“No ID,” Rutherford said, glancing down at his shiny phone. “Her prints came up negative, and this isn’t our case. Time to go, gentlemen.”

Wolfe scouted the alley, his gaze sharp. “You think Lassiter did this?”

Yes. “I don’t know. The MO is close, but not perfect, and he was a perfectionist.” Frustration tasted like metal in Angus’s mouth. “If it isn’t Lassiter, it’s a copycat. That I’m sure of, and I was the best profiler the FBI had.”

“Until you drank the entire wagon,” Fields said, his bushy eyebrows rising. “You no longer work for the FBI, remember?”

Something on the victim’s hand caught Angus’s attention. “Glove?” He gestured toward a couple of techs.

One tossed him a blue glove and he slid it on, gently turning over the woman’s right hand.

“Shit,” West said, leaning down. “Is that what I think it is?”

Angus swallowed. “Yeah.” A perfect tattoo of a German shepherd had been placed right beneath the knuckles on the back of her hand.

Wolfe swallowed. “Looks like Roscoe.”

“Could be a coincidence,” West said, his lips turning down.

“Probably is.” Angus stood. Oh, that was his dog; the markings were distinctive. “Fields? I want this case. Lassiter or not. FBI or not.”

West gripped his arm and pulled him to the side. He leaned in to speak quietly. “Even if the FBI and HDD both allow it, are you sure you want this? Serial killers don’t just change their MOs, right? Especially ones like Lassiter.”

Angus nodded. “You’re right.”

“You’re obsessive and you’re just getting your drinking under control. If this isn’t Lassiter, and that tattoo is a coincidence, why take on HDD, the FBI, and the local DC police force right now?” West released him, his gaze again straying to the poor woman on the ground.

Right now they were the best chance for justice the woman had.

Fields slid his phone back into his pocket. “The HDD higher-ups say no way to you taking on this case. Sorry. It’s a no-go.”

Angus turned on his heel and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, striding down the alley. The rain increased in force, a cold, angry prelude to the dark, oncoming winter.

His team members flanked him.

Wolfe stepped over a puddle. “We’re not letting this go, are we?”

“Not a chance in hell,” Angus said. “Call everyone in. We have a new case.” He ducked under the crime scene tape, walking away from death.

This time.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Nari Zhang zipped her leather jacket as she stepped out of the Porsche, forcing a smile onto her face and leaning down. The crisp fall breeze lifted her hair. At least it had stopped raining after midnight. “Thanks for dinner, Ronald.”