Epilogue
* * *
Three months later, and Jules was absolutely certain what she was about to do was the right thing. She was irritated it had taken so long to get to that point.
But it had taken a few months to get Malachi added to the adoption paperwork, to get an updated home study done and to reassure the social workers that Nathanial Collins was a one-time thing in her life.
But the social worker had called with good news two hours earlier. That was enough time to gather the rest of Ruthie’s possessions and Jules’ clothes. A lot of their belongings had already been moved to Malachi’s.
Jules wasn’t taking any chances with losing out on time with the man she loved.
God, she loved him. He still knew how to irritate her beyond distraction, but he also knew how to love her to distraction, too.
Ruthie loved him just as much as Jules did, and though they’d still had tons of meltdowns and some not-so-surprising behavioral issues, Ruthie was thriving in a happy, loving, and stable environment.
Jules didn’t even mind going to church and actually was starting to enjoy it.
Her hand was still healing from the last of the surgeries. There was some nerve damage that would probably plague her for the rest of her life, but it was worth it. Every time she looked at the scars across her palm and the ones on her chest and forearms and she remembered just exactly what it was she’d been fighting for that day. For what she’d fight for again.
The man she loved.
She let herself into the Brockman home with the key she’d been given months ago, a box of stuffed animals clutched in her arms. Lois and Clark bounded over to greet her. Such goofy dogs; she was glad Collins had only chosen to drug them the night he’d taken her and shot Mick. They were wonderful animals, and she and Ruthie adored them.
They adored everything about this house that was more their home the house she’d rented from Eddie.
Al had redecorated the entire house during the few days Jules had been in the hospital. The work Al had done had been much appreciated.
Poor Al. Since the death of Nate Collins the other woman had seemed to be struggling with her own demons. Jules understood; but Al would have to work it out on her own. No one could do it for her. Al had spent more time at the house, apparently needing the family connection more than she’d probably realized.
And Al had taken special care turning one of the extra bedrooms into a haven just perfect for a little girl. It was there Jules headed. She’d arrange Ruthie’s stuffed animals, clothes, and books, and when Meredith brought Ruthie over in a few hours, Jules and Malachi would break the news to her.
Malachi was going to be her new daddy.
They hadn’t mentioned it to Ruthie too often, not knowing what the social workers would decide. Jules had been determined, though. If they’d proved difficult, she was just going to complete the adoption process with Ruthie as a single woman, then as soon as the judge said final she’d be eloping with Malachi.
They were a family and belonged together.
“Well, I didn’t expect to find you here today...”
Jules smiled as she turned. “I took off a few hours early.”
“I’m glad you did.” He scooped her up, and Jules wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her every chance he got. She didn’t mind at all. He was her Galahad, after all. That still annoyed her at times, but she could deal with that. And appreciate the why behind his actions.
“Colleen Ashbury called.”
He tensed. “And?”
“Congratulations. You’re going to be a daddy.”
He laughed and spun her around. Jules squealed, the move giving her a bit of motion sickness. More than she’d expected.
“It’s about damned time. Damn, woman I love you. I’m ready for you to be in this house permanently. We’ve spent too much time apart.” He kissed her, hard.
“I have boxes in the car. Need a big strong Galahad to help me carry.” She was leery of doing too much lifting right now. She’d asked a neighbor to help her load the boxes.
She’d wait until tonight to tell him her other little secret.
He wasn’t just getting her and Ruthie...as she followed him to her car a few seconds later, her hand covered her stomach.
Where their second child already rested...
Like Alessandra? Check out her story in 2014!
RUNNING
PAVAD Book Six
All Alessandra wanted was to find her car in the parking lot—it had been a week since she'd left it--and go home. Hopefully that home would be quiet and Al could sleep for a week. It should be empty, at this time of day—her brother and new sister-in-law Jules both worked at PAVAD with Al, and Ruthie, her little niece, should already be with Al's mother for the day.
Her team with PAVAD—the Prevention and Analysis of Violent Acts Division of the FBI—had spent the last week chasing down a nasty creep who got his rocks off killing blonde women. They'd caught him, but Al had the unenviable thrill of being prime bait. She could still feel the sleaze of his touch on her skin. Sometimes the job just sucked, and this case had definitely been one of them.
The parking lot adjacent to the PAVAD building seemed ten times as huge as Al knew it was. And of course, she'd parked clear across the level. Or maybe it was the level above?
She kept walking, her bag loading her down. Had she ever ached as much as she did now? She'd tackled the creep, and sent them both out a second story window, and now she felt it. Had she ever been this exhausted?
Yeah, back when her brother and Jules had been kidnapped at Thanksgiving five months ago. And then again when her partner Paige and Jules were in the hands of a madman. A madman who'd once been Al's friend. Al had been one of the searchers tirelessly hunting for the people she loved. They'd found them, but Al would never forget those few days.
Her car was in the back corner of the lot and she wondered what she'd been thinking when she'd parked there. Carrie—one of her friend's, and Al's team leader’s wife—was out of her own Ford Escape parked next to Al's car. Al thought about calling out to her friend, but she was just way too tired; Carrie hadn't seen her yet.
