Elizabeth Heiter - Stalked

She wasn’t sure if he’d be able to return to that life. She couldn’t imagine doing it herself, even though she’d worked in a Violent Crimes Major Offenders squad for six years before coming over to the BAU.

She stared across the candlelit table at him now, seeing the tension he was trying to hide. Maybe he could go back to HRT someday. But more likely, his career was going to head in a different direction.

She fiddled with her napkin, reflexively looking at the door of the near-empty restaurant as it opened. Until very recently, she and Kyle had hidden their relationship. It felt strange to be out in public, in Virginia, where someone from the FBI might see them.

Ironically, they’d only been able to officially tell the FBI because he no longer worked in the Critical Incident Response Group, which included both the BAU and HRT. He’d wanted to announce it from the start. She’d been sure that would mean reassignment for one of them. And she didn’t have quite two years in at the BAU—where she hoped to stay until mandatory retirement, which was still twenty-seven years away.

She gave him an embarrassed smile when she realized it was just another patron that had drawn her attention to the door. Some habits were hard to break. “This feels weird.”

He smiled back at her, making crinkles fan out from his ocean-blue eyes, and the slightest hint of dimples dent his cheeks. “Maybe you enjoy your secrets a little too much.”

Maybe he was right. She’d always been a private person, and in an office full of profilers, keeping anything to yourself wasn’t easy. It was ingrained in them the same way it was in her: assess everyone you meet, try to see through the mask to what was underneath. Dig up those secrets.

She tried to relax, unbuttoning the loose-fitting suit jacket she’d worn straight from the office. It hid the SIG Sauer she always kept strapped to her hip, but didn’t exactly scream “date clothes.”

When the restaurant door squeaked open again, and she instantly looked over, Kyle twined his fingers through hers across the table, and the light contact brought her attention back to him.

“What do you say we get dinner to go?”

His big, calloused hand seemed even paler wrapped around her tiny, darker one. So different, just like their personalities—but somehow they worked.

She nodded, but before she could add, “Let’s go,” her phone buzzed from her pocket.

She pulled it out, but the instant she saw Dan Moore’s name pop up, she regretted grabbing it. Her boss calling her at nine at night meant a new case had come in, one that couldn’t wait.

Six months ago, she’d been his go-to agent for urgent cases, because she didn’t mind the late-night calls. Hell, she lived for the job.

But right now? With Kyle McKenzie’s deep blue eyes staring back at her? “This better be good,” she muttered before answering, “Dan? What’s up?”

“Remember the case file that made the rounds in the office last month?” Dan replied without preamble. “The missing teenager?”

“Right,” she said slowly. She’d been through fifty cases since then, but that one stuck out.

A seventeen-year-old girl last seen walking into her high school had gone missing, no signs of foul play. The BAU had passed the police file around the room, but there hadn’t been enough to go on to give a solid profile, and they hadn’t been able to spare a profiler for more in-depth involvement.

“Did they find her?” Evelyn asked.

“Would I be calling you if they had?” Dan snapped, then said, “Sorry. Look, we told the police department this was probably a stranger abduction since no body had turned up, and the noncustodial parent hadn’t run. But now they have a note, suggesting the kidnapper was someone in the girl’s life, after all.”

“Okay,” Evelyn said slowly as Kyle unthreaded his hand from hers and walked over to the waiter. Undoubtedly he was ordering food to go, knowing their evening had just ended.

“So, if it’s someone in her life, shouldn’t—”

“Yeah, normally that would make it more of a straightforward police matter. But we can spare a profiler for a week or so, and the note was disturbing. The girl left it herself. She predicted her own death.”

Evelyn let the words sink in. “They have a body?”

“No. Still no sign of the girl. But the mom is hysterical, and she’s gotten close with the local news stations. The police need help getting in front of this.”

“If she predicted her death, there’s more to the case than it seemed.”

“You got it,” Dan agreed. “Detective Sophia Lopez is expecting you.” He hung up, as details of Haley Cooke’s missing-persons case came back to Evelyn.

“Nice talking to you, too,” Evelyn muttered. Her boss was usually terse—at least with her—but lately he’d been abrupt with everyone. She tucked her phone into her jacket as Kyle returned with to-go bags of food.

“Duty calls?” Kyle guessed, glancing around the still-empty restaurant. “I guess our big debut night on the town will have to wait.”

She nodded ruefully. Apparently they weren’t the only ones who had been hiding something from the people around them.

So had Haley Cooke, the seventeen-year-old girl whose background had revealed a popular, straight-A student whose most dangerous pastime seemed to be standing on top of a cheerleading pyramid.

What had she gotten involved in that she thought would get her killed?

* * *

The Neville, Virginia, police station looked interchangeable with hundreds of other stations Evelyn had been to in her BAU tenure. But the detective standing in front of her in figure-hugging blue jeans and an elbow-length red blazer better suited to an afternoon luncheon than hiding the Glock at her hip definitely didn’t resemble the average police officer.

“Detective Sophia Lopez.” The woman held out her hand, complete with deep red polish, and stared expectantly at Evelyn. She was already tall—topping Evelyn’s petite five-foot-two by at least eight inches—but a pair of high-heeled boots gave her an extra boost. Her long, dark hair dangled in a loose ponytail that seemed impractical for crime scenes, and her bright red lipstick looked out of place in a police station. But her intense stare was 100 percent cop.

“Special Agent Evelyn Baine,” she replied, shaking firmly.

To the mostly male officers around them, they probably seemed to have a lot in common. Two women in law enforcement—one biracial and the other Latina—giving the typical first-impression handshake. Hard, so the other person would know they weren’t to be messed with. Matched with solid eye contact, projecting seriousness.

But if Sophia’s clothes were similar to a clerk at a trendy boutique, Evelyn dressed more like the male officers, in a baggy, solid-black pantsuit. Her heels were always under two inches; enough to give her a little extra height, but not so high she couldn’t run in them. While Sophia seemed to want to stand out, Evelyn liked to blend in—hide in the background where she could watch and analyze everyone.

She studied the detective in charge of the Haley Cooke case, taking in the incongruities, trying to decipher her from just a greeting.

She didn’t just profile the predators, although that was in her official job description. To do it well, she also had to figure out the personalities of the other law enforcement officials on the case. Figuring them out fast made for an easier working relationship, usually a better reception to her profiles. Especially since the head detective wasn’t always the one requesting her presence. Often, that pressure came from above, such as a police chief or a mayor, and usually because of media attention.

As Evelyn tried to work an instant profile, Sophia’s steady stare broke, a wide grin stretching across her face and making all of her uneven features seem to come together. “All right. That’s enough posturing. We’re both hard-asses and we both know it. Come on. I’ll show you what we’ve got on the Haley Cooke case.”