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“Officers”—I nod, acknowledging the others around him—“I was just wondering if there is any news on the case?”
“We can’t discuss an ongoing case,” Maxwell rushes, eyeing Officer Smith, who had let slip about the murders earlier.
“Seems like someone already did.” A woman glares. Everything about her screams fed—black fitted suit, practical but smart shoes, and the lack of respect for the local law enforcement.
Officer Maxwell looks away.
“And you are?” the fed asks with a raised brow.
“No one.” Officer Maxwell waves me off. “His RV is parked on the RV park, and Garcia searched it. Just him and the kid.”
At the mention of her, Mary gives a bright smile and an enthusiastic wave before clutching at my neck again. She’s practically vibrating. I have a few more minutes before the thoughts of ice cream overrides her good manners.
“This is my daughter. I’m Ajax,” I say, offering my hand.
The fed eyes my outstretched hand for a second before wrapping her own around it, giving an overly tight squeeze as she shakes.
“Agent Collins,” she mumbles, looking back at the map spread on the cruiser’s hood.
Collins.The name doesn’t sound familiar, but her face sure is. She’s been at press conferences and is a member of the team that hunts the I-90 killer, the newbie. Usually stoic and hard, her face is now soft, and the barely visible smile changes her look completely. The woman is practically giddy.
Her long nail taps down onto the map of the town, no doubt where they found the bodies. Markings for the rail track just above her dark finger confirm it.
I tamp down my own smile. She thinks she’s going to bag herself the most notorious serial killer the Northwest has ever seen.
The probie has something to prove.
I wrap my other arm around Mary and pull her closer to my chest.I won’t be the one who helps her do it.
Officer Smith sees the gesture. “It wasn’t anywhere near your home.” He smiles.
“Officer Smith,” Collins snaps.
Smith swallows hard, giving me a sheepish shrug when the agent looks away.
I nod my thanks with a small smile. He has no idea how helpful he’s being.
“Do you think he left town by hopping on to a train?” I ask, gesturing to where Collins just circled the track markings.
That gets me her full attention. Standing tall, Collins turns to me. “He?”
“They usually are, right?” I shrug.
“Sir, this is really none of your business.” She huffs, folding the town map.
“If we’re stuck here, it is,” I argue. “Officer Maxwell said that we couldn’t leave town. The idea of staying with a madman in town isn’t really appealing. But if he’s gone . . .”
“You can’t stop people from leaving, agent,” a new voice snaps.
A man in his late forties or early fifties storms closer, dressed in a uniform similar to the Greenover officers.
Collins rolls her eyes. “I need to get to the station. My team should be here soon.”
“Your team?” Maxwell smirks.
“Yes,” Collins snaps. “I work as part of a team that hunts serial?—”
Coughing loudly, I jut my head at Mary, but that only irritates Collins more.
