by Cynthia Eden
The girl’s body was covered in blood, her clothes stained dark.
“Let m-me go,” Julia whispered, and it was Julia. Sarah recognized her easily. “Please . . . I’ll do anything . . .”
Sarah pushed Wade back. She needed Julia to see that it wasn’t her tormenter who’d found her. Speaking softly, reassuringly, Sarah said, “We’re here to help you, Julia.”
Julia’s body jerked again.
“You don’t have to be afraid.” Because fear was the emotion that Ricker used to control his prey. Just like my father did. He used it on his victims and he used it on me. “You’re safe. We’re going to get you out of here, and—”
Julia’s head slammed into the ground. Her body wasn’t just jerking. The girl was spasming.
Sarah grabbed for Julia’s shoulders as she tried to stabilize the girl, and that was when she realized . . . Julia just might not make it out of that godforsaken swamp after all.
THE DOG STAGGERED to a stop at the end of a narrow, rickety pier. The pier spread from behind a cabin—or what was left of one. Only two walls were still fully standing for that cabin, and everything else had long since been reclaimed by the swamp.
“The trail ends here,” the canine handler said, giving a grim shake of his head.
Dean hurried forward. His jaw was clenched with fury as he stared out at the water. The water was still and dark, showing no sign that anyone had passed over it recently, and he hadn’t heard the telltale sound of a motor, but he knew Jared Ricker had been out there.
“There was a boat tied here.”
He looked over at Emma’s voice. She’d bent near the edge of the little pier and was pointing to the post.
“There are a few tendrils from the rope left, sticking in the wood. He probably paddled out, that’s why we didn’t hear him.”
Because the guy had an escape plan. He would have stayed close to watch his prey—the bastard always liked to watch—but when the cops had started closing in, he’d fled.
The radio crackled on Dean’s belt. Cell signals were shit out there, so they’d taken the precaution of bringing radios, too. He yanked the radio up even as his gaze swept the water. The problem was that the guy had too many options out on that water. It branched right up ahead, snaking in a half dozen different directions as it cut back through the swamp.
“We’ve got her!” Wade’s sharp voice carried over the radio. “But we have to get her help—right now. He did a number on her, and the girl is seizing!”
Only one other person had ever escaped from Ricker.
But Ricker . . . that bastard always found a way to escape.
The girl is the priority. Save her. Get her out.
He glared out at the water. Search teams would be sent out there. The FBI would swoop in with more manpower, but the guy was already gone. A perfect hunter who’d slid into the darkness once more.
A hunter who would take another victim soon. Because Ricker never stopped. Like most serials, the guy couldn’t stop. Killing was a compulsion for Ricker, one that would only end when he was caged or dead.
THE BLADES OF the helicopter spun overhead, their steady thud sounding much like a heartbeat. Emma watched the helicopter rise, taking away Julia Finney. The girl had been unconscious when she was loaded into the chopper. There’d been so much blood on her.
But she was alive. We found her. She made it out of this damn swamp.
Sarah had gone on the chopper with Julia. Emma knew that if the girl woke up and said anything about her abductor, Sarah wanted to be there.
If the girl woke up.
The chopper rose higher and higher, then vanished as it flew toward the hospital.
Wade slapped his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “We found her, man.”
Dean’s body was too tense and hard. Locked down. He glanced over at Wade. “It’s not over.”
“No, hell, no, it won’t be over until we bring in that bastard. But this is a win.” Wade’s voice deepened with intensity. “You’re the only other person to escape him. You made it out. You got to Julia.”
But Dean shook his head. “We did it.” His stare cut to Emma. “We did it,” he said once more.
She had to swallow the lump in her throat. When it came to hope, Emma hadn’t exactly had a whole lot in her life. She’d desperately wanted to find Julia, but after Lisa . . . well, she’d thought they’d be too late to help the girl.
Just like she and her father had been too late that long-ago Texas night. Too late to do anything but find the bodies.
