Clever. She wanted to prove it was him, but she knew I’d be less likely to cooperate if I thought it might condemn him. I shook my head. “I heal pretty fast. I’ve got a few faded bruises left from that mark.” I inclined my head toward my picture. “But the teeth marks are mostly gone.”
“If Rusk turns his back, could you show me a little of that mark? So I can confirm your statement for the record?”
Rusk inclined his head and turned his back like a gentleman. Maybe he had his partner fooled, but having him in the same room with me gave me the creeps.
“Even better, why don’t you step outside?”
He shot a dark look my way but complied, stepping out the front door, though he left it open. Ignoring the chilly air, I tugged the neck of my sweatshirt down and dragged the cup of my bra with it to bare the upper curve of my breast for her.
“Yes, I see. There’s a few tiny scabs but I doubt there’s anything conclusive we could use one way or the other. When did he give you those marks?”
It felt like a hundred years ago. I pulled the cloth back into place and called out “okay” to Rusk. As he returned, he looked at me as if he could still see my skin. It made chills creep down my spine. “Christmas Eve.”
“Your first night with him?” The incredulous pitch of Rusk’s voice made me flinch. “Damn, bastard works fast.”
“And he never bit you again?” Matheson pulled out her phone and typed in a few notes.
“No.”
She looked at her partner, and Rusk shrugged. “Maybe they weren’t together long enough. It’s only been a week or two.”
“Or maybe he’s escalating to something else that we don’t know about yet.” Matheson turned her attention to me. “Let’s walk through your relationship from the beginning. When did you first have intimate relations with Charles MacNiall?”
* * *
My head pounded so hard I wanted to lie down on the floor in the dark and silence until I could think. I don’t know how long I’d been answering their questions. All truth, as he’d commanded. I was too tired, too stressed out and upset to make sense of what might hurt or help him. I’d managed to hold back a few things. Intimate things he’d shared with me. I told myself those were for me alone.
Like how he’d never made a sound until he tasted my blood. Or the cutting. I didn’t tell them that. Did I?
“Why did he go to New York before Christmas?” Rusk asked.
I was pretty sure I’d answered that question a dozen times, but maybe the sheriff’s questions were blending with the deputy’s and then with the FBI’s. I rubbed my temples, my head in my hands. “I asked him if it was business or pleasure, and he said both. I assumed it was for Doctors Without Borders but he never said specifically.”
“And when the alarm went off that night and he called, you could hear voices in the background.”
“Yes.”
Matheson consulted her notes. “At approximately two in the morning.”
“Yes.”
Rusk paced between the kitchen and eating area. “He does work for Doctors Without Borders, but only the past year. What did he do before that?”
“He said he used to work for Blake Enterprises too, but I got the impression that was years ago.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I don’t know,” I groaned, rubbing my head harder. “Tasker. He said he hadn’t seen Tasker in almost five years. There was weight and age to his story that didn’t feel recent.”
“If he’s told her a single element of truth,” Rusk retorted, whirling around to pace back the other way. “This could all be a wild goose chase.”
“No.” I dropped my hands, planting my palms on the table. “He never lied to me.”
Rusk laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. The killer never told a lie. Sure, I believe that. The murderer we threw behind bars last week said the exact same fucking thing.” He turned toward me, raising his hands, and said in a falsetto voice, “I’m innocent! It wasn’t me! It was the one-armed man!”
Slowly, I rose to my feet. I kept my hands flat on the table and focused all my will and belief into my voice. “He never lied to me. He always keeps his promises. That much I will always believe. Always. I don’t care how many horrible pictures you show me.”
“All right,” Matheson replied evenly. “Then tell us what he promised. Tell us what he said, so we can decide the truth for ourselves.”
Wearily, I sat down, although all I wanted to do was crawl to bed. “He said he would make me strong when I felt weak. If he was bad for me, he’d let me go. That he’d never lie, no matter how awful the truth was.”
Matheson nodded. “I can see why you trusted him. What did he tell you about his past? About his childhood? Anything that might help us clear his name.”
“His mother called him Charlie, so that had to be his real name. His brother was MIA twenty years ago. His father...” She nodded again, encouraging me to continue. Oh Charlie. Forgive me if I say something that gets you in more trouble. But you made me promise to tell the truth. “His father killed his mother when he was seventeen but didn’t kill him.”
“No way,” Rusk whispered, staring at me. “It can’t be.”
“What?” Matheson asked. “Do you know who she’s talking about?”
“Did he ever say he was in the FBI?”
I stared at him. No, I said in my mind. I could hear my snide tone. My confidence. No. I tried to make my mouth say the word, but I physically could not get my mouth to move. Not in a lie. Not when my Master had ordered me to tell the truth. Give them exactly what they want, kitten.
“Yes.” The word ripped out of me.
His lips curved in a slow, knowing smile that seemed to say, I’ve got you now, Charlie.
“Son of a bitch. Our serial killer is my old partner, Charlie Gyres.”
Chapter Thirty
“Wait, wait, wait.” Matheson laughed, shaking her head. “No way. Not after all of the psychological profiling we go through. I don’t believe it.”
