Special Agent's Surrender

by Carla Cassidy

  “Are you okay?” Jacob finally asked.

  “Not really,” she replied truthfully. “I’m trying to go to a good place in my mind, but I’m having trouble finding that place.”

  He flashed her a glance that let her know he had no idea what she was talking about. “Whenever I’m stressed or scared I make a picture in my mind of doing something I like to do,” she said in explanation.

  “Like buying new shoes.”

  She nodded. “Something like that. I might imagine myself in a store, or at Portia’s daycare with the kids. When I was younger my favorite place to go in my mind was to imagine I was with my mother. We’d have lunch together or she’d sing to me, you know, I think about the things that make me feel safe and happy.”

  She looked out the window in time to see them passing the entrance to the Grayson ranch. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to go to the cabin by some back roads that lead to the property,” he replied with a glance in his rearview mirror. “I want to make sure we aren’t being followed.”

  A new chill filled her at this thought. Would he find them at the cabin? Had their security there been breached? “Who is he? How did he know I’d stop in the office today?”

  “My guess is that he saw you leave the café and he followed you. Did you see anyone who seemed to be paying particular attention to you in the café or out on the streets?”

  “Not really. John Mathews waved at me when I first arrived in the café and Buck Harmon was sitting at the counter. Buck has asked me out a couple of times but I’ve never gone out with him. You think this might be personal?”

  Once again he glanced in the rearview mirror, but apparently saw nothing that alarmed him. “I think all of the women were random victims, chosen only because he knew their routines and knew he could get into the back of their cars. That’s one thing that’s going to make it more difficult to find him, the fact that the victims were random, and talking to friends and family isn’t going to help further the investigation.”

  “I had certainly become a creature of habit,” she said thoughtfully. “Most nights I stayed late at the office and I wasn’t always good about locking my car.” An edge of anger swept through her. “I made it so easy for him.”

  “I don’t think it started personal with you, but we both know it has become personal.” His dark eyes found her again. “There’s already been two attempts on you. We don’t want a third. We might not get so lucky next time.”

  Layla leaned forward to adjust the heater vent as his words caused a new chill to race through her. “Do you have nice places you go in your head when you’re stressed or upset?” she asked, wanting something to take her mind off the attack.

  “I usually go to wherever the bottom of a bottle of beer will take me, but it’s usually not a nice place. It’s always filled with darkness.” His hands tightened around the steering wheel and she knew he was regretting giving her just that much personal information.

  Silence reigned for the rest of the drive and finally after twists and turns down back roads they arrived at the shed where Jacob kept his truck. He parked in the shed and they walked the short distance to the cabin.

  Overwhelmed. That’s what Layla felt as she shrugged out of her coat, sank down on the sofa and watched as Jacob placed a log on the fire and stirred the embers with a poker. He messed in the fireplace until he had flames dancing then he took off his coat and sat in his recliner.

  “You want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “There’s a first, you’re inviting me to talk?” She released a deep sigh. “There isn’t much to say. I pretty much already told you what happened.”

  “Did you get any sense of his height? His weight?”

  She frowned thoughtfully, remembering that single moment when she’d left the bathroom and had been confronted by the man. “He wasn’t as tall as you. I’d say average height and weight. He had on black pants and a brown coat.”

  “That’s good, that’s the kind of things we need,” he said with encouragement. “Anything else you can think of? Did he talk to you?”

  “No, he never said a word. Maybe he was afraid I’d recognize his voice.”

  “Maybe. Tom is going to be here in a little while. He’s going to bring me copies of the case files of all the missing women and he’ll want to question you again. Maybe you should make a list of all the men you noticed in the café.”

  “I can do that,” she agreed. “Although I didn’t really pay attention to everyone who was there.” She opened her purse and pulled out a pen and a diary-size notebook. “I carry this with me and jot down notes about my days,” she explained.

  She’d always done a little journaling, had started it when she’d been in fifth grade. It had been a safe way to vent emotions she couldn’t speak of out loud. She stared down at the paper and realized her body was beginning to ache from the attack.

  “I think before I do this I want to go take a hot shower,” she said. “Now that I’ve started to calm down I’m feeling some bumps and bruises.”

  Jacob’s eyes darkened. “I’ll kill him if I get the chance.”

  The words spoken so calmly, so filled with certainty, shot a mini-chill through her as she got up from the sofa.

  Minutes later as she stood beneath the hot spray of water, she understood the darkness that had become Jacob Grayson. The experiences with The Professional had damaged him and there was no way of knowing if that damage could ever be healed.

  And now she was wrestling with her own darkness. What worried her more than anything was that since the attack she hadn’t found that safe place in her head. The fear from the attack still had her in its grips and no scenario she came up with in her head could take it away.

  As a child the mental form of escape had been what made her strong, what had allowed her to endure. Now without that coping mechanism she felt lost.

  When this was all over how damaged would she be? Would she ever feel safe again?