“He’s long gone,” Dean said softly. “As soon as Ricker heard the dogs, he was in his boat. The guy would have mapped out the area. Had a perfect escape route waiting.”
Wade’s hand tightened on Dean’s shoulder. “So he runs, but we can find him. Come on. Let’s get those dogs moving. Let’s stop the bastard!”
Dean nodded grimly.
Emma reached for his hand. “Call the mother.” First. Because that woman needed to know about Julia.
Dean pulled out his phone.
There has to be hope.
THE SWAMPS IN southeast Louisiana were a maze—no, they were hell. Hot, twisting, filled with snakes and gators. The swamps stretched for miles, and they probably had too many hiding spaces for their killer.
An hour later, Emma could feel the frustration rolling off Dean in waves. More men had come in to help with the search, more dogs, but, so far, they just weren’t turning up anything.
“We need to get boats in the water,” Dean said as he bent over a map. They’d set up a temporary base near the parking lot. “We’ll cover more ground if we get the local fishermen to help us with the hunt. We can divide up and use their vessels to—”
Doors slammed. Voices rose and fell. Dean’s head had lifted, and his gaze was focused right over Emma’s shoulder. She heard the sound of approaching footsteps even as she watched Dean stiffen. Uh-oh. Emma looked back. Two men were there, one older, balding, with faint gray near his temples. The other was younger, fit, appearing close to Dean’s age, but he had dark blond hair and a face that looked as if it had been etched in stone.
“Your job isn’t to hunt killers,” the older man said. He was wearing a white shirt that he’d rolled up to his elbows, and his sweat had already dampened the cloth. “Not anymore, Bannon.”
It was the guy’s tone. The authority there, a bit too much authority. And the clothes, of course. Dead giveaway. A glance downward showed Emma that both guys hadn’t changed their shoes—come on, you’re wearing those in the swamp?
The FBI had arrived, and from the look of things, they were about to take over.
Emma found herself edging closer to Dean.
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Wade said as he offered his hand to the older man. “You are . . . ?”
“Special Agent James Elroy,” Dean supplied, as Elroy shook Wade’s hand. “My former boss. I’m guessing he flew in from Quantico.”
Wade’s expression hardened—and Emma was pretty sure that his grip did, too. “Is that so . . .” His tone had gone arctic as he regarded the older man.
“When I got word that there been a hit on Jared Ricker’s DNA down here, I knew the cops would need me.” Again, there was more than a touch of arrogance in the man’s commanding voice. “Luckily, I had an agent I could trust already working close by in the Baton Rouge field office, and he can help run point for me.”
Ah, and the agent the guy could trust . . .
That would be the blond fellow with him. The one who was watching Dean so carefully.
Wade glanced over at the blond.
“Kevin Cormack,” the guy said, holding out his hand. “And I used to be Dean’s partner.”
She was missing a whole lot. Emma could feel the tension there, pulsing in the air between the men. She also thought that she caught a flash of what could have been guilt in Kevin’s blue eyes.
“Didn’t know you were still looking for Ricker,” Elroy said as he crossed his arms over his chest
and studied Dean. “That’s a long time to hunt a supposed dead man.”
“Obviously, he’s not dead,” Dean snapped back. “But, no, I wasn’t hunting him. I was looking for the girl, Julia Finney.”
Kevin nodded. “And you found her. Damn good work, man.” He sounded impressed, sincere.
But the older guy was watching Dean with narrowed eyes. “We’ll be taking over from here. The FBI is initiating a task force to hunt Ricker.”
Dean surged toward him. “This isn’t a pissing contest, Elroy. That bastard is a killer, and he’s going to hunt again.”
“Of course he is.” Elroy’s voice was flat. “That’s what serials do. They hunt. They’re compelled to hunt. But the guy will have a cooling-off period—”
Dean was shaking his head.
“He won’t take another victim right away,” Elroy continued, voice hardening. “That gives us an edge. We can close in on him.”
