by Cynthia Eden
“And no taxi drivers reported picking up her fare either.” Kenton said, a muscle flexing along his jaw. “She’s just… disappeared.”
The sheriff’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “I told Hyde the county was secure. I told him it was safe down here.”
Not even close.
“Why?” He glanced up, and his face flushed dark red. “Why would he go after that agent? He’s been pickin’ local women.”
Monica shook her head. “Sheriff, I’ve told you, I believe this man has killed before, outside of your county. Killed women like Saundra Swain.”
His tongue swiped over his lips. “You found something in Gatlin?”
They hadn’t briefed the sheriff on Gatlin because, well, hell had broken loose last night.
“Maybe. I had Sam working to get some background info for me. The victim in Gatlin, Saundra, had a boyfriend who disappeared just after her death.”
“You think it’s him?” The sheriff asked. “What’s his name? We can put an APB out for him!”
“We don’t have any proof that he’s guilty. We don’t even know where he is right now. We’re pulling up his driver’s license photo now from the DMV, and we’re waiting on a warrant to search a house belonging to the guy’s aunt.”
Her phone rang. Monica broke off and snatched her cell phone up from her hip. Luke caught the rasp of her breath right before she said, “Local number. It-it’s the number Sally had.”
Fuck. They’d gotten all the numbers for the vics because they’d known this call would be coming.
Her eyes were on Luke when she pushed the button to answer the call.
“I’m getting bored with you, Agent Davenport,” he told her, brushing his fingers against the pane of the window. “You’re supposed to be so good. I thought you’d be better at this game.”
“Killing people isn’t a game!”
Ah, she seemed angry. Good. “To me it is.”
She sucked in a sharp breath.
He smiled. “And to your pretty little friend, it’s a game, too.”
“You have Samantha?”
Did she really need to ask? Disappointing. And he’d been told she was such good prey. “She’s rather too trusting, don’t you think? Supposed to be so smart, and she never even saw me coming until it was too late.”
Because no one was smarter than he was. He didn’t need those fucking fancy degrees.
“Let her go,” Monica said, voice tight. “You haven’t killed her yet so just—”
“Are you sure?”
Silence. Then, voice quiet, “Yes.”
“How are you sure?” Not much time. He wouldn’t talk much longer. The agents with her would have already started tracking his signal. He’d have to make the dump fast. He turned away from the window, headed for the back door. Really, they should pay better attention around these parts. Just anyone could walk in.
“I’m sure.” He could almost see her. Dark hair straight and perfect around her delicate features. Face expressionless. His agent liked her control.
He wanted to shatter that control into a million pieces, and he would, when he shattered her.
“You haven’t played with her yet,” the agent who thought she was so smart told him. “You don’t know her, don’t know her fears.”
He laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Ah, but I do know. I told you, I’ve been watching.” A quick glance at his watch. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours.” He kept the voice distorter, a handy device he’d picked up down in a New Orleans novelty shop, over the phone. “Twenty-four hours to save her.” Plenty of time for me to play.
“What do you mean?”
“Find her.” That was all he’d say. “Find her, save her. Twenty-four hours.” And he’d be watching. Because Samantha Kennedy didn’t matter. Monica did. This was her test.
What do you fear, agent? “Find her… or you’ll bury her.” Perhaps Monica would bury her either way because twenty-four hours might just be too long. It was so easy to get bored, and he really doubted that Samantha Kennedy would be able to last that long.
Monica stared at her phone. Her face felt cold. Icy pinpricks shot through her skin. “We’ve got twenty-four hours to find Sam.”
“Fuck!” Kenton whirled around. “That bastard had better not hurt her!”
“He said if we don’t find her in twenty-four hours,” she found Luke watching her, his gaze steady and strong, “then we’ll bury her.”
I’ll find you, Sam. Don’t worry. I will find you.
Because she knew what it was like to be a killer’s plaything. To know that he could hurt you, use you, break you—and that help wouldn’t get there in time.
