Supervisory Special Agent Alex Donovan was closing out the paperwork on the most recent case she’d worked for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at Quantico. A violent rapist had been caught in Oregon and would be spending the rest of his life in prison. Every time she and her fellow agents helped law enforcement capture criminals by creating profiles that narrowed down the field of suspects, Alex felt great satisfaction. She knew some women would live long, safe lives because of the work the BAU did. She was so thankful to be here. This was all she wanted to do.
She kept glancing toward the hallway that led to their unit chief’s office. This morning Jefferson Cole was meeting with a new member of their BAU team, but Alex wasn’t the only one distracted by that. Word had spread that Kaely Quinn, an agent once part of the BAU, had returned. Kaely was almost a legend. Her father had been an especially notorious serial killer, and her unusual ways of profiling had caused a previous unit chief to push her out. After spending several years in a field office in St. Louis, she’d recently been approved by the FBI Career Board to rejoin the BAU.
Alex was a big fan of Kaely’s. Even though she hadn’t been allowed to work officially as a behavioral analyst in St. Louis, Kaely had been instrumental in closing quite a few troublesome cases. Alex was excited to meet her and learn more about her methods.
“You’re gonna get a crick in your neck if you don’t stop staring toward the boss’s office,” someone said from behind her. Alex jumped, then looked up to see SSA Logan Hart grinning down at her.
“Funny,” she said softly. “Are you telling me you’re not a little excited about meeting her?”
“Not really. I know she has a great reputation, but I’d rather get to know her before I fall down and worship at her feet.”
“Also funny. But I’m not worshiping her.”
“I’m just teasing. But I do wonder if getting so much attention has given her a big ego. We don’t need that here. We’re a team.”
“I doubt Jeff would have championed her return if he didn’t think she’d be an asset. Just keep an open mind.”
“How about you do the same? Or do you intend to kiss her ring when you meet her?”
“You’re a real comedian this morning, aren’t you?”
Logan laughed. “Sorry. All I really care about is that she does good work—and isn’t a diva.”
Alex snorted. “A BAU diva? What does that look like?”
“I have no idea. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
He’d started to walk away when Alex’s phone rang. When she answered, she heard the voice of Alice Burrows, Jeff’s administrative assistant. “Jeff wants you in the conference room ASAP,” she said. “Bring Logan and Monty with you, please.” Without another word, she hung up. Alice was a friendly person, not usually so abrupt.
“Hey,” Alex said, calling Logan back. She lowered her voice. “Jeff wants us and Monty.”
He nodded. “I’ll get Monty.” Monty Wong was a close friend of theirs, and she respected his ability and tenacity. He talked a lot about his grandmother. They were very close. Even though he joked about her quite a bit, bringing up something funny she’d said or done, it was obvious he adored her. She lived in Burke, Virginia, about twenty minutes from Quantico.
Monty had recently joined Alex and Logan at church. Logan had been inviting him for quite a while, and he was really happy when Monty finally accepted. The three of them always ate out after the service, and Alex enjoyed her time with the two men. They were the closest thing she had to a family, although she was careful not to get too close to them. Working as a team meant keeping your personal life out of the equation. It could get in the way.
She followed Logan as he made his way to Monty’s desk, and then the three of them walked down the hallway to the conference room. Jeff sat at the head of the table, and next to him was Kaely Quinn. Alex had seen photos of her, but she’d had no idea how petite the woman really was. FBI agents had to pass several tests of strength and agility, so Kaely had to be strong even though at first glance she didn’t look it. Her curly red hair was held back by a hair tie, and her hands were folded on top of the table in front of her.
As Alex sat down, she noticed Jeff’s expression. Something was wrong. The last time they’d met like this they’d ended up facing a serial killer who had almost cost Alex her life. She felt her stomach tighten.
Once everyone was seated, Jeff nodded toward Kaely. “This is Kaely Quinn,” he said. “She worked here several years ago and was dismissed from our unit for circumstances beyond her control. I’m pleased to welcome her back.”
Alex smiled at Kaely and saw her visibly relax. The previous unit chief, Donald Reinhardt, had left the BAU a few years ago and had been teaching training classes at the academy until recently. He was the one who had forced Kaely out. Alex’s memory of him was of a rather imperious man who looked down on almost everyone around him. The stories she heard from other agents made it clear his departure was welcomed.
Jeff introduced the other agents sitting at the table.
“I’m happy to meet you all,” Kaely said.
Each agent acknowledged her, and then all eyes focused on Jeff, who seemed hesitant to speak. What was going on? Alex glanced at Logan, who slightly shrugged.
“We’ve been called in on a death that happened in Bethesda,” Jeff finally said. “I want you to meet with the local police. Go over the evidence. Help them find the UNSUB who did this.”
“All of us?” Logan asked.
Alex was thinking the same thing. Four analysts seemed like overkill, especially for a single murder case. “Who was killed, Jeff?”
