After the Dark

by Cynthia Eden

  * * *

  CAMERON TOOK THE phone from his helpful victim. Since she was unconscious, it wasn’t as if she needed the thing. He snapped a quick pic, pausing to admire the way the blood trickled from her broken nose, and then he slammed the trunk shut.

  His gaze skimmed over the parking lot. Lights were still on in a few of the buildings on campus, but no one was out. No one was watching.

  Sometimes, it seemed as if they never were.

  He climbed into the vehicle. Not his, of course, but one he’d borrowed. Borrowed, stolen, what-the-fuck-ever. He pulled up the picture, admired it, even started to hit Send, but...

  I’m not ready yet.

  He had to be sure that he was quite prepared before he invited Agent Gamble to his little party.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  BLAKE DRESSED, TOO, acting quickly, with tight, angry movements. Samantha watched him, trying to figure out the right words to say. Blake had argued with her about being bait, and now the guy wanted to use the same tactic? Didn’t he get that Cameron had one purpose right then... And it is to destroy you, Blake.

  “We have to find him before Cameron comes at us.” At you.

  “The guy called you, Samantha. He’s been stalking you. All along, you thought you were hunting him, but the bastard has been on your trail.”

  She’d felt his eyes on her. Unease had slithered through her more times than she could count. When you were being hunted...you knew it.

  “Cameron likes to control all elements of his environment. He’s very meticulous.” Organized to the extreme. “He’d need a safe base down here, a place where he felt completely secure.” But also a place that would allow him the flexibility to leave at a moment’s notice. “The picture in Fairhope,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  She paced toward him. “The picture of me jogging in Fairhope. That was a recent picture—I just cut off my hair a few days before you arrived.” Because she’d been sick of the heavy weight. She’d wanted a change—wanted so many things to change. “But the angle was from behind me on the pier.”

  She was mine first.

  “I wouldn’t have run right past him.” She believed that with utter certainty. “I always look at every person I pass.” Occupational hazard. She looked at every person, she wondered about them, gauged them and tried to see past the bright smiles or the tired waves. “I didn’t pass him.”

  “Samantha, you don’t know that. You have no way of—”

  “I need to see the picture again.” They needed to get down to the police station. “I need to study the angle of it. He distracted us.” Tricky bastard. “He got our attention focused on the computer screen, on the picture from the past, but the photo we needed to see most was the one of Fairhope.” The present. Because you were saying something with that picture, weren’t you?

  From the angle of that photo, she thought he’d been behind her.

  “You’re the one who said he changed his appearance,” Blake reminded her, “so you could walk right past him and never know it was him.”

  “I don’t think so.” She’d know him. “He was behind me.” She went back to that day, trying to see the moments again. It had been so recent—so very recent. Just a few days, and lives had been wrecked in that short span of time.

  Mosley had been out, throwing his crab trap. Another woman had been jogging—a blonde with a bobbing ponytail. And she remembered two fishermen had been on the pier, getting their bait ready for the day.

  It had been early. There had been only that small handful of people on the pier with her. But...

  “A sports yacht was in the water.” She recalled it so clearly. Big, gleaming. Totally Cameron’s style. “He was behind me. He was on the water. He’s been out on the water...sleeping there, traveling there and hiding there.” Excitement had the words almost tumbling out of her. “When he needs to move, he just moves his boat. He was watching me from a distance. Hell, that’s probably how he came to my house. He anchored his boat offshore, then swam to the beach. He climbed up the steps leading to my house, leading to the bluff, and he came in the back of the house.” Her words came faster as she figured this out. “The cops on duty...” Those poor, dead men. “They wouldn’t have seen him arrive. He got inside, and then...then one of officers probably went in for a quick patrol. Cameron was waiting. He killed the first cop, sliced his throat.”

  The scene unfolded in her head. Perfectly. Brutally.

  “When the first cop didn’t come back, the second arrived to check on him. He came inside, looking for his friend. He got to the den, and that was where he found Cameron waiting.”

