Page 105 of Love Me Fearless

“The detective working that case didn’t think they were linked,” Sheriff Olson says, his brows knitted together in a deep scowl.

This should give me some measure of peace, but my brain is lit by too many scary what-ifs. “Is this killer—” I force another breath “—after Ava?”

A muscle in Luke’s jaw pops. “We don’t know.”

“Did these women have a stalker? Did he ever leave a white rose where they’d be sure to find it?”

“Whoa,” Luke says, flashing his palm. “Slow down a sec.”

“Ava could be in danger and you want me to slow down? The fuck, Luke!” I keep moving, otherwise I’m going to blow through the roof.

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” Luke says, his tone firm. “It’s going to feel like swimming through molasses, but I promise you we’re taking this seriously. Ava’s here right now, correct? We’ll make a plan to keep her safe.”

I rub the back of my neck and force another series of breaths. Luke’s right. Ava’s in this very building, protected by not just its secure walls but several armed officers. I’ve worked with Sheriff Olson enough through the years to know he runs a tight ship. When Ava leaves, she’ll be escorted to and from work by one of his capabledeputies or by me. I push thoughts of my looming deadline out of my mind.

How can I leave knowing what’s happening?

“Okay,” I say as my spiraling thoughts begin to slow. I have trusted Luke with my life on more than one occasion, and he’s never let me down. Though the circumstances are different here, that trust is solid. Luke has the skills and the resources we need to crack this case. I have to believe that he will or I’m going to lose my fucking mind.

Luke nods. “All right. Let’s give the sheriff his office back and move into one of the interview rooms.”

I grip my waist and give the sheriff a parting glance, but he’s already typing away at his computer, his face tense.

Luke leads me to a small room with a round table. He must be using it as a makeshift office because a laptop is plugged into the wall and a messenger bag is slung on the back of the chair. I drop into the seat facing his.

“I’m going to record this, okay?” Luke says.

I release a tight breath. “Fine.”

Luke sets his phone on the table and rattles off a quick intro. “Bear with me, Hutch. We need to go back to the search for Marin. Then we’ll cover your discovery of Michelle’s remains. And then I want to hear about this rose incident with Ava too. You can take a break at any point, just ask.”

“Understood.” For the next hour, I walk Luke through the search for Marin, answering his questions as they pop up, then we switch to my discovery of the remains in York Springs Mine, all while trying to tamp down my growing panic. Is the killer the same as Ava’s stalker? Everett told me he doesn’t believe in coincidences, and I’m not sure I do either.

It makes me furious that the detective in San Francisco failed to solve the case of Ava’s break-in. If he’d done his fucking job, would Marin and Michelle still be alive? Are there other victims yet to berevealed? From what little I know about serial murderers, they don’t wake up one day and stop killing.

Another one of Everett’s musings rattles through my thoughts. If the same person was stalking Ava back then, where have they been since?That’s a big gap for a perp like that.

A chill races down my spine. What if there hasn’t been a gap at all, and this sicko has been actively killing all these years? I sweep that thought back to where it came from, before it derails me. If I’m going to be helpful, I need to stay focused on the here and now.

“Did you see a rose during the rescue or near where you found Marin?” Luke asks.

“No, but I wasn’t looking. And it could have easily fallen between the rocks.”

“There’s no mention of it in the crime scene report.”

“How about what they found on the top of the boulder?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat inside my chest.

Luke shakes his head. “And if there was one in the York Springs Mine, it would have long since disintegrated.”

He ends the recording, then logs into his computer and swivels it to share his screen, where a map of the western U.S. is scattered with dots of different colors. He points at the dot in Truckee, California. “Nichole-Renée. Found buried in the woods near Lake Tahoe.” He taps a dot located east of Elk Flats. “Michelle Swanson, found at the bottom of York Springs Mine.” He taps the dot near a place called Humboldt Ridge, Nevada. “Jane Beasley, also found in a mine, but it was much closer to a road.” He points at the second red dot near Finn River. “Marin Lambert.”

“Who wasn’t found in a mine,” I say.

He huffs a soft sigh, his eyes on the screen. “Right now, it’s only a gut feeling, but I think it’s our unsub.”

I’m not sure I want to know how he’s decided this. Instead, I focus on the remaining dots. Some are blue, some yellow, scattered between southwestern Montana, Idaho, northwestern Nevada, and the Bay Area. “What are these others?”

“Green dots are missing persons who match the profile. Yellow are unsolved murders that also match.”

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