by Rita Herron
Ian’s pulse kicked up a notch. “You saw his face?”
Frustration lined her brow. “No. Just a hand holding a knife and then blood dripping down Sunny’s arm.”
“I’m sorry, Beth.” He stepped toward her. He wanted to pull her in his arms and wipe away the anguish in her eyes, but she warned him off with a hand and climbed in the car.
Ian silently cursed, then slid in and started the engine. “You okay?” he asked.
She gave a quick nod, although they both knew she was lying.
Beth was so cold she rubbed at her arms.
For the love of God, where had the unsub taken Prissy?
Ian drove through a drive-in fast-food place and ordered them both coffee. She accepted the cup with a murmured thanks, not trusting her voice to talk as he drove to the morgue for the task force meeting.
When they arrived, Corbin Michaels was waiting on the steps to the hospital.
He shoved a microphone at Beth. “Agent Fields, has the Boneyard Killer contacted you?”
Beth paled, and Ian shoved the mic away. “You mean since you exposed her real identity?”
“I’m just doing my job,” Michaels said.
“You put Agent Fields in danger,” Ian said.
Beth held up a hand to silence the men. “Mr. Michaels, the only statement I wish to make is to warn the young girls in town to be careful. They should be cautious, travel in pairs, and not accept rides from strangers.” She gave him a cold look. “Now, we have work to do, so move out of the way.”
Ian took her arm, and they rushed past Michaels into the hospital and to the task force meeting room. The others were waiting. Dr. Wheeland, Peyton, Weller—from search and rescue—and Ian’s two deputies.
Beth handed the diary page to Peyton and explained that the unsub had left it for her. “Please be discreet with this,” Beth said. “It’s personal. I don’t want the contents to be leaked, especially to that reporter.” Although she’d reread it a dozen times, it had only stirred memories of being lonely and scared. Nothing helpful. No mention that she’d noticed someone watching her or that any strangers had been to the Otter’s house.
“I understand,” Peyton said softly. “Don’t worry. Corbin Michaels won’t get any information from me. Maybe the unsub left some DNA on one of the pages.”
“Let’s hope so. Did CSU find anything at my cabin?”
Peyton gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m afraid not.”
Director Vance made a beeline for Beth. She braced herself for a butt-chewing.
“I thought I told you to go back to Knoxville, Beth. I don’t want this guy getting to you.”
Ian moved up beside her. “Don’t worry, I’ll stick with her twenty-four seven.”
The director slanted him a wary look. “Why does that not make me feel any better?”
“Please,” Beth said. “I can’t leave now. My memories are finally returning.”
Director Vance jammed his hands into the pockets of his suit jacket. “Then lie low. Let us run things, and I’ll keep you posted.”
Beth reluctantly nodded, although she had no intention of lying low.
Prissy needed her.
Ian sensed Vance’s censure from his body language. Beth would never tuck her tail and run.
The best he could do was to protect her.
Director Vance called the group to order. “We need updates from everyone. And let’s establish a timeline with the identities of the vics, where they disappeared from, and any evidence we’ve collected to date.”
Peyton tacked photographs of the victims on the magnetic whiteboard and wrote their names below along with dates of their births and hometowns.
Ian studied the names, dates of disappearances, and cities where they went missing.
Billy Lynn Hanover—disappeared 18 years ago from Macon, GA
Sunny Smith (and JJ)—disappeared 15 years ago from Sweetwater, TN
Hayley Pranceton—disappeared 12 years ago from Ringgold, GA
Doris Wyan—disappeared 11 years ago from Calhoun, GA
Drena Cutlit—disappeared 10 years ago from Dalton, GA
Retha Allen—disappeared 4 years ago from Lexington, KY
Hilary Trenton—disappeared 3 years ago from Chattanooga, TN
Lindy Saxton—disappeared 3 weeks ago from Cleveland, TN
A mountain of relief filled Ian. God . . . he’d waited so long to prove his father had been wrongfully convicted.
Those dates were definitive proof of his father’s innocence.
He needed to find him and tell him.
Where the hell was he? He had to know that Ian was investigating these murders and that Beth was here. Why hadn’t his father contacted him?
“All the victims were between the ages of twelve and fifteen,” Wheeland said. “All were either from troubled homes, in foster care, or runaways. Agent Hamrick and Agent Coulter are trying to track down family, teachers, anyone who knew them.” Wheeland took a breath. “We believe that Hayley, Drena, and Doris were abducted during the time Coach Gleason was incarcerated.”
Ian nodded. “That means my father wasn’t the killer.”
“Gleason went to prison for nothing,” Beth murmured. “And the man who took me and murdered these girls has been out there all along—hunting.”
“That’s the way it looks, Beth. Now let’s focus on the information we have,” Director Vance said.
Peyton used pushpins on the wall map to identify the cities the victims had disappeared from.
Beth stood, walked over to the map, and drew a line connecting the cities. “Although the victims are from different cities and states, they’re all from the Southeast. Each city runs along I-75.”
Ian zeroed in on the route along I-75. The expressway ran through several states, providing a big hunting ground for the unsub. So why had he buried them in Graveyard Falls instead of dumping them in random places along the way?
