Page 3 of Twisted Devil

Like the previous three victims, Chloe had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Three months ago, Kelly Greene was the first woman to disappear from the Chicago area. Her boyfriend had reported her missing when she didn't come home after work. A month later, Jacqueline Howard went missing. The young nursing student lived alone, and she hadn't shown up for her shift at work. After a couple of days, the authorities found her house empty. They still weren't entirely sure when she had been abducted or from where. The third, Caroline Alsept, disappeared last month, reported missing by her parents when she didn’t come home. No one had seen them since.

When the locals got the call about Chloe, they had immediately assumed the worst. It appeared that whomever was targeting these young women had crossed state lines, elevating the case from state to federal level. That’s where we came in. There were enough similarities between the victims to believe that it could very well be the same person who’d taken them. Speculation had been flying around all morning, everyone trying to guess who the man could be and what had happened to the women.

Chloe’s car sat at almost a 90° angle from the front door, and unfortunately, none of the cameras pointed that direction. I glanced around, then gestured to a small ballet studio across the narrow alley. “Anyone check with them yet?”

“They just opened,” replied the detective from the local precinct.

I nodded to my partner. “Let's go check it out.”

I scanned the façade of the building as we crossed the street, and I winced internally when I saw no evidence of a camera mounted outside. A little bell over the door jingled as we stepped inside, and a middle-aged woman greeted us with a smile.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?”

I nodded to her. “I’m Agent Jason Doyle from the FBI,” I said, flashing my badge. “This is Agent Sean Kennedy.”

Her brows drew slightly together in question. “Nice to meet you, I’m Mary. What can I do for you?”

“Would you happen to have any cameras that overlook that parking lot?” I asked as I pointed toward the coffee shop.

She gestured to a camera positioned over the counter. “I have this one, but it’s mostly just to keep an eye on the door. I don't know if you'll be able to see much.”

“Anything you have may help.”I briefly explained to her what had happened last night. As I spoke of Chloe’s disappearance, a lump formed in my throat. God, I still couldn’t believe it. Even though I didn’t know her all that well, I’d met her—she was real, and it made the case that much more personal. I shoved the thought to the back of my mind and forced my emotions back in check. “Would you mind if we take a look?”

“Not at all.”

“Thanks, Mary.” She stepped out of the way as we rounded the counter. “Is this the recording from last night?”

She nodded. “It keeps about a week’s worth of footage before it starts recording over it.”

I was familiar with the system, so I rewound to last night around 8:00 PM when the coffee shop closed. The black and white image on the screen was grainy, but the angle through the large bay window was surprisingly good. I watched on the screen as a young woman left in a small sedan. The minutes ticked away until I finally watched Chloe Danvers exit the coffee shop. As she approached the corner of the building, a lumbering shadow moved in front of her.

I watched as she struggled against his hold until she went limp. The man dragged her backwards so she was off screen, and anticipation raced through my veins. A minute later, a light-colored van drove down the alley that separated the ballet studio from the coffee shop. A street light illuminated the passenger side window, highlighting the man’s profile, and I caught a glimpse of the man who had abducted Chloe. He wore a ball cap, but with the light behind him, it was too dark to see his features.

“There's our guy,” I murmured. “Now, let's figure out who the hell he is.”

I rewound the tape to about 7:00, watching intently for the van. It never came.

“Wonder if he came in from another direction,” Kennedy mused.

It was entirely possible. I threw a glance at Mary. “I’d like to review this a little closer.”

“Whatever you need,” she agreed readily. “I hope you find something.”

As I took the disc, thoughts swirled through my mind. We were already sixteen hours behind whoever had taken Chloe. The seconds were rapidly ticking away, and I could only hope we would find her before it was too late.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHLOE

I came to slowly, and I grimaced as I blinked my eyes open. My body felt cold, and I curled my arms tighter to my chest as goosebumps raced over my skin.

The lighting was dim, and I strained my eyes to see my surroundings. A single bulb hung overhead, just enough to chase away the oppressiveness of the room while still managing to cast a menacing glow over its meager contents.

I shifted slightly, and an answering groan met my ears as the ancient springs of the mattress I lay on squeaked under the movement. Every muscle protested as I pressed my hands flat and pushed to a sitting position.

The room was cold and dank, and the smell of mildew lilted on the air. I took in a gray stone wall, stained dark with age. It reminded me of my grandparents’ basement, the wide old stone from the turn of the century—and not the most recent one. Wherever I was, this place was probably at least a hundred years old, judging from the packed dirt floor.

I swallowed hard, then wished I hadn't. My throat ached, and I rubbed one hand gently along the base. It felt slightly bruised, but most of the damage seemed to be confined to the inside. Which meant no screaming for help. I almost snorted at that. Like anyone would be able to hear me anyway.

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