by Herron, Rita
Worry pinched Rafe’s gut. “Give me her address. I’ll go check on her.”
The guard recited it, and Rafe spun the car around.
Shadows darkened the landscape as they neared the outskirts of Slaughter Creek again. Hoping the head nurse at the sanitarium might have information, Rafe wove through a tunnel of trees on a long, winding drive toward Mazie Paulsen’s house, the sleet turning to rain. Thunder rumbled and lighting zigzagged across the tops of the trees in jagged lines.
Trees swayed with the force of the wind, pinecones and debris scattering in the breeze. Raindrops splattered the windshield, a gray fog sweeping across the land and woods, making visibility difficult.
The SUV hit a pothole and slid, tires grinding in the mud. “I hope we don’t get stuck up here,” Liz said with a shiver.
Rafe maneuvered the vehicle onto the graveled portion of the road, steering it around a bend until they reached a clearing. Mazie lived on the side of the mountain in a small cabin nestled amid pines and oaks.
Rafe glanced around for a vehicle, but didn’t see one.
“It doesn’t look like anyone’s home,” Liz said.
Rafe pulled to a stop and cut the engine, his gaze sweeping the outside of the cabin. The place was small but looked well kept and offered a spectacular view of the mountain ridges. You could even see the town from the peak, and the road that led to the sanitarium.
Liz climbed out, but she seemed cautious as well as they walked up to the front porch. A porch swing creaked in the wind, several hand-painted roosters carved from wood decorating the porch. A weathervane flapped back and forth on the hill to the right.
Birdfeeders swayed in a nearby tree, and a deer grazed at the edge of the woods, as if he’d come to Mazie’s to be hand-fed.
Liz peered into the front windows, a frown puckering between her eyes. “It’s dark inside. No lights. Doesn’t look like she’s home.”
“Maybe she got spooked by the Commander’s prison escape and ran,” Rafe said.
“Let’s check the inside. Then I’ll do some research and find out if she has some family she might stay with.” She jiggled the doorknob, and Rafe heard it screech open.
He threw up a hand to caution her and pulled his gun, and she did the same. Shouldering his way to the front, he took the lead. Liz glared at him as if to protest, but he didn’t give a damn. If someone was waiting inside to ambush them, he’d rather the culprit meet his six-four, 220-pound body than Liz’s five-three, 110-pound frame.
The wood floors squeaked as he crossed the threshold. He played his flashlight over the space. The living room adjoined the kitchen, a wooden breakfast bar crafted from a tree trunk separating the areas.
But he forgot the architecture when he noticed that the place had been tossed. Papers from a corner oak desk were scattered among magazines on the floor. The leather furniture had been ripped apart with a sharp knife, the pillows torn, kitchen cabinets spilling out their contents.
Liz opened the pantry door. “Clear.”
He moved left and checked the master bedroom while she started up the steps. The bedroom was empty, the bedding tossed as well, pictures overturned, frames broken.
Seconds later Liz returned and appeared at the bedroom door. “It’s clear upstairs. Two rooms, no furniture in either one.”
“There are signs of a struggle in here.” He gestured to the overturned lamp, the dark handprint on the wall.
A print that looked like blood.
Liz knelt to examine the floor. “She was hurt, Rafe. There’s a lot of blood here.”
Liz was right. She’d obviously been injured.
The question was—was she still alive?
He cranked the engine and drove out toward Slaughter Creek, specifically to the place where that TBI agent Liz Lucas lived. He’d done his research on all the players in the Slaughter Creek investigation.
He’d seen that looker Brenda Banks when she’d done the story on Seven. She’d even made Seven sound sympathetic.
Now she was talking about him. The Dissector, that’s what they were calling him.
He laughed at the name. It suited him. Made him stand out. Made him sound a little like Hannibal, except that he didn’t eat his victims.
He just destroyed them by stripping them of the very organ that they used as a weapon.
Special Agent Rafe Hood worked with the Blackwood brothers. But they were chasing the Commander now.
Lucky for him the police were splintered.
And Miss Lucas. Ah, she was a beauty. Soft-looking blond hair swept her shoulders like silk. Her big luminous eyes shimmered with dark memories of her mother’s death.
And of the man who’d almost destroyed her.
Ned Harlan. The Blade.
A smile curved his mouth. Liz was back, though, working his case. He was honored that she considered his mind worthy of dissecting.
Honored because she wasn’t some damn fake. She’d lived with a maniac like Harlan and understood his drive. She would understand him as well. And she would make him famous. Make him a hero.
The truck bounced over the fucking ruts in the road, and he swerved to avoid a dog that ran out in front of him. No use killing a defenseless animal tonight.
Not when he had better prey.
For a second, he thought he spotted the blue lights of a police car swirling, and he slowed, holding his breath until the car passed.
Thankfully it was just a white car, and it roared on.
The steady drone of the engine ticked over the sound of his own breathing as the truck ate up the miles.
Liz Lucas had security. But security could be breached, especially with the woods backing up to the property. Not everyone knew about the dirt road on that side.
He parked on the far side of the woods, hidden deep in the copse of trees lining the deserted dirt road that used to take miners into the mountain. Now no one used it anymore.
