Nothing matched in any of the victims’ private lives. They didn’t work in the same jobs, didn’t frequent the same clubs, and had never had cause to meet in one another’s social circles. All were respectable women who had apparently been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Rafe shoved the files to one side, glad to rest her eyes from all the print. Alona directed their attention to a large monitor placed to her right. The screen’s department logo disappeared and a small woman, arms covered in tattoos, appeared on the screen. “Not what I was expecting from a profiler,” Dean said, taken aback. “Detective Douglas, Special Agent Kent will be with you shortly,” the woman said then looked over her shoulder at the sound of someone entering the room behind her. The camera switched positions as another woman sat at the desk. “Thanks, Trace.” The profiler’s husky voice held a hint of laughter in it as she settled down and faced the screen. “Special Agent Blythe Kent, you look fantastic.”
