“That sounds good to me. I’m so tired right now I’m not sure my brain is firing on all cylinders. I’d probably leave something out of the story, like how Hawk got me out of the river.” She raised their clasped hands and rested her cheek on them. “Thank you for taking care of me. And of Brian.”
“You’re welcome. It made me wish I’d brought my med pack, but I wasn’t supposed to be working on this trip. Luckily, the clinic was happy to supply me once the vet checked out my credentials.” His gaze flicked up to the bandage covering her eyebrow. “How’s the laceration?”
“Sore, but not that bad. In a day or two I won’t even notice it.”
“Unless you end up with a scar. I did my best to make it precise. It will heal well; I just don’t know how invisible it will be in the end.”
“Well, if I end up with a scar, then I’ll look like a sexy adventuress.” She tried to match her teasing tone with a ghost of a smile, but knew she was too tired and drained to pull it off.
“A sexy adventuress with some serious wear and tear.”
Meg covered a yawn behind her hand. “Exactly.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “You mind?”
“Not at all.”
“I’m going to close my eyes for a minute or two.”
“You’ve been awake for over thirty hours of pure physical and emotional stress. You’re going to doze off, but I promise to wake you when Brian comes back to let us know how Lacey is doing.”
“I won’t doze off. I’m just going to rest my eyes. They’re kind of burning at this point.”
“I bet they are.” Webb shifted, slipping his arm around her and tucking her more securely against his shoulder. “I’ve got you. Go ahead and . . . uh . . . rest your eyes.”
“Thanks.” Meg closed her eyes, let out a long breath of stress and tension, and dropped straight into sleep.
CHAPTER 25
Trail Trees: Hardwood trees deliberately bent to grow horizontally several feet above the ground. The bend makes the tree visible at greater distances, even in snow. Such trees were used by North American indigenous peoples to mark game trails and trade routes.
Wednesday, April 17, 4:18 PM
Lake View Cabins
Blue Ridge, Georgia
Meg came down the staircase a little unsteadily, holding tight to the railing and still feeling half asleep after her nap.
When she had gradually resurfaced from sleep to multiple voices downstairs, she’d thrown off the covers and swung her legs over the side. She’d instantly regretted the action—her stiff, battered muscles protested any movement whatsoever, and she had to sit still for a moment before attempting to stand.
She stopped halfway down the stairs, peering into the living room at the unexpected crowd of people, when she had expected only Webb and McCord.
Torres and Craig sat on the couch, facing an open file folder on the coffee table with lists and photos spread across it. McCord took the armchair, while Webb sat on the raised stone fireplace hearth near a cheerfully snapping blaze. Lauren and Scott had pulled dining room chairs close to the agent and their SAC as they discussed the case.
Meg took another few steps down, and the motion attracted Webb’s attention. As soon as he saw her, he was on his feet, coming to where she stopped on the bottom step.
His eyes searched her face with concern. “I thought you’d sleep longer, but you were only down for a few hours. That won’t make up for last night.”
“I could have slept more, but I don’t want to sleep so long I can’t sleep tonight.” She scanned the room. “Where’s Hawk? When I went to sleep, he was on the bed with me, but he was gone when I woke up.”
Webb pointed toward the couch. “He’s behind the couch, stretched out with Theo and Rocco by the fire.”
Meg rubbed her hands up and down her arms. “A fire sounds nice, actually.”
“After how cold you were, I bet it does. Come on over. You want coffee?”
“I’d love some.” She stepped onto the floor and winced.
He slipped an arm around her waist and let her lean on him as they made their way slowly toward the fireplace. “Sore?”
“Oh yeah. That’s going to last for a few days.”
“From the bruising you have, I’m sure it will. Tell you what—before bed tonight, have a long soak in the whirlpool tub, and when you get out, I’ll give you a massage. That will relax you enough to sleep well.”
“Deal. As long as you won’t hurt your shoulder doing it.”
