tree National Park.

It was a perfect morning in early spring, and this shoot was something she’d been planning for months. As a yoga and fitness instructor, she’d moved more from “trainer” to “influencer” in recent years, thanks to her natural good looks – slender, flexible, with good bone structure and a mane of dark, wavy hair. Now, she was making determined efforts to promote herself, because she knew that she had to fight, in a competitive market, to maintain her high profile.

She’d had a lucky break, but fame could be fleeting, and hard work would be the decider.

A dawn, springtime session in this hauntingly desolate location would be memorable and impactful to her followers. She’d had the idea to end the session with the Tree pose, and if she timed it correctly, the rising sun would shine behind her as she finished, and highlight her silhouette.

The effect would be breathtaking, she knew it. But the timing was essential, not only for the angle and brilliance of the sun, but also because the park would be quiet. She didn’t want any background activity, any other hikers or runners or bikers. She’d picked the perfect spot, on a path framed by Joshua trees, which would allow her a flat place to do her yoga while also ensuring the most stunning backdrop ever.

The only problem was that it was going to get busy later, and she needed to get her filming done on time to ensure that she was alone.

She wasn’t alone.

As she rummaged in her backpack, still trying to wrap up the annoying conversation, because now Jed had asked her to hold on while he signed for a delivery, she saw another young, attractive woman was setting out along the trail, dressed in bright pink gym gear, and also with her phone at the ready to do some filming and selfies. She was wearing a sponsored backpack, and the most stunning shoes that Harper had priced a few weeks ago, and reluctantly conceded were unaffordable.

Harper thought she looked familiar, possibly even famous. She greeted her with a shy smile, but the woman barely gave her a second glance as she headed confidently into the park. Her face was flawless. She was slimmer than Harper, and also taller.

Watching her jog out of sight along one of the winding trails dented Harper’s sureness. She had the uneasy feeling that the Joshua Tree Park in springtime was already a destination for the beautiful, attention-grabbing set, and that her yoga session might be too little, too late.

“Babe,” the pleading tones of her ex-boyfriend sounded in her ear again. “I’m back.”

“I have to go.”

“I need to check up on a few things.”

"It's not a good time and I can't speak to you. I'm about to do a yoga shoot, and I've already had delays."

Gritting her teeth, Harper did her best to stay polite. She didn’t want to. She wanted to yell at him, and utter a few choice swear words, and tell him exactly where he should go, and what he should do.

But she couldn’t. She’d discovered that being a social media celebrity meant you paid a heavy price for anything that damaged your image. And you never knew when people were going to be two-faced.

Jed could be recording this conversation, he could even be live with it. He could use it against her, threatening that he’d release it and let people hear her swearing at him and telling him to go to hell. People were mean. She’d realized that even her friends weren’t necessarily loyal to her, and Jed was not a friend. He was an ex with a grudge.

“I know that, babe, but I have some questions that you have to answer, because I’m getting the movers out today, and I can’t remember which of the books are yours, and which are mine. We need to discuss it.”

The books?

Her mind flashed back to happier days, when she and Jed had browsed markets together, buying trinkets and clothing and coffee – and books. That was one of the qualities that had endeared Jed to her at the start of their two-year relationship, during which time they’d ended up moving in together. An action she now regretted.

Books were replaceable, she decided. This shoot, and the timing, was irreplaceable. She wanted to get this out today.

“Take them all,” she said.

"Seriously? But some of them are yours. I mean, the Madonna biography and the Game of Thrones series?"

She sighed. He wasn’t getting it.

“Yes, those are mine,” she explained patiently. “I owned those already, before you moved in. What I meant was that you should take any books which we bought together. Those, you can have. The books that were there when you arrived – they stay there.”

He should have moved out a week ago! Disorganized and most probably reluctant, he’d delayed the move, and now she was the one who was inconvenienced. He hadn’t even been supposed to come back today. He’d been supposed to come back tomorrow – but yeah, Jed never did anything he was supposed to do on time.

“Okay. I’ll see if I can remember which are which.”

“Thanks, Jed.”

She hung up, and then turned her phone to silent, so that she wouldn’t be bothered by him again. That had eaten up precious minutes that she wouldn’t get back. Already, the light was brighter than she’d thought it would be – and in its soft glow, she saw someone who had just appeared on the path.

Frustration surged inside her. Wrong place, wrong time, and now an early morning walker was at the exact place where she needed to film. She'd already set up her tripod, that couldn't be moved, or the angle would be incorrect. She'd just have to hope that he went somewhere else. The track branched off in a few different directions, and with any luck, he'd take one.

He didn’t, of course.

He simply stood there, with the hood of his jacket pulled down low over his face, and Harper felt a chill as she watched him, because there was something creepy about his demeanor.

Why was he standing like that, so still? As if he was watching her while she struggled to attach her phone to the tripod again?

She knew that in her new influencer role, there were some men who were – well, obsessive about pretty, high-profile women. She'd seen it before. She'd experienced it a few times, but always with other people around.

Now, she was on her own, and this man was walking toward her in a way she didn’t like. He hadn’t taken any of the side paths. Just her luck.

Harper was starting to wish that she hadn’t gotten off the phone so fast. She could have told Jed this was happening, and he could have advised her what to do.

Then she told herself not to be ridiculous. This was just a harmless hiker, and she should stop thinking the worst of everyone.

Let him pass, and then do your video, she advised herself. You can cut out a few of the middle poses and still wrap up with the tree at the right time. It’ll just save on editing, that’s all.

With that good advice given to herself, she stood back and waited as the man approached.

She still couldn’t see his face. His hood was pulled all the way over his face, as if he was the Grim Reaper. And why was he opening his arms as he walked toward her? Was that an actual blade she could see? The dull, steely gleam couldn’t be anything else, could it?

Shrinking back, her heart now pounding, Harper knew that this was trouble. Big trouble – deadly trouble. Influencer or not, she had a good instinct for people. And a sense of stranger danger.

"Come here!" His voice was singing, and it made her heart race.

Harper grabbed her phone, not even bothering about the tripod, and she began running down the hill. She needed to get to people now. People could help her, save her, but there was nobody around. From here, the parking lot was invisible.

And the man was following her, striding behind her as if he had a prearranged meeting with her.

The emptiness of the park didn’t feel soothing now, it felt scary. There was nobody else around but him. The other woman had disappeared along the trail.

That knife. She was sure it had been a knife.

Harper ran faster. With her legs pumping, and the backpack thumping, and her heart pounding, she raced ahead, heading toward the parking lot, deciding that the safety of her car would be a better choice than being alone out here, and that if she came back, she should bring a friend with her.

Except, in her confusion, she’d somehow gotten turned around. Dodging between two large rocks, and several more of the Joshua trees, Harper realized that she wasn’t seeing the parking lot ahead of her.

She wasn’t seeing anything except for the rough, rugged terrain of the park itself, the brightening sky giving her a clue now that she’d run the wrong way, the rocks now becoming more plentiful, the trees thicker.

Oh, no. Breathing hard, she slowed, glancing behind her again. What had she done? She’d literally run into the more deserted part of the park, further away from where she wanted to be.

And closer to the man who was chasing her.

Could she hear his footsteps?

She could hear a soft scrunch-scrunch across the hard, stony ground. That was him, coming this way. Coming for her. There were no other people nearby, nobody who it could be.

She’d run and she’d gotten lost, and now, there was only one option, only one solution, and that was to hide.

With her heart now hammering, she shrank behind the craggy rock, seeing a fissure in it on the far side. Perhaps he wouldn’t look there, perhaps he wouldn’t see her. Maybe he’d walk straight past, and this rock where she’d hidden, would keep her safe?

Cringing inside it, she tried her best to be invisible, to blend in with the rock, to mute her gasps, breathless and terrified.

And as she tried to hold her breath, to somehow muffle her hysterical gasps, she heard his words – whispered and strangely intimate as he approached.

“Where are you, beautiful? Where have you run? Come to me. Come to me – and you will be beautiful forever. I’m going to give you eternal youth. That’s what I’ll give you. Eternal youth.”

CHAPTER ONE

“I’m not worried. I have a dog, you know? I’m sure Wilbur will bark if he hears anything. But I am – well, disturbed.”

“I can hear you are. And I’m not surprised, Mom. That’s very traumatic. I’ve asked the police if they can keep a close eye out.”

Maggie Flight gripped the phone as she listened to her mother's voice. Her mom was shaken. She could hear it. Her tone was strained. She was trying to be brave, but this was a difficult situation to be brave in. Her mom was a recovering alcoholic. Day by day, she was fighting and winning the battle with an addiction that had gripped her for most of her life. She was holding down a part-time job, she was caring for her beloved rescue dog, and she was attending meetings.

Maggie was trying to give her as much support as possible, even though they lived hundreds of miles apart.

And something like this? It was scary and unsettling. Having both her neighbors broken into within the space of a week was enough to give anyone a setback.

It was no coincidence. That, Maggie knew, with a cold certainty.

“Do you think the police will catch this perpetrator? What are the chances, Maggie?” her mother asked.

“They’ll do everything they can. I was with the LAPD for years. They’re the best, Mom, and I’ll speak to my ex-colleagues and ask them if they have any leads.”

Maggie was sure the perp was Cole, her twin brother, the person she’d once adored, the redheaded mirror image of herself, who’d been her confidante and her support, her rock and her co-conspirator.

She and Cole had been so close when they were youngsters, and also when they were teens, although their later teens had been the time when Maggie had realized that Cole was capable of actions that she hadn’t thought possible. Like hurting people, badly.

When she was in her early twenties, she’d realized that he was involved in bigger trouble – that he was a member of a gang.

He’d given her a warning to back off, and that she shouldn’t get involved in his business anymore. That warning had been more of a threat. Then, he’d disappeared from her life.

Maybe it had been the knowledge that Cole had gotten involved with a gang, that had prompted Maggie to join the police. It was as if she’d felt the need to balance out the imbalance that Cole had caused.

“Well, that gives me some peace of mind. I feel like I’ve got an insider contact, with you having worked for the police in the past. I’ll try not to worry.”

“Good. I don’t want you to worry, Mom. I’ll come and visit next week.” Maggie hesitated. “There’s a chance I might bring a – a friend with me.”

“A friend?” Now her mother sounded completely different. Intrigued. Curious. And thankfully distracted from what she’d been worrying over.

"Yes, a friend. I have this – um, friend in the Bureau. We've been partnered together on several cases, and I guess we've become good friends. And my friend and I have been wanting to do a trip to LA and watch a show. And of course, I've talked a lot about you and he wants to meet you."

That was lame. How many times could you repeat the word ‘friend’, she wondered. Of course, the more she said it, the more her mother knew he wasn’t just a friend.

“And what’s his name?”

Maggie felt herself blushing. “His name’s Jamie. Jamie Rodriguez.”

“I look forward to meeting Jamie.” Her mother sounded positively upbeat now. Her tone was totally different from how she’d sounded when she had called Maggie.

Her mother said goodbye, and Maggie hung up.

Not even a moment later, Maggie’s doorbell rang.

It was Jamie.

She’d invited him to dinner. And, despite the last-minute call from her mother, Maggie was pleased that she’d managed to prepare a Bolognese sauce, which she’d then added to the pasta she’d cooked, and was now baking it in the oven, with cheese on top.

With that disturbing conversation still simmering in her mind, Maggie rushed to answer the door, tugging at a couch cushion to straighten it along the way.

She opened the door, and there was Jamie Rodriguez.

This evening, he was wearing a burgundy golf shirt paired with pale blue jeans. The effect was very different from the sleek, dark suits he wore for work, and, she had to admit, just as attractive. No matter whether he was smart or casual, with his dark hair and his chiseled jawline, Jamie Rodriguez was hot. But never mind his looks – it was his perception, humor and caring side that Maggie found herself falling for.

And the way he looked at her? The expression in his eyes, admiring and appreciative as he saw her, was unexpected. She had taken care with her own appearance earlier in the evening, in between putting some wine in the refrigerator and setting her small dining room table. Her deep red hair was shiny, waving to her shoulders, and she wore a hint of make-up that emphasized the porcelain quality of her skin.

“You look great,” he said.

Now, she knew her face was reddening as she stepped up to him for an awkward hug. Awkward because neither of them knew where this was heading, she guessed. Or rather, how fast it was heading. The direction, they did actually know.

All the same, she wrapped her arms around him tightly, breathing in his sandalwood scent and feeling his arms clasp around her. His hand stroked softly over her hair.

“Glad you could make it tonight,” she mumbled, aware of how inane that sounded.

As they stepped away from each other, Jamie breathed in the aroma of food that she now realized infused her small apartment. The kitchen and living room were open plan, separated only by a low wall that ran halfway across the room, and on which Maggie had put some ornaments.

“That smells amazing. You said you made it?”

“I gave it a try. It’s pasta bake. Like a lasagna, but done with Bolognese and macaroni. And cheese.” Remembering her hostess obligations, Maggie hastily added, “Do you want some wine?”

“Thanks. I’d love some.”

Maggie poured two glasses of merlot, and they sat down on either side of her two-seater couch.

“What’s your Saturday been like so far?” Jamie asked.

That was a question she couldn’t answer in any imaginative way, because her Saturday had been spent tidying the apartment, buying ingredients, cooking, and washing up. She’d had time to detour to the gym in the early morning and had enjoyed a bout of sparring with her boxing partners. Apart from that – well, the troubling conversation she’d just had with her mother was still at the top of her mind.

She really shouldn’t introduce that topic. It might ruin the evening.

Of course, Maggie couldn’t help herself. She’d never been one for polite small talk. To be honest, she didn’t understand how it even worked.

“Apart from all the food prep, which was fun? I just got off the phone to my mother, and she’s worried.” She touched her glass to Jamie’s. The crystal chime of the glass sounded sweet compared to the grimness of the topic she was about to bring up.

“Why’s that?”

"There have been robberies on each side of her. Literally, both her immediate neighbors have been robbed in the past couple of weeks."

“That’s unusual for the area, isn’t it?” Jamie said.

“Very unusual,” Maggie agreed. Cradling her wine in her hand, she glanced at Jamie, and he saw the expression on her face.

Jamie knew about her recent history with Cole.

Since her brother had disappeared, Maggie had never given up on the hope of finding him again. In her spare time, over the years, she’d prowled the LA neighborhoods where gangs were known to have their base. Quietly and discreetly, always in plainclothes, she’d asked questions that she hoped, one day, would give her answers.

And just a couple of months ago, she’d heard from him, but not in the way she’d wanted it to happen.

Her brother had sent a message to ask for a meeting with her mother in a bad part of town. Following it up herself, Maggie had gone to the meeting, and had found a friend of Cole's there. The friend had said that Cole was desperate to get out of the criminal life he'd become entrenched in, and that he was looking for help.

And then, when she’d returned the next week, breathless with excitement and anticipation that she might see her brother at last, she had found only a note.

A note that asked Maggie to give him fifty thousand dollars to help start his new life.

It had definitely been in Cole’s handwriting. That, Maggie had known. She’d recognized it.

But the words, the tone, the request? She hadn’t known what to make of that.

Cole had asked her for a substantial sum of money to start a new life, without even seeing her? How the hell did that work?

Strangely enough, her brother’s wry advice to her had often been, “Dream huge, Maggie. Ask for what you know you’ll never get – and then fight for it.”

Unable to summon fifty thousand dollars out of thin air, and unwilling to take out a loan and put herself in debt to allow a criminal to escape the country – if that was what he was even planning on doing – Maggie had done nothing. She’d ignored the note.

Cole didn't like being ignored. It made him mad.

And Cole never got mad – he got even.

All of this was giving Maggie a very bad feeling about these robberies, and she wondered if Jamie felt the same way.

Looking at him, she could see the horrified expression on his face which told her that yes, he had also concluded this.

"Wait, am I being paranoid to think that these might somehow be connected to what's happened with Cole? Robberies on each side of your mother's house? Have there been crimes like that in the past few years?"

“Not that I know of,” Maggie admitted. “I checked the records quickly yesterday, and there has been nothing recently.”

“On either side?” Jamie sounded outraged now.

Grimly, Maggie nodded. “I know, right?”

“You think this is some kind of a threat? That it’s your brother, showing you what could happen to her if you don’t pay up?”

Maggie nodded. When she thought of that, she felt sick inside. Would Cole really do such a thing? Threaten her mother by breaking into the neighbors and silently showing her what could happen to her? Would he genuinely organize for such a thing to be done to people who lived on either side of her?

Wishing so badly that she could give that thought a firm ‘no’, Maggie realized she couldn’t.

She had no idea what Cole was capable of or how he'd changed since she last saw him.

Maggie stared at her wine, swirling it around in her glass, wishing that she had a better idea of what to do next.

“I’m worried it is a threat,” Jamie said.

“Me, too,” Maggie admitted.

“Do you think your brother would be capable of that?” Jamie asked.

Maggie shrugged, feeling miserable at the thought.

“Ten years ago? Maybe. And that was the last time I saw him. Whatever path he’s on, he’s gone further down it.”

Jamie stared at Maggie for a moment, his eyes troubled. Then, he stared at the wall, his face thoughtful.

That wall had a window on it, but since it had a not-so-good view of the apartment opposite her, Maggie kept the beige blinds closed. She’d been meaning to pick out a picture to put on the wall. It hadn’t yet happened. Still on the to-do list.”

“I want to believe it’s just coincidence, and not deliberate targeting. Have you given him a firm answer about the money he wanted?”

Maggie shook her head. "In the note, he left banking details. The fact that the money hasn't been wired into that account is a no, I guess. I haven't actually replied or even followed up on who the banking details belong to. I guess I didn't see the point of that, because it wasn't in his name and it would be a dummy account."

Jamie nodded as she continued. "I don't know how to get in touch with Cole. I've tried to find him for ten years. He knew where I was all along and where my mother was. When he wanted to, he found us." She could hear the cynicism in her voice.

“He’s not the person you are.” Jamie’s voice was firm. “I know you both had a hellish childhood, but he had a choice, just like you did. He chose to go and join gangs. Wasn’t like he was born into the lifestyle He chose it. And now, you’re the one who has the problem, because he’s showing you that he’s mad, and that he’s going to scare your mother until you do what he wants.” His voice was harsh. Then, it softened. “I see your courage every day, Maggie, and the way you handle things. You choose good, fairness, compassion. He had that choice.”

She glanced at Jamie, feeling warmed by his words and by the expression in his eyes. He reached his hand out to hers, and she took it. Her heart beat faster as his fingers caressed hers.

“Time to check the food,” she said, reluctant to break the moment, but dinner was calling.

She let go of his hand and stood up. Opening the oven, she felt a rush of heat and inhaled a blast of meaty, cheesy flavor as she awkwardly groped for the dish with the oven gloves.

Jamie was hovering, holding his wine, ready to help as Maggie transferred the dish to the stovetop.

“Cole chose differently, but now, it’s my problem. I don’t know what to do, though.”

“I don’t know what you should do, but what if your mom is targeted next?”

Maggie tightened her lips. “I cannot allow that to happen. No way. That would traumatize her. It would be hideously unfair. It might cause her to relapse.”

“How are you going to stop it?”

“I’m going to have to find him,” Maggie said. “And I’m going to have to do it before he decides to do anything else.”

CHAPTER TWO

“So you’re going to find him?”

As Jamie asked the question, Maggie dished two steaming bowls of the pasta bake. Wholesome food. She wished the conversation was on a par with it, but here they were, discussing Cole, and the wrench he was throwing into her life.

“I’m going to have to.”

“You’ve been trying for ten years.”

“Not hard enough.” Maggie insisted.

“What are you going to change, then, to find him this time?”

“I need to think about that,” she said. Jamie carried the bowls to the table, and Maggie topped up the wineglasses.

Then, they sat down, and suddenly, she stopped worrying so much about Cole and the destruction he might bring.

Instead, she took a moment to be grateful for the fact that she was sitting opposite Jamie, with steaming plates of food in front of them both – food that she had to admit looked mouthwatering. The Bolognese sauce had been slow-cooked, and it was meaty and glossy and well flavored with herbs. The pasta had even come out okay. At any rate, it hadn't turned to mush.

As for the cheese – well, Maggie was a cheese lover, and this topping, with its rich aroma of mozzarella and parmesan, was a triumph, if she said so herself.

“I didn’t know you could cook,” Jamie said, moving the conversation to happier topics. “This is great. Amazing.”

“I didn’t know I could cook either, until recently," Maggie admitted. "I didn't think I'd enjoy it, but I have been. There's something relaxing about it after a stressful day."

“So, are you going to teach me how? I’m keen to learn,” he said teasingly.

“You do realize it would be the blind leading the blind?” Maggie quipped as Jamie snorted. All the same, she liked the idea of the two of them learning together. Maybe they could watch a tutorial video, or work on a recipe together. It would be fun. She was looking forward to it.

“This outing to LA?” Jamie said, as he dug in. “We’re going to go and see a show? Sounds like an adventure.”

“I’m hoping it will be one,” Maggie said. “And – um – my mother?”

Jamie nodded. “I wanted to ask you if we should go and visit her. I’d like to. And I’ve heard a lot about Wilbur.”

“You need to meet Wilbur,” Maggie said. “He’s the most fantastic dog. He’s such a character.

“That’s a bonus,” Jamie grinned.

The food was going down well. The wine, also. And as for the company – Maggie knew that she was making memories right now, that the relationship with Jamie was deepening.

They finished the food, while talking about topics that were much more pleasant than Cole. She didn’t want to think about Cole anymore. Instead, they spoke about places they’d like to vacation, books and movies, and the weather, which was supposed to be warming up for the whole week. They even discussed the performance of the San Jose Earthquakes, the major league soccer team in the Bay Area. Maggie hadn’t known that Jamie was a lover of soccer.

They both had second helpings. Maggie had thought there would be way too much food, but somehow, she was scraping the last spoonful out of the serving dish to put on her own plate. The wine bottle was almost empty.

She put her fork down with a sigh, and drained her wine.

Moved to the couch, with Jamie beside her. Having flowed freely all evening, there was now a lull in the conversation.

Jamie put his arm around her, and Maggie felt his fingers clasp her shoulder as her stomach swooped. She turned her face to his.

After all these months, she felt a sense of expectation, and she was also second-guessing herself. Was this right, was it what she should be doing? Was it going to be a terrible mistake, getting closer to the person that she’d wanted for so long?

Her mouth was dry, and she wasn’t sure what to say, but guessed he also wasn’t sure right now.

She felt a moment of nerves, looking at his face, the tenderness in his eyes, and also the desire, as he leaned to her.

Without any work worries, their professional relationship put aside, she felt a thrill of excitement, but also of fear, because this was something she wanted, badly, to last.

This wasn’t a quick fling, it was something built on months of friendship, on experiences that they’d shared – sometimes dangerous, sometimes exhausting – and she wanted many more experiences. Different ones from fighting together, back-to-back as they fended off a killer, or driving together on dangerous terrain, or running side by side in pursuit of a fugitive. She wanted to make new memories that would show her the side of Jamie that she’d only briefly seen.

In another moment, their lips would touch.

And then, her phone began ringing loudly, the sound blasting into the moment, shattering the ambiance that had settled in the room, and smashing the tenderness that she saw in Jamie’s eyes.

“Better get that,” Maggie said, leaping off the couch to grab her phone from the purse that was slung over the kitchen chair.

"Agent Flight?" As soon as Maggie picked up the call, she heard her boss's stern tones that perfectly matched her sharp-featured face, icy eyes, and immaculate platinum bobbed hairstyle.

“Director Simmons?” Maggie kept her tone polite.

“I’ve been trying to call Rodriguez, but he hasn’t been picking up.”

Simmons sounded annoyed, and she was speaking so loudly that her words were audible to Jamie, who was now glancing at his jacket with a concerned expression. Director Simmons must have called him first, but he’d clearly had his phone on silent.

“Um, well, I guess – I guess he’s busy,” Maggie mumbled, feeling her face redden, and wondering what Simmons would think if she knew Jamie Rodriguez had been about to kiss her.

“In that case, I’ll brief you, and text him.”

“What’s the situation?” Maggie asked.

“We’ve been called by the police in Cooper’s Rock, a small town bordering the Joshua Tree National Park. They had a report of a criminal roaming the park, and they found a dead body this evening. The circumstances are – well, unusual, to say the least. I need you both to be there first thing tomorrow morning. I’m organizing a ride for you on a private airplane that’s going to leave Oakland airport at six a.m. So, it’ll be a very early start, I’m afraid. I know it’s a Sunday morning, but as I said, the circumstances are extremely concerning, and the sooner we can solve this, the better.”

Maggie took a deep breath. So much for her romantic Saturday night. Her boss had just ruined her dreams for the evening, but there was nothing she could do. Work came first.

"I do hope I can get hold of Jamie and that he's not out of town." Simmons said.

“I’m sure he’s around,” Maggie said, carefully not admitting that he was a couple of yards away from her, and already on his feet, with an expression of concern on his face.

“I’ll send you the briefing documents.” Simmons paused, as if considering how best to wrap up this unwelcome phone call. “Have a pleasant evening,” she said, before hanging up.

“Did I hear that right?” Jamie asked in surprise. “Six a.m. flight, and we have to be in Oakland – thirty miles away, to catch the airplane?”

“It’ll mean leaving here by four-thirty a.m. latest,” Maggie said. It was already after nine p.m. They’d lingered over dinner and wine, expecting that there would be nothing more to do that evening except getting to know each other better, at last. Now, that would have to wait.

“I’ll pick you up,” Jamie decided. “And in that case, I’d better get downstairs and take a cab back home. We’ll have to get a few hours’ sleep, and be ready for a long day, if it’s a tough case.”

Maggie nodded reluctantly. The minute Simmons had come up on the caller ID, Maggie had known that it was the end of her romantic evening.

“Thanks. I appreciate the offer of the ride,” she said. “And yes, you’d better go now.”

He leaned over and gave her a brief, warm kiss on the lips.

Thank you so much for dinner – and for everything,” he said. “This was special. And our next one? It’s going to be even more so.”

Then, he turned and strode out of her apartment.

Feeling crestfallen that the evening had been cut short, although encouraged that there was going to be a next time, soon, Maggie cleared up the dishes and stacked the dishwasher, feeling distracted and uneasy by the strange turn of events that the evening had brought.

She’d tidied her bedroom and changed the bedding, just in case Jamie ended up staying over.

Now, she would be sleeping alone, ready for an early alarm and a flight to the Joshua Tree National Park, which was a place that she’d never been to, although she’d heard about it.

But first, she was going to do something else.

After her conversation with her mother earlier, and with Jamie just now, that predicament had been weighing on Maggie’s mind. She’d felt a mixture of guilt and unease whenever she thought about it. Deciding that she couldn’t wait any longer, she dialed the number of a man she hadn’t spoken to in months – the area commander of the police precinct where she’d worked when she was in LA.

Time to spill the beans to Detective Benjamin, and tell him about her mother – and Cole.

CHAPTER THREE

“Maggie Flight?” Benjamin picked up his personal cellphone after just two rings, even though it was late. “How are you doing?”

"The work with the Department of Justice is going well. I've been busy. Solved a few cases," Maggie said. It was thanks to her boss's recommendation that she first applied for the job. He'd bolstered and encouraged her to do so.

“I’ve heard about those,” Benjamin replied. “Every time I hear that the Department has been involved in a case, I look for your name, and I’ve seen it a couple of times. Are you calling for help with a case?”

Maggie took a deep breath. “I’m actually calling for help with a personal issue.” This was going to be difficult to explain. She hoped she’d be able to convince Benjamin that this was urgent.

“Go ahead?” he asked.

Biting her lip, Maggie did her best to get her thoughts in order.

“I have a brother, Cole Flight. I haven’t seen him for years, but way back, when we were in our early twenties, I suspected he got involved with gangs.”

“Your brother?” Benjamin sounded surprised.

"Estranged brother," Maggie said. "And he recently got in touch again, asking for money. He didn't contact me personally – he sent someone else and left a note. I still don't know where he is."

“I’m guessing you didn’t give him the money?”

Benjamin knew her well. That made things a little easier, as Maggie continued, feeling wretched that she had to tell this story at all.

"I didn't wire the money. And now, within the past couple of weeks, my mother's direct neighbors have both suffered robberies."

She heard Benjamin give a surprised murmur. "You think it's your brother making threats?"

“I do,” Maggie said.

There was a pause. “You want me to keep an eye on her?”

“I’d appreciate that,” Maggie said. “I’ll send you her address, and also the place where Cole left me the note. And if you’re able to police those areas – it might allow you to catch him. He may have information on gang activities.”

She felt terrible saying this – guilty and humiliated. Guilty that she was giving up her brother to the police, and also, guilty that she hadn’t told Benjamin about him before, even though there had been no real reason to.

“Thank you for the information,” Benjamin said, sounding grateful. “I’m going to make sure that we patrol those areas more than usual. And Maggie – I know this can’t have been easy for you. Giving up family members never is. So – thank you.”

