Up and down. Side to side. Was she on the water? She didn’t remember getting into her father’s old fishing boat, but she must have. God, the water’s choppy. I’m getting seasick, she thought.
“Nik, we’re here.” Someone pushed on her shoulder. “Wake up.”
Nikki’s eyes peeled open. She wiped the saliva off her mouth, her mind sluggish. “Where?”
“Your house, remember?”
A yawn made her jaw crack. Blurry images of the past few hours flashed through her head. Stupid, stupid. “Sorry. Fell asleep.”
“More like passed out.” Annmarie helped her escape her seat belt. “You sure you’re okay? You still look green.”
Nikki had already vomited three times in the last hour. Her stomach had to be empty. “I’m good. Where’s my bag?”
“In the back. I’ll grab it.”
Nikki fumbled with the handle of the door and shoved it open. The house was dark; her parents would definitely be in bed. She just had to quietly sneak inside and get to her bedroom. As long as she avoided the squeaky parts of the steps, her parents would never know about what happened tonight.
She tested her balance, putting both feet on the solid ground before she carefully stood. Her legs seemed strong enough, but she still held onto the car as she tiptoed around and collected her purse.
“Thanks again for picking me up.” Acid rose in Nikki’s mouth. She told herself she would not puke in the driveway.
“No problem,” Annmarie said. “Call me when you wake up tomorrow afternoon. We can talk more about what happened…”
Nikki preferred not to talk about tonight ever again. “Okay.” She quietly shut the door and shouldered her purse.
Annmarie whipped the little Escort around the circular drive, and her headlights disappeared down the lane.
Summer wind rustled through the cornfields, and Nikki tried to walk faster. She hated the cornfields at night and wished her parents would put up some sort of security light in front of the house. She grabbed the stair rail and took the steps one at a time. The old wooden slats creaked as she crept to the door, fumbling in her bag for her keys.
She found her key and reached for the door.
And then her hand froze in midair.
The door’s decorative glass pane had been shattered.
She tried the handle, and the door swung open. Fear locked her knees and made her stomach turn. Her vision cleared, her body on high alert.
Darkness greeted her, but she could see the shards of colored glass scattered on the floor.
Nikki’s gut told her to run to the neighbor’s. But what if her parents were hurt?
She took a shaky step inside and reached for the light switch. The sudden intrusion of light made her wince, and the hallway seemed to narrow and lengthen, like the funhouse at the state fair. Her knees knocked together as she crept down the hall toward the stairwell, listening for the sound of her father’s snoring.
He was probably awake and waiting for her, she reasoned. Nikki could just imagine her parents’ reaction if her paranoia about being caught after sneaking out made her overreact and waste the police’s time. They didn’t live in Minneapolis, she told herself. Stillwater was about as safe and boring as church on Sunday.
Thirteen steps to the second floor. Nikki once scared Annmarie into believing the thirteen steps meant the house was a spirit portal. Nine-year-old kids believed anything.
The loose railing rattled from Nikki’s shaking hand. Random dark spots dotted the carpet; she rubbed her eyes, but the spots were still there. Dribbles, and then blobs that got a little larger on each step until they took a definitive shape. Shoe prints on the beige carpet leading to her parents’ bedroom, a familiar swoosh logo visible in the stronger prints.
Nikki stopped outside the closed door to her parents’ room.
No sound came. No snoring.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she slowly opened the door.
Blood dripped down the side of the bed. Her mother’s arm dangled off the edge, her hand limp.
More bile rose in Nikki’s mouth. Her vision blurred again. Her face had gone numb, but her heart raced.
She had to be dreaming.
Then why did she smell copper and gunfire?
The hall light burned a spotlight on her mother. Nikki inched toward the bed, panic attacking her nervous system.
“Mom?”
Lifeless brown eyes stared back at her. A face frozen in anguish, blood on her nightgown pooling next to her body and dripping off the side.
Nikki grabbed her mother’s hand and put two fingers on her wrist. No pulse.
Nikki’s breath came in short rasps, the vodka still threatening to come back up. She remembered the bloody footsteps… the killer had walked through her mother’s blood.
And then she heard it. A familiar series of creaks. Someone was slowly walking upstairs. Someone who didn’t know which steps to avoid.
Bitter, cold wind tore through Nikki’s heavy coat and snow crept into the tops of her boots as she waded through the drifts. She swore under her breath. The Arctic Circle was probably warmer than Minnesota right now.
