Her hand slapped the table as her internal fire ignited again. She wouldn’t let Frost make her into a victim again. No, she was an overcomer. That was the message she’d tried to bestow upon her clients, and she needed to live it in her own life.
“I have been thinking about it. I’ve been through therapy. Tried every different technique out there. But I can’t remember anything else.”
His gaze remained unchanged. “You don’t want to remember.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head, fighting to remain in control. Even though she was no longer chained and bound, sometimes Samantha still felt like a captive.
Because maybe Frost was right. There was one memory that always hovered on the edge of her consciousness. She didn’t know what it was, but she feared it could be the missing clue that would help authorities find this guy. Nothing she’d tried had helped retrieve it, leading her to believe that it was just wishful thinking.
Yet she knew it wasn’t.
No matter what she did, that repressed memory stayed beneath the surface, like a person trapped under an ice lake. Like she was clawing at a frozen layer, aware of everything happening above her. But unable to scream. Unable to breathe. Unable to yell for help.
Unable to do anything except wait for her death.
Frost seemed to sense the repressed memory and assume it meant she was guilty.
All she’d done was go to the store to get her mom’s inhaler. One act had changed everything. And it would always change everything.
Tears pressed her eyes, and she stood. “I came here trying to help, but I can see now that nothing I say will ever convince you that I had nothing to do with this. I need to go.”
She didn’t have to sit here and let Frost make her feel like a victim again. She rushed from the room. She didn’t have a car here but she would call Elise or her boss, Hank. Then she’d go . . . somewhere. She didn’t know where. Certainly not her house. Not with the Grim Wrecker knowing where she lived.
But she wouldn’t be a victim again . . . neither at the hands of a serial killer or the FBI.
Chapter 4
Quinn cast a scowl at Frost before scooting his chair out. He didn’t know Frost very well yet, but this whole conversation had turned his stomach. Quinn didn’t have time to talk about the agent’s behavior now.
Right now he had to stop Samantha.
He stepped into the hallway and spotted the woman headed toward the reception area of the small sheriff’s office. “Ms. White—wait!”
Quinn wasn’t sure if she would stop, but she did. Slowly, she turned toward him. Tears glimmered in her eyes—tears that she was obviously trying to hold back.
He observed her as she approached. The woman was beautiful with her olive complexion and long, dark hair. She had an almost exotic look with her heart-shaped face and large eyes. All that beauty hadn’t saved her from living through a nightmare. Had it added that depth to her eyes or had that always been there?
“I’m sorry about Frost,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Please excuse him.”
She raised her chin, showing a healthy dose of self-respect. “There’s no excuse for him. I came here trying to help and inform, and instead I’m being scrutinized and pressured. My survivor’s guilt is already tremendous, and that’s on a good day.”
He shifted, desperately needing to reach her before their best lead slipped out the door. “I want to hear more about this. So while the guys here are discussing their next moves, could we talk?”
She stared at him, her eyes wide and uncertain. She was trying to figure out if she could trust him, and Quinn couldn’t blame her. Trust wasn’t something that should easily be given out.
Finally, Samantha nodded. “I’ve already taken the day off work. But I only want to talk to you. Not Frost.”
Relief filled him. “I can arrange that. Let me grab my jacket, and I’ll meet you right here. Okay?”
Quinn waited, watching her reaction carefully and fearing she might change her mind. Instead, she nodded again. “Okay.”
Quinn hurried to the conference room that would serve as their headquarters. Frost still sat there, staring at a notepad.
“Samantha and I are going to talk,” he said.
“Good work,” Frost muttered. “Get her to trust you.”
Reaching out to the woman wasn’t a play on Quinn’s part. He was doing his job. “Kindness goes a lot further than whatever method you’re attempting to use. The way you treated her was uncalled for. She’s our link—the only one who can stop this guy.”
“Sometimes I don’t think she wants to remember.” Frost shrugged, as if he didn’t care. “I can’t put my finger on what it is, but I’ve always thought there was something that girl wasn’t telling us.”
Quinn stared at his fellow agent, trying to read between the lines of what he was saying. “You think she’s involved?”
Frost shrugged again, leaning back in his seat and drumming his pen on the table. “I can’t say that for sure. But why did our unsub let her go, otherwise? It’s never made sense. Maybe she made a deal with him. Maybe she’s an accomplice. Who knows?”
Fire ignited in Quinn. Of all the reasons he could use, that was what Frost had gone with? “Why did this guy do anything that he did? He’s been a mystery ever since he first struck five years ago. You’re out of line.”
Frost stared, not saying anything until, “Be careful with her.”
Quinn shook his head and grabbed his jacket. Thankfully, Samantha was still waiting for him at the end of the hallway. Part of him had wondered if she’d be long gone after that conversation with Frost. Quinn wouldn’t blame her.
Samantha was chatting with the receptionist. The two must know each other. It was one of the perks of small-town living. She still seemed subdued—upset but maybe not unreasonable.
“You mind if I drive?” he asked.
