Twisted Game (An Amy Rush Suspense Thriller—Book 2) E-Book

Ava Strong

• Herausgeber: Lukeman Literary Management
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Serie: An Amy Rush Suspense Thriller
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 274

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

When a series of mysterious drownings plague remote lakes in Fish & Wildlife Agent Amy Rush's territory, she must race to navigate treacherous waters to decode the pattern, catch a serial killer, and save the next victim in time… "The plot has many twists and turns, but it is the ending, which I did not see coming at all, that totally defines this book as one of the most riveting that I have read in years." —Reader review for Not Like Us ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ This is book #2 in a long-anticipated new series by #1 bestseller Ava Strong, whose bestsellers have received over 1,000 five star ratings and reviews. An intense and gripping crime thriller, Amy Rush is a complex psychological series that will captivate readers with its compelling and brilliant female protagonist. Filled with constant action, suspense, surprises, and a rapid pace, this mystery series guarantees to keep you up all night as you eagerly turn each page. Fans of Mary Burton, Lee Child, and Kendra Elliot are sure to fall in love. "This is a chilling, suspenseful page turner that just might leave you scared at night!" —Reader review for Not Like Us ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Very intriguing, kept me turning page after page… Lots of twists and turns and a very unexpected ending. Cannot wait for the next in this series!" —Reader review for Not Like Us ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "A roller coaster ride of events… Can't put down until you finish it!" —Reader review for Not Like Us ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Excellent read with very realistic characters that you become emotionally invested in… Couldn't put it down!" —Reader review for The Death Code ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "An excellent read, lots of twists and turns, with a surprising ending, leaving you wanting to read the next book in the series! Well done!" —Reader review for The Death Code ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Well worth the read. Cannot wait to see what happens in the next book!" —Reader review for The Death Code ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Quickly became a story I couldn't put down! I highly recommend this book!" —Reader review for His Other Wife ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "I really enjoyed the fast-paced action, plot design and characterization... I didn't want to put the book down and the ending was a total surprise." —Reader review for His Other Wife ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "The characters are extremely well developed… There are twists and turns in the plot that kept me guessing. An extremely well written story." —Reader review for His Other Wife ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "One of the best books I have ever read… The ending was perfect and surprising. Ava Strong is an amazing writer." —Reader review for His Other Wife ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "Holy cow, what a rollercoaster… Many times I absolutely KNEW who the killer was—only to be proven wrong each time. I was completely surprised by the ending. I have to say, I am thrilled that this is the first in a series. My only complaint is that the next one isn't out yet. I need it!" —Reader review for His Other Wife ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "An incredible, intense, spellbinding, enjoyable story. It will keep you captivated until the end." —Reader review for His Other Wife ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

Leseprobe

T W I S T E D

G A M E

(an amy rush suspense thriller —book 2)

a v a   s t r o n g

Ava Strong

Ava Strong is author of the REMI LAURENT mystery series, comprising six books (and counting); of the ILSE BECK mystery series, comprising seven books (and counting); of the STELLA FALL psychological suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); of the DAKOTA STEELE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising six books (and counting); of the LILY DAWN suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); the MEGAN YORK FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); the SOFIA BLAKE FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); the AMY RUSH FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting); and the ELLE KEEN FBI suspense thriller series, comprising five books (and counting).

An avid reader and lifelong fan of the mystery and thriller genres, Ava loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.avastrongauthor.com to learn more and stay in touch.

BOOKS BY AVA STRONG

ELLE KEEN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

IN THE DARK (Book #1)

IN THE WAY (Book #2)

IN THE EYES (Book #3)

IN THE NIGHT (Book #4)

IN THE SILENCE (Book #5)

AMY RUSH FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

TWISTED TRUTH (Book #1)

TWISTED GAME (Book #2)

TWISTED SECRET (Book #3)

TWISTED FATE (Book #4)

TWISTED VOW (Book #5)

SOFIA BLAKE FBI SUSPSENSE THRILLER

NO ONE THERE (Book #1)

NO ONE LEFT (Book #2)

NO ONE HOME (Book #3)

NO ONE TO HELP (Book #4)

NO ONE LIKE THIS (Book #5)

MEGAN YORK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

YOU’LL BE SORRY (Book #1)

