“No problem. I don’t want to keep you any longer.” Thorne tipped his hat and swaggered toward the door like a Wild West lawman racing out to save the townsfolk.
“Agent Hawthorne?”
“Yes?”
“Earlier, you said you were with a new task force…?” The man hadn’t volunteered the information, and Byron had to know, given his last question.
He turned with a wry smile. “Yeah, it’s a brand new organized crime unit.” Thorne tipped his hat. “You gentleman have yourselves a real nice day.”
Chapter Two
Dallas, Texas
Jane Hunter suppressed a shiver.
She couldn’t stop staring at the crime scene photos from the Oscar Valentine murder case. April Sanders lay on the ground, hands folded on her chest, sightless blue eyes gazing at the police officer’s camera lens.
Jane must’ve examined them a dozen times, and it never failed to unnerve her. There were dozens of crime scene photos just like it—April was merely the first. The killer had put the victim in a white dress and shorn her blonde hair, like a virgin sacrifice or something. The body had been drained of blood, her wrists and ankles sliced open to bleed her.
According to the autopsy report, April’s lungs were full of water, yet she was found on dry land. So the killer must’ve drowned her, then put her body on display—and she’d been raped too. All the young women had been sexually assaulted before he’d tortured and murdered them.
Their last moments must’ve been spent in abject terror.
Jane bit her lower lip. I shouldn’t be looking at these. It only made her angry and sad.
She’d been doing this job a long time and she had a thick skin when it came to most crime scenes, but something about these murders bothered her.
The bulk of her cases had involved organized crime, rape, and robberies. Occasionally, there’d been a murder, but they’d always occurred in the commission of another crime.
This was the first time she’d personally dealt with a serial killer—someone who murdered people for a thrill. And the victims were young women—all of them pretty and innocent. None of them had criminal records or engaged in risky behaviors like drug use or prostitution, factors which increased the likelihood of being involved in a violent crime.
Jane had been working on Oscar Valentine’s case for months. He’d been accused of a half-dozen murders, and yesterday the grand jury had decided not to indict him. Since Valentine was her client, Jane should be pleased her skill in the courtroom had paid off, but if he hadn’t killed those women, someone else had—and the monster was still out there.
This morning, the news report said another woman was missing. Laura Rogers hadn’t opened her flower shop on time and her employee contacted authorities. The police reported signs of a struggle in her apartment. The FBI suspected all the women had been murdered in their homes.
More than likely, Laura would end up in one of those white dresses.
“Still mopin’ about the trial?”
Georgia Taylor, Jane’s assistant, stood in the office doorway. Georgia was a bit over five feet tall with curly strawberry blonde hair and warm hazel eyes. Her six-year-old, Brady, stood beside her. Moments earlier, the sitter had dropped the girl off on her way to an evening class.
“Of course not.” Jane slipped the photo back into the case file. “I’m relieved Mr. Valentine wasn’t charged with a capital crime.”
Although Jane had been looking forward to winning the trial. Every lawyer dreamed of a capital case—the chance to match wits with opposing council, the publicity, and the opportunity to show off. Nothing made Jane happier than strutting her stuff in front of a jury.
“Hello, Brady, I’ve missed you.” Jane held out her arms, and Brady ran into them.
“Missed you too, Aunt Jane.” Brady was a miniature of her mother with blonde ringlets and big blue eyes.
Jane felt the tension melt away.
While Jane was leery of other adults, she loved children—they were forthright and uncomplicated.
Jane had babysat several times and found the experience therapeutic for the most part. Brady was fun and playful, and spending time with her eased Jane’s cares.
“She adores you.” Georgia smiled at the two of them.
“The feeling’s mutual.” Jane kissed Brady’s forehead. “If your mom says it's okay, how about a Disney movie marathon this weekend?”
Brady clapped her hands in delight. “Yes! Mommy, can I?” She turned to Georgia.
“Fine with me. I’ve got some homework to catch up on.”
Brady threw her arms around Jane again.
“Why don’t you color at my desk, Brady, while Aunt Jane and I take care of some business?”