by Cynthia Eden
When his release hit him, he knew he’d been wrong. The first time with her had been good. The second had made him an addict. No one else would ever do.
No one else was Cadence.
He’d made a mistake.
He stared down at the small house, the place sheltering Christa.
A sheriff’s car waited out front. A man in uniform had been stationed at her door.
There was probably another deputy inside.
Mistake. He’d realized it as dawn came calling.
The agents hadn’t noticed him at the bar, but Christa had seen his face. He’d visited her too many times. She knows me.
The agents would have questioned her. They would have asked who she’d talked with that night. Who showed her too much attention.
She would have remembered him. His stupid fucking good tips. He’d given her the tips so she’d feel more comfortable with him. So she’d talk more. Tell him about herself.
He’d learned about Christa.
But in turn, she’d learned about him. Christa knew what he looked like.
The agents would want Christa to work with a sketch artist. He knew the drill. Christa would tell them all she knew.
In a few hours, his picture would be on every television in the Southeast.
He’d worked too hard to lose everything.
“I’m sorry.” Christa wouldn’t hear those words. She’d never have a chance to hear them. Things shouldn’t have ended this way for her. He would’ve taken care of her. Enjoyed her.
Savored sweet Christa.
But she had to die. Now.
Before the agents came back for her. Before the sketch artist arrived.
Before everything was destroyed.
The door to her house opened. A man in a sheriff’s uniform came outside. He talked to the deputy.
They hurried down the steps, moving toward the waiting patrol car.
This was it.
Another vehicle pulled up. Sweat trickled down his back. He knew that vehicle. Agent McKenzie was already on the scene. There was no more time to waste.
McKenzie was there.
So was Cadence.
His breath whispered out. He didn’t like doing this. It was wrong.
Christa appeared in the doorway. Her shoulders were hunched. Through the scope on his rifle, he realized she was pale.
Christa hadn’t slept well.
Lovely Christa.
This wasn’t the way it should have been.
His finger pulled back the trigger as the sheriff turned and reached for her.
Then he fired.
Blood bloomed on the sheriff’s chest, a thick circle even as the crack of gunfire echoed around them.
Shot.
Christa screamed and lunged toward the sheriff.
“No!” Cadence yelled.
But it was too late.
Christa was trying to help, but she should have run the other way. Gone back inside. Been safe.
The second shot hit Christa. So did the third.
Cadence could hear Kyle yelling, swearing. His gun was out and he was trying to get to Christa. But Cadence was closer. She’d been just a few feet from the sheriff.
Cadence dove for the other woman. She curled her body around Christa’s and tried to pull her to safety.
Then she saw the wounds.
One hit had been to Christa’s head. A shot that had torn across the right side of Christa’s skull. The second shot had gone in her chest.
“Christa, stay with me.” The same words she’d given to Lily, but Christa’s wounds…
She won’t make it. Cadence knew there would be no saving her.
Christa’s eyes were already closed.
She was already gone.
Cadence heard the thunder of footsteps. She looked up. Kyle was running toward the line of trees on the northwest side. Running without backup.
The sheriff started to wheeze.
“Go after him!” she yelled to the deputy. The guy, fresh faced, ghost white, clutched his gun and nodded.
But he didn’t move.
“Agent McKenzie needs backup!” She eased Christa onto the ground and crawled to the sheriff’s side. Oh, Christ, what a mess. “Go after Agent McKenzie!”
She yanked out her phone and called for backup. Then she put her hands on the sheriff’s chest. Sheriff Henry Coolidge, aged fifty-two. A grandfather of four. His newest grandbaby had been born just three days before. He’d shown her a picture of the little girl last night.
She’d run a check on him, as she did all the folks she brought in on the investigation.
“Henry.” His name whispered from her.
His lips moved. He was trying to talk. Choking.
She knew what the wheezing sound meant. His lungs were filling with blood. If she didn’t work fast, he was dead.
The deputy’s footsteps thundered away.
Finally going to give Kyle the backup he needed.
While Cadence got to work trying to save the man before her.
Kyle raced through the trees, his heart pounding in his ears. The SOB was there. He’d come out into those woods, and he’d eliminated Christa.
She saw your face. She knew you.
Fuck, but he hadn’t thought the guy would shoot her. The profile indicated the perp was an up-close, intimate killer.
But when a man was desperate, he could do anything.
Kyle reached the incline, the perfect spot where the killer had been. Grass was bent, as if the man had been crouching there for a while. Kyle even saw the indention of a shoe print. He’d get techs out to make a cast of the print.
You screwed up. By hunting this way, you left evidence behind.
Then he heard the growl of an engine. Kyle’s head snapped up.
“Agent McKenzie!”
Kyle ran toward the growling engine, not slowing for the deputy. His legs pumped, faster and faster.
Branches cut into him, slicing over his arms and face. The growl was starting to fade away.
He broke from the woods and stumbled into the road. It was a tight, curving road. He raced into the curve, and saw the back of a car, wide and dark. Then the car was roaring away.
No.
