Paramedics placed Grundy on a stretcher and were carting him off with two armed officers flanking him.
She wiped away the tears that now were dripping off her chin. “You really want that with me? Because I’m already completely in love with you—”
He kissed her again, oblivious to the flashlights and law enforcement personnel milling around them. She let herself sink into the texture and taste of him. The hard planes and no bullshit attitude.
“What about Kit?” she asked, breaking away.
“We’ll see what the DA decides to do about you before we talk to her. I don’t want to rush you, but I think Kit would benefit from a change of scenery. There’s a good school in walking distance from where I live.”
She was unable to believe they were discussing this as the investigation whirled on around them. He mistook her silence for reluctance. “There are major trauma centers nearby, or if you want to go elsewhere or stay here, we can do the long distance thing for a while. Or I can get a transfer. Figure something out with work—hell, I can retire in a few years if I want.”
She frowned up at him. “You’d go insane. You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I’m serious. Aren’t you listening?”
“Chasing killers is what you were meant to do—”
“No. It’s what a killer made me want to do, and for a long time it was all I had. For the first time ever I want something else. I want more.”
How could she believe that? “But it’s why you got divorced!”
“I got divorced because my wife was a bitch, and I’m done letting her destroy any chance I have of future happiness. Listen to me, Isadora Jane Campbell. All these years I’ve chased a thousand bad guys. For the first time, the thing that mattered most was not stopping him, but making sure you were safe. I don’t let people in.” His fingers squeezed her gently. “Ever. You have to know this is real.”
She touched his face. “You don’t let people in because they hurt you. I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”
His smile was pure male arrogance. “Is that a yes to us being together?”
She shook her head. “You’re incorrigible. And way too bossy.”
“So I’ve been told.” He caught her hand and kissed it. “I am not an easy man.”
She swallowed. She’d been looking for someone her whole life, and she was terrified she was going to ruin it by not being brave enough to move forward. She rested her head against his shoulder, needing to be practical even though what she really wanted was to dance in a circle with happiness. “Let’s take it one day at a time, okay?”
He kissed the top of her head as the paramedics finally arrived to check them out. “One day at a time for as long as it takes. You’ve got it.”
* * *
THE SOUND OF keys in the main lock jerked him upright in his bunk. Footsteps moved down quiet corridors, and Ferris’s heart pounded against his ribs. The footsteps stopped in front of his door, and there stood the warden.
“You want your chance to help people?” Her gaze raked his stained sweaty garb as if it were his fault he wasn’t properly dressed. Ten minutes alone, and he’d have her stripped and bloody and begging. “I suggest you get dressed.” She tapped something against her other hand. Maps. Shit.
They were going to let him show them where he buried the bodies. He shook with excitement. He’d draw out the process, give them a snippet of information on every outing—another name, another shallow grave. He’d prove his worth to the system and the families, delay his execution, and look for the chance to escape. He stood and dropped his pants, giving her a full view of his nakedness. She didn’t look away, just stared into his eyes until he figured he better hurry up before she changed her mind.
The phone. Shit. He needed the phone.
“Would you mind giving me a moment of privacy, Warden, please?”
She stood farther back, between two hulking guards. The others stirred and shouted out questions from their cells.
“Where you taking him?”
“Mr. Denker wants to help us find the bodies of some of his victims,” the warden said.
“Why you moving him in the middle of the night like a…” Billy Painter trailed off.
“Like a thief?” Warden Jones arched a sharp thin brow. She was a little harsh compared to the last guy. Denker knew women often compensated for lack of a penis with increased bitchery. “We’re trying to avoid having a cavalcade of press on the road.”
Nighttime suited him just fine.
“I don’t trust her, Ferris,” Billy complained.
Ferris palmed the phone, put the battery in real fast, and placed it under his dick as he pulled up his underwear. He pulled his prison-issue cotton shirt over his head, slipping the SIM card into a tiny hole he’d picked in the hem. He dragged on threadbare socks and the shit canvas shoes they were forced to wear. “It’s okay, Billy. My lawyer told the press that I’d try and help those families get some closure. Governor must’ve agreed.”
“I don’t trust her, Ferris.” Billy looked genuinely perplexed that he was using any way possible to get out of here.
“Hey, don’t worry. I’ll be back later. I’ll tell you what color the leaves are and how sweet the grass smells.” He hoped to hell he escaped. He put his arms through the slit in the bars and the biggest guard, a guy called Henry, attached shackles around his wrists. He stood back while they opened the door. Then they fettered his ankles and connected the restraints to his bound hands so he couldn’t bring them high enough to wrap the chain around someone’s neck and squeeze.
Spoilsports.
“See you later, guys.” Hopefully not. The idea he might find some opportunity to escape ate at him.
He walked through corridor after corridor. Endless locks and checkpoints. Guards in their little fortified electronic cubicles, playing God with men’s lives. The thought of hunting down the female guards, one at a time, held a satisfying sort of appeal. And then finishing off with the warden herself. He watched her walk in front of him. Plain black skirt suit with low heels. Nothing sexy on the outside, but when you hadn’t made a woman scream in seventeen years you tended to readjust your criteria in a partner.
