“You know me. I’m a rebel,” she called back, opening the text she’d left the phone on to receive.
It was from Irv, as expected.
Surveillance shows truck for Furniture Fast in the Harford Suites parking lot the day of Pesha Josephy’s murder. Cross-reference of victims’ names shows Ainsley Nickerson bought a living room set there the week before she died.
Jenna wasn’t shocked. She typed back:
Save the fanfare and give me a location so I can turn this bird around.
She alerted Saleda and the pilot to the current situation as she awaited more from Irv.
“A furniture delivery? Why didn’t we notice this until now? That reeks of stranger danger,” Saleda said.
Jenna wondered the same. She texted Irv to ask, her curiosity getting the better of her.
He replied in about twenty seconds.
Knew you’d ask. We checked the employees on the delivery and the sale. Squeaky clean. Guy wasn’t listed anywhere near Ainsley Nickerson, though he had to have seen her order somehow. But he was the one driving the truck a few days ago when it was at the Harford Suites. Tobias Gray. Oak Pointe subdivision, not too far from our first victim’s location.
Jenna typed a quick thank you, then called to the pilot.
“We’re going to Alexandria.”
• • •
He heard them coming.
Justice ran to the middle room, hands clapped over his ears. He’d always expected them, and yet, he’d worked so hard to appease them he’d hoped he’d never have to see them.
Now the itching bit through him so intensely he couldn’t even begin to try to scratch. He knew it was futile.
Instead he picked up his gun. Whether or not guns would work against them, he wouldn’t know until he tried. Until this moment, he’d never dared oppose them, but now they’d come for him. It was the only way.
He sat in the middle of the room amidst the plethora of equipment he’d amassed for just this moment, fear gripping him. He had failed to do what the angel had said. Now he would pay.
• • •
They’d been cleared to land in a football field a street over from the house—practically in its backyard. No way he wouldn’t hear them coming. So much for the element of surprise.
Backup from the locals was meeting them there. By the time they’d trekked through the fence of the school toward Tobias Gray’s home, the barricade was already set up outside, and guns were drawn, trained on the single most bizarre picture Jenna had ever laid eyes on.
A small white house in the middle of a suburban block, completely lit up with Christmas lights covering every inch possible. The sun would still be up for hours, and yet the house glowed like a small planet plopped down in the center of the street.
“Well, that’s something you don’t see every day,” Porter said.
“You know what they say about hiding in plain sight,” Saleda replied.
“That’s hiding?” Teva ventured.
Jenna moved faster. “Neighbors probably chalk him up to being that crazy guy next door and don’t bother wondering if he really is crazy or not . . .”
What the hell?
They reached the barricade and were updated by the locals that the man inside had been screaming at them from the window. “Incoherent babble,” said the officer in charge.
“What kind of incoherent babble?” Jenna asked. It’s probably not as incoherent as you think.
“Something about creatures of darkness not taking him without a fight, begging ‘them’ for mercy, whoever they are . . . shit like that.”
So Tobias Gray thought the Furies had come for him. Made sense now, the lights. Calliope Jones’s words echoed in Jenna’s mind: “The three goddesses of vengeance, sometimes known as the Daughters of Night. It’s a misnomer though. They were the children of Mother Earth, Gaea, and Uranus.”
The creatures were supposedly children of Night, and they were from Hades itself. Wouldn’t be the first time this guy had believed whatever information he’d randomly learned about mythology. They’d established a while ago that he was an amateur enthusiast at best. In other words, the son of a bitch was scared out of his mind.
And more important, he wouldn’t let them take him without a final battle. A problem, seeing as how they needed him alive in order to learn more about the other UNSUB.
“Let me go in and talk to him,” Jenna blurted.
“Absolutely not,” Saleda said. “He’s barricaded himself inside his house while he’s hearing voices, and he thinks we’re them. He’ll blow anyone coming within a few feet of him sky high. Reasoning with this guy isn’t going to work, Jenna. You know that.”
“Oh, come on. You know I’m the most qualified to talk to him, and the fastest way to the other UNSUB is through him. Besides, he believes what he’s hearing is real. Law enforcement end up using force against mentally ill people all the time because they think they’re more violent than they are. Most of them aren’t.”
“Jenna, with all due respect, we know this one’s violent,” Saleda said.
Touché.
“Okay, so let’s use his own idea against him. Let’s blind him from taking shots long enough for me to talk to him.”
• • •
This had to be the worst idea she’d ever had.
Kevlar in place, Jenna walked toward the Triple Shooter’s window, knowing explosives that would mean Ayana didn’t have a father or a mother anymore might come next. This was stupid, but she had to do it. She had to find out who had put Molly Keegan’s life in jeopardy.
It had taken about twenty minutes to get the strobe light here. If Tobias Gray was epileptic, this would go downhill fast.
She crouched beneath the windowsill and nodded to Porter at the switch. He hit it.
Electric lights flew through the afternoon air.
“Tobias, it’s not who you’re afraid of. Look at the window.”
Silence.
Then a soft sound, like he was moving around inside.
“Who are you?”
The voice was right beside the window. Shit.
“I’m a friend, and I know about the Furies.”
