Page 2 of The Last To Know (Hallowed Halls Series #2)

Staley Road, Grand Island, New York—0300 hours

H eadlights flashed along the winding, tree-lined drive. She was home. Right on time. The excitement of the kill diminished slightly with the decision he’d need to make. Follow his cravings or Mentor’s wishes.

Mentor had been bragging about his “pretty ballerina” for years. Insisting she’d make the perfect addition to their family.

Only he knew the truth. Giselle Witherspoon was far from perfect and not worthy of being family.

He slipped behind one of the black cherry trees near the sprawling mansion she’d lived in alone since she and her husband separated.

As the car neared, its driver punched the garage door opener.

He peeked out in time to see her sleek, dark blue Mercedes slide into the garage. The door closed.

He waited.

Lights turned on inside the home. He stood outside the living room peering through the sheer curtains that allowed a view of the room and the kitchen beyond.

She staggered and caught herself, hiccupping out a giggle. Drunk again. His mouth thinned. Mentor’s promising beauty had an ugly flaw that couldn’t be overlooked.

She’d once been one of the most sought-after ballerinas of her time. She’d studied at Julliard and then the Royal Ballet in London. Giselle Witherspoon had danced before dignitaries and royalty. Mentor had seen her in person many times and had spoken about being captivated by her graceful moves.

For a while, her life seemed perfect. Married to a high-powered Wall Street stockbroker, her career at its peak. She was one of the top ballerinas in the US. Then, three months ago, she’d fallen from the stage while rehearsing with the New York City Ballet and injured her knee.

Mentor’s Giselle had become a disappointment. She wasn’t forged in steel like Mentor believed. She’d spiraled quickly under the use of prescribed painkillers then graduated to alcohol.

Despite Mentor’s insistence Giselle was worthy of immortality, he knew differently. Tonight, he’d come for the kill, not the kidnap.

She poured a glass of wine and stumbled to the living room, fumbling for the TV remote. Soon, sound filled the room. Giselle stretched out on the sofa, her toned legs peeking out from her skirt.

Should he wait until she’d passed out to put her out of her misery? No, he decided. As much as his mentor adored Giselle, her weakness only disgusted him, and he wanted her to know how she’d disappointed him.

Mentor would be angry his orders hadn’t been followed. He’d deal with that after he’d finished his task here.

Thinking about her pain filled him with excitement and lowered his usually methodic train of thought. He stepped wrong, dislodging one of the white sandstones decorating the flowerbed near the window and it thudded to the ground.

Giselle sat up suddenly and listened, her eyes focused on the window where he stood. Did she see him? Part of him wanted her to. Wanted her to see the nightmare coming her way.

She rose gracefully and crossed to the window. The urge to remain still—to reveal himself to her—was strong, yet he couldn’t risk her calling for help.

Instead, he knelt and pressed his gloved hand just below the windowpane imagining her doing the same.

After all of Mentor’s praise, he’d gone to see her dance in the city. At the time, he'd imagined a different outcome. One reserved for those deserving. The perfect ones. Giselle was no longer perfect.

Glass shattered. He raised himself up to peer inside. She’d dropped the wine glass on the kitchen floor and tried to pick up the pieces. Her delicate hand dripped blood. The drinking had gotten worse since her husband moved out. Each night she defiled her body with it.

He slipped through the small garage door. She’d forgotten to lock it.

Inside the house, anticipation hummed through his veins. He touched his special tool. It cried out to be used.

“Daniel, is that you?” She slurred her words, too drunk to realize he wasn’t her husband.

As he neared, recognition flashed in those exquisite green eyes. “You.”

He’d watched her, learned the pattern of where she went. The liquor store where she bought her booze. A restaurant where she occasionally met with friends. The local grocery store.

“Hello, my beautiful ballerina.” His voice dripped with sadness. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He’d believed Mentor in the beginning. She would be perfect. She’d let them both down.

Giselle placed her blood-covered hand on her forehead as if trying to remember how she knew him. Never mind that a killer stood in her home.

