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

4

SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER

SAC Hale: Two college girls found dead at the Grand Meadows Hotel. The bodies had markings on them that resembled the same markings a couple of prostitutes had on them when they were killed last month. We got the official invite to the case.

J ack sighs as we put away our phones. “Guess we’re not getting in that hot tub tonight.”

“Nope,” I say, already marshalling my yellow lab, Buddy, for our next adventure. “Another night, another murder.”

No sooner do Jack and I get the message than we hit the ground running. The chill of the Colorado night cuts through the cab of my truck as we barrel down the highway, headlights slicing through the darkness like twin blades. Buddy sits in the back with his tail thumping against the seat, oblivious to the fact that we’re about to walk into another nightmare .

Hale’s text flits through my mind. Two girls dead at the Grand Meadows Hotel.

“He said the markings on the bodies are similar to those from the prostitutes last month,” I say out loud and Jack nods.

“That takes us right into serial killer territory,” he says as he shoots a dark look out the window.

The drive to Grand Meadows Hotel doesn’t take long. Fall in Colorado is one of those picture-perfect experiences, where the golds and reds of the trees shimmer under the moonlight, but tonight, it all feels darker and so much more sinister as we sink into another nightmare.

We pull up to the hotel, and it’s already crawling with local sheriffs and FBI agents. The Grand Meadows Hotel is lit up like a Christmas tree, but the festive glow ends there. Sheriff’s vehicles are scattered like confetti around the entrance, red and blue lights flashing in the cold, crisp air. And the wind is biting and cutting through the calm of the night.

A line of yellow tape flutters in the breeze, cordoning off the main entrance and barricading curious onlookers from what we’re about to step into.

It feels as if every cop in the county has shown up for this affair, and I get the sinking feeling we’ll need every one of them. “Looks like a party,” Jack mutters as we converge onto the cobbled walkway that leads to the luxury hotel before us.

“Too bad they started without us,” I say as I pick up Buddy’s leash. He stretches, sniffing the ground as if he owns the place. “You ready to work, boy?” His tail wags in response.

“Of course, he’s ready.” Jack gives him a quick pat on the back. “Buddy has a better work ethic than half the people who showed up tonight.”

“I wouldn’t say that too loud if I were you. Ninety percent of the people are packing heat.”

Our partner from down at the field office, Special Agent Nikki Knight, pulls up in her red sedan, looking like she stepped out of a magazine ad for Badass Redheads R Us . She strides over with her green eyes sharp and alert, looking pert and pretty with a ponytail that glows like a flame. “What do we have?” she asks, nodding toward the hotel, but she already knows.

“College girls,” Jack says. “Markings match a couple of others.”

“Great.” Nikki runs a hand through her hair. “Let me guess, Hale plucked you out of the hot tub?”

Jack grunts at the thought. “We never got that far.”

I nod up at the building. “And something tells me that we won’t for a while.”

“My money is on midnight.” Nikki gives a little wink as she sidles up next to me and the three of us ready to storm the building.

“Somehow I doubt that,” I say, and we all chuckle. But the moment we step into the hotel, the humor vanishes like smoke.

Inside, the air is thick with the smell of bleach and cleaning products, mingling with the faint trace of something far worse. The lobby is eerily quiet with only the muffled voices of agents working in the background.

Hale greets us at the elevator, and he’s already frowning our way.

“Well, if it isn’t the Dream Team,” he says as he meets us halfway. His balding head shines from the chandelier overhead, and his belly strains against his shirt, but his eyes are bright as they take in every detail. “And you brought the dog. Do we need to get him a badge?”

“Buddy is already more useful than half your agents, and you know it,” Jack says, giving Buddy’s ear a quick scratch.

“No arguments from me there.” Hale tips his head as he turns to me. “You know the drill, Baxter. Leave the four-legged agent out here. We don’t need him getting fur on the evidence. ”

“Yeah, he’s not exactly CSI material,” I say, handing the leash to one of the junior agents standing nearby, who’s looking far too excited to be on dog-sitting duty. “Keep an eye on him. And don’t let him get into too much trouble,” I warn.

Buddy wags his tail as he looks from me to him, most likely because he probably thinks this is all some elaborate game.

The agent nods, and I follow Jack, Nikki, and Hale deeper into the lobby, where the air is thick with the smell of cheap cologne, cigarette smoke, and something sour that clings to the back of my throat.

The place is way too bright and shiny for what went down inside. Polished marble floors, chandeliers seemingly floating overhead, and there’s soft piano music playing from hidden speakers. It’s as if we’ve just walked into the most luxurious funeral parlor in town.

We head into the elevator, and the low hum of the machinery fills the silence. There’s something unsettling about hotels at night. Too many locked doors, too many secrets hiding behind them, and we know for a fact at least two of those secrets are dead.