What was his connection to this town?
Beth stared in horror as the faces of the dead girls burst to life in her mind. All so young and full of life. So vulnerable. So lost. So in need of love.
But they’d ended up being murdered by some sadistic monster.
Not Coach Gleason, though.
Tears of guilt and sorrow burned her throat. That poor man had gone to jail for a crime he hadn’t committed. He’d tried to help the teens at school.
Instead he’d suffered and lost his family because of his efforts.
Peyton placed a sketch of another girl on the board. “Our forensic artist used the bones to sketch out an approximation of what this Jane Doe looked like. This is only a likeness, but our artist is pretty good and—”
Peyton’s words faded as the girl’s face materialized in Beth’s mind. Wavy, sandy brown hair to her shoulders. Big, sad green eyes.
Then her voice. “I’m sorry.”
Beth hadn’t understood then.
She understood now.
The girl had been forced to ride with him. He’d used her to lure Beth and Sunny inside the cab.
The girl was May.
A strangled sob caught in her throat and she stood, trembling as the memory rushed back. The sound of May screaming for her life . . .
A wave of nausea rolled through Beth, and she clutched her stomach and ran from the room. The door slamming echoed in her head, as did Ian shouting her name.
She didn’t stop.
She was sweating and shaking as she darted into the ladies’ room. A second later, she collapsed on her knees in the stall and doubled over. A cry ripped from her gut and sounded like a wild animal as she lost her coffee and the food she’d had earlier.
The face of another girl surfaced. Her name was Willa. Willa had been dead when they’d arrived.
May had admitted she’d been forced to watch Willa die. Three days after he’d abducted May.
When she first ran away, May had lived on the streets. She’d eaten garbage and turned tricks to survive. One man had gott
en rough with her, and she’d run.
That night she’d been scared and climbed into the truck with the unsub. He’d given her a bottle of water.
That was all she remembered until she’d woken up in the cave. The place where they all eventually died.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Ian shifted, anxious to go after Beth.
Dr. Wheeland pushed his glasses on the top of his head. “What just happened?”
“Do you want me to check on her?” Peyton asked.
Ian gave a slight shake of his head. “Let’s take a break. She’ll probably be back by then.”
Everyone gathered to get coffee and water. Ian stepped from the room and crossed the hall to the bathroom. He paused and listened.
It was quiet, so he knocked gently. “Beth?”
No answer.
“Beth, it’s me, Ian.” He eased open the door just a crack. “Are you in here?”
A sniffle echoed from inside the stall. Ian glanced down at the opening and recognized Beth’s black flats. Worry knotted his belly.
“Are you okay?”
A heartbeat passed, then shuffling. “Yes, I’ll be there in a minute.”
He held the door open, hating to intrude but wanting to help. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, just give me a minute.” Another sniffle. “Please.”
Ian couldn’t stand to think of her alone. She’d already suffered so much. He slipped inside the bathroom and shut the door. “I’m worried about you. What happened?”
Beth’s shoes clicked to the floor as she stood, then eased open the door. “I’m sorry. I just remembered the cave again. May is the name of the girl in the sketch. She was in the truck when Sunny and I were picked up.”
“She’s the reason you thought it was safe to accept the ride?” Ian said.
Beth nodded. “There was another girl named Willa that May told me about. She was dead when we got there. He made May watch him kill Willa. There were others before her. I felt bones on the floor of the cave.”
“You said she disappeared a couple of weeks before you left the Otters,” Ian said. “How long was she with him?”
“Just a few days. She’d been sleeping on street corners before he picked her up. According to her, he had a pattern. He kept a girl until he found a new one. Then he made the new girl watch the other one die.”
“He did it to frighten her into submission,” Ian said.
Beth nodded. “May knew what he was going to do to her. To all of us. That’s why she told me she was sorry when they picked me up.”
Ian released a weary sigh. “How awful, Beth. No wonder you repressed those memories.”
A low sob escaped her. “I should have faced them. Then I could have saved these other girls.”
Ian soothed her with soft words. “Don’t do that, Beth. You were a kid. No one should have suffered what you went through.” The turmoil in her eyes ripped at his gut. “Maybe your boss is right. You should leave town, and I’ll let you know when we catch this bastard.”
“No.” She pushed a strand of her tangled hair from her face. It had come loose from the bun and hung in disarray.
She was beautiful. Vulnerable and hurting. But so amazing it nearly robbed his breath. He wanted to change the world for her, show her sunshine and roses and happy places.
The only way to do that was to find the madman who’d hurt her.
Slowly he rubbed her arms. Her face was milky white. “I promise you I’ll find him.”
Beth squeezed her eyes closed, and he drew her against him. Her body trembled in his arms, and he comforted her with tender strokes, brushing her tear-soaked hair away from her neck.
“I see him everywhere,” she whispered against his chest. “I’m sure I’m just paranoid. But I feel like he’s watching me.”
He probably was. He’d been in her place.
“He won’t hurt you,” Ian promised.
She rested her head against him for a moment. “I have to remember his face. It’s the only way we can stop him.”
