by Mary Burton
Bowman crept up to the man, his gun drawn. He pressed two fingertips to the man’s neck. “He’s dead.”
“Why the hell would he come all the way up here? Look at his clothes and shoes. And those buffed nails. This is the last place a guy like this would come.”
“There’s a note in his front breast pocket.”
“Let me get it.” She handed him Cooper’s tracking line while pulling latex gloves from her side pocket and tugging them on. Using her fingertips, she pulled out the white folded paper. A playing card flittered out to the ground.
For a moment, she didn’t breathe as she stared at it. Carefully, she picked it up and turned it over.
It was the queen of hearts, and written on it were scrawled words that read, I win. You lose.
Bowman muttered an oath. Hand on his Beretta M9, he searched the woods around them. “That’s the Shark’s brand of cards.”
“And he’s talking directly to me.”
Wind whispered through the trees. “We’re chasing a killer who likes to play games.”
Fear tightened her gut. “He wins. I lose.”
“After we get off the mountain, I want you to go directly to Shield Security.”
“Why?”
“For once, don’t question. Do.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wednesday, September 21, 6:00 p.m.
After they came out of the woods, Bowman followed her home. While she changed, he searched her house and around it, confirming no one had left a package or broken in. After she walked Cooper, they each got back in their SUVs and she followed him to the Shield Security offices.
Bowman stopped at the security entrance, showed his ID, and spoke to the guard. When Riley approached, the guard waved her through.
She drove up the winding road bracketed by thick trees, passing tall light posts outfitted with cameras. Probably infrared coupled with motion detection. State-of-the-art equipment. No other buildings lined the road, and she’d heard that Shield had purchased a couple of hundred acres. Not a cheap or easy purchase this close to Quantico and the DC area.
At the end of the road, a five-story building stretched along the landscape like a long, sleek animal. The front of the dark building was covered in smoked glass.
She parked and grabbed Cooper’s long leash. Clay scanned her carefully, pausing on her freshly scrubbed face and the waves of brown hair draping her shoulders. His expression was neutral and impossible to read, but if she were standing in his shoes, she’d be making associations with the dead girl.
“I called ahead. They are waiting for you upstairs.”
“Who’s waiting?”
“The IT guy.”
“Is this about the video?”
“You’ll see.”
As they made their way up the elevator and along the carpeted hallway, she was again made aware of his height. Most men his size had a tendency to lumber, but not him. He moved with an easy grace more like a wide receiver than a linebacker.
He held open a tinted-glass door for her as she entered. The computer room, as he called it, looked like something out of a science fiction movie. The state patrol had good equipment, but Shield must have an unlimited budget. Joshua Shield was clearly in this business to win first, profit second.
Shield moved toward her. He wore a light-blue shirt, red tie, and charcoal-gray suit pants. No jacket, which was likely his idea of casual.
“Trooper Tatum,” he said, extending his hand. “Good to see you again.”
She accepted it, noting restraint in his firm grip. “Mr. Shield. Pleasure to see you.” He didn’t hide his scrutiny as he studied her with a precision that logged every detail of her face. She found the cool calculation terrifying. “I understand you have some details about the video.”
Instead of answering, he sidestepped by saying, “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”
Riley wasn’t here to eat. “No, thank you. If you don’t mind, the video.”
He studied her an extra beat. “Thank you for sharing it. That took courage.”
“If not for Vicky Gilbert, I wouldn’t have. Not the kind of digital footage I want any of my colleagues in the police department to see.”
“Strictly confidential,” he said.
Shield led them into another room with a bank of computers and large screens spanning the walls. At the center sat a large man. His hands were as large as Bowman’s, but they moved with a fast-paced dexterity as if he’d been on a keyboard since before he could walk.
Bowman laid his hand on the man’s shoulder, and he turned to study Riley with the same cold efficiency as Shield.
“This is Garrett Andrews,” Bowman said. “He is . . . what’s your title, Garrett?”
“I’m the tech guy,” he said, rising to extend his hand. Another firm handshake and eyes that missed very little.
She noted the scars on his hands but kept her eye contact. “I understand you learned something new.”
“I did. My findings may upset you.”
Good cops could put distance between themselves and death, tragedy, or whatever it was that stood in the way of them doing their job. Later, when they were alone, the fear, guilt, suppressed shame, or revulsion bubbled up. Most cops figured out how to deal with it. Some talked to a buddy. Others drank. Riley simply ran until her body was drenched in sweat and endorphins. Only then would the demons be temporarily calmed. “This tape isn’t personal. It’s evidence.”
“Good.” He turned back to his keyboard and typed. The video popped up on multiple screens. Riley kept her gaze steady, aware that Bowman was watching her reaction. She would not give him or anyone the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
Andrews enlarged the image. “I’ve been over this tape several more times since I last spoke to Bowman. Basically, I have since been able to isolate several images in the video that confirmed that this was indeed shot in New Orleans. Note the mirror on the right. There’s a faint reflection. Enlarge that and I find the outline of a building that matches a profile of a building in the French Quarter.”
