Winter's Ghost

by Mary Stone

  The first time they raised their drinks for a toast, Noah had burst into laughter, and Autumn followed suit in short order.

  When they touched their cups and glasses together for the second time, Winter thought that Autumn or Noah might spit out their champagne as they took the first drink. They held themselves together, but then it was Winter’s turn to succumb to a giggling fit. The sight of Noah’s amused smile was such a relief from the past twenty-four hours that she hardly knew what to do with her giddiness.

  Giddy. Her. Winter Black.

  It still amazed her that she could feel anything other than the oppressive darkness that had pressed on her shoulders for so long.

  The ghost of her brother.

  And now, the ghost of the man who had haunted her every waking hour for years.

  No, she said to herself. Don’t think of either of them right now.

  There were still shadows of uncertainty that threatened to engulf her in darkness, but that night, surrounded by the laughter of her friends, she felt for the first time that everything might pan out.

  She still wasn’t sure what “everything” entailed, but based on the pitter-patter in her chest whenever her eyes met Noah’s, she could safely say it involved him.

  No matter what her future held, she wanted it to involve him. As a friend or more, she wanted him there.

  She didn’t know what that meant for her relationship with Aiden, but tonight wasn’t the time to deal with those lingering doubts. The lighthearted atmosphere in Autumn’s apartment was a much-needed reprieve from the stress and tension that had abounded in the FBI office over the last few days.

  Ever since Tyler Haldane was shot and killed, they’d been in a race against the clock. As each hour, each minute ticked by, more speculation about the nature of Haldane’s death circulated throughout national and international news networks.

  Was Tyler Haldane’s death just the start? Would others around the United States take the killer’s lead and execute other mass murderers?

  The country’s political climate was strained almost to its breaking point, and there was no shortage of those who clung to and sensationalized Haldane’s death to capture the attention of their audience.

  But that night, neither Tyler Haldane nor Kent Strickland were mentioned, not even in passing.

  When Winter and Noah presented their joint graduation gift, Autumn wrapped them each in a bear hug. Shelby and Bree’s present was an unassuming envelope, inside of which was a gift card to a department store Shelby swore by.

  “It’s for two hundred and fifty,” Shelby said with a wide smile. “Figured you could use a little boost to help with the wardrobe changes you’ll have to make after you get this job.”

  Autumn’s eyes widened, and Shelby’s grin only brightened.

  “Oh my god,” Autumn managed, tears causing her eyes to gleam. “Well, now I guess I really have to nail that interview tomorrow, huh?”

  Shelby waved a dismissive hand. “That was a given.”

  “Okay, well,” Autumn laughed. “We’re going to have to have another one of these get-togethers again soon so I can thank you all for these awesome gifts. I’ll show off all my new clothes and make us a bunch of food in this super sweet stand mixer.”

  “You could make a German chocolate cake,” Winter suggested with a grin.

  “I could, and I will. We’ll have cake for dinner, as long as everyone’s okay with that.”

  “I could eat cake for every meal of the day,” Bree put in, rubbing her belly for emphasis.

  “I’ll make each of you your own cake.” Autumn’s eyes seemed brighter as she glanced to each of them. “Winter gets a German chocolate cake, obviously. Noah, what’s your favorite flavor?”

  The smile on Winter’s lips didn’t waver as she looked to where Noah sat at her side. When his eyes met hers, a mirror of her warm expression made its way to his face.

  “Pineapple upside down,” he answered. “Unless we’re counting cheesecake, then cheesecake. Doesn’t matter what kind, just cheesecake.”

  “Everyone loves cheesecake,” Winter agreed. “But we’ve got to give regular cake its credit. It’s still delicious.”

  “You’re not wrong.” Autumn knelt down to scoop up the fluffy little dog with the underbite. “Even Toad likes cheesecake. And speaking of, I should take him out. You guys think you can hold down the fort while we’re gone?”

