by Mary Stone
“Hey.” Eyes wide, he spread his hands. “You were the one who called yourself a werewolf, okay? I just went with it because I thought it was funny. You know you could go the rest of your life without shaving your legs and I’d still think you were beautiful.”
Winter rested a finger over her lips to make a show of considering his suggestion. “Okay, duly noted.”
Though she half-expected him to recant the statement, he only grinned at her. “Is that what you wanted to tell me? That you’re never going to shave your legs again? Because that’s fine. It’s your body, sweetheart, not mine. I’m not here to tell you what to do with it.”
Her smile widened as she leaned in to gently press her lips to his scruffy cheek. “You’re sweet. But no, that’s not it.”
With an overly exaggerated sigh of relief, he draped an arm around her shoulders. “Okay, shoot, then. What’s on your mind?”
She wasn’t sure if he’d picked up “shoot” from Autumn, or if Autumn had picked it up from him.
Brushing aside the contemplation, she offered him a reassuring smile. “I had this thought a couple weeks ago, and I talked to Autumn about it last night. I went to her first because it’s psychology related.”
He stiffened, going on an alert that made her hurry to explain.
“I, well, we talked about the similarities between my brother and Cameron Arkwell.” Even as she held up a hand to stave off an objection, Noah made no move to speak. “It’s preparing for the worst, you know. I mentioned it to her because I’ve been thinking it might be useful for me to go talk to Cameron. If nothing else, maybe I can get a little more insight into what went on in Kilroy’s head when he kidnapped Justin.”
Noah gave her a thoughtful look. “That’s the sort of thing the BAU does, isn’t it?”
Winter nodded. “Yeah. And if Aiden is right about Justin, then…” she let out a quiet curse and shrugged, “it’s better to be prepared, don’t you think?”
To her continued surprise, a reassuring smile spread over his face. “It is. And if you think it’ll help, then I think you should do it.”
She’d been prepared for an argument, for an objection, for skepticism. She’d been prepared for him to give a rundown of all the reasons it would be a bad idea for her to visit Cameron Arkwell in his new maximum-security home. But even as she peered into Noah’s eyes, she saw only genuine acceptance.
Swallowing, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ears. “You mean that? You’re okay with me going to talk to a literal psychopath by myself?”
With a quiet chuckle, he ran the back of his hand down her cheek. “It’s a maximum-security prison, darlin’. Guards everywhere, alarms everywhere, cameras everywhere. I know damn well you can take care of yourself. You’ve knocked me on my ass before, remember?”
As she scooted closer to rest her head on his shoulder, she laughed at the memory. “I did, didn’t I? Was that like our first date?”
His laugh sounded closer to a snort. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. Jiu Jitsu in a parking lot at Quantico isn’t really date-worthy.”
Reaching out one hand to touch the side of his face, she tilted her head until their lips met. She hadn’t intended for the kiss to become quite so heated, but by the time she pulled away, her entire body was on fire.
“I love you.” Her voice was scarcely above a whisper, and if it hadn’t been for the wide smile that spread over his face, she wouldn’t have even been sure he’d heard her.
“I love you too, sweetheart.”
9
As Detective Grace Meyer and her partner neared a halo of white light, she ducked beneath a ribbon of yellow crime scene tape. To either side of the packed earth trail, the shadowy shapes of trees loomed over them. Crime scene technicians and sheriff’s deputies milled about beneath the glow of the battery-operated work lights, each of them focused on a different aspect of the scene.
Grace was loath to say she hated to work with the sheriff’s department, but she never looked forward to the cases where she had to consult with their deputies.
The sheriff’s office exuded even more of a boys’ club vibe than the Danville police station. Any time she made her way to one of the rural sheriff’s stations, she half-expected to see a sign written in crayon that read “no girls allowed.”
Grace’s partner insisted that the flippant attitude she received from the deputies had more to do with her status as a newly minted homicide detective than anything, but Grace suspected the treatment would be more professional if she didn’t have two X chromosomes.
