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“Except one.”
Thane, Amelia, and I turn to my office door in sync.
Satisfied she has our attention, Agent Macy finalizes her statement, her words more for Amelia than Thane and me. “If you’re going to hack a government database, you shouldn’t use an active crime scene’s IP address.”
Thane coughs to hide his laugh when Amelia replies, “It worked, didn’t it? You’re here.”
Macy’s eyes zoom to Amelia. “Not in an official capacity.” Her eyes are back on me, hot and remorseful. “Marshal Levalley has the sup convinced there’s no investigation into the disappearance of Henley Elsher. He’s adamant her location is being kept under wraps for her safety.”
“And you believed him?”
Macy huffs. “No. But if you go off the intel they’re feeding you, you’ll spend the rest of the week in an interrogation room. A BOLO is going out for you by the end of the hour.”
Cussing under her breath, Amelia yanks out the cords attached to my laptop before throwing it to the floor so firmly it cracks.
“Hey!”
She blows a curl out of her eye, puffed from the strength of her throw. “I’m sure you can afford a new one. You just need to cash in that massive insurance policy you’re hoarding as if it’s fake first.”
Thane arches a brow in interest, but before he can ask what she’s referencing, Macy says, “Levalley would be stupid to do anything now. IA is breathing hard down his division’s neck. He’ll have Henley in a safe location.” I’m about to pfft her until she adds, “So we need to be more selective about how we search the database for her details.”
“Her name is out there, so they won’t use that.”
Amelia nods, agreeing with me. “But DNA is long and costly.” She rolls her eyes when Macy scoffs at her like she’s out of her league and far too young to be included in our conversation. “You get paid fifty grand a year tops to chase serial killers. Who’s the idiot here?”
“What about fingerprints?” Thane asks, joining the conversation for the first time tonight before an all-out brawl starts.
“No good. We don’t have a sample to compare.” Amelia shoots her eyes to me. “When they showed up to collect her”—she nudges her head at Macy during the “they” part of her reply—“I tried to get her out. USMS servers are impossible to crack.”
“Because they’re technically illegal,” Macy interrupts, unexpectedly smiling. “Let me make some calls. I’m owed a favor by the man who built the system.” She pulls her cell from her pocket and enters the hallway. “Hunter…”
As her greeting merges with the noises of forensic officers scanning my home for evidence, I do what I came to my office to do.
I reload my gun.
When I open the bottom drawer where my bullets are located, the wobble of my yank wiggles the pen Lucy purchased me for Father’s Day last year. Instinctively, I pick it up to flip it between my thumb and forefinger. It has been my go-to stress reliever tool for months, and it isn’t any different today. The “woo” of the whistle inside the barrel always makes me smile, but today it comes with a drawing.
An oddly detailed drawing.
“What is that?” Thane asks, stepping closer. “It looks kind of satanic.”
“The sigil of Baphomet?” Amelia asks before spinning around the pad on my desk to face her. “It is the official insignia of the Church of Satan.” When Thane stares at her with his mouth gaping, she closes it for him. “I did a brief stint of pentagram studies for two semesters.” Her brows furrow. “Except those aren’t Hebrew letters on the pentagram points. They’re—”
“Latin?” Thane either guesses or confirms. I can’t quite tell. His tone is off.
“Allegedly,” I murmur while recalling a conversation from earlier tonight. “Henley saw a tattoo on the killer’s wrist. It was a symbol with Latin writing.”
“She saw her mother’s killer?” Amelia asks, her tone finally matching her youthful face.
“You didn’t know?”
She flops onto the couch Henley and I fooled around on numerous times this week before shaking her head. “I didn’t meet her until after her parents died, and she was striving so hard not to get snowed under like her dad, I didn’t push her for info. Fuck.” She looks up at Thane, her eyes wet. “Does that make me a shit friend?”
“No,” Macy answers on his behalf. “She probably didn’t tell you because she wanted to protect you.” Her eyes lower to the sketch before she confesses, “The last time I saw a pentagram similar to that was the afternoon of Agent Elsher’s suicide.” Guilt hardens her features. “It was scribbled on the suicide note that never made it to evidence.” Her words are barely whispers when she warns, “You can’t put that through the system.” Her suspicions are finally where mine have been since day one. “We’ve suspected for a long time that Moses wasn’t working alone.”
