Cold Revenge

by Mary Stone

  After waiting on the porch while the agents from the lead SUV inspected the interior, the tall one who reminded Gabe of a bulldog on stilts poked his head out. “All clear.”

  Frank jerked his head at the door, indicating that Gabe should go first.

  He stepped inside a neat entryway that opened to an expansive living area with high ceilings. The walls glowed a cheerful pale yellow. An open kitchen beckoned to the left, at least twice the size of the last one.

  Gabe brightened for the first time since he’d left on the trip at the sight. “Granite counters? Double ovens? Damn. This whole time, all I had to do to get a nicer place was blow my cover? Now you tell me.”

  The bulldog-faced marshal with the sagging jowls snickered in appreciation at Gabe’s jest. Even Frank’s upper lip twitched.

  His spirits bolstered, Gabe headed off in the opposite direction and inspected the three bedrooms. The master had a large en suite bathroom with an oversized tub and separate shower. A quick bounce on the king bed revealed no broken springs and a pillow-top mattress.

  By the time he returned to the living room, Gabe felt at ease for the first moments since Kingsley’s letter. He plopped onto a cream and blue pin-striped couch that didn’t make him wonder if the fabric had ever been cleaned and punched a button on the remote he nabbed off the glass coffee table. The sixty-plus inch TV blinked on.

  Gabe flipped through the channels, pausing a few seconds on each in search of something lighthearted. A comedy, or maybe a rom-com. He passed up a news station before the images on the screen penetrated.

  No. That couldn’t be.

  Gabe squeezed his knees together, his heart lurching into his throat. No. He must have been hallucinating. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, and between that and his stress, it only made sense that his mind was playing tricks on him. Still, his hand trembled as he hit the arrow button, backing up to the channel he’d skipped over too quickly.

  A male reporter stood in front of a stately stone building, the familiar look of which had caught Gabe’s eye. The Portland Public Library.

  Whooshing rushed through Gabe’s ears, drowning out the reporter’s voice. His attention was glued to the headline scrolling across the page. Rob had told him that the headline was called a chyron because Rob knew so many little things like that.

  Rob.

  Portland librarian discovered dead at work in what local authorities are calling the most gruesome murder they’ve seen in years.

  A high-pitched whimpering cut through the static in Gabe’s head, the kind of terrible cry a wounded animal made. He slapped his hands over his ears, desperate to block out the sound, but that didn’t help. Gabe could still hear the pitiful moans. If anything, the wailing grew louder.

  His hands fell uselessly to his sides. Footsteps pounded on the wooden floors, but Gabe still didn’t comprehend where the whimpering came from until Frank’s hand dropped onto his shoulder.

  “You okay? What’s wrong?” Frank and the bulldog marshal ran around, checking every corner of the room before returning their attention to Gabe.

  “I need to borrow your phone.” When Frank hesitated, Gabe pressed his palms together. “Please. Just for a minute. It’s important, I swear.”

  The bulldog shrugged at Frank. After one last hesitation, the agent handed his phone to Gabe. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Gabe snatched the phone and navigated directly to YouTube, not even bothering with trying other news channels. He knew that the very first thing people did during a tragic situation these days wasn’t to help…it was to pull out their phones.

  With trembling fingers, he typed Portland librarian murdered into the search window and prayed as the live streams popped up. With his stomach churning, he clicked on the top result. Hit play.

  A man’s body filled the screen. All splayed out behind yellow crime scene tape, surrounded by puddles of a red substance he instantly recognized as blood. Too much of it. Both on the floor and staining the grisly wounds carved into the victim’s chest. Some monster had used a sharp object to leave a message in his flesh, which the YouTuber helpfully zoomed in on.

  I’m watching.

  Gabe’s eyes burned with tears. His throat clogged. Although the victim’s shirt was in tatters, enough fabric was left for Gabe to recognize the unique pink-on-gray design.

  His stomach revolted, and the phone clattered to the floor as Gabe raced to the bathroom. He closed the door, barely making it to the toilet before he puked up everything he’d eaten that day. He heaved until not even yellow bile was left to expel.

