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Laura swore in surprise. “That’s him,” she said. “Right? It has to be.”
She almost expected a vision to come there and then. It was so close to the mark. This had to be the guy, and that meant they were right on his tail now. Close enough to stop him.
“I…” Nate paused, then shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yes. It looks like this might actually be our guy.”
“I told you,” Laura said, for a moment almost feeling pleased. But then the reality hit her: she was right. This was all about her. These women had been targeted directly because their names just happened to have a connection to Laura.
The guilt hit her like a ton of bricks.
It was her fault that they had lost their lives. Her fault that they weren’t going home to their families, or kissing their loved ones, or going to work. She was the one to blame.
“Coming?” Nate asked, wrenching her attention back to him. He was by the door already, hesitating with his hand on the handle, no doubt wondering why she hadn’t yet gotten up.
“Right,” Laura agreed, grabbing her jacket and following him out of the precinct.
She brought up the information again on her phone as Nate started the car, pulling out and typing in the address on the GPS at the same time. Laura found the information she was looking for and copied the number of Brent Dockhand’s parole officer, dialing it right away.
“Hello, Albany co—”
Laura cut the woman off before she had the time to finish her official greeting. “Hello, am I speaking to the parole officer for Brent Dockhand?”
There was a moment’s pause. “Ah, yes. Who is this?”
“This is FBI Agent Laura Frost. I’m looking for some up-to-date information on your parolee.”
“Right, okay.” There was another short pause, as if the parole officer was still mentally catching up. Laura impatiently ground her teeth, needing her to get it together faster. “What is it you need to know?”
“When was his last check-in?”
“Two days ago.”
“And that was with you at his registered office, yes?”
“Yes, of course—if he moves, we have to update his details on the system, so everything should be completely up to date.”
“And just to confirm, that’s what address?”
The woman read it out from her system after a moment of typing, and Laura compared it with the address Nate had entered into the GPS. It was a match.
“All right, thank you for your help.” Laura ended the call, cutting off the parole officer’s request for her to wait and tell her more about why she need
ed the information.
“We’re on the right track?” Nate asked, reaching up to pull down his sun visor. The first golden rays of light were breaking across the road, shining right into their eyes.
“He’s here,” Laura confirmed grimly. She still couldn’t feel the pulse of pain that signaled an oncoming vision. She reached her hand up to her holster, glancing over the grip of her gun, to see if that would trigger something. There wasn’t a thing.
That she wasn’t having a vision was not necessarily a bad sign. It could mean that there was no altercation coming, that the man would go without a fight. It was possible that Laura wouldn’t ever see another vision about this case, because it was about to be closed—and any other possible futures were dwindling rapidly as she and Nate converged on the man’s house to arrest him.
She could only hope. And given that the GPS was still showing a time of at least thirty minutes before they arrived at the address, Laura had a lot of time to carry on worrying about it before she would get her answers.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Laura jumped out of the car before it came fully to a stop, checking her gun was in its place one last time before she rushed toward the house. It was a tiny terraced building, shabby and dirty, the windows caked with grime—though the other homes in the terrace looked clean and well-kept. She heard the car door slam and knew that Nate was right on her heels, backing her up. She didn’t want to give this guy any warning that the FBI was at his door.
She reached the door and banged on it with her whole forearm, rattling it in its frame and making a loud enough noise that she had no doubt would be audible anywhere in the house. The sun had risen completely now, the day just beginning to warm. The rest of the street was almost silent. He’d managed to find himself in a nice enough neighborhood, for a scumbag.
There was no answer within the first few seconds of her knock, so Laura banged on the door again. One more time, she thought, and she would add the standard yell that it was the FBI waiting for him. That usually made them hurry up—though sometimes to the back door of the property, not the front. She was just about to turn and look at Nate, hinting with her eyes for him to go around back, when the door opened.