Deer tracks covered the snow, making a path that led up to the barbed-wire fence several hundred yards to her right. Bright yellow “No trespassing” signs had been posted along the fence line. It was prime hunting ground, although only small game was currently in season. She envied the deer’s ability to jump the fence and shelter in the trees; instead she was fighting the wind in the flatness of the surrounding cornfields.
A man in a thick Washington County Sheriff’s coat zipped up to his nose joined her, his wool hat low on his forehead. “Agent Hunt?”
“Special Agent Nikki Hunt, FBI.” She shook his gloved hand, her frosty breath filling the air between them.
“Sergeant Kent Miller with the sheriff’s office. We haven’t touched the bodies. Knew you’d want to see them first.”
“You’re certain it’s the girls who disappeared two months ago?”
Bits of blowing snow freckled over Miller’s dark skin. “Yes. They’re well preserved, frozen solid, just like the others. But no red ribbons. That’s why I was on the fence about calling you, but Sheriff Hardin insisted on notifying the FBI.”
The others, meaning the five women Frost had killed over the past half-decade. Frost was the first serial killer Nikki had chased, and the only one she hadn’t caught. Frost stuck to the same routine every year: he took a woman in the late fall, kept her alive for an undetermined amount of time, and then froze her body immediately after he’d killed her. A red ribbon tied the victim’s hair back, and they were always wiped down with bleach, leaving little transfer evidence. Frost bounced between northern Minnesota, Wisconsin and Michigan, often taking a victim from one state and dumping her in another. He always left the frozen body in the snow at the peak of winter, in an area it would easily be noticed. A city park, an empty lot across from a high school, an unplowed parking lot—these were his places of choice. An isolated cornfield in the back of a large acreage was the last place she’d expect to find one of his victims. Nikki was certain the public’s reaction was part of Frost’s addiction. So why would he leave these bodies out here where it could be months before they were found?
“The Frost Killer has never left two victims,” Nikki said.
“Sheriff thinks he might be bored with one victim,” Miller said, a slight edge to his voice. “You’re the expert, though.”
“This is his favorite time of year.” Nikki followed Miller’s long strides into the cornfield. She’d always found them creepy. Her friends earned money in the summer from detasseling, but Nikki refused to set foot in them. Too claustrophobic. “Any idea when they were dumped?”
“Not with any certainty. We didn’t have serious snow accumulation until mid-December. I double-checked, and we’ve had sixteen inches since then. We got about five inches of snow the day before yesterday, but the wind’s causing it to blow and drift.”
Thirty mph-plus winds, Nikki thought. “Who owns the field?”
“Farmer up the road,” Miller said. “It’s a back field, used mostly for sweetcorn.”
“He probably doesn’t come here much at all during the winter.” Nikki wondered how many people knew this.
“Nope,” Miller replied. “One of his dogs got loose and his son chased it down the lane. He’s the one who found the bodies.”
Poor kid. “Did the dog come into contact with the bodies?”
“No, thankfully. They’re just up here.”
Eight years on the job and dozens of victims should have hardened Nikki, but seeing dead children never got easier. Her throat tightened, her hands balled into fists. Child killers deserved a special place in hell.
The two girls lay on their sides, face to face. A fine layer of snow partially covered their torsos. Frayed brown rope looped beneath their bottoms and over their necks, securing them in the fetal position. Clothing covered their necks, but lividity would show if the ropes were attached before or after death. “The killer must have roped them like that because the freezer wasn’t big enough.”
“None of Frost’s victims were like this?” Miller asked.
“So far, all of his have been laid out flat.” Each victim’s hands were always folded over their midsection, like a body prepared for funeral. That was a detail Nikki had intentionally kept from the press, instead describing them as laid out in the snow.
Miller shook his head, his attention on the dead teenagers. “I never stopped looking for them,” he muttered.
“I’m sure you didn’t.” Nikki knew that every cop had cases they agonized over, and ones like this were the kind that drove a person to the bottle.
“The darker-haired girl is Kaylee Thomas,” Miller said. “Madison Malone is the other.”
“They’re both high-school freshmen?” Frost’s youngest victim had been eighteen.
“They’re young for Frost, but Kaylee looks more like a senior. Maybe he targeted her, and Madison was collateral damage?” He sounded embarrassed at the theory. Frost’s methods hadn’t changed in five years.
“Is that the sheriff’s opinion, or yours?” Nikki would bet her savings that Sheriff Hardin hadn’t braved the weather to come to the scene.
“Sheriff’s.”
