by Debra Webb
Bobbie unlocked her front door and stepped inside. She could only imagine what Nick was feeling. The man who murdered his mother and dozens of others was out there somewhere planning God only knew what. She flipped on a light and stalled. Her heart plummeted when the alarm’s incessant warning finally penetrated her thoughts.
He was gone.
If he’d been here he would have shut off the security system. She entered the code to silence the damned thing, closed the door and locked it, then tossed her bag on the sofa. Of course he was gone. He would want to get on Weller’s trail as quickly as possible.
She had wanted to say goodbye.
Wait. A new tension coiled inside her. Where was D-Boy?
The thought had barely filtered into her weary brain when the sound of the back door opening echoed.
“Good boy.”
Nick’s voice.
Bobbie went to the kitchen. Nick released D-Boy from his leash and the animal bounded to her, almost knocking her over. She rubbed his head but she couldn’t take her eyes off Nick. “You’re still here.”
For a moment they stood there staring at each other. Bobbie spoke first. “I was afraid you’d left already.”
“I can’t go yet.”
No matter that the killer Weller had set in motion was still out there, she was surprised Nick hadn’t gone after his father. Doesn’t mean he stayed for you, Bobbie. “What’re you going to do?”
“You know what I have to do.”
She did. He felt a responsibility to the people here. “Any word on Weller?”
“They found the nurse’s body in Athens.” His voice was distant, hollow. “LeDoux is headed there now. I need to meet him at the location. See if Weller left anything that will help with the hunt for him, but I’ll be back before dawn. Can you stay with Holt or Bauer tonight?”
No way was she letting him do this alone. She headed for the door, grabbing her bag and her keys en route. “I’m going with you.” She paused, hand on the knob. “You ready?”
He held her gaze as he moved toward her. “You sure about that? You might be needed here.”
“We can’t find Hanover. We don’t have a single solid lead. I think I can slip away for a few hours.”
Something flashed in his eyes, relief maybe.
He took the keys from her hand. “Thanks. I could use the company.”
Bobbie imagined that was the first time in his adult life that Nick Shade had said those words. She was glad he’d said them to her.
Thirty-Four
Athens, Alabama
11:00 p.m.
Tony walked out the back door, the wooden screen door slapping against its frame behind him. Breathe. He needed to breathe.
The scene inside the farmhouse was definitely Weller.
When he’d cleared his lungs enough to draw in a few deep breaths that didn’t reek of death, he walked back inside. The Limestone County sheriff and two of his deputies watched in disbelief as the crime scene techs he’d summoned photographed the gruesome scene. Tony had given the sheriff a hand as to how to proceed. The man had never been faced with a scene like this one. It was classic Weller.
Anita Meyers’s body had been chopped into eleven pieces. The legs and arms as well as the head had been severed from the torso with an ax. Then the legs had been separated at the knees and the arms at the elbows. Finally the torso had been severed at the waist. The dismemberment had taken place in the kitchen. The old wood floor bore the hack marks of the ax and was soaked in blood.
Once Weller had finished taking the body apart, he’d cleared a spot in the living room and spread a white sheet on the floor. Piece by piece he’d reassembled the body in a grotesque manner. Laying the arms and legs at impossible angles. The work wasn’t up to his usual standards but he’d obviously been in a hurry.
“So, you say,” Sheriff Dennis Copeland said as he moved over to stand by Tony, “Anita there helped this Weller guy escape.”
Copeland had explained how the farm had belonged to Meyers’s grandparents. Meyers had moved to Georgia after high school and as far as the sheriff knew she hadn’t come back to Athens often until after her grandmother passed away last year.
“She did,” Tony said with all the patience he could drum up. At this point they suspected she had been providing Weller with medication that caused him to present with a heart condition. The details weren’t firm, but likely her assistance had been the key to him being moved to Emory Hospital. Anita had facilitated his escape there. The security cameras told that story well enough. “You need to make your deputies aware that Weller is no common killer.”
Copeland was a short man probably only a couple of years away from retirement. He pushed his glasses up his nose and stared at Tony. “Is that so?”
Tony had already explained that Weller was a serial killer but the man didn’t seem to fathom the magnitude of the situation. “Yes,” he said, “Weller did this—” he gestured to the mess on the floor “—to forty or so other victims before he was captured. If he isn’t found soon more will die.”
Copeland set his hands on his hips and looked Tony straight in the eyes. “Well, if catching him is what you want, you’d better hope he gets out of Alabama right fast. Because if we find him he won’t be captured, he’ll be shot dead.”
The FBI wanted to recover their asset, but Tony was with the sheriff. He hoped like hell the bastard was shot on sight.
A set of headlights bobbed as a new vehicle arrived on the scene. Tony recognized the car immediately. He walked out to meet Shade and Bobbie. She had sent him a text letting him know they were only a few miles away.
The driver’s side and passenger’s side doors opened at the same time. The spotlights the county had set up around the house highlighted Shade’s tall form and Bobbie’s smaller one.
