by Cynthia Eden
Then, when Patrick had been screaming, the guy had lifted a fire extinguisher and sprayed at the flames.
“You’re the right man, Remus. I know. The FBI has been searching for you a very long time.”
Patrick’s breath heaved out. “No...no... I—I didn’t do that shit. None of it. Wasn’t m-me...”
The wooden floor creaked as his attacker began to stalk around him. The guy had a mask over his face—a black ski mask—so Patrick couldn’t tell anything about him.
“Of course, it was you. Your prints were found at two of your arson scenes. In Orlando, Florida, where you killed that father of two. In Atlanta, Georgia, at the home of the elderly grandmother you sent to a fiery grave.”
His teeth clenched. “I’m...a different man. I was sick back then. I’m better now! I haven’t burned...anything...” Like this bastard would know the truth.
The floor creaked again. “You think that stopping absolves you of your crimes?”
His legs hurt. “I need a doctor.”
His attacker laughed. “Too bad, he’s dead. I finished him first.”
What?
“I’ve been watching you... I do know that you’ve still been starting your fires.”
Fuck.
“And I don’t like it when people try to lie to me.”
Patrick yanked at the ropes around his wrists. That jerk had tied his arms behind him, securing him to the wooden chair. This shit couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t. He’d been living a normal life in Alabama, even had a girl he was thinking about marrying. She’d won this fucking trip up to Gatlinburg, and they’d come together—“Lydia,” he whispered. “What did you do to Lydia?” Because this bastard before him had taken Patrick right out of his cabin.
The guy laughed. Patrick jerked against the ropes. His legs burned.
“She doesn’t know about you, does she? Poor Lydia...she thought she’d found her prince charming.”
“If you’ve hurt her...”
More laughter. “What? You’ll burn me?”
And he heard the slosh of a liquid. He couldn’t see the other guy, but he knew the man had picked up the gasoline again. “The only one who will get burned,” he told Patrick. “That’s you...”
CHAPTER FOUR
“PLEASE, PLEASE, I need help!” The woman with the long black hair was ringing her hands as she stood in front of the check-in desk at the Gatlinburg police station. “My boyfriend is missing!”
Macey slanted a quick glance her way. She and Bowen had arrived at the station moments before—to a scene of pretty much chaos. The police captain had greeted them at the door. Captain Henry Harwell was young, probably in his late twenties, with close-cropped brown hair. He wore a pair of glasses and his gun was holstered at his side.
Right then, he motioned toward another uniformed officer and pointed to the woman. “Help her, now.”
The officer bustled to the woman’s side.
“We searched the cabin,” Captain Harwell said as he began to lead Macey and Bowen back into the station. “Your Special Agent Dark helped coordinate with our team here and we went to the location that the FBI had pinpointed, but no one was there. I don’t know if this is just some damn trick or what is happening—”
“No!” It was the woman’s voice, rising over the din in the station. “You’re not listening to me! I think someone took him! He’s not just off drunk somewhere or lost in your damn mountains! He needs help!”
Macey paused and glanced back at her.
“The cabin had been swept clean,” Harwell continued. “I had my men check and double-check the place, but there wasn’t any sign of anyone. It was a rental, one that had been taken off rotation while some repairs were being made. No one should have been there...” He exhaled. “And sure as shit not some serial arsonist! Damn it, do you know what will happen if word gets out that Patrick Remus is in this town? Do you know how many tourists come here?”
Macey found herself sliding away from the captain and from Bowen. There was something about that woman at the counter. Her certainty that her boyfriend wasn’t just lost or drinking it off...that he’d been taken.
Macey touched her shoulder. “Miss?”
The woman swung toward her. Mascara smudges darkened her eyes.
“Why do you think your boyfriend was taken?”
“Because Patrick wouldn’t just leave me!”
Macey tensed. “Patrick?”