  A sharp rap bounced off the door. “Hey, you okay in there? What’s going on? Talk to me.”

  But Gabe ignored Frank’s command. He rose, flushed the toilet. Washed his mouth out at the sink. Weary to his very core, he unlocked the door. His bleary gaze skimmed Frank’s before he brushed past the marshal and into the master bedroom. He eased the door closed on the man’s startled expression and turned the lock. Then he collapsed face-first onto the bed and sobbed.

  Gabe’s last coherent thought before he passed out centered on the SIM card he’d stashed in his pocket and whether or not he should slide the tiny bit of plastic into his new phone. Just in case. On the off chance that a different librarian in Rob’s pink and gray shirt had been murdered and Rob was fine, curled up by his fireplace at home.

  But Gabe knew better. He drifted off with certainty ringing through his head like a death knoll.

  His boyfriend, his Rob, was dead. Murdered to punish Gabe. Carved up to send him a message. A message that Gabe had received, loud and clear.

  Somewhere out there, Kingsley was watching, and he wanted Gabe to know that he’d stop at nothing to ensure that Gabe suffered and spent the rest of his days suffering.

  Rest of my days.

  Even in this new place, Gabe didn’t know how many of those he had left.

  6

  FBI Agent Clay Lockwood whistled as he shouldered his way into the front door of the Charleston police department, balancing a tray of steaming lattes in his right hand. If he were the singing type, he’d be belting out a tune right now. Maybe some Luke Bryan, or a little Queen.

  No one who watched him saunter into the building with the extra spring in his step would guess that he’d been up since four that morning. Clay’s muscles practically hummed with energy, and it wasn’t from mainlining caffeine.

  No, he had the new Kingsley Task Force to thank for that. Approval from the SAC in the Charleston FBI field office had arrived at the butt crack of dawn, yanking him out of a deep sleep and the warm, cozy bed he currently inhabited in one of Ellie’s spare bedrooms. For once, he hadn’t bemoaned the lost REM cycles. Not today.

  He nodded at the uniformed patrol officer he passed on his way to the elevator and stabbed the button. His whistling gave way to a grin as he pictured the look on Ellie’s face when he told her about the task force. Fortis had already given him the okay to add her. Now, Clay needed to track her down and break the good news.

  The elevator doors dinged before they slid open. Clay stepped inside and studied the buttons, debating between 2 and B. Ellie’s permanent desk was on the second floor with the rest of the detectives, but lately, she’d taken to spending more time in the basement, the very place where she’d begun her detective career.

  Back then, camping out in the bowels of the PD building had been practical since Ellie worked exclusively on the cold cases stored down there. Now, though, Clay knew that Ellie’s motives involved not wanting to leave Jillian alone for long stretches of time. Not that he blamed her. The evidence clerk’s close call with the car bomb had all of them on edge.

  In the end, Clay bet on Jillian and hit B. While the rickety old service elevator lurched and creaked its way down a floor, he dug his phone out of his pocket to check the screen. No new messages. Ellie hadn’t replied to either of his texts yet. A prickle of foreboding stung the back of his neck, but Clay shrugged the feeling away.

  A
t Ellie’s request, their relationship had been relegated to the back burner ever since they’d returned from a work trip to Miami. Clay couldn’t make the memories of that weekend disappear so easily. Hectic days of hunting for clues in a child trafficking ring melded into balmy nights spent tangled together between the sheets.

  The temporary setback didn’t matter, though. At least, not to Clay. He’d waited a long time between their very first kiss and their first night together. He could wait again now. Not that keeping his distance was easy. Especially on days like today, when he wanted to celebrate by picking up Ellie and swinging her around until her red hair flew behind her like a comet and she was breathless with laughter.

  The elevator opened, and Clay stepped out, giving his head a rueful shake. Time to calm his jets and chill the hell out. As much as he’d happily announce his feelings for Ellie to the entire Charleston PD, he knew she wasn’t ready. And wouldn’t be until they hunted Kingsley down like the vermin he was and eliminated the bastard’s particular brand of plague from the planet.