The kindness in her voice got unexpected tears prickling her eyes.

“No problem,” she said gruffly. She thanked him again, and hung up.

Then, she let out a long, shaky sigh.

That had felt like a pivotal moment in her life, a decision that had been tough but necessary to make. It might get her nowhere – but it also might save her mother from trauma.

Maggie reminded herself all over again that she didn’t know who Cole was anymore, only that he was very different from the man she’d known ten years ago. And that person had already been going bad.

Time to put that unpleasant decision out of her mind, and get to bed.

She had places to go early tomorrow – and a criminal to catch.

*

Maggie stared in fascination as the airplane came in to land. The scenery below her had changed drastically in the hour-and-a-half flight. From green, lush springtime in San Jose, they were now flying over an arid desert landscape.

Even at this early hour of the morning, the sun was blazing, and it looked far hotter than the place they’d left.

The airplane swooped down, touching the runway at this small, basic airport, and already, in the distance, Maggie could see the waiting police car.

She and Jamie had spent the flight sitting quietly. Jamie had dozed. Maggie had reviewed the notes on the case, which were still incomplete, and sounded strange to her.

A woman's body had been found in the park, but it had been somehow preserved. What did that mean?

She undid her seatbelt, grabbed her laptop bag, and then, she and Jamie were hustling to the exit as the stewardess opened it.

Thanking the pilot and heading down the steps, she strode across the runway toward the waiting car.

The air was much warmer, much drier, and it smelled different, too. Fresher, and there was a resinous, woody tang to it that was unusual and distinctive.

The police car’s driver’s door opened as she and Jamie approached, and a uniformed sheriff, with short, graying hair visible under his hat, climbed out. He removed his sunglasses as they approached, showing Maggie sharp hazel eyes in his weathered face. He had an old scar twisting across his left cheek, and she instantly wondered how it had been earned.

"Morning, agents," he said. "I'm Sheriff Roberts." He offered a hand, and shook Maggie's hand firmly. She noted gnarled knuckles and a wristwatch with a leather strap that also looked as if it had seen better days.

“Agent Flight.” She introduced herself, and Jamie did the same. Maggie was relieved that this sheriff was clearly happy to have them working on the case. That was a plus. It didn’t always happen.

Jamie introduced himself, and then they climbed into the car, which felt cool and comfortable after the warmth outside.

“I’m going to take you straight to the first scene, so that you can get a feel for what happened, and where,” Roberts said. “It’s been a shock to us here in Cooper’s Rock. It’s a peaceful town, and although we’ve had deaths in the park before now, they’ve usually been due to sunstroke, heart attacks, or falls. I can’t recall a single murder in my career. And this is – well, it’s chilling. We’ve already issued an advisory to all our visitors that they shouldn’t go into the park alone. We’re working with neighboring towns, but in this area, they’re thinly spread. The park is larger than Rhode Island, so there’s a lot of ground to cover, and a lot of places where a killer might be hiding.”

Maggie nodded. She'd seen how vast the park was from the air. As they'd flown over it to the town in the south, she'd had that exact thought.

There was a lot of space for a killer to hide, both in and around the park.

She guessed that with so much acreage to cover, even helicopters and drones wouldn’t get fast results.

Roberts swung onto the road, which was also surprisingly empty.

“What exactly happened?” Maggie asked.

“It all began when we had a terrified call from a woman in the park,” Roberts said, glancing at Maggie, and then into the rearview mirror at Jamie. “Harper Mull said she’d been chased by a stranger. She’d hidden away in a cluster of rocks, and apparently he’d almost reached it, holding a knife, calling out to her, telling her she was beautiful.”

“And then what happened?” Maggie asked. She had to admit, this sounded chilling.

"There was a group of joggers who approached from the other direction. She saw them or heard them, began screaming, and they came over to where she was. By then, he'd melted away. She was incoherent with fear, and they thought it was best to take her straight back to the parking lot. They then called us, and we sent a patrol out to the park. It's a big area, and it took the officers a while to search. They went further out, looked around the jogging trails, and after dark, they found a murder victim positioned near the trail where Mull had been walking. Under a Joshua tree."

“And who’s the victim?” Maggie asked.

It sounded to her as if the killer had been on the search for any prey. Perhaps he’d attacked this other woman after being interrupted in his first pursuit.

“She’s a young woman called Bella Tyson. I believe she was a model who lived nearby and went jogging in the park. And the woman who escaped – she's an internet influencer and personality who does live yoga sessions.”

Already, Maggie's profiler brain was at work. She was wondering if the killer had a specific type that he was targeting, or whether it was simply coincidence that these two women had been alone. It seemed that both of them were good-looking and young. So, was he hunting women on their own? Beautiful women? Younger women?

“Is Harper Mull available to answer some questions?” she asked. That would need to be their next stop.

"Yes, she is," Roberts said. "She's very shocked, of course. Not her fault, but she gave us three different versions when we questioned her yesterday. Perhaps a good night's sleep will have helped if you go there later."

Maggie nodded. Trauma didn’t make for accurate memories. They might get better, but they might get less helpful. Hopefully they would get something they could use. Maybe even a physical description?

She couldn’t make any assumptions yet, Maggie decided, looking at the dry, craggy landscape that got more and more beautiful as they approached the park’s south entrance. With jagged mountains lining the horizon, the Joshua trees she saw along the way were distinctive – taller than she’d expected, towering well above head height, with their straight trunks, chunky spreading branches, and leaves that looked more like succulents.

There was a police car parked at the park’s south entrance, and Roberts had a quick word with the cop behind the wheel before heading into the park.

“All been quiet so far,” he told them.

While Roberts drove in, Maggie tried to figure out if there was a way that the police might be able to pick up the killer’s identity. She could see this would be problematic, since it was such a big space, and it didn’t look fenced. Sure, there was an official entrance, but that didn’t mean much to a killer if there were alternative routes in and out.

“Are there records of the vehicles entering or leaving the park?” she asked.

Roberts shook his head. "We obviously have the park's main entrances manned in daytime, but we haven't had them manned at night. Once in the park, you can park within a parking lot or even on the shoulder of the road. There are webcams set up at certain points so that people can enjoy the view within the park. But it's not a high-security area. Someone could get a car in without going through an official entrance. Someone who's coming into the park to commit murder isn't going to obey all the other rules, are they? And the space is vast."

However, Roberts only drove about a mile before pulling off into a parking lot. Here, another police car was parked, as well as a couple of vehicles with out-of-state plates.

Climbing out, Roberts greeted the officer.

“I’ve got the agents from the Department of Justice here. Flight and Rodriguez,” he introduced them.

"So far, all quiet today. I've instructed visitors not to go near the scene or walk alone," the cop confirmed.

With a nod, Roberts set out in a southerly direction. Following him, Maggie saw that he was following a sandy path that wound its way through the scrubby vegetation. There were several of the quirky trees ahead. They walked in silence for a while, the scenery growing more remote and more beautiful as they headed deeper into the park.

And there, just off the trail, was a crime scene marker. Her gaze sharpened as she saw it.

Roberts glanced at her. “This is the place where the witness, Ms. Mull, first set up to do her shoot. She then saw the killer approach, but we’re not yet sure from what direction. She refused to come back to the site, and as you can see, the sand doesn’t hold footprints. We found a discarded phone tripod at the site, which she left behind when she fled. That’s how we know where she was.”

Maggie could see the hard baked ground was leaving no trace of their boots as they headed along it. She couldn’t even pick up any marks from a camera stand. But at least, standing here, she had a better feel for how far Harper Mull had walked.

“And she parked at the lot where the officer was stationed?” Jamie asked.

Roberts nodded. “She did. Then she headed to this site, which she’d picked out especially on a trip yesterday, I believe.”

There was a beauty and a quietness to the spot that Maggie could see would work well for a shoot.

Had the killer followed her in? Had he been tracking her?

“And where did she go when she saw the man approach?” Maggie asked.

Roberts pointed to the left. "She fled in that direction. At that stage, she was in a panic, and she ran very fast. Might have surprised the man who was stalking her. She gained enough of a lead to hide. You can see the rocky outcrop up ahead."

Maggie could see the rocks, tall and dark, like sentinels on the horizon. Harper had been resourceful, even in her terror. She'd fled to the only source of real shelter nearby. As they got closer to the rocks, Maggie saw that they were far craggier than she'd thought from far away. Weathered and crumbled, there were some actual hiding places in the rocks that loomed well over her head height.

“She hid away on the opposite side, and then, she saw the joggers approaching in the distance, I believe. They headed toward her, and from there, she was in their company. They took her back to the parking lot and then called us. We escorted Ms. Mull to her motel, with one of our officers driving the car, after she’d done her best to point out the sites. Then, we came back to search the park.”

Now, Maggie could hear the grimness in the officer’s tone, and knew that this was the tough part of the police’s initial investigation.

“Our officers started out at the rocks here, worked back to that original site, and then moved on, searching the wider area of the park.”

Maggie thought they’d done a good job in managing to comb through such a large area of the park, and also that they’d taken the young woman’s issue seriously enough to do such a wide search. That spoke of a determined and thorough leader, which she could see that Roberts was. That might have made all the difference in giving them an early lead.

“We’re going to walk a half mile in this direction.”

Now, they set off in a northerly direction. The sun’s rays were higher now, and although dry, the air felt as if it was getting hotter with every step they took. Maggie was enjoying the warmth – for now. But she took her jacket off as they walked, knotting it around her waist above her gun holster, so that she was in her light, long sleeved charcoal top. That let the air in.

She exchanged a glance with Jamie, who had also removed his suit jacket, and undone his tie and the top button of his shirt.

His wry look told her that right now, she was more sensibly dressed for the great outdoors than he was.

“Here.” Roberts’ voice brought her back to the scene. “This is where we then found the victim.”

Ahead, Maggie could see an especially tall and striking Joshua tree, standing on its own in the scrubby soil.

“Bella Tyson was positioned under the tree, where you see that crime scene marker,” Roberts said.

The dry soil bore no trace of a body now, and as she stared at the spot, Maggie wondered what had happened to make this scene so unusual and troubling.

Roberts continued, his voice deliberately calm. “She was dressed in pink running gear. Initially, she was knocked out, and then, coroner suspects she was moved after that, perhaps more than once. Her throat was slashed with a long, sharp blade that fits with the description of the weapon Ms. Mull thought she saw, but that must have been done elsewhere, because there was no trace of blood at the scene, and we haven’t been able to find where it was done. She’d bled out, and then, her face and hands were covered in formalin.”

“Formalin?” That was unexpected and horrific. A preservative? Why?

“Yes. Coroner couldn’t identify it for sure at the scene, but the pathology lab confirmed it last night. She was posed on her back, with her arms above her head. It looked like a yoga or ballet pose. I mean, someone had taken the time to make it look artistic.” Roberts sounded uncomfortable.

“And the approximate time of death? Was Bella murdered before or after Harper fled? Can they tell?"

"Yes. Coroner was able to estimate the time of death was mid morning. Definitely not earlier than that, he said.”

“So, even though he’d missed a victim, he still stayed in the park, identified somebody else, abducted her, murdered her using an MO which included moving her body twice, and then displayed her under the tree and left?”

“Yes. That’s what we surmise.”

Maggie was taken aback by the level of sheer coldness and nerve required to do that. After missing a victim and having to turn and flee, most killers would have left quickly to regroup and try again when it was safer.

The fact that this killer had remained in the park and had then targeted a second victim almost immediately was a chilling sign of his confidence and determination.

But Harper Mull, the escapee, might remember something that could give them a lead.

CHAPTER FOUR

Behind the wheel of a borrowed police cruiser, Maggie and Jamie drove into the town of Cooper’s Rock. The survivor, Harper Mull, had been staying at the local motel, Joshua Tree Lodge. It was close to the town's entrance and one of the first buildings that they saw.

The town itself was attractively built, designed to blend into the landscape. Low buildings with wooden frontages and post-and-rail fences lined the road. There were a few houses with white-framed doors and windows. The motel was small, and was laid out in the shape of a horseshoe, with parking around the outside, and in the middle, a treed piece of grass with some wooden playground equipment and picnic tables.

The rustling leaves of the trees, and the pool of shade they created, offered a welcome respite from the growing heat of the sun.

Maggie looked at her case notes as they headed through the motel’s gates, seeing that Harper was in room number nine.

They parked outside that room, next to a rental car with San Francisco plates. Maggie climbed out and knocked at the door.

There was a pause, and then a voice called out tentatively, “Who’s there?”

The speaker sounded young – probably in her early twenties – and scared.

“Agents Flight and Rodriguez,” Maggie replied, hoping that hearing a woman’s voice would give Harper reassurance.

She opened the door, peering out distrustfully, still looking scared.

Despite her fear, she was very attractive. She had flawless skin, honey-colored hair, and wide blue eyes. She was wearing skinny jeans and a scoop-necked turquoise top. Her feet were in slip-on sandals. But the aura of terror was tangible. Holding onto the door as the two of them walked in, she then closed it immediately and stood with her back to it.

The motel room contained a bed and a small sofa. No other seating, so Maggie went and perched on the bed's coverlet, gesturing to the beige sofa.

“Sit down,” she invited.

Harper walked over to the sofa and sat, leaving Jamie to position himself near the door like a bodyguard.

“You must be shocked and scared,” Maggie sympathized. “You did well to get away.”

Swallowing, Harper nodded. “I can’t even think of it. My mind won’t let me do that. I thought he was going to find me. I knew he was. His voice – it was so evil, the way he told me that I was beautiful. I’ve never heard anything so creepy in my life.”

“You were crouched in a gap in the rock, is that correct?”

“Yes. I saw it, and – and I decided it was the only hiding place there was.” Her voice wobbled. “I knew it wasn’t enough, and I knew that he knew I was there. I can’t even remember exactly what happened or how close he got, or if he said anything else. Then, I heard voices from further away, so I just screamed for help.”

Maggie took in what this meant. Perhaps it pointed to supreme confidence. This killer had believed that he was going to be able to take Harper at his leisure. He had been toying with her. Then, the arrival of the other hikers had meant he’d retreated. He’d been able to vanish, had regrouped, and had done what he set out to do.

“Did you hear him leave? Did he say anything?” Maggie asked, but Harper shook her head.

“If he did, I don’t remember.”

“And tell me about when you first saw him?” she then said.

Harper gulped, and the color drained from her face even more.

“I wish I could remember more about what he looked like. But all I remember is that his face was in shadow, and he wore this hat low over his eyes. And the knife. He held it in a way that showed it to me.”

“Tall, short?” Maggie asked.

"I can't remember. I don't think I saw him close enough because by then, I was running. I knew he was evil. That's the best way I can put it." She leaned forward, clasping her hands tighter together. "I knew he was going to try to get me, my instincts told me that. I think I was frozen at first, and then when I realized I had to run, this blind panic just filled me. If I'd thought, there were other things I could have done. I could have filmed him live. I don't know why I didn't think to do something like that." Now, she sounded regretful, angry with herself.

“You did what you needed to do, and you stayed alive. That’s a win in my book,” Maggie said reassuringly. She paused. “Which direction did he approach from?”

“He had the sun behind him,” she said.

“Tell me, did you notice anything about his accent. Was it unusual?” Jamie asked.

“I don’t know. He whispered in such a taunting way. It was, like, pure evil. I don’t even know what his accent was like. All I remember is that evil.”

“What was he wearing?” Maggie asked. This wasn’t going to be easy, and she could see that Harper was deeply traumatized. She was trying her hardest and she wasn’t unwilling to talk, but her mind had blanked out on some of the details.

“Apart from the hat? I couldn’t tell you,” she said.

“Do you remember seeing him before at all? Was he around when you left your motel? Did you notice anyone who looks like him when you were driving, or getting food, or out and about here?”

Harper shook her head.

“And back home? Was there any trouble with a man like him, any anonymous threats, anything disturbing you can remember in the past few weeks?”

Harper thought about that, but shook her head.

“Back home, everything was fine. And this was a last-minute decision. I arrived here the day before yesterday, and I’ve never been here before.”

Maggie hadn’t thought it was likely that the killer had targeted her all the way from San Francisco, but it was still important to rule it out.

“Anything else you can remember about yesterday? Anything at all?”

Maggie waited, patiently sitting on the edge of the bed, watching Harper frown, and thinking of what else she could ask Harper that might trigger more memories. She knew where she wanted to focus, and that was on the words that the killer had spoken.

He'd believed he was alone with her and that these were her last moments. He'd been speaking in a taunting way. This would have been his chance to speak intimately to her and perhaps even to drop a clue about what his own motivation was.

“Tell me more about the whispering,” she encouraged the frightened young woman. “I know you might find this difficult, but I want you to do me a favor. Close your eyes, and pretend you’re back there again.”

Immediately, she shook her head, fear flaring. “I can’t do that. No way. I won’t do that,” she insisted.

“I’ll take your hand,” Maggie offered. She stood up and walked over to the couch, where Harper was now huddled. She held out her hand, and after a pause, Harper took it.

“Now, close your eyes. It’s okay, I got you. Close your eyes and tell me what he said to you.”

Harper’s gaze flickered dubiously to Maggie, but she closed her eyes, her lashes long and thick, her muscles still quivering with the tension thrumming through her body. Maggie could feel it in her hand, too. It was shaking.

Her breath was coming faster now, and Maggie could see that she was bravely trying to recreate the scene that must have left her in a state of extreme terror.

“He was saying how beautiful I was, and as he got closer, he said I was young, and that he wanted me to live forever. To have eternal youth. That was the gift he was going to give me. He repeated the words. Eternal youth, eternal youth. It was like a mantra – oh, I can’t anymore.”

“You can. You can. You’re being brave. Stay with me, stay there in the moment, Harper,” Maggie entreated. She was hoping that now the young woman’s memory had been triggered, there might be more. “Was there anything else? Did you smell anything?”

Using all her senses might help her to remember more. Maggie had already experienced the distinctive, fresh smell of the air in this part of the world. Perhaps the killer had smelled of something. Even a chemical reek would indicate that he’d carried the formalin with him.

“Yes. Yes, I did smell something.” Now, Harper sounded confused. “This is strange, but I smelled an odor of lemon. Very faint. A lemony smell. And there was something else, too, a chemical smell. I remember breathing that in and thinking he was close, very close.”

Breathing rapidly, she snatched her hand away from Maggie. Her eyes flew open, and she jumped to her feet. "Please, I can't. This is so terrifying. I feel as if I'm back there again. I'm going to have nightmares about this forever. I can't think about it. Please." She stared at Maggie, her chest heaving. "I know what happened – he went and took that other woman. I saw her at the park's entrance, going for a run. The police told me earlier this morning that he took her, and I know it should have been me."

“Please, don’t blame yourself for a moment.” Maggie stood up, too. This traumatized woman had given them everything she could, and Maggie was grateful. “You did what you had to do to survive, and you were brave and resourceful.”

The practicalities of Harper’s situation were now weighing on Maggie’s mind as she considered what to do next.

“You live in San Francisco?” she asked.

“Yes, I do. I want to go back. But I also don’t want to have a panic attack on the way.”

“How did you get down here?”

“I hired a rental car and drove.” Harper hesitated. “One of my sponsors is a rental company, so I get a good rate. Almost free.”

“I’ll organize for the local police to come and deal with the car,” Maggie said. “You need to fly back home, not be on the road for hours. Can we organize you a flight ticket?”

“I can do that myself. It’s no problem,” Harper said.

“I’ll get the local cops to give you a ride to the airport then,” Maggie said.

She didn’t know if Harper had been targeted by the killer for any other reason than that she’d been there at the right place and the right time, but Maggie couldn’t risk that he’d wanted her personally.

It was going to be best and safest for Harper to get back to San Francisco as soon as she could.

“I’ll organize that straight away,” Jamie said, going outside and getting on the phone.

“Have you got someone who can be with you in San Francisco for a while?”

“Yes, I share a house with a friend.”

“Good. Make sure that you have people around you, and you need to see a trauma counselor.”

Once Maggie had wrapped that up and Jamie had confirmed the police were on their way, Maggie left Harper to pack up her belongings.

“We didn’t get anything from that interview,” Jamie said. “Pity. I was hoping she’d remembered more.”

At that moment, Maggie’s phone buzzed. She pulled it out, seeing that it was Sheriff Roberts calling.

Wondering if he had a lead, Maggie quickly picked up.

"Any luck on your side?" she asked.

The sheriff sounded disturbed, and anxiety resonated in his voice. "We've had bad luck. Our officers were called to another area of the park just now, further north. There's another body there, killed in the same way. It's a man – a young fitness instructor called Ryan Colby. He works for the gym in town, and he was reported missing two days ago.”

Maggie took a deep breath.

She’d been dreading this in the back of her mind, and it had happened faster than she’d thought it would.

This killer was on a serial crime spree.

CHAPTER FIVE

The air felt warm on his face as he strode through the desert, enjoying the sense of freedom that it brought. So much space. So much loneliness. After what he’d endured in the past few years, he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel this way again.

How he loved the desert, and how he loved this particular spot, Cooper’s Rock, which held so many wonderful memories for him. All good.

As opposed to the memories of other places, which were not so good.

Unfortunately, the bad ones had lingered, and festered in his mind, during a stage where he hadn’t had anything else to think about. He remembered those empty days, filled with anger and frustration But they were behind him now, even though the thought of them made anger surge inside him again. He still felt that burning rage. Of course he did.

Now, as it swelled inside him again, he felt like screaming into the night, even though nobody would hear him, and if they did, they might think it was nothing more than a roaming coyote.

“Don’t scream,” he told himself, breathing hard. “Don’t scream. Don’t do it. You need to have control now. Just have control and you’ll succeed beyond your wildest dreams.”

A grin split his face, the expression still painful. Some scars took a long time to heal.

In any case, he was making new memories now. Brand new.

And how wonderful they were, he thought, as he walked through the night, pleased that a three-quarter moon was offering just enough light to see by, but not enough to be seen.

He was glad to be invisible, after long months of being far too visible, feeling as if he was an insect under a microscope. He’d never have thought of himself as a claustrophobic person, but he had to admit – those months had done it. He’d happily live in a shelter under the stars for the rest of his life. Although, of course, he had somewhere far more luxurious to stay.

It was a long walk, but he didn’t mind. It was a fine night, and he’d planned it well. He planned everything well.

He stopped, the night air caressing his face, looking around him, making sure he was utterly alone.

Of course he was, because he’d planned for it.

He imagined the police, their panic, the shrill sirens, that annoying crackle of radios. Grinning again, he imagined their confusion, as he moved like a shadow through the night, to where he’d parked his car.

He was sowing terror and uncertainty, and he looked forward to reaping the results.

A bitter harvest, and a bloody one.

There was still so much more to do.

How wonderful that he was able to follow his life’s work again, his passion.

Bestowing youth on people. The gift that meant more than any other, because every moment that passed took it further away.

There was only one way to ensure immortality, and know for sure that the terrible aging process would stop.

And that was death.

CHAPTER SIX

The body was darkened by the sun, the skin dried out by the application of what she guessed was formalin, but the odor of rot still clung to it as Maggie stared down. The slash in the neck and the bloodless look to the man’s face showed her that the MO was identical.

And, just like Bella Tyson, this man lay in the patterned shade of a tall Joshua tree

Radios crackled around her. There were three other cops at the scene, and the coroner had also arrived – because of the vast distances, there was a delay in services getting to where they needed to be.

The victim hadn’t yet been examined by the coroner.

Vultures had found it first, and when a group of hikers had noticed them landing, and gone over to investigate, they’d called the police immediately.

Maggie might be a seasoned investigator, but facing the body of a man that had been murdered this way, was still emotionally taxing for her.

Forcing her own feelings aside, she tried to use the analytical side of her brain to figure out what she could learn from the scene.

Like the other victim, Colby had been left in a pose – he’d been positioned face up, with his arms spread either side of him and his legs together. The position reminded Maggie of a cross. She guessed that the killer was leaving the victims face up because it was more practical when applying the formalin that seemed to be an important part of his ritual, but were there other reasons? Was leaving his victims face up significant to him? Did he want their faces to be seen?

Colby was handsome, his features even, his jaw strong, even though the sun and the chemicals had done their work.

He was wearing a pair of jogging shorts that left his legs bare from the thigh down, and a handlebar vest. Maggie took note of his shoes. They didn’t look like ordinary hiking or walking shoes. She thought they looked more like the shoes you might wear inside a gym.

Standing beside her silently, Maggie saw that Jamie was also paying those shoes close attention.

“Those are the kind of shoes you wear for weight training,” he said. “They’re low profile. Thin soles.”

Maggie also noted that there was a lack of dust on those soles, although she could see that the wind had blown some dust onto the left sides of Colby’s vest and pants.

These were not hiking shoes, and that presented a very worrying twist to this case.

“I don’t think he was out in the Joshua Tree National Park when he was attacked,” Maggie admitted. “I think he was grabbed elsewhere, and brought out here.”

She glanced at Jamie, seeing the same grim acknowledgment in his eyes. A few yards from one of the park’s walking trails, not far from an access road, there was no way this gym instructor had walked a couple of miles out into the park wearing these shoes, and there was no vehicle nearby.

“I agree with you,” he said.

Maggie stepped away, removing her plastic head cover, feeling her hair already sweaty underneath. She didn't know how much information the coroner would find. For at least two days, this body had been exposed to the sun the, wind, and the relentless breeze. The exact time of death might not be possible to ascertain, and her guess was that it was going to be a broader timeframe that covered at least twelve, or even twenty-four, hours.

Any trace evidence would have blown away. There was no sign of footsteps or car tracks on this rocky, dry ground.

And this latest development ramped up the danger levels of this case to new heights.

The killer wasn’t just preying on victims in the park – he might be taking them from anywhere.

Now, as a matter of urgency, they needed to find out where Ryan Colby had last been seen, before he’d been reported missing.

Turning away, Maggie and Jamie headed back to the police car.

“So, we’ve got one victim found in the park for sure. Another was hunted down in the park but escaped. And a third was grabbed from elsewhere? What’s the reason?” Jamie asked.

Maggie thought for a while before answering. “Might be as simple as the fact that it was a weekend,” she said. “Harper was hunted, and Bella Tyson was murdered, on a Saturday. Perhaps the killer knew that the park would be busy on that day, and that there’d probably be a few people out on their own. Maybe it’s not as busy during the week, and that’s why he took the first victim from elsewhere?”

"I guess that could be the case if he's just being opportunistic." Jamie didn't sound as convinced as Maggie knew she was.

“He is being opportunistic,” she said. “Going after one woman, and then immediately taking another, tells me that the timing and the opportunity is more important to him than targeting any individual person. I do think he’s profiling his victims, though. All of them are young – I’m saying ‘all’ because I’m counting Harper in, even though she escaped him. All of them are fit and good-looking. And maybe all of them have been unlucky enough to be in the right place at the right time for him to take them."

“What can we learn from Bella Tyson? Is there anything in her background that can help us?” Jamie asked.

“When I checked the case notes, I thought the answer was no,” Maggie admitted. “But look again. Maybe there’s been an update.”

As Maggie climbed into the car, which was now hot from the midday sun, Jamie referred to the case notes.

“I see here that Bella Tyson lives a few miles outside Cooper’s Rock, in a cottage on a farm. She rents the cottage, and the farm owners are away. The police got hold of them and they said she was a quiet tenant, and hadn’t reported any problems. She did online health and fitness coaching, and they think she also worked for a few of the fitness centers in the area. She was a model for a local beauty salon and did some PR work for a wellness retreat. So the fitness might be a common thread."

“Fitness, yes. But the local area, no. Because Harper wasn’t from there,” Maggie said. She turned the air-conditioning as low as it would go, and headed onto the road leading out of the park.

Jamie nodded. “No, she wasn’t. I agree with you – opportunistic, then, and he’s looking for a certain type of victim.”

“Which he must also have found in the first victim, Ryan Colby. But where and how did he find Ryan? That’s what we need to figure out now.” Looking at the map, Maggie saw that the gym where Colby had worked was on the town’s main street. Then, she did some quick research on his home address, seeing that he lived just a couple of blocks away.

As she drove back into town, deciding to visit the gym first, Maggie wondered if the killer was local. Was he part of Cooper’s Rock, population three thousand, according to the signboard she saw at the town’s border? Or was he from elsewhere, a visitor to the town?

She headed down the main street to the gym.

It was in a row of shops between a convenience store and a hairdressing salon, and although the front of the gym was old-world, wood-fronted and quaint looking, when Maggie pushed open the door and went inside, she saw that the interior was modern, air-conditioned, and pristine.

The whirr of treadmills was audible, and from further back in the gym, Maggie picked up the familiar metallic clinking of weights.

An instructor, wearing the same handlebar vest that Colby had worn, came hurrying over. He was older than Colby, Maggie saw, with thickset, strong shoulders, a shaven head, and a tattoo sleeve on his right arm. He stared at them in concern.

