The White Lily

by Susanne Matthews

  “Listen, if she’s family, she’s probably just being cautious. They lost their daughter for more than nine months. We’ll contact the local FBI office in the morning and have them talk to the family, explain how serious this is. If we’re right and it is the Harvester taking back what’s his, he’s probably collecting the orphans first. I don’t know how he tracked them down, but he did. Hopefully, we’ll have enough time to get the others safely into protective custody before he goes after them.”

  “But we don’t know he didn’t start with them, do we?”

  “No, we don’t, Rob,” she said, standing. “But he hasn’t come after your wife yet, so the odds are in our favor. I don’t think there’s anything more we can do tonight. Go home. Be with Faye, and see if you can figure out the best way to protect her. I’m beat and can’t see straight. I want to talk to Trevor first thing in the morning about asking Jacob Andrews to be part of this.”

  “Good luck with that. I agree he may have information we need, but as far as I’m concerned, until I have more proof that he’s one of the good guys as you put it, I’d keep him on a tight leash. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Grabbing her purse off the back of the chair, Lilith moved to the elevator. Jacob Andrews might be one of the good guys, but as far as she was concerned, he was a lousy human being. Maybe knowing his niece and nephew are missing will help convince him to help us, if finding Eloise’s killer isn’t enough.

  Chapter Six

  Lilith dragged herself from the car to the elevator. Sleep had been a long time coming last night—that is, when she’d finally made it to bed. At first, she’d dreamed of Jacob, and the scene had not only been intense, it had been far more erotic than anything she’d ever imagined. When he’d undressed her, there hadn’t been a mark on her body, and as she’d looked into his aqua eyes, they’d darkened to gray, swiftly bringing on the familiar nightmares. She woke up screaming, the thunder and lightning of the heavy summer storm adding to her terror. Thank God no one had come running to see what the fuss was about.

  Terrified, she’d curled up in the chair beside the bed, three LED lanterns surrounding her, and stared at the television, not seeing whatever had been playing but reliving her visit to the crime scene. If fieldwork involved dealing with that kind of horror on a regular basis, she’d gladly crawl back into her cubicle when this case was over.

  Why had she dreamed of Jacob? The Winchesters, Rob, even Rivers and her tormentor she could understand, but Jacob was a stranger. He was attractive, yes, but she didn’t like selfish people, and escaping the commune as he’d done, regardless of the circumstances, had been self-seeking. There had to have been something he could’ve done for his sister and the others had he wanted to.

  Perhaps her subconscious was trying to warn her of danger? She didn’t accept people at face value, and the thought of getting physical with a man—any man—hadn’t crossed her mind in five years. Why now? Jacob had been reared in that commune. Was he really as immune to his uncle’s machinations as he let on? She couldn’t deny that he was handsome, but everyone knew the shiniest apple could be rotten at the core. Besides, he was still a suspect—well, maybe material witness was a better word for it—and she never got involved with someone who was part of a case. Who was she kidding; she simply never got involved.

  Must be that damn biological clock.

  Blinking, she stared at her reflection. Because of her unsettled night, she’d been forced to use more makeup this morning than she generally did. She’d done her best to cover up the bags—no, suitcases—under her eyes, but she hadn’t been able to erase the haunted look there, the one she’d worn for months after her time undercover. Maybe she needed to talk to someone again. This case dredged up memories and fears she’d worked hard to suppress.

  After the episode—easier to think of it that way—she’d had regular sessions with a therapist to deal with the PTSD. The psychotherapy sessions combined with propranolol, a beta-blocker designed among other things to minimize traumatic experiences, had helped ease if not erase some of the worst memories, but it had been ineffective against the achluophobia, her intense fear of the dark. What man would ever want to get involved with a woman who had to sleep with the lights on like a child? She had to go shopping soon. Her shoe fetish, a manifestation of her insecurity as the PTSD specialist put it, was a harmless, if slightly expensive outlet for her anxiety. At the rate she was going, she’d give Imelda Marcos a run for her money someday. Unfortunately, with the hours she’d kept lately, she hadn’t had time to get a cup of coffee let alone a pair of killer heels.

