“Swanton. What do you know,” he said evenly. “That’s where I’m from, too.”

Careful, Shay. This was early days, no telling what he’d do. He had issues with women, that was a safe bet. But what, if anything, did those other girls do to set him off? What if I did the same thing? It was dawning on me, what this meant. I’d been taken on a Friday night and wasn’t due back at work until Monday. I didn’t have a boyfriend or a roommate and talked to my folks only once a week. Bram had time enough to act out whatever sick fantasy he had planned. Monday was way too late.

Keep him talking, I thought frantically.

Make him forget why he brought you here.

“You’re from Swanton?” I said it with as much surprise as I could muster. Recalling our conversation at the bar repulsed me. A little attention from an attractive man was all it took for me to let down my guard. I’d been the easiest of targets.

“You said we know each other. Did we meet at school?” I asked.

“No.” He smiled a little. “I wasn’t in town for long, but I don’t see how you could forget me.”

“You moved?”

“I left.”

“Oh.” Did I know any runaways from my childhood? The question quickened my pulse.

“Why did you leave?”

“I had to. My mother wouldn’t let me stay.”

It was ludicrous, talking like we were still at the bar swapping stories and smiles, but the detective in me was desperate to figure him out. If I got away, I could weaponize his candor. Prosecute and put the bastard where he belonged. For the time being, my body was free of harm; I had the luxury of skin without lacerations, bruises, pain. When the moment was right, I’d try again. Next time, I’d thrust my thumbs into his eye sockets and press until he crumpled to the ground. One way or another, I’d get out.

But I wasn’t just a detective anymore; I was a victim—of kidnapping right now, but later maybe something worse. I couldn’t let that side of me take over. One weak moment, one more failed attempt, and I’d be added to his list. Becca. Lanie. Jess.

Shay.

“I don’t recognize your name.” Blake Bram. Was it an arbitrary choice? A reference to someone or someplace in town? What?

Bram chuckled. “That’s okay. I recognized yours.”

Hours upon hours I’d spent leafing through reports about those three dead women, looking for a pattern I could leverage. They were in their late twenties or early thirties, and all used that dating site, but jobs, leisure activities, the way they looked—those couldn’t be more dissimilar. I’d long since concluded that Blake Bram dropped a lure and took whatever he could reel in. But I was no random selection. A year ago my sergeant put everyone’s names and photos on the precinct website. He thought it would help create a sense of community. I was the only detective in Nine, and Jess was found on my turf. Bram knew it would be me on the case and what was on my mind when I sat down, wiped and frustrated, at that bar. All he had to do was follow me from the station house, to the park, to the pub. By stopping in there alone, I’d given him the opening he was waiting for.