by Cynthia Eden
No, her mom didn’t drink. Not anymore. Not since—
“And I know you, poor little Samantha. You were alone so much. Alone that day when you fell.”
Please, God—
“And no one heard your scream.”
She screamed now, as loud as she could. The bag didn’t stop her; it was loose around her head. She could—
“No one but me can hear you now, and I don’t give a shit.” He threw her onto the dock, grabbing her arms and twisting another rope on her hands. She was tied enough. Enough! Sam tried to kick out at him. Pinpricks shot through her feet and up her calves. Feeling was coming back, painful and burning.
Her feet hit something. Not him. Something hard and heavy. Something that made her bare feet throb.
His laughter filled her ears, and her heart slammed into her chest. Sam shook her head, trying to get out of that bag. “What are you doing? What are—”
Splash. She jerked forward, moving hard to the right. What the hell?
Goose bumps covered her arms. “I haven’t done anything to you!” A scream broke from her. Splash. “Why are you—”
“Because I can.” Splash. “Guess what? You’re next—”
He grabbed her, spinning her around. No, he wasn’t pulling her, something else was. The rope he’d just tied to her; it was pulling her—
Sam slammed into the water. Hit it hard and sank fast because something was pulling her, pulling her down to the bottom of the lake.
The bag drifted away from her twisting head and fluttered up in the murky water. Bubbles flew past her face. Because she was still screaming. Swallowing water and choking.
She couldn’t get free. The rope wouldn’t break, and he’d tied her to blocks. Looked like cinder blocks. Fucking splashes. That’s what the sound had been.
The blocks were dragging her down, straight to that sandy bottom. Swimming with the fishes…
Down…
God! Her lungs burned. The water stung her eyes, filled her nose, and poured down her throat.
Help me!
“Gatlin County Sheriff’s department,” a rumbling voice flowed over the phone line.
Monica inhaled a deep breath. “This is Monica Davenport with the FBI, and I need to speak with Sheriff Martin.” Now.
“Ah, sorry, ma’am, I mean, agent, but Sheriff Martin ain’t in the office today.”
“Who is this?” Monica demanded.
“Peter Fillerman, Deputy Peter Fillerman.”
“Listen to me, deputy, in just a few moments, your office is going to receive a fax from me. It’s a search warrant I want you to take and immediately execute at May Walker’s residence.” She needed those papers. If she could compare the signatures and get a match—got you.
“M-May Walker’s place?”
“She’s got papers there, going back for years. You need to find—”
“If it’s at May Walker’s, ma’am, I won’t be finding anything.”
More deputies piled into the room. Monica turned away, lifting a hand to her left ear to muffle their voices. “Why not? The warrant is perfectly legal, there’s no reason you can’t execute it.”
“There ain’t nothin’ left to search out at May Walker’s place. There was a fire there late last night.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Told Sheriff Martin for months that the place was a firetrap, but I couldn’t ever get him to go out there.”
“What about May?”
“She-she didn’t make it out of the fire.”
Monica’s eyes closed. God, what a terrible way to die.
“Real shame. May didn’t have any close neighbors and the fire was out of control before anyone knew what was happening.”
And May Walker was dead. Another lost life. She swallowed and forced her eyes to open. “Thank you for the information.”
“You want—you want Sheriff Martin to call you?”
She turned around and studied the gathered deputies. Luke was talking to them, his hands on his hips as he went over search procedures. “Where did you say Martin had gone?”
“I didn’t.”
No, she knew that.
“He’s gone up to Angola. He goes up there every few months.”
A chill skated down her spine. “Why?” Thousands of inmates were in Angola, but she knew one of those inmates very, very well.
A soft sigh. “Can’t really say for sure, ma’am, just know he drives up to visit for a few hours now and then. Guess he’s got someone up there he needs to see.”
And she had someone she never wanted to see.
“You want him to call you?”
