“Ready?” He paused by the front door where she’d been waiting for him.
“Ready.” She took his cane so he could grab his suit jacket from the hall tree and shrug into it.
She picked up her purse and let him open the door. It seemed to matter to him to open doors for her, so she’d stopped trying to run ahead or open them herself. As they crossed the front porch, she asked, “You really think a brainstorming session with the Justice Seekers is going to crack the case open?”
“We have to try something new to shake things loose. Plus Bishop texted me that he’s back from interviewing Leviathan Finney and wants to talk about what he found. He’ll meet us at Camelot.”
“First of all, I forget, who’s Bishop? Second, he interviewed the Kentucky Ripper in prison?”
He stopped on the walkway at the end of the porch. “Gage Bishop. He’s one of the Justice Seekers, the first one Mason hired when he created the company. Everything I know about him would fill about a third of a sheet of paper. He keeps to himself, doesn’t socialize with the others outside of work. Mason’s the only one who knows whatever traumatic event ended his law enforcement career before he started over as a Justice Seeker.”
He limped down the path again, toward the driveway.
“I’m confused. Traumatic event? I thought you didn’t know anything about him.”
He stopped again, leaning heavily on his cane. “I assumed if Mason was impressed enough to give you carte blanche with a company credit card after I was discharged from the hospital that he would have confided in you. I thought you knew.”
“Knew what? I’m lost.”
“The Justice Seekers. The whole reason the company was formed was to give a second chance to people who’d had their law enforcement careers destroyed through no fault of their own. It’s a second chance for all of us.”
“I had no idea. But I guess it makes sense. You felt you’d failed as a special agent—”
“I did.”
“No. You didn’t. But I understand now why you became a Justice Seeker. After you quit the FBI, you felt you had something to prove. And Mason gave you that chance.”
“Not that I’ve done much with that second chance. He probably regrets hiring me.”
They’d started down the path again, but she moved in front of him, blocking his way. “Don’t you dare talk like that. I’d have been killed half a dozen times by now if it wasn’t for you. I’m not going to listen to any more self-recriminations. You’re an amazing guy with fantastic instincts. It’s time you gave yourself some credit.”
His jaw tightened, telling her he didn’t agree. But to his credit, he didn’t argue.
She stepped aside and followed him toward the driveway where she’d backed his metallic-blue Ford pickup out of the garage in preparation for the drive into town. It was decked out, with all the options. It wasn’t the red convertible she’d pictured him driving. But Hot Guy in a pickup revved her engines even more than she’d thought possible.
A luxury car, like the rental he’d had in Jacksonville, would have been much easier on his hip. But the car that he’d owned, a classic older car he’d planned on restoring, had been totaled that day he’d been shot trying to save Hayley from a kidnapper. So it was either take his truck or hire another rental. She wished he’d opt for the rental because she knew it would be easier for him to climb in and out, and the bumps in the road wouldn’t hurt so much in a car. But she also knew he was a proud man and didn’t want to look weak in front of the team. To him, renting a car to drive when he had a perfectly good truck in his garage would be a neon sign that he wasn’t okay.
At least he was letting her drive. That was the one concession he’d made. She was pretty sure he was relieved when she’d asked, even though he pretended to debate her question. Her insistence that she loved trucks and wanted to drive this one, which was certainly true, wasn’t completely accurate since her main reason to drive was to help him save face. It was obviously much more comfortable to be a passenger than to pump his foot on the pedals.
Twenty minutes later they were at The Justice Seekers’ headquarters, an enormous two-story modern-day castle that fully lived up to its nickname of Camelot. Even though she’d been here once before when she’d met with Mason Ford about hiring Bryson, she was still in awe. Especially when Bryson took her into a secret passage to a room few clients ever got to see, a truly medieval looking meeting room with an enormous round table in the middle. It had been dubbed the Great Hall. It was a much bigger version of Bryson’s so-called office at his house. And judging by the enormous monitors forming a semicircle a short distance from the table, this Great Hall had all the technological gadgets that Bryson’s did, maybe more.
“Welcome to Camelot,” he whispered in her ear as they stood off to one side, just past the secret passage they’d walked through. “What do you think of Mason’s pride and joy?”
“Stunning. A bit overwhelming, really. But supercool.” She waved toward the round table, where three other people were seated. “Are those Justice Seekers?” At his nod, she said, “I thought they were in Jacksonville.”
“Five of them are. The rest were working cases here and couldn’t leave right away. There’s one more Seeker we’re waiting on before we start. When fully staffed, there are twelve of us, plus Mason, our fearless leader.”
“Fully staffed?”
“One of our Seekers was killed last year. Mason’s just now looking for a replacement. But let’s not dwell on that. Like I said, there are basically twelve of us, plus the boss.”
“The knights of the round table. And King Arthur?”
He smiled. “Yes. But if you call Mason King Arthur he’ll never forgive you. That’s the one part of his little game he hasn’t adopted. He thinks it’s pretentious.” He motioned toward the right side of the table where a man just as broad-shouldered and tall as Bryson was pulling up a chair. “That’s Bishop over there. When we sit down, you’ll see that everyone has an assigned seat with their name and their moniker engraved on the stone table in front of them.”
