Leo stepped forward. “Agent Last.”

  Emma faced him, seemingly unsurprised at his presence.

  Right, my truck.

  “What are you doing here, Agent Ambrose?”

  “I could ask you the same thing.”

  She moved closer, and her volume fell to a whisper. “You could. But I asked you first.”

  Leo held a brief internal debate. Tell her? Don’t tell her? He worried she’d think he was overreacting. She might think he was overstepping. But then he realized she was there as well. Something bugged him about this circus. He squared his shoulders. They were new teammates. It was time to trust her.

  “I’m worried Bunny is being groomed. I want to make sure she’s okay and that she’s nowhere near Reggie O’Rourke tonight.”

  Emma nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll go with you.”

  “Whoa, whoa. Not so fast. What are you here for?”

  She hesitated. He watched her internal debate as it warred across her expressive face. He hoped she didn’t play poker. “I wanted to see how the circus worked without protesters, in the quiet hours. And I was thinking about what Bunny said about Calliope and O’Rourke.”

  She wasn’t telling the whole truth. Maybe she was just working a hunch and didn’t want to sound stupid to her new teammate. Maybe she’d had the same worry eating away at her, so she’d come out to make sure Bunny was safe. He had to admit that getting evidence of O’Rourke and Calliope being together might help their case, providing they could find a way to obtain it that would make it admissible.

  He offered her a smile. “Think we’ll get in trouble for checking things out on our own?”

  Emma returned the smile. “Jacinda admires initiative…but maybe it’s best if we don’t get caught.”

  “Let’s go.”

  He started to lead, then realized Emma knew exactly where to go. “You go first. You know the way to the Weaver RV better.”

  Emma nodded and moved ahead but drew up short, putting a hand up to halt Leo in his tracks. He waited for her posture to relax before moving to where he could see whatever had caused her to stop.

  A shadow detached from between two carnival booths up ahead. The figure was small-statured but bulky, and Leo couldn’t make out if it was a man or woman. As the person passed into the halo of an overhead light, a flash of brightness shined from her head. It was a woman with stark blond hair. She wore several layers of fabric against the chill night air.

  Leo leaned closer to Emma to whisper. “That’s the fortune teller, isn’t it?”

  Emma simply nodded. They both watched the woman disappear deeper into the circus grounds. Once their path was clear, Leo and Emma made a beeline toward the Weavers’ RV on the edge of the circus.

  Maybe Reggie O’Rourke had nothing at all to do with the murders, but if there was something going on with that little girl, Leo would never forgive himself for simply letting the day end without doing anything.

  By the time they reached the Weavers’ RV, Leo’s smartwatch read well past midnight. They crouched down near the small seating area. The windows were dark, and he heard nothing coming from the little home.

  What did I expect? Cries for help? Screams? A mean old man chasing an innocent little girl around her bed?

  He blew into his hands, warming them. Emma did the same.

  “Looks quiet to me.” Emma scanned the RV. “What’s the plan?”

  There’d been no plan in his head beyond reaching this RV, showing up, and making sure Bunny was safe.

  He shrugged. “I—”

  A shriek of laughter that cut off after a few seconds drew his gaze into the maze of campers behind them. Had it been a scream and not a laugh at all? The sound hadn’t been a call for help, at least…more like someone laughing after a few drinks before realizing they were being too loud.

  The uncertainty wasn’t something Leo could ignore. Not when he was there…and as late as it was, he might as well check out what was happening.

  His partner in crime, or rather partner in law, seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “Let’s go see what that was.” Emma shifted away from the Weavers’ RV.

  Leo hustled to match her fast strides as they veered into the campground. She stuck to the shadows, keeping them both mostly hidden in the dark.

  They soon approached the trailer Bunny had led them to earlier. Its distinctive bright-pink paint job couldn’t be mistaken. Calliope Langley’s residence.

  A young woman, wearing nothing but a short silky robe, stood in the open doorway, kissing a much older man.