“Was he here?” Shade asked.
Tony blew out a breath. “Yeah. He killed the nurse who helped him escape.” Tony had no fucking sympathy for the ignorant bitch.
Shade walked past him and headed for the house. Tony had advised the sheriff that a detective and a consultant from Montgomery were en route.
“How the hell did they let this happen?” Bobbie demanded.
“You watch the news,” he grumbled. “She was desperate for attention and he gave it to her. She thought she was in love. Now she’s dead.”
Bobbie shook her head and followed the path Shade had taken.
Tony trailed after her. No need to rush. He’d seen all there was to see. When they reached the porch the three deputies who’d been inside shuffled out. The sheriff had apparently ordered his men outside. Or maybe Shade had. Bobbie went in first, Tony right behind her. Shade was in the living room staring at his father’s work. Off to one side the sheriff watched as if he’d tuned in to the movie of the week.
Feeling the two-day stretch without sleep, Tony tucked his hands into his pockets and joined Shade at the edge of the sheet. He said, “We’ll see a hell of a lot more than this if we don’t find him.”
Shade continued to stare at the dismembered corpse. “I’ll find him.” He glanced at Tony. “This time I’ll finish what I started.”
Thirty-Five
The hole opened again.
Vanessa pulled Fern behind her as they stared up at the stars. It was night again which meant Deana had been gone maybe twenty-four hours and no one had come for them.
Deana was dead. Vanessa knew it.
When her body trembled with the need to cry, she squared her shoulders. Slade was dead. Fern’s parents were dead. How the hell were they supposed to survive this? The need to curl into the fetal position was almost overwhelming. No. She had to be strong for Fern. She was just a kid. This bastard was not going to hurt her.
Fern had told her she’d thought she recognized
his voice. She thought maybe he was the security guy her father had hired to watch their house. She’d cried and told Vanessa how she’d made out with the guy a couple of times. Most likely he’d used the girl to get into her parents’ home. Sick bastard.
A click sounded and then the beam of a flashlight blinded them.
Vanessa backed up a couple of steps, keeping Fern behind her. She squinted up at the light.
The man flashed the gun again. “Good evening, ladies.”
The blinding light prevented Vanessa from seeing his face.
“I need another volunteer. Who would like to get out of this dank hole tonight?”
Fern bolted away from Vanessa and toward the ladder. Vanessa dragged her back and muttered in her ear. “Remember, we talked about this.”
“I want to go,” Fern whispered, her words frantic. “I need to see my brother. To tell him—”
“He won’t take you to your brother,” Vanessa growled against her cheek.
“Come on now,” he warned. “Don’t make me come down there.”
“I know it’s—” Vanessa cut off the accusation Fern intended to shout at him.
“Shhh.” Vanessa’s heart stalled as she waited for Fern to decide what she was going to do. For this to work they had to stick together.
The poor girl nodded, a keening sound escaping her.
Vanessa almost wilted with relief.
“I’m waiting,” he singsonged.
Vanessa ushered Fern all the way against the back wall of the hole or cellar or whatever the hell it was. Then, she summoned her strongest voice. “If you want us, come and get us.”
They had no weapons. They were scared and weak, but if the bastard came into this hole they would charge him. They might end up dead, but maybe he would, too.
They were going to die anyway.
She was banking on the idea that he wouldn’t take the risk.
“Come up here now!” he roared. “If you want to live,” he said more calmly, “if you want to go home, do as I say.”
Feeling Fern’s thin body quaking against her, Vanessa held her ground. “Come and get us, motherfucker.”
The flashlight went out.
Vanessa held her breath.
Endless seconds ticked off in the silence.
The iron door slammed shut, closing out the night stars. The grating sound of metal against metal announced he’d locked it once more.
Vanessa’s knees gave out and she sank to the ground. Fern went down with her. They hugged and sobbed. She had been right. He wasn’t about to risk getting injured or worse coming down here after them.
Maybe they would live a little longer. And maybe the cops would find them before he came back.
Thirty-Six
Greystone Place
11:50 p.m.
“I’ll contact you once I arrive.”
Mark didn’t have time for explanations. His longtime friend and overpaid attorney, Sawyer Eddington, tried again to convince him to stay.
“They have nothing, Mark. Conjecture. Hearsay.”
Winifred had called Mark and informed him that in a hysterical moment she had told the police what he did all those years ago. She’d threatened to tell even more if he dared to withdraw his funding from the church. Mark had laughed at her. He’d already paid for that mistake once. Sawyer knew this. Now the police did, as well. Mark was ruined. Even after the dust settled from all this drama, coming back was hardly an option.
“This will blow over,” Sawyer was saying. “They have no evidence against you. You haven’t done anything wrong. The past is merely hearsay. The girl is dead.”
