by Cynthia Eden
She lifted her phone. “The killer . . . I think he just called me.”
His hold tightened on her. “What?”
“And if he wasn’t bullshitting, if that really was our guy . . .” Ana swallowed. “Cash, there are going to be more dead bodies.”
Chapter Five
The pile of missing persons’ folders filled her desk. Ana sat, slumped in her chair, her gaze on those files. Cathy Wise’s case was at the top of that pile. Cathy’s file was open, revealing the age progression photo that Gabe had recently commissioned.
A woman with blond hair, high cheekbones, and pale blue eyes stared at Ana. A faint dimple was in the middle of the woman’s chin. A small mole near her left eye.
Age progression photos always made her a bit sad. This is what your child would’ve looked like . . . if she hadn’t been taken.
Ana slammed the file shut, making her pile tremble.
She’d flown back to Atlanta first thing that morning. Been in the office by noon. And . . .
I still hear that freaking robotic voice in my head.
She knew the caller had used a voice distorter, obviously. It was ridiculously easy to come by those now. Dozens of voice distorting apps were available online. Most of them were even free. The call had come from an “Unknown Caller”—maybe from a burner phone. Cash had said his guys at the FBI would try to track down her caller, but he hadn’t seemed overly hopeful.
But he had been adamant that Ana leave town. That she get on the plane.
“Leaving in the middle of a freaking case,” she growled under her breath as she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “That sucked.”
“What sucked?”
Ana’s eyes flew open. That voice was familiar and just hearing it caused a surge of warmth and affection to fill her. She pushed out of her chair and hurried toward the door—and toward her brother.
Asher Young was her twin, but he was definitely not built along the same delicate lines that she was—the guy was big, strong. Rather like a tank. Way over six feet and with shoulders that stretched far and wide.
But his dark hair was like hers. And he had her dark eyes.
And he has his own scars.
A faint white scar slipped under his strong chin.
She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight for a big hug. “I didn’t realize you were back in town. I thought you were still working that case in Florida.”
He hugged her back, his powerful grip lifting her off her feet for a moment. “Just got back,” he said.
She felt safe with Asher. Always had. Always would. They’d been through absolute hell together, and that pain had just made their bond stronger.
He eased her to her feet and she stared up at him, seeing the pain reflected in his eyes. “You found your lost girl, didn’t you?” Because she knew he’d been working to find a missing twelve-year-old girl. Calley Shawton. Little Calley had been missing for five years now.
So she wouldn’t be twelve any longer. She’d be seventeen. In high school. Getting ready to go to her prom or—
“Found her remains.” Anger and pain thickened his voice. “Buried in a neighbor’s backyard. The sick bastard had volunteered for years in the search for her. Years. Cops never even looked his way.”
She hugged him again, harder. “I’m sorry.” Because she hated it when cases ended this way.
“Gave her parents closure.” His voice was grim. Asher shook his head. “Closure? Is that really the word I’m supposed to use? Like getting her bones is supposed to make them feel better.” He slipped from Ana’s embrace and walked toward her window. “No,” he said as he rolled back his shoulders, “the only closure that will help is when that sick sonofabitch is sent to prison for the rest of his life.” He looked back at her. “But Florida is a state that has the death penalty, so maybe that will be the punishment he gets.”
Punishment.
“Closure comes when the bastards who hurt others are stopped,” Asher continued. She saw him clench his fists, then flex his wrists. “Sometimes, death is the only way to do that.”
I’ll make them all pay. For an instant, she could hear that distorted, robotic voice filling her head again.
“Dammit, I’m sorry.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Don’t mean to dump on you like this.”
She shut her office door. “If you can’t dump on me, then what kind of sister would I be?”
He turned to face her. His eyes were narrowed. “Something’s wrong.”
She shrugged. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Ana, what is it?”
Secrets. So many of them. “I had a field assignment, too.”
He swore. “That’s what you were talking about when I came in. You lost your victim, too?”
She started to nod, but stopped. This was Asher. She didn’t need to pretend with him. “It was Bernie Tate.”
Shock flashed on his face. “Bernie the Butcher?”
Ana nodded. “He escaped from prison, or, at least, that was what it looked like. I found him—Cash and I . . . I mean, Agent Knox and I—but Bernie was dead. He’d been stabbed, again and again.” And again.
Asher took a step toward her. “You okay?”
Her chin notched up. “Of course.”
His eyes gleamed. “Ana, you say ‘of course’ even when you’re about to collapse.”
Her gaze slid away from his. “I got a call last night. I think it was from Bernie’s killer.”
“What the actual fuck?” He rushed toward her. “Ana, you lead with that shit when you’re talking to me. A killer called you? And you didn’t contact me? Why the—”
“Stop.” She kept her voice flat and calm with an extreme effort. “You’re doing it again, Asher.” Trying to protect her. Trying to shield her from everything.
An impossible task.
“I’m safe. I’m okay.”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. Poor Asher. No matter what she said or did, Ana knew he kept blaming himself. She wanted to take that burden off his shoulders. She wished so much that she could.
“I worry about you, Ana.”
