Page 24 of The Killer You Know

And seeing that we didn’t get any work done here, we’ll probably have a long night combing through Robin’s social media accounts once again. Separately, of course.

Riley blinks his way. “I can give you a ride home when you’re ready.”

I’m about to protest or point out that he’s done with his pie, but Fallon lifts her shoulders my way so I don’t say a word.

Instead, we say goodnight and duck out.

“Looks as if my brother has half of your family under his spell,” I say as Buddy hops into the back seat of my truck.

“I like him, too,” she counters. “So that spell must be pretty powerful. I think you’re just jealous of all the attention he’s getting.”

“I guess I should be cheering on the job offers,” I say as I land behind the wheel and start up the engine. “How about we see if we can track down those sisters tomorrow?”

“Already on it,” Fallon says. “One is still at Aspen Heights Memorial. I called and asked if we could meet with them at eleven in the morning and they agreed.”

“An hour before lunch, I like how you think,” I say as we head for Whispering Woods.

“You think about food all day, not me,” she says just as Buddy barks from the back. “Okay, you do, too. You’re both food-obsessed. How about we get obsessed about bringing Brittney Walker home? We’re just about to skate past the forty-eight-hour mark.”

I groan just hearing it. “I know,” I whisper.

Victims are less likely to be found alive as time progresses.

We’ve just crested the golden hours, and now we’re staring straight into the heart of the abyss.

I shake my head. “We had better hope those sisters have something critical to say that can crack this case wide open.”

“I looked at the sheriff’s report,” Fallon says, unblinking into the dark road ahead of us. “They don’t.”

“We’ll make them.” My fingers flex over the steering wheel. “Someone out there knows something.” A thought occurs to me. “I want to revisit forensics. I want those bloody shoeprints at the Hanson house juxtaposed to every print found at the kidnapping scene.”

“Those bloody shoeprints were smudged every which way, remember?”

“I do. It’s time to rule in or rule out if we’re hunting down one suspect, two, or an entire team of them.”

“If whoever killed Robin is the same person that kidnapped Brittney, they must think they’re pretty good.”

“Maybe so, but we’re better,” I say.

Buddy gives a sharp bark as if he agrees.

Now it’s time to prove it.

17

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

It’s the next day and this time I’m the one behind the wheel as I drive Jack and me out to Aspen Heights. The Colorado summer sky is crisp and blue and the scent of fresh pines permeates the air on the scenic drive over.

I’ve brought Buddy along, but only because he looked so hopeful when I was getting ready to leave. We pull into the hospital parking lot and I park under a bushy willow that offers enough shade for half the planet, roll the windows down all the way, and fill up a water bowl I brought along and set it on the floor in the back seat of my 4Runner.

“Sorry, Buddy,” I say, giving his ears a quick scratch and he promptly rolls into a ball and closes his eyes as if he were resigned to his fate. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll make sure she makes it up to both of us,” Jack says, adjusting his sunglasses. “Lunch sounds good. Sandwiches, maybe? I think Buddy agrees.”

“I’m sure he does,” I say as I lead the way into Aspen Heights Memorial Hospital.

As soon as we step inside, the crisp antiseptic scent that can only rival the coroner’s office hits us. We check in with the orderly at the front desk and she directs us to the third floor where a labyrinth of beeping monitors, a handful of distant conversations, and the soft squeak of nurses’ shoes on the linoleum floor greet us.

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