Nikki shivered from the cold. “You’re the responding officer?”
Miller nodded.
“What was your gut reaction when you first saw them?”
“Initially I wondered about Hardin’s theory, but there are no red ribbons. The scene feels staged to me. My gut tells me someone local did this, thinking the isolated location meant it would be spring before they were found.”
“I agree, but I’m sure the sheriff doesn’t like that idea,” Nikki said. “Can’t say I blame him. It’s certainly more complicated if it’s someone else.”
Wind and snow stung Nikki’s eyes as she knelt next to Kaylee. The girl’s thick, dark hair had been streaked with blond highlights. The hem of her sweater had been torn in the back, like someone had grabbed her from behind. Neither girl wore shoes. One of Kaylee’s socks had a hole in the toe, revealing her pink nail polish.
Nikki adjusted her winter gloves and carefully touched Kaylee’s arm. “Are these the same clothes they disappeared in?”
Miller nodded. “Clothes are pretty much frozen to both bodies.”
“Did Kaylee have the blond highlights?”
“She did them at home a couple of days before the girls disappeared.”
“Is there a picture of her with the highlights?” Nikki’s crime scene guru might be able to figure how much the hair had grown out—if any—before she died.
“Not that I know of,” Miller said.
Kaylee’s sweater was frozen tightly to her neck. Madison’s fisted hands were tucked under her chin, but Nikki could see the lightweight coat was zipped to her throat.
“Why is Madison wearing a coat?”
“She had a thin shirt on,” Miller said. “Her dad made her put on a coat before she and Kaylee left the house.”
Nikki wondered if perhaps the girls had been ambushed, or if they’d gone into someone’s home and taken their shoes off, intending to stay awhile.
A shout startled Nikki and Miller. A tall man with skinny legs and a Vikings wool hat trudged through the snow. The hat’s braided tassels whipped in the wind, making the ear flaps wiggle like a floppy-eared dog.
“Are your bird legs strong enough for those boots?” Nikki asked.
Agent Liam Wilson gave her the finger. “They keep my feet warm.”
Liam had joined the unit fresh from the FBI academy a year ago. His tall, lean frame and red hair earned him plenty of teasing, but he’d taken it all in his stride. His patience and attention to detail, along with his instincts, made him a valuable asset to the small criminal profiling unit.
“Where’s Court?” The elements had likely destroyed any chance of finding good trace evidence, but she’d worked with Courtney Hart long enough to know she could find a needle in a haystack.
“Right here.” Courtney plodded through the snow behind Liam, carrying her kit. “How frickin’ deep is this stuff?”
“It’s not that deep,” Liam said. “You’re just Oompa-Loompa sized.”
“I’m average height. You’re the anomaly.”
“Sergeant Miller, this is Agent Liam Wilson and our lead crime scene analyst Courtney Hart. She’s one of our best forensic scientists and the head of my Emergency Response Team,” Nikki said. “Liam worked the last Frost case with me, and Courtney’s been with me since my unit’s first investigation.”
Liam shook Miller’s hand. “I’d say nice to meet you, but under the circumstances, it sucks.”
Courtney murmured her agreement, nodding at Miller before shuffling through the snow to examine the bodies. “I followed our Frost protocol, so it’s just me today. Bodies frozen like this unfortunately take a while to process, and we don’t need a full team scouring the snow.” She dropped to all fours and leaned over the girls’ heads, her nose within an inch of their faces.
“What’s she doing?” Miller asked.
Courtney looked at Nikki and slightly shook her head. Frost always used bleach to wipe his victims clean, including their clothes. They’d smelled bleach on every Frost victim so far, and Nikki firmly believed Frost wouldn’t deviate from that routine. Like the body position, that crucial detail had been kept out of the media, and Nikki could count on her team not sharing the information until they were certain about trusting Miller. Nikki didn’t know Miller well enough yet.
“I’m just trying to figure out how long they were covered with snow,” Courtney said. “What do you think?”
“A few days, at least,” Miller said. “This nasty wind helped expose them.”
Liam glanced at Sergeant Miller. “No offense, but I don’t think this is the Frost Killer’s work.”
“Neither does he,” Nikki said. “Sergeant, what do you know about the farmer who owns the ground?”
“He’s around our age, inherited the family farm. No record of any sort. Son’s fourteen, never been in any trouble.”
Nikki looked at Liam, who shivered in the brisk wind. “Is the truck almost here?”
“The rolling freezer?” Liam asked. “Yeah.”
