by Alexa Grace
“Yeah, I’ve been doing it too long. Besides, I hear deputies make more money.”
Both deputies snickered. “Yeah, we’re practically millionaires,” muttered the male deputy, as both officers headed back to the cruiser.
Though the deputies were gone, he remained at the window, paranoia clawing at his brain. Never before had the law come to his door. Why now? Why had they stopped at his cabin?
He turned to pace in front of the fireplace. Had they pinpointed him because they’d found some evidence he missed when he dumped Catherine and Tiffany? Had someone seen him with Brianna near his Jeep?
Hearing a moan from the kitchen, he realized his prey was regaining consciousness. “Shut up, bitch! I’m trying to think,” he shouted.
Flipping the television on, he surfed to the weather channel and discovered no rain was predicted for the next seven days. Damn it. Sure, he’d love to play with the prey for another seven days, but could he risk it? He turned the TV off and continued pacing. Maybe he’d grabbed Brianna too soon after going for detective bitch at the hospital? Had he made mistakes? Left evidence behind?
Hell, Jennifer’s dad was the sheriff. What did he think was going to happen when he went after his daughter? He decided he didn’t care who her father was, the bitch was going down. It was Jennifer’s fault the law was coming to his door. She thought she was so damn smart, treating him like a moron that day in the park next to Catherine’s body, in front of his father. Not that he ever gave a shit for what the old man did or didn’t think of him.
Hearing the whop-whop-whop of a helicopter in the distance, he wiped the beads of sweat off his brow. He couldn’t believe he was sweating over this, or anything for that manner. Was he slipping? No, he couldn’t be. He was the guy known for his no-evidence murders. There was no way they could be on to him. Could they?
The wailing and whimpering in the kitchen turned into an ear-piercing scream that echoed throughout the room. He grabbed his belt and raced to the kitchen, giving his prey a punishing lash of the belt. He then reached for the duct tape on the counter.
<><><>
Charlie Barnett had fished in Bear Lake since he was six-years-old , when he’d listened to his dad proclaim time and again the lake was the best fishing spot in the county. Though his dad had passed away years ago, Charlie still agreed.
Dawn, with the sun an orange orb rising in the lightening sky, was his favorite time for fishing. He knew the closer it got to noon, the more pleasure boats and jet skiers would be racing back and forth in the deep water of the lake, ripping into the peace he’d looked forward to all week. He sucked in a lung-full of fresh air and listened to the water gently lapping against the shore, as he watched a doe and her fawn drinking at the water’s edge.
With one more wet slice of his oar, Charlie slipped the anchor into the water, watching until it disappeared in the deep, inky darkness of the lake. Laying his oar in the boat, he pulled out his fishing rod, carefully hooked a worm, and then tossed it toward the reeds that lined the inlet. Holding onto the rod with one hand, Charlie used the other to dig into his ice chest for a bottle of water. He’d twisted open the bottle and lifted it to his lips when he felt the pull of the first nibble. Slowly and carefully, he lifted his rod and flicked the line to tease the fish until it nabbed the bait, and Charlie pulled it in. Although catfish was one of Charlie’s favorite catches, this one was on the small side. But he removed the hook from its mouth and threw the fish in his bucket anyway. There was plenty of time to catch bigger ones.
He re-baited the hook and threw the line back toward the reeds. It wasn’t long before the line yanked so hard, he almost dropped the fishing rod. Charlie glanced toward the reeds and spotted the biggest catfish he’d ever seen thrashing near the surface. Shit, if only his dad could see this whopper! He jumped to his feet, gripping the rod, winding the reel and tightening the line as he fought with the fish. Lifting one foot to the boat seat, he braced himself and pulled hard on the line.
Charlie leaned forward, too far, and the boat flipped over. Suddenly he was in the shockingly cold water, thrashing to free himself from the fishing line as his body sank. A sharp pain surged through his back as he landed on a sharp rock on the sandy bottom of the lake. He freed himself from the line and kicked his legs to propel to the top. But something stopped him.
Frantic, he looked down at his ankle and noticed a thick chain looped around his shoe. What the hell? Something touched his him. That’s when he found himself staring face-to-face with a beautiful young woman, her face frozen in death, floating eerily in the water next to him. Her dark hair wafted about his face, one of her long fingers caught in his buttoned shirt. Panic like he’d never known before welled in his throat, but he couldn’t scream, though God knew he wanted to.
Charlie kicked himself free, swam to the water’s surface, and gulped in air to fill his aching lungs. He struggled with the boat but finally flipped it upright and climbed in. After he pulled up the anchor, Charlie grabbed an oar and gasped, panting in terror as a fresh wave of panic swept through him. Piercing the water with the oars, he pushed toward shore. He had to get to his truck where he’d left his cell phone. Jesus Christ, had he really just found a body?