“I’ll call him.” After she did some checking to see just who the sheriff was visiting at Angola. Had to be just a coincidence, but…
But she wasn’t taking chances. Monica ended the call with a push of her fingertip and stared down at the phone. Lost, remembering.
No one could hear you scream.
“Monica?”
She jumped when Luke called her name. Her head lifted, and she found his gaze on her. All of their gazes were on her as the deputies and the sheriff stood at attention. Waiting on her. She was supposed to tell them all what to do. She was the one they looked to. Right then, she couldn’t afford another trip down Freak Memory Lane.
No time. Focus.
Her shoulders straightened and she pointed behind the sheriff. “That a map of the county?”
He gave a quick nod.
She strode forward and yanked the map off the wall. She spread the map out on the conference room desk. Her gaze followed the criss-cross of lines that were the roads in and out of town.
No one could hear you scream.
The perp would have taken Sam someplace secluded, so he’d have time for his fun and games. Someplace close enough for the bastard to quickly come in and make his call, then ease away before anyone noticed. “He knows the area,” she muttered. A local, or someone who had been to Jasper often enough to learn every secret hollow and twist of land out there.
She bent forward, and her hand settled on the lake near the edge of the town. Had to be near water. And if he was going to do it right, make the torture the perfect match, he’d use a lake. He’d want to set the same scene for Sam. A nightmare come true.
“Are there cabins around this lake, Sheriff?”
“On the west.” His fingers joined hers. “Three there, then two on the east side.”
The east side was closer to town. The west more isolated. What choice had the killer made?
“They’re rentals,” he said, “but nobody ever goes up there these days.”
“Kenton, get me warrants to search every cabin there.”
“But I—”
“I know a judge,” Davis said. “Consider them gotten.”
Good. “Davis, I want you and your men to take the three cabins on the west side.” She looked up, letting her gaze touch on Luke and Kenton. “We’ll take the east side.” Hold on, Sam. She exhaled and pinned Davis with her stare. “Not one whisper of a siren, got it? I don’t want him to know we’re there.”
The female deputy, Melinda, stood behind the sheriff. From what Monica could tell, she was the one he trusted the most. But fear flickered in her dark eyes. Fear and excitement.
Monica knew that was one dangerous combination.
“We’ll be as silent as a whisper,” Melinda promised.
“Everyone, watch your ass.” The butt of her gun pressed into her side. “He’s playing with us, and taking Sam…” Too easy to follow the breadcrumbs and find those cabins on the map. “It could be a lure to pull us in.”
Because the guy had been planning everything so carefully. The victims, their phones—he’d known he would be contacting her. Because he’d known the SSD would become involved? “He knew Sam’s fear long before she got off the plane,” she whispered and knew it was true. He’d known about Sam. And he knows about me.
“The bastard set one trap already with Jones,”
Luke’s voice came, strong and steady. “Stay on guard. We need to be ready for any damn thing.”
Including a guy using his victims as killers. “He’s done his homework,” Monica said. “He’ll be ready, and we have to be ready, too.”
The faces before her were tense. Grim nods met her words; a few offered, “Yes, ma’am” responses. She licked her lips. “Then let’s get the hell out of here,” Monica said, “because Agent Kennedy is not dying on my watch.”
She vomited water. Dirty brown water that shot from her mouth and nose. Wood bit into her palms as Sam tried to shove off the dock.
Too weak.
More water poured from her mouth. Her eyes burned. She couldn’t see anything. Too blurry.
And she hurt. Every part of her.
Laughter.
Her arms gave way, and she fell onto the dock.
“That was fun. For a minute there, I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get free of those ropes.” His voice. Taunting her.
She’d kill him.
A violent coughing fit had her body jerking.
“Looks like that hurts,” he murmured, and the dock creaked beneath his feet.
She swung out at him. She caught his legs and shoved. He fell back, slamming his head into the wood.
Move.