  By the time she’d finished her shower Tom had arrived and another round of questions ensued. She could tell him no more than she’d told Jacob although Tom pressed her hard for any impressions she might have gotten from the man who’d attacked her.

  She made the list they wanted of everyone she could think of who had been in the café, but there was little more she could do to help with the investigation.

  “It’s possible you didn’t even see him before the attack,” Tom said. “He could have come from any of the buildings near your office and sneaked right into the back alley. I’ve got a couple of men questioning the business owners in the area to see if they saw anything or if anyone suddenly went missing from their work.”

  “If he can’t get to Layla eventually he’ll take somebody else,” Jacob said. “Eventually his need will drive him to act again.”

  “All the women in town are on notice, there isn’t much else we can do,” Tom replied.

  He left as dusk was falling and Layla went into the kitchen to cook something for dinner. As she was putting together a meatloaf, Jacob came into the kitchen and sat in one of the chairs at the table.

  “It’s not your responsibility to cook for me,” he said. “I’m sure you probably don’t feel like it, especially after the day you’ve had.”

  “I like cooking,” she replied. “I learned early in life to be good at it.” She finished forming the loaf in the pan and then put it in the awaiting oven. “It will take about an hour for that to cook. You want mashed potatoes? Or I can do scalloped potatoes. Some people like them cut up in wedges and cooked with the meatloaf, but I’m not a big fan of that. Or I could just scrub a couple and put them in the oven to bake.” She paused, aware that she’d been rambling. “You really don’t care about potatoes, do you?”

  “Not really.”

  She sat opposite him at the table. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed or not but when I’m stressed or upset I tend to talk too much.”

  “I’ve noticed.” His lips cur
led up slightly.

  For just a moment she thought she saw a faint twinkle in his eyes, like the ghost of the man he’d once been shining through. Her heart did a crazy flip-flop and she wished she’d spent more time with him before The Professional had stolen his soul, wished she’d met him before so much damage had been done.

  The twinkle disappeared and the distance she’d come to expect returned as he got up from the table. “Just let me know when it’s time to eat,” he replied.

  Dinner was a silent affair with Jacob not engaging her in any way. When the meal was over and the kitchen was clean, Layla decided to call it a night. It was still relatively early but she was beyond exhaustion and only hoped that she would sleep without dreams.

  “I’m going to bed,” she said to Jacob, who was once again in his recliner.

  “Good night.” He remained distant, not taking his eyes off the television screen that played an old movie.

  She’d thought that sleep would come quickly due to her exhaustion; however, once she was alone in the bedroom sleep refused to come at all. She twisted and turned, playing and replaying the attack in her mind.

  Who was he? Who was this man who called himself The Professional and what was broken inside him that allowed him to do such heinous things?

  He’d been so strong as he’d dragged her across the carpeting. If he’d managed to get to that needle and inject her, she now knew she would have gone unconscious. Then it would have been easy for him to carry her out of the building and take her wherever he was holding the other women.

  She pulled the quilt up closer around her neck as a shiver worked through her. Twice she’d nearly been a guest at one of his parties. Jacob was right, she might not be so lucky the next time.

  What she wanted was somebody to hold her, somebody to tell her everything was going to be all right, but there was nobody. Jacob certainly wasn’t up for the task. She wished she at least had Mr. Whiskers with her. He might just be a cat, but he was warm and furry and liked curling up with her during the night. She made a mental note to call Larry Norwood and check how Mr. Whiskers was doing without her.

  Mr. Whiskers had been the only male she’d ever been able to count on to love her unconditionally. In her past she had only a father who had abused and belittled her; in her future she had the potential of becoming a victim of a serial killer. In her present she was completely and utterly alone.

  Chapter 7

  Jacob sat at the kitchen table, the case files of the missing women spread out before him. He’d contacted his superior at the Kansas City FBI field office to see if he could get any information they might have found on The Professional’s crimes since Jacob had left the department. He’d also wanted to find out if there had been any similar crimes committed anywhere else in the country.

  His boss had confessed that there had been no further leads on the case and had told Jacob that if Tom wanted FBI assistance in Black Rock all he had to do was request it.

  Jacob knew his brother Tom was a prideful man, but that he wasn’t so proud he wouldn’t ask for help if he needed it. The truth was if The Professional was one of Black Rock’s own as they suspected, then the brothers of the Black Rock law enforcement were the best men to find the criminal.

  There were no records of similar crimes that had taken place anywhere in the country. It was as if The Professional had come into the age of his reign of terror in Kansas City and now was continuing in Black Rock. Jacob knew that if he was successful here, then it wouldn’t be long before another place would soon suffer the same kind of attack.

  Criminals like The Professional didn’t suddenly stop unless they were placed behind bars or dead. The dark desires that drove him wouldn’t be sated for long after one of his parties. He’d soon need another…and another. He had to be stopped here and now.

