Trouble sensed her restlessness and jumped to the floor. It was the incentive she needed to uncurl and carry her wine glass to her office. It was time to do what she should have done the first minute she met Aiden and felt that spark of attraction. Perhaps it was a betrayal—or maybe, just maybe, she was finally getting smart.
The first round of research attempts led to very little information about Aiden Waters. It took a bit more digging to find the newspaper stories about the murder of his wife, Kayla Waters. There was a photograph of her, and Tammy studied it for a long moment. Kayla was a pretty blond with a million-dollar smile. She’d won teaching awards and was a favorite of her students. Her abduction and murder had shocked the community.
Aiden was described as a dedicated FBI agent, a profiler who’d worked successfully on tracking and capturing a half-dozen serial killers. He’d cut his teeth on the infamous Red River Killer in Texas, and also played a role in the capture of the pedophile murdering Richard Marcus Lott. Aiden was a rising star in the agency.
So far, everything he’d told her was true. She felt as if a hard casing around her heart had begun to crack a little. The relief was wonderful. She went to the kitchen and refilled her wine glass, aware that the pantry door was ajar. She closed it and quickly refilled poured the wine. Now that Aiden’s background facts were proving true, she was far more eager to continue the search.
She found his elementary school yearbook pictures, and the wedding write-up in the weekly newspaper in Kayla’s hometown. Dealing in antiquarian books and tracking titles, she’d learned a good number of cyber and research tools that most people might not have. She’d never considered putting them to use on background checks, but had she been more attuned to modern times, she might have checked out Benjy/Rafe.
Which wasn’t a bad idea. She was about to shift the focus of her research to Rafe when an article caught her eye. FBI Agent Fired; Questionable Conduct Cited.
She pulled up the article and felt her ribcage squeeze down on her lungs. “Profiler Aiden Waters, former rising star in the profile division, was removed from duty. FBI regional director Michael Kips noted that Waters had suffered a personal loss in the performance of his duties and that the profiler needed time for R&R.”
The story went on to detail Waters disappearance for his post, citing his obsession with capturing the man who killed his wife. Tammy read the lengthy article with growing dread. When she was finished, the house was so silent she heard the ticking of the clock in the hallway.
Because she couldn’t stop herself, she went to one of the first paragraphs that described Aiden’s behavior as “pathological.” His boss had said, “We’re concerned that Aiden has begun to identify too closely with the SSK. We tried removing him from the case, but he refused. This termination is for his welfare as well as the department’s.”
Tammy printed out the article. She had to get this to Rob, the sheriff. He had to know that Aiden might be unstable. That he might have…she couldn’t even think it. While Aiden’s former boss never came out and said Aiden had begun to imitate the SSK, a kind of psychological bond, he’d implied it strongly. Did that also include killing young women?
She paced the small upstairs office, wondering what to do. Aiden would be showing up at her door soon. She had to do something—she couldn’t sit and wait like a tethered goat. Amelia! She’d go to Amelia’s house. She could text Aiden that a friend needed her help and she wouldn’t be home. That would buy her some time—until she could contact Rob.
She called the former bookstore owner. “I thought I might drop by and visit,” she said, knowing the strain in her voice was easily detectable.
“Of course, I have some lovely eggnog and I thought I might watch Miracle on 34th Street for the thousandth time.” There was a pause. “Are you okay, Tammy?”
“No. I’m not. I’ll tell you when I see you.”
“I’ll put the porch light on for you.”
Tammy gathered up some homemade croissants from the local bakery, a chunk of sharp cheese, and a bottle of good wine. She didn’t want to alarm Amelia. She wanted it to seem like a holiday visit. Two old book lovers chatting on Christmas Eve. When she called out to Trouble, an eerie silence fell over the house.
“Trouble!” The cat never failed to come when called. Well, he could be slow as molasses, but he always came.
“Trouble!” Not half an hour before he’d been on her lap. Where could he have gotten to?