Sam lurched to her feet. Water dripped down her body as she stumbled. Get away from him.
From the water.
She’d clawed her way out of that watery grave. No way was she going back. He’d be dying.
He slammed into her just as she jumped off the dock and reached the sandy shoreline. They fell together, and sand flew into her mouth. He pinned her, holding both wrists against the ground and trapping her legs with his.
“Aw, sweet Sam…” His breath feathered over her ear. “You really didn’t think I’d end things this soon, now did you? Playtime’s just gettin’ started.”
She bucked against him and rammed the back of her head into his.
“Bitch!”
“Asshole,” a hoarse croak. “L-let me—”
He spun her around. For an instant, he was a hazy mass above her. Some kind of cap over his hair. Dark shirt. She couldn’t see his face—just a blur and then—his fist came at her.
Driving into her jaw. Once. Twice.
“Think you’re so damn smart, don’t you?” He taunted and her head sagged back. “You’re weak, just like all the others. Weak and scared. A sad little girl, screaming for help that won’t come.”
He stood, kept her wrists pinned together, and began hauling her back toward the water. “This time, I’ll hold you under. Let’s see how long it takes for you to stop breathing. And maybe, maybe I’ll bring you back and do it again.”
Her legs kicked, and she twisted, and the sand flew around her.
“I’ll feel you die.”
Water sloshed against her. A shudder worked through her body. “No, no, you bastard!” It should have been a scream but her throat was too ravaged. “L-let me go! Let me—”
“Scream. I like it when they scream.” Talking to himself more than to her.
He shoved her down into the water face first. His hands tangled in her hair, and he forced her down. Her mouth was open, and water pumped down her throat.
She clawed at his hands. Desperate. No, not like this—
He hauled her up. “Take a breath. Let’s see how long you can last.”
Sam gagged. Fought for her breath.
Then the water came at her again.
The search party headed out, and the damn reporters pounced the minute they left the station. Luke went out first, and they got him. Cameras, bright lights, and microphones were shoved right at his face. Dammit, this was not his scene.
“Is it true the Watchman has a federal agent in custody?” A perky blonde demanded.
“Do citizens need to worry?” A tall man with one really tacky hairpiece asked, his voice oozing fake concern. “Can you keep us safe from the Watchman?”
Luke’s body tightened.
“No statements!” Kenton’s booming voice. “Back off and give the team room to move here, or I swear to God, I’ll make sure none of you get a peep about this until after the national news carries the story.”
The reporters stepped back.
“Cut,” the blonde muttered, while the man adjusted his toupee.
Monica shoved past the throng. Luke kept pace right with her. There had to be about ten more reporters there, all hungry for blood.
“Damn idiot Vance,” the sheriff grumbled behind him. “Found him talking to Charlotte Peters earlier.” A jerk of his thumb toward the blonde. “I sent his ass out on recon. I don’t want him near those reporters again. Watchman, my ass.”
The sheriff stormed toward his cruiser. “Melinda, radio Vance and Pope, tell them to meet us on Vernon, got it?”
Luke jumped in the SUV, and Monica gunned the engine. Kenton would follow behind them. And he’d follow fast.
She slammed her foot on the accelerator, and the SUV shot out of the lot, narrowly missing a news van.
“Monica! Christ, it’s okay, be—”
“It’s not okay.” Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “He’s playing with her now, Luke. Hurting her. Making her scream and beg.”
“We’re going to find her.” Monica had her sights on the killer, only him. The profiler was turned on, locked in. Too locked in. “Don’t think about what he’s doing. Focus on Sam. Finding her.”
“I can’t.” Whispered. Desperate. A tear leaked down her cheek. “I can’t ever turn it off. It’s always there. I’m always thinking like them. Knowing what they’d do. What they’d like. How they’d hunt.” She didn’t look at him, just kept her eyes on the road.
He kept his eyes on her. “You’re not like them.” Her job was to profile; that was it. She wasn’t evil, not like those freaks they hunted.
