by Cynthia Eden
But Anthony licked his lips and his stare darted toward the interrogation room door. “We have to wait. The FBI is joining us.”
What? She wanted to bolt out of her chair. She didn’t. The FBI... Dawn gave a low whistle. “This must be some case.”
He looked at her, and she saw the quick flash of sympathy on his face. “It is.”
She blinked and that sympathy was gone, but Dawn knew she’d seen it. She rose to her feet and the chair legs squeaked as they slid across the floor. “Anthony...”
He tensed.
She stalked toward him. “What’s happening here?” Because her heart was racing too fast. Her stomach was tying into knots.
He rolled back his shoulders. “Told you...it’s a case I’m working on. The FBI came in to consult, and they asked to see you first thing this morning. Just be patient a little longer, okay?”
“I’m not real good with patience.” Not any longer she wasn’t. Like she wasn’t good with many things. Being alone at night. I suck when it comes to being alone when it gets dark. That’s why I hunt then. Better to be on the streets than locked in my home.
He glanced back at the door, looking over her shoulder. Since she stood at just five foot four and he was easily over six feet, it was simple enough for the guy to glance right over her.
She didn’t like being glanced over.
She also didn’t like finding out that the FBI was about to burst into the room. Easy, Dawn. There are hundreds, thousands of FBI agents. What are the odds that he will be the one to walk inside right now?
He... Tucker Frost. The man who haunted her, waking and sleeping.
She shook her head. No, there was no way fate would be that cruel to her. Besides, she kept tabs on Tucker. He was working in DC now. He wasn’t part of the local FBI branch. He wouldn’t be coming in that door.
The door began to squeak open. She whirled around.
* * *
FEAR.
God, he’d forgotten how much he hated to see fear on Dawn’s face.
Tucker stood just behind the one-way glass, watching her as she whirled to confront the agent who’d just walked through the door. For an instant, there had been no missing the fact that Dawn was afraid.
But...
When she saw Macey, Dawn’s shoulders relaxed.
And he knew why she’d been afraid. She’s still afraid of me.
Some things didn’t change, no matter how much time passed.
His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched the little group. Anthony Deveraux. He’d been the cop who contacted the Bureau, the guy who’d instantly feared that they had another Iceman on their hands. A guy who didn’t want a serial, not in his city.
Like anyone wanted one. It wasn’t as if folks went out hoping for death and despair to hit close to home.
“I’m FBI Special Agent Macey Night,” Tucker’s partner said as she closed the door behind her. She was wearing her neatly pressed suit, with the sleeves that fell just past her wrists. Her red hair was tucked behind her ears. Her gaze swept over Dawn. “And I really appreciate you coming in this morning, Ms. Alexander—”
“Just Dawn,” she said, shaking her head. “Just call me Dawn.” She paced around the room, moving quickly, energy seeming to bubble off her. For a moment, he just stared at her. She’d changed in the last seven years. Her blond hair was shorter, barely skimming her pale jaw now. Her green eyes were still bright, gleaming, but now her stare seemed to carry suspicion. Her cheekbones were high, her chin was slightly pointed and her lips were full and red. Sexy. She’d always been sexy to him. But now...
She carried herself differently. She moved with fast energy and, except for that flash of fear...confidence.
A scar sliced around her neck, faint now, white and faded, but he’d always remember that mark. Just as he remembered the others.
So many others.
Jason, you bastard. I hope you’re burning in hell right now.
“Dawn.” Macey inclined her head. “I just want to begin by saying that I know your life hasn’t been easy. And I know you probably don’t want to talk about your past.”
Dawn shot a disbelieving glance at Anthony. “Tell me you did not bring me down here for this.” Her hands fisted at her sides. “My past? Seriously? My past is dead and buried.” Her chin notched up as she focused on Macey once more. “And you’re right. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to talk about it.” She moved toward the door.
Macey stepped into her path. “I should tell you more about my work with the FBI. I studied with the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” She gave a weak smile. “Though it’s not the technical term we use, you could say I’m a profiler—”
Dawn flinched. “And you want to understand killers better, right? You want to talk to a living, breathing serial killer survivor so you can figure out how those psychos tick?” She shook her head. “Sorry, lady. I don’t want to be your science project. I’m not going to let you poke and prod me so you can see all of my pain and learn more about those sick freaks. I’m leaving, so do me a favor and move.”
Macey did move. She pushed up her right sleeve, then her left, and she raised her arms in front of Dawn.
From the angle he had, Tucker couldn’t see Macey’s arms clearly, but he did see Dawn’s expression. Surprise. Pain.
“I have plenty of experience with a ‘living, breathing serial killer survivor,’ as you put it,” Macey said softly. “So believe me when I say...I understand. I understand that you’re scared. You’re angry. I understand that some days you hate the very world around you. You see people living their simple lives and they just don’t get how dark and twisted the world around them truly is.” She exhaled as she pushed her sleeves back down. “Believe me, I understand.”
