Read The Hunting Grounds :: Chapter 9

Camilla stared at the flowers for a long moment before finally bringing them inside.

The apartment door shut softly behind her, sealing out the cool mountain air and the strange feeling creeping beneath her skin.

Wildflowers, not store bought. Hand gathered. That alone made them feel more intimate than they should have. She set them carefully on the kitchen peninsula beneath the warm overhead light and crouched slightly to study them.

Blue asters, valerian, Queen Anne's lace, a few sprigs of fern.

Nothing random about the arrangement. The stems had been trimmed evenly. The flowers positioned carefully so the darker reds sat near the center while the pale blooms softened the edges. Thoughtful. Deliberate. Camilla's fingers brushed lightly against the petals. Not rushed either, whoever gathered them had taken their time. The realization settled unpleasantly in her stomach.

A text notification buzzed suddenly from her phone.

Unknown Number:

You survive your exciting field trip with me to meet Harper?

Camilla stared at the message.

Then slowly smiled. She forgot her number showed with her journalist ID.

She typed back:

Barely. He almost seduced me with tetanus and body odor.

The response came almost immediately.

Careful. That's most men's strategy around here.

A soft laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

Another message appeared.

You free tomorrow?
I can show you the case files if you're serious about helping.

Camilla's eyes narrowed slightly.

Invitation accepted.

The sheriff's station sat at the edge of town in an old brick building that probably used to be something else decades ago. A bank maybe. Or a post office. Bitterroot seemed full of buildings stubbornly refusing to die. The rain had passed by morning, leaving the mountains wrapped in drifting fog.

Camilla stepped inside just after ten. The station smelled faintly like coffee, and wet boots. A deputy behind the front desk looked up from his computer.

"Can I help you?"

Before Camilla could answer, a familiar voice drifted from somewhere deeper inside.

"She's with me."

Mal emerged from the hallway carrying two coffee cups and a thick manila folder tucked beneath one arm. He wore a navy long-sleeved shirt today with the sleeves pushed up to reveal his forearms. His hair was gelled perfectly back and away from his face. he had no visible weapon besides the badge clipped lazily at his belt.

He looked less like a sheriff and more like a man who belonged outdoors somewhere with blood on his hands and dirt beneath his boots.

Camilla hated how much that thought interested her.

"Morning, Hart."

He handed her one of the coffees.

Black.

No questions asked.

Interesting.

"Sheriff," she greeted lightly.

His mouth twitched faintly at that.

"Thought we graduated from that."

Camilla smiled over the rim of the coffee cup. "Did we?"

Mal held her gaze a second too long before turning toward the hallway again.

"Come on."

The station itself was smaller than she expected. Quiet. Functional. A few deputies moved between desks beneath fluorescent lights while old case boards cluttered the walls. The deeper Mal led her into the building, the quieter it became.

Eventually he opened the door to a cramped office. His office. Camilla noticed things immediately. There were no family photos, really there was nothing personal in his office at all. The bookshelves were crowded with criminal psychology texts mixed among hunting guides and local history books. There was a mounted elk on the wall just over his chair between the book shelves. The blinds half-open behind the desk overlooked the town. I was orderly and controlled but lived in. Mal set the folders onto his desk before motioning toward the chair opposite him.

"You're profiling me again," he observed casually.

Camilla sat slowly. "Occupational hazard."

He chuckled softly and lowered himself into his chair. For a moment neither of them spoke. The silence didn't feel awkward anymore.

Mal flipped open the top folder.

"You wanted information about the victims," he said. "Might as well start there."

Camilla leaned forward slightly.

Mal watched her notice the photographs first.

Three women.

Three smiling faces paperclipped neatly to separate files.

Marleen.

Another girl maybe early twenties with heavy eyeliner and bright dyed hair.

And an older woman with tired eyes and a strained smile.

"Victim one," Mal said, tapping the older woman's photograph. "Nancy Vale. Thirty-eight. Divorced. Worked nights cleaning offices over in Bell County."

Camilla studied the image carefully.

"She disappeared first?"

Mal nodded.

"About eight months ago. Body wasn't found for nearly six weeks."

"Cause of death?"

"Throat cut."

Clinical.

Controlled.

Camilla looked up briefly.

Mal's expression never shifted.

"Victim two," he continued, sliding his finger toward the younger woman. "Tara Bellamy. Twenty-three. Waitress. More social than Nancy. Friends said she became increasingly paranoid near the end."

Camilla's eyes sharpened slightly.

"How so?"

Mal leaned back slightly in his chair.

"She started claiming somebody was following her."

The room seemed quieter suddenly.

"She reported it?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Mal smiled faintly.

"Because people don't like sounding crazy."

His eyes lingered on her. Watching. Testing.

Camilla crossed one leg slowly over the other. "And was someone following her?"

Mal tilted his head slightly.

"That's the question."

He said it too carefully, like he already knew the answer. Camilla's gaze drifted back toward the photographs.

Three women. Three dead women. Three escalating patterns.

"What about gifts?" she asked quietly.

Mal went still. Not fully, barely noticeable, but Camilla caught it.

"What kind of gifts?"

"Flowers. Notes. Little things."

His fingers tapped once against the folder. Interesting.

"Nancy received anonymous deliveries," he admitted eventually. "Mostly flowers."

"Tara?"

"A stuffed fox left on her porch."

Camilla's eyes lifted slowly.

"Fox?"

Mal nodded.

"She apparently found it upsetting."

"She should have."

That earned her another long look.

"Why's that?"

Camilla shrugged lightly. "Predators take and leave trophies."

The office became very quiet. Mal studied her carefully now, the casual act forgotten his full attention on her.

"And what kind of predator leaves flowers?"

Camilla smiled faintly.

"The patient kind."

Something dark flickered briefly behind his eyes. Gone almost immediately. But there.

"Marleen?" Camilla asked softly.

Mal exhaled once through his nose before opening the final file.

"She deteriorated the fastest."

His voice lowered slightly. More personal now.

"She stopped sleeping much according to friends. Started changing routines constantly. Checking windows. Locking doors during the day."

Camilla pictured it instantly, her slow collapse, her exhaustion. Her unraveling.

"What changed?" she asked.

Mal's jaw shifted once.

"The photographs."

Camilla looked up sharply.

Mal opened another smaller envelope from inside the file.

Then carefully slid a Polaroid across the desk toward her.

A young woman stood frozen mid-step outside what looked like a grocery store parking lot. She was completely unaware that she was the subject in this photographers' lens. The photo had clearly been taken from far away. Camilla's stomach tightened. These women had been watched for a while before they went missing. How absolutely intimate these pictures were.

"He sent these to her?"

Mal nodded slowly.

"Three total before she disappeared."

Camilla stared at the image.

There was something uniquely violating about it. There was no overt violence in the action of taking these pictures. They were showing intimate moments when these women thought there was no one there, no one watching them. And looking at the pictures, they featured not just Marleen, but Nancy and Tara, too. These were to get under her skin in more than one way.

"You understand it," Mal said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Camilla looked up slowly.

"What?"

"The psychology." His voice remained calm. "Most people see evidence. You see behavior."

The words settled heavily between them. Camilla leaned back slowly in her chair.

"You don't?"

Mal smiled faintly.

"I think you and I probably notice similar things."

There it was again. That feeling. Like they were talking around something alive and dangerous between them. Camilla held his gaze carefully.

"You think this killer enjoys fear more than murder."

Not a question.

Mal's smile deepened slightly.