Page 5 of Killer Knows Best (Fallon Baxter FBI Mystery #4)
5
SPECIAL AGENT FALLON BAXTER
I rub my eyes and stretch my arms, feeling the weight of the night—or wee hours of the morning—bear down on me. This feels like a new level of exhaustion, one that coffee can’t touch, but we’re not leaving until we have something more concrete than a shadow in a ski mask.
On our way back to the field office, Jack stopped off and picked up a stack of pizzas, a few of which he dropped off to the guys in CSI, the rest were for us, and one each for Jack and Buddy. For as much as I take care of Buddy, he sure abandons his post by my side in a hurry once Jack shows up. But then, Jack rarely shows up without something delicious to tempt Buddy with.
I’ll admit, that Pavlovian response works with me, too. Despite the grim circumstances surrounding our newest case, the pizza is delicious.
Nikki sits across from me and Jack is to my left, with our Special Agent in Charge, Hale, taking the helm.
The situation room is spacious but far too clinical with its white walls, long glossy white table, backbreaking steel chairs with very little give, and a series of large screens that cover the wall behind the SAC. But the lack of décor and clutter does demand we focus, even if it’s on the food at hand.
“One more time,” Hale says, nodding up at the big screen as he flips through the footage again, showing us a grainy figure clad in black with their face covered, hardly creating a ripple in the lobby’s sea of polished marble and well-dressed clientele. The ski mask covers everything but the eyes—slits, nothing else. Pale skin, maybe. Could be anyone.
“Could be a woman,” Nikki says before taking an aggressive bite out of her pizza—pepperoni with olives. Jack ordered about six different versions, all pepperoni with something. I preferred the mushrooms.
“Could be a man,” I counter and Buddy whimpers as if I somehow offended males across the species. “They look bulked up with those clothes on, as if they’re hiding their frame.”
“Could be Casper the Friendly Ghost under there for all we know,” Jack says and his eyes never leave the screen as he leans forward in his chair. He’s half-joking, half-ticked off, and I get it. We’ve spent the last two hours combing through footage, only to have a faceless figure as our prime lead.
Hale lets out a huge breath. “Yeah, Casper with a killing streak. Whoever they are, they’re careful. They know where every camera is.”
“That means they’ve been there before.” I nod, studying the screen for a hint of a clue. The building is high-end and it certainly has cameras everywhere, yet this shadow seems to know how to slip between the surveillance blind spots. They’re too careful. Too calculated. And that alone lets me know that this isn’t their first rodeo.
“All right,” Hale says as he flicks off the security footage and the screen goes black. “Let me introduce you to our previous vics, the two women who share the same markings.” The screen lights up again. “Meet Sharon Oaks.”