  “I’ll go with you.” Winter pushed to her feet. “You guys all sort through your opinions on cake, all right?”

  With a snort of laughter, Noah nodded.

  After Autumn clipped the retractable leash to Toad’s collar and grabbed a plastic baggie, she and Winter set out into the balmy evening.

  The persistent dampness of humidity still hung in the air, but with the slight breeze came the first hints of the changing seasons. In a month, there would be Halloween candy in stores, people would have hung up their pumpkin decorations, and pumpkin spice everything would be available in coffee shops and restaurants alike.

  Even if the change in weather wasn’t as dramatic as it had been in Albany, Winter still looked forward to the shift. As much as she liked the warmth and sunshine of the summer months, by the end of August, she was ready for a new season.

  And this year was already different.

  This year would be the first seasonal shift where The Preacher, where Kilroy, wasn’t front and center in her mind.

  She was glad the man was dead, but what did that mean for her future plans? After all, the entire reason she was here was because of Douglas Kilroy.

  Without him, where did that leave her?

  It leaves me as an FBI agent with plenty of other scumbags to put away, she reminded herself. Before the uncertainty took over, she decided it was time to change her train of thought.

  “Hey.” She glanced over to Autumn.

  “Yeah?” Autumn asked as she met Winter’s curious gaze.

  “I don’t think I got a chance to ask you about it, but how did that, that thing with Aiden go?”

  Even as she posed the query, Winter wasn’t sure what had sparked her curiosity. What puzzled her even more was her sudden hope that Autumn’s face would brighten as she regaled her and Aiden’s renewed friendship.

  Then it dawned on her.

  She wanted her old friend to have an interest in Autumn so he wouldn’t be hurt or angered when he discovered that Winter was getting over her teenage crush and hero worship of him.

  Even though she’d known Aiden for thirteen years, she couldn’t honestly say she knew his “type.” Hell, she didn’t even know if he had a type. But regardless of the host of question marks, she suspected that a woman with a doctoral degree in forensic psychology ought to be right up his alley. Winter had never played matchmaker before, but she thought she ought to brush up on the skill set.

  Autumn shrugged as Winter pulled herself away from the moment of contemplation.

  “It was fine,” she answered. “He wasn’t a dick, so I guess that’s progress. He sent me a text this afternoon to say congrats, but I still don’t think I’d call us friends. Besides, something tells me I’m not quite the right type of person to be friends with that guy.”

  Furrowing her brows, Winter looked over to Autumn. “What do you mean?”

  “He’s too…” she paused to wave her hand as she searched for the term, “polished, I guess. Put together. It’s like he’s got all his shit together, and I most definitely don’t. I tried to date a guy like that, and I guess it went all right for four years, but then it crashed and burned like a Michael Bay explosion. So, based on that, I’d say it probably extends to friendships too.”

  As the next thought popped into her mind, Winter could hardly suppress a chortle. “You think you’d be a bad influence on Aiden if you guys were friends?”

  The corners of Autumn’s eyes creased as her lips parted in a grin. “You know what, yeah. We’ll go with that.”

  Toad trotted from a patch of grass to the sidewalk
, and Winter and Autumn took their cue to return to the apartment building.

  “How about that whole Nico Culetti thing?” Winter asked as she pulled open the heavy glass door.

  “Haven’t seen anyone creeping around here, and believe me, I’ve been looking. I’m hoping that the mob looks at failed hits like that the same way you’d look at a failed business venture. Hopefully, they’re pissed at whoever hired Nico, and not so much at me for, well, you know. For actually killing him.”

  “If there isn’t any money in it for them, I doubt they’d come all the way down here from D.C. just to put themselves on the FBI’s radar by antagonizing someone who was under the bureau’s protection.”

  Thoughts of both Nico Culetti and Aiden Parrish were abandoned as Winter and Autumn made their way inside and joined their friends around the stone surfaced coffee table.

  They resumed the discussion about cake, and Winter learned that Bree’s favorite flavor was lemon while Shelby’s was red velvet.

