01 A Cold Dark Place

by Toni Anderson

  “I heard you played a big part in the Meacher take down, Rooney,” a second female agent smirked. “Your old boss told me all about it.”

  Mallory exchanged a look with the slightly frumpy, lethally sharp, motherly-type and marked her as one of Danbridge’s cronies.

  Good to know.

  “The fact this killer strangled his victims with his hands suggests this was personal.” Frazer ignored the interruption. “As does the severe beating around the facial region.” As if he were punishing them and trying to make them unrecognizable. “We’ve been asked to assist and provide a profile by State Police in Virginia and several sheriff’s offices in West Virginia. I’m planning to visit local law enforcement next week and view the bodies. We all know due to budgetary restrictions some local police forces don’t even report murders or abductions, so Rooney, I want you to start calling municipalities and sheriff’s offices to see if there are any more victims out there that haven’t been added to ViCAP—”

  “I heard she was good on the phone,” Danbridge’s pal put in snidely.

  Frazer said nothing, just watched the exchange carefully. “I should probably have introduced everyone. Rooney meet Special Agents Moira Henderson, Felicia Barton, Darsh Singh.” He worked his way around the table. “Bradley Tate, Matt Lazlo, and last but not least, Jed Brennan.”

  Despite being in a meeting, Special Agent Brennan was clearly working on something else. Busted, he looked up and shot her a wry grin. “Nice to meet you, Agent Rooney.”

  “Agent Brennan is working on the Rainbow Murderer case.” A particularly gruesome set of killings targeting young homosexual males. Frazer sent the man a quelling glance. “He gets a little obsessed by his work sometimes.”

  Brennan pulled a face at Mallory when Frazer wasn’t looking, which made her lips twitch.

  Frazer continued, “Sam Walker is another of our agents but he’s on the road. He’ll be back in a couple of days.”

  Mallory’s heart sank. Until she or Hanrahan could prove otherwise they were all potential suspects.

  Frazer’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Welcome to the team.”

  ***

  Winding through the remote hills, he drove home, dropping his SUV out front of his cabin—the one he’d inherited from his uncle. He went into his bedroom and changed, pulling on jeans, boots, a plaid shirt, wool hat. He picked up his ax from beside the front door and started into the woods. He’d always wondered if his parents had known about his uncle’s deviancies, but they’d never mentioned it. He wished he’d killed him then, when he’d been the one suffering the abuse—he’d have got off with a self-defense plea and his life wouldn’t have turned to shit.

  He missed Payton so much he ached.

  Her mother was a United States senator, her father a federal judge. He wished he could have explained to them that their daughter had been safe and well cared for. Except for that first couple of months, she hadn’t suffered—and he’d made sure his uncle had paid for her initial pain. The damage to her mind hadn’t fixed itself the way he’d hoped, otherwise he’d have let her go, swooping to her rescue like an avenging angel. But she’d never fully recovered from whatever his uncle had done to her. She’d been happy afterward though, and always so damned pleased to see him.

  Emotion was like a fist gripping his esophagus. Grief and loneliness welled up at her loss. He wished he could explain to the Rooney family exactly how much he and Payton had loved one another. The image of her wearing a big white wedding dress and walking down the aisle on her father’s arm was clear in his mind. The smile the man sent him as if he truly understood how staunchly he’d protected Payton. Hell, he’d killed for her.

  He shook himself out of his reverie. They wouldn’t have understood. That sort of fairytale wasn’t for the likes of him and the only way to stop himself going mad with grief was to find someone to replace her, if only in body.

  The hitchhiker—Kari—had turned out to be demure and sweet, but it might just be an act. He hadn’t touched her yet so time would tell. And maybe the judge deserved one last Christmas with his other daughter. He’d already figured out how to remind her of her connection to her sister, but he didn’t want to go too fast and slip up by doing something stupid. Planning took time. Nothing wrong with slow and careful.

  About a quarter of a mile into the secluded forest, not far from the entrance of the chamber, he’d started a woodpile. It was surrounded to the north, east and west by briars that he’d let grow years ago. He propped the ax against the cut logs. Grass grew over the hatch and he slid back the iron bolt that formed the lock. He’d installed a proper wooden staircase since his uncle had first dug this pit. He put in TV and radio, and even a chemical toilet. There was a couch and double bed. He’d stocked up with water and food. It wasn’t exactly a hovel. You could last for months down here.

  It did get chilly this time of year, but there was a compact propane heater for really cold nights, plus plenty of blankets. The soil held warmth better than above ground so no one was gonna freeze to death.

  He closed the hatch behind him and picked up the flashlight he kept at the top of the stairs.

  Kari lay on the bed. Her eyes were reddened from crying, mouth twisted. He’d handcuffed her to a long chain bolted to a cement block that sat under the bed. She could reach everything she needed, but she couldn’t leave.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice was croaky. Kind of cute.

  He brought her a glass of water from the pitcher on the side. Handed it to her.

  She held it with both hands and he sat beside her as she took a drink. He eased her hair out of her face where it had stuck to the tears on her cheeks.

  “What do you think I want?”

  Her eyes were huge, expressive. Scared. “I think you want to rape me.”

