Riley heard a note of dread in Crivaro’s voice, and his posture slumped as he walked away. Riley had a pretty good idea of who he was about to call—and why he wasn’t looking forward to it.

  And I don’t envy him, she thought.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jake hesitated before he punched in the phone number.

  This isn’t going to be pleasant, he thought.

  As he braced himself to make the call, Jake watched Riley walk over to the police car, where music still blared through the open window. He saw her speak to Wally, who nodded to her. Then Riley climbed into the car, so apparently the cop was willing to give them a ride to their next stop. At least that was taken care of.

  Jake turned his attention back to the phone and entered the private number for Special Agent in Charge Erik Lehl at Quantico.

  The last time he’d seen Lehl had been to ask for a few days of vacation time. Jake had given no hint that he’d be checking into a murder case.

  He wondered how his boss was going to react to the truth.

  For all Jake knew, Lehl might simply get furious and demand that Jake and Riley come back to Quantico on the next available flight.

  Or it might even be worse.

  When Lehl came on the line, he said, “I hadn’t expected to hear from you, Agent Crivaro. Are you enjoying your vacation?”

  Jake wondered—did he hear a note of sarcasm in Lehl’s voice?

  Had his boss already figured out that Jake wasn’t on vacation at all?

  Jake knew it wasn’t impossible. Lehl had an uncanny way of keeping track of all his agents. If Jake really were on vacation, Lehl might well know exactly where he’d gone to enjoy himself.

  Jake gulped hard, then said, “Uh, Chief, something’s come up. I think I’ve stumbled across a serial killer case.”

  Jake heard the chief grunt and say …

  “Do tell.”

  Jake stifled a sigh at Lehl’s wry reply.

  That’s sarcasm, all right.

  Jake figured he’d better come clean about everything.

  He said, “Agent Lehl, I’m actually out in Arizona. An old friend of mine asked me to come out and look into a recent murder here …”

  Jake went on to tell the whole story—how Harry had seen similarities in two widely separated murders and called Jake for help, how he’d recruited Riley Sweeney to fly out here with him, and how he and Riley had visited the local ME and compared the two cases. He filled Lehl in on the details that had led them to believe that the recent murder in Arizona was the work of a killer who had taken another victim a year ago in Colorado.

  When he finished, Lehl said, “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You lied to me this morning—”

  Jake wanted to interrupt and say he hadn’t exactly lied.

  But what else could I call it?

  Lehl continued …

  “And you took a rookie agent with you on an unsanctioned investigation—an agent with her own history of insubordination. Am I right so far?”

  A silence fell.

  Yeah, that’s pretty much right, Jake thought miserably.

  Finally Lehl grumbled …

  “Well, from the information you’ve given me it does sound like you’ve run across something serious. Why hasn’t the local police chief contacted the FBI about these killings?”

  Jake tried to imagine going back to Chief Webster to talk him into calling in a formal request for FBI help. He’d already given the local chief the impression that he and Riley were here in an official capacity.

  Jake really wanted to skip that conversation if he possibly could.

  “I suspect you’re not going to hear from the Tunsboro police chief at all,” Jake said. “He’s still pretty skeptical about this whole thing. Look, when I came out here, I was more than skeptical myself. But now there’s not a question in my mind that this is a legitimate case—and an urgent one. This killer is still at large and nobody is hunting him very seriously. I just need you to make FBI participation official.”

  A tense silence fell.

  “I’ll do it,” Lehl finally said. “Agent Crivaro, I trust your instincts, if nothing else. Send me all the data you have at this point and I’ll set up a file on the case.”

  Jake felt a surge of relief.

  “Thanks, Agent Lehl,” he replied. “I’ll fax you everything later today.”

  Before Jake could end the call, Lehl added …

  “But you’d better remember—I don’t like how you went about this. You’re on thin ice right now. So is that partner of yours. Keep your nose clean. Hers too. You’ve got to keep that rookie out of trouble this time.”

