Grabbing her oversized purse and the portable video camera she’d brought along, she stepped from the car and locked it behind her. It was still a few minutes before eleven, but the nearly full moon cast enough light across the cracked pavement to make out her surroundings.
No other vehicles were visible, but several of the old bay doors where delivery trucks had once entered were missing. Whoever had contacted her could easily have parked inside.
A beam of light suddenly darted across the property and landed near her feet. Someone was signaling from inside the building.
Her adrenaline stirring, Jessica checked that her handgun was still secure at the small of her back. She’d obtained her permit a few years earlier after another street reporter and her cameraman had been gunned down during a live interview in Virginia. Since then, she’d refused to put herself in the field unprotected.
As she crossed the weed-choked pavement, she scanned the shadows and picked her way around scattered debris. Thankfully, she’d chosen practical clothes and low heels—still polished enough for camera work but sensible for the location.
A lone figure waiting in the open doorway angled his flashlight downward, illuminating her path. That small courtesy eased some of her caution.
As she drew closer, she studied him. White male. Late thirties or early forties. Neatly trimmed brown hair. Blue button-down shirt and jeans. Not intimidating. If anything, she would describe him as ordinary.
He stepped forward and extended his hand. “Hi, Ms. Daly. The name’s George. Thanks for meeting me. I must admit, I wasn’t quite sure you’d come.”
Jessica gave him the polished smile that had disarmed more reluctant sources than she could count. “And miss out on a great scoop like this, George? Never. Thanks for contacting me, and please call me Jessica.”
Color crept into his cheeks. “Okay, Jessica, it is. Come on inside. I have all the evidence you need to nail this guy who’s killing all those women.”
Her anticipation spiked. Still, as she paused in the doorway, instinct made her assess the space beyond.
The room appeared to have once served as a reception area. Now it bore all the signs of years of neglect and teenage trespassing. Empty beer cans and liquor bottles littered the floor. A stained, sagging couch had been dragged in at some point and shoved against one wall. Graffiti covered the walls, broken up by jagged gaps where chunks of concrete had crumbled or been smashed away. The decay only heightened the surreal quality of the moment.
George motioned toward the far side of the room. “Here, I brought a folding table, two chairs, and a camping lantern for us.”
He clicked the lantern on, bathing the room in pale yellow light before switching off his flashlight and setting it on the table.
Jessica approached, her curiosity rising. “Why are we meeting here? I mean, it is a bit out of the way. Why contact me instead of the police?”
The questions came naturally. Curiosity had built her career. It was what made her better than most of the reporters clawing for airtime.
When she set her bags on the table, George shrugged, his expression shifting into what looked like embarrassment. “Well, truthfully, I didn’t want to be known as the guy who turned his brother in to the police. My family is quite close, and they stick together, even if it’s the wrong thing to do. They’d ostracize me if they found out I was the one who gave him up.”
Jessica froze. “Your brother is killing these women?”
A surge of excitement raced through her. This was bigger than she’d imagined. Already, angles and headlines began lining up in her mind. The exclusive interview. The reveal. The career-making broadcast.
As she reached into her bag for her pen, notepad, and camera, she was already shaping the lead-in for her report. “Wow. That must be awful for you. How did you find out it was your brother?”
George didn’t answer. The silence stretched a fraction too long. Something cold brushed the back of her neck. Jessica looked up, and pain exploded across her face. The force of the blow knocked her to the floor, sending a burst of white light across her vision. Nausea surged as the concrete rushed up to meet her.
For a few disorienting seconds, the world spun. Then a weight crashed down over her, and hands pinned her. Something rough bit into her wrists as they were yanked together and bound tight.
Panic surged through her. Her breath came fast and shallow as she fought to make sense of what was happening.
No.
No, no, no!
This can't be happening!
She tried to scream, but the sound never made it past her lips. A filthy rag was jammed into her mouth.
George crouched over her, his face inches from hers. The expression she’d mistaken for nervousness was gone, replaced by something cold and vicious. “You think I’m a savage? A sadist? A barbarian?” His voice dropped into a low snarl. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. But you will. Before you die, you’ll know exactly who you’re dealing with.”
George crouched beside the woman’s body, arranging her in the sand with careful precision before stepping back to study his work. The narrow stretch of beach lay silent beneath the dark sky, tucked along the edge of the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge, where few people ventured at this hour. That was exactly why he had chosen it—isolated enough to give him privacy, but not so remote that she would remain undiscovered for long. By sunrise, anglers would begin arriving with rods and folding chairs, eager to claim their favorite spots along the surf. It wouldn’t take long before someone stumbled across her. His mouth curved at the thought.
He scanned the shoreline again, confirming he was still alone. Wind skimmed across the dunes, carrying the steady hiss of the waves as they rolled in and retreated. The rush from killing her still pulsed through him, a quiet hum that left him alert and deeply satisfied. She hadn’t been like the others, not one of his usual women, and there’d been something intensely gratifying about that. The reporter had thought herself clever, superior, untouchable. He could still picture the confidence in her face when she’d stepped through that factory doorway, certain she was about to secure the biggest story of her career. Instead, she had become his finest work.
