by Cynthia Eden
He didn’t want to think about the life he’d taken. Didn’t want to keep seeing Curtis’s eyes as death had claimed the man.
He wanted to see Macey. To touch Macey. To feel her.
While there was still time. Because she shouldn’t want me near her. I’ve been living a lie. Hiding so much of myself from her. From everyone around me.
“Will you tell me about Arnold Shaw?”
He’d known this question would come. “Arnold Shaw raped and murdered four women in the Tampa, Florida, area. He abducted them, he kept them trapped for days and, when he was done with them, he slit their throats.” His voice was devoid of all emotion, and as much as he had enjoyed stroking Macey’s skin, he pulled his hand away from her. He rolled away from her and left the bed.
The simple fact was, he couldn’t touch Macey, not while he was talking about Arnold Shaw. Because if he did, then it was almost like that nightmare would touch her.
He didn’t want that to happen.
“He...he killed your fiancée.”
Bowen rolled back his shoulders. “That’s what all the papers said, but actually Cadi and I weren’t engaged. We’d been dating for a while, and yeah, I planned to ask her to marry me. Even had the ring picked out.” But he’d held back. Held the fuck back. Why?
Because I wasn’t sure she was the one?
Because I had doubts?
Or because I was a fucking coward?
“You...you loved her.”
On that, there was no doubt. “Cadi was my best friend from the time I was ten years old. I loved her then, and I loved her the day she died.”
Macey sucked in a quick breath. “I didn’t realize...”
“Cadi and I lived next door to each other when we were growing up. We were friends, we dated in high school, and after college, everyone just expected for us to get married.” But sometimes lines could blur. Sometimes, people made for better friends than lovers.
And sometimes, even the oldest of friends—and the truest of lovers—could keep secrets. “She met him online. That was how he found all of his victims. He pretended to be whatever they needed him to be. A friend to listen. A lover to want. A fucking prince charming if their lives were going to hell.”
He heard the rustle of covers and could see that she’d pulled them around her body in the dark.
“I’m not...easy.” He lifted his chin. “I’ve never been a fucking easy guy to live with. I did a stint in the military, and Cadi hated that. She didn’t want to be alone.” He raked a hand over his face. “She never liked that...and he used her loneliness against her. He had her convinced that she could trust him. She went to meet him, and she never came back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“If I’d been there for her, if I’d been the friend I should have been, been the lover she deserved, Cadi never would have been taken. The police found her body five days after she’d gone missing. I was the one to ID her.” He swallowed, remembering. “She looked like a broken doll. Covered in bruises, cuts. He hurt her for so long...and when I asked the cops what they were doing, they had nothing for me. They didn’t know who he was. Didn’t know how to track him. They didn’t know any damn thing about him. He was still out there, waiting for someone else. Waiting for the chance to attack again.”
“You didn’t give him that chance.”
“No.”
“You hunted him.”
He’d been relentless. “I hunted him, and I found him...right before the asshole was going to take another woman. Because I learned he used the same MO, you see. The women—they thought they were playing it safe. Meeting in a public bar. But something kept happening. They left the bar with him each time, and they were never seen again. I figured he might be slipping them roofies, and I was right. I caught the bastard while he was trying to force a woman into the back of his car. His next victim.”
Macey was still on the bed. He was staring down at her, knowing he should stop the story before he went too far. While he could still pretend to be the good guy.
“His victim was barely conscious. I drove my fist into his face, and I heard the bones snap.” He’d liked that sound. As he’d pounded Arnold’s face, an image of Cadi’s battered body had flashed through Bowen’s mind. “I hit him until he wasn’t fighting back. Until he was nothing but a ball on the ground, bleeding and crying. He was crying, after what he’d done to Cadi.”
She rose from the bed, wrapping the sheet around her body. “You gave her justice.”
“He died in that alley.”
She reached for his hand. Damn it, no, she wasn’t supposed to touch him now. He tried to pull away, but she just held him tighter. “Bowen, I read this part in the police report. You were comforting the victim. He came at you both, still attacking. You had no choice but to shoot him.”
He looked down at her hand.
“You were licensed to carry a concealed weapon. You were defending yourself. Just like you did tonight. You were stopping a killer.”
His lips pressed together. Her fingers were so soft against his skin.
“To hunt him, I became like him.” The words came out, the words he could give to her. “I knew the sites he used online. I went there, and I thought like him, I tried to find the victims he’d want. The victims—they led me to him. I could predict his moves. What he was going to do.” Because I knew how he’d want to kill them. “I knew what he was going to do to that girl in the alley.”
“But he didn’t do it. You saved her. You stopped him!”
I killed him.
“You stopped him, you joined the FBI and you’ve been fighting killers ever since.”
She was talking as if he were a hero. But then, wasn’t that the story he’d let others believe for far too long? He wished she wasn’t touching him, not then. Not... “I was never going to let him out of that alley.” His voice had turned into a growl. “I knew that, long before I ever threw the first punch at him.”
“Bowen?”
“To me, he was a dead man the minute I saw what he’d done to Cadi.”