“Not at all, especially since I don’t have a car.”
The weather felt surprisingly brisk outside as they stepped into the parking lot. He’d gotten used to the weather in Texas. He’d liked it there in the Lone Star State, but he was happy to experience the four seasons again since he’d moved to the DC area. Besides, it was closer to home.
“They say we’re going to get some snow,” he murmured, trying to make small talk. He glanced up at the pregnant gray clouds. Soon, the landscape would be covered in icy precipitation.
Samantha shoved her hands into her pockets as she trudged along beside him. “That’s what I heard. It always makes driving around here tricky. Ice and mountains don’t mix well, even for people who grew up around here.”
Quinn wondered if there was a hidden meaning to Samantha’s words. The Grim Wrecker had always struck when road conditions were poor. Now, just as the weather took a turn for the worst, the serial killer appeared to be gearing up to strike again.
The thought made his stomach churn. He’d been studying the man for years, but he’d hoped the guy wouldn’t strike again. Every life lost was one too many.
“You from this area?” he asked.
He’d read Samantha’s file before, but he needed to find some common ground and establish rapport with her. It wasn’t to get on her good side as Frost might assume; it was just common decency. It was about caring for people for who they were and realizing that every person was valuable.
Samantha drew up her shoulders, as if trying to keep the wind from around her neck. “I am. Grew up in this county.”
“Have family here still?”
A quick frown pulled at her lips, then disappeared as quickly as the snowflakes dissolving in the air. “Dad died of cancer when I was six. Mom got remarried two years ago and moved to Georgia. No brothers or sisters.”
Yet she was still here. Twenty-five years old. Active in the community. Voted Most Friendly in high school.
He’d seen her pictures from back then. She looked so carefree and happy. A different guy had been by her side in all the old photos from he
r yearbooks. No doubt they were all admirers.
Yet she’d never married.
Was that because she hadn’t found the right person? Or had the Grim Wrecker ruined her? Because, on the surface, Samantha seemed like marriage material. Not only was she beautiful, but she seemed kind and strong.
It would seem like such an awkward question to pose to her, but he was curious. The more he knew about her, the easier it would be to put together a profile. He wouldn’t ask the question yet, though.
“You ever tempted to leave?” he asked instead. “Start over some place new?”
The snowflake frown made another brief appearance before melting. “Tempted? Always. But this is home, and I don’t want some crazy man to drive me away.”
“I can respect that.”
She stole a glance at him, her intelligent eyes studying him. “How about you? Where are you from?”
“I just got transferred to DC from Houston.”
“Are you having some culture shock? Shivering Falls isn’t quite Houston—although, I assume you usually work out of the DC office.”
He smiled—almost. “No, I can’t say I’m having any culture shock. Both places have their charms, so I can’t complain.”
“DC has charms?”
He did smile this time. “In its own way.”
When they reached his FBI sedan, Quinn opened her door and waited for Samantha to climb inside. Then he got in behind the wheel. As soon as he cranked the engine, he turned on the heat. Cool air blew from the vents.
“Just a few minutes, and it will warm up.” He held his hand in front of the vent on the dashboard.
“I’m used to the cold.” She stared out the window.
As if nature had heard her, a snowflake hit the windshield. If it was already snowing in October then they were in for a long road.
He waited just a moment longer for the car to heat up before pulling out. “Know anywhere to grab some coffee? This isn’t my turf.”
She nodded. “Java Hut isn’t far away.”
Five minutes later, they pulled up to the coffeehouse. Java Hut was nestled into a string of shops on a quaint downtown street of Shivering Falls. Nothing about the area screamed that this would be the breeding ground of a serial killer. No, everything about it seemed too down-home and safe—which only made these crimes somehow more horrific.
The scent of cinnamon and vanilla greeted them when they walked inside, aromas that were sure to calm—however so slightly—any nerves. Quinn and Samantha sat across from each other with coffee in hand at a corner table, away from any listening ears.
This was his style. Conversation. Talking. Making people comfortable. He knew how to use his brute strength when necessary, but he preferred other methods.
Maybe he understood it better than the average FBI agent since he’d been a victim at one time also. His parents had been killed in a home invasion when he was seventeen. Their killer was now behind bars for life, but Quinn remembered what those days were like. They’d been bleak, to say the least.
Quinn mentally reviewed what he knew about the serial killer.
Seven victims, all lured into the killer’s trap after their vehicles had broken down on lonely mountain roads. Seven bodies found buried in shallow graves at small private cemeteries—left there like they belonged. Seven families who’d grieved without answers.
Only one person had survived. Samantha White.
The killer had tased her and then dumped her on the side of the road. By the grace of God, hunters had found her in the otherwise hardly traveled area.
She was the FBI’s best lead in finding out who was behind this.
“Do you ever just stop and listen to the sound of coffee being poured?” she asked.
Her question caught him off guard. “I can’t say I do.”
“It’s really a marvelous sound. So is the sound of rain hitting the roof or a fish tank bubbling or children laughing.”