“It doesn’t matter. Dance for me. One last time.” He could almost feel Mentor’s jealousy. He would be the one to witness her final dance.

She sobered a little and backed away, her head wagging. “I-I can’t. I’m injured.” Her huge green eyes held his. “How do you know I’m . . . I was a dancer?”

Next, she would scream—they all did when they realized what would come. Though there were no close neighbors, he couldn’t take the chance of someone overhearing.

She grabbed the broken glass from the floor and pointed it at him like a weapon. Her moment of bravado surprised him. Most cried and begged for their lives. Few fought. Usually, he could predict who would do what. He hadn’t expected his ballerina to fight back.

“I’m calling the police.” She looked around for her phone.

“They won’t get here in time.” He stepped closer.

The truth dawned in her eyes. She understood he’d come to kill her.

She backed away. Her cell phone lay on the kitchen counter. If she turned, she’d reach it.

“Time to be famous again. You want that, don’t you?”

Fear etched itself on her face, yet so did pride. “I am famous.”

She still clung to her past glory. He couldn’t let her. “You aren’t. Soon no one will remember you. You’ve been replaced. I can make you famous again. I will make it happen.”

She lunged for the phone. Before he snatched it from her hand, she hit a number. He grabbed for the phone with his gloved hand while listening to the ring on the other end.

She cried out and slashed the jagged glass against his face. He growled at the pain, his fury growing.

“Giselle, is that you?” A man’s voice sounded frantic. He’d heard the struggle taking place. “Giselle.”

He hit end on the call and tossed the phone away, his wrath overshadowing his brief admiration at her will to live.

He lashed out, backhanding her. She flew across the room and slammed into the kitchen wall. In two strides he reached her. He stared down at her while wiping blood from his face.

After only a moment she regained consciousness.

“You could have been eternally famous. One of the immortals. Now, you’re just dead.” He snatched her up to within inches of his face, rage radiating from him.

She shrank away from him, her eyes fixed on his face as if unable to look away.

A slow smile curled his lips. He wanted her to see what she’d unleashed in him before he took it out on her body as only he could do.

◆◆◆

Behavior Analysis Unit Headquarters—Quantico, Virginia—0600 hours

The message read urgent, which translated to all-hands-on-deck. First day back and Hannah London would hit the ground running. Someone had died. But this wouldn’t be a normal death. Their team only investigated the worst kind—those perpetrated by serial murderers.

Hannah stared up at the building with a bad case of the nervous jitters. “Get a grip, London. This isn’t your first day on the job.” Just the first day back since . . .

Grief rolled over her in waves. Ellie, oh, Ellie. Her rock was gone.

“Stop it.” Her breath fogged the windshield of her twenty-year-old Volkswagen Beetle.

She rubbed moist hands down the legs of her pantsuit. This is silly. Everything’s the same. And yet it wasn’t. It would never be the same again. Reality had slapped her in the face, shrinking her future to a few precious years.

As far as everyone here knew, she’d been out sick with the flu bug that had hit the city particularly hard. Partly the truth—she had gotten sick. But mostly it was contemplating the future that kept her away. She’d needed time for that.

What are you waiting for? Just do it.

Yet one thing held her back. One face appeared before her eyes, breaking her heart. Cooper. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She loved him. Had gotten greedy. Hannah let herself believe she could be normal. Ellie’s death destroyed that myth.

Tears stung. Hannah dug her hands into her palms in a coping mechanism she’d learned early on. “No.” She wiped the back of her hand over them. She wouldn’t cry. She’d go inside. Do the job she loved and had fought to keep, and she’d find a way to tell Cooper they were over. Over. They’d barely begun. It wasn’t fair. Cooper made her feel alive. He gave her hope.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Get out. Get it over with. You can do this.” She shoved the car door open and climbed out, closing it a little harder than necessary.

“Sorry, Millie.” She had tender feelings for the Beetle she’d gotten in college.