"This is about Ryan?" he asked. "We just got the news that he was found dead. One of the cops stopped by and told us. I don't have any details, except that he was found out in the park. What happened? How did this happen?" He sounded incredulous and concerned.

Maggie nodded. “I’m very sorry, and you must be shocked. We’re from the Department of Justice.” She showed her badge. “And your name, please, sir?”

“I’m Hank Fielding, and I’m the gym manager,” the man replied.

“Is there somewhere we can talk?”

“The office, I guess?” Fielding looked doubtful as he said the words. He turned and strode through the gym. As Maggie followed, her shoes squeaking over the shiny floor, she saw a couple of the brightly dressed women on the treadmills glancing curiously in their direction.

As soon as Fielding opened the office, Maggie realized why he'd been doubtful about using it. It wasn't so much an office as a storage space for gym equipment that was in need of repair, with a tiny desk and a chair wedged on one side.

“Sorry,” Fielding said, sounding apologetic.

“That’s fine,” Maggie agreed. “It’s private, at least.”

Fielding closed the door, and they all stood facing each other, wedged into the space between the desk, a broken treadmill, and a spin bicycle. The air smelled faintly of old sweat.

“Please, what happened?” Fielding said anxiously again.

“He was found dead in the park, under a Joshua tree. Cause of death was a wound to the neck,” Maggie said. She wasn’t going to go into any more detail, partly because she could see that Fielding was disturbed enough already, but also because they couldn’t afford to release too much information at this stage.

“I just don’t understand who’d do something like that. Was he mugged, or what?” Fielding sounded perplexed, and Maggie shook her head.

"It's unlikely that it was a random mugging, and it's probable that he was transported at least once. So, I'd like to know from you when he was last at work and who reported him missing. I believe his work reported this?"

"Yes, that was me. I reported him missing the day before yesterday when he didn't arrive for a training session he was supposed to take. I thought he'd maybe overslept or partied too hard the night before."

“Was that common for him?” Jamie asked.

Fielding looked dubious. “Not really. He’s been working here for a few months now and so far, we haven’t had anything like that happen, but you know, I’ve managed this gym for a long time, and our instructors are young guys and girls, and there will always be that one time. It goes with the territory. I expect it.”

“So, what happened when he didn’t arrive?”

“I called and texted him. No answer. Then I rushed around and got someone else to cover that slot. We’re very busy. Not only at the gym, but also offering spin classes elsewhere. We hold them at the Desert Lotus center up the road, and also, we do a class at the high school nearby. I noticed later on that he hadn’t read the text, and I got concerned, because you know – well, not that he’s ever been that kind of person, but young guys, fast cars, crashes.”

He shrugged his big shoulders sadly.

“Did you follow up on that?” Maggie asked.

Fielding nodded. “I went to his house, and I saw his car – it’s a red Dodge – was outside on the street.”

“Is that where you’d expect it to be if he was at home?” Maggie asked.

“No. He usually put it in the garage overnight, or if he was home for a while, because of the heat. But if he was just stopping off at home, he’d park on the street. I didn’t know what that meant, but his house was locked up and he wasn’t answering when I rang the bell, so I then started wondering if he’d gone for a run and something had happened. Knocked by a car, collapsed for some reason. I drove around town and looked for him, but he was nowhere around, and his phone was still off, so I reported it to the police.” He sighed. “Heard nothing for a day, and then, this all blew up in my face today.”

“Any personal problems in his life that he shared with you?” Maggie asked.

"No. He was dating – well, playing the field, but that wasn't my business. He was enjoying his life. Young, good-looking, in his early twenties – all I worried about was that he came to work on time."

“Did he mention that he was being watched, followed, anything like that?”

“Absolutely not,” Fielding said, folding his bulky arms across his chest.

“So he was out and about in town a lot?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, he was. He enjoyed running, he used to train in our outdoor court behind the gym, he played tennis and soccer.”

“And how often did he go to the Joshua Tree park?” Jamie asked.

“He’d occasionally go there with a group of runners on a longer run, but not often, because you have to buy an entrance pass for the park. Why pay that when there are other places to go?”

Maggie thought about that. It made sense. Why would someone pay to go and run in the park when they had all the roads of a quiet town at their disposal?

And that, together with the shoes he was wearing, reinforced to her that Colby had been stalked, and captured by the killer, outside the park. Most likely, while walking to or from work, either on Thursday evening or Friday morning.

There had been no trouble in his life, no problems. He’d lived in a quiet town, in a calm neighborhood. He hadn't often visited the park. But he had been out and about a lot, and maybe on one of those times, he’d been targeted by the killer.

“If you remember anything else, please call us,” she said, handing over her card.

"I will, of course." Fielding drew in a sharp breath. "And please, tell me if there are any updates. I'm worried now for everyone. Us, our clients, everyone."

They left the cramped little office, and she and Jamie headed out into the air conditioned freshness of the gym, and from there, to the heat of outside.

“Let’s go speak to Colby’s neighbors,” Maggie said. “Maybe they saw something.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

It was such a short drive from the gym to Colby’s house that Maggie thought she and Jamie could easily have walked it, if it hadn’t been for the heat, which was now ramping up to suffocating levels. As she headed down the quiet, sun-drenched streets, she thought about what they had learned.

This killer was highly opportunistic. He was able to take, and move, victims. He was flexible and able to change his plans if circumstances dictated it.

Maggie instinctively knew they were dealing with someone intelligent. He had a vision, a twisted one, as unique as the strange shapes of those Joshua trees. But what she didn’t understand was why he was doing this.

Why coat the victims’ faces in formalin?

It was to preserve – but preserve what? Their youth, their beauty, a moment in time?

And had the formalin been the reason for the strange chemical smell that Harper had picked up? How about the lemon smell? Was that just part of the chemical mix that he’d painted the faces with – if it was a mix at all, and not just plain formalin, which Maggie personally doubted they’d be able to identify every element of in the postmortem.

Formalin was the liquid version of the gas formaldehyde, which most people were more familiar with, and it evaporated quickly.

She knew this because back in the LAPD, she’d handled a case where a victim had been poisoned by adding formalin to his usual tipple of neat tequila. During that case, Maggie had learned a lot about the various chemicals, their toxicity, their evaporation rate, and their ability to kill.

The lemon smell. Where had it come from? It might just have been the perfume that the killer wore.

Shaking her head as she pulled up outside the small house with its white boards, Maggie had to admit, she hadn’t gone as far as she wanted to in her analysis of this killer.

There were houses on either side of Colby’s house, but not opposite. Opposite, there was a large park, which looked almost as arid and dry as the national park itself had done.

Near the house, the red Dodge was parked at an angle on the sidewalk, already looking dusty and forlorn, Maggie thought.

“Shall I take left, you take right?” This was a simple knocking on doors exercise to see if the neighbors had seen anything. Jamie nodded, and they separated, Maggie heading up to the house on the left, and knocking on the green painted door.

The houses were close together, each with their own small, fenced yard. As befitting a gym instructor with many other priorities, Colby’s yard was as wild as the park. However, the yard of this house was greener and looked well tended. The house and the garage were painted green. And Maggie felt a sense of completion as the door opened and a gray haired woman wearing a green smock with flowers embroidered on it, stood in the doorway.

She was about a head shorter than Maggie, and looked up at her curiously, then down at her badge.

“Ma’am, I’m agent Flight,” Maggie said. “Your neighbor has been murdered. I need to ask you some questions.”

Immediately, she saw that this woman hadn't known a thing about it. She looked utterly shocked, the color draining from her rosy-cheeked face.

“Murdered? You mean young – what’s his name?”

“Ryan Colby,” Maggie supplied, and the woman nodded vigorously, her gray hair bobbing.

“That’s right. He was no trouble at all. I didn’t often see him, but he always used to be friendly and polite. I can’t believe it. Was it a robbery?” Now, she glanced beyond Maggie, looking fearful.

“It was in the national park, and it was a serial crime,” Maggie said. “What we are trying to find out is if the killer tracked him. I was wondering if you saw or heard anything unusual in the past few days.”

“Nothing at all.” She peered past Maggie, looking down the street as if wondering whether there was something she was missing. “It always gets busier here at this time of the year, and we have more tourists and visitors. There are usually a few extra people every day, driving in the area and past my house, but I ignore them. I wish now I had paid more attention.”

It was a quiet town. Maggie had seen no cameras on houses. There were probably cameras at the gas stations in town and the bigger hotels, and she'd seen a street camera at the town's entrance. She would pull the footage and check them, but was doubtful how helpful they would be, because there were other routes out of town along the area’s back roads and gravel roads.

It was a typical, peaceful small town, with the added attraction of being close to a unique national park. And that was what made this all the more puzzling.

Thanking the woman, she turned away. Jamie was already waiting in the car, so she hurried back to him.

“No luck,” he said with a grimace. “I spoke to a mother of two. She’s been nonstop busy with her kids. Barely even knew she had a neighbor, although she was shocked to find out he’d been murdered. No cameras.”

“I had pretty much the same experience as you,” Maggie said. “The elderly woman in that house was appalled by it, but said that this time of the year, it gets busy, and so the cars driving past are ignored. She assumes they’re tourists, taking in the ambiance.”

“So,” Jamie said, “where to now?”

Maggie could tell he was trying hard not to sound discouraged.

She felt discouraged. So far, their more promising directions had all fizzled out. In this arid, deserted area, nobody had seen or heard anything. The killer was taking advantage of the immense distances and desolation.

But maybe they had one small lead, something so insignificant that she hadn’t even taken it seriously at first.

“The mention of eternal youth,” she said.

If it had been cooler, Maggie would have loved to have stood outside the car and discussed this with Jamie. But with the sun beating down and the temperature now in the nineties, she had no option but to get inside.

She started up the car and turned on the air-conditioning, while Jamie looked at her incredulously.

“Eternal youth?” he repeated, as Maggie pulled her shirt away from her body to draw in some of the air-conditioning’s coolness.

Once she’d done that, feeling a little less like she was going to spontaneously combust, she resumed her argument. “I know it sounds obscure and strange, but it’s clearly important to the killer. So much so, that he mentioned it as he was about to make his kill. Harper must have been utterly terrified by then. You can’t believe how hard she was gripping my hand. She’s going to have nightmares about that.”

Jamie wasn’t getting it. A dubious frown crinkled his handsome brow.

“I don’t understand. What’s that got to do with our lead?”

“He was saying that very purposely to her, and he repeated it.”

“He wasn’t just babbling out whatever came to mind, because he was in a frenzy before killing?”

Shaking her head, Maggie found that explaining it to Jamie was helping clarify her own argument in her mind.

“Everything else he’s done has been cold minded and carefully planned. He’s been able to transport his victims between locations. He’s posed them immaculately. You don’t just have formalin lying around – he’d have to get it ready to use. This killer has a very strong motivation to do what he’s doing. Every step of the way, it means something to him. If he spoke to Harper before he killed her, I am sure those words were important to him.”

“Yes, but – eternal youth? That’s a very broad statement.”

“It aligns with the fact he’s choosing young, good-looking victims, and he’s painting their skin with formalin. He wants to preserve their looks. He’s driven to do that, obsessed with it. He’s not choosing victims based on who they are, but rather what they are. Who does that make him?”

“I think I get you,” Jamie said at last.

“We have to find out what’s behind his motivation. And we need to start with the words he spoke. If eternal youth is a driving force for the killer, then let’s see if we can find anyone who’s using that phrase here. Maybe the roots of his obsession are right here. Let’s go do some research. There’s still time today to find out.”

But it was already afternoon. The day was wearing on. Maggie knew her own words were optimistic, and that in a short time, businesses would be closing for the day, and their chances would be over. They needed to move fast, find somewhere to work, and see if there was any basis to her theory.

She started up the car, and they drove the short distance back to the main street. Maggie remembered a coffee shop, a block from the gym. It had looked like a cool and airy place, with ceiling fans whirring inside.

It was now mid-afternoon. The streets were emptier than Maggie had expected them to be. She'd thought there would be school kids walking home, a few people going out for a jog, some activity. Although there were cars passing every so often, and a few customers parked outside the coffee shop, the sidewalks were strangely quiet.

Maybe that was just the way things were in this small town on a hot Monday afternoon.

Or had word already gotten out that there was danger in town?

Maggie headed across the road to the coffee shop. Inside, it looked as if things were starting to wrap up for the day. The couple of customers who were still sitting at the wooden tables had empty cups in front of them. The waitress, slim and blond and wearing a black and white branded T-shirt with a Joshua tree on the pocket, was wiping down tables.

The walls were papered with Joshua tree motifs in black and white, with gray, rocky scenery in the background.

Maggie gave her a dubious look as she and Jamie headed inside. She didn’t want to spread fear, but right now, anyone who fit the killer’s profile needed a warning.

She picked a table at the back, which was midway between one of the fans, and a small, whirring air-conditioning unit on the wall.

The waitress came over with a leather-bound menu and a plastic smile.

“We’re closing at five. Last food orders at four-thirty. What can I get you folks?”

“Coffee, please. I’ll have an Americano,” Maggie said.

“Make that two,” Jamie said.

As the waitress was about to leave with their simple order, Maggie caught her eye.

“We’re here because there have been some crimes in the Joshua Tree park,” she said in a low voice.

The waitress looked startled. She met Maggie’s eyes, seeing her for the first time since she’d walked in.

“Yes, I heard about some trouble?”

“Be careful. Just be very careful when you’re out and about. Tell your friends. For now, everyone needs to take care,” Maggie said.

She was immediately annoyed with herself for the inadequacy of that warning. It hadn’t been specific enough. But she might still be wrong about the killer, and that this attractive, innocent waitress was a person who he might target.

Plus, she dared not say anymore because the waitress was already looking alarmed.

Maggie abandoned the warning, and instead, she focused on finding out more about eternal youth, the phrase that had meant so much to the killer that he’d repeated it just before he’d planned on taking a victim.

Glancing up as she opened her laptop, she saw that Jamie’s face was intent. He was staring at his screen in a focused way, jotting notes on a piece of paper as he scrolled.

Maggie did the same, searching for any person or establishment that had used that phrase. Perhaps there was a beautician, a fitness instructor, or a medical professional in the area that had made it his or her buzzword?

The waitress brought the coffee, but Maggie barely noticed as she read through the results, making a list of possibles, and of probables. Eternal youth was a phrase frequently used. In fact, as Maggie scoured the results, it drove home to her that this concept was a holy grail for many people – something they strived for and aspired to and were willing to go to extremes to achieve. Sometimes the search went badly wrong. Maggie guessed it would always be disappointing, thanks to the relentless passage of time.

There was one result that was right at the top of that list.

“Well, this is close to home,” she said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Did you find something?” As Maggie looked up, she met Jamie’s gaze. He looked intrigued by the excitement in her voice.

“Yes. I found out that there's a wellness retreat near here – just a few miles away. It's called the Desert Lotus Wellness retreat, and they specialize in an Eternal Youth protocol using Joshua tree extracts. It seems to be exclusive and expensive, and I can't find much about it online, but I'm wondering if this should be our first stop?" Maggie asked.

As Maggie refocused on her environment, she saw that the waitress was standing near the door, and they were the only customers left in the coffee shop. Quickly, Maggie waved to her to get the check.

“Eternal youth, and Joshua trees. Those are two boxes that are checked, right there,” Jamie agreed. “But a wellness center? I don’t see a link there.”

“Maybe this killer is connected with the retreat somehow, or he actually had this treatment done, and it went wrong or something?” Maggie hazarded. “Maybe they fired a staff member for botching the treatment and he had a psychotic break as a result?” Now that she was thinking about it, they’d been told that both Colby and Tyson had links to a wellness center. Colby had done spin classes at a wellness center, Tyson had done PR work. Since this was a small town, there might be only one wellness center, which could provide a common thread. Although she shook her head, because the escapee, Harper Mull, was new in town and she didn’t think she could have any links to the place. She had said she’d never been to the town, or the park, before.

“Let’s go there and do some digging,” Jamie decided.

Maggie paid the bill, adding a generous tip since the waitress had stayed late waiting for them to leave, and they headed out. Finally, now that the afternoon was turning to evening, the heat of the day was dissipating, and there was a coolness to the breeze.

She got into the car and they headed out of town, following the quiet blacktop road to the west. In a couple of miles, Maggie started seeing the signage for the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat.

In blue and gold, the signs were artistic and eye-catching. The setting sun was blazing, turning the sky into a blaze of pink, gold and crimson.

And there, ahead, was the wellness retreat – a twinkle of lights on the darkening horizon. As Maggie neared it, she saw that the place itself was as glamorous as the signage had promised. White-painted buildings with Mediterranean-style architecture nestled gracefully in the landscape. In contrast with the desert environment surrounding the retreat, Maggie saw that irrigated grass lined the neatly paved driveway as she headed up it, creating an oasis of green. Geranium plants were set in white pots at intervals along the drive, and the retreat was fronted by a row of palm trees.

At the top, there were signs to the basement parking, and a smaller guest parking lot for day visitors. Stopping there, Maggie got out. She and Jamie headed to the main reception area, which looked more like the reception of a fancy hotel. There was a water feature in the corner, its trickling sound providing a soothing noise. The marble floor was spotless and expansive. High-end wingback chairs and plush leather sofas provided some seating, and soft, soothing music played.

The air was scented with perfume that had a distinctive, lemony tinge to it.

That immediately got Maggie’s spine prickling.

Lemon? Harper had smelled that scent on the killer as he’d closed in.

Was this a coincidence? Or did it mean that the killer had recently been here, in this building, at this retreat?

Two white-uniformed therapists hurried across the reception area, turning to offer warm smiles to the two of them as they approached the front desk, where a young, attractive receptionist was waiting. She was speaking to a man in his forties with white-blond hair and an air of authority, who was leaning over the desk with a folder in his hand. The receptionist gave Maggie and Jamie an apologetic glance as she finished off with the man who seemed to be giving her instructions.

“Get all that done. New formulations shipped out by tomorrow,” he said to her in a sharp voice.

“Yes, Mr. Olsen,” she replied.

"And I don't want any delays. Last time, you didn't get back to me about a delay in shipping. Were you being lazy, or careless, or what? Timing is critical in the next few days. Everything needs to move like clockwork, and happen punctually. I don't want you being the weak link again." He jabbed a finger in her direction, causing Maggie to press her lips together. If someone had done that to her, she'd have had to stop herself from grabbing that finger and twisting it hard.

“Yes, absolutely, Mr. Olsen,” she said, glancing at Maggie again in a worried way.

It sounded as if he was her boss, Maggie thought. Instinctively, she disliked his demeanor and his people skills. Controlling and aggressive, she thought. Chastising an employee in front of guests? Unacceptable.

Olsen turned and marched away, heading past the reception desk and down one of the corridors, without giving Maggie and Jamie a second glance.

The receptionist, now looking flustered, pulled herself together and gave them the full benefit of a welcoming smile. Her bright skin and glowing demeanor were a great advertisement for the place, Maggie thought, as she greeted them.

“Welcome to Desert Lotus. How can I help?” she asked.

Maggie showed her badge. “We’re from the Bureau of Investigation, and we’d like to know more about the Eternal Youth treatment you offer here.”

The receptionist blinked in surprise. “The treatment? Are you looking to find out more about it for your own personal use, or is there another reason?”

She didn’t sound hostile, just confused. Maggie guessed she was trying to figure out who she needed to call.

“There’s another reason. Best if we speak to the manager,” Jamie said.

With an apologetic smile, the receptionist got on the phone. As she spoke, Maggie noticed her wrist tag – a silver bracelet, with the Desert Lotus logo on a colorful charm.

While she tried to find someone to help them, Maggie saw a few glossy pamphlets placed on the table nearby. She walked over to have a look at them.

They listed the services offered by Desert Lotus, as well as the prices, which were eyebrow-raisingly high. Reading through the services, Maggie saw that the Eternal Youth treatment was definitely their flagship service, but there were others, too. There was a Feel Young Facial, a Rejuvenation body treatment, a Years Off massage, and a host of other treatments promising to turn back time.

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” the receptionist said. “I’m the night manager, and the spa is already closed. The manager and the practitioners who handle the Eternal Youth treatment aren't here. Gill Attenborough is the team leader, and it's her day off, but she'll be back tomorrow. Our practitioner hours are from eight a.m. to five p.m. Right now, our overnight guests are the only ones on site."

Maggie wasn’t leaving it there.

“Who’s the owner of your establishment?” she asked. Maybe that was the pale-haired man who'd been so obnoxious just now.

“The owner? Why?”

“Because I want to find out more about that person and who's involved in giving the treatments here." There were enough links that Maggie wasn't giving up. She wasn't even prepared to go away and then come back.

“But I’ve just told you about the team and the treatment,” the receptionist protested.

Maggie shook her head. “You’ve given me some basic information, which I appreciate, but there’s a lot more that I need to know, and we may need to come back again. So, if the owner is here now, please call him or her.”

She stared the receptionist down, and the woman looked uneasy, before reaching for the phone.

She dialed a number that Maggie thought was internal because it seemed to be a short code.

“Mrs. Nash? I’ve got two police agents here who are asking to see you.” She listened and waited, then hung up.

“If you’d like to take a seat,” she said, “Victoria Nash, who’s the co-owner of the retreat, will be with you in a few moments.”

Maggie moved over to the plush seating in the corner, but she didn’t actually sit down, and nor did Jamie. They both felt too impatient to make progress with the case – and besides, the receptionist had said it would be a few moments.

It was closer to a few minutes before she heard quick, light footsteps from a passageway to the left. A woman whose age Maggie couldn’t accurately guess, came hurrying toward them. She had strawberry blond hair that was curled into soft waves, and she wore a cream silk blouse and pale gray pants. Every aspect of her appearance was immaculate, and she exuded a calm energy.

“Good afternoon, agents,” she said in cheery tones. “I see it’s actually closer to evening. It’s been a very busy day. I’m Victoria Nash, the co-owner of the Desert Lotus. What can I help you with?”

“Agents Flight and Rodriguez. We’re looking for information on a double murder case, and would like to follow up a possible link,” Maggie said.

“A link to my retreat?” Her arched eyebrows rose. “Come this way,” she decided.

Maggie and Jamie followed her the short distance to a side office. It was exquisitely furnished, with a white desk, a glass side table, a pale blue directors’ chair, and a couple of visitors’ chairs. On the walls were before and after pictures of face and body transformations. Maggie gave them a glance as she sat down, noting that the Eternal Youth treatment seemed to offer visible results.

“Now, please explain why you’re here,” Nash invited, once they’d sat down.

“We’re following up on a potential link,” Maggie said. “You probably know there have been two bodies found in the national park nearby?”

Nash nodded. "Yes, I saw that on the news at lunchtime, but I still don't understand why you're here. Neither of the people who passed away are customers of ours, as far as I know."

“But they may both have a connection with your establishment, correct?” Maggie asked.

"Well, I'd need to check that. A lot of people in town are connected with us in some way and work at our events," Nash said.

“Will you check it, please. The victims are Ryan Colby and Bella Tyson, as I’m sure you know. I believe Colby did fitness work here, and Tyson may have done PR work for you.”

"I'll check those records as soon as I can. Looking up part-time workers will take a while, as we hold so many events," Nash said.

“A third victim got away, and in the process, she heard the possible killer whispering, ‘Eternal youth’,” Maggie explained.

Nash’s eyes widened. “The killer whispered those words?”

“Yes. That’s correct. And the survivor also smelled a lemon tinge.”

Now, Nash sat very still.

"Lemon is our trademark fragrance. We use it to create a point of difference and to emphasize cleanliness. But the problem is that it's become so popular that we've actually created an entire range for men and women, based on it."

“Is that so?” Jamie asked, frowning.

Nash nodded. “If you look at our retail shelves in the reception area, all the products with the white and yellow packaging, showing the lemon slice, are from that range. We have perfumes, body lotion, bath products, and facial products for men and women. So, it is possible that the killer might have been using our products, but we ship them countrywide. They’re our bestseller.”

“Any way we can get a list of who ordered your men’s products?” Maggie asked.

Nash shrugged. “I can give you a list of the online orders. We don’t take customer details for walk-in purchases. And we sell hundreds of products a month. Like I said, they’re a bestseller.”

“I’d still like a list of everyone who recently ordered those products,” Maggie said. “As well as everyone who’s had the Eternal Youth treatments.”

“That’s going to be a lot of names.” Nash looked appalled at the thought.

“That’s our problem, not yours,” Jamie replied.

Even if it was nothing more than wading through a pile of worthless information, she was sure that her friend Olivia Reynolds, the tech guru in the IT department, could find a way of doing it fast and efficiently, so that it wouldn’t take up any investigation hours.

“I’ll get it for you, but I’ll have to clear it with my partner, and that will only happen tomorrow evening at the earliest,” Nash said. “We have a very busy day. My partner in the business, who deals more with the products side, has organized a champagne event for our clients, to introduce them to our ranges. So I’ll be focusing on that tomorrow.”

“Who’s your partner?”

“He’s Charles Olsen,” Nash said. “We’re equal partners, and we’re both involved in the running of Desert Lotus. He’s very hands-on, but works more in the back office.”

Ah, so that must be the pale-haired man who'd been bullying the night manager. Maybe he stayed behind the scenes, and Nash, who was clearly more of a people person, ran the front of the establishment.

Maggie looked at her closely, deciding that she was calm and composed, and that she didn’t seem to be hiding anything. But Maggie also concluded that Nash was a proud woman. She ran an extremely successful business. She was servicing a stream of clients who were all happy with their treatments. And Maggie decided that she had an ego, and that if there were any problems, she might not be willing to admit it to the police.

“Was there anyone who was unhappy with their treatment recently?” Maggie asked, testing this theory out.

Nash clasped her hands, which were manicured in pale pearl, as she thought about the question. Maggie noticed a ring with a large diamond on her finger.

“No. We’ve had no complaints about the treatment at all. Our customers generally love it, and we find it brings us a lot of repeat business. It’s expensive, but people have it every few months.”

“And how long have you been offering it?” Maggie asked.

“For a few years now,” Nash replied. “Probably five or six years. Mr. Olsen and his brother innovated it together, especially for the retreat.”

Was it Maggie’s imagination, or did Nash sound slightly restrained now, as if this was a difficult topic? Maybe it wasn’t easy dealing with such an obnoxious partner.

While Maggie was breathing in that lemony air and considering what she should ask next, Jamie spoke up.

“Have you had any unhappy employees?” he asked. “Anyone recently fired, or who left on bad terms?”

Nash hesitated, but she then shook her head. “We’ve had a couple of people leave in the last few months. Unfortunately, that’s a symptom of our own success.”

“What do you mean by that?” Jamie asked.

“We’re the leading provider of esthetic services in the wider area, and I train my staff extremely well. However, we’re quite remote, and sometimes our estheticians get bored of working in a quiet center with only a small town nearby, so we do get people leaving us and moving on. I actually consider it a positive that we’re able to do that – to train people well and then put them out into the industry to continue their careers. But it means there are always people leaving – a couple every year – and more arriving to be trained.”

“Who were the last people who left you?” Maggie asked.

“Tracey left to get married, and then she moved to LA. She works for a very successful beauty salon in Hollywood Hills. That was in February.” Thoughtfully, Nash shook her head. “Nope, that’s the only one this year. Christa left us in November last year, and that was because her mother was sick, and she was moving down to Tennessee to be with her.”

That was a dead end then, Maggie decided. Not only were these therapists female – which the killer wasn’t – but they’d moved out of the area and away.

“How about anyone who’s obsessed with staying young?” Jamie asked. “Does that sound familiar?”

Maggie thought that was a good question, but Nash gave a reluctant shake of her head.

“It sounds all too familiar,” she said. “Our clientele are passionate about wellness, but also about keeping a youthful appearance. Our society is obsessed with it. People want to look young, they crave being youthful, and they are willing to pay very high prices to achieve it. My clients are high earners, and they spend a lot on looking younger than their years.”

Maggie nodded, accepting that the majority of clients fitted that description, and that this answer made sense.

She still wasn’t sure about Nash. The retreat owner was answering the questions smoothly and unhesitatingly, but Maggie could see she was a highly intelligent woman who thought on her feet. She’d seen it was difficult to catch her unawares, and she clearly wasn’t going to admit to any fault when it came to her wellness center.

Maggie had a strong feeling that Nash had a team of lawyers, along with her team of estheticians, to protect her reputation. And unfortunately, all they had were coincidences. The use of the words ‘eternal youth’, which Maggie had to admit was a common saying, and the lemony scent that might indeed have originated from the Desert Lotus product range, sold to thousands each year.

“We may need to ask you more questions,” she said. “And I’d like that list. Tomorrow.”

“You’ll get it, agents.”

Maggie stood up, wishing she could shake the feeling that Nash wasn’t telling her everything she knew.

CHAPTER NINE

Alone in her office, Victoria Nash stood up, closed the door, and then picked up the phone.

