I Can Hunt: An FBI Thriller (The O'Reilly Files Book 2)

by Angela Kay

  “You’ve got a good memory,” Aidan commented. “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Leon paused. “Why do you think the shooter wanted to kill us?”

  Aidan exchanged glances with Shaun, then decided to tell the young man the truth.

  “Actually, we believe Ray was the target,” Aidan said. “Not you and Rachel.”

  “Somebody wanted to kill Ray? Why?”

  “We don’t know yet,” Shaun replied. “We were hoping you could help us with that.”

  “I don’t know,” Leon said. “I don’t know why anyone would want him to die.”

  “Ray wasn’t the only one killed, Leon,” Shaun began. “There was a woman…a preschool teacher who was shot in her own backyard. We’d just gotten back yesterday from Mauk, Georgia where two young boys, brothers, were killed in the woods. They were all playing the same game you were.”

  “They were on a scavenger hunt? I don’t understand.”

  “They all had riddles to solve,” Aidan continued. “And at all three scenes, there was something carved in wood. A phrase.”

  “‘The hunt ends here,’” Leon whispered as tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. “Wh-what does that mean? What if he comes back after me and Rachel?”

  “We don’t think he will,” Aidan said. “You’re safe. I promise. Can you trust us?”

  For a second, Aidan thought Leon might not respond, but finally, he nodded.

  “Okay. We’ll let you get some rest,” Shaun said. “Thank you for talking to us. And we hope you get well quickly.”

  Aidan and Shaun began to walk out the door when Leon called out to them.

  “Wait. I just remembered something. About the picture.”

  They turned back to him.

  “What is it?” Aidan asked.

  “We thought it was something weird. The whole thing started to get freaky when we saw the words on the bridge. I turned the picture over. It had a guy’s name. I don’t remember the name, but it said Lakeside High, class of ’08.”

  “You’re sure?” Shaun said.

  “Yes,” Leon said. “I remember numbers.”

  “Thank you, Leon,” Aidan said. “You’ve been extremely helpful.”

  “Get better,” Shaun reiterated.

  They walked out of the hospital room, shutting the door behind them.

  Aidan looked at Leon’s parents, who waited for the interview to be over. “Thank you for allowing us to talk to your son.”

  “Did he tell you anything?” his mother asked.

  “Oh, yes. He told us a lot of useful information.”

  They shook Leon’s stepfather’s hand, thanked them again. The couple slipped into the hospital room.

  “We’ll need to track down a yearbook for two thousand and eight at Lakeside. With luck, we’ll find the boy. It’s got to be important to our hunter. He wouldn’t leave the picture for his victim to find.”

  “The mind is a funny thing, isn’t it?” Shaun muttered as they headed for the elevators. “To remember a specific detail such as that? Amazing, right?”

  29

  Aidan and Shaun stepped into Lakeside High School just as the bell rang. Two young boys scurried down the hallway, one tripping over his untied shoelaces. He fell forward, books scattered across the floor. The second boy stopped long enough to laugh, then continued on his way. Aidan stooped to pick up the boy’s history and science book. Shaun pulled him up with one arm.

  “You all right, son?” Shaun asked.

  “Yeah,” the boy groaned. He took the books Aidan held out for him. “Thanks.”

  “You probably shouldn’t be running in the halls,” Aidan pointed out.

  “Yeah,” the boy muttered.

  “Is this the main office?” Shaun asked, motioning to the door a few feet in front of them.

  “Yeah,” the boy answered.

  “Thanks,” Aidan said. “You’d better get to class.”

  With a nod, the boy walked away, and when he turned a corner, Aidan heard the sound of running feet.

  “How often were you late to class?” Shaun wondered.

  Aidan scoffed. “Often enough. I was the last to class and first to leave. I’d gotten enough slips to last a lifetime.”

  “Who would have known?” Shaun said with a smirk as he began to walk toward the office. “Aidan O’Reilly was a rebel.”