“Yes, I am.” Still so soft. “More than you can know.”
He touched her arm. Had to. She needed him.
She flinched away.
Too damn bad. His jaw locked, and his fingers curled around her. “You’re not like them.”
Another turn. Pine trees surrounded them now. Tall, twisting pines, their top branches stretching toward the clouds.
“You don’t know me.” Now she did spare him the briefest of glances, and her blue eyes stared blankly at him. Hollow. “You don’t know me at all.”
His fingers tightened around her arm, and he took the hit right to the gut. “Isn’t that what you want?” No one got close to her. Not him, and he’d be willing to bet not any of the others at SSD.
She didn’t answer.
“Why?” The demand slipped out. The GPS tracker indicated they had five more minutes before reaching the cabins. Not much time, but Monica’s shields were down, and he had to know. “Why do you shove the walls between us?” He deserved an answer.
Another turn. Onto a red dirt road. Toward the sun.
“I’m afraid you’ll see who I really am. What I am.”
Luke almost didn’t hear the whispered confession. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he’d just imagined it. Because that didn’t make a bit of sense to him—and fuck, time to call it like he was damn well seeing it. “Bullshit.”
She braked. A cloud of dirt rose around them. Monica spared him a glance. “Trust me, Dante—”
Dante? Oh, hell, no, she—
“You don’t want to know what’s inside me. Even you couldn’t handle it.” She shoved on her cap and reached into the backseat and snagged her bulletproof vest.
Clenching his teeth, he did the same. But this wasn’t over. “We’re saving Sam,” he told her, “and then you and me, we’re tearing down the walls between us, ripping ’em all down.”
She blanched.
“I’ll know you, inside and out, and you’ll damn well know me,” Luke promised.
CHAPTER Twelve
The place was too familiar. Monica froze beside the SUV, her eyes flickering toward the
treetops. Sunlight drifted down to her, fading in tendrils toward the ground. The chirp of birds and insects filled her ears.
The dirt road. So similar.
Her heart thudded into her ribs.
Kenton’s car pulled up behind her. Monica swallowed and took a quick breath.
Hold on, Sam.
She turned around and found Luke watching her. I’ll know you and you’ll damn well know me. Yeah, the promise was in his gaze. But there was more. When it came to her, the guy always saw so much more than others did.
“What’s going on?” he asked, a quiet demand.
“We’re stopping a killer, that’s what’s going on.” They’d parked a safe distance away from the cabins. If the guy was there he wouldn’t be able to hear the sound of their vehicles, not from here. “Kenton, don’t forget your vest.” Because she had a bad feeling about this one. He’s ready for us.
Kenton jerked on his vest and jogged toward them. “You think—you think Sam’s still alive?”
Since Sam had disappeared at the airport, she’d been missing for a little over four hours.
Plenty of time to die. “Yes.” Sometimes, it didn’t really matter what you thought. You had to say what was best for the others.
He let out a hard expulsion of air. “Then let’s go find this bastard.”
Luke didn’t say anything. Just watched her.
He knows I’m lying. And since when could he see past her lies?
He brushed by her. “When this is over, you’re telling me everything.”
She grabbed his arm. “When this is over, I’m locking up a killer, and I’m making sure he never sees daylight again.” This wasn’t getting personal. Not now. They were staying focused on the killer.
Monica pulled her weapon. “We go on my count.” She allowed herself a deep breath. “Stay to cover, no risks, understood?”
“Understood.” From Luke.
“Kenton? Understood?” He always seemed so controlled, like me, but she knew there was a dangerous core to the agent. She’d glimpsed it on a few field missions before.
Like to like.
“Got you.”
“Then let’s go bring Sam back.”
They ran, heading for the first cabin on Briars Lane. So isolated. The two cabins on the east side were the only homes within a fifteen-mile radius. The guy was sure good at picking his kill spots.