“We can stop him with good police work,” Ian said firmly.
“No, I have to remember. Pieces are starting to come back.”
A knock sounded and they both startled.
“Everything all right in there?” Peyton called.
Beth pulled away. “Yes, I’ll be right out.”
Ian stepped back to give her some space, but he missed the physical contact. “I mean it, Beth, you don’t have to keep working this case.”
She straightened and walked to the sink, then turned on the water. “I’ve run from him long enough. If I don’t confront him and put him away, I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.” She offered him a determined smile. “I won’t live like that any longer.”
As soon as Ian left the restroom, Beth looked in the mirror. She hardly recognized herself. Her skin was colorless, her eyes red and puffy, her hair in a tangled mess.
She quickly smoothed the strands back in place and secured them at the nape of her neck. Her compact was in the meeting room, so she couldn’t do anything about her face.
Embarrassment heated her skin, adding some color to her ghostly pallor.
No one in that room cared what she looked like. They were here to solve a case.
And she’d just remembered something that might potentially be helpful.
She took a deep breath and exited the bathroom. Ian stood just inside the conference room door while the others were settling back into their seats.
Ian pushed a cup of coffee into her hand. “Beth?”
“I’ll be fine,” she said, her tone more curt than she intended. God, she was a mess. But being in his arms had felt too good—she wanted to be back there, where she felt safe.
He studied her for a moment, making her skin prickle with unease. Their connection went back years. He understood her more than anyone else.
She sipped the coffee, grateful for the punch of caffeine, then forced herself to rejoin the others. A hushed quiet fell over the room. Beth ignored the curious looks and slipped into a chair. “I’m sorry I interrupted the meeting, but I remembered something. The girl in the artist’s sketch is May. She lived with my foster parents and ran away.”
Beth swallowed hard. “The unsub found her and used her to lure me and Sunny into his truck that night. Then he forced us to watch him kill her just as he’d forced her to watch another girl named Willa die.”
Hope whispered through the room. She knew they were counting on her, and she hated to let them down.
“Do you know Willa’s last name?” Peyton asked.
Beth shook her head. “No, I’m sorry.”
Peyton turned to her computer. “I’ll see if I can find her.”
Beth mentally envisioned the killer’s hand as he raised that sharp knife and sliced May’s wrist. Did he have a tattoo? Any distinguishing marks?
Candlelight flickered. He murmured something . . . something about saving her. Not to be afraid of the dark or death, that the candle would light the way.
“I’ve been putting together a profile,” she continued. “Because of the number of kills, it seems like he’s sadistic, but the religious undertones, the way he leaves the girls with a candle so they’re not afraid, and the cross, indicates that he cares about them.” She hesitated. “The fact that there is no sexual component also implies that he isn’t trying to inflict pain and that he’s not a violent person.”
“How can you say he’s not violent?” Deputy Markum asked.
“It’s his pathology. He’s not in a rage when he kills the girls. He doesn’t torture or beat them or inflict unnecessary pain. Although he cuts their wrists, he does it quickly instead of toying with them. Then he sits with them while they pass.”
“You know all that from a profile?” Deputy Markum asked.
Beth gave him a flat look. “I was there when May died.”
“What else did you see?” Ian asked.
“The candles glowing. They’re part
of his ritual, like a ceremony.” She tried to piece together more details. “He baptizes the girls in a pool of water, then recites a Bible verse. He comforts them and tells them not to be afraid of death.” She paused, in his mindset now. “He believes he’s saving the girls and sending them to a better place.”
Ian’s fingers dug into his thighs as he listened. The details Beth remembered should be helpful, except they needed a description of the man.
“Sunny begged him to let her go,” Beth said, her voice laced with the pain of the memory. “I begged him to stop. But it was like he didn’t hear me.”
“He could be under the influence of drugs,” Deputy Whitehorse suggested.
“Or he’s psychotic,” Dr. Wheeland said.
Peyton gestured to her computer. “According to the interviews Agent Hamrick and Agent Coulter conducted with the families of those victims we’ve IDed so far, the girls all came from troubled homes.”
“We’ve already established that the victims were troubled kids or runaways,” Ian said.
“Yes, but each one mentioned seeking help, spiritual guidance.” Peyton held up a finger to make a point. “Retha Allen and Hilary Trenton attended a revival hosted by a traveling preacher.”
Ian’s pulse jumped. “A traveling preacher?”
“Yes. A man named Reverend Wally Benton.”
Beth sighed. “My foster father took Sunny and me to several revivals during the time we lived with him. He and Reverend Benton were friends. Benton was old-school primitive Southern Baptist, a snake handler.” Beth rubbed her temple. “But he wouldn’t fit the age range of our killer at this point.”
Peyton looked up from her laptop. “Wally Benton died—”
“He has a son,” Ian finished. “He’s the reverend in charge of the Holy Waters Church. And his age fits the profile of the killer.”
Beth shuddered as she recalled the sermons Reverend Wally Benton had forced on the people who attended his revivals. If he was dead, he couldn’t be their current unsub. She faintly remembered his son. He was a teenager when she was abducted. Could he have started his killing spree back then?