by Cynthia Eden
A rough exhalation escaped from Bowen as he stared at the man’s body. Jesus Christ. Burns covered him. His skin—what remained on his arms—was red and raw with oozing blisters. Blood had spilled down his shirt because the bastard’s throat had been cut. And the wounds in his head...
Bowen’s light slid over them. Patrick’s head was shaved, just like in Lydia’s picture, but there were two distinct wounds on his forehead. At first, Bowen thought those might be bullet wounds.
“Nails,” Macey said, and there was horror in her voice. “Just like with Daniel.”
Damn it. The press didn’t know about the nails. Their team had been careful not to leak that information. And for this guy to use them on Patrick Remus...
Same perp. We are absolutely looking at the same man who took out Daniel Haddox.
Shit, shit. It was—
Whoosh. He heard the sound and his blood iced. That whoosh of air was low and long and the very cabin itself seemed to tremble around them. He looked down at that stain of wet gasoline on the floor. It was a trail that led right to the dead man.
Patrick’s body was fucking soaked in gasoline. Dripping with it.
So when he heard that whoosh, Bowen didn’t stop to think. He just reacted. He grabbed Macey’s hand and he yanked her with him as they ran toward the window in the back of the room.
The fire was coming. The perp who’d killed Patrick? He’d set a trap for Bowen and Macey. He was burning the cabin down, sending the flames running through the whole place.
He was going to bury his victims in the flames—just like Patrick had done. His victims... Patrick. Macey. Me.
This SOB wants to take out FBI agents.
The window wouldn’t open. The damn thing had been nailed shut.
Organized killer. Planning, always two steps ahead...
Since the window wouldn’t open, Bowen just broke the glass. It shot outward as he used his gun to knock out more chunks. He could feel the flames heating the air, and Bowen was afraid the whole cabin would go down at any moment. Get Macey out. Get her to safety. Take care of Macey first.
He pushed her toward the window. “Go!” Smoke was already thick in the room. The flames—Shit, they are everywhere!
She coughed as she jumped through the window. He started to follow her, but Bowen glanced back.
The flames were destroying Patrick Remus.
“Bowen!” Macey shouted.
And those flames were coming for him.
He followed Macey through the broken window. There had been too much gasoline in that cabin. Too much. They ran together, rushing toward their vehicle, racing away from the scene—
The explosion seemed to rock the whole mountain. The blast’s impact came flying at Bowen. The force of it sent him surging into the air. He grabbed for Macey, trying to hold her tight and shield her. They hadn’t moved fast enough. They hadn’t gotten away in time.
I’m sorry, Macey.
Then he slammed into the ground.
* * *
HE COULD ALMOST understand why Patrick Remus had used fire. The flames were quite beautiful. And very, very powerful.
From the woods, he watched as the cabin exploded. The windows blew out, sending glass shards everywhere. Chunks of the roof flew into the sky. Burning wood littered the ground. And those flames just kept raging, destroying everything in sight.
The FBI agents had arrived and they’d done exactly what he wanted. They’d gone into the cabin. They’d stepped right into his trap.
And he’d sent the fire after them. Fire to consume Patrick. Fire to teach the agents a lesson.
No one is above my justice. The agents thought they were so good at hunting killers. Knowing them, from the inside out.
They knew nothing. He was the one with the answers. He was the one who could see the killers. And now, thanks to the work he’d done, everyone would be seeing him.
He backed away, knowing that he couldn’t linger. The agents had gotten out. He’d watched their frantic race to safety. Their escape hadn’t upset him. After all, it was what he’d wanted. He hadn’t intended for them to die in that cabin, but he had wanted to teach them a lesson. Maybe they’d have a few scars to help them remember this night.
The night I proved I was better than you.
If he’d wanted them to die, he would have boarded up that back window. Covered all the glass. Covered the windows for every room in that cabin. Instead, he’d just nailed them shut. He’d given them a challenge. Not death.
He was smiling as he backed away.
The flames kept shooting into the sky. He knew those flames would attract attention, and it was the attention he deserved. His time to shine. His.
He’d taken out two of the FBI’s most wanted. The world owed him a debt of thanks. He’d collect on it. On that, and everything else that he was owed.
It was finally his time to shine.
CHAPTER FIVE
“MACEY!” BOWEN SHOOK her once, fear twisting in his gut because she was so still. Flames raged behind him but he couldn’t take his gaze off her. He’d tried to shield her as best he could when the blast launched them into the air, but they’d hit the ground hard. Had she hit her head? His fingers slid into the silk of her hair, searching for a wound.
“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Breath was just knocked out of me.” Then she was pushing at him. “I’m okay.”
But the fear in his gut wasn’t lessening.
They both grabbed their guns and their flashlights. They’d dropped both in the chaos of the explosion.
The fire was crackling as orange and red flames shot into the air. “He’s here.” Bowen kept his voice as low as hers had been. “The bastard waited for us to go inside and then he set the place on fire.” He’d nearly killed two FBI agents.
He nearly killed Macey.
“We have to search,” she said, her voice a husky breath in the dark. “Each minute that passes is a chance for him to escape.”