Dawn was no longer staring angrily at the other woman. Now curiosity was on her face. “What is it that I can do for you, Agent Night?”
“Detective Deveraux and I wanted you to be aware of a crime that was recently committed in the New Orleans area.” Macey motioned toward the table. “Why don’t you and I sit down so we can talk?”
He saw Dawn lift one delicate brow, but she turned and made her way back to the table. She took one of the seats and then Macey sat across from her.
Anthony wasn’t speaking. He was just watching. Waiting.
So was Tucker. He’d held his breath when he’d first seen her. That initial view of Dawn had been like a punch straight to his gut. As he watched her now, his hand rose and pressed to the glass. This was the closest he’d been to Dawn in years.
There was another knock on the interrogation room door.
Dawn’s shoulders stiffened, but a young cop came running inside, and he handed Macey a manila file. She thanked him and—
Dawn is looking at me.
Her head had turned and she was staring at the one-way mirror. It actually seemed as if she were gazing at him. For a second, he almost fucking forgot to breathe.
But then she looked away.
“These are crime scene photos,” Macey began as her fingers slid into the folder. “I asked Officer Higgins to bring them into us but before you see them, I wanted to warn you that they are very graphic.”
“I’m used to graphic,” Dawn replied. Her voice was husky. Soft. It rolled over him as he stood there.
He wanted to be in that room. Wanted to be with her. But...
Fear.
It held them both back.
Anthony cleared his throat. “I found a body recently, Dawn. One that set off every alarm bell in my head.” His lips thinned. “Because of you, I was...familiar with this kind of work.”
Her head tilted as if she were considering his words. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Macey opened the file and she pushed a picture toward Dawn.
/> Dawn immediately jumped to her feet and the chair shot back behind her, its wheels screeching. Fear didn’t just flash on her face. Horror came, turning her skin stark white, and Tucker found himself lunging for the door.
She needs me.
“No.” Dawn’s voice was surprisingly strong. “No.”
He froze.
* * *
SHE COULDN’T TAKE her eyes off the first picture.
She’d seen pictures just like that one before. She’d made herself see them. Dawn had wanted to learn everything she could about the Iceman’s other victims. And they’d all looked just like this...when he was done with them.
Ice covered the woman’s thick lashes. Her skin was blue. Her lips—they were so dark. There were cuts on the woman, cuts that had long since stopped bleeding.
The pain had stopped.
I’m going to teach you to like the pain.
The woman appeared young, perhaps barely twenty-one. She was dead. Frozen.
“I found her in a warehouse downtown. An anonymous tip came into the station and I followed up on it,” Anthony said. “At first, I thought it was a hoax, then I saw the freezer. There was power in the building, but it looked as if the place hadn’t been used in months. Cobwebs were everywhere. The air tasted stale but the freezer was...humming.”
Look away from the picture.
She jerked her gaze up to him.
“I had to look inside.” His eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “And I found her.”
“Who owns the building?” The words came from her, flat, calm. Surprising when she didn’t feel calm at all. “Get the person who owns the building. I mean, if the freezer was running...” How long? How long were you in there? She cleared her throat and made herself keep talking. “If the freezer was running, if the power was on in that building, then the owner has to know something.”
“The owner was questioned first thing. He’d moved his operation out of the warehouse seven months ago. He’d kept the power on because of a clerical error in his office. He didn’t even realize he was still getting billed for it. The freezer...” Anthony shook his head. “He swore he knew nothing about it.”
“And you believe him?” She didn’t, but then she didn’t usually trust anyone. People hid too many secrets. They told too many lies.
“At this point, he appears to be telling the truth.”
Bull. She’d like to talk to the guy herself. She’d like—
“We may be looking at a copycat here,” Macey announced.
Dawn backed up a step. “May?” She gave a rough laugh. “Considering that Jason Frost is dead, I think there is a bit more than may involved right here.” Her temples were throbbing. Her heart racing. Jason has to be dead. He has to be.
But in the last few months, hadn’t she started to wonder...hadn’t she started to fear...?
“It could be a onetime situation,” Macey continued briskly. Her head inclined and her red hair gleamed under the overhead light. “It could be a person who was trying to take advantage of a serial killer’s fame. Perhaps this individual had someone he wanted to eliminate from his life, so he used the Iceman’s MO to do it.”
Anthony had edged closer to them.
“That’s actually what I hope it is,” Macey continued, her head cocked a bit to the right. “And not a true copycat. Because in that instance...there will be more deaths.”
No, no, she did not want to hear this. Dawn’s gaze cut to Anthony. “Way to warn a woman what she’s walking into.”
He winced. “I was under orders not to talk about it. Not to—”
“Our department wanted to speak to you first.” Macey’s interjection was smooth.
And...interesting. “Why?” Dawn demanded. “Because you wanted to watch my reaction?” That just didn’t make sense to her, not unless... Her spine straightened. “Surely you don’t think I’m involved in this?”
There was the faintest of hesitations before Macey said, “You were the Iceman’s only surviving victim. You knew Jason Frost well before your attack.”
