Acid rose. “Yes, I did say that.”
“Would you go as far as to say, one side of him was patient and the other not?” he queried softly.
Feeling sick, I nodded.
“Is it possible . . . that there were two of them?” Striker asked.
At first, all I could do was stare at him. What he was suggesting was absolutely insane.
“He kept you in the dark, didn’t he? Made sure you never saw his face. That’s correct?”
“Yes, but . . .” But I trailed off as I thought about it, really considered what Striker was suggesting. A numbness poured into my chest. “Are you saying that you think the Groom was actually two men and not one?”
“It’s not impossible. There have been instances of more than one serial killer working together. It’s not even that rare,” he explained. “So my question is, do you think it’s possible that there were two—”
“And that the other one is back, targeting other women?”
“If that’s the case, then you know he’s got another woman.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hated that he’d said what I already believed. “A copycat would follow—”
“Yes, a copycat would follow the same pathology. Agreed,” he said. “Can you answer the question?”
I wasn’t sure I could. I opened my eyes, but I didn’t really see the journalist. All I saw was the shadows of the room I was kept in. All I heard was his voice and the heavy slide of his hand.
Sometimes the Groom had been talkative, but when he was mad, when he used his fists and his feet, he never spoke. Thinking back, I realized, the Groom never spoke when he was angry. Not until the last day, when he took me outside, when he cried and then tried to kill me.
Exhaling roughly, I met Striker’s gaze. “Why do you want to know what I think on this?”
“Curiosity,” he answered. “It’s something that’s plagued me for ten years. Going to be honest with you. Vernon Joan wasn’t an extraordinarily bright man. I never believed he could’ve pulled it all off by himself for so long without getting caught.”
I couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, but as horrifying and—and as sickening as it was to consider, that there were two men and not one, it wasn’t impossible.
“And it’s more than that,” Striker continued. “Because if there was another one working with Vernon Joan, he got away. Not only that, there’s a good chance he’s been here this whole time, living among the families of the victims. No one would even take my theory seriously. Not until now. Do you think it’s possible?”
Bile was sitting in the base of my throat. “It’s . . . it’s possible.”
Striker’s shoulders rose with a deep breath, and the look that settled over his face was equivalent to him being told he won the lottery.
From the table, his cellphone rang, startling me. “One sec,” he said, and then answered the phone while I sat there floored.
The mayor was related to the Groom. I remembered once hearing that psychopath level of crazy could run in the family.
Holy crap.
“Damn.” Excitement gleamed in Striker’s eyes as he rose, snatching up the recorder and shoving it in his pocket. “Are you serious?” There was a pause as he placed a fist on his hip. “Yeah. Yeah. I’ll be right there.” Striker quickly hung up, his gaze finding mine. “It’s happened again.”
I felt the chair shift below me. “He’s taken someone else, hasn’t he?”
Striker nodded as he rose. “Liz Chapman, a waitress just down the street, was just reported missing. Her mother hasn’t seen her since Sunday night.”
Chapter 25
The picture of twenty-three-year-old Liz Chapman was in the middle. Her photo was flanked by two smaller images of Tania Banks, the nurse from Frederick, and Angela Reidy.
It was hard to look at them.
It was also hard to not see the uncanny similarities between the women. All were in their twenties. All were pretty in a common, girl-next-door type of way. All were a version of blonde.
And they all faintly resembled me.
Just like I faintly resembled the Groom’s victims ten years ago.
The most horrifying thing, and most likely why Miranda was downing wine like water, was the fact that we’d briefly met her.
She had been the waitress at the steakhouse we’d gone to.
When I’d seen a picture of her earlier in the day, I’d immediately called Tyron and told him that I had recognized her. Ten minutes after I got off the phone with him, Agent Myers called.
He was as friendly as he was the first time I met him, but I told him what I told Tyron. Liz had been my waitress at the steakhouse, and even though no one said it out loud, I knew. They knew.
It was yet another connection.
“I think I need a bottle of wine,” Miranda said, glancing down at her glass. “Your mom only picked up one bottle?”
I smiled faintly. “Only one.”
“I’m about to obliterate it and totally regret it in the morning,” she replied, and then downed the contents before she rose.
Jason raised his brows. “Nice.”