The minutes it took for him to reach shore seemed like hours. Charlie jumped out of the boat and pulled it onto the boat ramp, then raced toward his truck. Pressing his hand against his front right jeans pocket, fresh alarm flipped a switch and sent his heart racing anew. Where were his keys? He patted the left-front, then the right, thankfully finding his keys. He whipped them out, opened the truck, fished for his cell phone in the glove box, and called nine-one-one.
<><><>
With his scuba diving search team mobilized, Blake and team was in the water with Charlie Barnett onboard within sixty minutes. Jennifer sat near a table set up with containers of hot coffee and pastries for the searchers as she watched the sheriff’s boat propelling in the water, aiming toward an area of the lake where Charlie fished. Lane stood nearby with his cell phone, briefing Tim.
A wave of apprehension surprised her. Where did that come from? Blake was a trained scuba diver and had five years of experience behind him. But that didn’t stop her from considering worst-case scenarios where Blake dived into the lake and never came back up. She shivered and crossed her arms protectively around her waist, cursing herself for being such a damn coward. What was it about telling the man she loved him that scared the crap out of her?
The coroner’s van arrived and Doc Meade headed toward the table as his assistants unloaded a gurney from the van. He plopped down in a chair next to Jennifer and snagged a donut from the open box on the table.
“They find anything yet?” asked the coroner as he munched on his donut.
“No, they just left.” Jennifer responded. “The fisherman isn’t sure about the exact location, but he knows it’s close to some reeds near the North shoreline of the lake.”
“You realize, Jennifer, that the girl he saw in the water may not be connected to our killer. Could have been a skinny dipper who swam too far from shore. Hell, it could be anybody.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t fit our killer’s M.O. He has a propensity for posing the nude bodies of his victims at the site where he abducted them. So if he’s killed Brianna, we should find her body in a ditch near John Isaac’s place.”
Doc Meade nodded in agreement. He accepted the thermos Jennifer handed him and poured hot coffee into a paper cup.
“Besides,” Jennifer added as she searched the blue sky for clouds. “It’s not raining.”
<><><>
Propped up on pillows in his bed, Tim ended his call with Lane and placed his cell phone back on the table. He leaned back against the pillows and thought he should get out to Bear Lake, but couldn’t muster the energy. He listened to the sound of running water, as his wife, Megan entered the shower.
Tim always hated it when anything interrupted his Saturday morning ritual with Megan. They’d made a pledge durin
g their honeymoon years ago that Saturday mornings belonged to the two of them, to have breakfast in bed, and then make love for hours. With his demanding career and caring for a small daughter, there had been a couple of Saturday mornings they’d missed. But they were few and far between.
He imagined Megan naked in the shower and felt a hot jolt of lust surging through his veins. Tim pulled a box of matches out of a drawer, got out of bed and quietly crept to the bathroom where he lit every candle. He then flipped the light switch off, removed his boxer shorts and pulled back the shower curtain.
“Well, hello, big boy,” Megan said. “What took you so long?”
Tim crushed her to him and hungrily kissed her as he angled their bodies under the water, until it sluiced over them. He kissed her over and over until heat flowed in his veins, straight to his erection.
Megan’s hands began a slow massage with lemony shower gel that started with his shoulders, moving down until her fingers caressed the hard muscles in his back, as her breasts moved against him, driving him wild with desire. Pushing him against the shower wall, her hands went to work on his chest and pecs; her fingers making gentle circular motions with the gel. She slid her hand down and grinned at the very male moan that came from the deep of his chest when she touched him. His senses reeled as if short-circuited. Turning off the water with one hand, he reached for towels with the other. As quickly as he could manage it, the two were on the bed and he was exploring and worshiping every part of his wife’s body, trying to communicate he loved her as much today as the day they got married.
<><><>
Jennifer leaned against a tree, impatiently tapping her foot. They’d been at the boat ramp for close to three hours, and they hadn’t found a body. She was beginning to suspect Charlie Barnett was either senile, or had never seen a woman’s body in the lake in the first place. This had better not be a wild goose chase, or Charlie could find himself on a personal tour of a jail cell. Jennifer looked across the lake to the boat’s latest stop and glanced at her watch. Suddenly, Jennifer’s cell phone vibrated in her jacket pocket.
“Brennan.”
Lance Brody’s voice sounded through the phone. “We just found her. Blake’s bringing her up now. She’d been thrown in with a thick logger chain wound around her body, and got stuck to the branches of a fallen tree at the bottom.”
“Is it Brianna Hayden?” Jennifer wanted to know.
“Won’t be able to tell until we get her onboard.”
Jennifer disconnected the call, and shoved the cell back in her pocket. She called out to Doc Meade, as Karen Katz joined him. “They found the body. They’re coming back as soon as they have her onboard.”
Doc Meade and Karen Katz got up and walked to the boat ramp to wait. Jennifer pulled a stack of towels from the back of the SUV and joined them.
As soon as they were close enough, Blake and Lance jumped off the boat, then pulled it onto the boat ramp while a deputy ran to get the trailer. Charlie Barnett jumped out of the boat and ran to the nearest tree, where he braced himself as he vomited.
