Devil Hath Come (an FBI/Romance Thriller ~book 7)

by Kelley, Morgan

  His brain fought to process it through the pain that was throbbing in his head. The need to save his life was returning and Ethan knew he had to fight for it now.

  Trying to get his eyes to adjust to the very little light, he took in his surroundings the best he could. That would be his first step to getting an escape plan together.

  Okay, he was in a concrete building. The ground was cold and when he coughed, it echoed.

  At least that was a start.

  Trying to sit up, Ethan realized that his arms were restrained above his head. With numb fingers, he began to feel what was holding him captive and in place. It seemed to be a chilly pipe. Moving as far as his bindings would allow him, he felt along the curve. Recognition began to dawn as there was the familiar feel of plumbing under a sink. He’d done enough home repairs to know what he was touching, even in the dark.

  Focusing on the sounds around him, he could hear hammering in the distance. The asshole was building something, and he was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be pleasurable. Ethan tried not to think of all the torture devices that the sick bastard might be coming up with to end his life. For now, he couldn’t focus on anything but what was happening in that moment.

  It meant his survival.

  Breathing in the cold air, his body shook. There was the smell of sanitizer and blood lingering around him. Then it hit him. He’d smelled it all before. It was the same scent that his cleaning crew used in their building.

  It smelled like a bathroom.

  Wherever he was being held, it had at one time housed that type of facility. Okay, that narrowed it down. At least he wasn’t in the middle of the woods somewhere. That meant that his wife and brother had a chance of figuring it out. This was an actual building and would be on a map.

  He prayed that the man left some sort of clue.

  His teeth began to chatter, as his body gave off the tell-tale signs of shock and distress.

  God, he was so cold.

  He wished he had a nice warm pull over, or better yet he was home in bed with his family. Focusing on that, he swore he could now smell her perfume and Callen’s aftershave. It gave him momentary peace as he let it be his focus.

  Then he realized, it was his brain shutting down. His head was pounding, and he was pretty sure that he had one hell of a concussion. If he smelled his mates, then his mind was playing tricks on him. He started concentrating on his surroundings, in hopes that he would stay awake long enough to get more information. If he was going to try and escape at first opportunity, Ethan knew he couldn’t be stumbling around blindly.

  Reaching back into his memories and training in the FBI, he struggled to hold onto the proper plan in an emergency.

  And this was definitely one of them.

  First, he needed to assess his injuries. Looking down, he didn't need to see the crisscross cuts in his skin to know they were there. Right now, they were burning like a bitch. As his body was shaking, trying to get warm, he knew that this was just the beginning. It wasn’t lost on him that from the angles of the slices, he already knew what the man was making.

  It looked like he too was getting his very own pentagram to take to the grave.

  Awesome.

  Using the pipe as leverage, he used his strength to drag his body up to check his chest with his fingers. The strain nearly broke his wrists, and he let out a pain filled gasp as he probed his chest.

  Okay, he wouldn’t die from the wounds, but he knew why the man was doing it. The blood loss would keep him weak.

  Next, he slid low on the ground until he could reach the next object with his toes. He wasn’t happy the man took his shoes. One, because an escape would be harder and more painful and two, he really loved those boots.

  He started laughing, and realized that it had to be shock and delirium settling in, because none of this was funny at all.

  Just then, the hammering went silent. He braced for what he knew was going to be coming.

  Shit, he’d given himself away.

  It was blatantly clear that he wasn’t working on full capacity or he wouldn’t have made such a rookie mistake. Oh well. Round two was about to begin.

  Soon, he’d be in pain again.

  As the door opened, the lights flashed on and temporarily blinded him. When the footsteps moved closer, Ethan fought to open his eyes and see where he was being held.

  Blackhawk had been right. He was currently in a bathroom. In fact, it looked like a state rest stop. They all generally looked the same. On their way up here, they’d pulled into one to make a pit stop.

  “Glad to see you’re awake. I’m pretty sure if you take another hit to the skull, you won’t be, so the good news is I won’t be hitting you there.”

  Ethan said nothing.

  “How about you talk to me about your family? I really want to know about your wife. How do you share her with that other man?” he asked, trying to provoke him.

  It occurred to him that the man didn't know that Callen was his brother. That may keep the nutjob from going after him. At least that offered some solace.

  When Ethan still said nothing, he kept going. “I’m glad you like to pass her around. I’m going to have her last, and she’s going to make my master very happy. I promise to take very good care of her.”

  He tried to remain calm and breathe through the rage.

  “I have to say, I went through your wallet. You have really cute kids. After I kill her, I’m going for them next.”

  It was all he could take. He tried to lunge for the man, only to miss touching him with his feet.

  “Oh, I see that they’re your weak spot. Okay, tell me about your wife and I won’t kill those little babies of yours.”

  Blackhawk closed his eyes and prayed that he had set up a strong enough safety net to keep Wyler and the kids safe. It was their only chance at this point. They were only two hours away, and Ethan didn't doubt the man would do as he said.

  “I’ll peel the skin from them as I offer them up to the dark Lord. I think he’d like an offering of little pudgy babies, especially the little girl. She looked sweet.”

