Already Gone (A Laura Frost FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 1) by Blake Pierce (e book reader TXT) 📕

He was already digging his phone out ofhis pocket. “I’m calling the sheriff for backup,” he said. “We need to leavesomeone here, to guard the place in case he comes back.”

“He’s not coming back,” Laura said,shaking her head. “Not now. He’s too smart. He would have to expect that we’dfind out who he is, and besides, with the noise we made, the neighbors will betalking. He won’t get within sight of the building without figuring out what’sgoing on and turning the other way.”

“I’m calling them anyway,” Nate toldher. “We need the guards plus an APB with his photo. You try and find some clueabout where he’s going next.”

Laura nodded. What Nate said made sense.It was likely that the killer would have left some kind of clue behind. Sometrace of his intentions. He might have written something down somewhere, and ifit wasn’t on his person, she would be able to find it.

There was too much planning that wentinto this for it to be all in the guy’s head. Or maybe that was just what shewas telling herself to keep her hopes up. To keep the faith. She knew who itwas, she knew his name and his face. She was a whisker away from getting proof.

So why did Laura feel as though thefourth victim was slipping out of her hands?

She started in the kitchen, riflingthrough drawers, checking every cupboard, every surface. There was a singlebattered cookbook, the pages stained and even charred in one place. She pickedit up and shook it upside down, looking for anything loose that might fall out.That done, she turned her attention to the living room. She could hear Natetalking in the hall, hear him requesting all of the backup they might need tohelp run Ed Bronston down.

There was nothing on the coffee table,nothing on the floor around it. Laura turned up the seats of the sofa, and onlyfound a giant slash across the bottom of one of them. She slipped her handsinto the gap, trying to feel whether there was something shoved between thecushion and the case. When it turned up empty, she retreated and regrouped,heading for the bedroom.

The closet revealed only a few shabbyitems of clothing, most of them looking as though they had been through thewash a few too many times, faded and thin. The bed was unmade, the sheetsrumpled. Laura grimaced to herself before lifting up each of the pillows andeven searching under the mattress, grateful that she was wearing gloves toprevent herself from contaminating the evidence.

There was a wonky dresser by the bed,missing one foot. In all of the drawers Laura only found a few more items ofclothing, several books, a comb, and a couple of other items of personalgrooming. She rifled through each of the books one by one, making sure thatthere was nothing written in the margins or slipped inside.

Nothing.

By the time Nate was done with his call,she was still looking through the bathroom. There was nothing of any notewhatsoever in the cramped space, and she backed out before the flickering lightbulb overhead gave her a headache.

“Nothing,” she said, with a sigh. “It’slike he barely even lives here. He has nothing.”

“Came out of the psych ward, got dumpedinto this place, couldn’t afford to keep going.” Nate made a tsking sound withhis tongue. “Makes sense he would get bitter about it. Angry, even. I wonderhow long he’s been stewing on all of this.”

“Long enough to find out everythingabout me.” Laura wrapped her arms around herself, staring at the space where EdBronston made his home. There was nothing homely about it. She tried to imagineliving here, and couldn’t. Not even at her lowest, when the alcohol had takennearly everything from her. Even her own cramped apartment, filled withsecondhand furniture, looked like a palace compared to this.

She had mementos. Belongings. Framedphotographs and books and decorations, even if they were simple ones. Bronstonhad nothing.

She didn’t feel sorry for him. Not inthe slightest. It was his own violent behavior that had brought him to thispoint. But she could see where Nate was coming from.

“We’re going to get him,” Nate said,with a firmness that was reassuring.

“But how? I mean, what now?” Lauraasked. “We can’t just sit around and wait for the APB to catch him. He couldslip past a dozen checkpoints and be out of town. He could be in someone’shouse waiting for them already. We can’t just wait.”

“You’re right,” Nate told her. His handswept backward over his close-cropped black hair, rubbing it thoughtfully. “Wehave to be proactive. We’ve got to try and figure out where he would be goingnext.”

“The next victim,” Laura said, nodding.

It seemed like an insurmountable task.But right now, it was the only direction they had left to turn.

They were going to have to try.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

Laura sat in front of the computer,trying not to panic. Even the short wait for the deputies to arrive and takeover, and then the drive back to the precinct, had been almost unbearable. Nowshe was starting to appreciate the sheer size of the task that lay ahead ofthem, and she was about ready to tear out her own hair.

“Well, at least we can be happy thecensus was taken not too long ago,” Nate said. He was tapping a pen against theside of the desk beside her, a noise that was just about driving Laura out ofher mind.

“That doesn’t help a whole lot,” Lauramumbled. She was waiting for the results to finish loading. A search of theresidential records of Albany for anyone with the first name Alex was, perhapspredictably, taking a long time.

“We have to narrow it down,” Nate said. “He’sonly killed women before. You really think he’s going to go after a guy?”

Laura thought about it, then hesitated. “Iguess it’s not uncommon for women to be called Alex, too. Maybe he hasn’tchanged his MO.”

“So we can narrow it down to probablyhalf, right?” Nate said, as Laura ticked a box on the screen and reloaded theresults. This time they came back far quicker, but there were still pages andpages of them. “What else?”

Laura squeezed her eyes shut, as