  Lilith had argued against being the one to meet the press. For the past five years, she’d avoided the limelight in case someone associated with the FFOW recognized her. No one at the agency knew exactly what had happened and that was the way she liked it, so unless she was willing to bare her soul ... Besides, how bad could it be? She’d changed. She’d be fine.

  Knowing she’d be on display today, Lilith wore her feel-good outfit. She worked hard to maintain a professional image. The long-sleeved blouse hid the scars on her arms and torso. The matching, straight skirt came just above her knees and did the same for the marks on her thighs. Her hair, pulled away from her face in a tight chignon, gave her an air of sophistication, or so the hairdresser had said. The pearl studs in her ears were small and matched her grandmother’s choker, but her locket, the talisman she wore at all times, hung hidden under her blouse. She’d slipped her watch onto her wrist and slid her ruby ring, the only thing she had left of her sister, onto the index finger of her right hand.

  Hopped up on caffeine and nerves, she pressed the button to take her up to the fourth floor. The bullpen was deserted. Once in the small utility area converted into her office, she placed her gun in the bottom drawer of her desk. She knew Trevor thought giving her a private place to work was a good thing, but so far, she’d avoided spending more than a few minutes in the windowless room. If she were in there and the lights went out, she’d have a panic attack.

  Dropping her purse on the chair, she went in search of the other members of the unit probably waiting to discuss this morning’s plan of action. The news of the Winchester killings and the kidnappings had gone viral, thanks to one of the nosy neighbors no doubt. This press conference was aimed at stemming the panic the idea of a child-trafficking ring on the loose along the East Coast might cause. There was nothing more unpredictable than parents trying to protect their young—especially parents armed to the teeth.

  Moving quickly but stealthily down the hall, she heard animated voices coming from Trevor’s office. It sounded as if they were having an argument.

  “What did I miss, guys?” she asked innocently, noting the way the three men were ready to rip out one another’s throats.

  “We were just discussing how to spin this. We’re almost certain our perp is working for the Prophet. Chicago PD confirmed there are no other Lola and Lyle Richardsons anywhere in or around the area, so we can assume the new Harvester, as you called him last night, has one child. How should we handle this? We can’t very well say there’s an insane killer on the loose, but relax, he’s not after most of you.”

  Trevor could barely keep himself in check, and his sarcasm proved it. His hands were fisted at his side, and she knew he wanted to bury that fist in the soft pulp of someone’s body, but he couldn’t.

  Nodding, she smiled at him, hoping to diffuse his anger. While she couldn’t control her own emotional turmoil when the demon thoughts controlled her, she should be able to handle this. Someone needed to take charge of the situation, and at the moment, it wasn’t going to be Trevor, so why not her? Calling on her training for the bravado she’d need to handle her coworkers and a few reporters, she licked her lips. I can do this.

  “First, until we’re 100 percent certain it is the Prophet’s man, we can’t dismiss the child-trafficking possibility. Let’s be specific with what we do know, use the information we got from the witness in Baltimore, and urg
e caution. If we’re wrong about this killer and his connection to the Prophet and Savannah/Faith is a coincidence, other children may go missing because we narrowed our search ...”

  “But the boy he took last night has to be Kate Newcomb’s son,” Tom argued, his face beet red.

  “Watch your blood pressure, Tom. I don’t want your wife gunning for me, too. Fighting among ourselves is exactly what this bastard, if it is him, wants. It worked for him last time and kept us off kilter. Lilith’s got the expertise here. Let’s hear what she has to say.” Trevor sat on the edge of his desk. “So, what’s our plan of action?”

  Lilith explained the idea that had come to her on the ride to work, and Trevor smiled. “Brilliant. For now, it’s business as usual. If the Prophet’s up to his old tricks, let’s not show him that he made us blink.”