  When eleven o’clock rolled around, Shelby and Bree bade them farewell. Bree proclaimed her role as designated driver, and Winter realized that neither she nor Noah had taken on the responsibility. No one was flat-out drunk, but based on the overall air of chattiness, no one was sober, either.

  By the time they decided to take an Uber back to their shared apartment complex, it was almost midnight.

  For the duration of the trip, Winter contemplated whether or not to bring up her idea to try to set Autumn up with Aiden. She knew Noah wasn’t a fan of the man, but she also suspected that he viewed Aiden as a sort of competition. Whether that competition was driven by friendship or something more, she was less sure.

  If his concern was based in friendship—if he thought Aiden was a bad person and worried he might hurt her somehow—then Winter didn’t want to broach the subject. But if the concern had more to do with jealousy, then a casual mention of her plan to set Aiden up with someone else would be a source of relief for Noah.

  Despite the weightless sensation of the alcohol’s buzz, she couldn’t summon up the fortitude to broach the subject by the time their driver pulled up to their building.

  As they stepped out of the sedan and waved goodbye to the young man, Winter was overcome with a sudden bout of nervousness. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears, and she licked her lips against the sudden dryness in her mouth.

  The night air was still, and in the late hour, no other residents of the complex milled about the area. In that moment, she was pointedly aware of how alone she and Noah were.

  She wanted to say something charming and complimentary, but as the seconds of silence passed, she couldn’t put together a string of words that sounded more compelling than what a third grader might say to their crush.

  When his green eyes flicked over to hers, she abandoned the effort altogether.

  Would this be the last time they had a moment like this?

  Life was chaos, and who knew where they’d be a week from now. Maybe he’d meet the woman of his dreams on a trip to the grocery store, or maybe he’d decide to request a transfer to Dallas or Houston—some city closer to his family. Maybe an old flame would surface, and Winter would be all but forgotten.

  The thought made her stomach drop, and she was sure the mental image spurred on her next question. “Do you want to have another beer and maybe watch an episode of Game of Thrones?” she asked before she lost her nerve.

  As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to vacuum them back up. He was smart and observant, and more than that, he knew her better than almost anyone. If he didn’t pick up on the real nature of her query, she would have been more than surprised.

  But they had been here before, hadn’t they?

  Not long after she first moved to the apartment, they’d gone out to a bar together for a long night of drinking. When they got back to the door of her home—the same spot where they now stood—they had both been three sheets to the wind. She had made the same offer then, and months later, she still felt like a jackass.

  There was a wistful tinge in his smile as he shook his head. “I don’t think that’d be a great idea, darlin’. It’s past midnight now, and we’ve got work tomorrow bright and early. I don’t need to be hungover while we work on this dumpster fire of a case, you know?”

  “Right,” she agreed quickly. “Yeah, good point. As long as I drink a bunch of water right now, I don’t think I’ll be hungover tomorrow. But you’re right, if I keep drinking, I probably will be.”

  “Exactly.” He grinned as he tapped his temple. “See, you can drink on a work night, you’ve just got to be a little smart about it.”

  Winter liked to think she knew Noah as well as he knew her, and she was confident that the hangover to which he referred wasn’t an actual hangover.

  Shit.

  Even as she offered him a smile and a departing hug, she knew she wouldn’t sleep well that night.

  She’d toss and turn as she tried desperately to think of a way to curb the awkwardness she knew loomed on the horizon.

  Ben Ormund and Mitch Stockley shared so much common ground that I was almost surprised to learn they were two different people.

  The men looked nothing alike, but they shared the same predatory characteristics: they preyed on young, vulnerable women. Ormund and Stockley both stalked their victims on college campuses before they lured them into a vehicle to abduct and sexually assault them. Where Stockley had used his profession in real estate to attend seminars and scope out future victims, the college campus was Ben Ormund’s home turf.