She went to the kitchen and stopped. The door to the pantry was open. Again. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Trouble could do a lot of things, but so far she’d never seen him twist a doorknob.
Someone else was in the house.
She backed out of the kitchen silently. Her only route to safety was to get out the front door and into her car. She moved quickly, grabbing the bag of wine and cheese at the door and easing outside as quietly as she could.
Every sound she made—her footsteps on the cement, her breathing, the leaf that crunched beneath her boot—all sounded like explosions in the crisp winter air. She’d failed to grab a coat, but she didn’t care. Her only goal was to get into her car and drive away.
She passed the large Indian Hawthorne shrub by the side of her house. Rustling made her pause. “Trouble!” she whispered. “Come on!”
What stepped out of the shrub was far larger than her black cat. The man stood over six feet tall, and he was dressed all in black with a black knit cap pulled low down his forehead. Tammy took a step back, stumbling on the edge of the grass and driveway. She went sprawling. The wine bottle hit the cement and shattered. The man moved quickly, lunging forward to grab her wrists and keep her from falling.
“Mr. Brady,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “What are you doing here?” She looked down to see the red stain of the wine spreading in all directions, like blood from a fatal wound. Her body trembled and she couldn’t control it. The reaction was visceral.
“I came to warn you.”
“Warn me?” She couldn’t grasp what was happening.
“Aiden Waters isn’t who he says he is. He was fired from the FBI because he lost it. He’s dangerous.”
“Why do you care?” she asked, unable to figure how Brady figured into any part of her life. First he’d come to the bookstore and spooked her about Aiden, and now he was at her house, again making her feel unsafe and a victim.
“It’s my job to care,” Brady said.
“You’re job? You’re a drifter, retired military living in the woods like a survivalist.” She didn’t mean it to sound harsh, but it was the truth.
“No, Tammy. I’m not. I’m part of a special FBI unit sent to keep watch on Aiden.”
“What are you saying?” Again the landscape had shifted. Thad Brady was a good guy?
“Come inside and I’ll fill you in.” He reached for her arm, but she drew back. She wasn’t certain who to trust. The darkest blanket of her nightmare had fallen over her. She was living in a place where she couldn’t tell friend from foe. She’d worked her entire life to be in Wetumpka, a town where everyone knew everyone and looked out for each other. Only none of that was true.
“Tammy, come inside. I’ll explain everything.”
“Right.” She had to find a weapon. She couldn’t allow Thad Brady to get her inside. If she did, she would be lost. “Let me get some books out of the car.”
“I’ll help you.” Brady was right at her side, so close she never had a chance to run. But she had another idea.
When they drew close to the car, she opened the back door. “There, on the floorboard.” She stepped back to allow him to retrieve the bag. When he reached into the back floorboard, she pushed with all of her strength, then slammed the door hard on his legs.
He howled, and she hit the door again with her full body weight. Before Brady could recover, Tammy ran. She ran for her life, praying that Trouble would follow behind her or that he would be safe until she could return home to retrieve him. Instead of r
unning down the street, which would have been easier, Tammy cut across the lawns, ducking into hedges and darting from tree to tree, seeking the shadows.
She didn’t look back at Brady or check to see if he was pursuing her. She simply ran.
* * *
The desk phone in the sheriff’s office rang and Aiden automatically picked it up. “Officer Waters,” he said.
“Aiden, you have to come right now.” Frasier McNaughton’s panicked voice came over the phone. “There’s been an…accident.”
“What kind of accident?” Aiden checked his watch. He’d been at his desk filling out paper work and checking on Rafe Wilder’s improbably—but possibly true—story.
“It’s a young woman.” Frasier started to pant as if he were hyperventilating.
“What about a young woman?” Aiden had plenty to do, and it seemed the minister was deliberately withholding information.
“She’s, uh, I think she’s dead.”