  “Not so much rebel as wanting to avoid certain bullies.”

  “You don’t seem the type to be prone to bullies,” Shaun observed.

  “Oh, you’d be surprised. Maybe one day I’ll tell you about Declan O’Malley. A redhead kid you’d surely want to deck. What about you? Did you ever find yourself in the principal’s office?”

  “Me?” Shaun said, pulling the door open. “I was an angel.”

  Aidan chuckled. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  They stepped inside and were greeted by the secretary, a young woman, in her mid-thirties. She had risen from her seat with a stack of folders in her hands. The secretary placed it inside the open filing cabinet, slid it shut, then turned to face the agents.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Good afternoon, ma’am, I’m Aidan O’Reilly from the FBI. This is my partner, Shaun Henderson.”

  The woman paused to look at them before speaking, her eyes skimming the badges hooked on their pants. She nervously glanced around the empty office, bit her bottom lip, then looked back at them. “What’s the FBI doing here?”

  “We’re…trying to locate a former student.”

  “I see. What’s the student’s name?”

  “That’s the kicker,” Shaun replied, resting his arms on the counter. “We don’t have a name. Do you by any chance keep old copies of yearbooks?”

  “Yes, we do,” the secretary replied. She narrowed her eyes with curiosity. “What year are you looking for, exactly?”

  “Two thousand eight,” Aidan replied.

  “All right, sure, I’ll go see what I can find. Give me a few minutes to go track it down for you. I’ll be right back.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Shaun said. As the secretary left, he looked over at Aidan, a gleam shining in his eyes. He rested his arm on the counter, drumming his fingers against the surface. “Tell me about Declan O’Malley.”

  Aidan shook his head. “Long story spanned over years of torture.”

  “All right, then,” Shaun agreed, although Aidan guessed his friend wouldn’t let him off that easy. “Tell me this, then. What do you suppose is the reason our guy left the photo? It doesn’t make a lot of sense. The other two victims involved personal items from the previous.”

  Aidan considered the question, his mind going over the evidence and details they had now. “You’re right. The offender leaves personal items for his victims to find: Stephanie’s ring, Stevie’s baseball card, Ray’s glasses. Even the message he writes is probably personal.”

  “What’s with the killing locations?”

  Aidan considered the question.

  “I’d say he’s more at home when he’s in the woods. Gives him the confidence he doesn’t otherwise have.”

  Aidan paused and began to mutter underneath his breath, thinking about what they knew so far. It looked like Ray Parsons was the Scavenger Hunter’s first victim in his game.

  “No matter the reason the offender is choosing these particular victims,” Aidan continued, “it’s likely for personal reasons. The photo is probably someone our guy knows. He possibly used the photo as a means to introduce his victims to why they are going to die, although they don’t know they’re victims.”

  As Shaun reflected on the thought, the secretary reentered the office, holding a gray book.

  “Here we go,” she said as if she’d made a great achievement. She set the yearbook on the table with a thud. “Class of oh eight. Is there anything I can help you find in it?”

  Aidan took the book, flipping it open. He shook his head, not knowing what to look for.

  �
��How long have you worked here?” Shaun asked the secretary.

  “Going on thirteen years now.”

  “To the best of your recollection,” Shaun continued, “do you remember a senior who may have disappeared or even been killed? He may have had brown hair, dark blonde, possibly.”

  “Well, my goodness,” the secretary said, putting her hand to her mouth. “I do remember there was a young man. Bryce Van Camp. He’d graduated not two days before the poor boy was killed.”

  “Killed, how?” Aidan asked, diverting his full attention to her.

  “It was a terrible tragedy,” she told them, her tone saddening. “Bryce was walking home to his parents’ apartment one night. A car came along and hit him. He died later, on the operating table.”

  “Did you know him well?” Shaun asked.

  She shook her head. “There are so many students coming and going. Some I know, others, not so much. The only reason I remembered Bryce was because he was class valedictorian. His teachers were very fond of him, but I think he kept to himself a lot. Didn’t have many friends. He was shy.”