She leaned in, amazed at the sharp detail of the image. She had missed the reflection altogether during all her viewings. “So what’s this building?”
“I obtained real estate records from the city planning office from twelve years ago. After a search, I found the building in the mirror and the one across from it—your hotel. I’m certain you were held in the Duval Hotel on the top floor.”
Bowman met her gaze. “I called a contact in New Orleans. He checked out the property.”
It didn’t sit well that he was investigating without her input. Her back teeth clenched. “You hadn’t mentioned that.”
If he picked up on her annoyance, he didn’t care. “I can’t afford to have the Shark’s people spot you near the hotel.”
It took effort for her to back away from the anger and focus on the facts. Finally, she asked, “What did you find out about the hotel?”
“It has been owned by a shell corporation for the last eighteen years. Its penthouse is rented out on a monthly basis to high-level executives. We’re now peeling through the layers of detail.”
“Who was renting it during the time the video was made?”
“Records were lost,” Andrews said. “Hurricane Katrina caused a massive power surge and fried the hotel’s data banks.”
“Damn,” she said.
“The loss is unfortunate,” Andrews said.
The lead had gone cold, which left only her. “I’m still the center of this storm.”
Bowman nodded. “You are.”
Impatience disturbed her. “Then do me a favor: keep me in the loop.”
Silent, Bowman studied her.
“I don’t want to be the last to know whatever you all discover.” She didn’t try to summon a smile. “I’m coming to this openhanded, which isn’t easy for me. You investigate a scene, I’d like to know before a site visit, not after.”
“If it makes sense logistically, I will. In
this case, it did not.”
“This cannot be a one-way street when it comes to information.”
A muscle ticked in Bowman’s jaw, but he nodded. “Understood.”
“What else did you find out about the video?” she asked.
Andrews cleared his throat. “I believe three other people are in the room.”
“How can you tell?” she asked.
“There’s the man who takes your face in his hands, another with a cord in his hands, and the third is holding the camera. You can tell by the image that it’s not stationary, but moving.”
Riley was silent. How many people had witnessed her degradation firsthand?
Andrews pointed to the screen. “The man who takes your face in his hands is wearing a ring.”
“I noticed that,” she said. “It has a V shape.”
“It’s custom. I’ve not been able to trace it to any family, school, or society. Judging by the veins and skin, he was in his early fifties when this was shot.”
“So we’re looking for a man in his midseventies?”
“If he’s still a player in the game,” Andrews said.
“What do you know about the man holding the cord?”
“He’s younger. Maybe early forties, and his body language suggests he’s not enjoying this. His hands have a slight tremble and he flexes his fingers, in relief I think, when the old man turns and leaves.”
“Even if other players were present, there’d be no incentive to speak to the police because they’re accessories to murder,” Shield said. “And there were four gamblers found dead in Vegas about eleven years ago. No one ever connected their deaths to the girls, but now I’m not so sure.”
“Is New Orleans the only place these men played before now?” Riley asked.
“We don’t know,” Bowman said. “They chose girls who fall off the radar easily. The mistake they made in New Orleans was killing four girls within a couple of weeks. Over the top, even for that city.”
Riley swallowed. “And no one else survived?”
“None we’ve been able to track,” Bowman said.
The weight of the young girls’ murders settled squarely on her shoulders. “Why all the games? Why not just kill me?”
“According to my informant, this guy likes games,” Shield said. “He bores easily, like a cat toying with a mouse. He lost you twelve years ago, and now he’s determined to enjoy the kill this time.”
“An ambitious man who wants to dethrone this card player might make a run at taking you,” Bowman said. “Think about the woods today.”
“Until he’s caught,” Shield said, “we need to keep you under surveillance.”
She clung to calm composure. “I can’t stop living my life. If this guy wants me, there’s going to be no stopping him.”
“I’d like to use an embedded microchip,” Andrews said. “If you’re taken, we’ll be able to find you and the Shark.”
She would have laughed if he didn’t look so serious. “You’re kidding.”
Andrews didn’t blink. “No.”
“What kind of chip?”
“It’s the size of a rice kernel. I’ll insert it under your skin. It’s not painful and can be removed after the case is closed.”
She rubbed her arm. “Where under my skin?”
Andrews nodded. “On the inside of your upper arm. No one will see it.”
She didn’t like the idea of being tracked. But to wish and hope wouldn’t get her anywhere. She needed to be smart. “When can you do it?”
“Now.”
“Do it.”
Bowman stood silent, watching as Andrews rose. “Follow me.”
She and Cooper trailed behind him with Bowman and Shield on their heels. They moved into a sterile room where a large chair with an armrest sat beside a small table that was covered with a surgical drape. They’d been ready for her. Expected her to say yes.
“Am I that predictable?” she asked no one in particular.
“Bets were split whether you’d say yes or no,” Shield said.
“Should I ask where you put your money, Bowman?”
“I bet on you,” he said.
Had he really or was he now simply saying what would smooth the waters? “I’m always a safe bet.”
