Under the Agent's Protection

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  Clutching Axl’s camera, she dropped her shoulder and ran straight at Darcy, crashing into the other woman. Darcy toppled back, slamming into the floor. Everly rushed forward, focusing on nothing other than the door and freedom.

  Darcy reached for her, catching her ankle. Her foot twisted, a bolt of pain shot up her leg and she stumbled. Darcy wrenched Everly’s leg upward, and she fell to the floor.

  Her chin slammed into the carpet and her teeth cracked together. She crawled forward, determined to escape.

  Darcy pounced, scrambling on top of Everly and pinning her down. From behind, she gripped Everly’s throat. Still clutching the camera, Everly swung out. The metal-and-plastic casing connected hard. Everly felt the satisfying reverberations travel from her hand to her shoulder.

  Darcy’s grip faltered and Everly inched forward, freeing herself. She flipped to her back, just as Darcy lunged again. On instinct alone, Everly lifted her foot and drove her heel forward. The sole of her boot connected with Darcy’s mouth.

  The other woman’s blond head snapped back and Everly was on her feet. She reached for the door handle, her fingers brushing the cold metal. Pain erupted in her scalp as Darcy grabbed a handful of Everly’s hair and twisted.

  Holding tight to the camera, Everly swung out, catching the killer in the cheek. Darcy gave a feral wail and fell over, her hand full of Everly’s hair.

  Everly ignored her throbbing head and her burning throat, focusing only on freedom. She lunged forward. A hard shove came from behind, slamming Everly into the door. The handle gouged her side, and she cried out with pain.

  She drove her elbow back. It connected with Darcy’s middle and the other woman let out a wheeze.

  Everly gripped the handle and turned.

  Darcy chopped Everly’s wrist with her fist. “You aren’t going anywhere, bitch,” she snarled.

  Everly whirled around. Darcy looked wild. Her eyes were glassy. Her teeth were stained red, and a trickle of blood ran from her lip.

  Everly had to get out of the house, now. She pressed her back to the door for leverage and kicked out, hitting Darcy square in the chest. The other woman flew back, crashing into a coffee table, her head slamming into the glass top.

  Darcy didn’t get up.

  Everly opened the door and she drew in a lungful of fresh air. She took a step across the threshold, her car in sight. She’d call Wyatt and the sheriff for help, tell them what she’d discovered. And she’d tell Wyatt that he’d been right all along—that the real killer had been hiding in plain sight.

  Then pain exploded in Everly’s skull. For a moment, her stomach reeled, and she only saw red. Then her knees gave out and she dropped to the ground.

  Then there was only blackness.

  * * *

  Wyatt drove and wondered if he was pursuing yet another dead end. Even if they could return his copy of the picture to its original form, what would it get them? A face without a name? After pulling up in front of the RMJ safe house, Wyatt killed the engine. He stepped onto the curb and the front door opened. Marcus stood on the threshold.

  “The camera down the street picked you up as soon as you rounded the corner,” Marcus said.

  “That’s impressive tech you have,” Wyatt said as he strode up the walkway. “Hopefully, it can help us with this.” He removed the flash drive from his pocket and held it up.

  “I have confidence in my team,” said Marcus. “Come on in.”

  Wyatt followed Marcus into the house. Even with its state-of-the-art recognition software and impenetrable accesses getting inside took only seconds.

  “This way.” Marcus opened a door to Wyatt’s right.

  They were back in the conference room. Three people sat around the table. Wyatt recognized two of them from last night at the Pleasant Pines Inn, when the kitchen had been teeming with law-enforcement officers of all kinds.

  After shaking hands with RMJ operatives Luis Martinez and Julia McCloud, Wyatt dropped into a chair at the end of the table.

  Martinez gestured to a dark haired woman in her fifties and said, “Wyatt, this is Katarina.” She lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

  Marcus continued, “She’s our communications expert and hopefully the person who can recover your photograph.” Then to Katarina, he said, “This is Wyatt Thornton. He used to work the FBI’s behavioral-science unit. He thinks there might be a problem with designating Larry Walker as the Las Vegas and Pleasant Pines killer.”