Her hands pulled from his. “But you stopped...in the alley...you stopped. You were punching him, but you backed away to get to the victim.”
I backed away because my gun was in the saddlebags of my motorcycle. “He lunged at me and grabbed me from behind. I’d just gotten my gun, and I whirled back. The woman was screaming, begging me to stop him, and I pulled the trigger.” He blew out a slow breath. “And when the cops searched his car, they found handcuffs, rope, duct tape and knives. They also found his phone—and all of the videos he’d taken of the women he’d tortured.” Bowen shook his head. “They didn’t exactly question me much after that. A killer was off the streets. A victim was safe, and hey, the press got a hero for a day.”
“You...don’t think you’re a hero.”
He wasn’t sure what the hell he was. But a hero? No. Not even close. And maybe that was why he’d joined the FBI. Because he’d hunted Arnold Shaw for the wrong reason. To kill him. Not to get justice. Just because at the last moment, Arnold had attacked and he’d fired in self-defense...that doesn’t really change what I intended.
“Why did you join the FBI?” Macey asked him softly.
“Because I was good at hunting monsters.”
“You...you fought your way onto Samantha’s team.”
He had, because his name hadn’t been on the initial, very short list of agents that Samantha Dark had hand selected. She’d wanted agents who’d all been linked—personally—with serial killers. People who’d been lovers, friends or even siblings of serial killers. Samantha had a theory that that link wasn’t a weakness. Instead, it was a strength, one that allowed the agents to have an insight into the mind of a serial killer that others lacked.
To put it simply, Samantha had wanted agents with a killer instinct.
And, at firs
t, she hadn’t picked him. Just as she hadn’t picked Jonah Loxley.
But I didn’t give up. I kept busting my ass to prove that I could belong there.
Her phone vibrated before he could answer her. Before he could tell her that he’d joined the FBI because he wanted to be the kind of guy who hunted for justice. Because Cadi’s death had changed everything for him—torn off his blinders and made him see the world for exactly what it truly was.
She walked away from him, heading to scoop up her phone from the bedside table. The sheet trailed behind her, like a bride’s train sliding on the floor. When she picked up the phone, the screen illuminated her face as she read the text. “Tucker said he’s here. He and Jonah arrived a bit earlier and the FBI got them a cabin just down the road. He says he’ll meet us at the police station at 0700 hours.”
Not so far away. “We should get some sleep.” He’d bared enough of his past. Tried to make her see him for what he really was.
He didn’t care if others bought the lie he tried to sell, but for some reason, Bowen wanted Macey to know the truth about him. He wanted her to know everything. And to still want me, despite all of that.
Macey’s fingers typed across the screen. “Tucker wants to know if you’re all right.”
Tucker Frost. Bowen counted the man as one of the few friends he had. “Never better.” A friend, but Bowen still lied to him. Tucker’s brother had been a serial killer, and Tucker—hell, he’d had to kill the guy. Had to make a choice: the woman Tucker loved or his brother.
He’d chosen the woman. And Tucker was planning to marry her.
But sometimes Bowen wondered... Just how badly did that choice gut the other man?
“Why do you have to bullshit?”
He blinked.
She dropped the phone back onto the nightstand. “You think I don’t see your pain? You think I don’t hate that I caused you to shoot that man today?”
She was blaming herself? Fuck, no. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her closer. “Let’s be clear on one thing.” His voice had roughened. “None of this is on you.”
But once more, Macey said, “Bullshit. I made a rookie mistake. I bought the story being sold in front of me. I saw a victim because I have been a victim. I tend to think from that perspective. I want to help. I want to comfort, and I’ve got to stop. Samantha warned me about this weakness before. My past can help me, but it can hurt me, too. And tonight, it hurt. I looked at that man, tied in the chair, so desperate, and I saw myself. I wanted to help him, I wanted to get him out of those binds as fast as possible and get him to safety. Because I didn’t look deep enough, he caught me unaware.”
His fingers slid up her shoulders and skimmed over her throat, sliding against the small bandage there.
“It won’t happen again.” It sounded as if she were making a vow.
“I left you in there alone.”
“Then we both screwed up. There can’t be any more screwups, not with this perp still out there. Because one thing I know with absolute certainty...this guy isn’t done.”
No, he wasn’t.
“He’s not done killing, and, Bowen, I don’t think he’s done with you.”
* * *
IT WAS THE phone call he’d known would come. Bowen stood on the back deck of the cabin, watching the sun slowly rise. Fog circled the mountains, giving them the smoky appearance that had led to the name Smoky Mountains.
“You understand, don’t you, Bowen?” Samantha Dark said, her voice firm but sympathetic. “Anytime there is an officer-involved shooting—”
“I knew I would get benched. Yeah, I saw this coming.” He kept his voice mild even as anger stirred through him. The second he’d pulled that trigger, he’d known what would be coming. Internal investigation. “Just get me cleared as soon as you can, because I need to be back working at Macey’s side.”
The better to keep her safe...like I fucking promised I would.
