Page 3 of So Savage (Faith Bold #21)

Faith reviewed the files on the flight to Duluth. The M.O. was fairly straightforward. Intravenous sedation via a tranquilizer dart, murder by slitting the carotid arteries. Nothing to jump out of the page at her.

The connections between the victims definitely jumped out at her. The victims were two military K9 handlers, Master Sergeant Thomas Reeves, USMC and Staff Sergeant Kevin Walsh, US Army. Both of them were found dead, but interestingly, their dogs were alive, sedated using the same tranquilizer as the victims but not harmed in any other way.

Two K9 handlers murdered, their dogs sedated but alive. That was a cause for concern. Faith wasn’t a K9 handler when she was in the Marine Corps, but she was a K9 handler now, and she relied on Turk for a lot of things, not the least of which was apprehending suspects and providing her with a level of protection. This killer was apparently competent at disabling K9s and killing their handlers.

She wished Michael were here with her. Despite a slight softening around his middle since marrying Ellie, he was damned good in a fight both armed and unarmed.

She smiled slightly, imagining a phone call where she told Michael that she needed him to come protect her. She would never live that down.

That smile faded when she remembered their phone call earlier. Michael was putting himself in serious danger, pursuing the Messenger case. Not only was he putting his career at risk, but he was also putting his life at risk. Grant Monroe might have been older, but he was still a dangerous son of a bitch, and this killer had taken him out almost effortlessly.

It was a little ironic that only a minute earlier, she had wanted Michael here to protect her. Now, she wanted to be back home to protect him.

The part about talking to West worried her too. Michael was probably right that West wasn’t directly involved with the Messenger, but if he didn’t know about her earlier—assuming this fangirl of his was the killer—then he knew now. If this admirer was the killer, then she would be vulnerable to West’s suggestions. Faith knew very well how persuasive West could be and how difficult it was to shake off his psychological hold.

And West knew a lot about Faith and a lot about Michael. Faith was out of town, which might protect her, but her boyfriend David still lived in Philadelphia, and West had gone after him before. Michael and his wife Ellie—who happened to be West’s ex-wife—lived in the city too.

Her stomach lurched. It might not matter if Michael took an active role in this case. If West was corresponding with the Messenger, then they might be in danger anyway. In fact, Michael’s attention to the case might actually help protect them.

She sighed and looked at Turk, except Turk was in the baggage hold, so instead she looked at the lap of the passenger next to her. The owner of that lap—a middle-aged woman whose resting expression appeared to be a stern frown—raised her eyebrows.

Heat climbed Faith’s cheeks. She muttered an apology and turned back to the files.

She would have to let Michael run with the Messenger case for now. Unless she wanted to go AWOL and return to Philadelphia to help him as a civilian, she needed to focus on this case. Hopefully, things would go well. She could raise her stock with Deputy Director Smythe, and she could maybe convince him to let her work on the Messenger case. Then they wouldn't have to sneak around anymore, and then they could finally put West and his legacy to rest.

Still, the image of his taunting smile lurked in her mind as her flight began its descent into Duluth, as did the words he’d repeated as a mantra during his torment of her.

Remember, Faith. I will break you.

***

It was dark and freezing cold when Faith and Turk landed in Duluth. The winters she’d experienced thus far were relatively mild. There was nothing mild about Duluth. A sign at the airport told Faith that the outside temperature was six degrees Fahrenheit, and she believed it.

Thank God I packed warm clothes.

They were met at baggage claim by a tall, burly man who looked more like a football player than a police officer. He introduced himself as Detective Marcus Waring and offered Faith a hand that looked big enough to palm a pumpkin.

Looks like I’ll have all the protection I need.

Marcus frowned when he saw Turk, but Faith guessed that had more to do with the nature of their victims than a dislike of dogs, a fact confirmed when he used another massive hand to scratch Turk briefly behind the ear.

“Car’s waiting outside,” he told them in a voice that sounded like distant thunder echoing through a canyon. “Do you have gloves?”

Faith showed him her wool gloves, and his frown deepened. “We’ll stop for something on the way out.”

