Page 3 of Built of Illusions

It was late afternoon, so Josie had time to head back to her old apartment and bring one load with her. A car had always been too big of an expense, but there were days she would like one. She’d briefly considered renting one for the day, but that would have to wait for the weekend. She had some projects to finish first. Art came before anything else.

Josie locked up her home and headed back to the bus stop. Her phone rang when she was halfway there. The tall, dark and sexy man she’d imagined in her bed a few hours ago was calling.

Which meant he was looking for another killer. Those were the only times he called.

“Hey, Nico. What’s up?”

“Hi, Josie. I’m wondering if you could come down to the office. I’d like to pick your brain and your talent for a while.”

So much for getting one load to her new home. Nico worked for the FBI and she volunteered her time as a sketch artist. If he called her, it was because he needed her.

As an artist.

She calculated the new route she’d have to take. Her house was closer to the FBI headquarters than her old apartment, but she’d have to study the app to figure out the quickest way to get there. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Thanks, Josie.”

He hung up and she pulled up the transit app. She’d worked on and off with Nico and other FBI agents for almost a decade now.

Special Agent Linnie Wu had pulled Josie out of a terrible foster home and ensured she had a safe place to live until she was old enough to be on her own. Josie would always pay that forward by helping the FBI when they needed it.

Linnie had been astounded when sixteen-year-old Josie had drawn the criminal they’d been searching for. He’d been friends with the creepy foster parents but they’d never had proof of the connection.

Until Josie had drawn him down to the acne scars on his jaw and the tobacco stains on his fingers. She’d drawn him and the foster parents in the compromising situations she’d seen. If her sketches could bring down more criminals, she was more than happy to donate her time.

And if she had to spend time with a kind and sexy man, all the better. As long as he never realized she’d been crushing on him for years.

Chapter 2

The Big Picture

Nico straightened his tie and rested his hips against the table in the conference room he and Roman had commandeered for the remainder of this investigation.

The huge board hanging on the wall held all the relevant pictures of the victims and the rooms or alleys where they’d been killed. Pertinent information had been added in succinct bullet points beneath the photos. Staring at data on the board sometimes sparked different thoughts than when he was working at his desk back in their office.

This case was complex with all the potential victims. If he was right and it was one killer targeting these women, the man had to be smart and sneaky as hell.

As a profiler, people expected a little more detail than that from him. He had more, but he wasn’t ready to share with the class just yet. What he had wasn’t enough to narrow down the pool and point toward potential suspects yet. He didn’t want to color anyone else’s thinking with his own suspicions.

Male. Mid-thirties. Mother left him as a child to pursue a career in the arts. Latina mom. White or Latino father. Abusive and neglectful father. Kid blamed his mom for leaving him with the jackass father. He was killing her over and over again. Did he know where she lived? Was he working his way toward her? There was a chance she had been the first victim so was already dead, but Nico didn’t think so.

None of these women were old enough to be the killer’s mother, but they represented her. Probably at the age she’d been when she’d left him with the asshole.

Nico straightened when he heard Roman’s voice coming down the hallway along with Josie’s laugh. As always, the woman’s laugh seemed to float ahead of her.

Why was Roman bringing her here instead of using their office? The gruesome crime scene photos were displayed right along with the other data. Josie didn’t need to see that. As a visual artist, the photos would be seared into her brain.

But the two of them were inside the room before he got to the door and her sharp intake of air had him cursing. “Damn it, Roman. Not here. Turn around Josie. Close your eyes and turn around.”

Too late.

Her wide eyes took in the entirety of the board before he could block her view. Josie barely reached his shoulder so when he stopped in front of her, he hoped his body covered most of the horrific images FBI agents became immune to seeing. Well, immune was the wrong word. If you become immune, you were useless as an agent and as a person.

But agents were trained to see the images as evidence and to lock down their emotions so they could view the scenes and photos dispassionately.

Josie was an artist. Creative people saw and felt differently than everyone else. They had huge capacities for empathy. She shouldn’t be looking at horrific death scenes.

Josie stared straight into his chest for a few long moments and took in several deep breaths, her eyes unblinking. When she blew out a breath and closed her eyes, he took her by the shoulders. “Come on. Let’s go this way.”