Whatever the reason for the deputies’ demeanors, she’d vowed not to let the behavior affect her job. Her dream had always been to work as a homicide detective, and she’d worked hard to obtain her position.
That evening, at least, she and her partner—a more tenured homicide detective named Doug Leavens—were able to skip the visit to the sheriff’s department.
A handful of battery-operated work lights lit up the isolated hiking area like it was the middle of the day instead of eight in the evening. In the woods to the side of the trail, she caught the occasional shimmer of white light as crime scene techs combed through the trees for evidence.
A flicker of movement drew Grace’s attention to an approaching deputy. His brown and gold uniform was neatly pressed, and the white light glinted off his meticulously shaved head.
She extended a hand in a perfunctory greeting. “Evening, Deputy Taylor.”
With a nod and a glance to Doug, Deputy Harry Taylor accepted the handshake. “Evening, Detectives. What brings you out here? This isn’t the Danville PD’s jurisdiction.”
Grace offered him a slight smile. “No, but it’s a double homicide of two people who lived in Danville.”
Crossing both arms over his black suit jacket, Doug glanced around the scene. “It’s part of the brass’s effort to crack down on violent crime. Danville’s got one of the highest violent crime rates in the state, and ever since the Riverside Mall, the precinct has been under pressure to cut the violent crime rate down. We’re here to help, Deputy. That’s all.”
At the mention of the mass shooting that had left so many people dead, the deputy’s face turned grim. “Yeah, all right, then.” He fished a notepad out of his jacket. “You already know who the victims are, then, right? Sandy and Oliver Ulbrich. Sandy was forty-nine, Oliver was fifty-three. They had two kids, both grown, both living in different parts of the state. We’ve already called them, and they’re on their way here.”
Grace nodded. “Did they have any idea who might’ve wanted their parents dead? Any family enemies or anything like that?”
Lips pursed, Deputy Taylor shook his head. “No. They said their parents kept to themselves. Sandy was a librarian, and Oliver was a manager at the post office. From everything we’ve gathered so far, they were two normal people with normal lives.”
Glancing to where a couple crime scene techs photographed the splotch of blood that had seeped into the dirt, Grace racked her brain in an effort to find the incessant buzz that told her she was missing an obvious piece of the puzzle. The name Ulbrich sounded familiar, but try as she might, she couldn’t place the source.
She forced her attention back to Deputy Taylor. “What’s the CSU been able to find so far?”
He flipped to the next page of his notepad. “Not much, unfortunately. It’s been about a week since it rained, so the killer wouldn’t have left any footprints. They’ll know more at the ME’s office, but they didn’t see any trace evidence here at the scene.”
Doug gestured to the dark crimson that stained the packed earth trail. “You mind walking us through how you think it happened?”
The deputy nodded. “There aren’t any witnesses. There was a homeless man clear on the other side of this patch of trees here who thought he heard a scream, but he was so far away that he thought it might’ve been a wild animal.”
Grace lifted an eyebrow. “Where is he now?”
Deputy Taylor’s gray eye
s flicked from her to Doug. “We brought him in to the station to ask him some questions. Mr. and Mrs. Ulbrich were stabbed, though, and the witness didn’t have any sort of weapon with him. No blood on his hands, nothing like that. He’s got a history of a few drunk and disorderly charges, but nothing violent.”
“You don’t think it’s him?” Grace asked.
Scratching the side of his face, Deputy Taylor shook his head. “Detective, I’m not really sure what to think right now. This place has turned into a hotbed of criminal activity over the last few years. It’s usually the worst during the summer, but during the wintertime, there are still plenty of shady things that go on in these woods. There’s a biker gang that calls itself the Asphalt Devils that started doing business around here a few years back.”
Though she still couldn’t recall why the name Ulbrich sounded familiar, Grace knew all about the Asphalt Devils. They’d been a thorn in the police department’s side ever since they rolled into town.
“So, maybe Sandy and Oliver saw a drug deal go down, or something worse.” She looked to Doug. “Maybe they walked in on something the Devils didn’t want them to see.”
