Raven fought to keep from closing her eyes. Her body wanted—instinctively—to help her slam a mental wall into place. To keep the memory at bay. But she knew that shutting down wouldn’t do them any good at the current moment. She made herself look at Lucien, who was studying her with an undisguisedly concerned expression on his face.
“If there was any doubt that this was Hanes, I think it’s gone now,” she stated, pleased when her voice came out strong.
“I don’t disagree,” Lucien replied. “And I think you won’t disagree that staying at your house is no longer an option?”
Raven shook her head. “Definitely not.”
“Good.” Lucien turned back to Constable Davies. “All right. Change of the already-changed plans. Why don’t you and your partner follow us to the Silver Spoon Café, keep us company from a distance? I think Ms. Elliot and I could use a break. Have the other two officers call in Forensics to process the scene. I’ll fill the sergeant in, and we’ll go from there.”
“Yes, sir,” the woman agreed, then turned sharply and strode back toward the house.
Lucien rolled up the window again, then swung his attention to Raven, his smile softening his words. “You wanna argue about any of that?”
She couldn’t make herself smile back. “No.”
He nodded brusquely, then dragged out his phone and placed the promised call to his boss. Raven only half listened to the exchange, and only half noticed when Lucien announced that they were going to get moving. Her mind busy slipping to the past. To the eight days, three hours, and twenty-three minutes she’d been trapped in the bottom of an old mine shift. Bound tightly with fishing line. At Georges Hanes’s mercy. But the worst part hadn’t been the dark and the damp and the terror of not knowing exactly where she was. The worst part had been knowing what was about to happen.
The three previous sets of kidnappings and murders had been leaked to the press and widely publicized. It would’ve been impossible to live in the surrounding area and not be aware. So when Raven’s parents were taken, the police hadn’t messed around. They’d brought Raven and her brother in and warned them that they suspected it was the serial killer’s work. Raven had accepted a 24/7 guard, but Ryan had balked. Become angry. Refused to face reality. Insisted it was all a mistake. Raven had tried to make him see reason. In fact, she’d been on her way home from pleading with him when she was suddenly grabbed from behind, a cloth shoved over her mouth, and then darkness.
She shivered with the terrible memory of it all.
She’d known she was going to die. Without a doubt. Not a single other victim had survived.
But then came Lucien.
His warm hands, reaching for her in the dark. His deep voice, murmuring assurances that she’d be all right. And finally, his solid body, holding her close and pulling her out.
Personal feelings aside, Raven really didn’t need to look any further than that recollection to know why she needed him close again now. He’d been able to save her from Hanes the first time around because he’d managed to decode the clue Hanes had left. Lucien was actually the only one who’d successfully waded through one of the convoluted messages. Which made him the best hope to be able to do it again now. And it was the difference between living and dying. For her. But also for Jim and Juanita Rickson, who were currently in Hanes’s grasp.
Jim and Juanita.
Raven realized she’d been so wrapped up in her own fears that she’d nearly forgotten that the older couple were in far more pressing danger. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest, and the message that had been left behind on the wall in the caretaker’s office popped to the front of her mind.
A life is owed to me. So I’ll take one every day until you give me yours.
Then a horrible thought occurred to Raven, and her eyes—which she hadn’t even realized she’d closed—flew open.
“Lucien,” she said. “What if he did mean it literally?”
“What?”
“What if Hanes literally meant that he’d take a life every day?”
And Lucien’s silence told her that the idea had already been on the big man’s mind.
* * *
Lucien racked his brain for some soothing words that wouldn’t sound like a lie. Or like a put-off. Since the moment Raven suggested that the words were a new kind of clue, taking the place of Georges Hanes’s standard notes, he’d had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. In a way he knew was uncharacteristic, he’d avoided digging in to figure out what it was his gut was screaming about. Raven’s fear-filled question slammed it home.
Maybe Hanes did mean it literally. The clue written in blood was a classic escalation. The man could have spent the last three years plotting newer and sicker things. And who knew how far he’d go?
He’d confessed his crimes, but his motivations had never been truly clear. The man targeted families, but little was known about his own. The psych evals had concluded that his victims were chosen because of family-related trauma, but if it was true, Hanes had never admitted it. Background checks and research had led nowhere. His backstory was concluded to be a lie, and though he had a steady stream of short-term employment and had traceable living arrangements—late rent and irritated landlords galore—no one laid claim to him as friend or relative. There was an assumption that he’d either masterfully stolen an identity at a young age or created one with great skill. Either way, it was impenetrable. A frustrating wall between law enforcement and Hanes himself.
None of that matters right now, Lucien thought, mentally gritting his teeth.
What did matter was that if Hanes wasn’t providing a clue—if he was just stating his plan—then it wouldn’t take Raven long to figure out how she could stop a rampage.
Like she’d been following his silent train of thought, she spoke up just as Lucien pulled the vehicle to a stop in the Silver Spoon Café parking lot.
“If I turn myself over to him,” she said softly, “he’ll let them go.”
Lucien cut the engine, swung her way and uttered a one-word reply. “No.”
