Page 47 of For Rage

"No, but ..." Jerry shook his head. "Look, it's not Randy. His aunt just died about a month ago, so he went on vacation to Hawaii to clear his head. His aunt practically raised him. I haven't even seen the guy since."

The story was building in Morgan's head rapidly, the pieces clicking in place. This aunt of Randall's dying could be what had triggered this string of murders. And Randall had conveniently gone off the map since.

But the real question was whether he was truly in Hawaii or not. If he were, then he was innocent.

Morgan zipped out of the room, leaving Jerry in a confused panic. She dashed back to her office and went on the computer, pulling up Randall Fink's information. If he'd taken a flight, it would be recorded. He'd have bought a ticket. There'd be a record of his travel, a paper trail.

But there was no record of Randall's flight to Hawaii. In fact, he hadn't purchased anything at all since before the murders. It told Morgan nothing, other than that he'd gone off the grid. She leaned back in her chair, frustrated.

Randall had gone off the map. He'd disappeared like smoke in the wind. But why? What could he be hiding? Morgan felt a chill run down her spine as she considered all the possibilities, but they only made her more determined to find outwho Randall Fink really was.

She went into the FBI database. Randall's driver's license photo showed a gaunt man with pock marks on his cheeks and soulless eyes. His parents were deceased, apparently, but he'd lived with his aunt, Tilly.

Morgan opened up Tilly's file.

And there, staring back at her, was a photo of a red-haired woman.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Morgan's car whipped up to the curb. The old, abandoned-looking house was surrounded by overgrown grass, the paint peeling on its crumbling walls. The windows were shuttered, and an eerie silence hung in the air. An old, rusty gate creaked in the wind, and the front porch sagged dangerously to one side. The house seemed out of place against the otherwise lively street. The late-afternoon sky had darkened, threatening more rain.

Eyeing the place, Morgan took out her phone and tried Derik again. He hadn't been picking up, and she wasn't sure what had him so tied down, but he was MIA. And Morgan couldn't wait, not for a team, not for anything.

She had to follow her gut on this. And her gut led her here.

If she were wrong, then she could accept that. But she needed to know more about Randall, to find out if he was here. This was the house he had lived in with his aunt before she died. Randall never moved out, never had a wife, a girlfriend, nothing. He just worked as a gardener and lived with his aunt. Very odd, for a man pushing forty.

As disheveled as the house was, the garden out front was pristine. Well-taken care of. And recently.

Morgan tried Derik again, but was sent to voicemail.

"Damn it, Greene," she muttered, then sent him a text:

Tried to call you. I'm doing things my way.

Then she sent him the address and turned her phone on silent. If Derik showed up, then great. But Morgan wasn't going to wait around. There was no time, not if Randall was truly the killer.

She got out of her car and walked toward the house. The gate squeaked louder as she pushed it open, and she made her way up the porch steps. The wood creaked under her feet, and she held her breath as she knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

Morgan tried the handle, and to her surprise, it turned. She pushed the door open slowly and stepped inside. The air was musty, and the room was dimly lit.

Morgan took out her flashlight and shone it around the room. The furniture was covered in white sheets, and the only thing that seemed to be in use was a desk in the corner. Papers, folders, and photos were scattered all over it. Morgan walked over to it and started to sift through them.

The first photo she found was of a young Randall Fink with his arm around a red-haired woman. The woman in the photo was the same woman in Tilly's file. Morgan's heart began to race as she realized the woman was Randall's aunt.

The documents were all in order, but there was something off about them. Morgan couldn't put her finger on it.

She turned her attention toward the living room, where more photos of Randall and Tilly were hanging on the walls, some of them showing the progression of his life—and hers. Tilly had died of natural causes, it said, and by the time she'd passed, her hair had gone from red to gray. And yet the women being murdered had vibrant red hair, like the photos of Tilly that hung around the house.

Perhaps this was the version Randall had fantasized about killing, over and over again, until he started taking real women.

But where was Randall now? Morgan's heart was pounding as she tried to piece together the puzzle. She moved toward the kitchen but stopped short when she felt her phone vibrate. Derik was calling.

She answered and quietly said, "Greene—"

"Cross, sorry I missed you," he said. "Tell me you're not at that address."

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