Besides, there was Sebastian—Carrie's husband—right behind Carrie. How had he beaten Al out of the building? When she'd left the bullpen, he'd still been in his office half-buried under reams of paperwork.
Sebastian's week long absence away from Carrie had probably made him antsy for his wife. They'd not even been married for a year, and Al suspected they'd spent almost as much time apart as they had together. It was nature of the beast that was their job.
Carrie had probably texted him, and he'd ran out to spend a few extra minutes before Carrie's shift began.
Once again Al couldn't help but think that Carrie Lorcan was one heck of a lucky woman. She watched the couple for a moment, feeling that bit of envy and loneliness that had been plaguing her for a while. Since Thanksgiving, at least, when her oldest brother Malachi and Jules had first gotten together, and in the months since, Al had felt a bit...rootless. And she couldn't shake it. But she was happy for Jules and Mal and Carrie and Sebastian. And for all the other couples who'd found each other through PAVAD. Inner-Bureau romances were usually frowned on, but PAVAD was full of them lately. Even the deputy director in charge of PAVAD had recently married the head of the forensics department. Romances in PAVAD just seemed to work, for some reason.
But not for her.
Romance just didn't work for her, and that was one of her greatest sorrows. Still, she had pretty much everything she wanted from life, and the people she loved were happy and safe. So that was just fine with Al.
Carrie cried out, and Al's attention sharpened. Sebastian had his arm wrapped around Carrie's neck and was pulling her back toward the SUV. Carrie was fighting him. Carrie wouldn't fight Sebastian. And Sebastian would never hurt Carrie.
Al sped up, every instinct she possessed telling her this was wrong. Something wasn't right.
She was close enough now that Carrie could see her, and there was fear, confusion, and pleading on the younger woman's face. Carrie was terrified.
And now Al could see why.
The man had Sebastian's face; she couldn't deny that.
But it definitely wasn't Sebastian Lorcan wrapped around Carrie...
Loved Jules? Catch her in Georgia and Hell’s book, first in the PAVAD series,
WATCHING,
now available as a free download at participating retailers.
Chapter One
Thank God it wasn’t her child’s crime scene they were hiking toward. That thought ran continuously through Dr. Georgia Dennis’ mind as she picked her way over fallen branches and loose rocks, only steps behind her partner.
What would the girl have felt as she’d been forced up this hill? What fears would have run through the child’s mind as the leaves cracked beneath her feet, as the mud slipped out beneath her steps? Had her hands been bound the entire time? Had she lost her balance? Had he pushed her down? How would the UNSUB—the Unknown Subject—have controlled his…catch?
Georgia’s breath caught in her throat as she tried to put herself in the girl’s shoes. She pushed away the feelings the girl’s parents must have felt, though those thoughts threatened to choke her. How could someone do this? To a child? How could he do this and not think of the pain and terror the child would be experiencing; how? “He may be a sadist or a mission killer.”
“Any evidence to back up your theory so early in the investigation?” her partner and supervisor Michael Hellbrook asked.
“Method of death...sir.”
“Continue. Talk it out for me.” Impatience was evident as he waited for her to climb the log.
The local agent, Elias Stanton, had met them at the base of the mountain to lead them to this crime scene. He darted nervous glances between her and Hellbrook. The tension between her and her supervisor was old news to her, something that just was. She hardly noticed it anymore.
Georgia adjusted her backpack, scanning the overgrown trail for any signs of the killer the locals may have missed. She continued on. Her foot slipped on a loose rock and she kicked it aside. Had the killer considered that stone? Had he carried the rocks with him up the trail? “Stoning. It’s a traditional method of killing, used as far back as Biblical times. A young girl, just becoming aware of her sexuality. He sees it, decides to cleanse—therefore, mission killer. He could also be a classic sadist. Someone who wandered into the idea of stoning, possibly by throwing rocks at a small animal—or even a smaller child. Someone who enjoyed watching his victims suffer. Someone who picked those who couldn’t retaliate. Or those he put into positions where they couldn’t fight back.”
“So someone who enjoyed hurting others?” Confusion tinged the local’s tone. It didn’t surprise her. Many agents—even if they were good agents—struggled with the idea of profiling.
“Yes. And he’s raging against all females, especially those similar in type to the four victims. Were there any signs of sexual assault?” Georgia hated to ask, especially since the victims in this case were all teenage girls. She hated when the victims were kids, always imagining her four-year-old son Matthew in their place. Imagining herself in their parents’ places. That was what she took from each case that dealt with children—the pain on the parents’ faces.
She slipped her hand into her pocket, running a finger over the toy car her son had tucked in there that morning before they’d left the house.
He was why she did this. For each of these monsters she took off the streets, the chance that one would get her baby lessened. She never lost sight of that. Her son would not be a victim.
“Preliminary findings were inconclusive. M.E. was nervous about doing an extensive autopsy. They're waiting for our go ahead to bring in our own medical examiner.” Hellbrook barely looked at her. That also didn’t surprise her. They didn’t have the strongest of relationships, by any means. His fault. She’d tried.
“And nothing’s been found in the seven hours since we were first notified?”
“Uh...no, ma’am.”