  “I’ll do that,” Jake said, sounding more confident than he felt.

  They ended the call, and Jake headed over to the car to tell the rookie in question that they had a case.

  Jake wondered if he would be able to keep either of them out of trouble. He and Riley Sweeney were an erratic team, but they had proved to be effective together. The young woman had a rare talent, and he was determined to see it developed properly, both for her sake and for the good of the Bureau.

  All the same, he reminded himself …

  Don’t go to easy on her.

  He felt skeptical about the way they had decided to go about the investigation. Could they really make a father-daughter act work?

  Still, Jake realized that he also felt a renewed enthusiasm. He and Riley were here officially now. A BAU team was on the trail of a man who found some kind of twisted pleasure in draining young women of their lives.

  He just hoped they weren’t too far behind him to prevent another murder.

  *

  Riley sat in the passenger seat of the police car, watching Crivaro walk toward her. She couldn’t tell from his expression whether the call had gone well or badly.

  She knew it mattered a lot. She was sure he’d called their boss at Quantico, and if that had gone badly, they’d be headed right back there …

  Or we might both get fired.

  As Crivaro got into the back seat, Riley asked him, “Did you talk to Lehl?”

  “Yeah, and he’s willing to make this an official case.”

  Riley felt a wave of relief.

  “Did he say anything else?” she asked.

  Crivaro smiled slightly and said, “He told me to keep your nose clean.”

  “My nose?” Riley asked with surprise.

  “Yeah, and my nose too.” He added with a chuckle, “He’s very concerned about our nasal hygiene—speaking figuratively, of course.”

  Riley laughed. She understood what Crivaro meant—that both of them had better stay on their best behavior. Otherwise, they could wind up in a lot of trouble.

  The cop named Wally was obviously trying not to show too much curiosity about their conversation as he pulled out of the parking lot and drove them across town. When they reached the RV rental business called Arizona Outdoors, Crivaro told him …

  “We won’t need you to chauffeur us around anymore. But we do need you to make an official report to Chief Webster. Tell him we’re now sure this is a serial killer and the FBI is staying on the case.”

  Wally snapped out a brisk “Yessir.”

  Crivaro thought for a moment, then added, “Also tell Webster to fax all his reports and paperwork on this case to two numbers. One is the ME here in Stover. Agent Sweeney and I will pick it up later. The second is the BAU headquarters at Quantico.”

  Jake took out a card and handed it to Wally.

  “This is the number.”

  “Anything else, sir?” Wally asked.

  “That’s it. But those faxes are important. I’m counting on you to see that they get done.”

  For a moment, Wally looked as though he might salute, but then he just nodded, tucked the card in a pocket, and drove away with a determined expression on his face.

  Riley felt a bit amused that Crivaro hadn’t called Webster to personally tell him to send the faxes. Her partner clearly wasn’t eager to deal with the grumpy local police chief more than he had to. And judging from their earlier experiences with him, she was sure that Webster felt the same way about Crivaro and Riley.

  There was a fast food place just across the street from Arizona Outdoors. Riley and Crivaro decided to go there first to have a coffee and a quick snack. When they sat down to eat, Riley thought about the tasks they were about to undertake.

  Her mind began to reel.

  This would be something she’d never tried to carry off before …

  We’re going undercover!

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Riley told herself to curb her excitement about going undercover. After all, she and Crivaro would just be pretending to be campers so that other campers would be willing to talk to them. This would be nothing like the harrowing stories her Academy roommate, Frankie, had told her.

  Frankie had gone undercover to bust drug dealers, but the experience had become a nightmare when she was forced to inject herself with heroin in order to save her own life.

  Riley shuddered at the thought.

  But surely she and Crivaro couldn’t get into such a dire situation while staying at the fancy RV resort they planned to check out. It was where the recent victim had last been seen alive, and it seemed possible that the killer had stayed there too. Or at least, maybe someone there knew something about him. They had no other clues that might help pick up his trail.