  The man had a bushy white beard. Leo recognized him from circus placards as Ringmaster Reggie O’Rourke himself. Here was the elusive circus owner wrapped in the arms of a woman decades younger than him.

  “His bowels don’t seem that nervous anymore.” He couldn’t see Emma’s face, but sarcasm oozed from her voice.

  The couple appeared to be saying good night. Leo melted back into the shadows, pulling Emma with him. She didn’t resist. After Calliope’s door shut, the older man began whistling as he headed back in the direction of his own trailer.

  Leo sagged against the cold camper as a weight lifted from his shoulders. The laugh they’d heard had been just that, a sharp cry of joy exchanged between lovers. Lovers of vastly different ages, but at least they were legal adults capable of informed consent. “What do you make of that?”

  Emma didn’t answer. She was following O’Rourke with her eyes as he disappeared into the labyrinth of trailers. Something seemed to hold her attention.

  Leo followed her gaze but didn’t notice anything. He poked her arm. “Emma.”

  She jumped. “What?”

  “What do you make of that?”

  “O’Rourke’s a skeevy old man. But I don’t see anything illegal.”

  “Yeah. Still, something’s off, right? I mean, the man either doesn’t want to answer questions, or his timing is unusually convenient. It’s his circus. His employees are being killed. We tried talking to him, and he dodged or stonewalled us. Then we’re called away to deal with protesters, and he made no effort to seek us out. He should be at the front of the line for interviewing.”

  Emma still appeared distracted, but she concurred. “I agree. We need to put some pressure on O’Rourke.”

  For a moment, Leo considered following after the ringmaster and blindsiding him with questions, but it was after midnight. “I think that should be our priority tomorrow.”

  “I think I’ve seen what I needed to see tonight. And Bunny seems safe. Shall we head home?”

  Leo wanted to agree, but they had no real proof Bunny wasn’t in danger.

  “Let’s circle back to O’Rourke’s trailer. What if he’s just heading off to molest Bunny? I’d never be able to sleep again if I let something like that happen when I could’ve stopped it.”

  Emma met his eyes. “Okay. That’s a good call, and I’m with you a hundred percent. But if we do interrupt a scene like that, we’ll have a tough time explaining why we were here to witness it in the first place.”

  “But that’s why we’re both here.” Leo set off in pursuit of O’Rourke, following a path toward the owner’s trailer. They drew closer and slowed their movement to a crawl.

  Emma sneaked forward, peering through the windows as best she could. The curtains were all still drawn, but the undeniable sounds of heavy snoring almost had the windows rattling in their frames.

  Leo breathed a sigh of deep relief then. It wasn’t definitive proof that nothing was happening to Bunny when she was in O’Rourke’s company, but Leo’s primary concern—Bunny’s safety at this moment—had been allayed. Besides, he would be back first thing in the morning with his full team and a fresher head, ready to confirm Bunny truly was safe as a member of this circus.

  “To be able to fall asleep that fast…” Leo commented.

  “Not just fall asleep but shut off your brain and skip straight to snoring.” Emma twisted her features, and Leo smiled.

  They were quiet after that, returning to their vehicles in silence.

  He paused after he opened his truck door. “I think we’re going to make a pretty good team.”

  Emma smiled over the roof of her Prius. “It’s certainly been a hell of a first day.”

  It wasn’t the affirmation he’d hoped for, but at least she’d offered him a smile along with her odd and almost cryptic comment.

  Maybe tomorrow would be the day they finally broke the ice.

  Back at his house in the D.C. suburbs, Leo didn’t bother heading toward his bedroom to try to sleep. He also bypassed his comfortable couch and some mindless TV in favor of the kitchen.

  Reality was, Leo didn’t cook, at least not for only himself. He did, however, stock snacks.

  He set a few cheese-and-nut packets on the counter and poured himself some water. The beer in his fridge was tempting, but he wanted his mind clear for the upcoming work.