No, this time, I’ll get there. Hold on, Sam.
Monica drew in a quick breath. Can’t panic. Work the case. Think like him.
“Kenton, get me that picture of Kyle West. See what you can find out about his whereabouts. I want all deputies to know his face—everyone needs to keep their eyes open for him.” One step at a time. “Luke, notify Hyde. He’s gonna want to come down here.” She hesitated, just for an instant. “I’ve got to talk to Sam’s family.”
Luke’s eyes widened. “You’re telling them? Already?”
“Yes.” The grief would rip them apart, but she wouldn’t lie to a fellow agent’s family. “I have to talk to them. They’re the only ones who can tell me—”
“What? What are they gonna tell you?” Davis demanded. “How are you gonna find her? This bastard is jerkin’ us all around by the balls!” His voice rose to a yell as sweat beaded his upper lip.
“Yes, he is.” Monica kept her voice quiet and firm. She understood the sheriff’s fury. His people were dying. Now one of hers was, too. “But we are going to stop him.”
“How?” The sheriff’s faith was gone.
“Leave that to me.” She tossed her cell phone to the tech who’d stood watching them, mouth open. “You were connected with the SSD, right?” They’d set the link up on Gerry’s computer beforehand because she’d known this call would come. “Have they sent you the GPS data?” The SSD would have been notified the moment her phone rang. Kim had been standing by, just waiting. “I want him. I need to know where he called from.”
“I-I think from right outside.” A woman’s voice said.
Monica spun around. Deputy Melinda Jenkins stood in the doorway, her face tense. She lifted her hand and raised a cell phone wrapped in a clear plastic bag. “I was getting a smoke. I-I found this out back.”
Oh, damn. Every muscle in her body tightened. There. So close to them… the bastard wasn’t scared. “Gerry, I want that phone torn apart.” Find something. Anything.
“Get your men out there, sheriff.” The order was Luke’s. “If that asshole was outside, someone saw him.”
The killer was bold. And he was laughing right in their faces. Too confident. He knew the area too well. Knew the sheriff’s station too well.
Every move they made, he seemed to be right there.
“If the bastard was here…” Kenton’s voice came slowly. “Then where the hell is Sam? Christ, is she—is she even still alive?”
Monica swung toward him. “She’s alive.”
His gaze held hers. Kenton and Sam had dated briefly, and though they might not have made it as a couple, Monica knew they were friends. She could see the worry and fear on Kenton’s face.
“He would have drugged her and left her tied up someplace,” she said. “He wouldn’t have made the call close to her. He knew we’d track him.” Because he knew every move they made. Every move.
Sam opened her eyes and saw only darkness. Thick, pitch black. Her head pounded and nausea rolled in her belly. She tried to move but her hands were bound, tied behind her back. She sat in a wooden chair that was hard, with a high back. Her ankles were tied to the chair legs. The ropes were so tight that she could feel the dampness of her blood.
“H-hello?” Her voice came out as a rasp. Weak. No, she would not be weak. “Who’s there?” He had to be
there. Watching her. Getting off on her fear.
Don’t show fear.
Monica had said that once. She’d been talking to the agents about what to do in a worst-case situation.
Oh, God, this is worst case. Trapped. Isolated. He’s going to kill me.
Monica knew killers. She knew how to handle them. If she were here, she wouldn’t be panicking, with terror nearly choking her. She’d be calling out to the killer, taunting him.
Staying in control.
Sam took another breath. A stale taste filled her mouth and that nausea was still rising in her throat. “Come out, bastard!” Yelling made her head hurt more. Dammit, what had he injected her with? How long had she been out?
Her eyes jerked to the left. The right. Can’t see anything. The familiar weight of her glasses was missing. Shit. Even if the lights were on, she wouldn’t be able to see much.
Why had he taken her? What did the guy want? She’d read the profile Monica faxed to Hyde. The guy tortured his victims by making them face their worst fears.