Doug rubbed his chin. “Might be. Deputy, tell us how you think it happened.”
With a nod, Deputy Taylor stepped over to stand beside the blood-stained earth. “This was where we found Mr. Ulbrich. He was stabbed right about here.” Taylor tapped his two forefingers against his heart.
“Stabbed?” Grace echoed.
Deputy Taylor nodded. “Whoever did it was facing him. They stabbed him, but somehow, they got close enough to inflict the wound without initiating a fight. There weren’t any other wounds on his body that we could see, but like I said earlier, we’ll know more once the ME gets a look.”
Grace waved a hand at the more distant splotch of blood. The area was labeled with a yellow marker numbered “three.” “Is that where Sandy was killed?”
The deputy nodded again. “Same type of wound as her husband. There might have been some bruising on her face or neck, but again, the ME will know more. Bruises tend to show up a little darker after a while. But based on the position of her body relative to her husband’s, we think she might have been running away. Otherwise,” he paused for a hapless shrug, “we don’t have much to go on. Right now, the best theory we’ve got is the biker angle.”
Doug scribbled down a few notes. “Okay. Thank you, Deputy. If anything else comes up, give us a call right away. While you guys chase down the biker angle, we’re going to exhaust any other leads.”
Deputy Taylor glanced to Grace and then to Doug. “We’ll let you know. Good luck, Detectives.”
For the duration of the short trip to the medical examiner’s office, Grace made an effort to rack her brain over the familiarity of Sandy and Oliver Ulbrich’s names. However, even after she posed the question to Doug, she was no closer to solving the conundrum.
At almost eight-thirty in the evening, the medical examiner’s office was just short of desolate. Overhead fixtures had been turned off, and almost all the staff had left for the day. Grace and Doug’s footsteps echoed off the tiled hallway as they approached the exam room.
A few years ago, the stuffy old man who used to run the office had retired. If Grace had met the new medical examiner on the street, she would never have guessed that the woman did such dark and haunting work.
As Grace and Doug pushed their way through the double doors, the corners of the medical examiner’s dark eyes creased as she smiled. Dr. Mariana Gomez’s ebony hair was pinned atop her head in a neat bun, and her olive skin exuded a healthy glow. She looked like a professional athlete, not a person who performed autopsies for a living.
“Good evening, Detectives.”
Doug nodded, his nostrils flared against the pungent smell of the disinfectants that was heavy in the air. “Evening, Dr. Gomez.”
“I’m assuming you’re here about Sandy and Oliver Ulbrich?” With a gloved hand, Dr. Gomez beckoned them over to a silver table.
Though the body was covered with a white sheet, Grace could tell based on the size that it was Sandy.
Glancing to the doctor, Grace gestured at the table. “Have you been able to look for anything yet?”
The harsh lights caught the shine of Dr. Gomez’s hair as she shook her head. “Not yet. Sandy’s clothes have been cut off and sent to the lab, and I was just about to start the visual inspection and autopsy. I’m not sure what questions I’ll be able to answer just yet, but I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you, Dr. Gomez.” Grace reached into the pocket of her leather jacket for a notepad. “Deputy Taylor told us that she was killed with a single stab wound to the heart. Is that right?”
As Dr. Gomez moved the sheet away from Sandy’s ashen face, she nodded. “From a cursory examination, yes, that’s correct.”
“Do you have an idea of the type of weapon that caused the wound?” Doug asked.
Dr. Gomez pulled down the sheet and gestured to the garish mark in the center of Sandy Ulbrich’s chest. “I’ll know more once I’m able to get a good look at the heart and other tissues, but it looks to be a knife with a smooth blade on one side, and a serrated edge on the other.” With a pinky finger, the doctor pointed to the edge of the wound. “See how her skin looks like it’s been ripped here, but the other side is a clean cut?”
Grace took a step closer to peer at the body. As she glanced up to Dr. Gomez, she nodded. “A hunting knife, maybe.”
