Maybe that's why he has the both of them. Maybe he's going to use Taylor to get to Hartley, because his sick little plan hasn't worked so far.
Fuck.
I think of the girl I've grown a soft spot for in the last few weeks. Her stubborn, yet gentle attitude has grown on me and she's gotten closer to me than any other woman since my wife. There is something about her, something spectacular and strong, something kind and sweet. She's a strange mix, and I can't get her out of my head.
I like her.
A fucking lot.
And I told her I'd protect her.
"We need to think here, Ace," Craig says. "Tell me if there is anything in those notes we haven't looked into. Something Hartley has said, something you haven't looked into."
I think, going through all our conversations in my head. One stands out.
"Hartley said she went to a support group after she lost her husband. She had an idea once that maybe this killer was finding women there, knowing they are fragile. Shit, I was supposed to look into that but I forgot. Can we get all the numbers for the support groups in the area?"
"I'll get someone on it right away. Is there anything else? Anything at all?"
I shake my head, because I can't fucking think right now.
I can't imagine losing her.
Hartley.
* * *
"Do you keep a record of the people who have come to your support sessions?" I say to Diana, the woman who runs a support group closest to Hartley's place. There are only two in the area, and no one at the other one has ever seen Hartley or heard her name.
"Yes, we do."
"I'll need to know if you've ever had any of these people," I say, sliding her a piece of paper with all the victims' names.
She glances down at it, and her brows go up. "Yes, yes I recognize two of those names. I'd have to check through records for the rest-we have a lot of people come through here and I'm not familiar with all of them."
Bingo.
Hartley was right.
Smart girl. Fuck, why didn't I listen to her?
"Which names do you recognize?" I ask.
She points to Hartley's name, and to Georgia's. "Those two. I remember them quite well. I saw Georgia had … passed recently. It was devastating."
"Yes, I can't go into too much detail, but I believe Hartley is in danger. I'm going to need any information you can give me, any at all."
"Of course, Detective. I have photos taken from the support group events, and I have transcripts, things like that."
"Give me everything you have," I say, my voice tight even though I'm not intending it to be. "Are you able to do that for me now?"
"Absolutely. Take a seat."
I sit down on an old, plastic chair beside a magazine rack, and stare at the pale wooden floor. I can't get the anxious feeling out of my chest. If I don't make it in time, if I don't find this fucker, I'm going to lose her. I'm going to lose her, and I can't … I can't lose someone else. Not again. A strange tightening in my chest tells me I'm far fonder of the girl than I've allowed myself to believe. That scares me. But what scares me more is not being able to explore that.
I told her I'd keep her safe. I promised. I should have been with her every fucking second. This man, I knew he was tricky, I knew he was good. I've been on this case long enough to know that, and I let her out of my sight. Why the fuck did I trust someone else to do a job I should have been doing? If I was doing it, she might still be here.
"Fuck," I whisper to myself, running a hand through my hair.
"Here you are," Diana says, coming back out with a few folders. She hands them to me and I go directly to the one labeled WATSON, HARTLEY.
"I also found files on the other two girls on your list-it turns out they've been here too. Do I need to be concerned, Detective?"
"I'll let you know," I murmur, too focused on the file.
I go through the transcripts, basically just Hartley describing how she's been feeling, how the group has been helping her, things like that. Some groups keep them, others don't. I flick past the pages and stop at a stack of photos. I start flicking through them, my eyes zoning in on Hartley in different scenarios, sometimes talking in a group, other times doing activities with them.
She looks empty.
Her eyes look so sad.
I remember staring at myself in the mirror and seeing that same pain.
I hand the photos to Diana as I continue to flick through them, studying all the people in them, seeing if any stand out. So far, nobody does. I can get Diana to give me the names of every person in these photos, but it'll take a long fucking time to get through them all for questioning.
I'm on the second to last photo when I see it.
In the background there is half a face, glancing around a doorframe. It's a man, that's for certain, and he's staring in at the group, holding a mop in his hand, wearing what seems to be a pair of coveralls. I squint and bring the photo closer. There is something familiar about him, but it's hard to tell because he's a little blurry.