  “But we can’t let our guard down, not for a second,” she insisted. “If it isn’t him, it’s just a matter of time before he comes to collect what’s his. Did you find anything at the house in Cambridge?”

  “We found lots of things—clothing, a strongbox full of cash, a cell phone hidden inside a mattress, and fingerprints.”

  “So, the cult’s cleaners didn’t go through the house. Isn’t that strange?” Lilith asked.

  “It is, but we think the cult members didn’t know where the couple and Eloise were actually living—two addresses maybe. Like Eloise, I think the Williamsons had their own plans to escape from the cult. Everything was ready, but something screwed up their plans and got them killed. That something, or rather someone, was Baby Boy Howard. Meredith Howard, Congressman Howard’s pregnant niece, was kidnapped by accident when she was mistaken for her maternal cousin. She was a bleeder, carrying a rare form of hemophilia, which she passed on to her son. Once we identified her body, the pressure was on to find the children.

  “The Howard boy hemorrhaged during a circumcision. Most likely, the Williamsons were instructed to take him into the woods and leave him there to die—survival of the fittest. Instead, they took him to the hospital and, once they discovered the hemophilia, they abandoned the child. No good deed goes unpunished. News that the senator’s grandnephew had been recovered made the papers, and it didn’t take long for the cult to execute the Williamsons.”

  “If two people grew dissatisfied with the Prophet and New Horizon, maybe there are others,” Tom said.

  Lilith turned to Rob. “Did you manage to get in touch with Mary?”

  “Yes. Faye messaged her last night, and Mary answered right away. She and her son Liam are with Ruth Hamilton and her twins at a family spa resort in Arizona. Mary and Ruth bonded in captivity. They kept one another sane. We’ve warned them to be cautious and avoid strangers. I mentioned it to Trevor when I came in, and he’s contacted the Phoenix field office. They’re sending a couple of undercover agents to keep an eye on them.”

  “Good,” Lilith said, impressed by how quickly Trevor made things happen. “The two of them are as safe as they can be at the moment, but what about Elisa Robertson? Have you been able to find her?”

  “She’s in the wind, but it looks as if she went voluntarily. She broke the lease on her apartment and moved out of town. I’ve got DMV looking for her.”

  “Let’s hope we find her before he does.”

  “According to Mary, neither she nor Ruth has heard from her in a couple of months. James brought her to the farm only a few days before Faye. The girl was young and scared and didn’t bond with any of them. Her pregnancy was in the early stages, like Faye’s, and there’s a possibility she may have terminated it. If she’s trying to get on with her life, I hope to hell she’s across the world somewhere.”

  “What about the last orphan, Estelle Watters’s daughter? How old is she?”

  “Charity is about nine months old. I’ve called CPS to get the addresses where both she and Ethan Newcomb were placed—just in case we’re wrong, and he isn’t the child the Winchesters had.”

  “Good. The sooner we confirm who that child is, the better. Trevor, if it were up to me, I’d place the women in WITSEC, but Rob doesn’t think his wife would go, and I’m not sure the others would either, so police protection is probably the best we can do. We should consider moving the rest of the Prophet’s followers out of his reach. Most likely, he knows exactly where they are by now and is just biding his time before he makes a play for them. He could be planning to poison them all. It wouldn’t be hard to bribe someone to taint their food. A few more deaths won’t bother him.”

  “Agreed.” Trevor scowled. “I don’t think the guards are ready to become food tasters on the off chance they’d die. How are we watching Faye?”

  Rob ran his hand through his hair in what Lilith considered his signature move.

  “I’ve arranged for an unmarked car to keep the house under surveillance. With that broken ankle of hers, she isn’t going anywhere, but that makes her a sitting duck.”

  Looking around the room, quickly evaluating each man’s emotional status, she decided to bring up what she knew would be a highly controversial topic. “There’s something else I want you all to consider.” She paused until she had everyone’s full attention. “We need to bring Jacob Andrews in on the case.”

  “What?” Tom shouted, turning redder by the second. “Are you crazy? The last thing we need is another mole in the investigation. Pierce was more than enough.”