  Aidan pushed the yearbook toward the secretary. “Can you please point him out? Do you think you might remember him well enough?”

  With a nod, she skimmed the contents in silence until she stopped turning the pages, staring down. She pointed to a picture. “This is Bryce.”

  Aidan studied the young brown-haired boy. He stared straight ahead, his lips curved into a soft smile, and cheeks reddened.

  “Can we take this with us?” Shaun asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Thanks for your time.”

  “Can I ask what your interest in Bryce is? Why is the FBI suddenly so interested in him?”

  “Do you know the details of his death? Who hit him?” Aidan evaded.

  “I can’t say I remember. Sorry.”

  Aidan nodded. “Thanks again.”

  They walked out of the office and out of the building. Halfway toward Shaun’s car, his cell phone rang.

  “Yeah?”

  Aidan waited in silence, noting the dejected expression on Shaun’s face. Something was up, and Aidan had the sinking feeling he knew what it was.

  “We’ll be there,” Shaun said as he replaced his phone in his clip.

  “Don’t tell me.” Now at the car, Aidan leaned against the hood, arms crossed.

  “We’ve got another one. A woman named Aimee Hollander. Shot and killed inside her own home.”

  30

  Aimee Hollander, an independent author, was found by her mother, sitting on the couch with a single gunshot wound in the center of her chest, point-blank. She’d also been shot in the leg, and Aidan guessed she must have fought against her assailant, trying to get away—one thing the Scavenger Hunter’s previous victims were unable to do.

  Aidan wondered what made Aimee Hollander so special? Why was the offender allowing her to escape? Was he getting bored in not having much of a chase? Was the hunter in him wanting a new challenge?

  On the wall, directly above her head, was the same phrase as in the other three murders.

  The hunt ends here.

  Crime scene photographers snapped photos of the message, and Aimee’s body, her mother audibly shaking in the kitchen, adjacent to the living area. The medical examiner looked her over, and when she noticed Shaun and Aidan had already entered the house, she informed them the victim had only been dead a few hours.

  “He’s posing his victims now?” Shaun muttered as he frowned down at the body, looking like a China doll.

  On the coffee table was a laptop. Aidan opened the cover and tapped a key to wake the computer. A word document appeared on the screen.

  “She was working on a book from the looks of it,” he announced.

  They turned when the door burst open and a wild-eyed man scanned the room, his eyes resting on the victim.

  “Sir, this is a crime scene,” an officer insisted.

  “Th-that’s my daughter,” he stammered. “Th-that’s my baby girl.”

  “Mr. Hollander?” Aidan said. He looked at the officer, still insisting the intruder to leave. “He’s fine.”

  “W-what happened to my baby girl?” Mr. Hollander stammered. He gripped the edge of the wall to support his buckling knees.

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, sir,” Shaun said. “Come with us to the kitchen. Your wife is there now.”

  Shaun took Mr. Hollander by the elbow and gently nudged him to the kitchen, where a woman sat at the table, face streaked with tears, mascara running from her eyes.

  “David!” she exclaimed when she saw her husband.

  They embraced tightly, both sobbing hard.

  When they finally pulled away, Mr. Hollander looked from Aidan to Shaun.

  “Who would hurt my baby girl?”

  “We were hoping you may help us with that, Mr. Hollander,” Aidan said softly. “Did your daughter have enemies?”

  They both shook their heads.

  “Aimee didn’t get out much,” Mr. Hollander told them. “She spends most of her time at her computer, either working as a customer service representative or writing her novels.”

  “Has she published any novels yet?” Shaun asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Hollander replied. “She has three out now. Working on her fourth.”

  “What are her books about?”

  “Mysteries, mostly. Sometimes she writes romance novels.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mr. Hollander said, “But how will what she does help find her killer?”

