“I added the captions to it so you can see what the words are.”
“Impressive.”
“I aim to please. Unfortunately, the camera in the kitchen area wasn’t working, so I’m not sure what happened after you see the gun fly back into the living area.”
“What?”
“Just watch it. It’s self-explanatory. Call me if you need anything else. I’ve also texted you my direct line.”
“Thanks. I’ll be in touch.” With that one conversation, she’d managed to reassure him she was up to the tasks ahead of her. Caden hung up and filled Zane in.
His partner rubbed his head. “Three cases?”
“Yeah. And at the moment, it looks like they could all be connected. Too many similarities not to be, even without the full workup of this scene.”
“Then it’s got to be the same person or persons doing this.” Zane’s hoarse, flat words pierced Caden’s carefully constructed emotional barrier. “I hate to say it, but . . . I think we’ve got a serial killer running loose in this country.”
“Possibly.” Caden kept his voice calm, detached, even as his heart thudded hard enough to hurt. Focus. “Serial killers don’t usually have a territory this wide. Three different states? And opposite ends of the country?”
“True. Not that it’s impossible, but I’m not sure I buy it. He could definitely be classified as a serial killer, and I’m willing to bet these killings aren’t random. There’s a connection somewhere that made these people targets.”
“I agree.”
“So, once again, we circle back to motive,” Zane said. “When we find out the connection, we’ll figure out the motive.”
“Exactly.” Caden rubbed a hand over his chin. “So, this is it. We don’t leave here until we know what we’re dealing with.”
“Yeah, because if we don’t, what you wanna bet, there’s going to be a fourth?”
“I agree.” He looked up as the officer Zane had assigned to find Mickey approached.
“No one seems to know where the teen is,” the man said. “The neighbor had the kid’s number. I’ve called it, but it went straight to voice mail.” He handed Caden a piece of paper with the number on it.
“Thanks.” Caden texted the number to Daria and asked her to track the phone. He looked at Zane. “We’re going to need to set up a task force.”
“I was thinking the same thing.” His partner coughed and pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket. “Be right back.”
Caden let his gaze scan the room, ignoring the chatter of the other officers coming from the open front door. He stopped at the mantel. Pictures lined it. Mostly of the children. Some of the family. And one of another family he’d seen somewhere.
Zane returned with a bottle of water. “Sorry. Had to take some Motrin and blow my nose. Seriously, how can your nose feel stuffed completely full and when you blow it, noth—”
“I don’t need the details, dude.” Caden nodded to the iPad Zane still held in his other hand. “Let me see those pictures from the first crime scene again, will you?”
Zane pulled them up. “Why?” He popped a cough drop.
“Scroll through them. I’m looking for something in particular.”
His partner swiped one picture after another.
“There,” Caden said, grabbing the tablet from his partner. “Stop.”
“What do you see?”
“The same picture on that end table in the Baileys’ home is over there on the mantle.” He pointed. A do-it-yourself Christmas photo in a small black frame sat on the stone mantle next to others like it. An antique clock behind the pictures had ticked away their final minutes.
Zane raised a brow. “You and that memory of yours,” he muttered. “Okay, then. Family number one and family number three knew each other. Well, there’s part of a connection. Family number two probably knows one and three. But how? Or is that a stretch? Is there any evidence in family number two’s home to suggest a connection?”
“Those are really good questions. Could be a college fraternity or sorority. We have to look at both spouses’ connections to each other.”
“Let’s watch the footage. Maybe that’ll help.
Caden tapped the link to the video. They watched as it began to play.
The picture was clear.
As was the barrel of the weapon aimed at the family.
Unfortunately, the killer’s face was not.
Beyond the gun, seated on the couch, were Michael, his wife, and the two younger children. All four of them looked terrified. Mingled with Michael’s terror was fury. The man was a fighter. He held himself still, only out of fear for his family. How had the killer managed to get the drop on him?
“That’s freaky,” Zane said. “I feel like I’m watching this from his point of view.”
Caden paused the video, turned, and pointed to the wall behind them. “That camera up in the corner near the molding. It almost blends right into the wall. The killer might not have realized it was there.”
“I don’t know. He keeps his back to it.”
“You think he wanted us to see the footage?”
“Who knows, man? Let’s get this over with and watch to the end.”