She dialed the number of her business partner while she stood, and then, as it rang, she headed back behind her desk and sat down. This was an urgent call, and it needed to be a private one.

Waiting for the call to be picked up, she stared at the photos on the wall, looking at the transformations of skin and body. Not only did the retreat offer the highest levels of technology in skincare, but they also offered dietary advice and wellness vacations with a focus on health and slimming. The extensive buildings contained gym equipment and a climbing wall. The spacious grounds included a running track as well as longer hikes within the fenced, secure estate.

She’d sacrificed a lot to build her business, and over the years she’d seen it thrive. Believing in it passionately, she was not about to see it destroyed.

If only she had a little more faith in the way things were right now.

Finally, her partner picked up, and Victoria was able to share her fears.

“Listen, Chas,” she said.

“Yes? What is it?” His voice was sharp, like his mind. And his temper. She imagined him raking a hand through his white-blond hair, graying at the temples, as he listened.

She’d come to the retreat from a therapy background. Chas Olsen was from the corporate world, with a brilliant business brain. And he was the one who had access to the lawyers who protected the retreat’s reputation. He had access to the medical knowledge that they’d used to set their treatments apart.

If only she trusted him more right now. It seemed that the events of the past few years had driven a wedge between them.

“We’ve got the Department of Justice here, asking questions. They want our sales records and I said I’d hand them over.”

There was a surprised silence. “They must have been the two that were coming in when I was in reception earlier. I was preoccupied, and barely noticed them. I should have realized they were cops and chased them out there and then. Why didn’t you do that? We have rights, you know. This is private property and right of admittance is reserved.” Olsen asked, with a note of accusation in his voice.

He’d always accused her when things went wrong, ever since she’d made the mistake of talking in a negative way about his brother, after the tragedy that Olsen had suffered a couple of years back, when he’d lost him. She hadn’t meant to do that. He’d interpreted her words differently from how she’d meant them, and things had spiraled fast. He’d been so defensive since then, and aggressive, too, and things had been getting worse.

Nash sighed. “Because they caught me unawares. And because I feel that if we give them something small, then they’ll stop digging. I don’t want them prying into the business. You know why. We have too much at stake here.”

It wasn’t her fault at all, but there were skeletons in their closet, and she didn’t want them dug up. It might affect their business’s reputation.

“Yes, agreed,” Olsen said immediately. She imagined him at his home office desk, which was in a traditional, oak-paneled study, in his luxurious home which was a few miles outside Cooper’s Rock. He’d be working late, of course. He was a workaholic, just like she was.

“I worry that if they start digging, they’re going to demand information that could sink us. I mean, our proprietary recipes, our client list, our confidentiality – and more. We’ve tried hard to protect ourselves.” There was more, but she didn’t want to talk about that with Olsen. He always got angry and defensive when past events were mentioned. There was no need to bring the topic up.

“You think they’re going to start asking for that?” Olsen said, sounding wary.

"You know as well as I do that once the police get warrants, they often end up demanding everything. I don't want that to happen. We have our reputation to think of," Nash said. There was a chill in her stomach as she spoke the words. Reaching out, she gripped a heavy gold pen in her hand. It was the one she used to write the records of her own personal clients before she transferred them online.

“I’m going to call the lawyers now and warn them,” Olsen said. At his words, Nash felt a sense of relief, because he always delivered on his promises.

“Thanks.” With a sigh, Nash hung up, putting down the pen, and looking once more around the office. She felt relieved that Olsen had been on her side with this. She’d expected him to argue, as they’d been doing more and more often recently. Business partnerships were hard work, and she felt she was failing in maintaining it.

But they’d present a united front and pretend that everything was okay.

She’d already lied to the police, or agents, or whatever they called themselves. It had been reflexive, a harmless lie, simply a case of avoiding trouble. The therapist who’d left in February hadn’t gone to LA to get married. She’d been fired, because she’d been trying to steal proprietary recipes – exactly the type of information that Nash knew she had to jealously guard.

That was a small error she’d made, and now, she was wishing she’d told the truth – but the truth would have led the agents exactly where she didn’t want them to go.

These murders had nothing to do with her business or its background; she was sure of it. Convinced, in fact. If she'd had the slightest doubt in her mind, then she would have told the police.

It was better that they didn’t know.

They’d been so lucky to avoid a torrent of bad press when the disaster had happened, although she knew Chas Olsen had tried very hard to keep it out of the spotlight. He’d used all his connections. They’d been fortunate.

Retracing her steps, Nash opened the office door, and stepped out. The night receptionist had left the building now and moved to the hotel where she’d spend the rest of her shift. The last of the therapy clients had left, and the place was still and quiet. She walked down the corridor, unable to prevent a sense of unease from building inside her.

A sharp tapping noise got her turning her head, adrenaline surging, but it was only the water heater that always made that noise when it was reheating at the end of the day. Something to do with the pipes. Luckily, when the soft classical music was playing, and there was muted sound and activity around, that noise wasn’t as obvious.

Even so, it proved how jumpy she was now.

She closed the door behind her and locked it.

As she walked to the parking lot, Victoria Nash couldn’t stop herself from glancing over her shoulder.

She had an uneasy feeling about this.

All of it.

CHAPTER TEN

Heading out of the Desert Lotus retreat with Jamie, Maggie saw that Sheriff Roberts was calling. Just the man she’d been about to get hold of.

As she walked out of the cool, pleasant and suspiciously fragrant building, Maggie heard the sharpness in the sheriff’s tones.

“Agents, I’d like you to come into the police station now. There’s been a new development. I need to speak to you about it face to face. I’ll wait here until you arrive.”

“We’ll head there straight away,” Maggie said.

Climbing into the car, Maggie left the retreat behind her, turned onto the main road, and headed straight for the sheriff’s office, wondering what had happened.

“Do you think there’s been some new evidence?” Jamie asked.

"Maybe someone from the town's come forward with something," Maggie guessed. In a small-town environment, someone with information might have given it to the sheriff in confidence.

She was hoping it was something positive like that, but she hadn’t felt sure about the sheriff’s tone of voice.

The town was fairly quiet, but as she drove through, Maggie saw lights were on in the houses, the local bar, and the few restaurants. People were still out and about, even if some of them were staying home. Maggie thought that the fact the victims had all been found in the park was providing the tourists, at least, with a false sense of security.

She knew that ‘false’ was the keyword here, since Colby had been targeted while in the town, and others could be, too.

A minute later, they arrived at the police station, parked in the lot which was three quarters empty, and headed inside.

“Is Sheriff Roberts here?” she asked the officer at the front desk. The young man, who was about to answer a ringing phone, nodded.

“He’s in the back office,” he replied.

Maggie headed down the short corridor into the back office. Here, four rather battered desks were set at intervals, the walls were papered with posters and notices, and the air-conditioning was set so cold that Maggie’s skin prickled.

Roberts was at the desk nearest the door, wrapping up a phone call, and looking stressed.

As they walked in, he turned to them, putting the phone down, pushing his chair back, and standing up.

“Agents, I’m sorry, but we have a situation here where there’s a conflict of jurisdiction.”

Maggie realized what he was going to say before he even said it. Apologetically, Roberts continued. “The Joshua Tree National Park is federal territory, and because of that, my area commissioner has said you must hand over to the FBI.”

It felt like a huge disappointment to hear the sheriff speaking these apologetic words, but Maggie realized with a thud that she should have figured that out for herself, given that the crimes occurred in a national park. Correct protocol had to be followed.

"They'll be arriving tomorrow and will take it forward as a serial crime. I appreciate all you've done and the work you've put in so far. I've seen how much you've done in a day, and I wish you could stay on the case."

Grateful that the sheriff appreciated their work, Maggie also wished that she and Jamie could stay on. However, unfortunately, having the FBI take over was non-negotiable. This wasn’t the first time a case had been abruptly removed from their list for that reason.

At least it wasn’t for any reasons linked to performance or politics, but simply a case of protocols making it necessary.

Even so, the control freak inside her, which sometimes played a larger role than Maggie would like, was protesting at the idea of someone else handling the case. What if the FBI didn't place the same emphasis on the small details that Maggie had identified so far and which she was sure would be important?

At least they'd done what they could and had hopefully ensured that the FBI would be able to hit the ground running.

“Would you like us to be here to hand over?” Maggie asked.

"If that's possible, it'll be a big help. Probably around lunchtime tomorrow? The agents we've been assigned are in LA, wrapping up a case today, and they'll only be able to get on the road tomorrow morning."

“We’ll do that,” Jamie said.

Maggie cleared her throat. “In the meantime, can you take any other precautions to stop people from entering the park? I know the killer is taking victims from elsewhere, but if it’s more difficult to access the park, it’ll slow him down at least. And maybe he scopes out sites before dumping the bodies there.”

But as she’d expected, Roberts shook his head regretfully. “I wish I could do that,” he said. “However, the park is so huge, and there’s so much of it that’s easy to access, that it can’t be done. All we can do is check visitors’ IDs thoroughly – those who do come in via the gates – and record their details. We are doing that, and we also have officers patrolling within the park all night.”

“That’s helpful.”

As she thanked Roberts again, and left, Maggie felt a sense of regret that they couldn’t go to the Desert Lotus retreat tomorrow morning and investigate further to find out more about the Eternal Youth treatment. Now, they’d have to hand over to the FBI agents, who might only get there tomorrow afternoon.

This was the only real lead that they had. There had been other mentions of ‘eternal youth’, but nothing in the Joshua Tree National Park area, and there were no common threads between the victims apart from the fact they’d lived in the same town, and that they’d worked at Desert Lotus in different roles at some time in the past.

She hoped the FBI would be able to make progress tomorrow, and Maggie felt relieved that the survivor, Harper Mull, would be safely home by now.

But all the same, it didn’t feel right to simply turn in and wait for the FBI to investigate.

Surely there was another avenue they could pursue, Maggie wondered.

As she had the thought, it came to her. It was connected with the killer’s MO – and it was something that they hadn’t looked into yet. Maybe now was the time.

“I have another idea,” she said, as they walked out of the police station.

“Well, what is it?” Jamie sounded impatient. “Whatever it is, we need to move on it fast.”

“There’s one area we haven’t yet focused on, and that’s the formalin.”

“He’s using a lot of it,” Jamie agreed.

"There's a late-night drugstore in town. They're open until eleven p.m. It's the only local place that might stock such a thing."

Jamie shook his head. “And the killer couldn’t have gotten it from somewhere else?”

Maggie shrugged. “He might have made a mistake, or run out, or else, ordered his stash a few months earlier, and hoped that the order wouldn’t be noticed. At any rate, it’s somewhere we can go now, and an angle we can explore. This killer has been lucky so far. Everyone makes mistakes during a crime – everyone. And all we have to do is track down the one he made.”

*

The late night drugstore was tucked away at the end of town, next to a launderette, and opposite a bar that also kept late hours. The bar was still open, but on closer inspection, it didn’t look to be busy.

The attendant inside the drugstore was a balding man, wearing a pair of reading glasses, and a plaid shirt, open at the collar. He was behind the brightly lit counter when she and Jamie walked in, busy tidying a shelf.

When he heard them, he swung around, staring at them with an apprehensive expression that dissolved as Maggie produced her badge.

“Agents Flight and Rodriguez,” she said.

He nodded, the creases on his face easing. “It’s a tense time at the moment,” he said. “I’m working overtime to cover for the usual night shift attendant, because I didn’t want her working late on her own.”

Maggie nodded, sympathizing with the fear that was already starting to grip the townspeople.

“We’re working on this case until tomorrow, when the FBI will be taking over,” she said. “But in the meantime, I’d like to know if you’ve had anyone ordering large quantities of formalin in the past few months?”

“The past few months?” He raised his eyebrows. “That’s a long time ago, and I’d have to look back in the records, as this drugstore was sold when the previous owner retired at the end of last year.”

Perhaps that made it more likely that the killer would have placed the order direct, knowing that there would be a change of ownership and that this might cover his tracks.

“Is there a way you could look back on the system?” she asked.

“You’re asking me to do that?” He raised his eyebrows in a way that told Maggie the system was still a foreign world to him. She could imagine how Olivia would have chortled at his lack of tech expertise.

“If you need me to help, I can. And if you need our tech expert to help, she also can.”

“Tech expert?” He gazed from Maggie to Jamie and back again, looking confused, as if Maggie was referring to an invisible person.

“We have a technical expert in our San Jose offices. She could log into your system and take a look remotely,” Maggie offered.

“Oh, I’m sure I can do it. I’ll be glad to offer help in this case, I must say.”

Turning to the computer screen by the cash register, he moved the keyboard in front of him, and began stabbing at buttons in a way that told Maggie touch typing was not his forte. Still, a little patience would be worth it if they figured out this missing piece of the puzzle.

But as the attendant frowned and tapped, clearly getting more and more lost in the system, Maggie started to realize that this wasn’t going to work.

“There is a way in, I know there is.” He frowned again at the screen, twiddling the mouse, then trying again. “I only deal with current orders, usually,” he explained in apologetic tones, glancing at Maggie before returning his attention to the problem.

This was a case for the cavalry, Maggie decided.

“I think we should call our tech expert,” she said.

He looked up, his index finger hovering over the keyboard. “And you say she’ll be able to access the system?”

"Yes. Remotely. She won't disturb it, and she will keep all the information private."

That is, if Maggie could get hold of her. It was already after nine p.m. Olivia had a life outside of work. At any rate, she occasionally did. Maggie could testify to it, because she’d socialized with her sometimes, on weekends.

But to her relief, when she dialed the number, Olivia picked up almost immediately.

“You caught me on my way out,” she said. “I guess that means I’m not going home now?”

“You’re going to miss the late bus,” Maggie said regretfully. Olivia didn’t drive to work. She used public transport – or if she was too late for the last bus, then she’d take a cab. She believed using public transport was greener. Maggie had learned that when she’d looked for a new apartment recently, she’d picked out one because it was on the bus route.

“Please, stay there for another few minutes. I need your help to log into a system remotely. We’re looking to pick up on a certain purchase.”

“Of what? Recreational substances?” There was amusement in Olivia’s tone.

“Formalin,” Maggie admitted. “Not so recreational. It’s the Joshua Tree National Park murders.”

“Hmmm.” Olivia sounded thoughtful. The tap of keys was like a percussion band in the background. “Am I doing this officially or unofficially?” she then asked, making Maggie feel glad she hadn’t put the phone on speaker.

“We have the drugstore attendant right here,” she said. “He’s just having difficulty in navigating his own system.”

“That’s more common than you’d think. Okay, I’m going to need a few pieces of information from him, and then I’ll set up a link to his machine, and take over his mouse.”

Setting herself up as the intermediary, Maggie relayed a few questions to the drugstore attendant, who was able to answer them and pass on the information Olivia needed. There wasn’t much of that information needed, Maggie realized. As a seasoned hacker, Olivia could probably have gone in without any information at all except the drugstore’s name. But she always made sure to go through the right channels when she could.

Then, the attendant stood back, watching in surprise and consternation as his computer screen flickered rapidly. Maggie could tell that from the reflection of the screen that she saw in the glass-fronted cabinet behind him.

“Good heavens,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Who’d have thought such a thing was possible?”

“Miraculous what technology can do, isn’t it?” In a friendly tone, Jamie conversed with the attendant while Maggie stayed on the phone to Olivia, who was now working her way rapidly through the system.

"This is neatly set up. They’ve got a standard software system in place. Looks like it’s been reasonably maintained and updated.”

"There was a change of ownership a few months ago, at year-end," Maggie said.

“Okay. I see a few glitches. Orders, orders, where are the orders?” Whistling through her teeth, Olivia sounded happy as she explored the foreign system. “Here they are. They’ve got silly codes for things. I need to figure out all the codes that might relate to formalin, because I don’t want to miss any.”

After more whistling, she said, “Right. I think I’ve got them all. There have been three bulk orders of medical grade formalin in large quantities. You want to investigate them all?”

“That depends,” Maggie said. “If some of them are legitimate, then we should look at the suspicious ones first.”

“Ask the attendant who Mr. Roodt is,” Olivia said.

“Who’s Mr. Roodt?” Maggie asked the attendant.

“He’s the owner of the local veterinary clinic, and he buys it from us occasionally when they run out. They use it for cleaning up in their operating room.” The attendant sounded proud to be relaying this important information.

Maggie nodded. That seemed a reasonable use for it. She instinctively felt that they were looking for something different and unusual rather than a routine purchase.

“Okay, this second order is him again. Same address, different person placing the order. Mrs. Helen Roodt, this time.”

“And the third order?” Maggie was now worried that a promising lead might be on the verge of running dry.

“I’m taking a look now. Okay, this is someone different. Ask him who Nick Hollowell is,” Olivia directed Maggie.

The answer came back immediately from the surprised attendant. “I have no idea who Nick Hollowell is.”

“I heard that.” Olivia sounded as if she was on the hunt now. “The order was placed on December sixteenth, so that would have been just before year-end. Interesting timing.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Maggie thanked the attendant and rushed out of the drugstore, filled with a sense of expectancy as she headed to the car.

“Is Olivia doing something more for us?” Jamie asked, as soon as they were out on the street again.

“Yes, she is. She’s checking to see what information she can find on Nick Hollowell, while at the same time, rushing to the bus stop.”

Jamie grinned.

“We could do it ourselves?”

“She likes to help out. And I think she’s treating it as a personal challenge,” Maggie explained.

“Well, I’m in the car now, Jamie said, opening the door and placing his foot in the passenger footwell. “And she hasn’t –”

At that moment, Maggie’s phone rang, causing her to let out a snort of triumph.

“Spoke too soon,” Jamie admitted with a grin, as Maggie picked up the call.

“I’m on the bus.” Olivia spoke quietly. “Made it just in time. And I’m going to send you the information I have found. Look out for it in three, two, one.”

“Thanks,” Maggie said, seeing the notification land in her inbox.

“I’m heading home for a glass of wine and a poke bowl. Should you need anything else, call at any time.”

And with that, Olivia hung up.

Maggie opened the message, seeing that somehow, in lightning-quick time, Olivia had managed to attach three separate pieces of information.

One was an address record for Nick Hollowell, and Maggie looked intently at it, seeing that Hollowell lived just a couple of miles from Cooper's Rock. One was a headshot of the man, showing a lean face with pronounced cheekbones. His expression was guarded, his eyes hooded, his hair dark.

And the third piece of information, Maggie saw to her astonishment, was a criminal record. Somehow, Olivia had managed to concurrently surf this database – or else, more likely, she’d written a clever program to do it for her.

“Hollowell was inside for a couple of years,” Maggie said. “Seems that he committed fraud, and the company secretary found out. He promised her payback. Said that just because she’s young and good looking, doesn’t mean she’ll escape the consequences.”

"So he has a grudge against people who are young and good-looking?" Jamie asked.

“He has an interdict that prevents him from being within two miles of her. That was in LA. Maybe that’s why he moved out to Cooper’s Rock,” Maggie suggested.

Jamie nodded grimly. “And maybe he’s taking that same anger out on other people now.”

Maggie keyed the address into her phone. Now that she was looking at the map, she saw that it was more remote than she’d thought. She guessed that must be a dirt road leading to the remote farmhouse that, coincidentally, bordered the Joshua Tree National Park.

It would take them about fifteen minutes to get there, and if this was their suspect, they might have the case wrapped up long before the FBI took over.

*

Gripping the wheel, Maggie flinched as she felt the car’s undercarriage grate against a rock. A large rock, and not the first one she’d had to navigate on this rough road.

She guessed the farmhouse was ahead somewhere, but right now, there was only a craggy track in her car’s headlights, and there was no sign of light ahead.

She eased the car over the next bump more carefully. The map was telling her that they were close, and right now, getting there without gutting the police car was more important than getting there fast.

“It must be close,” Jamie said. “Look for a driveway on your right at any time now. And when I say ‘driveway’, I mean – anything that isn’t just a line of rocks and shrubs blocking the way.”

That was what the headlights had been highlighting so far.

And then, as Maggie peered sideways, she saw a gap at last.

"It has to be up here." There were two faint indentations in the hard-packed soil that told her someone else had driven here regularly.

She turned the car off the road. High beam headlights would announce their arrival – but right now, any light at all would do that, in this darkened world. Nick Hollowell would know they were coming if he was watching out for them. And what would he do?

Maggie shivered. Whatever he would do, they would find out soon, because now, at last, she could see faint lights ahead. They had arrived at one of the most desolate wooden cabins that she’d ever seen. It was surrounded by rocks, shrubs, succulents and Joshua trees, dotted around in the dry soil. The faint tracks led behind the cabin, and she guessed that was where Hollowell was parked – if he was home at all.

He might be out, roaming the expanses of the park, busy dumping another victim. Since his home was located right next door to it, it wouldn’t be a far drive.

Jamie followed the tracks around the house while Maggie headed toward the front door, along a path that seemed to have been made from reclaimed bricks.

Now that she was closer, she could hear the thump of music coming from inside, and a moment later, Jamie appeared at the corner of the house.

“He’s home,” Jamie mouthed.

Maggie knew that working from hard-earned experience, Jamie would now stay at the back of the house. In terrain like this, there was way too much chance that the suspect would hear a knock at the front door, see it was the police, and simply run out the back.

Perhaps the music she’d heard from inside meant he hadn’t heard or seen them coming, and they might have a chance.

“Good. I’ll knock,” she mouthed in reply, giving Jamie a few moments to get into position.

And then, hoping that this might represent a breakthrough in the case, she knocked loudly on the door.

Maggie waited, holding her breath, listening out for any change in the sound of that background music, or any shift in the lighting she could see, faintly, at the window.

For a moment there was nothing.

And then, she heard footsteps approaching the door.

Tensing, Maggie waited.

Then, there was silence.

Was this a standoff?

"Who's there?" a voice suddenly called. It was sharp and as tense as she felt, and it sounded like a man in his forties, which was Hollowell's age.

“Is that Mr. Nick Hollowell?” Maggie asked.

“Who’s asking?”

Suspicion on both sides, as she breathed in that dry and subtly fragrant night air, and realized that apart from their voices, there was only resounding silence as far as the ear could hear.

“Agent Flight,” she said reluctantly. She didn’t want to show her hand, but she couldn’t lie to a suspect.

“What’s an agent doing on my front doorstep?”

“I have some questions I’d like you to answer in connection with the murders in the park.”

“Unfortunately for you, I don’t talk to the police.” She heard the distinctive sound of a bolt sliding over the door.

"I'll wait." Maggie tried to make it sound as if she was here for the long haul. That she'd be willing to camp out on his doorstep and say hello to him when he woke up in the morning.

There was silence for a while.

Then, he said, in suspicious tones, “You still there?”

“I am,” Maggie replied.

“Why the hell? Why are you still here? You’re oppressing me, you know that? You’re infringing on my rights!”

“I simply need answers.” His refusal to let her in was making her increasingly suspicious.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what.” His voice changed. It was sounding more focused now, as if he’d thought of something. Maggie clearly picked up the difference in his tone. “I’ve got something that might help you, and I will go and get it and give it to you.”

“I’ll wait.”

Maggie didn't like the tone in his voice. It sounded to her as if he was going to weasel out of the arrangement he'd just made on his own. But she had no option but to wait as the footsteps slowly retreated.

She heard nothing for a while. It was astonishing how immense the silence was here.

And then, suddenly, a metallic rattle split the air.

There was a brief pause, and then, Maggie’s heart sped up as she heard the distinctive sounds of a scuffle.

“What the hell! What the hell is this?”

Already, hearing those screamed words, Maggie was hustling around the side of the house, because the noises and the words could mean only one thing. Hollowell had been doing a runner. He’d misled her and tried to fool her that he was coming back, which was sneaky of him. Luckily, they had been sneakier.

Jamie had been waiting at the back door, and as Maggie rounded the corner at a run, she saw that Hollowell had burst out, and the two men were now engaged in a frantic wrestling match.

Hollowell was bigger and stronger than she'd guessed from his photograph, Maggie realized as she rushed to join the fray. She should have anticipated that anyone who could transport, and forcibly overpower, two different people, would be physically solid and powerful himself.

But the photo had somehow suggested a less formidable build, with those hollow cheeks.

Her impression had been wrong. Right now, Jamie was trying to fend off the equivalent of an attack from a maddened bull. Well over six foot, and muscular to boot, Hollowell was fighting as if Jamie was the only obstacle that stood between him and freedom – which she guessed he was.

Hollowell was fighting on all fronts, with a streetwise savvy that told her he was no stranger to these brawls. He flung his fists out at Jamie, launching a rapid offense that left Jamie with no choice but to defend.

Her partner had both his hands in the air, in a classic defense pose as he tried to fend off the lethal windmill of punches.

Maggie raced up, just as Hollowell launched what she guessed he had hoped would be the decider in the fight – a fast and brutal roundhouse kick.

But Jamie had anticipated it. He leaped aside, using the opportunity to grab one of Hollowell’s arms at the exact moment when he was off balance. Tugging violently at the arm, he wrenched his attacker sideways, and then, Maggie was in the fray.

With all her strength, she simply cannoned into the tall man, using her weight and momentum to throw him sideways.

Surprised, and still off balance, Hollowell staggered, and in Jamie’s grip, his legs tangled together and he almost fell.

Maggie wasn’t going to waste that opportunity.

She flung herself onto him, knowing that when you got the chance, you took it, because with an adversary the size of a bull, there was only one chance.

Maggie wrenched his hand sideways, bending his fingers back so that he uttered a shrill squeal of pain. She got a knee in his thigh, which probably didn't make much of a difference to the thick, solid muscle there, but at least it kept him down.

And then, Jamie regrouped, grabbing his other hand. Together, they managed to wrench his hands behind his back, with Maggie ducking sideways to avoid a flailing kick. Why had she thought it was silent? It was as noisy as anything here in the backyard. Gasping breaths, the scraping noise of skin and fabric on gravel, and the thudding sound of Hollowell’s feet as he still thrashed for freedom.

Then, his hands were cuffed behind him, and he was on his feet, with Jamie behind him, shoving him none too gently into his house.

He’d tried to keep them away. He’d failed. And now, in cuffs, they were heading into their suspect’s kitchen.

As she entered the room, Maggie breathed in the distinctive chemical odor of formaldehyde fumes.

CHAPTER TWELVE

While Jamie held Nick Hollowell’s handcuffs tightly, Maggie turned and closed the kitchen door.

The cabin was dimly lit. A small electric light with a green lampshade stood on the counter, providing the only source of light in the small kitchen. There was a basic, three-plate stove in the corner. And the chemical smell flared her nostrils and watered her eyes.

“You’re mad.” He was breathing hard, spluttering out the words. “You’re insane to bring me into my own house. What did I ever do?”

“If you’d sat tight, then I guess things would have been different,” Maggie said. She was facing him, with Jamie behind, still hanging onto the cuffs, just in case. She didn’t think that he was going to run for it now, but he’d shown cunning and unpredictability so far, and they needed to be careful.

Jamie had his back to the wall, which had old plaster and grubby tiles. Maggie was standing in the center of the room. Hollowell was so tall that she had to crane her neck to stare into his eyes.

He was returning her gaze with hostility, but not the same raw aggression that had flared from him earlier.

“Why would I sit tight when I was being threatened? How was I supposed to know you had the whole damned house surrounded?”

“The formalin.” Cutting to the chase, Maggie bypassed what could otherwise have turned into a prolonged and probably illogical argument. “You ordered formalin a while ago.”

“How did you know that?”

Not wanting his anger to be directed at anyone locally, Maggie quickly glossed over the facts.

“Our IT department searched for historic sales of formalin in in this area, and tracked your interaction through online surveillance.”

He blinked, clearly surprised, but since she’d mentioned an IT department, Maggie knew that he wouldn’t suspect the local drugstore’s records.

“You did that? Why? It’s not illegal to own it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Jamie agreed from behind Hollowell, causing their suspect to twist his neck to try to stare at him. “But it so happens that we’ve had a double murder in this area, and formalin has been used.”

“Not my formalin,” Hollowell said firmly.

“What are you using it for, then?”

“I’m using it in my research.”

“And what research is that?” Maggie asked this question, causing his head to twist frontwards again.

“I’m looking for a better preservative for hunters who want to keep trophies,” Hollowell said, with a note of pride in his voice that she picked up clearly. “And I’m going to patent one, using formalin with other ingredients. I’ve already made progress. Testing the heads in these conditions – harsh, dry, you know? The creosote bush grows here.”

“What’s that got to do with what you’re doing?”

“That bush is a survivor. It stinks, it’s so toxic it inhibits other nearby plants from growing to take up its resources, and it’s able to thrive. I actually had that bush in mind when I thought of a treatment that would prolong the survival of other materials, like skin and flesh. That’s what I bought the formalin for. All I have to work out now is how to disperse the fumes.”

“They are noticeable,” Maggie said.