“Actually, it would sort of be exercise for it without being too strenuous. And you love a massage, so it’s good all around.”
“This time I could really use one. I have to be ready to get right back on the horse when the next call goes out.”
“We’ll get you there. But for now, come join us. Torres has been bringing Craig, Lauren, and Scott up to speed.”
“With McCord sitting right there?”
“I think he noticed that Craig accepted McCord’s presence with no fuss, so he did, too.”
“McCord can chalk up another conquest.”
“They’re practically notches in his bedpost at this point.”
Meg was smiling as she lowered herself down to the hearth and turned to hold her hands toward the flames dancing behind the fireplace screen. She couldn’t keep a sigh of pleasure from slipping free. “That’s nice. I’m not nearly as cold as I was, but it still feels good.”
“I’ll grab us both coffees. Be right back.”
A few minutes later, Webb handed her a steaming mug and then settled beside her on the hearth in time to tune in to the case discussion as Torres finished walking Craig, Lauren, and Scott through the current suspect list. Hawk wandered over to settle at her feet. Meg ran her hand over his clean coat—when they got home, Lauren had washed Hawk—and then turned her attention to the conversation, when Webb spoke up.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here, and I’m not supposed to have an opinion, but if you don’t mind some outside thoughts, it looks to me like you’re pigeonholing the suspects.”
Displeasure flickered over Torres’s face at being second-guessed. “What do you mean?”
“The list of suspects you have. I know a lot of them came from recent shooting competitions, but you seem to be angling toward young males. Is there a reason for that? I didn’t hear anything that would skew the selection that way, but maybe I missed something.”
“I . . . uh . . .” Torres stopped, his brows drawn together as if he hadn’t realized the pattern. “The largest limiting factor is the actual method of death. It’s not like shooting a gun. It’s a physical method that requires a great deal of skill.”
“I totally agree with the skill aspect. But I watched Meg learn how to shoot in a fifteen-minute lesson. Now, grant you, she wasn’t an expert after one lesson and she’s in really good shape, but she managed to convincingly nail the target.”
“Todd has a point,” Meg said. “Maybe we’re not finding someone who fits because we’re looking at this through too narrow a lens. It doesn’t necessarily need to be someone who can bench-press two-fifty.”
“And as you showed, it doesn’t have to be a man. I’m just suggesting if you’re reviewing your lists to see what you missed, maybe open up the options a little wider. Consider both genders and a range of ages.”
“It certainly can’t hurt. And—” Meg stopped at the sound of the front door opening. Ryan came through into the front hall, followed by Brian, who shut the door behind them. Both men looked exhausted, but Brian’s earlier expression of abject misery had eased.
Brian looked over at the group, his eyebrows raised in surprise, and raised a hand in greeting.
Craig got to his feet. “How’s Lacey?”
Brian murmured a quiet word to Ryan and they moved into the living room. “She’s holding her own. They’re going to keep her sedated for the rest of the day and for the night so she doesn’t move around too much. The next forty-eight hours are critical, but the doc
is very optimistic. They told us to head home and we can come back tomorrow morning. If anything changes, they’ll call us.” He tried to smile, but it wobbled before falling away. “They’re not sure what the lasting effects will be. There’s a lot of soft tissue damage to her torso and neck and her front legs from fending off the attack. We’ll have to see if she’s . . .” He swallowed hard. “If she’s able to be active like she was before.”
Meg could hear the unspoken message behind his words loud and clear. We’ll see if she can do search-and-rescue. We’ll see if we’re still a part of this team.
Meg pushed off the hearth to stand, swayed for a moment as she got her balance, and walked stiffly over to Brian. She stepped into him for a hug, and his arms looped around her in response. “She’s strong,” she murmured in his ear. “And she’s a fighter. Don’t count her out. She’ll need time to recover, but you’ll be back with us before you know it.”
Brian pulled away just far enough to rest his forehead against hers. “I don’t know what I’d do without you guys.”