“First time I’ve seen it used,” Sergeant Miller said. “Never dreamed it would be for two little girls instead of some poor soul who fell through the ice.”
Courtney crouched beside Madison, using her high-powered magnifier on the girl’s jeans. “God, this wind is a bitch. Any trace evidence is probably long gone unless it’s frozen in the clothes.”
“Boss, why don’t you go warm up in your car and wait for the morgue truck? I’ll stay with them.” Liam circled the bodies, taking pictures with the digital camera.
Nikki would normally refuse, but her damned feet and hands ached from the cold.
Her mind raced ahead as she and Miller walked back in silence. Given the frozen state of the bodies, Nikki understood why Sheriff Hardin wanted to inform her. But with her family’s name in the news again, Nikki wondered if Hardin hadn’t jumped at the chance to bring her into town. She hadn’t set foot in Stillwater in nearly twenty years, and despite the desolate location, it felt like the town was already suffocating her.
Now that she was sure it wasn’t Frost, she could hand the investigation back to the local police. Nikki could go back to St. Paul and keep Stillwater in her past, where it belonged. But she knew she wouldn’t be able to get the image of the two girls lying dead in the snow out of her head.
“Shit,” Miller hissed. “Someone must have tipped her off.”
Nikki shielded her eyes against the blowing snow. A four-door pickup had parked in front of Nikki’s jeep. The woman behind the wheel watched as the refrigerated truck ambled down the drive and came to a stop behind the sergeant’s cruiser. She typed something into her phone, and then checked her reflection in the rearview mirror.
“It’s Caitlin Newport,” Miller said. “She’s—”
“I know who she is.” Caitlin’s last true-crime documentary had helped get a death-row inmate a new trial. In 2000, Fred Elwood was convicted of the brutal murder of his sixty-eight-year-old mother-in-law. His young niece testified she’d hidden in the closet and was certain her uncle had committed the murder, but she later recanted her story. DNA evidence had finally exonerated Elwood last year.
Caitlin hopped out of the pickup and pulled a hat over her honey-colored hair. She scanned the scene before zipping her coat to her chin and striding through the snow as though she had every right to intrude on a crime scene.
Instead of designer snow boots and a figure-flattering coat, Caitlin had opted for bulky snow pants and a well-worn parka. Caitlin didn’t usually dress so sensibly, and Nikki could tell she was trying to blend in with the locals. Sunglasses hid her shrewd eyes, but Nikki still felt the weight of the filmmaker’s stare.
“My guys will take care of her.” Miller motioned to the two pink-cheeked deputies tasked with standing in the frigid weather and keeping the scene clear.
The taller deputy blocked the reporter’s path, shaking his head. Caitlin looked up at him with a bemused expression and then pointed toward Nikki.
“It’s okay, deputy.” Nikki eyed the reporter.
Caitlin smiled at the deputy as he stepped aside. She strode through the snow like a prize fighter, her attention squarely on Nikki.
Nikki raised her hand in warning. “Don’t step over that crime scene tape.”
“I know the rules, Agent.” Caitlin’s friendliness was about as real as her hair color. “I have to say I’m surprised to see you here.”
“I was invited,” Nikki said. “Unlike yourself.”
Caitlin shrugged. “Don’t be so sure of that. How’s the hunt for the Frost Killer coming along?”
Nikki had encountered the reporter twice in the last two years, both times during a Frost investigation. Caitlin knew the serial killer wouldn’t suddenly change his methods. “Well, it is his favorite time of year.”
“Surely the police don’t think he suddenly changed his M.O. and took two high-school girls?” Caitlin’s surprised tone wasn’t fooling Nikki.
“How do you know anything about the victims?” Nikki asked.
“Stillwater’s grown since you left, but it’s still a relatively small town. News travels fast.”
“Fantastic,” Nikki said. “I’m still not giving you information on this case.”
“You’re working it, then?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
Caitlin slid her sunglasses on top of her head. Colored contacts made her eyes a chilling blue. “It’s just surprising.”
Nikki chewed the inside of her cheek. She’d become a household name in Stillwater. Everyone in town recognized her as the girl who found her parents murdered, and she’d been the star witness at the trial. She’d encountered Mark Todd in the house that night and was the reason he’d been convicted so quickly. Everyone in Stillwater either looked at her with pity or didn’t look at her at all. And after the trial she’d just wanted to finish school and get out of town.
