Prologue

Cold moonlight turned the snow to diamonds and the shadows to midnight blue velvet. It squeaked under the tires, and then beneath two pairs of feet; the first pair stumbling before the second, driven by the threat of what would happen when they stopped. Across a frozen lake, into the woods beyond, wrists bound behind her back, no longer pleading for a life that was already lost.

Chapter 1

November 3rd, 3:30 pm

Their tiny 50-seat jet had lifted off from Dulles into a china blue sky, and landed in the middle of a Pittsburgh ice storm that closed the airport for three hours. The final leg of the flight was an even tinier turboprop that lurched through thirty minutes of rough air to Bradford Regional Airport where it deposited its passengers, sans jetway, into a mini blizzard.

Inside the compact terminal building, there were four boarding gates, a snack bar and a single car rental counter tended by a woman in a bright yellow uniform.

Scully tried with limited success to revive her frozen fingers as she watched Mulder charm the rental agent out of a car they hadn't reserved and a map with door-to-door directions that she drew for him, heedless of the line forming behind him. It was a talent that Scully had always suspected came with the long-lashed hazel eyes, as natural as breathing. The woman was still smiling when he walked away.

Mulder reached for Scully's bag. "I'll go get the car and warm it up." He looked pointedly at her bluish fingertips.

She was too damn cold to take offense. "I'll find some coffee."

She had her hands wrapped around a pair of steaming plastic mugs when he reappeared, dusted with snow, ruddy cheeked as a child. He took one from her, and she felt half of her fingers chill immediately.

"They let me park right out front," he informed her with a touch of wonder.

When they stepped outside, the wind stung her eyes and whipped icy flakes against her cheeks. By the time she settled inside the warm car, her nose was running and the heated air blowing in her face felt like fire. She turned it down a bit and unfolded the annotated map. "Turn left onto the highway."

Mulder started the car moving cautiously, testing the brakes on the snowy surface before heading out onto the main road. He nodded at the map in her hands. "She was very obliging."

Scully gave him an arch look over the map. "I kept expecting her glasses to steam up. You might want to dial it back a few notches if you don't want them following you home."

He looked pleased. "You think?"

This was the way it had been between them since the meeting this morning, determinedly casual and focused on the moment. Mulder had already been in Skinner's office when she'd arrived, just in time to catch the last few words of a conversation that had immediately changed gears. Mulder's smile had said he welcomed her company on this case. He wanted her to feel at ease, and she was doing her best. It would be a lot easier if she weren't so acutely aware of all that was missing.

The rear tires slipped a bit on a patch of ice, and Scully's right foot reached reflexively for an imaginary brake pedal on her side of the car. Mulder noticed, and dropped his speed another five miles an hour.

"It's not as slippery as it looks." He gave her knee a reassuring pat.

She reached over and flipped on the radio, a little irked at being patronized, however kindly. Fiddling with the tuner, she slid through the stations in search of something soothing. When she paused too long on a country western tune, Mulder made a face.

"No Patsy Cline, please."

Something evil made her ask, "What makes you think you aren't a huge Patsy Cline fan?"

"Call it a feeling."

He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she bit back a gasp. It happened all the time now, these flashes of the past that he evoked with a gesture or a phrase. She was getting more adept at hiding her reactions.

She moved the dial again and stopped on a weather report. More snow was predicted for the next twenty-four hours. "How do you feel about getting snowed in?" A neutral topic, if ever there was one.

"We should have rented a Jeep." He leaned forward to peer up at the steel gray sky. "Or a dog sled."

There was so much about him that was achingly familiar, and so much that still surprised her. He was Mulder, but not. The razor sharp mind was there, and the lethal wit, but he seemed to wield both with a different hand. She felt off balance. Unsettled. Unreal. He used to tell her that she was his link to reality. His human credential, in his more philosophic moments.

Somehow, she had never considered that he might be hers.

When they reached the outskirts of Warren a short time later, it was like driving into a Norman Rockwell painting. The main road into town was lined with huge Victorian homes on spacious lots. Soft, fat snowflakes drifted down onto gingerbread roofs and dusted manicured shrubs. Everything was pristine white and postcard pretty.

"What are we looking for?" Mulder prompted, eyes on the passing street signs.

She read the rental agent's note. "The corner of Market and Main."

"There's Market Street." Mulder waved at the sign as they sailed right past. He glanced quickly over his shoulder to check the sparse traffic and swung the Taurus into a 180 degree turn. "You don't suppose there's a law against U-turns in this--Shit."

