Into The Night (Killer Instinct)

by Cynthia Eden

  Tucker gazed at him, straight in the eye. “When you say her name, your voice changes. When you talk about her, your face changes. You need to watch those giveaways.”

  Fucking hell.

  “I’m guessing Samantha doesn’t know?” Then before Bowen could answer, Tucker shook his head. “Course not, she wouldn’t have paired you two together in the field. Although...” Now his brow scrunched. “Come to think of it, Samantha is engaged to her ex-partner, so maybe it’s another one of her experiments. The way she thinks all of us can hunt killers better because of our pasts. Maybe Samantha saw this shit between you and Macey coming, and she thought it might make you even better in the field.”

  “You know the FBI doesn’t allow agents to become—”

  But Tucker waved that away. “We’ve both seen Samantha say screw off to the FBI rules when they don’t match what she wants.” He flashed a cold smile. “One of the things I admire about the woman. So maybe she does know you and Macey are in a relationship.”

  “We’re not.” Flat, cold.

  Tucker cocked one brow.

  “We are not in a relationship, so don’t go spreading that shit around.” They were just...meeting in the dark. “We were partners, that’s it.” But we’re not even partners right now.

  That one eyebrow of Tucker’s slowly lowered. “Are you lying to me—or yourself?”

  The guy could go fuck off—

  Bowen’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, and glanced down at the screen. “Unknown caller.”

  Tucker swore. “I’ll alert the team. Keep him on the line, got it?”

  “I know the drill.” Just when I thought the jerk wasn’t going to call anymore.

  Tucker pulled out his own phone and hunched his shoulders as he made his call.

  Bowen let his phone ring again. Once more.

  Tucker motioned to him. We’re set.

  Bowen slid his finger across the screen, then tapped to accept the call. “Agent Murphy.”

  “Sorry you lost a member of your task force.” The same robotic voice filled the room. Bowen had made sure the phone was on speaker so that Tucker could hear what the killer had to say. “But the guilty have to pay.”

  “Guilty?” Bowen repeated. “Just what crime do you think Henry Harwell committed? The guy was a cop, he dedicated his life to—”

  “He didn’t stop the crimes. He didn’t even see them. Those men died on his watch, so that made him guilty.”

  “The fuck it did. He never lifted a hand to anyone.”

  “Sometimes, the guilty aren’t the ones holding a weapon in their hands. They’re the ones who do nothing.” Static crackled. “But you think the same thing, don’t you? That’s why you went after Arnold Shaw yourself. The cops weren’t doing anything to help you. They knew women were dying. You blamed them. I know you did.”

  “You don’t know jack shit about me.”

  “I know you’re fucking your partner.”

  Every muscle in his body locked down. His gaze jerked toward Tucker.

  “And here I thought you’d love precious Cadi until the day you died. I’m disappointed in you, Bowen.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’m disappointed that I’m standing here talking to some psychopath who murdered a cop. Who thinks he’s the freaking hand of justice when he’s just some delusional killer who needs to be put in a cage.”

  “That’s not what you really think. You think Henry Harwell was a blind fool who was too worried about the tourist business and not worried enough about the people in his mountains. You think that Daniel Haddox deserved a painful death and that Patrick Remus had the send-off to hell that he had coming.” Robotic laughter. “You’re welcome, Bowen.”

  “That’s not what I think. You don’t know me. You know—”

  “You went into that alley intending to kill Shaw. You went there knowing he wouldn’t make it out. You even see yourself as a killer.”

  Bowen’s back teeth clenched.

  “Don’t deny what we both know.”

  “Where are you?” Bowen wanted to find that bastard and rip him apart. “You want to punish someone? How about punishing your damn self? Because you’re the one killing. You’re the one—”

  “My work isn’t done.”

  A chill slipped over Bowen.

  “Maybe the FBI should clean house. Because I think...I think the guilty are there, too, Bowen.”

