crinkling it in his hand. She took the paper from him. Printed on the paper was a grainy picture of Collin and a blonde sitting in a coffee shop deep in conversation. An icy chill skirted down her spine.
“Who is she?” Sara asked while studying the photo.
“Tonya.”
“Your old girlfriend Tonya? She was one fine specimen . I’ll never understand why you two split up,” Drew said still standing at the door.
She ignored the comments from the peanut gallery , flipped the paper over, noticed it was blank, and flipped it back to study the innocent picture. She looked for any signs to indicate the two might be together. They weren’t holding hands; they were barely smiling. Almost as if they were two strangers on a first date. “When was this taken?”
She glanced up to notice Drew was no longer standing in the doorway. He’d probably left , bored that she was no longer paying him a lick of attention. “A week ago. I ran into her on Main Street.” His gaze was still riveted to the picture. His features had now turned to stone.
She noticed the moment his eyes started to glaze and snapped her fingers. “I need you to focus , Collin.”
He nodded , and a determination settled in his eyes.
“How do you know her?”
“We dated. The breakup was mutual. She didn’t like her life being under a microscope, and I wouldn’t give up all my charity work for her. We went our separate ways.” He pointed down at the paper. “That was the first time I’d run into her in the last five years. She told me she was about to move in with her boyfriend and they were getting married.”
Collin ran his hands through his hair and pulled on the strands. He squeezed his eyes closed. It was evident guilt and anger w ere prodding at his resolve.
“Do you know where she lives?”
His eyes snapped open, and his brows dipped. “Yeah, if she hasn’t already moved in with the boyfriend.” He rattled off the address. “Do you think there’s a chance she’s still alive?”
It was highly unlikely , but she didn’t have the heart to tell him that. Not yet, not without knowing for sure. Sara grabbed her phone, fished her keys from her pocket, and spun on her heel. “I don’t know.”
Dread settled in her gut as she ran from the mansion and hopped in her SUV. Her passenger door jerked open and Collin climbed in. “What do you think you’re doing? You need to stay here!”
He pointed down the drive. “You’re wasting time. She might still be alive.”
She threw the SUV in gear , grabbed the printout of the exposé he’d given her yesterday from the glove box, and handed it to him. “Tell me what numbers Tonya and the teacher are listed as.”
He shuffled the papers. “One and four, why?”
She pounded her palm against the steering wheel. Nothing made sense, even the order of the kills w as out of sync. “I’m trying to figure out the killer’s pattern.”
She punched the Bluetooth in her car, informed Marco what was going on, and she asked him to send a team.
Sara skidded around the next curve and punched the gas. She glanced at him. “Why did the killer skip two and three? What is the connection between one and four versus two and three?”
He glanced down at the papers , and she returned her attention back to the road, waiting patiently for him to figure it out. He would be the only one able to connect the pieces. If she pressured him the strain alone might block his reasoning. With wide eyes and his mouth parted, he looked up. “I saw both of them this month.”
She nodded toward the paper. “Who else have you seen on that list in the last thirty days?”
He furrowed his brow as he again went through the faces and names of all of his exes. He pointed at number seven. “Amada George.” He glanced up. “I ran into her at a fundraiser.”
She skidded to a stop at Tonya’s address. The high -rise was ten stories tall, and the street was unusually quiet. She pulled out her phone. “What’s Amanda’s