Profile of Terror: Book Two of Profile Series

by Alexa Grace

  Glancing at Devan, who was sitting on a folding chair and opening his laptop, he said, "What are you doing?"

  "What do you think I'm doing? I'm on the web looking for our next target."

  "There's no need for that. I have our next target," Evan stated evenly, and then braced himself for what he knew would be an argument of epic proportions.

  "What the fuck are you talking about?"

  "Kaitlyn Reece is our next target," Evan said as forcefully as he could.

  "No!" Devan shouted, his face reddening with anger. "We talked about this before."

  "No, you talked about it," Evan insisted.

  "What I say goes. Come over here and we'll find another target on Facebook."

  "No!" For the first time, Evan went against his brother's wishes. "The target is Kaitlyn Reece!"

  "What did you say to me?" Devan put the laptop aside, and rose from the chair, his fingers balled into fists.

  "Bring it on! I'm not a kid you can boss around anymore, Devan. I'm as big and strong as you are. I have a say, or I'm out."

  Surprised but still angry, Devan shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at his twin. "Why the hell are you so stuck on Kaitlyn Reece?"

  "She's dating Gabe Chase. What better way to stick it to the sheriff and the private investigator at the same time?"

  "Maybe . . ."

  "You heard Dad at dinner last night. People are asking for Sheriff Chase's resignation. They were already angry with him because Ryder was one of his deputies. Our killing Abby Reece and Destiny Cooke has sent them over the edge. One more murder, and he'll be lucky if they don't lynch him."

  "You've got a point. Maybe Kaitlyn Reece should be our next target."

  It was the first time his brother had ever backed down, and Evan was elated. "We've got six hours until curfew. Let's wait until dark, then let the stalking begin."

  Evan turned off the van's headlights as they neared Kaitlyn's house. He'd visited her house the day before in time to see a tow truck haul off Gabe's Dodge Ram, which was riddled with gunshots. The shattered windows of the house had already been replaced. There were no physical reminders of the night he shot at the house, but the memory and heady feeling of power would never be erased.

  Passing the house, he noted a light on in the front room, but there were no vehicles in the driveway. Was Kaitlyn at home?

  "That's her place?"

  "Right."

  "Where are you going?"

  "Up ahead is a dirt road that leads to a cornfield. It runs through a thicket of trees where we can hide the van."

  "How the hell do you know that?" Devan asked as he frowned at Evan.

  Evan just shrugged his shoulders, turned the vehicle onto the dirt road, and parked when he reached the wooded area.

  Leaning against the van, Evan pulled out an expensive pair of night vision binoculars.

  "No way. Are those Dad's?"

  "Yeah. So what?"

  "Do you want to get grounded for the rest of your life?"

  Ignoring his brother, Evan focused the binoculars on Kaitlyn's house. The curtains were closed, so nothing in the house's interior could be seen. Was she there?

  "Let's see if her car is parked in the garage." Evan flicked on his flashlight and headed toward the cornfield in back of the property.

  "What is that?" Devan asked, stopping his brother and pointing to something in some brush.

  "I don't see anything."

  "Give me the flashlight and I'll show you."

  Evan handed it to him, and watched Devan move toward the brush, as he pointed the beam of light toward the ground. Soon he picked up a small object, holding it between two fingers.

  "It's a bullet casing. Looks like the bullets Dad uses in his AK-47."

  Trying to divert his attention, Evan said, "C'mon. Let's see if her car is in the garage."

  "You lied to me."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. Are you going with me to check out the garage or not?"

  "You weren't shooting at rats the night you had Dad's AK-47. You were shooting at her house," Devan said, drilling his index finger into Evan's chest. "Have you completely lost every brain cell you ever had? How can you be so fucking stupid?"

  "I'm not stupid!" Evan slapped Devan's hand away from his chest.

  "After all the times you lectured me about forensics, quoting from all those investigation television shows you watch, you do this?"

  "You don't know what you're talking about."

  "This Kaitlyn bitch is dating Gabe Chase, right? You don't think he didn't call his brothers to get her house and this area checked out? Gee, depending on how many times you shot at her house, one of their CSI techs just might have found a bullet casing or two. What do you think, genius?"

  Chapter Ten

  Gabe flew along the Wabash River for miles, finding no sign of the Suburban or Ryder. With about an hour left of light, he searched the less-traveled country roads. The helicopter hovered over State Road 341 and then Gabe focused on the next two-lane side road called Monroe Road.

  "Hey, look!" Gabe pointed to a body of water below them. "There's Dead Man Quarry!"

  Below them a dozen or so people swam in the water, or were diving off the quarry's edge, dropping straight down into the aquamarine water.

  "Why is it called 'Dead Man' Quarry?" Carly asked.

  "One summer in the eighties, a college student dived into the old limestone quarry without checking the depth of the water first. Keep in mind, the depth changes based on how much rain we've gotten that particular year. Not much rain that year. He died instantly."

