Midnight Fear

by Leslie Tentler

  “Breathe.”

  She struggled to take in air on her own, wheezing with the effort. Anger roiled inside him as he saw the inside of her right forearm. Weeping, circular burns pocked her soft flesh. The plastic sheeting underneath her made it clear Mitch had only gotten started. Reid’s arrival had forced him to jump ahead in his plans. He’d been strangling her with the electrical cording, killing her, which was why her sobs had ceased.

  A video camera sat on the desk, facing the bed. Reid stroked her hair, taking solace in the rise and fall of her chest as he continued urging her to breathe.

  He had to get her out of here. Now. Placing his gun on the bed next to Caitlyn, he began working at the tight cording abrading her wrists. She coughed again, moaning softly as he freed her of the first restraint. He rubbed circulation back into her hand.

  “Stay with me, Caitlyn. You’re okay—”

  “He’s still here.” Her voice was raspy, barely audible. “Reid, he’s still here…”

  A sixth sense tickled the back of his neck. Seizing his gun, he turned toward the door in time to see Mitch’s shrouded form pass along the hall and disappear into darkness. He glanced at Caitlyn. Her breathing remained ragged but she was inhaling and exhaling. Help would be here in a matter of minutes.

  He couldn’t allow him to escape.

  Reid moved into the hall, the nose of his gun making a sweeping arc across the open doors of the other rooms as he watched for human movement within the shadows. His nerve endings thrummed. Reaching the splintered railing on the landing, he scanned the staircase and foyer below. Had Mitch gone downstairs?

  He felt the sudden charge of electricity in the air around him. Reid spun instinctively, his gun raised.

  “Hey, partner,” Mitch said quietly. He stood hidden by a tall armoire, his own weapon aimed at Reid’s heart. He stepped slowly forward, his face illuminated by the moonlight seeping inside. His mouth was a grim line, his eyes flat. Feral. As if he had subsumed Joshua’s evil. The man looking at Reid was his partner, but wasn’t.

  Reid tightened his grip on the Glock. “This is over, Mitch.”

  “Looks that way,” he conceded. “I guess Johnston’s golden boy finally figured it out. What gave me away?”

  The hair on the right side of his skull was matted with blood, and rusty stains were visible on the open collar of his dress shirt. It appeared as though Caitlyn had put up a good fight.

  “Why?” Reid asked hoarsely. “Why do this?”

  Mitch raised his big shoulders in a shrug. “I wanted to know what it was like, I guess. Having that kind of power, that kind of control.”

  Disbelief coiled inside him. He couldn’t understand how Mitch had fallen so far. “You should’ve talked to someone about what you were feeling. What we do…the violence…there’s a lot of pressure—”

  Mitch laughed bitterly, white teeth flashing in the darkness. “But you’d never consider something like that, would you? Taking a walk on the dark side? You and I have different appetites, Reid. Different needs.”

  “We’re not that different—”

  “You sure about that? When you were on medical leave, I reopened the psych interviews with Cahill. I was intrigued. We talked a lot about the women, about what he did to them, and why. I realized I understood him…”

  Mitch’s face had settled into hard lines. He licked his lips, his voice lowering. “I kept looking at his drawings, reading through his journals with every little thing described in detail. Jesus, they excited me—”

  Reid felt disgust. “You’re ill, Mitch.”

  “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “Like they say, maybe I lost my moral compass. Fell into the abyss or whatever the hell you want to call it. But that kind of impulse—it can’t be created. It was always in me, right?”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  Mitch gave a small, chilling smile in response. Reid saw something evil move behind his eyes.

  “At first, I just fantasized about doing the things that little freak had done. I thought it would be enough for me, but I realized I wanted more. I killed that horse, thinking of Caitlyn and knowing she would see it. Cahill suggested it as a warm-up,” he said, unremorseful. “He also picked out the first one—Allison Murrell, a stuck-up socialite who liked to get her drink on. It was a piece of cake to scoop her out of that bar parking lot in Middleburg. One less drunk bitch in the world.”

  “And the others?”