Though she’d technically recovered from the flu a week earlier, the devastating news that came on its heels had made it impossible to face her friends at BAU and not fall apart.

Each had called to check on her, including Cooper.

Her lengthy recovery time had created suspicion from her commander, Jack Montgomery. Jack knew she ate, breathed, and slept BAU. Being gone for more than a few days wasn’t like her.

Zeke, her brother, had given her the heads-up that Jack and his wife, Megan, were coming over.

The minute Jack got a good look at Hannah, he knew this was more than the flu. In a moment of weakness, she’d blurted everything out—assured him her doctor cleared her for duty—and begged him not to fire her.

After speaking with Doctor Robinson, Jack was convinced enough to keep Hannah on as primary profiler for their unit on the condition she kept him updated on how she felt, and if he ever believed it was too much for her to handle, he’d bench her. No questions asked or, as he’d said, no arguments.

Hannah willingly agreed because the job and her brother—and her mother back in Pennsylvania—were all she had.

A sigh tore from deep down where her broken spirit rested. She started toward the building, dreading the first day back questions.

Might as well get it over with.

Out of the corner of her eye, someone approached. Hannah braced for the confrontation she knew was coming with Cooper.

Instead, Zeke fell into step beside her. Five years older, at times Zeke had been more of a parent than either of theirs. He’d practically raised her when their father left and their mother checked out.

“Glad you’re back.” Zeke gave her a hug, which was about as out of character as it got. Zeke wasn’t much on showing emotion. It was how he dealt with their family issues. “You got the message?”

Zeke swept back a curly lock of blond hair from his forehead and pushed his glasses up on his nose. Dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt, the collar of his heavy wool coat turned up against the cold, Zeke reminded her more of a college professor than a BAU agent.

“I did. And I’m glad to be back.” The truth mostly.

Looking at Zeke was almost like peering into a mirror. Hannah was the female version of her brother, right down to the silver-blonde hair and green eyes flecked with gold. Nearly as tall, she’d lost ten pounds recently, and it showed. Her clothes hung from her frame. Hannah could practically see her ribs. The skinny girl she’d seen in the mirror that morning reminded her of the worst moment in her life. She’d almost died. Actually had for a few minutes.

With crimson-gloved hands Hannah gathered her coat closer to fight off the biting cold that seemed to bore right through her clothing. She yanked the red knit cap lower.

“Ready for the questions?” Zeke attempted humor when nervous.

Which meant there was something he wasn’t telling her.

She turned his way and tried to figure out what he was hiding. Zeke was a hard read most times. He kept his feelings close to the vest.

“No, but I’m used to them.”

Ellie’s sweet face popped into her head, and she stuffed down the sob. She and Ellie had met at a support group for transplant patients. They’d both gone through a heart transplant. Now Ellie was dead, and learning of her friend’s death scared the daylights out of Hannah .

“Ellie’s fate isn’t yours,” Zeke reminded her.

But it might be.

Zeke held the door open for her. Other than her brother, Jack and Megan were the only ones who knew her secret. Megan was like a sister. Hannah had trained as a profiler under Megan’s skilled tutelage. Although Megan had left the unit after her marriage hit a bad patch following the Angel case, Hannah still kept in touch. She and Megan shared everything. Which was why Hannah’s secret had hurt her friend. Hannah was still working on rebuilding Megan’s trust.

There was someone else who deserved to hear the truth from her soon even if she wasn’t ready to share it. She’d been dodging Cooper’s calls because she didn’t know what to say to him. She and Cooper had been dancing around the edges of romance for a while now. They’d flirted forever. Started dating. Shared a kiss that made Hannah believe maybe her life would be okay as long as she had Cooper in it. Spending time with him made her happy. She believed he felt the same way.

She cleared her throat. “Any idea what this is about?”

“None,” Zeke assured her as they entered the building and headed for BAU offices. The place was empty, but not really. Team members had gathered in the conference room. Hannah did her best to steady herself before she stepped inside and joined the game again.