The Hunted Girls by Jenna Kernan (best book club books for discussion txt) 📕

Skogen beamed at her. “That was perfect. Just the right amount of a hostage-reading-demands vibe.”

“I’m not a hostage.”

“No. Of course not.”

It was an odd thing to say.

“Now we wait for word from your boy.”

“He’s not my boy,” she said, more disgruntled by the minute. How long before the major networks picked up the story of Arleen Howler’s daughter reading a killer’s rant on television? How long before it was up on YouTube and she was a GIF or meme? She felt dirty and the makeup itched.

She headed to a dressing room to wash off the mask. It was not until she cupped the cold water on her scrubbed face that she realized she was sobbing.

Damn them all for making her do this and damn this hunter for fixing his deadly aim on her. There was more than one way to kill a person, she realized.

Sometimes all it took was a very bright spotlight.

An ant on the sidewalk, under the pinpoint light of a magnifying glass, knew that much.

She needed the focus on him. Not her. How this affected her didn’t matter if they caught him.

Several serial killers were apprehended because they had fixed on a single person associated with the investigation and opened communications. The Zodiac picked a district attorney. Son of Sam chose a newspaper reporter. The BTK Killer selected a television studio and the lead investigator.

She reassured herself that such contact led to captures. Except with Jack the Ripper. He’d contacted the papers, or so it was believed. But the Ripper had never been stopped. Some thought he’d just moved to Chicago.

Nadine toweled off her face and used her lip gloss. Then she pulled herself together and downed a second antidepressant.

She studied herself in the mirror, thinking about Jo Summerville as she met her own stare.

“He’s not going to release her. But if he does, he’s not capturing her again.”

There was a knock on the door. Skogen’s voice was muffled by the barrier.

“He got your message. Floral arrangement just arrived at the studio for you. The card is from your… the Huntsman.”

She swung open the door and extended her hand for the card.

He passed her the note, now tucked in an evidence bag.

“Any way to trace this?” she asked.

“Delivery guy is detained. Coleman is on his way to the florist.”

She nodded and glanced at the message, seeing a series of numbers. It took only a moment for her to decipher them.

“Is this geographic coordinates?”

“Yes. Vea and the sheriff are en route.”

“Where?”

“River Forest in Ocala.”

The bag slipped from her fingers. Had he left Jo Summerville at the site of Dennis Howler’s grave?

Skogen retrieved the evidence and they rushed from the studio and headed to the forest. When they arrived at River Forest camp, they were directed to the search already in progress with dogs, but Nadine knew a faster way.

“Come on,” she said, motioning Skogen back to the vehicle.

He glanced in the direction of the search party and then followed. From the foliage came the bloodhounds’ bay. In only a few moments, they reached Deadman’s Circle. Storm clouds billowed as a cold current of air shook the trees, making the palmetto fronds rattle.

The dogs were on the scent, but she didn’t need them. She knew exactly where she’d find Jo Summerville. Nadine walked to the animal trail, using her hand to push aside the palmetto and spiderwebs as she ran to the unmarked grave, beating the dogs to the clearing. Skogen was at her heels.

It takes an hour for spiders to weave a web. Her mind tossed the information into her conscious thoughts, alerting her that no one had traveled this path recently.

“Where are you going?”

He drew up short at the site before them.

There, pinned to the tree with rope and arrows, just beyond the disturbed earth of Dennis Howler’s unmarked grave, was Jo Summerville.

Nadine stepped forward, raising a cloud of flies that had darkened the woman’s eyes and gaping mouth, now filled with what looked like cooked rice, but was, Nadine knew, blowfly eggs.

Maggots wriggled from the open wounds covering her lower legs.

“Dead,” said Skogen. “Son of a lying bitch!”

Nadine leaned in to read the note over Jo’s heart, pinned to the woman’s naked chest by an arrow, and read aloud.

“‘I have complied with our bargain, releasing my captive.’”

“Bastard.” Skogen ground out the word between clenched teeth.

Semantics; releasing her did not mean he would release her alive. Death was a kind of release, she mused.

Nadine stared at the woman, the friendly vivacious bartender from their favorite spot. Rage boiled, rising within her like hot wax. This was more than a game of wits. This was a mission and she would not stop until he was in a cage like the animal he was.

“I need to release Kilpatrick,” said Skogen.

“I need to speak to my team.”

Nadine saw something, a twitch at the corner of the woman’s eye. A shadow, from the ever-changing light dancing across the open patch in the forest, or the wind moving the corpse?

She leaned closer, thinking, Please don’t be alive.

She spoke, raising her voice to be heard above the wind. “Jo? Jo Summerville?”

The woman opened her eyes, choking as she stared directly at Nadine.

Twenty-Two

Jo Summerville died en route to the hospital. Mercifully, thought Nadine.

She remained at the site of the homicide with Skogen as he processed the scene. Axel Vea and Layah Coleman arrived, followed by men and women from both the Orlando and Maitland FBI field offices.

Crime scene photographers and techs came and went. Jo’s body, now at the hospital, would soon be in the hands of the medical examiner and Juliette had gone to help expedite that release.

The day stretched into the evening. The rain came in torrents, further hindering the investigation and soaking Nadine. The insects, deterred by the wind and rain, returned in force after the storm, driving Nadine into the vehicle until the repellent could be located. As the gloom was giving over to true dark, Demko