YOU’LL BE NEXT (Book #2)

YOU’LL BE MINE (Book #3)

YOU’LL BE FIRST (Book #4)

YOU’LL BE GONE (Book #5)

LILY DAWN FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

STILL ALIVE (Book #1)

STILL HOPE (Book #2)

STILL AWAKE (Book #3)

STILL HERE (Book #4)

STILL MAD (Book #5)

REMI LAURENT FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

THE DEATH CODE (Book #1)

THE MURDER CODE (Book #2)

THE MALICE CODE (Book #3)

THE VENGEANCE CODE (Book #4)

THE DECEPTION CODE (Book #5)

THE SEDUCTION CODE (Book #6)

ILSE BECK FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

NOT LIKE US (Book #1)

NOT LIKE HE SEEMED (Book #2)

NOT LIKE YESTERDAY (Book #3)

NOT LIKE THIS (Book #4)

NOT LIKE SHE THOUGHT (Book #5)

NOT LIKE BEFORE (Book #6)

NOT LIKE NORMAL (Book #7)

STELLA FALL PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE THRILLER

HIS OTHER WIFE (Book #1)

HIS OTHER LIE (Book #2)

HIS OTHER SECRET (Book #3)

HIS OTHER MISTRESS (Book #4)

HIS OTHER LIFE (Book #5)

HIS OTHER TRUTH (Book #6)

DAKOTA STEELE FBI SUSPENSE THRILLER

WITHOUT MERCY (Book #1)

WITHOUT REMORSE (Book #2)

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

PROLOGUE

The hook sailed through the air, yards of invisible line whizzing cheerfully out of Roger Thornwood’s reel. His lucky gold-plated minnow lure flashed through the early morning sunlight and struck the still, tranquil surface of Lauder Lake with a satisfying plunk.

The patio boat sat still and quiet, bobbing gently in the middle of the lake, roughly three-quarters of a mile from the shore on any side. A golden eagle rustled itself from a pine treetop nest across the water; screamed across the breaking dawn over the heads of three fishermen.

At the prow of the little patio boat, Roger prepared to cast again. On the deck behind him, Craig and Howie sat staring glumly at their motionless bobbers on the surface of the water.

Lauder Lake was supposed to be famous for its excellent fishing. They had been out since before daybreak, and the bait he was using was supposed to be irresistible to mountain trout. Still, after an hour and a half of casting his line into the picturesque waters of the lake, his net and club remained unwetted, and the ice chest he’d set aside for fresh catches remained empty.

With a sigh, he flicked the rod back and shot the lure out, out, out over the water.

Whizzzzzzzz.

Plunk.

The hook, weights, and golden lure all vanished from sight into the chilly depths. Roger gave the line a moment to sink down into the dysphotic layers of the lake, then began to reel his lure home.

Roger’s reel suddenly stuck fast. The rod bent like a gift from heaven. The resistance against his line spread an instant grin across his face. He tugged on his fishing rod.

It didn’t yield.

His heart jumped in his chest. This was the moment he’d been waiting for. There would be an epic battle, man versus fish, and man would emerge victorious. It was exactly what his friends needed at this moment, too. A victory over the fish of the lake would bolster their spirits, and a breakfast of fresh trout certainly wouldn’t harm the mood any. 

There were bubbles rising to the surface of the lake under Roger’s line. Whatever he’d hooked, it was putting up a serious fight.

Roger was pulling on the fishing pole with all his strength. He felt the weight of his catch fighting against him, but he felt it giving ground as well. He grimaced with proud determination.

“Hey, I think I could use some help over here,” Roger said, frowning as his pole bent yet further, refusing to yield as he pulled and played on the line. “I think I’ve got ahold of a real whopper.”

“Woah,” Craig said, rising to his feet as he noticed the arch of Roger’s pole, “Looks like you’ve hooked something serious. You know, I’ve been looking for a new boot.”

“It ain’t a boot, smartass,” Roger puffed, reeling hard on his line, “It would have come free by now.”

“Or broken the line,” Howard added, joining the other two by the railing of the patio boat and peering overboard.

“It’s not going to snap the line, either,” Roger grunted, hauling with all his strength on the flexing rod, “I got this sonofabitch wound up with two-hundred-pound microfilament.”