If the guy wasn’t already long gone.
There hadn’t been any sign of another vehicle when they arrived, so their perp was either on foot or he’d hidden an off-road vehicle in the woods. During the explosion, he could easily have slipped away on an ATV without Bowen hearing him.
He was watching the place. He waited for us to go in.
The whole scene had been one big trap.
“We need to search,” Macey said again.
He looked back into the darkness. They couldn’t just run into the woods, no plan in place.
They couldn’t—
Then he heard it. The growl of an engine. The bastard was still there. He’d been waiting and watching all along. Did you want to see if we survived? Bowen made sure he had his flashlight and gun at the ready as he lunged toward the woods—and toward that growling engine. Macey’s footsteps pounded behind.
“FBI!” Bowen bellowed. “Stop!”
His flashlight hit on the back of an ATV. He had a quick impression of a man’s broad shoulders, of a black ski mask covering the guy’s head, and then that ATV zipped forward.
“Freeze!” Bowen shouted, but the guy wasn’t stopping. He was rushing right through the woods, twisting and snaking down the mountain. Bowen took aim, firing, and the bullet slammed into the back of the all-terrain vehicle. He heard the clink as the bullet hit metal, and for an instant, the driver swerved.
But the ski mask–covered asshole didn’t stop.
Bowen raced after him, shoving branches and bushes out of his way. Macey was with him, giving chase at full speed. He lifted his hand, firing again at the fleeing man.
The ATV vanished.
What? He rushed forward, running as fast as he could and he saw that the woods seemed to just damn well drop. He threw out his arm, but Macey had already staggered to a stop next to him. From that vantage point,
Bowen could see the ATV hurtling right down that slope as the driver moved like a fucking madman. He was zigging and zagging so that they didn’t have a shot. Bowen pulled out his phone and dialed the captain. As soon as Harwell answered, Bowen filled him in on what had just happened, demanding backup so they could try to intercept the fleeing perpetrator.
“Maybe we can catch him at the base of the mountain,” Macey said as soon as Bowen finished the call. “Come on!” She whirled and they raced back for their SUV.
And that was when they realized that the perp had slashed their tires. All fucking four of them.
* * *
THE KILLER HAD gotten away.
Macey stood near the remains of the cabin, watching the firefighters do their best to contain the blaze. She knew that the last thing they wanted was for that fire to get out of control and reach the woods. The firefighters had set up a strong perimeter to contain the flames, and the men and women in uniform were working like mad to douse the cabin.
Smoke drifted into the air, mingling with the darkness of the night. Cold air had settled around them, heavy and thick.
The local authorities hadn’t been able to intercept the perp on the ATV, and the guy had made sure that Macey and Bowen couldn’t follow him. He’s as organized as we suspected. Planning every move in advance.
“Can’t believe he tried to kill you two.” Captain Harwell strode toward her, giving a rough shake of his head. “Federal agents, I mean...the guy doesn’t fear anything or anyone, does he? Talk about a piece of work.”
Her gaze slid to the thickness of the woods. “I’m not so sure he was trying to kill us.”
“Uh, got to disagree there. He set the cabin on fire around you. To me, that seems like a pretty straightforward murder attempt.”
She swallowed. “If he’d wanted us dead, there were easier methods. He could have shot us while we were going into the cabin or waited until we came out and then fired.”
The captain put his hands on his hips. “So then what the hell was he doing?”
“He wanted us to see his work.” She’d been thinking about this as she watched the firefighters battle the flames. “He didn’t destroy the cabin until we got inside. He wanted us to find Patrick Remus. Wanted us to see his body and what he’d done to it.” The nails. Again. The nails had significance. Terrible, horrible significance. “And he could have killed us with the fire, yes, but I think he knew we’d get out. That’s why he went ahead and disabled our vehicle. He was... I think he was almost testing us.”
Harwell gave a low whistle. “Did you pass his test?”
Once more, her attention slid back to the cabin. The flames. The smoke. Macey bit her lip for a moment and then replied, “I’m not so sure that we did.”
* * *
THE FBI HAD booked Macey and Bowen a cabin just outside Gatlinburg, an A-frame perched high atop a mountain. It was too late to see the view beyond her balcony, too late to see anything but darkness. Macey knew she should crash into the bed, but when she closed her eyes, she just kept seeing Patrick’s dead body. Daniel’s body.
The fire.
The nails.
So she wasn’t closing her eyes.
She was upstairs, in the loft bedroom. The loft bedroom consisted of a four-poster wooden bed, a chest of drawers that appeared to be hand-carved, an overstuffed chair and a pool table. Pool tables seemed to be standard fare in the local cabins, an extra activity for families on vacation. The pool table was situated about five feet from the bottom of the bed. She could look past that pool table and see the floor-to-ceiling windows that separated the interior of the cabin from the sweeping balcony. She could see the darkness.
The darkness was better than seeing the dead.
Her steps were slow as she headed toward the windows and the French doors that led outside. The wood creaked beneath her feet, and Macey froze.
Was Bowen awake downstairs? He’d taken the downstairs bedroom. He’d looked as tired as she had when they arrived. Tired, but furious. She’d seen the rage glittering in his gaze. He was pissed that their perp had gotten away.