Finally they got to an outside door, and the cold damp air blew over his face like a benediction. He raised his face to the sky. Stars shone in a cool silvery light. Beautiful. His throat ached at the sight.
A guard opened the back door of a white prison van. Stood back for him to climb inside. Denker got in, and then the guy fastened him to the bars inside the van. All secure, Denker held out his hands for the maps.
The warden smiled. “This is your transport to Columbia, Mr. Denker.”
A twinge of pain stabbed his heart. “But what about the governor? What about the bodies…”
The warden smiled, showing sharp teeth. “The governor refused your request. The families all agreed they would rather you pay for the murders of their loved ones than jerk them around in a fruitless search for their remains. The young women are with God, Mr. Denker. I doubt you’ll be joining them any time soon.”
She nodded her head, and the guard closed the door, and the van edged forward through the first gate. The full horror of his situation rammed home. He started pounding the crap out of his shackles and pulling and twisting, trying to get out of his chains. The two guards behind the wheel didn’t even turn around.
They passed the spot where the death penalty protesters were camped, and there wasn’t a single cocksucker awake. Useless bastards.
He started saying names, but the guards didn’t react. He started giving detailed descriptions of where some of his victims were buried. He shouted until his throat was too sore to make more than a croak. Nothing. No reaction at all.
He remembered his phone and dug it out, along with the SIM card. The phone sprang to life, but the image on the screen showed a picture of Jesus, which was not his screensaver. Shit. He searched for the image his buddy, Seth, had sent him but there was nothing. He tried d
ialing 911 and sweat broke out over his forehead when someone picked up, but instead of a voice on the other end, he heard AC/DC’s Highway to Hell.
His heart pounded as he realized this was really happening. All his plans and schemes, and they were too dumb to fall for them.
It took a couple of hours, but seemed like mere minutes before they were rolling along the long straight road to the prison.
The guard finally turned around. He waved a small digital recorder at him. “Prepared to meet your maker, Mr. Denker?”
Ferris shook his head, trembling and sweating at the idea that they were actually going to do this to him. “I want to see my lawyer.”
The guard nodded slowly. Despite his bravado, they knew he was scared shitless.
They drove inside the prison gates. Stopped. Waited for the one door to close before the next one opened. Ferris looked behind him and watched his last chance of freedom disappear forever.
Epilogue
One Month Later…
FRAZER HOBBLED DOWN the steps onto the beach holding his cane. He’d had his Achilles tendon surgically repaired the day they’d arrested Grundy. He’d made Izzy tell Chief Tyson what she’d done while he was in pre-op, so the guy hopefully wouldn’t haul her off to jail before Frazer spoke to the DA. Tyson had agreed, and Frazer had been carted off unconscious. He’d taken two weeks off work, citing injury, but really needing to spend quality time with the woman he’d so unexpectedly fallen for.
In those two weeks he hadn’t discovered anything about her to make him change his mind.
He’d been back at the BAU for the last two weeks because his agents needed him. Even though he’d spoken to Izzy on the phone every day, he’d still gone crazy from being unable to touch her.
“Hey, stranger!” Kit ran over and hugged him when he reached the sand. “Miss me?” She rose up and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“Depends.” He eyed her narrowly. “Done anything I need to know about in a professional capacity?”
A dimple formed in her cheek, and she shook her head. “I did get a ninety-five on my math midterm.”
“What happened to the other five percent?” he asked. Inside he smiled. She was a smart kid. A smart kid who did well when she applied herself.
She punched his arm. “For that, I won’t tell you where your one true love is.”
He rolled his eyes. She used that term to rile them both, but inside…inside he knew it was true. Isadora Campbell was his one true love, and he had some news for her.
He raised a bored brow at Kit and then pulled out his phone and checked the tracker app he’d installed on Izzy’s cell.
He looked south where the beach curved, and there she was, running towards him, Barney loping at her side.
Her face didn’t alter, but he knew the moment she spotted him. Her stride lengthened and, even though she was bright red from exertion, she ran faster.
She got to within a few feet and stopped dead, bending over as her lungs pumped oxygen. Kit handed her a bottle of water, and he watched her take a big gulp, liquid running down her throat in rivulets he wanted to lick off her skin.
She wiped her mouth. “Hello, you.” She seemed nervous, unsure. She was always like that after a short absence, as if worried the time apart might have changed his mind about her, about them. It hadn’t. “You’re early.”
“I couldn’t wait any longer.” He took a step, irritated by the cane he still needed to use to get about. He wrapped his free hand around her and pulled her to him. She rested her palms on his chest, her wrist in a light cast now, almost healed.
He kissed her just as she was about to start telling him that she was all hot and sweaty. Like he cared. He’d spent thirteen days without her in his arms, and the gap in his life felt like a black hole. She sank into him, tasting sweet as a sea breeze. Heat invaded his cells—not just lust, although lust was definitely a big part of it. But love too. A deep abiding love he wanted to nurture and cherish. He needed to tell her. Needed to give her the words.