  “Do I look like the sort of guy who has to resort to rape to get a woman?”

  Her eyes scanned his face desperately. “No, you’re good looking, handsome even. If you don’t want to rape me, what do you want? To hurt me?” She started to cower away from him but he hauled her back against his side. She fit nicely.

  “I don’t want to hurt you either.” He shook his head. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I just want someone to care about... to love?”

  Her lips parted on a gasp of surprise. He held his breath. The last two women had laughed and proved they weren’t the ones. But she didn’t laugh. She smiled at him tentatively and he touched his thumb to her bottom lip, liking the feel of its softness. Then he leaned forward and kissed her, parting her mouth beneath his. His heart seemed to stop for a long drawn out moment.

  At first there was nothing and he felt disappointment, but then, finally, her tongue touched his. Maybe, just maybe, she was the one.

  ***

  Alex stood in the shower with the water blasting down on him and tried to wake himself up. The cyber attack had taken days to shut down and sanitize. Two other clients had suffered similar intrusions. Securing data, changing password and email protocols between employees, plugging software holes, and figuring out who the hell was behind the infiltration was a painstaking process. North Korea seemed to be the location of the server but Alex doubted they had hackers or systems sophisticated enough to carry out this attack. North Korea felt like a decoy and Alex hated falling for the obvious. China was usually the main culprit, with state-sponsored hackers working out of a building in Shanghai, amongst other locations. But big corporations didn’t want to name and shame China for fear of losing business with such an important trade partner. With intellectual property theft costing the US an estimated $300 billion a year, it was an interesting time to be in cyber security.

  He’d sent people to business headquarters in New York and London, more to Silicon Valley and Hong Kong. Since his incarceration in Morocco, his team knew exactly how to operate without him and sometimes he felt more a figurehead than the boss. Still, it was good to be useful for something besides killing. Over the last few d
ays he’d stolen a couple of combat naps and whatever spare time he’d found had been spent surreptitiously checking Mallory’s cell phone and emails. He hadn’t had the chance to look at video or audio feeds yet and was reluctant to cross that line. Stupid really. He’d done more than invade her privacy on Friday night but at least the pleasure had been genuine and mutual.

  He turned off the hot tap and forced himself to stand still as cold water flashed across every inch of skin until his whole body tingled with numbness. Yeah, asshole, no more thinking about Friday night.

  He got out of the shower and toweled himself dry and pulled on a pair of jeans. His apartment had a view of the Watergate building which always reminded him of the power of not just surveillance but also of ego, especially when dealing with politicians. He’d swept for bugs when he’d got in and now he grabbed a beer from the fridge and threw a sandwich together.

  He wanted to fall into bed and sleep for a day straight, but first he needed to check that the camera and audio bug in Mallory’s apartment actually worked. The idea he might need to go back and replace it was eating at him, like some hormonal teenager finding any excuse to talk to his high school crush. When both sound and vision came through crisp and clear as a satellite feed, he shook his head.

  Watching her left a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn’t have her. Ever. She was beyond his reach in every way. He felt sleazy spying on her, like he was committing the worst kind of treachery. And he was. But the choice between him doing surveillance versus some other operative was a no-brainer. No one else was getting near this woman. She’d been hurt too many times for him to contemplate his organization hurting her again, however inadvertently.

  He froze when he saw her sitting at the dining table, the blue box open in front of her. He flicked on his laptop and her laptop camera showed her biting her lip as she typed in a web search. She looked tired, no make-up, no gloss, but had one of the most exquisite faces he’d ever seen. Maybe because it wasn’t painted on—her beauty came from within.

  She spent all her downtime investigating her sister’s abduction.

  It was futile. The chance of anyone finding out what happened to Payton Rooney was almost zero unless the bad guy confessed. And the idea of Mallory wasting her life lay heavy on his shoulders. He sat up straighter when he saw exactly what she was searching. Newspaper articles on abductions throughout the US two years either side of Payton Rooney’s abduction.

  Good idea. Because crimes weren’t always put into police databases.

  But it was going to take her weeks if not months to sort through all that information. She yawned and rubbed her eyes and he was reminded how tired he felt. Somehow he doubted Mallory was any more rested.

  An idea lit up the back of his brain, although he’d be foolish to interfere. She yawned again and he knew he was screwed. He was going to help her whether it was sensible or not. He had the tools to pare down all that information into useable bite-sized chunks.

  His phone rang and he snatched it up. “Parker.”

  “Alex. It’s Lucas Randall.”

  “What can I do for you, buddy?” Alex’s mind switched back to wary. Lucas was investigating Meacher’s murder, he had to tread carefully.

  “FBI IT guys are having some trouble isolating cell phone data from the tower closest to Meacher’s residence and I’m wondering if...”

  Damn. “If I’ll look at the information for you?” He didn’t want to get involved in this investigation any more than he wanted to keep an eye on Mallory. Both involved betrayal and if there was something he understood it was just how much betrayal could hurt. “I doubt I can find anything that your guys can’t.”