“Patrick Grace.” Now the woman turned to grab Macey’s shoulder. “He was there last night, I swear, he was asleep in that bed next to me. But...but when I woke up, he was gone. The front door was wide-open. Our car was still there. But he wasn’t.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He left his phone, his wallet. Everything. I know something happened to him.”
“Do you happen to have a picture of Patrick?” The name was too much of a coincidence to ignore. When individuals went into the Witness Protection Program, they often tried to keep their new first names as similar as possible to their real ones—it helped them to transition.
And Patrick Remus—the serial arsonist who’d been hiding from the FBI for over two years—must have adopted a new identity while he’d been in hiding. Perhaps that new identity involved a new last name—
“Here he is.” The woman pushed her phone toward Macey. “See him? What will you do now? Get an APB out for him? Put his face on all the news channels?”
Macey stared at the photo before her. On the way there, she’d pulled up Patrick’s old case file and photos on her tablet. The man she was looking at right then had shaved his head and put on about twenty pounds...but she was staring at a face she knew.
Patrick Remus.
“Macey?” Bowen strode toward her. “We need to go back with the sheriff—”
“No.” She took the phone from the woman. “We need to put this man’s face on every news outlet in the area.”
Patrick’s girlfriend gave a quick sob.
“Because he’s been taken,” Macey continued. “And we need to find him.”
Macey turned the phone so that Bowen could see the screen. “Meet Patrick Grace.”
Bowen swore.
“He disappeared from his cabin last night.”
His gaze met Macey’s and Bowen nodded.
* * *
“SHE HAS NO clue who her lover really is,” Macey said as she stared through the one-way mirror at Lydia Chasing. Lydia was in the interrogation room at the police station, a mug of coffee cradled in her hand. Captain Harwell had just finished interviewing her, and Lydia...she seemed on the verge of collapse.
“The perp we’re after...you really think he snuck into her cabin and took Patrick without her knowing?” Bowen’s arm brushed against Macey’s.
“I think he could have done that.” She’d been considering the matter. “He attacked Daniel Haddox first.” She turned to stare up at Bowen. “You saw Daniel’s place—there were plenty of drugs there.” Syringes, medicines...things Daniel shouldn’t have been able to access, but he had. He’d made his own office in the middle of nowhere. He’d probably catered to low-income families, promising them treatment but...had he just taken more victims? Were there more victims out there waiting to be found? “Maybe our killer helped himself to supplies while he was at Daniel’s. Then all he would have needed to do was sneak into Lydia’s cabin, inject her while she was asleep, and he would have been sure she didn’t wake up and...interrupt his work.”
Bowen raked a hand over his face. “And if he didn’t want Patrick fighting back against him, then he probably drugged that guy, too.”
“It’s always easier to transport prey that doesn’t fight back.”
His gaze jerked up to hers.
“We should get blood work done on Lydia. See if anything turns up.”
“Macey...”
“It’s good that he didn’t hurt her,” she continued quickly. “I mean, it’s showing us that he’s focused on specific victims. If he’d wanted Lydia dead, she never would have woken up.” She dr
ew in a deep breath. “This goes along with him being so organized. He knew exactly who he wanted, and he took that prey.”
“What are the fucking odds?” Bowen muttered. “The Doctor. The Pyro. Both so close together...”
“The odds are against that.” She wet her lips. “So I think we have to assume that our perp set this up.”
Now Bowen’s eyes narrowed. “When the captain was interviewing Lydia, she said she’d won this cabin vacation.”
“And that’s something else we need to investigate because my money—” Macey gave a sad shake of her head “—is on the fact that the killer brought Patrick up here. He lured him here because he wanted to kill him. He wanted him close enough that he could bring him into the plan, the trap that was waiting.”
“First Daniel Haddox, then Patrick Remus.” Bowen blew out a slow breath. “Who is going to be next? And how is this guy finding these serials?”
He’s a step ahead of us. More than a step. “He won’t move onto the next one, not until he’s finished with Patrick.”