But there wasn’t any way for him to know what scared her. He didn’t know her.
And then she heard it. Sam froze. The faintest of sounds. Not too close, but it was…
The gentle lapping of water.
Oh, Jesus. No, no, he couldn’t know…
“Are you there? Are you there?” Sam shouted.
That lapping filled her ears, and Sam choked back a scream.
“Mrs. Kennedy, this is Monica Davenport with the SSD.” Her fingers curled lightly over the phone. Behind her, the sheriff’s office buzzed with activity. “I’m calling about your daughter Samantha.”
A faint hum over the line, then, “Monica, did you say? Ah, Sam’s friend. You two work together.” A flowing, cultured voice. Sam’s parents were wealthy, old money. Not that Sam appeared to ever touch their money. Why had Sam joined the Bureau? Monica had been given no choice—once the monsters got inside, she couldn’t get them out. But Sam—why had she traded the glitter for the grit?
Had she joined to save lives? Only to lose her own?
Monica swallowed. “Mrs. Kennedy, this is going to seem like an odd question, but I need to know, has Sam ever been involved in any sort of serious accident?”
“Wh-what?”
“Does she have any phobias?” Just tell me no. Tell me Sam is perfectly normal. No, better than normal. Nothing scares her.
“Sam doesn’t like the water.”
Monica’s heart slammed into her ribs. “Why?” Cold, brittle.
Silence. Then, “Why are you calling me, Ms. Davenport?” Distant now, when there’d been warmth in her voice moments before. “Where’s Sam?”
Monica glanced over at Luke. He’d just put a picture of Sam up on their crime board. Right next to the bloody image of Patricia Moffett and the still features of Laura Billings.
“Please tell me why she doesn’t like the water.” Find out first. The parents break when they hear the news about their kids.
A quick gasp. “S-something’s happened to my baby?”
No lies. Not about another agent. “She’s missing. We’re working a case and… she’s missing.”
Some people thought you couldn’t hear pain, but you could. Monica heard it loud and clear in the stark silence that came across that phone line. She cleared her throat. “This is very important. I need to know why she’s scared of water.”
“Sh-she was… eight. At our cabin. S-summer v-vacation…”
Keep talking. The grief was there. Whispering through the words. Hold together, just a few more moments. A patrol car was on the way to the Kennedy home. Hyde wanted a guard with the family because he wasn’t sure what the killer might do.
Monica knew the family wasn’t in danger, but she didn’t want the mother left alone. Not with this kind of grief.
“W-walking on the-the pier. The wood was old, gave way—” And her words gave way to sobs. “We couldn’t get her out. My baby—my baby wasn’t breathing when we finally pulled her from the—the water.”
Darkness. Water. All around. Closing in. No air. No light.
What scares you?
Monica swallowed over the lump in her throat. A lump that threatened to choke her. “Has anything else ever happened to Sam? Any car accidents? Any other—”
“Just… the water. She doesn’t swim now…”
A bell pealed in the background.
“S-someone’s here.…” Confusion. A numbed voice.
“It should be a police officer. He’s there to explain.” What? That a twisted freak had her daughter? “He’ll tell you what you need to know.”
“F-find my baby.…”
“I will.” But would she find her alive?
Hold on, Sam.
Monica ended the call. Luke stood in front of her. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Her control would hold.
He crept closer. “You look like you’re about to break apart.” His fingers smoothed down her arm, a hot touch that warmed her cold flesh.
For just a moment, she wanted to lean in to him. To steal some of his strength. That tempting warmth.
She always felt so cold. Like the bodies she found so often. Ice cold.
If she could just hold on to Luke for a few moments and take that warmth for herself.…
But then she’d be weak. The ice would break, chip away, and what if he saw that underneath the protective cover, she was weak? Weak and scared.
Her gaze scanned the room. If she broke here, with him, they’d all see.
And no, she wouldn’t be weak.
“Monica.” His eyes were so intent. “We’re going to find her.”