Scully glanced at the side mirror in time to see the police car pull in behind them. Mulder pulled to the curb and stopped, eyes on the rearview mirror. Scully turned in her seat to watch the officer get out of his car and stroll toward them.

"Afternoon, folks." He leaned down to peer into the car. "May I see your license and registration, please?" He touched two fingers to the brim of his trooper hat and smiled at them.

Scully opened the glove box and fished out the rental agreement while Mulder dug for his wallet. The officer glanced at the documents and handed them back. "You folks lost?"

"We missed a turn," Mulder laid his wallet on the seat between them and pulled out his badge. "We have an appointment with Sheriff Kessler." He showed the badge, and Scully followed suit.

The officer nodded, still smiling. "Thought so. You can follow me. I'll show you the way." He tapped his brim again and headed back to his patrol car at the same leisurely pace.

Mulder tucked his badge and wallet in their respective pockets, waiting for the patrol car to pull out. "I think we could have found it from here." He pointed to the left, just past the corner, and Scully saw the sign. Warren County Sheriff.

Aside from the commercial-type glass double doors, the building's exterior blended perfectly with its residential neighbors. The gold-lettered white sign out front was all that set it apart. Even the parking lot out back was tastefully situated behind a six-foot hedge.

Mulder followed her gaze as they walked onto the wide front porch. "Sorta like walking into a Christmas card."

"Except for the bodies they keep stumbling across." It was Mulder's brand of humor, but instead of chuckling, he looked mildly shocked. Scully ducked past him and nearly bumped into a uniformed man standing just inside the door.

"I'm Sheriff Kessler. You must be Agents Mulder and Scully." The sheriff was as tall as Mulder but probably outweighed him by fifty pounds. His demeanor, unlike the cheery deputy, was all business.

Mulder introduced himself and Scully, and they shook hands all around. She was pleased to note that the sheriff didn't seem to gentle his grip for her smaller hand.

"I've got everything set up in the conference room, if you'll come with me." Mulder answered with a 'lead the way' gesture, and the sheriff headed off down the hall. "I'm afraid there's no spare office for you to use, so I had a phone set up in here." He stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, then stepped back to wait for them.

The room was empty but for a couple of long oak tables pushed together and a 4x6 foot free- standing whiteboard covered with notes and photographs. An old-style black desk phone and a stack of legal pads sat side-by-side in the middle of the makeshift conference table.

Scully crossed to the whiteboard and began looking over the collected documents. "Is this everything?"

"I have some files on my desk. Be right back." He left.

Mulder shrugged out of his coat and dropped it on the table. "Anything there that wasn't in the case file?" He walked over to join her at the board.

"I don't remember this one." She tapped a glossy eight by ten image and Mulder leaned in to study it.

"That's Marcy Brackston." The sheriff was back with an armful of files. "Ranger found her body this morning, less than a mile from where the last two were found."

He dropped the stack on the table and pulled up a chair. "Have a seat," he waved at the two remaining chairs, heavy library-style and functional. "I'll run through what we've got so far." He started dividing the stack into three piles.

It took him a moment to realize no one was joining him at the table. "Or, would you rather do this alone."   He stopped dealing out folders.

Mulder's expression morphed into a professional smile. He sat down in the chair opposite the sheriff.  "Not at all. Please," he gestured for the man to continue.

Kessler dealt out the rest of the files. "It's only been a week since the previous murder, so we're thinking that this guy is escalating." He shot a glance in Mulder's direction and received an approving nod. "Marcy was number seven. Same M.O."

"She was from the same graduating class as the others?" Scully asked, leafing through the file on Jameson, Sara L. Victim number four. The case file she'd read on the plane had mentioned the high school link.

"Yes, but we're wondering if that's not a red herring. We've only got the one high school, so pretty much everyone who grew up here attended it. There's a Catholic school in Bradford. None of these women went there. They have other factors in common that could also be just a matter of geography.  They lived in the same part of town, all had children and husbands, and none of them worked outside the home. And they all knew each other. Saw each other pretty regularly. At church. Shopping. Socially. And they knew their killer."

Scully looked up. "What makes you say that?" She had seen nothing in the file to indicate a personal connection. The women were taken from different locations: three from home, one from a shopping mall, and the others most likely pulled over in their cars on the way to somewhere. "It could have been someone with a weapon."