  “I disagree. Jacob Andrews was raised in the commune, but he was never a member of the cult. He left eighteen years ago. I looked through the dossiers of the people we have in custody, and several of them are old enough to remember him. Maybe he can convince them to cooperate with us. One of them has to know what’s going to happen next. From my experience with cults, they always have a backup plan, an escape route, just in case something goes wrong. As well, his uncle is highly placed in the cult, and his brothers are in line to run the cult someday. He probably knows exactly who the Prophet is. He can confirm the identity of the man in the picture we have out in the bullpen. I don’t like the guy any more than you do, but I say it’s worth a try.”

  The phone on Trevor’s desk rang, and they all jumped.

  “Special Agent Clark,” he said into the receiver. He didn’t say another word until he ended the call. “Thanks.”

  Turning to Lilith, he pursed his lips. “That was the crime lab. They confirmed that no cell phones or computers were found in the Winchester home, but the house has Wi-Fi, so the killer must have taken the electronics with him as you suspected.”

  “It was the same at the Richardsons. He took everything, including an electronic photo frame. I’d hoped he’d missed something here.”

  Trevor shook his head. “The computer techs are running a search of their social media. Nobody is invisible these days, and if there’s a picture of that boy out there, we’ll find it. I’ll think about what you’ve said concerning Andrews. You’ve got a point, but for now, Lilith, the press awaits. We’ll continue this discussion after the briefing. Good luck. Knock ’em dead.”

  • • •

  Jacob stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel. The headache he’d awakened with was less painful now and would probably disappear completely once the acetaminophen he’d taken kicked in. Last night, he’d gone over every single bit of information he could find on the New Horizon commune, cult, and the Harvester, but there’d been precious little available about the man the media had dubbed Boston’s deadliest serial killer. He’d also put a sizable dent in that bottle of scotch, trying to ease the pain of failing Eloise and missing Andrew, and this morning’s hangover didn’t make him feel any better.

  The picture of James, a.k.a. Jimmy Farley, he’d found in the online reports had been taken when his brother had worked at the Boston Examiner. With his scruffy beard, long hair, and eyes hidden by thick glasses, he looked like a throwback to the days of the Wild West. He probably hadn’t smelled any better either. Aussie swaggies could be a little ripe at times. It should’ve reassured Jacob that
he didn’t resemble his brother, but Halliday and the others had recognized him, so what had they seen that he couldn’t?

  The biggest surprise had been the photo credits attributed to Jimmy Farley. One, an award-winning photograph, had brought tears to his eyes. It showed a young woman, in profile, playing with a toddler on a plaid blanket. There was joy and adoration on the tiny, blue-eyed angel’s face, reminding him of Eloise at that age. Had Jimmy seen the resemblance, too? How could someone who could capture innocence and joy that way drug, rape, and brutalize women the way he apparently had? Jimmy Farley had been a brilliant photographer, and in his work, Jacob could see the brother he remembered.

  Searching through the Boston Examiner’s archives, he’d found reports of the four murders and had seen the pictures of the women who’d been the Harvester’s victims. James had obviously had a preferred type. But little had been reported about the women and children who’d been rescued. There was no mention of the followers Agent Munroe had said were in custody, either.

  While the women his brother had targeted were attractive in a classic way, with high cheekbones and small, almost pert noses, he was intrigued by a certain redhead with a rounder face and pouty lips.

  That Lilith Munroe had paid a visit to him in his alcohol-induced dreams wasn’t really a surprise. The woman had interested him from the moment she’d stepped into the interrogation room. Her eyes, animated at times, thoughtful at others, tear-filled after he’d described the incident in the desert, almost as if she understood—no, felt—the pain he’d suffered, had turned cold and accusing when she’d heard about Eloise’s accident. It was all about the child—that sweet child he’d left behind, condemning her to a life of pain and ridicule. Maybe he couldn’t have taken Eloise with him back then, but damn it, the last twelve years he’d lived like a king ... He really was a selfish bastard.