Georgia kept her eyes on Hellbrook’s back as she followed him and the other man when they began hiking again. “I take it our medical examiner is on the way?”
Calling for one would have been Georgia’s job had she been left behind at the precinct. She normally handled the miscellaneous tasks that other agents didn’t have time to handle. That was her normal lot with Hellbrook’s team. Six months since she’d been assigned to his unit, and today was the first he’d let her out of the precinct. He’d had no choice—his customary partner was too sick to leave the precinct, and there were too many crime scenes for the rest of the team to cover.
She hated that it had come down to necessity for him to grant her request—one she’d made on every new case—but she was glad he finally had. She wanted to do her job, all aspects of it. And she really wanted the creep who’d targeted these four little girls for his sick game.
She wanted to be out there, needed to be out there, stopping the monsters who preyed on the weak. That was why she’d joined the FBI in the first place, that was why she’d studied hard and earned two doctorates by the time she’d hit twenty-five.
“Of course. Come on. It’ll be sunset soon and we need to get what we can before that point.”
Georgia hurried to keep up with him as his long legs ate up the trail. She understood his impatience; she needed to be at the scene just as much as he, but both she and Stanton were struggling to keep up. What good would that do Hellbrook?
***
Hell kept one eye on Georgia, wanting to make certain she—the smallest member of his team—could handle the hike to the first crime scene. The animal trail they followed was not an easy path for any of them, but the petite Georgia would have a tougher time. She had to stretch in a few places or climb over logs and rocks that he and Stanton had little difficulty scaling.
He wanted to grab her arm and drag her along. He had always been an impatient man, especially when on the hunt for child-killers. He forced himself to keep his hands off his partner, letting the local agent help her when needed.
Hell sensed the other man enjoyed helping her. And she would fight like the devil if he ever offered to help. That was mostly his fault for the way he’d treated her over the last six months. But habits were hard to break. Even for him.
“He’s athletic,” she said when they took a short break. “Comfortable in this area.”
“Local,” Hell added. It had been a tough climb for them, and he suspected it would get worse. The man they were searching for would have known that. And would not have attempted the climb if he hadn’t thought he’d be able to complete it. Confidence? Arrogance? Or just skilled? “Stanton, how much farther?”
“The pit’s about another mile or so. Three or four decades back this area was mined for fill dirt. These pits scar the hills, most are overgrown now, most are filled with water. Terrain made it difficult to dig large holes around here, so there are quite a few smaller ones. Steep sided, and not very wide at the bottom. Made it easy for the guy to trap these kids and use them for his target practice. First body was found in a forty-foot hole. Cadaver dogs sniffed her out.”
They hiked the rest of the way in silence. Hell ran a quick eye over his partner, making sure she was still with him. She looked fine, as if she’d barely broken a sweat. She looked better than fine, if Hell was being honest. She always did. Had he ever seen a woman look so put together when climbing through the mud-drenched woods? Only Georgia Dennis, princess of the division her father had created.
The late April sun tangled in the dark brown curls poking out the back of the FBI issue cap she wore, distracting him for a moment. Dr. Dennis was an incredibly attractive woman; Hell couldn’t deny that. He had been aware of that from the moment they first met. Even when dressed in nondescript jeans and windbreaker like she was today, that small, exquisitely formed woman with pale skin and dark hair had a w
ay of drawing male eyes. Had a way of tempting male hands to touch, to stroke. To tangle in that dark hair.
Dammit; Hell shook off thoughts of his unwanted partner and refocused on the job at hand. He didn't have time for the distraction that was Georgia Dennis.
The crime scene was as the photos had portrayed and taped off with standard yellow police tape. They stepped up to the barrier and studied the forty-foot hole. Hell’s stomach clenched in reaction; he’d struggled with heights since the age of five when he’d fallen out second story window.
Georgia suffered no such weakness. She fingered the crime tape and peered down into the pit with careless disregard that she was four stories above the bottom. “The hole’s what? Forty feet deep?”
Both Stanton and Hell nodded.
“Still, with the overgrowth on the sides, the grade’s about fifty to sixty degrees. The fall would injure, but probably not kill,” Stanton said. “We figure the guy used these pits as a type of holding pen.”
“An organic cage, hard for his victims to escape, but not impossible,” Georgia said, her tone full of disgust and fury. Hell understood. He felt the same. “He likes to play games.”
Hell itched to grab the handle of the black backpack she wore everywhere and yank her back to his side. And hold her there. Far away from that damned edge. She stepped back seconds before he acted on that impulse.
She turned to Stanton. “How many miles from the other three crime scenes?”
“Six miles. Is that important?” Stanton asked.
“It may tell us something later. No detail is too insignificant at this point.” The nerves in Hell’s stomach loosened as Georgia took another step away from the edge.
“Has anyone other than the search teams and the local M.E. and deputies been down there?” Georgia asked.
“No, a spring snow came in on the heels of finding the first and second bodies. Then there was the race of keeping up with the body count. Last two victims went missing two days ago and yesterday. Both bodies were found yesterday evening, less than six hundred feet apart.” Stanton peered over the side once more. “Why?”
HUNTING (PAVAD) Page 27