“You . . . know?”
Bingo.
Most people tried to talk schizophrenics out of their delusions. She’d rather talk him into them.
“Yes. I know, because they talk to me, too. They told me about . . . a little girl. In a grocery store not long ago. Did they tell you about her?”
Nothing.
Jenna hesitated, not wanting to push him too hard. She needed to say more though. Had to. “I haven’t found her, but I’m looking for her. I’m afraid they won’t be satisfied until I find her . . .”
When he spoke again, his voice was low, afraid. “That’s why they’re still mad at me. Why the itching won’t stop, no matter how many heads I cut off of the evil. I didn’t stop her, either.”
Jenna took a deep breath. Heads I cut off. The hydra tattoo.
“Maybe I can stop her for both of us. The thing is . . .” Jenna said, thinking of the way Tobias had taken the visual cues from all of his victims to let him know they were bad. “I still haven’t seen her do anything to confirm she’s the one. Did you?”
Quiet again.
“I need to be sure I have the right person,” Jenna said, trying to shove confidence through her tone even though she was shaking like a bikini-clad woman in the Arctic.
“I . . . I didn’t, either,” he said, nervousness seeping from his voice.
“But you tried to find her, right? How did you know it was her?” Jenna asked.
Moving again, maybe shifting in place. “An angel told me.”
An angel? This was a curveball Jenna wasn’t ready to respond to, but she had to keep talking. But what to say? The wrong thing could make this take a
bad turn fast.
“What did the angel tell you?”
“You already know!” the Triple Shooter yelled, suddenly sounding angry. “Bad things happen then. The threes . . . and seven . . . and that day. Bad things happen that day.”
“Which day?” Jenna asked, racking her brain for a connection.
“You . . . you told me you knew . . .”
Oh, fuck.
A fist smashed the glass from the other side of the window, and sharp shards rained down on Jenna. She covered her head, knowing what came next. Please. Ayana.
Shots from all directions popped loud in her ears as she planted herself as flat as she could get against the porch, arms wrapping around her head. Deafening, everything. Screaming. Yelling. Her name.
Something dropped above her. Warm liquid, a weight.
Then it was over.
She peeked from under her arms and saw Porter, gun drawn, cops running from the lawn toward them. Saleda reached her first, lifted the heaviness from her. A thud as something solid dropped. A gun.
Dear God . . .
Jenna rolled over just in time to see Saleda and another local police officer pull the body of the Triple Shooter, crumpled at the waist over the windowsill, out toward them. Paramedics pushed through the crowd, but it wasn’t going to matter. Porter’s bullet had hit him directly in the head.
As glad as she was to be alive, she was equally sorry to see Tobias Gray dead, whatever he’d done. The quickest way to find the person who had told him, for whatever reason, to kill Molly was the Triple Shooter’s connection to them, and now they’d need to do it the hard way.
You’d think being almost shot was the hard way.
“Are you okay?” Saleda asked, now helping Jenna brush glass off herself.
“I’m fine, but Eldred might not be. We have to find the second UNSUB.”
Porter had joined them. “Thoughts on how we do that?”
Jenna shook her head. “Retrace his steps, I guess. And as much as I hate to say it, find out what the hell day he was talking about.”
“Who would know that except the dead man in there?” Porter asked.
Jenna blew out another breath, wishing the tightness in her chest would let up.
“The only person I can imagine who’d know would be Molly.”
50
Adults were really bad at keeping secrets. So bad, in fact, Molly sometimes wondered if their hearts were really in it.
She’d listened at the door while Dr. Ramey told Mom they needed to talk to her. Lucky for Dr. Ramey that Liam wasn’t home from work yet. He’d told her mom a while back that he thought it best for them to stay out of the investigation as much as they could from then on. He felt strongly that it was time for their family to move past the day at the grocery store.
Boy, this probably wasn’t what he’d had in mind. Lots of policemen had been around this afternoon, looking for Mr. Beasley. She wouldn’t mind going out and helping them look for him if they’d let her. But they wouldn’t. Said she was too little. Dr. Ramey would’ve let her help look.
Come to think of it, Molly wondered why Dr. Ramey and the agent with her were stopping to talk to her at all, but then again, Dr. Ramey hadn’t been one of the policemen out searching. Maybe Dr. Ramey was trying to track down something else. She didn’t want to ask too many questions. She liked helping Dr. Ramey too much.
Now they sat in the living room, and Molly let her legs dangle off the recliner chair. One day, her feet would touch the ground, and that wouldn’t be nearly as fun as swinging them.
“So how are you, Molly?” Dr. Ramey asked.
“I’m good,” Molly said, watching the glitter on her new pair of shoes glisten in the living room lights as they moved.
“I wanted to come by and check on you. See how you were doing . . .”
“That’s not what you said to Mom,” Molly said. Dr. Ramey hadn’t treated her like a baby before, and she wasn’t about to let her now.
Dr. Ramey bit her lip, then frowned. “You’re right. I shouldn’t tell you something like that. You’re a big girl, and you’ve helped us a lot. You deserve to be treated like you can handle the situation.”