  Was he from Black Rock or had he followed Jacob here? That was the million-dollar question. If they could just pinpoint where The Professional was from they might have a better chance of figuring out who he was.

  Jacob leaned back in the chair and glanced at the clock on the wall. Almost midnight. He’d been poring over these files for hours, ever since Layla had gone to bed.

  He was looking for something, anything that his brothers and the other deputies might have missed, but so far he’d been unsuccessful in finding anything that might point a finger to any one person in Black Rock, or anywhere else.

  He’d asked Tom to come up with a list of people who had recently moved to the area, on the chance that The Professional had followed him from Kansas City to his hometown. He also wanted background searches done on all the doctors in the area and any other hospital personnel who might have access to drugs. An average Joe wouldn’t have access to the kind of drugs that had been in the hypodermic needle they’d found in Layla’s car.

  His brother was returning the next day and hopefully would have a list of names they could begin investigating. It wasn’t much to go on, but they had to start somewhere. To keep Layla safe.

  Layla.

  He got up out of his chair and poured himself a fresh cup of coffee, then returned to the table. Something about Layla was bringing him back to life and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

  She was making him feel, and he’d believed himself incapable of ever feeling anything again. When he’d seen her curled up on the floor in her office, his heart had nearly burst out of his chest with fear for her.

  He didn’t want to care about anyone ever again, but Layla had made a chink in his armor, a chink that made him wary. Hell, he was even beginning to find her incessant chatter oddly endearing.

  He looked up and nearly jumped in surprise as he saw the object of his thoughts standing in the doorway wearing that sexy nightgown and matching robe. Her hair was tousled around her face and only made her look sexier than ever.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked as a knot of tension wound tight in his stomach.

  “No.” She walked barefoot to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cup, then grabbed the chair opposite him at the table. She took a sip of the coffee and then lowered the mug from her lips. “I’ve been tossing and turning and finally decided to give up the battle.” She looked at the paperwork in front of him. “Are those the case files of the missing women?”

  “Yeah.” He stared down at the file in front of him, finding it less provocative than looking at her. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to find anything that might move the investigation forward in any way.”

  “So, really the only thing you all have to go on is the drug angle from the syringe that he left in my car.”

  “That and a button that might or might not have been left by the perp.”

  “A button?” she asked curiously.

  He finally looked at her once again and tried to keep his gaze on her face, not allowing it to drift south. “A white button to be exact.” He opened one of the file folders. “There’s a picture of it someplace in here. Ah, here it is.”

  He slid the picture across the table toward her. She picked it up and studied it. “Too big to be a shirt button,” she observed. “Looks more like a coat or some sort of decorative button. Where was it found?”

  “In Casey Teasdale’s car. Did you know her?”

  She nodded and slid the photo back to him. “Casually. She was a trendy dresser. It’s possible the button came off a dress or a jacket of hers.”

  “Did you know my sister?” He wasn’t sure why he’d asked or why it was important to him. For the first time since this all had begun he wanted, needed, to talk about his sister.

  “I know Brittany,” she replied, making him realize he’d spoken of his sister in the past tense. “We’re friendly, but don’t really hang out together. She’s a beautiful woman, Jacob, and I know you and your brothers are going to do everything in your power to bring her home.”

  Emotion pressed thick and tight in his chest. He’d tried not to think about his sister at the hands of The Professional, but now thoughts of Brittany filled h
is head, his heart. Would she be home for Christmas? Or would they find her body after The Professional had enjoyed his party?

  “She’s tough,” he finally said.

  “Tell me about her,” Layla urged him, as if sensing his need to talk about her.

  “She’s sometimes irresponsible, which is why my brothers didn’t realize she was initially missing. It wasn’t until she’d missed a couple of days of work that we realized there was a problem. Still, she’d missed work before and Caleb, Benjamin and Tom had always covered for her. We all spoiled her terribly over the years.”

  “I imagine having four big brothers isn’t the easiest thing in the world at times,” Layla replied.

  An unexpected laugh blurted out of him. “She used to complain that it was like having four overly protective fathers.” He leaned back in his chair. “She loves to sing and is completely tone-deaf, but she has a heart of gold and would do anything for anyone.” Any laughter he might have felt faded away beneath a crushing weight of anguish. “She’s got to be all right.”

  “She’s still alive, Jacob. Hang on to that,” Layla said softly. “He hasn’t had his final party yet, and as long as he doesn’t there’s still a chance for Brittany and all the other women.”

  He nodded. “If anyone can survive this ordeal, she can. We just need to find them before he snaps again.”

  “Or before he gets me.” Layla’s voice held a slight tremor that spoke of her own fear. “I don’t want to be a guest at his party.”

  “We’re not going to let him get to you,” he said, a rough edge to his voice.

  “Promise?”

  He sighed. “The last time I made a promise I made it to Carrie Walker’s mother. I promised her I’d find her daughter before The Professional killed her, but Carrie was one of the women we found in that warehouse. I don’t make promises anymore, not about anything.”