Hold on to Me by Linda Winfree Page B

aftertaste, much like the aftermath of her dreams, first the nightmares that left her smothering screams, later the dreams about Tick that always left her breathless and wanting.
    Grimacing, she leaned back in the rickety chair and surveyed the photos on the bulletin board again. No matter what path she took, she returned to Amy Gillabeaux. Amy had to be the key to finding this killer—her death was different enough to provide a lead the others wouldn’t. Before he’d gone home to catch a couple hours of sleep, Cookie had given her the folders organized for each victim, and she pulled Amy’s forward, lifting her senior photo to study it. Amy stared at her with a cool smile and mischievous eyes.
    Caitlin tilted her head, still studying the photo. She recognized that smile—she’d hidden behind one just like it most of her life. A persona to hide the fear and insecurity inside.
    “What happened to you, Amy?” she whispered. “Who wanted you dead?”
    The instinctive knowledge that Amy’s killer had been someone she’d known well remained. The other three women seemed to be victims of opportunity, in the wrong place at the wrong time. Amy’s death…this death had been one of purpose, of planning. She alone carried bruises on her face; she alone bore stab wounds. The others didn’t. They still hadn’t located Vontressa King’s missing car. The doors had been unlocked on Sharon Ingler’s car, the contents of her purse spread across the passenger seat. Amy’s car had been discovered in a local parking lot, doors locked, her purse gone—as if she’d left to go with someone else.
    Willingly.
    “Agent Falconetti. You’re up early.” Jeff Schaefer’s deep voice interrupted her reverie. He leaned in the doorway, alert and professional, two cups of coffee in hand. The fluorescent light glinted off his brown hair. “Brought you some fresh caffeine.”
    “Good morning, Investigator.” She accepted the coffee and he dropped into the chair closest to her. A hint of sports deodorant wafted over her, and she shifted away. “Thanks.”
    “Call me Jeff.” He glanced at the legal pad on the table. “Looks like you’ve been busy. What have you got?”
    She shrugged and took a cautious sip of the hot, fresh brew. “Not much more than we talked about last night. I’m just organizing my thoughts. Tick’s obviously right about his cleansing the bodies.”
    Schaefer nodded. “He doesn’t want us to have any DNA or other trace evidence we can use to nail him.”
    “And he’s dumping the bodies at a secondary location, so we can’t analyze the actual kill site. He’s an organized personality—thinks things through, is prepared for the kill, even if the women seem to be victims of opportunity.”
    “Like I said, he thinks he’s smarter than us.”
    “Probably. We’re going to prove him wrong. We’ll start with our victimology, focusing on Amy Gillabeaux.”
    “Why Amy?”
    “Rule of twenty-four. She’s your most recent victim, even if she was found before Vontressa King. It’ll be easier to backtrack the forty-eight hours before and after her death.”
    “So basically we’re going to delve into Amy’s secrets, huh? Figure her level of risk.”
    She studied him. Younger than Tick and Cookie, he nevertheless exuded quiet professionalism, from his appearance to his demeanor. He not only talked the talk, he seemed to walk the walk as well. “You have profiling experience?”
    “Just watch a lot of that courtroom cable channel.”
    “Sure you do.” Good training wasn’t hard to see, and he had it. His earnest attitude reminded her of Tick as a young Quantico recruit.
    “Hey, I was a road cop for nine years before I got this job. I’ve picked some things up along the way. I read a lot, and I took a course on forensic profiling last summer.” He chuckled, levering himself out of the chair. “Where do we start?”
    He vibrated with eagerness. Caitlin hesitated; given a choice, she’d rather do this