Caden ignored his anxiety at what he knew was coming and pressed play. Daria’s captions popped up on the screen.
“I’ll give you whatever you want, just let them go,” Michael said. He stopped speaking as the killer responded, words too muffled for the speech reader to pick up. Then Michael’s lips moved once more. “You want me to say what?”
The tip of the gun turned on his wife. She cowered over Brian, and Michael held up a hand, yelling, “Stop! I’ll say it. ‘Trusting a liar will only get you killed.’ There. I said it. Now, let them go.”
The gun jerked. Four times. And it was over.
But no. It wasn’t.
The gun flew back into the room and landed on the floor just within range of the camera. A foot appeared in the frame for a brief second before disappearing. Someone had walked in the door and sent the gun flying?
Caden blinked, swallowing hard. “Mickey made it home,” he said, his voice low. “He walked in the front door as the man was killing his family and he acted.”
“Kicked the gun out of the guy’s hand?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know.” Caden’s mind played out several scenarios of what could have happened next. None of them good. All of them stomach turning. He drew in a shuddering breath.
Caden swallowed twice and sighed. He handed the iPad to Zane, walked outside, and lost his breakfast in the nearest bush.
CHAPTER
TWO
It hadn’t taken long for them to be discovered.
Nicolai, dressed in a grey T-shirt, blue jeans, baseball cap, and sunglasses, ignored his throbbing knee and watched from across the street. No one paid him any attention as he blended in with the other neighbors who’d stopped their Saturday morning routine to gawk at the unfolding scene.
The cell phones were out in force, no one wanting to miss a moment of the excitement in their otherwise boring routines. The killer made sure to stay out of the line of sight of those cameras. Positioned toward the back of the crowd, he leaned against the nearest tree, pulled the ballcap lower, and crossed his arms. He also had a good view of the busybody neighbor who’d found the family. She’d disappeared into the ambulance when the paramedics had arrived, then two officers had joined her in the back of the vehicle. No doubt grilling her about what she’d seen. The killer wasn’t worried. She hadn’t seen him. A short time later, she’d rejoined the neighbors still watching the action.
She spoke to each person she knew, and he prepared himself to duck away if she came at him. For now, she seemed content to speak to the older gentleman on the other side of the tree.
Law enforcement had been in the house for a while, wondering who the monster was who’d kill an entire family. Especially kids. He frowned. He could
understand their horror. He’d admit the kids were the hardest, but they were part of the promise.
I’ll kill them, I’ll kill them all. I promise.
Just three more families and his mission would be complete, his promise kept. His grandmother was wrong. Vengeance didn’t belong to God. It belonged to him. And it tasted sweet.
“Terrible shame, isn’t it?”
He almost came out of his skin when the man to his right spoke and the killer realized the words were directed at him. He cleared his throat. “Uh . . . yeah.”
“So, who are you? I know everyone who lives around here but don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
“Oh, I was looking at that house for sale on the corner, saw all the excitement, and thought I’d stick around to see what was going on.”
Thank goodness he’d spent some time coming up with a plausible story should something like this happen.
“Oh, well, it’s a great neighborhood. Don’t let this keep you away. We’ve never had any trouble like this before.”
“Of course, of course. Thank you for letting me know.” He paused. “So, you’ve lived here a while?”
“Yep, me and the missus built one of the first houses back here.”
“And you know the family, of course?”
“Yeah. I’m just glad the older boy wasn’t home when it happened.”
“Heard someone mention that. He’ll probably head somewhere he feels safe.”
“Probably.”
“Can’t believe he just ran off. Guess shock can make you do things out of character.”
“Of course it can,” a familiar voice butted in. Nicolai stiffened when he recognized it belonged to the nosy neighbor. “That poor boy,” she said. “I just pray he turns up soon. Or heads straight to the nearest police station.” She sighed. “Knowing him, though, he’ll head to that dojo. I think he’d move in there if given the option.”
“Naw,” the other man said, “my guess is he’ll head to his grandparents’ house. They’re close.”
Nicolai shoved his hands into his pockets and clenched his fists while pasting a smile on his lips. He doubted the kid would go to either place, but if he had to put money on one or the other, he’d guess the dojo. “Well, I guess I’ll be on my way. I have a realtor to talk to about a house.”