  "Hover over it," said Brody. "The quarry would be a good place to dump the Suburban."

  "We need divers, and Blake has a whole team of them," said Carly.

  "Good idea. Please call Tim Brennan to see if he can loan them to us."

  Gabe directed the helicopter further down Monroe Road until the roof of a large house with several out-buildings came into view.

  "What's that place?" Carly asked. "It's practically hidden by trees."

  "That's the Smith-Cedar House," said Kaitlyn. "It's a historic house that the county wants to buy. I heard about it from a friend of mine who is a librarian and historian."

  "Does anyone live there?" asked Carly.

  Kaitlyn shook her head. "Not for a long time. It was built in the early 1800s. It used to be a stopping place for runaway slaves. The Smith family provided them food and shelter."

  Carly asked Gabe to circle the property, then said, "Look at all of the tall red cedar trees. I bet the house is difficult to see from the road. It's the perfect place for Ryder to hide."

  "Maybe," said Brody, obviously discounting the idea. "But considering there are hundreds of empty, foreclosed homes in this area, I don't think it's very likely. But I'll have someone check it out."

  Brody's cell phone sounded. Looking at the display, he noted the caller was Lane Hansen.

  "Lane. I was just going to call you."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "You undoubtedly heard that Ryder escaped. I wonder if you and your dog, Hunter, could help us search for him."

  "I'd be glad to do that any day but today. My beautiful wife just gave birth to an eight pound, three ounce baby boy."

  "Congratulations!" Brody said. "How is she doing? How's the baby?"

  "Both parties are doing fine. We're naming him Tim after Sheriff Brennan, Frankie's uncle. His middle name is Lane."

  "Thanks for calling. We could use good news like this today. Can't wait to see the new member of your family."

  Brody ended the call and beamed at Carly. "Guess who had a baby?"

  Carly applauded. "Did Frankie have a boy? She was convinced she was carrying a boy!"

  Brody smiled and nodded.

  "Frankie Douglas-Hansen?" Kaitlyn asked Carly.

  "Yes, do you know her?"

  "Frankie has been my hero and role model since I took her self-defense class. She was in her first trimester during our class, a
nd said she and Lane were hoping for a little boy. I'm so happy for her."

  Carly's cell phone vibrated in her pocket. An unfamiliar number popped up on the display.

  "Hello."

  "So you're alive after all."

  "Ryder?" Carly asked, as Brody whipped around in his seat.

  "I can't say I'm happy to hear you made it. Such a pity. But that's okay. I like setting goals. And snuffing out your life is a great goal for me to work toward. Believe me, Special Agent Stone. I'll get you. I dream about torturing and raping you. After that, you die, bitch."

  <><><>

  Carly waited outside the elementary school where Kaitlyn taught. Driving one of the Shawnee County Sheriff vehicles, she parked in the lane where parents picked up their kids. A caravan of yellow school buses headed out, and she scanned the area for the white van they suspect the Gamers were driving, but didn't see one.

  Weeks had gone by, and both Sam and Sean had been released from the hospital. Sean was taking some time off to spend with his pregnant wife, who was hysterical when she'd learned he'd been shot. There were rumors that he might leave his job. Special Agent in Charge Sam Isley was back at work at his headquarters in Indianapolis.

  Jim Ryder remained free. Along with the sheriff's deputies, the FBI and U.S. Marshals searched for him without success. There was no sign of Ryder, and many speculated he'd left the state, or maybe even the country. In an episode of America's Most Wanted, John Walsh featured Ryder's crimes and escape. With this many law enforcement agencies hunting him, how could he not be found?

  Carly wanted him caught before he killed again. It was only a matter of time. Serial killers didn't stop killing until they were caught or they died.

  Even though deputies had found nothing when they searched the house, Carly hadn't given up the idea of Ryder using the old Smith-Cedar House on Monroe Road as a hideaway. Kaitlyn met with Constance Willoughby, the county librarian and historian, who had done the most research on the house.

  Carly's passenger door opened, and a dark-haired woman slid onto the seat.

  "Kaitlyn? I don't believe it. I didn't even recognize you in that wig."

  "Sorry I'm a little late. I like to walk out with the kids as they head for their buses, so I can blend in a little."

  "Good idea. Did you contact your friend at the library?"

  "Yes, Mrs. Willoughby gave me a key to the house, a floor plan, and a copy of the land survey."

  "Excellent!"

  Kaitlyn adjusted her seatbelt and put her briefcase on the floorboard. "She told me there have been rumors for years that there are places in or beneath the house or in the surrounding woods where fugitive slaves hid. The historic society has never found any evidence of that, though."

  "Those are the kind of places I'm interested in, areas where Ryder could hide."

  "How would Jim Ryder even know about the Smith-Cedar house?"