Adrenaline pumping, he dragged the old biddy from the back of the truck and hauled her through the woods. At the edge of the property, a long screened-in porch ran the length of the profiler’s house.
He scanned the backyard before he left the woods, then dragged the body up to the back porch steps. Then he situated her on the stairs, as if she were waiting for Liz to come home.
An animal growled from deep in the woods. Night had fallen, darkness cloaking the woods, reminding him of the long nights he’d spent alone trapped in darkness as a child. Only the sound of the others’ cries had drowned out the silence.
Amelia’s voice, whispering that she was scared.
Don’t worry, darling, he murmured. Soon all our monsters will be dead.
And you and I will never have to be afraid of them again.
Chapter Nineteen
While Rafe searched Mazie’s cabin, Liz dug through her nightstand, searching for a clue as to where the nurse might have gone—some sign that she wasn’t dead. And if she was, where was the body?
But Liz found no family pictures, no travel itinerary, no deeds to any other property.
“She doesn’t seem to have a computer, and I can’t find a purse or cell phone,” Rafe said.
Liz scowled as she removed a folder inside the drawer and flipped it open: several news stories about the sanitarium and the CHIMES project, news of the senator’s and the Commander’s arrests.
Her finger brushed something stiff, and she realized that it was a business card Mazie had jammed between the panels. She tugged it out, her pulse quickening. The business card belonged to Brenda Banks.
“Look at this,” she told Rafe. “I think Brenda may have talked to Mazie.”
Rafe raised a brow. “Maybe that’s where Brenda got the scoop on Blackwood and the project. We suspected she had a source.”
“We need to talk to her,” Liz said. “Maybe she’s heard from
Mazie.”
Rafe collected a sample of the blood on the floor and bagged it to send to the lab. “I’ll call Maddison to process this place. Maybe we’ll lift a print and ID who was here.”
Two possibilities sprang to mind. Six was targeting Mazie, as he’d done with Ester Banning and Beaulah Hodge. Or . . . the Commander or one of his men was determined to keep Mazie from revealing any more secrets.
Liz stepped outside to call Brenda while Rafe phoned Maddison. Three rings later, she answered. “Brenda Banks speaking.”
“Brenda, this is Special Agent Liz Lucas.”
“What can I do for you?”
Liz knew reporters guarded their sources, but she hoped Brenda would trust her. “Special Agent Hood and I are at Mazie Paulsen’s cabin. I found your business card and wondered if you know where she is.”
A pregnant pause “No—why would I?”
“Because I think you talked to her about the CHIMES project and the arrest of Blackwood and Senator Stowe.”
A heartbeat passed. “I questioned her because she worked at the hospital.”
“And she was employed at the time of the project?”
“Listen, Liz,” Brenda said. “I don’t feel comfortable talking about this. Whatever Mazie told me was strictly confidential.”
“I understand that,” Liz said. “But I think that something may have happened to Mazie. There are signs of foul play.”
“Oh, God,” Brenda said softly. “And Commander Blackwood is on the loose.”
“Exactly. If she confided about the experiment, she’s probably in danger.” Liz paused. “That is, unless he already found her. We found blood in her bedroom.”
“No one knows that she talked to me,” Brenda said earnestly. “I’ve kept her identity secret.”
“Maybe the Commander is just finishing up with everyone who knew about the experiment. There’s also the possibility that the Dissector found Mazie.”
“Why would he go after her?”
Liz measured her words. “Brenda, this is off the record, so you cannot print any of it, understand?”
“I understand,” Brenda said. “You can trust me, Liz.”
Liz rarely trusted anyone, but Brenda and Nick were together both personally and professionally, so if Nick trusted her, she supposed Brenda was all right. She explained her theory about the unsub killing nursing staff who either hurt him or were involved in the project, but refrained from mentioning J. R. Truitt and Castor.
“What about family?” Liz scavenged through the pictures that lay on the floor, crumpled and torn, their frames shattered. “There’s a picture of a teenage girl and boy in her house. Were they her children?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll see what I can find out,” Brenda said.
Liz ended the call and stepped back inside. Rafe had yanked on latex gloves and was examining a bullet casing that he held between his fingers. “Look what I dug out of the wall by the bed.”
Liz walked over to study it. “Looks like the same caliber as the bullet that killed the senator.”
Rafe dropped it into an evidence bag. “Which means that whoever killed the senator either shot Mazie or has her now.”
When they arrived at Liz’s, after spending all evening processing the scene at Mazie’s house, the sound of dogs barking echoed from the back.
Already jumpy after the earlier break-in, Liz pulled her gun and eased around the side of the building.
Rafe’s senses were instantly on high alert, and he removed his own gun from the holster and followed her. The wind shook the trees, causing rain to drip down.
A German shepherd hovered by the porch, barking at something on the steps. Rafe slowly brought his hand up to stroke the dog’s back, murmuring soft words to quiet him.
Liz came to an abrupt stop. “Oh, my God. There’s a body on my porch.”