  “Will you just look for me?” Lucas lowered his voice. “I’m getting nowhere on this investigation and my boss is being such a bitch that pretty soon I’m going to kill her and dump her at the Body Farm. I don’t think anyone will blame me.”

  Alex pressed the tips of his fingers hard into his temples. He’d known this guy since basic training and had fought side by side with him in Afghanistan. Self-condemnation tied his stomach in knots. He hated who he was and what he did. “Send me the files but I’m nose-deep in international fuck-ups and don’t know when I’ll be able to look at it.” Not that there would be anything in the cell phone records. The signals on the phones he and Jane used to communicate were encrypted well beyond military standards. He’d created the electronic illusion of a burner cell. His laptop to which everything was forwarded, couldn’t be traced either. If they tried they’d end up on a tiny island in the middle of the South Pacific. But he didn’t like that he was so close to this investigation. Sure he could keep an eye on what they knew, but if he was being set-up...

  Shit. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like traps. Didn’t like manipulation. He flashed back to the prison. To his new boss standing before him in a suit so white it had hurt his eyes. He’d been filthy and bedraggled. He’d tried to keep active, but disease, lack of clean water, proper food had worn him down. Beatings had left him weak and emaciated. He’d known going in that no one would claim him if things went wrong. It was one thing to be told that, another to experience the brutal reality with each metal-edged punch. So much for service. So much for loyalty.

  The Gateway Project had made him a proposition that had allowed him to escape that hellhole. He owed them. But he didn’t kid himself things would be any different if he got caught on US soil.

  “Send me the information, but I’m not promising anything.” He took in a big breath. “I bumped into Mallory Rooney in DC.”

  “Mallory Rooney? My Mallory Rooney?”

  Alex was surprised by the possessive edge to the man’s tone. “Said she got transferred to Quantico.”

  “Yeah, she did.” Lucas’s tone morphed into protective older brother. “She’s not the sort of girl to string along, Alex. Don’t go sniffing at that door because if you break her heart I’ll beat the crap out of you.”

  “We’re not dating.” He tried not to think about what they had done last Friday night and purposely looked away from his laptop so he couldn’t see her falling asleep over her computer.

  “She doesn’t date,” Lucas almost growled.

  “So what the fuck are you worried about?” Alex bit out. As her friend, Lucas should be encouraging her to have a social life not work every minute of every day.

  The silence stretched for a taut moment. “Look, she’s been through a lot. I just don’t want to see her hurt, which reminds me, I need to call her.”

  The guy had feelings for her—why hadn’t he seen that? Because he’d been dazzled himself, and trying to make sure he didn’t end up under arrest for Murder One. “Send me the cell data, Lucas, but I’m not promising anything.”

  “Thanks buddy.”

  “Yeah, a buddy who’s not good enough to date your so-called friend,” he muttered.

  “It’s not like that—”

  “You just keep telling yourself that.” Alex disconnected. Three seconds later he watched Mallory pick up her cell phone. Her face lit up with a grin—Lucas. Jealousy smacked him in the head like a sledgehammer. Pissed with himself Alex turned off the laptop and headed out into the night. He didn’t want to hear what Lucas Randall said about him on the phone, but this was exactly the sort of conversation he needed to monitor. He’d listen to it later, when his head was fixed on straight.

  It took several hours and was well after midnight by the time he’d compiled all the information he needed. Wearing latex gloves to handle the paper and envelope, he printed out the information and used one of a series of false identities to have the package couriered to Mallory’s work the next day. He might never be anything but a blurry memory to her, but maybe he could ease her burden just a little. He needed all the chances of redemption he could get.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  By Friday afternoon Mallory had spent most of the week reading case files and calling various police departments to talk to homicide detectives, sheriff deputies and medical
examiners until her jaw ached. She’d doubled up on each phone call by asking about any unreported cases of child abduction fifteen to twenty years ago, never knowing when she might catch a break.

  She didn’t catch a break.

  She looked up and realized she was all alone in the space she usually shared with eight other agents. They’d all gone to meetings and she was left whistling Dixie. She glanced around. It was empty. No one was here.

  Her pulse pounded loudly in her ear.

  The real reason for her being here flashed through her mind, followed by butterflies in the pit of her stomach that launched themselves into the air like vultures. The hum of the heating system and murmur of far-off voices drifted from a long way away. She climbed to her feet and eyed the desks closest to her. Moira Henderson or Felicia Barton? Henderson was Danbridge’s crony so she tackled her first.

  She went over and searched through the drawers. Handcuffs, ammo, staplers, post-it notes, a broken crucifix—nothing useful. There were photographs stuck to Henderson’s cubicle walls—a family portrait with a couple of kids. Mallory checked her shoulder when she heard footsteps but they disappeared behind the bang of a door. There was a stack of file folders on the left-hand side of Henderson’s desk. Mallory peeked in the first one and saw a photograph of herself and some of her personnel files. Holy crap, the woman had a file on her.

  The fine hair on the nape of her neck stood taut as she heard another door being opened and closed out in the corridor. Quickly, she looked in the next file and saw background information on Edgar Meacher. Footsteps came closer and Mallory tiptoed back to her desk, heart drilling her ribcage as Special Agent Henderson walked in the room.