by Alana Terry
This couldn’t be happening again. It just couldn’t. Terror had gripped this community three years ago, and people were just now beginning to recover.
Quinn talked on the phone to someone as they hurried to his car. His gaze wandered around them, as if he was searching for the killer. Maybe he was.
A shiver crawled up Samantha’s spine, a quake that turned into a quiver that wouldn’t recede.
As before, Agent Quinn tucked her into the car before climbing in himself. He hung up and turned to her, his face grim and serious. “You’ve been cleared; you can come with me. You’re right. Maybe it will help you remember.”
“I can only hope.”
He stared at her another minute, still not starting the car. “But I’ve got to warn you, Samantha, that this could set off some PTSD. I need you to know what you’re getting into.”
The fist in her stomach squeezed tighter. “I know. But . . . I’m prepared to live with that.”
Samantha said little as he pulled away from the familiar streets of downtown and sped toward the country roads beyond it. Try as she might, she really couldn’t prepare herself for this.
She’d secretly hoped the killer had died. Maybe that was why he hadn’t struck in so many years. Maybe something had physically stopped him—maybe God had stopped him through cancer or a car accident. What else would explain his absence?
Or maybe that had all been wishful thinking. Maybe the man had been out there lurking all these years, trying to resist his impulses but unable to. What had set him off now?
She stared out the window. A light layer of snow tinged everything in white—much like the day she’d been abducted. Only there’d been black ice also.
They traveled into the heart of the mountains. The road was just as lonesome as she’d imagined it would be. The narrow stretch was steep, surrounded by woods and jagged cliffs. There was barely a shoulder. And there wasn’t a house in sight.
Finally, Agent Quinn pulled up behind several other sedans and police cruisers.
Samantha’s heart pounded in her ears. This felt surreal, like a nightmare she’d wake up from. But this was really happening. Again.
Quinn kept a hand on her elbow as they walked toward the police cars. He flashed his badge, and they ducked under the police line. Frost waited in the distance, talking to a local officer.
The entire road had been closed. But she saw the blue sedan in the distance, and she instinctively knew it belonged to the victim. Her heart squeezed again as she imagined what the woman might be going through.
Waking up. In a shack. Bound. Unable to see. Feeling overwhelming fear that squeezed her throat until she felt lightheaded.
Had the woman had any clue as to what was happening when she pulled off on the road’s shoulder? Maybe if she’d been in the area three years ago. But someone new to this place wouldn’t necessarily know. Wouldn’t have felt that familiar fear that the headlines had induced. No one in the area had felt safe for years now.
No one had wanted to ride in their cars alone or at night or on lonely roads. Car pools had been set up. Guns had been purchased.
Samantha had bought a gun, but it had done no good.
She’d hit her head when she wrecked, and didn’t remember anything until the time she woke up in the strange cabin.
Samantha’s stomach clenched again as they approached Frost. His eyes narrowed when he saw her, but he said nothing. And that was probably only because Quinn was with her. Frost was on his best behavior for the time being.
A steady smatter of icy snow continued to fall around them. The weather seemed to match her mood—chilled, bleak, promising hardship. The wind blew away any hope of safety or peace. The slick road hinted of danger, that one move could end in injury—or worse.
“What do you know?” Quinn said, bristling with every step closer to Frost.
Samantha could sense it. Quinn didn’t like the man either. He scored major points for that.
Frost looked at his notepad. “Our victim left work at the hospital last night around midnight. She’s single and lives about three miles from here. It looks like someone messed with her muffler. From all appearances, she pulled over when she began having car problems. She was supposed to meet a friend for lunch and never showed. A trooper came across this vehicle only an hour ago.”
Samantha fought to remain in control. Everything inside her wanted to fall apart. To be swept back in time. Her heart hammered in her ears.
This nightmare couldn’t be starting again.
“Name?” Quinn asked.
Frost looked at his notepad again. “Mandy Morrison.”
Samantha gasped, and both men turned toward her.
“I know her,” she whispered, the woman’s image filling her thoughts. “I know Mandy Morrison.”
QUINN TOOK ONE LOOK at Samantha’s pallor and grabbed her elbow before she passed out. She wobbled but steadied herself.
He exchanged a look with Frost at Samantha’s revelation. Quinn hadn’t expected the connections to come so quickly, so easily. Yet there it was, begging for attention.
“How do you know Mandy?” Quinn asked once some of the dazed look faded from her eyes.
Samantha squeezed the skin between her eyes, her breathing still labored. But she finally drew in a shaky breath and raised her head. “I worked with her as a victim advocate. She was in an abusive marriage, and she left her husband. I was helping her through the process.”
Helping others seemed like a respectable career and life choice for Samantha, Quinn thought. Better than getting buried in fear and paranoia. Wasn’t that the same reason he’d become an FBI agent? To somehow find justice in a world that had been so unjust to him?
Frost frowned and his aloof gaze seemed to sear into Samantha. “What else do you know about her?”
