Page 47 of View from Above

Funerals were for the living. Not for the dead.

The investigation had been officially closed. Rain pattered against the black umbrella Payton held above her head. The twin gravestones darkened in color as the sky wept for the women who’d suffered at the hands of a monster. Virginia Green had saved her daughter’s life by not following through with the abortion Roland Kotite had wanted, and in return, that daughter had taken hers.

And Angie Green… She’d discovered the truth and paid the ultimate price. Her children and husband clung to one another as they stared down at the shiny caskets and bright flowers.

Despite the fact Mallory hadn’t known either of them well, tears burned in her eyes. If it hadn’t been for these women, she and Payton might not have learned about Joy Leonard. She’d still be out there. And Mallory never would’ve seen her coming.

The minister invited family and friends to toss roses onto the caskets—something for the dead to take with them to the other side—and Mallory did her part. Her heels pierced through the lush, green cemetery lawn as Payton led her back to his SUV.

“You okay?” Turning to face her at the passenger door, he ensured she was fully protected under the umbrella. It was the small things. Making sure she didn’t get wet, helping her navigate to and from the gravesite, opening her door for her—this was why she loved him. Why she intended to spend the rest of her life with him.

Familiar faces nodded greetings as they dispersed back to their lives. Dr. Vanessa Moss, Trooper Wells, both Agents January Reese and Lincoln Dunn. They’d all fallen victim to letting this case get to them, and she couldn’t help but admire their dedication.

Because this wasn’t over.

Not according to the connection between Joy Leonard and three other serial offenders.

“Yeah.” Searching the grounds, she caught sight of the massive white monument at the other end of the cemetery. Her father had never done anything small in his life, but at least it made finding his grave easy. If she were to ever come back here. “It was a nice service.”

“Why don’t you tell me what’s really on your mind, Doc?” That awkward smile lit up her insides as he pressed his mouth to hers.

“What happens next?” she asked.

“Well,”—he brushed his thumb against her bottom lip—“I was hoping to get you out of these wet clothes and into a hot shower the second we got back home. These things always remind me of how short this life is. I want to appreciate every second I have left with you.”

While the bullet to her shoulder and her collapsed lung had both been stabilized, her muscles ached at the thought of his rough hands massaging every inch of her body. “I like the sound of that, but I mean after that. What happens when your leave is up, when you’re transferred to the task force full-time? What happens then?”

“I was kind of hoping not to have to think about it for another week,” he said.

“Sorry. I just… I see the pain Dr. Moss lives with every day. I see the looks between Agent Reese and Agent Dunn, and I know they’re concerned about the future of their family. Even Sheriff Sanders and that private investigator are quieter than normal when you meet with them, and Wells… She’s scared. She tries to keep it to herself, but I’m trained to read people, Payton.” She slid her uninjured hand along his jaw, memorizing the feel of him against her skin. A distraction from the uneasiness inside. “These cases you’re all investigating—the connection between these serial killers—tell me what’s coming next.”

Payton added a few inches of distance between them. “Honestly, Doc, I don’t know, and part of me doesn’t want to find out. But there’s one thing I’m certain of: I’ll have you, and that’s never going to change.” He trailed his hand down her arm and squeezed her elbow, uncertainty in his expression.

“What is it?” she asked.

“At the end of the last serial case I worked, Agent Reese sent me to search the home of the killer responsible for harvesting organs from donor recipients. She was careful, but not careful enough. I found something.” His knuckles threatened to breach through the thin skin along the back of his hand holding the umbrella. “A phone she’d stashed in a bag of rice in the ice maker. The battery had been drained from the temperatures, but I got what I needed before the phone died.”

He hadn’t told her any of this. “What did you find?”

“A number. That was it.” He tucked deeper into the collar of his coat. “I brought the phone back to the FBI and had them run a trace. All of these killers have two things in common that we’ve been able to find. These ordinary women who went through traumatic and life-altering events each disappeared for an entire year. Just dropped out of their lives. Friends, family, employers—nobody had any idea why they’d left or when they’d be back. A couple of them even had missing persons reports filed on them during that time but those were later dismissed when they stepped back into their lives. And, second, they were all members of a grief support group.”

“Joy said she’d met friends at a support group, that she’d gone to try to mediate the anger she felt after finding out who she really was.” Was that where this had all started? Was that why so many people had died? “You think that’s where she met these other women? That that’s where they planned this entire killing spree?”

“As of right now, it’s all we have to go off of. We’re doing everything we can to track down other members who would’ve gone to those meetings, but it’s proving harder than we thought it would. Places like that are designed to protect member identities, and no one is talking. The church where the meetings were held doesn’t have a surveillance system, and there aren’t any cameras on that entire block.” He scanned the cemetery, the blue of his eyes nearly matching the color of the storm clouds above, and Mallory couldn’t help but get a look at an entirely different storm he kept inside. “The killer who hid the phone in her ice maker went to great lengths to make sure CSU and the FBI wouldn’t find it. It was important to her.”

“You said the FBI traced the contact stored in the phone.” Cold swept through her, but it was impossible to cross her arms against the winds picking up around them with the sling immobilizing her arm. “Where did the number lead?”

“We don’t know. There isn’t a name attached to the number, which most likely means it’s a burner phone, but we were able to pull a location from the last time it was used. A farm out near Bellingham.” He nodded toward the state trooper who’d gotten Mallory and Payton off the roof of her father’s building and had taken Joy Leonard into custody. “Wells is headed there now.”

“What do you expect her to find?” she asked.

“Answers.” Payton helped her into the passenger seat then rounded the hood with the umbrella to climb behind the wheel. The way he’d ended their conversation said this case had created more questions than it’d answered. A fraction of the frustration she’d grown familiar with when it came to his father’s case gripped the tendons down his neck, and Mallory interlaced her hand with his.

The silence cut through her. “Is it okay if we make a stop before heading home? It won’t take long, but we need to get there in the next thirty minutes.”

“Sure.” Suspicion brought his gaze to hers. “Where to?”

“Take a left up here.” She directed him east, winding them through the city until Lake Union spread out in front of them on the stormy horizon.

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