Let Her Fade (A Fiona Red FBI Suspense Thriller—Book 13) by Blake Pierce

Author:Blake Pierce [Pierce, Blake]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2024-09-04T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jake stood rigid before the bank of monitors, his gaze fixed on one in particular. It displayed grainy footage of a man, cap pulled low over his brow as he handed over cash for a clutch of spiders. The orb-weavers, synonymous with death in their investigation, seemed to mock them from the screen.

Jake’s heart pounded. Could this really be the man who was killing these women—who possibly killed his own mother?

"Anything on the line?" Jake's voice was terse, impatient.

"Nothing but dead ends," Fiona replied from her adjacent desk, her fingers clicking over her keyboard as she sifted through data.

The tech team had been buzzing around them since they opened the tip line, fielding calls with a mix of hope and skepticism. A prank call had come in earlier, some idiot mimicking spider noises before erupting into laughter and hanging up. Jake had slammed the receiver down so hard it echoed through the bullpen.

"Got another," a tech called out, passing a note to Jake.

"Fourteen-year-old skateboarder seen with a tarantula." He crumpled the paper, tossing it into the growing pile of useless tips. "This is going nowhere."

Fiona looked up, her amber eyes meeting his. "He's out there, Jake. Someone knows him."

"Sure," Jake muttered, not convinced. He knew the profile by heart—a male, possibly twenties at the time of his mother’s death, likely thirties or forties by now, possibly with a personal connection to the victims. But knowledge felt like cold comfort when leads were scarce.

The clock ticked mockingly, each second a reminder of the urgency pressing down on them. Three women, their lives brutally cut short, and somewhere out there, a killer with a penchant for spiders and slaughter.

Jake's fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the edge of his desk, each tap a sharp echo in the quiet of the room. The agents around him were a blur, their voices melding into an indistinct hum as he stared at the grainy image frozen on the screen. It was a face that could belong to any number of men in Portland—a face that, nevertheless, seemed to mock him with its anonymity.

He felt it again, that old, gnawing ache—the one that resurged with every dead end and unanswered question. Fifteen years had not dulled the edges of his loss; if anything, time had honed them to a finer point, a constant reminder of the day he'd come home to find his world irrevocably altered.

"Jake?" Fiona's voice cut through his reverie, gentle but insistent.

He blinked, forcing his gaze away from the screen to meet hers. "Yeah?"

"You're clenching your jaw," she observed quietly.

"Am I?" He hadn't even realized, but now that she mentioned it, he felt the tension there, the dull strain of muscles held too tight for too long.

"Is everything okay?" Her concern was palpable, a warmth he found both comforting and unnerving.

"Fine," he lied smoothly, the word slipping out with practiced ease. "Just... eager to catch this guy."

Fiona studied him for a moment longer, her expression unreadable behind her glasses. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything.

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