by Blake Pierce
Should he just come out and admit it to Riley?
Maybe he should just flat-out tell her the truth—that one of the reasons
he’d taken her on as a partner was his own feeling of exhaustion, his worry
that it was time to put away his badge and retire from the BAU. He’d wanted
to make sure that someone with his own talents would be ready to take his
place.
But he couldn’t tell her all of that yet.
She wasn’t ready.
And maybe the BAU wasn’t ready for Riley either. Even though Special
Agent in Charge Erik Lehl was usually supportive, he didn’t yet understand
what Jake and Riley could do.
It wasn’t Lehl’s fault. The man was perfectly competent. But how could
anyone without this ability to see into a killer’s mind understand how it
worked—how randomly, how spontaneously those insights came? And how
difficult they could be to understand?
Even worse, Riley might be partnered with someone who would try to
“shape her up” and make her like other agents.
No, he couldn’t leave until Riley was strong enough, secure enough with her abilities, to do this job without him.
Meanwhile, his question, “What are we going to do?” was still
unanswered.
Jake took a long, slow breath and said, “For starters, before we go
anywhere else I think we should get out of these stupid shorts.”
He was relieved to hear Riley give a brief laugh.
They took turns changing clothes in the motor home bathroom, and soon
they both looked like FBI agents again, with their holstered guns in place.
Theirs was now the only vehicle pulled off on the side of the road. The
Highway Patrol had left, and they still hadn’t made a decision about what
they should do next.
Jake poked into the RVs refrigerator and found some leftovers they’d
never finished. He pulled them out and put them on the table, then slid into
one of the seats.
“Water?” Riley asked.
He nodded and she poured two glasses and took the seat across from him.
He took a drink of water, and then asked, “What about a profile? We
haven’t discussed that much. What do you think you can tell us about the
killer?”
He watched as Riley stared out the window for a moment. He could tell
that her capable mind was clicking away looking for an answer to his
question. He felt a renewed pang of admiration for his young protégé.
Then she said, “He’s rich, I think we can be pretty sure of that. I mean,
he’s got some kind of big, expensive motor home all to himself. He’s driving
it to resort campgrounds all over the Southwest, and he’s got time to do it in.
He’s got to be really well off.”
Jake nodded and waited for her to say more.
She said, “We also know he’s a misogynist who loves to make women feel
helpless and terrified when he’s killing them. If he’s a high-profile, public
sort of personality, he’s probably got some kind of reputation to that effect. I doubt there are any actual police records of spousal abuse or rape or assault—
with his money, he can get away with just about anything. But things like that
might show up in his divorce papers. And he’s probably been married and
divorced quite a few times. It also might be general public knowledge that he
behaves badly toward women. Maybe even a few tabloid stories.”
Jake was pleased by what he was hearing so far. Of course, it was completely speculative, and Riley might even be entirely wrong. But since he
didn’t have any ideas of his own, he was willing to consider anything she
might have to say.
Riley squinted hard and said, “I’m having trouble thinking of anything
else.”
Fortunately, Jake had an idea of how to coach her along.
“You just said he can get away with anything with his money,” he said.
“What does that tell you?”
Riley looked at him and said, “It tells me he’s arrogant. He thinks he’s
superior and entitled. And he just naturally assumes that justice is never
going to catch up with him. Actually, he thinks justice is on his side. He
thinks he’s got a perfect right to do awful things to other people. He’s above
criticism, and above the law. And so far he’s usually been right.”
Jake added, “A rich sociopath, then?”
“I think so,” Riley said. “Which means he’s also charming, especially
toward his victims, and also toward anyone who might start suspecting him.”
Riley thought for a moment, then added …
“But I think but there’s one big difference between him and most
sociopaths. Murder isn’t a game for him. It’s … it’s more like a leisure
activity, like fishing or hiking. This really and truly is like a vacation as far as he’s concerned …”
Riley’s voice trailed away. She fell quiet again, but Jake sensed that an
idea was growing in her mind.
Then she looked him straight in the eyes and said …
“Agent Crivaro, we’ve got to go north.”
Jake was startled. He hadn’t expected her to say anything like this.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
Riley leaned toward him. “Do you remember what Sergeant Gray said
about the guy they let go—the only guy they pulled over who was traveling
all by himself? I think it was him after all.”
Jake squinted hard and said, “But Gray said they checked the bathroom.”