He nodded. “Yes, but in my later version, not so much. I’ve managed to find another substance to nullify them, and I’m saying no more about it. But anyway, this formalin wasn’t used for anything criminal. Research purposes only. You’re the criminals here,” he said, with a nasty tone to his voice.

“We’re simply doing our job in hunting a killer,” Maggie said. “That can be easy or hard, depending on how people react.”

“I’ve lived in this area a while. Nobody here is a criminal.” Hollowell spoke the words in a heavy but authoritative tone. “This is one of the most peaceful towns I’ve ever lived in.”

“But you have a criminal record?”

“All in the past. I used to be a different person. Angry and needy. I was shown the truth by a young woman at the company, who blew the whistle. I went inside for that, and you know what? At the time, I was angry, but today, I’m grateful to her for having helped me. I was on the wrong path.”

Those words echoed uneasily in Maggie’s mind, reminding her of Cole.

Her brother was on the wrong path, and badly so. It felt as if she’d disobeyed his warning of ten years ago, and pursued him, and in return, he’d lashed out with an impossible request for money. Now that she was ignoring it, he was punishing her.

On the wrong path. It was difficult to get off that path when you were on it, and she didn’t know if she believed Hollowell. Certainly, his very recent actions had done nothing to convince her.

“Where were you on Saturday morning, at around seven to eight a.m.?”

Of all the kills, this was the one that they had the narrowest timeframe for, thanks to Harper’s escape.

"Saturday morning?" He sounded thoughtful, but then, his tone turned antagonistic. "And why should I tell you my whereabouts?"

“Because if you don’t, then we’re going to bring you in,” Maggie threatened.

This simple but direct argument seemed to convince Hollowell, and he gave an angry sigh.

“I was actually at a taxidermist’s place in the next town. He’s letting me work on a few old animals’ heads. On Saturday, I was there.”

“Can you confirm that?” Maggie asked.

“You have traffic cameras,” he snarled back at her. “Check them.”

“They film cars, not people,” she reasoned. “How about the taxidermist himself?”

He stared at her a moment. “He was there when I arrived at seven-thirty. He knows me. The town's an hour away. I can give you his number, but now, will you let me out of these damned cuffs?"

Maggie stepped back, while Jamie unlocked the handcuffs. She decided that the aggression had gone out of him, and that deep down, he was seeing reason in the situation. At any rate, she didn’t think that he was about to turn on them and resume the fight.

That proved correct. Rubbing his wrists in a resentful way, he sat down at his kitchen table, causing the chair to creak.

“I should sue you,” he muttered darkly.

Ignoring the threat, Maggie said, “Have you lived in this town for a long time?”

“A few years,” he replied.

“You see it as a safe place. Have you noticed anything that’s changed recently?”

“Two dead bodies?” He asked the question in sneering tones.

“That’s why we’re here,” Maggie agreed.

“No, I haven’t noticed anything, and I can’t say that there’s anyone local to blame. Like I said, the town’s quiet. If you’re looking for someone to point fingers at, my advice is to look at the outsiders. Outsiders are always the problem.”

His own voice was darkly convinced. Having gotten that warning, Maggie didn’t think there was any more reason to stay around.

“Thank you,” she said, earning herself another glower.

“Go away and ruin someone else’s evening,” he retorted.

With this lead having fizzled out, Maggie guessed that the evening would now include going to bed with nothing more than a few old snacks in her bag for dinner, because she was sure that the places in town would already have closed.

They got in the car and headed out on the drive back to town.

The road seemed rougher, but the journey quicker, and it passed in silence. Maggie was wrestling with the demons of self-blame, and she guessed that Jamie wasn't feeling great either about the way the evening had gone.

She’d been hoping that they could catch a killer who was slaughtering people on a frighteningly short interval. Instead, the handover would lose them all precious time, and Maggie was desperately worried that before the FBI investigation gained any traction, they would have another murder to deal with.

Driving into town, and going to the same motel where they’d interviewed Harper earlier, Maggie parked outside the front office, and headed in.

The attendant, who was a young man dividing his time between chewing gum and checking his phone, got them two rooms next door to each other. Catching sight of the room plan on the computer screen, Maggie saw that the motel was only half full.

“Are you normally busier than this?” she asked, as the man arranged his car keys.

He nodded. “Yeah, the last couple of days have been quieter than usual, and we’ve had a couple of cancelations. I think the murders have caused it, if you ask me. One set of guests postponed, one canceled, and one left early.”

Switching his chewing gum to his other cheek, he handed them their key cards.

Maggie headed to her room, which was a mirror image of the one she’d been in earlier when she’d interviewed Harper. It had a bed with a floral coverlet, a long wooden counter with charging stations, and pamphlets for nearby restaurants, a blue couch and a coffee table.

She put down her laptop bag, checking the time. It was late, but her mother was a night owl, and she wasn’t working at her part time job tomorrow morning.

Besides, Maggie’s anxiety was overpowering, given the two recent robberies so close to home. Cole’s possible involvement made things worse, not better.

She decided to call her mother and check in on her.

Quickly, she plugged her phone into the charger, sat down on the couch, and made the call.

Her mother answered within a couple of rings, sounding anxious.

“Maggie. Is everything okay with you?”

“Everything’s fine. I called to ask you the same,” Maggie said.

Her mother sighed. "For now, everything is quiet. There have been more police patrolling than usual, and that's given me and the others some reassurance. You know, my neighbors don't trust the police very much because they haven't had a family member in the police department. But I have, and I've been telling them that the police do their best for a community, always."

Maggie felt warmed by her mother’s faith in her, even though it increased her precarious feeling that at any moment, this could all come crashing down. If there was another robbery, then it would seem less like a disappointment and more like a betrayal for her mother.

Hopefully, there wouldn’t be. Maggie allowed herself to have that hope.

“And how’s Wilbur?” she asked, moving onto a happier topic.

For the next few minutes, Maggie got an animated update on Wilbur’s latest adventures, as well as a mention of the walk that he’d been on that morning.

“Did he meet his friend in the park?” Maggie asked.

She knew, from what her mother had said previously, that the doggy friend had an owner who was becoming her mother's friend. Maybe even a love interest in her life. Maggie wasn't sure because her mother had never referred to the friend by name – yet. All Maggie knew was that he was a gentleman in his early sixties, and that he’d taken her mother for a few post-walk breakfasts on the weekends.

“Oh, yes. We had a lovely walk,” her mother said, now sounding more cheerful again.

At that moment, Maggie saw that she had another incoming call. It was Sheriff Roberts, calling again.

“I’d better go,” she said hastily. “Work’s calling. You take care, Mom.”

Hanging up on her mother, she immediately swiped up the sheriff’s call.

"Roberts. Any news?" Maggie was hoping that there might have been an arrest or that a person of interest had been identified. But unfortunately, the news was the opposite.

“We’ve just found another body in the park,” Roberts said. “We need you and Rodriguez here. Now.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Jaw clenched, her car keys gripped in her hand, Maggie rushed out of the motel room. She skidded to a stop at Jamie’s door and hammered on it.

He opened it a moment later, staring at her in consternation.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“There’s been another murder. Roberts just called me. Body found in the park.”

“Oh, hell. Seriously? Let’s go.” Stopping only to grab his suit jacket from the back of the door, Jamie hustled to the car with her.

“We’re not officially off the case until tomorrow,” she said, slamming the door and starting up. “And I don’t know how recently this body was found. If it’s recently dumped, then maybe there’s a chance of finding evidence that can help us.”

Adrenaline surged inside her, making her want to fight. But their opponent was invisible, and so far, he was far ahead.

The pin drop pinged up on her phone and Maggie headed down the road, accelerating as fast as she could on the lonely blacktop, and then veering into the park where it led.

The entrance to the Joshua Tree National Park was brightly lit, and there were two police cars parked outside. The cops stopped them briefly, checked their IDs, and then waved them through. Both the officers looked stressed. “It’s up ahead on the right,” the closest one shouted to Maggie, his radio crackling on his belt.

She sped along the road, noting the lack of any other vehicles. If the killer was here, then he’d been and gone a long time ago. The park was a sea of blackness, and far away, she picked up the faint glimmer of lights from a town on its eastern border.

Finally, as she crested a shallow hill, she saw the police car parked on the side of the road. Stopping behind it and checking the map again, Maggie turned and jogged into the darkness, grabbing her flashlight off her belt to see her way, and heading for the flickering beam of light ahead. At first, Jamie’s footsteps alongside her were the only noise, and then, the crackle of radios from up ahead broke the silence.

There was Roberts, standing with his flashlight trained on the slumped form in front of him, barking commands out on the radio.

Maggie’s flashlight beam veered to the victim as she took in the scene.

Another tall, stately Joshua tree, whose shadow stretched sharply behind it in the glow of the lights.

And below it, another body. The same slashed throat, and the same bloodless pallor to the skin. This was a woman with an oval face, dark hair, and perfect skin that made it hard to tell her age. Maybe in her late twenties, Maggie guessed.

The skin was now darkened and dried by the brush strokes of formalin. The woman’s hands were arranged in a balletic pose, like the others, though her fingers were already stiff and taut. She was wearing a pink top and denim shorts and sandals. Not hiking gear, and Maggie’s stomach clenched as she realized this woman must also have been grabbed from somewhere else.

And then, her attention was caught by the object on her wrist.

Slipping on foot covers and gloves, even though she was sure this hard ground wouldn’t hold a footprint and there was no chance of damaging any evidence, she stepped forward.

She was right. As she scrutinized the item more closely, Maggie recognized it. She’d seen one just like it earlier. It was a silver bracelet with a distinctive, colorful charm on it.

And that meant that this victim would have worked for the same place that she and Jamie had visited today – the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat.

There had to be something they’d missed at this place – there had to. There were too many threads, fragile as they were, but all connecting the retreat with the murders in subtle ways.

Maggie touched the woman’s fingers. She didn’t want to disturb the scene, but wanted to check something.

The fingers were entirely stiff, frozen into place. This body had been here for more than a few hours.

More radios crackled, and flashlight beams swung around. Another car was approaching from the same direction Maggie had come. She saw the headlights, small and faraway, looking in the expanse of darkness.

“We’ve got an ID,” Roberts called out. “Reported missing by her roommate earlier today. Her name’s Gill Attenborough.”

That caught Maggie’s attention, and she glanced at Jamie.

This was the practitioner specializing in the Eternal Youth treatments.

Once again, her suspicions were veering sharply back to the Desert Lotus retreat.

This place was involved in this somehow. She was sure of it.

The night receptionist had mentioned Gill’s name specifically, and had said that she wasn’t at work today. It had been her day off. Maybe she’d been out and about in town, and the killer had grabbed her? This looked like a recent death. At any rate, in Maggie’s semi-knowledgeable opinion, she thought so. There was no smell of rot yet. The corpse was still in rigor mortis, a phase which usually lasted from twelve to twenty-four hours after death before starting to release again. That was what Maggie had checked, when she had tried to move her fingers.

She moved away from the corpse, seeing that the approaching lights belonged to the coroner.

“She worked on the Eternal Youth treatments, and that brings us all the way back to the words the killer whispered when he tried to take Harper,” Maggie muttered to Jamie.

“So, what do you think? Is the killer based there?”

“That retreat is close to the town. If the killer is there, then he has access to the town. Easy access. And the link between the treatment, and the words he whispered, is making me think there’s more to it. That somehow, there is a closer involvement.”

“Well, this killer came and went at least twelve hours ago,” Jamie pointed out. “He was out of this park long before we knew she’d been dumped. He might have grabbed her early this morning, or even late last night.”

The vastness of the park was unforgiving, and as Maggie gazed around, she knew that it was helping him to do his work. They wouldn’t find this killer by patrolling the park. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

“Did Gill’s roommate say that he or she had seen anything suspicious?” she asked the cop who’d mentioned the missing person report.

“No. Nothing suspicious. They share a cottage on a large plot of land near town. The roommate simply said that Gill wasn’t around when he got home, and her phone was off, so given the crimes that have been happening, he got worried. He doesn’t know more, and didn’t see or hear anything suspicious in the past few days.”

How was this killer managing to stay so invisible? How?

Maggie was starting to wonder if their initial idea had been wrong and whether this killer did know his victims – some of them, at least. Because to take a woman who'd lived in a cottage on a small farm seemed too random.

It was nearly midnight. So late, and so long after the murder had been committed, she knew that there was going to be no golden hour for this investigation. That hope of using the critical early time to progress the case had crashed and burned.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Feeling as if this was too little, too late, but still desperate to do something in the darkness, Maggie powered up her flashlight, trying not to think that its beam was inadequate for the hugeness of the dark that surrounded them.

She paced away from the scene, counting her steps. Ten, thirty, and then fifty large strides. That should give them a big enough circle.

Although silence and space surrounded them, Maggie couldn’t help feeling uneasy, as if somewhere out there, were watching eyes. And of course there were. The killer was still out there, and she knew he was following an agenda that they still didn’t understand.

How could they step down at this time, knowing the case hung in the balance?

“I know how you’re feeling,” Jamie said as they walked, the two flashlight beams darting and dancing in front of them. “You’re feeling as if you can’t bring yourself to step down from this.”

“I don’t want to,” Maggie agreed. “It feels so wrong to step away. I wish that the FBI would partner up with us, but I can also see why that won’t work.”

“It’s a duplication of resources,” Jamie agreed. “Simmons wouldn’t authorize it and nor would the FBI. The case is theirs, and it’s not like they’re short on resources. They’re going to solve this.”

“It’s already too late for Gill. And he might take someone else tomorrow, while the handover is causing delays.”

Maggie had faith in the FBI, but she didn’t have faith that the killer was going to stop his activities to allow them to catch up.

Shadows loomed and veered as they walked. A tall Joshua tree stood like a sentinel in their way, causing them to part ways in order to go around it. There were other shrubs, too, and pungent-smelling bushes that Maggie now knew the name of. These were the creosote trees, whose smell tinged the air, leading to that distinctive aroma that she'd picked up first.

There was no sign of any activity on the hard-packed ground. No vehicle tracks, no footprints. No blood from where the body had been bled out, although Maggie knew there were hundreds of thousands of acres where that could have happened, in the park alone.

All that they could pick up, as they walked the large, ragged circle, were the shadows and the smells.

Maybe this walk had done her some good, though, because as they scoured the darkness, flashlight beams swaying, an idea popped into her mind. The moment she had the thought, Maggie dismissed it as ludicrous.

But as they completed their circle, having found no trace of vehicle activity or footprints, Maggie realized that the idea was still refusing to leave. It was embedded in her mind, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that perhaps it was logical.

Maybe she should tell Jamie. Most likely, he’d shoot it down, and that would probably be a good thing, because it would encourage her to back it up more firmly.

“Jamie, I’d like to run something past you that might sound strange. I’ve had another idea.”

Maggie stopped, feeling the night air cooling her face, surprisingly cold compared to the heat of the day. In the thin desert air, the heat dissipated fast.

“What’s your idea?” he asked.

“I still think there’s a link to the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat. All the victims are connected with it, even if it’s a brief connection, like holding spin classes there.”

Jamie sighed. “The survivor has no links to the retreat. Not one. There’s nothing linking Harper Mull to the retreat. Remember, she told us she just got into town and hadn't been anywhere."

His handsome face in the darkness looked intense and thoughtful, but it was his words that finally made Maggie think differently.

“Do you see what you said there?” she asked him.

“What do you mean?” Jamie said.

“I mean, you said survivor.”

“She was a survivor. That’s why we were able to question her.” There was a hint of exasperation in Jamie’s tone now, as if he couldn’t understand why Maggie kept on repeating something that they’d already looked at, and discarded.

But what if they’d looked at it the wrong way?

Maggie shook her head.

“I’ve just thought of it another way. And I have found something we missed, simply because we were so focused on Harper. And with good reason. How often do we get to interview someone who survived a serial killer attack because the killer was interrupted by a group of people?”

“You’re sounding cynical when you say that. Why?” Jamie asked. Now, there was interest in his voice, as if he was keen to know what Maggie had thought of, that was still eluding him.

“Let’s go and take another look at Bella Tyson,” she said. “I want to check whether there’s a clear link between her and the retreat. And if there is, then I know my hunch is correct.”

Maggie turned and strode to the car, climbing in and opening up her laptop right then and there.

The screen glowed in the darkness as she navigated to Bella Tyson’s social media.

They hadn’t done this yet, because there hadn’t been a need. Or so she’d thought.

Now, taking a look at the various different apps, Maggie saw that Bella had enthusiastically hashtagged all her sponsors and also, all the organizations she’d done work for.

It was sad to look at her social media icons, which all showed the same picture of her – tall, smiling, beautiful, posed with the setting sun behind her. And, of course, a glance at her social media already showed the outpouring of sympathy and grief as her friends and followers heard the grim news.

More comments were popping up even as Maggie searched the different tabs she now had open.

“Just heard about this – can’t believe it.”

“I am crying. Beautiful soul gone too soon.”

“I’m in shock. Bella, why? Crime in this country is out of control.”

Now that she had three different tabs open, showing three different social media sites that Bella used, Maggie did her hashtag search.

DesertLotus.

She typed it into all of the pages in turn and then looked back to see the results.

“Look at this,” she said to Jamie. “Look here.” Maggie felt a sense of triumph as she realized her hunch had been correct.

“There was an association between Bella Tyson and the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat,” she said, as Jamie peered at the screen, moving between the different tabs, his eyebrows raising as he saw the content she’d pulled up.

“Okay. So yes, she did a PR shoot at the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat just a couple of weeks ago, highlighting the Eternal Youth treatment among others, and she was rewarded with facials, and products, as extra gifts. And her comments are very gracious, aren’t they?” Jamie’s voice sounded grim.

“There was a connection between all the victims. Bella did a shoot. Colby held spin classes, and now, Gill was an actual therapist at the retreat.”

“How about Harper, though?” Jamie sounded confused. “We’ve agreed there’s no link there, so why did the killer pick her?”

Maggie shook her head.

“What if the killer didn’t pick her?”

“What do you mean by that? He chased her.”

“Look at it another way,” she said. “Harper wasn’t killed. Perhaps the killer never meant to murder her at all, but just scared her – in order to get her away from the scene, because he was pursuing Bella Tyson. And maybe he decided to use the opportunity to drop a clue.”

Jamie stared at Maggie in shock. His eyes were narrowed, and she could see them moving as his mind processed the reality that she'd just accepted.

“The killer left Harper alive on purpose?”

“He approached her in a threatening way. She packed up and left, and he pursued her to make sure she’d stay out of the way. And that allowed him to fulfil his plans of taking Bella Tyson, which he’d intended to do all along.”

“This is messing with my head,” Jamie said. “I can see it’s logical, it’s something he could have done, and yet, it’s so counterintuitive to us as investigators.”

"It shows that he's extremely confident that he won't be found or even recognized. He was confident enough to show himself to a potential victim and then turn away after making sure she was no threat to his plans. Admittedly, she can't remember a thing about him."

“What about those whispers? Whispering ‘eternal youth’ over and over to her?” Jamie’s brow furrowed. “That’s what pointed us in the direction of the wellness retreat.”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t know why he did that. Maybe he wants to make sure we do focus on the retreat, in which case, I don’t understand his motive. But what I do know is that there are now three victims, and all of them have clear links to the retreat. He’s targeting it, and I don’t know why, and I think we need to speak to Victoria Nash again. Now. Not tomorrow.”

“It’s late, but let’s go.”

With Jamie in agreement, Maggie started up the car, swinging it onto the road, driving away from the deserted area where Gill’s body was found. As they drove out, they passed another cop car speeding up to the scene.

The drive all the way back to Cooper’s Rock passed in silence. Maggie was sure that Jamie’s brain was working overtime as he considered her shock revelation.

“Do you think Victoria Nash knows anything about this?” Jamie asked eventually, as they approached the town. He’d been searching the database for her details. “I’ve found her address. She’s a couple of miles out of town – and she lives close to the retreat itself.”

Maggie glanced at the map, seeing that there were a few more minutes of traveling to do.

“I don’t know if she knows anything. She’s a difficult person to figure out. I have the feeling she does know more than she’s telling – so far, anyway. But it might not be for suspicious reasons. She might be protective over her business.”

Jamie shook his head. “If all the murders are linked to the Desert Lotus, then she’s going to find her business is destroyed soon.”

Maggie felt another surge of frustration that, at this crucial moment, they were going to have to step away from the case. Yes, she was sure that the FBI investigators would take up the reins, but would they do it in time to prevent another death?

Four deaths, out there in the desert. Four young people, each with their throat slit and their blood drained and their future destroyed forever? Maggie gripped the wheel in silence as she thought, desperately, of how bad the timing was.

“We could request to stay on the case, or try to hand over fast?” Jamie said in hopeful tones.

"Handing over takes at least half a day. You know, and I know. We're off the case, as of now. We're going to have to spend most of tomorrow in a meeting with the FBI, telling them everything we know so far, and while we do that, the killer is going to be out there, and he's going to find someone else related to the wellness retreat. They're still in operation."

“It’s a tough one.” Jamie sounded thoughtful and Maggie knew that, like herself, he was desperately theorizing to try to figure out a solution.

And then, Maggie had a brainwave.

“I’ve thought of something.”

“What’s that?” Jamie asked.

“If Victoria Nash allows it, I go undercover at the retreat for a day or two. It could be helpful – it might allow us to learn something, at least. And we can do it in tandem with the FBI, without intruding on their investigation at all. They don’t even have to know about it. It’s risky, but it might be effective. However, it’ll need Nash’s permission,” Maggie said.

“And what makes you think that she’ll give her permission?” Jamie argued.

“The fact that all three victims are linked to her retreat?" Maggie shot back. "I think that having an actual therapist murdered is going to be a huge shock to her. It'll make things seem real, even if she's been in denial so far. I saw how protective she was of her reputation. Her business is everything to her, and if an employee is murdered, that gets her name into the media in a bad way. If she agrees to what I suggest, then we can still be involved, Jamie. This will allow me to explore that setup and find out if there are any other links."

“And if she doesn’t agree?” Jamie asked.

Maggie shook her head. "If she doesn't agree, then I'm going to start suspecting that she's involved in some way, and I'll make sure that she knows the FBI will go in hard. Either way, I think that she is hiding something. And I'm not going to tell her this, but going in undercover might help me figure out what it is."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“Mrs. Nash? Are you there?” Maggie called out. “Open up, please. This is in connection with the case.”

Despite the fact that it was now past midnight, Maggie was standing at the tall doorway of the Georgian-style mansion, which was located on a hillside just a couple of miles from the retreat.

Spotlights illuminated the garden, which looked lush and green, clearly irrigated, just like the grounds of the retreat itself.

Maggie raised the knocker again. Time for another try at getting Victoria Nash’s attention. But before she could knock, she heard footsteps approaching the front door. Soft footsteps that she guessed were made by someone in slippers, treading on a thick carpet.

“Who’s there?”

Suspicion resonated in the voice, but it was clearly Victoria Nash speaking. Maggie glanced at Jamie, hoping this confrontation would go well.

“It’s agents Flight and Rodriguez. We spoke earlier, at your wellness retreat.”

“That was a reasonable hour.” Nash’s voice was hoarse, as if this interruption had startled her from sleep. “It’s after midnight. What’s going on?”

“Your employee has been murdered. Her body has just been found in the park.”

There was a shocked silence from inside. Maggie reminded herself that could mean two things. Either it could mean that Nash was shocked by the news, or else that she was shocked Maggie had found out about it.

Maggie had no idea which one of the two it was. A moment later, the door flew open.

She was staring into the troubled and reddened eyes of Victoria Nash. Nash was wrapped in a sky blue dressing gown, with sleek moccasins on her feet. The entrance hall was palatial, with a thick red carpet and antique furniture set against the walls. A vase that looked Chinese in design rested on a pedestal at the far end.

Even though Nash had just been roused from sleep, and her hair was messy, Maggie had to admit that her skin was smooth, porcelain and glowing.

“An employee of mine? Is this really true? How can that be possible?” she demanded.

“Gill Attenborough. The specialist therapist who performs your Eternal Youth treatments,” Maggie said.

The utter, blank shock on Nash’s face was not faked, Maggie was sure of it. Nash stared at her for a few moments as if what she’d said was impossible.

“It was Gill’s day off,” she said, and then shook her head, as if realizing that was a meaningless comment.

“You’d better come in,” she then said, with an uneasy glance at the darkness that lay beyond her strategically spotlit garden.”

Nash closed the door as soon as Maggie and Jamie were inside. And as soon as she was in the entrance hall, Maggie thought she could pick up a trace of the lemony scent that was so tangible at the retreat. No surprise there. Nash’s clothes and hair were probably infused with it after being in the environment all day.

Nash turned and led the way into a living room that was tastefully furnished, with a crystal chandelier in the ceiling, a glass coffee table, and furniture in white and pale beige. A splash of bright color was provided by the abstract paintings on the walls.

"I don't understand how this has happened," Nash said. "I'm in total shock and can't actually believe this. You said nothing about it earlier. Have you just found her body? What happened to her?"

Maggie sat down on a sleek leather couch, with Jamie beside her, while Nash sank on a seat opposite, clasping her hands tightly.

“She was found in the Joshua Tree National Park this evening. Just like the other victims,” Maggie said. “This is part of the same serial crime, with the same MO.”

“Murdered in the same way?” Nash’s voice was incredulous. Now that the shock was sinking in, she was starting to look devastated. “She never deserved that, not ever. Gill was the most wonderful person – she was a faithful, loyal employee.”

That told Maggie something about what Nash considered to be wonderful.

“Was there any trouble in her life? Any trouble at work?” The same questions, asked again. Maggie couldn’t help feeling disheartened that so far, they’d gotten no clear answers to anything personal related to the victims. Perhaps this time would be the one they needed.

But Nash shook her head. “She’d been with us for years. She joined us straight after qualifying, and she was actually one of those who didn’t leave.” The bitter tone to her voice reminded Maggie that her earlier words about having her employees move on to greater things might not have been as generously meant as they’d sounded.

“How long is ‘years’?” Jamie asked.

Nash sighed. “I was working in the beauty industry when I met my business partner. That was eight years ago. He was such an innovator, and he had access to so much medical knowledge, thanks to his brother. That really benefited us, and things took off. I think I hired Gill seven years ago. She was with me when they innovated all the treatments that have set us apart. She was a tower of strength when we went through the trouble –” She stopped hurriedly, as if her mouth had run away with her.

“What trouble was that?” Maggie asked, homing in on the hesitation.

Nash shook her head. “Olsen’s brother committed suicide a couple of years ago, after going through some – some legal troubles.” She turned her face away, clearly not wanting to say more.

“I’m sorry,” Maggie said.

Nash nodded. “It was a very tough time for all of us. You know, he hasn’t been the same since then. I think he battles with it still. We struggled to keep things going, because we used his brother’s knowhow in our treatments, which of course, had to be updated. I’m not sure how he solved it in the end, but we were able to. Gill was – well, she was a tower of strength. Even when things were difficult, she kept the standards high and made sure everyone was happy with their treatments. She lived for her work, and for the Eternal Youth brand."

Now, Maggie saw that Nash was blinking back tears. The emotional outburst told Maggie that things had been strained between Nash and her partner, and also, that the partner had endured difficulties that had changed him. The cracks were starting to show. Or rather, they’d been there all along, and now, Nash was admitting to them.

“No trouble with any other staff members?” Maggie asked.

“Our staff members are a good, disciplined team,” Nash snapped.

“What about the treatment itself? I need to know if there have been any unhappy customers. I know you want to protect your reputation, but when this third murder hits the news, your retreat is going to be in the spotlight, and not for the right reasons. This is close to home. Your clients are going to stay away if they think they’ll be in personal danger.”

Nash stared at Maggie, and for the first time, Maggie saw a flash of real fear breaking through her confident façade.

“Yes, I see that. I do see it,” she said. “Our name is everything. I’ve worked hard for years to build my brand. I don’t want this to damage it. And the fact that a skilled practitioner has been murdered is appalling,” she added.

Maggie wondered if that last comment had been uttered a little too hastily, and that Nash was trying hard to make sure that the agents didn’t think she was focused only on her business interests.

“I don’t know what to do now,” Nash admitted.

That gave Maggie the chance to voice her suggestion. Right now, while Nash had admitted to vulnerability, was the moment she needed.

“You’re going to have the FBI in your building sometime in the next couple of days. Maybe tomorrow, but probably the next day. They’re going to do exactly what we’ve been wanting to do, which is to look at every aspect of your business to see if there’s a link between you and the killer. That might include seizing your devices, closing your business down, interviewing all your staff.”

Maggie watched Nash’s face as she spoke, and she could see the horror in it. Nash didn’t want this to happen.

“This time of the year? It’s our busiest season. Everyone wants to get slim, healthy and glowing before summer. That’ll be a huge blow to us, and it’s not like it will bring Gill back. I feel as if I’m living in a nightmare. And why are you so sure that my retreat is involved? Surely it’s just bad luck that one of my therapists is a victim? I mean, we do get involved with our community, and probably, most people in town have either done work for us or visited us. Whether it’s making burgers for a staff outing or coming in for a pedicure. None of my team are killers, if that’s what you’re implying.”