  “They were my choice.” Mitch thumped his chest, revealing something akin to pride. “Including Bliss Harper. I met her right here in this house, remember? Caitlyn called us out here about the doll. My doll, actually. I talked to Harper after you went upstairs. Good-looking woman. I thought we might have something in common with both of us being recently divorced. I suggested we get a drink but the ice queen turned me down cold—she thought she was too good for me.”

  He made a snorting sound. “I knew I’d catch her here alone, eventually.”

  Reid felt his jaw tighten. His headache had worsened and he had to focus to keep talking. “What about Caitlyn? Was she your choice, too?”

  “Cahill wanted her. He’d been after me to take her once I perfected my skills. But the truth is, I’d decided to skip her. Things were getting too hot, especially after the near miss in the parking deck. Harper was going to be my last one. I wanted to quit before I got caught.”

  “You left the pawns at my door—”

  “To prove I was just as good as you!” Mitch snapped. His face reddened with anger. “I was right under your nose. You’re Johnston’s top profiler and you still couldn’t see it! No one could! But that fat-ass reporter almost made me.”

  He cursed vilely, a vein in his forehead bulging. “I came so close. I had Hunter all locked down for the murders—I was done—and then fucking Cahill calls me from prison, ordering me to take his sister or he’d rat me out. He gave me twenty-four hours.”

  His eyes bored into Reid’s. “You weren’t supposed to be at her house.”

  Reid worked to steady his grip on the gun, aware of the blood that had begun seeping through his shirt-sleeve. Mitch noticed it, as well. He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Looks like you popped a suture, buddy. Sure you’re going to be able to keep holding that thing?”

  “For as long as I have to,” Reid answered, throat tight. Their guns remained pointed at one another as police sirens punctured the night, moving into the Georgetown neighborhood. For several moments, Mitch listened to their keening wail. He appeared haggard and depleted.

  “I’m not going to jail.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  He chuckled faintly. “You’re as weak as a kitten, Reid. I could take you down now. One blow to that arm and you’d bleed out on the floor before anyone could help you.”

  “You’ve had two chances to kill me tonight—at Caitlyn’s and right here. You didn’t take them.” It was true. Mitch could have fatally shot him at either location. Both times, he’d had the vantage point. Reid’s injured arm shook with exertion. “Even if you get past me, we know who you are now. There’s no going back.”

  His face grew hot with emotion, his voice roughening. Reid felt the loss of his partner, as well as a sharp betrayal. “Did you really think you could just quit, Mitch? That you could kill these women, pin the murders on someone else and just return to your old life? You need help—”

  They realized they were no longer alone. Caitlyn stood at the other end of the hallway, her hand pressed against her bare stomach. She’d managed to free herself, although one cord still hung from her slender wrist. In the moonlight, she looked like a pale goddess, her blond hair tousled and her eyes wide and frightened. A line of purplish bruising encircled her throat.

  “I’m not going to jail,” Mitch repeated. He shook his head, his eyes reddening. The sirens had gotten louder, the squad cars turning onto the street. “You know I can’t go to prison. That’s no place for a cop.”

  Blue lights flashed through the wi
ndows, staining his skin. He took his gun barrel off Reid, slowly and deliberately moving it toward Caitlyn. Reid felt his heart pound.

  “Mitch,” he warned. “Don’t do it.”

  “If you think Julianne Hunter haunts you—”

  “Mitch!” He caught the subtle change in his stance, the fractional move of his finger in preparation against the trigger. There was no time to respond otherwise. The kick of the gun shot pain up Reid’s arm as noise exploded. Mitch lurched backward, hitting the armoire and leaving a trail of red down its front as he slid to the floor like an oversize rag doll. He lay half-propped against the furniture’s heavy, balled feet. Gunpowder and the metallic smell of blood mingled in the air.

  Reid felt his lungs constrict. He couldn’t breathe. He stepped forward and kicked Mitch’s gun away with his foot, then knelt next to him. Blood bloomed like a large, red corsage in the center of the heavier man’s chest.

  “Mitch…” He placed his hand on his shoulder. Mitch gasped and coughed as he attempted to draw in air. Bright, pink bubbles formed on his lips. He stared at Reid.