“I know, but maybe Sergeant Gray remembers the search wrong. Maybe
they didn’t get around to that bathroom. After all, they got in kind of a rush
while they had him there. Then they suddenly got that other name, Hunter,
and a license number to look for. There was no reason to think they should
pay more attention to the RV they were searching. Besides, Gray probably hasn’t dealt with a real sociopath before. In a rush like that, the killer could have made him believe just about anything.”
Jake stroked his chin and said, “Including that Gray’s men had searched
the RV more thoroughly than they really had?”
“I think maybe so.”
Jake shook his head and murmured softly, “Riley, I don’t know. It sounds
to me like you’re reaching. And anyway, if you’re right about it being a guy
they let go, he got away without leaving much information about himself. All
we know is that he’s driving a big Winnebago with a red stripe along the
side. God knows how many vehicles there are exactly like it on the road. We
can’t exactly put out an APB with so little to go on.”
Riley nodded and said, “That’s why we’ve got to go after him ourselves.
It’s up to us, nobody else.”
“But why should we head north after him?” Jake said. “We don’t even
know where he’s going.”
Riley smiled, her eyes bright with excitement.
“Oh, I think we do,” she said. “He told Gray he was on his way to the
Crayfish Creek Campground up around Bryce Canyon.”
“And you think he wasn’t lying?” Jake said.
“That’s exactly what I think,” Riley sad. “It’s like I was just saying, he’s arrogant and sure of himself. He didn’t bother to lie. He enjoyed the risk—
and he didn’t even think it was a very big risk, considering all the really huge risks he’s been takin
g lately. He didn’t figure anyone was going to follow
him.”
Jake sat thinking it over silently. He couldn’t quite convince himself that
Riley was onto something.
In a more urgent voice, Riley added, “Agent Crivaro, I don’t have
anywhere near the field experience you do. But I’ve studied a lot about
sociopathic killers at the Academy. And I know they’re almost always too
confident for their own good. Sooner or later, they trip themselves up. And I
think that’s what’s happening right now. He’s given us a glimpse of how his
mind works.”
Jake crinkled his brow as he struggled with what he was hearing. He
reminded himself how he’d been feeling—completely burnt out, with no idea
of how to proceed.
And the truth was, he still didn’t have any ideas.
He couldn’t help but wonder …
Am I in any state of mind to question Riley’s instincts?
After all, her gut had been right at times when his own gut was wrong.
And right now his own gut wasn’t giving him anything at all to work with.
The choice seemed to be to either follow Riley’s gut and at least drive
somewhere, or sit right here for God knew how long wondering what to do
next.
But maybe what mattered most was that he still owed her for his cruel
outburst a few moments ago—and he owed her a lot more than an apology.
I owe her a chance to follow her gut, no matter whether she’s right or
wrong.
And if she proved to be wrong—well, mistakes were part of the learning
process.
Jake nodded slowly and said, “OK, we’ll try it your way.”
Riley grinned and clapped her hands with gratitude.
Jake added, “But since this is your idea, it’s your turn to drive this damn
tub.”
Riley scrambled up, cleared away the remains of their snack, then fairly
bounded to the RV cab and into the driver’s seat.
Still feeling tired and discouraged, Jake climbed into the passenger seat.
As Riley pulled out onto the road, he still couldn’t help thinking they were
following a blind alley.
Even so, he knew perfectly well …
It’s the only “alley” we’ve got.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Until he felt sure that the roadblock was safely behind him, the man kept
driving without giving much thought to where he was headed. He’d passed
by Flagstaff without incident, and nobody on the highway seemed to be
following him, or paying any attention to him at all.
Not that there’s anything to worry about, he kept telling himself.
He’d handled the Highway Patrol sergeant with his usual charm and
finesse, and the troopers’ search of his RV had been perfunctory at best.
There had been one scary moment, though, when his conversation with the
sergeant had been interrupted by a phone call. The sergeant had gotten out of
the RV to take the call and seemed to be hearing some kind of breaking
information. The man had wondered whether he was about to be identified
after all.
But as soon as the call ended, the sergeant had waved him through,
wishing him happy camping. The man still had no idea what the phone call
had been about. Maybe some unfortunate sucker had gotten identified by
mistake.
Anyway, he’d gotten clear of it with little trouble. But he was annoyed
with himself for letting the whole incident alarm him. Was he ever going to
be able to put the vestigial panic from his childhood behind him?
He reminded himself that soon he’d have to make a decision.
Would he turn west and head toward the South Rim of the Grand Canyon,
as most tourists on this road would do? Or would he instead connect with the
route east, back to Colorado?
The question was, would he continue his vacation and his recreational
activities? Or would he just head home?