  The line went dead. Bowen looked up at Tucker. “Tell me that you got that location.”

  Tucker had his phone to his ear. “They’re triangulating and they think...” His eyes widened. “They say the call came from within a one-mile radius of this station. The killer is right here.”

  Bowen yanked open the door and raced down the hallway. As he passed the conference room, Jonah called out to him. Bowen paused long enough to snarl, “Bastard just called again—he’s close. So fucking close.”

  Jonah ran after him. Tucker was barking orders, trying to organize the officers there, and Bowen was searching for the caller. He ran outside. One-mile radius. One mile.

  He hurried toward his SUV. Bowen yanked open the door. And he saw the phone lying on his front seat.

  “Bowen?” a female voice called out. He glanced over his shoulder. Amelia Lang stood uncertainly near a pickup truck. “Everything okay?”

  No, it damn well wasn’t. He knew he’d found the phone the killer had just used. “Did you see anyone here?”

  “Um, yes, actually, there was a uniformed cop by that vehicle just a moment ago.” Now she glanced around, as if she were confused. “I don’t know where he went.” A furrow appeared between her brows. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  Not something. A whole lot of fucking things.

  * * *

  THE MUSEUM WAS closed to the public. It was dark and quiet, cavernous. When Macey walked inside, with Bowen just steps behind her, she couldn’t quite shake the chill from her bones.

  The perp had called him again. Bowen’s voice had been flat and his face expressionless as he told her about the call. They hadn’t found the guy. Their team had interviewed every cop at the precinct and even those not on duty, but they’d turned up nothing.

  Dr. Lang had said she’d seen a white male, maybe around six feet, with dark hair. She hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, and Macey figured that had been deliberate on the guy’s part.

  No prints had been found on the phone, and Dr. Lang had thought she remembered the guy wearing gloves. The phone had been a burner, one picked up at some gas station. Used and dropped.

  Bowen had been pissed, a quiet fury that seemed to roll off him. Tucker had gone to investigate the cabin and the remains of Curtis’s victims that were still being unearthed, and Jonah had stayed to try to determine just how their perp had disabled the security footage at the station. Bowen wasn’t supposed to be at the crime scene, and when Macey had said that she was checking out the museum, he’d insisted on accompanying her.

  Were they breaking the rules about him being in the field? Not exactly. She’d taken the lead and would be doing the bulk of the questioning. Bowen had promised to stay silent.

  She wasn’t so sure he’d be able to keep that promise.

  “You’re... You really think hate nails could be connected to a crime you’re investigating?” the museum’s manager asked. Peter Carter. Midthirties, with light brown hair, dark eyes and tats that circled his wrists and lower arms. “That’s crazy. Like, seriously crazy.” He turned away from them and led the way to the exhibits upstairs. The stairs creaked beneath their feet. “It’s just a display, you know. Nothing for people to get worked up about. The kids come in, they see it and they get a little creeped out...”

  Macey glanced around at some of the displays in the museum. She was noticing a definite trend. “That’s what you do, right, you creep people out here?”

  “Well, yeah.” Peter turned back to look at her. “People like to be scared, you know? It gets their adrenaline flowing. Makes ’em feel mor
e alive.”

  Macey considered him a bit more. “How long have you been working here, Peter?”

  “Last five years.” His smile stretched, revealing not dimples, but deep slashes on either side of his face. “Never would have thought a guy with a degree in criminal justice would wind up in this place, huh?”

  Bowen was silent. So far, he was keeping up his end of the deal.

  Macey replied, “I’ve learned you can never judge a book by its cover.”

  Peter’s gaze slid down to her right hand. Her hand was against the banister, and her sleeve had slid up a bit, revealing part of her scar. “No,” Peter murmured. “You can’t.”

  She pulled down her sleeve.

  “Show us the damn skull,” Bowen growled.

