by Brant, Kylie
Dev gave a slow nod. “That’s your right, I ’spect.” And certainly her usual method to avoid anything unpleasant. “Just means I’ll go directly to John Kenner myself. I don’t think he’d object to tellin’ me.”
She moistened her lips. Glanced in the direction of the house and back again. Following the path of her gaze, Dev noted a blind at the front window twitch. “It was such a long time ago.”
“I don’t reckon it’s somethin’ you’re likely to have forgotten.”
“You have to understand, I was young. Younger than you are now, actually. With a baby that needed constant attention. And Lucas workin’ all the time tryin’ to make more money. I would have been happy doin’ with less,” she hastened to add.
“Of course you would have,” he murmured cynically. Celia Ann was high maintenance. Apparently she’d had that quality even back then.
Her immaculate nails gleaming against the fabric as one hand smoothed over her dress. “I made a mistake back then, Devlin. One I’m not proud of, but there were all those factors drivin’ me to it.”
His entire system slowed. Blood. Heart. Lungs. A terrible sort of trepidation filled him. “What’d you do, Mama?”
“I hated that town with a passion even when I was growin’ up there,” she said, a flash of heat in her eyes. “People do more talkin’ than workin’, seems like. And there’d been talk . . . Lucas claimed it wasn’t true, but that didn’t stop some folks from repeatin’ it just the same. His name had been mentioned as the one who’d been steppin’ out with Sally Ann Porter before she disappeared. Even her mama, Jessalyn, asked him ’bout it.” Her hand lifted to cover her heart. “You just don’t know what that did to me, hearin’ such a thing. Wonderin’ if it were true that Lucas had been unfaithful.”
The picture forming in his mind was an ugly one. “So you decided to get even. Just in case it was true.”
Celia Ann hesitated. “There was a man who was sweet on me. Not important who it was, and it wasn’t many times that we met.” Her eyes filled with tears that he wished he could believe were genuine. “Your daddy came home early that night and caught us.”
Even half expecting the revelation, the news caught him like a swift right jab in the solar plexus. No child should have to know this much about his parents’ private lives.
“Okay.” He swallowed hard. Reached wildly for the objectivity that served him so well in his research. “I imagine things got . . . unpleasant.”
“There was a terrible row. Lucas and . . . the other man busted up the place before your daddy ran him off. Then we had ourselves a terrible screamin’ match. He started drinkin’. We didn’t keep much liquor in the house, but we’d had a barbecue ’bout a month earlier. There were a few bottles people had left, and he started in on them. He got . . .” She gave a quick shudder. “He wasn’t himself. I was scared and called his family. Scooped you out of bed and ran over to my daddy’s house. I never knew the rest ’til the police came knockin’ at our door the next day.”
He stared at her, emotions careening and colliding inside him. “Pretty quick to give up Lucas, too, weren’t you, once the news broke.”
Guiltily, she flushed. “You didn’t see him that night. It wasn’t the man I knew. He was violent. And so angry. I really can’t say what he might have been capable of.”
And that really was the crux of it, Dev thought numbly. Maybe no one was what they seemed. Scratch the surface, and all sorts of nastiness oozed forth. “I guess the same can be said for all of us, Mama. But you’re hardly blameless in all this.”
The moisture in her eyes had miraculously cleared. They were flinty now. “You’ve got more than a bit of your daddy in you, Devlin. Always expectin’ more of people than they can give. Makes you hard to be ’round, knowin’ I can never live up to your expectations.”
If she’d thrust a knife in his chest, she couldn’t have wounded him more deeply. He took a deep breath. Blew it out. When he was able to speak, he said, “Maybe that’s true. Or maybe you just don’t have more to give. Whichever the case, I don’t think either of us needs to pretend anymore.” He nodded toward the house and said with heavy irony, “Tell Howard hey for me.”
She didn’t try to call him back as he headed for the car. Would it have helped if she did? He didn’t know, but he doubted it. Whatever fragile pretense of a relationship they’d managed to tiptoe around for the last couple decades had been irrevocably altered.
But he sat in his car for several minutes after Celia Ann had disappeared into the house. His fingers clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel. Seemed like the more he discovered, the more questions he had. Problem was, he was losing his stomach for hearing the answers.
He started the vehicle and pulled away from the curb. He couldn’t help wondering about something his mama had said. About him wanting more than people could give.
And whether Ramsey just might agree with her.
The UNSUB is a power-assertive offender, using a value system from a century-old religious sect to condone his act. The trappings of the religion, i.e., the plant the victim was forced to ingest, are part of his signature. His approach probably includes the con or surprise, and he is likely to use force to ensure compliance. Evidence suggests he didn’t act alone.
The victim’s death was a predetermined outcome of the attack itself, but the UNSUB would likely use sexual torture to “punish” the victim for some perceived unworthiness during the duration of the assault.
