Twisted Read Free Page B

againstcurbs and tree trunks. Sagging jack-o’-lanterns sat in doorways, gazing out with empty eyes. The costumed kids who had scampered up and down the sidewalk only a few nights before were now safely in bed where they belonged.
    The street’s small brick houses gave way to cookie-cutter apartment buildings where young professionals enjoyed workout rooms and greenbelt views. At least some of them did. Allison hardly ever opened her blinds. And when she had time to work out—which she hadn’t lately—she either went for a run or hit the no-frills gym at the YMCA near the police station.
    Allison parked and gathered the pet food off the seat, along with the frozen pizza Sal had given her as a thank-you when she’d left his store. She collected her mail before unlocking her door. Silence greeted her. She stood still for a moment and listened to it. It sounded different tonight. Lonelier.
    Or maybe she was just in a mood.
    She dumped the mail on the counter and shrugged out of her blazer. Then she removed her holster and boots. She filled a cereal bowl with cat food and stepped onto her patio, where a striped tabby was waiting impatiently beside the railing. She set the food down for him and scratched his ears.
    The air outside smelled of burning wood. The temperature had dipped, and it was the first night cold enough for fireplaces. Allison leaned against the railing and gazed out at the trees. The thicket looked dark and foreboding—probably because a woman had been killed there recently. The discovery of her remains had sent a shock wave through town and put the entire SanMarcos police force on high alert. And though everyone was working to maintain a calm front, the department was reeling. Crimes like that just didn’t happen in this community. Drug busts, yes. Convenience store robberies, yes. Last summer they’d even had a school shooting.
    But women being murdered and left to rot in the woods? That sort of thing didn’t happen here.
    Except it had.
    Allison wasn’t even on the case—yet—but still she felt connected to it. It wasn’t just the brutal nature of the crime or that it had happened only steps away from her home. As one of the few female cops in this town, Allison felt particularly responsible for the women here, and she was determined to see justice done.
    Back inside, she turned the shower to scalding and tossed her wilted shirt onto the floor. She thought of that gun barrel again and suddenly she really, really didn’t want to be alone tonight.
    She showered and pulled on jeans and a fresh top, then stood before the mirror in the hallway—critiquing, debating, and critiquing some more.
    Don’t be a wuss, she told herself.
    She took a deep breath and reached for her keys.
    Mark prowled the chat room, searching for any trace of Death Raven or one of his aliases. He hadn’t found him yet, but it was still early, and many of these men were nocturnal.
    Mark surfed. He analyzed. He scrolled through page after page of blather, scanning for a familiar handle or turn of phrase. As he entered his second hour of searching, the sites started to blend together and the words became a blur. Only this and nothing more. The phrase echoed through his head. Tapping at my chamber door. His brain spooled. His temples throbbed. He rubbed his eyes. Tap-tap.
    Mark looked up.
    Tap-tap-tap.
    He crossed the room and checked the peephole, even though he already had a good idea who he’d see standing on the other side.
    He paused for a moment. Then he pulled open the door.
    “Detective Doyle.”
    She nodded. “Special Agent.”
    For a few seconds they stared at each other.
    “You need something?” It came out harsher than he’d intended, but she didn’t seem put off.
    “I do, actually. You busy?”
    “Yes.”
    She leaned a palm against the door frame and looked him squarely in the eye. She wasn’t intimidated by his federal badge or his height or the hard stare he used on vicious criminals. His being busy