Samantha drew in another shaky breath and released it in an icy puff. “She moved here from Pennsylvania around two years ago. She doesn’t have kids. She’s recently divorced, likes to whitewater raft, and . . . I don’t know what else to say. She’s a really sweet woman.”
“When did you meet with her last?” Quinn asked.
“Two days ago.” She swallowed hard. “She didn’t share anything new. In fact, she seemed happy and ready to move on. She’d even gone on a couple of dates since her divorce has been finalized.”
Quinn shifted, processing this new information. “You didn’t know any of the other victims, did you?”
“I knew two,” Samantha said. “They weren’t friends or anything. But this is a small town. One woman, Sarah Storm, went to high school with me. She was a couple of years older. Another woman, Trixie Smith, worked with me at the law firm when I first started there.”
“Law firm?” Quinn tried to recall the notes he’d read on Samantha. He didn’t remember that.
Samantha nodded. “I was a paralegal before . . .”
She didn’t need to finish.
“That’s right.” Quinn turned toward the road. “We can safely assume that he didn’t take his victim through the woods. He used a stun gun on most of them and most likely put them in his trunk—based on the tire tracks at other scenes. Then he took them to a location we’ve never been able to pinpoint.”
She shivered. “All I remember is that it seemed like a shack in the middle of nowhere. I couldn’t hear traffic or neighbors or even a creek. Just quiet.”
“Nothing about it seemed familiar?” That familiar edge of skepticism in Frost’s voice.
Samantha visibly bristled. “No, nothing.”
“No evidence of other women being kept there?” he continued.
She shook her head back and forth more adamantly. “Not that I could tell, but I had a sack over my head—in case you haven’t read my file or asked me this a million times already.”
Quinn gave the man a warning glance. If this behavior continued, he would report Frost. It was uncalled for.
He’d have to think about that later. Right now, they had other matters to at
tend to.
“We need to track down Mandy’s ex-husband—he should be the first person we look at,” Quinn said.
“Not the serial killer?” Samantha blinked in confusion.
“Her ex could have staged things to make this look like the Grim Wrecker,” Quinn said. “We always look at spouses first, as a general rule. We need to put together a timeline for Mandy and figure out who saw her last.”
“I’ll look into her ex-husband,” Frost said, pulling out his phone as he walked away.
“I’ll start on the timeline,” another agent said.
At that moment, Samantha’s cell rang. A wrinkle formed between her eyes as she stepped away and put the device to her ear.
When her face paled, Quinn knew something was wrong.
Again.
Chapter 7
IT WAS HIM ON THE OTHER line. The Grim Wrecker.
Samantha was certain of it.
Even though there were no words coming through the speaker, only heavy breathing, her gut told her the killer had called her. Had reached out. Again.
Quinn rushed toward her and put his ear next to hers. The scent of his piney cologne brought her a brief moment of comfort and strength.
This was a pivotal moment. Deep in her bones, Samantha could feel it as surely as she felt the sharp wind through her jacket.
“Who is this?” she asked softly, her gaze fixated on the woods.
The person on the other end just breathed. Heavy. Long. Wordless.
Dear Lord, I need Your guidance now. Please. I beg You.
“It’s you, isn’t it? The man who . . .” She considered her words, trying to choose them carefully. She licked her lips, which suddenly felt chapped and unbearably dry. “You’re the man who let me go.”
The breathing stopped for a minute until all she heard was the buzz in her ears.
“Thank you for doing that,” she continued, praying she was doing the right thing. A whole team of agents had gathered around her to listen, but she ignored them. “For letting me go. You can do it again, you know. This doesn’t have to end like the others did. You can let Mandy go.”
The heavy breathing starting again, the sound sending another round of shivers up and down her spine. She recognized the sound. Remembered it. If she closed her eyes, she went back there again. On the couch. Feeling the man’s presence nearby. Feeling him as he watched her. Hearing him breathe.
Quinn nodded beside her, motioning for her to keep the conversation going.
“You can turn this around.” She knew she had to use every moment while she had his attention. She couldn’t squander this opportunity. But the pressure between her shoulders felt like a boulder of ice had been placed there. “Your impulses don’t control you. You make the decisions about everything you do.”
The breathing continued, faster now, as if he was getting anxious.
“Let her go.” Samantha’s voice was pleading and soft. She had to reach him. She had to. “Please.”
The inhalations came even faster.
Then she heard a click.
The line went dead.
And, as reality hit her, everything spun around her in a blur of white.
QUINN SWOOPED FORWARD and caught Samantha’s limp body before she hit the asphalt. He lowered her onto the barricaded road and gently slipped his arms from beneath her lithe figure.
“Someone get her some water,” he ordered. “And get a trace on that number.”
Quinn doubted they’d be able to track down the location of the caller, but he had to at least try. They had to pursue every lead possible. This guy had to be stopped before he harmed anyone else.
An agent grabbed Samantha’s phone and hurried off.
“We need a paramedic over here,” he called.
He looked down at Samantha’s picture-perfect face—even with her slack, unware features. His heart went out to her. Maybe bringing Samantha here wasn’t a good idea. He wanted to protect her, but he wasn’t sure he could.
