McGee called Fredericks from the back of Rosa's, her voice low so Molly wouldn't hear.
"Sir. He called me."
A pause. "Who called you, Summers?"
"The killer. Fauwks." Her hand was shaking. "He called my personal phone, sir. We talked."
Another pause, longer this time. When Fredericks spoke again, his voice had changed — sharper, urgent.
"Come to the precinct. Immediately."
The line went dead.
McGee turned around. Molly was watching her from behind the counter, the dish towel forgotten in her hands.
"McGee? Who was that?"
"I have to go." McGee was already moving toward the door. "Molly, I'm sorry — I have to go."
"Is everything okay?"
McGee stopped with her hand on the door. She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say it was just work, just a thing, don't worry about it.
"He was here," she said quietly. "He was watching the shop."
Molly's face went pale.
"Just keep your eyes open, okay?" McGee said. "Anything strange — you call me."
---
The precinct was buzzing when McGee walked in — more energy than she'd ever felt there. Uniforms moving fast, phones ringing. She went straight to Fredericks's office and knocked.
"Come in."
She opened the door and stopped.
There was someone sitting in the chair across from Fredericks's desk. A woman, late thirties, with sharp eyes and a dark blazer. She looked up when McGee entered, and her expression was calm, professional — but McGee could see the assessment happening behind it.
"Summers," Fredericks said, standing. "This is Special Agent Hannah Ray. FBI."
McGee's stomach dropped. The FBI. Already.
Hannah stood and held out her hand. "Detective Summers. I've heard a lot about you."
McGee shook her hand, trying to keep her face neutral. "Agent Ray."
"Sit," Fredericks said. "Both of you."
McGee sat. Hannah sat. Fredericks leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed.
"Agent Ray is here because of the victims," Fredericks said. "Kane and Walker had connections that go high enough to get Washington's attention. She was sent from the top."
McGee looked at Hannah. "You're taking the case."
"No." Hannah's voice was firm. "I'm here to help. That's it. This is your investigation, Detective. I'm backup."
McGee studied her. She wanted to believe it. But a couple of weeks as a detective had already taught her that people said a lot of things.
"Why?" McGee asked.
"Because these people were important enough that someone in D.C. is nervous," Hannah said honestly. "And because you've been right about this guy from the start, and I read your file."
"My file?"
"Top honors in college. Top honors at the academy." Hannah leaned forward slightly. "I'm impressed, Detective. We could really use more females like you in the FBI."
McGee felt heat rise in her face. She looked down at her hands.
"Thank you," she said quietly. "But we really should get to work."
---
They left Fredericks's office and went to McGee's desk in the bullpen. It was cluttered — files, coffee cups, a stress ball she'd never used. McGee cleared a space and sat down. Hannah pulled up a chair.
McGee pushed a stack of files across the desk. "This is what we know. Kane first, then Walker. Same method, same staging."
Hannah flipped through the top file — crime scene photos, the ME report, the security stills.
"And the phone call?" Hannah asked without looking up.
McGee took a breath. "He called my personal cell. Unknown number. He knew my name — called me 'Miss Summers.' He'd watched the press conference this morning. He was..." She searched for the word. "Polite. He told me about the injection sites — details we never released. He wanted me to know it was really him."
Hannah looked up now, her full attention on McGee.
"What else?"
"He said his work wasn't done." McGee met her eyes. "He's going to kill again."
Hannah was quiet for a moment. Then she closed the file.
"Walk me through the crime scenes," she said. "Both of them. Everything you saw."
McGee nodded. She pulled out the Kane photos first.
"Victor Kane. Hedge fund manager. Found in his office at Meridian Tower by the cleaning crew at midnight." She laid out the photos — the office, the desk, the body. "He was sitting upright in his chair. Hands on the desk, fingers intertwined. Eyes open. No signs of struggle, no visible wounds."
Hannah studied the images. "Staged."
"Completely. The ME found two injection sites on his neck. First one was a sedative — left him conscious but paralyzed. Second one killed him." McGee's voice was steady, professional. "He was awake for two hours and fifteen minutes. Couldn't move. Just... watched."
Hannah's expression didn't change, but McGee saw her jaw tighten.
"Security footage?"
"Stairwell camera caught him going in at 9:14 PM, coming out at 12:17 AM. Three hours." McGee pulled out the still — the masked figure. "Suit, black tie, leather gloves. Guy Fawkes mask. He looked at the camera and adjusted his tie."
"He wanted to be seen."
"Yes." McGee laid out the Walker photos next. "Sarah Walker. Fifty-two. CEO of Meridian Health Insurance. Found in her penthouse by the maid at seven this morning."
Hannah picked up a photo of the body. "A hospital gown."
"She denied medical claims for a living. He dressed her as a patient." McGee pointed to the neck in the photo. "Two injection sites. Same place as Kane. I checked at the scene."
"You checked before the ME?"
"I knew what to look for."
Hannah looked at her for a long moment. Then she nodded — a small gesture, but McGee felt the weight of it. Respect.
"Timelines?"
"He entered the building at six PM. She got home at 7:04. He left at ten sharp." McGee pulled out the hallway still. "Same thing — looked at the camera. But this time he tilted his head. Like he was studying it. Studying whoever was watching."
"Studying you."
McGee didn't answer. She didn't have to.
Hannah set the photos down and leaned back in her chair.
"Two high-profile victims," she said slowly. "Both in finance or insurance. Both people with power over other people's money — or lives." She looked at McGee. "He's not picking at random."
"No," McGee said. "He's picking people who hurt people. And he's..." She hesitated. "He's making a point with how he leaves them. Kane at his desk — where he shredded documents. Walker in a hospital gown — she denied people care."
"Judgment," Hannah said quietly. "He's passing judgment."
Her father had passed judgment in courtrooms — robes, gavels, rules of evidence. This man passed it in penthouses, with a mask and a syringe. The difference, she thought, was that her father's judgments could be appealed.
They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of it settling between them.
Then Hannah stood up.
"Alright," she said. "Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to pull everything the Bureau has on similar M.O.s — staged bodies, masks, the whole profile. You're going to keep digging into Kane and Walker. We find the connection, we find his next target."
McGee stood too. "And if we don't find it in time?"
Hannah met her eyes. "Then we will. Because you're the one he called, Detective. He wants you in this. Which means you're closer to him than anyone else."
McGee felt a chill.
"He's not afraid of me," she said quietly.
"No," Hannah agreed. "And that's what makes him dangerous."
Chapter 8