8:00 p.m. She was starving but didn’t feel like going back downstairs and winding up in some conversation or other. The energy bars she’d just purchased would be her dinner.
As she ate, she browsed the internet for up-to-the-minute news, but there was nothing she didn’t already know.
She got ready for bed, skipping her usual shower, and crawled in. She decided she couldn’t take any more bad news—not that night. But she was afraid another body might have been found, so she searched until she found a podcast showing the most recent local news.
No more bodies. Not yet.
She went on a classic movie site and let an old adventure movie with Errol Flynn play. Despite herself, she thought about the charm of Errol Flynn’s character—and then about the FBI agent with whom she’d spent the day.
Nothing alike.
But that was just because she’d hardly ever seen him smile. She wondered if he might be as agile as Flynn. He seemed to have the same heroic ethics as Flynn’s character in this swashbuckler. She’d considered him an adversary of whom to be wary. Because he was skeptical of her!
But did that matter when he intended to investigate her friend’s disappearance and not scoff at her fears?
No, he could be as rude as he liked.
But as she drifted off, she had to acknowledge that there was something about him that attracted her.
Yes, he was lean and muscular and wore a dark suit very well. He had a chiseled face that was highly masculine and appealed to all her senses.
Meg rolled over and reminded herself that she’d worked with well-built men on a daily basis.
He was...different.
Worry about Lara, not him!
On the other hand, maybe it was better to wonder what her temporary partner might be like in bed than to spend the night obsessing about Lara.
She needed to sleep. She
really
needed to sleep.
She’d just started to drift off again when she heard someone at her door.
Meg bolted to a sitting position, instantly reaching for the sidearm at her bedside. She stared into the shadows left by the night-light.
She could swear that her doorknob had turned.
Leaping out of bed, she flattened herself against the wall, then threw the door open. No one there. She looked cautiously into the hallway. It was empty, as well.
Had a friend tested her door to see if she was sleeping?
She’d lived with her fellow cadets for months now. They didn’t try doors to see if they were locked; they rapped loudly. Or they texted. Or called her cell.
Barefoot, she moved silently down the stairs and into the lounge area, but the place was deserted. Everyone who’d been there earlier must have gone out for dinner or drinks. Guards patrolled all of Quantico; it was almost impossible to get in without providing an ID.
She checked the kitchen. No one. Finally, she gave up.
She went to the front door and carefully peered out. But her caution wasn’t needed.
There was no one around.
As she turned to head back in, she paused.
She could hear a motor gunning somewhere.
Ridiculous!
She was getting paranoid. She lived in one of the safest places in the country. Only military, physicians, cadets, agents, police and other authorized individuals could be here.
And she’d searched everywhere, found no one. She was, quite simply, paranoid. Maybe not a bad way to be out on the streets—but here?
She forced herself to go upstairs and back to bed, locking the door to her room again. She tried to sleep, but couldn’t. She was glad she’d received her regulation
real
Glock and had that to use rather than the red-handled fake they’d had during their training period.
Why would someone take on the dangerous task of stalking her here? Not that she was so dangerous, but this was Quantico.
And really, why would anyone stalk
her
?
* * *
What people didn’t know seldom hurt them, Slash thought.
But it could kill them!
What Ms. Brand-New-Agent didn’t know was that Slash McNeil was the most intelligent and organized serial killer
As she ate, she browsed the internet for up-to-the-minute news, but there was nothing she didn’t already know.
She got ready for bed, skipping her usual shower, and crawled in. She decided she couldn’t take any more bad news—not that night. But she was afraid another body might have been found, so she searched until she found a podcast showing the most recent local news.
No more bodies. Not yet.
She went on a classic movie site and let an old adventure movie with Errol Flynn play. Despite herself, she thought about the charm of Errol Flynn’s character—and then about the FBI agent with whom she’d spent the day.
Nothing alike.
But that was just because she’d hardly ever seen him smile. She wondered if he might be as agile as Flynn. He seemed to have the same heroic ethics as Flynn’s character in this swashbuckler. She’d considered him an adversary of whom to be wary. Because he was skeptical of her!
But did that matter when he intended to investigate her friend’s disappearance and not scoff at her fears?
No, he could be as rude as he liked.
But as she drifted off, she had to acknowledge that there was something about him that attracted her.
Yes, he was lean and muscular and wore a dark suit very well. He had a chiseled face that was highly masculine and appealed to all her senses.
Meg rolled over and reminded herself that she’d worked with well-built men on a daily basis.
He was...different.
Worry about Lara, not him!
On the other hand, maybe it was better to wonder what her temporary partner might be like in bed than to spend the night obsessing about Lara.
She needed to sleep. She
really
needed to sleep.
She’d just started to drift off again when she heard someone at her door.
Meg bolted to a sitting position, instantly reaching for the sidearm at her bedside. She stared into the shadows left by the night-light.
She could swear that her doorknob had turned.
Leaping out of bed, she flattened herself against the wall, then threw the door open. No one there. She looked cautiously into the hallway. It was empty, as well.
Had a friend tested her door to see if she was sleeping?
She’d lived with her fellow cadets for months now. They didn’t try doors to see if they were locked; they rapped loudly. Or they texted. Or called her cell.
Barefoot, she moved silently down the stairs and into the lounge area, but the place was deserted. Everyone who’d been there earlier must have gone out for dinner or drinks. Guards patrolled all of Quantico; it was almost impossible to get in without providing an ID.
She checked the kitchen. No one. Finally, she gave up.
She went to the front door and carefully peered out. But her caution wasn’t needed.
There was no one around.
As she turned to head back in, she paused.
She could hear a motor gunning somewhere.
Ridiculous!
She was getting paranoid. She lived in one of the safest places in the country. Only military, physicians, cadets, agents, police and other authorized individuals could be here.
And she’d searched everywhere, found no one. She was, quite simply, paranoid. Maybe not a bad way to be out on the streets—but here?
She forced herself to go upstairs and back to bed, locking the door to her room again. She tried to sleep, but couldn’t. She was glad she’d received her regulation
real
Glock and had that to use rather than the red-handled fake they’d had during their training period.
Why would someone take on the dangerous task of stalking her here? Not that she was so dangerous, but this was Quantico.
And really, why would anyone stalk
her
?
* * *
What people didn’t know seldom hurt them, Slash thought.
But it could kill them!
What Ms. Brand-New-Agent didn’t know was that Slash McNeil was the most intelligent and organized serial killer
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