“The smarter you are, the easier it is to get around the psych tests. Plus Charlie came in with a bunch of military awards. That carried a lot of weight.”
“So you’re saying a smart serial killer could talk his way around the psych tests and kill right under our noses.”
“Absolutely.” Rusk smirked. “In fact, there’d be a lot of opportunities to cover your tracks if you knew exactly where the investigations were going.”
“We’ve got a lot of blanks to fill in here,” Matheson said. “You’ve certainly got a long ways to go before I’ll believe it.”
I stared at him, trying to picture this man and Charlie working together. Partners were close, right? But I couldn’t see it. Not this man with my Charlie. It didn’t make sense. “You knew him?”
“Even ten, fifteen years ago they were giving me the rookies,” Rusk replied. “Only he wasn’t the typical rookie. He came to us lean and mean, fresh out of the Rangers, with years of hard-ass secret ops all over the world. From the beginning, he had a hard-on for serial killers. Every free moment, I’d catch him going through every piece of evidence we had on the Blood Drinker.”
Matheson leaned back in her chair, her eyes wide. “Wow. Only our most infamous unsolved serial killer case. Why him?”
“I didn’t know in the beginning. Later, he admitted the Blood Drinker was his father, and the only reason he’d joined the FBI was to track him down and kill him.”
If my heart hadn’t already broken when Charlie left, it would have shattered now. I’d known his father had killed his mother. A serial killer it’d taken Charlie years to track down. That was horrible enough. But a serial killer who made hardened FBI agents ooh and ah with dread?
And the name. I knew all too well why they might have dubbed him Blood Drinker.
“Within two years, we were the go-to team for serial killers. We had a great record. Unless you looked at how many of them didn’t make it back alive for sentencing.”
; “So he was killing the suspects?”
Rusk nodded. “At first, it seemed pretty innocent. He received an anonymous tip and he couldn’t get ahold of me, so he went alone. The guy fought back and nearly killed him, so it was clearly self-defense. The next one had a gun and refused to surrender. Maybe we could have talked him down, but Charlie took the shot. No one complained. After all, the guy had killed at least a dozen homeless street kids. But the next one ended up dead with no witnesses. And the next. Whispers started, eyebrows raised, ASAC called us up for lectures on proper procedures.”
“What happened?” I asked. “What made him leave the FBI?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Rusk said. “They put him on administrative leave and he said he was getting back to his roots. He was cleared to return, but he resigned. I never saw him again. Left me a pile of shit to clean up, though. I got the hairy eye for at least a year after that and never caught another serial killer case. Until this one.”
“So he killed some serial killers. In the line of duty.” I’d stopped shaking enough that I was able to sip my tea without spilling any, though it was cold now. “I don’t see why that was so horrible.”
“Even in the line of duty, we bring suspects in for questioning and sentencing,” Rusk said. “We’re not vigilantes. We certainly can’t play judge and jury, even for the most sadistic killers. No matter how fun it’d be to knock off another bad guy and give him what he deserves.”
“I wouldn’t call it fun,” Matheson said, giving him a side-eye of her own. “Though I can understand the reasoning, even if it’s wrong. Ask those parents what they thought about their children’s killer being killed by a cop, and I’m sure they were relieved he’d never get out on parole and do it again.”
“Fine, but now he’s escalated to killing women he picks up online,” Rusk said. “Not so sympathetic now, is he?”
“I still don’t believe it.” They both looked at me like I needed to have my head examined, but I didn’t care. “He’s not that kind of killer.”
“But he is a killer,” Matheson said slowly. “You don’t deny that.”
It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t answer it. “I’m really tired.”
“Of course. Thank you, you’ve been very helpful. Could we drive you somewhere for the night so you’re not alone?”
Tiredly, I pushed to my feet. I only had one place to go. Though I’d rather go to hell first.
PART THREE:
Redeemed
Chapter Thirty-One
Knocking on my parents’ door at ten o’clock at night was the ultimate failure. I was nearly thirty years old and still faking it. Still lost, still broken, still hopeless, still alone. Now I had to ask for help yet again.
I could only imagine how this was going to go. You remember that nice man I brought into your house on Christmas Day? Yeah, well, the FBI thinks he’s a serial killer and I was going to be his next victim. What’d you have for dinner? I’m starving. I’m too incompetent to feed myself.
The door opened and Mom dragged me into a hug so fierce and tight I couldn’t breathe. Dad loomed behind her and offered a hand to Special Agent Matheson. “Thank you, ma’am, for all you’ve done.”
“My pleasure, sir.” She leaned close enough to me to whisper, “I called ahead and explained things. Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Is she safe now, or do we have to worry about him coming after her?”
“He’s gone,” I whispered hoarsely. “I’m safe.”
Matheson nodded. “We have no reason to believe she’s in danger at this time, but we didn’t think it was a good idea for her to be alone.”
In a haze, I let Mom whisk me upstairs to my old bedroom. It was still painted Pepto-Bismol pink with the same daisy comforter on my bed. A ragged teddy bear sat on the pillow, missing an eye. Mom had always nagged me to let her fix it, but I liked him imperfect and tattered. He was more like me that way.