Rafe grimaced. Blood stained the dead woman’s face and chin, and her mouth hung open as if she’d been posed. He inched closer, patting the dog to pull him away.
The woman had obviously been murdered, her tongue cut out.
The Dissector had struck again.
And this time he’d left his victim at Liz’s door to flaunt his kill.
Chapter Twenty
Liz’s stomach rolled at the sight of the blood streaking the woman’s mouth and chin. Her lips had turned a nasty purple, and bruises discolored her face, as if the killer had used some kind of tool to hold her mouth open.
She half expected the body to be Mazie’s, but it wasn’t.
Rafe yanked the dog away and sent it running into the woods as Liz snapped a photo of the victim. “What exactly did you do to our unsub to make him remove your tongue?” she asked the corpse.
Was that man Brian Castor? Had he dumped this woman’s body on her doorstep earlier today because he was pissed they’d questioned him?
Or was this Truitt’s work?
Rafe examined the woman’s hands, arms, and legs for injuries. But other than scrapes and bruises from the ropes the killer had bound her with, she hadn’t sustained any other wounds. The unsub had cut out her tongue for a reason, just as he’d targeted the other victims’ hands and eyes.
“You think she knew something—that the missing tongue is a message that he didn’t want her to talk?”
Liz shook her head. “Some killers do that, but this is different.” The chill of the night washed over her, making her shiver. “It seems like he cut off victim one’s hands because she’d hurt him with them—that’s the reason he beat her with them. Vic two lost her eyes because she must have used them to inflict pain on him. The same with this woman’s tongue.”
“Jesus. What next?” Rafe asked.
“We need to catch him before there is a next.”
Rafe punched Maddison’s number. “I’m calling the crime lab. Guess they’ll be working overtime again.”
Liz studied the woods behind her home. The creek was only a few feet away, bordered by trees. The other two victims had been left near the water, but this body had been left at her door.
To show her that the killer knew he was beating them at the game.
Nick finally had a lead on his father.
He’d worked with tech all day on that damned website for the Commander’s followers. One name stuck out as a possible accomplice to his escape. The crazy woman had professed undying love for his father. The thought made him grind his molars.
But he’d tracked her down, and she was in a wheelchair.
An extremist militant group voiced their support for the experiments. Paranoia about other government secret projects was evident in the posts, and conspiracy theories abounded. Some contributors had military backgrounds and connections.
The mountains were the perfect place for the group’s headquarters—and the perfect place to hide the Commander.
Nick phoned Brenda to check on her, grateful she’d agreed to have dinner with her parents. At one time her father, the mayor, had disapproved of Nick, but they both loved Brenda, and more than anything they wanted to keep her safe. If Brenda knew he’d phoned the mayor to ask him to watch her tonight, she’d be furious.
Love made a man do crazy things.
Gears ground as he climbed the mountain, the switchbacks and ridges leading him into the dark, deserted forests. Storm clouds rumbled again, and the roads were coated with the earlier hail, forcing him to crawl along the narrow road.
His phone buzzed. Carl Mallard, the secretary of defense, again. Damn, the man was putting the heat on him. He punched connect. “Agent Blackwood.”
“Tell me you know where Commander Blackwood is.”
“I think I may have a lead.” Nick explained about the militant group.
“That does sound like just the sort of group he would turn to. Where the hell did you say they meet?”
“T
hey’re in the mountains. I’m on my way there now,” Nick said. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“Good. I’d like something to report to the committee when we meet this week. No one wants a devious man like Blackwood on the loose.”
Nick agreed, and hung up. Pines and oaks swayed in the wind, the branches bending with the weight of the earlier rain, tossing twigs and pine needles across the road. He steered the SUV up a side road. Icy mountain water trickled along the tall stone ridges, running down the embankment. The moon tried to fight its way through the clouds but failed miserably, making the area look even more desolate.
His GPS showed he was a half mile from the group’s base camp, so he slowed, debating whether he should confront the group or slip in and do surveillance.
Surveillance won.
He veered into a space between several trees, cut the engine, and climbed out, grabbing his binoculars and his camera with a telephoto lens. Tucking his gun into his holster, he strode through the woods toward the camp.
The sound of gunfire made him pause. Several gunshots.
What the hell was going on?
Barbed wire fencing surrounded the area, barring curiosity seekers, and NO TRESPASSING signs had been tacked up along the fence line in several areas. Nick tried to cut through the fence with a small pair of wire cutters, but the wire was too strong. He hurried back to the SUV and retrieved his military bolt cutters, using them to clip a small section, enough to allow him entry.
Twigs snapped beneath his boots as he inched through the woods. Finally he spotted an old building that looked as if it might have once been some kind of fishing/hunting camp. Three other metal buildings had been erected, and there were campfires spread around the site.
He counted at least four men in military uniforms with assault rifles guarding the camp; there’d be more inside the buildings, he suspected. A group of preteen boys holding weapons and wearing camouflage were lined up, waiting their turn to shoot at makeshift targets.
An obstacle course for physical training had been built to the right. Nick used his night binoculars to peer through the trees. Two men in uniforms were unloading boxes full of semiautomatic weapons and hauling them into one of the metal buildings.