by Kelly Irvin
A pair of ballet slippers, gold bangle bracelets, a gold chain with a hummingbird charm. Blue glasses. They were strewn atop a hodgepodge of women’s clothes. He touched a woman’s jean jacket à la the eighties, a red silky scarf, and a pink sweater.
Understanding dawned, bringing with it dry heaves that couldn’t be denied. Evelyn’s glasses and Charity’s necklace. Julie’s bracelets. The slippers might be Leyla’s. These were the killer’s trophies left in the closet of a cabin long abandoned by his family.
Max coughed and turned away in fear of contaminating what surely would bring DNA evidence to the table. Connections between victims and the occupant of this cabin. He scooted farther back on his knees. What little he knew about evidence included don’t touch. He’d already sullied the exterior of the suitcase with his fingers. He’d touched the first layer of clothing.
Clothing that belonged to women who died terrible deaths.
He closed his eyes. Keep it together, bud. This is no time to be a wuss. He breathed and opened his eyes.
No bobby pins.
God, help me. Please.
He contorted his body until he could get his feet under his body and stand. A pale-pink T-shirt hung next to half a dozen men’s short-sleeved cotton shirts. READING BOOKS IS MY SUPERPOWER. He leaned closer and sniffed. Charity Waters’s faint scent wafted and faded as quickly as it had come.
She’d been here. And she had long hair. He moved on to the bathroom. A dish next to the sink held two pair of stud earrings, a scrunchie, two ponytail ties, and voilà, half a dozen bobby pins. Next to it lay a small brown box. The lid slid off with relative ease. A book of matches, gold cuff links, a tie clip, and a miniature pocketknife.
A virtual goldmine for two desperate people on the run from cold-blooded killers.
“Sorry, CSI folks.” He backed up to the vanity and fumbled for the pins. His fingers were all thumbs. An earring, a tie, a scrunchie fell on the floor. “Come on, come on.”
His fingers closed around the pins. “Thank You, Jesus.”
Next the book of matches and the tiny pocketknife went into his back pocket. His shoulder sockets ached, but the golden liquid of hope ran through his veins.
He took thirty seconds to pray for the women whose lives were snuffed out before the mementos were gathered and then made his way back to Teagan. They would save each other. These psychopaths would not have a memento to remember Teagan by.
Not on his watch.
37
Somewhere in virtual space a YouTube guru was laughing. Using a bobby pin to unlock handcuffs was harder than it looked. Or maybe the fact that Teagan’s hands were shaking and her palms sweating made the task more challenging. Perspiration dripped in her eyes. They burned. Her jaw hurt from gritting her teeth. The clock ticked in her ears. Any minute Joanna and Chase would return to the cabin to finish what they’d started.
Stop it. Focus. She concentrated on her attempt to free Max of his handcuffs. “One more time. I’ll get it this time, I promise.”
“Just relax and close your eyes. Listen for a click.”
Hysteria burbled up in her throat in the form of a giggle. “Easy for you to say.”
“Not really.”
The bobby pin slid from her slick fingers and pinged on the dirty faux wood floor. “Oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay. I have more.” Max eased back so his hands touched the bed frame. He opened his fist, palm up. Three more bobby pins. “Take one and I’ll keep the others for backup.”
She inhaled, exhaled, and took one pin. Another breath. In and out. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Philippians 4:13. Rick’s assertion that a verse existed for even the most exigent situation held true. “Here we go.”
Still, executing this delicate operation while handcuffed herself seemed beyond the realm of possibility.
Click.
“I got it, I got it.” Tears pricked Teagan’s burning eyes. Fear, fatigue, and thirst mingled into a thick slime in her stomach. “Hurry, do mine. We’ve wasted too much time. It’s probably getting dark.”
No way to know. Neither of them wore watches. They depended on their phones for the time.
Max whirled and went to work. Seconds later he accomplished what had taken her ten minutes to do. She threw her shaking arms around him and held on. “I can’t believe we’re still alive.”
“Me neither. Did it strike you that those two didn’t really know what they were doing?”
