“The most likely explanation for the sudden and permanent cessation of serial murder,” Agent Sterling continued, “is that the UNSUB has been arrested on an unrelated crime or died.”
I glanced at Judd. His daughter had been Agent Sterling’s best friend. Is your daughter’s killer dead, Judd? Avoiding detection? Was he arrested on an unrelated crime? I didn’t need to know much about the case to know that those were questions that haunted both Sterling and Judd.
“What’s next?” I asked Agent Sterling, tamping down on the urge to go further into her psyche.
“We have to figure out two things,” my mentor replied. “Why our UNSUB escalated, and why he or she stopped.”
“No one stopped.”
Dean, Agent Sterling, and I all whipped our heads to the doorway. Sloane stood there, her hair still tousled with sleep.
“He can’t just stop,” Sloane said stubbornly. “It’s not done yet. The Grand Ballroom is next.”
I could hear it in Sloane’s voice—she needed to be right. She needed to have done this one thing right.
“Sloane,” Agent Sterling said gently, “there’s a chance—a good one—that we inadvertently tipped off the killer. We disrupted the pattern.”
Sloane shook her head. “If you start at the origin of the spiral and work your way out, you can stop at any time. But if you start at the outside and work your way in, there’s a start, and there’s a finish. The pattern is set.”
“Can you continue monitoring the Grand Ballroom?” Dean asked Sterling. He knew Sloane as well as I did. He knew what this meant to her—and he knew that when it came to numbers, her instincts were better than anyone’s.
Agent Sterling’s reply was measured. “The casino’s owner accommodated us when we said the Grand Ballroom might be at risk, but the management’s good will is quickly running thin.” The fact that Agent Sterling refused to refer to Sloane’s father by name told me that she knew exactly who he was to Sloane.
“Tell him it has to stay closed,” Sloane said fiercely. “Tell him the pattern isn’t complete yet. Make him listen.”
He never listens to you. He’s never really seen you.
“I’ll do what I can,” Agent Sterling said.
Sloane swallowed. “I’ll figure it out. I’ll do better. I’ll find the answer, I promise, you just have to tell him.”
“You don’t have to do better,” Agent Sterling said. “You’ve done everything we’ve asked of you. You’ve done everything right, Sloane.”
Sloane shook her head and retreated to the living room. She pressed the button to lift the blackout curtain and stared at the calculations on the window. “I’ll find it,” she said again. “I promise.”
“What next?” I asked Agent Sterling quietly. She, Dean, and I had retreated to the hallway outside the suite.
“We can keep the Grand Ballroom closed for another day,” Agent Sterling said. “Maybe two. But the FBI and local police can’t afford to spare more than a couple of teams to monitor it. We have other leads to follow up on.”
“Leads like Tory Howard?” I asked.
Agent Sterling just arched an eyebrow. “I take it in the midst of Michael’s brawl you managed to overhear that part of our interview with Thomas Wesley?”
I nodded. For Dean’s benefit, I filled in the blanks. “Wesley claimed that Tory was particularly gifted at hypnosis.”
“Our attention has been focused on the numbers and the ballroom,” Sterling replied. She lowered her voice to keep Sloane from hearing her. “But it might be time to start pursuing other leads.”
How had our UNSUB gotten Alexandra Ruiz to tattoo the number on her arm? How had she come to be facedown in that pool with no signs of a struggle?
Manipulation. Influence.
“Hypnosis,” Dean repeated. I could practically see him thinking that Tory Howard had lied to the police. She was hiding something.
“I should go,” Agent Sterling said. “I told Briggs I wouldn’t be gone long. Dean, keep working on the profile. Why the UNSUB escalated, why the UNSUB stopped, anything else that jumps out at you.”
“And me?” I asked.
Sterling glanced back toward the living room. “I want you to get Sloane out of the suite and away from the case for a couple of hours. She has obsessive tendencies under the best of circumstances.”
It went unsaid that these weren’t the best of circumstances.
“Where should I take her?” I asked.
Agent Sterling’s lips tilted slightly upward in a way that made me think I wouldn’t like her answer. “I believe Lia said something about wanting to go shopping?”
“Is it me, or is it me?” Lia held up a top the color of a black opal. Even on the hanger, the cut was striking, with an asymmetrical neck and gathers at the waist. Before I could answer, Lia had picked up a second shirt: a dainty white peasant top. A skirt joined the shirts a moment later: brown, tan, and fitted.
Each item she picked up looked like it belonged on a different person—and that was the point. Lia didn’t just try on clothing. She tried on personas.
I killed a man when I was nine.
I grew up in a cult.
I had no way of knowing which of those statements was true. And that was just the way Lia liked it.
“See anything you like, Sloane?” I asked our other companion. Sloane hadn’t wanted to leave the suite. Ultimately, I’d lured her with the promise of espresso.