  How many years had passed since Wyatt gave his last briefing? It was in Las Vegas and they were hunting the same killer he now faced. Filled with confidence, he’d stood at the head of a conference table and laid out all the facts knew. They had a suspect—but a single problem. The man had an alibi for one of the murders.

  Perhaps, one colleague had surmised, the suspect had committed most of the crimes—just not all of them. A copycat killer, he had suggested.

  Wyatt had assured everyone in the room that there was no copycat killer in their case, and their serial killer was responsible for all the killings. Besides, each victim had been found with the same calling card, that half of a two-dollar bill. It meant that each man had been killed by a single person.

  It was then that Wyatt’s supervisor had spoken up. People in Las Vegas were afraid. The task force needed to show progress. The suspect would be arrested, and, moreover, investigative resources would be turned to disproving the alibi.

  At the time, Wyatt had balked at the plan. To him, it was wrong to let an innocent man languish in jail—plain and simple.

  In the end, Wyatt was overruled.

  The next day, a local reporter had discovered the alibi and Wyatt was thrown under the bus. Some days, he could still feel the tread marks on his back.

  All those years ago, Wyatt placed his faith in his colleagues, and in the end, he’d been betrayed.

  The operatives from RMJ were basically strangers. Was it prudent to trust anyone, especially people he didn’t know?

  Then Everly came to mind. If he could trust her, he could take a chance now. Besides, he’d asked them for help. If he wasn’t willing to share what he knew, Wyatt should just go back to his house and never leave again.

  “I have a picture of the first victim in Las Vegas taken at the apartment complex where Larry Walker lived. It was cropped before being posted on social media, but another person was in the photo. I want to know who she is.”

  “Do you think she’s an accomplice?” Martinez asked.

  “Or a victim?” It was Julia who spoke.

  “To be honest, I don’t know if she’s either—or neither. But if this is Larry’s roommate, she can tell us something about what happened.”

  “If you have the photo on a drive, I can get to work,” Katarina said.

  “Sure do.” Wyatt placed the flash drive on the table and slid it toward the woman.

  She opened a black leather portfolio that held a wireless keyboard. After hitting a few keys, a screen lowered from the ceiling. She inserted the flash drive into a USB port in the table. A list of all the files appeared on the screen, the letters more than a foot high.

  “It’s under social-media photo number one,” Wyatt said.

  Katarina opened the picture.

  “Can you get it back to the original file?”

  Katarina tapped on the keyboard. “It’ll take a while,” she said, “but I can get something.”

  Julia scooted next to Katarina and the women began to talk in hushed tones. Wyatt only caught a few words, but it was enough to know that they were working on a strategy to get a complete picture.

  He turned to Marcus. “What’s next?”

  “I think that we should investigate in-house and see what turns up. There’s a substantial case that makes Larry Walker our killer. I have to wonder, what if you’re wrong now?”

  Acid roiled in Wyatt’s
gut. It was just like last time. His phone vibrated, saving Wyatt from saying something he’d later regret—or worse, saying nothing, and regretting it now.

  He pulled the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. Everly had left a voice message more than an hour ago. “Damn,” he cursed.

  “Everything okay?” Marcus asked.

  “I got a call, but it didn’t show up until now,” he said.

  “Take it in the hall if you want,” said Marcus.

  Wyatt left the room and opened his voice-mail app. “Wyatt, it’s me,” Everly said. “I hate how things ended between us. I wanted to apologize for leaving while you were out. I have a flight back to Chicago later this morning but will be in town for a few hours.” She let out a deep breath. “If you get this message...well, I’d like to see you again. Give me a call. Maybe we can meet up. I’m at the diner now.”

  Everly was at the diner—and more important, she wanted to see him. Yet, he couldn’t leave RMJ, not until he found out who was in the picture. Hours could pass before they had an image. By then, Everly would be gone.

