.

held by my father in a home with her adoptive parents. He was torturing her. She barely survived, as did I. The people who raised her didn’t. So when, only weeks later, Crutchfield kidnapped her and killed her foster parents, it felt…”

      “Personal,” Garland completed her thought.

      “Exactly,” Jessie said. “And now, after a week of forced leave, a week in which Hannah has been in Crutchfield’s clutches, I’m returning to work today.”

      “But there’s a problem,” Garland said leadingly, hinting that Jessie should cut to the chase. So she did.

      “There is. The FBI has been assigned the case. I know that when I walk through the police station doors, I will be expressly prohibited from participating because of…my personal connection. But, knowing my own nature after nearly thirty years on this planet, there is no way I’m going to be able to just put it out of my head and go about my normal business. So I thought I’d enlist the assistance of someone who isn’t beholden to the regulations that are about to be handed down to me.”

      “And yet,” Garland said as his toast arrived. “I get the distinct feeling that I’m not your first choice for this task.”

      Jessie had no idea how he could have known that but didn’t try to deny it.

      “That’s true. I wouldn’t normally ask a celebrated profiler emeritus to do me a solid if I could avoid it. I particularly don’t like asking them to do the dirty work of trying to discreetly suss out what’s going on in someone else’s investigation. But unfortunately, my first choice is unavailable.”

      “Who is that?” Garland asked.

      “Katherine Gentry. She used to head up security at the NRD prison. We became friends during my many visits. But once Crutchfield escaped and multiple guards were murdered, she was fired. Since then, she’s become a private investigator. Kat’s new to the gig but she’s good at it. I used her for something recently.”

      “But…” Garland pressed.

      “But she’s in the middle of another case that involves a lot of out-of-town surveillance so she doesn’t really have the time. Besides, I thought this might be a little too raw for her, considering her connection to Crutchfield. I think she might be too close to it.”

      I see,” he said, with a mischievous tone. “So you’re concerned that a person might not be able to objectively assess the situation because of her personal connection to it. Does that description apply to anyone else you know?”

      Jessie looked at him, well aware of the point he was making. Of course, if he knew just how personal this case was for her, he would likely be even more concerned. Then a thought occurred to her, one that might make him reevaluate how he looked at the circumstances.

      “You’re right,” she said. “I’m not objective, more than you know. You see, Garland, what only a half dozen people in the world know is that Hannah Dorsey’s father was Xander Thurman. She’s my half-sister, something I discovered less than a month ago. So I’m definitely not objective about this.”

      Garland, who was about to take a sip of coffee, paused briefly. Apparently he still had the capacity to be surprised.

      “That is a complication,” he acknowledged.

      “Yes,” she said, leaning forward intently. “And I’m pretty confident that Crutchfield took her in order to mold her into a serial killer like my father and himself. That was what my dad was after with me. When I rejected him, he tried to kill me. I think Crutchfield is trying to pick up where Thurman left off.”

      “What makes you think this?” Garland asked.

      “He wrote me a postcard that basically laid it out. And then he left a message in blood on the foster family’s wall that reiterated the point. He’s not being subtle about it.”

      “He does seem to be rubbing it in,” Garland conceded.

      “Right,” Jessie said, sensing that he was warming to her plea. “So I willingly admit that I’m not exactly level-headed about this. And I get why Captain Decker would refuse to allow me near the case. But like I said, I know myself. And there’s no way I can just pretend a serial killer’s not out there trying to turn my half-sister into his own personal Mini-Me. So I figured I’d turn to someone who could be more rational to keep tabs on the case and give me updates. Otherwise I’m going to go crazy. And it needs to be someone who can access the info but isn’t bound by all the LAPD prohibitions.”

      Garland leaned back in the booth and pushed his glasses up away from his nose. He seemed lost in thought.

      “Garland,” she said, her voice a hushed whisper. “Bolton Crutchfield is trying create a monster just like him and he’s doing it to a traumatized girl. That’s bad enough, even if she wasn’t my only living relative, a sister I’ve barely gotten to know. But he’s doing it intentionally to toy with me, another in his endless sadistic games. I understand what’s going on. I’m clear-headed about this. But if you think that understanding the situation means I’m going be able to steer clear because of a directive from my supervisor, you’re sorely mistaken. If you say no, I’m going to pursue this myself, regardless of the consequences. I’m asking for your help, partly because you’re better at this than me. But partly to save me from myself. I don’t want to be dramatic and say my future is in your hands… But my future is in your hands. What do you say?”

      Garland sat silently for a moment. Then he leaned in, about to answer. Suddenly Jessie’s cell phone rang. She glanced down. It was Ryan. She sent it to voicemail and looked back up at the old man in front of her. Then she felt a buzz. Looking down, she saw a text from Ryan that said simply “911—pick up.” A second later the phone rang again. She picked up.

      “I’m in the middle of something,” she said.

      “There’s been a homicide at the Bonaventure Hotel,” Ryan said, “Decker assigned us. He said he’s postponing our meeting with him and he wants us there ASAP. I’m driving over now to pick you up. I’ll be out front in two minutes.”

      He hung up before she could reply. She looked over at Garland.

      “I just got called to a murder scene. Detective Hernandez is on his way here to get me. I need a decision. What do you say, Garland?”

      CHAPTER THREE

      Jessie gripped the car’s grab handle for dear life.

      Ryan had turned on the siren and was tearing through the downtown streets, making sharp, sudden turns. Apparently the media had already been tipped off about a dead body in the fancy hotel and was forming a crowd outside. He wanted to get there before the scene got too chaotic.

      Jessie was silently grateful that she’d stuck to toast for breakfast as she was tossed around in the car. Despite being discombobulated, one thing stuck with her. Garland Moses had said yes.

      That meant that, if she could force herself to make the most of his involvement, she didn’t have to spend every spare moment freaking out over Hannah’s disappearance. There was now someone looking into it whom she trusted to make some headway, someone who would actually update her on the status of the case. To remain sane, she had to allow that to play out and not fixate on it every second.

      Just as important, if she was going to be of any use in this Bonaventure case, or any future one, she had to have a clear head. She owed it to whoever the murder victim was in that hotel room to provide her most cogent, uncluttered analysis. As if he were reading her mind, Ryan spoke up.

      “This wasn’t my idea.”

      “What do you mean?” she asked.

      “I thought we should ease back into work with at least a day or two of boring paperwork catch-up. But Captain Decker insisted on sending you out.”

      “That doesn’t sound like him,” she pointed out.

      “Normally, no,” he agreed. “But he was pretty explicit about wanting to assign you a case immediately to keep you occupied. He doesn’t want you anywhere near the Dorsey case and he