Undercover Hunter. Rachel Lee

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      Whatever tourism might come to Conard County from the ski resort, the town hadn’t yet given in. No cheesy T-shirt shops, no cowboy-hat shaped neon announcing Western clothing. No upscale boutiques. No touristy stuff at all. The town hadn’t yet wakened to its new status. Maybe it never would.

      They parked at a place called the City Diner. “It’s empty,” she remarked before they climbed out of the car. “That’s not a good sign.”

      “This place has a great rep,” Cade answered. “And remember, people are either out searching for a boy or they’re locked inside where it’s safe.”

      Three boys missing and the town feared they had a killer in their midst. Not understanding the mentality of most serial killers, they wouldn’t get that anyone other than a young boy would probably be safe. And that was wise, because there had been a few who had had no particular victim type, and hadn’t cared whom they had chosen for their ritual.

      “Ramirez,” Cade said, almost as if he were reading her mind. “That guy ran the gamut in his victims.”

      “But as far as we know, this one doesn’t.”

      “So far.”

      “Maybe more like Gacy.”

      “Maybe.”

      Inside, the diner looked ancient, with seats patched with tape and tables that were scratched past all shine but clearly clean. The menus weren’t even sticky, but the woman who waited on them was something else. If she’d ever had a charming bone in her body, it had abandoned ship a long time ago. Crockery clattered, cups slammed, hot coffee filled them and splashed a bit, and all without any communication beyond indeterminate grunts. Mavis apparently wasn’t much for talking.

      Then came the platters overflowing with steak sandwiches and enough fries for an army. The dinner salads in their tiny bowls almost disappeared beside them.

      It was then they discovered that Mavis could talk.

      “You them travel writers?”

      “Yes,” Cade and DeeJay answered together.

      “Humph. Bad time to be coming to these parts. Don’t know if I like that whole ski thing, neither. We were getting along just fine.”

      “You’ll get more business,” Cade pointed out.

      “Already got all the business we want, and some that we don’t.” With that, Mavis stomped away.

      Cade and DeeJay exchanged looks, the first real understanding that had passed between them. It arced almost electrically, and both quickly glanced down at their plates.

      “So everybody knows who we are,” DeeJay remarked, picking up a half a steak sandwich that by itself would have fed three men.

      “At least we won’t seem suspicious.”

      “Maybe not.” But she had her doubts. Strangers in a frightened town always caused suspicion. They really had their work cut out for them.

      * * *

      The house created its own set of problems for them. It was tiny, with one small bedroom. DeeJay insisted she sleep on the couch because she was shorter, and this time Cade didn’t offer an argument.

      They’d brought home hefty containers full of leftovers, but they’d also made a stop at the grocery for coffee. No day would be complete without it. At least they agreed on that much. Cade picked up a few other odds and ends for snacking while DeeJay selected some energy bars. Even frozen, they’d be edible, and right now they were utterly in the dark about how they were going to handle a case they knew very little about.

      Back at the house, they brewed a pot in a decent drip coffeemaker, then sat down to pass the time. Being here in support of local law meant they had to await directions. And all of this undercover stuff was designed to lull the perp. If he caught wind that two state investigators had been brought in, he might disappear again. The pressure to catch him was heavy, almost creeping along DeeJay’s nerve endings. She suspected Cade was feeling much the same.

      “There are crimes and then there are crimes,” she remarked.

      “I read you loud and clear,” he answered.

      “These sick twists make my skin crawl. I’ve dealt with all kinds of crimes. Just like you. I can understand most of them. People get mad. They want money. Lots of reasons that fit human understanding. Hell, most of us have probably felt an urge or two in our lives but haven’t acted on it.”

      “True.”

      “But these guys...they like it. They’re playing out some bizarre fantasy and compulsion. They never stop until they’re dead or in jail. All that stuff they poured into us at Quantico? It still doesn’t make sense to me.”

      “I don’t think it ever can.”

      “If it ever does, I may cash in my chips.”

      He surprised her with a quiet laugh.

      She looked at him, something she’d been trying to avoid by pretending a fascination for the pattern in the curtains or the back of her hands. “I didn’t mean that to be funny.”

      “I know you didn’t. I laughed because my reaction is the same. It’s bad enough we have to try to understand enough to predict him. That’s as much understanding as I ever want to have.”

      “More than enough. And we start as usual with the same bare-bones outline. Probably male, most likely white, late twenties to early thirties, drives a car that doesn’t stand out...” She trailed off. “A lot of blanks to fill in.”

      “It could be a woman.”

      “Quit reminding me we can’t eliminate anyone.”

      At that he laughed freely, and as much as she didn’t like most men, she joined in. It felt good, released tension, and she hoped he was beginning to feel less resentful of having a woman for a partner.

      In fairness, he couldn’t feel any more resentful of her than she felt of him. She sighed as the laughter died. Somewhere in the depths of the house the heat kicked on. First came a wave of chilly air, followed by warmer air that smelled a little musty.

      The doorbell rang. She let him answer it. She heard Cade and another man exchange a few words, then Cade ushered in the sheriff along with a blast of cold air. The first thing that struck her was that one side of his face had been burned and showed old, shiny scar tissue. The next was that he limped, and occasionally pain flickered across his face. The car bomb.

      “Gage Dalton,” he said, pulling off his glove and offering his hand. She rose and shook it. Cade took his jacket while DeeJay introduced herself. And even though it was a female thing to do, which she usually avoided, she asked if he wanted coffee.

      “Always,” he answered promptly.

      “I’ll get it,” Cade said.

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