Asher was the one person in the world that she loved, completely. Totally. She would lie for her brother. Fight for him.
Kill for him.
Just as he’d killed for her.
“I know,” Ana said, clearing her throat, “but I’m okay. Agent Knox was right there. I was never in any danger.” And I know how to take care of myself. I’m not some defenseless fourteen-year-old girl any longer.
“Agent Knox?” Asher seemed to test the name. “Don’t think I’ve ever met him.”
“No, you haven’t.” Her shoulders straightened. “He thinks the caller . . . well, the way the caller talked, Bernie had gotten some kind of payback.” Her gaze held his. “Punishment. That was what the caller said to me. Cash—Agent Knox figured the perp had to be related to one of Bernie’s victims. The FBI was going to start running down all known victim connections to see if they could track down the killer.” She headed toward her desk. Her fingers fluttered over Cathy’s file.
“You don’t agree with the agent’s assessment?”
She opened the file. Cathy’s blue gaze stared up at her.
“Ana?”
Just as quickly, she closed the file. “The caller said something else that’s been bothering me.” She turned around, propping her hip on the edge of her desk. “‘They will all pay.’ Those were the exact words. If this was just about Bernie, about his crimes, why say that?” She let her words sink in a moment. “It . . . to me, it seemed like the caller was planning to kill more people.”
He nodded. “Seems like the same shit to me, too.”
She bit her lower lip. “I got shut out. Sent away from the investigation and back here. I have all these suspicions, and I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do next.”
“That sucks.”
A quick laugh broke from her. “Yes that’s what I was saying.” She pushed back her
hair. “The FBI closed rank on me. I got shipped away. They took over the case.”
“What did your Agent Knox say before you left?”
He’s not my Agent Knox. “He thanked me for finding Bernie. Then he walked away.” And it hurt. Because . . .
Because I wasn’t ready to leave Cash.
“The killer called you,” Asher said. His brows were pulled low. “You’re sure the guy was legit?”
“He certainly seemed that way to me.”
“Then maybe it’s not over. No reason you can’t conduct your own investigation without the FBI’s assistance. After all, you’ve got me. I can help you.”
But, once more, her gaze slid to the files on her desk. So many cases. “But they’re waiting,” Ana whispered. “Do I make them wait longer because I’m trying to get justice for Bernie Tate? Bernie Freaking Tate?” She shook her head and focused on her brother. “How twisted is that?”
Asher glanced down at his watch. “Let’s go grab lunch and we can talk this out. Sound like a plan?”
“Yes, yes, let’s do that.” Because staying there, waiting like that . . . thinking in circles . . . she was about to drive herself crazy.
“We have another one.”
Cash stiffened as his fingers curled around his phone. His boss had just called him a few moments ago, and Cash had stepped away from the crime scene at the cabin so that he could take the call.
Bernie Tate’s blood still stained the cabin floor. The place still reeked of death and human waste. It was like the pit of hell. And his boss was seriously telling him . . .
“You remember Forrest Hutchins?” Darius asked.
Forrest Hutchins. Forrest . . . The name clicked. “Yeah, I remember him.” He’d studied the guy at Quantico. “He took homeless men from the streets of Richmond about ten years ago. Kept them imprisoned for weeks, slowly starved them to death.” A slow, painful way to go. And the bastard had said he’d done it in the name of science. Because he’d wanted to see how long it took the human body to turn on itself. How desperate would an individual become? How far would a person go to stay alive?
Forrest Hutchins had been a psychology grad student at the time of his heinous crimes. He’d been captured, been put on trial, but . . . instead of being locked in a maximum security prison, the guy had been sent to a psychiatric hospital. The judge and jury had decided the guy was insane. Not legally responsible for his crimes.
“I don’t know why it took so long for the FBI to get this notification,” his boss continued, his voice grim and angry. “But Forrest went missing from his hospital two weeks ago. Two damn weeks. The staff there is saying they alerted the authorities, that they sent faxes out and other bullshit . . .” His voice trailed away. “The blame game is in full effect right now. The governor is about to rip the director of that hospital a new one, and with the press in a frenzy over Tate’s death, we are all in serious cover-our-asses mode.”
A dull ache built behind Cash’s left eye. “The psychiatric hospital that Forrest was in . . .”
“River View Psychiatric. It’s about two hours away from your current location.”
Shit. So when the director had said, “We have another one . . .” had the guy meant that they had another missing criminal on their hands?
Or another potential victim? Both?
“Two infamous killers,” Darius snapped. “Both go missing from the same state, within two weeks of each other? This looks so damn bad.”
Cash glanced back at the cabin. Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze. “One of them isn’t missing any longer.”
“Yeah, well, I want both of them found. Leave a team of agents at the crime scene and get to tracking Forrest. That sick sonofabitch shouldn’t be out there—”
“Just how did he escape?” Cash asked, cutting through Darius’s words.
A stark pause.
“Executive Assistant Director? How did he get away from the hospital?”
“No one knows. All I’ve got from the hospital is that he was in his room one day and gone the next. Bullshit. Now, before the public goes into even more of a panic, I need you to lock this down, understand?”