His sharp tone made her flinch, and he felt bad about it, but no way was he going to let her think he’d even consider the option. Without waiting for a protest, he slammed his finger to his seat belt. Then he hit hers for good measure, too. He ignored her audible inhale, pushed his door open, then hopped out and strode to her side of the SUV. Her blue eyes were wide, but he ignored that, as well. When he took her elbow to help her out, he was careful not to do it roughly, but he didn’t give her a chance to pull back, either.
“Lucien...” she said as her feet hit the ground.
“No,” he repeated.
He guided her up to the little restaurant, dropped her elbow long enough to open the door for her, then took a hold of her again. He led her to a corner table, sat down across from her and met her eyes. And for good measure, said it once more.
“No.”
She made an impossible-to-describe face. One part amused. One part frustrated. One part worried. And a final part that looked too much like determination.
“You didn’t let me say anything,” she told him.
“Does the anything you’d like to say involve trading your life for someone else’s?” he countered.
“I can’t let Hanes kill people.”
“I can’t let Hanes kill you.”
She winced. “My life doesn’t outweigh theirs.”
Lucien fought a growl and reached across the table to take her hands in his. “And your life isn’t something to throw away, either.”
“I’m not throwing it away.”
“Trading it and throwing at away are the same thing.”
Her mouth opened like she was going to argue, but the server’s greeting cut her off. “Afternoon, folks. I’m Lauren. Our lunch special today is grilled cheese and tomato soup, but can I start you off wi
th some coffee or some water?”
Lucien was grateful for the momentary distraction from their discussion. He turned a smile toward their very fresh-faced server and quickly ordered a coffee while Raven went with her usual tea. For about ninety seconds, things seemed normal. It didn’t last.
Lauren-the-server snapped her notebook shut, smiled back at Lucien, revealing a row of braces, and said, “Thanks very much. I’ll bring you and your wife your beverages in just a minute.”
Raven was quick to correct her. “We’re not married.”
“Oh!” said the server, looking from their still-clasped hands to their faces with a genuinely surprised expression, and then she groaned. “I’m so sorry. My boss, Joanna, keeps telling me I need to be more careful when I’m talking to customers. But when I walked up, you just sounded like...you know what? Never mind. I’ll get your drinks for you. On the house.”
When she turned and scurried away, Raven extricated her fingers from his, and said, “We can’t do this. We can’t just sit here and eat soup and let people think we’re a couple while we pretend that an easier way will come up.”
“You know me better than that,” Lucien replied.
“Do I?” She shook her head. “It’s been three years. A lot can change in that amount of time. A lot has changed. I went to school and I got a new job. You turned down a promotion, which I think the ‘you’ I knew wouldn’t have done. There’s my cat. Who I’m going to need to ask my neighbor to feed, by the way. And maybe you got a pet, too. Maybe you got married. You could literally have had three kids in that space of time.”
The more she said, the shakier her voice got, and Lucien realized she was close to the edge. Her self-sacrifice was sheer bravery, but under that, she was terrified. And trying not to show it.
“Raven, listen to me,” he said. “I know you feel like you’re responsible for Jim and Juanita being taken, but what Hanes does or doesn’t do isn’t under your control. Think about this for a second. You were alone at the cemetery. He could’ve tried to take you then. He left the flowers and took Jim Rickson instead.”
“Because of his game.”
“But that’s not his game, is it? He doesn’t bargain. He leaves bread crumbs.”
Raven closed her eyes, exhaled heavily, then opened them again and met his gaze. “Can you tell me—in all honesty—that you don’t think there’s a chance that Hanes is just trying to finish the job?”
“I can tell you that it doesn’t fit with his profile. He likes to win, but he wouldn’t do what he would see as cheating in order to do it.”
“And you think he’d see this as cheating?”
“It couldn’t be anything else. You won his game. He wouldn’t just waltz in and change that.”
“Unless he changed the rules.”
“He might do that, Raven,” he admitted. “But I can say with a-hundred-percent certainty that it wouldn’t be like this.”
Her body sagged. “Then how do I help Jim and Juanita?”
He paused in answering as their server dropped off their drinks and took their order. Her eyes only lingered on their hands—which, Lucien noted, had become unconsciously tangled together—before she slipped away again. It was a good moment to try to redirect the conversation. Or to point out that it wasn’t Raven’s job to help the middle-aged couple. Lucien opted for something else.
“You help them by helping me,” he said instead.
“Helping you?”
“Come back to the safe house with me. I’ll get the sergeant to send over whatever he can from the Kitsilano Killer file. We’ll put it together with what you know about the Ricksons, and we’ll try to work out what Hanes’s message means.”
“So you actually do think it’s a clue like the ones from last time.”
“I do. Let me tell you what makes me so sure that he’d stick to his own pattern.”
She leaned forward a little, and he was relieved to see her expression brighten with hope as he explained what his connection—a longtime guard at the prison—had told him about the killer. The other man was regimented in his day-to-day routine. Compulsive, they called him. The guard even made a joke about Hanes Standard Time until Lucien shut him down with a glare. The only time he ever made any kind of waves when was he was forced to go outside the routine. Fire drills. New programs or new staff. It actually made him an ideal inmate. If there could really be such a thing.