Doc Meade’s two assistants scurried next to the boat with a gurney, lined with an open body bag.
“Blake, is it Brianna?” asked Jennifer.
Blake nodded with disappointment. He took a towel from her and rubbed his hair and face with it.
The coroner assistants wheeled Brianna’s body up the ramp, then Doc Meade bent over her. “Her body hasn’t been in that lake any more than a few hours. It’s in a relatively good condition, not like the swollen messes we usually find after the victim’s been in the water for days or weeks.”
He arranged the body on its side. “Take a look at this. Same ligature marks on her neck.”
Blake and Jennifer rushed to his side.
“See her back and bottom. There are only one or two lacerations where he hit her with the belt. He’d beaten the other victims so much their behinds looked like raw hamburger. What made him change his M.O.? “
<><><>
Hands gripped on the steering wheel, Blake rushed back to the house so he could shower, change, and take Jennifer to the hospital for her follow-up appointment at one o’clock. Lane had threatened to put her on leave until she brought him a release from her doctor.
The waiting room was packed with anxious people clicking the keys on their laptops, rustling through magazines, or playing games on their cell phones. Blake nearly groaned out loud when someone turned the channel of the large flat-screen on the wall to CSN. What he didn’t need today was to hear from armchair experts and talking heads about Brianna going missing, and how the sheriff’s department could do a better job.
Itching with anxiety, he moved to the window to look outside. He’d always disliked hospitals, but since Jennifer’s recent stay, he’d begun to detest them. Checking his watch, he noted that Jennifer had been with the doctor for fifteen minutes. Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he whipped around.
“Down boy, it’s only your sister,” Carly said. “Guess Jennifer’s still with the doctor and that’s what has you so tense.”
“You must be psychic, Carly.” Blake grumbled.
“Come buy me a cup of bitter coffee and a stale sandwich in the cafeteria. We need to talk.”
The cafeteria Saturday special was baked chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans. Blake carried two plates, along with two Cherry Cokes, to the table where Carly waited. “Sorry, they were all out of stale sandwiches. Hope this will do,” he said. She was shuffling through a folder stuffed with papers and barely noticed him.
“Earth to Carly.”
“What? Hey, that looks good for hospital food. I’m starving.” She watched as he set the plates, cans, and napkin-rolled silverware on the table. She unrolled her silverware and dug in. “Cherry Coke? I haven’t had one of these since high school.”
“I figured you needed the sugar for energy. Did you get any sleep at all last night?”
“Nope. I’m used to it. FBI agents never sleep,” she responded with a mouth full of food.
“Something’s off,” said Blake aloud. It had been bothering him since Doc Meade pointed it out on the boat ramp. “The killer deviated from his M.O. with Brianna.”
“What do you mean?”
“He killed her, but without the tortuous belt beatings the others suffered. In addition, he dumped her body in a lake, whereas he’d posed the naked bodies of his first two victims in the park where he had abducted them.”
“Those are some definite changes from his usual preferences. Anything else?”
“Yes, he didn’t wait for rain.”
“The only thing I can think of that would make him change his M.O. is that something freaked him out. All of his preferences for the way he abducts, tortures, murders and dumps his victims are very comfortable for him because he’s successfully used them for years without getting caught.” She stared at him for a moment then continued, “Blake, keep a close eye on Jennifer. He’ll try to get to her again. Is there any way you can move her into a safe house?”
“You’ve met Jennifer. What do you think?”
“I can’t criticize her. I’d probably react the same way,” admitted Carly. “Listen, I have some news for you. We got some hits in ViCAP.”
“Really?” asked Blake. “Got to tell you how mad I am at myself for not running the M.O. through myself. We kept coming up with local suspects. Not a good excuse though, and it sure won’t happen again.”
“No one’s blaming you, Blake. Let it go,” said Carly. “In the past five years, there have been five murders with your killer’s M.O. in Ohio. All victims were women in their twenties, tortured over a period of time with belt beatings, then murdered and dumped nude in state parks posed in a praying position.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Five?”
“Five. Like your case, there was no trace evidence and no witnesses. I tracked down a detective in Columbus who worked two of the cases. He said he always thought the killer worked in some capacit
y in one of the state parks, but could never find enough evidence to arrest anyone.”
Blake shook his head with disgust. “With our three victims, that makes eight women who have lost their lives to this sick bastard. It’s got to end.”
Carly reached over and lightly patted his arm. “You’ll catch him, Blake. I know you will.” She paused. “There’s something else. I got a call from my supervisor in Tampa. He’s assigning me a new case — an abduction of a four-year-old boy. My plane leaves in a couple of hours.
“Damn it, Carly. It seems like you just got here.”
“I know, but duty calls. Tell Jennifer I said good-bye, and I want to hear from you the minute you nab your killer.”
“Promise.”
Blake hugged his sister and walked her to the elevator where they said good-bye in the lobby. After finding out from the desk nurse that Jennifer was still with the doctor, Blake headed back to the waiting area.