  That was one of the reasons Clay was falling for her. She was the kind of woman who’d do anything to keep the people around her safe, even if that meant sacrificing her own happiness in the process.

  Clay could relate. There was no mountain he wouldn’t move to protect Ellie. From Kingsley or anyone who tried to harm so much as a single, copper curl on her head.

  The click of his boots on the cement floor echoed down the damp, narrow corridor as he rounded the corner. He kept walking until he reached the metal door. He rapped three times.

  “Who is it?” Jillian’s bubbly voice floated through the door.

  “It’s Clay.”

  Two seconds later, the door clicked open. Clay entered the cave-like room and performed a quick scan before spotting Jillian. “Ellie here somewhere?”

  Jillian’s blonde ponytail swung back and forth as she shook her head and pointed toward the ceiling. “Nope, she’s still with Fortis.”

  Clay deflated. Hell. He knew what that meant: Fortis had stolen his thunder about the task force and told Ellie first.

  The ancient door clicked, and Ellie bounced in, carrying a file under her arm. Pink tinted her cheeks, and her emerald eyes sparkled until her gaze landed on Clay. Upon spotting him, her full mouth thinned, and her eyes narrowed. She shot him a laser-cold look that he swore penetrated all the way down to his bones.

  He stifled a groan. With the way Ellie was spitting fire at him, not a doubt in his head remained that Fortis had ruined Clay’s surprise. Damn. He should have known better. Ellie detested being surprised. He’d wanted to make sure everything was signed off on before he got her hopes up, but that strategy appeared to have backfired, catching him right in the ass.

  Clay hoisted the tray as a peace offering. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks.” Ellie reached for a paper cup and sipped the steaming liquid, closing her eyes and sighing. “This hits the spot.”

  Before Clay could release the pent-up air in his lungs, Ellie’s green eyes flew open and speared him with a frigid glare. Her free hand latched onto her hip. Yeah, no, he wasn’t out of the doghouse yet.

  He set the tray on Jillian’s desk next to a unicorn statue and held up his hands, palms facing out. “Whoa, hold up. I take it that Fortis told you the news?”

  Ellie tossed her head, sending a tendril of red hair to tumble free of the French braid she favored at work. “He did and imagine my surprise. A Kingsley task force set up by the very FBI agent who’s currently living in my home. Yet the first I heard of it was this morning in my boss’s office. He was the one who told me that you’d picked me to be on your team. What I don’t understand is why you couldn’t have told me yourself?”

  “Didn’t you get my texts this morning? That’s exactly what I planned to do, only Fortis went running his mouth off first.”

  She harrumphed. “Last I checked, I didn’t live with Fortis. Why couldn’t you tell me a week ago? Or even over the dinner table last night?”

  Even mad, Ellie was beautiful. Or maybe the anger flushing her fair cheeks a rosy pink made her even more dazzling. Clay couldn’t let on that her appearance distracted him, though. Ellie would tie his balls in a knot if he gave the slightest indication of where his focus had temporarily gone.

  “I know, and I’m sorry. I was worried about getting your hopes up before I had approval from my SAC, and that didn’t come until four this morning. And then I wasn’t sure that Fortis would give the okay to add you to the team until I talked to him after that.”

  Some of the ice melted from Ellie’s eyes as she stood there, biting her lower lip.

  Relief eased the cramped sensation in Clay’s chest. Reassured, Clay took a chance and stepped closer. “Look, I know how important getting Kingsley is to you, and I knew you’d move heaven and hell to get on that task force once you knew it existed. That’s why I wanted to tie everything up first. I wanted to spare you the agony of any wait time.”

  After a few tense seconds ticked by, Ellie’s entire body seemed to relax. “Fine.” She shot him the stink eye, but he saw the humor behind the gesture. “I still don’t like it, but I understand why you decided to handle it that way.”

  It wasn’t the warm endorsement that Clay might have hoped for, but he’d take it for now. “Good, I’m glad we got that cleared up.”

  Ellie studied him over the top of her coffee cup as she took a long sip. “Can you fill me in on the specifics?”

