Free Strings of Fate (Mistresses of Fate) by Deirdre Dore Page A

Perfect.
    Mr. Patel left first, since he’d brought a different car. Apparently they were all heading back to the resident FBI station in Rome.
    Agent Midaugh brought her the coffee cups from the bedroom.
    “Just set them down in the kitchen. Thanks.”
    Agent Helmer came over to her; his face said he meant business. “I know it will be uncomfortable for you, Ms. Pascal, but we’d like you to continue with business as usual.”
    “Business as usual?” Christina frowned. “You mean you want me to continue working on online profiles? How can I do that? He’s using them to kill people.”
    “Odds are he knows we’re on to him, but if he doesn’t he’ll be easier to track. We’ll know the name he’s using, who he’s targeting, and we’ll be able to keep them safe.”
    Chris shook her head. “You think you’ll be able to keep them safe, but you can’t make any promises.”
    “We’ll do everything we can. We’ve also asked the sheriff’s department to send someone to watch over you.”
    Fate was small enough that it didn’t have a police department; instead the county sheriff had deputies assigned to patrol the town. They even had a small office in the circle, but it was only open on weekdays.
    “Great,” Chris muttered sarcastically. “The whole town will know I’m besties with a serial killer. Awesome.”
    Agent Helmer ignored her and picked up his jacket, shoving first one arm through and then the other. Chris had a brief flash of déjà vu, like she’d seen him dressing in extreme annoyance before.
    When he was finished, he addressed her formally, as if he hadn’t just spent the last several hours in her home, probing into her life and work. “Ms. Pascal, thank you for your assistance.”
    Chris folded her arms over her chest, but managed a polite nod.
    They were standing there silently, not shaking hands, when Agent Midaugh came back in the room.
    “We’ll see you in the morning.” He turned to Agent Helmer. “Ready?”
    “Yeah.”
    The two men headed to her door while she stayed in the doorway to her kitchen with her arms folded over her chest.
    Agent Helmer looked back, a frown gathering between his eyes. “Will you be all right here alone, Ms. Pascal?”
    Chris was a little surprised that he had asked; he certainly didn’t seem to want to. After all, what was he going to do if she said no?
    She looked at his face, again seeing the handsome features beneath his unwarranted aggression, suddenly wishing he would stay. Overwhelmed once again by the pressing need to have someone with her tonight.
    “I’ll be fine,” she prevaricated. After all, it wasn’t a lie, exactly; fine was a relative term. What she intended to be was drunk . . . very drunk, if she could help it . . . and her good friend Jack Daniel’s and her other good friend Coke would undoubtedly be happy to help her with that.

12

    RYAN MADE SURE that the door to the lobby of the building shut and locked behind him on the way out. They’d parked behind the building, next to what they knew was Ms. Pascal’s Subaru. Ryan took the passenger seat; Midaugh tended to get carsick if he didn’t drive.
    “What’s on your mind?” Midaugh asked about twenty minutes into the drive back to Rome. Ryan realized he’d been silent, turning over the case, the girl, the strangeness of the unsub’s messages in his mind.
    “I can’t get the way the unsub described her out of my head.”
    “As his Creator?”
    “Yes. BAU believes that he’s one of the rare ones that is actually suffering from some kind of psychosis. It’s likely he can’t interact normally with others without people noticing or assuming that he’s different. So instead of meeting people on his own and charming them, he relies on her to create connections for him.”
    “Why does that worry you so much?”
    Ryan wasn’t sure he could explain. The last serial murder case he’d worked had involved someone suffering from a psychosis as well. Joy Cantrip had