The night Lindsey Keeble had been abducted. The same night he’d shot Meacher. “How does that clear things up?” He wasn’t supposed to know the PR-killer’s itinerary.
“Just answer the question, Mr. Parker.”
“I was in DC. I went to dinner with a friend. Left at four AM the next morning to drive to Charlotte for that meeting.” His GPS and cell phone data would confirm every word, which went to show if you knew what you were doing you could be in two places at once.
“Girlfriend?”
He said nothing. Theoretically he and Jane had a casual dating relationship as a cover for their meetings.
She waited impatiently. “A name and address would be helpful.”
Fuck. He wrote Jane Sanders’ name, address and phone number on a piece of paper. He didn’t want Mallory to know about this. The room felt suddenly too hot. Things were getting complicated. He raised his gaze to the door, and there stood Mallory looking furious on his behalf.
Barton checked her shoulder. “I’ll need to confirm your alibi, Mr. Parker. Don’t take it personally.”
“Why would I?” He didn’t take his gaze off Mallory’s. “You’re just doing your job, right?”
“Let’s go, Alex. I’m sorry you had to go through this,” said Mallory.
He pushed his chair back and ignored Barton. “The only thing I care about is you and making sure this asshole gets caught.” At the doorway he looked back at Barton where she was still scribbling away. “As long as your colleagues are all on the same page, we’re good.”
The quirk of Mallory’s brows told their own story. She touched his arm and leaned close to his ear. “If it came down to a contest about who I trusted more...you or them.” Her lips brushed his ear and sent a bolt of sensation straight through him. “I’m pretty sure you’d have the edge.”
Barton watched them as they left and he knew she was going to keep digging. Whatever his misgivings about Jane and Mallory, he better make damn sure his alibi stuck.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
He’d had her for a couple of weeks now. She’d passed the tests and lasted a hell of a lot longer than the others and he was starting to think she really might be the one. He’d showered, put on cologne, pulled on a wool hat and his sheepskin jacket, picked up the flowers he’d bought.
Work had been flat out for the last few days and he hadn’t been able to check on her. She had food and water but if she got sick the way Payton had gotten sick...
His boots crunched through the dead leaves in the woods, faster now. It was dark but he knew the route so well he didn’t even need a flashlight as long as the moon shone.
He’d been the officer to find Lindsey Keeble’s car, which had earned him a lot of kudos within the department. He figured it was only a matter of time before someone saw it and may as well use his problems to his advantage. Lindsey had been a bitch with a mouth that could blister paint. Man, he wished he hadn’t grabbed her. Too much trouble. Too close to home. But maybe she’d been fated for another reason because Mallory Rooney was coming to her funeral tomorrow.
Should he take her?
The idea of having two women at the same time haunted his fantasies now. Nothing unusual in a man wanting to screw two females at the same time, but this was riskier. He’d need to keep Mallory under control, physically and mentally. Maybe get her hooked on heroin and dependent on him for a fix. That might keep her malleable.
He liked the sound of that.
He’d never have contemplated keeping two women when Payton was alive, but he had to find a way to get through the remainder of his life without descending into madness.
He tripped over a stick. “Shit!” That’s what he got for not paying attention. Maybe he’d just kill Mallory. The idea of her not respecting her sister’s memory made him fume. But he couldn’t kill her without at least giving her a chance to redeem herself, because Payton had loved her so much. And maybe she was like Kari and just needed a bit of coaching.
He’d drilled a metal ring into the wall of the abandoned mine. He had chain to keep her locked up but still needed to reinforce the door to the storage shed. As long as he didn’t show Mallory his face he could risk holding her somewhere like that. Kari was going to have to stay in the chamber though. If she ever escaped she could identify him and he wouldn’t risk losing his freedom.
Kari was sweet. She didn’t seem to mind the basic accommodations too much and he could try and spruce up the place. If she had a baby he’d figure out a new plan. Maybe move somewhere remote where he could build some sort of compound...or join one of those militia groups with Kari as his wife?