Pulling the rest of the sheet down, Dr. Gomez pointed to the other side of the room. “Could one of you hit the lights for me?”
Doug was already moving to the switch by the time Grace looked over to him. When she turned to face Dr. Gomez, the woman had donned a pair of orange-tinted glasses.
As soon as the space went dark, a light click was followed by a violet glow. Gomez shifted the alternate light source down to Sandy’s waist, and beneath the light, an angry scar glowed.
“She’s been injured before.” Dr. Gomez leaned in, her eyes fixed on the healed wound. “It looks like a gunshot wound. Did Sandy or Oliver have any criminal affiliations?”
Doug shook his head. “No, the Ulbrichs were pretty normal people. Nothing out of the ordinary in either of their backgrounds.”
When would a librarian have sustained a gunshot wound to the hip?
Grace sucked in a sharp breath as the realization hit her. “She was at the Riverside Mall.”
“The Riverside Mall?” Doug echoed, looking as stunned as she felt. “When Tyler Haldane and Kent Strickland took those people hostage? You’re saying she was one of the hostages?”
Grace’s nod was sharp. “She was. I was there, remember? If I remember right, Sandy was hit by Tyler Haldane just after that FBI agent shot Kent Strickland in the head. Her husband wasn’t injured at all.”
Scratching his chin, Doug looked back and forth between Sandy’s body and Grace. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking that this is…?” As he trailed off, he held out his hands.
Grace clenched her jaw. “Yes, I am going to tell you. In the past six months, three, now five of the survivors of the Riverside Mall Massacre have been killed. None of them had criminal connections, none of them had enemies, but now they’re dead.”
With a sigh, Doug shook his head. “There were five victims, but there weren’t five incidents. Sandy and Oliver were killed together, and so were Kelsey and Adrian Esperson. In both cases, the motive might have been robbery. Honestly, robbery is a lot more realistic than…than…” He waved his hand as he searched for the word. “Whatever this theory you’re proposing involves. Plus, Tyler Haldane is dead, and Kent Strickland is in a Supermax prison while he awaits his trial.”
As much as Doug had helped Grace during her time as a rookie homicide detective, the man’s stubbornness still grated on her nerves. She was certain that his willingness to dismiss her theory about how the murders were connected was due in no small part to the opinions of their colleagues.
When Grace had
proposed the idea that a coordinated killer or group of killers could be stalking and killing the survivors of the Riverside Mall shooting, she’d only been a detective for a couple months. The fact that she was a woman under the age of thirty hadn’t done her any favors.
If Doug’s buddies in the department hadn’t been so dead set on dismissing Grace’s theory as a conspiracy, she was sure he would have looked at the idea with an open mind. They’d been partnered together since she was promoted, and unless he was posturing for his pals in the department, Doug tended to back her up.
“Haldane and Strickland were radicalized on the internet.” Grace narrowed her eyes. “Do you really think they’re the only two out there like that? I’m willing to bet they’ve got a whole fucked-up fan club out there. If someone’s taking up their mantle and picking off the survivors from that shooting, then we need to know about it and act sooner rather than later or a lot more people are going to die.”
Doug opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he managed to speak. “Is there anything else that makes you think these murders are connected? One of the other victims was shot in the back of the head, and the other two had their throats slit. None of them were killed like the Ulbrichs.”
As much as Grace wanted to ask him what part of fucked-up fan club he didn’t understand, she bit back the knee-jerk retort.
“There are five victims now.” She held up a hand and wiggled her fingers. “Five victims. Three different incidents. I’ll grant you that two could have been a coincidence, but three? That’s not a coincidence. There’s no way in hell that’s a coincidence.”
The dark room lapsed into silence as Doug pursed his lips in thought.
Grace had first proposed the theory months ago after the second two victims had been found dead in their home, their throats cut, and their security system disabled. The deaths had resembled a mafia style hit. Whoever wanted Kelsey and Adrian Esperson dead had known what they were doing.