Molly smiled. That was better.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Molly, I need to ask you something, and I can’t tell you a lot about the question because it has to do with our case. You know how I told you before some things about the case have to stay secret, right?” Dr. Ramey asked.
“Sure,” Molly said.
“Okay, good. I just need to ask you one important thing. It might seem confusing, but you’re the person I know who can help. You’re really good at numbers, and I think this could tell me something I need to know.”
Molly nodded. “I’ll try.”
“Okay. Sounds good,” Dr. Ramey said. “If I were to ask you the first day of the year that came to mind, what would it be?”
“Christmas Day,” Molly said without thinking.
Dr. Ramey nodded. “That’s a good one. What would you tell me about that day, in numbers?”
Molly cocked her head. What a weird question.
“Um . . . twelve twenty-five. Twelve days of Christmas, which is twelve twenty-five, so that’s funny. Twelve signs in the zodiac. Twelve knights in King Arthur’s Court, but it was thirteen if you counted King Arthur, kinda like Jesus in the Last Supper painting . . .”
Dr. Ramey looked almost disappointed for a second, but the minute Molly tried to figure out why, the face was gone.
“What other days are special?”
“I like Halloween. Ten thirty-one,” Molly said. This time she didn’t wait for Dr. Ramey to ask. She wanted her to know she caught on. “The numbers thirty-one, three hundred thirty-one, three thousand three hundred thirty-one, thirty-three thousand three hundred thirty-one, three hundred and thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-one, three million, three hundred and thirty-three thousand three hundred and thirty-one are all prime. Isn’t that weird? Thirty-one flavors at Baskin-Robbins ice cream. Ten cents in a dime. Ten pins in bowling, ten frames in each game. My favorite thing about ten is that it comes between nine and eleven, my birthday.”
Dr. Ramey’s head jerked slightly.
“Your birthday?”
“Mm-hm. Nine eleven oh-seven.”
“How old will you be on your birthday this year?”
Dr. Ramey really sounded weird now.
“Seven,” Molly answered, worried she’d said something wrong. “Dr. Ramey, are you okay?”
“Fine, Molly. Hang tight right here, okay? I need to talk to your mom a minute.”
• • •
Jenna nodded to Porter to stand guard in the living room. No one in this house would be alone until whoever had taken Eldred was found, so she’d leave Molly under his eye for the moment. She had to speak to Raine.
The second Molly said nine eleven oh-seven, the jungle green she associated with puzzle pieces had flashed in. She wasn’t sure exactly how any of this fit into the Triple Shooter case, his obsession with threes, or his weird connection to Greek mythology, but her gut said it did.
Plus Molly was turning seven and was born in the year two thousand seven. The sevens were there, and she was supposed to be the seventh victim. Something about this added up. Jenna just had to figure out how. God, trying to put this together was making her head hurt.
In fact, this case and the way none of its colors matched up neatly gave her a downright migraine.
Raine was sitting at the top of the stairs, waiting. It seemed like a strange place to park and think, but Jenna was no one to judge. Besides, if she were Raine, she’d stand within earshot of the people talking to her daughter, too.
Jenna sat on a step a few below Raine.
“We’ve called Liam at his office to let him know what’s going
on,” she said quietly.
Raine stared at her feet, smirked. “He was thrilled, I bet.”
Jenna patted the woman’s clasped hands where she was currently wringing them in her lap. “He’ll be all right. We all know he wanted to keep Molly out of the middle of this for the best of reasons, but it was important we talk to her. You made the right decision.”
Raine looked up, and her eyes met Jenna’s. “You think? Even if I might’ve put her in danger?”
Jenna took a deep breath. How could you tell a mother that her child already was in danger? “Raine, do you know anyone who would want to hurt Molly?”
Raine cocked her head, confused. “What?”
Jenna sighed. This wouldn’t be easy.
“I’m concerned that someone tried to hurt Molly that day in the grocery store. It’s hard to explain, but I think someone told the shooter to aim for her the day your mother died. I’m not sure why anyone would do that, but I need to know if you can think of anyone who might have a reason to want to harm your daughter.”
Raine stared at her, eyes blank.
Then she shook her head. “I can’t imagine anyone who . . . my God! Are you sure?”
It was the most animated Jenna had seen the woman yet.
“I’m trying my hardest to learn more so I can tell you what exactly is going on, but yes, I’m fairly certain.”
Raine shook her head again, touching the gold charm on her necklace. “No, I don’t know anyone who’d want to do . . . oh my God. Is she . . . are they . . . are they coming back?”
A color tried to jut in as Raine’s moving fingers drew Jenna’s eyes, but she pushed it back in favor of holding on to her current train of thought.
If someone had wanted to hurt Molly, they could’ve done it at any time since the shooting. The only thing she could figure was whoever they were, they didn’t realize the FBI had determined that Molly was the intended victim, and so for now, had left her alone. But if they’d wanted her dead for some reason—whatever reason a person could want a child dead—they would eventually target her again.
Jenna forced herself to ignore the pesky voice in her head trying to make sense of why, if Molly was the target, they wouldn’t have just gotten rid of her when they had the chance. The pain in her temple throbbed harder.
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