“They were following someone else’s script.” She should let go, but she couldn’t. “Why not kill us? Or at least you. The person behind this already tried once.”
“Mr. Serial Killer has his reasons. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough—if we don’t get out of here.” Max’s arms tightened around her waist. “Let’s not think about it. I’m thankful to God we’re both still here.”
The air crackled with electricity. Teagan leaned into him. The kiss rocked her to her toes. She wanted this. She wanted to taste him and feel him and know him. Before it was too late.
Max opened his eyes. His feelings were laid bare. “Your timing stinks, but I love you for it.”
Love you.
“I know it doesn’t solve anything, but if we don’t make it out of here—”
“We will. We’re going. Now.”
The thought of leaving the cabin for the unknown on the other side of its ramshackle walls held less appeal than it had only seconds earlier. “You’re sure Leyla’s not here?”
“I told you, there’s no basement. There’s no sign she was ever here.”
Maybe not, but the killer had been. The trophies in the suitcase, along with evidence of Charity Waters’s presence, told the story. He had used this hideaway as his man cave, his killer cave. And his boudoir.
A deepening darkness and a steady drip, drip of light rain greeted them outside. Not enough to wash away the tire tracks. They headed downhill. The driveway faded into a narrow dirt track barely wide enough for one vehicle. The thick humidity pressed against Teagan’s skin. The rain did nothing to cool her.
Elation faded with each step. Juniper branches smacked her in the face. The clouds parted in a tiny crack, but the sliver of a moon gave them no light. She stumbled into a fallen tree trunk. The bark bit into her shins. She fell forward onto her face in a pile of rotting leaves and brush.
Something hissed.
The darkness masked their companion as it slithered away.
“Tell me again snakes are more afraid of me than I am of them,” she whispered as she scrambled to her feet. “Tell me you weren’t making that up.”
“We have psychopaths chasing us and you’re worried about snakes?”
“They’re not psychopaths. They’re sycophants. Followers. Leo Slocum is the family father figure who fills their heads up with what they must do to please him.” Talking about it helped fill the space in her head where anxiety and fear had parked themselves. Focus on unraveling the case. “They want to show him how much they love and support him. Like Squeaky Fromme and Sandra Good and Tex Watson followed Manson. Only Chase really is related to Leo.”
Peering into the darkness, Max climbed over an outcropping of limestone covered with scraggly lantana and coreopsis. “I don’t care what you call them. They’re crazy, nuts, loco, loony.”
“Like foxes. They grabbed us in broad daylight, stuck us in trash bins, rolled us into a stolen van, and drove us out into the middle of nowhere right under the noses of a dozen or more law enforcement agents. That we should be so crazy.”
“A carefully thought-out plan.” Max nodded. “Is it just me or are you thinking no way they were smart enough to plan the nuts and bolts, the disguises, the uniforms, the timing, the van, watching and waiting for us, getting us into the van? Do they seem that smart to you? They left us in a room together.”
“No. And they didn’t have Leyla.”
The passage of time had gone wonky. It was night, so another day had p
assed. Another day with Leyla in the clutches of a brutal family of murderers. “Whoever has her is the brains, but he’s as much a follower as they are. He’s doing this for his father figure, but he’s also doing it for himself.”
“For himself?”
“Whoever he is, he likes it. A lot.” Teagan’s foot hit loose dirt. Gravel. She peered ahead. “The road is widening. Look, it’s paved. We’ve hit an actual road.”
“Hallelujah!” Max managed to dial back the whoop to a whisper. “Sweet Jesus, thank You.”
Headlights blinded them. A car coming up the hill at a steady pace, the lights flickering in and out as it rounded curves and straightened.
“Quick, a car, a car.” Teagan waved and yelled. Max did the same. It would be suicide to step in front of the car in the dark, but it might be suicide not to do it.
The car slowed. It stopped.
“Oh, thank You, thank You, God.” Teagan stumbled into the road. Max kept pace. “Hello, we need help. We need to use your cell phone.”
The door opened. Cole Reynolds stepped from the vehicle.