  Was he really willing to miss his last chance to see her—even if she only wanted to say goodbye?

  Chapter 14

  Wyatt stood in the hall, just outside of the conference room. He listened to Everly’s message a second time, trying to determine her feelings from the tone of her voice. There was nothing.

  The conference-room door opened, and Wyatt turned at the sound.

  Marcus stood on the threshold. “Katarina just told me that this is going to take a while. She’s not even sure if there’s much more of the picture to recover.”

  Disappointment rose in Wyatt’s throat. He swallowed it down. Then again, the delay allowed him to leave RMJ and deal with more important things, like Everly. “I need to be somewhere,” he said. “Text me if you get anything.”

  Wyatt could’ve walked the four blocks to Main Street and the diner, but he took his truck, parking right by the front door.

  He peered through the window and saw several patrons. No sign of Everly, though. She was gone. The instinct to hunt, to find her, kicked in and he opened the front door. The salty scent of bacon frying mixed with the deep, dark smell of coffee.

  “Morning, hon,” said Sally. “Take a seat and I’ll be right with you.”

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone. The woman I was here with the other day—”

  She interrupted. “You mean Everly?”

  He should have known. Word traveled fast in a small town. “Yes. Have you seen her?”

  “She was here about an hour ago, had breakfast and left.”

  “Did she say anything about where she was going? Was she leaving town straight away?”

  “She didn’t say anything about leaving just yet, but she did ask when Sheriff Haak got in to his office.”

  “So, she’s with the sheriff,” said Wyatt. “Thanks.”

  Wyatt pivoted and pulled the door open. Cold mountain air rushed in to the small diner.

  “Wait,” called Sally. “Sheriff Haak hasn’t come in for his morning coffee yet, so he’s not gotten to work. Everly did mention something else,” Sally said.

  Wyatt’s curiosity was piqued. “She did? What?”

  “Everly wanted to thank Darcy Owens for being so kind.”

  “Darcy? The desk clerk from the inn?”

  “That’s the one.”

  Finding Darcy’s address would be simple enough, he’d just look it up when he got back to RMJ.

  “Thanks, Sally,” said Wyatt. “You’re the best.”

  After stepping onto the street, he opted not to wait that long, and opened his phone’s internet browser and found an address for Darcy Owens. It was only a few blocks away.

  While walking to his truck, his phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen before answering the call. “Marcus,” he asked. “Anything new?”

  “We have a photo, but the resolution isn’t great. I’m not even sure that we can enter the picture into recognition software. I’m sending it to you right now, anyway.”

  “I’ll take a look and get back to you,” said Wyatt as he backed onto the street.

  The phone buzzed with an incoming text. Wyatt ignored it until he pulled up at a stop sign. He glanced at the phone—and froze. The photo was blurry, as if the subject had been moving while the picture was being taken, but he could just make out the resemblance.

  Marcus was wrong. There was definitely something familiar about the photo. “Damn,” he cursed.

  He’d been so sure that there was a connection—and he was right.

  Dropping his foot on the accelerator, the truck shot forward. The file of photos dropped from the seat and scattered across the floorboard. Pulling to the side of the road, Wyatt bent down to retrieve the pictures.

  There it was—one face out of hundreds. Sure, the hair color was different, but the face was the same.

  In the crowd of onlookers was Darcy Owens.

  He flipped through each picture in rapid succession. Despite the fact the she’d donned a disguise—glasses, hats, once a green wig—he found her face in each one.

  For Wyatt, suddenly all the questions, and all the foggy and dissatisfying answers, became clear. The serial killer’s hesitation to take Everly’s life made sense—if the killer was female. The fact that the male victims were easily lured from the hotel also made sense—if the killer was female.

  In fact, poisoning had been the preferred method of female killers for centuries. And in reality, isn’t that what she had done? Poisoned her victims before leaving them for dead?

