Hide and Seek (Criminal Profiler #1)(60)

“What is your name, Special Agent?” Stuart asked.

Normally the FBI stayed in the background on these local investigations. But to turn away from the reporter and the rolling camera would send a bad message to the public. “Special Agent Macy Crow.”

“Do you have a comment?” Stuart asked as he watched Bennett turn and walk toward the station.

“No, sir. When we have an update, we will call a press conference.” Macy caught up to Bennett. Both were silent, each knowing the less said publicly to the media, the better. Whoever was out there was likely watching and taking in everything they were saying.

Once inside the station house, Macy asked, “You know him?”

“Of course I do,” she said. “He’s a local reporter.”

“It’s more than that.”

Bennett faced her. “What are you suggesting?”

“Are you two dating? Do you have any kind of relationship?”

“No.”

Macy noted the faint rush of color in the deputy’s face suggesting there was something between the deputy and the reporter. “Then that leaves a professional relationship. You were the one who told him about the rape kits.”

Bennett stared at Macy with an icy, unreadable expression, which Macy realized now was a defense tactic. The deputy wasn’t trying to be a badass. She was scared.

“News of the untested rape kits made it to Nevada and to the media. How did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

Though Macy could force the issue now, she didn’t. There was more Bennett wasn’t saying. She could theorize all day about what the deputy was holding back but opted to wait and watch her more closely. Most people eventually tipped their hand in some way.

Bennett typed in the access code, and the door opened. Nevada was waiting for them on the other side. He held a half-empty water bottle and was still dressed in hiking gear that was now muddied and sweat stained.

“Looks like you managed to slip by Mr. Stuart,” Bennett said.

“It’s a gift,” Nevada said.

“Stuart tells us you didn’t find anything,” Macy said.

He shifted his gaze from Bennett to her. “The reporter was waiting for us at the north entrance. He’s surmising that we discovered nothing.”

“You traveled the entire route?” Bennett asked.

“We did.”

“Did you find anything on the trail?” Macy asked.

“We did not, Special Agent. And we spoke to two sets of hikers who haven’t seen anything either.”

“Did you get their names?” Macy asked.

Nevada slid long fingers into a pocket on the side of his leg and handed Macy a crisply folded piece of paper. “Names and telephone numbers of both sets.”

Bennett glanced at the list Macy was holding. “Do you think she was ever on that mountain?”

“I don’t. If she was taken from the parking lot, she likely was transferred to another vehicle. I would bet money that neither she nor her attacker stepped foot on the trail.”

Macy pocketed the list. “We spoke to Rebecca Kennedy, and she’s willing to work with a forensic artist.”

“Good. Ellis is ready and willing as well,” Nevada said. “She said she’d be here first thing in the morning.”

Bennett placed a call to Ellis Carter and confirmed her morning appointment with the sketch artist. Her call to Rebecca Kennedy went to voicemail, so she left her name and number and requested a callback.

“There’s not much else we can do tonight,” Nevada said. “Bennett, go home and get some rest.”

“I’ll be back early in the morning,” Bennett said.

Nevada nodded, and when she left, he said to Macy, “I’m parked out back. I’ll drive you to your motel and pick you up in the morning.”

His help was convenient, but he was also too easy to rely upon. It wouldn’t help her bid to regain independence. “No, thanks. I prefer to have my own transportation. See you in the morning.”

Nevada didn’t press, and she left the sheriff’s office and walked to her car. Settled behind the wheel, she locked the doors before starting the engine.

As she drove, she kept the radio off, needing the silence to process the day. Her mind kept circling back to Tobi Turner’s textbook, with the girl’s handwriting scrawled in the margin. “You were a smart girl, Tobi. What did he say to you that was so charming?”

She parked at the motel and, grabbing her backpack, walked by the lobby on her way to her room. The evening clerk at the motel front desk shot her a couple of curious glances, but the guy had the sense not to pry.

In her room, she locked her door, dropped her pack on a small chair, and eased onto the bed. She popped two ibuprofen and then carefully lay back.

Promising herself she would not yet fall asleep, she let her eyes drift shut as she replayed the evidence she’d collected that day. Three rapes and a murder connected by DNA. Debbie Roberson and Cindy Shaw remained missing. Was she trying to force puzzle pieces that weren’t meant to fit together?

She heard a horn honk as a vehicle drove by the motel; someone down the hallway was digging ice out of the ice machine. As the footsteps moved closer to her door, her hand went to her gun as she listened. The footsteps came and then passed by her door. The heater in her room kicked on.