We were sitting in my apartment. Cole was beside me on the couch, one arm around my shoulders and one leg propped up on the coffee table. I was tucked against his side, and Miranda had been sitting on my other side. She was now at the counter, pouring herself another glass of wine.
Mine sat on the coffee table, precariously close to Cole’s foot, and virtually untouched.
Jason had brought the chair in from my tiny kitchen and had set it on the other side of the end table. We’d all had dinner in the kitchen together while I tried not to watch Jason to see how he acted around Miranda, and then Mom had retired to her apartment, and at first, when we sat around the TV, we all pretended like this was a normal Tuesday evening. That lasted about five seconds.
“This is just absolutely insane.” Miranda stood by Jason, her wine glass full once more. “They’re saying we have a copycat.”
I wasn’t too sure of that anymore.
Miranda looked over at me. She opened her mouth to say something, seemed to change her mind, and then took a drink instead.
I hadn’t had the chance to tell any of them what I learned today, and I figured now was a good time. “Striker stopped by.”
She lowered the wine glass.
Cole leaned to the side, and without even looking at him, I could feel his stare. “He’s the journalist,” I explained.
“Yeah, I know who that is.” Anger thickened his tone. “You should’ve said something earlier. I don’t want him—”
“He wasn’t trying to get a story. Not really,” I said, and held up my hand when Miranda opened her mouth again. “He was just asking questions. I didn’t tell him anything, but he did say something that was super interesting.”
“What?” Jason asked, leaning forward.
“You guys know how the mayor hasn’t been happy with me being here, and I thought it had to do with more than just the possibility of me giving an interview?” I crossed my legs. “So I asked Striker if he knew why the mayor would be so unhappy about it.”
Miranda sipped her wine. “Because he’s a giant dick face?”
I smiled. “He was related to the Groom.”
“What?” Jason sat back, eyes wide.
“For real?” Cole’s brows furrowed.
I nodded. “Apparently, the mayor comes from a really wealthy family—”
“I knew that.” Miranda frowned. “Everyone knows that.”
I shot her a look. “The Groom was his grandfather’s sister’s son or something like that.”
“I’m surprised that didn’t get out and blow up like a gas station in an action movie,” Cole said.
Miranda snorted and laughed.
“It didn’t because I’m guessing the mayor used his wealth to keep that quiet,” I explained. “Anyway, I think that’s why he’s worried about me talking about what happened. That people will start asking question
s again and it’s something he doesn’t want brought up.”
“Then maybe he does have something to do with what has been happening.” Jason pushed his glasses up to his head, and tufts of brown hair stuck up. “Messed with your car—your mom’s.”
“And killed two women?” Miranda leaned against the kitchen island. Or possibly staggered against it. The bottle was looking awful empty on the counter. “Because that’s not going to bring unwanted attention on yourself.”
“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands. “No one ever said killers and liars were smart.”
“He has a good point there,” I said, folding my hands in my lap. “But it also really wouldn’t make sense.”
“Well, someone is doing what the Groom did.” Jason tossed an arm along the back of his chair.
“It’s not the same as the Groom,” I said, looking up at the screen. The newscasters had moved on to the weather.
Cole placed his hand on my knee and squeezed reassuringly.
After Striker had left, I’d spent the better part of the day thinking about what he’d said and what I knew about the Groom. What was happening now was similar but not. “The Groom kept his victims for days and even weeks in some instances. Angela went missing Wednesday evening—maybe. Thursday by the latest. She was dead by Monday, maybe even earlier than that. The Groom didn’t lose interest . . . or patience that quickly. Whoever this is, he doesn’t have the patience.”
“Or the control.” Cole settled back against the cushion. “To keep someone as long as the Groom did, you’d have to have a lot of control.”
“And be a total freak,” Miranda muttered under her breath as she finished off her wine glass in record time.
I looked over at Cole, wanting to share my suspicion but wary of doing so, because . . . saying it out loud made it so much more real. Saying it out loud also sounded a little crazy.
He leaned over, crossing the tiny distance between us and brushed his lips over mine. “You still here?”
Blinking, I didn’t realize how long I’d sat there staring at him. “Yeah.”
“You guys are so cute it makes me want to squeeze both of you to death.” Miranda sighed. “It also makes me want to have a boyfriend I can be all cute with.”