  Peter straightened. “Right. This way.” He led them into another room. This room was dim, deliberately so, Macey knew. A glance around showed her that the room was supposed to appear menacing. There were lots of scary props in that room. Mummies, vampire relics, and, in the back, next to a strobing light, she saw the skull.

  And the nails.

  “Interesting, isn’t it?” Peter mused. “Families tend to stare the longest at it. Some just can’t look away.”

  Macey was having a bit of trouble looking away herself. She crouched next to the glass. She could see the old, rusty nails that had been driven into the skull. And the sign right next to the skull told about the “hate nails” on display. “Every nail is a wish for bad luck, for a grievance.” She read the description and then glanced back at Bowen. The lights were strobing, flashing right on him, and he appeared sinister as light and darkness shadowed over him.

  “How long has this display been here?” Bowen asked quietly.

  “Only a few months. It’s a new addition. We try to keep things fresh here at the museum.”

  Macey’s gaze slid back to the skull. “This isn’t a reproduction.” Macey knew she was staring at a real human skull. The tourists who came in the museum might not understand that fact, but she did.

  “Of course it’s not fake!” Now Peter sounded offended. “We are an oddities museum, not some trick shop. Our materials are all authentic.”

  Macey glanced over at the mummy. “That’s not real.”

  “That’s for scene setting, not an actual display.”

  Her head tilted as she studied the skull once more. “How many people have been to see this skull since it was put on display?”

  Bowen had stepped closer to her and the skull. Macey could almost feel him behind her.

  “Thousands,” was Peter’s instant reply. “I’d have to check my receipts for an exact number. See, um, summer is actually one of our busiest seasons...and then fall...oh, man, we get so many people here because they come to the mountains to see the leaves change colors. You would not believe how many people visit this little town each year.”

  She’d seen the bumper-to-bumper traffic on the little roads in Gatlinburg. Macey definitely believed.

  “You remember anyone showing too much interest in the skull?” Bowen asked.

  “I don’t...I don’t watch the guests, man. They can come in and wander around as much as they want. Not like I police them.”

  Macey rose to her full height. “We’re going to need a list of all your employees.”

  Peter gave a weak laugh. “Look, I, um, I’ve heard the tales about what’s happening in town. The story about that Pyro guy, Remus? It made the news. But I mean, you two coming in here and asking all of these questions...you don’t seriously think murders are related to the skull here, do you?”

  So far, they’d managed to keep much of their investigation under wraps. But Macey knew that wouldn’t last much longer. The bodies were piling up—and, as evidenced by Peter’s words, gossip was spreading. With the police captain’s death, the whole case was going to explode soon. She knew that as soon as he got back from the Zale scene, Tucker was supposed to be organizing a press conference with the mayor. They were trying to get on top of the story, trying to control the flow of information before things got out of hand.

  If it’s not too late already.

  “I think we are investigating all possibilities.” And the manager definitely wasn’t going to like what she had to say next. “I’m afraid we’re also going to be confiscating the skull for the time being.”

  “What?” Peter demanded. He took a lunging step toward her. “No way, no way. You can’t just take part of my exhibit.”

  Bowen put his body in front of Peter’s, blocking the guy from reaching Macey. “Yes way. We can. This is a criminal investigation and you have material that may be pertinent to the investigation. So we’ll be taking that skull. We’ll be checking it for fingerprints and DNA and anything that could possibly be useful to us. And when we’re done—” his voice was flat “—the FBI will thank you for your assistance and we’ll return the skull.”

  The strobe light kept flashing.

  “Now, we’d really appreciate that list of your employees. Because we’re going to need to speak with them.”

  Macey thought Peter might argue again. Instead, he let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll get the list,” Peter muttered. “Excuse me.” He hurried out, leaving them near the exhibit.

  Macey waited until he was gone, and then, voice deliberately void of emotion, she said, “I thought you were going to keep quiet.”

  He growled. “The jerk was invading your fucking personal space, Macey.”

  “I could handle him.” Her head tilted. “You’re usually a bit more tactful.”