  "I checked with Cam. Ryder patrolled Shawnee County for years as a deputy. It's very unlikely he would not know where the Smith-Cedar House is."

  "Well, good. I hope he's there and we nab him."

  Carly checked the rearview mirror to see if they were being followed. The nearest car was at least a half-mile away. "Kaitlyn, I'm not sure I'm comfortable taking you with me. What if Ryder is hiding there? You're in enough danger from the Gamers. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you."

  Kaitlyn reached for her briefcase, and then pulled out a mean-looking handgun. "I think Ryder is in more danger from me. After all, I was trained by Frankie Douglas-Hansen."

  Carly took a quick breath of utter astonishment. "Don't underestimate Jim Ryder. I was there when he shot two federal agents and a county sheriff. He is very dangerous."

  "There's no need to worry about me. I've been a regular at the sheriff's gun range since Frankie's class. I'm proficient at shooting a handgun, like this Glock G42, and a shotgun. I have a Remington 1100 gas-operated 12 gauge semi-automatic shotgun at home. I really like it. It has a softer kick than most shotguns." She paused for a moment to return her handgun to her briefcase. "I'm a very good shot, if I say so myself. I've got your back, Carly."

  "Okay, I'm convinced. Just one more question. Does Gabe know what we're doing?"

  Kaitlyn answered her question with a question. "Does Brody?"

  "Not so much."

  "Let's just say, Gabe might have the idea that we're having a meeting with Mrs. Willoughby, renowned county historian, at the public library."

  "Kaitlyn, you're too much," said Carly, smiling as she donned her sunglasses. "You realize Gabe is going to have my head for taking you with me today."

  "I won't let him. Besides I'm insisting you take me along. I have cabin fever big-time. In addition, I need some girlfriend time."

  "Oh, yeah?"

  "Carly, may I ask you a personal question?"

  Carly tilted her brow, looking at her uncertainly. "I think so, as long as I have the option of asking you to put it in the vault. In other words, tell no one my answer."

  "That goes without saying. What you told me about your friend, Amy, is still in the vault, and will never come out."

  Carly turned the vehicle onto U.S. Route 136 and headed east. "Ask away."

  "Have you ever been married?"

  "No," answered Carly, clearly surprised by the question. "What about you?"

  "I came very close to getting married."

  "Why didn't you?"

  "My groom impregnated one of my bridesmaids. Finding that out at the rehearsal dinner put a real damper on the ceremony."

  Giving her passenger a sidelong glance of empathy, Carly said, "I'm sorry, Kaitlyn."

  "Don't be. I can honestly say I'm no longer sorry Mitch and I didn't work out."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "If I'd married Mitch, I wouldn't have found Gabe." Kaitlyn wore a contented and happy expression on her face.

  "Do you love him?"

  "For longer than you would ever imagine."

  Thirty minutes later, Carly parked alongside the old Smith-Cedar house and got out of the vehicle, as did Kaitlyn, who said, "The smell of fresh cedar in the air from these trees is incredible."

  With the key to the house in her hand, Carly approached the front, with Kaitlyn close behind her. Reaching the front door, she withdrew her handgun and whispered, "Kaitlyn, keep your weapon pointed to the floor, and don't shoot unless we're in danger, and you absolutely have Ryder in your sight."

  Kaitlyn nodded, pointing her Glock down and focusing on the front door as Carly turned the key in the lock.

  Carly twisted the door handle to swing the door open. Scanning the entryway, she nodded to Kaitlyn, and moved inside. "Stay here while I clear the downstairs first, then we'll go upstairs."

  Carly methodically cleared each of the rooms, then returned to the front entrance of the house. Motioning for Kaitlyn to follow her, they climbed the old stairs to the floor above them. Once they reached the top, Kaitlyn waited for Carly to return after she cleared the rooms on that level.

  "All clear," said Carly, as she raced down the stairs.

  <><><>

  Jim Ryder busied himself with conducting an inventory in one of the larger rooms that jutted off the tunnel. It was a place he affectionately referred to as "Carly's Room". It was here that Special Agent Stone would feel the slash of his whip across her body as she cried out for mercy. Mercy that he would never deliver. Not if his life depended on it.

  Two large dog crates with padlocks were placed against the far wall. Next to them were a couple of plastic bins filled with handcuffs, men's belts, dog collars, two whips, a video camera, a folding tripod, and a couple of bondage and torture magazines he'd moved to his underground hideaway years before.

  He admired the leather straps hanging from the ceiling. His penis throbbed with excitement as he imagined a naked Carly Stone dangling from her wrists as he snapped his whip again and again, ignoring her screams and cries for help.

  He assembled t
he tripod and then fastened on the video camera. Rubbing his erection with his hand, he visualized beating and raping her again and again on the dirt floor. She'd come to realize his power over her. Carly would call him "Master."