Page 69 of Girl, Sought

'No. Hell, half the time, I forget what I've even taken until I open that drawer again. I barely look at the stuff. Just shove it away and try not to think about it until the next time I'm around these people and their precious things.'

Ella watched his hands twist together on the table. ‘So the thrill is in the taking, not the having.’

‘Yeah.’ The admission seemed to deflate him further. ‘It's like... for just a moment, I get to reach out and grab a piece of their world. Prove that all their security systems and careful cataloging don't mean a thing. That anyone can just... take what they want.’

‘But you feel guilty afterward.’

'Yeah, but then I remember that every single one of these guys is using me to get a six-figure tax break, and I suddenly don't feel so bad.'

‘Did you ever steal from Alfred Finch?’

‘No, because Finch was a different breed.’

‘How so?’

‘Finch wasn’t a rich man, nor was a pompous asshole. He genuinely loved those bugs. He collected because it filled a void in him. You can tell who the real collectors are and who’s just in the game to screw the system.’

Ella applied this psychology to the unsub and found it didn’t fit one bit. Her killer didn’t steal out of impulse or spite like Thorne did. No, he needed to possess beauty so completely that he’d reshape human flesh to get it. Her killer didn't steal his trophies for the fleeting thrill of the lift. He didn't shove them in some dark corner to molder, forgotten, once the adrenaline rush faded.

No. Hecherishedthem.

The doll, the spider, whatever he took from Carpenter’s basement – these things were just tokens to remind him of his hard work.

The collectors themselves werethe real collectibles, and he craved something they represented – but what?

‘Get out of here, Gabriel,’ she said.

Thorne was up and out of his chair a second later. He nodded his thanks, and then the precinct corridor swallowed him up.

Ella let the door snick shut, closed her eyes and let the cool wood press against her forehead.

Thorne was a dead end, but he'd given her something far more valuable than a lead. He'd given her a foothold in the shitstorm of contradictions that was their unsub's psychological profile.

This killer wasn’t targeting collectors. He was targeting a specific kind of collector.

And if Ella could find out exactly which collectors inhabited this little niche of a niche, maybe she pinpoint her killer’s next target and catch him in the act.

It might be nearing midnight, but the night was just getting started.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

Austin Creed’s basement spun through Ella’s dreams again. Ever since she’d sent Creed to death row, he’d been paying nightly visits to her on the occasions that sleep came. This time, Ella had been stuffed in a cage like one of Creed’s animals, and in front of her lay awoman, young, pretty in a corn-fed sort of way. Her rosebud mouth was stretched wide and her vocal cords strained for notes her throat could barely reach. She lay pinned with her limbs splayed and twitching. Above her, Creed grinned that good ol' boy grin.

She tried to scream, but dream-Ella didn’t have the necessary bodily functions, so all she could do was watch.

‘Ell?’

A voice cut through. Not Creed’s syrupy drawl, but something safer. Ella snapped awake with her heart doing ninety, and she found herself at her desk in her office. The last thing she remembered was poring over crime scene photos from Carpenter’s basement. She must have faceplanted here, probably around the 6 AM mark if memory served her correctly.

It definitely hadn’t been a good night’s sleep. Her brain was still fried, which is why she couldn’t be sure if the man in the doorway was a mirage or not.

‘Luca? Where’ve you been?’

Everything but her partner's annoyingly handsome face was obscured by two boxes cradled in his arms. The bags under his eyes suggested an equally restless night.

‘Trying to get one step ahead. You?’

Ella surveyed the detritus of paperwork on her desk. ‘Same. The hell time is it?’

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