“Good thing you aren’t going to have to find out. Come and grab a seat by the fire. We’re discussing the case and we need your insight.”
If Brian suspected she was simply trying to distract him, it didn’t show in his eyes. “Let me get Ryan settled in my room. He simply walked out of work today, so he needs to go catch up on a few things on my laptop.”
Working as an archivist at the Smithsonian in DC, Ryan was responsible for some of the museum’s larger collections. It spoke to his priorities that he’d simply walk away from his work when Brian needed him.
“Sure, come back when you can.” She sat down on the hearth as Brian and Ryan headed for the stairs. “Sorry, where were we?”
“We were talking about possible suspects.” Torres’s words were nearly a flat monotone.
“Right. I think Todd’s suggestion has merit. You didn’t come up with the list on your own, we all contributed. Maybe we were all looking through the same narrow scope. Time to think in broader terms.”
Craig’s phone beeped from where it lay on the table, alerting him to an incoming message. “Sorry.” He pulled out his phone and checked the message. “It’s Rutherford. He says he’s ready to deliver the profile.”
“Does he want to send it to us?” Meg asked. “Or would he be willing to Skype in? That way we can actually discuss it.”
“Let me ask him.” Craig texted a reply and then sat back. “He doesn’t know about yesterday’s attack unless someone else has told him. We were in a rush to leave town yesterday, and with the BAU at Quantico, it never occurred to me to fill him in. I wonder if it’ll change his profile?”
“Only one way to find out,” Lauren said.
Craig’s phone alerted again. “He sent his Skype ID so we can contact him, and then he’ll follow it up with his usual electronic copy.”
“We can use my laptop,” Meg said, bracing to rise to her feet.
Webb pressed her down with a hand to her shoulder. “I’ll get it. You stay put.” He strode across the room and then took the stairs two at a time.
Lauren met Meg’s eyes across the table. “It looks like he’s recovered.”
“They’ll keep him off active duty until his shoulder is fully healed, but it’s really coming along. I bet he’ll be back to light duty in less than a week and active duty the week after that. Which will be good, because I know the inactivity is killing him.”
Brian came down the stairs, looking up after Webb. “Where’s Todd going? He seemed in a rush.”
“He’s saving my battered body a trip up the stairs.” She patted the hearth beside her. “We’re going to get the profile from Rutherford.”
Brian sat down next to her and leaned in close. “Thanks for including me,” he murmured.
“We wouldn’t have you anywhere else.”
His gaze flicked to her forehead. “How’s the cut healing?”
“It pulls a bit whenever I move my eyebrow, but otherwise it’s not too bad.” She took a deep breath, needing to put into words the feelings swirling inside her for the past few hours, manifesting into a muddle of bad dreams while she’d slept. “I was really lucky I didn’t break my neck or crack my head open during the fall or in the river, but I think I sucked up all our collective luck.” She grabbed his hand and held on. “Brian, I’m so sorry. If I’d been able to stay on my feet . . . If I’d been more alert—”
“Stop. You aren’t responsible for what happened to Lacey. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“But if I hadn’t tumbled down that hill, I wouldn’t have gotten separated from you, and Craig wouldn’t have had to launch the search teams—”
“If you hadn’t tumbled down the hill, you’d be dead now from the arrow that would have hit home while you lay on that path. Then I’d be without you and I’m not going to contemplate that. No, the only person responsible for Lacey is this killer. Without him, we wouldn’t be here, and we certainly wouldn’t have been out there. So I don’t want to hear another word on the subject. You got me?”
Blinking back tears from a combination of exhaustion, stress, and relief, Meg let out a short, jagged laugh. “Loud and clear.”
Footsteps on the stairs heralded Webb’s return, Meg’s laptop under his arm. “Here you go.” His gaze stayed fixed on her face for an extra second or two, but if he noticed the bit of extra moisture in her eyes, he didn’t comment on it.