  Clear as it could be, considering he was looking at six hours of sleep. If that.

  Nourishment in hand, Leo kicked off his boots at the edge of the sparsely furnished living room and turned into his spare bedroom, elbowing the light switch on. At the moment, the space didn’t have much in the way of furnishings. It served as a sparsely decorated office.

  His diploma for a BA in political science, awarded by the University of Iowa, hung above a modern desk. Surrounding it were a few certificates of commendation he’d been awarded, including recognition from his years in the Marines, but the walls otherwise remained bare.

  Beyond his desk, the room held only his overpriced ergonomic desk chair and a few boxes, which he had yet to unpack. Setting down his snacks and water, Leo settled into his chair and thought over his immediate plan.

  Before anything else, he opened his laptop and pulled up the Ruby Red’s normal circuit. They’d kept loosely to the same cities for decades. Leo printed out the calendar they followed and jotted down the few towns they’d visited outside those regular stops.

  For now, he stuck with the last two decades, figuring he could always go back further if he needed to do so later.

  I really need to try to get some sleep tonight. The thought didn’t carry much weight, though. His brain wouldn’t quiet down. His impromptu excursion with Emma had raised more questions.

  His desire to investigate O’Rourke was stronger than his need for sleep.

  For his next step, he jotted down the county and state of each town. Then he expanded to counties with borders that were within about twenty miles of the circus’s normal camping and performance grounds.

  That took some time researching, and he polished off three nut-and-cheese packs.

  “Thirty-seven counties stretching over eight states, not counting D.C.,” he muttered after glancing at the clock and seeing it was well past two a.m.

  Too many to search tonight.

  One of the biggest things popular media got wrong about the FBI was their data access.

  Sure, he and any other agent could access whatever records they needed to, but gaining such access wasn’t always fast, and the process took quite a bit more effort and time than typing in a name and twiddling your thumbs for five seconds.

  The National Computer Information Center—better known as the NCIC—was only as reliable and up to date as the humans who kept it.

  Which was to say, it wasn’t very.

  Instead of depending solely on the NCIC, a serious investigator had to look into the criminal records of any county where, realistically, there was reason to think a suspect could have racked up a record. Slow, tedious work…especially when investigating someone like Reginald O’Rourke, who was a nomad, not a homebody.

  Stuffing a piece of cheddar into his mouth, Leo began pulling up tabs for the criminal-record databases kept by each county, going alphabetically while first focusing on the counties where the circus made camp. Database after database, Leo hit nothing of interest when he searched O’Rourke’s name. Moving alphabetically through the counties, he got a miraculous hit on his very first county—Androscoggin County in Maine, the Ruby Red’s first of two stops in the state.

  Leo gulped down some water as he clicked on the record.

  Gotcha.

  A statutory rape claim had been filed against O’Rourke a decade ago, back when he was forty-five.

  Accused of having sexual relations with a seventeen-year-old girl, O’Rourke had pled not guilty. Case notes detailed that the girl had admitted to claiming she was nineteen. The parents pressed charges, but the girl refused to cooperate. The case had ultimately been dismissed.

  Leo sat back in his chair, staring at the record and allowing himself some measure of relief from the fact that a seventeen-year-old who claimed to be even older was very different from an eleven-year-old like Bunny. They were from different universes, in fact.

  Most pedophiles had a type, and as terrible as it still was, O’Rourke seemed to prefer older adolescents. Seemed. Did that mean Bunny was safe? No. He could be grooming her so she’d be open to a sexual relationship in a few years.

  Leo crumpled a sheet of paper and threw it at a wall. In his mind, the ringmaster was a sick bastard, but…

  Focus. What about the murders?

  In relation to the murders…there was no relation. Or at least, not an obvious one. Leo was looking at two very separate issues.

  Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the recent ill-fated events at the circus somehow involved the smarmy ringmaster. His gut told him something was seriously off when it came to the relationship this man had with Bunny Weaver.

  He just had to figure out what that something was.