One of the paramedics rushed over from a nearby ambulance and placed a hand on her forehead to stabilize her. Frost and another agent, Marks, rushed over also.
“It’s Samantha,” the paramedic muttered. “I didn’t know she was here.”
“You know her?” Quinn asked, glancing at the twenty-something man with dark hair as he lowered his head toward hers, listening for her breathing.
“We went to high school together,” he said. “I’m Aaron. She’s still breathing normally and her pulse is strong.”
“It must have been the shock of all this,” Quinn said. “I caught her before she hit the ground, so the fall shouldn’t have injured her.”
Just then, Samantha’s eyes fluttered open.
“What . . .?” She pushed herself up on the palms of her hands and raked a hand through her thick hair, her eyes narrowed with confusion.
“You just passed out,” Aaron said. “You should lie down. We’ll get you a blanket and some oxygen. How do you feel?”
“I’m . . . I’m fine. Don’t waste your resources on me. Please.” She turned back to Quinn. “Were you able to trace the caller?”
Quinn shook his head. “No, not yet. It’s a long shot, but someone is working on it.”
He helped her to her feet, and she stood there in silence for a minute, as if getting her balance.
Aaron nodded at him and stepped back, indicating that she should be okay. Quinn appreciated that the man was giving them a moment of privacy. Every minute mattered right now.
“He called.” Samantha’s eyes, full of depths of fear and exhaustion, met his. She’d probably thought it was a nightmare and felt a jolt when she realized it wasn’t.
“I know. You did a good job speaking with him.”
She rubbed her forehead, her gaze still a jumbled mass of emotions. Propping her hip against his sedan, she drew in a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to do—if I should yell at him or try to appeal to him.”
“I think you made a wise choice.”
Her uncertainty was evident in her gaze. “I want to help you find him.”
As Samantha’s words hit his ears, everything in Quinn rebelled. He’d seen the effect of stress on her, and he didn’t want to put her through this any more than necessary. This was a lot for anyone to handle. “I’m not sure you’re ready for that.”
Fire lit in her gaze. “I can be. This is the second time this psycho has reached out to me. If he does it again . . .”
“Maybe we can track him down,” he finished.
She nodded. “Exactly.”
He rubbed his jaw, the moisture from a snowflake melting on his skin. Having her along would only make things more complicated. But Samantha could also add a lot more insight to this than the average person.
“Let me talk to my boss back in DC,” he finally said. “Until then, I need to take you somewhere to rest.”
“But—”
He cut her off. “You can’t help without approval, Samantha. And I think you need to rest for a while. Is there someone you can stay with?”
She frowned but didn’t argue. “My friend Elise.”
“I can take you there. We’re going to station one of our agents outside the home, just to be safe.”
She nodded again. “Okay.”
He paused and gripped her arm, wishing he could tell her everything would be okay. But he couldn’t make that assurance. Instead, he said, “Samantha, we’re going to get through this.”
And one way or another, they would.
Chapter 8
JUST AS PROMISED, QUINN escorted Samantha to Elise’s house. It was located only fifteen minutes away, in an older subdivision full of small bungalows.
Samantha’s head spun on the drive there as she remembered everything, as memories rushed back. As threats of yesterday pulled at the present.
“Do you mind if I check things out first?” he asked once they were inside.
“Of course not.” She glanced at her friend. “Elise?”
> Her friend shrugged. “Go right ahead.”
Samantha watched as he went from room to room. As he checked each window and door. Finally, he returned to them at the entryway where they’d huddled.
“Everything is clear,” he said. “But here’s my card. Program my number on your cell phone, just in case you need me for anything.”
“I will.”
Quinn stared at her another moment before finally saying, “Otherwise, I’ll check in with you tomorrow.”
She didn’t want him to leave. She felt better when he was around. But she knew he had work to do and that he couldn’t dedicate his time to keeping her safe.
As soon as he was gone and the door was closed, Elise pulled her into a hug.
“I’m so sorry, Samantha,” she muttered. “I can’t believe this.”
Samantha nodded almost stoically. The truth of this still hadn’t quite hit her. As she pulled away from her friend’s embrace, she drew in a deep breath. Her friend’s cute little bungalow had always been comforting.
There was something about the familiar scent of apples and honey that soothed her. Flames danced from a couple of nearby candles. The burn on the wick there was small and simple enough to be comforting—unlike that in a fireplace might be. Her revulsion toward fires was a remnant of her time in captivity, she supposed.
Elise and Samantha had been friends since elementary school when they’d been assigned to sit next to each other in Mrs. Pendleton’s class. They’d been inseparable since then. Today, Elise worked as a dental hygienist. She was divorced—her marriage had only lasted six months, and she’d vowed to remain single for the rest of her life. It had given the two friends a lot of bonding time.
Samantha sat on a wingback chair—more like collapsed there—still reeling from today’s events. “I can’t believe all of this has started again either. Have people heard?”
Elise nodded grimly. “Everyone is talking about it. I’ve already had five phone calls from people warning me not to go anywhere alone.”
That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. People should be cautious. Maybe prudence could save a life.