Yup. Starting tonight, he was going to see if he could get her pregnant. No point in waiting any longer.
The idea had him so hard his dick throbbed.
He got to the woodpile and stood around for a moment to make sure no one was nearby. He hadn’t remained undetected all these years by being careless.
The forest was unusually silent tonight, the first severe frost of winter starting to really bite. Sliding back the bolt he lifted the hatch and reached for the flashlight that rested just inside. He flicked the switch, but nothing happened. The bulb had probably blown. He gave it a shake and something rattled inside the plastic casing. Piece of shit.
It was dark in the chamber. Pitch black. What the hell? Had the paraffin lamp run out of fuel?
“You all right down there?” He descended the stairs carefully in the darkness. The silence had him panicking. Shit, was she okay? He reached for another flashlight that he kept on one of the shelves that lined one wall. Groped around, knocking off books and a mug. Where the fuck was that thing? Why wasn’t she answering?
Something slammed into his temple and a knee connected with his balls, white hot agony slicing his body in half. The flowers fell from his fingers as he went down like a slab of concrete and hit his head on the edge of the bed. He curled into a fetal ball. Holy shit. The pain was excruciating, sweat broke out over his body and he dry heaved.
Feet scrambled behind him, the noise of the chain curiously absent. Shit. She’d gotten loose. She’d ambushed him. Little fucking bitch. If he didn’t move his ass she was going to trap him down here and then go running to the cops like the sniveling bitch she really was.
He dragged himself to his feet as she scrambled up the ladder. He jammed his shoulder through the opening just as she tried to slam the wooden hatch closed.
“Get back here!” He sounded like he’d been strangled. Shit. His balls ached.
He lunged for her ankle but she jumped away. Her gasp of fear made him yell out loud. Then he could hear her running away. Lying, fucking deceitful whore. He threw himself up the ladder and closed the hatch behind him and started after her. Forcing himself not to run, forcing himself to take deep calm breaths even as his anger rose up and engulfed him.
He’d been a fool. She’d tricked him into trusting her when he knew he shouldn’t have.
She cried out in the darkness, making enough noise for a blind man to follow. She was heading northwest. He caught a glimpse of pale skin in the darkness and started to jog.
He’d grown up in these woods. Knew every inch, in every season. She didn’t stand a chance.
He was gaining on her but decided to circle around so he got in front of her. He ran ahead and waited behind a tree in the darkness. But the sounds of her movement had veered east and she suddenly sounded further away. Hell. She must have seen the light from the McCafferty property that skirted the edge of the forest. He started running fast, uncaring of the uneven ground and branches that tore up his face.
His foot went down a hole and he hit the ground hard. His chin slammed off the dirt and white light burst through his brain. His heart was pounding. Christ Almighty. Fear crowded his mind, crushing his carefully laid plans to dust.
Sonofabitch.
Son of a fucking bitch!
He stood. Tested his ankle which hurt but wasn’t broken. He started walking fast. Limping, but so angry
he didn’t feel the pain. Fury burned through him in a red hot wave that fueled him.
There was a pounding sound. A desperate beating of fist against wood.
“Help! Help me!”
Don’t be in. Don’t be in. Don’t be in. He was about fifteen feet from the cottage when the door opened. Kari turned toward him and he saw her desperate frightened eyes find him in the darkness. He never stopped moving. She squeezed past Mrs. McCafferty and tried to shut the door behind them but the old woman fought her.
“Help me. Help me! He took me and raped me. Please help!”
“Who are you? Get out of my house.”
And then he was there and he walked straight inside the simple log cabin. “It’s okay, Mrs. Mac. You’re safe. I’ll take her back into custody now.”
“He’s lying!” Kari’s eyes were huge as she ran from him and grabbed the phone off the wall.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” The old lady clutched her throat. “Is she a fugitive? She looks dangerous.”
“Don’t you worry none.” He swiped the telephone from Kari’s hand and she cowered away from him, trembling with cold and terror. She opened her mouth as if to plead for help but no sound came out.