"The FBI are going to want to rule that out, and they'll spend as much time doing it as they need to. But I have another option. There's a way we could stay involved and perhaps rule things out at your place more quickly."

Offering that as the positive might make this offer more attractive, Maggie hoped.

“So what are you saying? That you get involved, too?” Nash frowned, not getting it.

“I propose that I go in undercover.”

“Undercover?”

“Pretending to be a client at your retreat. I can stay for a couple of days, ask some questions, and try to dig around in a more discreet way than the FBI will do.”

Nash was frowning. She didn’t like the idea, but Maggie could see that she liked the alternative even less. She was stuck between two scenarios, one bad, one worst-case.

“I don’t think so,” she began, then tightened her lips and cut her own words off.

“Are you sure that there’s nothing you know that might be able to help with the case?” Maggie asked.

Nash shook her head in a firm way, and Maggie watched her face carefully.

There was more to this. She could see it in Nash’s expression, she could read it in the sudden defensiveness of her body language. The way she was clasping her hands in front of her tightly, as if holding the secret within them.

Maggie would stake money on the fact there was something important that she wasn’t telling, and she wasn’t going to. But was it relevant? Maggie didn’t know.

What she was sure of was that it would take digging to find out – and it would need to be discreetly done.

“It might be the best solution,” Maggie continued in her most persuasive voice. “Just in case any of your staff know something, or any of your clients know the killer. You know, sometimes it might be as simple as someone having a boyfriend who’s a bad person. Are you sure none of your staff or clients have connections with a bad apple? Something like that, it’s easier to figure out undercover.”

She didn’t think that staff or clients were the issue. But dangling these ideas in front of Nash was at least deflecting her from her defensive stance.

“How do I know you’ll be discreet?” Nash asked. That was a sign she was warming to the idea. She was looking for reassurance now.

“Because that’s the point of undercover work. And what I can tell you is that the FBI will not be as discreet. You’ll have uniforms all over your retreat by Wednesday.”

“What would your cover be?”

“Just a client? Someone who’s been gifted a few days at the retreat by an employer?” Maggie thought that might be more plausible than pretending to be a typically wealthy client.

“Yes, I suppose that would work. There’s nothing to find, but if you figure out that my business is not involved, can you then engage with the FBI and speed things up?”

“I hope so,” Maggie replied diplomatically. “The aim of this will be to rule your involvement out as quickly as possible.”

She had no control over what the FBI would do, but she was sure that her report back would have some influence with them. And Maggie’s gut feeling was telling her that there were too many clues pointing to the Desert Lotus retreat.

She was sure that the killer was linked to the retreat in some way. The only thing she didn't know was whether Nash knew about it or not.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Dressed in her chinos and her spare top – deep blue in color – Maggie didn’t think she looked like a typical wealthy client as she climbed out of the cab and headed to the reception of the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat, walking past a selection of luxury cars belonging to the day visitors and overnight guests.

It was morning – a sunny, beautiful day that promised to be as hot as yesterday. And, as she headed through the gleaming glass doors, Maggie wondered if this was going to be a good idea and if she'd get away with it.

After having gotten Nash’s agreement, she and Jamie had then run the idea past Simmons, who had given her reluctant permission on a late night call.

“How much is this going to cost?” Simmons had asked. “I’m not authorizing for you to have beauty treatments at the Department’s expense.”

“The owner is aware that I’ll be doing it,” Maggie had said. “She’s going to cover all the costs of the Basic Relaxation package for two days. That’ll allow me to ask questions, speak to people, and maybe even take a look at the records of who else was there. It’s the only link we have, now the FBI has taken over. At least it will rule out if there’s any connection, because we won’t be able to do it otherwise."

That news had caused Simmons to murmur in approval. It confirmed a hunch Maggie had already had, which was that Simmons didn't much like the FBI and, in fact, felt very competitive toward them as an organization. Her boss thought the Department of Justice was superior in every way, and having Maggie go undercover was a chance to keep working on the case, without interfering with the FBI's activities.

And so she’d agreed – but Maggie knew that her time here was limited. Her main aim was to cover the gap that the handover would create, dig into the secrets that she suspected were there, and hopefully, prevent another murder.

While she was undercover here at the Desert Lotus, Jamie would be working in town with the police. Hopefully, if she didn’t find anything useful, he would.

She missed him. Although she was determined to ace her undercover role, and find out something important, working alone made her realize how much she missed the easy camaraderie with Jamie, the teasing, the friendship, the moments of physical closeness during their work that she was all the more aware of because she knew she was attracted to him.

Heading up to the front desk, she was relieved to see that there was a different receptionist on duty, one that didn’t know who Maggie was, and that she’d already been here the night before.

“Welcome,” the day receptionist smiled, as the smell of lemon infiltrated Maggie’s nostrils once more. “Are you Ms. Flight? You called earlier?”

“That’s right,” Maggie said. “I’d like to check in for a couple of days of your Relaxation package.”

“Of course.” The receptionist looked on the computer. “I see all the costs of your accommodation have been covered, so just complete this guest check-in form. Will you be having any treatments?”

Maggie tipped her head on one side, pretending to consider that question. "I'd like to know more about the treatments," she said. "If I could have an introduction to them and speak to your practitioners, that would be great."

“I’ll organize that.” The receptionist’s professional smile didn’t give away the fact that one of the practitioners had been murdered yesterday. Maggie wondered if she knew. Nash might not have had a chance to break the news to the staff, and as far as she was aware, Gill’s death hadn’t yet hit the press.

She finished off the form, giving her San Jose home address.

“Now, your room is ready, and you’re welcome to go and relax there. I can give you a quick tour of everything along the way?” the receptionist then said.

“That will be great,” Maggie replied.

The receptionist stood up, and led the way through the pristine, white-painted reception room, down a corridor. Harmonious, soothing music played in the background.

"These are our treatment rooms," she said in a hushed voice. Closed doors indicated that there were treatments under way. "We offer several different, highly specialized, face and body treatments, and I hope you'll have a few while you're here. They're very soothing, calming, and, of course, also skin-strengthening."

“Which one would you recommend?” Maggie asked.

“Definitely the Eternal Youth protocol,” the receptionist said. Maggie made sure to look curious and impressed.

“What does that involve?” she asked.

“It’s a groundbreaking protocol that involves a highly innovative blend of serums, as well as a needle application combined with laser therapy. It gives you the most amazing glow, and of course, for clients who are concerned with anti-aging solutions, it really delivers the results. You see a difference immediately, and the good work carries on for months at a cellular level. So, two months from now, you’ll look even younger.”

“Sounds impressive,” Maggie said. “I’d like to speak to one of the practitioners later.”

"Of course." The receptionist turned around and walked back the way she'd come, leading Maggie out of the beauty area and down another passage that led to a sun-filled courtyard. Beyond that, a second pair of glass doors had the word "Hotel" in steel lettering across the top.

"You're in room five, which is around the back, near the swimming pool. There's a complimentary sauna and spa bath, as well as an ice pool plunge. Then, our dining area is on the right-hand side." The receptionist pointed. "There's outdoor seating and also an indoor area for when it's very hot. All meals are included with your package."

She led the way along the corridor to a white-painted door with the number five on it. Opening the door, she ushered Maggie inside.

“If there are any issues, or you need anything, just call,” she said, indicating the wall telephone.

And then, she left, closing the door quietly behind her and leaving Maggie alone in the serene room.

It had a big bed with a white coverlet, a sky-blue chaise longue, and a bathroom with a claw-footed bath and a rain shower. There was a painting on the wall of swans swimming in a blue lake, with weeping willow trees beyond.

Everything was quiet and calm. Maggie felt a moment’s guilt, because this felt a lot like she was on a mini vacation, and she wasn’t. She had a busy agenda to follow.

She unpacked her bag, which meant putting about three garments into the wardrobe, and her toothbrush and deodorant into the bathroom, and her gun into the safe. She switched her boots for lighter footwear – a pair of cheap sandals that she’d hurriedly purchased on the way, thinking she’d need them.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door. She guessed that the retreat wasn’t wasting any time in offering her more information on their expensive service.

Hurrying over, she opened the door.

There stood a woman who looked equal measures nervous and expectant. Probably in her early twenties, she had radiant skin framed by long falls of dark hair.

“Good morning, Ms. Flight,” she said. “I’m Donna, and I’m one of the practitioners who does the treatments. I understand you have some questions?”

Although her demeanor was professional, Maggie saw that the woman looked shaken. Maybe she’d just found out about Gill Attenborough’s murder.

“I’d just like an overview of your treatments, please,” Maggie said.

"I can do better than that," Donna said. "I'd like to invite you for a free mini-facial with our compliments. While you enjoy it, I'll speak to you about the Eternal Youth treatment, and what it includes." She handed her an appointment card. "I've booked you in for ten a.m., and in the meantime, breakfast and coffee are still being served."

As soon as she’d left, closing the door quietly behind her, Maggie took stock of her situation. There hadn’t been time last night to plan effectively. She and Jamie had cobbled together a basic strategy, but that was all. There was still a lot to do.

She needed to figure out where things happened here, and where the records were kept, and what the dynamics of the retreat were. And she wanted to research previous clients. She suspected that Nash lied – or rather, she glossed over the truth. What wasn’t she telling, in her denial, or her efforts to preserve her reputation?

What if a previous client had suffered damage or disfigurement? Or the opposite – what if a client had become obsessed with the idea of eternal youth, to the extent that he had decided to commit murders in order to preserve it in his own twisted mind?

Maggie hoped that talking to the clients and the therapists might give her some insight into the workings of the place. As for prying into the records? She’d do her best with that later. Hopefully, Olivia’s hacking skills would come in useful, if Maggie got a backdoor into the system.

She decided that since she was about to have a treatment, she’d wear the sky-blue robe that the retreat had provided. Made of soft toweling, it was comfortable to wear, although unfamiliar. Maggie had never been one for spas or beauty treatments. Money had always been tight for her, and when she’d had a bit extra, she’d chosen to spend it in different directions than skincare and body treatments.

This would be a glimpse into another world for her.

Heading out of her bedroom, she turned in the direction of the dining room, to get some breakfast, and hopefully meet some of the other clients, before her facial.

The murmur of voices and the chink of cutlery led her to the large, sunny room. Walking in, she saw two women and a man, all dressed in the retreat’s robes, seated at the far end of the long table, with plates of fruit in front of them.

The women were clones of each other, both with long, tawny-blond, waved hair, managing to look glowingly beautiful without a speck of make-up. Groomed brows and false lashes helped, Maggie guessed, but maybe it was also the Eternal Youth treatments. The man was probably in his thirties, handsome, strong jawed, dark.

This was a place for the beautiful and wealthy, and Maggie couldn't help thinking of the fact that so far, the killer's victims had all been young and good-looking. There'd be no shortage of pickings here, if the killer chose to focus his attentions on the Desert Lotus retreat.

Was he focusing on the retreat? If another victim was murdered, would it be someone from here?

“Good morning,” she said in a cheerful way.

“Morning,” the others chorused. The women stared at her in an assessing way, and Maggie guessed that in this place, which attracted people who had a keen interest in physical appearance, she’d be assessed from head to toe. Even now, the women were most likely gauging her weight and age.

“Have you just arrived?” the closest woman asked Maggie. Deciding to load up on food while she could, since she hadn’t had anything to eat last night, Maggie headed straight for the display.

“Yes. Just got here.”

There was more than fruit on the trays. There was also gluten-free seeded bread, hard boiled eggs, smoked salmon, and cream cheese – both vegan and normal varieties. Maggie loaded up her plate with everything, including the fruit.

“Where are you from?” she asked in a friendly way, filling her coffee cup.

“I’m from San Francisco,” the man said. “I’m Don Everton.”

“We’re Jasmine and Bethany, best friends from Minnesota,” the woman replied, pointing to herself as she said the word Bethany. “And you?”

“I’m Maggie, from LA,” she said. “I’m taking a short vacation here, courtesy of a client who decided I needed some spoiling. Do you come here regularly?”

"Oh, yes. We both come here for a week every summer. You know, a place like this can set you up for success in so many ways. Skin, diet, fitness. It's like a combination of spa and boot camp,” Jasmine said, and they all laughed.

“It’s not only that,” Bethany added. “It’s the fact that it’s so green. Everything is produced locally – you know, I was told they actually have a manufacturing plant onsite where they create most of the treatments. That really means a lot. I love it that they use the Joshua tree extracts, and manufacture on site." She smiled, as if this was a huge selling point for her.

And Maggie guessed it was commendable, if you overlooked the fact that Bethany had probably flown here in a first class seat from Minnesota, and then gotten a gas guzzling rental car with a powerful engine to bring her the rest of the way.

“It’s my first time here,” Don said. “My wife is joining me tomorrow. We are spending two days here, and then we’re going to a coastal resort in San Diego.”

“And what do you think of the treatments?” Maggie asked.

"They're the best. If your package includes the treatments, you should have them. If not, splash out would be my advice," Bethany smiled.

Maggie wasn’t learning anything unusual from the trio. The friends seemed like ordinary, contented guests, and Don hadn’t been here before. She focused on the food, loading up with calories while managing to contribute a few words to the light conversation.

A few minutes later, the three of them left, allowing Maggie to devote herself wholeheartedly to her plate of food. It didn’t take long for the last gluten-free crumb to be finished. Feeling impatient, she got up. She wasn’t here to eat, although she’d needed to. She was here to find what links the killer had with this retreat – and with a limited time to do this in, Maggie knew it was time to hustle.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

His breath came fast as he walked down the paved path, but you’d never have guessed it by looking at him. He was making sure that his demeanor was calm, and that he strolled along at a steady pace, just like any other of the contented clients who were enjoying the expensive services at the retreat.

They didn't think he was here because he couldn't be here.

And now that he was here, he was invisible. In more ways than one.

He smiled, the expression still feeling unfamiliar and stiff on his face. That was to be expected, of course.

The beard he wore was rough and prickly. He’d never been one for beards in his old life, although he understood that he had to grow one now. He couldn’t be the same as he had been before.

It was amusing to think that he blended in so perfectly, that he had the best disguise for the last part of his mission, and the most important one yet.

This was what he’d been working up to ever since he set foot in the town of Cooper’s Rock again. This was the culmination of everything that he’d strived for.

He had nearly been destroyed. Only his own intelligence and cunning, combined with his considerable wealth, had allowed him to survive, and thrive, instead of suffering what should have been the end for him.

Of course, it had been his own actions that had gotten him into trouble in the first place. That, he acknowledged. But his actions were all part of the great experiment, the obsession that had driven him forward for his whole life.

It was just that, occasionally, it didn’t feel as if he was the one making the decisions at all, and that another, more irrational person was perched on his shoulder and whispering words into his ear.

He knew what those words were.

Eternal youth…

Taking a deep breath, he acknowledged that this had always been his goal. He’d always been terrified of aging, and appalled by the way that it brought lines to the face, and creases to the skin, the way that one’s appearance drooped and pouched and altered.

His dream had been to change it, and his dream had gone wrong.

Very wrong.

Now, he was back, and he wanted a new life. But it took death for rebirth to occur, and now, he was claiming his targets, one by one. Picking them carefully, each one bringing him a sense of gleeful satisfaction.

He tightened the blue and white robe around him, gathering the folds. He was a guest. That was how everyone here saw him. They didn’t know that he was anonymous, that there was no record of him having entered this place, that he’d never checked in.

Simply obtaining the robe and wearing it allowed him to be invisible, his presence unquestioned, and his movements accepted.

Under it, he wore a different outfit, one that he could easily move in. A pair of black lycra shorts, a tight-fitting, dark shirt. He had shoes ready in the car, and soon, he would need them.

So far, the people he’d targeted had deserved to die. He’d chosen them carefully as he’d closed in. One by one, with a mixture of fury and amusement, saving the most important – his real target – for last.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The first step, Maggie decided, would be to learn more about the background of the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat. If there were any skeletons in the closet, that might uncover them. And that, she could hopefully do while having her complimentary facial with Donna.

Seeing it was almost time for her appointment, Maggie headed to the spa, introducing herself to the daytime receptionist.

Donna appeared a moment later, dressed in an immaculate blue and white uniform, and offering Maggie a professional smile.

“Please, come this way,” she said.

Striding down the corridor, Donna opened the door to a treatment room. There, Maggie got onto the bed and lay back.

Maybe it was just that she hadn’t had these treatments before, or maybe it was the circumstances plus her natural caution, but she found herself feeling distrustful and nervy, as she put her head on the firm, yet supportive bed, and allowed Donna to take a warm towel and place it over her face.

Donna then began smearing some sort of fragrant lotion onto Maggie's face and wiping it off.

“This is our cleansing protocol,” she said. “Afterward, we’ll proceed with a facial massage, a deeply nourishing mask, and I’ll work on your pressure points for relaxation.”

“Sounds great,” Maggie said brightly. “Have you worked here long?”

“I have worked here a long time. I’m actually the spa manager, but I’ve stepped in because we’re – um – a therapist short today.”

Clients weren’t being told about the murder. Obviously.

“Who started the retreat?” Maggie asked.

“It was started by Mrs. Nash herself. She has a business partner, Chas Olsen, who is more on the business and product development side. She had a vision for a place that offered the ultimate in luxury, together with treatments that really work. And today, it’s so popular.”

Donna began to massage Maggie’s face with her fingertips. She closed her eyes, making sure that she appeared calm and relaxed. Even though she could feel the expertise with which Donna was working, Maggie had to admit she was tense as a bowstring. She didn’t like giving up control, and that was the truth of it.

“So the partner just stays in the background?” Maggie asked.

“She’s the hands-on member of the partnership, and she’s really pioneered the way things are done.” Donna sounded enthusiastic as she stroked Maggie’s cheeks. “You know, using local ingredients, combining the different treatments for maximum effect, and also, making sure that there’s a luxury feel every step of the way. All clients must be treated like royalty. That’s our mantra.”

“It’s very effective,” Maggie praised, making sure she sounded enthusiastic. “So, do you treat a lot of clients who are obsessed with looking younger?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t say obsessed, though,” Donna said in thoughtful tones. “It’s more that they’re aware of the importance of appearance. They feel young, they feel healthy, and they like the mirror to reflect that outwardly.”

“Would you say that the two owners are obsessed?”

Donna laughed. “With the business, yes, definitely. They’re both passionate about it, although they do have their moments of disagreement, like all partners do, which is inevitable, I guess.” Her voice sounded reserved.

“Are those disagreements serious?” Maggie asked.

“Absolutely not,” Donna replied, but this time, Maggie wasn’t sure about her tone. It sounded like she was trying too hard to convince Maggie of that.

“And the Eternal Youth treatment. You were going to tell me more about that,” she reminded Donna chattily.

“Yes. That treatment was pioneered by Mrs. Nash. She experimented with the formulation, with her partner’s help, for years, you know, making sure that it had all the right ingredients, and that it gave the results people needed. It’s now patented, I believe, so that it can’t be copied.”

“So they protect it?”

“Oh, yes. It’s one of the most important selling points of our retreat.”

Her fingers were now massaging around Maggie’s mouth, making it difficult for her to talk. She waited until Donna had moved on, before asking another question.

“I believe that it’s manufactured on site? The formulation, I mean? Can I see where it’s made?”

There was a surprised pause. “Who told you that?” Donna asked, now with a note of suspicion in her voice.

“It was one of the other clients. They mentioned it at breakfast,” Maggie said. “I’d like to have a look.”

“Well, yes, it is true, but we don’t allow visitors there.”

“But why’s that, if it’s manufactured on site? I’d love to get a tour of where it’s made.”

“I wish I could say that’s possible, but it’s not. It’s because of safety reasons, you know?” Donna’s voice sounded firm.

Safety reasons?

That sounded confusing to Maggie. She’d have believed Donna more quickly if she’d said that the product manufacturing site was out of bounds because of the secrecy of the recipe. She hadn’t said that, though. Why?

Maggie wanted to ask more about the treatment, and how it had been formulated, but decided to leave that for later. Right now, Maggie thought she’d asked enough. Donna had been talking on autopilot as she performed the treatment, but some of Maggie’s questions had not been typical of what a client would ask, and she didn’t want to ring any alarm bells.

In particular, Donna had been defensive when Maggie had asked about the treatments being manufactured on site

Now, it was a case of trying not to grit her teeth in a way that Donna would notice as the therapist put two cotton pads over her eyes.

*

Twenty minutes later, feeling a sense of relief to be walking out of the treatment room, Maggie headed back to her bedroom. Since she was now going to be heading outside and exploring the wider grounds, she didn't want to do so in the soft, turquoise robe.

She let herself into her room, slipped off the robe and hung it on the hook on the back of the door, putting on her shirt and chinos again.

While she did that, she glanced into the mirror to see if that facial had worked.

Maggie had to admit, there was a healthy glow to her skin. So maybe the claustrophobia of the treatment had been worth it. Plus, she’d found out a little more information about the retreat’s partner. There had been conflict between him and Nash, and she was going to guess, from the therapist’s quick denial, that they had been serious.

Opening her laptop, she looked up the name of Chas Olsen.

There were quite a few Olsens that her search brought up. There was a Craig Olsen, mentioned in quite a few older headlines as a surgeon who’d been involved in a serious scandal, a Caroline Olsen, who was the founder and CEO of a chain of nail bars, and there was a Clarence Olsen, who specialized in Californian real estate. Only after sifting through these did she find the Olsen she needed, whose full name was Charles.

Chas, or Charles, had started out as a product sales representative, had become the CEO, and gone on to excel in the wellness and skincare industry. Today, he was the product developer for the Eternal Youth range of products, the Lotus range – which Maggie thought was the lemon-scented range that gave the retreat its distinctive smell – and also the co-owner of the retreat itself.

There were several interviews with him online, and Maggie read through a few of them, feeling eager to understand how his mind worked.

A lot of the interviews were about the spa environment, the client experience, and also the importance of a youthful appearance in today’s world. That got Maggie raising her eyebrows. It seemed as if Chas was a huge proponent of this.

"I have tried all the treatments at the spa myself and can personally attest to their effectiveness. The Eternal Youth treatment is something unique to our establishment, and it's suitable for all ages and genders. I like to think of it as the secret weapon in the fight against aging," he said in one interview. "It's been specially developed for our retreat, and it is continually improved and innovated."

Then, Maggie moved on to read more about the business side of things, in an interview for an entrepreneurs’ magazine.

“I believe in protecting one’s assets,” he was quoted as saying. “Desert Lotus is our trademark, our point of difference, and our intellectual property. Take my advice, entrepreneurs – you need to guard what’s yours, at all costs, and no matter what it takes.”

There were other articles where he talked about the importance of business ethics and how essential it was for every entrepreneur to pick the right partner to do business with.

“Partners are like family,” he said. “Protect your business, and make the right choices in who you work with.”

That was interesting to Maggie. She didn’t know if it was significant to the case, but she felt it was worth digging deeper on the subject.

There seemed to be a sense of protectiveness surrounding the treatments, particularly the Eternal Youth treatment, and Maggie wanted to find out more about that.

If the treatments were manufactured somewhere on site, perhaps it would be possible to find out where – while still posing as a guest.

Boots or sandals? She decided on the sandals. They fitted better with her undercover persona. People didn’t wear boots to a wellness retreat. Even so, Maggie had to admit, she felt more comfortable in boots.

She was a boot person, deep down.

Once she’d gotten dressed and ready to go, Maggie paged through the brochures on the writing desk in her bedroom, looking for a layout map.

She couldn't find one, though. The glossy brochures were all about the services, food, and treatments that were offered at the retreat.

Guessing that there would be a map in the reception area, Maggie left her room and headed that way. A cleaner, with a cart loaded with bedding, moved out of the way as soon as she approached, murmuring a greeting to her.

The other bedrooms along the corridor were closed, and quiet, but ahead, at the end of the corridor, there was another guest lounge, which overlooked a sparkling blue infinity pool. Several sun loungers were set up on the opposite side of the pool, on the paving and the grass. There were a few guests lying on the loungers and a couple more in the water.

Maggie recognized Bethany and Jasmine, who were swimming laps of the pool in tandem, going slowly, using a form of breaststroke that allowed them to keep their heads above water and chat as they swam.

“Hello there!” The greeting was uttered by the man she’d met earlier at breakfast. He was lying on a sun lounger, his perfectly waxed chest turning a light golden brown in the sun’s rays.

“Are you having a good day?” Maggie asked with a smile.

"An excellent day. I thought I'd tell you – there's a champagne get-together in the spa reception area at one p.m. for a product launch. It was supposed to be after breakfast, but they postponed it. If you're around, come along and join us. Mrs. Nash will be there."

He said her name almost reverentially, as if referring to the guru herself.

“I’ll definitely be there,” Maggie said. “Thanks for telling me.”

That would be the perfect opportunity for her to find out about the other guests, past and present. She’d see who was at the retreat, have access to a guest list, learn who was obsessed about anti-aging, and also find out if there was anyone suspiciously absent. The event would be a gold mine of information, hopefully.

Until that time, she’d focus on the treatments themselves.

She turned right, heading back to the reception area, following a path that led past a neatly laid out shed with a row of golf carts inside. She guessed that in this far-flung estate, they were needed to get from place to place.

One of the cleaners was busy driving a golf cart out, heading to a building nearby, with a big pile of laundry loaded on the cart behind her.

Maggie suspected that the manufacturing area wasn’t close by, and that it would be a long walk to wherever these buildings were. Most probably, people drove golf carts there and that meant there would be a paved path.

As she passed the shed, she saw another guest ahead, wrapped in a robe, whistling to himself as he sat on a swinging bench in a courtyard. He was reading a brochure, but glanced up as she approached.

Making sure to innocently smile at the bearded man, Maggie headed on, turning the corner and walking into the reception area again. Here, the receptionist was busily checking in a new group of guests. That gave Maggie a chance to scan the walls for any maps or diagrams.

There was something. A layout plan under the fire exit sign snagged her eyes, and she headed over to it.

Looking at it, Maggie oriented herself. There were the main buildings, these ones here. The hotel had two main wings, with the lounges and dining areas nestled in the center, and the treatment rooms in a separate area beyond.

The grounds were labeled, with another, larger scale map showing the walks in the area, trails within the spacious grounds, each a couple of miles long. The running track was also marked.

But if the buildings where the treatments were made were not supposed to be seen by guests, Maggie didn’t think that the walking and running trails would be routed near them. So where didn’t the trails go?

There was nothing to the north. Looking more closely at the map, Maggie saw a couple of buildings to the far north of the retreat, right on the border, and with an access road close by.

If she’d wanted to locate a manufacturing facility in a part of the retreat where guests didn’t go, she’d have put it here.

With the layout in mind, Maggie headed out.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Maggie strode around the elegant frontage of the wellness retreat, and then followed a narrow, paved track that headed away from the buildings, curving over the hills to the north. She hoped she was on the right path. Time was ticking away, the killer was on a short interval, and Maggie still had to discover the secrets that she was sure this retreat held.

She was surprised by how quickly the buildings behind her disappeared. The gently rolling terrain camouflaged what was behind and what was ahead. The further she got from the main buildings, the less green it was.

The irrigated haven of the retreat itself was soon replaced by the terrain that she’d become more familiar with since she was here. Dry grasses, stunted bushes, and the occasional Joshua tree.

Notices along the way discouraged her from going further.

“No Guests Beyond This Point,” the first notice said. It was followed by another, a couple of hundred yards later. “Staff Only.”

Maggie was sure that anyone who was going from the retreat buildings to these northerly buildings would use a golf cart. The early afternoon sun was beating down, and it was a hot, uncomfortable walk that she guessed was close to a mile.

Finally, as she crested another hill, she saw a group of buildings, nestled next to some stunted bushes. They were tan in color, blending into the landscape, and beyond the buildings was a paved car park. The sun gleamed off the tin roofs of the shaded parking.

As Maggie approached, she saw that the entire area was protected by a high, chain-link fence at the front and a solid wall along the sides. No wonder they didn't want guests approaching. This was far from the open, welcoming haven of the retreat itself. She was in a very different world here.

These formulas were closely protected.

And she'd have to find a different way in because there was a security guard's booth just inside the gate.

She changed direction, veering off the narrow path and striking out to the left. She decided to walk a circle around the place, see if there was another way in.

The presence of the wall meant she could walk around the perimeter without being seen from the inside. The flip side to that equation, of course, was that she couldn’t see in, either. But she was hoping that there was a service entrance at the back, maybe a separate gate for delivery vehicles, that was less well protected.

The wall ran for a couple of hundred yards before Maggie reached the corner.

And a hundred yards or so ahead, she saw what she needed. There was a driveway and a gate in the wall. A few trash skips were lined up outside, and a delivery truck that must have just been at the premises was chugging away, following the winding driveway to a road in the distance.