  “We like to know the vi—,” Aidan stopped short and cleared his throat before rephrasing. “We like to know more about her life. The smallest of details may help find who…hurt…her.”

  “Do you know who her friends are?”

  Mrs. Hollander shook her head. “They were mostly online, except for one girl. She’d known her since grade school. They’d go out to eat at least once a month.”

  “What’s her name?” Shaun asked.

  “Lacey Wilkes,” Mr. Hollander told him.

  “She also had a boyfriend,” Mrs. Hollander said. Chuck Garner. They broke up recently.”

  “Do you know the nature of their break-up?” Aidan asked.

  “She only told us she needed time to herself.”

  “Do you think Mr. Garner would ever harm your daughter?”

  “Oh, no, of course not,” Mrs. Hollander replied. “He always treated Aimee well.”

  “We’d like his phone number and address if you have it.”

  “Sure,” Mr. Hollander said, resting his head against his wife’s. “Whatever you need.”

  “What do you do, Mr. and Mrs. Hollander? Where do you work?”

  “I’m on disability,” Mrs. Hollander explained. “I’ve been on retirement for five years. Rheumatoid arthritis and bad knees came to be too much for me.”

  “What did you do before you retired?” Shaun pressed.

  “I owned my own housekeeping business.”

  Shaun nodded, scribbling in his pad. He looked up at Mr. Hollander. “What about you, sir?”

  “I’m an assistant district attorney,” Mr. Hollander answered, his voice beginning to shake again.

  Aidan exchanged glances with Shaun, then looked back at the victim’s father.

  “Assistant district attorney, you say? I’m sure there have been many people who may have a grudge against you. Can you think of anybody who may want to seek revenge on you?”

  Mr. Hollander shook his head slowly. “It is true, I do have a lot of enemies. I’ve helped put a lot of people away in my day. I’ll have to look at my dossier to see if any names pop up.”

  “Please do,” Aidan said. “We’ll need to check their alibis and question them.”

  “Excuse me,” Shaun said as he stepped away in a hurry.

  Glancing briefly in his friend’s direction, Aidan said,” How long have you been with the DA’s office?”

  “Fifteen years,” Mr. Hollander replied.


  “Have you always practiced law in Augusta?

  “No, for a while, we lived in Minnesota, then I transferred here.”

  “Any reason for the move?”

  “It allowed me to be on the fast track to become the district attorney.”

  “Mr. Hollander.” It was Shaun who spoke. He held the yearbook they’d gotten from the high school in his hand. “I may be way off track with this, but I’d like to know if by some rare chance in the cosmos you may recognize this young man in the photo? His name is Bryce Van Camp.”

  Mr. Hollander took the book and studied the picture.

  He frowned in concentration, not speaking for a long minute. Aidan couldn’t tell by his expression whether he’d seen the boy before, but then Mr. Hollander nodded, his head bobbing up and down slowly. “Yes. I do recognize him. The face, not so much, it’s been such a long time, but the name…I’ve said his name many times, over and over again.”

  “What do you know of him?” Aidan wondered.

  “He passed away,” Mr. Hollander whispered. “A car accident on his way home. I prosecuted the couple who killed him.”

  31

  KRISTEN MCCOY LOOKED in the bathroom mirror at the bruising on her neck with a frown. She knew she should leave Luke’s house and be done with him once and for all. She didn’t deserve to be strangled while he was putting himself inside of her.

  Why did he do that?

  She would have slept with him anyway. She supposed he liked it rough. Maybe it was a fantasy of his. Still, he could have warned her ahead of time. Kristen ran a hand through her hair with a heavy sigh. The only reason she was there now was because he promised he wouldn’t do it again. He told her he’d only gotten carried away, and he was so, so sorry.

  And there was something alluring about Luke. When he’s in deep concentration, a cloud of anguish washes over him, and she could tell he was reminiscing about something, though she knew well enough to know not to ask.

  Of course, that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious. It was the complete opposite. She wanted to know everything she could about her new companion, and more.