So was she.
She didn’t hear a sound from downstairs, so Macey slowly opened one of the French doors. The cool air slipped inside, swirling over her legs. She wore an old FBI T-shirt and a pair of jogging shorts. When she stepped onto the balcony, her bare toes curled against the wood. There were stars out there, so many, glittering in the sky. She moved to the edge of the balcony and her hands pressed to the wooden railing. A hot tub was to her left, another staple of cabins in the area. Local cabins seemed to come equipped with all the bells and whistles. The cover was on the hot tub, but she could hear the low hum coming from beneath it—a sure sign that the tub was working. Two rocking chairs were to her right, but Macey didn’t go toward them. She stood exactly where she was and stared into the night.
And she thought about killers.
About the killers who hid in plain sight.
About the killers she’d known. The monsters who’d come into her path while she was at the FBI.
The monster who’d found her long before her Bureau days.
She thought about the man they were hunting now—the perp who’d beaten them to the two most wanted killers.
And Macey thought about Lydia... Poor Lydia Chasing, who’d been in love with a killer and she hadn’t even known it. Now Lydia would be burying her lover.
A lover who’d had nails embedded into his body.
Nails. Why did he use those nails?
She heard the creak of the door opening, and Macey spun around, her heart racing. She hadn’t turned on any exterior lights, so she just saw a big, dark shadow standing in the doorway. But...
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” Bowen rasped. “I heard you moving around up here, and I just wanted to check and make sure you were all right.”
Because that was Bowen. Taking care of the world. “I’m fine.”
At her words, he didn’t back away and ease into the cabin. Instead, he came toward her, silently stalking forward. Macey tensed, and her back bumped into the wood of the balcony railing. Instantly, he reached out and his hands curled around her shoulders. “Careful there,” he said, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers pressing through her shirt. “You take a tumble and that’s one very long way down.”
“I’m not going to fall.”
He didn’t let her go. If anything, his hold tightened on her. “I’ll make sure of that.”
His words sounded like a dark promise. She tilted back her head as she gazed up at him. So much darkness, but she could see him now—thanks to the stars. Big, strong Bowen. Dangerous Bowen. “You shielded me today.”
He didn’t speak.
“You don’t have to do that,” she continued, trying to make her voice brisk. “You don’t need to take the fire for me.” Because that was exactly what he’d done. He’d put himself between her and the blaze. And when the cabin had exploded, he’d grabbed her and held tight, using his body to block hers so that she wouldn’t get burned. She knew he’d gotten some blisters. They’d both gotten bruises. It could have been much worse. And if it had been, Bowen would have taken those injuries. All because he was trying to protect me.
“You’re my partner. I’m supposed to look out for my partner.” He was still holding her, but his hands had moved down to wrap around her wrists now. Macey shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.
And everything to do with him.
He’d been the perfect agent all day, not saying a single word about the previous night. As if it had never happened. As if she’d never gone wild in bed with him. His gaze had barely seemed to glance over her. His tone had been almost painfully polite before they’d gotten to that crime scene at the cabin.
When she’d gone to him in North Carolina, Macey had told Bowen it would just be for one night. She’d
promised him that nothing would change. It sure looked as if he were following her rules.
So why do I want him to break those rules so badly?
“He’s...he’s going to attack again.” She pulled away from Bowen because she found that she liked his touch too much. Something she hadn’t expected at all. Since her attack, she hadn’t liked to be touched. But with Bowen, it was different. He touched her, and she ached—she wanted. “The perp we’re after isn’t going to stop. Obviously, he’s planned all of this in advance. I mean, getting Lydia and Patrick up here, then killing Patrick right after his attack on Daniel—”
“You think he deliberately scheduled his attacks so that one would follow right after the other.”
She’d been considering this, again and again. While the firefighters had battled the blaze, she’d tried to get inside the killer’s head. “If he did that—” Macey exhaled on a slow breath “—then he would have needed to plan Daniel’s murder in advance, too. He would have needed to know that Daniel was hiding in North Carolina the whole time.”
His body tensed before her. “And the bastard was what—waiting for us to find Daniel?” But he didn’t give her a chance to answer. Instead, he growled, an angry, rough sound, and said, “That would mean that our perp let Gale Collins die. He knew exactly what Daniel Haddox was. He knew where Daniel was, and he didn’t tell anyone. He just waited until he’d lined up all his little chess pieces.”
“He waited until we entered the game.” She licked her lips. “And then he went in for the kill.” Macey hesitated a moment, and then she made herself say the suspicion that wouldn’t leave her alone. “Our perp could have even used Gale as bait, to lure Daniel into an attack. Her eyes, Bowen. Her eyes. When she crossed his path, he would have immediately been drawn to her. Our perp would know that, if he had studied Haddox’s work.” And she was betting he had.
If Macey was right, then the perp had viewed Gale as disposable. A perfect victim to be used so that he could spring his trap.
He wanted the FBI to know where Daniel was... In order to do that, he needed the perfect victim. A victim that Daniel wouldn’t be able to resist.