by Ciana Stone
Izzi didn't want to sleep. The feel of Gib's big body spooned up around her, his arm over her, holding her snugly, was better than any dream. She'd missed him more than she wanted to admit, even to herself.
Gib was her first and only love. Not the only man she'd been intimate with, but the only one she'd given her total trust and heart. To say he'd betrayed that love and trust would be a lie. He'd never promised to put her wants or desires ahead of his own, so when he refused to leave the BAU, she hadn't been surprised. Just disappointed.
And heartbroken.
Tonight, she lay in the bed they'd once shared and thought about their path to this point in time.
Gib would never have come to ask for her help if he had another option. She wondered if Leo had anything to do with it. It was Leo who'd convinced Gib to come here twelve years ago and enlist her assistance.
Look where that had led them. All of them. They'd not captured the killer, and Leo almost died. And just when they'd recovered, and it seemed life was going to cut them a break, she got caged in hell by the killer and nearly lost Gib when he came to save her.
Those weeks, sitting in that hospital, not knowing if Gib was going to live, was worse than being the prisoner of a monster.
Could she do it again?
Face that fear?
Her first reaction was probably the wisest. Say no and don't back down. But the truth was, now that she'd seen Gib, now that she could feel his arms around her, she didn't know if she could let him leave without her.
She'd thought she could find happiness without him. She was wrong. Not a day passed, she hadn't thought of him, missed him, and, more times than not, regretted her decision.
Why then, was she so reluctant to say yes to his request?
Answers weren't likely to present themselves tonight, maybe not at all. Perhaps it wasn't a matter of doing what she wanted, but what was right.
That's always the position Gib chose.
What was right? What served the greater good?
Izzi closed her eyes and tried to stop the chatter of her own mental voice. Morning would come soon enough, and then she'd decide.
For now, she'd allow herself to sleep in the arms of the man she loved and pretend there were no monsters to hunt.
Just as she started to drift off, her sense of peace shattered.
Isabelle.
Her eyes flew open, and her body tensed. She felt Gib shift behind her and willed her body to relax.
I know you can hear me.
I can almost sense your thoughts.
In time I will.
You know I'll come for you.
You're mine, after all.
That did it. Fury blossomed with the heat of a bomb. She wouldn't be goaded into lowering her shield. She knew that's what he wanted. If she did, he'd connect his mind to hers, and she'd be laid bare. But that's not how it was going to be.
For the first, in a long time, genuine resolve returned, along with a deep-seated need. She'd be damned if he would reach her. Not until she was ready. Not until she'd set a trap he couldn't avoid or escape.
And then, she'd destroy him. Utterly and completely.
Izzi rolled over to face Gib, waking him in the process. "Are you okay?" She could hear the concern in his voice.
"I am. For the first time in a long while I am. I'm going with you, Gib. And this time we're going to end him."
"You mean, catch him."
"No, I mean end him. It's the price of my help."
He looked into her eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "Then, so be it. If you're sure."
"I've never been more sure about anything…" she nearly chickened out but then finished what was in her heart and mind. "Except that I love you."
"Does that mean you'll live with me?"
"I'll live in your house. In the guest room you offered. That's as far as I'm willing to commit on a personal level while we're working together."
"Why? Because you don't trust me?"
"No," she interrupted gently. "Because I need to know that he can't tap into anyone else's mind, and I don't want him to know I'm involved – with the BAU or with you."
To her relief, she didn't get an argument. Quite the opposite. "That's smart, and I agree. I'm just grateful you said yes. To going back to work with me. I don't want you to think I expected–"
"I know." She interrupted. "And I'm not saying we won't end up together. I hope in time we will."
"In time?"
She smiled at him. "Yes. When all this is done. It's what I want more than anything.
"Then let's destroy a monster, Dr. Adams."
"That's the plan, Special Agent in Charge, Gibson Foster. Starting first thing tomorrow. For now, hold me while I sleep."
"With pleasure."
Isabelle rolled over and felt the warmth of his body as he held her. She thought about what was to come, and that turned her memories of how she'd initially become involved with Gib and his team.
Quantico, Virginia
While Gib was with Isabelle, his team was working. They'd put in another sixteen hour day and everyone was exhausted. Leo Grant and Galen Morris walked out together. It was well past midnight. They, like the other members of the team had gone over all the evidence on the latest murders, reading every report and interview, and they knew nothing more about the Seven Bridges Killer than when they started.
To say they were all frustrated was an understatement. They were ready to pull their hair out and downright pissed that a team of highly trained professionals could be outsmarted by a serial killer.
"What are we missing?" Leo asked as they exited the building.
Galen stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "From everything we know about forensics, the chance of someone committing this type of crime and not leaving behind any evidence, tr,ace or material is as close to impossible as it gets."
"And yet, that's exactly what we run up against time after time with this killer," Leo pointed out.
"At the risk of sounding redundant, it isn't possible," Galen insisted. "We know that – it's a scientific improbability of such high degree that it rises to an impossibility. Particularly when you consider the nature of the crimes. These aren't simple crimes. This killer is organized, methodical, and skilled."