Aiden stood up. “What? Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Come to the church. I found her in the parking lot when I was leaving the cantata.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know her.” Frasier wheezed as he tried to control his breathing. “Just come, okay?”
Aiden grabbed his coat and stopped by the dispatch desk. “Frasier McNaughton says he’s got a dead woman in the church parking lot. Call Rob.”
“On it,” the dispatcher said as she dialed the phone. Aiden didn’t wait for an answer, he ran into the cold night and sped toward the church.
The streets of Wetumpka were cold and silent. In the old historic downtown, the multi-hued Christmas lights battled against the inky blackness, but Aiden barely registered them. Who was dead? Had the SSK struck again or was this something else?
When he pulled into the empty church parking lot, he was puzzled for a moment until he saw Frasier at the far side of the lot standing beside his SUV. The vehicle blocked Aiden’s view of the far side. As he drew closer, though, he saw the body on the asphalt. Frasier stood with his hands clenched at his sides, not knowing what to do.
Aiden radioed in to make sure the sheriff was on the way before he got out of the patrol car. He found he dreaded approaching the body. If the SSK had killed again, Aiden knew he was the person responsible. He’d failed to find the murderer. And he’d certainly had ample chances.
When he was close, he pointed the beam of his flashing into the face of Jessica Whiddon. She was dead, her eyes wide open and the seamed stocking tied tight around her throat. It was like a kick in the gut to Aiden.
“I don’t know her,” Frasier said, his voice too high and breathy. “I came out to be sure Keith and Mary Ann weren’t parked back here making out. And I saw her, lying there beside my car. The lot was empty. Who is she? Why is someone doing this?”
Aiden knelt beside Jessica and felt for a pulse at her neck, but there was nothing. Her body was still warm, though. She hadn’t been dead very long at all. “Did you see anyone out here?” he asked Frasier.
“No, the lot was empty. I just…I just can’t believe this. I didn’t see her until I tried to get in my car. I called you as soon as I realized what had happened.”
Aiden nodded. He moved Frasier out of the crime scene and began putting up the tape to secure the area. The night was so dark, even with his high-beam light he couldn’t detect any evidence around the body. What was Jessica doing in the darkened parking lot of a church on Christmas Eve? She had children. Why hadn’t she stayed home where she was safe? Why hadn’t he been able to catch the killer before he struck again?
“What can I do?” Frasier asked.
“Just stay back. We need to photograph the scene and get the coroner here.” The list of procedures came naturally to him as he began the process of investigating the murder.
“Who is murdering these young women?” Frasier asked, but Aiden knew the minister wasn’t truly addressing him. It was a question to the universe. In the distance he heard the wail of the sirens and knew Rob was on the way. This murder—a Christmas Eve killing of a young mother—would put the town in a panic mode. And who was with Jessica’s children? Aiden went to the patrol car and radioed dispatch to send someone to the Whiddon home.
“So you know her?” Frasier asked. “I mean, you knew her name and address. Were you friends?”
“In a manner of speaking. I’d talked with her about the missing girls.”
“Why?” Frasier’s question was blunt.
“She’d been attacked earlier in the month. She’d escaped. But this time he got her.”
“This is tragic. Survived one attack only to be killed in a second. Do you think she was targeted?” Frasier asked.
Aiden knew the answer. “Yes. I do. I believe the killer was afraid she might identify him, so he set out to kill her.” He would have lured her down to the church parking lot, where it was dark and easy for him to make the kill. But what could have possibly tempted Jessica—who was already afraid—to leave her kids and brave the dark night?
A terrible thought crashed into him. He ran back to his car and the radio. “Make certain the Whiddon children are safe,” he said. “Be sure they’re in the house and unharmed. Let me know as soon as someone can check.”
He came back to stand beside the body. A cold wind blew from the north, and Jessica’s curly hair danced on the breeze, giving the illusion she was alive. But she wasn’t. Her life had been taken. Aiden knew then that whatever it took, he would find the killer.
