Page 47 of The Girl He Crowned

Christopher couldadmit to himself too, in the privacy of the car, that he’d been attracted toher from the moment he saw her too. That attraction brought with it a sense ofguilt that was hard to ignore. Christopher had never acted on his attraction,had always been very careful indeed around Paige in case anything between themwent too far, but still he couldn’t help wondering if the obvious connectionbetween the two of them had helped to hasten the breakdown of his marriage toJennifer.

No, that wasn’t fair,even though the thought of it brought with it a wave of guilt and pain that washard to ignore. The things that had happened in Christopher’s marriage weren’tabout Paige. They were about the ways Christopher’s commitment to his job andJennifer’s life had gone in separate directions. They were about a hundredsmall arguments that had blown up into something bigger, until the two of themjust couldn’t be together anymore.

Christopher had toslow down for a series of red lights. He pushed through the traffic as quicklyas he could, threading his car through any space that would take it.

He couldn’t blamePaige for anything that had happened between him and Jennifer; he didn’t wantto, either. He valued her as a partner too much, with the two of them workingtogether well, managing to bring in plenty of dangerous killers between them. Hewanted to keep working with her, wanted to be close to her…

For now, thatmeant catching this killer, not only to take a dangerous man off the streets,but also to prove to Agent Sauer that the two of them worked well as a team andshould continue to be partners. The thought that his performance review might resultin the two of them being reassigned was almost too much to think about on topof everything that had already happened to Christopher. At a time wheneverything else in his life was falling apart, he needed this part at least tostay solid.

Catching thekiller meant getting to the next victim before he did, which was whyChristopher kept his foot firmly on the gas pedal. It was only minutes beforehe pulled up in front of Harriett Small’s expensive suburban home, screechingto a stop and all but throwing himself out of the car in a rush to get to herand make sure that she was safe.

The house was alarge family home, with a couple of expensive looking German cars parked on thedriveway and a garden that was obviously the work of at least a couple ofgardeners. All of that seemed ordinary enough, but Christopher found his heartbeating hard in his chest as he approached, because he could see that the frontdoor to the house was hanging open.

“Is there anybodyhome?” Christopher called out.

Was he too late?Had the killer already made it here? Instinctively, Christopher found himselfreaching for his gun, holding it in front of himself as he entered the housequietly. If the killer was still there, he didn’t want to risk giving him achance to run.

The house wasquiet, only the ticking of a large grandfather clock disturbing the silence ofa hallway where pictures of far off places stared down from the walls. Most ofthem featured the same woman looking down, perhaps thirty years old, blondehaired and toned, mostly wearing swimsuits and sarongs in tropical heat.Christopher guessed that these were pictures of Harriet Small.

Christopher continuedto make his way through the house, weapon held out in front of him. He paddedthrough into the kitchen, checking his corners as he entered the room…

And found himselfface to face with the woman from the pictures. She was standing there in jeansand a sweatshirt, holding a glass of water, which she promptly dropped as shestared at Christopher open mouthed.

“What are youdoing in my house?” she demanded at the top of her voice. “Get out! Get out, orI’ll scream!”

“FBI, Ms. Small,”Christopher said, trying to defuse the situation as embarrassment rose in him. Hetook out his ID, holding it up in front of Harriett so that she was forced tolook at it. “I’m here because I believe you might be in danger. When I saw theopen door-”

“I left that openso that my dog could come back inside.”

As if summoned bythe words, a large golden retriever bounded in and ran up to her.

“Good boy,Archie.”

“You haven’t seenanything suspicious?” Christopher asked, putting his weapon away.

“Other than a guyclaiming to be an FBI agent bursting into my house? No, of course not.”

That was worrying.It might mean that Christopher had come to the wrong place, but it might alsojust mean that the killer hadn’t decided to strike yet. He was going to have towait there to make sure that Harriett was safe, but in the meantime, he neededto text Paige to let her know what was happening.

*

Paige was outside YolandaVert’s house when she got the text from Christopher:

No sign of thekiller here yet. Am waiting to see if there’s any sign of anything suspicious.

Ok,Paige texted back,am at the Vert house now.

Texting felteasier than calling right then, with the strange mixture of guilt, attraction,and confusion she still felt when it came to Christopher. Using a text, it waspossible to avoid getting caught up in wondering how he was.

This house wasanother townhouse in the middle of Eddis, on a scale that would have formed awhole apartment block back in Washington. Paige hurried up to the door, feelinga sense of tension as she did so. If Christopher hadn’t found the killer atHarriet Small’s place, then there was a chance that he was here, and Paige wasabout to walk into danger.

She reached thedoor and hit the intercom there. A woman’s voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Yolanda Vert?This is Paige King with the FBI. I need to speak with you urgently.”

“Councilor Vertisn’t at home right now,” the woman replied. “And if the FBI wants to speakwith her, it should make an appointment through the town hall.”

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