Cash understood plenty. After Ana had told him about her mysterious caller, he’d been pissed. The bastard had called Ana? Had targeted her? Cash hadn’t been able to get Ana on the plane fast enough. He’d wanted her out of the killer’s line of sight. He’d wanted her as far away as possible.
He’d wanted her safe.
But he’d also had the same fear she did . . .
There will be others. There could already be others.
So he’d contacted his boss. Told him to watch out . . . that they could have one serious clusterfuck on their hands. The killer went to a whole lot of trouble to get to Bernie Tate. The crime was so violent. We aren’t looking at a one-and-done attack here.
“Get a handle on this case,” the executive assistant director urged. “Before it blows up in all of our faces.”
Asher sat across from Ana, a faint smile on his face. “We both know you aren’t going to drop the Tate case.”
She fiddled with her salad. “When the FBI kicks you out, what are you supposed to do?”
He laughed. “Find a way to kick yourself back inside.” He leaned toward her. The noise of the restaurant seemed to fade into the background as he said, “If you want to work this case, do it.”
But what about the other victims who are waiting? Ana shook her head. “We found Tate. That was my job. To find him. Not to stop his killer.”
“Why are you even trying to bullshit with me?”
She looked away from his gaze. For a moment, she just studied the other diners. They were talking. Laughing. Some had their noses shoved into their phones. “They’re all safe,” she murmured.
“What?”
Ana put down her fork. “The people here, they’re safe. Or at least, they think they’re safe. They don’t get how dangerous life is. How fragile. They don’t know that they could walk out of here and just vanish. Their families wouldn’t know what happened to them. Their employers wouldn’t know.” She snapped her fingers. “That fast, and it’s over. That fast, and you become just a file on someone’s desk.”
“Ana . . .”
“That fast,” she whispered. “And it’s over.”
He caught her hand in his. “Is LOST too much for you?”
Her breath seemed to chill her lungs.
“I signed on because of you, only you. You wanted to join LOST to make a difference. To give families hope.”
Ana nodded. He was right. She had. Being a bounty hunter—it had all been about criminals. She’d wanted to help the victims. To find them. And Asher, well, he was an ex-SEAL. Gabe had been more than ready to bring him on board, too. Extra force, more strength. The backup the team needed.
Together, she and Asher were supposed to be a perfect package.
So why do I feel like I am cracking apart on the inside?
“I’m sorry you didn’t find your victim alive,” she said, aware that her voice was too ragged.
“Ana . . .” A muscle jerked in his jaw. “I got the bastard who hurt her. He’s going to pay.”
They’re all going to pay. Her gaze fell.
“If being at LOST isn’t what you want, say the word.” His fingers squeezed hers. “You know I have your back. Always.”
She did. She . . .
Ana’s phone rang. She hesitated, goose bumps rising on her arms. It was her generic ringtone, the one she set for callers she didn’t know. Ana pulled her hand away from Asher. She reached into her bag, pulled out her phone . . .
Not an unknown caller. But she still didn’t recognize the number. Heart racing, Ana put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”
“Ana.”
Cash’s voice.
Her gaze flew to her brother’s face. She gave him a weak smile. “Sorry, I have to take this.” She hurried away from the table, trying to find a quiet spot in the restaurant, nearly an impossib
ility. She ducked into an alcove. “Cash, what’s wrong? Did you find the killer?”
“No. I just . . . I wanted to make sure you’d gotten home safely.”
“Um, yes, yes, I’m fine.” She could see Asher from her position. His shoulders were stiff.
“There might be another one, Ana.”
Her heart jerked.
“I’m checking on the situation right now, but if you get any other phone calls from that SOB, you notify me right away, got it?”
“You are so good at giving orders.”
“Ana . . .” He growled her name.
“Don’t worry. If I get another phone call, you’ll hear about it immediately.” She eased back another step. “Who’s the victim this time?”
Silence.
“Cash, I can help, you know.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know it.” A pause. “The victim is Forrest Hutchins.”
The name was familiar, nagging at the back of her mind but . . .
Hutchins, Hutchins, Hutchins . . .
“He was in the River View Psychiatric Hospital,” Cash said. “After he abducted and starved five homeless men to death, the court decided the guy was insane. He’s been locked up in this place for the last three years.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. Now she remembered the name.
“Seems he vanished two weeks ago. I’m heading to the facility to try to figure out what the hell happened.”
She wanted to be there. “Do you need me?”
“I need you to stay safe.” His words were tight. “I don’t like that the killer called you. A call is personal. It means he could be targeting you.”
Her eyes opened. The noise of the restaurant seemed so distant.
“I’ll contact you once I know more,” Cash assured her. “And if you get any more late night calls from the SOB, notify me. Immediately.”
“I will.”
“Sorry to wreck your day.”
“You didn’t,” she said quickly. “I was just having lunch.”
And she saw that her brother was heading toward her. Asher’s face was tense, worried, as he closed in.
“I can handle any danger that comes my way,” Ana said, her words rushing out. “You don’t need to worry about protecting me.”