It was getting late in the day, and he hadn’t eaten since morning, so it
seemed like a good time to stop and consider his options. He exited off the
interstate and pulled into a truck stop parking lot. It looked like a clean place, so he parked his RV and then went inside the restaurant and ordered coffee
and a sandwich.
As he sat waiting for his food, he sipped his coffee and wondered …
What next?
He really hadn’t planned his killings at all to speak of. The last two had
depended entirely on more or less chance encounters with trusting women.
He’d assumed that he’d just keep right on driving and killing for as long as he enjoyed it.
But now, he wasn’t so sure.
He knew himself to be an intelligent man, and it wouldn’t be smart to push
his luck too far. And maybe the last killing back in Sedona had been far
enough. He smiled at the memory of the woman’s screams, audible even
through the soundproofing of his makeshift kill room.
That murder had been all the more satisfying because the victim had
trusted him even more than the others. He recalled how, after they’d dashed
out of the rain to his RV, she’d shyly asked him whether he thought maybe
they’d been destined to meet. And he’d replied that, yes, indeed he thought
maybe so.
Less than half an hour later, she was dead.
He chuckled softly. Just thinking about it made him feel good.
The whole thing couldn’t have gone better. Even the rain had let up at just
the right moment for him to carry her body back out onto the trail and leave it exactly where he’d encountered her.
It was perfect, he thought.
He sighed wistfully. Future killings would surely be satisfying. But it
wasn’t likely that any would go so flawlessly, so beautifully, as that last one.
In fact, they’d probably feel somewhat disappointing …
On top of being risky.
Was it really worth the likely emotional letdown? And did he even really
need to kill anymore?
He heaved a long, satisfied sigh as he took a sip of his coffee.
While it was true that he’d just had a spell of anxiety about the roadblock,
he generally felt better than he’d felt for years—better than he’d ever felt,
actually, and truly at peace with himself …
Like a new man.
Perhaps in the future he’d again feel those old primal fears creeping up
inside him from time to time, but …
I’ll always have my memories.
Those memories would assuage any lurking fears that would well up from
time to time.
He drummed his fingers on the tabletop and looked out at the RV that had
served him so well in his self-healing endeavor.
All good things must come to an end, he thought.
And three victims were enough.
He knew it was time to bring his murderous spree to a close. It was truly a
bittersweet moment, but he felt deeply satisfied with his decision.
At that moment, he heard a woman’s voice say …
“Excuse me, sir.”
He turned toward the voice and felt a jolt of alarm. For a split second, he
imagined that he was looking at Aunt Florence herself. This woman
resembled her even more than the one back in Colorado—the same curly
brown hair, the same ruddy, healthy complexion, the same radiant smile.
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But most of all …
Those eyes.
That had been the one significant difference between the woman in
Colorado and Aunt Florence. That woman had had green eyes, while Aunt
Florence’s had been a piercing, brilliant blue.
But now, this one who was staring at him expectantly—this woman’s eyes
were exactly like Aunt Florence’s. He even thought he detected a touch of
darkness, of meanness, of cruelty, somewhere behind those warm and
cheerful eyes …
Just like Aunt Florence.
He smiled his most engaging smile and said, “Can I help you?”
The woman blushed a little and chuckled.
“Oh, this is embarrassing,” she said. “I don’t know what you’ll think of
me, but …”
She pointed out the window and said, “Is that your Winnebago out there in
the parking lot?”
“It is,” the man said.
“I thought so,” the woman said, staring raptly at the RV. “It’s such a thing
of beauty, so majestic! I see a lot of Winnebagos on the road, of course, but
they’re always on the move. It’s nice to get a look at one while it’s … well,
standing still.”
She pointed to where a car and a trailer were parked and added …
“That’s my rig over there—just a little Starcraft trailer. Not that I’m
complaining. It serves my purposes well, and I’ve been all over the
Southwest in it. A single woman like me doesn’t need much more than that.”
The man smiled at the slight emphasis she’d put on those words …
… single woman …
She’s flirting with me! he realized. He had to stop himself from laughing at the irony—the very image of Aunt Florence standing here, flirting with him,
asking to see the very place that she should never visit.
Of course he was sure that his Winnebago was really just an excuse for her
to come over here and talk to him. She had no idea that it might be
significant.
Again, he had to choke back laughter that he could feel rising in his throat.
He asked her, “Have you ordered something to eat?”
“No, I was just getting ready to.”
He patted the tabletop and said, “Please, sit down. I just ordered a
sandwich. Go ahead and order what you like. I’ll buy. Afterwards, we can go
out to my rig and I’ll give you look around inside. I hope it doesn’t