His deep sigh made it clear this was personal. “John Davis. He was speaking at one of those murder-mystery conventions. He spoke on Saturday night, the last night of the convention, and then went back to his room. A friend of his, an author named D. J. Harper, asked someone from the hotel to go into Davis’s room Sunday morning when he didn’t hear from him and he didn’t answer his phone. He was supposed to tell Harper whether he wanted to get together for breakfast before he flew home. Davis was found on his bed. Dead. A knife in his chest.”
“We heard he’d died,” Logan said. “But it was made to sound as if he’d died of natural causes. Maybe something like a heart attack.”
Alex had been saddened when the man’s death was announced, and like Logan, she’d assumed he died of some kind of physical problem. But murdered?
John Davis was instrumental in forming the BAU. She’d read every book he’d written about the cases he’d worked. Most books several times. He was almost a father figure to behavioral analysts. He really understood the job. Understood the agents who dealt with crimes they couldn’t mention to anyone because they were too awful. Too graphic. She’d also read D. J. Harper’s books. Great mystery novels that stayed on point with the facts. He did his research, and it showed.
“The police have kept the circumstances under wraps,” Jeff said, “although they may not be able to keep them quiet for long.”
“So the police have asked for our help,” Logan said, stating the obvious. “I take it they have no suspects?”
“Correct. The door to his hotel room was locked from the inside. No fingerprints on the knife except Davis’s. The knife was delivered by room service with his breakfast of steak and eggs early Saturday morning.”
“Maybe he was trying to pull the knife out,” Alex said.
“If he was, he failed. It was plunged deep into his chest up to the handle.”
“Are you trying to tell us Davis killed himself?” Monty asked.
“No one could have entered that room,” Jeff said. “Not when it was locked from the inside and on the third floor.”
“No balcony?” Kaely asked.
“No. Nor did any of the rooms on either side or above or below have one.”
The room was silent as the agents looked at each other.
“What’s going on, Jeff?” Alex said slowly. “We don’t get called in to help with suicides.”
Jeff didn’t answer, just turned toward a large TV on the wall. He picked up a remote, pointed it at the screen, and turned it on. Alex stared at the TV, where she saw a screenshot from an email message: Those in law enforcement pay a heavy price when they constantly look into the dark minds of evil.
“Davis received this email Saturday night after the close of the convention.”
“Do we know who sent it?” Monty asked.
“It’s being investigated now, but so far no one’s been able to track it.”
“I’m fairly certain that’s a line from one of Davis’s books,” Alex said. “It was at the beginning. You know, like an introduction.” Alex had practically memorized his books.
Jeff frowned at her. “That’s right,” he said. He clicked the remote, and a photo of John Davis’s body appeared on the screen. He was lying on top of a bed. Alex would have thought he was sleeping except for the knife sticking out of his chest.
“If this was murder, it was personal,” Kaely said. “Stabbing someone means you have to get close to them. We all know that kind of killer wants to enjoy the experience, wants to look their victim in the eye and make sure they know why they’re going to die. But you’re telling us no one was in the room except Davis? Yet you don’t think this was suicide?”
“Hang on,” Jeff said. He clicked the remote again, and another image that looked like a page from a book came on the screen. He enlarged it so it could be easily read. Some of the sentences had been highlighted: In those early days, I worked with several great agents. The success we had didn’t belong to one person. We were a team, each agent bringing his special skills to our efforts.
“That’s also from Davis’s book,” Alex said. “Where did this come from?”
“It was in an envelope on the nightstand. The police suspect someone shoved it under Davis’s door.”
Alex shook her head and stared at Jeff. “So the police want us to go to Bethesda and create a profile of someone who can get into locked rooms and kill people? Someone who also likes to quote from Davis’s book?” She shook her head. “Are we to consider a ghostly bookworm?”
The sides of Jeff’s mouth quirked up. “No, no ghosts. But the police want you to help them find the person responsible. And there’s more.”
He clicked another button, and a shaky video popped up. Someone was pointing what appeared to be a phone’s camera toward a window. Inside the room, a woman sat near a fireplace. She appeared to be reading. Then a deep voice—clearly altered electronically—said, “Thank you for joining me, John. As you can see, I’m here with Susan.” Suddenly, the barrel of a gun filled the screen. “I’m a great shot, and if you don’t do exactly as I say, your dear wife will die.”
The person speaking laughed. It was awful. High-pitched and cold.
“I’m going to count to thirty, and by the time I’ve finished, you must be dead. Thirty seconds doesn’t give you enough time to call your friends at the FBI to help Susan. They’ll never make it in time. It just gives you enough time to do what I say. I think by now you realize you’re being watched, that I know exactly what you’re doing. I want you to die. I want you to know I outsmarted you, so don’t try to block my view. Don’t try to hide in the bathroom. And don’t bother begging for your life. I have no compassion. If you pick up that phone by your bed or do anything except what I’ve told you to do, Susan dies.”
The speaker paused a moment, then began to count. “One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five . . . six . . . seven . . .” When the speaker reached the number thirty, the screen went dark.