He waited for her to continue.
“You learn to appreciate those things when they’re taken away from you,” she concluded. “But it’s the small, simple things that can bring the most joy.”
“It makes sense.” He stared at the woman across from him as she sat there stiffly, still probably in shock. “I thought you might be more comfortable talking here.”
“Anywhere absent of Agent Frost works for me.” She frowned.
Quinn shifted, wondering what their story was. Frost certainly hadn’t shared. “He doesn’t have much tact.”
“To say the least.”
“Did something happen between you two?” Frost was married, so it wasn’t any type of romantic conflict. At least, Quinn hoped it wasn’t.
A shadow crossed her face. “He’s never liked me, but his hostility seems to be growing. I assumed he was like that with everyone.”
“I’ve only worked with him one other time, so I can’t confirm or deny that.” But he was curious about the shadow. She knew more—or suspected more, at least—than she was letting on.
He bit back what he wanted to say—the questions he wanted to ask. They did need to stay focused right now. “Of course. We need to figure out who’s behind this.”
“I don’t want anyone else to go through what I did. It wasn’t just my friend’s car that wrecked that night. My life has been wrecked afterward. Every day I keep trying to pick up the pieces.”
“You seem to be doing a fine job with that.”
“Sometimes I just don’t know. So I keep moving forward.”
“That’s half the battle.” He shifted. “Look, I know you’ve been over this a million times. But never with me. I’d like to hear from your own mouth what happened to you, Samantha.”
She stared into her coffee and didn’t say anything for a minute. Her lips twitched as if she was trying to form the words while battling emotions at the same time.
Before she could speak, Quinn’s phone buzzed. He saw it was the office and took the call. The color drained from his face as another agent gave him an update.
“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked as he lowered his phone.
“A woman was reported missing this morning. Police just found her car.”
Chapter 5
I don’t want to do it. But I can’t stop myself.
And now here I am. Another woman pleading for her life is bound in front of me.
And I have these urges that I can’t contain.
Sweat covers my forehead, and my heart races with anticipation. With urgency. With a touch of hesitation.
There’s only one person who can help me. Only one person who helped me overcome before. I tried reaching out. But I was too late.
I glance at the woman. At her thin figure. Her fair skin. At the way her body is hunched over into a ball.
As if that will help her.
These women need to pay. Need to suffer for what they’ve done to me.
But not Samantha. She has no reason to suffer. She’s pure and lovely and kind.
Her picture flutters through my mind, bringing a smile to my face. Making me wish she was here instead of this woman.
Samantha makes me stronger. She always has been special to me—not someone I could ever hurt.
The woman whimpers again and pulls her knees closer to her as she huddles on the couch.
Mandy is her name.
I know all about her. Know her schedule. Her habits. Her friends.
I spent weeks observing and watching, yet never being seen. Blending in.
Then she rejected me, just like the others. Women who think they can carelessly toss me aside, like I don’t matter. Women who think I don’t make enough money, even though I’m doing a valuable work. That I’m not handsome enough to be by their side. Who don’t understand my personality.
They deserve to pay for their quick judgments. For the fact that they don’t care if they hurt me. They need to know rejection also. The ultimate rejection—death.
I glance at my watch—a cheap one I bought at a
drugstore. The numbers there stare back at me.
It’s time to get to work. At my real job. The one where no one knows I’m a killer. No one suspects me. In fact, they all like me and say I’m a decent guy whose been dealt a bad hand.
I’ll have to finish this later.
I look at Mandy one more time. Listen to her cry. Whimper. Beg for her life.
Her time is coming to an end. As soon as I return, I’ll finish what I started. I’m not wasting any time this round.
Chapter 6
Samantha’s head began to spin at Agent Quinn’s words. Another woman missing? Her car found?
Already?
But Samantha had just gotten the note this morning. She hadn’t had time to do anything to stop this guy, to heed his cry for help. She’d thought she’d at least have a few days to figure out a plan. Why had he bothered to ask for help, to give Samantha hope that maybe she could stop him?
But apparently the Grim Wrecker had sent the note right before starting his deadly rampage again. He’d never really wanted Samantha’s help at all. No, maybe he’d just wanted to play with her head—or announce he was back. Then again, maybe it was all a game to him.
“Was there . . .” She paused, hardly able to say the words. “Was there a key left?”
He nodded, his jaw flexing. “There was.”
That was the Grim Wrecker’s signature. He always left a car key with no teeth in it—something generic that linked all the crimes back to him. It was his calling card, of sorts.
“I need to get to the scene.” Quinn’s words pulled her back to the present. “I’ll take you home, and maybe we can finish this conversation later.”
“Can I go with you?” She hadn’t meant for the words to leave her lips, but she didn’t want to take them back either.
There had been no victims after Samantha had been released. Not until today. But maybe being at the scene would help her break through that ice barrier her mind had created.
Agent Quinn stared at her, studying her with his intense brown eyes. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea.”
The Wrecking Page 2
