Chief Horner walked into the room, his impassive face showing unusual signs of fatigue and frustration. “Noah Spivak and his buddy were picked up in the woods not far from the farm, and a unit stopped by Adam Miller’s house. A friend was pouring him out of his car, nearly passed-out drunk. The friend said they’d been drinking together all evening and the bartender over at The Pub verified his statement.”

“Then we have no idea who has them.” Head spinning, Stella closed her eyes. Was Mac or Gianna being tortured right now? Having their fingers smashed with a hammer or their flesh cut with a knife?

But there was no way to compartmentalize this horror. If she wanted to save them, she would have to face it.

She turned and gave the board her full attention. Horner walked around the table and stood next to her. They faced the case board side by side. The answer had to be here somewhere.

“What do all the victims have in common?” Horner asked. “Why would he take Mac when his previous victims were all women with former drug addiction problems?”

“They all have a history of drug abuse.” Stella stopped, nearly tripping over her own momentum as the pieces fit into place. She’d been so afraid for Mac and Gianna that she hadn’t questioned the killer’s motivation in taking him.

“But what about Mac? Did he find something?”

“No.” She whirled. “He’s one of them.”

“Seriously?” Horner’s brows stretched upward.

“When he was a teenager,” she explained.

“Who would know that?”

“I don’t know.” What other suspects did they have? Her eyes went back to the board.

“What about Lyle Jones?” Horner asked. “He has a record.”

“Domestic squabble. It sounded personal.” Stella shook her head. “Plus, he was Dena’s physical therapist. He has no connection to Missy or Gianna.”

“Both Dena and Missy were treated at the New Life Center,” Horner said.

Stella thumbed through her file. “I already cleared Dr. Randolph of any criminal record. I wanted to check the story about his brother dying of an overdose.”

“What was his name?” Horner opened the laptop on the table.

Stella scanned her report. “Lucas Randolph. It happened approximately fifteen years ago.”

Horner scrolled. “Did he live in this area?”

She flipped to Josh’s background report. “He’s from Manchester, New Hampshire.”

He typed.

“Josh said his brother was mentally ill,” Stella continued.

“Here’s the story.” Horner turned the screen. “Lucas Randolph, age nineteen, died of a heroin overdose.”

She skimmed the text. “Everything is exactly as he said.”

Horner flipped through one of Stella’s detailed reports. “What about his assistant, Reilly Warren?”

“I was waiting for the report on his assistant. Let me see if it’s in.” Stella hurried to her cubicle, grabbed the report from her inbox, and returned to the conference room. She flipped through the pages. “No criminal record here or in Atlanta.”