Page 11 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)

11

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

B uddy’s tail thumps against the cold concrete floor of the cyber analysis hub as if he, too, were anxious to hear what Nikki has to say.

“And by the way, you two are the worst-kept secret in Denver,” Nikki goes on. It’s clear she’s not letting go of the little tidbit she just gleaned regarding Jack and me. “But once I manage to snap a candid pic of the two of you locking lips, I’ll win fifty bucks in the office pool.”

Jack straightens. “There’s an office pool?”

“I want in on it,” I tell her. “I’ll split the money with you in exchange for the photo op.”

Jack inches back. “What? You’re not giving People the exclusive?” he teases with a stern look on his face that lets me know he’s not thrilled in general.

“I’m dealing with the FBI,” I retort. “I can’t help it if they’ve sussed out the info before we could give it to them. It’s what they specialize in.”

“What we specialize in,” Nikki corrects as she pulls up a page on her screen. She clicks her mouse, and several screens light up with photos and data. “Like I said, we’ve got the scoop on Delaney Riggs and Gwen Alderson,” she starts, pointing to the two profile shots displayed on the monitor.

Delaney is the brunette with the kind of wide-eyed innocence that makes you feel as if the world is still a decent place. That is, until you realize she ended up dead in a ritzy yet blood-splattered hotel room.

“Delaney was a student at Winston Grand University,” Nikki continues, scrolling along. “Majored in English, minored in theater. Your classic bookish type. I’ll shoot you both her class schedule. She was working at the local library over in Blue Creek. Had herself a partial academic scholarship, but apparently, she wasn’t as financially stable as it seemed. I bet that’s how she got pulled into the ring.”

My chest tightens as I look at Delaney’s smiling face on the screen. You can tell from the photo that she was bright and hopeful. I’d bet she was the type of girl who had a five-year plan that didn’t involve anything that was going to happen and that did happen in that hotel room last night.

“What about Gwen?” Jack asks with his eyes glued to the second profile picture.

Gwen has a more street-smart look about her. You can tell she’s a bit tougher and rougher around the edges. If I’m being honest, she looks like trouble. A girl that I would have recommended Delaney stay far, far away from.

“Gwen Alderson”—Nikki pulls up a second document—“also from Winston Grand. Majoring in sociology. No job on record, but she was probably helping support her family. Came from a single mom and had two younger siblings. No official employment, but according to some student forums, she was known to be resourceful when it came to making ends meet.”

I grimace. “Resourceful. That’s code for in over her head .”

“Yeah,” Nikki says with her voice a little softer now. “It looks like both of them got mixed up in this because they thought it was a way to get ahead. Fast cash, no strings attached—except in reality, it comes with all the wrong strings.”

Jack nods. “And a lifetime of nightmares and maybe chlamydia.”

He’s not wrong.

Buddy lets out a low whine from under the table as if even he can sense the grave desperation hanging in the air. I reach down and give his head a quick pat.

“They had potential,” I say just above a whisper. “They could have done anything else that night. But here they ended up at the morgue.”

Jack nods and his expression hardens. “They didn’t deserve this. Let’s make sure the person who did this gets what’s coming to them.”

“Right.” Nikki straightens up in her chair. “And speaking of getting what’s coming to them… I’m still working on that surveillance footage from the Grand Meadows Hotel.” She taps her keyboard and brings up the video feed.

Soon, we watch as a dark figure moves across the screen. They’re wearing a long coat with a ski mask—no mouth—just eerie slits for eyes. It’s impossible to tell their gender, but the skin peeking out from under the mask looks pale. Creepy as hell, but not much to go on.

“I’m going to piece this together,” she says, studying the image frame by frame. “It’s just a matter of time.”

“And I have a feeling time is not on our side.” Jack leans back in his chair with his arms crossed. “How the hell did someone dressed that way manage to slip past the public without anyone noticing.”

“ Eh ,” Nikki grunts. “Nobody sees anything anymore. Everyone is too busy staring at their phones. It really bodes well for serial killers these days.”

I shake my head. “Maybe they’re a ghost. ”

Jack studies the screen. “We’re not dealing with a ghost. We’re dealing with a living, breathing monster.”

“Speaking of monsters.” I point to Jack’s phone and he cues up that screenshot of the number Rush gave us. I quickly give Nikki a rundown of how the meet and greet went with our newfound band manager.

“Kiki,” Nikki says, inputting the number and the name into the database and the screen goes dark before it lights up again with hopefully just the information we’re looking for.

“Did you crack it?” Jack asks, pinning his eyes to the screen.

Nikki twists in her chair, one hand still resting on Buddy’s head, the other hovering over her mouse. “Oh honey, you know I always crack it.” She flashes us a grin and then taps the keyboard again, with that phone number that we just got for Kiki lighting up the screen like a beacon. “Here it is, boys and girls… that number is not tied to some mystery woman named Kiki. It’s linked to a woman named Karen Holt. I bet Kiki is her stage name.”

“Please no more strip joints,” I lament just as Buddy gives a soft bark—most likely in protest—and the three of us laugh.

Thanks to the depravity of my last few cases, Buddy has been in his fair share of strip joints.

“He does like to be entertained,” Jack says, giving him a hearty scratch. “Let’s track down Karen and see what she can tell us.”

“If she’s some kind of madame, I doubt she’ll be offering up too much info to a couple of feds,” I say.

“We’ll go undercover,” Jack says, scrolling through his notes. “Nikki, why don’t you dig up all you can on our girl Karen while Fallon and I head to the library.”

“Why? Is it story time?” Nikki teases as she types Karen’s name into another database.

“It’s time to learn a little about Delaney from some of her coworkers,” he says. “It saves us from having to run clearance with school administrators before we hit the campus.”

“I’m all for a trip to the library,” I say. “I might even pick up a spicy book or two.” I rise from my seat and head for the door with Buddy on my heels.

“Hey, you don’t need a spicy book,” Jack calls out. “That’s what you’ve got me for.”

“Remember”—Nikki calls after him—“she’s a privilege, not a right. And I’m buying tickets to the main event!”

Jack, Buddy, and I hop back into the truck and head for literary pastures.

Someone out there knows something. But I have a feeling they’re not going to have their nose pressed between the pages of a book.