Flushing, I looked over at her. She saddled up to Jason’s side. “Want to hook up?”
I choked on air.
“This just got real interesting,” Cole murmured under his breath.
Jason whipped around in the chair so quickly I thought he might break his neck. “What?”
Miranda giggled as she draped her arms over his shoulders. “I’m just kidding. Geez. I know you’re saving yourself just in case your wife comes back.” She reached up, tweaking his cheek. “Plus, I like my men a bit darker in the skin.” Pausing, she lifted her gaze to Cole. “Which brings me to the fine-looking Detective Conrad. Is he single?”
Cole grinned. “I believe he is.”
“You should introduce us,” she said, straightening. “Actually, you should call him right now. I’ll give you—”
“And I think it’s time for you to go home,” Jason announced.
Miranda pouted. “You’re no fun, but you’re correct.” She shimmied around Jason and bent over, clasping my cheeks. “I don’t like this at all,” she whispered.
“I don’t either,” I whispered back.
Her lower lip trembled. “I’m still glad you came home though.”
“Me too.”
She stared at me a moment and then patted my cheek. “I might be a little tipsy.”
“Did you drive?” I asked, frowning up at Miranda.
Jason laughed. “No. I drove her here.”
She rolled her eyes and then pulled away, snatching up her jacket. “He sounds so happy about that.”
He ignored her as he slipped on his gloves. “I’ll make sure she gets home.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Love you guys.”
“Love you more,” Miranda called back.
Cole walked them out and once he returned, he locked the door behind him and made his way back over to me. He sat on the edge of the couch, his body twisted toward mine. “Striker seriously wasn’t here to do a story?”
Exhaling softly, I tipped my head back against the cushion. “Yeah. He didn’t want to do a story, Cole. He wanted to ask me one question.”
His eyes flashed. “Journalists lie, Sasha. They’ll say anything to get information out of someone.”
“That might be the case, but damn, he had a point, Cole. He really did.”
He studied me for a moment. “What did he say?”
“Striker is kind of obsessed with the . . . the Groom. Or maybe serial killers in general, and besides that being incredibly creepy, he picked up on something I’d told the agents while I was in the hospital.” I slid my hands along my thighs. “I think I even said it to you. That at times it seemed like the Groom was two different people.” My gaze shifted to Cole. “I don’t know a lot about who he was. I purposely avoided learning anything, but Striker didn’t and he said that he’d always believed that the Groom hadn’t pulled it off by himself.”
His brows creased together. “None of that means that there were actually two of them working together.”
“But it sort of makes sense. There were times when it was like I was dealing with two separate people,” I told him. “And I never saw him while I was held. Not once, and when he was angry, he didn’t speak. So let’s say there’s two of them. The Groom I knew was more patient and the other more violent. That would explain why the victims this time don’t last very long.”
“Sasha.”
“It is possible,” I insisted.
He looked away, a muscle flexing in his jaw. “I know it’s not impossible, but it’s also not very likely.”
“It’s about as likely as there being another copycat serial killer, isn’t it?” I replied, sitting forward and snatching my wine glass off the table.
“But there would’ve been evidence of another person. No matter how careful someone is, they always leave trace evidence behind. Hair. Skin cells. Fingerprints,” he explained. “There had to have been something.”
I considered that as I took a much smaller sip of wine. “How hard did they look for additional evidence?”
He opened his mouth.
“Evidence of there being another person? They never suspected that and I . . . I never gave them any real concrete evidence seriously suggesting it.” His eyes came back to mine. “And they thought they got him. What do you think they did?”
Lifting his hand, he thrust his fingers through his hair and then clasped the back of his neck. “I wasn’t a part of that investigation. Because of our relationship, I was out.”
I glanced down at my wine.
“They probably bagged everything they could and then they would’ve filed it after combing through it,” he said. “They would’ve scanned for fingerprints, but nothing is a hundred percent. They were probably looking for prints to match the victims, but I would think they’d come across something.”
“None of that means it’s impossible.”
Cole was quiet while I took a huge gulp of the wine, wincing at the slight bitterness. “No. It’s not impossible.”
I lowered my glass to the table as I lifted my gaze to his. “What if it is the case? What if there were two of them, and I never realized that?”
His gaze sharpened as it shot back to mine. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”