“Moniker? Like, what, Hot Guy?”
He laughed. “Don’t say that too loudly or I’ll never hear the end of it. The monikers are based on their former occupations. Bishop is The Bodyguard.”
“I thought you didn’t know what he did before he became a Justice Seeker?”
“We know he protected people, but we don’t know who he worked for. A good guess is one of the alphabet agencies—FBI, CIA, NCIS. But only Mason knows for sure. That extremely extroverted lady on the left who’s waving at you is The Cop, Brielle Walker. She used to be a Gatlinburg police officer.”
She smiled and returned Brielle’s wave. “And the guy beside her?”
“Han Li, The Special Agent.”
“You both have the same moniker? Special Agent?”
“No. He was a special agent with Homeland Security. And he started here first, so he got to choose The Special Agent for his title.”
“Then what are you?”
His mouth tightened. “The Profiler. Not my choosing. Mason stuck me with that title.”
She splayed her fingers against his chest. “You’re an amazing profiler, Bryson. If I have to tell you that a hundred times until you believe it, I will.”
He arched a brow. “A hundred times, huh? That implies you’re planning on sticking around for a while.”
“If you want me to stay, I’m sure I’d enjoy you trying to convince me.” She gave him an outrageous wink.
He was about to say something but the door to the hidden passageway opened and another man, wearing a Stetson, stepped into the room. Bryson’s grin faded and his answering nod in response to the other man’s friendly “hello” was decidedly cool.
“Who’s that?” she kept her voice low.
“The Cowboy, Dalton Lynch.”
“Why do
n’t you like him?”
He gave her a surprised look. “What makes you think I don’t like him?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because it felt like a polar vortex descended on the room when you barely returned his greeting.”
His jaw tightened. “I have no problem with Dalton. But I don’t go out of my way to inflict my presence on him. His wife is Hayley, the woman who almost died because of me.”
She blinked in surprise. At the table, Dalton’s expression as he eyed Bryson seemed to be more of regret, maybe even frustration. But there was absolutely no animosity or reproach. When he caught her looking at him, he nodded, then turned toward the others.
“Bryson, I don’t think he blames you for what happened to his wife any more than you should blame yourself.”
He put his hand on her back. “You’re sweet to worry about me. But the only thing that matters right now is figuring out the identity of the man who almost killed you. And putting him away for a very long time. Come on, they’re waiting.”
He introduced her to the others. Then they all got really serious, really fast. She sat in the chair beside him, in the seat for Zack Foster, The Tracker. He’d whispered that Zack was the one who’d died, which had her feeling like an interloper. But he insisted no one minded her sitting there and it seemed to be true. They were all very respectful and nice to her.
Each of them had a computer tablet in front of them, and what they brought up was displayed on one of the huge screens at the front of the room so they could see everything at the same time. As efficiency went, it was amazing. They shared reports, pictures, investigative notes, all at the touch of a button or the swipe of a finger across their tablets that were each-hardwired into the computer for security.
She was a bit overwhelmed hearing what they’d been doing. Every one of them was working her case now. It was humbling that they were all so vested in helping her. But then again, they were doing it for Bryson too. He was their brother-in-arms. The man they were after had almost killed him. And it was obvious that none of them were going to let a stone go unturned in their quest to bring the killer to justice and avenge their friend and fellow Seeker.
The hours ticked by, with short breaks here and there so everyone could use the restroom or make phone calls.
Lunch was brought in by some efficient person who suddenly appeared from the secret passageway and quietly set the food and drinks down on a table against one wall, then quietly disappeared.
They seemed to have exhausted just about every lead and angle possible by midafternoon. But there was one person who hadn’t presented his findings yet—Bishop. The others sat back and the room went quiet as his notes from the prison interview with Finney, the Kentucky Ripper, filled the screen.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“A few days ago,” Bishop began, “Bryson requested that I look into Leviathan Finney in relation to this case. The reason is obvious. Ms. Ray was abducted two years ago by a man who carved an X on her stomach, just like the Kentucky Ripper did to his victims. But since that same man abducted her again, and Finney is in prison for the Ripper’s crimes, the question is whether Finney is the real Ripper or a copycat. The reason that matters is that if he’s a copycat, then it’s possible that the man who abducted her is the Ripper. Knowing that provides a lot more data to use to find this man. But we don’t want to send ourselves, or the police, down the wrong investigative path. So it was important to figure out whether we could rule in her abductor as the Ripper, or rule him out.”
He typed a few buttons on his tablet, then a table of dates, names and comments appeared on the screen.
“Those are the Ripper’s victims,” Teagan said.
“They are,” Bishop agreed. “Along with the dates of their abductions and murders. I created this table to keep track of what Finney was supposedly doing at the time of each abduction or murder. It’s his alibi list, basically. Or it was supposed to be. When I checked through court transcripts, the alibi information was rather thin. His lawyer didn’t present much of a defense. Regardless, I dug as deep as I could in the time that I had. And then I went to the psychiatric hospital where Finney was being held before being deemed fit enough to be placed in the general prison population. I spoke to his doctors and was able to convince them to share information to help with my victim/alibi matrix.”