I was such a bitch to her, Luke. Such a bitch. She wanted to be my friend. She was always talking to me, asking me to lunch, but I froze her out.
Just like I froze you out.
But she didn’t say anything. Sometimes she felt like her damn secrets were suffocating her.
Always wondering, worrying. What will he think if he knows the truth? What would he see when he looked at me?
What would they all see?
She didn’t want to be a victim, and she’d be damned if she accepted anyone’s pity.
“You need to take a break. Get some coffee, get—”
“No.” Her shoulders snapped back. They didn’t have time to piss away, and she was not going to break. “We don’t have time to waste. We have to find her, and fast.”
His blond brows pulled low. “Twenty-four hours isn’t a lot of time.”
Monica laughed at that. She couldn’t help it. “Do you really think he’s giving us that long?”
Luke blinked.
“She’ll be dead in six. He’s fucking with us.” And that pissed her off. “He wants to have his fun with Sam, but he wants to watch us scramble. So he’ll play with her, kill her, then sit back and watch us struggle. And he’ll be watching from a safe distance. A safe, un-catchable distance.” Monica realized her voice was too loud. Her hands shook, and everyone was watching her.
Watching me break down.
Sam would break, too. The innocence that had been in Sam’s brown eyes would be gone soon. If it wasn’t already. She was an agent, yeah, but she’d been protected, kept safe. Hell, she’d probably only been in the field a handful of times.
There’d be no safety now.
Why did everyone have to stare? They needed to move. “Sheriff, I want a listing of every cabin or house that’s got lake access in this area. Every one—and I want it yesterday.”
He wiped his handkerchief across his sweaty brow. “Yes, ma’am.”
Her chin lifted. “We’re finding her, and we’re finding her now.”
The floorboard squeaked.
Every muscle in Sam’s body tightened. She didn’t know how long she’d been in that damn room, listening to the water, but she wasn’t alone now.
Maybe she’d never been.
A scent teased her nose. Strong and thick. Not cigarette smoke. Deeper. S
mells like Uncle Jeremiah…
But this wasn’t her sweet old uncle. This was a sick freak who wanted to hurt her.
Then he whistled. A stupid, light tune. What was that? Something—
“I know.” A whisper. One that came right next to her ear. Close enough for her to feel his breath against her skin.
To catch that smell—stronger now. Cigar smoke.
She jerked away. He laughed.
Don’t show your fear. Her fingers curled down behind her. “You’ve made a mistake.” Her voice came out sounding calm. Monica would have approved. “I’m a federal agent, and my team will be tracking me. You don’t want—”
“That’s exactly what I want.” And he shoved something over her head. Something thick, heavy. A bag? Oh, God, he was suffocating her; he was going to kill her.
“Hold on, bitch, this might hurt.” He sliced the ropes away. Cut her skin. “Hope it does.” Ankles. Wrists. The blade pierced her skin every time.
But she didn’t scream.
She did attack. The minute the ropes fell away, she shot to her feet, spun around—
And fell, taking the chair down, slamming her elbows and knees onto the floor. Legs won’t work. No circulation. Can’t—
He had her tied again in seconds. Just her hands this time. Thick knots of rope that scraped away her skin.
He hauled her up and dragged her because her legs wouldn’t work. From the ropes or the drug? What had he done to her?
A door squeaked. Light flickered through the bag he’d shoved over her head. The lapping of the water teased her ears—louder—
“I know.” Damn whisper, grating in her ears. “I know all about you, sweet Samantha Kennedy.” His steps echoed, as if he were walking on something hollow.
Something hollow.
Fuck. A dock. They were walking on a dock. She could feel the slight shift in the wood beneath her.
“You really think you’re the only one who knows how to dig and pick apart a person’s life? A computer can show you so much these days. If you know just where to look, you can find anything.
Water lapped, so close.
“I know your father has spent his life screwing around on your mother. I know she spent her days and nights with the bottle to make it all better.”