“Is Mr. Mac home? I sure could use his help with this one.”
“He’s gone into town. Decided to go to the tavern for that live bluegrass band that’s playing tonight. I had a headache so I told him to go alone. Who is she?” Mrs. McCafferty nodded toward Kari who was staring at him with a stricken expression. “Vagrant?” The old woman’s tone was distasteful which he found ironic given how pious she was in church every week.
He eyed the knife block and pulled one out, testing the sharp edge on his thumb. “She’s a dangerous criminal but you don’t need to worry.”
“Oh my—”
He pushed the knife into Mrs. McCafferty’s abdomen and angled it sharply upward. He held her as she sagged against him, feebly grabbing onto his clothes as she twitched and spasmed in his grasp. Hot blood soaked through his shirt, his jeans, touched his skin. This was why he didn’t like knives. Too messy. Too much trace evidence.
“See what you’ve done?” he snarled at Kari. “I’ve known this woman since I was a kid and because of you, she’s dead.”
She stood in the kitchen staring open-mouthed at him as Mrs. McCafferty bled to death in his arms. Stupid bitch.
“And when the cops find her.” He let Mrs. McCafferty’s body slide gently to the floor. “They’re gonna blame you.” He washed his hands, then wiped his prints and DNA from the faucets and phone.
He turned toward her, disappointed. She’d ruined everything. The bitch started shaking her head and moving away from him, but there was nowhere to go in the small kitchen. He walked up to her and smashed the handle of the knife into her temple and she crashed to the floor in a heap. Rifling through the drawer, careful not to leave prints, he found duct tape and tied her wrists behind her back. He pulled her head back using her hair and looked at her eyes. She was out cold.
He wrapped tape around her mouth. He wasn’t done with her yet, he was going to teach her a lesson about the cost of betrayal. But he needed to wait. Needed to make sure the next twenty-four hours went exactly to plan because he would not go down for murder. He would rather die right here and now than be locked up with filth.
He latched the kitchen door, turned off all the lights and removed the light bulb from the hallway fitting. In the meantime he ransacked the house the way a thief would, looking for cash and easily fencible goods that he’d dump as soon as he got the opportunity. It was thirty minutes before he heard a car in the driveway. The blood had dried and crusted on his skin and itched unmercifully.
Old Mr. McCafferty ambled through the door, a little worse for drink—not that he should have been driving—but hopefully it would make what was about to happen less painful. As the old man tried to ease out of his heavy winter jacket, he grabbed his hair and pulled his head back. “Sorry,” he murmured. Then he sliced the knife deep across the man’s throat.
A hot spurt of blood hit his cheek and slid down his neck. The old man was dead before he hit the floor.
He closed the front door, then rifled through the old guy’s pockets, taking his wallet. The sight of the body made his stomach clench. Using paper towels he wiped the knife clean and then pressed the pads of Kari’s fingers onto the handle before dropping it beside Mr. McCafferty’s body. The paper towels went in his pocket as he walked to the kitchen, trying to avoid stepping in the large pools of blood. His footprints were visible but attempting to clean this up would make it look less like a random attack. He’d dump the shoes along with the clothes. Burn them to ashes somewhere other than these woods. He let out a sigh. He’d known these people his whole life and they’d built this cottage just a few years ago for their retirement. They were good people. It was a damned shame.
He was going to have to make sure the chamber was well and truly hidden in case cops started searching the woods, although he’d try and divert them. He went back into the kitchen and hoisted Kari over his shoulder. She was limp. He hoped to hell he hadn’t killed her because he intended to make her wish she’d never tried to get away from him. By the time he was finished with her she’d wish she was dead.
And then, if she was lucky, he’d kill her.
***
Four days after Thanksgiving was not a time a parent wanted to bury a child. But there was never a good time.
The church belonged to the Methodists, with a steepled bell tower and green tin roof. The portico on the front was supported by four white columns. Bare limbs of three maples enfolded it in a protective embrace.
