“Wait. You were going after him?” Rex asked. This woman had guts.
“Yes. My Glock is right there.”3 She nodded down to the step just below her. “It’s mine. He knew that I’d made the 911 call. Once he couldn’t easily subdue me, he probably decided to cut his losses and get out of here.”
The EMT walked up the steps and went to work on Lily.
“We’ll let you get medical attention,” Rex said. “But then we’ll need your detailed statement.”
She nodded. “Absolutely. Whatever you need.”
“My recommendation would be to transport her to the hospital. The doctors will need to take X-rays to determine if her ankle is broken,” the paramedic said.
“I think it’s just a mild sprain, if that,” she said.
“Still, you need to get it looked at,” he responded.
She gave a reluctant nod. “All right.”
The Labrador walked up a few steps and barked, getting Rex’s attention. It looked up at Rex with big chocolate-brown eyes. “What’s your name, buddy?” He leaned down and took a close look at the collar with a bone-shaped nameplate hanging off it. The green collar didn’t give away the gender. But the name did, along with a closer inspection of the pup.
“That’s Grace,” Lily said loudly from a few steps up. “She will be fine here while I’m at the hospital. I’m sure I won’t be gone too long,” Lily said.
Rex nodded. His mind went into overdrive analyzing the situation. It was entirely possible that this beautiful, mysterious Glock-carrying woman had just escaped being the fourth victim of a serial killer.
* * *
Lily awoke feeling completely disoriented but was quickly able to determine by the antiseptic smell that she was in a hospital. She recalled having been given a pain pill in the early-morning hours, even though she’d insisted that she didn’t really need it. But the doctor wanted to get the swelling down and had said it would make her more comfortable.
Looking around the space, her heart immediately warmed. Sitting in the hospital room were two of her friends from childhood. She’d become close with them again since she’d returned to Atlanta.
“Lily, you’re awake!” Alison Cruz said. Her petite, brunette friend squeezed her hand tightly and had tears in her eyes.
“How long have I been out?”
“Not that long. It’s just about eleven in the morning,” Jackson Bray said. She’d known Jackson since sixth grade. His dark brown eyes were filled with concern. “Guy wanted to be here, but he couldn’t get anyone to cover his shift at work. We are so glad to see you awake.”
“What actually happened to you? How did you hurt your ankle?” Alison asked. “We couldn’t get any specific information from the police officers or the hospital. We only found out you were here because we got concerned when you wouldn’t answer any of our calls or texts. So we went by your house and a police officer filled us in.”
Before Lily could respond, the man she recognized as FBI special agent Rex Sullivan entered the room. Standing at least six foot two, he was dressed in a dark suit with a navy tie. His brown hair was cut short.
“Ms. Parker, how are you feeling today?” Rex asked.
“A little groggy from the pain meds, but my ankle isn’t hurting as badly this morning.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I’d appreciate it if I could have some time alone with you to get a full statement.”
“Anything you need to say can be said in front of my friends.”
He nodded. “I understand your feelings, but it’s protocol.”
Relenting, she looked over at Alison and Jackson. “I’m sorry, you two. Could you give us a few minutes?”
“Of course,” Jackson said. He gently touched her shoulder. “We’ll go grab some coffee and come back in a bit.” Her friends walked out of the hospital room, leaving her alone with Rex.
He took a seat and pulled out a notepad. “I just wanted to hear your full account of what happened last night. I’m working your case in conjunction with the Atlanta Police Department.”
She wondered why he’d be involved at all in a breaking and entering with an assault, but figured she would just go ahead and get this over with. “My dog Grace started barking around 3:00 a.m. I went downstairs to check things out. The power kept cutting off and on multiple times before you got there. I didn’t see anyone in the house, but I felt as if someone could’ve been there.”
“What else can you tell me?”
“I ran upstairs to get my cell to dial 911. I started making the call, and a man grabbed me before I could get to my Glock.”
“Yes, we took the Glock into evidence.” He paused. “What happened after he grabbed you? Did you see him?”
“It was dark in my bedroom. I estimate that he was about six feet tall, two hundred pounds, give or take. But he was dressed all in black and wore a ski mask. I couldn’t even see his eyes. However, I was able to fight him off.”
He nodded. “Are you trained in self-defense techniques?”
“Yes, I am. If you want my honest assessment, I think he was actually surprised I fought back. He seemed thrown off by it. And when I reminded him that the cops were coming, he started to retreat. I got my Glock and was going to go after him, but that’s when I twisted my ankle and fell on the stairs.”
He kept jotting down notes. “What do you do for a living, Ms. Parker?”
Here came the tricky part. Would he believe that she was a photographer? The problem was that he’d seen the Glock at the scene, so there was no escaping that. “I’m a photographer.”
“That’s your only job?”
“Yes. It keeps me fully occupied.” Which was the truth. It was her only current job. She’d left the CIA life behind.
“Do you know anyone that would want to hurt you?”
She kept a straight face. “Not that I know of.” There was no way she was divulging her CIA backstory to a man she’d just met, even if he was working her case.
He took a breath and stopped writing. “I don’t want to frighten you by telling you this, but I feel I have to.”
Her heartbeat sped up. “Tell me what?”
“I’m working in conjunction with the Atlanta Police Department, and we are investigating a string of murders that have occurred in the city.”
“String of murders? Are you talking about a serial killer? I was wondering why the FBI was responding to a police call.”
“I was working a crime scene not far away from your home when the 911 call came in last night.”
“Okay, but how do I fit into all of this?”
“Once again, there’s no cause for alarm at the moment. You’re safe.”
She nodded. “I understand. But please tell me what it is you’re trying to say.”
“Ms. Parker, here’s the situation. You look strikingly similar to the other three victims from the case. I’m assuming you’re in your twenties?”
“Yes, I’m twenty-seven.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes, just with Grace.”
“All of the victims have been attractive women in their twenties, living alone, with long dark hair and light-colored eyes.”
She