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I even gave my own psychoanalysis on the texts, stating—in short—that the UNSUB has formed an obsession. Whether or not I have ever come into contact with the killer I can’t know for sure, but this much is true. Obsession grips him, and he’s found something in me to feed his need to control, orchestrate, and possess.
The evening the first and last message was received, the technical analyst tried unsuccessfully to trace the signal, then ultimately installed surveillance software on my cell. Not only are all my calls being recorded, my texts being monitored, but so are my movements. Quinn and the task force know my whereabouts at all times.
This, along with the tension choking the department awaiting the UNSUB’s next move, has me more than on edge.
I need an escape.
Breaking away from my internal conflict, I shuffle through my files until I find the current press release. Quinn insisted we go over it again, make sure the captain hit on all the key points of the profile that we want revealed to the public, before it airs live this morning.
I roll my shoulders and bring the page before me. “The offender targets women in their mid- to late twenties. So far, victims have been of Caucasian ethnicity, but all women should be cautious. Victims were unmarried, lived alone, and had recently moved to Arlington. They also had no close family ties in the area—”
“Scratch that part,” Quinn interrupts, and I look up from the page.
“Why?” Irritation laces my
voice. “It’s the truth. New to the area, single women with no family or close friends to depend on should be put on alert.”
Rubbing the scruff along his chin, Quinn holds my stare. “Those are touchy key words that can create a panic for lonely women.”
I glance over to the new, young detective eying me with raised eyebrows, then back at Quinn. “I think that ship has sailed. The moment the news went live with the report of the fourth victim, panic hit. For everyone.”
He exhales audibly, dropping his hand to grab a pen off the table. He walks over to me and plucks the page from my hand, then proceeds to mark through the sentence I just read.
“If you want to talk truth,” he says, tone low and guarded as he scrawls something on the page, “then why not just have Wexler recite off your stats.” He looks up and locks with my gaze. “Warn all women that if they have more than a few things in common with Agent Sadie Bonds, they should bolt their doors up tight.”
Anger heats my face. “That’s bullshit.” He straightens to his full, towering height at my riled tone; I rarely let Quinn affect me, but this is going too far. I know he’s stressed, as we all are, but lately he’s been a bigger dick than usual.
“Is it?” he asks, handing me back the press release. “The UNSUB has targeted you, Bonds. Whether it’s to do with inserting himself into the investigation, I guess that can be argued. But we both know this particular fixation goes much deeper. You profiled it yourself. Erotomania, wasn’t it?”
I push my bangs away from my eyes. “First of all, his fixation is with Bathory, not me. Unless his delusion involves me being the reincarnated Countess…which there’s been no evidence to suggest…he’s still invested in his delusional relationship with her. I just happen to meet some inane criteria in his delusion.”
“He believes you share a common obsession,” Quinn says, spitting my own words from the last meeting back at me.
“Yes.”
“An obsession with the Blood Countess.”
I shrug. “My college dissertation was on Elizabeth Bathory. It’s not hard to uncover for someone with the right skills, especially someone looking specifically for Bathory research.” An area I have nearly exhausted with no leads. “My paper was intense. Some might even say passionate. An easy jump from there to obsession.”
Quinn’s hazel eyes drill into me, making my skin itch and my heart rate spike.
All these puzzle pieces fit together seamlessly to complete a very neat and convenient explanation. One I need the hard-ass detective to go with. At least for now, until I’ve positively eliminated a certain Shibari bondage rigger as a person of interest.
“Second,” I say, driving unwelcome thoughts of Colton away, “the victims and I do not share the same physical traits. I’m not a part of his selection process.”
“Well, you’re a part of something for him.” He steps closer, his chest bowed out, forcing me to tilt my head back in order to meet his eyes.
Anchoring my hands to my hips, I stand my ground. “It’s common for serial killers to fixate on one law enforcement member, Quinn. Honestly, you know this.”
The corners of his eyes crease as he searches my face. “It’s common for them to develop an infatuation during an investigation,” he stresses. “Not before. He had you in his sights prior to the first victim.”
My breathing goes shallow. I focus on calming my heart rate, keeping my facial muscles lax but controlled. Quinn may not have the behavioral training I do to read people, but he’s old-school. He has years of experience in the field, breaking people down to discover their tells.
Freeing a tense breath through my nose, I lick my lips. His gaze flicks lower, watching my tongue glide across to moisten my bottom lip. His mouth parts, and I glimpse the raging battle beneath his trained composure as he clamps his back teeth together. A muscle ticks along his jaw.
I doubt a little sexual diversion is enough to throw Quinn off, but at this point, I use what’s in my arsenal. And like that, his focus is hard on me again. He doesn’t sway easily.
“Again,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “I help support his delusion—whatever that may be—after the fact. The UNSUB planned his kills, fantasized about them long before the first victim. This is how it works, Quinn. Not the other way around.”