  Once upon a time, Ormund had been a counselor. Allegations of sexual misconduct with clients led to the revocation of his license to practice, but no criminal charges were ever pressed.

  As best as I could tell, Ormund had used a few of his connections in the world of psychiatry to sweep the entire debacle under the figurative rug.

  When he returned to Christopher Newport University as a faculty member in the psychology department, it was like nothing had ever happened.

  After a couple years as a professor, Ormund made even more money than he had as a private counselor. And now, twenty years and countless victims later, I watched him flick off the light in the foyer before he strode into the kitchen.

  The miserable son of a bitch lived by himself in the house, and his property was all alone on a plot of land near a rocky portion of the coast.

  I’d been inside a few times, and as much as I hated Ben Ormund’s existence, I could admit that the interior was tasteful. But I was also sure Ormund hadn’t been responsible for the modern décor.

  The east side of the house was comprised mostly of glass to showcase its unique, modern architecture. Apparently, Ormund didn’t think he had much to worry about in terms of security.

  Maybe the glass was sturdy, but I doubted it was made well enough to withstand a .338 Lapua Magnum.

  Huddled in a rocky outcropping a couple hundred yards from the expensive house, I peered through the lens of the long-range scope as Ormund pried open the stainless-steel refrigerator.

  I could have broken in again. I could have waited in the shadows until he stuck his head in the fridge to search for dinner, and then I could have stabbed him in the back with a hunting knife.

  I could have, but by now, I knew the Feds would have realized that the same rifle I held in my hands had been used to kill Mitch Stockley and Tyler Haldane.

  Whether or not they’d drawn the conclusion that I was the only killer, I still wasn’t sure. But if they hadn’t figured it out yet, they would know by the time the sun rose into the sky the following day.

  And tomorrow, I’d make sure they knew this was only the start.

  Though I had no personal vendetta with the Federal Bureau of Investigation—they were a force for good, after all—I wanted them to know that the same person had wiped Mitch Stockley, Tyler Haldane, and Ben Ormund off the face of the planet.

  I wasn’t under any illusion that I was about to start a revolution—I
knew that the sleazy underbelly of society was here to stay. I knew the men I killed were only a drop in the bucket, but I’d be damned if I didn’t do something.

  No one had looked out for the women and girls Ormund and Stockley had brutalized, and the ideals espoused by men like Haldane emboldened the creeps to act on their perverse impulses.

  But for as long as I was able, I would make sure some of those men paid for what they had done.

  And in my world, there was only one price I would accept.

  I wanted their lives.

  14

  Other than their usual morning greeting, Noah and Winter spoke little on the short trip it took to the FBI office. Like he’d anticipated the night before, he wasn’t hungover, but thanks to the litany of “what-if” scenarios that had flitted through his head as he tried to sleep, he wasn’t well rested, either.

  They’d Ubered back to get his truck since he didn’t want to stuff himself into Winter’s little Civic, which had caused her to roll her eyes. Stifling a yawn with one hand, he flicked on the blinker with the other. “I don’t know about you, but I need coffee,” he said.

  From the corner of his eye, he caught Winter’s nod. “Me too. I slept like shit.”

  “You too, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Her voice was quiet, even strained.

  He pulled up as close as he dared to the last car in line. When he went to run a hand through his hair, he stopped the motion short of his forehead. Since he’d become so negligent in visiting a barber, he had figured a few weeks ago that he ought to at least style his hair, lest it turn into a shaggy mess.

  At least five days out of the week, he wore a suit and tie to work, and a haphazard mop of hair didn’t accompany the professional air that federal agents were supposed to exude.

  Then again, if he’d ever remember to get a damn haircut, he wouldn’t have to bother.

  “I’m sorry.” Winter’s sudden apology was hurried, almost weary.

  Her voice snapped his thoughts away from his sense of fashion as he turned to look at her. Fidgeting with the hair at the end of her braid, her blue eyes darted back and forth.