A knock sounded at the door. It opened a moment later to reveal Captain Harwell. “Local news is here. They’re going to be running the pics of Patrick.” His jaw hardened. “You two going to tell that woman in there the truth about her boyfriend before the press conference?”
Yes, they were. Because Macey didn’t want Lydia finding out when she turned on a TV. Macey nodded, once, and relief flashed across the captain’s face. She knew he was relieved he wasn’t going to be the one who had to shatter that woman’s world.
The FBI has a lead because of Patrick’s real identity. The serials go to us... And they were going to be the ones to reveal the truth to Lydia. The captain exited and Macey squared her shoulders. She took a step toward the door—
Bowen moved into her path and she couldn’t help but tense.
But he didn’t say anything personal, didn’t bring up the night before, and she tried to act as if she couldn’t still feel him on her skin.
“She’s not going to believe you, not at first.” His voice was quiet. “People never want to believe that they’ve chosen the wrong lover.”
She eased out a slow breath and forced herself to hold his stare. I knew exactly who I was choosing when I went to you last night. “I have pictures. We’ll make her believe us.”
His jaw hardened. “Lydia told the captain she’d been living with Patrick for over a year. A year, spent with a cold-blooded killer. And she never had a clue.”
“I think some people are very, very good at hiding their true selves.”
His lashes lowered over his eyes. “Yes.” That was all, just that one word. Something about his tone nagged at her, but Bowen had already turned away and exited the room. She followed him out, hurrying her steps, and soon they were walking into the interrogation room. As soon as they entered, Lydia looked up, hope on her face.
That hope is about to turn to horror.
“Lydia,” Macey began, trying to keep her tone kind. “I didn’t get to properly introduce myself earlier. My name is FBI Special Agent Macey Night.” She pointed to Bowen. “And this is my partner, Bowen Murphy.”
Lydia frowned at them.
“We were brought to Gatlinburg because we were actually looking for a man named Patrick Remus.” Macey set her manila file on the table and pulled out the first photo to show Lydia. “This man.”
Lydia stared at the picture and a furrow appeared between her brows. “That’s my Pat. Patrick Grace.” She pushed the photo back toward Macey as she gave a nervous laugh. “Him with a whole lot more hair.” She shook her head. “But you’ve got his last name wrong. Get that right before the reporters go live—”
Macey pushed the photo back toward her. And this time, she pulled out another photo, a crime scene photograph that showed the remains of Patrick’s first victim.
“What in the hell?” Lydia shot to her feet. The chair slammed to the floor behind her. “Why are you showing me that? Are you crazy?”
“That is a photo of Patrick Remus’s first victim, a thirty-nine-year-old father of two named Kent Powell.” She tapped the photo of Patrick once more. “And this man...this man is Patrick Remus.”
Lydia shook her head, frantically. “No, no, you’re wrong. You have the wrong man—”
“Patrick Remus is a serial arsonist,” Bowen said, his voice quiet and calm. Unrelenting. “He’s wanted in connection with the murders of five people.”
All of the color bled from Lydia’s face. “That’s...that’s Patrick Remus. Not my Pat. Not my—”
“They’re the same man,” Macey interrupted. “And we have reason to believe...” She swallowed. “We believe someone found out who your Patrick really is...and that individual has taken him.”
Lydia scrambled back. “He took the wrong man!”
No, he took the right one.
“You needed to know the truth,” Macey continued. “Before the reporters arrived.”
A tear leaked down Lydia’s cheek. “Not my Pat...”
Macey stared at her and she saw the horror that began to grow in Lydia’s gaze.
* * *
BOWEN GAZED AT the dark cabin. Sunset had come fast in the Smoky Mountains, and the night had chased its way across the sky. He’d spent the afternoon and evening searching for Patrick Remus—and for the man who’d taken the infamous Pyro.
Lydia had told them her story, again and again. She’d gotten a notice in the mail that she’d won a cabin in Gatlinburg. A three-day getaway. She hadn’t remembered entering the contest, but she’d been too excited to question the win.