He raised his hand as Leo opened his mouth. "I know what you're going to say. No one is that skilled. I agree. Look at all we know about investigative techniques and forensics. Do you think either of us could pull off such a crime without leaving behind one bit of evidence?"
"No."
"Well, there you go," Galen threw up his hands. "Let's use that as a given, and where does it take us?"
"I'm guessing you're going to tell me."
"You bet your ass I am. It takes us back to my original assertion. We've missed something. Or something has changed. He left evidence this time."
"So, he screwed up?" Leo asked.
"I don't believe for a second he screwed up. Why, after all this time, would he leave evidence?"
"I don't guess he would – unless he'd getting sloppy. Or…"
He didn't want to finish the thought, but duty dictated he do just that. "Or we missed something before."
Leo was pretty sure he knew what was coming next, but felt Galen needed to get it out. He'd been every bit as frustrated as the rest of the team. "What's our next step?" Leo asked.
Galen cut his eyes in Leo's direction. "We go back to the beginning."
"We already did that." Leo didn't want to go back to the beginning. He didn't want to go anywhere but home, to crawl into bed and sleep for twelve hours. But he knew his partner. Galen wouldn't let go of this, so the best course of action was to take the time, talk it out and see if they could come up with something – anything– that had not been considered before. "We spent the last sixteen hours going over it from start to finish."
"No, not the beginning of the latest crime. The beginning. 1995."
Now that was a trip Leo didn't want to t
ake. "We already did that. In 2005 and again in 2008, and –"
"Yes, I know," Galen interrupted. "But our process was flawed."
"Flawed? How so?"
Galen gestured toward his car. "Come on, let's go get a drink."
Leo knew better than to argue. "Fine." He fell in step with his partner. "Tell me how our process was flawed."
Galen looked over at him. "You're not going to like it."
"Tell me anyway."
"Fine. Two words. Isabelle Adams."
"Izzi?" Leo stopped walking. "Izzi was the flaw?"
The look Galen gave him took him aback. "Man, you have a blind-spot the size of Texas when it comes to her. Of course, she was the flaw."
Galen then started walking, and Leo picked up his pace to catch up. "Explain it to me how she could have been a flaw?"
"Because you fell for her, and that colored your judgment."
Leo didn't like that statement. Not at all. Nor did he believe it to be true. He'd always prided himself on being level-headed, favoring reason over emotions. "You know that's not true. She did help us. Look what happened."
"Exactly my point. Look what happened. Marty died. You and Gib both nearly died. Different times but there was a common element at play in every scenario. Isabelle Adams was involved."
"Are you forgetting she was lucky to have survived the 2018 fiasco?"
"Not at all. And that's part of the point. I'm not sure you or Gib is capable of being clear-headed when she's around. It's like she has some kind of spell on you."
"That's bullshit, and you know it."
"Is it?" Galen pressed the unlock button on his key fob and got in the car.
Leo settled into the passenger seat, fastened his seat belt, and considered the question. Before he could answer, Galen added. "Just think about it. I'm going to. At least until we get to Smithy's. Then tell me I'm wrong."
"Fine."
Leo turned his head to stare out of the window and, for the first time in years, let his thoughts move back in time.
2005, Quantico Virginia
Behavioral Analysis Unit
The team was assembled in the conference room, waiting on Gibson Foster, the Special Agent in Charge of their Unit. At the table sat Agents David Bainbridge and Angela Waterman.
Leo and Galen Morris, his best friend and partner, stood in front of the window. Leo's hands were crammed in the pocket of his slacks, while Galen fiddled with a metal puzzle, twisting and turning it in his hands without even looking at it as he and Leo talked too quietly to be overheard.
They all worked for the National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, or NCAVC, which is part of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. As part of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, their focus was on crimes against adults, often, serial killers.
Gibson, or Gib as he asked to be called, had not yet arrived, even though it was he who'd called them in for this special assignment.
The conference room door opened. Gib walked in, followed by Martin Baxter, or Marty as he chose to be called, the team's data analyst and research specialist, a young man who'd been with the unit a little over six months.
Gib gestured toward a table off to one side of the room, and Marty immediately started setting up his laptop. "Good morning," Gib addressed everyone. "Please, sit. As soon as Marty is ready, we'll get started."
No one wasted time taking a seat. Leo cut a look at Gib. Was his expression serious or something more?
Grim. That's the first word that came to mind.
But why? This must be one hell of a case to bring that kind of expression to Gib's face.
A moment later, Marty's soft voice broke the silence in the room. "Ready, sir."
"Thanks, Marty," Gib gave Marty a nod that somehow conveyed gratitude and respect. That was something Leo had learned early about Gib. He always thanked his team for their efforts and, in doing so, continuously earned their devotion. Not that Leo believed it was meant in that manner. Gib was simply a man who recognized the efforts of others, and not bothered in the least when someone else shown brighter at a task or revelation.
Gib watched as Marty started handing out folders to everyone at the table. Once that was done, Marty returned to his seat beside the computer. Gib waited a beat, then looked around at everyone. "Leo? I believe you and Galen have studied this particular serial killer, correct?"