  “With the other cop’s gun,” Blake added grimly.

  She nodded.

  “How the fuck did the cameraman get here?” Blake wanted to know. “If Latham swam in, no way he dragged the guy with him that way.”

  No, he hadn’t dragged the guy there. “With the two cops out of the way, Cameron had control of the area.” Control. What he values most.

  A furrow was between Blake’s dark brows. “He would’ve needed to leave, to go and get the poor bastard.”

  No, not necessarily. “Cameron was with Janice. That means he had access to her phone, her contacts. He could have called the guy.” The guy—he had a name. John Andrews. A name, a family. A life. He’d had it all. Samantha eased out a slow breath. “Cameron could have called John and asked him to go there for a meeting.”

  “John wouldn’t have just agreed to meet a killer—”

  John hadn’t known he was meeting a killer. “I bet Cameron pretended to be one of the cops, offering John an exclusive look at my place. He would have given him a perfect temptation. Cameron always knows what most people want,” she said, unable to stop the bitterness from slipping into her voice.

  He manipulates everyone.

  “Why did he want that guy dead?”

  “Because he saw something...” No, wait. “Because the cameraman saw him.” Her heart raced faster. Yes, yes, that made sense. John had been working with Janice, so maybe when Cameron approached Janice—John saw you, didn’t he, Cam? “We need to get all of the recordings that John made before his death, particularly that last night with Janice. It’s possible that he caught Cameron on one of those tapes.” And if he had...

  Then we will have you, Cameron.

  “I’ll get them,” Blake swore. “Count on it.”

  Oh, the wonderful power of the FBI. She missed that power.

  They hurried out of her temporary room and rushed to the front of the house—and they found Tucker coming toward them, his face tight.

  “Bass is awake. And he’s asking for you two.” His phone was gripped in his hand. “So I say let’s get down there and find out exactly what our boss saw before Jason Burke tried to send him to hell.”

  * * *

  “LEWIS, YEAH, YEAH, it’s Gamble.” Blake paused outside of the safe house. Tucker and Samantha were already loading into the SUV. So much for rest time—there was no rest on a case like this one. “I need you to contact Central News Five. Get all the videos that John Andrews made on the day of his death.” He paused. “Samantha thinks the guy may have seen Latham.”

  Lewis swore. “I don’t like this shit. What Latham did to that poor bastard... The ME said it was done before Andrews died. Talk about a sick son of a bitch.” His disgust and fear carried easily over the line. “You’re watching her back, right? You’ve got my Sammie?”

  His eyes were on Samantha right then. “Every single moment.”

  “Good. He’s obsessed with her, you know that? He’s not letting go. Sammie thinks the guy won’t hurt her. But a twisted freak like him, he has no rules to follow. If Sammie turns on him, he will attack her, too. I’m no profiler, but even I can see that human life doesn’t mean a thing to him.”


  No, it didn’t. Not usually.

  Does Samantha’s life matter?

  “She thinks he’s out on a boat,” Blake added. “Get the Coast Guard. Get us boats ready. I want us to start searching every vessel in the area.”

  Lewis gave a low whistle. “You don’t have any idea just how many folks in this area have boats, do you?”

  “I don’t care. If we have to search every single one, we will.”

  Samantha motioned toward him.

  “He isn’t getting away.”

  He isn’t getting her.

  * * *

  EXECUTIVE ASSISTANT DIRECTOR Justin Bass looked like he’d been to hell, and that the trip had been a real bitch.

  He was hooked up to half a dozen machines, his body covered in bandages, bruises all over him and his left eye swollen shut. Every breath was a rough rasp, a rasp echoed by the beeping machines.

  “Only a few moments,” the doctor announced with a warning glint in his eyes. “The patient is not out of the woods, not by a long shot. He needs rest and not—”

  “G-give us...t-time alone...” Bass’s voice shook. He tried to lift his hand toward the doctor, but his fingers were shaking.

  The doctor pinned Blake with a hard glare. “Five minutes. He can’t handle more. I spent four hours in surgery repairing his chest—the man needs recovery, not more trauma.”