“Two-hundred-pound line?” Howard’s jaw dropped, “Jesus, Rog, what do you think you’re going to catch in here?”

“Whatever the hell this is,” Roger grunted with a grin, hauling back on the line once again. “Ever heard the saying ‘rather be looking at it than looking for it’?”

The line, taut as a bowstring, tightened for a moment, bowing the tip of the fishing pole over the railing of the boat. The whole vessel pitched for a moment, then righted itself with an audible splash.

The bubbles under Roger’s line intensified. The water around the area suddenly muddied, swimming with murky silt. Roger stumbled back as his line went suddenly slack. He hit the deck back-first with a loud whack.

“Oh!” both Craig and Howard winced in unison, then rushed to their friend’s aid. Roger sat up, the pole still in his hands. He looked at it, then at his two friends with a dazed expression.

“What happened?” Roger asked, “Did the line break?”

Everybody looked at the fishing pole.

The line was still intact.

Slowly, all three men rose to their feet and walked up to the nose of the patio boat. They peered out into the water, which was murky and stirred up where Roger’s line met the lake.

There was something at the end of the line. It was a large, pale, sponge-looking thing. All three men screwed up their eyes.

“What is that?” Craig asked.

“I don’t know,” Roger said, “but it isn’t moving.”

“Try reeling in your line,” Howard suggested. “Maybe your hook got lodged on a rotting log or something.”

Roger reeled in his line as hard as he could, pulling back on the rod as if hauling in a sturgeon. Slowly, the shape in the water off the prow of the boat started to move.

First, they saw a bloated chest. The breasts in the water were pale and waterlogged. The soggy torso was wrapped in rusty, decaying chains.

Three bubbles rose to the surface, popped, blip, blip, blip.

Then her face emerged.

Bleach-white, bloated and decaying, the woman surfacing in the lake screamed in silent eternity.

The unified yell of all three terrified men echoed into the empty forest around them.

CHAPTER ONE

The loud crack of a rifle shot rang out through the mountainous forest. The clay pigeon shattered in a brilliant explosion of ceramic material.

Special Agent Amayah Rush released her breath and lowered her rifle. All five of her targets now lay in fragments on the ground around the rotting log upon which they had been set up.

The fifth shell sprang from the chamber of her rifle as Amy shot back the bolt. It landed, sizzling, in the dewy grass beside four other identical shells.

Amy’s breath escaped her lips, creating a cold white fog of the chilly air around her. With her booted toe, she rolled the shells around in the wet grass, ensuring that they were cool before she leaned down to scoop them up and shove them into her coat pocket.

After clearing the chamber and setting the safety, Amy returned her rifle to its carrying case, which fit comfortably over the shoulder strap of her jogger’s pack. Within the pack rested her radio, compass, first aid and weather kits, her badge and her service pistol. Carrying the heavy pack was not only part of her training regimen as she ran through the mountainous terrain – it was also a survival strategy.

She huffed and puffed steadily as she jogged back down the Lesser Twin Ridge trail back towards the ranger station.

Her mind flashed with horrific memory of the psychopath – Curtis Jager – who had haunted those very hills only weeks before. The terrifying images of the corpses that she’d seen under the trees of this very forest would not leave her alone.

Amy gritted her teeth and increased the pace of her jog.

Your pack is not heavy enough to justify this much slacking, she told herself savagely as she ran. She would have to train harder if she wanted to shake off the demons she trailed behind her.

As her feet pounded down the dirt trail of the path, Amy half expected a wild-haired vagrant to appear out of the mist. Every shadow in her peripheral vision caused a flicker in her cardiovascular rhythm.

Kkkksssshhh – “Ranger Station W-33 calling Special Agent 4021. Do you copy 4021? Over” – ksshh.

From within her jogger’s pack, Amy heard the static crackle of her walkie-talkie. She slowed to a walk, swinging the bag off her shoulder and unzipping the pouch. She reached inside and pulled out the chunky Sat-phone.

“This is Special Agent Amayah Rush, callsign 4021,” she said into the radio, “I read you loud and clear, Ranger Station. Over.”