  His eyes filled with tears, as he refused to give anymore away. He’d die before he’d tell him about his children. It wasn’t happening.

  “I’m building you something special, Director Blackhawk, or can I call you Ethan? Anyway, I couldn’t figure out how to get rid of you, because I don’t have any need for a man. I was going to slice you up and leave you here, but then I thought that’s leaving a mess for someone to clean up, and I hate doing that.”

  Ethan refused to talk to him. He kept his eyes closed and tried to block out the words.

  “You can’t hide, Director,” he said, laughing.

  He could feel the cold tip of the knife touching his skin and when he sat on his legs, he knew what was coming. The man was going to carve him up and finish his artwork on his chest.

  “I’m offended that you dared to put her name on your body. She was obviously meant for me and my Lord. So, I’m going to just redecorate a little bit.”

  As the knife scratched across his abs, the pain was immeasurable. He fought to not scream, but ultimately he had no choice.

  “Now, tell me about your wife and how to break her.” he asked laughing.

  When that didn't even make him talk, the man got frustrated and hit him in the chest, directly across the oozing wounds.

  Ethan howled in immeasurable pain and this time blacked out. The agony was too much. As he slipped away, he could hear the man mocking him.

  He didn't know how long he’d been in the blackness, when he was ripped back into consciousness.

  “Did you forget about the smelling salts, Ethan?” he laughed sickly. “If I used them on those women, why not use them on you? You’re going to have a very long night ahead of you.”

  He gasped for air, as his body reacted to the chemicals. Yeah, Chris was right. They most definitely worked.

  It looked like his hell was about to be prolonged.


  “Oh, just so you know. I’m building you a coffin. I’m cutting out the middle man for my Elizabeth and personally burying you. No one’s going to ever find your body.”

  At the killer’s laughter, Ethan fought to not break under the weight of his words.

  “I’ll make sure of that.”

  ~ Chapter Nineteen ~

  Monday morning

  Halloween

  They had worked through the night, digging through everything that they had at their fingertips. Everyone there was praying for an outcome that wasn’t going to end in Ethan dying and losing Elizabeth in the process.

  Callen was three days past exhausted and was finding himself catnapping as he scrolled through his brother’s tablet. After eight hours of reading his words and thoughts, Callen knew two things. He was ready to start with other information and his brother had an amazing mind. What Ethan saw when he looked at each person who was a suspect, was so much deeper than what Callen had observed.

  His brother was incredibly intuitive, and that insight was going to help Callen find the abductor.

  All through the night, he’d been torn on calling his father to tell him the news. Finally, at three in the morning, he broke down, and made the call.

  Wyler was borderline hysterical himself, wanting to rush up there. It took everything Callen had to get him to be quiet. If the agents downstairs got wind of it, Ethan was dead. They were breaking FBI protocol for an abducted agent, and they might pay for that in the end.

  Then again, he was technically on vacation, so that might be his one loophole or technicality.

  As his father started to focus, his next question was about Elizabeth. Callen didn't lie. He was seriously concerned for her. He wanted to lie beside her and hold Elizabeth in his arms, but he didn't have the luxury of time. She was curled into a ball and trying to block out the pain, and he couldn’t blame her.

  Wyler told him to keep his eye on Elizabeth, and if he needed him, he could be there in two hours.

  Meanwhile, he would set up a vigil to their ancestors to help anyway he could.

  Callen was accepting any assistance that he could at this point, even if it came from the afterlife.

  Standing up, he needed to stretch. As he looked across the room, the rest of their team was out cold. Christina had fallen asleep at the table beside a microscope. Going to her, Callen patted her on the shoulder.

  “Christina, you need to head to work to run those samples,” he whispered in her ear.

  Her eyes popped open and she glanced around at her surroundings. Once the initial confusion had passed, she quickly packed up her things as she hurried around the room. Most of the work had been finished, but she still needed to run the trace through the bigger machines.

  “What did you find, Christina?” asked Callen hopefully.

  “We have fingerprints on the inside lid of the box. I’m going to go do a search of it and get you the owner. Also the raven is just the common one you find in this area. I don’t think you can get them from a distributer, so I’m going to say he’s catching them himself.”

  Callen nodded. “Go get me that print.”

  She patted her pocket, where she placed the sample. “On my way, boss,” then she paused. “If you talk to Elizabeth, tell her I’m sorry.”

  He knew what she meant. “Thank you, Christina.”

  The woman took off like a bat out of hell.

  When the door slammed behind her, Cyra jumped. She had been lying on the floor, with her head on her arms as she had been scanning the porn. They only had four more discs to get through.

  “Oh God, how long was I asleep?” she asked, getting up.

  “About two hours, but you needed it.”

  Cyra felt bad that she had gone down. “I’m sorry. I just closed my eyes for a second.”

  He understood, because so had he. “Can you get me that map printed out? I want to see the locations and try and figure it out.”

  “Sure thing,” she said, heading towards Chris. Gently, she touched his cheek. “Come on, Christopher, rise and shine. We’re back on duty.”