  17

  Emma was already awake when her alarm went off at six thirty. She’d been staring at the ceiling, forcing herself to remain still and rest—something that had eluded her all night after her circus adventure with Leo. The only thing she wanted to do was grab Reggie O’Rourke and interview him. Then she wanted to find Calliope Langley and grab her by the shoulders while hollering, “What are you thinking?”

  When the alarm gave her permission, she bolted upright.

  As always, what caught her gaze as she threw off her covers was the picture on her nightstand. Her mother in a blue dress, one arm cradling Emma as a six-month-old baby. Her mom was laughing at something. The picture pulled her focus every morning, nurturing Emma’s ever-present hope that the keepsake would remind her of even one thing about her mother.

  Instead of the woman’s smiling face, what greeted Emma this morning was a face-down photo, its kickstand angled up into the air.

  Guess I must’ve knocked it over when I got into bed last night.

  She set the picture to rights, taking a moment to stare at the woman who looked so much like her. The same light-brown hair color, but with her locks tied back in a ponytail rather than loose like Emma preferred, and the same bright sky-blue eyes and light complexion as her daughter.

  Emma’s only memory was a hazy sense of her mother holding her, dancing, and singing a song Emma couldn’t quite remember.

  Of the ghosts who’d begun to haunt her, Emma’s mother had yet to appear. And her mother was the only ghost she longed to see.

  Leaving the nostalgia behind, Emma shrugged into a loose sweatshirt and one of her warmer pairs of jogging pants. She completed her workout ensemble with a knit cap pulled low over her ears.

  Her neighborhood was safe and quiet, making for the perfect running area. After she stretched for a few minutes in the little grassy area outside her building, allowing her body to get used to the cold, she took off.

  Emma sped through her morning run in near-record time, focused only on the plan for that day. Or, rather, her primary goal. Today, Emma would talk to Reggie O’Rourke, even if Armageddon unfolded in the parking lot.

  Again.

  No chance was he getting off the hook by claiming nervous bowels again. His bowels were clearly controlled enough to sexually satisfy—maybe—a twenty-two-year-old. She’d question him through a porta-potty or bedroom door if she had to.

  Last night, she hadn’t exactly lied to Leo. She had wanted to see the workings of the circus. But the ghost of Penelope had pointed to Reggie’s trailer for a reason. Emma very much wanted to know that reason. Her original plan was to find a ghost and speak to them—after all, she’d seen all three victims so far. They wanted her to know something. She’d figured she’d be able to speak to at least one if she went back last night.

  But she’d found Leo instead.

  After O’Rourke left Calliope’s camper, Penelope had once again appeared, pointing to his retreating figure.

  Always O’Rourke.

  Back at her apartment, Emma ignored her misbehaving Keurig in favor of a faster morning routine. She hurried in and out of a shower and threw on her work clothes.

  Her mind cycled between O’Rourke and the Ruby Red’s quieter-than-death ghosts. It was low-key driving Emma insane that none of the ghosts had spoken to her.

  If she hadn’t seen them, fine, but she’d glimpsed the three ghosts in all their gruesome, bloody, mishappen glory. Maybe Penelope’s silence could be chalked up to the woman having only half a mouth—did that affect a ghost’s ability to speak? All three kept their distance and their silence, hovering along the periphery.

  Penelope, Dennis, Kyle…none of them appeared to be interested in conversation.

  Unlike Mrs. Kellerly. “Is the coffee machine still broken, dear?” That was one ghost who had no problem communicating whatever flitted through her mind.

  Heart in her throat, Emma blew out a calming breath. “Still broken, Mrs. Kellerly.” She adjusted her Glock before pulling on her coat and heading out the door. “Have a good day.”

  Small miracles, Emma. Small miracles.

  Emma hopped into her car, setting down her bag. She focused on the one thing she’d gotten from the ghosts in this case so far.

  Penelope pointing.

  Maybe more communication was coming, and she just had to be patient.