“Lincoln Monroe, your forensics instructor from Quantico. Also Carter Warren’s partner.”
Carter bit back the smile that threatened to split his face in two, Lincoln’s words sounding too good, too tempting on multiple levels. “Excuse me,” he said to O’Shea, then stepping around him, leaned his head out the door. Halfway down the hallway, Drake had Lincoln, now in a turtleneck under his sport coat, pressed against the wall. Lincoln looked ready to commit murder. Best save them all another crime scene. “Back here, L.”
Both men’s gazes whipped to the side, Drake’s mortified, Lincoln’s victorious. And still mighty pissed. He shoved Drake back with two hands and marched down the hall.
“Easy, Professor,” Carter coaxed. He didn’t need Lincoln blowing it with their new team. “They’re our ground team. We need them.”
Lincoln stopped in front of him with a huff. “Hopefully his memory for case details is better than for faces.”
“Can’t say I remember all my Quantico instructors either.”
“But you somehow remembered me?”
Carter stepped closer and lowered his voice. “First day I saw you, I knew I’d never forget you.”
Anger left the building, and Carter thought maybe, just maybe, if they didn’t have an audience, he’d get that kiss he’d missed last night.
“Drake,” O’Shea said from their other side. “Get back on that records search.” The younger agent fled for the safety of the command room and Carter stepped back as O’Shea offered a hand to Lincoln. “Agent Monroe, my apologies. Mark O’Shea, out of Richmond.”
“O’Shea . . .” Lincoln said, returning the handshake. “You worked the Marigold Killer case?”
O’Shea smiled. “You definitely have a better memory than my agents, and yes, that was me. I should thank you again for your assist on that.”
“Thank you for preserving the scene so well. It’s nice to meet you in person.”
“Likewise.”
Carter breathed easier, the tension, of both sorts, defused. “Any trouble getting out of there?” he asked Lincoln as they followed O’Shea into the imaging control room.
“No, I just needed a lift back to the house to get the Wrangler and change out of my sweat-soaked shirt, so I had to wait for Susanne and company to talk to the whole damn town while also avoiding Larry.”
“Petticoat?” O’Shea asked, and Carter nodded. “We’re going to need to bring him and the local PD in on this.”
“Respectfully,” Carter said, “we have reason to believe Dr. Fear has been operating with Apex as a starting point for their cycles for twenty-five years. They’re someone who has been in this town for two-plus decades, maybe someone with long-term ties to the university or the town itself. Both of which the Petticoats have, not to mention being in law enforcement for all twenty-five years that a serial killer was under their nose.”
“His police station was blown up.” O’Shea pointed at Weathers on the other side of the glass. “By that guy.”
“He confessed?” Lincoln asked.
O’Shea nodded. “And waived his Miranda rights at the scene. Federal prosecutor in Richmond is preparing charges—arson, reckless endangerment, assault on a federal officer—sealed to protect your cover but enough that will keep him in our custody, for now.”
“For now?”
“He’ll argue duress,” Carter said. “And he’s cooperating. He claims someone is holding his sister hostage.” Carter handed Lincoln the missing persons report. “He filed that last week. Claims he wasn’t after us last night but that he’d been blackmailed into torching the records room.”
“By whom?”
“Hasn’t said yet,” Carter replied. “I’m not sure he knows.”
Lincoln withdrew his phone and glanced at the screen. “Two hours left for Ruby and Chase. Let’s see what he does know.”
They entered the room and Weathers snapped to attention, swinging his legs around and off the side of the exam table. He moved to clutch the edge of it with his hands, as if to keep himself from fidgeting more, then cursed. “Fuck, that hurts,” he said, rubbing the backs of his hands.
Technically, Carter should have re-cuffed him, but Weathers hadn’t made any indication of flight since Carter had cornered him at the church. “Mr. Weathers, you’ve met Agent O’Shea already.” He gestured at the agent who positioned himself against the wall by the door, then to Lincoln, who claimed one of the chairs Carter rolled over. “This is my partner, Agent Monroe.”
His dark eyes flitted to Lincoln, then back to Carter. “Did you find the missing persons report on my sister?”
“We did.” Carter lowered himself into the chair beside Lincoln’s. “But let’s go back a bit first. When’s the last time you heard from Stacy?”
