Night Stalker

by Shirlee McCoy

  But there was a part of her that wanted it to. There was that space in her heart that he’d once filled, that secret spot that had stayed empty since the day he’d walked away.

  She shuddered, rubbing her arms to try to ease the chill.

  He watched dispassionately, whatever he was feeling hidden in the depths of his dark gray eyes. When he finally spoke, he sounded as weary as she felt. “Now isn’t the time to discuss it, so how about we just agree that you’re a witness to a crime that the FBI is investigating. You’re the victim of a serial killer we’re hunting. The best and only thing that you should be doing is staying close to the people who can protect you.”

  He opened the back door and walked outside, leaving before she could argue. That was for the best. She had no reasonable argument to make. Until the Night Stalker was apprehended, going to the hospital without a law enforcement escort would be as foolish as climbing Mount Everest without an oxygen tank. She could attempt it, but the likelihood of coming out alive was slim to none.

  She’d wait and go when he returned, because it was the intelligent thing to do. She’d follow the rules the FBI set for her because she valued the life God had given her. It wasn’t what she’d expected. It wasn’t what she’d wanted. It wasn’t anything she ever could have imagined when she’d promised to love Adam forever, but it was a good life. It was one that she’d created out of the ashes of the old, and there was a lot of beauty in that.

  The old boards in the kitchen creaked and Wren appeared in the doorway, her dark eyes trained on Charlotte. She was an FBI agent who headed an elite team. There was no doubt that she was accomplished and successful. She had a past, though, that sounded a lot different than her present. She’d hinted at it—married at sixteen to a man in his twenties, raised in a church that encouraged that, parents who saw nothing wrong with letting their sixteen-year-old child wed.

  If Charlotte had known Wren better, she’d have asked how that had come about and how it had ended.

  She didn’t, so she smiled and walked into the kitchen. “I’m making hot chocolate. Want some?”

  “I’ve already had enough coffee to keep me awake for a month. I think I’ll skip the extra caffeine.”

  “I have decaffeinated coffee,” she offered, reaching into the pantry closet and pulling out the ingredients she needed for the hot chocolate.

  “I’m fine. Thanks.”

  Charlotte nodded but didn’t speak again. Her throat was thick with what felt suspiciously like tears. That was odd, because she almost never cried.

  She poured milk and cream into a pot, added chocolate nibs and a scoop of sugar and then set it on the burner. Her back was to the sink and the window that looked out into the yard. She knew the curtains were closed and that no one could see her, but she felt exposed and vulnerable. She turned on the gas burner, her hands shaking, her heart beating hollowly in her chest. The brownish liquid splashed out of the pot as she clumsily stirred it.

  “Let me.” Wren nudged her aside and took the spoon from her hand.

  “I can manage.”

  “Not without making a colossal mess.”

  “It’s my kitchen. It will be my mess, so I guess that doesn’t matter.”

  “Sure it does. Who wants a mess to clean up? Not me or you. Besides,” she added, glancing toward the living room. Savannah and Clover were still on the couch, both of them relaxed and content. “Your time would be better spent with her.”

  “My time?”

  “She needs someone to talk to,” Wren said quietly. “Aside from basic information, she’s refused to tell anyone on my team anything. Maybe you can get her to open up.”

  “About what she saw tonight?”

  “About why she ran away and how she ended up here,” Wren corrected. “She’s been through something, and I want to know what.”

  “I don’t know that she’ll be any more willing to open up to me than she was to you,” Charlotte hedged, her gaze on Savannah. They were speaking so softly it would be nearly impossible for the teenager to hear, but she’d tensed, her hands dropping away from Clover.

  “I’d appreciate it if you at least gave it a try,” Wren responded. “My team isn’t just about the cases we’re working. It’s about helping people who can’t help themselves and seeking justice for those who don’t have the power to do so on their own. Something happened to that kid. I want to know what and when and how she escaped, and then I want to make whoever hurt her pay.”

  She said it without emotion, but Charlotte could see rage simmering in her eyes.

  “I’ll try,” she said.

  “Thank you. While you do that, I’ll add a little more chocolate to our treat.” She grabbed the container of nibs and dumped another handful to the pot.”

  “I thought you said you weren’t having any.”

  “That was when I thought you were going to tear open one of those awful packets, pour its contents into a mug and add some hot water.”

  “You’re a hot chocolate snob?”

  “I’m a lot of things, but first and foremost, I’m an FBI agent. Go on in the living room. I want you to stay as far away from the windows and doors as possible.”

  “Everything is closed up tight.”

  “That won’t mean a whole lot if the Night Stalker decides to empty a round into the front of the house.”

  “You have security cameras all over the exterior,” Charlotte pointed out. “It would be really hard for him to get close enough to do that.”

  Wren snorted. “How close did he need to be to nearly take you out while we were down at the beach?”

  “Not very close.”

  “Exactly. Security cameras see what is in front of them. I set up a few at the perimeter of the yard, but if he knows this area—and it’s pretty obvious that he does—he’ll be able to find another vantage point to shoot from.”

  “If he does that, all of us will be in danger.”