They stopped at a clothing outlet in the airport and bought a pair of thick, waterproof gloves and a snow hat that looked like something a sled driver would wear. Faith felt like she was in a cocoon when they left the airport.

The moment she stepped outside, she was grateful for the extra protection. “Damn. Sure is toasty outside.”

Marcus returned a polite smile, then led them to a police truck fitted with snow tires. Once inside, he pulled smoothly out of the airport, seemingly unaffected by the frozen pavement.

“Have you reviewed the information for the case?” he asked her.

“I read the files my superior gave me,” she replied. “Two victims, Master Sergeant Thomas Reeves, killed four days ago at the National Guard base, and Staff Sergeant Kevin Walsh, killed last night at the US Army Reserve base. Both sergeants and their K9s were sedated using tranquilizer darts fired from a rifle-based weapon. The darts were 1cc and fired from an estimated distance of sixty-five yards. They contained ketamine and xylazine and were dosed specifically for the targets.”

Faith raised an eyebrow. “How specifically?”

“Within a few milligrams of the correct dose. Not close enough that the killer knew the exact weight of his targets, but close enough that he was well within the ballpark.”

“So he might have known them.”

"Perhaps. It's possible he could have just seen them and guessed the weight accurately. Ketamine is a fairly forgiving anesthetic. It has a fairly wide range of effectiveness, and if you have at least a basic understanding of how the drug works, you won't cause an overdose unless you try. Also, I'm sure you agree, but I should point out that we don't know yet if the killer is a female or a male."

Faith nodded understanding. “So did the victims die of an overdose? Did the throat-slitting occur post-mortem?”

“No, the cause of death was the severing of the carotid arteries.”

“That’s good to know,” Faith replied. She grimaced a little at her word choice. “Important to know. Were they conscious when they were killed?”

“No. He sedated them and cut their throats while they were still asleep.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. Is there any sign of sexual assault?”

“No. The murders were almost businesslike. We don’t think the killer spent any more time with them than he needed to.”

“So he wanted to see them die but didn’t need to see the fear in their eyes.”

“Is that unusual with serial killers?” Marcus asked.

“It’s unusual with the up-close and personal ones when there’s no sexual compulsion. Often, serial killers will sedate their victims if they intend a sexual assault prior to murdering them, but if they’re just killing them, they usually want them awake to see the light fade from their eyes.”

Marcus grimaced, and she added, “It’s brutal, I know, but that’s why I’m here. Speaking of, it would probably be best if my involvement was kept quiet. I understand it’s not possible to completely hide me, but if you could at least keep my name out of the media.”

“Yes, your superior mentioned that. I understand there’s been some trouble with a case back east involving a serial killer who was once obsessed with you.”

Faith’s lips thinned. “I would prefer not to talk about it.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“None taken.”

Faith frowned. “It just occurred to me. Why isn’t Military Police handling this?”

“They were, but we now have two victims from two different branches. The MP units couldn’t agree on who should be in charge, so they called us as a neutral organization, and we called the FBI since the exotic nature of these crimes justifies your involvement.”

Faith cocked her head. “Is this really exotic, though? It’s not normal to have a killer sedate his victims with tranquilizer darts, but there’s nothing else really unusual.”

“Not on the surface, no,” Marcus agreed, “But I would really rather not wait for a third victim to cross our t’s. Duluth handles murders, and I have experience with those cases, but not with someone who seems to have an established M.O. and a preferred target profile. Those are also indications that we’re dealing with a serial killer.”

“Yes,” Faith agreed.

Technically, the killer was a spree killer since the concentration of deaths in a short amount of time fit the FBI’s differential criterion for a spree killer versus a serial killer, but since the Donkey Killer case, the terms had more or less merged to describe anyone who killed multiple victims with an established and organized M.O. and a preferred profile.

Finding that preferred profile was usually the difficult part, but here it was easy. Someone was targeting K9 handlers. The question was, why these particular handlers?

Faith reached back and scratched Turk under his jaw. “Someone’s coming after our own, boy. It’s up to us to stop them.”

Turk dipped his head in acknowledgment. His eyes wore a serious expression, almost as though he knew that the threat they were facing could by its very nature be greater than any they’d experienced so far.

And he was just as determined as Faith was to put an end to it.