Not as well as I knew Tucker.
“Sometimes, victims can...associate with their attackers. They can believe that a connection exists between them.”
The lady needed to be bullshitting.
“The Stockholm syndrome is the greatest example. Victims sympathize with their attackers, they’ve even been known to assist—”
Dawn held up her hand. “Just stop right there, okay? I know about Stockholm and I know plenty of psychological BS that folks like to throw around about displacement and emotional attachment and blah-the-fuck blah.”
Macey’s eyes widened.
“Let’s cut to the chase. I didn’t kill that poor woman.” Her gaze darted to the chilling photo. “I’m not some copycat. I’m not some insane killer who’s trying to emulate the man who attacked her.” The very idea made her stomach twist. “And if that’s the profile you’re going with, then maybe you need to head back to Quantico for some refresher courses on behavioral analysis because you are seriously off the mark.”
Macey eased out a slow breath. “You being in this town while this murder has occurred isn’t a coincidence.”
No, Dawn didn’t think so, either.
“The coroner is working on the time of death now, and once we have that, we will be asking you for an alibi.”
This was bullshit. “He froze her. We both know that you’ll be lucky if you can pinpoint her death down to a period of a few weeks. No way you’re going to get it down to an exact day. I know the Orleans Parish coroner, and Julia Bradford is a great doctor, but she’s not some kind of wizard. She can’t do the impossible.” She’d just called the FBI’s bluff there.
Macey and Anthony shared a long stare.
“I know a bit about forensic science,” Dawn murmured. “Call it a hobby.” And that wonderful Orleans Parish coroner? Well, Julia happened to be one of the few people Dawn could call a friend in that town.
“We’re hopeful,” Macey said slowly, “that a general time of death can be identified.”
Don’t hold your breath on that one.
“But...” Macey’s stare had sharpened on her. “If you’re not involved—”
“I’m not.” They could be clear on that. She didn’t get her jollies by murdering people.
“Then that could mean something very dangerous for you. It could mean that the killer is here because you are.”
Enough. She’d heard more than enough from the woman with the scars that snaked down her arms and the hint of pain that shadowed her unusual eyes. “I’m done here now.” Because she couldn’t breathe in this little room. The dead woman’s image was in her head, her heart was about to burst out of her chest and the tiny walls of the interrogation room seemed to be closing in on her.
“I understand.” Macey inclined her head. “But if you decide you do want to talk more, I hope you’ll contact me.” Macey pulled a small white business card from her pocket and offered it to Dawn.
Dawn took the card without glancing at it. She headed for the door, but something was nagging at her. Her fingers curled around the doorknob. Walk out. Walk away. But...
The victim was still in her head.
And the tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall seemed far too loud.
“Not as easy to walk away as one would think, is it?” Macey murmured.
No, it wasn’t. “Do you know who she was?”
“Not yet.” It was Anthony who replied. “She’s listed as a Jane Doe, but we hope to learn more soon.”
Dawn licked dry lips. “What a terrible death. Tortured and frozen away, then when you’re found, no one even knows who you are.” She looked back at Macey. “That could have been my death.”
And now someone is here, using the Iceman’s
MO. Dawn had to ask, “Was she dead when he put her in the freezer?” Or did she die in that cold hell?
Macey was watching her so carefully. “We don’t know yet. That’s one of the things we hope to learn soon.”
Sounded to Dawn as if they didn’t know one whole hell of a lot. “One more question...” She glanced over her shoulder, looking first at Anthony then at Macey. “Who’s been watching me?”
Macey’s eyes widened the smallest bit. “Excuse me?”
“Who’s behind the glass, watching me?” Because she knew someone was there. “Your partner?” In her experience, no FBI agent ever went into the field alone.
Macey shared a quick look with Anthony.
Her partner. Hit that one dead on.
“We thought you might be more comfortable speaking with a female agent,” Macey said, her voice smooth and her expression giving nothing away.
Sure, sometimes agents used that ploy, but...
They’re dealing with a killer who is acting like the Iceman. And one of the FBI’s own agents has personal experience with that SOB. Would the powers-that-be at the FBI have sent him in? Would they have thought he was an asset on this case?
Or would they have wanted to keep Tucker Frost far away from this scene?
“Tucker.” His name slipped from her, helplessly.
And there it was... Macey’s gaze jerked toward the glass. A fast glance, one that, if Dawn hadn’t been monitoring the other woman so closely, she would have missed. But in the last few years, Dawn had worked hard to stop missing things. To study her environment. To watch others. To learn their secrets.
Macey Night had just revealed one secret to Dawn.
Tucker Frost was in New Orleans. He was in the police station. He was behind that glass.
Her hand fell away from the doorknob. Slowly, she turned to face the one-way mirror, but she didn’t focus on her own reflection. Instead, she imagined she could see right through the glass. To him.
“Hello, Tucker. It’s been a long time.”
* * *
OH, HELL. SHE WAS talking to him. And he was just standing behind the glass in the observation room like a fool. He took a step back, then another. But...