  The man stood up. “Crap, I feel like the walking dead,” he stated, watching Cyra wince at his words. Then it hit him. “Oh shit, Callen, I’m so sorry. I didn't mean anything by that!”

  There was no doubt in his mind that the man meant no harm. “It’s okay, Doc. I know that you didn't.”

  “What can I do, Callen?” he asked, pausing. “I had an idea last night, and you may want to consider it.”

  Callen was ready to consider anything.

  “Since the killer has Ethan, wouldn’t it stand to say that we go around and look for whoever isn’t at work? The person that’s not there will be the one that has him.”

  At first, that idea had merit. Then reality kicked in and he started thinking about it. His brain was saying to do it, but his gut said it wasn’t the right thing. “He’s going to want to watch us to see how we react and respond to the abduction. He won’t skip anything in his normal routine, because then he can’t monitor us. If I could narrow it down to a suspect or two, we might be able to scare him into bolting back to Ethan, but we don’t have that much yet.”

  Cyra spoke up. “We know it’s not Ares. He killed himself and then the director was taken.”

  Callen nodded. “We also have alibis for Officer Marsh, but we don’t know if they can be trusted. When your girlfriend is your main alibi, she could be lying.”

  “Okay, who else do we have?” Chris asked.

  Thinking about it, Cyra spoke. “What about the CPA, what was his name?”

  “Lewis Keys, and you have a point. He was the one that pointed us towards Artemis,” Callen stated. “Yet, nothing points to him.”

  Chris took a shot at it. This wasn’t his thing and he wasn’t sure he’d be helpful or a hindrance. “What about the other police officer? Was it Officer Murphy?”

  “He was working a few of those shifts when the women disappeared,” Cyra stated. “He couldn’t grab a woman and have the time to kill them and make a ritual sacrifice.”

  “Maybe it’s someone helping Arlen James. He’s still in lockup,” stated Chris. “It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s had a partner in crime or in his case a fellow follower.”

  Cyra shrugged. “It could be. We don’t have anything to say it’s not. The powder matched the one found there and Harmony was having fun as their offering.”

  Callen thought about it. “We also have that Wiccan who went to the circle with Elizabeth. I believe his name was Finn Williams. He didn't look all that happy to have her go with them, and he would know how to set up an altar and circle.

  Chris shook his head. “Shit, this is complicated.”

  Callen ran his hands though his hair in frustration. “Damn it! What are we missing?” he demanded as he started to pace.

  Both of them stared at him.

  He took a deep breath, refusing to let the fear take control. “Cyra, please get on that map. Chris, you need to keep watching those videos. They had one victim and we need to work every piece of evidence we have. It has to be here. We’re just not seeing it yet.”

  The both agreed and got down to work.

  Callen stared down at his watch. One more hour had just ticked away. As of right then, he was one step closer to losing his brother, and in the process, the woman he loved.

  * * *

  God, he was so cold and so sore, and his whole body ached. Ethan was beginning to believe that he was going to die of hypothermia or shock first. The survival instinct was kicking in, and he really wanted something to get him warm.

  It was mind over matter, and he talked himself through the discomfort. He had to survive.

  The ache in his head was intensifying, and he assumed it was from the blood loss and the knocks he took to the skull. Ethan wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone, but he was positive he was alone. There were the telltale signs of light coming from the windows, and he could see a little better.

  It l
ooked like the nutjob had left him for the day. If he was going to escape, it had to be now. Ethan stared down his body to examine the wounds he had further received. There were big gashes across his abdomen and chest. They were raw and angry.

  If he didn't think he was going to die, he’d be concerned about the infection that would be settling in soon.

  Staring up at his wrists, his hands were tied to the pipe and wrapped with duct tape. If he could just pull his body up, he’d try and gnaw through the tape with his teeth. Trying to lift his weight, he couldn’t move. At first, Blackhawk couldn’t figure out why, but then as he tried to lift his legs, he could feel them tethered to the base of one of the stalls.

  He was trapped. The psycho had considered it all

  God damn it!

  His eyes filled with tears as the hopelessness and exhaustion began to overwhelm him. Relaxing his body to ease the pain, he closed his eyes and let the sorrow fill him.

  He wasn’t going to get home.

  Unfortunately, this was going to be his end.

  Monday Mid-morning

  The silence of working was broken by a horrific crash from the other room. All three expected the worst, as they rushed towards the closed door. They each assumed that they would find Elizabeth still lost in depression and mourning. When they opened the door, they found something entirely different.

  The three stood, staring in surprise.

  Standing on the bed, Elizabeth grabbed the one painting by the frame and ripped it from the wall and tossed it across the room. She’d done the same with the one that had once been above the bed.

  No one spoke through the shocked silence, as she pulled out a black sharpie marker and began writing all over the white walls. It was frenetic and crazed.

  They glanced back and forth between each other, wondering if they should step in. Apparently, this was it. Elizabeth had finally gone off the deep end.

  None of them moved, as she began filling in lines and squares like a woman on fire.

  Callen was ready to intervene, when Chris put his hand on his arm. “It’s the profile. She’s recreating it here,” he whispered, keeping his voice low to not disturb her.