  “Yeah. That’s a good argument for going to a safe house, isn’t it? Since we’re here for now, the best thing you can do is stay in the center of the house. Go on.” She gestured toward the living room. “I’ll have this done in no time.”

  Charlotte went, because she’d told herself she’d play by the FBI’s rules and because she was as curious about Savannah as Wren was.

  Someone had put those marks on the teenager. Someone had been the reason she’d left Rhode Island and traveled to Maine. Someone really did need to pay for hurting the young girl.

  Trying to find out who was responsible seemed like a lot better use of Charlotte’s time than sitting in her room thinking about the past, worrying about the present and wondering about the future. If the by-product of focusing on Savannah meant getting her mind off Adam, that would be a bonus.

  She walked into the living room, settled into the old recliner and met Savannah’s eyes. “You and Clover seem to be getting along well.”

  “He’s a sweet dog.”

  “Did you have a dog before you...” Her voice trailed off, because she wasn’t sure what Savannah called it. Running away? Escaping? Making a new life for herself?

  “Ran away? No. I was in foster care. Nothing in any of those houses was mine.”

  “Houses? How many placements did you have?”

  “A lot.” She gently nudged Clover off her lap and stood. “And I’m not going to discuss them with you or Agent Santino or a shrink, okay? If the feds want my information, they can subpoena Providence County for it. I’m sure family services will be happy to provide them with a copy of all my records.”

  “Savannah, we just want to help you,” she said calmly, knowing that the words wouldn’t matter, that nothing she said to the teenager would make a difference.

  “Help me help you, right? Your buddies want to find the guy who was driving that truck, right? They think he’s some sort of serial killer.�
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  “He is a serial killer,” Wren called from the kitchen.

  “Yeah. Well, that has nothing to do with me, but I can tell you this—if you want the right information, you have to ask the right questions.”

  “What do you mean?” Charlotte asked.

  “Everyone has asked me what I saw tonight. They all want to know about the truck and the guy who was driving it. No one bothered asking if he’d ever been in the camp before. I mean, I made it pretty clear that I’d been staying there for a few days. I’d think people would want to know if that was the first time I saw him.”

  “Was it?” she asked, surprised by the vehemence in Savannah’s tone.

  “No. He drove through there last night and the night before. Both times, he went down to the beach. I don’t know what he was doing the first time, but the second time he dropped off a boat.”

  “How do you know this?” Wren stepped into the room, her dark eyes flashing with interest.

  “I may be young, but I’m not stupid. I’ve been in that camp for eight days—”

  “That’s way more than the few days you told us about,” Wren interrupted, and Savannah shrugged.

  “So? Who does it matter to? It’s not like I have anyone waiting for me at home. It’s not like I even have a home,” Savannah replied.

  Her words were like daggers to Charlotte’s heart.

  Wren didn’t seem quite as affected.

  She strode to the kitchen table and grabbed a notebook and pen. “You’d been there for eight days, and he hadn’t been there before? Is that what you’re saying?” she asked.

  “What I’m saying is that I hadn’t seen or heard anyone the entire time I was in that shack. Then he started coming. He came the first night, drove down to the beach and stayed a few minutes. The next night, he came again and was at the beach even longer. I think it was probably two hours, but I don’t have a watch, so I’m not sure.”

  “Two hours is a long time,” Charlotte said. “Were you worried that he was going to find you?”

  “I barely breathed the whole time. I even told myself I was going to leave the next day, but that shack was a lot nicer than any shelter I’d been in. I had a bed and some food, and I didn’t have to worry that...” She shook her head. “Anyway, I told myself I was going to leave, but first I wanted to see if I could figure out what he’d been doing down at the dock.”

  “Did you?” Wren asked, taking a seat next to Savannah, still writing in her notebook.

  “Well, I found the boat. He’d tied it to the dock and left it there.”

  “Anything in it?”

  Savannah hesitated.

  “Hon,” Wren said with a sigh. “There is no way you saw that boat tied there and didn’t look through its contents. Charlotte and I would have done exactly the same. Right?” She glanced at Charlotte.

  “I know I would have,” she responded. “I mean, the guy was down there for something, and I’d have been assuming it wasn’t a fishing trip. It’s not fishing season, and it’s too cold to be out on the water for very long.”

  “He wasn’t fishing,” Savannah said. “And the boat wasn’t big enough to hold much. It was a canoe. One of those plastic-looking ones. There was storage space under the seats, and he had some canned food, electrical tape, some women’s clothes. Rope. Fire starts. A knife. And a locked box I couldn’t get into.”

  “You tried?” Charlotte asked.

  “I thought there might be money in it. I wouldn’t have taken much. Just enough to get me to a warmer state.” She blushed, her hand dropping to Clover’s head. “I’m not a thief,” she added softly.

  “It’s obvious that you aren’t,” Wren replied. “You’re a very smart and resourceful young woman. You are also very observant. The FBI often gives rewards for information leading to the arrest of criminals they’ve been searching for.”

  “I’ve heard of that,” Savannah said.

  “Have you? Then you won’t be surprised when I tell you that you have two thousand dollars coming your way.”

  “I do?”