Someone cleared their throat, and he remembered they had an audience.
Kit.
Barney jumped against them and Frazer leaned down to give the dog a hug.
Izzy stepped back. “How’s the ankle?”
“Driving me crazy.”
“More crazy,” muttered Kit.
He ignored her.
“Does it hurt?” Izzy asked him.
“Only when the physio tries to maim me during so-called therapy and looks happy doing it.”
She grinned, a sparkle lighting those gorgeous green eyes. “I’ll massage it later.”
“Okay, that’s it. I’m outta here,” Kit raised her hands in grossed out self-defense. She winked and headed up the steps. “See you later, G-man.”
“She has a shift at the diner so she’s just being dramatic.”
“Kit, dramatic? Never.” He’d held the girl’s hand when they’d buried her best friend. Izzy hadn’t attended the funeral in deference to Duncan Cromwell. Kit had held up surprisingly well, and she and Jesse Tyson had supported each other through the ordeal.
Frazer eased Izzy back into his arms. She wasn’t getting away from him that easily. She’d been on leave from the hospital ever since Seth Grundy had been arrested. He knew the enforced vacation was driving her nuts, but she’d put the time to good use, getting Kit on track.
“I’ve got some news for you,” he told her, holding her steady in his arms. This was the thing she feared the most. Being sent to prison and maybe stripped of her license, unable to practice medicine ever again. “The DA’s office has decided not to press charges.” She sank her head against his chest, and her warm breath touched him through his shirt. “They still want you to maybe testify against Grundy so the truth might come out at trial.”
Her grip on his shirt tightened. “I’ll do anything as long as that bastard gets convicted.”
Frazer stroked her hair. “Honestly, I doubt they’ll even call you as a witness. The prosecution has got Mary Neville, and your Uncle Ted’s van. There’s forensic evidence from the oilcan where he tried to burn the shoes of his victims—some were still identifiable. There are images on his phone, and there’s his connection to the now dearly departed Ferris Denker.”
“I’m glad Denker’s dead. Those poor women.”
Frazer nodded. He didn’t tell her he’d been in the viewing gallery during the execution. Him, Art Hanrahan, and a dozen of the family members of some of Denker’s victims. It hadn’t been pretty, but justice had been served.
“How’s Duncan Cromwell doing?” Izzy tugged him up the stairs. They were the walking wounded. Her with her fractured wrist, him with his stupid cane.
“He’s going to get probation.” He watched her face for a reaction. She crossed her arms but nodded.
“I’m glad. I know he hurt me, but I don’t think he was really sane at the time. Kind of reminded me of my mother when she killed Dad.”
“Kit still dealing with the information okay?” They’d agreed to wait until after Helena’s funeral before they’d told her the truth. It was a lot to handle.
Izzy shrugged. “She took it remarkably well. The main thing she wants is for Dad to be buried with Mom. I think it would probably be apt”—she pulled a face—“under the circumstances.” She checked her watch and rather than drag him into the bathroom for a save-water shower, she led him to the front door. And opened it wide.
“Are you throwing me out? I just got here.” He grinned as he said it. The sound of hammering had him frowning. Up on the roadside he noticed a man installing two white posts. “What’s going—?”
“Shush.” She placed two fingers over his lips, and he kissed them. “Watch.”
The workman hung a large real estate sign, first on the beach house, and then on this property.
He told himself it was the wind that made his eyes water. “Really?”
“I was always going to sell up. I needed a fresh start.” She paused for a moment, lookin
g at him from out of the corner of her eye. “Interestingly, I got a call from a hospital in Aquia this week, offering me a job. I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”
He figured it might be wiser not to confess to everything just yet. He opened his mouth to deflect, but she smiled at him.
“I told them I had to think about it.” She reached for his hand. “With this news from the DA, I’m finally free to move on with my life. I want to do that with you. I love you, Linc.”
She’d said it to him several times, but he hadn’t had the nerve to say it back. Until now. He cupped her face. “I love you, Dr. Campbell. Thank you for trusting me with your heart.”
Joy shone from her eyes. “I didn’t seem to have a choice.”
“I know the feeling.” He grinned and then winced as a pain shot from his ankle to his hip.
She frowned down at his foot. “I promised you a massage.”
“Is it going to hurt?” he asked, carefully, because he’d been ready to put a bullet in the physio earlier.
“Only if you want it to.” She leaned into his chest and whispered huskily, “But you are going to need to hold on for this, Linc.”
He laughed and kissed her. “I won’t let go.”
“I’ll make it worth your while.” Her eyes danced, and at that moment he knew that no matter how much darkness he dealt with, he’d always come home to the light. He’d come home to Izzy.
Cold Justice Series Overview
A Cold Dark Place (Book #1)
Cold Pursuit (Book #2)
Cold Light of Day (Book #3)
Cold Fear (Book #4)
Cold Fear Page 33