Page 5 of Killer Knows Best

They were born for more than this. But they couldn’t see it, could they? No, they chose this. And so, they had to be stopped. They were like wild horses trampling through town, destroying everything in their wake, so in turn, they themselves had to be destroyed.

My chest tightens as I walk, while my legs do their best to carry me farther away from the hotel, deeper into the night. With each step I feel lighter, freer.

They’re gone now. I did what had to be done.

I think of the others once again—the women who came before. They were all so lost, so blinded by their choices. Just like these two. It’s always the same story. It never changes. But I’m the constant. I’m the one who cleans up the mess.

The chosen one.

I stop at my car, my hands still shaking as I reach for the door handle. I left my mark, my signature at the scene. I always do. Signed, sealed, and delivered to the afterlife with love. It’s my way of letting them know I care. It’s my way of shouldering responsibility, and shirking it at the very same time.

No one is going to miss them. They couldn’t have been appreciated in this life in order to behave that way. That’s part of the problem. Then they became a problem.

That’s why they had to go.

It’s a difficult task, but that’s why it’s mine. To bring balance, to restore what has been broken.

And I did.

I always do.

I will again.

4

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

SAC Hale: Two college girls found dead at the Grand Meadows Hotel. The bodies had markings on them that resembled the same markings a couple of prostitutes had on them when they were killed last month. We got the official invite to the case.

Jack sighs as we put away our phones. “Guess we’re not getting in that hot tub tonight.”

“Nope,” I say, already marshalling my yellow lab, Buddy, for our next adventure. “Another night, another murder.”

No sooner do Jack and I get the message than we hit the ground running. The chill of the Colorado night cuts through the cab of my truck as we barrel down the highway, headlights slicing through the darkness like twin blades. Buddy sits in the back with his tail thumping against the seat, oblivious to the fact that we’re about to walk into another nightmare.

Hale’s text flits through my mind. Two girls dead at the Grand Meadows Hotel.

“He said the markings on the bodies are similar to those from the prostitutes last month,” I say out loud and Jack nods.

“That takes us right into serial killer territory,” he says as he shoots a dark look out the window.

The drive to Grand Meadows Hotel doesn’t take long. Fall in Colorado is one of those picture-perfect experiences, where the golds and reds of the trees shimmer under the moonlight, but tonight, it all feels darker and so much more sinister as we sink into another nightmare.

We pull up to the hotel, and it’s already crawling with local sheriffs and FBI agents. The Grand Meadows Hotel is lit up like a Christmas tree, but the festive glow ends there. Sheriff’s vehicles are scattered like confetti around the entrance, red and blue lights flashing in the cold, crisp air. And the wind is biting and cutting through the calm of the night.

A line of yellow tape flutters in the breeze, cordoning off the main entrance and barricading curious onlookers from what we’re about to step into.

It feels as if every cop in the county has shown up for this affair, and I get the sinking feeling we’ll need every one of them. “Looks like a party,” Jack mutters as we converge onto the cobbled walkway that leads to the luxury hotel before us.

“Too bad they started without us,” I say as I pick up Buddy’s leash. He stretches, sniffing the ground as if he owns the place. “You ready to work, boy?” His tail wags in response.

“Of course, he’s ready.” Jack gives him a quick pat on the back. “Buddy has a better work ethic than half the people who showed up tonight.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you. Ninety percent of the people are packing heat.”

Our partner from down at the field office, Special AgentNikki Knight, pulls up in her red sedan, looking like she stepped out of a magazine ad forBadass Redheads R Us. She strides over with her green eyes sharp and alert, looking pert and pretty with a ponytail that glows like a flame. “What do we have?” she asks, nodding toward the hotel, but she already knows.

“College girls,” Jack says. “Markings match a couple of others.”

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