Page 17 of Dead Drift

“Yes, sir,” Cyrus’s voice cracked. “Garrett Beck and Kate Maxwell survived the explosion.”

Khaled sat up straighter, stiffening. “Explosion?”

“Yes, sir. I succeeded in blowing up Miss Maxwell’s boat, where she and Agent Beck were sleeping.”

Heat boiled in his veins. “And yet you still managed to fail?” Two right-hand men and both had failed him. It was time to bring in a professional assassin, and he knew just the wet asset for the job. One who freelanced to the highest bidder. One they’d never see coming.

“I’m afraid so, sir,” Cyrus said.

Khaled pulled the gun with silencer from the nightstand. It was time to get his hands dirty and send a message—he would no longer permit incompetence.

Two squeezes of the trigger and Cyrus crumpled face-first to the floor.

7

Griffin and Finley boarded a plane for Houston, still dragging from only a few hours’ sleep, but Griffin was thrilled to be taking his wife out of town after the attack at CCI. Both had requested a period of leave from their jobs to make the Houston trip and to commit a good amount of time to focus on finding his sister’s killer.

Griffin balanced the stack of Agent Steven Burke’s files on his lap, ready to dig in. On his own time, Burke had been working the case of a friend’s daughter, Chelsea Miller, who had been kidnapped and murdered, and her body found washed up on shore. The case quickly turned cold when all leads fizzled out. But Burke refused to give up and kept working Chelsea’s case until his own murder two months ago.

Burke’s work hadn’t been in vain, however. His digging had revealed a similar M.O. in the murders of seven other young women, including Griffin’s sister, Jenna, who appeared to have been the first victim. After hers, Burke had found two more murders near Wilmington, North Carolina, and most recently, five in the Houston area—Chelsea’s included.

For the first time in almost a decade, Griffin had real hope Jenna’s killer might finally be brought to justice.

Before his death, Agent Burke had surreptitiously marked seven code words in a book—seven words Griffin believed tied to the women’s cases. He couldn’t be sure that all seven words fit all the murders, but multiple words from Burke’s list seemed to fit each case.

Leader. Glock. Handcuffed. Message. Wrists. Barn. Agent.

Seven words. Seven victims. Coincidence? Unfortunately, Griffin believed so. Sadly, in his opinion, the killer wasn’t done. And maybe there were others out there Burke hadn’t connected to the case.

Every word tugged hard at Griffin, but the one that wrenched most was the last. Agent.

Had Burke narrowed the suspect pool down to a profession or, even better, an individual? If so, what type of agent? So many existed—real estate agent, ticket-counter agent for an airline or car rentals, talent agent. Was his profession how he lured his female victims, promising them money or fame?

There was no way Jenna would fall for something like that. She’d had no interest in fame. Her world had wrapped around family, faith, loved ones, the water, and her hometown. She dreamed of being a wife and mom one day—raising her family in Chesapeake Harbor as she and Griffin had been. But that had all been cut short. In the blink of an eye, she was gone.

After nearly a half hour of sitting on the tarmac, their plane finally got runway clearance, and within minutes they were soaring up into the bleak, gray October sky.

“Here’s hoping we have better weather in Houston,” he said, looking over at his beautiful wife. Wife.

He still couldn’t believe Finley was his, and he hers.

“I checked my weather app, and we’re looking at highs in the mid-eighties,” she said.

“Nice.” That was one bright spot in what would be a very difficult few days. Combing through the poor women’s murders would no doubt bring his sister’s murder and the gruesome details surrounding it back to the surface—raw and ugly wounds that never fully healed. He’d reached a place of acceptance, but never peace. How could he after what had been done to Jenna?

“What’s the name of the agent we’re meeting with?”

“Special Agent Lance Thornton, regarding Chelsea Miller’s murder—the case Burke latched onto because he was friends with Chelsea’s dad. Then we’ll let the detectives in charge of the other women’s cases know we’re in town, and hopefully set up meetings today and tomorrow. I’ve always found it easier to catch them when you’re already local. My hope is to interview them in reverse order—most recent case first, working back to Jenna’s.”

“Detectives, as in plural?”

“Turns out all the murders were either in different jurisdictions in the Houston metro area or outside of Houston altogether. Same with the two in North Carolina.”

“Each murder occurred in a different jurisdiction?”

Griffin nodded grimly. This meant the killer most likely knew something about law enforcement procedure, or at least how to best work around it.

“So how did the FBI get involved with Chelsea Miller’s case? I mean, I understand Burke’s involvement as a friend of the family and his work on the side, but why Agent Thornton?”