"Strangers stick out in this town. People remember them." He nodded at the two of them. "You folks haven't been here more than a few minutes, but I'm betting there are at least a dozen people who already know about it."

Scully could think of several arguments against that line of reasoning, but let it pass for the moment. "Then any strangers in the area have been interviewed?"

"We've got the National Forest, brings in a lot of tourists in the summer. And the hunting's a big draw in the fall. This time of year, it's pretty much just permanent residents. So yeah, it didn't take long to check out all the transients."

"And you have a prison nearby," Mulder commented.

"Maximum security, over in Bradford. No escapees in twenty years."

"What about group homes in the area? For parolees?" Scully asked.

The sheriff seemed to choose his words. "Maximum security as in, anyone who makes it to the end of their sentence is too old for this, uh, particular kind of crime."

Long experience had shown Scully that the smaller the town, the more its male inhabitants tended to tiptoe around indelicate issues in her presence. This man's firm handshake had made her hope he would be an exception.

"Which part, Sheriff? The rape or the murder?" She leveled her gaze and her voice.

His jaw tightened. "Both." Message received.

Mulder cleared his throat and they both turned to look at him. "Did you write the profile?"

"We've got a psychologist on the payroll part time, but mostly for evaluating employees. Up 'til recently, our homicide rate was less than two a year, and those were bar fights and domestic situations."

"Michael Hobart," Mulder took a stab at deciphering the signature on the profile. "I'd like to speak with him."

"Right. I'll have Linda put in a call." He stood up and headed for the door. "You folks want some coffee? Heat's been on in here all morning. It's not gonna get any warmer." He glanced at Scully who was blowing on her fingers.

She dropped her hands, and Mulder smiled. "That would be great. Thanks."

Scully noticed that Mulder had at some point shed his coat and suit jacket, and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. She was still freezing in her coat. "You think the profile has merit?"

He shrugged. "There's a local flavor to it, now that I've talked to the sheriff. I wondered." He shrugged again. "It's worth a closer look, but I need to hear from the profiler." He started a new stack with the file in his hands and picked up the next. "I don't see the autopsy reports."

"You're sure they've been done?" She didn't realize until the words were out that the sheriff was standing in the door.

"He's part time, too, but we do have a pathologist," Kessler commented dryly as he came into the room. "We kept them separate because of the video recordings. You'll have to watch them in the media room upstairs. It's even colder up there."

Scully stood up, removed her coat and folded it neatly over the back of her chair. "I'd like to see them now, if that's all right."

Mulder ducked his head, but not before Scully caught the beginning of a smile. The sheriff's expression was impassive. "Of course. I'll set it up, if you'll come with me?" He turned and left.

Scully glanced back at the top of Mulder's head, and followed.

* * *

Some minutes later, Mulder was reading the high school transcript of victim number five when footsteps in the doorway made him glance up. A woman of about thirty, medium height, slender build, short brown hair, came toward him with a steaming coffee mug. Mulder reached for it gratefully.

"Thanks. Agent Scully's gone to the media room, and I know she would be very happy to see you, if you don't mind making the trip."

The woman stopped in her tracks, eyebrows rising until they disappeared under her thick bangs. "Well, that's nice to hear, but I'm not giving you my coffee."

He dropped his hand and stood up so quickly that the chair tipped over. The noise it made brought the sheriff back into the room with his hand on his holster. "Everything okay in here?"

Mulder could feel the heat in his face. The woman was chuckling merrily. "It's okay, Will. Agent Mulder here was just introducing himself." She put down the coffee mug and extended her hand to Mulder. "I'm Michael Hobart. You asked to see me?"

Mulder shook the woman's hand. "It's a pleasure, Ms. Hobart. You wrote the profile."

"Just Michael is fine. And I'm anxious to hear what you think. Your reputation precedes you."

Sheriff Kessler chuckled. "The name fools everyone. Sorry, I should have said something." He turned back to the door. "I'll just leave you two to get acquainted." He gave Mulder a vaguely disturbing wink and left.

Mulder reached down and picked up his chair. It gave him something to do with his hands, but bending over renewed the flush in his cheeks.

Michael Hobart pulled out Scully's chair and sat down. "I'm used to it, Agent Mulder. Please don't be embarrassed."

He sat down and looked at her. "And you enjoy it just a bit, don't you?"