He yanked out his phone. As soon as his contact at the sheriff’s office answered, he barked. “Lock down Highway Thirty-One! Get troopers and deputies out there!” His breath sawed out of his lungs. “We need an APB out for a black vehicle.” What the hell kind had it been? Similar to a cop car. “Looked like a Dodge Charger. Heading west on Highway Thirty-One. The suspect is armed and dangerous and should be approached with extreme caution.”
If they could get the car, put up the roadblock in time…
Then we’ve got you, you SOB.
Cadence stared down at the body. She was in what passed for the morgue in Maverick, a small county office that was chilled and smelled too strongly of antiseptic.
Christa Donaldson was in front of her. Covered by a thin, white sheet.
Christa’s mother had come out, seen her daughter, and collapsed. She was in the hospital then.
The doctors weren’t very optimistic about her chances of recovery.
Sheriff Henry Coolidge was still alive, mostly, anyway. When she’d left him at the hospital, he’d been attached to more machines than she could count.
On scene, she’d helped the EMTs insert an endotracheal tube into his lungs to help him breathe. That tube had saved his life. Now, if he could just get off the ventilator, Henry might pull through and be able to see his grandkids again.
But Christa would never see anyone.
“I’m sorry,” Cadence whispered to her. Like Lily, Christa had given her hope, something she didn’t have much of. A victim who’d been saved, only to be gunned down in front of her.
The door squeaked open behind her. Cadence stiffened, wondering if it was the ME. There were other questions that she’d need to ask him.
“I know you don’t like the dead bodies”—Dani Burt
on’s voice was soft—“so want to tell me why I find you hiding in here with her?”
Cadence turned. “What are you doing here?”
She was so glad to see her friend. She had to blink a few times because the antiseptic made her eyes watery. Must have been the antiseptic. Great. Now she was even lying to herself. The case is getting to me. Seeing a familiar face, the face of someone who knew her so well, had Cadence feeling a rush of emotion.
Dani’s black hair was pulled back, secured at her nape, and her dark coffee-cream skin glowed, even under the horrible fluorescent lights. Dani was a beautiful woman. She was so pretty that people often underestimated just how smart she was.
Dani used that underestimation to her advantage, all the time.
“We’d just touched down in Paradox when we heard about what was happening over here.” Dani let the door close behind her as she approached Cadence. Dani’s dark gaze drifted to the victim. “How old was she?”
Cadence pulled in a steadying breath. Dani had said we’d just touched down. It meant the boss, Ben Griffin, must be there, too. Backup. With the way this case was going, she and Kyle needed more FBI agents in their hunt. “Twenty-nine.”
Dani’s lips thinned. “He just couldn’t let her go.”
“She knew him. The perp had been at her table, talking to her the night before.” Deputies were at the bar right then, questioning all of the waitresses, trying to get the names of any people who’d been there the night before. “She was going to talk with a sketch artist this morning.”
Dani shook her head as her gaze lingered on the sheet-covered figure of Christa Donaldson. “Doesn’t seem right, does it? She got away once. It should have been enough. Nobody should have to face a monster twice.” Her gaze came back to Cadence. “Some men just can’t let go.”
Some men were more monster than anything else.
“The roadblocks haven’t turned up anything,” Cadence said as she ran a tired hand over the back of her neck. “The car hasn’t been spotted again, but with all the woods and cabins in this part of the country, the guy could have just stashed the ride somewhere and taken another one.”
If he’d been smart, and she sure thought the killer was. He would have planned ahead. Had another vehicle waiting just in case he’d been spotted at Christa’s house.
Kyle did spot you. Spotted him, but had been unable to stop the perp.
“I’ll run a check,” Dani said with a decisive nod. “Get a listing of all the cabins and rentals in a thirty-mile radius of the crime scene. We can search them all.”
With Dani’s skills, they’d have the information yesterday.
Dani’s gaze drifted over Cadence. “You realize you have blood on you?”
Dried blood, staining her shirt. “It’s the sheriff’s.”
Dani’s eyes widened. “Just how close were you to the guy?”
Not close enough to protect him. “I worked up the profile on him. I should have realized how desperate he’d be if he knew a witness had seen him.”
“This woman’s death isn’t on you.”
“Isn’t it?”
She sure felt like it was.
Her gaze slid back to Christa. I’m sorry.
Before Cadence could say anything else, the door flew open again. A young deputy with flushed cheeks stood in the doorway. “Agent Hollow!” His voice cracked on her name. “W-we found someone else…”
Patrol cars were parked haphazardly in the old diner’s parking lot. Men in uniform rushed around the scene.
Cadence advanced slowly. This woman’s death isn’t on you. Dani’s words seemed to echo in her mind.
They weren’t just talking about one woman’s death any longer.
Cadence slipped behind the diner and saw the body.
Another victim.
The blonde was on the ground, her arms spread beside her. Fully dressed, except for one high-heeled shoe that had slipped off her foot.
The ME crouched beside her.
Cadence pulled on her gloves. She schooled her expression and bent near the victim. She could easily see the bruises on the woman’s throat. Carefully, she tilted the blonde’s head. More bruises were behind her ears.
“Her eyes are bloodred,” said Kathy Warren, the chief—okay, only—ME in Maverick. The young doctor was in her midthirties and had short black hair. Kathy lifted one of the woman’s eyelids so Cadence could see for herself.