“Cole, you found us.” Teagan worked to focus. How was that possible? Even if he were part of the pack searching for Teagan and Max, how could he have found them? He alone. In all the places in the world he might’ve looked, right here, right now. “You’re him.”
“I am, my friend.”
38
Cole Reynolds liked dogs and DIY projects, and he made lasagna for a grieving family.
He was also a serial killer.
The realization hit Teagan like a physical blow. Her neighbor, a community college speech instructor had killed Julie, Evelyn, and Kris Moreno.
A nice guy. Helpful. Sweet. Good-looking.
“The Triple S Murderer in the flesh. No pun intended.” Cole shoved the SUV’s door shut with his hip and moseyed forward as if he had all the time in the world. As if they had all the time in the world. His hands remained hidden behind his blue rain slicker. “You could’ve done better. It sounds more like a rancher’s brand. So commercial. A tad lurid.”
“Like yourself. Where’s my sister?”
“I have a surprise for you, my sweet.” He motioned toward the van. “But not just yet.”
“Is she in there?” Teagan plunged toward van. “What have you done to her?”
Cole stepped into her path, a mammoth .357 Magnum pointed at her head, a butcher knife in his other hand. “Don’t worry. I haven’t killed her. Yet. Titillating, isn’t it? I bet your father is dying a slow death all his own. Two of his daughters gone. Trying to find them before it’s too late. Wondering if they’re already dead. Wishing he could die instead. Just like my father, stuck in that hellhole jail because of him.”
Teagan kept moving. She couldn’t stop herself. Max grabbed her arm. She struggled to free herself. “I want to see her. Now.”
“Easy. He wants you to freak out.” Max’s soft voice held no emotion. “He’s getting his jollies from this. Don’t give him what he wants.”
“Listen to your boyfriend. Max is a smart guy.” Cole smiled. How could she have ever thought that smile charming? He waved the gun toward the van. “Follow my instructions and you’ll see her soon enough.”
Cold fear mixed with hot anger, creating a violent tornado of emotion. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t pray. “You’re a sick, sick man. I’m not sure you’re a member of the human race.”
“You can’t wound me, dear Teagan, and you know you’ll only regret the awful things you say. Shouldn’t you pray for me instead?”
“I’ll pray for the Lord to give you your due punishment immediately, how’s that?”
“If He’s real, He will. If He’s not, you’re doomed.” Cole chuckled, a low rumble that matched the distant thunder that promised more rain. “I know which one I vote for.”
He tossed zip ties at Teagan. She caught them out of sheer reflex. “I’ll let you do the honors. Max first since he’s the big he-man.”
He would not get his way. He would not do this. Not to Leyla. Not to Max.
God, I need You now. We need You now.
Sorry about this, she mouthed to Max as she did as she was told. Be ready.
His gaze like hot pokers, Max nodded.
“Behind, not in front. Good and tight. I wouldn’t want to have to shoot your beloved just yet.” Cole sounded almost jovial, like a man planning a summer vacation. “I’ve been noodling this scenario for a while, and I’ve come to see it as filled with possibilities. A three-for-one if you’ll allow me to be so crass. It’s actually quite exciting. Something different. Normally, killing Max wouldn’t be my thing, but knowing how important he is to you, I can make it work. I’m envisioning a tableau that your father will never forget, never overcome.”
Chills like a host of spiders crawled up Teagan’s arms. Vomit rose in the back of her throat. Despite the heat she shivered. So many macabre possibilities in a brain so filled with grotesque nightmares just waiting to become reality. She grasped at calm rational thought with both shaking hands. What would Dad do?
Learn as much as possible about the perp. Get in his head. Don’t let him in your head. Make a connection. Go along to get along until the time is right. No sudden moves. Be stone-cold sober in your assessments. If ever there is a time for calm under duress, this is it.
“What is your connection to Leo Slocum?”
“I’m his son—well, his bastard son.”
Teagan’s hands stopped moving. She swiveled and stared at him. The blue eyes, the dark wavy hair. The tall, athletic frame. He had Deidre Patterson’s mouth, the shape of her chin, even her dimples. He looked much more like his mother than his father. But now that she’d been told, she could see it in his frame and his eyes.
