Edge of Midnight by Leslie Tentler Read Free Book Online Page A

questions as everyone else.”
“What’s the agent’s name?”
“Eric Macfarlane.”
Grayson raised his eyebrows. “No kidding? If I was a betting man, I’d lay a grand on that being Richard Macfarlane’s son.”
The name didn’t register with Mia.
“Macfarlane’s an associate attorney general for the Department of Justice—he’s way up in the ranks. I read a profile piece on him in Newsweek last month related to the Ambruzzi hearings,” he said, referring to a recent, widely covered political scandal involving the governor of New Jersey. “The guy’s a real bulldog. The article mentioned he had a son serving in one of the Bureau’s specialized units. Either way, I’ll pass the name along to Walt, make sure he gets in touch with him.”
He settled onto the couch for a time, catching Mia up on the daily travails at the newspaper before announcing he should get going. Twice divorced, Grayson lived alone and had a widely known practice of going to bed with the proverbial chickens in order to make it into the paper by his customary 6:00 a.m.
“Thanks for coming by,” she said, walking him to the door. “But you really didn’t have to.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Mia. I did. ” Grayson closed the scant distance between them, his expression solemn as he gazed at her. He swallowed nervously.
“I had to, for me,” he said softly. Reaching out, he tucked a few strands of her newly shortened hair behind one ear.
Feeling her stomach give an awkward little flip, Mia whispered his name, uncertain as to what he was about to do. But he pressed a chaste, almost fatherly kiss against her forehead.
“I just feel fortunate to have you back, that’s all. Almost losing you…it’s given me a lot to think about.”
She recalled what Will had said earlier that day. Eighteen years her senior, Grayson was her mentor, as well as her boss. He had given her the break she’d needed to advance from the lifestyles pages to crimes. Mia was one of only a handful of female reporters covering hard news at the Courier, not to mention the youngest by nearly a decade. Grayson’s guidance, as well as his fondness for her, had played a big role. She cared about him, truly, but as a good friend.
He placed a finger under her chin. “Just think about the therapy thing, all right?”
She smiled weakly. “Think about giving me my assignment back.”
After he was gone, Mia sighed and looked around her living room. Their two wineglasses sat side by side on the cocktail table. She left Grayson’s where it was but picked up her own, taking it into the kitchen and refilling it. Liquid courage. She needed it for what she’d been planning to do.
Carrying the goblet, Mia went into the guest bedroom she had converted into a home office. Her desk was positioned near a large window, its lamp casting a soft glow. The police scanner on the columned bookshelf provided the background noise she needed to focus.
Sitting in front of the computer, she conducted an internet search on serial murders taking place in Maryland three years earlier, hitting the keys as best she could with her bandaged fingers. It didn’t take her long to find what she was looking for. Within a short time, she’d pulled up a number of archived articles from newspapers in Maryland and D.C. Mia began viewing the stories in chronological order. Eric Macfarlane was mentioned in all of them and quoted in several as the investigation’s lead. His grainy image appeared alongside one particularly substantial piece from the Washington Post, the photo taken at a news conference, according to the accompanying caption. In it, he looked serious and handsome—crisp, short brown hair and squared jaw—the perfect poster boy for the FBI.
None of the articles provided the detail he had shared with Mia, however. There was nothing about fingernails or hair being taken or numerals carved into the victims’ flesh. The Bureau had done a good job keeping such pivotal facts confidential, and