“Thanks.” She opened her laptop, booted up, and logged in. Within a minute, the familiar tones of a Skype call rang through the speakers. Then a new window opened and Rutherford smiled back at her. He was in his office at Quantico and, as usual, was nattily dressed in a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and an emerald-green tie. “SSA Rutherford. Thank you for your flexibility.”
“Ms. Jennings. I’m happy to be able to accommodate the team.”
Meg turned the laptop toward Craig and Torres. “I’ll pass you over to SAC Beaumont and Special Agent Torres.”
“Beaumont. Special Agent, good to meet you.”
“Good to meet you, too.” Torres shot a quick glance at Craig, who gave him a go-ahead nod. “SAC Beaumont tells us you have the profile ready to go.”
“I do.”
“We wanted to update you on the latest development.” His gaze flicked to Meg. “Actually, I’m going to let Meg do that, since she was directly involved.” He spun the laptop around to Meg.
“We had another attack yesterday,” Meg began. She laid out all the details from Greyson’s murder, to tracking the suspect, to the surprise attack in the wilderness, and ending with a Reader’s Digest version of her escape and rescue from the wilderness. “Does any of that change your profile?”
Rutherford sat back in his chair, one hand stroking his chin as he studied something on his computer monitor located below the webcam. Then he shook his head. “No, it adds a layer. It clarifies some things about the shooter. And it definitely speaks to her current mind-set.”
“Her?” Meg’s gaze shot to Webb, who had pulled back to stay out of range of the webcam. He returned the look with a shrug and raised eyebrows.
“Yes, I think your archer is a woman.”
Torres turned the laptop toward himself and Craig. “That suggestion was raised a few minutes ago here, but I don’t see it.”
“Classic confirmation bias,” Rutherford replied. “Your life experiences tell you to see a certain thing, so you more readily absorb information that confirms those beliefs. It’s a common pitfall.” He smiled, a bright flash of teeth in his black face. “But that’s why you have me.”
“Then we’ve gone astray on this case.” Torres’s tone carried a hint of self-recrimination. “Why do you think that?”
“Let me lay it all out for you. Is everyone there up to speed on all the case details, or do you want me to go over it all?”
“No, we just did a review. We can move right to your analysis.”
“Excellent. Then let’s start wit
h the differences between male and female serial killers. Only twenty years ago, one of the BAU’s own profilers pronounced that there were no female serial killers, but we know much better now. In fact, about one in six serial killers is a woman. But they tend to be overlooked because of the classic female persona as the nurturer and the caregiver. Hard to believe someone like that would commit such heinous crimes, but without a doubt, they do.”
“By people who don’t fulfill that role?”
“Not at all. By women who do, just not for that victim at that time. Many women kill their own spouses or their children, individuals for whom they once held that role but don’t any longer.”
“But there isn’t a caregiver of either sex that ties these victims together,” Torres protested.
Meg met Craig’s gaze, seeing her own thoughts reflected there. He’s convinced it has to be a man. So much so, he’s rejecting the profile before it’s delivered.
“Rutherford,” Craig interrupted, “are you suggesting that the caregiving aspect of this case is related to motive? It’s why she’s killing?”
“That’s it exactly. Let me give you a little evolutionary psychology so you can understand some of the differences between male and female serial killers. You likely all know about early humans and the concept of hunting and gathering. Before the rise of agriculture, that’s how the human race survived, and there tended to be a pretty clear dividing line between the sexes—the males went out hunting to bring home meat for the family group, and the females stayed closer to home, raised the children, and gathered nuts, berries, and root vegetables to supplement the meat, or replace it entirely if the hunt was unsuccessful. But you can see traces of those characteristics in modern serial killers. Men hunt for sexual partners—overwhelmingly, the reason for killing is tied to sexual satisfaction. Whereas women only rarely kill for sexual satisfaction. More often than not, they kill for financial gain, where they gather resources to support their young. That’s what I see in this case.”
Leave No Trace Page 24
