Breath of Malice(3)

The attorney shot Paige another irate look before facing the judge. “Your Honor, I have no further questions for Agent Carson.”

Judge Tate arched his thick brows and faced Thames’s counsel. “Mr. Willman?”

Thames’s lawyer glanced up from the notepad he’d been writing on and shook his head. “We have no questions for Agent Carson, Your Honor.”

The judge said to Paige, “Agent Carson, you may step down.”

Keeping her eyes forward and off Thames, Paige stepped out of the witness box and strode rapidly down the aisle to the exit door. Flattening both palms against the thick wood door, she pushed hard and charged into the hall. She took her first full breath since entering the courtroom. Her legs went weak, and she braced herself against the nearest beige wall for support.

What she’d left out of her statement was that one year ago, she’d been bold, brash, cocky. So full of herself that she’d believed not only that she knew more than seasoned professionals but also that she was invincible. That morning on the mountain, Thames had shown her just how wrong she was. She’d been powerless against him. And even now, she continued to relive the fear and the helplessness she’d felt when she’d realized she was unable to save herself. Thames was still inside her head.

Paige had checked out of her hotel before coming to the courthouse. With the court appearance behind her, she had no reason to be here, no wish to remain here one moment longer than was absolutely necessary. She retrieved her overcoat and suitcase, then called a car service to take her to the airport. She was headed back to her apartment in Denver.

As she was returning her cell phone to her purse, the door to the courtroom opened, then closed. Paige hunched her shoulders at the soft puff of air that resulted, which felt like Thames’s hot breath on her nape. Her car hadn’t yet arrived, but she left the courthouse and walked into the rain.





CHAPTER THREE

Paige locked the door to her apartment in Denver for the last time, then left the keys with the building manager before going out to the parking lot where she’d left her van. Packing hadn’t taken long. She didn’t have much to take with her. She hadn’t had much in the way of furniture, and she’d sold or donated what she did have. She’d buy what she needed when she reached her destination. The most important thing was that she was leaving.

The April day was bright and cool. Paige huddled into her thick sweater. A couple of teenaged boys sped down the road in an old sports car. Despite the windows being closed, the music blaring from the car’s speakers had a pounding backbeat that obliterated all other sound until they passed.

Two weeks had passed since her court appearance in New York. Even though she knew Thames was still in prison, pending the ruling in his case, Paige kept her eyes trained on her surroundings as she crossed the parking lot and made her way toward her vehicle. In the oversize purse she’d slung over her shoulder was the reason for her hasty departure from Denver. A blank postcard of the Adirondack Mountains, where Paige had encountered Thames, had been sent to her home here in Denver. The postcard had arrived the previous week, on the first anniversary of that day.

This was the second such postcard she’d received. The first card had arrived at her house in New York City one year ago. At that time, she’d considered that the sender might have been someone she worked with in the Bureau office. Her actions in the Adirondack Mountains had alerted Thames to the FBI’s presence. If her squad members hadn’t arrived when they did, Thames would have escaped. She had jeopardized the investigation, provided Thames with an opportunity to flee, and put her entire squad at risk. Many had shown her their anger in subtle and not so subtle ways.

But at Thames’s murder trial, as she’d walked by him on her way to the witness stand, he’d started singing under his breath. The words he sang so softly that no one else appeared to hear were the numbers and street name of her New York home address.

And Paige knew. No one from the Bureau had sent that postcard. It had come from Thames.

Why her? They had a profile of Thames’s victims. Like Paige, they were twentysomething, slender brunettes. Other than physical appearance, the Bureau had not been able to find anything in common in the victimology of the three murdered women. There was nothing that tied the women together.

Paige’s throat tightened. Again, she wondered, why was he targeting her? How many of the women who had found themselves caught by Thames had asked themselves the same question? Was it because their paths had crossed that day on the mountain?

In New York, Paige had added the first postcard to other items being sent out for forensic testing, hoping for something that would link the card to Thames. It had come back clean. Again, as with the bodies of his victims, Paige believed that Thames was allowing only what he wanted to be discovered to be found.