Amy’s breath fogged gently in the early morning chill as she panted, still winded from the run, waiting for the response to come over the radio. She squinted into the forested wilderness that seemed to stretch off into eternity all around her. Everything was still and peaceful, unperturbed.

“What’s your 20, Rush? Over,” the voice over the walkie-talkie crackled, asking for her location in radio code. Amy glanced around.

“I’m a little past mile marker 186, coming back down the southern side of Lesser Twin Ridge. Over.”

“Report back to Headquarters on the double,” the voice commanded, “You’re being summoned by Chief Wildlife Warden Turner. Over.”

“Copy that, Ranger Station,” Amy replied, “Tell the Chief Warden that I am on my way. Over and out.”

She clicked off the radio and stowed the cumbersome device back in the pocket of her jogging bag. Her jeep was parked at the trailhead, still a few miles down the hard-trodden dirt footpath. Amy returned to her run at a faster clip, her mind churning with curiosity. What did the Chief Warden want to see her about?

Of course, she had a vague idea of what might await her when she arrived back at headquarters. After her last case, the Chief Wildlife Warden – Amy’s boss – had taken her aside to offer her a job. It was a position as Lead Investigator heading a new task force: the Wilderness Homicide Investigation Team, or W.H.I.T for short.

Amy had not accepted the job right away. She was given a week of R&R to recover from her case, and she spent that time mulling over the decision. When she finally returned to work and informed the Chief Warden of her choice to take the position, Turner told her that she wouldn’t start right away. There were still a few logistical kinks that needed to be worked out – although from the sound of things, Amy thought that perhaps everything had been straightened out at last.

As she reached her Jeep at the trailhead, Amy shot a glance over her shoulder at the Twin Ridges and miles of dense evergreen woods that surrounded them. If she held still and listened carefully, she could almost hear the mad shrieks of terror that haunted her nightmares echoing out of the cold fog.

Amy shuddered, then boosted herself into the driver’s seat and hurried to get her key in the ignition. The Jeep’s engine growled to life and she put the vehicle in gear, her thick tire treads spitting up loose gravel as she pulled out and gunned it onto the main road heading back towards Ranger Station 03.

***

The Jeep rumbled to a stop in front of the Ranger Station, which had a Lincoln Log exterior façade and a solitary flagpole flying the California grizzly bear under the stars and stripes. A light drizzle had started in while Amy was driving, and it had turned into a downpour as she stepped out of the vehicle. Her wavy black hair, tied back in an athletic ponytail, was pestered by the growing gusts of wind that whipped through trees. The wet gravel of the small parking lot crunched under her feet as she crossed to the front door of the ranger station, her shoulders hunched as she held up the collar of her official Dept. of Fish and Wildlife windbreaker.

The interior of the station was warm and welcoming. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. She eyed the breakroom, yearning for a hot cup, but she knew that Chief Warden Turner was waiting for her, and that meant no detours. Turner would be watching.

As predicted, Amy noticed the Chief Warden standing in her open doorway with her hands clasped behind her back, staring at Amy shook down as the agent stamped the droplets of water off her boots on the doormat.

“My office, Special Agent Rush,” the Chief Warden commanded abruptly from across the room, then turned and shut the door behind her with a neat click. Amy hurried across the small, cozy bullpen of desk, most of which were still vacant and dark at this hour. She was accustomed to her boss’s curt tone and severe affectation, and knew better than to take it personally. Chief Wildlife Warden Katherine Turner was concise and professional to a degree that resembled sociopathy, which made her an extremely effective line officer for the Department of Fish and Wildlife but left her lacking in warm pleasantries.

Amy opened the door of the Chief Warden’s office with a light knock.

“Enter,” Turner’s voice instructed from within, “And close the door behind you.”

Amy obeyed, closing the door behind her. On the wall, six clocks ticked in perfect unison, each representing one of the US time zones, including Juno and Honolulu. There were two indoor flag poles in the corners of the office, one flying the American flag, the other flying the blue and white fish and fowl flag of the Department of Fish and Wildlife. Both hung limp and motionless in the stillness of the room.

Turner was standing with her face to the large picture window behind her wide, practical wooden desk, her hands still clasped behind her back. She was gazing out at the scenic expanse of mountain ridges, forested hills, and rocky gullies that made up Ranger District 03. The rain pounded against the window, running down the glass and obscuring the view into abstract washes of deep green earth and dark grey sky.

