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the marines.”
    “He was introduced as a special agent, so I doubt it.”
    “Yeah? Well, there’s a lot of agencies out there that use that title. What sort of case is it?”
    “At the moment, I can’t give you details, other than it looks like some ritualistic killer. Like I said, the security around it is tight, and they won’t let me talk about it. But when I can divulge anything, I’ll let you know.”
    “If it’s your basic serial killer, why all the secrecy?”
    “The million-dollar question.” Sydney thought she heard something behind her. “Hold on,” she said, then paused to listen. It was the slightest of sounds, but it sent a shiver through her. When she turned, she saw nothing.
    “What is it?” Carillo asked.
    “Probably a deer. Anyway, do me a favor, and keep checking on this guy. I get the feeling that he’s not one of ours.”
    “Will do.”
    She disconnected, started jogging, and again had that sensation of being watched. When she slowed, she heard nothing, so she quickened her pace, wanting out of the woods now that she no longer had need of privacy. Fifty yards later, she was sure someone was following her. She eyed a swath of needles on the ground where the snow had melted, veered off the path into the trees, making sure she left no tracks, then waited, trying to slow her breathing, hoping not to be overheard. A moment later the cadence of joggers approaching from the opposite direction caught her attention. Two young men wearing FBI Academy sweats ran into view. She stepped out, nodded. “Mind if I join you?”
    “Feel free,” one of them said.
    She fell in beside them, jogged for a bit, then looked back. And could’ve sworn she saw a figure slip into the woods.
     
    Sydney showered, changed, then headed down to grab a bite to eat at the cafeteria, where Zachary Griffin was waiting. The dining hall wasn’t crowded, the morning rush long since past. No recruits in their blue shirts. Probably all in class. The patrons who remained were probably employees on a break. She recognized no one, and turned to her shadow. “You weren’t following me while I was out running, were you?”
    “No. Why would you think that?”
    “Thought I saw someone out on the trails. It’s a big base. Suppose it could’ve been anyone.”
    His gaze flicked to the expanse of windows, then back to her. “I’d like you to finish as soon as possible.”
    “That makes two of us.” She set an apple, juice, and yogurt onto her tray, then stopped for coffee. “You bring that autopsy photo?”
    “You can eat downstairs while you work,” he said, ignoring her question.
    “Or you can try drawing it yourself,” she replied, choosing a table at the far end of the hall near the windows. She opened her juice and took a sip. “The photo?” she asked again.
    “It’s en route. Do you really need it when you have the other?”
    “Maybe not,” she admitted. “What branch of the government do you work for?”
    He didn’t respond.
    “So this case is not a sexual assault? Or are you investigating some senator committing heinous serial murders on prostitutes that he’s paid for with federal tax funds?”
    The slightest of smiles from him, and she thought: Not just a sense of humor, but a warped sense of humor. She was tempted to make a joke about looking for bugs in her room, but decided now wasn’t the time, and so she finished her yogurt, drank down her juice, then took her coffee and apple with her. “Ready when you are.”
    He gave a slight tip of his head, then held out his hand, indicating she should precede him.
    Down in the basement hallway, their footsteps echoed. She stopped at the door, waited for him to unlock it, stepped in, moved directly to her sketch while he secured the door behind them. And finally she had to ask. “Why all the secrecy?”
    He leaned against the door, crossing his arms, saying nothing. Which was when she noticed that unlike her, he was armed.
    “Wait, I know,” she said,