Page 167 of Broken
As the computer compiled the data, she jumped to Sally’s phone log, sorted it by numbers, and started scrolling. There were more texts than phone calls.
One incoming and one outgoing call caught her eye. Last month, an inbound call was recorded at four-forty in the morning. It lasted four minutes. Twenty minutes later, Sally called that same number. That call lasted almost three minutes.
In addition to those calls, there were two revealing texts between Sally and that same phone number.
She entered the number into the Bureau’s database. While waiting for the request to process, she started sifting through Gloria and Bert’s cases. There were eighteen cases where they both testified.
“This’ll take forever,” she grumbled.
Used to being alone in her cubicle, she flicked her attention to Prescott. He was so laser-focused, he hadn’t heard her. Going forward, she’d have to keep her thoughts to herself. That was not something he needed to hear.
She sorted the cases by deceased, incarcerated, escaped, or released. Starting with the escaped convicts, she scrolled down the short list.
Prescott’s raspy growl snagged her attention. His eyebrows were slashed down and a shadow had fallen over his eyes. After pushing away from the patio table, he made a call.
“I read the report.” He listened, then said, “She’s with me. I got this.”
Prescott hung up, but he stood there staring out at his property. She couldn’t take her eyes off his commanding presence. He inhaled a deep breath, his already expansive shoulders rising and falling. When he turned to face her, his narrowed gaze and flared nostrils said it all.
He was furious.
“Please don’t tell me another Operative has been murdered,” she said.
The angry energy billowing off him made her guts twist.
“I read the ballistics report Coop sent over,” he began. “The gun used to kill Bert and Gloria was the same one used in the assassination attempt on Luther Warschak, but itwasn’tthe same one that wounded Addison and Sally.”
That made total sense, since whoever had shot Sally had gone to the hospital to finish the job. “No surprise there,” she said.
“The bullet they removed from Sally matched the bullets recovered from the Campus Killer victims.”
Jacqueline’s heart rate surged into triple digits. She couldn’t catch her breath, the shock sending fear pummeling through her.
“No, that can’t be right,” she whispered, not believing the news. “Ohgod, that clown. He found me. The Campus Killer found me.”
22
THE BOAT RIDE
Jacqueline
The confidence Prescott wore like a second skin calmed Jaqueline, but his actions made her feel safe.
Being terrified wrecked her the most. Life was hard enough, but living in fear and looking over her shoulder was debilitating. Being around Prescott gave her hope that one day she could take back her life, fully and completely.
As the shock subsided and logic took hold, she said, “The person who shot Sally mightnotbe the Campus Killer. Ithasbeen a decade. Guns travel. He could have given it to someone, ditched it, or sold it.”
“We have to assume itisthe Campus Killer,” Prescott said. “And we have to assume you’re not safe. If we don’t, we’re dumb as fuck.”
“I know. I’m just surprised, that’s all.”
“You and me both, babe. Nothing will happen to you,” he bit out. “Nothing.”
She wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.”
He kissed her. “We’ve gotta pick Ethan up.”
Back in the house, Prescott attached his ankle holster, slid his weapon inside, and concealed them beneath his pants. Jacqueline changed from her tight-fitting yoga pants to a regular pair where she could hide her weapon in the ankle holster.