  “Not much to tell. Not yet. The idea came to me in the middle of the night, and I’m barely into the planning stage now. I want this task force to be different and integrate bureaus from every region of the U.S. That way, if Kingsley shows up on the West Coast, for example, we’ll have someone nearby who is up to speed on the case.”

  Ellie seemed impressed. “That’s actually a very good idea.”

  He blew on his knuckles. “I have my moments.” Ready to change the subject, he nodded at the file under her arm. “So, what’s that?”

  Surprise flashed across Ellie’s face, like she’d forgotten it was even there. Her mouth turned down at the corners as she pulled the file free. “That is the new cold case Fortis assigned me after he welcomed me onto the task force. Danielle Snyder.” Two furrows formed between her copper brows. “I don’t get why this is suddenly a priority.”

  Clay was pretty sure he’d never heard that name before, but Jillian’s head popped out from behind her monitor, where she’d been pretending not to eavesdrop on their conversation. “Danielle Snyder? Just a second, I’ll grab her box. Poor thing. Sixteen is too young.”

  Jillian hopped up from her chair and headed straight for the door that led to the labyrinth of white evidence boxes. Her fingers pinged against the buttons as she entered her code, followed by the door clicking open. She vanished into the room and reappeared within seconds, carrying a box holding who knew what.

  Clay shot her a teasing grin. “Hey, you’re good. Ever consider a career in the FBI?”

  Jillian snickered. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m perfectly content here.” She placed the box on the empty desk that used to serve as Ellie’s.

  Clay eyed the neat letters on the label. Danielle Snyder. Beneath that, it simply said Missing Person.

  Clay wondered if the box had been misfiled. “Missing person?”

  Ellie brushed past him to pull the lid off. “Maybe not anymore. Danielle’s dad got a call from someone claiming to be her.”

  Clay let out a low whistle. “Wow. After how many years?” He crossed the short distance to the table and stood next to Ellie while she reached inside and carefully extracted the contents.

  “Fifteen.” After she removed a folder and performed a quick review of the written report within, Ellie reached back inside the box. This time, she extracted a sealed plastic bag containing a small rectangular object. Cell phone, Clay noted.

  Another dive into the box produced a plastic bag holding a second phone. “According to the evidence log, this one,�
�� Ellie pointed to the bag on the right, “belonged to Dani. The other one was her friend Roxanne’s, who was found murdered the same night Dani went missing.”

  Jillian, who’d resettled behind her desk, bounced back up to her feet. “Roxanne Freeling, right? I’ll go grab that box for you too.”

  She reappeared with Roxanne’s evidence and plunked the box down next to Danielle’s. Working as a team, Jillian and Ellie extracted the contents and spread them out across the table. Clay examined the clues right along with them. Not that there was much to go on. A green jacket once belonging to Danielle filled another evidence bag, and Roxanne’s box contained an autopsy report and crime scene photos.

  “Those were found by the scene?” Clay pointed at an image of a set of footprints encased in a soft, grainy-looking substance. Sand, he guessed.

  Ellie nodded. “Yeah, by the swing set where Roxanne was killed.” She rearranged the photos so that they could better view all the details. “Prevailing theory is that she tried to run and ended up falling and hitting her head on the retaining wall.”

  Clay leaned in, narrowing his eyes on a different picture. “And those prints indicate a struggle?”

  Ellie pulled that picture close, tilting her head as she studied the image. “Exactly. Forensics suggests that’s where Dani struggled with their attacker, and see here?” She dragged yet another photo over to him. “Single tracks, but deeper than the earlier ones.”

  “Which suggests that the kidnapper was carrying additional weight in the form of Danielle.”

  After one last glance at the image of those shoe prints carving out little valleys in the sand, Clay straightened. Jillian and Ellie continued going through the reports and inspecting each piece of evidence while his mind drifted to a different day and location. A different little girl who went missing.

  Clay covered his ears with his hands, trying to block out the ragged gasps of his mother’s sobs. A loud crunch interrupted, followed by the guttural string of curses his father yelled. Clay flinched and glanced up to find his father’s left fist, buried deep in the hole he’d just punched into the wall. Little flecks of white plaster sprinkled the carpet, like a dusting of new snow.