“It’s time, Special Agent Rush,” she said. "You've accepted your position as Lead Investigator of the Wilderness Homicide Investigation Team, and now the Department of the Interior has instructed me to mobilize the WHIT at once."

“What’s happened?” Amy asked, “I mean, why are we being mobilized.”

“There’s been murder,” said the Chief Warden, turning to face the agent at last. A well-timed flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the window behind her, followed almost immediately by a tremendous peel of thunder.

Amy suppressed a shudder, remembering the eerie feeling and terrifying memories that had plagued her run all morning. Perhaps those feelings had not been mere memory, but a premonition of the news that awaited her.

“Where?” she asked grimly.

"I'll brief you on the details in a moment after I've introduced you to your team. I wanted to speak with you alone first because you're going to be the Lead Investigator. You've got to command authority from the moment you walk in the room for the benefit of the case as well as the safety of your team. Be firm, stay focused, and don't second guess yourself."

These words of encouragement and guidance were delivered with all the emotional intimacy of a bulleted to-do list, but Amy was grateful for them. She gave her boss a nod.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Amy said, “I’m ready.”

“I know you are, Special Agent Rush,” Turner said, picking up a file from her desk and walking briskly towards the door, “That’s why I picked you. Follow me.”

Amy obeyed, marching quickly after the Chief Warden out of the office and down the hallway towards the conference room.

“Oh, by the way,” Turner paused before turning the knob of the heavy conference room door, “I couldn’t get rid of Special Agent Stone, the FBI agent who assisted you on your last case. I tried, but the Federal Bureau of Investigation was insistent on having their agency represented in WHIT, and I guess Agent Stone requested this detail specifically.”

“He did?” Amy was surprised. Their collaboration on the investigation, while ultimately successful, had been anything but smooth sailing. She resented his selective confidentiality, while he seemed unable or unwilling to take a back seat in interrogations. They’d gotten along like cats and dogs, although Amy had to admit a begrudging respect for his record of solved cases and investigation experience.

“Don’t let him bully you around,” Turner instructed her younger agent severely, “You’re the Lead Investigator – don’t forget it. If he gives you any trouble, you can go over his head to the Deputy Director of the FBI. That should light a fire under his ass, should he require it.”

“Thank, ma’am,” Amy smiled and nodded. The Chief Warden pushed open the door of the conference room and ushered her in with a wave.

“After you, Special Agent Rush.”

CHAPTER TWO

There were four people sitting around the conference table as Amy entered the room, all of whom stood up with expectant expressions as the two women entered the room. Amy recognized Special Stone right away, but the others were strangers. Stone was at the foot of the table, his trademark toothpick clamped in his teeth like the world’s thinnest cigar. He bounced his eyebrows at Amy and shot her smile and a little wave. She nodded politely at him.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Wilderness Homicide Investigation Team, allow me to introduce your Lead Investigator, Special Agent Amayah Rush. For the entirety of this investigation, as well as in the course of all WHIT business, her leadership is to be obeyed absolutely, as a direct federal order. Understood?”

Turner paused only for a moment as a general murmur of agreement rose from the group.

“Moving on, allow me to introduce the rest of the Team,” the Chief Warden motioned curtly to the slender, bird-like man seated nearest to them at the table. He had loose, greying ringlets of hair that fell down nearly to his shoulders. He was in his early forties, Amy guessed, with the deep set, sad, droopy eyes of a crooner, or a basset hound.

“Team, meet Dr. Richard Benedict, our hand-picked forensic expert. He will travel with you to inspect the cadavers at the scene of the crime and provide a preliminary report, which will be corroborated against the official autopsy from the local coroner. Trust his expertise, Special Agent Rush. Dr. Benedict is a veteran of hundreds of investigations, collaborating with the NYPD, FBI, and Interpol. He’s regarded among the best in his field.”

“It’s an honor to work with you, Doctor,” Amy said with a polite nod at the man.

“Likewise, I’m sure,” he replied.

“Beside Dr. Benedict is Dr. Ha-Rin Bang,” Turner continued around the table, adding quickly, “forgive me, Dr. Bang, did I pronounce your name correctly?”