  Bowen swung toward her. “My tact is running low because the bodies are piling up.”

  And because the killer was taunting him. She took a step closer to him as the lights flashed. “What did he say, Bowen?” Because he hadn’t told her. She just knew another call had come through, and then the team had leaped to action.

  And Bowen...she’d seen the dark rage gathering in his eyes.

  “He thinks he knows me.” Bowen’s words were low, angry. “And that he knows you.”

  Her heart jerked in her chest. “I don’t understand.” Macey glanced down and saw that his hands had clenched.

  “He realizes we’re lovers, Mace.” His words were a deep, hard rumble. “He said that.”

  Her heart wasn’t jerking now. It was racing. “He’s trying to get into your head. He doesn’t know anything. No one does but us—”

  “He talked about Shaw. About how when I went into that alley, I intended to kill the bastard all along.” His words were softer, but still tight with anger, and she found herself leaning toward him so that she could catch each word. “He knows what I was doing. He thinks he understands me.” Bowen shook his head. “He doesn’t. I’m not going to play some game with your life on the line.”

  But Macey was considering exactly what he’d just said. Or rather...what the killer had told him.

  “Samantha was worried there could be a leak at the FBI. I think she’s right,” Bowen continued grimly. “I think the bastard has hacked into our files. Our psych reports. I think he’s using what he knows against us. Hell, access to the FBI files would also explain how he knows so much about these victims.”

  “But it wouldn’t explain how he knows about us.” She eased even closer to him. “And I’m betting you haven’t told any FBI shrink what you told me last night.” Because he’d bared his soul to her.

  He shook his head, and once more, she couldn’t help but think Bowen looked particularly dangerous—sinister—in that flashing light.

  “Then he found out another way.” A way that had her worried. “Bowen, I believe he’s still watching us.”

  She saw his shoulders stiffen. The perp had taken their pictures in North Carolina; of course he’d continue his stalking in Tennessee. But maybe, maybe he’d gone past just the picture-taking phase of things. “If he truly knows we’re lovers, if he knows what you said to me last night...” There could only be one explanation. “He has surveillance at our cabin. He’s litera
lly seen us together. He’s heard our secrets.”

  “Son of a—” Bowen began.

  “Got them!” Peter announced as he hurried back into the room. “Here are the names of our staff members, though I assure you, we have thoroughly checked the background of every person here. We are a top-notch facility. You will not find any criminals working at our museum—”

  “That’s the thing, buddy.” Bowen took the files from him. “Sometimes, you just don’t know who people really are. Not until it’s too late.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THEY FOUND THE video camera and the listening devices in their cabin. Three of them. One in the loft. One in the downstairs bedroom. One on the back porch.

  Bowen watched with fury as the crime scene team tagged and bagged each item. The bastard had been watching and listening. Every single moment. He’d known what Bowen was doing. Known just what steps they were taking with the investigation.

  He’d been watching. Everything.

  “Jonah said there wasn’t a long-range feed on the devices,” Tucker murmured as he came toward Bowen. “The guy had to be within a five-mile radius to get the feeds, and with these mountains—” he gestured around to the peaks that surrounded them “—Jonah said it would have been even harder to transmit. So he thinks the perp was close. Very close.”

  Bowen marched outside and studied the cabins on the street. Tucker followed him. They were in a rental subdivision, of sorts. A whole mountainside that was full of open cabins for tourists. “He was right here.”

  “He could still be here,” Tucker argued. “We need to search these cabins. Because my money says the guy isn’t leaving anything to chance. He didn’t want to be too far away and risk not getting his feeds. He wanted to know everything that you did. Everything that Macey did—”

  “We’re lovers.” The words came out hard but he knew he couldn’t cover this. Not now. “Macey and I. He knows.”

  The guy had been two steps ahead of them during this entire investigation, and Bowen was tired of that shit. You were hunting us all along, weren’t you? Well, the game is about to change.