Chris Carter - Gallery of the Dead

They both had a sip of their drinks.

‘We’re joining forces with the FBI for this one,’ Hunter said, after a short pause.

His revelation almost made Tracy choke — thirty percent because of the unexpected news and seventy percent because Hunter had chosen to share something about one of his investigations with her. He had never done that before.

She quickly had another sip of her Scotch. ‘Are you talking about the same case you had to rush out of UCLA for?’

Hunter nodded.

‘But you barely—’ She paused, as she finally realized what she was missing. ‘You didn’t go asking for help, did you? They invited themselves in.’

Another nod.

Tracy taught psychology and forensic psychology at UCLA. She knew exactly how the FBI worked. She knew that, bar a few exceptions, the FBI would only provide assistance with a homicide investigation if the primary law-enforcement agency involved officially requested their help.

‘So that means that whatever this is,’ Tracy continued, ‘it’s not the first in the series and it has crossed city boundaries, probably even state ones.’

Hunter’s reply was an eyebrow movement, followed by a sip of his Scotch.

‘Well, if you guys haven’t asked for help, they surely found out about it fast enough.’

‘That was my fault,’ Hunter said.

Despite being curious, Tracy decided not to dig any deeper. If Hunter wanted to tell her anything else, he would. ‘Have you ever joined forces with the FBI before?’

‘Not in this capacity. I’ve helped them out on a case not that long ago, but I was on leave from the LAPD. It wasn’t a joint effort.’

‘Will you have to relocate to Quantico?’

‘No chance,’ Hunter replied. ‘We’ll be working out of the LA FBI Headquarters in Westwood.’

Tracy didn’t try to disguise how pleased she was with that answer. ‘Oh, OK. So we’re still on for dinner tomorrow night?’

Hunter had forgotten all about their dinner plans, but neither his eyes nor his facial expression gave his memory lapse away. ‘Yes, of course.’

Tracy renewed her smile. ‘Are the bathrooms at the back?’

Hunter nodded.

‘I won’t be a minute.’ She had one more sip of her Scotch before grabbing her handbag.

The bathrooms were at the end of a short corridor, past a very stylish decorated sitting area. Tracy chuckled as she saw the signs on the doors.

The one on the right said ‘Whisky’. The one on the left said ‘Vanilla vodka and cranberry’.

No wonder the bartender was so surprised , she said to herself.

At that exact moment, a six-foot-two man who looked to be in his mid-thirties exited the men’s bathroom. He wore a dark T-shirt, blue jeans and black boots. As his eyes settled on Tracy, he stopped and smiled.

‘Wow,’ he said, his stare moving slowly from her face down to her breasts, then all the way to her shoes. ‘You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? And I loooove your ink.’

His words slurred a little, giving away how inebriated he was.

‘Thank you,’ Tracy replied politely.

The skin on the man’s face was tanned and weather-beaten. His hair was short, crew-cut number one, and his broad chest and shoulders indicated a build packed with muscle.

As Tracy tried to move into the ladies’ room, the man took a step to his right, blocking her path.

She looked up and into his dark-brown eyes. There was mischief in them.

‘Could you please excuse me?’

‘Look,’ the man said. His voice sounded like it was coming from a water-filled tube. ‘I saw you sitting with some douchebag at the bar, but that’s probably because you don’t know any better. But let me tell you, a pretty girl like you deserves someone who can really show you a good time. Someone like me.’ The man’s right hand moved in the direction of Tracy’s hair, forcing her to quickly take a step back.

‘Look,’ she replied, not shying away from the man’s stare. ‘Since it’s quite obvious that you’ve had a little too much to drink tonight, I will disregard your insulting comment about my date at the bar. That’s clearly the alcohol talking. My advice to you is — go get a drink of water and ask the bartender to order you a taxi. More drinking will probably only make your night worse, not to mention how you’ll feel in the morning.’

She tried to get past the man, but he blocked her path once again.

‘I have a much better idea,’ he said. ‘Why don’t I follow you in there.’ He threw his thumb over his shoulder. ‘And you and I can get properly acquainted. You know what I’m talking about, right?’ His hand moved to his crotch and he gave it a long and slow rub.

Tracy chuckled. ‘I don’t know if I should laugh or puke. You are nauseatingly abominable.’

‘Huh?’

‘Oh, sorry, honey,’ she said, with pity eyes. ‘Too many big words for you? I can rephrase if you like.’

‘What I’d like is for you to come in there with me. Then I’ll show you what “big” really is. Why would you want to drink with a VW Beetle...’ he pointed toward the bar area, ‘... when you can party with a limousine?’ He used both hands to point at himself.

Tracy made a pain-stricken face. ‘Did you learn the art of conversation out of a fortune cookie?’

‘I’ll tell you what I’ve learned.’ The man reached for Tracy’s arm.

Big mistake.

With her left hand, Tracy pushed the man’s arm to one side, while her right one moved to his stomach.

The man’s T-shirt was stretched thin against his muscly torso, which would have made it even easier for Tracy to find the correct spot, had she not already known exactly where to apply the pressure. As her fingers came into contact with the man’s abdomen, his eyes widened and he gasped at the intense pain that shot through his body. Reflexively, he tensed his stomach muscles to try to repulse the attack, but it was all too late. Tracy’s fingers were already applying pressure against the linea alba, the thin band of connective tissue that ran vertically down the center of the man’s abdominal muscle.

His face contorted out of shape.

Tracy pushed a tiny bit harder.

The pain was so powerful, so debilitating, even the man’s voice failed him.

Tracy smiled.

The man’s legs trembled under his huge body and Tracy could tell that he was about to go down. Immediately she released some of the pressure to prevent him from collapsing.

His eyelids flickered oddly.

She pushed him back against the wall, using it to help her hold him upright.

‘You’ll be a little woozy after I let go here, OK?’ Tracy said, her voice gentle and caring. ‘But you’ll be fine in a minute or two.’

The man looked at her with pleading eyes.

‘So,’ she continued. ‘Once again, my advice is that you get a drink of water, then call a taxi and go home. You’ve done all the drinking you were supposed to do for tonight, all right?’

All the man could do was nod.

‘And please,’ Tracy added. ‘Don’t try that approach with anyone else... ever .’

She finally let go of him and entered the ladies’ bathroom. A few seconds later she heard him collapse to the ground.

Back at the bar, Hunter finished his Scotch and swerved around on his bar stool.

Tracy had been gone for a few minutes now. Also, the tall, muscle-mount he had noticed going into the corridor that led to the bathrooms just a little before Tracy still wasn’t back either.

Hunter began wondering if he should go check on her when he saw the six-foot-two man stumble out of the back. The man had his right hand pressed against his stomach, as if he’d just been punched. The look on his face was sheer agony. As the man got to Hunter, he paused.