"Technically it's Bang Ha-Rin, PhD," said a young Korean American woman with a forgiving smile. She had straight black hair that she wore tied back in a professional bun, wore round glasses with thin silver frames, and looked to be no more than thirty – no older than Amy herself. "I've always felt that 'Dr. Bang' has a certain flare to it, so that will do."

“Dr. Bang is an expert in macro-biology analysis,” said Turner, “Her book on the dietary habits of grubs and larvae is mandatory reading for most forensic analysis curriculums. She will travel with you and perform biological analysis on the flora and fauna of each crime scene.”

“I’m honored to have your assistance, Dr. Bang,” Amy said, then smiled at the young woman, adding, “You’re right, that is fun to say.”

“And standing to her right is Special Agent Copperfield, who as I understand, is fresh back from a tour of duty with the United States Air Force,” Turned went on, gesturing to a tall, brawny man with dark brown hair trimmed in a short crew cut. Amy raised her eyebrows, surprised and impressed. The man certainly carried a military air about him, although he was not in uniform. Like Stone, he wore a plain black suit and matching tie over a stiffly pressed white collared shirt. He was the youngest of the lot, only twenty-five or twenty-six, Amy thought.

“I was stationed in Arizona, ma’am,” Copperfield said, neither confirming nor correcting the Chief Warden with the sharp nod he gave. His hands rested behind his back in parade-rest, as if the muscle-memory were still deeply ingrained in his stance and posture. “Doing surveillance scouting and aerial support over active combat zones. I was offered a contract by the Department of the Interior after my six-year commission was up with the Air Force.”

“It’s an honor to have you with us, Special Agent Copperfield,” Amy said, “Thank you.”

The man gave her another stiff nod and said nothing more.

“Special Agent Copperfield will not travel with you, but will be stationed here at a facility to known henceforth by the members of WHIT as ‘Mission Control’, ‘MC’, or “Michael Charlie” over the radio. He will provide aerial and satellite surveillance to assist in the manhunt portions of your investigation.”

“Woah, woah,” said Special Agent Stone, the only one of the group who had not yet been introduced, lifting his hands as if to call a halt, “Uh, no disrespect, Special Agent Copperfield, but is that even legal? Can we capture satellite images over American soil? Coming from one military man to another, Copperfield, doesn’t that sort of feel like spying on the home team?”

“The social acceptance of governmental satellite surveillance is definitely touchy,” Chief Warden Turner cut in, inserting herself between the icy stare of the two men, “but the legality is ironclad. It is common practice for agencies in the Intelligence Community to utilize commercial satellite imaging to advance the cause of justice, although that footage will be highly classified. Only Special Agent Copperfield will see it and provide remote assistance from his position at Mission Control. For that reason, it is critical for you all to trust each other absolutely. Together, you function like a well-oiled machine. If you start to fall apart, the machine fails as a whole. Now that you’re all introduced, let’s take a seat and move on to the case.”

“Not all of us,” Stone said, “What, no ‘honored to be working with you’ for little old Special Agent Stone?”

“The next time I feel honored by you, I’ll be sure to let you know,” Amy quipped lightly, and Stone gave her a cockeyed grin.

“Agent Stone of the FBI,” said Chief Warden Turner with a disapproving glare at Amy that carried on to Stone. Both shut their mouths like students called before the principal, and Amy hurried to sit down by Turner’s side. “And now, on to the case. The victim has been identified as Sarah Hamilton. You can find her dossier in the folder on the table – there’s copies inside for all of you.”

Amy picked up the manilla folder from the table, which she now saw contained five separate, smaller individual file folders within. She passed four of them across the table to the others before opening the last one herself.

Inside, she found a victim dossier for one Sarah Hendricks. She scanned the lines of information quickly – 27 years old, 5 feet 2 inches tall, 115 pounds, blonde hair, hazel eyes, registered address 3129 Sequia Heights in the town of Europa in Northern California.

Turing the page, Amy was confronted with a vivid, high-resolution photograph of a woman's pale, bloated body on the shore of a mountain lake. The woman's eyes were wide open, her eyeballs glazed with a milky white film. Her mouth was open, filled with algae and silt, but completely devoid of teeth. The stringy grey hair had once been blonde and long and probably quite pretty.

