Page 7 of Can She Get Home for Christmas?

Not the guy. To look for you,he silently corrected.

“A couple of months.” He looked toward the trees. “We should get going, before it’s full dark.”

“Right.”

He picked up his pace a little, glancing back to make sure she was following. Really, he’d like to use a light, but he couldn’t risk it. The snow was six inches deep now. He didn’t like not being able to see Sam, but she couldn’t lead the way. On the other hand, maybe it was easier to talk to her if they couldn’t see each other. It was more impersonal, like a phone conversation.

“You doing okay?” he called.

“Yes.”

She was quiet for a minute or two, then asked, “And how did you get the job of going after this guy?”

“One of the victim’s father was pissed off that the cops couldn’t find the killer. He heard about the outfit I work for—Decorah Security. He couldn’t bring his daughter back, but he hoped he could stop the same thing happening to another woman. Plus he wanted the bastard caught and punished. It was worth it to him to have one of our agents working the case full-time.”

“And why you?”

“Frank Decorah assigns the person he thinks is best suited to the job.”

“That was you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

They had come to the crux of the problem. “I have the right skill set,” he clipped out, hoping the tone of his voice would cut off her line of inquiry.

Apparently she got the message, because her next question switched to another topic. “How many women has he gotten?”

“Three.”

Sam made a small choking sound.

Thinking it was best to get off this line of discussion, Jax asked, “What can you tell me about the guy?”

“You pulled up about five minutes after he arrived. I didn’t have time to find out much.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “He told me his name was James Patton. Then, after he pulled a gun on me, he started talking about an author with almost the same name who wrote a book calledKiss the Girls. It’s about a serial killer.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Afraid not.”

Jax mulled that over. “What did he look like?”

“I couldn’t see much, with the snow and the way he was bundled up. He was wearing a heavy wool jacket with a hood. It fell back when we were scuffling. He had a square face, thin lips, and shaggy hair. That’s about all I could see. Well, mean looking eyes and dark stubble on his chin.”

“Could you pick him out of a lineup or mug book?”

“Maybe.” She was quiet for a few moments before asking, “You said he—hunts—on that stretch of road?”

“Yeah.” Jax shared the theory he’d developed. “I’m thinking he usually pretends to be a cop. Maybe he stops his victim and says she was speeding. That’s how he establishes that he’s in charge. But tonight in the snow, he figured an ordinary Good Samaritan would do. And there you were with your car way off the road.”

“I would have fallen for the cop thing,” Sam said, her voice not quite steady.

“It’s a nasty ploy. Other guys have used it. And these days they can pick up techniques from cable news and crime shows.”

“Or novels.”

“Yeah.”

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