  They weren’t there to traumatize the guy. They were there for answers.

  The doctor backed away. Blake watched him go—they were in the Intensive Care Unit, a series of about half a dozen small rooms that were centered around a nurse’s station. The rooms all had big, glass walls so that the nurses could see in to view their patients. The area was quiet, hushed, almost as if the folks there were waiting for death.

  “Y-you...sh-shot him?”

  Blake stepped closer to the hospital bed. Samantha and Tucker stood a few feet away, not too far; the cramped space wouldn’t allow it. Alex Castell had headed to the police station in order to help Lewis get access to the recordings from the news station. They’d wanted to get started on that search right away.

  Staring into Bass’s eyes, Blake told him flatly, “Jason Burke is dead.”

  Bass blinked blearily at him.

  “Burke was a student of Latham’s.” He paused just a beat. “Samantha’s profile of him was dead-on. The guy lost control when Latham vanished.”

  “La...tham...” The machines beeped louder. “Knew...h-he was there...”

  “Did you see Cameron Latham?” Blake asked him.

  Bass’s eyes closed as the machines kept beeping. “Trident.”

  He had no clue what that was supposed to mean.

  “Guy...in my car...j-jabbed me with something. Wh-when I looked back...” Bass swallowed. “He h-had a tat...on his wrist. Black...trident.”

  Blake glanced at Samantha.

  “H-he was in the back...but that k-kid...the k-kid who stabbed me...sh-shot me...” Bass’s eyes flew open. “H-he was at the s-side of my car.” He coughed, choking a bit.

  “We think Cameron Latham ordered him to kill you at the cabin.” Samantha spoke, her voice carrying above the beep and hiss of the machines. “Did Jason Burke say anything to you there? Anything that you believe will help us to track Latham?”

  Bass’s gaze focused on her. “Wrong...” His voice was a low whisper. His eyes started to sag shut.

  “What is wrong?” Blake pushed him. The guy was about to slump into unconsciousness, and if the fellow had anything they could use...

  “H-he was g-gonna...blow my brains out...” Each word seemed to be a struggle. Bass lifted his shaking hand and pointed it at Samantha. “You...knew.”

  Blake stiffened. “Samantha wasn’t fucking in on anything. I’ve told you dozens of times that she wasn’t working with Latham. She’s the one who saved your ass out there. She made herself a target, she—”

  “Th-thank you...” Bass said.

  Blake’s stare jerked to Samantha. Surprise had made her eyes flare wide.

  “Say that again?” Samantha asked.

  “I’m...f-fucking...on my d-death bed...”

  Samantha stepped closer to him. “I doubt that. I think you’re too much of an asshole for hell to want you right now.”

  Bass’s lips curled in a faint smile. “Was...wrong,” he said again.

  “Yes, you were.” She stared down at him. “But look at it this way. You’re alive, so that means you have plenty of time to make things up to me. I’m thinking...full, official apology. Maybe a new title.”

  His eyes were nearly shut. “Maybe...something...b-bigger...”

  Samantha just stared at him. His breath seemed to even out. After a moment, she glanced at Blake. “He doesn’t know anything that can help us. Cameron dumped him with Burke and left the other guy to do his dirty work.” She turned away. “Let’s go see if Lewis and Alex have those videos—”

  The machines beeped louder.

  Blake’s gaze shot back to the bed.

  “H-he thought Latham was his...f-friend...t-told me that...”

  “That would be what Latham wanted him to believe.” Tucker spoke up, edging closer to him. “Another mistake that Burke made. You can’t trust killers, no matter how personal you think your relationship is to them. They’re like snakes. They’ll bite the hand that feeds them and never think twice.” His gaze shifted to Samantha’s face. “And, yes, I’m speaking from personal experience. Doesn’t matter if you’re the killer’s best friend or his fucking blood...anyone can be expendable.” He squared his shoulders. “So when you face off with Latham, remember that. Because you still see your friend when you look at him. Every single time you talk about him, you call the guy Cameron. Not Latham. Not Dr. Latham. Not the perp. You personalize him, and that’s going to make it harder for you in the end. Believe me, I know.”