  “You do. It will take a little time to process the funds, but I’ll make sure you get them.”

  “Two thousand dollars?” Savannah repeated as if she couldn’t believe the amount or her good fortune.

  “Yes. Now, how about you go take advantage of being here. I’m sure Charlotte won’t mind if you take a hot shower and put on some fresh clothes.”

  “I wouldn’t mind at all,” Charlotte agreed. “The linen closet is right outside the bathroom. I’ve got different soaps and lotions and shampoos. You can use whatever you want.”

  “Are you sure?” Savannah asked, but she was already standing, nearly running into the hall.

  “First door to the right,” Charlotte called.

  Seconds later, a door closed, and the sound of water rushing through the pipes filled the house.

  “Well,” Wren said, standing and brushing lint from her slacks. “That didn’t take much convincing. I’d better go stir that chocolate.”

  “There isn’t a two-thousand-dollar reward, is there?” Charlotte asked as Wren walked away.

  “I never said that’s what it was. I just said she had it coming to her.”

  “From where?”

  “Me.”

  “That’s a lot of cash to give to a kid you don’t even know.”

  “I know her. She’s me at that age. Only, I was married and wore pounds of makeup to hide the bruises. I need to make a few phone calls. The contents of the boat made me think the Night Stalker had some big plans.”

  She didn’t say what those plans were.

  Charlotte didn’t ask.

  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that all the things Savannah had listed were items a serial killer might use when he kidnapped his victim. From there, it was an easy jump to concluding that Charlotte had been the one he’d intended to grab.

  He’d just needed an opportunity.

  She’d almost given it to him.

  If it hadn’t been for Adam, she’d have returned home alone. She’d have gone to bed thinking she was safe, and she’d have woken to a nightmare.

  SIX

  There weren’t a lot of things that scared Adam. He’d spent most of his childhood living in chaos, neglected by his mother, abused by her boyfriends, fending for himself because there’d been no one else. He could remember getting off the elementary school bus, shuffling along the dirt path that led to the front door of the single-wide trailer they lived in, wondering if there’d be food or lights or heat.

  He knew what it was like to be hungry.

  He knew what it was like to be cold in the winter and swelteringly hot in the summer.

  He knew how to face down the toughest bully and how to take down a drunk man three times his size.

  More than anything, he knew how to survive, how to fight, how to react quickly during crises. He had a dangerous job, but he didn’t carry worry around as his companions. He focused his attention and energy on finding solutions to problems. He prayed, he trusted and he entered every situation knowing that God was in control.

  Because of that, he was never consumed by fear.

  Or, at least, he’d never been until now.

  Now he was terrified.

  Wren had called and offered information about what the Night Stalker had in his boat. If Savannah were to be believed, he had many of the tools that had been used to abduct and restrain previous victims. Each of the women who’d been found had had electric tape wrapped around her wrists and her ankles. Each had rope burns on her abdomen, healing cuts on her thighs and neck. The Night Stalker didn’t just kidnap and kill his victims. He tortured them.

  Adam had seen the autopsy reports, and he’d burned with rage for what the victims had suffered. Now the killer had Charlotte in his crosshairs, and the
thought of her being abducted, tortured and killed left him cold with terror.

  He frowned, watching as the Night Stalker’s vehicle was lifted onto the truck that would bring it to the impound garage at Boston headquarters. The truck had already been picked clean of evidence, fingerprints obtained, DNA swabs taken from a spot of what looked like blood in the truck cab. Carpet had been pulled up from there, too, the fibers of it similar in color to ones that had been found on several of the Night Stalker’s victims.

  “What do you think?” Honor Remington asked. She’d dropped the security equipment off with Wren and then returned to take part in the investigation. “Is he still hanging around?”

  “Yes,” he responded without hesitation.

  “I suppose you have good reasons for thinking that.”

  “This is his home base.” Speaking the words out loud made him sick, but he’d been over the timeline of events dozens of times. He’d thought through every angle of the newest case, and there was no other reasonable explanation for how intimately the Night Stalker knew the area.

  “That’s what I thought you’d say. Kind of odd that he’d suddenly choose a victim so close to home. Up until now, he’s kept his distance, right?” she asked, tucking a strand of blond hair back into the tight bun it had escaped. The newest member of the team, she was also the youngest and the least experienced. What she lacked in that area, she made up for in brains and work ethic. Adam didn’t know anyone who worked harder than Honor.

  “Right.”

  “I guess if we figure out why he changed his MO, we might be able to figure out who he is.”

  “You’re guessing right. Of course, it would be easier if the plates on that truck would lead us to him. Then all we’d have to do was run them, and we’d have our name.”

  She snorted. “Right. Like he’d use plates that could be traced back to him.”

  “He didn’t,” River said, striding toward them. He had a flashlight in one hand and his phone in the other. “The plate was taken off a Buick owned by a guy in the next town over. He reported it missing a year ago. I gave him a call. He’s not sure how long the tag was actually missing. He’s the head maintenance worker at—” he glanced down at his phone “—Pine Valley Residential and Memory Care Center. They provide him with room, board and a truck to run errands. The Buick has been in the garage there since he took the job.”