Maggie hugged the wall, heading to the gate, wondering what the best way would be to get inside. This service entrance must also be guarded, surely? Or maybe not.

As Maggie reached the gate in the wall, she peered inside, seeing that beyond her, was the typical back end of a factory. That large building ahead of her must be the warehouse where the products were stored. She heard the insistent beep-beep of a forklift truck coming from inside.

There was going to be only one way to find out what happened in here, and that was to walk in. She’d just have to play the role of an innocent, yet curious guest, and find out how much she could learn, before they politely removed her from the premises.

There was a security guard on this side as well, she saw. The guard, solidly built and wearing a beige uniform, was patrolling the area’s backyard, and as his gaze veered her way, Maggie shrank back into the shelter of the wall again.

She peeked out a moment later. If the guard had continued on his course, he would have his back to her now.

Maggie’s agent training had included an intensive course on how to infiltrate places without being seen. That wasn’t something she’d been taught while in the police – it was a skill that Simmons had insisted that all the Bureau agents learn.

It was proving useful now as she hid from sight, while monitoring the guard’s movements.

Sure enough, as she’d guessed, he had his back to her now as he patrolled. He was following the walkway that led inside the wall, looking around him, but not behind him.

Taking advantage of the moment, Maggie stepped onto the paved driveway and headed to the shade of the warehouse, following the beeping noise until the forklift itself came into sight.

The warehouse was large, with high shelves that were packed with cardboard boxes, all sealed in plastic. Beyond, Maggie saw large drums, which she guessed contained raw ingredients. This must be the manufacturing site for all the products, including the lemon-scented Lotus range, not just the treatments. She was surprised by the size of the warehouse. These products were popular. It made her realize what a sizeable chunk of the business the product sales comprised.

Approaching the beeping forklift, Maggie saw that the driver hadn’t yet seen her. He was heading over to a stack of shelves.

She waited until he was at the shelves, and then, she walked past. Now, she was heading through the warehouse and into what she guessed must be the manufacturing plant itself.

Maggie knew she’d been lucky so far. She’d timed it well, drawn on her training, moved fast, taken her chances when she’d seen them. But she might get no further. Walking into the manufacturing plant could result in widespread panic, and she might find herself being booted out even faster than she’d gone in.

But she was through the connecting door now, and the echoing, beeping clamor of the warehouse was replaced by silence, and fragrant, lemony air.

A glass double door whooshed open as she approached.

Now, she was walking on tiles, down a white-tiled corridor, that had doors at intervals. Every door had a Do Not Enter sign above it and red sensors that accepted access cards. Inside, through the glass panels, Maggie could see state of the art machinery at work. Vats were mixing, liquid was flowing through pipes, and bottles were being filled. There were a couple of attendants, gloved and masked, but they were watching the production process, and not the door. Maggie thought of attracting their attention, but decided that would get her nothing more than a swift exit from the building.

And then, she was all the way past the manufacturing section of the building. Ahead of her was a door which was ajar. The notice above it read “Admin Offices”.

Maggie hesitated at the doorway, listening out for any sounds from inside. This was the engine of the business, and she hoped that she might find private offices for Nash or Olsen here. Of course, they might be locked.

Maybe she could unlock them, though.

The door of the nearest office was partly open, and from inside, she could hear someone typing rapidly. Maggie visualized an assistant in there, busy typing up notes.

As she had the thought, the phone rang in the office, and a woman answered, her voice mature and refined, making Maggie think of gray hair and subtle elegance.

“Yes, the champagne launch has been postponed from this morning and yes, it will be taking place after lunch. You can get the snacks ready now. They’re in the hotel’s refrigerator.”

She hung up and went back to her typing, and when Maggie heard the tapping of keys again, she snuck past the office.

How about the doors up ahead? Maggie walked quietly down the tiled corridor to the next one. This one was closed. She couldn't hear any sounds coming from inside. When she tried the door, however, it opened smoothly.

Whose office was this?

There was a folder on the desk, which was labeled “Accounts.” Now, that was potentially useful. Knowing who had been paid, and when, could tell her a lot about the business, although forensic accounting was not her area of expertise. She could imagine how Simmons, or Jamie, would have homed in on this, going straight for the hard evidence, while Maggie observed the people themselves, their nuances and body language.

She hoped she'd be able to sift through it at speed and pick up anything that was unusual.

Maggie opened the folder.

Inside was a sheaf of accounts for different expenses. Paging through she saw invoices from landscapers, decorators, an air conditioning overhaul, furnishers.

All the expenses were recent, going back only a few weeks, and they all seemed legitimate. Instinctively, Maggie felt that if there were secrets hidden here, they’d go back a lot further than a few weeks.

Why did she think that way? There had to be a reason.

Maybe it was to do with the pivotal event of Olsen’s brother’s suicide, which Nash had mentioned had happened a couple of years ago. That seemed to have changed things. Nash herself had said so. So automatically, Maggie was seeking information that might align with that. Perhaps there had been a domino effect resulting from it, changes in the business, or even a big error made due to that disaster.

Old news reports hidden away, lawyer’s letters, angry communications from clients, payments to a private investigator. Her mind raced with the possibilities, and of course, they might not be found in this office, but she had to check.

Were there any other folders here that might go back further?

Maggie took a look at the cabinet in the corner.

Moving over to it, she gently tugged at the drawer. It slid smoothly open, and immediately, Maggie saw why the idea she’d had wouldn’t be as workable as she’d hoped.

There were thousands of invoices in the drawer. Literally thousands. It was the top drawer in a three drawer cabinet, and it was crammed with paperwork that was very neatly filed, despite being extensive.

Unfortunately, her time here was limited, and she could be interrupted at any moment. With no obvious red flags here, this was beyond the scope of her undercover role.

This was a job for the FBI. They’d have to seize this entire cabinet, if they thought it was relevant, and would have to check every invoice.

She didn’t envy them the donkey work, but she was anxious about the time it would take. Some junior agent would get the task of sifting through the contents, and it would take weeks.

They didn’t have weeks. Either this vicious spree would continue as he rampaged through his victims, or else, the killer would have a cooling off period, during which he paused his spree.

There was a third option, which was that he would finally reach the target that he had intended to take all along – if there was such a target, and every person had been deliberately chosen.

Despite what they had first thought, Maggie was sure now that this was the case.

At any rate, right now, she decided the best idea would be to move on.

She left, closing the door as softly as she’d opened it, listening out to make sure that the typist in the first office was still hard at work.

Maggie headed further down the corridor, to the next door on the left, and tried that one.

It was locked.

Just as she was wondering who it belonged to and why it was locked, she heard voices from the last office in the row.

She recognized Nash’s voice – and heard someone else’s, too. A man’s voice. Two people were having a discussion in that office, and Maggie could pick up the quiet intensity in their voices.

Wondering if this was Nash and her partner, Olsen, Maggie edged forward.

CHAPTER TWENTY

There was nowhere to hide in the stark corridor. If either Nash or Olsen opened the door now, Maggie knew that she’d be exposed, and she’d be in trouble. Nash would kick her out immediately, and there might be more serious consequences.

But for the time being, maybe she could overhear what was being said. Especially if she leaned close to the door and put her ear close to the keyhole.

“… I don’t like the fact that the police are looking into us, either.” Recognizing Nash’s voice, Maggie listened closely.

“Well, you’re the one who allowed them in. You opened the door for the police to root around in our business. Where’s your strength of character? Why didn’t you defend the business? They could be back at any time, couldn’t they?”

Maggie raised her eyebrows at the aggressive note she heard in the man’s voice, who she recognized as Olsen.

The dynamic between them was definitely strained. And from the context of the conversation, Maggie didn’t think that Nash had told Olsen about her undercover role.

Fascinating, if troubled, Maggie kept on listening.

“I am worried, but how could I stop them from finding out who killed Gill? This is making me wonder…” At this point, her voice tailed off. “I can’t even say it,” she mumbled. “I’m just concerned for the business.”

Olsen’s voice was like steel. “You need to show some backbone and stop rolling over for the police. If any investigators want to pry into our affairs, I’ll deal with them.”

He almost sounded threatening, Maggie thought in surprise. He wasn’t just discouraging her. This was a stronger warning.

“I can’t lose anybody else!” Her voice rose shrilly.

“Just do your job! You have a champagne function to host, don’t you?” He sounded exasperated. “Keep the police out. They’ll find the killer. Probably an ex-client, that’s my thinking.”

“I hope so. I don’t know if I can cope with the launch right now though.”

“We can’t postpone it. People expect us to keep our promises.”

“I always keep my promises, and I’m going to go straight to the event now. I’d just prefer it if it had been timed differently, and I don’t understand why you refused to change it. Maybe you should stick to your side of the business, and stop interfering in mine.”

Nash spoke the words through gritted teeth, with an element of real resentment in them. This wasn’t just a tiff between partners. It went deeper than that. She wondered if there was an actual rift between them.

Perhaps what Nash was really trying to hide was that the partnership was at risk, and there was a likelihood it would break apart.

The clicking sound of footsteps broke the silence, and Maggie realized, almost too late, that Nash was storming out. Retreating fast, Maggie ducked into the accounts office that she’d just explored. Flattening herself against the wall, she tried not to breathe. Fumbling for her phone, she turned it off. Even the buzz of a phone could give her away now.

Nash strode out of the office without another word to her partner, and headed down the corridor in the direction of the exit. As she headed down the corridor, Maggie picked up the sound of an angry sigh.

Once the footsteps had faded away, Maggie was able to breathe again.

That conversation had been intriguing. Maggie couldn’t work it out. Behavior, and profiling, was her strength, but she was still finding it difficult to understand Olsen’s thinking, and why he’d said what he had.

Still, with her back to the wall in the accounts office, Maggie wondered what she should do about Olsen. Nash had clearly not told Olsen who she was. That meant she couldn’t afford for him to find out, or trouble would explode.

And then, she heard another rapid patter of footsteps, this time heading in the direction of the office where Olsen was working.

“Mr. Olsen?” She heard a young woman’s anxious voice. “Please could you come to the warehouse? They’re asking for you. They need an outgoing delivery signed off.”

Maggie held her breath. Was she going to get a lucky break?

“I’ll be right there. And call my secretary. I need her there, too.” Now that he was talking to his secretary, and not to Nash, he sounded different. The sharpness was gone from his voice, making Maggie wonder all over again about the tone he’d used to his partner.

A moment later, there was the smooth sound of wheels on tiles as Olsen pushed his chair back to go and sign off the outgoing delivery.

Don’t lock the door. Don’t lock the door.

Gripping her hands into fists, Maggie willed him to leave it open.

But, as she heard the footsteps approach the door, a key rattled in the lock.

And then, he was out, striding past her and away.

Maggie took a deep breath. She peeked around the corner again and saw that the corridor was empty. Wherever the secretary had come from, she’d gone back. The sound of typing in the first office was still faintly audible.

Maggie walked softly back to the door. It had an old fashioned keyhole and a simple lock. She didn’t rate her chances of finding a spare key, and didn’t think there would be one anywhere.

Could she pick the lock in the time she had available?

She thought about that for a few moments. Was it worth the risk? It would bring trouble crashing down on her head. If she was discovered trying to break into private property, her cover would be immediately blown, her chances of discovering more would be over, and Olsen wouldn’t hesitate to unleash his lawyers.

But the fact he’d locked the office meant there might be secrets inside.

Worth it? Yes.

So, what did she have with her that could help?

Not enough, Maggie realized instantly. For a start, she didn’t have her gun belt with her. She’d had to sacrifice that when she went undercover. She’d brought it with her, in her purse, covered by her jacket, but it was locked in the safe in her room now. It was too bulky to carry around with her, and her purse was too small.

She had her flashlight with her. And in her purse, she had a bunch of keys.

The keys were held together, fastened to one another with a few wire rings. She had office keys, house keys, and even spare keys for her mother’s house, all on one bunch.

There were plenty of the wire rings. Would they work, though, if she took the keys off and straightened one or two of the wire rings? Could this create a makeshift pick?

Working frantically now, Maggie retreated to the accounts office and started struggling with the keys, unlooping the keys and dropping them into her purse, then straightening out the wire.

This was next-level lock picking. She needed to be fast and accurate and lucky, too.

Maybe she was owed some luck, Maggie thought, her fingers throbbing as she pressed them into the wire, straightening it, and then forming it in the right shape for a pick. She didn’t know if this wire would be strong enough. At any rate, it was tough enough that her fingers were complaining, and her nail bent back painfully as the wire slipped.

Clenching her jaw, Maggie continued with the job, aware that precious minutes were passing, and that checking stock didn’t sound like it would take long.

Maybe Olsen would be thorough.

At least now, she had a pick in her hand, and she could try to use it.

Peeking out of the office and making sure there was nobody in sight, Maggie headed for the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Jamie couldn’t get his thoughts away from Maggie, and how she was doing, as he sat in the back office of the Cooper’s Rock police station, waiting for the FBI to arrive.

Although they’d gotten Simmons’ permission, and Nash’s permission, they hadn’t yet told the local police about Maggie’s undercover role, and they hadn’t told the FBI.

Jamie thought that for the time being, it would be wiser to keep Maggie’s presence at the Desert Lotus Wellness Retreat under wraps as far as possible.

The more people that knew, the less chance she’d have to operate as a true undercover agent. He didn’t even like it that the owner knew. As he and Maggie had discussed yesterday, Jamie didn’t fully trust Nash. Her priorities were skewed. She was intensely protective over her business, even though it was a decade old and thriving.

He instinctively felt that there was something incongruous about the way she guarded it, and he knew that Maggie felt the same, and that all her profiler’s instincts had been triggered by the links to the retreat, as well as Nash’s response to the fact her therapist had been murdered.

She should have been more shocked. But her first thought had been to protect the business.

Jamie’s phone buzzed with an incoming email, distracting him from these suspicious thoughts.

It was an update on the case – a small one, but at least it was something, he thought as he read it.

The pathologist had completed the postmortems on the first two victims. The findings so far were that the victims had been knocked out before their throats were slit, that they had been moved while unconscious and then moved again once they were bled out, and also, that large quantities of formalin had been used.

Jamie saw that the formalin hadn’t just been painted on their faces, but also on the rest of their exposed skin, and even poured onto the wounds in their necks.

It was as if the killer had been attempting to embalm his victims, creepy as that sounded.

Maybe it pointed even more strongly to the eternal youth theory that Maggie was so convinced by.

“Have you seen this?”

Distracted from the email, Jamie turned his head as Sheriff Roberts walked in. He was holding a printout from a website in his hand, and as Jamie stood up, Roberts handed him the paper.

“What is it?” Jamie asked.

“New site. Not from here, from a Los Angeles based media house. But the word is out about the murders. It’s hit the press, and we’re front page news.”

Jamie tightened his lips. That was to be expected. He'd just been hoping that it wouldn't happen and that they would manage to find the killer before the bad press descended.

“Serial Killer in Cooper’s Rock – Three Victims Brutally Slaughtered.”

With a sense of resignation, Jamie read the article, which was short on facts, although it made up for that by the use of lots of words like ‘brutal’, ‘slaughter’, ‘carnage’, ‘bloodthirsty’, and ‘unsolved’.

“Police are stumped,” the article read. “And the Bureau of Investigation agents have been unable to get answers, forcing the FBI to become involved.”

Even worse, Jamie thought, wondering again how Maggie was doing and if she was making any headway in her undercover role. The writer had made it sound as if the Department of Justice was incompetent, and Simmons would be seething when she read it.

She might decide that given the bad press, Maggie’s undercover role was simply too risky for the department’s reputation now, and decide to recall both of them to San Jose. That was a real possibility, Jamie knew.

He worried that her decision to go undercover might backfire on her. He hoped that she wouldn’t suffer as a result of what had been a determined effort to add value to the investigation, and also, follow a hunch.

Through more than a year’s experience, during which Jamie acknowledged he’d ended up physically attracted to his fiery haired and fiery natured partner, he’d also come to have enormous respect for her perception.

If she had a hunch, then it was worth following up on.

He just hoped that she would have the chance to do the digging she needed to before the FBI came in. That way, they might outrun the killer, and prevent another murder.

“It’s a shame about this bad press,” he said to Roberts, who was looking at him expectantly. The local police also hadn’t come out as heroes in the article, even though Jamie knew how hard they’d been working. “Articles like this never recognize the people who deserve it. This is fearmongering.”

Pressing his lips together, Roberts nodded grimly. "It is. I guess that if it encourages people to stay inside and not head out alone, then it's doing some good, but bad press like this always hurts. And right now, we don't need to have the public's faith in the police eroded. It'll only encourage vigilantism and underreporting. We've seen both those in previous big cases."

At that moment, voices from the office doorway told Jamie that the FBI had arrived.

Setting the disturbing article aside, he headed to the doorway to meet them.

Two agents walked in. They were both in their thirties, both looked serious and professional and competent.

"Morning, morning," Roberts said, making the introductions. Agent Temple was the team leader – a quiet, stern-faced man with recent sunburn reddening his cheeks and nose – while the darker-haired Agent Grant was his partner.

“Thanks for coming in on the case,” Roberts said, and Temple nodded.

"I know handing over isn't easy. Jurisdictional issues are always a challenge. We'll try to get this done with the minimum of delays and hit the ground running if we can."

They all sat down, and Agent Temple pulled the case file toward him.

Jamie knew that the next hour would be spent in handing over the case, explaining the situation to Temple, and going through what they’d done so far.

It was going to be a difficult hour because his thoughts were on Maggie, and he wanted to know if she was safe.

Now, Temple was turning to him with an expectant expression.

“So, agent Rodriguez, you worked this case with a partner?”

“Yes. We agreed that I’d brief you on my own,” Jamie said, managing to avoid the question of where, exactly, Maggie was right now.

As he opened the file and began explaining what he and Maggie had done, he felt a sense of frustration that he couldn’t immediately call her back. He hoped she was okay.

“So, the three victims were all found in the national park, in separate locations from where they were first grabbed by the killer?” Temple asked.

"Correct," Jamie said. He looked down at the map, which had the three sites plotted on it. There was nothing to be gained from the sites – no clear pattern to them. They were widely spaced out, with a few miles between the first and second site, and the third one much further to the left. There didn't seem to be any significance to the dumping sites chosen, even though Jamie could see that Temple was plotting the locations carefully.

“So, this killer uses transportation to get around the park, obviously?” he asked briskly. “What have you done with roadblocks, drones, helicopter footage?”

“We’ve been using our drone where possible,” Roberts said politely. Jamie could tell that the FBI agents would have to get out into the park themselves, boots on the ground, before they realized how porous the borders were and how vast the landscape. With so many small dirt roads, farm tracks, and the ability to simply drive off road, he knew that roadblocks would have been futile. His guess was that the killer knew all the back roads and wasn't spending much time on the main roads at all. Again, this was something that the FBI would figure out when they drove around the area, which he hoped they would be doing soon.

“Let me have a look at the first case records,” Temple said.

While Roberts jumped up to organize that, it gave Jamie a chance to excuse himself.

He headed quickly outside, impatient to see if Maggie had learned anything new and what progress she was making on the case.

But, when he dialed her number, he found to his surprise that her phone was turned off. It went straight through to voicemail.

Feeling unsettled by that, Jamie tried again.

Same result. The phone was off.

Why wasn’t she keeping her phone turned on? And what had she been wanting to tell him so urgently?

Staring down at his phone in concern, Jamie worried that something had gone wrong.

There was a killer out there, and he was taking people who were beautiful and who were young. He knew that Maggie would scoff at the idea, but she checked both those boxes.

What if he had targeted her?

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

With her fingers tensed, her eyes narrowed, and the pick slipping in the lock's mechanism, Maggie wrestled with it, feeling sweat spring up on her forehead as a result of the effort and the tension.

Work. Please, work, she thought, feeling it slide away yet again, making her want to scream with frustration.

It wasn’t going to work if it sensed her panic. Inanimate objects never did, she thought, surprising herself with a flash of humor. The truth was that haste would make her actions futile because the technique wouldn’t be correct.

It took a huge effort of will for her to slow herself down, to use the pick in a more deliberate way, and to take the time to sense and feel the lock’s mechanism.

There! It caught. Now, she could feel she had something to work with

Hold it, hold it, she told herself, her hands quivering with tension as she eased the mechanism around.

And then, to her shock, it slid open with a rattle. She’d done it, and she was in.

Gasping a relieved breath, she stepped into Chas Olsen’s private office.

This would have to be quick. Olsen might come back at any time. And also, Maggie needed to get to the champagne event. That would be another source of information she couldn’t afford to miss.

But checking this office came first.

Staring around, she got her bearings, taking in her surroundings.

This office was untidier than the others she’d seen. There were papers on the desk, a blotter with jottings on it, and an open laptop that caught her attention immediately. Olsen had left a few minutes ago. Was it still turned on?

Walking over to it, her heart thudded with disappointment as she saw the screen was blank and dark.

She pressed the touchpad, but a screen popped up immediately, requesting an access code.

With no idea what the code might be, Maggie reluctantly turned aside. If Olivia was here with her now, it would probably take her only a few moments to get access to that machine. But Olivia wasn’t here, and Maggie didn’t have enough information to start the process remotely.

She glanced at the jottings on the blotter, but nothing caught her attention as being important.

There was a wooden in-tray with a few documents inside – just recent invoices and orders. And also, there was a filing cabinet at the back of the office, one of the steel drawers hanging partway open.

Perhaps the filing cabinet would be the best place to look.

It was differently organized from the one she’d seen earlier. This was messier, just like the office itself, and there were fewer folders inside. None of them were labeled, though, and she guessed that Olsen relied on his own system to find the documents he needed.

So, what system was it, and how could she see if there was anything she needed?

Deciding that there was only one way to do this, Maggie simply rifled through each of the folders in turn.

Checking over her shoulder every few minutes, feeling tension flare every time she thought she heard a sound, Maggie got lucky on the third folder that she found.

It wasn’t labeled, and it was right at the back of the row, but the way it hung open told her that it was frequently accessed. Enough so that the steel sides of the cardboard folder had been bent.

She took it out and opened it up.

“Eternal Youth.” The words leaped out at her, causing another spike of adrenaline.

The first piece of paper that she pulled out of the file was a list of names and dates, as well as areas. A very long list, and it had been updated as recently as yesterday.

As she flipped the pages over, seeing the names of men and women on it, Maggie guessed that this must be the list of the customers who had received the Eternal Youth treatment.

There were hundreds of them, many in California. Probably, more than three quarters of the list was in California, with the remainder spread over the rest of the country. If these were all the people who’d received the treatment, it was hugely successful.

Obsessed with beauty, obsessed with youth. How many of the people on the list fell into that category? Maggie wondered, as she paged through the extensive record of names.

Then, she wondered why the list was here at all. Why was it so important to keep an updated record of everyone who'd received the treatment in a file at the back of the cabinet? What for?

Other than that, this folder was disappointing. It simply contained some brochures on the treatment, as well as some details of key ingredients that were sourced from out of state. Maggie guessed that although the treatments were manufactured locally, using Joshua tree extracts, not everything could be grown and produced nearby.

This wasn’t answering her questions, so she put the folder back.

She checked in the other folders. Nothing.

Then, she opened the other drawers in the cabinet, looking through them as well, feeling a sense of haste and urgency, because she knew her time here was running out.

Olsen might have destroyed earlier records, they might be nowhere at all now.

Or maybe they weren’t in the cabinet, but closer to home?

Maggie turned to the desk itself. She stood next to the plush director’s chair, staring at its white-topped expanse, and then, looking down at the desk drawers.

Knowing that time must be running out, she yanked open the first drawer. It contained only a few items of stationery. How about the second drawer, then?

As she opened it, Maggie caught her breath.

Was this going to be helpful? It was a simple, beige folder and it was labeled, “Formulations.”

“Okay, I need something here,” Maggie muttered to herself.

There were envelopes inside, each one with a different name written on.

"Brightening Peel" was the first one. "Lemon Lotion" was the second. She pushed a few more aside, and there was the one she wanted. “Eternal Youth.”

She grasped the envelope, closing the folder, putting it on the desk, and then, opening it and tipping out what was inside.

A formulation, written in a highly scientific format. Ingredients were listed carefully, with their exact quantities. A few of the ingredients were actual chemicals – she recognized some of the abbreviations, but not others. Some had long scientific names that she’d never heard of. The quantities were sometimes tiny – milligrams of certain substances. The mixing directions were highly specialized and precise.

And at the bottom of the page was a copyright sign-off from Dr. Craig Olsen.

Not Chas? Clearly a relation, though.

She frowned, wondering why the name sounded familiar. Craig Olsen? Where had she heard that name before?

A moment later, Maggie froze as she remembered.

It had come up in her online search when she'd been researching Charles earlier. Other Olsens had come up, and Craig was one.

He’d been the surgeon! Was that the same Craig? The one with the scientific background? Was he related to Chas?

Could Craig be the brother who’d committed suicide?

The one whose tragic death had caused a shift in the relationship between Nash and Olsen?

Or did Olsen have other brothers?

A quick check would give her answers. She needed to turn on her phone now.

She hastily did that, keying in the name that she’d briefly seen earlier. This time, she looked more closely.

This was interesting – very.

No wonder surgeon Craig Olsen had been in the news a few years ago. There was a shocking reason for it, and it explained the cover-up.

He’d killed patients! More than one.

“Edgy anti aging surgery goes wrong.” “Olsen arrested after patient bleeds out.” “This wasn’t just a mistake – it was murder, nurse reveals.”

And then, the follow-up, a year later, although she only saw one small news item on this.

“The Killer Dies – Youth Obsessed Surgeon Commits Suicide in Prison.”

“Some legal troubles,” Nash had said. That was the understatement of the year. Olsen’s brother hadn’t committed suicide because of legal troubles. He’d been serving a life sentence for murder. He’d committed suicide while in prison.

No wonder Nash and Olsen had difficulty updating the formulations, and they had wanted to minimize any news on this topic. It would not instill customer confidence for people to know that the Eternal Youth treatment had been formulated by a murderer who’d been jailed for life and then killed himself. They must have suppressed the news somehow. Maybe Chas Olsen had connections.

Maggie hadn’t checked the news items when she’d first searched, because she hadn’t thought Craig Olsen was the right person. Now that she saw the link, she realized how important they were.

This was a game changer.

Her mind was still whirling, taking in this shock information that she’d not known about, as she turned the pages, seeing that the original formulation had been updated regularly since its inception to keep it effective. Tweaks had been made – and improvements, too, she was sure. As recently as last year.

Last year?

Looking more closely at that, Maggie frowned. That wasn’t possible, surely? She didn’t think it was possible that those improvements could have been made on those dates. Not with Craig Olsen signing off on them, anyway.

Was this fraud? What was happening? How could the signature of a dead man be at the bottom of the formulation sheet?

Think of it another way, she urged herself. If it is possible, then what does it mean?

The answer was that it couldn't. Either the signature had been forged, or else a more plausible reason was that Craig Olsen wasn't dead.

If so, then he was alive – the suicide had been a fake, to get him out of prison, and Maggie was sure that Victoria Nash didn’t know.

With hands that were unsteady from sheer haste, she photographed the pages one by one. This was evidence, and she needed it. But more than that, she needed to get face-to-face with Chas Olsen. Never mind running and hiding. She had questions for him that he needed to answer.

Pocketing her phone again, and putting the envelope back where she’d found it, Maggie strode out of the office, rushing down the corridor as she headed for the warehouse.

She hoped she wasn’t too late to prevent a disaster.

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

Rushing down the corridor, past the manufacturing section, Maggie burst into the warehouse again, hearing the ambient noise, the beeping of the forklift, and the droning of a truck that was idling at the entrance. In this bigger space, the smell of lemon had been replaced by the scents of diesel, oil, and cardboard.

She rushed straight over to the truck, confronting the driver, who was at the wheel and about to head out.

“Is Mr. Olsen here?” she asked.

The man, who she now saw wore the uniform of a courier delivery company, looked surprised, and then shook his head. “If he’s the man who was here earlier, checking the load, then he’s not here. He got a call and headed out. I think he said he was going to a supplier meeting. His secretary went with him.”

Nash, then. With Olsen gone, which Maggie found highly suspicious, she urgently needed to speak to Nash. At least she knew where she’d find her.

Nash would have taken a golf cart back to the champagne event. Maggie didn’t have that luxury.

She turned away from the driver and jogged out of the warehouse gate, not caring if the guard spotted her or not. Behind her, she heard a warning cry. He’d spotted her heading out, but she wasn’t going to stop.

Heading for the walkway that led back to the retreat, Maggie broke into a run.

As she ran, she pulled out her phone. Jamie needed to hear about this now.

She dialed his numbers, stabbing at the button as she ran. He picked up on the first ring.

“Maggie,” he said. “Are you okay? I tried to call you earlier.”

"I'm fine," she responded breathlessly. "But I think I've figured out what's been happening here and who the killer is.”