Bowen had figured that if the killer had lured Patrick and Lydia to the mountains with the cabin that had been taken off rental rotation, then perhaps he’d been using another, similar cabin as base. A cabin that was off the beaten path, a place that would give him privacy... Another cabin that was empty because it was part of the rental program, but perhaps a place that had also been removed from potential listings because repair work needed to be done on it, too.
Using that criteria, Bowen had hoped to compile a small list of possible locations.
But this was Gatlinburg...and there were dozens of rental agencies in the area. The simple search had turned up results that had taken hours to evaluate. He’d divided up the local law enforcement team and sent them out while he and Macey also searched. So far, they’d all turned up nothing.
“It doesn’t look as if anyone has been here lately,” Macey said, her quiet voice breaking into his thoughts. They were right beside their rented SUV, and she’d already pulled out her weapon as she stared at the little cabin. Nestled at the very top of a mountain, they’d spent twenty minutes going up the twisting, winding roads that led to this place.
No other vehicle was parked near the cabin. All of the lights were out. Macey was right, the place did look empty.
Just as the others had.
But they were still going to search it. He took a few steps toward the cabin, and the wind seemed to shift as he felt the breeze stir against his cheek and then—
“Gasoline,” Bowen rasped. He could smell it. His eyes strained to see in the darkness. The cabin didn’t appear damaged in any way, but he could sure as hell smell that gasoline odor. His nostrils flared as battle-ready tension swept through him.
An empty cabin shouldn’t smell like gasoline.
He motioned to Macey, indicating that they’d be heading toward the front door. She moved quickly with him, their steps silent as they approached. And when they drew closer, he was able to tell that the front door was ajar, just a bit. Barely an inch.
This is the place. Bowen flashed another quick signal to Macey. He’d go in first, and he knew she’d cover him. Bowen pulled the flashlight from his pocket even as he silently counted down. Three, two, one...
He went in fast, crouching low. He kept the flashlight above his gun as he swept the room, sending out the light to check the corners and the darkness, and he heard the faint rustle of Macey’s footste
ps behind him. The scent of gasoline was even stronger inside the cabin. He glanced down and saw that the floors were...
“Wet,” Macey whispered.
Not from water, though, not based on that smell. Someone had soaked the place with gasoline.
Fuck. That was Patrick’s MO. He’d always poured gasoline all over the places where he kept his victims. On the floor, on the walls, on the furniture.
“Stay alert, Mace,” he rasped. She wouldn’t need the warning, of course, but, shit, he had to give it. This scene had nightmare written all over it. Bowen followed that trail, snaking down the narrow hallway and then turning right into a room at the back—
His light swept inside and fell on the slouched figure of the man in the chair. The guy’s head hung forward and Bowen could easily see the blood that dripped from his wounds. “Patrick,” Bowen said even as he rushed forward. His hand immediately went to the man’s throat.
Blood. Blood every-freaking-where. They’d arrived too late. Patrick was dead.
A rough exhalation escaped from Bowen as he stared at the man’s body. Jesus Christ. Burns covered him. His skin—what remained on his arms—was red and raw with oozing blisters. Blood had spilled down his shirt because the bastard’s throat had been cut. And the wounds in his head...
Bowen’s light slid over them. Patrick’s head was shaved, just like in Lydia’s picture, but there were two distinct wounds on his forehead. At first, Bowen thought those might be bullet wounds.
“Nails,” Macey said, and there was horror in her voice. “Just like with Daniel.”
Damn it. The press didn’t know about the nails. Their team had been careful not to leak that information. And for this guy to use them on Patrick Remus...
Same perp. We are absolutely looking at the same man who took out Daniel Haddox.
Shit, shit. It was—
Whoosh. He heard the sound and his blood iced. That whoosh of air was low and long and the very cabin itself seemed to tremble around them. He looked down at that stain of wet gasoline on the floor. It was a trail that led right to the dead man.
Patrick’s body was fucking soaked in gasoline. Dripping with it.