  “Knew…you could do it, partner,” he whispered. Life drained from his eyes.

  Reid felt for a pulse, then bowed his head. The phrase suicide by cop flashed through his mind. He passed a hand over Mitch’s face, closing his eyelids. A few inches from the body, a white chess piece—the queen—lay on its side. He picked it up, clenching it tightly in his palm. The pain in his head magnified. It felt like a scalpel inside his skull, blurring his vision. He sensed Caitlyn’s presence nearby.

  “You’re bleeding,” she murmured, voice croaky. He was vaguely conscious of the warm, sticky wetness now soaking more heavily through the sleeve of the borrowed shirt. He felt dizzy and wasn’t sure he could stand.

  She went into the closest room and pulled a coverlet from the bed, wrapping it around herself. Returning, Caitlyn sank onto the runner behind Reid. She put her arms around his back, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. He felt her body shudder against his. They remained together in silence as below them, a police SWAT team burst through the front door.

  50

  One Month Later

  Agent Morehouse stood with Caitlyn inside Springdale Penitentiary.

  “Sure you’re okay to go in?” he asked. She nodded, noting the garland that had been strung around the door frame of a visitor break room. The plastic greenery was the only sign of the approaching holiday. Someone inside the room was making microwave popcorn and its slightly scorched smell wafted in the air.

  “I can go in with you—I mean, if you’d rather not see him alone,” he offered as they walked past a row of chairs. A sign on the wall outlined Visitation Rules in black print. To their left, a large, windowed space revealed prisoners meeting with their families in a supervised area.

  “Thanks,” Caitlyn said, avoiding the concern in his eyes. “But I can do this. I’ve done it before.”

  They stopped at a finger-smudged Plexiglas wall, behind which sat a burly, uniformed prison guard. Caitlyn knew that beyond this point was the maximum-security area. Both she and Morehouse presented ID and signed the registry, and the FBI agent checked his gun before they went through a metal detection booth that fed into a windowless hallway. A second guard waited for them near a door at the end of the corridor. He had been leaning against the wall, but as they approached he straightened, waiting for a signal from Morehouse that she was ready to go inside.

  “Let’s get this over with.” Caitlyn’s voice sounded calm, masking the sea of feelings she carried. Morehouse gave a small nod and the guard unlocked the door.

  “Mind your manners, Cahill,” he ordered brusquely as Caitlyn entered. She waited for the door to close behind her with a metal snap before she took the seat across from Joshua. She placed a small, digital recorder on the weathered tabletop between them.

  “Merry Christmas, Caity. I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

  “I said I’d be here. It’s just taken some…time.”

  Joshua wore an oversize jumpsuit over his thin frame. His handcuffed wrists were shackled to the table. Other than the fact that his ebony hair was slightly longer, he looked exactly as he had when she’d seen him nearly six weeks earlier. On that visit, Reid and Agent Tierney had accompanied her.

  “I understand. You’ve been through a lot since we talked last, haven’t you?” Joshua shook his head in commiseration, although a faint gleam was visible in his dark eyes. “I heard about that nasty business with Tierney. Who knew?”

  Her shoulders rigid, Caitlyn reminded herself she hadn’t come here to confront Joshua about his role in what had happened to her. She kept her tone impersonal. “I want the names of the women and where to find their remains. You promised two, remember?”

  “You’ll get them, but I want to talk first.” He leaned slightly forward in his chair, his handcuffs clanking against the restraint bar.

  “How are you holding up, Caity? From what I hear, if it weren’t for Agent Novak you’d have ended up like that Barbie doll Tierney was so fond of.” He smirked, his gaze shifting to the window that Morehouse and the guard were using to supervise their visitation. “Speaking of Novak, where is he? It’s strange he’d let you come all alone and unprotected. Unless Richie Cunningham out there is supposed to do the job.”

  Tamping down her emotion, Caitlyn glanced pointedly at his shackled wrists. “I don’t need protection from you.”

  He tossed his shaggy hair from his eyes.

  “I’m very busy, Joshua. Are you going to give me what I came for, or not?”