In all likelihood, Jessica was dead because she’d talked to him. How had the killer learned about his interview, though? Unless the killer was connected to the Elmore County Sheriff’s Office. Or a deputy or employee had unwittingly talked about the case. Somehow, the killer was getting inside information—just as he always had in the past.
SSK or copycat, Aiden knew only one thing: he would put an end to him. There was no turning back now.
Chapter Ten
Tammy jammed her hands into the pockets of her wool slacks. She was freezing. And so terrified she couldn’t take a deep breathe. The only good thing was that Trouble had joined her under the thick camellia shrub in Dalton Ames’s front yard. The cat was safe, and he made her feel a smidge safer.
Since running away from Thad Brady, Tammy had seen no signs of pursuit. He was an Army ranger, and surely he could have tracked her if he’d chosen. But why was he hiding in the shrubs at her house? The only answers she could grasp all came out to equal deadly.
Trouble rubbed against her legs and she picked him up, glad for the warmth he offered her. She had to move. She couldn’t hide in the shrubbery much longer without risking death by freezing.
A sound coming from down the street sent Trouble skittering out of her arms and across the lawn to the sidewalk. In a moment, he was back, hooking his claws in her sweater sleeve and pulling her out of hiding. She recognized the voices of Christmas carolers. She’d forgotten the long tradition of those neighbors and friends who could sing loading up in a couple of vans or SUVs and treating all on her street to a holiday serenade.
“We Three Kings” echoed on the crisp night and Tammy hunkered down in the bush until she saw the gathering of fifteen carolers turn the corner and head toward her. With an assist from Trouble, she ran out of the hiding place and joined the group. She was safe now. Safe. She’d follow along until they got to her house—when she would get in her car and drive to the sheriff’s office.
“Tammy!” Several of the carolers greeted her with warm holiday wishes and big hugs.
“What are you doing outside without a coat?” Emily West asked her. “Aren’t you freezing?”
“I am,” Tammy admitted, teeth chattering. “I ran out of the house but I didn’t expect to stay outside. I’ll grab a coat when we get to my place.”
“So glad you could join us,” Emily said. “But I was looking forward to some of that hot chocolate you always have for us. You never admit it, but I think you spike it with a little Ka
hlua.”
“Sorry,” Tammy said, realizing her awkward behavior would be all over town by morning. “I, uh, got distracted this evening.”
“Is something wrong? Can I help?”
Tammy hugged the woman. “You just did.” And it was true. Her concept of Wetumpka wasn’t all wrong. She wasn’t a total ninny to believe her hometown was a little piece of paradise. There might be bad people in the town, but there were plenty of good ones. Friends and acquaintances willing to offer a helping hand.
The group was almost at her driveway. Tammy scanned the lawn, glad to see Trouble darting in and out of the shrubs. He was checking out, making sure Thad Brady wasn’t hiding in ambush. When the cat ran to the door of her vehicle, she knew it was safe.
“I have to run,” she said to Emily. “Next year, hot chocolate with my special ingredients. I promise.” She darted across the grass to the car and jumped inside. Her cell phone was still in the house, but she wasn’t about to go inside for it. She would drive to Amelia’s and call the sheriff from there.
The minute she was in the car with the doors locked and the motor running, she felt better. It was a last-minute terror that made her check the backseat. The car had been left unlocked. But she realized Trouble would never have let her get into a vehicle if Thad Brady was hiding. Nonetheless she checked and found the backseat empty.
On the ride to Amelia’s, she worked to compose herself. Amelia was in her seventies, but she was spry and a devoted gardener and reader. Tammy didn’t want to worry her. Amelia, in many regards, shared Tammy’s view of Wetumpka and the residents of the town.
The front porch light was on when Tammy pulled up. She grabbed Trouble and hurried to the door. She didn’t bother to knock but just walked in—a fact that concerned her. Amelia should keep her door locked. At least until the murders were resolved.
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