He slipped away with the woman’s questions floating behind him. But he wasn’t quite ready to leave yet, he simply wanted to get away from the two chatterboxes. It wasn’t hard to find another spot in the crowd to blend in. Officers questioned the neighbors and took their names and contact information. Each time an officer got close to him, he simply moved behind someone else.
For the next two hours, he watched, careful to stay out of the way of the panning phone cameras. With his position at the rear of the crowd, he wasn’t worried one bit about being caught on video.
He sighed and worked his jaw with a wince. That kid had taken him completely by surprise. He’d known he took karate at the dojo, but he’d severely underestimated the youngster’s skills. He wouldn’t let that happen again. He could admire him even as he killed him.
Regret pierced him at the thought. He did wish he could let the cops know that he took no pleasure in the killings. It was just something he had to do. A promise he’d made and had to keep. And if he didn’t keep his promise, what kind of man did that make him?
When the cop had puked into the bushes, it had bothered him. He had no agenda with the officers. They were just doing their jobs.
And he’d done his. It was time to go. He turned on his heel and winced at the shooting pain in his left knee. That was one complication he hadn’t needed, but it wouldn’t keep him from doing what he’d come to do. He limped across the front yard to the stolen car he’d parked at the neighborhood pool. He was ready for all of this unpleasantness to be finished. He missed his home, the peaceful lull of the water lapping against the sides of his boat. But . . . a promise was a promise.
Unfortunately, the oldest son of Michael Fields was still alive and that had to be rectified as soon as possible.
Acknowledgments
As always when it comes to this stage in the book process, I’m terrified I’m going to forget someone who is fully deserving of being acknowledged for their contribution to the story.
It goes without saying that I first say thank you to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. With every book, I tell him that I’m not sure I can do it again. And with every book, he pulls me (sometimes kicking and screaming, but mostly prayerfully) through it. He talks me off the ledge and calms the panic attacks and reminds that he’s called me to do this. So, thank you, dear Jesus, for not giving up on me and for letting me deliver one more story. May it reach the reader who needs to see you on the page.
Next, I’d like to say thanks to my wonderful and amazing family. I certainly could NOT do this without you.
And then there are the others who invest themselves in me and my stories. My critique partners and fellow writers who unselfishly brainstorm and offer insights and scenes when my brain is on the fritz—Lynn H. Blackburn, Colleen Coble, Robin Carroll, Pam Hillman, Voni Harris, Carrie Stuart Parks, Edie Melson, Emme Gannon, Erynn Newman, Alycia Morales, Linda Gilden, Molly Jo Realy, Tammy Karasak, and Michelle Cox. Thank you for letting me borrow your brains and always for your prayer warrior spirits. I love each you.
Thank you to Barb Barnes, who more than earns her money with my stories. You are simply amazing and I love you dearly, my friend. J
Thanks to Tamela Hancock Murray, my agent, who works so diligently on my behalf. You are much loved and appreciated!
Thank you, Andrea Doering, my Revell editor, for continuing to believe in me and my stories. You are awesome and I wouldn’t be here without you. Thank you for sticking with me through all the ups and downs. J Thankfully, more ups than downs!
I don’t want to let another book go by without mentioning my thanks to Rel Mollett. Thank you for all of the social media posts and newsletters and contests you’ve orchestrated, written, and posted! You free me up to write, and that is invaluable.
Again, thank you to the readers who buy the books. Without you, I couldn’t do what I do. You are loved and appreciated!
Thank you all, and I hope you enjoyed the book! Come find me on social media on Facebook at www.facebook.com/lynetteeason and Twitter: @lynetteeason.
God bless you all.
Lynette Eason is the bestselling author of Collateral Damage and Acceptable Risk, as well as Protecting Tanner Hollow and the Blue Justice, Women of Justice, Deadly Reunions, Hidden Identity, and Elite Guardians series. She is the winner of three ACFW Carol Awards, the Selah Award, and the Inspirational Reader’s Choice Award, among others. She is a graduate of the University of South Carolina and has a master’s degree in education from Converse College. Eason lives in South Carolina with her husband and two children. Learn more at www.lynetteeason.com.
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Table of Contents
Cover
Endorsements
Half Title Page
Books by Lynette Eason
Title Page
Copyright Page
Contents
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2
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An Excerpt from Book 4
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
List of Pages
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