The graveyard was at the back of the church. Row upon row of old family plots marked with simple white crosses.
Bryce Keeble stood beside Lindsey’s white coffin, hunched over like an old man. The whites of his eyes were still red from crying. Skin gray. Grief etched on his features like lines of graffiti. Some truths were too immense to leave you physically unchanged.
He ignored everything except his beloved daughter.
The pastor was saying prayers for Lindsey’s soul but Mallory doubted her soul was in any danger. She’d been a good kid. A young woman on the cusp of a bigger, better life. No one had the right to steal that from her. No one had the right to destroy something priceless and precious.
Looking at that coffin made Mallory face some hard realities of her own. As painful as this funeral was, as awful as it was to bury someone you loved, it was worse not to bury them. For them to just disappear like smoke in the rain and to never know what became of them. The thought of Payton’s remains being abandoned somewhere—it was like an ulcerous sore inside her gut.
Not that she was going to share those thoughts with anyone else, especially not today. This was about their grief. Their loss. Hers was old and ingrained. Theirs was a fresh bloody wound.
She stood at the back of a crowd of mourners, shivering despite her thick woolen coat. Her leather boots crunched the grass beneath her feet. Winter was nipping hard at the Mountain State. She wouldn’t let it hamper their investigation, but it might slow down this serial killer.
And maybe she was grasping at straws.
She’d arrived early and taken photographs from the privacy of her car as people had arrived for the service. She didn’t recognize any of the mourners except for some of the cops she’d met last week. She’d go talk to them after the service. See if they’d come up with anything new.
Alex stood beside her, offering silent support as if he’d been part of her life forever. He’d vetoed objections that she was working and offered to ride along so he could advise her on where her personal security weaknesses lay. It was actually a good idea, not that she’d told her colleagues in Quantico about it.
She wasn’t sure where “they” as a couple were going, but right now she was willing to take a chance on something, anything, that gave her a moment’s respite from the tangled mess of past and present her life ha
d become. She didn’t know how Alex felt about her, she just knew that after being grilled by Barton yesterday he hadn’t left in a huff, or bitched like a teenage girl.
He’d stuck.
She was pretty sure she was falling in love and this had never happened to her before. Sure, she’d dated in college and had boyfriends, but she’d never felt like she’d jumped off a cliff onto an emotional rollercoaster.
It scared the crap out of her.
Part of her wanted to hang on tight and see where it led. The other part wanted time and space to try and figure out exactly what was happening. But if she’d learned anything over the years it was time and space didn’t always provide answers.
All she knew for sure was Alex was gorgeous, sexy, great in bed, and just plain nice—basically too good to be true. Like she’d told him the other day, he had a hell of a lot going for him and she’d decided that, in spite of her responsibility toward her sister, she’d be a fool not to give the spark between them a chance because life didn’t give you many chances like this.
Not that she could shake him right now even if she’d wanted to. Mallory doubted this killer would actually attempt to kidnap a federal agent in broad daylight. Considering she had some martial arts training and carried a Taser, two Glocks as well as her FBI shield, she felt a little bit of a fraud letting him accompany her at all. But as she didn’t know which of her FBI colleges to trust it was nice to have someone watch her back. That this psycho was out there gave her the creeps, but it was also an opportunity.
Bryce Keeble sobbed loudly as Lindsey’s coffin was lowered into the ground. Hidden in the folds of their heavy coats Alex’s fingers once again found hers, offering silent support. She blinked away the sudden onslaught of tears. She was here as a professional and no matter how difficult it was, she wanted to do her best by Lindsey and the other women this UNSUB had killed.
She felt eyes on her and looked over toward Sheriff Williams and a couple of his deputies who stood with their heads bowed. Sean Kennedy caught her eye and she nodded a greeting. He nodded back but there was an impatience in his stance, a tension in his face that suggested something had happened, something beyond burying a victim of cold-blooded murder.
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