“Bullshit,” Dean called. His hands were fisted. “He murdered Lisa Nyle while he still had Julia Finney. The guy isn’t following any kind of timeline, and he doesn’t understand the concept of a cooling-off period. I told you before, again and again, he hunts because he likes the thrill. The control. He always wants that feeling, and he’s never going to stop.”
Anger flashed across Elroy’s face. “But he did stop, didn’t he? For years . . .” He licked his lips. “Until now.”
Now it was Emma’s turn to step forward. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think that’s the case.”
Elroy’s slightly bushy brows rose as he glanced at her. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t think he’s stopped killing, and neither do you.” Sure, she was no FBI agent, but she wasn’t stupid. They weren’t either, so why were those guys pretending?
“Who are you?” Elroy demanded, as his gaze swept over her.
Oh, what? Now he wanted a greeting from her? She’d been standing right there the whole time, but the guy hadn’t reached for her hand in that little handshake ritual that the men had exchanged. “I’m the woman who knows you’re lying,” Emma told him. “You think he’s been killing all this time, and now”—she gestured to the swamp around them—“you’re wondering just how many bodies are out here, and if you’ll ever even find them. Because you realize that he’s probably been going for people who aren’t missed by the rest of society. Runaways like Julia or even the homeless.” Because the guy had played that role for a reason. “You’ve got a real shitstorm on your hands, and that’s why you rushed down here so fast. Probably used a private plane to get down here before the press got the story. You’re scrambling with your task force because you don’t want this mess blowing up in your face.” Her breath whispered out on a slow exhale. All of the men were staring straight at her. “Too late, because that’s already happened.”
Kevin’s lips curved the faintest bit as he pointed at her. “The profiler. Sarah Jacobs. I heard about you.”
“She’s not Sarah Jacobs,” Wade said as he came to her side. That was cute. Almost like a show of support. And here she’d thought that Wade wasn’t exactly on the Emma bandwagon.
“You need to get as many cadaver dogs out here as you can,” Dean said, his stare fixed on his old boss. “And your task force needs to start searching. Ricker was here. Maybe you can still catch his trail.”
Then he reached for Emma’s hand. His fingers curled around hers. Caught off guard, she glanced down.
“We’re going to check on Julia. She’s the reason I was out here,” Dean said. “Her mother is desperate, and I want to make sure she knows her daughter has been found.” Dean advanced, and Emma went with him, moving automatically.
But Elroy shifted to the right, blocking his path. “I want all the notes you have on this case. You need to turn them over to Kevin and me.”
Was he serious?
“I don’t know how you’re working with your new team”—and his hard gaze darted between Wade and Emma—“but we both know you’re too reckless. You risk too much—put innocents on the line—and I won’t have you messing up this investigation.”
Oh, the hell, no, he hadn’t just said that to Dean.
Dean started to reply—
But Emma jerked away from him and jabbed her finger into Elroy’s chest as she said, “Listen up, Agent. Dean Bannon and the LOST team just saved that girl’s life. I didn’t see you down here, looking for her. I didn’t see anyone else looking. He knew the killer, he knew how to track him, and he saved her.” Her voice sharpened with intensity as she said, “So if anyone can stop this guy, I think it’s going to be Dean, and not your pompous ass.”
Silence.
Dean’s arm wrapped around Emma, and he pulled her back to his side. Then they walked away, with Wade close by. Emma wanted to turn around and glare at those FBI jerks. They really thought they could just ride in and take over? But she kept moving forward as she tried to control her fury.
They passed cops. A new search team that was coming in. Men and women she’d never seen before. Part of the task force? A force they were being shut right out of.
So much for cooperation. So much for teamwork. So much for fighting the real bad guy out there who’d killed her friend and tortured a teenage girl.
They neared the cars that were waiting for them. Fury still pumped in Emma’s body, and when Dean let her go for a moment, she found herself spinning around—
“Ease up there, fighter,” Wade murmured. “I think you put that jerk in his place.”