Leo looked up from the inside page of the folder. "Yes, that is correct. Speaking for myself, of course. Galen?" He already knew the answer, but figured the best move was to let Galen answer for himself.
Galen nodded. "Yes. I read the case files on this string of killings."
"Thank you," Gib looked at the others. "For those of you who have not read the case files, everything is in your folder, and you'll need to make yourself familiar with it. Immediately. Before I release you to start that process, Marty has prepared a briefing, and now, I'll turn things over to him."
The big screen on the wall at the end of the table lit, and an image appeared of a small white house with black shutters, cordoned off with crime scene tape.
"To the best of our knowledge, a series of murders that would come to be known as the Seven Bridges killings began in Alabama in 1995." As he talked, photographs of other houses along pictures of signs with the name of the towns displayed. "We believe the killing spree began in Lock Five, Alabama, as you can see marked on the map. There a woman and her eight-year-old son were killed in their home. The woman was married, but her husband was away, helping to move his grandfather into a retirement home."
Leo knew the course of events by heart. He and Galen had discussed this serial killer many times, not hoping he would resurface and hurt more innocent people, but that something would spark new interest, and they could work the case. Galen was convinced between the two of them, they could find the Unsub and carve a notch in their belts at having solved a case that had been on the books for years.
Now, by an unfortunate twist of fate, they were being handed their wish. Leo almost felt guilty for ever having hoped to be assigned to the case.
"As you'll read in your information packets, the Seven Bridges Killer as this Unsub has been dubbed, is particularly barbaric, and doesn't leave anything aside from those he wants law enforcement to find," Marty said.
"He–at least we believe it to be a man–was given this moniker for one of the following reasons.
"First, all the murders take place within a 25-mile radius of a bridge. Second, the Unsub leaves the murder weapon hanging from a bridge along with a body part cut from the adult female victim, and third, there were seven mass murder sites in the 1995 killing spree."
Marty paused, took a sip of water from a plastic bottle he'd placed on the floor beside his chair, then began again. "We can't be sure the murders of 1995 are the first this Unsub committed. There are other unsolved murder cases, but none that are a match to these, which follow almost a ritualistic pattern.
"As I stated previously, there were originally seven mass murders attributed to the Seven Bridges killer. In each one, the killer gained access to a home where a married woman with children was alone. In each instance, the woman was either divorced, or her husband was away from home for one reason or another. There were no signs of forced entry, indicating that the victims invited the killer into the homes.
"In every event, the children were found bound, and their eyes glued open. It is believed that the children were made to watch as their mother was sexually abused, raped, sodomized, and then murdered. They were then killed as well.
"The killer takes something from each woman and seems to favor removing the heart and does so while the victim is alive, but in one instance, he removed the eyes as well. As incomprehensible as it is, he leaves the blade used to remove the heart on a bridge nearby, hanging with the heart, so that it will attract attention.
"Every murder weapon tested nets the same results. The blood of the victims, partial prints belonging to the female victim or her spouse, and remnants of food ite
ms."
Angela, the forensic psychiatrist, looked away from the displayed image on the big screen to address Marty.
"Pardon if I'm jumping too far ahead, but the information on the final case indicates that one of the children was left alive?"
"Correct. A girl. Isabelle Adams. Seven years old. He didn't kill her, but he did cut both of her eyes. The corneal scarring was so extensive, she was declared legally blind, but she eventually was given corneal transplants, and her vision was restored."
"And it says here that her eyes changed colors?" David, a forensic pathologist, looked up from reading to ask. "I've never heard of anything like that."
"Not just her eyes," Marty replied. "Which did change from hazel to an almost translucent pale green, but her hair fell out within a week of the event, and when it grew back in, it was no longer dark brown, but white."
"I see there's additional information," David said. "Leading me to assume that follow-up has been done recently on this girl?"
That's when Gib took charge again. "Yes. There have been two events in the last six weeks, both of which have similarities to the Seven Bridges killings. I asked Marty to do some research, and he found out that the girl who survived, Isabelle Adams, is now seventeen and a sophomore in college."
"A little young to be a Sophomore," Galen offered.
"She graduated high school early. As our documentation shows, Isabelle was sent to live with her grandparents after her mother's murder. Her father closed their home but didn't sell it. He was killed two years after her mother and brother were murdered – a drunk driver pulled out in front of his rig, and he went off an embankment, trying to avoid hitting the car.
"Isabelle inherited the house, but as yet it has not been sold. She continued to live with her grandparents, and her grandmother died when she was fifteen, the same year she graduated high school. Her grandfather died before she finished her freshman year."
"Talk about a tragic life," Angela looked at the image frozen on the screen of the little girl, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and bandages covering her eyes.
"Is there a recent photo?"
The image on the screen changed. Almost as one, everyone in the room froze. Leo could have sworn he heard a collective inhale. No surprise. Isabelle Adams had definitely changed. Petite in build, her hair was worn in a pixie kind of cut, framing her face. In the photo, she was walking, looking back over her shoulder almost as if sensing she was being watched.
