Page 40 of Fire Harbor

She turned to face him. “What is it?”

When he didn’t say anything, she pushed. “You’re holding something back.”

He scratched his chin. “Okay. Here goes. But promise me this won’t freak you out. Okay?”

“I’m afraid that ship already sailed.”

“Yeah, but this might push you over the top. You and Greta fit the profile compared to the other women who disappeared on or near that bridge. Look at their ages. The first was a thirty-four-year-old woman named Joanna Hawkins. In 2015 Amanda Jenner was thirty-two. Gail Pinter was twenty-nine in 2016. A year later, Cillia French went missing when she was twenty-five. In 2018, Maggie Dover was twenty-four. Susan Crawford in 2019 had just turned twenty-two. Britney Parks in 2020 was another twenty-two-year-old. In 2021, Keri Davis was only nineteen. Then there’s Gabby last fall. Gabby was his youngest victim at seventeen. See? You and Greta fit into his preferred victim’s age group.”

“And those that got away?”

“Same deal. They fit the age group up to thirty-five. He could’ve become fixated on you and Greta when he was at the library.”

“That doesn’t spook me at all.”

“Look, I’m not trying to do that. You’re about to attend a meeting where these kinds of things should be addressed. The more women who know, the more likely they can prepare themselves.”

“There’s something that bothers me, though. Our serial killer goes after women on the bridge, correct? Then why does he bother changing his pattern and coming into our houses now?”

“I have a theory about that. He’s changing his pattern because he needs to. Word is out. Women are no longer stopping along the bridge. So now he comes after them.”

“But Gabby must’ve stopped,” Lake pointed out. “And that was only six months ago.”

“That’s true, but who knows? Maybe he fixated on them enough to know where they were headed, like over the bridge, and he waited to intercept them at that remote location. I don’t have any experience with knowing how serial killers think. And if I wanted to learn, he stole all the true crime books out of the library that might give us a clue.”

Lake huffed out a breath. “I suppose anything is possible. Are you coming to the meeting?”

“I was planning to, but Beckett just texted me. He wanted to know if I would consider riding along with him and Birk and show them where I found the pendant.”

“You should do that,” Lake urged. “This meeting is just a get-together to brainstorm about how to stay safe. After last night, I don’t have any suggestions about how to do that. And poor Greta. She’s in the same boat.”

“My theory might be wrong. Think about it. If he wanted to harm Greta and yourself, he would’ve waited until you were both at home alone. His reasoning for breaking into your homes doesn’t make sense. Unless he wanted to send you both the same message.”

“Remember,” Lake repeated. “Some message. I don’t even know what that means. When are you heading out?”

“Beckett’s leaving now.”

“Then go. I have brownies to whip up and mac and cheese to throw together as soon as we finish breakfast. But I’d planned to head to church and catch the 10:30 service so I could mingle with the others. Greta’s picking me up.”

“I told Beckett I’d catch up. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”

She turned from the counter. “Linus, I have three dogs here to protect me. It’s okay to leave. Jack, Scout, and Farley are no pushovers when it comes to letting someone inside.”

“I would like to be at the bridge from the onset.”

“Then do it. Go. I’ll be fine.”

From the moment Lake and Greta walked into the church auditorium, they knew something had happened. People were huddled together, chattering like magpies.

“What’s going on?” Lake asked Jordan.

“No one has seen Geniece Darrow since she left work last night around one o’clock.”

Lake’s heart sank. She knew Geniece worked at The Shipwreck as a waitress. Geniece also frequented the library on a regular basis because, as a student at UC Davis, she often spent a good deal of her time doing research and homework there. Lake had gotten to know her well. The girl was a hard worker, reliable, and fit their killer’s profile.

Without wasting another minute, she sought out Eastlyn Parker, who was dressed in her full uniform, her golden wheat hair bunched into a ponytail. The cop stood huddled together with the others near the sanctuary, making notes on her tablet.

Determined to find any clue that could lead them to Geniece’s whereabouts, Lake cleared her throat. “I don’t understand. Why are we just hearing about this now?”

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