She could only hope, but Emma doubted it. Guys like that always thought they knew best. “There was an agent like him . . .” Her words came out in a rush, even surprising her. “When my father knew who’d taken those girls in Texas. He wouldn’t listen. That agent was working with the cops, running the case. The guy thought he knew better than everyone else. When my father and I went into that cabin because no one else would help us, when my father died, that bastard came to me in the hospital and said that it was my father’s fault, that a civilian should never have taken a risk like that.” She’d wanted to attack that jerk. She’d been in the hospital bed, hurting—inside and out—and he’d stood there, cold. Hard. Telling her that the FBI and the local authorities weren’t responsible for what had happened.
He should’ve left the case to the professionals.
“The professionals should have listened,” she whispered. “Then he wouldn’t have needed to die.”
She was cold then, standing out in that Louisiana heat.
“I, um, I’ll go check in with the cops. I’ll make sure the contacts I have keep us updated,” Wade muttered, and he quickly backed away.
Dean didn’t back away. He positioned his body so that he was between Emma—and everyone else. “You defended me.”
Her chin notched up as his words pulled her out of the past. “Of course I did.” What had he expected her to do?
But he was staring at her in confusion, looking like he was the one lost.
“What do you think would have happened,” Emma asked him, “if you hadn’t found me in that square? If you hadn’t come looking for Julia?”
His eyes narrowed on her.
“Wade was right. This is a win.” Please live, Julia. Please. She’d been breathing when she was loaded onto that helicopter, and Emma was clinging to that knowledge. There couldn’t be another death, not after Lisa. They needed hope. They needed life.
“You trust me.” He seemed surprised.
Emma could only shake her head. “Do you really think I have sex with men I don’t trust?” Jeez, what the hell?
Dean’s hands rose, and he caged her between him and the rental car.
“You can find him,” Emma said, certain of this. “You can stop him.” Her heart was beating far too fast in her chest. “You have to stop him because we both know that FBI jerk is wrong. This Ricker guy is not going to cool off.”
His body was so strong and hard against hers, and she could almost feel safe right next to him. Almost.
�
��Because if you don’t stop him,” Emma continued, and Julia’s bloody image flashed through her mind, “we know who he’ll take next.”
Me.
But Dean gave a grim shake of his head. “That won’t happen.”
The fear was there, though, snaking inside her. She didn’t want to be the person left, bloody and broken, in the swamp. Fighting for her survival.
“I’m not letting you go,” Dean said, as his right hand lifted and curled under her chin. “He will not take you on my watch.”
But he hadn’t said Ricker wasn’t going to come for her.
Dean’s hand slid under the curtain of her hair. Then he leaned forward, and his mouth brushed lightly over hers.
Emma found herself leaning toward him. Wanting a deeper, longer kiss. But there were too many people there. Too many eyes watching them.
So she didn’t push the kiss. Didn’t hold too tightly to him.
Dean’s mouth eased from hers. “Keep trusting me.”
Odd words. Not what she’d expected at all.
“Whatever happens, trust me.”
It almost sounded like a plea, and Emma didn’t think he was the kind of man to ever make a plea. Slowly, she nodded.
His shoulders relaxed a bit, the only sign of his tension easing. “I’m not going to leave you. I won’t let you be on your own with him out there. I found him once, and I will do it again.”
He eased away from her and opened the car door. Before Emma slipped inside, she glanced back toward the swamp. The blond FBI agent stood there, watching them.
A shiver slid over Emma as she eased into the car.
The hunt is on.
CHAPTER SEVEN
NIGHT WAS FALLING, A CREEPING DARKNESS that swept over the sky. They’d been at the hospital for hours, but Julia still hadn’t woken up. She’d been taken to surgery, then kept in ICU.
LOST had arranged for Julia’s mother to be flown down, and Ann was in ICU right then, crying as she held her daughter’s limp hand.
Dean watched them for a moment. Ann had lost even more weight since the last time he’d seen her. Her body was far too frail now, her bones almost poking through the skin. She was rocking back and forth as she held Julia’s hand.