“It looks like somebody removed her fingerprints and dental records,” said Dr. Benedict gravely, peering at the same photo in his folder. “How was the victim identified?”

“The DNA sample taken from her bone marrow by the local coroner was a perfect match for that of Sarah Hamilton,” Turner answered the forensics expert, “Hamilton, as it turns out, was reported missing by her boyfriend more than three years ago. Nothing turned up and the case went cold until a patio boat full of leisure fishermen managed to dislodge her body from Lauder Lake.”

“Where is that?” Stone asked.

“Oregon,” Amy answered quickly. “Right across the California border, in the Siskiyou Mountains.”

“Show off,” Stone muttered, “How’d you know that?”

“It’s here in the dossier,” Amy retorted simply, “Look, there’s a little map.”

“Oh,” Stone looked down at the file in his hands. He hadn’t opened his yet. His toothpick bobbed with annoyance as he flipped open the dossier.

“Have the local authorities been able to contact Hamilton’s boyfriend?” Benedict asked, adding, “In my experience, it’s almost always the boyfriend.”

“So far no contact,” said Turner, “he moved about year after she disappeared. What we do know is that Hamilton was twenty-six years old when she disappeared, and had already graduated from college with a bachelor’s degree in communications by then.”

“What did she do for work?” Amy asked, shuffling through the dossier.

“It’s not listed here,” Turner replied, “It’s possible that she was unemployed or not reporting her income for some reason.”

“Is it possible she was being used as a narcotics mule?” Benedict asked, studying the details of the autopsy report, “There’s no industry that produces more John and Jane Does than drugs, and these desolate wilderness reserves make pretty remote burial sites for bodies that don’t want to be found.”

“So far there has been no evidence to shed light on the circumstances of the murder,” Turner replied.

“What about the cause of death?” asked Dr. Bang.

“Unclear,” the Chief Warden answered shortly. There was an awkward pause from the group around the conference table, accompanied by the shuffling of pages in everybody’s dossiers.

“The toxicology report is blank,” Amy pointed out. A general nodding passed around the table, and expectant eyes looked up at Chief Warden Turner.

“The toxicology report is being run on the victim’s hair follicles because,” Turner cleared her throat, as if the next revelation of the curious case turned even her stomach, “the victim’s body was discovered without blood.”

The silence lasted a full ten seconds. Every pair of eyebrows in the room knitted together.

“You mean…she was drained of her blood before her body was dumped?” Stone asked in a low voice. Chief Warden Turner sucked in her cheeks.

“I can’t answer that, Agent Stone, and neither can the dossier,” she replied after a poignant pause, “What became of the victim’s blood is a matter of speculation – we only know that there was no blood or plasma present in the cadaver dragged out of Lauder Lake. The DNA analysis had to be run using a marrow sample, and the toxicology report is being taken from the victim’s hair follicles because her vascular system was entirely empty.”

“Jesus,” Amy murmured, and noticed Special Agent Copperfield crossing himself out of the corner of her eye.

Another long, heavy moment dragged by. Then, Special Agent Stone spoke up.

“Alright, shoot; I’ll ask the question we’re all thinking,” he said, plucking the toothpick from his mouth and casting the same goofy grin around the table, although now Amy thought it was masking a cold-blooded fear. “Is it possible that we’re looking at the work of a vampire?”

“Come on, Stone,” Amy rolled her eyes disdainfully at the boyish-faced FBI agent at the end of the table, “This is a federal homicide investigation. Please take your theory-pitching more seriously and save your campfire ghost stories for the weenie roast.”

“With all due respect, Special Agent Rush,” Dr. Benedict cut in, “Special Agent Stone’s question may not be too far off base. While I agree it’s highly doubtful that the woods are haunted by Nosferatu, the practice of vampirism unfortunately reaches beyond the confines of mythology into the realm of the physical far too often. Many serial killers, occult societies, and even some masonic sects utilize human blood in their ceremonies. The symbolic transformation of wine into blood that takes place during the catholic ritual of the eucharist plays a large role in many mutilations of this nature, deeply rooted in the psyche of Western Civilization…”