The offender is likely to be of above-average intelligence, Caucasian, between the ages of thirty-five to fifty. Given the strength of the value system he uses to justify his act, it is doubtful this is his first offense. He is extremely high risk for offending again.
Ramsey reread part of her completed profile and wondered yet again if she was taking a step off a steep cliff with this one. But she couldn’t get beyond the part turmeric had played in Ashton’s religion. And that frightened her.
It was her job to look at all possibilities. To weigh them carefully and to retain objectivity. The greatest flaw an investigator could have was to be blinded by a mind already made up.
And there were a lot of questions still unanswered.
Sanders obviously believed Frost was “unworthy” since he’d chosen her sister over his former fiancée. Not to mention the motivation that life insurance policy gave him. But what possible connection did he have with the sick perp who had carried out the crime? The one with a link to Spring County? Matthews hadn’t found one. Rollins hadn’t either. And Sanders was liable to walk away from this thing if they didn’t discover it.
She looked at the clock as her cell rang, startled to discover it was nearing eight thirty. Food hadn’t been uppermost on her mind while she’d completed the profile, but she was starving now. Hopefully the call was from Dev with ideas for dinner.
But the voice on the other end of the line wasn’t Dev’s. It was Rollins.
“I’ve found it, Ramsey. Damn, I still can’t believe it.” His tone was a mingle of urgency and incredulity. “Started workin’ on that genealogy software of Kendra May’s again after dinner, and there it was, big as you please.”
Anticipation torched her system. “You’ve found Sanders’s connection to someone here in town?”
“It’s loose.” He sounded as though he were trying to tamp down his own excitement. “Mighty loose. Third or fourth cousin—I never can make hide nor hair of that. But the relationship is there, all right.”
“Who is it?”
“You’ll never believe it. Wouldn’t myself if I wasn’t sitting here starin’ at the screen with my own eyes.” Just when she was getting ready to scream the question at him again, Mark took a breath. “Quinn Sanders is some sorta kinfolk to Reverend Jay Biggers.”
Stunned, it took her a moment to digest the news. The crotchety pastor who held such a dim view of Dev? Then her gaze dropped to her profile again. Because this shot the first hole in her conclusions. She wouldn’t hazard a guess to Bigg
ers’s age, but he was older than fifty-five.
“Shit. I started talking to all the ministers in town today, but was leaving him for last because I’d sort of met him once already.”
“Don’t feel bad.” Mark sounded disgusted. “I’ve known the man practically all my life, and this ’bout has me poleaxed. I’m headin’ out to his place to have a word with him. Figured you’d want to come along.”
Ramsey was already out of her chair. “Damn straight.”
Full dark had fallen as they drove down a familiar road on the outskirts of town. “I think we need to go at him easy-like at first.” Rollins slanted her a glance. “He’s not the friendliest man at the best of times, and I’d like to see if I can get him to admit to the relationship with Sanders himself.”
“I’ll follow your lead.” At least at first. But if Biggers was unforthcoming, she was more than ready to turn up the heat.
“I called Powell on the way over here. He was pretty excited about the find. He’s on his way back first thing tomorrow mornin’.”
“Let’s hope we have something for him by then.” She looked out the window. “Where’s he live out here?”
“Just over that next knoll. He moved out of town after his wife left him. Sorta curious, for a pastor, come to think of it,” Mark said reflectively. “Most live near their church so as to be more accessible to their congregation.” He sent her a quick glance. “I’m sorta hopin’ to find him at home. I’d hate like fire to have to drag him out of some church function with witnesses all ’round to start all kinds of talk. Say what you want, but it’s my job to keep that sort of thing to a minimum.”
His voice cut off then as the car slowed. A rare obscenity escaped him.
Ramsey looked over. “What?”
“Switched vehicles with Stratton for his trip to DC because he’d been havin’ trouble with his.”
“What sort of trouble?”
Rollins stomped on the accelerator a couple times to no avail. “That kind of trouble. Shit.” He pulled over and rammed the vehicle into park, his movements jerky with frustration. “Let me see what he carries in the way of tools.”
Damn. Ramsey looked at the illuminated clock on the dash. It wasn’t like there was real urgency to get to Biggers. The man obviously wasn’t going anywhere; had every right, in fact, to believe he’d gotten away with killing Cassie Frost.
The urgency came from within. A burn to bring the offender to justice. To make him pay for this crime. And maybe to discover others he’d committed.
Mark slammed the trunk lid. When he pulled open the door and got in the Jeep again, she asked, “Are you going to be able to fix the problem?” She looked at him, and a sheet of pure ice kissed her skin.
The hand aiming the Smith & Wesson at her was steady. “Technically, Ramsey, you’re the problem. But I reckon I can fix you easy ’nough.”
The ride back from Knoxville was a blur. Because he preferred not to think, Dev had found a classic rock station and adjusted the radio to an ear-splitting level. The distraction hadn’t totally worked, but it had been a start.
It was with a feeling of relief that he turned onto the county road leading into Buffalo Springs. The place his mama couldn’t wait to escape. The place where his daddy had lost his head and done the unspeakable.