  Riley asked Crivaro, “Have you ever gone undercover before?”

  Crivaro chuckled and said, “Yeah, but nothing like this. I’ve got to admit, I feel a little out of my depth.”

  Riley looked at him in surprise, and finally he continued.

  “Trying to pass myself as some regular old retired camper is going to be tough enough. As you know, I’ve been a city type all my life. But trying to convince people that I’m your dad … well, that’s really going to be a challenge.”

  Riley looked at Crivaro and considered how well they might pass as family members. They both had dark hair and strong features. He was rugged-looking in a different way from her real father, muscular but not so lean and wiry.

  And like many fathers, he could be tough on her—sometimes too tough for her liking. She didn’t expect to find it all that hard to pretend that Crivaro was her dad. She knew she’d already thought of him as a father figure, at least a few times.

  Then she grinned and told him, “I think the toughest part for me will be remembering to call you ‘Dad.’”

  “You’ll have to make it sound natural,” he replied.

  Riley was curious about something, but the memory of Frankie’s awful story made her hesitate to ask.

  She nibbled at her fries, then asked cautiously, “What were your other undercover jobs like?”

  Crivaro squinted as he took a sip of coffee.

  He said, “Way back during my early years with the Bureau, I posed as a hit man on a couple of cases.”

  Riley’s eyes widened.

  “That sounds dangerous,” she said.

  Crivaro grunted and said, “Not as much as you might expect. But it sure took a toll on my faith in human nature.”

  As Crivaro bit into his burger, Riley wondered whether he was going to tell her anything else about it.

  Better not push him, she thought.

  Finally he said, “The first time I went undercover, I helped bust a bank manager. One of his employees had caught him embezzling, and he wanted to bump the guy off. It took a whole team to set it up so that he’d seek me out for the job. I put on a wire, and the bank manager and I held the meeting right in his office. He didn’t mince words about what he wanted, and our team burst right in the minute he gave me an envelope full of money.”

  Crivaro scratched his chin and added, “That first case didn’t really shake me up too much. I’ve never thought highly of bankers, so it didn’t come as a surprise that my target would think of murder as just another business deal. Call me cynical, but I figure that’s the way business is done in this country, at least by the people who can afford it.”

  Then Crivaro’s expression darkened a little. “But the other case … that one still nags at me.”

  Riley sensed that he was truly troubled by the memory.

  She was about to say …

  “You don’t have to tell me about it.”

  But then Crivaro said, “There was this housewife whose husband cheated on her, and she decided she wanted to kill his girlfriend, and she tried to hire me to do it. We arranged a clandestine meeting in her car, and I was wearing a wire, and it was … one of the strangest damn things I’ve ever experienced.”

  Crivaro leaned across the table toward Riley and said …

  “She acted like it wasn’t anything serious. She acted like it was some kind of silly game. I kept trying to get her to say aloud what she wanted me to do, and she kept giggling and nudging me and all but winking, saying, ‘Oh, you know. I don’t have to say it. You know what I want you to do. You must have done this lots of times.’”

  Riley was imagining the scene now. She was starting to understand just why it must have seemed so weird to Crivaro.

  He continued, “Then she kind of wagged her finger at me and said that the woman had a really sweet dog, and whatever else I did, I mustn’t hurt that dog. The dog hadn’t done anything bad to her. She said now that she thought about it, she wanted to adopt the dog.”

  Crivaro shook his head and said, “And finally she just blurted out, ‘I want you to kill that woman, but after you do, I want you to bring me the dog. I’ll keep the dog. I’ll be very nice to him.’ And she handed me the money, and the team swarmed right in and arrested her.”

  Riley’s mouth hung open with shock.

  The idea of a woman wanting to kill somebody but fretting about the life of the victim’s dog seemed downright bizarre.

  And really twisted.