  It was Darcy who enlightened them all about Larry Walker’s fight with Axl Baker—thus providing a suspect. It was also Darcy who sent Larry to the meeting with a tray full of coffee, just as his guilt was being discussed. No doubt, Darcy predicted that Larry would run, making him look guilty.

  Then again, if he was innocent, why would Larry commit suicide?

  What if he was deeply in her thrall? Wyatt could easily imagine Darcy convincing Larry to stage a hanging. Perhaps promises were made to find Larry in time to save his life. Perhaps she convinced Larry to kill himself—telling him it was the only way she’d avoid jail time—and he had agreed.

  Time began again. And Wyatt knew one thing for sure. He needed to get to Everly, now—or she was as good as dead.

  Accelerating around the corner, Wyatt pulled onto the narrow street filled with small houses. Like the beam shining from a lighthouse on a stormy sea, sun glinted off the windshield of Everly’s rental car. Yet, he didn’t relax—he wouldn’t relax, not even for a second, until Everly was safe.

  He parked across the street. After opening the glove box, he removed his SIG Sauer and slid it into the back of his pants. Wyatt considered contacting Marcus or Sheriff Haak. Then again, he wasn’t going to wait for backup to arrive, much less take the minutes needed to make a call.

  He hustled up the walkway. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open. The hinges creaked, as the door swung inward. Wyatt stepped into the room and his heart dropped.

  Shattered glass was scattered all over the floor, several shards covered in blood. Wyatt kneeled next to the table. The blood was viscous—not wet, not dry. He’d guess that the whole episode had taken place an hour ago, no more.

  Standing, he surveyed the rest of the room. A snarl of red hair was stark against the white carpet. There was a tiny piece of scalp attached.

  A venomous rage burned in his veins. He would make Darcy Owens pay for the pain she’d caused Everly. That emotion was quickly replaced with icy fear. What if Darcy really had killed her this time?

  He wiped a shaking hand down his face. He wouldn’t do Everly any good if he let his imagination rule his intellect. He needed to assess the situation—and then act.

  Obviously, there had been a struggle. Had Everly s
omehow figured out that Darcy was involved in Axl’s death and confronted the other woman? Or was Darcy—knowing her own guilt—suspicious of Everly’s unannounced visit? In the end, the answer to those questions didn’t matter. For Wyatt, all that counted was who had won.

  Removing his gun, Wyatt stayed low as he moved down the hall. There was a door to the left. Gripping his gun, he pushed open the door and slid into the room. It was a bedroom with an adjacent bathroom.

  The bed was unmade, the closet door closed. At first glance, there was nothing amiss. He opened the closet and pulled all the clothes from the rack. Nothing. Nothing under the bed or hidden between the mattress and box spring. The bathroom was likewise empty.

  There was another room across the hall.

  Wyatt stood on the threshold, his heartbeat hammering. He wanted to find her, needed to see Everly—unharmed. He knew that his hope was foolishness and yet, he felt as if by sheer will alone, he could make it a reality.

  He pushed open the door. It was a second bedroom. Bed. Table. Desk. He conducted a quick, systematic, but fruitless search. None of the rooms bore the scars from an attack. No overturned tables or broken lamps. It looked as if the fight had been contained to the living room, as if it happened when someone tried to enter—or maybe it was leave.

  How could he have left Everly alone? He cursed his pride and moved to the last room to be searched. A shattered camera sat near the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen. Taking a knee, Wyatt examined the rubble. Engraved into the bottom was a note:

  To Axl on your 30th B-day

  Capture the best of life

  Love, Everly

  The final puzzle piece snapped into place. Wyatt didn’t take time to either congratulate or berate himself. This was proof that Everly was in the hands of a killer. He had to act quickly. Wyatt’s instinct was to rush out, but go where?

  Standing in the middle of Darcy’s living room, he tried to get a sense of what everything meant. It was a cozy house. Yet, Wyatt knew that Darcy was far from being the homey type. That meant it was an act and this place was a stage, but for whom?