His friend could be utterly naive at times. Or perhaps he simply didn’t know Detective Bobbie Gentry. She would never let this go. She would poke and prod until she learned about all the others. Bobbie was too pure of heart just as her mother had been. Mark had wanted her so badly. He’d gone to the club and watched her sing again and again. No matter what he’d offered her—the fucking world—she would not betray her husband. Mary Jane Fleming was the one woman he had loved more than himself. No matter how he tried, she chose her nobody husband over Mark. What a fool. She could have had everything.
“I have to go. I can’t risk being anywhere more than a few minutes.” He’d only returned to the house to get his extra hidden passport. An alternative ID was a must. Money in various banks around the world under that alternative ID was sheer brilliance.
After enduring a final warning from Eddington to stay calm Mark ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. He took a breath. Grabbed the passport and credit cards from the safe in his closet and—
“Hello, Mark. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He froze. There was no mistaking that voice. All the things he had intended to do with the rest of his life flashed before his eyes. A sad smile tugged at his lips. Mark had known this time would come one day.
“I’d planned to bring you a gift, but—” he made a sound, something like a laugh “—there were no volunteers and the time got away from me. You know how it is.”
Mark turned slowly to face his destiny.
No man could cheat fate forever.
Thirty-Seven
Commerce Street
Wednesday, October 26, 7:00 a.m.
Bobbie pulled to the curb at Bauer’s building. She sent him a text to let him know she was there. She’d managed a couple hours’ sleep on the way back from Athens. She hadn’t meant to doze. She and Nick had gotten back to her place just after four. She’d headed for the shower. Nick made coffee and asked her about her agenda for the day as if his father weren’t out there somewhere planning God only knew what. He was way too calm under the circumstances.
At some point on her drive to Bauer’s place, she’d realized why Nick had been so damned calm. He already had a plan. Last night he’d said he couldn’t leave yet, and then this morning he’d dodged her questions about where he’d be today. At some point in the past two or three days he’d warned her that he suspected the killer was someone close to Hanover.
He knew who the killer was. She would bet every damned thing she possessed that he was out there trailing the killer right now. He would know exactly how to approach his prey without giving the first hint he was close.
“Damn it.” She hoped like hell he kept in mind that Weller could be closer than anyone suspected. This wasn’t like Nick’s other hunts. This was personal. The idea of what Weller might have in store for his son and countless others, including her, was unfathomable. She’d seen and felt Nick’s concern last night when he’d stood over his father’s latest victim.
No, not just concern. Fear. She’d seen a fleeting glimmer of fear. Or maybe it was her own fear she’d seen reflected in his eyes.
Athens was less than three hours from Montgomery. They had to be on their toes. If Weller was headed this way or already here...
Jesus Christ. Things were only going to get worse.
If they didn’t find Vanessa and Fern soon chances were the two would end up like Deana. Sage was counting on Bobbie. She had to find his sister alive.
And somehow she had to help Nick.
Bobbie checked the time on her cell. Where the hell was Bauer? With a quick tap of his name she waited through four rings. The call went to his voice mail. If he’d gone off the wagon last night she was going to kick his ass. She emerged from her car and went into the building, bypassed the elevator and took the stairs.
By the time she reached Bauer’s door she was a little irritated and her leg was aching from the climb. If she could get up every morning and face the day without wanting to kill herself, he could damn sure do it without a drink.
She pounded on his door.
No answer.
“Shit.”
S
he pounded again, a little harder this time.
Still no answer.
Frustrated, she grasped the knob and gave it a twist.
To her surprise the door opened.
Bobbie stilled. The anger and frustration vanished. “Bauer?”
She reached for her Glock. “Hey, man, it’s time to go to work. You up?”
Silence.
Gripping her weapon, ready to fire, she pushed the door open with her right foot.
The metallic odor of blood hit her like a punch to the face.
Heart thundering, she felt for the light switch to the left of the door. Lights came on in the main living area. No movement. She eased into the apartment. “Bauer, you up?”
It was in that next second between the words leaving her lips and her eyes surveying the room that her brain registered what lay on the floor beyond the dining table.
“Bauer!”
Bobby rushed across the room. She slipped in the blood and fell to her hands and knees. Her weapon slid across the floor.
She stared first at her hands.
Bauer’s blood.
Her gaze dropped to the floor where he lay facedown in a massive puddle of his own blood. The back of his head was a swollen, oozing pulp.
Shit! Shit! Shit! “Bauer?”
She turned him over and instinctively checked for a pulse. He was gone. Her heart broke into a million screaming pieces as she pulled him into her arms. “Nooo.”
She reached for her cell and yanked it free of her belt. Her fingers shook so badly it took three attempts to get the numbers right. Blood smeared the screen.
“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”
“This is Detective Bobbie Gentry.” She drew in a shuddering breath and gave the address. “Officer down.”
The phone slipped from her fingers as she read the words written in blood on the floor three maybe four feet away from where she sat holding Bauer.
This one’s just for you, Bobbie.