  Crivaro said, “Even then, I was used to tracking down a different kind of killer. Some of them have been bona fide monsters who wore their evil on their sleeves. Others have just been rotten people. But if you met this woman on the street or in a grocery store, she’d seem like just another normal housewife.”

  He shook his head and added, “And that’s what scared me. Maybe she was just a normal housewife. Doing the kind of work I do, how am I supposed to know what ‘normal’ even means? Ever since then, I’ve wondered about people I see around me everywhere, on the streets and in public places—polite people who smile even at strangers. I wonder whether most people are capable of murder, given the opportunity and as long as someone else does the dirty work.”

  He shrugged and added, “Like I said, who am I to even know?”

  Crivaro and Riley continued eating in silence. After they finished their snack, Crivaro said, “Come on, we’d better get to work.”

  They walked across the street to Arizona Outdoors, where dozens of vehicles and trailers were parked neatly for display in a lot outside the main building.

  Crivaro put his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet and shook his head.

  He asked Riley, “Have you ever been camping?”

  “Some,” Riley said. “I used to go out with my dad from time to time into the Appalachian Mountains. It was when he was hunting or fishing.”

  Crivaro grumbled, “Well, I haven’t been camping since I was a Boy Scout. And even then I wasn’t any good at it. I’ll be damned if I’ve got any idea what we’re looking for.”

  Crivaro pointed to a nearby storefront. “That looks like a camping goods store. Remember what Harry said—we can’t go into a campground dressed like a couple of FBI agents. I’m gonna go over there and find myself some appropriate clothes. Your assignment is to pick out an RV, something suitable for a father-daughter holiday. What do I know about that anyhow?”

  Riley was about to protest that she didn’t know anything more about campers than he did. She and her father had always roughed it whenever they’d gone out into the woods for a few nights, taking little with them but a tent and some necessary supplies.

  But Crivaro patted her on the arm and said, “Money’s no object. This is an official case, so we’re doing everything on the Bureau’s dime now.”

  Without giving her a chance to protest, he strode away toward the store.

  Riley looked around at the conglomeration of vehicles, wondering …

  Now what do I do?

  As if in reply to her unspoken question, she heard a voice behind her.

  “May I help you?”

  She turned around and saw a young woman wearing a nametag that said “EMILY.” She was dressed in blue shorts and a blue T-shirt, obviously the company’s employee uniform. Emily had a flawless smile and an equally flawless complexion. She looked like she’d walked straight out of a TV commercial. Riley doubted she’d ever been camping in her life.

  Riley suddenly realized that she had no idea what to say to her.

  Think fast, she told herself.

  She said, “Um, my dad and I want to rent a nice trailer or an RV or something to camp in.”

  Emily squinted at Riley and said, “I wonder if you could be more specific.”

  Riley felt thoroughly stymied now, but quickly figured …

  Maybe the truth is best.

  She forced a chuckle and said, “To be honest, I’ve got no idea what I’m looking for. We’d just like to spend a vacation together and thought it would be fun to stay at some of the really nice RV resorts. He’s left the choice of camper up to me. I’m hoping you can help me make a decision.”

  “Well, that’s what I’m here for,” Emily said with a chuckle.

  Then she eyed Riley from head to foot and asked, “Where are you from?”

  For a moment Riley wondered why Emily had asked that question. But then she remembered how she was dressed—in a suit jacket with full-length slacks, hardly the sort of wardrobe anybody would normally wear on a warm Arizona day.

  She remembered Harry’s words.

  “Hell, you’ve got ‘FBI’ written all over you.”

  Riley wondered if maybe Emily had already figured out exactly who she was. Maybe she’d even noticed the bulge under Riley jacket where her Glock was holstered. The thought was discouraging. She’d been undercover for only a minute or so, and she was already having trouble keeping her cover, even with an ordinary rental employee. Was she really ready to take on this task in earnest?

 

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