Caitlin was resourceful enough that she had to know bad memories weren’t the only reason for Nikki to stay out of town. After all, she’d been recognized as soon as she’d left anyway—the case wasn’t just famous in Stillwater—and she’d had to cut her hair, dye it blond and ask her professors at the University of Minnesota to refrain from using her last name just so she could attempt a normal life. Caitlin was trying to bait her into talking about new developments in her parents’ murders. Nikki had ignored all media requests over the past month, and she wasn’t about to give Caitlin Newport an exclusive.
Two death investigators approached the barricade carrying the equipment they needed to collect the bodies.
“Down the hill, cornfield’s around the corner.” Nikki’s patience was running thin. “Newport, you need to leave. Or I’ll have you escorted away from the area.”
“Have the police identified the bodies?”
If Caitlin wanted information, she would have to get it from the local police. “No comment. Have a nice day.”
Nikki turned her back on the woman and followed the guys from the medical examiner’s office. Stillwater may have grown in the years since she’d left, but like the filmmaker said, it was still a small town, and news traveled fast. How long did Nikki have before everyone found out she was here and she had to deal with a barrage of questions she didn’t want to answer?
She trudged over the hill and into the field. Courtney knelt next to one of the bodies while Liam concentrated on photographing the scene. She and her team had worked enough cases in the snow and Nikki didn’t have much hope for any trace evidence. “I assume you haven’t found anything?”
“Nope,” Courtney said. “These poor babies are frozen just as solid as Frost’s victims, which means we’ve got to wait at least a week for them to thaw.”
“Why is that?” Miller asked.
“Thawing a body is a slow process,” Courtney explained. “They need to be brought to room temperature gradually or we risk losing evidence. Appendages thaw first, so I may be able to swab fingernails. But the medical examiner won’t allow the removal of clothes or shoes until the bodies are fully thawed.”
“Which means at least five days,” Nikki said. “What can we do today?”
Courtney nodded. “Very little. Once they’re situated in the truck, I can use the UV light and look for blood or possible semen. I won’t be able to take any samples until the medical examiner clears it, but we’ll at least know if there’s anything viable.”
The death investigators struggled with the solid limbs as they carefully put each girl into a body bag.
Courtney sniffled. “I’ll never understand how people can be so cruel to one another. These girls had their whole lives ahead of them.”
“Some people are born evil.” Nikki squeezed her friend’s shoulder. “Others are made. They enjoy seeing people suffer. It’s about control.”
“I don’t know how you do it,” Courtney said. “Working with bodies is bad enough, but to have to deal with the killers, face to face? And try to understand them? No thanks.”
Early in her career with the FBI, a serial killer who’d taken the lives of at least four pre-teen boys had looked Nikki dead in the eye and explained the kill as “the most satisfying thing” he’d ever done. The seasoned agent next to Nikki had blanched, but she’d remained stone-faced, unimpressed. The man went on to describe his crimes in grisly detail, clearly enjoying the reaction of Nikki’s colleague and simultaneously getting more and more agitated at Nikki’s lack of emotion. He’d continued to talk in an effort to impress her, to get a reaction out of her. That’s when he broke and admitted to the murder she wanted to nail him for: the kidnapping and killing of a twelve-year-old boy nearly a decade before. Her peers had been in awe and more than a little unnerved by Nikki’s ability to stay so remote and focused. She’d never been able to explain to anyone that her resolve came from years of blocking out the memories of her parents’ murders.
“After we speak with the families, I’ll issue a statement for the press,” she told Miller.
“I can deal with the press,” Miller said. “You’re going to be bombarded with personal questions. Easier if I just make the statement.”
“Don’t rule out Frost,” Nikki said. “Tell the press the FBI was called in because of similarities to prior Frost killings, and we’re currently investigating all possibilities. If the killer intended for us to believe Frost did this, blasting all over the media that we didn’t buy it will make him hypervigilant. We want him to feel safe enough to make a mistake.”
“I’ll make sure the statement is on the news tonight.” Miller closed his eyes as Madison’s body was secured in the bag. He seemed to be willing his emotions to stay in check. “And when the media asks if you’re personally working the case, I’ll only verify the FBI is assisting.”
Nikki was grateful for Miller’s discretion, but she wasn’t naive enough to believe she could go unnoticed. Her reputation as an FBI agent paled in comparison to her history in Stillwater. But she wasn’t here to open old wounds. She’d returned to Stillwater to find the monster who’d killed these two girls, and she would see it through either way, because finding monsters was her specialty. Everybody knew that.
Taking Highway 96 into town added several minutes to . . .
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