Page 31 of The Girl He Wanted

“Dammit,” she muttered, slamming her fist against the dashboard. “We’re back to square one. Again.”

“We still have his climbing gear,” Christopher pointed out. “If the forensics come back with a match to the fibers at the murder sites, that could be enough to get a warrant for his arrest.”

“Assuming we find a match,” Paige said, feeling defeated. “I just don’t know where to go from here. We’ve hit a dead end.”

“We keep investigating,” Christopher said firmly. “We look for other suspects, other leads. We can’t let this go. We just keep working the case.”

Paige nodded, feeling some of her determination returning. “You’re right. We can’t give up now. We’ll keep digging, and we'll find something."

They drove in silence for a few moments, both lost in thought. That was when Paige's phone started to ring. She answered and heard Detective Johnson's voice on the other end of the line.

"Agent King, where are you?"

"We're on our way back to the station. Why? What's happened?"

"We've got another one," Johnson said, his voice grim. "There's been another murder."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

He sat in his car, watching the field from a distance in the dark, watching the police vehicles starting to arrive in a swarm of flashing lights, like distant fireflies. He watched the weather balloon still high above it, slowly being winched in so that they could get to Sarah's body.

It had taken them a long time to find this. He’d expected them to find her last night, but he’d overestimated how many people would come past. Now, it was a new day, and he found that he still wanted to watch the moment when they realized what was happening.

Did they still think that she might still be alive? He hoped so, if only so that they would have that additional moment of feeling helpless as they discovered that he'd cut her throat, the same as he had with the others. He'd taken her blood and used it to write the letternuon her.

He smiled to himself, feeling a sense of satisfaction. He had left his mark once again, done what was required by the sequence. The police would be scrambling to find any leads, any evidence that could help them catch him. But he knew that they wouldn't find anything. He was too careful, too deliberate.

He knew that they were searching for him, but he had no intention of letting them catch him. He had carefully planned each move, covered his tracks, and left no evidence behind. He felt invincible, like a puppet master controlling the entire situation. He was getting stronger with each kill.

He knew that the police would be looking for someone with a motive, someone who had a grudge against the victims. They hadn't worked out the true pattern behind all of this yet, in spite of the ways he'd shown it to them. In its way, that was almost disappointing. He wanted them to understand, to see this great work for what it was. To acknowledge the importance of what he was doing even as they tried to stop him.

He had to be careful not to give them too much, though. If the police understood too much, then there was a chance that they might try to prevent his next move, and he couldn't allow that. He had to finish this, had to complete the pattern. That was the part that truly mattered. He couldn't let his guard down. He had to be mindful of every move he made, every word he spoke, and every interaction he had with others. He couldn't afford to slip up.

He was in control, of himself, of them. He had the power. He hadgainedthe power that came from the kills. And he loved it.

As he watched the chaos unfolding in the field, with sirens blaring and lights flashing, only drawing more attention to what he had done, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He had successfully eluded the authorities, and he knew that it wouldn't be long before he struck again. The pattern had to be perfect.

Would he stop at four, or would he keep going and take eight? Perhaps he could go elsewhere and begin again? He chuckled to himself as he started his car, ready to disappear back into the night. He had all the time in the world to decide. He was a master of his craft, and the world was his canvas. He would create again and again, leaving behind only his signature for the authorities to find.

He knew that they would never catch him, never truly understand the depth of his art. He would continue until he was satisfied, until he had created his masterpiece. And then, and only then, he would disappear into the shadows, leaving behind only perfection in his wake.

Yes, he thought to himself, smiling as he drove away from the scene. He was a true artist, a master of his craft. He would complete the pattern perfectly. No one would be able to stop him.

But for now, he would lay low. He would let them search for him, and he would enjoy their fear before he continued.

He knew that the police would be swarming the area, looking for any clues that might lead them to him. But he also knew that he was careful, that he left no evidence behind. He wasn't worried about getting caught.

His only worry was about completing the work that he had begun. The pattern was in place. Now, he just needed to follow through on it.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

To Paige, it looked like chaos as she and Christopher drove up to the field Detective Johnson had told them to meet him at. There were police vehicles everywhere, a van full of forensic techs trying to set up spotlights so that they could search the area more precisely in the growing gloom of the storm, even a huddle of reporters at one end of the field, snapping photographs as a group of police officers struggled to haul on a long wire tether.

A huge weather balloon bobbed on the other end of it, lit from beneath, and on that balloon, just visible from below, was a body.

Paige's stomach twisted uncomfortably as she realized that this was yet another victim. She couldn't believe that this was happening again. She and Christopher quickly made their way over to where Detective Johnson was waiting for them, still while everyone ran around him.

"Agent King, Agent Marriott," he greeted them, his expression grim. "We've got another one. The same as the others."

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