“Someone’s done their homework,” he said, adjusting the microphone. “While you’re correct about my credentials, Agent Christiansen and I are here as part of a standard rotation. The FBI has technology and skills that not every branch of law enforcement can access, and we’re here to help Sheriff Hopewell however we can.”

Foreman returned to his spot on the wall, and the deputy closed out the session.

Greenwood followed the others off the platform. One step from the exit, he locked eyes with Caitlin and gave that wink again.

Chapter 19

CHAPTER

19

HE WATCHED THE broadcast live on the NBC affiliate, then opened his DVR menu and watched the ABC and CBS coverage. Then his laptop. He found the entire press conference without edits on the Daily Student’s website, and clicked “Play.”

He laughed at the officers from the different agencies. Helpless behind their badges, clueless despite their guns, pointless in their pants.

And not a single question from Bergman.

A current of excitement throbbed from his toes to his fingertips. They had nothing and he had Paige.

Still, he’d hoped for more from the great Caitlin Bergman. Too soon? She’d just gotten to town. He couldn’t expect her to be looking for him, not yet. But she would eventually—if she was what he hoped. The perfect addition to his collection, a public figure, a strong woman with horror in her past, and best of all, the words to describe every second.

Paige awaited, but he couldn’t help himself. He opened a new tab and searched for missing student and Bergman. Exposure at the national level would be dangerous, but the thought of Caitlin’s attention got him straight up turned on.

“Deputy, do you believe Paige Lauffer’s disappearance is related to Angela Chapman’s in any way?”

Who just asked that question?

He clicked back to the Daily Student tab to put a face to the ongoing audio. The camera angle hadn’t changed, so all he could see was shoulder-length black hair in the second row. He took the video back ten seconds, heard the tail end of the question again from the woman with the slight British accent. He didn’t need to see her face to recognize the Anjale girl. In the last two years, she’d tried to tie every crime in the county to the disappearance of Angela Chapman. Just because the stopped clock had the time didn’t mean she knew the answers. He watched the rest.

An FBI profiler?

None of the broadcast packages had included the involvement of an FBI profiler. He scrolled down the page, skimmed the two paragraphs below, saw no mention of the FBI. Apparently no one else at the press conference deemed the question germane.

Clueless.

Out the kitchen window, treetops waved with the breeze. He opened the front door, smelled the air, listened to the sounds. Everything hummed with energy, a perfect moment.