In a child abduction case, the first hours were crucial. The survival rate plummeted with each passing hour.

Police had located the Turner family van at a truck stop along I-81 late on the second day, but there had been no sign of Tobi. She had simply vanished.

Volunteers had posted flyers of the girl’s picture on street corners, in bars, and in grocery stores. The media had broadcast her story for months. Milk cartons and roadside billboards had featured Tobi’s likeness. But no credible leads had ever panned out.

She’d disappeared.

Until now.

“Mr. Sherman, it’s going to be a while before I can let you back on this site,” Nevada said.

Sherman ran his hand over his head. “Shit. Do you really think that’s Tobi Turner?”

“Most likely.” If this was Tobi, her family was facing more heartache. In his experience, grim discoveries didn’t bring closure.

“That poor girl. We searched every corner of this county.”

Volunteers from around the state had walked the woods, checked dumpsters, and conducted room-to-room searches in abandoned buildings. “Were you on a search crew?”

“Just about everyone volunteered.” Sherman shook his head. “She was here all this time.”

Nevada had witnessed enough human carnage to know evil walked among them. Part of the reason he’d tried to take a break in June had been to escape the darkness closing in on him. Now, it seemed, it had found him again.

Nevada called his deputy, who he’d recently promoted to chief of investigations. Deputy Brooke Bennett had been with the sheriff’s department for ten years. In her early thirties, she was raising a fourteen-year-old son with the help of her mother. Bennett would likely have his job one day.

“Deputy Bennett.” Her tone was crisp and cool.

“It’s Nevada. Call the state police. We need their forensic people down here ASAP. I think we’ve found the Turner girl.”

“Tobi Turner?” Shock, sadness, and anger all vibrated around the name.

“Yeah.”

Silence stretched over the line for a moment before she offered a terse “Where?”

“The Wyatt barn.”

“I’m on it.”

“Good.” He surveyed the pitched roof and the darkened corners. It was the perfect place for a monster to do his work.

“Sheriff, the timing isn’t great, but I received the results on the rape kits.”

When Nevada had been elected, he had immediately sent the entire set of rape kits to be tested. He’d also asked Bennett to visit the surrounding jurisdictions and collect untested DNA sexual assault evidence.

“What did you find out?” Nevada asked.

“We only have results on eight from Deep Run. Three samples were badly degraded, and the reports on them were inconclusive. Two matched known felons who are currently incarcerated. And the last three . . .”

Her heavy tone told him there was one more shoe to drop.

“The same perpetrator committed those three rapes,” she said.

He stared at the math book lying open on the white cloth. “When did these attacks occur?”

“These three all date back to the summer of 2004.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“I pulled the files myself.”

Nevada’s gaze drifted to the scattered bones. “The same year Tobi Turner vanished.”

CHAPTER THREE

Saturday, November 16, 11:45 p.m.

In the early days, he hadn’t had the nerve to kill. He’d been afraid. A coward. So he had tracked his targets. And for a time, he had felt a sense of mastery over the weakness that stalked him.

But it hadn’t been long before simply watching wasn’t enough. He had needed to do more to prove to himself that he could master anything. So he had begun entering women’s homes, first when no one was there and then when they were sleeping. He had loomed over them while they had lain tucked in their beds and watched the slow rise and fall of their chests. He had savored the sound of their soft moans and watched as they rolled into different positions as their unconscious minds wrestled with the sensation that something was wrong.

To commemorate his visits, he had stolen personal items as trophies. One earring. A shoe. A scarf. Nothing huge. Small mementos of the time they had shared alone.

The first time he decided to rape a woman, he hadn’t really prepared. He’d been watching her in the dark and knew if he left without taking her, that little victory would have been hollow. So he had climbed on top of her. Her strength had surprised him, and he had scrambled to bind her hands and shove himself inside her. It had been a victory, but a narrow one.

He had planned more carefully after that. He had begun leaving behind rope under their beds, knowing the bindings would be waiting for him when he returned.

The next woman had been easier to control. The rope had allowed him to tie her spread eagle to her bed. His body had grown harder when he’d seen the fear in her eyes as he’d shoved her panties into her mouth. He had savored the salty taste of the sweat beading between her breasts as he’d thrust into her. He had loved the bang, bang, bang of her racing heart when his hands had wrapped around her neck.

Alone in the room with her, he had realized he was God. He had the power of life and death. Win or lose. It was an intoxicating sensation. With each new conquest, he had taken his partners closer to the brink of death.

When the opportunity to kill had arrived, he had seized upon it. Squeezing the life from her body had provided a greater rush than even he had imagined. It had surpassed any victory or reward the regular world offered. It had put him above everyone. It had been the ultimate win.

And once he had crossed the line, he’d known it wouldn’t be long before he was chasing that exquisite high again.

By then the police had been looking for his first murder victim, whose face had appeared daily in the evening news. Her body hadn’t been found, but everyone had known something terrible had happened. As the cops had pieced together her last day, he had stitched together an alibi, silenced threats, and kept his head low.

When the storm had passed, relief quickly gave way to a fresh hunger. And soon he had sailed toward fresh hunting grounds.

For fifteen years, he had been very careful. He had moved from town to town, state to state, jurisdiction to jurisdiction. He had selected his subjects with the utmost scrutiny, attacked on nearly moonless nights, and never carried his phone with him or used his own car. No digital trails. He had kept moving. Kept quenching his thirst for death.

And now he had a new subject. She’d been on his radar for weeks. He had learned everything about her.

Tonight she would be home alone. After finishing up a double shift, she would slip out of her work clothes, shower, and change into an oversize T-shirt with no panties. He could already taste her.

He approached the side window of her empty house and wedged a screwdriver between the window and casing. He wiggled it back and forth until the cheap vinyl sprang open. He pushed open the window, then hoisted himself up on the sill. His feet still dangling over the garden, he toed off his shoes.

He swung his legs around and lowered himself into the dining room. He moved through the house, double-checking each room. Fifteen years had taught him to never assume anything.

In the kitchen, he spotted a cereal bowl and spoon in the sink. A blue dish towel was crumpled into a heap, so he took a moment to straighten and drape it over the faucet. Porcelain salt and pepper shakers representing Snow White and Prince Charming stood side by side on the windowsill. He plucked up Snow White and slid her into his backpack.

In her room, he walked to the dresser and studied the collection of earrings.

He pocketed a single hoop earring and a diamond stud and then carefully arranged all the jewelry into a neat row.

He removed a skein of red rope from his bag and placed it directly under the bed. Climbing on the bed, he pretended she was under him and struggling and he reached under the bed, making sure he could lay his hands on the rope quickly. He did this several times until he was confident it was perfectly accessible.

He slipped under the covers, drawing the unmade sheets to his nose. He inhaled her scent. His erection pounded.

When he heard a car pull in to the driveway, he hopped off the bed, carefully smoothed the top comforter, and hid in a closet in her roommate’s room.

He listened as she turned on music, sang off-key, and puttered around the kitchen. Within twenty minutes, she was in bed, and the blue glow of the television shimmered from atop the dresser.

He imagined her eyes slowly drifting shut as she nestled under the covers. She felt safe. Warm and cozy.

When the television light clicked off, he still lingered inside the closet. He was in no rush.

Another hour passed before he eased open the closet door. Cautiously, he peered into her bedroom and saw her supple form as she lay on her side in the bed. She faced toward the window.

He moved closer. She wasn’t wearing her favorite oversize T-shirt, making him wonder if she was still wearing her panties.