  “Relax.” He lowered his voice. “But I want something from you first. I want to see them.”

  “I don’t know what you’re—”

  “The scars.” His eyes fell to the long sleeves of her cashmere sweater. Caitlyn felt her heart beat faster.

  “C’mon,” he urged quietly. “I know Tierney got at least that far.”

  Her throat ached with revulsion. A hard knock sounded on the door. Morehouse came into the room, his hands on his hips as he directed a warning glare at Joshua.

  “It’s all right,” she said, composing herself. She turned in her chair to face the agent, holding his gaze until he reluctantly retreated from the room.

  “So how about it, Caity?” Joshua continued once they were alone again. “What if I sweeten the pot? I’ll give up another girl—that would make three. All for a little look-see.”

  She swallowed hard. “How many…more are there?”

  “Including the two I already promised? Four.”

  “I want all four. And I want the names and locations first.” Caitlyn fought the rising hatred inside her. “Then I’ll…show you what you want.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so. If I give them all up now, how will I get you back here? I look forward to your visits.”

  Caitlyn wanted this nightmare over, wanted the cancer that was Joshua severed from her life, once and for all. She would do what she had to in order to gain closure for the families of the women her brother had murdered. Her fingers traced the raised scars on the inside of her forearm through the soft cashmere, aware that Joshua’s dark eyes followed her movement.

  “Tierney told me they were a…gift,” she finally said in a quiet, frayed voice. “From you.”

  His tongue darted out, moistening his lips. “Did they hurt, Caity? Those sweet kisses?”

  She gave a tight nod, her stomach knotting at his inhaled hiss of pleasure.

  “Tell me what it felt like?”

  “Give me the names and locations. All of them. Then I’ll share…everything.” She forced herself to breathe, to meet his heated gaze. Her words were measured. “I’ll tell you about each burn. About the cord he wrapped around my throat. I’ll talk about it for as long as you want…if you give me what I want first.”

  Joshua studied her, a mix of doubt and need on his face. His breathing had quickened and his pupils were dilated, merging with the inky-black of his irises. She wai
ted, disgust nearly choking her as he finally nodded in agreement.

  Caitlyn’s hand shook as she started the digital recorder. Then in a hushed, dreamlike monotone, he began naming the murdered women and the locations where their remains could be found.

  “Amber Lynette Brickell…she’s in the Anacostia First High Reservoir at the second mile marker. I weighted her body down with cinder blocks…Collette Susan Goodman…dumped in a plastic bag in the Fairfax County landfill…Kirstin Ann Mertz…buried on farmland off route 50 outside Aldie, under a weeping willow tree…”

  When he had finished delivering up all four, she stopped the recording. Joshua looked at her expectantly, his obsidian eyes like dark, shimmering pools. Caitlyn realized she was perspiring, her nape damp and her skin clammy under her clothes.

  “That’s all of them,” he murmured. His gaze returned to her sweater sleeve. “Now it’s your turn. Show and tell, sis.”

  Caitlyn placed the strap of her purse over her shoulder, then took the recorder from the table. Joshua snapped up his head as she stood.

  “We had a deal—”

  “Go to hell,” she whispered. “I hope you rot in here.”

  “Caity? Caity!” The handcuffs clanked against metal, the table rocking as he leaped to his feet. “You promised! You bitch!”

  She walked to the door. The guard entered the room, his hand on his weapon as Caitlyn slipped past. She gave Morehouse the recorder without looking at him. Her back straight, she went down the hallway, ripping the guest badge from around her neck. Joshua’s screamed curses echoed in her wake.

  The darkening sky had begun to spit snow, the first of the season. Reid watched as Caitlyn’s BMW pulled onto the drive in front of the farmhouse. He’d been working on his laptop, waiting for her arrival and trying to talk himself out of being angry with her. Jimmy Morehouse had called a short while earlier, divulging the truth about where she had actually been that afternoon.

  He’d said he thought Reid needed to know.

  With a sigh, he rubbed a hand over his jaw as she killed the car’s headlights. Caitlyn sat in the vehicle for several long moments before finally getting out and coming onto the porch.