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Special Agent Fallon Baxter

Soon, we’ve got Mitch Decker on the speaker. Jack filled him in and he’s laughing to himself just thinking about it.

“Yeah, I had more than a few girls who were talkers. And unlike Jack, I actually listened. Gossip, let’s see…” He pauses a moment. “Okay, so remember Alicia, right?”

I glance at Jack. “The one we spoke to this afternoon?”

“That’s right.” Jack leans toward his phone, his brows furrowing. “Class president.”

“Yup, that’s the one,” Mitch says. “She had a thing going with the chemistry teacher.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Jack winces. “We found out right after graduation. Everyone kept saying they must have had great chemistry.”

“That they did. Hot and heavy apparently right through senior year,” Mitch confirms. “I heard a rumor she had his kid and put it up for adoption.”

“Wow,” I say. “If Alicia was a victim, I would have wondered if it was the kid doing all this.”

Nikki averts her eyes. “What would the kid care about a bunch of girls who went to school with their mother?”

“You’re right.” I think about it for a moment. “What about the chemistry teacher?”

“Dead,” Mitch says, “He passed a few years back. I processed his body myself. That was a mind-bender. If any of you should kick the bucket any time soon, I’ll gladly take care of you for a steeply discounted rate.”

“He’s a good one.” I wink over at Nikki.

“She already tapped that well,” Jack says.

My mouth rounds out and I practically mouth, “Did you sleep with him?”

Nikki slashes her finger across her neck and mouths back, “We’ll talk.”

Mitch is a looker and seems to be an all-around good guy, save for his dicey past with women. Although, one could argue that Jack was rubbing off on him.

“I guess that’s all the gossip I’ve got,” Mitch concludes. “The only other things that I ever heard about was who was cheating on who. Nothing short of your average high school drama and trauma. If I can think of anything else, I’ll let you know.”

“Sounds good.” Jack crumples a piece of paper and shoots it in the air.

“But hey, there was one girl who knew all the dirt,” Mitch starts up again. “Her name was Carrie Bigelow.”

“Carrie Bigs,” Jack howls with the memory, prompting both Nikki and me to glare at him. “What? That was her last name.”

We thank Mitch and he lets us know he’s looking forward to seeing us there Saturday night before he hangs up.

“Slut,” I say under my breath as I glance back at the screen. “Is that a man’s mindset or a woman’s?”

“Both,” Hale says. “But that knife thrust into the chest. It took some power to execute on both of those women. You’d need to be strong.”

“Or angry,” I add.

“Any footprints found at the scene?” Jack asks.

“CSI sent these over,” Hale says as he scans through several pictures of dusty prints that are smeared out in every direction.

“That’s their MO,” Jack says. “Smudge and fudge. Let’s superimpose them with the prints at the scenes from the murder and from the kidnapping.”

In seconds we’re treated to a trio of footprints and each halo of dirt and blood measures out to about the same size range.

“We’re looking at one perpetrator,” Nikki says. “The only thing that leaves a shadow of a doubt in my mind is the fact Brittney was kidnapped at a little after three in the afternoon. And the coroner put Robin’s time of death in roughly the same range.”

Jack nods. “It’s about a twenty-minute drive from Aspen Heights to Cedar Grove. I think it’s ambitious on the kidnapper’s part but doable.”

“If that’s true, I’m guessing the kidnapping would have happened first,” Hale says. “The murder was messy.”

“They could have had Brittney in the trunk,” Nikki says. “You think Robin’s murder was a kidnapping gone wrong?”

“I’m thinking not.” I shake my head at the thought. “They walked in with rage. They wanted her gone.”

“Just like they wanted Sophie gone.” Jack glances at the screen at his old friend and his expression falls this side of sorrow.

“But why take Brittney?” Nikki presses on. “And why take her with witnesses around?”

“Maybe they miscalculated?” I say, doubting my own words. “Not that I believe it. Something is up. I have a feeling the answer is staring us right in the face.”

“I’m wondering if we’ve been staring the killer in the face.” Jack motions for the laptop and Hale slides it over. “Baxter and I just had Derek Russell give us the grand tour of both his bar and his hovel last night. I’m going to input his name into the NCIC and see what comes up.”

“Good call.” I nod in agreement.

The National Crime Information Center is the FBI’s most powerful database that is made available to federal, state, and local law enforcement as well.

“Derek Russell, Aspen Heights, Derek Russell, Elmwood,” Jack mutters as his fingers fly across the keyboard. “And bingo. Here he is with his ugly mug. He had an arrest a few years back for racketeering charges.”

“Racketeering?” I lean in closer, intrigued by this new piece of the puzzle. “That’s serious. What was the angle?”

Jack’s eyes scan the text. “Looks like it was tied to an illegal gambling ring. He was caught up in organizing underground poker games, high stakes, lots of cash flowing under the table. The kind of operation that catches our attention not just for the gambling, but for the potential laundering that usually tags along with it.”

“So, he did time for it?” Nikki asks and Buddy bobs his head this way as well, looking just as eager to glean the answer.

“Yeah.” Jack’s tone is grim. “Sentenced to a short stint, but it seems like he got off lighter than most. Only served six months before he was out again. Must have had a decent lawyer.” His fingers start to fly over the keyboard once again. “I’m checking to see if there’s any other property on record that he might hold the key to.”

“Look under the Penalty Box, too,” I suggest. “Although he might be incorporated and who knows what he’s calling himself in that case.”

“Nothing under his name or the Penalty Box.” Jack pauses to stare at the screen.

“What are you doing next?” Hale asks the three of us sternly and it has all the appeal of a pop quiz.

“I’ll keep digging through the socials and emails,” Nikki says.

“Same,” I say.

Jack nods. “I will, too. And in addition to that, I’m taking these two to my twenty-year prom. You want an invite?”

Hale looks mildly offended. “You feel free to dance the night away. Don’t wait for me to show up with a corsage, sweetie.”

“Oh.” Nikki perks up as she looks my way. “We should get new dresses. Something that brings out the wicked witch in our eyes,” she teases.

“And something that conceals our Glocks,” I suggest.

“I’ll be packing heat,” Jack says. “By way of having two beautiful women by my side. And, of course, I’ll have my gun.”

Hale chuckles. “You be careful about who you call beautiful. HR is only a hop and a skip away and I’ve seen people hauled in for less.”

“Duly noted.” Jack nods to Nikki and me. “How about we lay down arms and find ourselves a killer?”

“And Brittney Walker’s kidnapper,” I say. “That monster still has her.”

We take off for the night and Jack drives us back to Pine Ridge Falls, straight to Whispering Woods, and right to the doorstep of my cabin.

Jack helps me get Buddy to the door as the stars blanket the night.

“I meant what I said, Baxter.” He stuffs one hand into the front pocket of his jeans as he pins his gaze to mine.

“I’m too tired for another pop quiz,” I say. “Spell it out for me.”

“You’re beautiful.”

My mouth falls open as he takes off.

“I know where HR is,” I tease as he pulls out of the driveway and heads toward his place.

Beautiful.

I shake my head.

According to his history, Jack Stone thinks just about every woman is beautiful.

The killer has a word they like to use to describe women, too—and that word is slut.

I can’t wait until we track that monster down.

There’s another word that will proliferate their lexicon soon enough and that word is prison.