Hale presses the button for the twelfth floor, and we ride up in silence, each of us anticipating what comes next.

The doors open with a ding, and we step out into chaos. The hallway is crawling with agents and forensic techs with flashlights bouncing off the walls as if this was a light show. I catch a whiff of bleach and the coppery tang of blood as we approach the room.

Buddy would have hated this place, and yet every last part of me wishes he was here. In the short time I’ve had him, he’s become my unofficial emotional support pooch. The one I reach for at night, the way I do my gun.

The carpet is a busy mix of blues and greens, and the walls are covered in teal and gold paper—it’s as cloying as it is opulent.

We come upon the room with its door opened wide, the entry teeming with people heading in and out, each one of them wearing a navy jacket with either CSI or FBI emblazoned across it in thick yellow letters.

Hale takes us to the entry and pauses. “Two girls. College students. Discovered by housekeeping because the door was ajar. They’ve got markings on their bodies—same as those hookers.”

Jack nods. “But unlike those last girls, these girls aren’t in some back alley. They’re in a nice hotel.”

“Right,” Nikki says. “What happened to killing people in the woods or the back of a van like a normal psycho?”

I shoot her a look and she huffs.

“What?” She swallows a laugh. “Too soon?”

Hale sighs. “Maybe this psycho likes room service.” We step inside and the scene hits me.

Blood-soaked carpet sits at our feet with the scent of iron heavy in the air. Two girls, barely in their twenties, lay sprawled across the floor, their bodies twisted in unnatural angles and their eyes wide open, frozen in terror.

The victim to my right is a brunette, pretty with a stunned look on her face. The dress she’s wearing is strapless and hardly covers her rear. I can tell it was supposed to be white, but a majority of it is covered in crimson.

The victim to the right is a brassy blonde. Her hot pink dress looks as if it was made of cellophane, which leaves blood trickling down her sides because it can’t penetrate the fabric.

They’re young. Heck, they look like teenagers.

“This is a massacre,” I mutter, taking a deep breath as I try to steady myself .

“ Geez ,” Nikki whispers as she takes it all in. “It’s worse than I thought. And I have a pretty wild imagination.”

It’s cold. The AC is blasting, probably to slow down the decomposition, but the room still reeks of death. The bed is a mess of red and white, the sheets soaked through. And in the center of it all are the girls. Their faces are pale, almost peaceful, if not for the gruesome gashes across their bodies.

Hale grunts, “There’s a phone near each of them, and they both have purses brimming with IDs. As soon as we finish up with the photo shoot, CSI will take their possessions to the lab. Nikki, you can have the phones come morning.” Hale shines his flashlight over the blonde’s face. “Left cheek.”

“What is it?” Nikki juts her head as she leans in to inspect it.

“An infinity symbol,” Jack says. “That’s what the other two had.”

“Yes.” Hale nods. “We’ll go over the other victims in the morning.” His light sweeps across to the brunette and lands on her right arm where the same symbol decorates her flesh, bigger and deeper this time as if the killer took twice as long to drive their point home.

Jack glances out the window at the parking lot below. “Someone took their time plotting this.”

Hale nods down at the bodies. “And they took their time making sure those marks were clean.”

“Clean?” I raise a brow as I inspect the elongated symbol on the brunette’s arm. “That’s one way to put it.”

I crouch down next to Nikki, examining the lazy figure eights. Each one is deliberate, precise, and almost surgical in their placement.

There doesn’t look to be any hesitation with these slashes. And despite the chaotic frenzy that occurred, it’s clear this was methodical and planned .

“CSI found blood in the sink,” Hale says. “We’ll know whose soon enough. Looks as if they washed up before they left.”

“The killer stopped to wash their hands?” I muse. “Looks as if we’ve got a hygienic killer on the loose.”

Jack glances at the doorway. “Someone had to see something. The security cameras?—”

“We’re pulling all the footage,” Hale says, crossing his arms. “We should have it within minutes. They can’t be invisible.”

We move through the room, taking in every detail. The overturned lamp on the nightstand. The empty glasses on the table. The door to the bathroom slightly ajar, water on the sink as if someone had been there just moments before. And they had.

“I’m going to need one long shower after this,” Nikki says, standing up and brushing off her pants.

“Good luck with that,” Jack says. “We’ve got another twelve hours of paperwork ahead of us.”

Hale grunts, “And that’s if we’re lucky.”

I glance back at the bodies as my mind races through the possibilities. The markings are the key. They’re the killer’s signature. It could be a message or a ritual. Probably both.

Why these girls?

Jack catches my eye. “What do you think?”

I shake my head. “I think we’re just getting started.”