“Let’s get you a nice hot bath and I’ll make you some hot cocoa. Your favorite. You’ll feel better—”
“No, thanks.” I sighed, so tired I could hardly get my brain to send the words to my mouth. “I just want to sleep.”
“Are you sure? A bath will help relax you.”
I sat on the edge of my bed and almost slipped to the floor. “I can hardly keep my eyes open as it is.”
Mom sat beside me and took my hand. “I’m so sorry, honey. I never thought—”
“It’s not true.” I dropped onto the mattress, unable and unwilling to stay upright a moment longer. “It’s not. I don’t believe them.”
“Okay, honey.” She pulled my shoes off and stood up, lifting my legs up so I could lie down. “Rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Curled on my side, surrounded by all the girlie things I’d grown up with, I tried to connect myself to that child. She’d had so many hopes and dreams. She’d planned to go to college and have a successful career. Though how I could have pulled that off, considering I had no idea what I wanted to major in, I had no idea.
Where had I gone so wrong? Was I just blind? Had I missed my turn somewhere and detoured down this miserable half-life road where no one understood anything about me? I might as well be an alien in this family. And then the one man who finally got me, who made me feel alive and whole...
Mom cried softly, her hand stroking my hair. “Did he hurt you?”
“Yeah,” I mumbled, smiling at the memory. “It was so good.”
A broken sob escaped her throat. “Oh.”
She’d never understood. We’d had the sex talk and she’d tried to be a good, modern mother who discussed anything under the sun with her children. But evidently the kinds of questions I asked weren’t in the basic sex education manuals they handed out to parents.
Why does it feel so much better if he holds me down?
Why do I want his hand on my throat?
Why do I dream about him hitting me? Nothing major. Just a few bruises to look at later.
“I love him.” I thought I got the words out, but I was slipping fast. Maybe he would find me in my dreams. “Still.”
* * *
Opening my eyes, I stared up at the white netting draped over my bed. Weak winter sunlight streamed in, managing to turn the pink walls from merely putrid to blazing florid. At least I’d slept—a long time, judging by the sunlight. The house was quiet. Was it the weekend? I honestly couldn’t remember what day of the week it was. Hopefully I wasn’t supposed to be at work. Charlie would punish me if I’d missed a day.
My brain flinched away from that thought. It took me a moment to remember why.
He’s gone.
Lying there, I ran through everything the FBI had told me. His old partner had been able to fill in a few holes, but they hadn’t convinced me that Charlie would have killed me. That the only reason he’d found me was to kill me. That didn’t ring true. Why would he promise to come back for me, then? To finally finish me off?
I pushed up enough to find my bag Mom had left by the side of the bed. Rummaging around, I found my laptop and started it up. I wanted to talk to my friends, but if that’s how Charlie had supposedly found me...
I’d never interacted with him there, at least not to my knowledge. Sure, people could come into the chat room invisible, but I’d never had any personal conversation or interaction with any stranger, let alone someone who could have been Charlie. Other than that one weird note I had the other day, I’d never had anyone contact me off-list.
I checked my email and saw another message from MasterOfAll. Miss me yet? Can’t wait to bite you again, pet.
My heart pounded. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. It didn’t make sense. I checked my trash folder and found the other note he’d sent me. I restored it, determined to keep the evidence. Then I dug Matheson’s card out of my pocket and called her.
“Hi, Miss Killian. What can I do for you?”
“I have something strange going on that I thought you should know about.”
Immedia
tely, I could feel her intensity increase a thousand fold, though I couldn’t see her face. “Absolutely. What is it?”
I told her about the two notes through the forum.
“And you don’t think these came from Charlie?”
“I know they’re not.”
“Why?”
“He always called me kitten, not pet. And it doesn’t sound like him.”
“What do you mean?”
I hesitated, trying to think of a way to explain without getting into some of the darker shit I hadn’t admitted to them already. “Can you keep this between us? Or will you have to tell Rusk?”
“I’ll do my best to keep everything you tell me confidential and needs-only. He’s my partner, but as a woman, I understand things he never will. I’ll protect your privacy as much as possible, Miss Killian. I swear that to you. Is it because he’s a man? Or something more?”
“Honestly? He gives me the creeps.”
“When you knocked your chair over, what upset you?”
“He made me look into his eyes,” I answered. “Even knowing what I am. Or rather, because he knew what I am, he made me look.”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why that upset you.”
“I think it’s probably safe to say that most submissives don’t engage in direct eye contact with a dominant without deliberate thought. Eye contact is a challenge. We might look a prospective dominant in the eye briefly, to indicate interest, but then quickly look away. It’s respect, and it’s also a protection, at least for me. Looking people in the eye constantly is hard for me, especially with strangers or people I don’t like. It makes me feel exposed and vulnerable, though I’ve learned to deal with it enough to deal with the public for my job.”
“I notice you do tend to control your eye contact way more than most witnesses I’ve interviewed.”
“I can’t lie. At all. Not if you see my eyes. More, I can’t hide. I can’t keep my secrets. Everything’s laid bare in my eyes, no matter how hard I try to keep it buried. So for him to deliberately make me look into his eyes...”
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