“And? Who is he?”

“The brother. Craig Olsen. You need to get here, fast. Bring the FBI agents as soon as you can. We can brief them on site.”

“The brother? But…” Jamie stopped himself. Maggie was sure all the questions she’d had were racing around his mind, too. “Okay. Will do.”

She didn’t know who Craig Olsen would take next, but she thought she now knew what his end goal was.

The retreat was in sight now, and Maggie sped up, her legs burning, her sandals starting to rub her feet agonizingly. They were not the ideal footwear for this mission. She wished she’d worn her boots, but there was no time to get them now.

As she ran, she saw a pristine, silver BMW turning into the retreat’s main gates. Another well-heeled guest was arriving, and at the same time, someone was leaving – a dark SUV easing out and cruising onto the road, turning right.

Maggie’s ankle twisted underneath her as the sandal, too loose for running, slipped sideways on her foot. With a muffled curse, she righted herself, limping a few strides as she headed into the retreat.

She almost collided with Donna, the therapist that she’d had the facial treatment with, earlier.

“Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry, Maggie, are you okay?” Donna said, putting a friendly hand on Maggie’s arm, but under her professional veneer, Maggie could see that she looked anxious.

“I’m fine,” Maggie replied. Donna was gripping her phone in the other hand. “But how about you?” she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine. We’re just hunting for Mrs. Nash,” Donna said with a taut smile. “She’s a little – um – behind schedule for our champagne event, and I think she must still be at the warehouse, so I’m calling them, but they don’t seem to be able to find her either.”

Maggie’s heart, already sped up from the run, now pounded even harder.

“You can’t find her?”

She felt a sense of doom. She had literally been hiding outside the office, eavesdropping on the conversation, as Olsen had told Nash to get back to the main building or she’d be late for her champagne event.

Nash would have hustled there, getting into a golf cart and driving across that long, sunny expanse of ground. There was no way she'd have delayed. Maggie had heard the urgency in her own voice as she'd acknowledged the importance of the champagne event, even though she'd been resentful about the timing of it.

“No, not right now. She’s not picking up her phone.”

Thoughts flashed through Maggie’s mind.

The first, most frantic one: She’s been targeted. It’s too late. She’s gone.

She’d underestimated this killer’s frantic need to destroy. A need that she now knew had been personal.

Maggie forced herself to control her thoughts and movements, trying to calmly triage what had become a desperate situation.

Nash couldn’t have been taken long ago. This must have happened in the last few minutes. Perhaps she’d been ambushed as she parked the golf cart next to the others. That would have been the killer’s most strategic move. He could have waited for her, then pounced, slammed his fist into her temple, mashed a chloroform cloth into her mouth, and simply bundled her up into one of those big cloth bags that housekeeping used. Then, he could simply have driven the cart out to the parking lot, transferred the limp body to the trunk, and driven out, on schedule with his plans.

Maggie hadn’t been too far behind. She might even have seen him leave.

That big, dark SUV that had cruised out when she arrived could have been his car. It was spacious enough to hold her, with tinted windows, and it had turned in the direction of the Joshua Tree national park. That, she’d noticed.

There was no time to waste. Maggie had to go in pursuit.

But even as she made that decision, she realized a fatal flaw in her plans. She had no car with her. She’d intended to call Jamie if she needed to go out, or else, to simply ask him to go and investigate outside the retreat.

Jamie was rounding up the FBI and still too far away. Somehow, she needed to track that car.

Taking a deep breath, she turned to Donna.

“There’s been an emergency,” she said. Digging in the pocket of her pants, she produced her badge. Donna stared at it, her eyes widening.

"I'm an undercover special agent investigating these murders," Maggie said. "I need your car, right now.”

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

The buzz of the engine resounded in Maggie’s ears as the small, snub-nosed sedan powered along the road. Even with her foot flattened, she couldn’t get the tiny car anywhere near the speed limit. Mashing the gas pedal as hard as she could, Maggie got on the phone.

“There’s been a development,” she told Jamie.

“How urgent is it?” Jamie’s voice was intense. “I’m in a meeting with the FBI now. We’re about to leave for the retreat.”

“It’s more urgent than that,” Maggie said. “Victoria Nash has been grabbed by Craig Olsen.”

“When? How?” Jamie’s voice was sharp.

“I’ll tell you more when I can. Right now, this is what I suspect. Dark SUV, heading toward the park. If you call Donna, at the retreat, she’s busy looking up the camera footage to see if they captured the SUV’s plates, and if there are any other cars that left in the same timeframe. I think it’s the one, and it’s heading toward the national park.”

“Right.” Jamie sounded decisive now. “So, we have an approximate area where it’ll be.”

“Yes,” Maggie said. “How fast can you get a helicopter up to do an aerial search?”

“I don’t know, but I’m working on it, as of now,” Jamie said.

He hung up, and Maggie sent up a silent prayer that the additional resources of the FBI would help this search to happen more quickly.

If only she’d realized earlier who this killer was. It all made sense now, everything.

Now, that printed list of names made sense. Olsen had prepared it for the FBI already. So far, that was the killer’s profile – a man obsessed by youthfulness, and a man who had been fanatical about the Eternal Youth treatment.

It would take the FBI months to go through that list of names and find out the whereabouts of every single person who’d received the treatment. What a brilliant strategy to make sure that the case went cold.

The roads were quiet ahead of her. There wasn't much traffic around on this desolate stretch, and there was no sign of the SUV ahead. She tried not to think about the fact that it could have taken any of the minor tracks and headed into the park already via a circuitous route. She just had to keep looking out for any sign of dust on those side roads that would show her a car had passed.

There was no dust so far that she could see. He hadn't taken a side road yet. But he knew the area and he knew the roads, much better than she did.

Also, he had a powerful car. Grateful as she was for the immediate loan of the little runabout, Maggie had to admit – really? Donna was an excellent, generous person, but why, oh why, couldn’t she have opted for more muscle in her choice of vehicle?

Buzzing along at least gave Maggie the chance to check the surroundings carefully. And maybe that was a good thing. If she’d been roaring ahead, looking to catch up with the killer, she might not have had the thought that she did now.

Maybe he held them somewhere close to town – in a building, rather than heading straight into the park?

That was how he’d been able to stay so invisible, because there was a gap in between taking the victims and dumping them. And she knew that there had been at least two steps in each of the killings. There had been the grabbing of the victims – and yes, that had happened in broad daylight.

But then, he’d bided his time and he’d made sure that there was nobody around before he’d headed out to dump the bodies in his chosen places, close to the park.

They had all been dumped after dark.

That was how he’d managed to stay so invisible. Sneaky and strategic, but at least now, she had another option for where he might be.

There hadn’t been any buildings so far, but ahead, there were a few, not too far from the road. On the right, she saw a few buildings that looked like old farm sheds, and on the left, she saw an ancient building, gutted by the weather, that might once have been an old farmhouse, or perhaps a roadside kiosk.

One of those?

Hitting the brakes, Maggie took a closer look. She didn’t see any dust blowing down the driveways, but the driveways were relatively short. Not like a long dust road.

Would it be worth investigating – and if so, which one should she choose first?

Which one would the killer pick?

Looking from one to the other, Maggie felt her stomach tense. The SUV could be hidden away in either building. Both were large enough.

But the farm buildings offered better shelter. She was going to go with those as her first choice. There was more space to hide a car, more space to hide a victim – and even more space to slit a throat and let a victim bleed out into the soil.

As fast as she could, she got on the phone, updating Jamie with her latest movements.

“Two buildings, a couple of miles from the retreat. Checking them both. Left hand buildings first, then right.”

With that update done, Maggie veered left, and the sedan rolled down the dirt driveway, suddenly feeling a lot smoother and more comfortable now that she wasn’t pushing it to its limits.

There were several buildings here, with a few gnarled trees planted in between them. The silence resounded in her ears. Not another car on the road, not even the sound of a barking dog. It was utterly quiet.

She climbed out of the car, now feeling very aware of the noise she was making, and how easy it would be for someone waiting inside to hear it. Although, maybe he was watching out for her anyway.

She didn’t have her gun with her. It was still locked away in the safe. There hadn’t been time to get it from her room as she’d raced after the departing SUV. All she had was her flashlight.

Closing the door as quietly as she could, Maggie headed to the first of the farm buildings.

The barn had wooden sides and a tin roof, painted green. It looked to be a place where hay was stored. As she reached the doorway and pushed it open, she smelled the musty scent of bales in storage, and saw them, yellow-gold, stacked in neat piles.

But now there was a sound – a strange, greedy buzzing noise that came from beyond the stacked bales. The sound caused her stomach to clench. Tiptoeing into the shed, she headed along the walkway between the bales. Her feet trod over loose hay, and as she went further in, the barn darkened.

There, at the end, she saw a flattened place in the ground – that looked as if it had been deliberately covered with a layer of fresh straw pulled from the bales.

Maggie knew what was there, because hundreds of bluebottle flies were clustered there, their buzzing now loud, a vibration in the air. And, as well as the scent of the musty hay, she could pick up something else now, a smell that twitched her nostrils.

It was the reek of old blood.

This was where he bled them out. She’d found the place – but there was nobody here now. It must be done under cover of night.

What about the other buildings?

Maggie left the barn and headed over to the building next door.

Her spine prickled as she pushed open the door, wincing as she heard the sharp squeal of a rusty hinge. Right now, she didn’t need any noise, didn’t want her presence here to be signaled.

This was an old tractor barn, now a darkened junkyard. Rusty machinery loomed around her. There was a smell of old oil lingering in the air. Dust had settled on the floor, but as Maggie looked more closely, she saw footprints in the dust, and her stomach tautened.

Was this his hiding place? He might have dumped her here and run, knowing that she would remain undisturbed in this deserted barn until darkness came and he was ready for her.

Maggie stared at the footprints, following their direction along the floor.

She couldn’t hear a thing. Was he here?

If Victoria was here, she’d be unconscious, because he would have made sure of it. Unconscious and gagged. No point in calling out to her. She wouldn’t be in a state to answer. But Maggie needed to find her. Footprints alone didn’t mean she was here.

The barn was huge, and it was divided into different compartments by walls and barriers. There were some crumbling, plastered walls, and there were some that were made of rusty corrugated iron. The place was like a maze, with islands of sheet metal, pieces of wood, and scattered nails on the floor.

She'd lost the footprints. They'd faded into the dark, and she couldn't see them.

Maggie turned on her flashlight, seeing dust motes shimmering in its beam as she walked cautiously forward.

Was she in here, on the right?

Nope, nothing but an old rusty plow in there. How about this room further on?

This one had a sour smell, and Maggie saw piles of old fertilizer bags had been stacked inside there.

She was about to turn away when she remembered that laundry bag carried on the golf cart back at the retreat. This killer was a master of disguises.

Check properly, she told herself. Check thoroughly. You only have one chance, so don’t blow it.

Maggie turned back and went over to the bags. The fallen ones rustled underneath her. She prodded the first bag, but there was nothing inside it. How about the second one? This, too, was empty.

But the third one, half hidden behind the others? That didn’t look like it had ever contained fertilizer. It was clean, and it wasn’t empty. Maggie pressed down on the white canvas sacking, and inside, she felt something solid and soft.

Her heart sped up, the flashlight focusing on the crumpled mouth of the bag. This was where she was, in here. He’d moved her and dumped her, but now, Maggie could hear snuffling breaths coming from inside the bag.

Maggie ripped the bag back, the rustle of the sacking filling her ears as she stared down at the trussed woman. She was gagged, and she was still asleep, and she had her hands fastened behind her with a long, silken scarf. With a sense of horror, Maggie guessed he'd used this soft bond so that no marks were left on her flawless skin.

Never mind that. Victoria Nash was still alive.

But, as she had the realization, Maggie heard a soft sound from behind her.

Twisting around in the darkness, she only just managed to avoid the slicing blade of the knife as it stabbed in a wide, flashing arc toward her.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Leaping aside, adrenaline surged in Maggie, slowing down time and making it feel as if every moment was an eternity. He was here – he'd found her and ambushed her, and now, he wasn't giving her time to get to her gun. She leaped away again as the knife sliced toward her once more.

In his other hand, he held a powerful flashlight, and this now shone directly into her eyes, dazzling her. She stepped back, desperate to retreat and regroup, and her foot caught on a loose piece of sacking, so that she stumbled.

She could barely make out the details of the hooded figure as he swung the long, sharp hunting knife toward her again.

Yet again, she leaped away, the flashlight a painful blaze that scorched her retinas. She heard his breathy chuckle.

He was a highly intelligent man and a true psychopath, amused by pain and fear. But he was also lethally strong, and as he then proved, incredibly fast.

The knife sliced toward her again, as Maggie stumbled back, still blinded by the beam of the flashlight which he was using as a weapon now, intermittently shining it in her eyes so that the effect was consistently blinding.

She was off balance, and she was far slower than she usually was.

Think, she urged herself. There was only going to be one chance for her to disable him. She didn’t think that she’d get more. She had a plan in mind, but to do it, she’d first need to distract him, and she didn’t know how easy that would be. But she had to try.

“I know who you are,” she said. “You’re a killer – but I know who else you are.”

He laughed. “I’m sure you do. But you also don’t, if you see what I mean?” His voice was taunting.

“You should probably listen to what I say before you try to stab me,” Maggie warned. Now that they were in conversation with each other, she could risk the threat.

“And what do you have to say? You’d better hurry, because I don’t have time.”

“You’re Craig Olsen. Ex-medical practitioner. And in addition to making the treatments, you took things further. Doing experimental surgery on people desperate to look younger. Only you weren’t just doing that. You deliberately botched some of the surgeries so that they bled out, because you’re a psychopath, and I think your obsession with looking younger took you all the way. Why did you use the formalin on your victims? I’m guessing you were trying to pioneer some weird form of embalming, as well as committing a chain of murders to use as a smokescreen for the woman you really wanted to kill.”

And that was Victoria, of course.

There was a silence in the barn as Maggie continued. “You decided, in your warped mind, that the only way of guaranteeing eternal youth is if someone is dead. Death is the only thing that stops the clock, and that’s why I think you became obsessed with it. But you were found out, and you were jailed. You were supposed to be inside for life, most likely, and you knew that you’d be ruined afterward.”

“Oh, very clever. You have been joining the dots. But you won’t be able to do that for long. I’m invisible. Don’t you know that?”

“I guess you faked your suicide inside. With your brother identifying your body, that would have been an easy scam. Pay off a few guards, and get out, under a new name and a new identity. You probably got surgery, too. Paid one of your friends to change your looks so that nobody would ever realize who you were.”

“Nice guess,” he spat out.

Now, he didn’t look happy that Maggie had figured him out. Now, there was a watchfulness to his pose, as if he was waiting for her to give him the full story, in case it buried him.

“You updated the treatments for the retreat, which is why some of them have more recent dates on their formulations than your supposed suicide.” That was the single observation that had finally helped Maggie figure out what was going on.

“Anyone could have done that,” he replied.

“And you lived the good life, but then, your brother started having issues with Victoria Nash. Maybe that was because you wanted an active role in the business again, because of your obsession. You demanded it once you were out of prison, but of course, he couldn’t tell her that you were still alive. The partnership came under stress, and you decided that you were going to kill her and destroy her side of the business. Then, you and your brother could have started up again somewhere else, with the same formulas and products, the same recipe for success, and a brand new name and identity for you. Chas Olsen knew what you were doing. He’s your enabler, and he used you to kill his partner. Only, she’s not dead yet, and you’re not going to escape the net. Because…”

Maggie paused.

Craig leaned forward, listening hard.

In reality, there was no ‘because’. She had no idea of his new name, or even his appearance thanks to that hood, and the flashlight in her eyes, although she wondered if he’d been the bearded man on the bench that she’d glanced at on her way to the manufacturing buildings. That man had been smoothly handsome, ageless, his features strangely bland.

But there was no tangible link between him and his brother. If he fled, then his brother could claim ignorance, and there would be nothing at all that tied him to the crimes.

What she was saying now was a bluff. But it was enough to distract him and get him off guard, and while he waited, she made her move.

It started with the flashlight.

Using all her strength, Maggie wrenched it out of his hands and flung it at his face, so that he threw up an arm in defense.

And then, she leaped forward, knowing that if this didn’t work, it was all over, because she was now in range of his knife.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Lunging at Craig Olsen with all her strength, Maggie put everything she had into her punch.

Her aim was perfect. The blow was true.

But it didn’t hit its target, because the target moved.

As soon as Maggie lunged forward, the beam of the killer’s flashlight swung wide. With her own flashlight now on the floor, the shadows loomed, and as he ducked aside, the changing light disoriented her.

Instead of following his move, her blow landed wide, and then, Maggie knew, they were in a deadly hand-to-hand combat.

"You're not taking me! You are not!" Hissing out the words, Craig brought down his knife arm, and acting more through instinct than anything else, Maggie made a grab for it. She got the knife arm, managing to wrap her fingers around his wrist, and as she did that, she twisted hard. Maggie hoped that she'd be able to find the pressure point and disable him through pain before he'd had a chance to regroup.

But it didn’t work. He was too fast, and he was lethally strong. He yanked his arm away in a move so fast she didn’t have time to prevent it. And then, Maggie was on the defensive, now backtracking hurriedly and stumbling again as the shadows swirled around her and his flashlight shone, briefly but blindingly, into her eyes again.

She flinched away, but this time, managed to get a kick in as she twisted sideways to avoid the blade.

The kick landed squarely on his knee. Finally, a pain point. She heard the breath grunt out of him and knew that speed was her friend – for the next moment, as he rode the surge of pain and weakness.

Lashing out her foot again, Maggie aimed for the knife hand, wishing that she was kicking with a solid boot, instead of with a flimsy and loose sandal. But it didn’t matter if her aim was good, she told herself. Always aim to blast your way through the target, not just at the target, was the advice her boxing coach gave her, and this was what she did now.

She got it!

If you keep on trying, you’ll get somewhere. Her coach’s words again, resounding in her mind, this time triumphantly, as Maggie’s foot made contact with his wrist at exactly the right spot, jerking the knife free. It spun away, landing on the floor, and now that he was disarmed, Maggie surged forward.

This still wasn't an even fight. He was far heavier and more powerful, but at least the playing field had been leveled now. Without the knife, she had a chance to take him down.

Only, she didn’t.

Because, as the knife clattered to the floor, he spun away. For a moment, his shadow loomed, tall and dark against the rusty corrugated iron wall.

And then, he was gone, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the building.

Swearing to herself, Maggie scrambled after him, rushing to the door, wishing that her footwear was better suited for running, as well as fighting. He was going to get a lead, and he might even manage to get away.

She rushed after him, racing through the darkness of the barn, seeing the shaft of light at the entrance. He was briefly silhouetted there, and then he was out, and she was hurtling after him, focused on where he’d gone, following his fleeing form as he hurtled around one of the buildings, and then, into another one, through a metal door. But as she reached the door, it slammed in her face.

Maggie flung herself against it, but it was locked, the handle squeaking as she tugged it, the metal solid and unmoving. And then, from inside, she heard the noise she had dreaded – the sound of a car starting up.

He was going to flee. Determined and fast, he might just do it. There was no way she could catch up with him on the road.

Racing around the side of the barn, Maggie heard tires squeal. And then, from out of the barn’s large side door, the SUV she’d seen earlier came, burning rubber, its engine roaring.

Craig Olsen was hunched over the wheel, indistinct through the darkened glass as he roared for the gate.

But then, Maggie heard sirens from the road, and her heart leaped.

It was her backup – and they were arriving just in time. Leading the way was the trusty cruiser that Roberts had loaned them. She guessed that Jamie must still be at the wheel, because in this moment of crisis, there was no way he’d have stood down.

Behind him were two other police cars, their lights flashing as they bore down on the left-hand gate.

With a squeal of tires, the SUV was through it, out on the road, racing for safety with the police behind.

This time, though, the fight was fairer.

The three police cars set off in pursuit, engines howling. From her position up the hill, Maggie could see the chase. She held her breath as the four cars raced along the road, with the big SUV going dangerously fast, and the police cars crowded behind.

It was one thing for her to face danger, but she didn’t feel as reckless when it came to Jamie. He needed to be careful.

The first bend in the road nearly ended things. The tires of the SUV wailed, and the engine screamed as it tried to negotiate the bend. Rocking, slewing, the car made it around the bend. But there was another turn coming up, as the fugitive fled into the hills, in the direction of the Joshua Tree National Park.

And this one, under pressure and going way too fast, was his undoing.

The car skidded, slewed again, and this time it rolled, crashing off the road in a wail of metal that reached Maggie’s ears, even though it was nearly a mile away.

The police cars slowed, the officers jumped out, swarming the scene.

They had him now, Maggie knew, as she rushed back to the barn to free Victoria Nash.

The crimes that had devastated the peaceful town and the national park were over at last.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

It wasn’t often that cops, Department of Justice agents, and the FBI all sat together around a table, eating burgers and drinking sodas and celebrating the wrap of a tough and challenging case. Maggie was pleased to be a part of the group gathered in the police station’s small meeting room.

Simmons had already called to congratulate the pair of them, and Maggie in particular, for playing such a critical and courageous role in the solving of the case, and the takedown. It had been a team effort, but Maggie had delayed Craig Olsen for long enough to allow backup to arrive.

Victoria Nash was in the hospital, recovering from a mild concussion.

Her partner, Chas Olsen, had been arrested while in his meeting. Under pressure from the FBI, he’d spilled the beans. He had been an accomplice in the crimes, sheltering his brother, giving him the uniforms and clothing he needed to move around the retreat, and organizing for Victoria Nash to be in the right place at the right time for him to grab her.

The brothers had always worked together, Maggie had learned. They’d worked together even when Craig was in prison. With Chas’s help on the outside, Craig’s suicide had been faked, and Maggie didn’t think that Victoria Nash had ever suspected differently.

She’d believed that the suicide had been real, and Chas had never told her otherwise, especially since, from that moment onward, their partnership had been under stress thanks to Craig being out of prison. That was why Victoria hadn’t known the details on the formulation updates, or who had signed them off.

Of course, Craig Olsen had no problem sourcing the formalin. In fact, when she’d read the details of the murder cases, Maggie had found that it wasn’t the first time he’d used it on his patients. He’d used it intravenously during operations in his private surgery, knowing it would kill, and had also used it on the skin and bodies of his victims.

The details of the cases had never been widely publicized. They must have been hushed up – perhaps by Chas, with his money and influence, perhaps by the victims’ wealthy families, and perhaps by both.

With his brother free, it was Maggie’s suspicion that his insidious influence had begun poisoning Chas’s mind, leading him to the decision that he would allow his psychopathic brother to destroy her.

What an example of toxic brotherly closeness.

Maggie couldn’t help wondering, with a chill, where she would be now if she had thought the same of Cole.

Would he have accepted her if she’d followed him into a life of crime? And what would it have meant for both of them?

Pushing that idea out of her mind, Maggie knew that in this case, Chas Olsen had always idolized his surgeon brother. He'd always wanted him to walk free and believed he could do no wrong. He was as much of a psychopath as his brother was, and Maggie felt glad that he'd be going to prison for an extended sentence, while Craig was in there for life.

After recovering from his surgery, of course.

He hadn't had his seatbelt on during the accident, and he'd been catapulted through the windshield when the car had rolled. He had suffered several broken bones and extensive facial injuries. The scarring would be deep and permanent, and Maggie couldn't help thinking that it was karmic justice, a fitting punishment for his obsession with the smooth, youthful appearance that had led him to kill.

“You did well to go undercover, Agent Flight,” the FBI agent said, reaching for a second burger as Maggie did the same.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you a heads-up,” she said.

He shook his head, glancing from Maggie to Jamie with an amused expression. “It wouldn’t be undercover if everyone knew about it. You did what you had to do.”

“And so did Roberts,” Maggie said, as everyone nodded. The sheriff raised his can of soda with a proud nod. Maggie felt glad that what would probably be his last big case before retirement had ended up being solved, and not one but two criminals arrested – one of whom had been rooted out from the local community.

“I’m just glad that it’ll be business as usual for our retreat,” he said. “I visited Victoria in the hospital on my way here. She’s doing well, and although she’s shocked by what’s happened, she’s determined to keep the retreat going. It’s a well-loved part of our town, it brings us all a lot of income and employment, and I told her that we all commend her bravery.”

There were nods all around. Maggie agreed with that.

Victoria was incredibly brave and resilient. And Maggie was sure that without the toxic partner holding her back, she’d do even better when she took over the reins.

“To the future,” Jamie said.

“To the future,” Roberts replied, taking a sip of soda by way of a toast.

*

“So, I owe you dinner again,” Maggie said. “Because our last one was interrupted.”

It was early the next morning, and after a helicopter flight to San Jose, she and Jamie had taken a cab home. The cab was now waiting as Jamie walked Maggie to her apartment building’s front door.

Simmons was giving them a two-day break so that they could rest and recover after the case. Simmons had never done that before, and Maggie personally thought their boss was ecstatic that her agents had solved the crime before the FBI had fully taken over.

“No,” Jamie said, looking down at her teasingly. “You fed me the best meal I’ve had since I can remember. What you mean is I owe you dinner.”

Maggie flushed at the compliment, and also at the look in Jamie’s eyes.

“How about tonight, then?” she asked.

“I think tonight is great. We’ll go out, because I need some more practice before I offer you a home cooked meal. Not that I haven’t been trying,” Jamie said, sounding embarrassed. "Let's just say the recipe is not yet perfected, and I had to repaint the kitchen wall."

Maggie snorted. Cooking wasn’t easy. Sometimes, taking down a criminal was simpler.

“A restaurant meal it will be, then.”

Jamie leaned forward, and Maggie’s heart quickened as she leaned toward him, her arms wrapping around him, seeing the expression in his dark eyes, one that was more tender and vulnerable than she’d seen before.

She closed her eyes as she felt the softness of his lips on hers, and the kiss deepened, quickly becoming passionate, with Maggie melting against him and his arms tight around her, until they both stepped away, breathing hard.

There was a cab waiting, after all.

Desire was flooding her, the feeling acknowledged at last, and Maggie felt at peace that it was built on a foundation of friendship and respect.

“Tonight it is,” Jamie said softly, his fingers softly touching hers.

Maggie turned away, feeling as if she was walking on air.

She floated up the stairs to her apartment, turned the key in the lock, and walked inside, feeling as if everything had changed for the better, and that her life would never be quite the same again.

And then, her phone rang.

Pulling it out of her jacket pocket, Maggie saw it was Detective Benjamin from the LA police department where she used to work.

“Maggie Flight.”

“Good morning, Benjamin.” Remembering why she’d last called him, Maggie waited, feeling a mix of expectancy and dread.

“Flight, I’ve got a situation here.” She realized that the commander’s voice was serious – very. And suddenly, a shaft of worry pierced the bubble of happiness inside her.

“What’s the situation?” she asked.

“We had an attempted break-in at the house opposite your mother’s place last night. The French door was smashed, the living room was trashed, a number of valuables were grabbed.”

Maggie gasped as he continued.

“Luckily, thanks to the extra patrols after your heads-up, our team was in the area, and we immediately cast the net. We arrested two men who were in possession of some of the valuables. They had fake IDs on them, and spent the night in jail, and today, the fingerprints came back.”

She felt a thrill of dread inside her as her ex-boss continued. “I knew it even without the prints. I knew it as soon as I saw him. One of the perpetrators is your brother – Cole Flight. We had to put him in a solitary cell because he was acting violently last night. And he'll only speak to you.”

NOW AVAILABLE!

NOW RUN

(A Brynn Justice FBI Suspense Thriller—Book One)

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When a serial killer leaves an eerie trail echoing Greek mythology, brilliant FBI Agent Brynn Justice must race to halt a delusional psychopath—and save the next victim before it's too late…

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NOW RUN

(A Brynn Justice FBI Suspense Thriller—Book One)

Kate Bold

Bestselling author Kate Bold is the author of numerous series in the mystery and thriller genres, including Meg Thorne, Heather King, Brynn Justice, Beth Drake, Maggie Flight, Addison Shine, Barren Pines, Nina Veil, Nora Price, Kelsey Hawk, Alexa Chase, Ashley Hope, Camille Grace, Harley Cole, Kaylie Brooks, Eve Hope, Dylan First, Lauren Lamb series.

Many of Kate’s books are available for free. Please visit Kate’s author page to find out more.

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Kate loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.kateboldauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

SERIES BY KATE BOLD

MEG THORNE

HEATHER KING

BRYNN JUSTICE

BETH DRAKE

MAGGIE FLIGHT

ADDISON SHINE

BARREN PINES

NINA VEIL

NORA PRICE

KELSEY HAWK

ALEXA CHASE

ASHLEY HOPE

CAMILLE GRACE

HARLEY COLE

KAYLIE BROOKS

EVE HOPE

DYLAN FIRST

LAUREN LAMB