Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 67000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
I felt tears well up in my eyes, then shook my head as a wave of sadness rolled over me.
“I didn’t know,” I admitted. “Really, I was just thinking he was prime serial killer material. When I started talking to him online, he asked me to go hiking with him. I said no, asked to go to a more public place like a coffee shop or a restaurant, and he argued and argued with me about how he was a good guy. He did this all the time. He always went out when people were there, and we wouldn’t be alone. After I denied him each time, he’d get angrier and angrier, until one day I had to tell him that no date was ever going to happen.”
Quaid blinked. “That’s...”
“Crazy,” I said.
Movement behind him caught my eye, and a flash of familiarity hit me as I saw the other cop come through the doors and stop to talk to the security officer. I couldn’t see his full face, but what I could make out looked an awful lot like…
That’s when it hit me. This man had a twin. I’d seen him in here a time or two while working. I’d also seen him at the grocery store with a friend who worked in radiology, Hollis Aue, not too long ago.
And the reason I remembered the man so vividly was due to him telling us to control ourselves when a woman who had sixty-plus items in her cart tried to go to a lane reserved for twenty-five items or less.
“Do you have a twin?” I blurted.
Officer Carter blinked, then nodded, caught off guard by my change in subject.
“Is he standing right behind me?” he asked.
Then, like out of a scene from one of my why choose books, the man was joined by another.
And though they didn’t look enough alike to say they were identical twins, they did look very, very similar.
Officer Carter turned and snorted. “Actually, I’m a triplet. The one talking to the security guard is one of the triplets. The other one is just my brother.”
“Y’all all look very similar,” I mused.
“That’ll happen when you have the same parents,” he said, then sobered. “The reason I’m reaching out is because I have a friend who works with the FBI. His name is Special Agent Tobin McGraw. He arrived in town a few days ago, and it was due to a suspected serial killer being in our area. The serial killer seems to be targeting young women who look like you. All of them were on dating apps, and were asked to go hiking, where they were later found murdered after they failed to check in with friends.”
My stomach sank.
“Shit,” I said softly. “That’s awful. How many?”
“Here? Two. Elsewhere? Thirty-two,” he answered.
Thirty-two!
“What?” I gasped.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he confirmed for a second time. “You’re the only one alive who’s had any contact with him.”
I was already shaking my head.
“I talked to him for about two weeks on a dating app. Farmer’s Singles.” I pulled out my phone and started swiping through the screens until I got to the app. “This one.”
I showed him the screen, and he reached out while politely asking, “May I?”
“Of course,” I said as I handed him my phone, and then moved so I could stand beside him and show him. “If you go here, you can see all the messages.”
I flushed at a few of them.
In the first one that I’d swiped as ‘no’ this morning, it was a thumbnail photo of a guy’s dick.
The next one was a dick, too.
And every fifth one from there.
“If you swipe down… there,” I said as I got to the guy’s name. “This is him.”
“FarmerJoe122,” he mused. “Did he say his name?”
I opened my mouth to answer, only to close it seconds later. “I assumed it was Benedikt Wells.” I admitted. “Is it not that?”
“Did he get yours?” he asked ignoring my question.
I nodded. “Mine’s in my profile name.”
“Yeah, I see that.” He paused. “Ellodiecandriveatractor?” He chuckled at my username.
That laughter sent tingles down to parts that hadn’t gotten tingles before.
“I can do more than just run a tractor,” I admitted. “I grew up on a farm. I know how to wrangle cows, shoe horses, lift hay bales for hours, and run a grain cart without my father yelling at me.”
He laughed at that, likely knowing it was an accomplishment. Dads were hard to impress. “I grew up holding a flashlight for my dad when he was working on a car. I can assume those are about the same feelings.”
“Probably,” I smiled. “Anyway, back to freak guy. I didn’t ever get his name, but I know he got mine, because he always addressed me as…” I reached over his impressively muscled forearm and scrolled up to a day that he’d messaged. “There. He always said, ‘Hello, my dearest Ellodie.’”