Their soup arrived, and they paused their conversation to let Lauren set it down. Lucien picked up the thread again as soon as she was gone.
“Hanes has only deviated from his regime twice,” he said. “Once, when he had been battling pneumonia. And again now, with his escape. That’s it.”
“But why now?” Raven asked.
“I’m not an expert on psychoses or anything, but based on my experience of compulsive criminals, my theory is that something—some change—triggered him to run. And if I were going to stretch that... I’d say he probably wants to fix whatever that change was.” Lucien paused and set down his spoon as his mind leaped forward, connecting dots.
“What?” prodded Raven, picking up on the sudden change.
He shoved back his chair. “C’mon. I’ve got an idea. We’re going to need to write it down, and I think we should do it in private.”
Chapter 7
Raven followed Lucien back out to the SUV without argument, and she didn’t comment on the fact that he paused to tell the uniformed officers to trail them back to the former safe house. She kept silent as they climbed into the vehicle, and said nothing as they started their short journey.
One of Lucien’s thumbs tapped the slightest beat on the steering wheel. But even if he hadn’t been moving at all, Raven would still have been able to feel his energy. It had breakthrough quality, and she was sure that whatever theory had come to mind, it was a good one. She was relieved. But she didn’t let herself get carried away by it. Jim’s and Juanita’s lives were still on the line, and she didn’t want to get her hopes up too high, only to have them swept away.
I’ll breathe again when they’re found, and when Hanes is back in jail.
The minutes in the car went by quickly, though, and in what felt like not much more than a blink, they were sitting outside the familiar house while the two officers did a security check of the perimeter. As they made their stealthy movements, the familiar guilt at keeping Lucien from his real police work crept in.
Raven let herself steal a glance in his direction. If he resented letting his fellow law enforcers do the job that he was more than equipped to do, then he was covering it up perfectly. Aside from the still-tapping thumb, he showed zero visible sign of agitation. It didn’t do much to assuage Raven’s self-reproach, and she wasn’t quite able to stop herself from wanting to apologize for holding him back. But she barely had a chance to open her mouth before the other two cops signaled the completion of their task, and Lucien’s quick reaction stopped her from speaking at all.
He swung open his own door and hopped out, stepped briskly to Raven’s side of the SUV and pulled the handle there, as well. He helped her climb out, then spun toward the house. His movements were determined and sure, and they propelled Raven to hurry along beside him. Together, they moved up the walkway and into the house. Once inside, Lucien still didn’t slow. He quickly locked the door behind them, kicking his shoes off before the click was even complete, then calling over his shoulder as he moved up the hall.
“Let me show you something,” he said.
Raven scrambled to unlace her own shoes, and by the time she caught up to Lucien in the kitchen, he’d already procured a pad of yellow paper and a pen from somewhere. He set them on the table, then yanked out a chair and gestured for her to sit. As she plopped herself down—slightly breathless from the hurry—Lucien joined her and immediately began to scrawl something across the paper. For a second, the scratch of the pen was
the only sound. Then Lucien slid the notepad across the table. But he no sooner had it in front of her than his hand slapped down and covered whatever he’d written.
Puzzled, Raven lifted her eyes to his face. She could clearly see that his urgency had taken a backseat to hesitancy.
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s Hanes’s pattern,” he told her.
He didn’t offer any further explanation. But Raven didn’t need him to. She knew the murderer’s pattern perfectly. She’s been inside it. And the idea of seeing it laid out on paper was an altogether unpleasant one. It was too clinical. Too detached. No words could properly encompass the fear that filled the yawning days of being held captive.
But if he wrote it down, he has a good reason, she assured herself.
She swallowed. “It’s okay. I can handle it.”
“You sure?” he replied.
She nodded, and after studying her face for another moment, he released the pad and let her take it. For a second after he lifted his hand, the words swam in front of Raven. But then Lucien’s fingers came to her elbow, grounding her as he always had, and the tidy lines of his block-letter printing solidified enough that she could read them.
DAYS 1 & 15: HUSBAND
DAYS 5 & 17: WIFE
DAYS 10 & 19: DAUGHTER
DAYS 15 & 21: SON
Lucien’s hand tightened on her arm. “Raven?”
She shook her head. “I’m okay. I just... I need a minute.”
She glanced down again. She knew exactly what the numbered days meant. The first was when Hanes’s victim was taken. The second was when the evil man killed them. The time in between was how long he felt was sufficient for the police to find them. It was precise. Almost to the hour, she’d heard the lawyers say. And as she’d suspected, seeing it on paper—trying to label the moments as a part of a plan rather than just as something purely heinous—fell short. It didn’t come close to knowing intimately how the pieces fit together. It was also impossible not to be thrown straight into the middle of the memories. Raven couldn’t help but see just how she fit in. She was the daughter, of course. Taken nine days after her father’s disappearance, which was five days after her mom went missing, and five days before Hanes got to her brother, too. The fear had already been surreal.
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