She didn’t flinch at the sight of that blue eye stained red. Cadence had stopped flinching long ago. When the killer had been strangling the woman, blood had been forced into the sclera, the white portion of the eye. A classic sign of strangulation.
Cadence studied the body’s rigor. “She hasn’t been dead long.”
“No, she hasn’t,” the ME agreed softly, sadly.
Just a few hours. The killer had been denied Christa, so he’d chosen another victim.
“You weren’t what he was looking for,” Cadence whispered to the dead woman.
The ME glanced up, frowning.
Cadence turned away from the body. Strangulation. She could see the act so easily in her mind. A woman, screaming—and a man’s hard hands stopping those screams forever.
The perp had picked the wrong woman.
Cadence slid off her gloves and reached for her phone. Kyle needed to know what was happening. Because it sure looked like their killer was losing his control. He was breaking his own patterns.
Becoming even more dangerous.
No one at the bar remembered Christa’s regular customer. The bar had been dark, too crowded. The guy who’d sat in Christa’s booth hadn’t stood out to any of the staff.
A crime tech was dusting for prints at the table. Only the table had been washed down, and cleaned too fucking thoroughly, just after closing time.
Kyle shoved open the bar’s door. Stalked outside into the blinding sunlight.
The Dodge Charger had vanished. His witness was dead. The killer was still on the loose.
And he’s going to hunt again.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He yanked it out. “McKenzie.” The word growled with frustrated fury.
“We’ve got another body.” Cadence’s voice was soft where his had been snapping.
Another body.
“A blonde female was just found behind an abandoned diner.” She rattled off the address. Her voice sounded hollow. “Can you meet me there?”
“Is this his?” Their perp didn’t kill and dump a body so quickly.
He also hadn’t shot a victim, not until that morning. Not one we know about.
“She was a single woman, traveling alone, killed during the night when our killer was in the vicinity.” Voices murmured in the background. “Until I learn otherwise,” Cadence said, her words still soft and completely lacking emotion, “I’m thinking it’s him.”
He hadn’t seen Cadence, not since she’d raced away with the ambulance and the sheriff.
There’d been so much blood then.
“Cadence.” He walked away from the building, hunched his shoulders. “Are you okay?” Her voice worried him. Yeah, Cadence was controlled, but this was different. She’s too cold.
“I hadn’t felt hope in a long time,” she said, her words even softer now. So soft he had to strain in order to hear it. “It’s hard to find something, then to lose it immediately.” She cleared her throat. “I’m at the scene. Meet me here?”
“On the way.” On the fucking—
The line was dead.
He rushed for his vehicle. Another body. If the kill at the diner was his, then the perp could be breaking down. Losing control.
It would explain why he’d gone after Christa with his gun. The gun wasn’t his weapon of choice, so maybe he’d misfired. Hit the sheriff first, then finally managed to eliminate Christa.
A perp who lost control was sloppy. He’d leave evidence behind. Like the shoe print. Size twelve. Men’s. An uncontrolled perp would be easier to catch.
A man like
that was also much, much more dangerous. Unpredictable. The pattern of his kills could change.
There would be no dormant time for him, no cooling down between kills.
A bloodbath could be heading their way.
Kyle jumped into the vehicle. Punched the address in his GPS and hoped he wasn’t about to start following a trail of bodies.
Kyle stared down at the blonde as a tech took her picture, cataloging the scene behind the old diner.
The woman’s hair was blonde, falling just below her shoulders, and she was young. It looked like she’d been as young as Maria had been when his sister vanished.
Her hands were beside her, palm up.
She looked weak. Broken.
“Asphyxiation,” Cadence said as she stood behind him. “There’s petechial hemorrhaging in both eyes.”
He hadn’t seen the victim’s eyes. Hadn’t gotten close enough to touch her. “How long did it take for her to die?”
Cadence’s breath rasped out softly. “Her windpipe was crushed. She would have died within a few minutes.”
Strangulation was all about control. He’d worked a serial case hunting a strangler months before. Controlling the breath that your victim took could be the ultimate power trip.
They already knew their perp wanted power.
“If this is our guy, why didn’t he take her?” Why kill her and dump her so soon? That wasn’t his MO.
“There’s bruising on her hands.”
“She hit him?” Maybe there was DNA.
“Based on the pattern”—Cadence’s voice was thoughtful—“I think she was pounding on a hard surface.”
Like a trunk. “Pounding and screaming,” he muttered.
The screaming would explain the strangulation.
Cadence glanced at him. “If this is our guy, he would’ve been looking for a victim, been pissed because he lost Christa.”
“Your girl drove a red convertible,” Dani said as she walked toward them. She had a tablet in her hand, was scrolling through the information there. “It was just found, at a gas station about five miles away.”
“When my sister vanished, she was driving a red convertible.” Had the guy seen her, seen the car, and remembered?
“He took her,” Kyle said, certain now. “But she wasn’t what he wanted.” She hadn’t listened to his orders. He’d had to pick the girl too fast. Did that mean you didn’t have time to screen her? To see if she’d be good enough?