One plus one equaled three.
The children’s A-B-C blocks fell into place. They spelled family. The family that murdered together stayed together.
Or, in this case, grew together.
“So that’s what this is about? Earning favor with a father who abandoned you at birth or shortly thereafter? Who refused to leave his wife for your mother?” She eased so close to Max the hair on his arm brushed hers. “Why would you want to do that?”
“The biological imperative, I suppose. Or to show him what he missed by not choosing me.” He waved the .357 at her. “Hands.”
He zip-tied hers in front. She, not being a big he-man, was no threat to him.
“Why after all these years?”
“Preparation. I never do anything without a carefully thought-out plan. I learned that from Pops. I bought a house and lived in your neighborhood for more than a year. You never suspected. Pops will be proud.” His grim smile widened. “I like calling him that. My adopted father insisted on Daddy, which got old by middle school.”
“Was adoption so bad?”
“It was good, actually. I won the lottery when it came to foster parents. They liked that I was a ‘spirited’ child. They adopted me after only a year. They paid for my college education. They made excuses for my bad behavior. They got me out of scrapes. I’m a teacher because of them. In a few years I’ll get my master’s and move up to a tenured position at a four-year college.”
He had goals like a normal man. “Yet you need to curry favor from a psychopathic serial killer.”
“Have you heard the maxim ‘The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree’? I abhor cliché as much as you do, but in this case it’s true. I find I’m good at the family trade, and I enjoy it so much more than reading the drivel written by self-important, selfie-addicted kids who wouldn’t know a classic if it bit them in the backside.”
“What is your endgame?” Max’s arm rubbed against Teagan’s. He edged in front of her. She jockeyed for position. He would not play the knight in shining armor. “What do you expect to gain from the needless, senseless murder of four women?”
“Six by the time I finish with Teagan and the ballerina. Plus one white knight in shining armor.” His face contorted in a m
irthless grin. “The more you suffer, the more your father suffers.”
“Give me just a little leeway and I’ll kill you.” She barged forward, intent on unleashing the fury of a thousand O’Rourke ancestors on the man who hurt her sweet, dancing Leyla. “You’re a coward, a spineless coward.”
The butcher knife came up. It pricked her outstretched arm. Blood warmed her skin, but it didn’t really hurt. Not as much as one would expect. Cole smiled. “Even you admit you would give in to your baser instincts.”
Teagan’s anger drained away, leaving her light-headed, but the determination remained. “No, I’m not an animal like you. I’ll let justice have its due. I believe life in prison without parole to be a perfect sentence for a man who wants attention. You’ll get it there. Plenty of inmates willing to make you their best friends.”
“You’d spare my life then?”
“The death penalty is too good for you. You deserve to suffer for fifty years in a ten-by-ten cell.”
“It took me years to track down my father, only to find he’d been a naughty boy. He’d grown sloppy and stalked a prey too close to home. Your father caged him like the animal you say we are. My chance at having a relationship with my father was gone. He wouldn’t even see me at the jail. He said he didn’t know me from Adam. Your father deserves to suffer. If he hadn’t arrested my father, we would have a relationship now. So would my brother and sister. He ruined everything.”
“Your father didn’t want to see you. That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it? You want to impress him. You’re jealous of Chase and his sister, aren’t you?”
The knife came up again and touched her tangled hair. Teagan stood stock-still, forcing every bone in her body to remain unmoving. Cole’s smile became almost cherubic. “After Father dearest made the idiotic mistake of escaping, he called my brother. He thought Chase was doing all this. That stupid buffoon. He thanked him for trying to create reasonable doubt.”
“Did Chase tell him about you?”
“Yes. Pops denied he had another son. He denied it all.” The blade slid across her hair to the bare skin of her neck, down the row of buttons on her blood-and dirt-stained blouse. “I love a good tussle with a beautiful woman. Get in the car. I don’t have much time, unfortunately, because I have finals to finish grading. Everything has to be turned in tomorrow.”