Teagan blinked and shot Bryson a look, but he didn’t seem fazed by Bishop’s last statement. As far as she knew, doctors, especially a psychiatrist, would never disclose that kind of information about a living patient without a warrant. She wondered what Bishop had done to “convince” them to talk.
“After that,” Bishop continued, “I spoke to Finney, for hours.” He highlighted a handful of rows in the table on the screen. “After piecing together witness statements from the investigations, court transcripts, what his doctor said, and then interviewing people to corroborate what Finney told me, these four rows are the only ones where I couldn’t positively alibi him out. But even these I’m fifty-fifty on.” He sat back and glanced around the table, apparently finished speaking.
Teagan looked at the others. Brielle was furiously typing on her laptop. Han was swiping through screen after screen on his, as if searching for something. And the guy in the Stetson, Dalton, had jumped up from the table and was standing off in a corner on, of all things, a wall phone. She hadn’t seen one of those in years.
At her questioning look, Bryson asked, “The phone? Most of Camelot is a giant Faraday cage.”
“Fair a what?”
“Faraday. Electronic signals can’t get in or out. We have to use dedicated landlines. It’s for security. Even the computer tablets are hard-wired through the table to the main computer.”
She thought that seemed like total overkill, but didn’t really care at the moment. What mattered was that she was completely lost. “Why does everyone else seem to understand whatever Bishop just said about Finney? I’m confused.”
Bishop remained silent, apparently content to let someone else explain.
Bryson took her hand in his. “To sum it up, he was able to prove, maybe not court of law proof, but proof to us, that Finney couldn’t have killed most of the victims that he’s accused of killing. He had solid alibis that either weren’t presented at trial or weren’t known at trial. There are only a few that Bishop couldn’t speak to. Which goes to say that you were right all along. Leviathan Finney very likely isn’t the Ripper. But he’s not a copycat either. He was set up. Framed.”
“By the police?”
“Doubtful. Most likely the real killer, to take the heat off.”
“An innocent man is in prison. That sucks.”
“We’ll contact one of the Innocence Project groups to look into his case.”
“Already did,” Bishop chimed in.
“Great,” she said. “I guess. But what does all this mean as far as finding the guy who abducted us? Are you saying he’s the real Ripper?”
“It’s a definite possibility, highly likely actually. The police never linked your case with the others in spite of the signature X because the Ripper was already in prison. But now that we know the Ripper was never caught, all of the murders attributed to him have to be reexamined in relation to your abduction. This is a huge break. There’s an FBI field office in Jacksonville. Once our team brings them up to speed on this development, they’ll be back in the game, looking into your case and reopening the Ripper investigation. Obviously there are formalities, like convincing JSO to call them in to help. But Mason will get that done. Just a matter of time. The number of people working this case is about to quadruple, easily. With some of the brightest law enforcement minds around. They’ll catch this guy in no time.”
Dalton returned to his seat. The others turned their attention toward Bryson.
“What about you?” Dalton asked. “Any theories about who this guy might be?”
&n
bsp; “A few,” Bryson said. “It’s been bothering me that he was able to abduct Teagan two years ago without anyone seeing him. She was apparently drugged. She thinks she remembers him injecting her right after he accosted her on the path. After that, her memory is blank until she woke up at the shack. But that path through her neighborhood is well-traveled. And the entrance to the path on both ends is in even busier sections of the neighborhood. It seems far-fetched that he could have led or carried a drugged woman from the path without anyone seeing her. Which is why I called Mason early this morning and asked him to have our Seekers in Jacksonville re-interview everyone who lives close to that part of the trail and ask very specific questions.”
“Like what?” Dalton asked.
“Like whether he could have loosened a section of fence like he did behind the Brodericks’ house and taken her through the opening to someone’s backyard. From there, if he did the same trick he pulled with us, he could have gone through someone’s home while they weren’t home and into their garage where he had a car waiting. Then, all he had to do was drive out of the subdivision. There’s a guard shack at each of the two entrances. But the cameras only record people coming in, not going out. If he came in via the subdivision behind The Woods, like he did recently, he wouldn’t be on any of the guard gate’s cameras.”
Teagan raised her hand.
Bryson smiled. “You don’t have to ask permission to speak.”
She felt her face heat and lowered her hand. “You said earlier that you thought he might live in one of the houses in Bentwater Place, near the one we went through to that delivery truck. Did anything ever come of that?”
“The police ruled that out. He definitely isn’t one of the homeowners on that street or the neighboring streets. But one of those homes was vacant because it’s for sale. He could have seen that for sale sign and broke in to conduct quick surveillance on the house next door. Once he was sure the owners weren’t home, he used that house as part of his plan to abduct you.”
Harlequin Intrigue January 2021 - Box Set 1 of 2 Page 33