Free 08 - December Dread by Jess Lourey Page A

three years,
it becomes the focus of my life. Nobody’ll be happier than me when this case is solved.” He glanced to his right, a rueful smile on his face. “The FBI will probably be happy to never see me again, too.”
    I leaned my head the rest of the way out. A man had broken off from the main group in front of Natalie’s house and was making his way toward us. He was an inch or so taller than Adam but beefy, his shoulders poking through his coat like armor. His expression was as inviting as stone, but Adam seemed to know him.
    “Agent Briggs,” Adam said, when the man was within ten feet.
    “De Luca. You still around?”
    Adam smiled crookedly. “Looks that way. You can get rid of me anytime. Just solve this case.” His voice was pitched light and easy, but his eyes and mouth were tight.
    Agent Briggs grunted and brushed ice off his bushy mustache. “I’ll see what I can do.” He turned his attention to me, and I felt reduced to the confidence and brains of a six-year-old. “Something we can do for you here, ma’am?”
    “No. I mean, I don’t think so.” It felt important suddenly that he not think I was an ambulance chaser. “I went to high school with Natalie.”
    “So you’re not a reporter like him?” He jerked his gloved thumb at Adam, balancing as much loathing as he could on one word.
    Don’t lie to the FBI. Don’t lie to the FBI. “I’m here as a friend. I heard about Natalie on the news last night, and I’m concerned for her family. I’m worried about the rest of us, too. Do you have any information on the killer?”
    “We know he’s a bad man.” He delivered this understatement in a flat voice.
    I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or just tired of answering that question. Either way, his response made me defensive. “That wasn’t information, it was un formation. As in, it was very unformative.”
    His eyes narrowed. “What’d you say your name was?”
    The words “Lola Clambaker” bubbled up in my throat, but I held them back with great effort. “Mira James,” I mumbled.
    He shrugged. “Sorry, Mira James, for the un formation. I’ve got work to do.”
    I watched his retreating back, and it wasn’t until the grinding sound of boots on snow disappeared that I realized Adam was chuckling. “I think you’ve made a friend for life.”
    “He’s not a real people person, is he?”
    “Supervisory Agent Walter Briggs is the best in the business. We’ve both been on this case too long. I think he’s a good man but no, he’s not the warm and fuzzy type. So,” he said, leaning back into my window. I smelled the soothing scents of cinnamon and aftershave. “You did know Natalie?”
    “I haven’t seen her since high school, but I used to know her. As much as you can know anyone at that age, I suppose. Have they figured out how the killer targets his victims?”
    His eyes grew pained again. “If they did, they’d have him. But no, other than their appearances, and some career choice similarities, none of the victims seems to have any connection with each other, though I heard Briggs is looking into a possible resort area in Mexico three of them visited at different times. You didn’t happen to know the first Minnesota victim, the one from White Plains, did you?”
    I shook my head.
    “Good for you, bad for the case.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a silver case. He slid a business card from it without removing his gloves, pulled a pen from his pocket to scribble something on the back, and handed it to me. “It’s too cold to stay out much longer, don’t you think? Here’s my card. Give me a call if you remember anything that might be relevant. I put Briggs’ number on the back, too. Like I said, he’s not a man whose time you want to waste, but if you get something good, he should know. Okay?”
    “Sure.” I took the card and considered telling him I was also a reporter, except it would be like telling Michael Jordan that I dribbled a