  Samantha cocked her head as she studied him. “I would very much like to hear your story one day, Tucker.”

  He gave a rough laugh. “It’s not very pretty. Most folks wish they’d never heard it.”

  “I’m not most folks.”

  “No...” Tucker mused. “You’re not.” His gaze slanted to Bass. A very much out Bass. “You did save his ass, just so we’re all clear on that.”

  “I wasn’t the one who took out Burke.” She nodded toward Blake. “His bullet hit first, then Josh’s followed. I was the one getting slammed to the ground.”

  Because he’d been frantic.

  “I heard you were the one who distracted Burke,” Tucker corrected. “You were the one who got him to move the gun from Bass’s head. If you’d hadn’t, the EAD wouldn’t be in this hospital. He’d be in the morgue.”

  She gave a slow nod.

  “So make sure he offers you one fine reward. We need you back to profiling, and I figure the guy’s life is worth a reinstatement.”

  Did she want a reinstatement? Blake would love to have her back at the FBI, but only if that was what Samantha truly wanted.

  His phone vibrated, and he looked down, reading the text. “Lewis has the video for us. Let’s go.” But before he left that little room, he cast one final glance at Bass.

  The executive assistant director was battered and bruised. He looked small, pale, hardly the domineering SOB who boasted so much to the media. For the first time in his life, Bass had been made into a victim.

  What would that do to him?

  You survived, Bass. That makes you one of the lucky ones. He hoped the EAD remembered that in the weeks to come.

  * * *

  “TAMMY WHITE HAD no idea that she was going to work for the last day of her life.” Janice Beautfont stared straight ahead. Her voice rang with a perfect combination of sympathy and pain. “But she was abducted from this small town, a place tha
t should have been safe for her—and authorities discovered her remains at the bottom of the bay.” She shook her head. “Now a manhunt is under way for Jason Burke, a twenty-two-year-old ex–Georgetown University psychology major who is a person of interest in Tammy’s abduction and brutal murder.”

  “That woman sure delivered a compelling story,” Lewis said, nodding toward the screen that was currently showing the last video that John Andrews had taken, at least, the last video according to the producer at his TV station.

  Samantha shoved her hands behind her back as she stared at the screen. Seeing Janice—hearing her—it was surreal. I swear, I can almost feel her blood on my hands.

  Their core group had assembled to view the video—Samantha, Lewis, Blake, Josh, Alex and Tucker. The USERT members who’d assisted Josh before—Sean Hastings and Fiona Webb—were helping to organize the Coast Guard search that they were hoping to launch soon. They’d be checking all of the vessels in their hunt for Cameron Latham.

  But first...

  Janice smiled big for the camera. “Tune in tonight at ten for the latest details on this case as developments continue to unfold.” She stared straight ahead, obviously waiting for the feed to end so that she could cut the scene. A moment later, the camera angle shifted, as if John had lowered the equipment, but...

  The video kept going.

  Janice blew out a hard breath. “Did I sound sympathetic enough? Like I cared?”

  Samantha blinked.

  “I mean, I care. Of course I care.” She shot a quick glance over her shoulder. No one was behind the reporter. “I just wanted to make sure that came across in the story.”

  The angle shifted a bit again, as if John were jostling the camera. Getting ready to put it up? It was obvious that Janice thought he’d stopped filming, but he hadn’t. Not yet.

  “It came across,” a deep, gravelly voice announced.

  Samantha lunged forward. “Stop!”

  Every eye in the room swung toward her. Her heart was racing in her chest. Thundering.

  Alex Castell paused the footage. He’d been eager to assist on this end, and she knew it was because the guy was considered one of the tech experts at the Bureau. He was great at retrieving data—and finding images that most others tended to miss. Only this time, she was the one who’d just found their guy. Because I would know his voice anywhere.