He couldn’t say it was easier knowin’ the truth. That Jessalyn Porter had given Lucas a reason to dislike her. That an even-tempered man could be driven out of his head by events that had nothing to do with the older woman. But that had eventually led to her death anyway.
His mama was all wrapped up in the fault of that, though she’d never see it. And rather than feeling satisfied by knowing the truth, the only thing he felt was an overwhelming sadness.
He’d been ignoring the headlights that had been behind him for the last little while as he brooded. But there was no ignoring the lights in front of him. They flashed across the road, disorienting him for a minute. Had there been an accident?
Comprehension hit just a moment too late. There were two vehicles crossways in the road, blocking his path. His first thought was that neither of them were police cars.
His second thought was that one of them was a black souped-up dually.
Stomping on the brakes, he skidded around, meaning to head back the way he came, at whatever speed necessary. The day he couldn’t outrun Banty Whipple was the day he needed to hang up his car keys.
But there were two vehicles blocking his path to the east, as well. And the sides of the road were so heavily wooded, there would be no alternate route there.
As Dev fought to control the car as it skidded into another one-eighty, he thought with black humor that this night would be a fitting ending for his horseshit day.
And if the earlier pain had been emotional, at least this was something he could fight back against.
Even if it was more than likely to leave very different sorts of bruises.
The only thing that could have compelled Ramsey to enter the dark woods was the shotgun at her back. Rollins nudged her violently with it, sent her stumbling to her knees.
“Get up.”
With effort, she obeyed. He had her legs bound loosely with a zip cord. Her wrists were trussed behind her with another, making her hope of wresting control of one of his weapons a futile one.
“You’re not stupid, Rollins.” Delusional. One very sick fuck. But not stupid. “If I end up missing, how long do you think you’ll avoid scrutiny? All kinds of people saw me riding with you out of town.”
“And I can get a coupla people to swear they saw me drop you later at your motel. So you’re right ’bout one thing, Ramsey. I’m not stupid. When questioned, I’ll recollect you talkin’ ’bout the meth labs you saw out in the woods. Everyone’s goin’ to think you went out on your own to make an arrest.”
The barrel pressed against her back again, stronger this time. “That’ll be believable ’cuz the big-name forensic Mind-hunt-er,” he drawled the word sarcastically, “thinks she’s better than all the rest of us lowly law enforcement.” He grabbed her hair, bent her head back painfully. “Only you and I will know who the best cop was, won’t we Ramsey? Because it sure won’t be pieces of me that the wildlife are goin’ to be dinin’ on tonight.”
“It’s only a matter of time before Powell and Matthews put this thing together for themselves. I’ve told Powell everything about what we’ve discovered.”
“I know exactly what you’ve told Powell. I gave him a call before I picked you up, remember? ’Fraid I let somethin’ slip ’bout you spendin’ too much energy worryin’ ’bout the meth activity we got goin’ on ’round here. Sorta primed the pump, you might say. And when Stratton gets back with the evidence from the DC cop, evidence he’s goin’ to switch, well . . . the hair won’t match the one found in Frost’s apartment. And your ideas will be discredited all ’round.”
A stick cracked beneath her foot. The woods surrounding them seemed unnaturally quiet. “You are smarter than I gave you credit for, Rollins.” It was an effort to imbue her words with sarcasm when panic was doing a fast sprint up her spine. “Of course, that’s not saying much. But giving credit where it’s due, I’m guessing you got away with murder at least twice now. Once in DC, and once with Cassie Frost. That takes a bit of intelligence.”
One minute she was upright, and the next he’d tripped her and her face was pressed in the dirt. His booted foot was on her back. “Damn right it does. And I’d like to tell you all ’bout just how smart I am. But more than that, I’d like to show you.” The rifle barrel caressed a cool path over her cheek. “Because if there was ever a woman who needed spiritual cleansing, it’s you.”
Inhaling the damply sweet scent of decay, Ramsey fought to push back terror. “And to think I never realized just how special you were. Rufus Ashton’s disciple. Purifying the world one woman at a time.”
“But you know it now.” He reached for her and dragged her upright by her hair until she was in a standing position agai
n. Then he gave her a push forward. “Rufus Ashton was a prophet. His mistake was believin’ there was a place in this country that was sinless ’nough to embrace his teachin’s. His congregation might’ve scattered at his death, his secrets buried with him, but his true believers have flourished in secret. Your disappearance would be hard to explain, so your death has to be different. No one will ever connect you to Frost.” He made a sound of amusement. “Or the last one.”
The last one? Ramsey seized on the words. There’d been another victim, and they hadn’t even realized it?
He yanked her to a stop. Strode a few paces away to kick at some leaves at the base of a rock pile. “Here we go. Meth heads can always be counted on to leave their shit behind when they move on.”
A dull sort of horror bloomed. She knew exactly how dangerous abandoned labs could be.