Free Broken Bonds Boxed Set 1-3 by Trisha Wolfe Page A

methodical, technique—he took his time torturing the vic. He brought and used his own weapon.” I look up and glance around. “I don’t see any red candles, and the rope on her ankles looks similar to the rope we recovered from the first vic…so he brought his own torture kit.”
    Quinn stares at the scene, too. “Looks like a blitz attack to me. Perp knocks on the door, and for whatever reason—she knows him; he looks harmless—she opens it. He pushes his way inside and clubs her over the head with the vase on the entryway table.”
    “Maybe. That’s likely,” I say, envisioning his scenario as he walks us through it. “But then we have to wonder, if it is the same offender, why he didn’t blitz the first victim—which style fits his true MO? He plans the attacks ahead of time, but the first time he subdued the vic without a struggle. The apartment was in order; he wasn’t enraged. He was patient and precise. The first vic was also dressed, whereas this one didn’t get his royal treatment.”
    “And this vic doesn’t match the victimology so far,” Quinn adds. “First vic had brown hair, she has blond.” He nods down at the body. “Body type is different, too. Petite verses tall and curvy.”
    “It’s possible he doesn’t have a type…just needs a surrogate to complete his fantasy.” Standing, I pull Quinn’s coat tighter around my waist. “Where’s the bedroom? Have the unis processed it yet?”
    “They’re working their way to it.” Quinn points me in the right direction, and we walk together down a hallway. “That’s another thing: two different locations for the kill. I thought sadists kept to their rituals?”
    As we enter the bedroom, the sight knocks the air from my lungs. A red dress is laid out across the foot of the bed.
    Quinn stalks toward it and peers down, then over at me. “Damn. Starting to look like the same MO. I’m thinking something upset his plans, and he didn’t get to dress her. Maybe she fought back, was more than he bargained on, and that’s what set him off. Decided to kill her without the dress being part of his ritual.” He looks at me with a grim frown.
    “I think you’re right,” I say, and his eyebrows hike toward his hairline. “Something going wrong during his ritual would explain the rage. The heightened level of torture and the overkill. He was angry.”
    As I continue to look around the small bedroom, seeking signs of a struggle, I patiently wait for Quinn to comment on the fact that I’m agreeing with his theory. His silence draws my attention.
    He studies me for a long second, glances down at the dress, then walks toward me. “Take off the coat.”
    My head jerks back. “What?”
    Not wasting any time to clarify, Quinn stands before me and grasps the lapels of the coat, then pushes it open. He slides it off my shoulders gently, but still, the feel of his rough palms grazing my skin stirs a delicate ripple of anxiety within me.
    I try to step away, but he says, “Just stand still for a minute.” He drops his coat to the floor as he moves behind me. “Take off your holster and place you wrists together in front of you. Like you’re bound. Keep your ankles close together.”
    He wants to reenact the scene. My chest tightens painfully, and I shake my head. “We don’t have any facts to go on—”
    “Just…trust me,” he says, his body way too close, his heat pressing hard against me. Resigned, I slip off my SIG shoulder holster and set it down. “This is where it must have gone wrong for the UNSUB. The first vic was killed in her bedroom. The dress is spread out here… You’re the profiler. Get inside his head and find out what set him off. Why he couldn’t complete his ritual.”
    As much as I hate this idea, he has a point. In order to understand the perpetrator, we have to understand his ritual. “Okay,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Assuming he didn’t drug her, he needed to subdue her early on. We’ll go with your