That muscle beneath my eyelid fluttered.
“You find anything yet?” Nash asked, gesturing to the map in front of me.
“Maybe.”
He stood, crossing to my desk. “Walk me through it.”
“No other bodies, but three women who fit the profile have gone missing in neighboring counties in the past nine months. Ages twenty to twenty-five, petite, blond hair.”
Nash’s gaze met mine. “Vics that have the same physical profile as the ones all those years ago. Women who look like Hallie.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. I’d already asked Holt to make an excuse to be at the house today so Hallie wouldn’t be alone. He planned to help her clear out the barn for Drew’s birthday. But I could only pull that kind of thing for so long before she caught on.
“We’ve got a redhead in the victim mix now, though,” I argued.
Nash nodded. “Could’ve been she discovered him doing something illegal. Could’ve been he was in a rage and couldn’t wait for a vic that fit his type.”
That last statement hit as the truth. The uncontrolled stab wounds, the lack of nightgown and flowers. My back teeth ground together.
“Your gut’s saying it’s all connected, isn’t it?” Nash pressed.
Hell.“It is.”
Nash pinned me with a stare. “I trust your gut over a signed confession any day. We follow that lead. You talk to Anson?”
I grimaced. An old friend I’d met at a law enforcement conference, Anson had once been one of the Behavioral Analysis Unit’s best and brightest agents. But when a case took the worst of turns, he’d walked away from the FBI.
“Left him a message on my way home last night. He hasn’t called back.”
Nash sighed. “You’re going to have to keep trying him.”
“I know,” I grumbled.
The truth was, I’d been worried about my friend. Giving up a life he loved in DC to work construction in a tiny town in Central Oregon didn’t seem like him. And the fact that he’d been dodging my phone calls for the past year didn’t help.
“Want me to pull the three missings’ case files and go over them?” Nash asked.
“That’d be great. Let’s see if there are any other similarities.”
Nash jerked his head in a nod and moved to the door. “Call Anson.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Nash shut the door behind him, and I stared at my cell phone. Muttering a curse, I picked it up. I hit Anson’s contact and waited.
It rang and rang before one of those automated voicemails picked up that only read the phone number. I ended the call and tapped his contact again. This time, he picked up on the third ring.
“What?” he clipped.
“Well, it’s good to hear your voice, too.”
“I don’t have time for tea and chitchat, Law. Heading to a jobsite.”
I leaned back in my chair. “How’s the building business treating you?”
“Fine.”
“Please, don’t talk my ear off.”