She smiled, and they sized each other up for a moment. Mulder picked up the profile. "You've made some interesting assumptions about this man. I'd like to hear your reasoning." Back to comfortable ground.

Michael Hobart's wide brown eyes regarded him levelly. "Defend it, you mean."

"No, I mean I'd like to hear your reasoning." He settled back in his chair and folded his hands on his stomach.

She gave him a long look. "Where would you like me to start?"

"Start with why you think the victims knew their killer."

"Because no one who grew up in this town would let a stranger get close enough to do what this guy did. After the first murder, it would have been even more unlikely that an unfamiliar face could go unnoticed in any public place."

"People make mistakes. Maybe this is a very charming stranger."

Michael shook her head. "I might accept that with the first victim, but not the rest. Not after word got out."

Mulder nodded. "The sheriff agrees with you."

"Will is a very perceptive man." There was a genuine fondness in her tone. "He's half the reason I got into this profiling business. Gave me my first consulting job, too."

"He must have been pleased with the outcome."

She looked surprised. "I caught the killer. Why wouldn't he be?"

The woman had gone from earnest to arrogant in the space of a heartbeat. Mulder was familiar with both attitudes, but not in such quick succession. "Overconfidence can be a handicap, or so I've been told."

She laughed out loud. "Not if you can back it up."

* * *

Upstairs, Scully had heard a noise that sounded like furniture getting knocked over, and she'd gotten halfway to the stairs before she heard the laughter. Whatever Mulder was doing down there, he had a friendly audience. She returned to her seat and hit the rewind button for a few seconds.

The sheriff was right. It was so cold in here that her fingers were going numb, and she was only halfway through the first autopsy video. It was an amazingly good quality tape. Coupled with the extensive typewritten notes, it was as good as attending in person. Well, almost. She had always been a tactile person, and getting her hands into things got her mind in gear.

At the moment, however, the thought of sinking her hands into a cold corpse made her shiver. When this tape was finished, she would ask the sheriff if she could take the rest to the hotel.

A little less than ten minutes later, she set out to find the sheriff. He was in his office, on the telephone. She caught his eye, then waited in the hall for him to complete his call. It sounded personal, so she took a few steps away. Laughter drifted down the hall from the conference room. Mulder and a woman. Eyebrows rising, she took a few steps in toward the sound.

"Agent Scully? You wanted to see me?" The sheriff poked his head out of his office, eyebrows raised in question.

She told him what she needed, and he was very accommodating, even to having one of his deputies take the box of tapes and a video player out to the rental car. Scully thanked him and went to find Mulder.

She obviously walked in on the end of a very amusing story. A woman was sitting with her back to the door. Mulder was looking at her wearing a very appreciative grin. It took him a few seconds to notice that Scully had come into the room. When he saw her, he stood up and his chair fell backward with a familiar clatter.

"Hey, Scully. This is Michael Hobart. She wrote the profile."

The woman stood and turned to face Scully. "It's a pleasure, Agent Scully."

"We've been discussing her conclusions, and I think we've got a lead. She grew up with the victims." He was giving the woman a look that said she'd impressed him, which impressed Scully even more.

She shook the woman's hand and gave her a speculative look. Attractive, in an outdoorsy way. Short thick hair. No make-up, or very little. Intelligent brown eyes that seemed to gravitate to Mulder.

She smiled at Scully. "I just told Agent Mulder that I'd like to take you both to dinner. We don't have a lot of choices in town, but there's a great place about an hour from here that will give you a little local flavor."

Mulder quickly added, "It's on the other side of the Allegheny Forest, and we could take a side trip to the crime scene."

Scully turned her speculative look on him. "It's a little dark to see much."

"I thought it would be helpful to see it the way the killer did. The bodies were dumped at night," Michael Hobart offered.

Scully's hot bath receded into the distance. "That could be worth the trip," she agreed.

"Great!" The woman clapped her hands together. "I'll go call for reservations."

Mulder rolled down his sleeves and grabbed his jacket. "You must be starved, too. I called to make sure our rooms are being held." He pulled on his coat. "You don't mind going to dinner, do you?"

It was a little late to ask that question. "I did want to review the rest of the tapes tonight, but it can wait."

He looked relieved. "Good, good. Well, let's get going." And he was out the door.

He was holding the door for Michael Hobart when Scully walked into the lobby. He let it close behind him without a backward glance.

Scully paused for just a beat, then gave it a brisk shove and followed them out into the gathering dusk.

* * *

Continued in Chapter 2