She sat in the chair and raised her arm, revealing the long bruising scrape from the trek up the mountain today. Cooper settled beside her, and for his sake, she kept cool.
Bowman frowned. “That happened today?”
“I’ve done worse while training.”
“You didn’t say a word.” The words sounded rough, as if he’d ground them between his teeth before he spat them out.
His irritation rankled her. “Complaining doesn’t help, and Cooper notices when I’m upset.”
Bowman didn’t respond, but he wasn’t happy.
Andrews donned latex gloves and approached her with a syringe. She hated needles, so she looked down at Cooper. Didn’t make sense why they made her so jumpy or woozy, but they did. Realizing Bowman’s gaze was locked on her, she sat a little straighter and stilled her arm, balling her fingers into a fist. She’d be damned if she’d go all light now.
Andrews rubbed her skin with an alcohol pad. “This next pad is going to numb the skin so that I can make the injection.”
The cool, gentle swipe of the pad did not calm her nerves. “Okay.”
“It’s Novocain and will numb the site,” Andrews said.
She held her gaze on Cooper. “Okay.”
“Just a little prick,” Andrews said. “And then you will feel a little pressure when I insert the microchip.”
She drew in a breath, doing her best to look calm. “And when this is all over, you can get that thing out, right?” she asked.
“Yes, it’s a simple procedure.”
A minute later he said, “You’re all set.”
“That’s it?”
“You’re good to go.”
“So do I need to avoid any microwaves or garage door openers?” Riley asked.
Andrews came close to smiling. “No.”
Bowman and Shield stared at her, their expressions serious, with no hint of humor. She’d have called them on their stiffness if she weren’t so twisted in knots. “Great. Then I’m good to go.”
“Sit here for another few minutes,” Andrews said. “I just want to make sure you don’t have a reaction.”
“A reaction? What does that mean?”
He pulled off his latex gloves. “It’s different with everyone.”
“Toss me a couple of examples, Mr. Andrews.”
“Itching. Hives. Bleeding.”
“Lovely.” She rolled down her sleeve. “How long do I have to sit here?”
“Fifteen minutes. I’ll get you some water to drink.”
“Thanks.”
When Andrews left, Shield said, “We’re going to find the Shark.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
Shield left her alone with Bowman. He leaned against a table and folded his arms in front of his chest. “You have no color in your face.”
“Get a probe stuck in your arm and see how you look.”
“Until ten minutes ago you had a nice tan.”
“It’ll be back.” She gingerly touched her arm. “So, who’s going to be tracking my signal?”
“From this location, it’ll be Andrews. Remotely, it’ll be me,” Bowman said.
She frowned, not liking the idea that they would know her every move.
As if reading her thoughts, Bowman said, “Look, Shield found you. And someone else found you and put that DVD on your porch.”
And Hanna had picked up the package. Inadvertently, this killer had touched her life, and that bothered Riley more than her own safety. “Point taken. Who were the other girls killed in New Orleans? Do you have the profiles I requested?”
“I do.”
“I want to see them.” Andrews returned to the room, handing her water.
Bowman d
idn’t speak for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Come into my office.”
She and Cooper followed him to a large carpeted office. Boxes filled with books, diplomas, and pictures lined the walls.
“You’re not quick to settle in, are you?”
He sat behind his computer and tapped a couple of buttons. “I’ll get to it.”
As Cooper lay on the floor by the desk, she moved around to the credenza. She picked up the picture featuring a younger version of Bowman and a woman who looked up at him with adoring eyes. “Your wife?”
He glanced back, studying her holding the image of what must have been the key picture marking his past. “Yes.”
“She’s pretty. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Deflecting the comment, he opened a file. “Is Hanna still in Georgia?”
“Yes, she is.”
“Good. Better she’s out of town.”
“Agreed. I don’t want this guy anywhere near her. She’s seen enough to last a lifetime.”
“She seems like a good kid.”
“She is. And she’s a hell of a sprinter and swimmer. No one gets past her.”
“You said she wants to go to college.”
“She’s smart. Real smart, and it would be a waste for her not to get the opportunity. She’s supposed to be working on her essays while she’s traveling.”
“She’s lucky to have you.”
“It’s mutual.” Riley didn’t realize how much she had isolated herself until Hanna had come into her life. Suddenly, evenings weren’t spent alone reading or working out but helping with math homework, driving Hanna to swim practice, or teaching her how to drive. The idea that anything bad could happen to the kid knotted her insides.
Bowman opened the file that featured the images of four girls he’d come across while doing his own research. “What kind of fantasy is this guy working out?” He clicked a button and a printer began to spit out copies. “Maybe you’ll see something we all missed.”
“I’m not sure what, but I’ll look them over.” Riley glanced at the time. “I need to get on the road. It’s a solid forty-five minutes of driving. And I’ve an early shift tomorrow.”
“Shield has suites in the building if you’re too tired to drive. I’ve stayed here on a few late nights.”
“I’ll be fine. Rather sleep in my own bed.” She glanced around, looking for Andrews. “Can you check with your buddy and see if he can cut me loose?”