“Tucker is already in town. I’ve instructed him to partner with Macey during the course of the investigation.”
His left hand curled around the wooden railing.
“But I need you to stay close, Bowen.” Intensity sharpened her words. “I’m not pulling you, and I told the brass at the FBI the same thing. You’re not in the field, but you are on this case. The perp is talking to you—and every instinct I have says that he will keep contacting you. You’re the key we can use against him.”
Bowen released a slow breath and a fog appeared near his mouth. It was crisp out that morning, but he liked the cold. “He knows about my past.”
“I think it’s safe to assume this killer knows about your past, Macey’s past and everyone’s past on our team.”
His shoulders stiffened.
“He went after Daniel Haddox, a deliberate tie to Macey. He contacted you—and, yes, I agree, he does know what you did to Arnold Shaw. But the way the guy is setting himself up, almost challenging you in these instances, to me, it seems as if he has something to prove.”
Bowen saw the same thing. “The guy wants to prove that he’s better at profiling than we are.”
“Yes.” Her sigh carried over the line. “Our team has gotten a lot of press recently. We’ve taken down some of the worst serial killers and predators out there—and this fellow, he doesn’t like that. He thinks he’s smarter than we are, and an organized killer like this, he would leave nothing to chance.”
“Know your enemy,” Bowen muttered. And we’re the enemy.
“Exactly,” she said. “He knew he was going to battle us. So he’s learned every secret we have. Every strength and every weakness. I think this is less about the victims themselves and more about...well, you. Macey. Our team. Us.”
He considered that as the fog drifted in the distance. “Maybe because we’re his real victims?”
She’d gone silent and he knew she was considering what he’d just said.
“The perp set the fire at the cabin with Patrick inside...set the fire after Macey and I went in.” He forced his back teeth to unclench. “And Curtis Zale had his knife to Macey’s throat. As soon as Curtis realized we were FBI, he lost all control. Curtis meant he wasn’t being taken in. Curtis never saw us as his rescuers. He just saw us as the enemy.”
“And you think that’s what the perp we’re after wanted? That he wanted Curtis to attack you and Macey all along?”
“Yes.” He’d considered this, again and again.
“Then more attacks will come.” Her voice was soft but certain. “And you have to be ready for them. He’s proven that appearances are deceptive on this case. I need you and the other agents to be ready for anything.” There was a pause. “One other thing you should know...”
He waited, knowing it wasn’t going to be good. With this case? Good wasn’t exactly an option.
“I’m launching an internal investigation here at the FBI.”
What? Shock rippled through him.
“I’m concerned the perp has received access to our confidential files. Files about the Doctor’s crimes, his victims...access to the material we had on Patrick Remus.”
His breath rushed out. “Because the guy we’re after knows too much for a civilian.”
“I want to make certain our case files haven’t been hacked. At first, I thought we might just be looking at a crime addict—someone who’d studied the cases carefully, but then when he contacted you specifically...your personal line...well, a hack at the Bureau is a possibility I can’t, won’t, overlook.”
“The guy is good at what he’s doing, Samantha. He spotted a killer who’d gone undetected for years.”
“He looked for patterns,” she said. “Disappearances and abductions. Pattern analysis is a potential gold mine for criminal investigators. That’s one of the reasons I brought Jonah Loxley on board. His background in cyber investigations can help us.”
<
br /> Something was bothering him. “There’s no cooling-off period with this guy.” Serial killers, well, if there was one particular pattern, they usually built up to their crimes. Planned and plotted and let the need to kill all but overwhelm them. But after they’d made their kill, they had what some termed an emotional cooling-off period—the killers had satisfied their dark desires, and they could almost go back to leading a normal life, for a while. Until the urge to kill became overwhelming for them again. “The timing...it’s more like a spree killing.” Because time was of the most importance with a spree killer—the short time frame was one of the key elements for that type of predator.
“This killer isn’t going to be easily classifiable,” Samantha said, and he knew she’d been thinking the same thing. “It seems like it’s less about the timing of the murders, and more about having a captive audience.” A quick beat of silence, and then she added, “Specifically, I think the audience is you and Macey. He maneuvered you both where he wanted you, and now the crimes are occurring around you.”
He was pulling them into his web. Are we the flies and he’s the big, fat fucking spider?
“Stay vigilant, Bowen. Watch your back and—watch Macey’s.”
Always.
“I know the shooting will come up clean and we’ll get you back in the field with her soon. In the meantime, I am not pulling you in to DC. I need you exactly where you are.”
Because that was where the killer wanted him to be? “Wouldn’t be using me as bait, would you, Samantha?”
“Better to use a trained FBI agent than some innocent civilian who gets caught in this guy’s crosshairs.”
That was the thing, though. “He hasn’t gone after any innocents yet.”
“No,” Samantha said softly. “Not yet...”
* * *
WHEN MACEY AND Bowen entered the police station at 0700 hours, the area was oddly quiet. Macey glanced at the officer stationed behind the desk, Tanner O’Neil, and he gave her a nod. “Your FBI friends are already in the conference room, Agent Night.”